#unfortunately the universe loves me way too much to let me rot and die in peace

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Reid x Reader

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” “So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

CONTENT WARNINGS: AGE GAP, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, STALKING, LANGUAGE probably the misuse of a Russian word  IF THERES MORE LMK 

A/N: Okay, let me be honest rq this idea lowk scared me but the words really just fell out of my brain really easily so, yk fuck it whatever.  ANYWAY, if you like, please let me know! 

pt 2, pt 3 “I love you Spencer.” The words immediately melted me. 

“I know so many things.” She gave me an unapproving look. 

“I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I do! Now for once in your life, listen to me.” She nodded her head in concession.

“I’ve just read more, I’ve written more, I’ve discovered and studied more than the average person. I could tell you a little bit about anything with one hundred percent certainty. I could--and want--to tell you the names of all the stars, I could recite verbatim the entirety of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus or Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, which you know, speaking of I will ‘cause I still can’t believe you haven’t read it,” Her smile flattened into a straight line, and I laughed. “Orrr, I could also tell you something simple, like why we get the hiccups.” I shook my head. 

“Regardless, I know so many things and I’m rarely taken by surprise because of it. Everything in life is a pattern of change, and as a human, we will always adjust and adapt to whatever situation we are in. For better or worse, we don’t feel the same thing for very long. This is why an addict takes a couple more every time, a sadist hits his second victim harder than the first, they’re searching for the high of the first time, and it will never come.”

She nodded in understanding, 

 “I know this is true, it’s factual, and yet every time I look at you it feels like the first. You’ve broken the laws of human psychology.” 

“First time you saw me was at a gas station Spencer.” 

“No. The first time I looked at you after I knew I loved you.” 

“Where were we?” 

“My car. You were dancing. You looked ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculously sexy? You mean?” She smiled. 

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” 

“So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin. 

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.” 

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled. 

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine. 

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine. 

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted. 

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.  

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss. 

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed. 

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.” 

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic. 

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.” 

“You are. So, so much smarter.” 

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest. 

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.” 

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?” 

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.” 

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other. 

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“Must you work?” I sent the message to Spencer as I rolled over to his side of the bed in anticipation. I breathed in heavy, liking the way the pillow smelled like his laundry.

“Unfortunately.”  he responded. “Think you’ll be home this weekend?” 

“It’s not looking like it, little one. I’m sorry.” 

I didn’t reply. I was too sad to reply. I knew it’d make him feel guilty, which I didn’t want to do, cause like, his job and saving people and shit is important. But, it still wasn’t fair! At all. There was something very important I had to tell him. 

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Total darkness, and then way too much light. My head hurt and I couldn’t move. I was handcuffed to a wooden chair. There were chains around my torso and ankles. The room was a medical sort of bright. It smelled like bleach and rotting fruit. The walls were dilapidated, seeming to be made of tiles that were once white, but have turned yellow. 

What the FUCK? 

“Hello!” I shouted. My voice was so coarse it hurt. Shit. My head pulsed so badly it practically hurt to think, but I still racked my brain. 

Where am I? 

How’d I get here? 

Why am I here? 

I woke up again. Fuck, why can’t I think? Why can’t I do anything? 

“Hey, y/n.” A woman’s voice. A very stoic, cold, sounding female voice.

I’m not alone. Thank god, oh my god, I’m not alone. 

With the little strength I had, I lifted my head to see her. She wasn’t what I thought. She was alright, she wasn’t tied. She did this to me? 

She took a sip from her silver flask, “Do you know who I am?” 

I shook my head. “No.” 

“Typical.” She stood up and grabbed me by the hair, “You fucking disgust me.” Like, she said, she threw my hair away like it disgusted her. 

She sat back down on the bench in front of the chair I was chained to, “My name is Brook Austen. I was a professor at Georgetown last year. Taught a couple seminars at your school, that little university you go to, the students there were nothing like mine. Not nearly as intelligent, but as expected, Georgetown is much more prestigious, obviously.”

I was confused, and she knew, but did not care. 

“You’re not the brightest, y/n. Only slightly above average high school grades, strikingly mediocre academic performance now.”

Where the hell is she going with this? 

“And you know it doesn’t surprise me, per say, because every man on this goddamn planet is a piece of fucking shit! But I thought that, maybe, just maybe, Spencer was different.” 

She grimaced, “I thought he’d want more than just a pretty face! ‘Cause you might be prettier y/n, but I’m smarter.” Her words were laced with utter hatred. 

Her demeanor changed, and it almost started to seem like she was talking to herself. “I'm older. I’m more successful. I’m fucking better.” 

She approached me again, grabbing my face so I was looking her in those scarily light green eyes, and she wrapped her hands around my throat.  “I’m fucking better then you! Better, better, better!” Every time she said better she shook my neck and gripped tighter so I couldn’t breathe. 

“Stop! Please! Please stop!” I shouted, “I’m-I’m pregnant!” 

She began to break down, “You’re pregnant?” A maniacal chuckle left her throat, “You’re pregnant?”  

“Is it Spencer’s?” she asked. 

I nodded. 

“Wow.” She laughed once more, “Fucking wow.” 

“How could Spencer choose this!? You’re nothing like him. You are a pathetic fucking college student. A fucking daddy issue ridden slut! I’m a celebrated academic, just like him!” Tears began to slip from her eyes, “How could he not choose me?”

This woman is NOT well in the head. 

“You--you like Spencer?” I asked. 

“You don’t get to ask the fuckin’ questions here.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it to the tip of my chin, “I do. So you’re gonna answer them.” Or, she started manically laughing, “I’ll kill you.” She swallowed, “And your baby.” 

I screamed at those words, “No,” I sobbed, “NO!” 

I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look at the woman in front of me, there was a timed red dot blinking. A camera. 

“Is that-- is that a camera?” 

She nodded, “I want Spencer to see you and his child die.” 

“He….No! No, please, No!” I choked on a sob and she smiled. 

“He doesn’t know.” She paced, “He doesn’t even fucking know!” 

She waltzed over to the camera and brought it closer to us, “Hey Spencer.” She began waving, “Hey Penelope. Aaron. Derek. Jennifer. Emily.” 

Her demeanor changed once more, into that of a cheerleader of all things, “So, quick recap.” Brook pursed her lips, “Spencer your twenty three year old fucktoy is pregnant. Congrats!” 

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Y/N was two things I didn’t know she was this morning: In serious danger, and the mother of my expected child. I felt frozen in trepidation. 

We all watched in horror as Brook greeted us. All by first name. She knew exactly what she was doing and it freaked me out even more. 

“Reid, you need to step out.” Hotch grabbed my shoulder, “Now.” 

I was sick with fear and ill with rage. I sat down because I could feel my knees go weak. Hotch started again, “We know who she is. We will find her. Y/N will be alright.” He paused, “So will the baby.” 

I replayed the events of the live footage in my head, her screams of pain and terror, her trembles and confusion. I’d failed her. I’d failed her and now I knew I’d also failed our child. 

JJ sat down next to me, “Spencer, when did you meet Brook?” 

“I uh,” I wiped my face, “A year and four months ago. I did uh, I taught uh, I taught a string of seminars at Georgetown. It was biweekly. Her office was next to mine. We spoke for the first time when she offered me a coffee.” 

“What did you say?” 

“What do you think I said?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, I said yeah, I fucking like coffee.” I felt instantaneously guilty for cursing, and especially at JJ but I was too frazzled for it to last long enough to apologize. 

“I know Spence, I’m sorry. Just keep going.” 

“Then, the next week, we got lunch together.” 

“Was it, you know, friendly?” 

“What are you implying Jennifer?” I snapped. 

“No Spence, we just need to know. You know that.” 

“It was-- it was just lunch. A very normal colleague to colleague lunch. We talked about the school’s history. And uh, where we grew up. It was small talk.” 

“Ok, was this the last time you spoke to her?” 

“No. There was one more time. Y/N was there.” 

“Tell me about it Spence.” She grabbed my hand, 

I breathed out, “It was the next week I taught after lunch. About two hours before my class. I was lesson planning, and Y/N was doing homework on my desk. She came in. She asked if I wanted to go get lunch. She saw y/n and--Fuck.” 

“What Spence? What?” 

“She asked me who she was, but it was like, she didn’t want y/n to know she was asking. She thought she was…”

“She thought she was what?” 

“A student.” 

“And what did you tell her?”  

“The truth. That she was my girlfriend.” 

“Did you see her anywhere else after that?”

“No. She never came by my office again. When I would see her by chance, she would scurry away. It was strange.” 

“Think really hard Spence. Did you ever see her again after you stopped teaching at Georgetown.”

I racked my brain, “Yeah. I did. It was two months ago. Three days after I proposed to y/n. She was getting a coffee at this coffee shop by y/n’s school.. I was bringing her some lunch” 

“Spencer she's been stalking you. Your proposal was the stressor.” 

“But--I’m a profiler. I would’ve noticed.” I stood up with a realization.            “What Spence?” JJ asked, standing up as well to look at me. 

“She’s been stalking her, not me. She knew I was a part of the BAU, she knew I would’ve noticed.” 

“I’ll tell the team.” 

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A/N2:  If this doesn’t totally flop, I’ll write PT 2, that elaborates on the reader’s and Spencer’s relationship. I think through flashbacks from both Y/N and Spencer would be a cool way to explore their relationship and of course the whole reader being kidnapped thing plot could develop. Again, if you enjoyed this pls let me know!!

#spencer reid fanfiction #Spencerreid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer reid #drspencerreid #reid x #Criminal Minds Reid #reid criminal minds #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #mgg #mgg x reader #reid x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader sm #spencer reid x reader angst #reid x reader fluff #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds angst

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Death Does Not Discriminate Between the Sinners and the Saints

Part 1

Tony Stark x Male Demon Reader

Word Count: 3361

This is for the amazing @charliedakotariley who keeps absolutely making my day with all the sweet things they say.

This one is a bit angsty, but there is fantastic tooth rotting fluff at the end for anyone who gets that far. Keep yourselves safe and don't read anything that will make you go down a bad path.

Warnings: The title kind of says it, we are going to be dealing with the concept of a loved one dying in this. NO-ONE ACTUALLY DIES.

--------------

Y/n had known for months now that something was wrong with Tony. They had gotten past the hurdle of Tony's new self-consciousness thanks to the arc reactor that was a part of him now, or at least Y/n thought they had. He had spent weeks reassuring Tony (in and out of bed) that he still found him attractive.

Of course, the rest of the world would be surprised to see Tony Stark be self-conscious about anything, but they didn't know him like Y/n did. He found Tony's public persona to be hilarious. As a literal demon he loved to watch Tony wind up anyone who thought they could get under his skin.

That had been a surprise to Y/n. He had approached Tony at a party one night for a little bit of fun. Hey, he wasn't about to censure himself, he was a demon. Fun was what he did best.

As cliche as it is, Y/n hadn't expected to fall for the dashing young man so many years before. He sighed for at least the tenth time that night. They had been together for years and still no-one had connected the dots.

'Friends my ass,' Y/n snorted as he thought back to that latest tabloid headline, 'or Tony's ass, as the case may be.'

The problem right now was that Tony was avoiding him. Y/n watched disinterestedly as Tony got eye-wateringly drunk at his birthday party.

Y/n was long over the days where all chaos was his preferred fun. That had stopped when he fell properly for the billionaire. He much preferred it when the chaos didn't stem from his boyfriend getting drunk, putting on his Iron Man suit and proceeding to destroy large parts of his home.

Pepper stood beside him looking equal parts furious and worried. She was alternating between biting her fingernails and sighing in frustration. She looked up at the much taller man.

"Isn't there anything you can do to stop him Y/n?"

Y/n's expression soured.

"No, he hasn't told me what's bugging him. He hasn't even looked at me once tonight."

That was when Rhodey came busting in wearing one of Tony's other suits. For a minute Y/n considered getting between them, but then he decided that if Tony couldn't be bothered to even talk to him, then he could get out of his own mess.

It wasn't until Y/n was back in his own apartment staring out into the darkness of the night sky that he realised what it was that had been bugging him.

Tony smelled like death.

----------

Y/n was a man of many talents. As a demon, he had lived for over a hundred years, all the while, seemingly never aging a day. He had been all over the world and met (and ruined) many amazing people. (Thank the devil for the light telepathic abilities he had that allowed him to make people see him as human looking. Well, at least more human than he really was.)

He had never once been in love. Until Tony. Y/n was starting to regret not getting closer to other humans over the years, because now he had no idea how to deal with the idea of Tony dying.

What was he going to do? He was a demon, they lived for over a thousand years at least. That was like the lowest natural age to die for a demon. He couldn't live the rest of his life without Tony, he was his everything.

That pulled Y/n up short. When had he fallen so low as to be so affected by the death of a lowly human? But that lowly human was Tony, his adorable chaos-creating boyfriend. He wasn't even dead yet, but Y/n was already acting like he was gone.

A glimmer of a thought flickered through Y/n's head.

There had to be something he could do, instead of sitting back and letting this happen. Tony could NOT die. Y/n wouldn't let it happen, no matter who had to fall in his place.

'How do you stop the death of someone who doesn't even know they are dying. If only there was a google search for something like this.'

Y/n grinned manically. They had healers in Asgard. Some of the best in the universe. He had heard whispers of paths between the realms here on Earth. Heck, he had even used some of them himself, how else did you think he got here in the first place?

Y/n's face set in determination. He could do this. He would stop Tony from dying even if it meant his own death.

He wasn't a demon for nothing after all.

-----------

Getting into Asgard shouldn't have been that easy Y/n lamented as he stepped out into the lush forest that surrounded the portal. He was pretty sure that there was supposed to be some all powerful, all seeing God that watched over the realms. Y/n wasn't sure what to do about that, but figured that if there wasn't a squad of Asgardian guards waiting to arrest/remove him on arrival then he must not be a valid concern.

Y/n bared his teeth at the thought. He considered letting his perception field fall and making a big dramatic entrance, but let it go.

'For Tony.'

Y/n walked as carefully as he could through the forest. It wouldn't do to get all tattered and look even more suspicious than he already would.

Luckily it didn't take more than an hour to get to the edge of the forest, and even more luckily it bordered on the golden city itself.

Y/n stopped to take in the grandeur of the city of Asgard and thought that he must be the only demon to have ever set foot in this realm. How ironic that he wasn't even there to try to destroy it like so many of his kin had dreamed of doing.

No one really paid Y/n much mind as he made his way into the city proper. It turned out Asgardians were taller than humans generally speaking, so Y/n actually fit in better here than on Earth where he just about towered over everyone.

He even saw a couple of other people with skin as pale as his was, and the same white hair. No one had eyes like his though. Y/n knew that his eyes looked like the lava that covered so much of his home realm. They even glowed if he got too emotional.

This realm was so much more open. The streets were wider, there was so much more room to move than on Earth. Y/n was starting to feel like a tourist, gaping at every little thing in the city. That wouldn't help him in blending in, but he couldn't help it. He had the sudden urge to see if he could do a full spin and not knock anything over.

That had been one of the hardest things to unlearn when he first made it to Earth. His long armored tail was pretty unwieldy in such tight enclosed spaces, so he had had to learn to balance all over again with his tail tucked closer to his body. Unfortunately his perception field only changed how people saw him, so if they tripped over his tail and really looked to see what had tripped them, they sometimes saw what he really looked like. Luckily for him, they were usually written off as insane or, as one really unlucky woman found, it was written off as women's hysteria.

Y/n reined that thought back in and tucked it away for later. If he got out of this alive he would think about it later.

Y/n was sure that the best healers would work in the palace, but that would mean trying to sneak in and abscond with a royal physician. That would be noticed much more quickly, and would be met with a much harsher response.

Y/n set his shoulders back in determination. He would just have to be incredibly convincing, or this would go sideways much too quickly.

'Well,' Y/n thought grimly, 'at least that would solve the problem of watching Tony die slowly.'

--------------

The palace was quiet. This was just too odd. Something supernatural must be at work here.

Y/n was starting to freak out. He had made his way into the palace totally unhindered, and even his admittedly amazing luck had never been that good.

He slunk around another corner, still on high alert. Which was why he didn't miss the shimmer in the air that meant something else was in this space with him.

Y/n shot out an arm at it, aiming for the same height as his own neck.

His hand caught around a slimmer neck than his own, and he tightened his grip to almost unbearable for a demon. He wasn't about to underestimate the people of Asgard.

The stories of Asgardians from back on his own realm lauded them as incredibly strong and fast, and able to live as long as demons themselves.

The Asgardian struggled fiercely for a moment, but when it became apparent that Y/n was stronger than them, they slumped and dropped whatever incantation had allowed them to be invisible.

They appeared to be male, and around the same age as Y/n, but then, so had Tony when they had first met.

Y/n shoved the man away from him hard, and took up a fighting stance.

The other man sputtered and heaved in deep breaths to make up for his previous lack, thanks to Y/n. He looked pretty pathetic, laying against the wall, black hair falling over his face, which was red from lack of air.

"Why have you brought me here mage?"

The man looked up, affecting a surprised expression.

"What makes you think I have brought you here? Are you not an assassin, here to remove either the King or Crown Prince? Both are in the throne room, if you were interested."

Y/n remained in his stance, passive.

"I have the feeling that you know why I'm here already."

The man pulled himself up at last.

"Fine, I might have sensed you when you first stepped foot in our realm. I must say, I haven't seen anyone from Helheim before. Whatever are you doing here, a place that some have dubbed the promised land, home of the Gods?"

"You don't half think highly of yourself, do you?"

The man's response is a sneer.

"I need help."

Y/n stood up from his stance. It didn't feel like this man was going to attack him, and he could hardly ask for help much less receive it while preparing to attack.

He definitely gave off an odd vibe, but it wasn't an 'I'm about to kill you and all of your family just for breathing near me' vibe.

The man looked positively delighted.

"A demon of Helheim needs help," He crowed. "What can I, the humble Loki of Asgard, do to help you Oh Great Demon of Helheim?"

Y/n's left eye twitched, but he reigned himself in once again. Just because Loki seemed like he would benefit from a good smack upside the head, that didn't make it his job to deliver it.

"My, paramour, is in need of a healer. We do not have the ability to heal him, and I will not see his life ended without every attempt having been made to save it."

Loki apparently noticed the pause at the beginning of my request.

"My, my, what type of paramour could you possibly have that would warrant such a delicately put request? Surely not another demon, I thought you were nigh on indestructible?"

He was wandering around Y/n now, getting closer in his circling, all the better to whisper intimidatingly in his ear.

"Perhaps, to be in such desperate need of rescue that you, a demon, would risk everything by coming here of all places, your 'paramour' is something a little more frail?"

Y/n took it back, Loki was pure evil. He grit his teeth and squashed the urge to deck him in his smug face.

"Me thinks, perhaps, something so frail as, a human?"

They stood face to face in silence.

"Your silence speaks volumes my dear."

Y/n lost the battle. With a cry of outrage that came from somewhere deep inside he leapt at the smug God and prepared to smash his stupid face into pieces.

Shockingly his fist simply went through Loki's face. The image rippled and flickered out as it did so.

It flickered back into place beside him.

He spun into a roundhouse kick and the God went down.

"Stop! Dammit, just stop!"

'Some God,' thought Y/n.

"I was sent to get you."

Y/n was done with these so-called Gods and their mind games.

"What do you mean you were sent to get me? Spit it out!"

Loki looked up and glared at Y/n from his position on the floor.

"You were Seen. The moment you stepped foot into Asgard Heimdall Saw you and reported it to the All-Father. Luckily for you Queen Frigga Saw that you weren't here to attack, and that you only sought our help. I was sent to collect you and bring you to her rooms."

------------

The Queen turned out to be much sweeter than Y/n had assumed. He had heard stories of course, but how much could be believed from the daughter who was banished to Helheim?

"Y/n, come, sit. How was your trip dear?"

Y/n was confused. She was acting like they were old friends. As far as he knew he had never met the Queen of Asgard before.

"Ma'am, I'm here for aid. My partner is not long for our home realm. I could smell death on him."

Y/n looked at the ground and clenched his hands into fists.

"I can't lose him. I thought once before that he was gone for good, but he fought tooth and nail to come back to me. Now I am having to sit and watch as something pulls him ever closer to deaths waiting arms. Please, I'll do anything, but please, heal him."

Y/n knew he was begging, but what else could be done. He had thought maybe he could intimidate a regular healer into healing Tony. After that was hazy, but he had been prepared to do anything that would be necessary to make Tony better.

This was not going to plan. He couldn't do anything to make the Queen decide to help him, he would just have to appeal to her softer side.

Frigga knelt by Y/n's side and softly took one of his hands in hers. Her eyes softened as she took in the genuine distress on Y/n's face.

"There is nothing to be done dear. No, don't panic, your loved one is fine. You were right, he was dying, but events have conspired to keep Tony Stark alive. Something needs him still alive, and I am talking about something bigger than you or I. He lives, and at this moment is going just a little bit more out of his mind than normal in his search for you."

Y/n was on his feet and by the door before Frigga had even finished speaking.

"Wait!"

Y/n turned, not wanting to waste another second when he knew that Tony was looking for him, but not able to be disrespectful of the one who had given him hope back.

"Eventually, when you are both ready for that next step, come back and bring your partner. I can organise for one of Idunn's golden apples. You can grow old together."

Tears gathered in Y/n's eyes at the offer.

"But, why? I'm a demon. Tony is a human. Neither of us are anything special. Why are you offering this to us?"

Frigga smiled, beautiful but so broken.

"Because you remind me of someone. So passionate and loyal to the ones who you love that you are willing to flatten entire realms."

Y/n didn't know what to say to that, so he turned back to face Frigga fully. He bowed from the waist to her.

"Thank you Queen Frigga of Asgard. I am in your debt."

Y/n heard her words spoken softly as he left, not entirely for his ears.

"Will you ever forgive us, my dear daughter?"

--------------

Tony was broken. He had thought that the lowest he could get was knowing that he was dying from something that was supposed to be saving his life.

He was wrong. When he had finally come up for air after the whole thing with his arc reactor, Shield and the Hammer Fiasco as he was calling it, he had realised that he hadn't seen Y/n since his disastrous birthday.

He had searched for what felt like forever. Not even Jarvis could find any mention of Y/n anywhere in the world. It was like he had dropped off the face of the planet.

Tony was now spending his time in his boyfriends apartment. He was sure that when he finally came back from wherever he had been, this was one of the first places he would go. He loved his boyfriend, but they were both equally as vain as the other. Any big dramatic entrance back into Tony's life would need to be planned out meticulously by Y/n. So he was sure if he just waited in his apartment he would see him again.

He was not wrong, he realised with rising hope as he heard the door swing open. He poked his head up over the back of Y/n's couch, hair a mess, goatee completely unkempt, knowing that he was wearing rumpled clothes that hadn't been washed in a few days.

In short, he was the only thing that Y/n wanted to see when he got home.

They collided with a slightly painful thump, banging limbs into each other, but not caring in the slightest.

"Oh God, Y/n, I'm so sorry! I--"

"Tony! Thank God you're alright!"

They fell into hysterics at this. Both knew that it wasn't funny at all, but after all the stress they had been through lately, simply being in each others arms was the most amazing feeling in the world.

Neither of them wanted to move, but common sense won out in the end, and they found themselves on the couch some time later.

They had pulled a soft blanket out of somewhere and where wrapped up together, totally unwilling to move for as long as possible.

"I was so scared when I realised you were dying. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tony had never heard Y/n so quiet before. He sighed heavily.

"I wanted to, but then whenever I tried to tell anyone, it wouldn't come out. It was never the right time, and then I realised that I didn't want anyone's last memories of me to be clouded with the knowledge that I was going to die soon. You especially. I didn't want you to have to carry that around, that I was dying and there was nothing you could have done about it."

They were silent for a while after that.

"Maybe that makes me selfish, but I couldn't bear the thought of adding to the hurt you were already going to feel when it happened. God, I'm so sorry."

Y/n just pulled Tony in closer, wrapped him up a little tighter into his arms.

"It's okay, but next time, tell me. I know you remember that I'm a demon. You have the best memory in the world. Next time you have some unsolvable problem, let me in. There might be something I can do that you can't, but even if there isn't, we would still shoulder that problem together. There's nothing I would rather do, than try to help lighten the load."

Tony was crying now, he could feel the tears dripping openly down his face, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I love you, so much it hurts. Never leave me."

"I will always love you Tony. You've changed me irrevocably. If there ever was a point where I could have turned away from you, if was long ago. You're never getting rid of me now."

#Tony Stark x male reader #Male reader #iron man #tony stark #Iron man 2 #Loki #Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints

[nuttynutcycle]

I just discovered your blog, and I'm in LOVE with your writing! I'm completely obsessed with Familiar, so if it's not to much to ask, could you write a continuation? Thank you so much, your snippets and prompts are greatly appreciated!!

Familiar - Pt 2

First part here

On a scale of one to ten, this was either a -2 or a 12 on the good idea scale. Hero double-checked the address Villain had sent her before looking back at the tiny house. The paint was peeling, steps were rotting and that roof was definitely of the leaking sort. Somehow, she had expected Villain to live on the rich side of town.

When he had invited her over to work on their assignment, her thoughts had been torn between screaming trap and find some evidence. The second side won. If there wasn’t anything in there to prove who Villain really was… Well, she’d have to find another way of getting proof to show the authorities. She knocked and noted the cracked windows to her side. After a few seconds, Villain opened the door.

“Hey, I’m glad you could make it. Come on in.” He led her down the musty hall towards a suspiciously normal bedroom. “Thanks again for making the trek all the way over here. My mom hasn’t been doing too well recently, and I’m trying not to leave her alone for too long.”

“Of course, I get it.” Hero let her eyes trail over the spartan room. The only furniture was a bed and two chairs beside a fold-up table covered with books and scribblers. Funny, the number of times Villain escaped from her with stolen cash made her think he’d at least have better furniture. Or a safe to put the money in. Maybe it was hiding in the closet? Although in this neighbourhood, keeping money lying around might not be the brightest idea. “It’s good that you’re taking care of her.”

He nodded, avoiding her gaze and moving his stuff from the table to the floor. “Hopefully, this next surgery will be the one that works.”

“Yeah, it’s tough watching people you love go through painful things. My sister has a heart problem right now, and it’s terrifying to watch her energy come and go.” Shut up! Stop telling him personal things. “Yeah.” She finished lamely.

Their gazes locked in understanding. Hero was the first to break away. “Ready to start the pain?”

They worked on the assignment in silence for a while. Honestly, there was probably a special punishment designed for whoever invented assignments over ten pages long. This just wasn’t fair. Hero sat back, running a hand through her hair. “I think this is karma's way of punishing me for not reading the textbook.”

His lips quirked. “There’s a textbook for this class? That would’ve been helpful to know at the start of the semester.”

“Want to know how tired I was at the beginning of the semester? I can’t even remember choosing my classes,” she pulled a hand down her face. “I think I just closed my eyes and pointed at the screen.”

“You could have been in differential calculus. Or worse, accounting.”

“Or Phys Ed. Did you know our university has a course devoted to badminton?”

Villain laughed. “What a racket. To think, I could have spent time swinging my arm around and gotten credit for it.”

“But then you’d be missing out on the glories of this assignment.”

“And a friend.”

Oh nope. Big nope. Wait, Hero reconsidered. Were they friends?  They did chat after class and had studied a few times together, but that didn’t mean- wait. Huh. Time to deflect with awkward humour and process these feelings later. “I thought you saw me as a role model, but that’s cool too. I’ll just have to find a new lackey.”

“And here I thought you were friends with me for my brilliance and good looks.”

She felt her cheeks begin to burn. “Yep, it’s all for your looks. If you seduce our professor, then we don’t have to do this assignment anymore.”

Villain rubbed his chin. “I’ve never seduced a professor before. Would I have to wear a sweater vest?”

“And a tweed jacket. It’s the only way.” Her fingers twitched, and she was suddenly very aware of him. The light hitting his hair, the way his lips curled when he was amused… Bad, very bad. This is your official ABORT MISSION alert. Find some evidence on the dangerous criminal and get out of there. She cleared her throat. “I’m parched. Could I get some water?”

Villain nodded, standing and leaving the room. Hero leapt out of the chair the moment the door shut behind him.  Her eyes latched on the only place one could hide anything in the sparse room - the closet. She yanked it open, feeling her heart speed up at the sound of Villain opening a cupboard in the kitchen and turning on the tap.

The closet was small and impressively dull. Clothes and boxes littered the tiny  shelves, with no signs of the files or weapons she was looking for. A flap of a familiar fabric dangling from one of the top boxes caught her eye. Bingo. Hero gingerly reached to feel the consistency, making sure she wasn’t wrong before bringing the authorities in, and accidentally bumped an elbow against the side of the closet. The box plummeted from its precarious placement and met the ground with a thump. No! She scrambled to pick up the box and the spilled-out uniform when a movement behind made her pause.

Villain stood in the doorway, hand clenched around a glass of water. His eyes darted to the clothes on the ground. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Hero’s throat went dry. She tightened her grip on the clothes and tried to look surprised. “S-something fell in your closet, so I opened it to check what it was.”

“Huh,” Villain said. “That’s unfortunate.”

He knelt, gently taking his outfit from her hands and placing it back in the box. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“Clearly.”  Hero swallowed and prepared to run if he attacked. Worst case scenario, she had beat him before and could do it again. Theoretically. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know.” A familiar calculation crept across his face, making her hands shake. Villain sat across from her and blocked the only exit, placing the cup of water between them. She felt trapped against the closet.

“You know, if this had happened a month ago, I would have killed you without a second thought,” he said mildly. “Guess you’re lucky.”

A horrifying reminder that she was not dealing with her awkward classmate anymore. “What are you going to do instead?”

Villain shrugged, seeming far too calm for the situation. “I don’t know yet. Talk, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Hero said, lying through her teeth.

“Unfortunately, I’m too old to believe the promises of others so easily.” He trailed his fingers through the thin carpet, tracing patterns through the material. “Even yours. The stakes are just too high.”

“What’s even worth all the stealing and destruction?” she asked quietly. “Why do you do it? “

The  fingers paused. “It started out as one job. My mom needed treatment, and we didn’t have the money to pay for it. Then one treatment turned into two.” He shook his head. “Before I knew it, I was on the city’s most-wanted list.”

Her shoulders tensed. “Will you stop when the treatments are finished?”

“There have been other benefits to criminal activity.” Villain ducked his head, cheeks turning pink. “Lots of amazing people to meet. I haven’t decided yet.”

She leaned against the wall beside the closet, feeling safer with something solid against her back. “I don’t know if meeting people through crime is worth a lifetime in jail.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

Hero picked up the forgotten water sitting between them and drank, if nothing else than for the excuse to avoid responding.

His fingers trailed larger patterns in the carpet. “I never wanted you to find out- this is one of the first friendships I’ve made since I started university. I don’t want to lose that. And I don’t want you getting hurt, but this does put me in a tight position. I won’t let you inform the authorities.”

Hero pressed her back further against the wall.

Villain took one look at her wide eyes and softened his tone. “Just don’t tell. If I get one inkling that you’re about to turn me in, then..." he sighed. "Please don’t make me choose between you and my mom.”

He would know it was her. Hero didn’t think she could after this. Or fight him, knowing it was for his mom’s medical bills. She pursed her lips, making a highly regrettable split-second decision. “Alright. But only on one condition: you stop once her treatments are done.”

He twitched. “I told you, I haven’t decided yet-”

“I’m making the decision for you.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. "Deals are much easier to trust than promises.”

“No. I’d miss-” Villain stopped, clenching his jaw. “I can’t let certain people from that life go yet.”

Something clicked. The girl he liked was from his criminal life… Oh gosh, Hero probably knew her. The brunette villain from the southside? The redheaded weapons supplier? Stop getting distracted.

“I trust you. Give it up as soon as you can.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. “For me.” That was even worse. Was it possible to die from a foot in your mouth?

Villain relaxed his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s a deal.” He stuck out a hand and Hero grasped it, shaking firmly and ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest. So like, a 5 on the good idea scale.

@revrevrew-personal @spruceandpine @sailor-cat2 @literally-just-kirby @emerqlds @chaoticgoodandu @notsocharmingmagician @flying-paperboat @touchedbyanerdyotaku

#my writing #writing #hero #villain #creative writing #hero x villain #heroes and villains #hero villain snippet #snippet #my snippet #sorry for the long wait guys! #two idiots in love #if i was Hero I'd tell Villain's mom

[peanutbutterworm]

i love you

here we go!! here is my moreid secret santa fic! 

click here to read it on AO3

warnings: none, light angst at one point but it is mostly tooth rotting fluff

word count: 4196

summary: Penelope begs and begs Hotch until he finally lets her have a BAU secret santa party. There is a small problem for Dr. Spencer Reid however when he is set the task of giving a gift to his best friend and crush, Derek Morgan.

“Hotch please?” Penelope drew out the last vowel of the word, as if it would make him say yes.

“I told you, Garcia, it’s out of my hands for now. It sounds like a great idea, really, but I don’t think that Strauss nor the director would approve of it.”

“It doesn’t have to be a work thing! Just, as friends, as a family.”

“And I already told you, Garcia, as long as we’re using company time it is a ‘work thing’.”

“God why does everyone have to be so boring. It’s a bonding thing!” Penelope checked the date on her phone. “It’s November 29th, if we’re not allowed to do this I’m going on strike.”

“Mhm,” Hotch was already moving on to something else, and Penelope left in a huff. She ran into Spencer on the way back to her office.

“Hey Penelope,”

“Hi, Spencer.” She said curtly, storming past him.

“Woah, what’s going on today?” Spencer said, stopping her by grabbing her arm. Penelope sighed, realizing she wasn’t being her cheery self and someone was bound to notice, may as well be him.

“Walk with me, boy genius.” Penelope explained her current predicament on the way to her office, huffing and using her hands to talk the entire way.

“And I don’t get why Strauss won’t allow it! It’s a great team bonding activity, and we would have so much fun!” She finished explaining.

“Garcia, we have fun without ‘team bonding activities’, I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because, I’m tired of being ignored. I just want one of my suggestions to go through and I’m starting to think Strauss doesn’t like me.”

“I’m pretty sure Strauss doesn’t like any of us,” Spencer said, sipping his coffee from a company mug.

“Yeah I know,” Penelope put her head into her hands and sighed. “Why are they so against us having fun?”

“They think it ‘interferes with the job’” Spencer said, quoting a seminar they were forced to go to.

“Yeah, bullshit.” Penelope half scoffed into her hands, half laughed. “How is it going with Derek?” She asked, smirking up at Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but turn a little red whenever she asked about him. He had told Penelope about his crush on her best friend in September, and even though it had been going on for much longer Spencer was reminded every day why he didn’t tell her sooner. However Spencer never missed a chance to talk to her about it. Even though Penelope was a huge gossip, she would never tell Derek something this important without asking Spencer for permission first. And anyways, it was nice to get stuff off his chest.

“Nothing has really happened, just still lying awake at night thinking about him instead of doing something productive with my chronic insomnia.”

“How can you be productive with chronic insomnia anyways?”

“I don’t know… do things?” Spencer giggled and then paused, recalling something. “Wait, I do recall, I saw him at the grocery store.”

“No way, you two shop at the same place?”

“Unfortunately. I was too awkward to say anything anyways, and I looked like a mess too.”

“I’m sure he didn’t care. This is the man that saw me almost die and I need not remind you that he has seen you in the hospital. Multiple times.”

“I try not to remember.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.”

“You are so boring,”

“It was late, Garcia. I don’t think I had the patience to deal with anyone, including him, and if you were to ask him I’m pretty sure he would say that feeling’s mutual by how he looked.” Spencer sighed. “He was so pretty though. Like sleepy pretty, not the way we see him at work.”

Penelope was just sitting there, sighing.

“What!” Spencer said, playing with a piece of dirt that was caught between his nails.

“Nothing. You are just so, so fucked.”

“I know!” Spencer dropped it and threw his hands to his face. “He’s just so… AH! I feel like a teenage girl.”

“Considering your looks, you might not be far off.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, but really, you need to tell him. It’s gotta happen eventually.”

“No, I don’t want to ruin our friendship for my own feelings, it’s selfish.”

“Have you ever considered he might feel the same way?” Penelope asked, and Spencer just stared back at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“I just haven’t thought about it, of course it’s a probability but the chance that he likes me back is just so low. Did you know the chance of your crush liking you back is-” Spencer was cut off when Derek walked into the room, right into the middle of a conversation he had no idea was about him.

“Thank you for saving me from that,” Penelope said.

“Hotch needs you both at the round table,” was all Derek said, smirking at both of them.

“We’ll be there soon.” Spencer said, staring as Derek left the room. “Do you think he heard any of that?”

“You talk too fast and I wasn’t really keeping up very well, but no, I don’t think he knows it was about him at the very least.”

“Thank god.” Spencer sighed. “Come on, I don’t want to be yelled at by Hotch again.”

“Guess whatttttt!” Penelope said, with everyone mingling around their desks on a chilly December morning, having not been called in on a case yet for the day.  

“Did someone die?” Emily asked, taking a headcount of everyone there, all BAU team members accounted for.

“What? No, oh my god Em. Unrelated to death, we get to have a secret santa!” She exclaimed, and everyone's faces lit up with smiles.

“Strauss thinks it would be good for us to bond over the holidays,” Hotch said, cracking a small smile.

“Yeah yeah, anyways write your names on these,” Penelope all handed them a torn piece of paper, “and put it in the magic hat.” She held out a small colorful beret she sometimes wore to work and mixed up all the names that were placed in it. “Now who wants to go first?” She asked, looking around the room eagerly.

“Can I go, Pen?” JJ asked, walking up to the hat.

“Why of course my dear,” Penelope said, dropping into a bow but making sure none of the names spilled out.

This went on for ten minutes until everyone had someone picked out. Penelope then took the last name out of the hat for herself before snugly fitting the hat back onto her head.

Spencer looked at the slip of paper he had gotten, and in all caps was the name Derek . He reminded himself that there was a 1 in 7 chance. A one in SEVEN chance. Maybe the universe just hated him, he mused to himself, trying to keep a poker face while slipping the paper into his pocket. He would tell Penelope about this later, because even though they were supposed to keep it a secret, she would want to know about this.

Derek did the same as everyone and glanced at his small slip of paper but did a double take when he saw the name scrawled on the parchment. Spencer Reid, was all it said in black ink. Great, of course he got his best friend, whom of which he was inconveniently in love with at the moment. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, as there was a team full of profilers watching and if he even showed the slightest amount of emotion right now, it might give away who he had drawn.

“Now as per the rules of our lovely unit chief, no gifts above $20, and no telling who you got, as it would ruin the game. We will exchange gifts on the 24th and our lovely Rossi has agreed to let us use his home for the gift exchange.” Penelope described the rules, gesturing over to Rossi.

“Not home, mansion” He corrected, smiling.

A few days later, after agonizing over whether or not he should tell Penelope about his crush on Spencer, Derek texts Penelope. Everyone is asleep on the jet home except for Spencer and him. Spencer is reading a book at a million miles an hour, and Derek is on his phone. However every few seconds in between texts he would look up at the doctor, who always looked so peaceful and serene while reading.

New iMessage from: Garcia

You’re kidding me.

Derek smiled at his phone and typed,

No, I’m not. And I got him for secret santa too. I am so fucked, aren’t I?

He finished typing and set his phone on his lap, glancing at Spencer again while waiting for a response. Well, he thought, less of a glance, more of a stare. He zoned out looking at the younger man, memorizing the way his hands ran over the page. Suddenly the doctor looked up, and they looked in the eyes for a moment before they both quickly looked away. He felt a buzz on his chest and feeling grateful to have an excuse to look at something other than him, continued his conversation with Penelope.

Garcia: First of all you weren’t supposed to tell me the secret santa thing, second of all,  I can feel you staring at him from here. You are so in love it makes me sick.

Penelope rummaged around her office in Quantico, cleaning up before the team arrived and they all got to go home. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and took it out, Morgan again.

Derek: I know, but I had to tell somebody because I’m going crazy over it. I don’t know what to get him. He deserves something better than some random book.

Garcia: My sweet, I promise you he will love anything you get him.

Derek: You sure?

Garcia: I am sure.

Garcia: And if you don’t go to sleep right now Derek Morgan I will strangle you when you get back.

Derek: Fine fine, we’ll be back in an hour. You should get some rest too, go home.

Garcia: Like hell I’m leaving before you all get back here safely. I’ll wait.

They landed in Quantico about an hour later, and as promised, Derek was asleep for about 30 minutes when the jet landed and jolted everyone awake. They all walked back into the building together, tired as all hell even though most of them got sleep on the plane.

“Hey, kid,” Derek said, walking with Spencer to his desk. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Nope,” Spencer said, packing up his things, avoiding looking Derek in the eye.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, and Spencer froze in his tracks. There were a million things he could’ve said at that moment, but he just continued packing his things after a muttered ‘yea,’. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Derek asked, but Spencer just started thinking about how no, actually he could not talk to him because talking to him about the particular thing he was feeling at the moment would ruin their friendship and Spencer didn’t know if he could take any heartbreak at the moment considering he was tired and about to break down into tears.

“Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.” Was all he said, and as Derek walked away a single tear slipped down Spencer’s cheek, which he aggressively rubbed away. The rest of the team was either too busy wrapping up or too tired to notice the distress Spencer was in at the moment.

Derek walked to his office, trying not to burst into tears. When he closed his door he immediately started crying, though. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He hated seeing Spencer in danger, which is exactly where every case put him. And he was always so cold to him, like working with him now was a pain, a formality that must be gone through with. The glance on the plane was a spark of hope before, that maybe Spencer felt the same way, but it was put out by the way he acted earlier. He didn’t know anymore.

He knocked on Penelope’s door, hoping that the technical analyst hadn’t gone home yet. And she hadn't; she was sitting in her chair, knitting when Derek came in. She jumped up, giving him a kiss on the cheek when he arrived.

“God I am so happy to see that you are safe and well and a million other good things.”

“Actually, safe and well might be the only two good things I feel at the moment, Pen.”

“Alright, talk to me. What happened.” She said, moving her way over to sit down with Derek, rubbing his back.

“I don’t know. There was a moment, on the plane, while I was texting you that I thought maybe, maybe he felt the same way but when we got back he was so cold. It was like he was trying to distance himself from me in every way.”

“Ok, well you’re the profiler. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“Babygirl I don’t remember-”

“I think you do.” Penelope said, crossing her arms at him.

“I do. He said, ‘Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.’ He sounded sad, and he said please, which means he was probably expecting me to stay.” Derek had a moment of realization before putting his head in his hands. “I should’ve stayed, oh my god I should have-”

“Hey, hey there is nothing you can do now. Deep breaths. And you’re right. Those sound like the words of someone who is trying to push you away for their own good. And I’ve heard them before,” She said, punching Derek softly in the shoulder. “I don’t think he wants you to leave, Der. I think he just needs some time to figure out himself, first.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

“I can’t say for sure,” (She definitely could) “But I’d say he does.”

“About the secret santa,”

“Hun, I don’t care that you told me.”

“No, not that. What should I get him?”

“I already told you. He would love a ‘random book’” She did air quotes around what Derek had said over text earlier. “But you should make it special, write a note inside or something.”

“You know what…” Derek started, getting an idea. “I think I will.”

“Great, glad I could be of help. Now if you will excuse me, I have to be back here in 6 hours now, and I would like to go home for at least 4 of those.

“Well don’t let me get in the way.” Derek said, smiling at her and backing out of the office.

Spencer spent the rest of that night overthinking, trying to sleep but only falling unconscious for 3 hours before his blaring alarm woke him up. Did I push him away? He thought to himself, lying awake.

Spencer texted Penelope on his way into work, and even though he wasn’t much of a texting person, he didn’t have the time to make a call right now. All his text said was: I really messed up this time, Garcia. She replied as he was walking into the office, What did you do? Although Penelope, of course, had some inkling of what the young doctor was talking about. They had a few minutes before work officially started for the day, and Hotch hadn’t given them a case yet so he strode directly to Penelope’s office, not bothering to set down anything.

Spencer knocked on the door before coming in, and closed the door before sitting down.

“Alright, so spill.” She said, crossing her legs. Her office was becoming less and less of a technical analysis space and more of a therapist’s couch.

“I pushed him away. I was tired and angry and I pushed him away.”

“Slow down, slow down. I’m sure he didn’t take it that way, all of you were feeling that way last night.”

“No but he seemed angry with me too and I-”

“I can promise you. He probably was angry at first and regretted it, and now he’s thinking the same thing you are. Make an effort today to reach out to him, you’ll be surprised.”

“You sound like JJ reading my horoscope.”

“Maybe I can just see into the future.”

“Yeah right, and anyways that isn’t the end of it. I know I’m not supposed to tell you but I got Derek for the secret santa thing.” Spencer sighed into this coffee that was pressed against his lips, and after taking a sip, said, “I’m starting to really hate you for putting this together, because I have no idea what to give him.”

“Maybe get him something he likes,”

“Yeah, but what does he even like? Music?” Spencer asked, setting his coffee cup on the table beside him. “But I don’t even know what or who he listens to. All I know is he likes music and I feel like I don’t know anything about him right now.”

“Football. He likes football.” Garcia said, also trying to think of things her best friend would enjoy as a present.

“Ok that’s a start, what about football is there…”

“No, no scratch that. Do you know how to make a mix of music on a CD?”

“Garcia, you know I can barely work a printer.”

“I’ll help you. I made his playlist that he listens to on the jet so I know what he likes. All you have to do is give it to him.”

“Wow, thanks Penelope. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t. Say anything that is, just go catch a serial killer and I’ll have it ready by the end of the day.”

As promised, at the end of the day Spencer walked into Penelope’s office and she had a CD ready for him. It was a relatively short case, a local one that had the team home before 8pm. Everyone was in a good mood, but decided to go home early while they had the rare chance.

“Ok here it is, loverboy. Just so you know you can write on it with Sharpie and it won’t mess up the disc.” She winked and handed it to him, Spencer blushing and turning around to make sure no one was at the door.

“Thank you, Penelope. Really.”

“It’s nothing. Thank me when you finally confess your love to that himbo.”

“What’s a-”

“You know what, I’m not explaining that to you. Go home, try and go to sleep early tonight.” She said, pushing him out the door with his new CD. As the door closed in his face, Spencer started to say,

“Have a nice-” But it closed before he could say “-night.” He sighed and walked down the hall, carrying his CD and bag with him towards the elevator. He didn’t expect to see anyone else, but lo and behold Derek Morgan walking towards the elevator at the same time.

“Hey, Reid.” He said, stepping into the elevator with him.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, glancing everywhere but into Derek’s eyes. They were about level, height-wise, and this made it harder for Spencer to avoid his gaze, so he just stared down at the ground.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I just want to know why.” Spencer’s face heated up in shame, and he looked to Derek.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so cold lately. I’ve been having a hard time, but Garcia helped me realize I shouldn’t be shutting people like you who care about me out.”

“Garcia helped you realize-” Derek paused, thinking. “How long have you two been talking?” He asked, curious.

“Pretty much every day since September.”

“Ok ok, I see.” Spencer didn’t question the way Derek asked how long he’d been talking to Garcia, and switched the topic of conversation.

“Four days and counting until the Secret Santa party.” He said, glancing back at Derek.

“Yeah, you excited?”

“Mostly excited to see who mine is.” Spencer said, staring at the elevator doors, which had just opened. “Have a good night,” He said, walking out the doors of the building, rushing towards his car.

“Yeah, you too.” He said, but Derek knew that Spencer was long gone by now. Derek left the building and walked towards his car, starting it and leaving the parking lot as quick as he got here this morning.

The day of the Secret Santa party, Hotch had one case for them. When they got to the round table, everyone was pretty disappointed, because cases often meant that they came back late and in a bad mood. But it turned out that this one was just an hours drive away, and even quicker on the jet, so everyone hopped in, hoping that this wouldn’t take long.

The case only ended up lasting the day, as the killer was sloppy and left behind an extensive trial. The BAU team boarded the jet wondering why they were even called in to help in the first place.

“Hey, at least this means you all can still come over tonight.” Rossi said positively.

“Yeah, everyone’s coming, right?” JJ said, scanning the plane, but no one spoke up. Just nods of heads to confirm that they were all going.

They all took their seperate cars to Rossi’s, with Emily riding with JJ because she left her car at her apartment and took the subway.  

When Spencer got there, the house was lit up. Rossi and Hotch had been the first ones to arrive, and shortly after Spencer the rest came filing in the door, joking and laughing with everyone. Spencer caught sight of everyone holding their gifts, wondering which bag or wrapped box was for him. Penelope was the last to come in, taking off her shoes at the door like everyone else and smiling at him with a wrapped present.

“Not for you,” She said, seeing the look on his face “That comes later.”

They all ate good food and talked and drank wine that night, and everything seemed perfect for that moment in time.

“Ok, ok. It is time for the event that we all came here for to take place!” Penelope said, a little wine drunk, standing up and grabbing her present. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, everyone stand up and go find whoever you were assigned. That’s it, good luck.”

They all rose from their seats to go find their assigned person. Spencer just silently waited. He knew he had Morgan, but he wanted to receive his present first and then find Derek because he was a little more… personal, and he didn’t want anyone getting in the way. Just then Derek made his way to him . No, no way is this happening, he thought, terrified and excited at the same time.

“Spencer Reid,” He said, handing the doctor a poorly wrapped present “I believe this is for you.”

“Oh my god,” Reid said, eyes darting between the present and Morgan.

“What?” Derek asked, visibly confused.

“Here. You were who I was assigned.” Spencer said bluntly, shoving the small present towards him.

“What are the odds,” Derek said, and then added as Spencer opened his mouth “please do not actually tell me the odds,” and they both laughed, unwrapping their gifts to each other. Spencer, since he got his gift first, unwrapped it faster and found a book.

“Derek, I love this,” It was a book he had never read before, and from the many books Spencer Reid had read, there weren’t a lot of those left. “Thank you.” He said, looking at him. He thumbed through the pages as the scent of the new book filled the air around them.

“Look at the inside cover.” Derek said, with a hint of shakiness in his voice.

“Only if you look at the CD.” Derek was holding the case in his hands, not taking the disc out itself yet. He was going to listen to it on the car ride home, he had told himself.

“Ok,” Derek wondered what was written on the CD. Probably just a funny playlist name or some fun fact about music, he thought dismissively. At the same time he pulled the disc gently from it’s casing, Spencer opened the cover to the book. In Spencer’s scrawled handwriting, Derek made out the words ‘I love you.’ written in black sharpie on the disc. As Spencer opened the book, he found Derek’s bold lettering on the cover page, saying ‘I love you.’

At the same time, they both looked at each other and came to a realization that this was not platonic. This wasn’t the way friends said they loved each other. And they both realized that the other felt the same way that they had been feeling for months.

“I love you too,” They both said at the same time, both letting out a laugh and realizing what happened.

“My place after this?” Derek asked under his breath.

“Most definitely.” Spencer replied, leaving Derek with a kiss on the cheek to go talk to Penelope.

#moreid #moreid fic #i love them!! #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #derek morgan #tooth rotting fluff. #fluff #light angst

[flowercrown-bucky]

Trouble has never looked so good - But then again, it’s never been wearing a push-up bra before.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

Word Count: 3084

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter One] 

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. 

During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.

A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED. 

LIFE on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

--

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity. 

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms. 

Not Vegas, Loki thought to himself. 

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was much too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind. 

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh. 

 He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues. 

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

That, he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were perfect.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a wonderful accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman. 

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it. 

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of. 

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.” 

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face. 

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his very favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.” 

 “Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

-- 

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it. 

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom. 

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process. 

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust. 

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind. 

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets. 

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now. 

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful. 

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you. 

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom. 

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass. 

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “Repaid.” 

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze. 

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked. 

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked. 

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin. 

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked. 

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.” 

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it. 

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone. 

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him. 

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself. 

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped. 

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him. 

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you. 

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead. 

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind. 

--

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty. 

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat. 

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, inside my head.” 

Loki laughed. 

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased.  

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.” 

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.” 

“No shit.” You grumbled. 

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.” 

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.” 

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers. 

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead. 

“Never do that again.” You warned. 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Where shall we start?” 

--

You leant across the table towards Loki. 

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left. 

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun? 

No. 

He knew the one. 

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.” 

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?” 

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.” 

“And from there?” 

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.” 

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?” 

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.” 

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face. 

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile. 

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands. 

In all honesty, it excited him. 

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that  intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you? 

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name. 

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid. 

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run. 

“I believe you are exactly what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured. 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips. 

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.” 

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I entered your mind and you’ve just explained how you con and rob people, but yet, here we both still are.” 

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion. 

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked. 

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.” 

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.” 

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.”  You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled. 

“Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn.” 

TAGLIST: @possessedjoker​ @amour-delicate

#loki x reader #loki smut #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #tom hiddleston #loki/reader #loki au #loz writes loki

[yanara126-writing]

The Adventures of Hildraed Dawnsbane - Watching and Fucking Morals (4/?)

Farmer, Pirate, Menace, Captain, Dawnsbane. Hildraed has many titles, she really could have lived well without Watcher.

-

Read here or on Ao3. (1827 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

I recommend listening to this song, as it was the inspiration for the fever trip that made me wright this. It’s really good, I promise.^^

-

Hildraed was mad. And she hated this town. Why was she even still here? Because fucking damnit she felt bad for these people. It had started with the damn cook, continued with the poor abused woman (had the fucker not been dead she’d have killed him herself) And then there was the blacksmith who’d promised her a discount, Aufra with her probably soulless baby (not that she’d told her that), and then the goddamn farmers. Because it always came down to farmers, didn’t it? And now she was slouching back in the inn, nursing some bad ale. And the stupid hunk was smiling at her. Fuck him. Eh, maybe later.

Aloth was far better to focus on, with his companionable grouchiness.

With a more desperate than enthusiastic swing she drained her cup and it slammed it down again, trying to pretend the ale wasn’t more water than alcohol.

“I hate this place.” Edér’s stupid grin only got wider. Hildraed glared some more at the cup. She wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Does that mean we can finally leave?” Hildraed didn’t miss the desperation in Aloth’s tone and almost felt bad for him. Only almost though, she felt way worse for herself.

“Yeah. Yeah we can. In fact, we will right now.” Originally she’d intended to stay one more night and leave in the morning, but if she had to continue seeing Edér’s stupid, satisfied smirk she was going to punch him after all. She slammed a few coins on the table, not bothering with counting out the exact amount, grabbed her bag and stomped out the door. Behind her she could hear her new companions scrambling to finish their own drinks and hurry after her.

Outside she had mercy on them and waited a bit for them to catch up, grinning again at Aloth’s relieved sigh. It was too easy to play him. She’d have to teach him a bit to avoid having him be all to easy to manipulate.

Edér apparently wasn’t in quite as much of a hurry, and while waiting for his heavy footsteps to join them, Hildraed found her attention wandering through the miserable town. And of course, her gaze once again landed on the tree. Ever since her first meeting with the dwarf woman she drifted back to the fucking tree. There were no more souls left there, she’d checked far more than she would ever admit, and still her steps kept pulling her back there. And so now again.

The stench was in her nose before she was even aware what she was doing. Dangling, rotting limbs filled her vision as she stared up, wood and flesh melting together. All around her there were purple shimmers, whisperings that drover her mad all around the clock, but looking up there there was nothing, and somehow that was worse. She’d seen hangings before of course. She’d seen people she’d known and even liked hang much the same way. But something about this made her angrier.

This was messy. This wasn’t justice, it was a blood rage. The pirates she’d seen hung had known the risks. Perhaps they hadn’t deserved it either, some had been good people, some had absolutely asked for it, but all of them known. These people up in the tree had just lived, had perhaps never broken a law in their lives, had been punished for suffering a tragedy.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Hildraed flinched, cursing herself for losing focus. That was dangerous at the best of times, which this was not. Just this time the universe seemed to forgive her mistake though, and Edér stood next to her, chewing on his pipe. He didn’t say anything, only stood there, looking up as well, his rough hand, marred much like her own, on her shoulder.

Hildraed didn’t know what triggered it, maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the weight of the last few days were finally drowning her, maybe it was that thrice-damned look of defeat in his eyes, but something in her mind clicked into place and she knew what she still had to do here. It was a terrible idea, would bare way too much to these people she barely knew, but she had to nonetheless.

“You know what my favourite song is? T’s about a boat.” Edér glanced at her, surprised and confused, but still amused.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now? I thought you don’t do empathy?”

“Shut up, I’m drunk.” No she wasn’t, she hadn’t drunk enough of the water ale for that, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No, you’re not.” Well so much for her reputation then. She narrowed her eyes at him, glaring with all the intensity she could muster through all the aches of her body and constant buzz of soul fizzles pressing against her new senses.

“You. I don’t like you.” That didn’t seem to intimidate him at all, if anything he just got softer. Hildraed sighed and looked away again. What crew had she gotten herself here? One who was easier to play than a fiddle but had a wrong string and one who already laughed at her. And still…

“My mom always sang it when we were down on our luck. It’s about a crew saving their boat after it already sank. It was the first chant I learnt. I’ve sung it every time the universe hated me especially.” It had carried her through her 35 years of life even when nothing else had. She’d shared it every time she’d sung it, just as she’d been taught. This one thing wasn’t something to keep to herself. She had no intention of sharing anything else, the secret of her past would die with her as far she was concerned, but this one thing she’d keep throwing into the world as often as necessary. And right now it was very necessary.

With another look at Edér, and not the fucking tree, she turned around and stalked out of the pit. Aloth was standing a bit away in the shadow of a wall, trying to keep himself out of the public eye. Hildraed sat down not far from him at the edge of the pit and pulled her old lute from her back. She gave it a loving pat, before starting to pluck the strings in a familiar tune. Behind she could hear Aloth shift a little closer, in front of her could see Edér settling down next to her, but she ignored both of them.

“She went down last mid-winter in a pouring driving rain…” It had been a while since she’d last played it, and the familiar notes rang something deep in her, tugging at places within herself that she didn’t have a name for before.

“There were just us five aboard her when she finally was awash

We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost…” It had taken her own boat to really understand it. In her youth it had been a nice story, and good tune with an inspirational message. Now as an adult it meant so much more. Her fingers danced over the strings with more elegance than she’d been able to work up in weeks, her foot tapped the rhythm, her body swayed with waves that weren’t there, her mouth formed the words that had accompanied her for so long.

“But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,

For she's worth a quarter million, just floatin’ at the dock

And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain…” Another foot joined in the rhythm, but Hildraed didn’t look up. Chanting was always exhilarating, but this was special in another way. She felt the words reverberate around her, felt souls stirring as the story continued to follow the melody. There was a clarity that had never been there before, an awareness that had nothing and everything to do with this song so dear to her. More souls were drawn closer, and it felt like drowning in life.

“All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend

Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends

Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow

Or I'd never have the strength to go below

But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and porthole down

Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and girded her around

Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain…” There were people all around now, and somewhere the logical part of Hildraed knew she needed to be careful, to be aware of everyone around her, to not let herself be caught off-guard again. Unfortunately, that part was buried deep under the emotions and sensations flooding everything else. At this point she wasn’t sure what was hers anymore, she just kept playing and singing, surrounded by more whispers than ever. Whispers of pasts, of uncertain futures.

“And you, to whom adversity has dealt a mortal blow

With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go

Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain

And like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!

Rise again, rise again; though your heart it be broken

And life about to end

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend

Like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!”

She played the final cord, sung the final tune, and her fingers and tongue stilled. The whispers were still there, ringing loudly in her ears and rising to a crescendo, making her head hurt even more- Wait, no, that was clapping. A few hands clapping around her, and Hildraed finally looked up, eyes a little bit clearer now. It wasn’t as many people as she’d thought, a few guests from the inn, a few people from the surrounding houses. And Hildraed stared.

It wasn’t so much that she minded the audience, quite the opposite really, she’d always enjoyed hogging people’s attention. But that had been before this stupid shit. Before she’d started noticing way too fucking much, while losing focus of everything else.

But then, as it always was, it didn’t take too long for the people to notice that the show was over, and they dispersed again, throwing strange looks in her direction that she didn’t bother to notice. She’d be gone now anyway, let them think what they want.

In the end only two were left, one on each side, though when Aloth moved next to her she couldn’t say. Her head still hurt, she was confused more than ever, and she still hated this place, and yet she felt a little lighter now. The tree was still there, and it was still abominable, but maybe now she could finally stop looking at it.

And maybe now they could finally fuck off.

#Pillars of Eternity #writing #Watcher Hildraed #Edér Teylecg #Aloth Corfiser #fanfiction #singing #the mary ellen carter #derina harvey band #'t's a good song

[sebastianshaw]

And I’m sure Snowbird getting a happy ending had nothing to do with her being a blonde white woman and Haven being a dark skinned woc

I don’t think it was THE reason, but I would not rule it out as a contributing factor.

The major reason is that Snowbird is a hero and a major character, whereas Haven was an extremely minor character and a villain. So it’s pretty standard in that regard for Snowbird to get a happy ending, and Haven not to. Especially considering that, while Snowbird was not a character that “belonged” to anyone in particuliar, Haven was the creation of DeMatteis and when he left the book, so did she. That’s why her story just ENDS so abruptly after her confrontation with Charles, even though it seems like it should just be getting starting---her creator took off, and the new writer wasn’t interested in her.

She pops back up in the annual a year or two later to die, and I strongly suspect this was due to readers writing in and asking what happened to her; I can’t confirm this for fact, but TV Tropes claimed that fans actually refused to root against her because she was so sympathetic and benevolent, so I imagine a lot of them wanted to know where she went and this was to get them to shut up.

(It kind of reminds me of when this webcomic writer wrote a character he meant as despicable and twisted, and she was, but she was also way more deep and interesting than the 2D mouthpieces the protagonists were, so fans kept asking when she’d come back. He got so fed up he drew her dying in a gross and humiliating way. So yeah, if people were indeed asking “what happened to Haven and her evil possessed fetus?” and writing her dying in the mud giving birth while a goddess victim-blames her was the response...yeah. Again I cannot be for sure this is what happened, it’s just a GUESS.)

But yeah the big reason is Snowbird is a heroine and important, Haven was a flash-in-the-pan villain that only one writer wanted to write and had to be gotten out of the way when someone new came in. Nothing deeper than that. But the WAY that Haven’s story played out, especially compared to Snowbird’s...that’s got a lot of sexism and quite potentially racism there, yeah. So um, let’s get into that. Under a cut for length because I doubt people following a Shaw blog for Shaw want to see a bunch of non-Shaw rambling.

Haven’s story, as I have written about MANY times on her blog, is REALLY UNCOMFY in its sexism, racism, and xenophobia. Let me say, I do not think DeMatteis intended this. He writes Haven as a very kind, well-intentioned person even at her worst, and I happen to know he has a genuine real-life interest in Indian spirituality, which I think is definitely what inspired her. Unfortunately, these good intentions didn’t stop Unfortunate Implications galore: - Our first Indian/Hindu/Zoroastrian character is not only a villain, her “evil” philosophy is taken directly from real-world Hindu beliefs - She is opposed by a team comprised ENTIRELY of white people who work for the US government who scoff at those beliefs and refer to them as “New Age” (aka a white hippie movement that appropriated a lot of actual Hindu ideas but certainly did not invent it!) - The US government says she’s a terrorist. Polaris raises doubts, because Haven’s actions at that point have been nothing but benevolent (she saved Polaris) whereas the same government making these accusations has been malevolent (the people trying to kill/capture Polaris were US agents, despite Polaris working for the government, who attacked her because she had the same energy signal as Magneto) When they go to see Haven in person, she’s preaching peace between humans and mutants. Havok opens fire on her---so basically, a law enforcement officer shooting without warning at an unarmed WOC who isn’t doing anything threatening and they don’t even know has superpowers yet--and Haven has to hit the deck. Despite her own great power that we later learn she has, she never retaliates. But we find out that yes, actually, everything the government said about her is true, she’s leading a terrorist death-cult, and so it’s a-okay that our white government cop FIRED A FUCKING PLASMA BURST AT HER WHEN SHE WAS JUST STANDING THERE. The moral of her story is seriously “this brown woman with a funny religion is a terrorist because the government said so, no matter how nice and gentle she seems, and thus any excessive force against her was definitely justified even if we didn’t know that at the time” like it’s CHILLING. - Haven herself actually has very questionable agency in all this. She’s actually been pregnant for twenty years; her unborn child is permanently in the first trimester and possessed by the powerful demon known as The Adversary (which doesn’t make sense timeline-wise, but I have no doubt this thing can time travel, its entire point is to fuck the rules of universal order) We don’t know exactly how much it can influence her or perhaps even control her, but we do know it’s been talking in her head from 20 years and came on at a time she was REALLY messed up and vulnerable, and manipulated her at the least. I personally think it probably was controlling or influencing her at a very deep subtle level, but that’s just my interpretation. At the least though, again, talking in her head for 20 years, that’s the supernatural equivalent of schizophrenia and we wouldn’t blame her for THAT, right? - Oh, and about it appearing when she was at her lowest, most vulnerable point? Know why she was at her lowest, most vulnerable point just when she happened to be pregnant? Haven’s story is she was born extremely rich but was so passionate about using her privilege to help the poor that she ran away from her parents---philanthropists themselves, but who wanted to protect her from the outside world too---to go work directly in the streets, bathing lepers and cradling dying babies. She got her name “Haven” because she used her wealth to renovate a children’s hospital of the same name, I’m serious. She was literally a fucking SAINT. And then she fell in love with a man, and he used her, knocked her up, and ran off. She was DEEPLY ashamed and berated herself not only for her loss of “purity” but also for being “selfish” and forgetting the children. This is...so sad, and so DEEPLY entrenched in how women, ESPECIALLY women of color in a colonized culture, are considered “selfish” and “evil” if they don’t utterly sacrifice themselves 24/7 to care for others and dare have wants/needs of their own. So she fell into this deep despair and that’s when her fetus starts talking to her and filling her head with twisted lies that preyed on both her devout spirituality and her desire to help others.

There is no more sympathetic villain setup POSSIBLE, you’d think Haven would be a SHOE-IN for a redemption arc or at least being saved from her own “child”, but she gets neither. She dies alone in the mud, having only now realized as the birth is coming just what it is she’s about the bring into the world. Roma, the Omniversal Guardian Goddess and eternal foe of the Adversary, appears to watch. Haven begs her, not to save her own life but to stop the Adversary from the terrible things it’s going to do to the world. To her last breath, her concern is others. And Roma tells her “I would weep for you, but you brought this on yourself.” So basically, Haven, who is the most wonderful person in the world and who VERY much fits expected gender roles (gentle, maternal, loving, non-violent even when attacked, long hair, pink and purple flowing clothes, literally SPARKLES) has sex ONE TIME and she’s punished for it in the worst fucking way while the guy who impregnated her gets off scott-free. It’s just...it’s the worst narrative, in terms of sexism AND racism AND just in general. That’s not even getting into, say, the really uncomfy way her meeting with Xavier is handled, eesh. Compare, Snowbird. She’s actually far LESS the “perfect” woman than Haven is, she’s very cold and aloof and she even contemplates LETTING HER SON DIE so that her ties with mortality will be severed and she can join her divine family in paradise. But she had that son within the confines of MARRIAGE to a mortal man, and she only got married after her duties were done, unlike Haven on both counts. And her loss, and the loss of her child, are deeply mourned by those around her, she has a very dignified and beautiful funeral with Snow White style glass coffins, and we see the spirits of herself, her husband, and her child all ascend to the Inua paradise together, the gods having decided to let them in even though mortals have never been allowed before. She gets divine exception, Haven gets divine condemnation. She gets a beautiful funeral surrounded by loved ones, Haven’s corpse is probably still rotting in the jungle and her brother likely still has no idea what happened to her. To be clear I in no way resent Snowbird for her better treatment in a similiar story, I like Snowbird, but it is very disparate in how differently these seemingly similar situations---possessed baby and such---were handled, and the specific ways in which Haven’s were handled so badly ARE very much the product of bigotry that Snowbird didn’t suffer in part due to her being a white or white-coded character (in addition to being, again, a heroine and a major character, which helped her a lot too) Also, is it just me or is Marvel like...weird around childbirth/babies/motherhood and mixing that with demons/evil spirits/possession? Because in that same vein we’ve also got Madelyne Pryor and Wanda Maximoff who also go through demonic possession that’s related in some way to being mothers of babies. That’s a very strange pattern to have and something’s going on there.   As a note, it bugs me that Snowbird’s human disguise as “Anne McKenzie” is a BLONDE WHITE WOMAN. Like, yes, her human father was white, but her mother Nelvanna is one of the Inua, the ancient gods of Canada from LONG before white people showed up and WHO LOOK LIKE FIRST NATIONS PEOPLE, Snowbird herself is constantly emphasized as a child of these lands, she is literally magically BOUND to these lands and can’t leave them without weakening and dying, she was raised by an indigenous shaman, and she can only turn into animals that are INDIGENOUS to Canada. She is very unsubtly the embodiment of pre-colonial Canada, so it’s just...asinine to me her human form is that of a colonizer. I get they probably didn’t think further than “let’s give her human form blonde hair so it’s recognizably her” but like, that’s the problem, they didn’t THINK. Also I feel like her being mixed would really thematically fit her, since a strong part of her story was struggling between her divine and human heritage and being forced to try to “pick a side” which is something I’ve heard (I’m white) that a lot of irl mixed people deal with. It just would make more SENSE.

#out of shirt #snowbird #haven #radha dastoor

[skyedragonwrites]

on skin and its uses

Universe: Original Work

Word Count: 1542

Trigger Warnings: Body horror, gore

Summary: I am trapped in my own skin.

The dictionary definition of skin is terribly complicated, for a word so commonly used.

I think I can break it down, though.

There are two types of skin in this world: the kind that suits its wearer, and the kind that’s meant to be peeled away.

Most people live in skins suited for them. They go about their days comfortably protected, cocooned safely in the arms of something that lightly caresses their flesh as it protects them. Most people go through the world carrying shields instead of burdens.

My skin is meant to be peeled away. It’s a grimy film, covering my organs, refusing to let me bare my face to the world. It squeezes at me, blackening and rotting tissue, constricting my chest until I cannot fit another breath into my flattened lungs.

I don’t want skin. I want to claw it off, I want to be out.

This degenerate desire doesn’t make me special. It’s hardly a unique problem, being trapped in your own skin.

All it makes me is wrong.

*

Sometimes I think about my skin like it’s not quite human.

(Like I’m not quite human.)

Maybe my skin is like that of an apple. Some people don’t mind it - they take chunks out of the flesh no matter what covers it. Some people won’t touch the apple until its skin is peeled away, but once it is open, raw, vulnerable, they will bite.

I don’t want to be bitten.

Besides, apples always know what’s underneath their own skin. There’s always flesh, white and crunchy and delicious, and a core, solid and full of seeds to spit out.

Unfortunately, I do not have the privilege of being an apple.

I think, if I gave into the urge, if I claw off my own skin, underneath a layer of flesh and vein and bone, I will find nothing. A void, empty swirling space, an amorphous shape.

People will look at me, people will look through me. People won’t see me.

(I want nothing more than to be seen, but I am too afraid to look. Leave me be, comfortably uncomfortable as my air slowly runs out. Leave me be, let me die safe and miserable.)

*

Sometimes, I wish I was a snake, scraping off skin after skin. Nobody cares when snakes shed their skin as they grow - it’s simply part of existing as a snake.

(People make such a strange fuss over the sloughing of human skin.)

I love snakes. I admire how their life is dedicated to the change, the expected shedding and scraping of their skin.

Another one of my favorite things about snakes is that they’re terribly, violently real. You cannot deny the existence of something that has sunk its fangs into the veins of your ankle, its deadly venom ending your life even as you crush its head under your boot.

It’s very important that snakes are real. Realness - undeniable existence without apology, is an essential component of being a snake.

Sometimes, I wish a snake would bite me, give me the courage to strip my skin away. The venom would rush through my veins, making my see-through body opaque as it traces through tissue and muscle. It would outline my existence; it would force them to see me.

I wish snakes could infect me with their realness.

(I wish I could look in the mirror and see my own realness, instead of the sickly, watered-down reflection of somebody who has worn a mask too long to remember what’s underneath.)

*

“Your skin is a gift,” is what they say to me. “Treasure it.”

“Don’t you dare decorate the body you will live in forever,” is what they really mean.

 “I was told to suffer, and I did. Please help me feel safe. Please force yourself to suffer too.” Is what they really, truly mean.

(Not that they’ll admit it to anybody, even themselves)

They do get very upset when you choose not to suffer.

It fascinates me, as I sit here, fighting the urge to tear my face off, the desire to inflict this suffering on others. I wonder… does the hurt make them happy? Does the pain satisfy them, in some strange sort of way?

“Your skin is a gift,” they say again, packing so much meaning into a four-letter word as their nails sink into my shoulder.

A gift to who? Certainly not me, for if it was truly a gift to me, I would be allowed to tear at it as I liked.

From who?

Who has forced me into something I was never meant to wear? Who is so cruel, to saddle me with a burden, to place me in a constricting, suffocating prison, and call it a gift?

And how dare they tell me to treasure it?

You do not tell a mouse to treasure the snake constricting it.

“Your skin is a gift,” they say again. They’re getting scared now. “Clear and lovely.”

They lean in closer. “Don’t fuck it up.”

It makes me want to laugh. And cry a little, maybe.

My skin is so far from clear. It is cloudy and suffocating and heavy and miserable, and I want to rip it off.

But I won’t. I’m a coward, and my fear will be the death of me.

(Perhaps a slow, quiet, unremarkable end will be fitting. So many people suffocate in their own skins. Maybe I should join them. A sort of community can be found in shared suffering, after all.)

*

Sometimes, I slide into feeling almost comfortable.

I suppose a better word is apathetic.

Or maybe numb.

Yes, numb is a good word.

(Numb is perhaps more terrifying than the desire to peel my own face off and watch the blood pool in the palms of my hands.

Numb means I don’t care.

Numb kills.)

This is fine, I remind myself, absently scratching at my arm. This is safe. I am happy.

I lie back and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. I can’t feel them. My skin has blocked all sensation. I can only feel the scraping, flaky texture against my flesh.

I hate it.

I hate it.

Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore.

My nostrils flare as I try to suck in a breath, to calm down, to not do anything rash.

My ribs refuse to rise. My lungs are trapped by a layer of constricting, suffocating skin.

I am trapped.

I am trapped.

I am trapped.

I bring my hands from my eyes to my scalp, to run my fingers through my hair, to try and distract myself, but somehow my fingers aren’t listening to me. My hands slip down to the sides of my face, brushing my tightly closed eyelids on their way down.

My nails sink into the skin of my cheeks and I tear.

The first split is on the bridge of my nose. It’s not painful - it feels more like peeling dried glue off my arms than anything else.

I follow the seam of my nose, down the center of my face and neck, reaching all the way to my collarbone.

I’m still trapped.

Frantically, I claw at my own flesh, splitting the skin of my chest in two. My ribs pop out - like a butterfly from a chrysalis - and expand fully, for the first time in my entire life.

I wonder if this is what snakes feel like, when they shed. Does it feel good, to be free of your old skin but only find more scales underneath?

I suppose snakes don’t care much for their shedding. It must be more irritating than anything else.

Maybe I don’t want to be a snake, because fuck, this feels so good.

*

The room is quiet.

Blood trickles down my face, dripping into my open mouth.

My old skin lays in ribbons across the floor. I am sprawled out, appearing a corpse to all but the most watchful.

My breaths are slow as I drag myself to my dresser and claw my way up the front using the handles on the drawers as handholds.

The dresser once belonged (still belongs, really, the living never seem to have any claim on the objects of the dead) to my grandmother. I hope she doesn’t terribly mind the blood dripping down the front, wherever she is.  

My hands ache, terribly. They’ve always worked so hard for me. I’m glad I have them.

Please, all I ask of you, hands, is one more task. One more impossible feat, and then we can rest, forever.

I have no eyelids, so when I pull myself high enough to look into the mirror, past my bare jaw with jutting, crooked teeth, I see myself right away.

The muscles of my cheeks clench, as if to pull back the lips I don’t have anymore.

I am trying to smile.

It doesn’t look like a smile to anybody else - it looks like the ghastly grimace of something that should have been dead years ago, but it’s my smile.

It’s my smile and it looks so much better without the cloying, clinging skin covering it.

Copper crosses my tongue. I smile.

I smile, because I look in the mirror and see that underneath my skin, I am beautiful.

#my writing #body horror #gore

[incorrect-spiderson]

GUYS GUYS GUYS

I FIGURED OUT WHY TEAM IRONMAN IS CURSED

••••

You all may be wondering, “OP, how in the hell did you figure this out?” Well, it’s simple really. I took a cup of coffee, an entire bag of those mini baking m&m’s, my computer, and that one pewdiepie ‘and that a fact’ meme, mixed them all together with a heave dose of insomnia and BAM

So now I shall explain:

We have Tony as the head of team Ironman of course. I’ve deduced that Tony, as a human being, was too good for this world. Many haters will fight this an say ‘nah nah nah he’s selfish and mean and no just no’. That isn’t true. Shun the nonbelievers. Anyways... it was his time, of course. What better way to have the best boi go out other than dying for the universe. (Many other ways, but moving on)

Natasha was also very good. She had her flaws and her bumps of course. Who wouldn’t after all the shit she’s been through? Anyways, she too died for something she loved. Her family. Clint was always by her side no matter what and they were basically brother and sister. Knowing that she had found her family in Clint, but Clint also has a family of his own, she chose to sacrifice herself. So goodest girl dies and what are we left with?

Rhodey was paralyzed obviously. And um... well he had to hold back spiderman who was his dying best friend’s practical son. Rhodey didn’t really get a proper good bye. *sobbing incoherently*

Vision. He- well actually he was just kinda a victim of circumstance... but he was a very good and innocent robot boy that just wanted to kiss beautiful witch girl. Anywho...

Peter. Parker. MY FUCKING CHILD. This boy is too pure. Literally the thought of him rots my teeth, gives me a stomach ache, but gives me an adrenaline high that kicks me in the ass later. Irondad and spiderson (the father/son relationship of the two goodest bois) was destined to fail to keep up in the MCU. For many reasons:

1. The Peter Parker Parental Figure Curse (PPPFC)

2. Marvel never lets Peter or Tony have a break. EVER

3. Too much pure in one place causes chaos

Unfortunately, I thought Petey would at least still continue living like the others... (even if he definitely has trauma from dying, watching his father figure die, and then everything in ffh) but no, he’s gone too. Thanks a lot Disney and Sony.

Final diagnosis:

TEAM IRONMAN WAS TOO PURE

So, in conclusion, I would like each and every one of you to take extreme consideration into what I say next:

WRAP T’CHALLA IN FUCKING BUBBLE WRAP WE CANT LOSE ANOTHER ONE

(Ps. Yes I know I’m a fucking crackhead. Leave me alone and let me die in peace -op)

#marvel #mcu #avengers #my brain is mush #yes #i know i radiate crackhead energy #thank you for pointing it out #peter parker #tony stark #vision #wanda #tchalla #black widow #natasha romanoff #spiderman #rhodey #war machine #team iron man #fuck im tired #i think i hit my insomniac off switch

[taizi]

out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

good omens pairing: aziraphale/crowley word count: 3584 title borrowed from a great wagon by rumi part 6 of the is there a better bet than love? series read on ao3

x

Nanael is a Principality. They stand on the front line of the last choir of angels, just before the lower archangels and well behind the Powers.

They know they’re nothing special. The rank is there, but without a station it doesn’t mean anything. One’s strength is determined by how well one does their job, more or less, and Principalities are just as limited as the lesser guardian angels are; restrained in their duties by how quickly their charges die, how regularly their nations rise and fall.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is someone you hear stories about.

The angel of Eden who followed the fall of mankind, who wandered out past the gate and assumed a mortal form and spent six thousand years alongside God’s only imperfect creations.

Demoted, were the first uncertain whispers. Punished. One must learn from him, one must be better than that wayward Principality. When he finally returns to Heaven, you’ll see. He will have burned low from this failure. He’ll have to labor for eons to build himself back up.

Only Aziraphale never did return.

Six thousand years, the stories go, and by the time Nanael hears them they take on the tone of a fairy tale.

Six thousand years, Nanael’s brothers and sisters whisper to one another, awed and frightened. How many years do humans live? Do nations stand? How many years has any other guardian done what he has done? Not six thousand.

The Principality who averted the Apocalypse, who raised his sword against the Lightbringer, who opposed the Archangels, who stepped into hellfire and didn’t burn.

Nanael was unprepared for meeting him— for finding him in a soft body with time-worn clothes and messy curls, smiling with Love and with love at a demon, of all things, standing against a fellow angel as though he would fight all the forces of Heaven combined to keep his Fallen One safe.

They made a poor first impression, and they cringe to remember it, but it was an important lesson for them to learn:

Nanael and Aziraphale are of the same stock, but only in as much as a brook and a river are both flowing water.

“Watch it, feathers,” Crowley murmurs, drawing Nanael back by the hood of their sweater. “Might get singed if you stand that close.”

Nanael goes agreeably, circling behind the demon to stand next to Warlock at the front counter instead.

“This is awesome,” the changeling whispers.

“That’s a good word for it,” Nanael replies, thinking along the lines of Old Testament fury.

The demon that came along to cause trouble is— cowering doesn’t seem like a fair way to describe what he’s doing, because he’s being very brave about it, but Nanael isn’t inclined to be fair.

Not because of his being a hereditary enemy or some rot like that. But because he showed up on Duke Hastur’s orders, with a circlet still clutched in hand that would have tightened around Crowley’s head until it killed him. Hell, it seems, is getting creative.

The wards on the shop made the demon visible before he could get close enough to deliver it. He was visible the moment he walked in, whether he realized it or not.

Aziraphale seems to still be deciding what to do with him. The cold light in his eyes is unforgiving; it reminds Nanael of home.

“Angel, if you make a mess, you’ll always know it was there,” Crowley says, unbothered by the prickly heat his Principality is putting off like humidity before a big storm. “Just send him on his way, would you?”

The demon sneers. The effect is ruined by the nervous dart of his eyes back to Aziraphale, rather like the way a rabbit might watch an owl.

“It’s not over, Crawly,” he says. “Not even close. You may think you’ve won, but everything ends. This world will end. And when it does, you’ll be back in Hell where you belong, and none of your little angels will be there to save you.”

Warlock is bristling, eyes near glowing with anger. Nanael puts a hand on his arm that they hope is comforting, because it’s meant to be restraining more than anything else.

“Not bad,” Crowley assures the demon. “Decent level of ominous, that. Keep up the good work and you’ll see a promotion in no time.”

With a rapid brightening, the demon forgets the tense tableau long enough to ask eagerly, “You think so? Only I’ve been stuck in limbo so bloody long, I’ve never even seen past the first level.”

Nanael forgets, sometimes, that while Heaven has stories about the angel of Eden, Hell probably has stories about the serpent, too. For all that he was sent here to discorporate him, the demon is looking at Crowley with some sort of twisted admiration.

“Are you quite finished, my dear?” Aziraphale asks of Crowley tersely. He doesn’t wait for an answer, snapping his fingers and banishing the unwelcome demon to some far-flung corner of the universe, probably. “The nerve of him.”

Crowley calls, “Safe to come out now,” and Aziraphale seems to remember Nanael and Warlock with a start. He glances back at the two of them with a level of self-consciousness that Nanael thinks is unwarranted.

It goes away when Crowley touches him, though, a cool hand on Aziraphale’s arm that slides down to his hand, fingers weaving easily together like God designed them for no other purpose.

Nanael remembers a time when they wondered how an angel and a demon could ever be together in any sense of the word. Now, with their head full of music and poetry, of films and romantic fiction, they wonder how on earth Aziraphale and Crowley ever managed to be apart.

“They’ll have to do better than that,” Crowley says. It sounds like pride, and it makes Aziraphale smile almost despite himself. It makes Aziraphale lean in to kiss him, like an act of gravity.

They are very gentle with each other. Despite everything else that they are— the very different places they come from— they touch each other with the kindness that comes so naturally to humans. A learned letting down of one’s guard, of letting oneself be known.

Togetherness, the kindness implies. Likeness. We’re here, existing alongside each other. Not quite the same, but not so different, really. Reach out to me. We’re here together, you and I.

Nanael has learned a lot from them, but nothing so important as this kindness.

“I don’t think he was the one I met before,” they offer after a moment. “That demon. The corporation was different.”

Aziraphale promptly looks troubled by this, and Nanael almost regrets mentioning it. Except maybe it’s important, especially if multiple agents of Hell are going to keep showing up to cause trouble.

“Could just be the same creep in a different body,” Crowley points out. He seems pointedly unruffled, as though one of them needs to remain calm for their collective benefit.

“Do you always get different bodies when you come back?” Warlock asks, unbothered by anything that doesn’t bother Crowley.

Crowley scratches his cheek, just under the snake sigil. “I mean, usually, I guess. I always put in for the same one, though.”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale says, slightly distracted. “One gets used to one’s face after a few thousand years.”

Like his clothes, Nanael thinks fondly, Aziraphale’s form is well-worn and well-loved.

It’s a far cry from the crisp, bright uniform cut they’re used to. Even Nanael is not quite the angel they came here as; they have a favorite sweater, one that used to be vibrant orange and has dulled a bit over the last ten years of near constant use, and their dark hair has begun to grow out recently, long enough now that it needs tucked behind their ear.

Daniel was scandalized the last time she came to visit. She asked them if this was some sort of peevish rebellion, a faux-Fall. But it doesn’t feel like that, not really. It feels like— letting go of a breath they’ve been holding for so long they don’t remember why they were holding it in the first place. It feels like being allowed to breathe.

“And—“ Crowley starts, then looks like he regrets it. “Well. Wanted to make sure I was recognizable.”

Aziraphale looks delighted by him. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, angel, I swear to someone, this is why I wasn’t going to bloody say it— “

Warlock is laughing and Nanael is trying not to, and Aziraphale is smiling with such warmth that Nanael is beginning to understand how he was able to defy Heaven, why he was willing to risk so much. Nanael is beginning to understand what was at stake.

“I’d have recognized you,” Aziraphale says. He seems to have forgotten his worries for the moment, and for all his annoyed bluster, maybe that was partly Crowley’s plan. “No matter what you look like, or what you call yourself. I’d know you anywhere.”

#

Whether by chance or design— and Nanael is so hoping it’s the former, as the latter is too worrisome a concept to sit well in their stomach— they are alone again in the shop the next time an unfortunately-familiar demon comes calling.

“Hoo-ee,” she says with a toothy grin, knocking on the doorframe to announce herself even after the bell above the door has done that job. Maybe she just likes making noise. “How are sales, little angel? Booming?”

“Heavens, no,” Nanael says, affronted. They clutch the collection of short stories they’re reading to their chest protectively. “Could you imagine what Aziraphale would say if he found out I’d sold a book?”

The demon pauses mid-step. She doesn’t seem to know what to make of Nanael for a moment, and then visibly circumvents her confusion.

“Alright then. Bold business choice.” Her fingers tap the surface of a shelf that hasn’t moved since the early eighteen hundreds. “But if his shop’s been open this long, maybe he knows something I don’t.”

Nanael watches her from behind the counter as she picks her way through the shop.

“You don’t know him,” they say after a moment. “Either of them. You just let me think that you do.”

She flashes another grin, this one much nastier than the first. “Demon,” she says, as if just that says all she needs to.

“I won’t let you hurt them,” Nanael feels it fair to point out. They can feel some ancient sleeping thing inside them stirring at the very thought. Their hands tighten around the book they’re holding and they set it down, to avoid the horror of a cracked spine. “If that’s what you’ve come here to do, you ought to reconsider.”

They could best this demon in a fair fight, Nanael thinks, studying them. And if it was an unfair fight, which they are almost certain it would be, then they’ve had ten years of friendship with Warlock by now, and if that isn’t preparation enough for a dishonorable brawl then nothing would be.

The demon laughs shortly. “You don’t waste any time, I’ll give you that. Believe it or not, I’m not here to start a ruckus.”

Nanael doesn’t believe it. “Just last winter, a demon showed up on Duke Hastur’s orders to kill Crowley. And now here you are again. Checking their progress?”

“Bless me,” she says, the way some humans say “bugger me” when they’ve received unpleasant news. “No, alright? I had nothing to do with it. I told Dagon to leave him to me.”

She visibly backtracks— and physically takes a step back, too— at whatever Nanael’s expression looks like just then.

“I mean I wanted them to leave him alone. I’m certainly not going to do anything to him, and if I’m the only one on the case, he’s golden.”

Nanael can feel their decorative heart racing— not with fear, or excitement, but with the knowledge that something is going to happen. They’re standing behind the counter now, book forgotten, staring at the demon the way they stare at their jigsaw puzzles, trying to make uncertain edges meet.

“You said Crowley was cursed,” they say, still wounded by the memory all these years later. “You thought it was funny.”

She throws up her hands. “Just my luck, that the serpent has an entourage of pet angels. How does he attract your lot, anyway? Holy bird feed?”

Nanael can hear the roar of the Bentley outside. Their family, coming home.

Nanael lifts their hand, and their scepter manifests for the first time in several hundred years. It parts itself from the ether to meet their palm, the grip of it certain and familiar and warm to the touch. They remember, only vaguely, when they last held this weapon and safe-guarded a city, hundreds of human lives kept under their faithful watch. This is not the same— it’s only a dusty little bookshop in Soho, it’s only three people— but it feels every bit as important.

“Go away,” Nanael says.

By the time the door opens again moments later, the demon is gone and Nanael’s hands are empty and the wards have been reset with a thought. Aziraphale primly flips the Open sign to Closed, even though it’s still early yet, and Crowley is unloading bags of take-away food on the nearest table, and Warlock is running a practiced path through the front of the shop to where Nanael is standing behind the counter.

“That movie was wicked,” Warlock says, shining with enthusiasm. “I know you said you wanted to stay in and read or whatever, but next time just smuggle the book into the cinema, okay, you really missed out!”

“Oi, hellion, leave them alone,” Crowley calls over. He takes something wrapped in green ribbon out of one of the reusable supermarket bags, a familiar pastry box with a familiar cake inside. “You know how angels are with their books. Cinema’s overpriced garbage, anyway, some of my best work.”

Warlock rolls his eyes. Aziraphale touches his hair fondly as he goes past, and then touches Nanael’s shoulder in much the same way.

“Thank you for looking after the shop while we were gone, my dear,” he says to Nanael. “It’s such a relief to know you’re here.”

Nanael takes them all in, their noise and their bickering and their aggrieved affection for one another, the mismatched chairs dragged over to a table by the wide window where passersby sometimes get to take pictures of a sunning shop snake, the seat left open for Nanael in front of their favorite tea and their favorite croissant sandwich and their favorite Battenberg cake.

Nanael is nothing special. They know that. But with what little they have— with what little they are— they’ll protect this goodness they’ve managed to find.

#

Daniel is sitting on the far side of the table, poking at a half-melted milkshake with an inscrutable expression on her face. She never seems to know what to make of Nanael these days.

“You’re trying to…”

“Undo the curse,” Nanael says, hardly looking up from the book they’ve smuggled out of the shop. It’s so old that they worry what might happen if a human were to get their hands on it, which is how they justified the theft to their guilty Aziraphale-shaped conscience. It’s taking them a conscious, extended miracle to keep from doing the brittle pages any harm. “The first one.”

“The first one,” she parrots blankly.

Nanael pauses. “Not that Crowley has been cursed multiple times. Um, that I know of. I just meant the first curse in general. Warlock and I have been calling it the Chapter One Curse. The book had barely even started at that point, and already— “

“Nanael,” their sister says. “You cannot undo God’s decisions.”

They should have known she’d be no help. They go back to flipping pages somewhat petulantly, strengthening their miracle so the fragile book survives a less mindful handling.

“Nanael,” Daniel says, something dangerous creeping into her tone.

“It’s not wrong,” Nanael says, finally lifting their head. “It doesn’t feel wrong. It’s just— helping. I think God must have forgotten She put that curse on him, because he certainly doesn’t deserve it.”

Daniel stands up, so sharply her chair screeches across the linoleum. A few humans glance over from where their own conversations were interrupted, and a distant part of Nanael feels a bit embarrassed for causing a scene in their favorite chippy.

“You’ve spent too much time down here. You need to come home.”

“I won’t,” Nanael says frankly.

She moves around to them, kneels by their chair and takes their hands. “You’re too opinionated. You’ve been thinking too much without anyone to guide you. You’re asking too many questions. You’ll Fall.”

“I won’t,” Nanael says again, squeezing her hands, moved by her sincere, if misguided, fear for them. “I don’t doubt Her, Danny, I promise I don’t. You were there when the holy water didn’t kill Crowley. You’ve seen that he’s different. I don’t think She meant this for him. Or if She did, then maybe She meant for someone to fix it. Maybe She meant for me to be here all along.”

The thought fills them with warmth. It gives Daniel something to think about, too.

“Heaven will be lesser without you, emmer,” she says after what feels like a long time. “Please be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Even if I were to Fall, you’d know where to find me,” Nanael tells her, smiling. “We could still get chips and milkshakes whenever you’d like.”

It coaxes a smile out of her, too. She rises enough to kiss them on the forehead, a blessing slipping over them like cool water, and lets it stand as a goodbye.

Hardly ten seconds later, someone throws their full weight into her vacated chair with a theatrical groan.

“Christ, I thought she’d never leave.”

Nanael is hardly surprised by now to find themself looking across the table at their unfortunate demon acquaintance. She wiggles her fingers at them in greeting.

“You couldn’t think running me off once would be enough to keep me gone, eh?”

“One could hope,” Nanael says grimly. They close their book and miracle it back to its shelf at the shop, and then starts gently bending the minds of the humans in the room around them, urging them to remember important business or forgotten appointments elsewhere. Even the line cook and the cashier step into the back of the restaurant for a well-deserved break.

If there’s trouble to be had, Nanael doesn’t want anyone else involved.

The demon looks mildly impressed by the empty dining room. She stretches a bit in her chair, easing off the tight grip on her mortal form just enough that her horns poke through the ether. It looks like someone kicking off their shoes after a long day.

It doesn’t look like someone about to start a fight.

“I have something for you.” She reaches into her jacket. “A peace offering, if you will. Or— an apology.”

That last word seems to leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but she doesn’t take it back. She slides a parcel across the table, something wrapped in worn but serviceable leather, and Nanael… well. They’ve developed a bit of a weakness when it comes to gifts. They don’t hesitate long enough to constitute any good sense before reaching out eagerly to unwrap it.

A book falls into their hands. The thick, velvety cover is empty of any author or title, and the pages are likewise blank. As Nanael thumbs through it, faint words dart across the empty spaces like a school of minnows, following the path of their eyes.

“I stole it,” the demon says plainly. “Don’t ask me who from. He’ll probably never notice it missing, but if he does, you won’t want to be involved.”

A forbidden book. Nanael clutches it a little tighter. There are always very useful things to learn in books you’re forbidden to read.

“The way I see it, God didn’t curse the serpent, She changed him. You won’t find a cure for something like that. Maybe, though, you can find a counter.”

Nanael’s mind is racing. “Curse him again?”

“With something good.” The demon scratches the side of her nose. “Never heard of any curse like that, but you look a bookish type. Maybe you’ll figure it out. And maybe I’ll pop in every now and again, to see how you’re getting on.”

It’s more of a plan than Nanael had five minutes ago, and after a decade of careful thought. They look at the demon gratefully. “Thank you.”

She relaxes a bit, with the gift having gone over well. “Funny old world it is nowadays, with angels saying thank you to demons.”

“Don’t be tiresome,” Nanael says, exhausted with that party line. “What do you get out of this, anyway? Why are you so interested in Crowley?”

“Not telling,” the demon says cheerfully, and snags what’s left of Daniel’s milkshake. She takes a noisy slurp through the straw, probably just to be irritating, and adds, “Good luck with your curse. I‘ll be seeing you, Principality.”

“Nanael,” they correct peevishly, before she can get more than two steps away.

“Gremory,” the demon replies, shooting them a smile that’s all teeth. “I look forward to doing business with you.”

Well, Nanael thinks once they’re alone again and the chippy is filling up around them with bemused customers, at least that’s something of an arrangement.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #principality nanael #my writing #gomens fic #is there a better bet than love #nanael: its ok we have an arrangement #crowley (squawking): a WOT

[ariainstars]

The Rise of Skywalker or Well, It Seems Santa Won’t Come to Us This Year

Warning... this is a long entry.

A satisfying ending to such a universally beloved story after 42 years and 9 episodes, in the hands of one of the most renowned and expert film studios in the world ought to look different. As the final chapter and with the way laid out by Rian Johnson, it could and should have been epic. But for some obscure reason, the Disney studios decided to let JJ Abrams f*** it up royally. As if they did it on purpose.

Honestly, what did we expect? Abrams is a copycat, we saw that with Star Trek, too. He can tell old stories again in a rather fresh way, but he can’t think up anything really good of his own.

  I admit that at first, I didn’t like the sequels much. They seemed adamant to tear down the past, no wonder so many fans got upset. Besides, I was devastated by Han Solo’s death at the hand of his own son.

But then I warmed up to the other characters, and I said to myself that it’s not wrong to start afresh and give a new generation a chance. The old doesn’t become bad because new things come up. And our heroes Han, Leia and Luke had their happy ending; it wasn’t cancelled. It was interesting to think, “What happens after a happy ending?” (For the record, it seems war heroes do not exactly make good parents / uncles. I guess you need other qualities for that.)

  Honestly, I did have a vaguely bad feeling a few weeks before TRoS came out; I couldn’t say why. Anyway, looking back there were a few giveaways that the story would end the way it did.

1. The title: “Rise of Skywalker”. Though the last of the Skywalker blood, Ben technically was a Solo (Organa-Solo to be exact). He did redeem himself, but he did not rise above it all.

2. Kylo’s light sabre is the only one which looks like a cross. Anakin was a child without a father. Both suffered terrible pains and then died - due to other people’s sins.

3. The saga’s themes are many and a lot was set up in Episodes VII and VIII. It was to be expected that one film wouldn’t be enough to wrap everything up. TLJ had a new and fresh approach; but apart from the fact that so many fans hated it, it packed the film so full of new themes and subjects that it took us as fans months to inspect it all. We should have guessed that there wouldn’t be enough time in TRoS to finish the old story, start the next one and wrap that up, too.

4. Circumstances be as they may, Kylo / Ben is still a patricide. He did evil things before, but killing Han definitively damned him. And very many people unfortunately take these films at face value and do not go into depth. If TLJ stirred up a wasp’s nest, I don’t want to know what would have happened if in TRoS he would have been redeemed and had survived, and maybe also found his happy ending. Much as I love him, from a moral standpoint it sounds somewhat ambiguous.

  The Rise of Skywalker assuredly is Star Wars-y. But is that really more important than making good and uplifting films?

Rogue One was so Star Wars-y that fans almost went nuts about it; I still remember my shock when I actually watched it and found it a deeply sad, melancholy story, thematically the exact opposite of A New Hope’s joy and optimism.

Rose was detested by many fans because she was a quirky personality and so unlike Leia: no wonder she almost disappeared. And her relationship with Finn, which was set up as perfectly fitting, vanished as well: no, no, no, we always have a trio in the middle of the story. More than three heroes, that’s not Star Wars-y. Rey’s spunky, sassy personality reminds of Leia, so she is seen as Star Wars-y. And fans couldn’t accept that she comes from nowhere because in Star Wars it has to turn out that you’re related to someone: so she had to be Palpatine’s granddaughter (ugh) and Saint Rey at the same time.

Fans were hurt by Han Solo’s death in TFA, but at least got to see him being cool and swashbuckling. Luke died in TLJ, but as far as I know fans didn’t send a petition to Disney asking to take TFA from canon: they only did so after TLJ. Reason? Because as it seems, they could forgive anything that was done to Han, but not Luke’s green milk.

Ben Solo, the last of the Skywalker blood, was judged an unworthy heir to Darth Vader due to his emotionality, that’s why everybody left him to rot in a pit. Who hated him for being a “whiny sissy” at least will be content now.

  As for us, who have looked more in depth at the saga as a whole and its themes, we can go home with hollow hearts and feeling numb.

  My compliments, JJ. You managed to destroy both the probably most famous and beloved film franchises in less than ten years. And you have spoilt our Christmas.

Worse, you have ruined the franchise for the many, many children who grew up loving Kylo Ren and Rey and rooting for their happy ending together. I have heard that a lot of parents had to bring their kids home weeping. Do you believe they will love the saga now still? They will probably only remember it as a terribly sad story and not want to have anything to do with it ever again. And this from the Disney studios, experts for children’s stories, fairy tales and happy endings. A few days before Christmas. I never would have guessed that making older fanbros happy would be so much more important. At least their heroes had their happy ending, their successes, their friendship. Ben Solo had nothing. And this was the very last episode, so we can’t even hope for the future.

I myself right now don’t know whether I can ever watch anything about Star Wars again. I was so elated, so sure of a happy ending after 9 episodes and 42 years. Now every time I will think about watching something related to SW, I will be reminded of how sadly it all ended. And with no warning, mind you. At least watching the prequels we all knew how it would end.

  Rian Johnson had set everything up beautifully. I can’t believe that Disney studios and JJ can have been so blind as to not see it, they’re supposed to be experts and to be paid for storytelling. To me it was abundantly clear that

- Ben Solo’s redemption were the children (an inversion to the Jedi Temple carnage, and a parallel to Leia’s meeting with the Ewoks where she immediately became motherly)

- Rey would fall to the Dark Side something ugly and then understand that she had no right to judge Ben

- Ben and Rey would be together and have their happy ever after

- They would take care of the children together, learning from their own upbringing to be protective and understanding parents

- Ben would be the Good Father opposite to Darth Vader the Evil Father and this would “finish what he started” (excuse me, why choose an actor for the role who has Vader’s stature but whose features are the exact opposite? Who has repeatedly proven that he deals well with children in films? Why not use his potential??)

- They would start a new Jedi training or academy, where children would no longer be taught to suppress their emotions

- Rey would in this way finally find the family she craved

- Balance would mean a rainbow or a prism, not Black against White, or Grey

  What I still can’t believe

I guess most of you have read some of my meta’s. They were written after thorough researc of the saga’s themes. And I still can’t believe that I got it that wrong.

Yes, as I already wrote above there still is the fact that Kylo / Ben is a patricide and that having him survive after he damned himself like that might have been a bad message. But I still believed that he was in for redemption and survival, and that he was meant to be a father figure.

What about all the messages in TLJ, which all seemed to point to the future?

- The hand-touching scene with the set-up which was exactly opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding? Why did both couples have to end tragically?

- Why were enslaved children introduced in a sympathetic way, the film even ending showing one of them being a Force User and dreaming of being a Jedi? What about Anakin’s promise that he would come back and free the slaves on his planet? That promise was never kept.

- What will become of new Force Users? The last person who was taught both the Jedi and the Sith knowledge is dead.

- Why did Maz Kanata announce to Rey that “the belonging she sought was ahead of her”? She is on the planet that both Anakin and Luke ardently wished to leave. How is that belonging? She knows who she is now, but she is just as lonely and overburdened as when she started. She has not found the family she sought, and she hasn’t founded one of her own. And where’s the ocean she used to dream of?

- Rey had told Ben that “she saw his future”. What future was that? “You will be a hero for ten minutes, have almost all your bones crushed, get a kiss and then die”…?

- Why did Leia ask Han to bring their son home? He saved his soul, but as for finding home, not a chance.

- Luke had promised his nephew that they would see each other again. Nope. And both he and Leia took Rey’s side, abandoning their nephew and son in favor of the offspring of their worst enemy. This is destroying their legacy, not the green milk. Luke panicking and contemplating to kill Ben in his sleep lasted a few seconds. It is not understandable why Luke and Leia should believe in Rey while they were afraid of their own flesh and blood. Because she’s cooler, I guess.

- TRoS destroyed the Jedi’s legacy as well, respectively proved once more what terrible people they were, ready to sacrifice everything for their victory. All of them spoke to Rey, not one to Ben. As if he didn’t even exist. He wasn’t useful to them, that was all.

- After the victory of the Light Side and the Dark Side, logically Balance should have come. Where and how did we ever see this balance? Oh, the bad guy is dead again, that’s good. If at least his granddaughter was dead, then maybe the galaxy would finally have some peace! But that besotted idiot had to resurrect her. Out of love.

- In the end, who won? The Skywalker Curse. The last of their blood is dead. Their name lives on, together with the flesh and blood of Palpatine. As if all had been for nothing.

- Rey is not the winner in this story. She did not inherit the Skywalker name, tokens, emotional support, memories, lessons: she is a usurper just like her grandfather. Except that she didn’t do it on purpose.

- What is the future of the galaxy now? Rey lives, thank to Palpatine’s and the Jedi’s power and Ben Solo’s love. But what is the political future? What became of the First Order? What will become of the future Jedi, or will there be any at all? This whole mess doesn’t seem at all a reason to rejoice.

- What did Anthony Daniels mean when he twittered that the ending of the saga would contain a message for all of us? Almost everybody dies, that’s great, Merry Christmas? ☹

  The Last Jedi was packed full of wonderful messages: you can be a nobody and still carve your way in life, failure is the greatest teacher, war makes unscrupulous people rich, good and bad are made-up words (you blow them up today, they blow you up tomorrow), you have to save what you love not destroy what you hate… and so on. Luke’s lesson explaining that the Force is not some kind of superpower was tremendous and necessary for all fans to hear. His confession of the Jedi’s sins and his decision that they had to end was the right conclusion after all that we learned about Anakin. But alas, the older fanbros hated each and every one of these messages and lessons. Star Wars may be for twelve-year-old, as Lucas once said. But twelve-year-olds are supposed to grow up, some day or other.

The Force Awakens had not promised anything. If you believed that the old trio would be back to kick ass, watch it again. It’s clear from the start that this time it’s up to the next generation. Our heroes had not only grown older, they were visibly tired and disillusioned. And there obviously was a whole baggage of secrets and problems to be unpacked. Did anyone honestly believe Luke would jump right back into the fray, like he was not an exile by own choice but some kind of Robinson Crusoe who simply hadn’t found home again?

The Last Jedi, by comparison, had opened a whole treasure chest of promises for love, hope, future and homecoming. And The Rise of Skywalker spat them almost all into our faces. It almost seems like the petty work of an envious man - like children who mob and publicly humiliate one particular child because it’s more intelligent and has achieved more than them.

  So, what’s the moral for Ben Solo at the end - see to it that you’re not in the wrong place at the wrong time? Don’t trust anyone, not even your own family members, not even the greatest hero of your time?

Anakin won the pod race, he destroyed the star base over Naboo, he became a valiant Jedi, he married the love of his life. He once said, “This is the happiest day of my life.” But apart from a childhood that was probably more or less positive, as far as we know Ben Solo had nothing but pain and sorrow from life. He wasn’t torn from limb to limb and burned alive and then had to live on for decades, but he lost his home, his integrity and his life, merely due to… fate. Twenty years of struggle, frustration, loneliness, anger, death, sorrow and destruction. The only glimpse of hope he saw was in Rey’s eyes as they connected in TLJ, and his only moment of happiness when he sacrificed his life to save her (I will never forget that smile). Reylo was canon for a few seconds… and the SW couple with the strongest chemistry did not even get a love theme. ☹

  I admit I was doubtful whether it would have been a good idea to let Ben survive and be happy after all the bad things he had done. But the message we got now is infinitely worse; and being an abuse victim myself it is a personal hurt to me. So, if you become the victim of abuse because nobody was there to help you, you are doomed and can only escape through death. And we saw nobody grieving for him, no Force Ghost among the others, no grave, no body to burn as in Vader’s case. As if he never existed. Another unsung, unhappy hero without an epitaph like the ones from Rogue One - it seems that viewers liked that, so let’s give them some more of it. Even if we’re called Disney.

  The prequels look positive in this light. At least we always knew they would end as a tragedy, and there was hope in the end. Rey is left with nothing but sad memories. The prequels had a story arc; they told the story they wanted (the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker) in their own way; they were a massive, ambitious project in the style of colossal movies like The Last Day of Pompeji or The Fall of the Roman Empire. In this light they’re pretty good, the OT fans simply didn’t like them because they weren’t Star-Wars-y enough. The sequels tried to patch that up and ironically, the best sequel is the middle one, which was hated by the OT fans for trying to open the way to something new. And maybe the sequels never were meant to make a real wrap-up, to give us a satisfying happy ending; because the more fans protest, the more it will give the studios the chance to explore the possibilities for new stories. It’s in their right, I guess. But nevertheless, it leaves a bitter aftertaste.

  And sorry, this whole story proves to me once more that the Jedi were nothing but petty little f***s who cared only for letting Their Side Win no matter the cost and didn’t care in the least about the human lives and happiness involved. Anakin, Luke and Ben all wanted to be pilots, not Jedi! Anakin’s tragedy was that he had to become a Jedi instead of being himself. His grandson’s tragedy was the same. He was targeted from birth not only by Snoke but also by his uncle and his own mother who saw nothing but his potential for the Force - not a young man like any other who wanted to be happy, to love and belong like everybody else. Only exception, Han. To him, his son was always simply his son, whether he was powerful in the Force or not. No wonder Ben loved Rey to death: after his father she was the only one who ever saw and loved him simply for being himself. The Jedi all spoke to Rey encouraging her to stand up against Palpatine; the last son and heir of the Skywalker was ignored by his own flesh and blood, because to them he was officially “Dark Side” and thus not interesting for the final fight. They did not even care whether Rey died after the victory; the supposed “bad guy” had to come and rescue her. Out of love, not because of her power. And the Jedi are supposed to be some kind of heroes and glowing examples. What a terrible sarcasm.

  Ever heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?

No?

Try the tragedy of Ben Solo the Fucked-Up Loser Who Just Wanted to Be Himself.

  What I hope for…

I want to spend my time in other ways from now on. I will read meta’s and fanfics about Star Wars still, but not so assiduously.

Maybe this entire f***up was a well-planned strategy in order to make us wish and ask for another sequel, so that the Star Wars story can go on like an endless soap opera. And the studios make money while we wait for every single scrap of news.

  And yet, I can’t accept that this was supposed to be all. The saga is at its end, but is Ben Solo really finished?

Rian Johnson confirmed that he is working on a new trilogy. I can only hope that he will pick up the themes which he started in TLJ and finally give us the happy ending we craved. The next film starts in 2022 if rumors are right.

In a way, it is understandable that Ben Solo’s arc had to finish here and without a happy ending: after all he is not a Skywalker but a Solo. In the end, it was not his story. Who knows what the Force has in store for us. 😊

I would love for Johnson to come back and give our hearts what we wanted after Abrams satisfied (it seems) the fanbros of the original trilogy who hated TLJ so much. Everybody would get what he wanted; fans of OT could simply not watch / ignore the continuation and we could root for Kylo / Ben to our heart’s content. I figure that would be a fair compromise. And if it is indeed a trilogy, there would be plenty of time to explore the family / father / mother themes, and create a new life and identity for Ben. (Who, I am saying it again, assuredly deserved better.)

However, that is all in the future. I haven’t a clue what Johnson is planning, I only think that it would make sense if he explored TLJ’s themes more in depth and with more time.

I really want to pester Rian Johnson right now to give us Ben Solo’s story and to make it happy at last. (Pretty please with cherries on top. 😉)

If you are interested, there is already a petition: https://www.change.org/p/lucasfilm-continue-ben-solo-s-story

  What has actually improved for me

1. In my youth I had to spend a large portion of my life under very disagreeable circumstances and I learned to zone out mentally to this or other “dream worlds” as a meaning to cope. (“Dreams Are My Reality” was my song, growing up. 😊) My life is much better now, but the tendency to zone out is still there. Now I remind myself every day that dreaming is good but that no one ought to spend so much time dreaming that his actual life passes him by. I don’t need to escape into dreams any more, I can just enjoy them. So, I feel more grateful.

2. I have learned a lot about myself these two years. I question my intelligence less and I overestimate other people less. I am less timid. I notice that I am calmer and speak slower and do more small talk. The reason: I have realized that many, many people value “coolness” most of all in fictional as well as real people and that one of my main problems is that I am oversensitive and doubtful, similarly to Kylo / Ben. No wonder he’s hated: not so much because “he did so many evil things” but because he is seen as a whiny sissy. (Vader did much worse things, but his “untouchable” attitude made up for it.) I found out that many people mistake a haughty or nonchalant attitude with strength. I don’t need to feel ashamed because I am willing to learn and develop my mind. Anyone who takes me for a fool because of this, it’s his loss. Vader was over-the-top cool, but lonely and miserable. For happiness, we need other humans. Not superhumans.

3. I have spent two very agreeable years exchanging points of view with other fans in this community and I have learned a lot about narratives. I have gone in depth in the Star Wars saga and now I appreciate it much more than before. (I actually consider watching the prequels again to get over TRoS. I never would have believed it if anyone had told me, a few years ago. 😊)

4. I feel closer to my husband. We’ve spent so many evenings apart the last two years because I was elbows-deep in Star Wars! Now we talk more, go out more and watch more films or TV shows together. (BTW, I read many fanfics were Ben and Rey had a playful, teasing relationship. Now I tease my husband more and our marriage is improved. 😊)

5. I used to laugh at who detested TLJ and / or the prequels and to think that who didn’t get the messages was just too lazy to think about them. I do not think that the original characters were ruined in these films at all, but fans who expected them to kick ass until retirement and beyond of course were disappointed. I figured that to make a credible sequel you had to lend more depth to characters and themes and couldn’t just start off again like nothing happened. Most reboots are like this and that’s why they fail: a film is not the same as a TV show. I found Star Wars’ approach more intelligent. But I disrespected other people’s hurt and irritation… and now I find myself in the same situation. I count myself lucky because I waited only 2 years and not 30 years like other hardcore fans.

  We are depressed now and feel that Christmas is ruined. Hardcore OT fans must have felt the same two years ago - I remember quite a lot of meta’s and videos where people vented their rage and frustration, some going so far that they declared they wanted to abandon the franchise for good. They felt betrayed. As do we now: we feel that TLJ set up the stage for a brilliant redemption arc and love / family story, and now here we are, looking like fools.

Maybe next time we ought to be more specific with our wishes. Reylo is canon - what did that mean to you? I never hoped for Ben to be redeemed through Rey’s love, that would have been mushy. But I did of course hope for them to have a Happy Ever After. What did Bendemption mean to you? I of course hoped he would redeem himself and survive. The meanest thing about this film is that it gave us what we hoped for only to take it away again... And differently from the OT fans, we can’t say to ourselves, “Well, there’s still one film to be done, let’s hope it will make up.” Nostalgia has won. Not compassion, or the willingness to look beyond one’s nose.

  Lessons learned

1. Try not to get so worked up about a film. After all, it’s just a story. It’s not our fault if studios, directors and story writers are little sh**s who like to have us build our hopes up and then deflate us.

2. Appreciate the world around you. It’s more complicated and frightening because contrarily to your dreams you can’t keep it in control. But it’s real. It makes you a more real person, and also the ones you interact with.

3. Make your own happy ending. a) That a hero you identified with didn’t get his happy ending doesn’t mean you won’t get yours. If you are already in a satisfying life situation, be grateful for what you have. If you’re not, roll up your sleeves more and do your best to escape reality less. b) Write stories that go the way you would have wanted them to.

4. Start something new to clear your head. A new project you didn’t have “time” for or perhaps not enough courage. Pour your energies into that.

5. Question yourself. Why did this story, these characters intrigue you so? You do not live in the galaxy far, far away after all. If you identify with Kylo / Ben, why? If you would like a partner like him, why? What can you do to implement your wishes into your life?

  If you feel with lonely, misunderstood people, reach out in real life. The prequels were a cautionary tale about a good boy becoming a monster because he was overburdened from early age and left alone with his fears and doubts. Society had created its own monster. Don’t let us contribute to that kind of society.

I was adamant that Ben Solo was supposed to become a caring father figure in TRoS. Ironically, I have no children of myself and I don’t deal well with other people’s: I don’t dislike children, I just don’t have practice with them. If Ben didn’t get the chance to be a loving and caring figure for abandoned children, I think I ought to do something for children myself.

  In the meantime, merry Christmas. We will always have each other. 😊

#episode IX #the rise of skywalker #bendemption #star wars #ben solo #kylo ren #rey #jj abrams #rian johnson #the last jedi #episode VIII #leia organa #luke skywalker #anakin skywalker #han solo #Christmas #DLF #Disney studios #online petition #abuse victim #reylo #film review #darth vader #palpatine #darth sidious #darth plagueis #skywalker family #long rant #long entry #read more

[tenchiforum]

For the first time ever, the Toonami versions of OVA1/2, Universe, and Tokyo are available online! On their respective archive.org pages you can access each episode easily.

Watch now: OVA1/2, Tenchi Universe, Tenchi in Tokyo.

For users who keep up with contemporary anime communities, we also have an upload for the entire run available on Nyaa.

It’s been quite a journey in getting these episodes from analog to digital. If you’re interested in reading about the process of how these almost lost-to-time edits came into our hands and how we’ve gone about preserving them before the tapes rot, then sit back and enjoy the story below!

Part 1: Toonami – A Love Story.

Tenchi Muyo! and Toonami are tied together like the red thread of fate often times referenced in many East Asian myths. For those who aren’t aware, Toonami was a programming block on the Cartoon Network channel. Starting in 1997, it did one thing for anime that no other channel in the English-speaking world had ever done: showcased anime during “PrimeTime” (In North America at least, this was 4pm to 7pm Eastern Standard time). Before the internet, having this block of time meant having the most eyes on your product, meaning exposure was huge. Oftentimes whoever got on this block, regardless of the channel, was “made.”

However, it wouldn’t be until mid 1999, with a soft-rebranding, a new host, and an almost entirely anime-focused block, that Toonami would take over the world.

And on July 3rd, 2000, an entire generation was introduced to Tenchi Muyo! for the first time.

- The now legendary two minute Toonami promo.

Thanks to the efforts of Jason DeMarco, Sean Akins, Gill Austin, Sean Polinski, and the rest of the Toonami crew, the “Toonami generation,” still to this day, is the largest block of Tenchi Muyo! fans. Whether it was Toonami US, UK, or Australia. Tenchiforum is a testament to this fact. I personally would not be here were it not for Toonami, so to say that fans of Tenchi Muyo! hold Toonami in a high regard is an understatement.

I had always wanted to somehow, some way, get the Toonami version of Tenchi up for everyone to see again, but my old Toonami VHS recordings were long gone, and I figured trying to piece together the Toonami version from other people’s tapes would just be too hard with how many episodes were broadcast, that was until… 2012

In mid-to-late 2012, I found out that Pioneer actually released a home video version of what was shown on Toonami. It was simply released as “Tenchi Muyo!” in those big, white, clam shell VHS cases (that most people probably remember for old Disney movies). I felt as though I had struck gold! I was able to get a hold of the first two OVA, and was able to rip them to my computer.

- Vol. 1 & Vol. 5 of “Tenchi Muyo!” – No distinction was made that they were separate series.

Though I was high on my endorphin-induced nostalgia, I ran into a couple of unforeseen problems.

First and foremost, the equipment I was using was not great. I used an old StarTech composite to USB dongle and the software that came with it. While this isn’t necessarily bad at first glance (it doesn’t support Windows 10), I had no experience whatsoever in the field of digital transfer. While I think my rips were okay for the time, I knew even then that they were too low of bit-rate and the quality of the rips suffered for it.

Because I also had no VCR at the time that had S-Video output, I was only able to output from composite, which meant the whopping 240p equivalent VHS tapes look fuzzier than they probably should. (I realize that VHS is technically an analog format, meaning that a 1:1 equivalent digital representation is hard to pin down or that someone might argue that it did technically output 480i over composite, but basically it was 240p.)

Another problem was the software itself, I had no idea about Virtualdub, AmaRecTV, or other helpful capture software, so I only recorded at a lower bit-rate, again producing an inferior quality rip.

I also ran into the problem of showcasing the videos. Funimation (who now owns the vast majority of the Tenchi Muyo! franchise in North America) had finally started really cracking down on people uploading videos to Youtube. Even though my videos were not completely the same, the algorithm immediately flagged and blocked them. This led me to uploading the videos to Facebook. I had to cut them in half because of Facebook’s restriction to roughly only 12 minutes of video. Somehow in the process, some of the videos had audio drop out for a minute or two, and for some the audio dropped out completely.

Arguably the biggest blow though, was when I learned that this set of Toonami tapes was incomplete. Pioneer stopped producing the Toonami version for home video after they finished releasing Universe. Meaning, the only way to get the Toonami version of Tenchi in Tokyo, was hope that someone, somewhere,  had taped it 11 years earlier.

While Tenchi in Tokyo has been getting more appreciation from fans as of late – thanks in part to most newer entries in the Tenchi OVA sucking harder than a vacuum – in the year 2000, it was the black sheep of the Tenchi Muyo! franchise. So expecting fans to have recorded any of it, let alone the entire series, was the long shot of all long shots. But even still, I made a post on the forum in 2013 asking if anyone knew anyone that might have anything.

Naturally, no one had any leads, and all of these previous problems meant that this project would, frustratingly, have to be shelved indefinitely.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

Part 2: Deferred Dreams Don’t Die.

On April 5th, 2019, a person by the name of Talos dropped into our Discord server, and posted an introduction. Like so many, they had gotten into Tenchi through Toonami, but what would change everything, was this.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading, someone actually had it!

Instinctively, I reached out to Talos via PM to ascertain how to go about acquiring these tapes, and admittedly, to see how legit this claim actually was. Because the fact of the matter is, when you’ve been around Tenchi fandom as long as I have, you’ll quickly realize the best bullshitters in the world come from this fandom.

But Talos was more than the genuine article! They sent over pictures and an incredibly detailed analysis of the quality of their tapes, watching through them all again to prove to me that their claim was valid.

It can’t be said enough that this all would not be possible without Talos, their willingness to work with me and send me their own personal tapes that they’ve kept for almost two decades just goes to show how awesome they are and how much they care about the fandom.

So the deal was struck, and the dream that laid deferred for almost six years lived again.

- A time capsule from another era.

But with dreams from the past, come the demons that plagued them way back when. I still only had the setup I once had, and at this time I was really trying to be tight with my finances for a number of different reasons, but this opportunity was too good to pass up, I wasn’t going to let this dream go, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Talos’ tapes showed up, and I rolled up my sleeves.

So I put in the first tape, the first seven episodes of Tokyo, into the old VCR I used to originally rip the Pioneer tapes, a JVC HR-VP650U….

And static…

Or rather, a tape that would play for 3 seconds, then immediately drop to static.

This wouldn’t work.

I then tried my other VCR, a Sony SLV-N50 from the mid-to-late 90’s that I was able to “fix” by removing the old Android Kikaider tape that got stuck in there many years prior.

It worked!…..but…..not all that well.

While it did actually play the tape relatively smoothly, the colors were completely washed out in comparison to the JVC, and it had this weird color flickering that was particularly noticeable when black backgrounds were on screen. (This was not unique to this tape, it did it with everything I put in there.)

As much as it pained me, there was no way I was going to rip it with this setup.

So the hunt began for not just a replacement VCR, but one that was high quality and recommended among enthusiasts for digital transfer. Which meant research and long winding rabbit holes of non-answers and vagueness, and unfortunately, money.

Without a doubt, the de facto list of best VCRs for transferring comes from digitalFAQ.com. This list is not only informative but gives you a broad range of ones to look for in the event you can’t find an “elite” one. However, this list has also become the de facto list used by people who are hawking their sets on eBay to try and get every penny from enthusiasts and new-comers as possible.

After three frustrating weeks of losing bid wars on eBay, someone finally put up one of the good sets, the JVC SR-V10U. I quickly sent them what I thought was a reasonable but not bank-breaking offer….

And they accepted! The beast was finally mine.

Immediately upon unwrapping and testing it, the quality difference between what I had then and what I was looking at now was staggering. The SR-V10U had beautiful color, while having the incredible ability to stabilize the old tapes with its TBC (Time Base Corrector), as well as onboard Video Stabilization option. Combined with the ability to output video via the superior S-Video cable, I now had something that, despite its age and typical old VHS wear, was way better than I could have imagined.

Part 3: No Need for Nostalgia.

You’re probably thinking to yourself “Dagon, why go through the trouble? The OVA has a beautiful Blu-ray release, and Universe and Tokyo have pretty decent DVD releases. Why would you ever want to rip old VHS tapes of an inferior quality release that was in some cases censored?”

- The now famous Toonami “bikinis”.

Because this version of Tenchi Muyo! is a piece of history. Not only is it a piece of Tenchi history, but a piece of Toonami history as well. Being able to preserve this in the best quality possible is being able to point to future generations and say “This is why I’m here.”

For a lot of us it’s about taking us back to a simpler time, grade school, high school, university. Taking us back to a time before the internet was what it is today.

So now we can, after almost 20 years, re-watch the version of Tenchi Muyo! that brought so many of us joy and wonder.

#tenchiforum #tenchi muyo #toonami #toonami promo #cartoon network #tenchi universe #tenchi in tokyo #toonami tenchi muyo #anime nostalgia #90's anime #vhs #vhs anime

[masked-mallards]

Masked Mallards, The Multiverse, and Everything else

Chapter 5 Lesson in the Multiverse

Gosalyn stared at the elder clone from behind the mirror side of the one-way mirror room. He sat in a steel chair in front of a table, both bolted to the ground. The clone's ankles were shackled to the chair, his arms were wrapped tightly around his torso in a straightjacket which was hooked to the back of his seat, he wasn’t going anywhere. Launchpad and the Fearsome 4 were in the observation room with her. When she had gotten here, Launchpad had finished moving him into the interrogation room. The large duck’s face was flushed, when she had asked Bushroot what had happened, he simply said that the clone was a little too happy to see him.

Megavolt was livid as he stood watching the clone. He was so close to the duck who killed Quackerjack, he had to restrain himself not to break the truce. He has had enough of Darkwing clones. Negaduck was a horrible boss, Drake had lied to him for years, and now one has taken the life of the one he had loved most. Sparks flew from him as the glowered at the clone. He looked around the small room they were in, everyone looked like a cat ready to pounce, just daring the clone to try anything though he couldn’t see them. Their attention was caught when the door to the interrogation room slide open and closed with a click.

Darkwing laid a box on the table, then sat across from the clone. Neither spoke for a few minutes.” First, I want your name,” Darkwing started. “I am not calling you Clone all night.” The clone smirked then snickered. “Come now, my name should be that hard to figure out, we are the same person aren’t we Drake?” the second voice said. Drake went silent for a moment then continued. “Don’t even try to pull the same tricks, unlike Negaduck, I gladly have a life outside of my nightly activities... Nice try though.” He responded. The clone scoffed. “It was worth a shot.” The clone replied. “As for our name, Clone works fine for now.” The 1st voice answered.

“Ok then, “Clone” let’s get started.” Darkwing in a slightly annoyed tone. “So, what brings you to our little corner of the multi-verse?” he asked. Clone wisecracked, still wanting to play games. “The Primeverse is where we get our breakfast, though we always have to come back, we forget the milk.” Darkwing ignored his quip. “Funny,” Darkwing retorted in a deadpan. “Your to-do list didn’t mention milk.” He reached inside the box, pulled out a thin clear envelope, and placed it in front of Clone. It was the burned note that Negaduck had found at the warehouse. Clone’s smirk disappeared.

“You moron! I told you not to make that fucking list!” Clone barked. “It’s not my fault he got it, you wanted to try and burn it, rather put it in the coat," he argued back in his 1st voice. Drake watched as Clone continues to argue with between his two personalities, to get a better idea about to proceed with them.” For the last time, we do not need a list to do our damn job, it is the same thing over and over again. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to forget 6 targets” the 2nd voice said.” Forget?!”, the 1st voice exclaimed. “You can’t even remember what universe we are in, let alone to feed Jekyll.” Clone’s expression changed to confusion. “Who?” the 1st voice asked. 2nd voice answered flustered “You wonder why I keep a list; it is to keep us organized.” Clone’s expression changed to annoyance. “No, it’s not,” the 1st voice responded. “It’s you feeding your O.C.D.” Clone’s expression shifted to anger. “It’s not O.C.D., its C.D.O!”. “Neat freak.”. “Slob”.

Clone’s body shook violently for a moment, then he fell forward and hit the table hard. “Your fault!” the voices said in unison. Darkwing wonder how long they would have continued; they fight like children on the playground. After a minute, Clone picked himself up from the table. “So, what does bring you to the Primeverse then?” Darkwing pressed. “Don’t you have this in your own world?’ Darkwing waved the burned note in front of him. Clone's eye began to dart around, looking for a way out. The stubborn old duck was determined to be uncooperative. Darkwing began to get fed up with his behavior.

“Don’t bother trying to escape,” Darkwing said firmly." We took precautions, and it's not like you jump into another warp hole." He said as he reached into the box, pulled out Clone's broken device then placed it on the table. Clone studied the pile of scrap metal. "If it is no longer functioning, how did you learn its purpose?” Clone asked out of curiosity. Darkwing answered plainly. “Megavolt figured it out, almost fixed it too, unfortunate for you though we had to destroy it again. It is beyond repair now. How did you get it anyway?” Clone frowned and avoided the question. “Pity,” the 2nd voice said in disappointment. “You should have killed him when we told you to, it will be better in the long run.”.

Darkwing put back the device and left the box open. “The both of you have a one-track mind, don’t you? Quit stalling and answer the questions I give you." He said finally tiring of Clone's games. Darkwing felt his temper begin to rise and glanced at his hand. It was wrapped in a bandage after the incident with Steelbeak, so far, the only one who knew about it was Gryzlikoff and he wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was Gosalyn and Launchpad to find out, it would mean that he would have to confront it. Also, Negaduck would enjoy the fact that he was slowly losing it, adding to his self-loathing.

Clone began to laugh uncontrollably in both voices and fell forward again still laughing. "What is so funny?" Darkwing asked. Clone picked himself up catching his breath. "It is always Déjà vu when dealing with Masked Mallards. We had a similar conversation with Jim Starling…. Oops, we meant Negaduck the night before-" The 1st voice responded still smiling. There was a crash outside the door. It swung open as Negaduck, in a rage, tried to fight off Bushroot, who was trying to hold him back. Vines constricted around the rabid ducks’ arms and torso, trying to reel him back to the entrance. “Negaduck,” Bushroot pleading. “Darkwings’ got this, let it go.” Negaduck stopped his attack, considering the plant’s plea.

Negaduck turned his back to the old mallard and began to head back through the mirror door. Clone wasn’t finished yet. “What is the matter Jim?”, the 2nd voice said, "Hate having a name like everyone else, hate the fact that it is your father’s?” That was the last straw, Negaduck drew out a switchblade he had hidden before coming here, pushed down Bushroot who tried to stop him and made a beeline for viper-tongued cloned. Darkwing intercepted the duck and disarmed him of the knife, which landed on the table and slide in front of Clone. Darkwing and Negaduck were scuffling on the ground.

Clone sat back in his chair, watching as the scene unfold with slight amusement of his handy work until the glint of Negaduck's switchblade caught his eye. Bushroot took notice Clone eyeing the knife in front of him. In the span of a few seconds Bushroot darted to swat the knife away as Clone attempted to grab it with his mouth, but he had no traction on the slick floor of the interrogation room and fell on the table pushing the knife on to the floor. Drake pulled Jim to his feet, both slightly bruised. Darkwing’s senses began to leave him as he heaved a furious Negaduck to his feet, holding him by the collar. The yellow glared at the purple, daring him to finish the job.  

A cry of pain snapped both of their attention in Clone's direction. Clone had Bushroot's neck his mouth like a steel beartrap with his fanged like teeth. If Bushroot had been made of flesh and bone instead of stem and leaf, his neck would have snapped on impact. Clone began to speak, though it was gargled at first, the message was very clear. “Release us or kill us, we do not care which.” The 1st voice snarled. “We will not be broken, and we will not stay here.” The 2nd voice continued. “Do it, or you’re going to another body on your hands.” The Liquidator rushed in, but didn’t dare test Clone’s threat.

Nobody said a word. Negaduck approached the violent captive and stood behind him. He grabbed him by the hair of his head and lifted him as far as Clone’s restrains would allow it. Clone grunted in pain but didn’t let go of Bushroot. “1st of all,” Negaduck said still in a rage.” Nobody tortures Bush-rot but me.” He let him go and picked up his blade. “2nd If you wanted to die so badly, all you had to do was ask me, I will happily fulfill the request." He handed the switchblade to Darkwing and moved back behind clone." Finally, much to my disappointment, I am under a truce that says you live. So sorry request denied." Negaduck wrapped his hands Clone's neck and began to choke him. Darkwing moved in ready to pry them apart. "Don't interfere, Drake," Negaduck snapped. "trust me.”

Darkwing didn't know why he felt compelled to listen to him, but he stood down. Clone struggled for two minutes, as his body jerked around, he still kept Bushroot in his mouth. Finally, he gagged and was forced to release Bushroot. Negaduck let go of elder. Bushroot stood on his feet with a start as Clone coughed and gasped for air. His plant-like neck looked like it met a weedwhacker, but otherwise, he was fine. "When deprived of oxygen, the body has an involuntary reflex that forces them to breathe for air after a certain amount of time." Negaduck explained. "It is a reason people drown." He turned and went back to the observation room and stopped at the entrance. "If Clone knew what say about me to make me tick, imagine what he'll say about you." He said before going in his tone was calmer. Liquidator gathered a shaken Bushroot and followed him out. The door shut with a click.

Clone continued to cough and wheeze but stopped after 4 minutes. He sat up, glowering at Darkwing. "Looks like you banking on Negaduck to kill you backfired," Darkwing said as he sat back down in the chair across from Clone. Clone growled at the sound of his defeat. Bushroot had told Darkwing about the possibility that Clone had probably been a test subject of some sort, and it might be the reason he's been incredibly hostile. (“We will not be broken, and we will not stay here.”). Clone’s words rang in Darkwing’s head. “What happened to him to make him want death over captivity?” He wondered.

“Are you ready to corporate now?” Darkwing asked though he already the answer. “Piss off!” Clone responded angrily. “We have nothing to say.” He continued stubbornly. "When will you learn that you are not getting out of this?" Darkwing said as if he were trying to make Gosalyn clean her room. The clone looked him dead in the eye and snickered. “You Masked Mallards are all the same when you think you are in control, you're not.” Clone’s 1st voice replied. "Your games are not going to work on me," Darkwing said coolly. "As much as I want to test that theory,” the 2nd voice said. “we believe a more direct approach is in order.”

Clone let out a high-pitched whistle. The opened box on the table convulsed and jolted off it. Bushroot startled by the box's involuntary movement leaned into Liquidator for protection. He immediately stood up again, somewhat embarrassed. The box fell on its side, and a possessed trench coat came out. Darkwing had already backed away from the table. The coat jerked around as something was trying to get out. A large dog appeared from thin air. It was the size of a wolf with long fur, its ears, and fur color was that of a Doberman Pinscher. Clone's stunt with Negaduck was just a warm-up.

“Jekyll assault!” Clone said in a command voice. The beast turned its attention to Darkwing, bared its teeth and lunged. Jekyll forced Darkwing the ground pinning him. Darkwing pressed against Jekyll's neck, preventing him from biting his face. Launchpad was the first one to the door and swung it open, however, Gosalyn beat him through. She launched an arrow at the dog, nearly missing its head. Jekyll had his attention on Gosalyn. He released Darkwing and went barreling toward the red-haired archer. Darkwing and Launchpad tried to stop the dog from reaching Gosalyn, but it was faster than them.

Jekyll came to a screeching halt and sat on his hindquarters. Gosalyn lower her bow and gave him a puzzled look as he wagged his tail in excitement. “Jekyll heel “. Clone commanded in his 1st. The dog happily returned to Clone’s side. “Get that brat out of here.” The 2nd voice snarled, not wanting a repeat of the last time Gosalyn interfered. Gosalyn drew her bow loaded with another arrow and waited. Clone got the point. “Jekyll withdrawal" he commanded. Jekyll looked at him in protest, but Clone reminded the dog who was boss. "HOME!” the 1st voice roared. Defeated, Jekyll's ears lower recessively and he disappeared into the coat. Launchpad stuffed the coat back into the box and slammed it shut. Gosalyn rushed over to her father to help him up.

Darkwing tried to drag Gosalyn out, but the stubborn child didn't budge. She knew deep down, that even though Clone was an unstable Darkwing copy, he still cared for his child. He had blown another chance at freedom is proof of that. “I’m not leaving until he swears, he’ll cooperate with the investigation.” She said coolly pointing at Clone. Clone and Gosalyn glowered at each other. Clone irrevocably conceded and bowed his head.” Fine,” Clone’s 2nd voice hissed. “Just leave," his 1st voice said in a less hostile tone.

Gosalyn jerked her arm free from Darkwing and went back to the observation room. The door shut behind her and Clone slumped in his chair. “Your devotion to the child is going to get us both killed one day.” The 2nd voice said aloud. “Hey,” Clone responded in his 2nd personality. “don’t act like you don’t miss her to, and you are probably right, but until then shut up!” ‘Darkwing gave Launchpad the box who took it out of interrogation. “Are you ready to comply?” Darkwing asked not fully believing Clone’s change of heart. Clone peered at his younger doppelgänger. “Yes,” he growled. “but first…” A low growl filled the room and Clone fell to the table and dropped the tough guy act. "We haven’t eaten in two days,” he said in an almost whine.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Darkwing replied in disbelief. Clone shook his head. “Could you feed Jekyll too?” he asked. Darkwing stood up. “That beast just tried to kill me!” he barked. “That is because we told him to.” Clone’s 2nd voice explained. “He’s normally a big teddy bear, when he is not listening to us.” Darkwing tapped his fingers on the table. “Look, trust goes both ways, please feed Jekyll. If you worried about controlling the dog, have Gosalyn feed him. Aside from me, he is loyal to her. In fact, the hybrid likes her better than us.” Darkwing’s fatherly instinct kicked in.” I AM NOT PUTTING MY GOSALYN IN DANGER TO FEED YOUR MUTT!” Clone looked at him with a serious expression for once. “We’re not.” He replied.

There were shouts, and scuffing behind the mirrored door and the Liquidator came through. “What, now! Drake said infuriated by the 3rd interruption. “Gosalyn grabbed the box, and ran out!” he exclaimed. “Everyone dashed after!”. Darkwing rushed out the door. ‘Don’t let Clone go anywhere!” he shouted as the door slammed behind him. The salvia hound looked at bound duck in the chair. “seriously!?” he thought.

Gosalyn had already opened the box by the time the adults reached her. She was tired of the distrust displayed tonight, and wanted to end it. If Jekyll was as loyal as clone said he was to her, then he had told the truth and the investigation could continue without there being any doubt in Clone’s testimony. “Jekyll Come” she said with the same kind of command that Clone had used. The trench coat thrusted violently out of the box, and Jekyll popped out of thin air. The dog looked growled at Darkwing and the others who posed a threat. “Jekyll Heel!” Gosalyn barked. The vicious dog relaxed and went to Gosalyn’s side. Gosalyn knew how the trench coat worked. Megavolt had told her back the house. She reached in and pulled out a turkey leg. “Sit.” She commanded. The dog obeyed and everyone relaxed, Clone had been telling the truth like he said he would.

Gosalyn tossed the leg to floor.  Jekyll didn’t go for the meat. Gosalyn stared at him puzzled. “He’s not going to eat it until you tell him to,” Negaduck spoke up, having trained dogs for years. Gosalyn saw that he was clinging to his collar close to his heart. “Did he actually worry for my safety?” she thought. No, he isn’t capable of such a thing. “Eat.” Gosalyn directed. The war dog attacked the turkey leg, eating it greedily. Darkwing looked like was about to have a heart attack, it was the second time today she could have gotten hurt. He wanted to yell at her again for testing fate when it came to Clone. However, she had proved her point that Clone would corporate, and that she wasn’t in any danger to begin with.

  Sometime later

  Darkwing waited patiently in the kitchen as the electric can opener did its job, he had laid fruit on the counter with a knife and cutting board. He had used Clone’s other request for a meal as an excuse to get some fresh air. Launchpad had followed, and everyone else went back to the observation area. Something had been bothering Launchpad since he and Bushroot examined Clone. The old doppelgänger had gravely affected everyone in the last 24 hours. Launchpad stared at Darkwing in the dark kitchen. If he was going to voice his worry. Now would be the time.

“Hey, D.W.,” he started, as he entered the kitchen. “You know it is not health to sit in a dark room.”. Darkwing spoke without looking up. “You know I thrive in the dark.”. The can opener stopped with a click. Launchpad walked up to Drake who had snatch up the can and poured it into a blender. “Drake,” he said cutting to the point. “I have a feeling that Clone is from an alternate future of another world, much like Darkwarrior in our world.”. Darkwing looked at his pilot.

Darkwarrior duck was another clone that plagued the Prime-verse, even though he is trapped in an alternate time line. He is example of the worst that Darkwing could become if he didn’t tread carefully. “What’s your point launchpad?” Darkwing asked not liking where the conversation was going. “Clone is 30 years your senior,” Launchpad explained “That puts him 5 years after Darkwarrior.” The large duck paused. “You already dodged the “Darkwarrior” bullet, what if Clone is the next one.”

Darkwing glowered, “I think you over thinking this Launchpad,” he said. “Besides, for all we know, he is not even from Primeverse.” Darkwing felt his tenor raise, at the sound of his friend putting him the same boat as Clone. “True,” Launchpad responded. “but it doesn’t mean it can’t happen in Primeverse.”. Darkwing turned his attention the fruit on the counter and chopped them up. Launchpad continued. “I am scared for you Drake,” he went quiet. “Clone is messed up, he clearly had psychiatric break down at some point, killed someone in cold blood, and he almost shot Gos, he set that beast on you, and that just what we know about. Plus, after I heard the message agent Gryzlikoff left – “

Drake flew in a rage and caught hold of the nearest thing, which happen to be launchpad. “That goddamn bear!” he shouted angrily. “I knew he was out to get me, I bet he reported me to J. Gander as well. How did he get the number to the house anyway?!” he let go of his sidekick and wandered near a window. “When I get my hand on that paper-pushing, two-faced- “. Darkwing stopped his tangent when he saw Launchpad’s startled expression, and realized he had been waving a kitchen knife around like a lunatic.

Darkwing dropped the knife to the ground and put his hands to his face. He could have hurt Launchpad, someone close him. Launchpad approached him. “Vlad called the tower,” he said. “He said something about a progress report on Darkwing duck clones. He didn’t say anything else, I only brought it up because I thought he knew about Clone.” Darkwing leaded against a wall, hung his head and felt like an idiot.” Did something happen while you were there?” His pilot asked concerned. Drake wanted to avoid answering the question, but then he remembered that Clone would done the same thing. He was determined not to go down that same path, even it meant confronting his demons. He picked up the knife, resumed his task, and told Launchpad about Steelbeak.

Launchpad quietly listened to Darkwing recount of the incident with Steelbeak. Drake had avoided S.H.U.S.H. like the plague since Duckthulhu, he must have known Steelbeak was there waiting for him. He had blamed himself for Morgana’s disappearance. Granted, Steelbeak had it coming, but he never thought Darkwing be the one to do it. Darkwing, also had always had problem accepting the existence of other dimensional Darkwings. The clones he had the most contact with, being Negaduck and Darkwarrior, haven’t been the greatest examples. On top of that, Clone shows up, and wreaks havoc in his wake. Launchpad realized he hadn’t made thing easier by suggesting that Clone was a possible future for D.W to fall into.

“I sorry for doubting you.” Launchpad said ‘I should have a little more faith in you. Besides, you have one thing that Negaduck and Clone don’t.” Darkwing dumped the fruit in the blender. “And what’s that?” Darkwing asked. Launchpad put his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “The ability to admit something is wrong and Me” he replied Launchpad leaned in close in protectively. “I will always be here for you and Gosalyn, you are like family to me.” Darkwing looked at friend, he knew that Launchpad cared for him, but not this much. Maybe he did, but was too devastated by Morgana to notice.

Launchpad had always been there for him. Drake grabbed the hand on his shoulder, accepting its comfort, and love. Maybe it was time to move on, just maybe. Darkwing tugged Launchpad’s arm, pulling the giant closer. Launchpad wrapped his arms around him in return. The comfort of the pilot was just Darkwing needed. He released his hold on Launchpad, blended the concoction of fruit and what appeared to be spinach, or at least what Darkwing thought was spinach. The Hero and his pilot made their way back the interrogation room.

 Meanwhile…

 “All it took was Gosalyn.” Megavolt said aloud. “It took 5 chapters to finally be able to learn anything from that stubborn old duck. If we had known that Clone, like Darkwing, would be putty in her hands. We would have had her ask the questions.” Megavolt had been ranting since Darkwing went to fetch Clone something to eat. “Sparky,” Negaduck said, speaking for everyone at this point. “Stop addressing the ghosts”. Negaduck glowered at Clone. If it were up to him, he would have let Clone starve for all he cared.

“Survey says, he must have a Gosalyn and Launchpad from his home dimension.” The Liquidator said, trying to change the subject before Megavolt could start ranting again. “Maybe,” Bushroot said. “He did recognize the both of them. Hey Negaduck, what about you? Is there a Gosalyn and Launchpad in the Negaverse?” Negaduck glared at the plant and the room went silent.” Yes”, Negaduck responded. “Nega-Launchpad is my right-hand duck; I leave him charge of St. Canard in the Negaverse when I’m gone.” He went silent. “What about a Nega-Gosalyn?” Liquidator blurted. Negaduck turned his gaze to Gosalyn who looked at him inquisitively. Megavolt smacked the hound aside the for asking such a question in front of her. “She’s there to.” Negaduck replied, and said nothing more on the matter. The Negaverse was 4 years behind Primeverse, but was more advanced in technology. He tugged at his collar again. Nega-Gosalyn would be 10 this year. It had been 5 years since Darkwing pulled the universal plug and had cut him off from the Negaverse….

  /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

5 years ago

Negaverse: St. Canard

  The streets of St. Canard were filled with unkept roads, neglected building, and its people running free and under little to no regulation. The only law was his law, it was Negaduck's haven. As he walked down the street, the St. Canardians would either run or bowed, he didn’t care for which and mostly ignored them. It was their way of showing respect to their lord. To some he was one of the few that Nega- Scrooge never challenged out right, or because of the freedom he gave them to do as they please. For other it was either the independent country of St. Canard, or under Nega- Scrooge McDuck’s iron curtain of New Duckburg. None could make the journey to the Cape Suzette Stronghold, the last safe place in a world gone mad.

He made his way home on foot. Since Negaduck had cut off St. Canard from the rest of the world, transportation was hard to come by. The only way to travel was by boat or plane, there hadn’t been any cars around in working condition since Negaduck cut ties with Duckburg. Transportation was one of the few things he did regulate. Negaduck had made it clear, that you can live here, but no one can leave. Nobody crossed the border without him knowing about it. This is how they came across Nega-Gosalyn, and a way to keep Nega- Scrooge at bay.

Nega-Waddlemeyer once developed weapons of mass destruction for Nega –Mcduck, his employer. Most of his weapons required a code to operate. When he inherited Nega- Gosalyn from his dead son, he taught her the codes, indirectly in way she could not understand, as a failsafe if anything were to happen and to him.  Unfortunately, for him Nega- Taura Bulba, under the order of Nega-F.O.W.L, killed Waddlemeyer and abducted Gosalyn. Unable to reach F.O.W.L headquarters, Bulba sought to transfer Nega-Gosalyn to the Primeverse, a place Nega-Mcduck could never reach. He and his team crossed the border St. Canard illegally, with Gosalyn in tow.

Negaduck had caught wind of the trespassers. Once he heard that they were F.O.W.L agents, he went after them personally, he didn’t want the international organization in his country. After dispatching of Bulba and his men, he met Gosalyn and learned about the Waddlemeyer codes. From that point on Negaduck was Gosalyn’s “guardian” and he made it abundantly clear to Nega-Scrooge, that if he set foot in St. Canard, he’d kill the girl. Negaduck, with exception of Nega-Launchpad, had no love for the child. Or so he thought.

The yellow clad dictator turned down his street and saw three children on his front lawn. One of them was Nega- Gosalyn, the other two were the Muddlefoot children. The children of St. Canard ran wild, the schools had either been closed or burned down, the only time they listen to their parents, was when they threaten to kill them, which some did. Nega- Launchpad however, home schooled Gosalyn, and he always babied her, though Negaduck never understood why his lover and right hand didn’t let Gosalyn toughen up. He didn’t care what the pilot did on his own time.

“Hand it over” Honker demanded, reaching in Gosalyn’s direction. “She earned that fair and square, leave her alone.” Tank asked politely. “I don’t care if she stole like a good little girl, I want it, don’t make me ask again.” Honker growled. Tank pushed Gosalyn behind him defensively. He normally wouldn’t fight, but he will to protect Gosalyn. Honker pulled out a long iron chain. “Now, for the last time-“ Honker stopped and grew quiet as soon as his brother turn pale as a sheet, and he saw Negaduck's silhouette.

“Muddlefoot,” Negaduck said in a calmly, though he was far from it. “You should know better than to ask once for something you want, let alone twice. I thought your father raised you better than that.” He had placed himself between Honker and the other two. “So disappointing, oh well.” Negaduck said, his voice growing more aggressive. Negaduck kicked the delinquent hard and he fell to the ground. Honker curled in a little ball bracing for what was coming. Negaduck continued to beat the boy while he was on the ground, ignoring pleas made by Gosalyn and Tank to have mercy. Honker eventually stopped moving, Negaduck didn’t kill him, he wanted the Honker Muddlefoot to remember this.

The child beating duck turned his attention to Tank, who stood between him and Gosalyn. It was known that the eldest child of Herbert Muddlefoot had a crush on Gosalyn and wanted to protect her on the streets of St. Canard. Negaduck always hated him for that, though he didn’t understand why, or at least he denied it. “Boy, Gosalyn needs to learn to fight her own battles and grow a backbone” Negaduck said no longer hiding his malice. He lifted Tank of the ground by his wrist. Tank squirmed to get away, and Gosalyn was crying, she knew what her father planned to do.

Negaduck used his free hand and slowly snapped Tank’s fingers. Tank screams drowned out Gosalyn begging for Negaduck to stop. Before he released Tank, Negaduck broke his wrist with a twist of his hand. He had left the boy, with a swollen broken hand. “Gather your brother, and get off my property.” Negaduck said without a hint of remorse. Tank did as he was told, and heaved Honker over his shoulder. They disappeared down the street.

Negaduck dragged a sobbing Gosalyn in to the house and sat her at the table in the kitchen. He waited for her to pull herself together, this wasn’t first time he had attacked her friends and it wouldn’t be the last. Gosalyn finally, stopped crying and dried her eyes. Unknown to the both of them, Nega-Launchpad had crept around the corner and was watching them. He had saw the commotion outside and had grabbed a rocket launcher. He was good to blast Honker to kingdom come, until Negaduck came along and did away with him.

The foul duck glowered at his daughter, she had pleaded for him to show mercy to Honker, even when he was trying mug her. Her kindness and sweet disposition, was rare in Nega- St. Canard. It often made her a target for thieves and local gangs. If Launchpad didn’t rain fire upon them, Negaduck would surely break bones, and/or kill those stupid enough to try. He didn’t want harm to come to his hostage. It wasn’t because of his parental instinct to protect Gosalyn. He had no love for her. She was just there.

“So, what did you steal that Muddlefoot wanted so badly?” Negaduck asked. He knew she wouldn’t lie to him, Hell anytime she broke a plate, she’d rat herself out. Gosalyn looked to him, her eyes were still red. “I never stole anything,” she croaked, her voice still horse. “Dad said you were coming home from Primeverse and I wanted to get you a welcome home present.” She reached in to the bag she had been caring prior to the attack. “You were gone for such a long time, I missed you, so I went to the market and spent my savings.” She continued. She rummaged through the bag, and produced an apple and a pin shaped like a rabbit with a frown on his face.

Gosalyn gave the items to Negaduck. Fruit such as apples, were considered a treat in St. Canard, the only way to get them was through Cape Suzette. Cape Suzette was ruled by Sheer Khan, and was the fickle ally of St. Canard. Negaduck and Khan had a simple agreement, they would come to the aid of if the other was attack by New Duckburg, and Cape Suzette would been the only trade partner of St. Canard. This often led to pricey tariffs that St. Canard had to pay, usually by fishing and cheap labor for Khan Industries, who had set up there.

The flip side of the one-sided trade arrangement, was Khan Industries had to deal with lawless that was Nega-St. Canard, there was no one there to protect them from its inhabitance. However, since most St. Canardians chose to fend for themselves, trade with Cape Suzette was seldom. Only one boat came in every 3 months. Because of this, produce like this cost an arm and leg, sometimes even a kidney. Gosalyn had paid for it in cash.

The second item was a pin of a white rabbit with it ears drooped and had a sour expression on his face. Negaduck examined the piece of plastic, it was a relic of a time before New Duckburg and before he took over St. Canard. He hated to small fuzzy creatures; they did taste good though. “I know you don’t like rabbits, because they don’t have a mean bone a mean bone in their body” Nega-Gosalyn explained. “So, when I saw an angry one amongst the rubble of an old abandoned Duckburgian cargo hold at the docks, I thought you might like it.” She grew silent. “Do you like it?” she asked sweetly. “No,” Negaduck said, though he shoved both items into his coat pocket, rather throw them out like he did with most things she had brought him in the past.

He looked around the suburban home. It was spotless. Gosalyn must have cleaned it for his arrival. Negaduck grabbed a nearby newspaper and pretended to read it. “Gos,’ he said with his head hidden behind the paper. “Do me a favor and dirty up the house, its nauseating.”. The duckling hopped to her feet with a smile on her face, and went upon her task. After everything she still wanted to please the horrid father. After she had left, Negaduck took out the rabbit pin and pinned to the inside of his coat. He went to over to a nearby wall mirror to adjust it.

After that he leaned against the wall and continued to read the newspaper, thinking he was alone. However, the fist whirling past his head and smashing the glass mirror proved him wrong. Negaduck look from the paper, knowing full well it was the only one bold enough to attack him in his own home. Nega-Launchpad glowered at Negaduck, who simply stared back. They had a staring contest for about a minute before Negaduck cracked a smirk and Launchpad leaned his massive head against the wall. “Hey Babe,” Negaduck said in a cocky tone. “You miss me?”

Nega-Mcquack growled, trying not to sound happy to see him. “You know I fucking hate being in charge.” he replied. “Every time you leave to Primeverse, you stay longer and longer. This put St. Canard at risk, what if Mcduck takes notices of your absent and attacks? Megavolt and his “friendly” 4 certainly do. They tried twice to take over. I might be your General, but I am no Goddamn leader.” Launchpad stopped his tangent for a moment.

Nega-Megavolt had always been a torn in the side of St. Canard. He had assembled a group of likeminded individuals, who wanted to take back St. Canard, and return it to its former glory. The organization was known as the Friendly 4, and its leaders Nega- Megavolt, Liquidator, Bushroot, and Quackerjack. To Nega- Launchpad, the liberators were nothing more than terrorist. According to Negaduck, Nega-Megavolt used to be his friend prior to his violent takeover of St. Canard, but they had a falling out.

“Plus” Launchpad continued “Half the time you do comeback, you look like Darkwing ate you then shit you out, and who has to put your dumbass back together? Me, that’s fucking who” He paused. “So yes, I am happy fucking happy you’re back you asshole!” Launchpad had always had a mouth, and was the only one that got to talk that way to Negaduck and live. It was part of his charm.

“You don’t think dad is a really an asshole, do you?” a worried Gosalyn asked from the stairs. She had finished destroyed her room when she the commotion downstairs. Launchpad directed his attention to Gosalyn and turned slightly green and red. He made it a point to not to curse in front of her, it was one of his little ways of protecting her. “Yes, he is,” he responded as he left Negaduck and made his way to the bottom of the stairwell. I know it, you know it, everyone in the fu-… err world knows it!” Negaduck tried to suppress a snicker, he agreed. Launchpad ignored him. “And don’t say that word again” he continued in a disciplinary tonality. “it is only for dads and other assholes to use.” Gosalyn answered back innocently. “But would that kind of logic make you both as- that word?”

Negaduck could help it anymore and almost kneeled over laughing at his pilot, there were times Gosalyn’s innocence was too much. He pulled himself together and smiled at the girl, something he rarely did. “Go finish your chores brat, and makes to break something expensive” He ordered reminding himself that he didn’t like her. “The adults need to talk.”. Nega- Gosalyn saluted her father and hurried off. He turned to face launchpad, who had was smirking with his arms crossed. “What?” Negaduck asked his smile disappearing. “Still going to deny it after today?” Nega-Launchpad snickered. “Ready to admit that you care for Gosalyn?”. Negaduck glowered at his pilot. “I don’t,” he replied. “She just lives here.”. The larger duck continued. “Oh really?” he said sarcastically. “What happen to “She is just a hostage”? Don’t think I didn’t see that little exchange between the two of you in the kitchen.”

Negaduck glared at eavesdropping aviator, “That meant nothing, don’t read too much into it” he growled. Launchpad leaned in close to his commander and placed on hand on the wall so Negaduck couldn’t get away easily. “Prove it then,” Launchpad challenged. “Give me the little trinket she gave you, since you are going to trash anyway.” Negaduck suddenly changed his tune. “I haven’t the slightest idea of what you're talking about.” The yellow clad mallard responded. “You can’t lie your way out of this one Negs.” Launchpad said as he closed in on Negaduck.

“What did she give you anyway?” Launchpad asked. Negaduck slide from against the wall and tried to flee to the living room, Launchpad followed. “I serious, don’t know what you’re talking about” Negaduck said. However, it was a fruitless effort, he never could fool his companion. Launchpad lunged at Negaduck in an attempt to grab his coat. Unfortunately for him, what the small duck lacked in size, he made up for in speed. *“Anas, Anas!” Negaduck said as if he were a bull fighter, then he expertly evaded his opponent and tripped him so he’d fall on the couch on his stomach.

Nega-Launchpad forgot all about Negaduck’s pin, rolled over and tried to get up. Negaduck didn’t give him the opportunity. He jumped on top of his pilot, subduing him. Launchpad struggled for a moment then stopped. Negaduck used his free hand to pull up his head tugging on his shirt, and looked at him wantonly. Launchpad didn’t protest, it had been awhile since he and Negaduck preformed any of the “love” in lovers. Frankly, even though he was still mad at him for leaving, he missed it and him.

Negaduck released him, and got off the couch. It was nothing more than a tease. “As much as I want to, I am only here for a supply.” Negaduck said. “I am heading out again, have to maintain the warp hole on the Prime-verse side of things”. Launchpad sat up. “You just got back!” he barked angry. “Look babe,” Negaduck said. Nega-Launchpad was one of the few people he didn’t want to disappoint, not on purpose anyway. “Once this job is done, I’ll have some down time until the portal reopens again.” Negaduck retrieved a duffel bag and started to fill it. “I’ll stay home during that time and do whatever you want do.”. Negaduck heaved the bag over his shoulder. “Promise?” Launchpad inquired, not fully believing him. Negaduck turned to his general. “You know I don’t make promises.” He answered.

He left the house for the last time that day. One that unfornate day, Darkwing discover his warp hole, and enter the Negaverse. He trained the Friendly 4 to be more affective in their goal to liberate St. Canard from Negaduck. As a result, they took Gosalyn away, but they didn’t dare take her out of Nega-St. Canard. They hated Negaduck, but the last thing they want is for Nega- Scrooge to invade. Negaduck tried to trap Darkwing in the Negaverse, via destroying the warp hole on the other side. However, Darkwing followed him in pursuit. The purple clad mallard pulled the universal plug, sending them both to Primeverse, and making it almost impossible for Negaduck to go back to his home world.

  Two days later….

Abandon candy factory

Primeverse: St. Canard.

 Negaduck had been growing more hostile as of late. Quackerjack watched as Bushroot comforted Spike, as he tinkered with his ‘toys”. Apparently, Negaduck tried to set the carnivorous plant on fire again. After Negaduck got cut off from the Negaverse, he had been taking a more active role as their leader and started to live with them. The clown, unlike the others, didn’t mind. Negaduck was an unstable madman like himself, and always found the duck’s mischief entertaining. Negaduck appeared from the main office, he was eating an apple, and sat at the table at the other end of the room. He ignored Spike who hissed at him. Quackerjack took note that Negaduck had developed a nervous tick, he would touch the inside his yellow coat, as if he was checking for something.

Negaduck's heart skipped a beat. “It’s gone, where is it?” he thought to himself. He began to feel himself panic, but didn’t show it. It was all he had left, and it was missing. Megavolt enter the common area with a load of laundry from the laundry mat. Since Megavolt looked the most normal out of the Fearsome 5, and could go out and about as Elmo Sputterspark, he was the designate errand rat. He dropped the basket on to the floor, a shiny piece of plastic bounced out. Megavolt picked it up and examined it. It was a pin of a white rabbit with a frown on his face.

Negaduck bolted over to Megavolt and jabbed him the gut, knock the wind out of him. Megavolt dropped the pin, which Negaduck caught midair, and crammed it into his pocket. It all happened so fast nobody registered what had occurred until Negaduck had disappeared down the hallway. When he was sure he was alone, the took out the rabbit shaped button and placed it back in the inside of his coat. “No,” he said to himself. “I do not care for the brat.” Though he wasn’t quite sure that anymore.

  /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

  The sound of a door opening, snapped Negaduck out his reminisce, and back to the present. Darkwing and Launchpad had come back. Drake entered the interrogation room and placed a sealed cup of green mush in front of Clone. Clone wasn’t chained to the chair anymore, but he was still wrapped tightly in a straightjacket. He sat there and stared at the cup. “How are we supposed to eat this, what is it anyway?” Clone asked, trying to find a reason to get out of the jacket. “Looks like something Launchpad made.”  Clone’s other personality answered. A mildly amused Darkwing put one of Gosalyn’s silly straws in to the cup. Clone shrugged and gulped it down in one sitting. He gagged. “It definitely tastes like his cooking!” both personalities said turning as green as the concoction Clone had consumed.

“Take it that, there is a Launchpad from your universe to?” Darkwing asked. Though it was a rhetorical question, Clone didn’t treat it as such.” There is not “a” Launchpad in a single universe,” Clone corrected him. “There are two, like every living thing in the Multiverse.” Darkwing gave him a puzzled look. “No,” he said confused. “There is only one Launchpad in the Primeverse, the only time I met another one is was when in the Negaverse.” Clone rolled his eyes. “The Negaverse is part of Primeverse, in fact they are the same universe.” His second personality answered. Darkwing stared at the older clone. “What are you talking about?” he quizzed. Darkwing still had his prior obligation, to investigate the Darkwing clones for S.H.U.S.H. If Clone had insight on the subject, he be a fool not take advantage of it.

“We keep forgetting that, most of the Multiverse is insolated, with the except of a few, no one in the multiverse is aware that they are mirrors.” Clone said bluntly. Darkwing listened carefully. “A single universe, acts like a magnetic field,” Clone’s second personality explained. “They have a positive poll called the Posiverse, which is you, and Negative poll, which is the Negaverse. The Posiverse and the Negaverse make up Primeverse, and balance each other, if one goes the other will fail. This true for all dimensions in the Multiverse.”

Darkwing gave Clone a perplexed stare.” I thought you say cooperate,” He said in an annoyed tone. “Whether you chose to believe us or not doesn’t change to the facts.” Clone answered in his 1st voice. “We intend to honor our agreement and answer your questions.’ Drake rubbed his eyes, and got right down to business. “Let’s start where we left off” he stated. “Why are you here? Why does Primeverse Megavolt need to die? Don’t you have your own Megavolt…. Sorry Megavolts, in your universe?” Darkwing paused. “Prove to me, that I should trust you Clone, what is your real name. You know mine.”

Clone was silent. Darkwing saw him twitch and knew that the personalities were arguing again internally. Clone spoke. “We no longer have a “real” name.” he replied with personalities in union. “If you must know it is Negawing Duck.” Darkwing jotted down the name in his notes. Negawing, continued. “As for the other questions, let me tell you a fact, and the tale of how We became how we came to be.” Darkwing gave him his undivided attention. “As a clone of Darkwing Duck,” Negawing started. “It is our primary job to protect the city, or in some cases country, of St. Canard. However, we have another job as its guardian.” He paused. “There are many different universes out there, but they all have a shared trait. The vail between the Posiverse and Negaverse is thin enough for people to cross over into them easily. 3 guesses as to where.” After the Darkwing Crisis, Drake had pretty good idea.” St. Canard.” He replied.

“Correct.” Negawing said. “Warp holes appear all over the city, most of them are small and unnoticeable, others are large enough for someone to cross through. Some lead to the Void, a network that connects the Multiverse. After the Darkwing Crises, some of the Darkwing clones began to monitor warp holes or outright destroy them” Darkwing listen quietly, his curiosity peaked. “Every Masked Mallard in existence, to some extent is a Quadworth, a person with the ability sense the warp holes. The level of this ability varies from those who can find warp holes and/ or maintain them, to those who can create them, we can only maintain them, find them. The power to perform all three is rare, yet one of the few able to do it is in your observation room.” Negawing went quiet and looked toward the mirrored wall. He knew Negaduck was in there.

Darkwing scoffed. He hated magic and didn’t want to believe that he was some sort of warp hole homing device. “That’s impossible” he retorted. “I am no wizard or a quadworth.” The older duck raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?” Negawing’s second personality answered. “Do think it is a coincidence, that magical incidents happen to you, your connection to the summoning of Duckthulhu, or the fact of all the brainwashable people in the Multiverse, Magica De Spell chose Darkwings?” Drake didn’t know what was harder to believe. The fact he was a quadworth, or Negawing knew about Duckthulhu. Then again Negawing was older that he was and had probably lived through it.

“Anyway,” Negawing continued, “We do not expect you to believe us, take it as it is” Negawing said as if he were talking to a stubborn child. “Now that you know how the Multiverse works and your role in it, let us tell you a tale of the Duck Knights who fail in their duty, and lost everything.” His voiced turned somber. “This is not an origin story is it?” Darkwing said in an irritated tone. Negawing answered just as annoyed. “Unfortunately, yes, yes, it is! Hopefully, you and Negaduck can learn from this cautionary tale.” Darkwing and the peanut gallery in the observation room gave a collectively groaned. They had asked for answers, now they were going get it and then some.

Chapter 6

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190716333084/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter 4

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/612626971235631104/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter1

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190578269234/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

#oc #fanfic #darkwing duck #negaduck #fearsome five #gosalyn mallard #launchpad mcquack #negaverse

[bridgertonlife]

End Game Q&A from Russo Brothers in China

Q: Why Ironman has to be the one to do the final snap, couldn't the people like Thor, Starlord or Captain Marvel whom all previously have handled the power of Infinity Stones done it instead?

A: Thor in this movie couldn't do it, only Hulk was strong enough to do the snap without dying. We are still not sure whether Captain Marvel can also withstand all the power of Infinity Stones at once. The reason we choose to let Ironman do it in the end was because he was the closest one to Thanos at the time. In all the futures Doctor Strange foresee, Ironman was the only one who could get close to Thanos and do the snap. People usually think the death of a hero is a horrible tragedy. But we think this is different. When his death was able to bring back hope, to save half of the universe, then his death was powerful and meaningful. We shouldn't feel too sad or anger about it.

Q: Peggy Carter was probably already married and in her mid 40s in 1970, in that case what year was it that Captain America went back to dance with her?

A:We can't answer it for now, this is a story that happened in an alternate reality. Maybe it will be revealed in the future.

Q: Did Captain America's action at the end affect the timeline? Does that mean there was a time where two CA existed in a same universe?

A: To me, CA's action in the end wasn't the fact he wanted to change anything, it's more like me has made a choice. He chose to go back to past and lived with the one he loved for the rest of his life. The time travel in this movie created an alternate reality. He lived a completely different life in that world. We don't know how exactly his life turned out, but I'd like to believe he still helped many others when they were needed in that world. Yes, there were two CA in that reality, it's just like what Hulk said, what happened in the past has already happened. If you go back to past, you simply created a new reality. The characters in this movie created new timeline when they went back to the past, but it had no effect to the prime universe. What happened in the past 22 movies was still canon.

Q: In both IW and EG, the heroes tried their back to take the glove away from Thanos, so why didn't Doctor Strange just cut off Thanos' hand with his ability?

A: Thanos' skin is almost impenetrable, we don't know whether Doctor Strange had the capability to do it. If he failed to cut it on time, Thanos would still able to do the snap. Doctor Strange realized this issue during his millions test runs.

Q: Why did you make Thor fat? Did Chris also become fat for the roll or it was done throug CG?

A: It was mostly CGed. Thor suffered more loss than anyone else, he has been living in constant pain and regret.

Q: Was old Cap played Evans using make up? Or it was also post production CG?

A: 95%CG, 5% make up. But the voice was 100% Evans, no modification for that.

Q: Can you get the soul your sacrficed for the Soul Stone back when you return it?

A: No, the process is irreversible. Even if you have returned it to its original location, you wouldn't be able to get the person back. In fact, it's not really returning the stone, more like put it back properly. The tribute soul for the soul stone will forever be sealed in that place, therefore Black Widow is gone forever.

Q: How would Cap react when he encounter Red Skull when he returned the stone?

A: Red Skull would probably put the soul stone back to its location, and wait for the next unfortunate stone seeker to make sacrifice. Cap and Red Skull probably won't fight. It's because it's his mission to return the stone to its original place. The Red Skull is also no longer the same Red Skull from FA. He is more like a ghost, you could almost say he's a completely different entity now. He only exist to guard the stone, his past conscious may or may not exist anymore.

Q: In IW, Thanos used the time stone to reverse the time so he could the already dead Vision, and it didn't cause any time parallax. Why did no one use time stone to save Ironman's life in EG?

A: It's because even if you save Ironman, it will still not change the fact that Thanos will eventually win the war. Among the 14million possibilities that Doctor Strange has seen, Ironman's sacrifice is a must for that one win scenario.

Q: How did Thanos bring his army to the future?

A: There is a guy called Maw in his army, he was a great wizard. Thanos himself was a brilliant genius as well. Those two easily reverse engineered and mass produced Pym Particles.

Q: What about those people who got dusted? What did those five years mean to them? Why didn't they grow older when undusted?

A: Yes, those people whom was lucky to survive the snap are 5 years older than the people who just got back. The reason Spider Man saw his friend again in high school at the end was simply because his friends was unfortunately also dusted like Spider Man was. Of course, there are people in his grade whom didn't die and they are probably already in colleges by now. To those dusted people, they had no conscious in these past 5 years. They didn't know what happened. It's as if they had just woke up from a long sleep. The only one who was aware about how many years has passed was Doctor Strange, because he has already seen that when he was time mediating on Titan. Parker's reunion with Nat was a touching moment. There are also people whom indeed moved on but suddenly was reunited with their lost ones. Yeah it's kind a complicated world now.

Q: What if the mouse didn't press the button to turn on the quantum machine, wouldn't that stop EG from happening? Isn't this a bit too much a coincidence?

A: Yes, the MOUSE SAVED UNIVERSE. Among the many realities in those 14millions possible futures Doctor Strange foresee, the mouse failed to press button and thus the heroes failed in those futures.

Q: EG's plot, is it a parallel universe or a closed time loop?

A: Nope, not a time loop. Both Ancinet One and Hulk were right. You can't change the future by simply going back to past. But it's possible to create a different alternate future. It's not butterfly effect. Every decision you made in the past could potentially create a new timeline. For example, the old Cap at the end movie, he lived his married life in a different universe from the main one. He had to make another jump back to the main universe at the end to give the shield to Sam.

Q: There were some metal smashing sound when the movie ended. Was that easter egg? or just a tribute to Ironman, or maybe an implication that Ironman will return?

A: It was our way to say goodbye to him.

Q: Why there was no Ironman's body in his funeral, only his arc reactor? And is there any secret messages for bring back that kid from Ironman3?

A: We just feel that he should participate in Ironman's funeral. As for whether he will appear again in future, who knows.

Q: Why didn't Black Widow get a funeral as well?

A: Did you forget when the heroes where mourning for her after when they returned from past? Maybe her funeral happened off screen. Maybe it will be shown in future installment, because there are still tons of stories in MCU that are waiting to be tell.

Source: https://ent.qq.com/a/20190429/007983.htm . Would be nice if someone can double check the translation

Thanks to anon from 4chan. http://boards.4channel.org/co/thread/107288171

¡¡¡¡¡¡PLOT HOLES EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!! The answers to all the questions are: 

1 - Because, US, the Russo bros. say so.

2 - It was CONVENIENT for our plot (yay same as in CIVIL WAR).

(The MOUSE SAVED THE UNIVERSE is my absolute favourite, because it means there’s a lot of realities where that mouse was killed off, just died, never plugged that engine... Whatever, and that means Tony, Pepper and Morgan lived their happy lives to a full, because Tony was never required for the Avengers Timetravel Shitshow, sorry Scott, rot forever in the quantum realm, I don’t care).

WOW, worst Marvel movie EVER.

I hate those four assholes, the writers and the directors. Fuck them 3000.

#avengers endgame #the russo bros #avengers endgame spoilers #endgame spoilers

[sheithfictioncatalogue]

Do you have any more zombie aus? Thank you!

There’s actually a lot more that aren’t already in our zombies tag. Here you go:

We Can Wait Here For Tomorror - geckoholic @lostemotion

4k. (Teen). Contains: graphic violence.

The big turn-around in his life wasn't the apocalypse. It was a few months before, when the promising-if-rebellious Cadet Kogane got thrown out on his ass and turned into a bitter recluse. The hybrids just made his life post-Garrison a bit more difficult. But he still avoids other human beings like they carry the plague – which they might, now – and he's still living by himself in his inherited shack, surrounded by memories and dust.

Even In The End I Have You - MizuLeKitten

3k. (Teen).

“So you and Shiro doing anything later?”“Probably. There was that one cabin I wanted to check out-”“Keith, buddy, not what I meant.” Keith grinned at the exasperation in Lance’s voice. “I meant like a party, going for a swim down at the lake, birthday sex. Ya know, birthday stuff,” he waved a hand around.

OR: Keith and Lance have two different ideas of what a birthday should be, but Shiro knows Keith and delivers /perfectly/.

Moribund - whitesilverandmercury

8k. (Teen).

Falling in love at the end of the world, from truck stop to truck stop. // a series of ficlets, zombie AU, Keith dancing on the counter of an empty Waffle House and Shiro cooking dinner in an abandoned farmhouse, Necrotic Virus 51, an ex-stripper with a baseball bat and a guy with a scar across his face which he does not remember getting

momentous - madkingray @madkingray

25k. (Teen). Contains: trans Keith.

Right now the fear outweighs any other emotion because it’s not a scare this time, it’s real. When he rests a hand across his stomach a new one starts to blossom, starting in his chest and slowly spreading everywhere else until he finds himself smiling.

He feels happy.

trans keith + unplanned pregnancy + zomb au

Road to Ruin - xenoglossia (oncharredwings) @pining-sheith

4k. (Mature). Contains: graphic violence, major character death, blood & gore.

“I’m not giving up on you,” Keith snarled and tore his own stained shirt to wrap around Shiro’s wound. “You didn’t give up on me and I refuse to leave you here.”

Shiro took a sharp breath through his nose and winced when Keith wrapped his arm tight. “I won’t be able to control myself, you can’t trust me… I don’t want to become one of those things. Keith.” Shiro placed his large hand over Keith’s much smaller one. “Promise me, you’ll take me out before I become one of those things.”

Keith looked Shiro in the eye. “I promise.”

“You swear? Don’t lie to me, Cadet.” Shiro smirked just a little.

Keith continued to look Shiro in the eye and lie. “I swear.”

edge of the universe - madkingray @madkingray

3k. (Teen).

Keith searches for Shiro in a dead world.

a whole lot of red - tempestaurora

12k. (Teen). Contains: graphic violence.

The apocalypse doesn't give, only takes. And it's already taken too much.

Keith's only goal is to make it out alive. Shiro has plenty of goals - one of them being kissing Keith, probably.

Also, zombies.

Line in the Sand - A_Lonely_Soul (ImpendingExodus) @impendingexodus

8k. (Teen). Contains: major character death, implied/referenced suicide.

Takashi Shirogane -- personal logbook

Routine scavenging mission tomorrow morning. The settlement is running low on medicine again and I’m leading the team to find a pharmacy. All of the nearby ones have been raided already so we’re going to have to go farther afield... into Walker territory. It’s been a while since anyone’s headed out that far. I hope they’ve all been keeping up with their combat training.

In other news, I’ve finally picked out a ring. Seems a silly gesture in this world, but I want to do things right. When we get back from the mission tomorrow -- that’s when I’ll ask him. That’s when I’ll ask Keith. Wish me luck.

Survivor and the beast - shipnuggets @shipnuggets

ongoing, 1/? chapters, 1k. (Not rated). Contains: major character death.

After the paladins save the earth, the Galra return. They leave death and infection in their wake. Keith turns out to be one of the infected and encounters Shiro, one of the survivors. Will they be able to exist side by side like old times, despite being exact opposites; alive and death?

Life Among the Dead - Amongthedeep

ongoing, 1/? chapters, 5k. (Mature). Contains: graphic violence.

A meteor crashes into Earth, spreading a new disease that slowly changes humanity and transforms them into rotting corpses.This is the start of it all.The story of how Takashi Shirogane finds love among the dead.

Sea of Love - magnificent_catastrophe

ongoing, 3/5 chapters, 7k. (Mature). Contains: graphic violence, major character death, suicide.

The members of Flight Squadron Defender 167 are family. They fight and die together, and no one gets left behind. Not even in this post-apocalyptic state that the United States is in.They've been fighting this war for months, but only recently did it get out of hand. Unfortunately, not everyone's equipped to handle survival when it comes down to it.

The Long Way Home - aphelionmelody

ongoing, 2/? chapters, 4k. (Mature). Contains: graphic violence, blood & gore, suicidal thoughts.

When the outbreak starts, all Keith wants to do is go home. The universe seems to have other plans.

Or: the zombie AU that no one asked for.

My Heart on a Sleeve - KrakenCodex (Eghfeithrean)

3k. (Teen).

With the world gone utterly to hell, Keith muses over the few good things he's gained through it all.

Blades of Zombora - GeniusCactus

3k. (General).

Thanks to the fearless Blades of Zombora (Boz), the citizens of Voltropolis are now able to roam the streets whenever and wherever they please. It’s become all too easy to fall into a false sense of security, however, and one fateful night, things take a turn for the worst when a top BoZ officer lets down his guard, falling victim to the zombie’s tricks. 

- Kel

#Anonymous #sheith #voltron #sheithfanfic #zombies #masterlist #majorcharacterdeath #suicide #gore #blood #violence #pregnanttranskeith #trans #transkeith #transgender #suicidalthoughts #recs

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Straight Boy

Part 4: love

Rated: M

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1739

Chapter: 4/4 [All chapters]

Read on AO3

AN: Prepare for pure tooth rotting fluff :)

Tagging: @jeansjeansjeansjeans

———————————————-

“Tyrannus.”

My eyes open slightly. It takes awhile to get my brain back online and realise Baz has said something. Neither Baz or I have spoken in at least an hour. He’s sitting upright in my bed while he reads, and he’s always laser focused on his books. I don’t mind. I’ve been happily wrapped around his side like a smitten boa constrictor. It’s one of the many things I’ve found I love doing with Baz.

I lift up my head a bit from Baz’s side. Baz is looking ahead, glasses on his head, book still open. His expression doesn’t show anything, which can actually show more when it comes to Baz.

“What?” I whisper, voice scratchy from disuse.

Baz closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “My first name, it’s Tyrannus.”

My brain is still in sleep-mode, so it takes me some extra time to process exactly what he’s saying. But slowly, a grin spreads across my face. I feel giddy, like I’m I’ve been given keys to an entire warehouse filled with scones. “Seriously?”

Baz nods slowly. His face is still neutral, but I can see his fingers nervously drumming on his book cover. “Yes.”

“Your full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

He sighs, head tilting back against the wall with his eyes closed. “Yes.”

I burst out into loud, snorty laughs. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I have to muffle the noise somewhat in his silk pyjama shirt. This is the most I’ve laughed at anything. Which is ridiculous but I can’t stop. Baz sighs again and strokes my hair.

“Get it out, Snow,” he says, both exasperated and amused. “Knew you’d appreciate this.”

“You really are, a gothic romance villain!” I sputter.

“Yup. I should be living in a decrepit castle with an unkindness of ravens, I know.”

I lift my head up as I wipe a laughing tear from my eye. “Where the hell did a name like that come from?”

Baz grunts, something I think he’s picked up from me. “It’s a Pitch family name. My mother insisted upon it. But no one calls me bloody Tyrannus, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I shimmy up his body, resting my chin on his bony shoulder with one leg still thrown over his. “Why are you telling me now?”

He puts his book down so he can wrap his strong arms around my torso. His smirk is unbelievably smug. “Have you ever heard of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Snow?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, yeah. I’m just confused. I’ve been asking about your name on and off for months and you’ve always said no. So, why now?”

“Well,” Baz sighs, “I don’t like telling people my name because it’s ridiculous, but I knew you would thoroughly enjoy it. So I thought, ‘what’s a better six month anniversary present than making Snow laugh his beautiful arse off with my stupid name?’”

My brow pulls together. “What? It’s not-”

“Look at the clock, love.” He tilts his chin behind me. I twist around, and lo and behold, the clock reads 12:07 in glowing red numbers. It’s officially been our six month anniversary for seven minutes. I turn back to him with a huge smile and full heart.

“You sap,” I whisper. “And here I thought you were just going to make me breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m still doing that.” He dances his fingers up my back, bursts of sensation exploding across my skin. “I was thinking cherry pancakes and chocolate milk, because you are actually twelve.”

My stomach is grumbles instantly, and Baz snickers. Ugh, I adore him, but he’s such a bastard. I poke his shoulder with more force than necessary. “Keep talking like that and you won’t get your anniversary present.”

His face is unbelievably smug, lip quirked and thin eyebrow raised. “Oh? And that would be such a loss for me?”

I narrow my eyes. Oh he wants to be like that, huh? I smile and use one leg to grind down on his crotch, hard. Baz yelps and jolts like he’s touched an expose wire, clinging to me so hard I can feel his nails through my shirt. He glares at me with his razor sharp grey eyes, and I put on the biggest shit eating grin I can.

“Yes,” I purr, “you certainly would.”

“Bastard,” he grumbles.

“Aw, harsh words, Tyrannus.”

He groans, letting his loll back as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret telling you, aren’t I?”

“Maybe. But...” I throw my legs over him, full on straddling his waist with arms draped across his shoulders. “I’m glad you did. Thanks for telling me.”

His face melts. I love when it does that. Every bit of muscle tension just fades away, replaced with simple calm happiness. He holds my waist, pressing us chest to chest. “You’re very much welcome, love. I’m happy to tell you anything.” Baz puts a strand of hair behind my ear and traces my jaw with one callused finger. That still makes me shudder. “I trust you, Simon.”

Damn. Six months later, and he still makes my heart melt into a goopy puddle. I smile as I lean down to kiss him. He kisses me back, and we fall into a familiar rhythm. His cool lips fit into mine like they were made for each other. My hands bury themselves in his soft hair. He runs those amazing callused violinist fingers across the small of my back. We know each other so well now, even better than before if that's possible. I tug on his hair just right to get him to moan into my mouth. And he reciprocates by digging his nails into my skin, pushing a gasp and shudder out of me. Fuck, I adore him, I’m crazy about him, shit, I-

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.

Baz’s whole body freezes up. He pulls away from my lips with a wet pop, head almost slamming against the headboard. His pupils are huge in his wide eyes. He’s holding on to my hips with a death grip. We’re both panting, our heavy breathing loud in the night quiet room. Fuck. He looks so freaked out. I’m absolutely panicking. My heart is beating like a rabbit’s. I look down at the mattress.

“S-Sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t chew my words. That was impulsive. It just slipped out. D-Don’t feel like you have to say it back. I-”

“Do you mean it?” His voice is small, like a hopeful child. I look up again. His eyes are still wide. And his swollen red lips are slightly parted. It’s unbelievably distracting, which I don’t really need to be right now. I gulp down the lump in my throat. I may say stuff impulsively, but I wouldn’t lie about this.

I meet his eyes and nod slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

Everything happens far too fast. Suddenly, I’m flipped over on my back and pressed into the bed by the most intense kiss of my life. It makes my head spin, my toes curl, and stars explode behind my eyes. Baz keeps one hand on my face and the other over my heart. This kiss is even more all consuming than the one at Hampshire those many months ago. I feel like I’m about the melt into the mattress and through the floor until I hit the core of the Earth. And I’d be fine with it, because I’d die by Baz kissing me.

He finally pulls away. It takes us both far too long to catch our breaths. Baz keeps our foreheads and noses touching. He runs his bony finger over my cheek again and again. Even that is too overwhelming to let me to speak.

“I love you,” Baz whispers. “I love you so much, Simon. God, I've loved you almost since we met.”

All the air instantly leaves my lungs. I pull him down for another world stopping kiss. Our mouths move fervently, my hands clinging to his hair, him gripping my face. It’s like we’re over eager teenagers snogging in the back of a car. And I love it. I love him, so fucking much.

We separate when the unfortunate need for oxygen takes over. Baz hugs me, crushing us together, smiling against my cheek. “I thought I’d say it first,” he whispers playfully.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his back. “Well, I’m just full of surprises.”

His breathy laugh hits my face. “That you are, love.” Baz kisses just under my ear. Affectionate sap. ”Happy anniversary, Snow.”

“Mm.” I squeeze him even tighter. “Happy anniversary, Tyrannus.”

“Arsehole,” he grumbles. “Why do I love you again?”

“Because I’m nice and cute and really good in bed.”

Baz makes a dismissive noise. “I’d say adequate at best.”

I pinch his ankle with my toes and attempt to knee his stomach, but I don’t have enough room. I just sort of tap it, which makes him chuckle. “Bastard!”

“You love me,” he purrs.

Damn, he’s right. I love this stupid, teasing arsehole. So I kiss him again. We snog and laugh, rolling around my bed like idiots. I don’t know what we’re doing. Just tumbling and trying to grope every part of each other we can, it seems. Whatever. I’m having fun, with the man I love. Bloody Hell, I’m going to love calling him that.

There’s a banging on the other side of the wall, making Baz and I separate.

“Would you two keep it down?!” Penny’s voice is muffled, but I know she’s shouting. “It’s the middle of the night, you horny arseholes!”

“Give us a break, Pen!” I shout back. “It’s our six month anniversary and we’re in love!”

“Good for you! Shut up!”

Baz and I giggle together, still completely wrapped up in each other. He shimmies down and tucks his head under my chin, arms wrapping snug around me. He likes doing that, even though I’m shorter. He likes being close to me too.

“I love you,” he whispers against my chest.

I hold him tighter and nuzzle against his soft hair. I may have taken a strange journey of introspection and heteronormativity to end up here, but it was worth it. To be with Baz. Incredible, kind, gorgeous Baz. I’m so glad I met him. I’m so glad I fell in love with him.

“I love you, too.”

———————————————-

AN: So I finished this fic, then realised the whole "Baz's first name" was never resolved. I couldn't think of any way to integrate it in naturally, so here's this. Also wanted them admitting their love for each other. Baz and Simon deserve to confess their love in any universe! Thank you for all so much for your kudos, likes, comments, and reblogs. They mean the world to me. You guys always make me smile :)

So I've got a couple more requests to get through, but I'm also working on my big bang, so idk if I'll finish them/post anything new before January. But I'll always been reblogging snowbaz shit on here, so stick around for that haha. Thank you all again. Hope you enjoyed this ridiculous fic! :D

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #university #no magic #human baz #oblivious simon #fluff #straight boy #mysnowbazfanfic