very important

This is urgent I need answers so I can draw fanart of all the static ships Must see TV man blush in S2

Alternatively:

Edit: there is now a part 2

What does bill usually eat and drink? And how often? Does he eat when the rest of the humans do?

First choice:

When there's a meal being served—such as Abuelita cooking dinner or Stan grilling burgers—Bill eats whatever everyone else eats. (Provided he got to see Abuelita cook—to ensure cyanide wasn't an ingredient in his serving.) This accounts for maybe 15% of his meals.

Second choice:

If he happens to be in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, he'll ask them to open the fridge/cabinets to let him get food for himself or, more rarely, ask them to prepare something he isn't allowed to prepare for himself. This means he'll often eat at the same time as them, because swooping into the kitchen while THEY'RE eating means he can get food too.

When he does have full kitchen access, he creates the most disgusting concoctions known to mankind.

Human brains are wired from infancy to find almost all tastes disgusting until they've had them enough to learn to appreciate them (i.e., accept they aren't poisonous)—why kids are generally pickier eaters than adults. The Axolotl trusts that Bill knows enough about human diets to know what is and isn't food—he does—so Bill didn't get given a baby palate. Instead, he's the opposite: he finds almost all tastes okay. Nothing really tastes bad to him.

So his measure for food that "tastes good" isn't QUALITY of taste, but QUANTITY of taste. Bland food is disgusting. The more and stronger flavors a food has, and the more different they are from each other, the more he likes it.

When making his own food he wants maximum flavor for minimum effort. This is why he has a tendency to take as many condiments as he can, no matter how poorly they go together—in fact, ESPECIALLY if they go poorly together—mix them into a slurry, and then drop in enough solid food to cover his body's minimum nutritional needs. (He would do the same thing with spices, but the spices are kept in a cabinet and it's just not worth the trouble to him to specifically ask for access.)

As of chapter 39, he's no longer willing to ask someone else to help prepare something for him, and won't ask Ford to so much as open the fridge for him. Full kitchen access used to account for about 35% of his meals, now it's more like 25%.

Third choice:

If no one's in the kitchen, he won't go looking for someone; he'd rather starve than plea for food from the people who took his food access away. Instead, he'll just eat whatever he can scrounge off the open shelving. That means no food that requires refrigeration, cooking, or microwaving; and no food that's canned, in glass jars, or needs scissors to open. In practice, this means a whole lot of junk food—chips, cookies, candy, jerky, cereal, soda. The most nutritious thing he has regular and easy access to is peanut butter. He has a lot of peanut butter sandwiches. He dislikes peanut butter sandwiches, but he understands nutrition better than most humans and knows chips and jerky can only carry him so far. Scrounging accounts for 60% of his meals.

Beyond all that:

He likes triangle-shaped foods because he is, in fact, that much of an egotistical dork. He will legitimately get angry about nachos with circular or rectangular tortilla chips.

And (with Mabel's encouragement) he's become a fan of dumping sprinkles on as many things as possible. You know how grocery stores sell a bunch of different mixes of sprinkles? Different styles & colors & textures & shapes? Mabel has brought a WIDE variety of sprinkles into the house, and is teaching Bill the fine art of mixing sprinkles artistically for maximum aesthetic value. He likes the fancy-looking gold/silver/white varieties.

He drinks too much—usually, but not exclusively, to get to sleep. This is a bad thing. If called on this, he gets defensive, suggests he needs it like a "medication" to numb the discomfort of fitting a triangular soul in a human body—like taking medicine to prevent a body from rejecting a donor organ—and that the humans wouldn't understand it so they have no room to criticize. This is a VERY bad thing. I'd say he's speedrunning alcoholism, except he's continuing a pattern of substance abuse he had as a triangle, so tbh he was already there.

16 and 22 for your fav oc!!

Ask meme here!!

Choosing just ONE favourite OC is kind of tricky….. I’m gonna pick 3 hehehe 😈

16. What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

Aster

The rare daycare client who treats the service as a way to abandon an unwanted pokemon “humanely”. By leaving a pokemon for more than a month without a word, stacking up a large bill, and disappearing off the face of the earth seemingly without a trace.

Aster wishes she could give these kinds of people a piece of her mind. She can’t, because nine times out of ten they ignore all attempts at contact. But watching the pokemon that have been left behind as they slowly realise their trainer isn’t coming back for them is heartbreaking and she wishes there was some way to track these people down so they know just how scummy they are. Maybe slap them around a bit.

Kaz

Less imagined arguments and more imagined punch ups. No one in particular, but if someone did something to piss him off recently and he wasn’t able to get them at the time, they become his mental punching bag for the next week or so. Sometimes it’s over really stupid stuff like he wanted to buy some beers but someone else got the last pack of his favourite brand right in front of him, other times it’s more serious like someone insulting one of his friends.

Romy

Anyone and everyone who’s ever had a bad word to say about her. Romy comes across as cool and collected, if a bit rude at times, but holds grudges like a motherfucker and lets them fester. Will stew over a review for an exhibition she took part in if it’s anything less than glowing or she barely gets a mention. Seethes over people that call her a bitch when she rejects them. Anyone who’s pissed her off enough is going to be taken to trial in an imaginary court later on.

22. What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

Aster

Riding a bike. Never learnt how to ride one until she had to use one to get across the cycling roads in Kanto and Hoenn when she was around 17/18. Can still ride one if she had to, but finds it uncomfortable and constantly worries she’ll lose her balance and fall off. Has no issue with using roller skates or using her pokemon to traverse bodies of water and fly her places, despite all of those likely being considered more dangerous in most people’s eyes. It’s just a matter of her having more experience in those fields, and experience begets comfort where the unfamiliar does not.

Kaz

Anything to do with finances. He can spend money with no problem and has a sizeable trust fund that allows him to do just that, but when it comes to stuff like taxes, budgeting or figuring out how much money he needs to send to Heidi so they can sort out the rent and bills for their place he just doesn’t get it and is way too embarrassed to tell anyone. Numbers have always been a struggle for him, he finds anything beyond basic adding and subtraction super intimidating if he has to do it all on his own. Almost definitely has dyscalculia but never got diagnosed.

Romy

Cooking is a basic life skill but something Romy is kind of scared of experimenting with. She doesn’t want to waste food so hesitates with trying unfamiliar things in case she hates it so much she can’t finish it. Was never taught any cooking skills as a child beyond how to use a microwave either. Also doesn’t feel she has enough time to learn properly. Tends to just get by on raw salads and microwave meals when Aster isn’t cooking for the both of them.

happy blorbo blursday! if you're participating today I'd love to hear about whatever oc is in the brain microwave as of late :)

OKAY i wanted to answer the Rook Vibes asks first b/c i decided that i'm gonna talk about rook here :D i did talk about them a bit with those vibes, but i want to talk about them more because they are my special little guy.

first up, let me share some art of my baby <3 this is a color palette meme thing i did for them! i randomly generated a color palette and found a random pose and outfit and went wild.

[Image Description: A drawing of my OC Rook in a limited color palette, shown from around the knees up. The palette is primarily made up of shades of blue, with a vibrant red as well. Rook is a lean person with scars littering their skin and large, pointed ears. They have eyes with black sclerae and colored irises, short dark hair, long claws, and sharp teeth. In the drawing, Rook is wearing a loose wrap around their chest and shoulders and a long skirt. They are holding a baseball bat with one hand, resting it on their shoulders, and their other hand is resting on their hip. The background of the drawing is dark blue with a red stripe diagonally across it. End ID.]

ANYWAY so rook is the protagonist of a wip i keep going back and forth on the name of, but for now i just call it 'rook' as a working title. simple title, it's fine. the basic premise of the story is that it's about rook, a monster that's kinda like. some sort of zombie shapeshifter creature. rook was the victim of a violent, horrific murder, and they were resurrected an unknown amount of time later by someone who wanted a pet monster to order around and do his bidding.

instead of becoming their creator's little pet monster, though, rook ends up being found by a local woman named kay, who sees humanity in them when no one else does and takes them in. she and rook become friends, and a large chunk of the story centers around rook, who has no memory of their existence as a human, trying to Be A Person.

however, WELL, rook does know their death wasn't pretty, and as much as they want to be a nice person and have a happy life, they also want some kind of justice (or vengeance, whatever works). another big element of the story is rook trying to hunt down the one who killed them and get their fucking revenge. already a daunting task, made harder by the fact that they don't remember anything about what happened in the first place.

i'm very into stories that center around recovery, mental health, and identity, so that's a lot of what rook's story is. with an added element of "rook wants to do some murder so so badly."

anyway uhhh some facts about rook:

i have a lot of thoughts about rook's powers and the drawbacks of those powers, as well as why they have them in the first place, but honestly that's probably worth a whole separate post. i've thought about making them a void-walker, but i want them to have their own lore. (plus, well, rook is a shapeshifter and void-walkers can't do that)

rook was given their name by their creator, a man who's obsessed with chess metaphors. they're also not the only monster he's created--boy's goin for the whole set. they initially rejected this name, but eventually they come to reclaim it as their own. they make their own meaning.

for a while, rook really leans into the perception that they are a terrible, horrible monster who only causes harm. they refer to themself as a devil and a demon and a bunch of other shit, because there's a period in their story where they decide to be just as monstrous as they were "meant" to be.

i wrote a short story a couple of years ago about rook's murder and all the backstory around that, only to decide later that none of that was canon anymore for the most part. welp!

the actual perfect rook song is louie zong's song pumpkin's revenge. once again, if i had the energy to make something with them based on this song.... it'd be all over for y'all (i'm kidding)

rook loves animals, but unfortunately most animals are afraid of them :(

rook is a shapeshifter, but they don't actually have that much ability to change their physical form without a large amount of effort and energy. there are a lot of things about rook's appearance that generally can't change, regardless of the form they take, such as their scars and sharp teeth.

okay yeah that's my baby <3 i love them so so dearly and they matter so so much to me <3

Sybiotes, which one are you, all you need to know.

The Klyntar, originally and better known as the Symbiotes, are a species of inorganic, amorphous, symbiotic extraterrestrials created from the "living abyss" at the beginning of the universe by the primordial deity Knull, who manifested a sword of living darkness called All-Black from his shadow to slaughter the Celestials and other deities.

The first and most well-known symbiote is Venom, who originally attached itself to Spider-Man during the 1985 Secret Wars miniseries. After Spider-Man rejected it upon discovering its true evil nature, the symbiote bonded with his rival, Eddie Brock, with whom it first became Venom.

Venom is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics. The character is a sentient alien symbiote with an amorphous, liquid-like form, who survives by bonding with a host, usually human.

There is also the well known carnage. The symbiote known as Carnage is the spawn of the Venom symbiote and is most often bonded to the sociopathic serial-killer Cletus Kasady. The spawn bonded to Cletus through a wound in his hand, merging with his blood and becoming red-and-black in color.

When the Venom symbiote came to rescue its host, Eddie Brock (who is also known as the super-villain Venom), from jail, it left an asexually-produced offspring behind. The spawn bonded to Cletus through a wound in his hand, merging with his blood and becoming red-and-black in color.[4][5] Dubbing himself Carnage, Cletus became a deadly recurring enemy to both Spider-Man and Venom.[6]

                      Ten Most Powerful Symbiotes

10.Payback Was An Energy-Based Symbiote Variant Rather Than An Organic One

The character known as Payback has an interesting symbiote story to tell, particularly because her symbiote isn't of the same Klyntar species as Venom, Carnage and their offspring. Believed to be a cousin species to the Klyntar, this symbiote was energy-based in nature, rather than organic, which granted its host Mavis Trent some nifty abilities.

In addition to the complimentary superhuman strength, speed, durability, and agility, Payback could fly and produce electromagnetic manipulation in the form of microwaves and electromagnetic pulses. When doused in water, the Payback symbiote would produce an electrical discharge, as well.

165.8KBlack Panther: Celebrating Chadwick Boseman | Rest In Power

9.Venomsaurus Rex Was A Symbiote That Bonded With A Savage Land Dinosaur

Never underestimate a writer's willingness to court dinosaurs for the sake of a really great scene, which is precisely what happened during the Old Man Hawkeye storyline. Besides taking place in a ravaged future similar to what fans glimpsed in the Old Man Logan books, this story attempted to one-up its predecessor in a big way.

It was the first example of a symbiote ever bonding with a Tyrannosaurus Rex, which came straight out of the Savage Land. If Jurassic Park taught us anything, it's to run when a T-Rex shows up on the scene. This goes quadruple (even quintuple) for a creature with a Venom symbiote bonded to its biology.

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8.Anti-Venom Was A Mindless Symbiote Suit Created By Accident Within Eddie Brock

Eddie Brock gained an entirely new type of symbiote by pure accident when his body became infected with cancer. At the time, Martin Li (the good version of Mr. Negative) tried to cure his cancer, but a chain of events inadvertently caused remnants of the Venom symbiote to bond with Brock's white blood cells.

The result was a symbiote with no consciousness of its own, effectively making it a benign biological costume where Eddie Brock was in full control. It possessed the same strengths as its Venom predecessor, including some upgrades such as immunity to sonic and fire attacks which were previously major threats.

7.Scream Was A Symbiote Bonded To An Unstable Mind

Donna Diego was a mentally disturbed woman who eventually became involved with the Life Foundation, and later became a host for one of Venom's child symbiotes. She became the villain known as Scream, the leader of a group of symbiotes who performed tasks for the Foundation and ran afoul of Spider-Man and Venom.

She was defeated by Venom after killing her symbiote brethren in a fit of insanity, but she attempted to mend her ways following the incident. It didn't last long, however. Eddie Brock led Diego to a trap and murdered her with a heated dagger in order to put her down once and for all. Her powers were similar to other Venom symbiotes, with a few notable exceptions, such as her ability to extend her hair into tendrils for attack purposes.

6.Sleeper Was A Powerful Symbiote That Followed In Venom's Anti-Hero Footsteps

The Sleeper symbiote was very different in comparison to others birthed of the Venom alien. This particular symbiote was much different in appearance and did not take on some of the characteristics of the Venom symbiote, such as the trademark embellished white eyes.

It was also a smug, yet loyal symbiote who protected its hosts, even if it was prone to brutality from time to time. It was especially protective over Eddie Brock, his son Dylan, and others. It also possesses far greater camouflage techniques, such as bending ambient light. Chemokinesis is a big win for this symbiote, giving Sleeper the ability to tranquilize and manipulate individuals with a series of chemicals and pheromones.

5.Venom Was Created When A Symbiote Bonded With Eddie Brock, Becoming The Original

Venom was the original symbiote in the Marvel comics, at least in terms of first appearances. Chronologically, others had come before, but Venom was the character that set the ball rolling, and made the character a Marvel mainstay. It bonded to Eddie Brock, a disgraced reporter with a hatred of Spider-Man that the symbiote shared, after being rejected by the superhero.

The two became one and set off to become a lethal protector anti-hero who wasn't afraid to kill and maim its villains. The two would share a turbulent relationship over the years, but as Venom, they were idealistically parallel. Venom would go on to save the Earth from a host of dangerous threats while thinning the ranks of the criminal underbelly in every city he visited.

4.Carnage Is A Symbiote Spawn Of Venom, Merged To A Serial Killer

Carnage became Venom's number one nemesis after he decided to form a truce with Spider-Man. The symbiote creature was the offspring of the Venom alien, who bonded with notorious serial killer Cletus Kasady to become one of the most horrible supervillains in the Marvel universe.

This new symbiote was far more lethal than Venom, with greater strength and abilities. Though Venom would triumph multiple times over his "child," he was essentially outmatched the entire time. Only through sheer force of will, a few differing abilities, and a hatred of everything Carnage stood for allowed Venom to triumph. Carnage was capable of using the symbiote to create both sharp and blunt weapons out of its limbs, as well as crazier powers such as traversing data and phone lines to attack people on the other side.

3.Toxin Was A Symbiote Child Of Venom That Bonded With A New York Police Officer

The Carnage symbiote gave birth to offspring that would later be known as Toxin, a name given to it by none other than Venom. Though the anti-hero's hatred of Carnage was unparalleled, it decided to train the Toxin symbiote to act as a force for good. Eventually, it bonded with a New York City cop named Patrick Mulligan, who went on to become a superhero.

His powers were quite similar to Carnage and Venom, but he was more powerful than both. In the hands of a supervillain, there's no telling what kind of devastation would have occurred. It's quite possible that Patrick's inherent goodness and family-man demeanor unintentionally suppressed the symbiote's powers, to keep from going too far.

2.The Grendel Symbiote Dragon Was One Of The Most Powerful In The Marvel Universe

This particular symbiote was created by the Klyntar God known as Knull. As a symbiote dragon, it's considered far more powerful than a standard symbiote such as Venom, and capable of killing deity-like beings. Standard symbiote weaknesses to fire and sonic weaponry are not as threatening, and they could in fact breathe fire and project energy blasts.

They're as fast as the Silver Surfer, and tough as nails. Like many symbiote dragons, the Grendel could merge with others to create a super-large entity in various shapes, such as the Chiyou replicant that went up against Aero, Sword Master, and the Black Knight.

1.Knull Was The Original God Of The Symbiotes And Could Control Them

For years, it was believed that the alien symbiotes were a bestial race born of primordial origins, but the arrival of Knull changed all that. It changed everything fans knew about the symbiotes by providing a full-fledged backstory. Knull was the one responsible for creating them - a being of immense God-like power who existed during the time of Oblivion.

Knull wields a sword forged from the undead corpse of a Celestial, and his strength is far beyond most. He inadvertently created the symbiotes and found he could use them as a parasite war force. As their creator, he is able to dominate symbiotes and those born of their biology, such as Eddie Brock's son Dylan. He's easily one of the most destructive symbiote forces in the entire galaxy and one of the most powerful supervillains in the Marvel universe.

What Symbiote are You?

This test isn’t actually accurate because is a you cant pick a type of spider and they take that into consideration, a sybiote will bond and change based on your personality. But here is is anyways, is you want message me your results, I was toxin!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRKZ3xlDLA4

BTS SOULMATES WORST HABIT/ QUALITY

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes and only my interpretation of the cards. Do not take it as fact~

Anon, I love this very much!! Thank you for requesting it!

Seokjin

I got: 7 of wands rev., Take a fucking trip ( Go see some shit. Do some new things. Talk to people cooler than you.), Stop obsessing ( You are not the centre of the fucking universe)

So. This person tends to get overwhelmed easily and can be a bit of a workaholic at times.

This is someone who gets so so so focused their failures and faults and stuff that they kinda become blinded by that

I pulled a clarity and got 9 of swords.

This really is someone who spirals in anxiety when things aren't going well and likely snaps at the people around them.

Its absolutely unintended but when they get overwhelmed they kinda detatch from the world and they can only see as far as their nose.

Likely gets so in their head that they forget things about other people and it can come off as being very self-centered, cold, bitchy ect.

Yoongi

Lol

A lot of cards came out.

We have: 2 of cups, Drop the fucking ego. (Vulnerability is hot as fuck.), Ask a fucking expert. (Don't rely on your friends or the Internet. Listen to a damn professional.), Stop fucking whining. (No one wants to listen to that shit. Complaining makes you weak. You have the strength to change your world-so do it.), You need a good fucking cry. (Get the ugly cry on. Let that shit go. Your soul will thank you.)

They tend to romanticize life to the point that they think that something will come and change their life for them

But that isn't how shit works

They have mad issues with getting vulnerable and admitting that they are struggling or that they aren't happy where they are.

Emotionally constipated lol

Definitely has a hard time letting other people in bc of trust issues

They don't really outwardly emote often so it all builds up.

They think that independence means you can't look for guidance and thats bad

Very much ignoring the work they have to do to get to where they want to be but still pretending like they are getting closer to it

Ugh

They have a lot of shit to work out in the emotions department

They also seem to just have a general lack of grounding.

Hoseok

Oki

I got: 10 of swords rev., the tower, Stop talking. (Shut your mouth and listen.) Winning. (You got a good thing going. Don't ruin that shit.)

This is someone who can't keep their foot out their fucking mouth.

Dear god.

Its all good intentions but they say way more than they need too and it can ruin things for them.

They also can be too open.

They also resist change too much.

They fear self change.

They couldn't give a shit about external change but breaking old habits and old patterns is something they just don't like to do

So as a result they don't ever challenge their views internally.

This can leave them with a shaky foundation (putting off that tower moment) of old views and outdated information.

This can make them pretty damn judgmental at times.

They just need to let the tower moment happen and reasses all of their beliefs to figure out what they truly stand for and who they are, not just what has been forced in them (societal, parental. Even friends)

Also likely gullible

EMBRACE INNER CHANGE

Jesus, you're gonna give me a fuckin migraine

Its frustrating because THEY KNOW WHAT THEY HAVE TO DO BUT THEY JUST DON'T WANT TO

I feel bad for your guides, hobi's soulmate.

JUST DO IT

Namjoon

...

I got: Hanged man rev., 2 of swords, What the hell are you waiting for? Get that shit done. (If you were waiting for a sign-well, here it ucking is.), Don't believe every shitty thought you have. (Thoughts can be lying, sneaky bastards)

This is a procrastinator.

They tend to avoid things when they are faced with things that are unpleasant or even really good.

They are frustratingly doing nothing.

Big big big avoider.

STOP DOING THAT

Doesn't really want to do better.

They are content where they are for the simple reason that they don't want to experience discomfort by actively going after what they truly want in life

THIS DOESNT HELP ANYONE

They are also VERY passive when they are procrastinating

Jimin

Bring it.

We have: The magician, You are loved. (You are here for a reason. Don't fuck it up.), Have you eaten? (Your acting like a big ass baby. You need food in your belly. Either fucking taco.)

Well okay then.

I think this ties into jimins soulmate reading so I won't go too indepth about that part. You can read his soulmate reading here (x)

BUT

The thing that makes this their worst quality/ worst habit is because they have every tool and all of the want to help their situation but just don't?

And specifically another thing is that no matter how much someone tells this person that they love them, that they are important and that they matter, this person DOESN'T BELIEVE IT. The actively try to convince themselves otherwise.

Actively

On purpose

Because they don't know what else is a personality trait.

Again go read jimins soulmate read.

It's not that anyone blames them for this or anything but they actively reject help at times and get pissy about their situation.

You know what you need to do to fix your shit. Do it. Don't use it as your fucking personality.

You are more than that.

Dear god.

Theres a lot to say here.

Whatever situation it is, they are so stubborn and determined to do shit on their own and they have every resource but they are scared to lose a defining trait.

Ugh

I have a lot I want to say about this but I'll leave it here.

Taehyung

Oki oki

10 of wands, 2 of cups, you're giving too many fucks. (Give zero) and figure shit out on your own.

So this is someone how tends to overwork themselves.

They don't really know when to quit? They seem to be very determined but to their own detriment at times.

They also tend to carry the burden in any social relationship. People tend to use them?

They go along with it because they have a lot to offer and a lot to give and don't always have the boundaries to keep people from taking advantage of them.

They honestly just give too many fucks.

They value human connection so much that they will let themselves be a fucking doormat.

They feel very isolated even though they aren't (when I do the second soulmate read I think I'll have some more about this then)

Jungkook

Oki

We have: the tower, 7 of swords, eat your fucking vegetables. (Eat some shit made by mother nature), dont talk to anyone. Don't look at anyone. (You need some fucking time alone. And you know why)

First thing. I heard, "The diet of a child" and then "gamer girl" umm.

I have 2 things.

1. They take bad care of themselves when they go through a rough patch and the trend sneak away from everything (probably lie to get out of whatever obligations or do some sneaky shit) and eat fucking lunchables and kids cuisine microwave dinners with energy drinks exclusively

2. They tend to be ridiculously picky irl. Or just can't cook for shit so they only eat coffee pot Ramen.

Pull yourself together.

Their worst habit is withdrawing from everything when things get rough.

They don't take care of themselves and they drink Monster energy drinks like a scene kid from 2010.

That's gross.

Pls stop

WRONG MESSIAH WRONG PEOPLE Acts 1:1-14 Israel is run by gentiles who are not Israelite by blood. They call themselves Jews by declaration not by lineage. Jews are in the midst of casting out God's chosen people from Israel for fear of the prophetic word that states these Edomite gentiles, along with an admixture of the people of Alkebulan’s (Israel), whose DNA the Father anointed has blessed them will bow down, and worship at our feet. They fear the truth knowing we’ve determined the lies they’ve told us were intended to hide our identity from us, and the world out of hatred. The Jewish holocaust lasted for 4yrs whereas the curses of Deuteronomy have lasted 400yrs, and counting. No other tribe of people has suffered like the Israelites according to the curses, and accounts in Deuteronomy 28 save a peculiar people. And it shall come to pass, that as the Lord rejoiced over you to do you good, and to multiply you; so the Lord will rejoice over you to destroy you, and to bring you to nought; and ye shall be plucked from off the land whither thou goest to possess it. And the Lord shall scatter thee among all people, from the one end of the earth even unto the other; and there thou shalt serve other gods, which neither thou nor thy fathers have known, even wood and stone. This is why I don't worship other religious faiths or religions. I'm cautious when it comes to Christianity knowing the deviltry of man, and the depths he will go, and has in order to maintain his stranglehold on us as a people. What allows a person to never be held accountable for their sins on Earth, but makes a race or tribe of people the burden bearer for all of Earth's iniquity? The devil is an accuser whose minions are fearful of the word manifesting in this generation. What we see on display isn't just a show of rebellion, but a fear of an arrogant people losing their position in the Earth which was only meant to be temporary, but in truth it wasn't meant to be at all. If 5 Black males congregate on a street corner it puts fear, spite, and hatred in the hearts of the so-called fragile psyche of those who want to control us. They call the Police in the hope of getting innocent people arrested or murdered. But 200 members of the proud boys can march through Urban Philadelphia in a show of defiance with Police protection, and nobody confronts them except a different breed of Black, Brown, and white people who are not like their fathers of old who relish in the thought of sending Jethro back to the woods with the rest of the hood boogers. The Jewish cabal worships Satan in the literal sense. They are the Devils cronies who know their time is up. Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time. They understand that the God of our fathers isn't playing games. If you ascribe this to my person as I’ve done in theory, how can God's 2 faithful witnesses see the Son of God and His Father if their hearts hadn't been tried like some of you? Revelation 11:3-13 3 And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall prophesy a thousand two hundred and threescore days, clothed in sackcloth. 4 These are the two olive trees, and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth. 5 And if any man will hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouth, and devoureth their enemies: and if any man will hurt them, he must in this manner be killed. 6 These have power to shut heaven, that it rain not in the days of their prophecy: and have power over waters to turn them to blood, and to smite the earth with all plagues, as often as they will. 7 And when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them. 8 And their dead bodies shall lie in the street of the great city, which spiritually is called Sodom and Egypt, where also our Lord was crucified. 9 And they of the

people and kindreds and tongues and nations shall see their dead bodies three days and an half, and shall not suffer their dead bodies to be put in graves. 10 And they that dwell upon the earth shall rejoice over them, and make merry, and shall send gifts one to another; because these two prophets tormented them that dwelt on the earth. 11 And after three days and an half the spirit of life from God entered into them, and they stood upon their feet; and great fear fell upon them which saw them. 12 And they heard a great voice from heaven saying unto them, Come up hither. And they ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them. 13 And the same hour was there a great earthquake, and the tenth part of the city fell, and in the earthquake were slain of men seven thousand: and the remnant were affrighted, and gave glory to the God of heaven. The God of Israel has decreed this. The Jews in Israel will suffer a harsh penalty for their crimes against the Nigerian, Igbo Israelites, the Ethiopian Beta Israelites, the Ugandan Abayudaya, and other sects of Israelite people including the American tribal people of Ghana Africa (Judah), Gad (Native American), Reuben (Aboriginal Australian), and Issachar (Mexican South American descendants.) They are deporting the Yisraelites in Alkebulan out of Yisrael as though this can inundate God's plan. You’re bringing God to a higher and greater glory, fulfilling the promises He made to His people in this day for this generation. Joshua 24:13 13 And I have given you a land for which ye did not labour, and cities which ye built not, and ye dwell in them; of the vineyards and olive yards which ye planted not do ye eat. It’s a shame to construct a global economy only to be denied the American dream; it's a nightmare. For those that cater to the State of Israel like some Congressmen, and women who are Edomite Jews that are not willing to put in place a reparations plan for the ADOS, FBA, and all indigenous people of North America based on the Western Nations financing of the temporary inhabitants of Israel is an injustice to humanity. Our oppressor isn’t going to give up his throne or authority willingly, he’s drunk with it. Look to God to deliver us not man, especially those who historically have shown their extreme distaste and revulsion for us. God tells us: If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. God foreknew, He's all knowing, and all seeing. If one of them were to cosign a reparations bill for Black people they would’ve been found dead inside their congressional office within days or maybe hours. When your own people who look as you do, but think according to their massa’s will, in order to live a season of sin with the wicked advocating for the gentiles who live off our promised inheritance, and this nonphysical, hidden, unseen, but shrewd, devious bit of craft called white privilege, that Black people who believe in Yeshua spiritually call favor with God. What this microwave generation has asserted, and addressed as privilege in actuality is sinister, and diabolical. It's a Janus-like, double minded, spirit of torment that has caused a lot of agony to a people they refuse to relinquish that will bring a harsh judgment to them and the Earth, and yes, I’m paying my price. The people of Canaan were destroyed after having knowledge of the true living God. The Father isn't one who relishes in the spilling of innocent blood. He will always send you a warning before calamity comes to your doorstep. He's been doing it for the last 2,000 years. Like the Egyptians they refused to believe in the God the Israelites praised, and worshipped thinking He finds favor in them who shed innocent blood. This is the situation we find the Earth in once more with the Israelites who this time are being forced out of their homeland waiting for a deliverer. The people that lived in Canaan were not ignorant of

the God of Israel. Many times the impression is given that God ordered the Israelites to swoop in and destroy innocent people. But these people were neither innocent nor ignorant. They had heard about the God of Israel; it was they who rejected Him. When the 2 spies were sent to spy out the Land of Promise they were told by Rahab the prostitute: Joshua 2:9-11 9 And she said unto the men, I know that the Lord hath given you the land, and that your terror is fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land faint because of you. 10 For we have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red sea for you, when ye came out of Egypt; and what ye did unto the two kings of the Amorites, that were on the other side Jordan, Sihon and Og, whom ye utterly destroyed. 11 And as soon as we had heard these things, our hearts did melt, neither did there remain any more courage in any man, because of you: for the Lord your God, he is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath. They had heard of the true God but had rejected Him. Consequently, their entire society acted in a sinful way. The Apostle Paul spoke of these people: Though they knew God they refused to believe let alone acknowledge Him as the true living God. The Father let their minds become reprobate following their flesh. What comes good of the flesh people? Nothing. They were shapen in iniquity, and in sin did their mothers conceive them. Israel is the biggest Nation on Earth that supports the Trans community being led by a morbidly, corrupted government overrun with rampant homosexuality, and like Amerikkka they endorse pedophilia. Of all the Nations on the Earth, Israel ranks number one in unnatural sex, and relations more so than the United States of Amerikkka, and Amerikkka’s European counterparts. When Jews here in the states get arrested for unlawful sexual acts committed against children those who have convenient connections are able to seek refuge, and fly to Israel fleeing prosecution. Oftentimes this is warranted, by US gov’t protection agencies who assist them in their transition back to Israel. Larry Nassar whose last name is Jewish, but they claim him not. The faith he was raised in makes him a Catholic which reeks of corruption, and entitlement that exceeds the realm of sexually deviant malfeasance executed by this religious sect that historically has gotten away with the most egregious sins committed against God's innocent ones. The FBIs handling of his high profile case was a case study in buffoonery, and an insane margin of flexibility that cannot be explained to a person of a simple mind. Hopefully this gov’t will learn which is doubtful. Pray that the payoff of a high monetary lawsuit will make the US government look at this flawed system, and send Goober Pyle back to law school or a police precinct to learn how to do his job. This is not privilege, it’s sin. Romans 1:21-25 21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four footed beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. The inhabitants of Canaan were neither ignorant nor innocent victims of an angry God. They were committing these terrible sins being fully aware of the true and living God. Because they rejected Him, God judged them harshly. How do you explain the people of Israel, Amerikkka, Europe, and the rest of the West in this day and time? You can't without condemning them, and the rest of humanity which the Father had all authority to do. Instead, He sent His Son to die for Yisrael whom we rejected giving the

gentiles a pathway to His Kindome. Why do you refuse to accept His truth? Forgiving a jackass is like storing wine in old wineskins or plastic garbage bags. The messenger has made your hearts cold, and bitter towards the Father, and His Son Yeshua? Learn from us, and prepare for a New World in its natural order of things because this right here ain't it. Good evening people, Elohim 9/25/2021

british school au

can someone do an sge highschool au but set in england. instead of the school for good and evil, it’s just posh boarding school and the local state school.

tedros - posh eton tory white boy / daddy will get me to oxford / fences in his spare time and wears signet rings and rolexes when going to waitrose / yah its croquet on saturdays with the boys / his dad is a lord or an earl so nepotism / jack wills 

beatrix - a horse girl / joni jeans and pretty little thing dresses / mini cooper for her 18th / goes to climate change protests just to miss school / tries to make having a fake id a personality trait / “i don’t get what’s wrong with being a tory, i love the nhs” / holiday home in cornwall

sophie - i’m a manchester gal don’t hate me / wears victoria secret spray but owns this one louis vuitton bag which she uses as a school bag so she thinks she is superior to everyone else / has a baby pink fiat 500 / queued up to go to primark after lockdown restrictions were eased / thirst trap snapchat stories / wants to marry a semi professional football player or a rich boy she finds at uni so she can drive the kids to hockey practice in a land rover / only drinks dark fruits or malibu / knows the perfect way to self tan and full face of makeup every morning / rolls up her school skirt 6 times 

agatha - labour supporter and feminist who stands up to her tory parents at the dinner table / dragged to seshes in the local park by sophie but would rather be at home reading pride and prejudice / freely uses the middle finger / denies being a tory when someone sees her eating microwave pasta meal from m&s / 'eat the rich’ and writes a blog abt how much she hates the bourgeoisie when she is literally middle class / loves tea / lowkey likes her school uniform

hort - a pseudo roadman / puffer jacket, adidas tracksuit and 3 inch butter knife hidden under his shirt / buys ‘weed’ off older years to look hard but really it’s just crushed up grass and posts him smoking it on his story / catcalls girls in the streets and then calls them ugly when they reject him / listens to stormzy and liberally uses the phrase “i will shank you” / slides into dms with ‘wagwan’ 

nicola - listens to 80s bands, shops at urban outfitters and has a kanken or doc martens / waitress at her dad’s pub or fish and chips shop / born in the wrong decade / that one vocal girl in humanities lessons that has to deal with boys (like hort) make jokes abt sending girls to the kitchen to make a sandwich whenever a feminist debate comes up

hester - does ketamine in the bathroom stalls (which has no effect on her at all) and fills her water bottle with vodka / the drug dealer which sells crushed up paracetamol and grass to year 7s / u wouldn’t expect her to be smart but she got all a*s at gcse / secretly dates anadil bc if she came out publicly, the fiat 500 girls would definitely make comments at her in the changing rooms or say being a lesbian is a phase (ah we love england) / famous on tiktok as an alt girl

dot - still stuck in her zoella year 7 phase / thinks being catcalled is a compliment and becomes a pick me girl / pregnant at 16 bc she trusts the first roadman who pays her attention / extreme lightweight and blacks out after a bottle of smirnoff ice

just realised that noone will understand this if u aren’t british. soz luvs :)

also idk if someone has already done this.

one touch

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 1700

prompt: “Hello! Can you pretty please write a one shot with Steve rogers where the reader has an issue with human contact (nothing specific has happened) & is touch deprived & Steve is very understanding and soft with her until she trust him & eventually falls asleep on the couch on him and theres a lot of fluff &soft kisses?? Thank you so much!!!”

themes: fluff, romance, mentions of anxiety

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaideraid, @melannie77, @gigistorm, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @firstangeldragonranch, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers

note: requested by anonymous // was way too tired n lazy to make a proper graphic so accept this pls. now that i’m actually back into using photoshop tho imma start trying to create (very average) graphics for all of my stories lmao.

While being on the run with Captain America seemed like it would be intense and full of drama and surprises, it was a fairly isolated and sometimes even melancholy experience. Ever since Steve’s fight with Tony leading to the breakup of the Avengers, you had dutifully sided with Steve on his nomadic journey. You had started out as his right-hand, and that was how your story would end, whenever that day may be. 

Based on all of this, it would make sense to have 100% trust in him. He was your captain and you practically followed him into the jaws of death when it came to your missions and battles. You could trust that he would never leave you behind and that he would always have a plan. But this trust was apparently only on the battlefield. When Steve had tried to kiss you in the tiny, remote apartment the two of you now shared in the middle of nowhere, you immediately flinched. You felt even worse seeing the guilt upon his features, as if he had done something wrong. No, this was all on you and your terribly aloof nature, the side of you that held you back from maintaining close, personal relationships with anyone else.

It was only a matter of time before this happened. Even during the Avengers days, you and Steve had been inseparable. Everyone on the team had predicted the two of you would end up together, they had even made bets on it. Yet still, the two of you had not even shared one hug. He probably had not thought much of it. Why would he? He probably thought you were a normal human being who wouldn’t have such issues with physical touch, you thought bitterly.

“I’m so sorry,” he had apologized the second you stepped back, looking disappointed and ashamed at the same time. “I just-- I thought… that maybe we…”

“N-no, it’s not that.” You quickly cut him off, shaking your head. You knew what he was going to say, and he was right. You had felt something between the two of you for a while now, but it had escalated during the time you shared together alone, living together and doing what you could to help the people around you. “I just… I need time. I’m sorry.” He had nodded his head immediately, taking a step back himself. “Of course. I don’t want to rush this at all, Y/N. I know how I feel for you and it makes me happy in itself that something could happen between us one day. So take as much time as you need. Okay?”

As usual, he had been his perfect, gentlemanly self ever since. He was patient. If he sensed discomfort even from the mere proximity between your bodies on the couch, he scooted aside. When he saw your body stiffen upon a stranger placing his hand on your back to get by you in a crowded street, he walked close to you to make sure no one else came near you, while maintaining an appropriate distance himself. Somehow, without you even having to say anything, he understood that it was difficult for you to act upon the urge of physical touch, or to even receive it. 

And yet you definitely felt those urges, despite your anxiety about it. You couldn’t even count the nights you had dreaming about curling up close to Steve’s side, or even thinking of small actions like him squeezing your hand tight as a gesture of comfort or casually placing an arm around your shoulders while watching a movie. When his fingers brushed against your own on accident when he took your empty glass to place in the sink, you felt electricity. You were starting to become more and more frustrated with yourself. If you wanted it so bad, why wasn’t your mind letting you go through with it? You could envision a perfect fantasy of the two of you sharing a passionate, romantic kiss, and yet when he had tried to make that fantasy come to life you had acted as though he were trying to poison you. 

It took time, but it got better. Soon, you were scooting closer to him on the couch, experimenting with the mere feeling of your thighs touching his. It seemed insignificant, but for you, it was a big step. From there, letting him hold your hand for a few moments every now and then. Whether it be while watching something on TV, while the two of you were reading, or even while he was driving. His touches were becoming almost addictive despite how fleeting they were. You loved how large his hands were in comparison to your own and you wished you had the courage to reach out for them yourself. Instead of having anxiety about him touching you at all, you were anxious waiting for him to touch you; you were starting to crave it and yet you could not find the strength to tell him that. 

Then came one day he wanted to watch a movie with you. You gladly obliged, heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush when he sat down close to you, one hand holding a freshly hot microwavable bag of popcorn and the other managing to hold two cans of Coke. Your eyes may have been on the screen, but you weren’t watching. No, all you could think about was Steve sitting inches away from you, how secure you would feel under one of those bulging, muscular arms, the warmth of his lips against yours….

‘For God’s sake, Y/N, you could make a move. He’s made it clear that he likes you, he wouldn’t reject you.’ However, it wasn’t rejection you were afraid of. It was that damn anxiety that came with physical contact, and yet your body wanted to keep reminding you how deprived you were of it. What was up with that? You tried to push all of your thoughts away, doing your best to actually watch the movie; you felt bad seeing Steve so invested while you were here driving yourself crazy. 

And then you ended up falling asleep, which was arguably worse. 

However, when you woke up, you were shocked to find your head laying on Steve’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around you and his fingers grazing across your back. Upon carefully tilting your head up, you saw that his own eyes were closed, his blond head tilted towards you in as much of a resting position as he could get in. Your eyes flickered to the black screen, wondering how long the movie had been finished for-- had Steve stayed in this semi uncomfortable position just for you? You looked back up towards him, your heart skipping a beat. Everything about this felt so perfect, so warm… 

He suddenly opened his eyes, blinking before looking down at you. “Oh,” he mumbled as he began to adjust himself, lifting his arm. “I didn’t mean-”

You cut him off, suddenly taking a light hold of his face as you leaned in and kissed him, deciding in one split second to overcome all of your biggest fears. Not even five seconds in and you were already convinced this decision was the best one you had ever made. He was clearly surprised but certainly not complaining; one large hand framed the side of your face as he moved his lips perfectly against yours, turning to face you more properly and pull you closer to his body. 

You pulled back after a few moments but kept your face close to his, looking up into his blue eyes. He searched your own hues, a smile slowly crossing his lips. “I… wasn’t expecting that, but I can’t say I’m not in heaven right now,” he told you in his handsome low voice, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “I don’t want to keep being scared with you,” you whispered, biting your lip as you slowly lifted your hand to experiment playing with his short blond hair. You weren’t used to casual touches like this, but you wanted to be. “I know you’re not the problem. It’s just me and all this weird anxiety, I don’t even know why I feel this way. But… I don’t want to let it win.”

He smiled widely and gently moved in to kiss your cheek. “We can still take it as slow as you’d like, sweetheart. No rush, no pressure. You’re worth waiting for, Y/N, and besides, a relationship shouldn’t be all about the physical stuff. There’s so much more.” You smiled, touched that he seemed to understand so well. You allowed yourself to lean into his body, a little blissful sigh even escaping your lips upon feeling his arm wrap securely around you. You had expected it to feel awkward, but instead it was as if you fit perfectly into his frame, the two of you as comfortable together as ever. He lowered his head to press a kiss to your hair, mumbling, “Thank you for opening yourself up to me, Y/N. That means more than you’ll ever know.” 

You didn’t even need the TV on anymore. You spent the next hour or so cuddling and talking, going into deep conversations about your past and your personal experiences. His arm remained around you, sometimes his other one joining to give you a loving squeeze at random times, his lips occasionally pressing upon your forehead, nose, and lips. It felt so easy, so right-- why had you been so scared before? You hadn’t even noticed that the two of you had started moving your bodies lower and lower until you were fully lying down on the couch together, bodies pressed close and faces inches apart. You couldn’t help but kiss him again, excited with your new ability to take initiative, but appreciative that he remained gentle and loving with his kisses instead of attempting to take it even further. 

It wasn’t long before the two of you eventually drifted off to sleep once again, legs intertwined due to the small space and chests lightly heaving in peaceful breaths. You had a feeling you’d be sleeping with the same peace and content for a while from now on.

swept away // t.h.

hello, new writing blog here! i have another writing blog for a different fandom, but i wanted to make a separate one for t.h./p.p. scenarios. since this is new, i’ll be writing for prompts that interest me, but you can send in some as well for blurbs and whatnot! 

genre: some angst, some fluff, pining, uni!au 

prompt: you’re baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3am and you’re really angry and hungry (adjustment from the prompt where another person is angry and hungry)

length: ~1.8k

This should not become a habit, you think to yourself. In fact, it shouldn’t have happened enough to begin with to even come close to becoming a habit, but after a couple of nights with too much alcohol and hangovers you’d rather never experience again, you’re here. 

Here, in this communal kitchen, at 3 in the fucking morning, baking chocolate chip cookies in the oven. 

Yes, homemade cookies are better. Yes, the tear-apart cookies from the grocery store are low-key trash. Yes, you know that they’re really not that good for you. But no, your professor decided to be an insufferable asshole during a physical chemistry lab session for the fifth fucking time, and you’re going to unwind somehow. You know that if you don’t, someone else will get the bad end of the stick aka someone will unfairly be on the receiving end of your murderous stare and you’d rather not get on anyone’s bad side. There’s a part of you that desires to be liked by everyone, which is probably 80% of the explanation as to why you let this asinine professor walk all over you for four hours a week.

So here you are, messy hair, lids heavy, eye bags dark, curled up in a chair and staring angrily at the oven, just waiting for the cookies to cook and let themselves be devoured by you. In the last few times, no one has been here, and you’re not worried about anyone catching you clad in a fandom hoodie and stained sweatpants. 

As you’re thinking about all the different ways you could “accidentally” spill a harmless but staining chemical on top of your professor’s hair (especially the one that he very first yelled at you about because he truly thought you were stupid enough to not wear gloves, but instead the chemical had stained past the nitrile for fuck’s sake), soft padded steps make themselves known behind you. Naturally, you freeze and peer into the reflection of the oven cover, eyes trying to make out the details of the person behind you. A young man walks in donned in an oversized t-shirt with some scrawled text on it and pink pajama pants who later jumps back when he spots you around the corner. You watch him flinch in the reflection and almost drop his unwrapped bags of microwave popcorn before you turn in your chair and just...stare.

He’s cute. Despite the outfit, he’s ridiculously cute, and you can’t find the energy to muster a smile or even say hi. So essentially, he’s receiving a bitch stare while fumbling with the unpopped popcorn, finally managing to place it correctly in the microwave and glance in any direction but you, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. Your 3AM, sugar-addicted brain decides that it’ll do the stupid thing and force you to speak.

“Don’t you have a microwave in your own room?” 

Cutie in pink zips around to look at you, completely bewildered, and he clears his throat. “Well..uh..the uh, um...microwave in my room is broken. Housing hasn’t come by to fix it,” he mumbles towards the end, your ears picking up a British accent. You hum in understanding and take a glance back at the timer on the oven, gauging whether or not your cookies needed more time. They’ve got a couple of minutes.

“Housing can take forever sometimes,” you add, trying to sound empathetic. “Both bags of popcorn are for you?”

“No,” he replies, sounding slightly offended. You throw your hands up in innocence, fighting a smile. “My mate and I are having a movie marathon. What about you? I can smell the cookies.”

“Yep, all 12 for myself. One of those days, you know? And it’s perfectly fine to have 2 bags of popcorn to yourself. Lord knows I’ve done it,” you snort, thinking about how just two weeks ago, the two bags of butter popcorn had become your dinner on a night that you needed to really hunker down and study.   

“One of those days? Wanna talk about it?” He asks while listening for the number of pops in the microwave. Harrison would never forgive him if he burned popcorn because he was too busy talking to a girl. 

“Well,” you rub your temples and stand up to take the cookies out of the oven. “Long story short, I have an asshole professor and I see him way too much for my own liking. If he makes another snide sexist comment about women being in science, I’ll be sorely tempted to complain to someone higher up.” Your hand picks up a cookie to check the bottom and nods in approval. “Want one?” You ask over a cookie in your mouth, handing the tray to the boy who’s putting in the second bag of popcorn. 

He shrugs, “Thanks.” Doing the smart thing, he blows a bit on the cookie first before popping half of it into his mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction at the warm chocolate hitting his tongue. “Anyone who argues that warm cookies aren’t the best things sent to Earth, I have half a mind to have a go at ‘em.” 

“I’m with you on that,” you laugh. “Better this than alcohol. Wanna take some more for your friend?”

“Yeah sure. Actually,” he pauses, gazing deeply into the microwave. “You wanna come watch the movies with us? Bring the cookies there too?” His eyes are full of hesitation and he chews nervously on the inside of his lip. Maybe he was too forward, maybe he was too friendly, maybe -- 

“Why not?” You shrug, said too fast and partially out of need for human contact and partially because the popcorn smells too good. It’d be nice to balance out the sweetness with some salt. “I hope they’re good movies.”

“Trust me, we have great taste in movies.”

And that’s how you found yourself following a cute British boy to his room with a tray of cookies and a warm heart. 

-

Things had kicked off since then, the surprised look on Harrison’s face that day still ingrained into your mind. You had also passed out on Tom’s shoulder and woken up with a sore back on the couch, both boys missing but a note on the table for you. Since then, numbers had been exchanged and a group chat formed. Tom has taken to asking you if you want cookie dough every time he goes to the grocery store now, and their room never seems to run out of microwave popcorn. Late night sessions turned into not-so-late rants, sometimes just tiredly knocking on their door and either one of the boys opening it for you. Sleep is important, and not only for the weak.

Yet when being caught up in the wind of things, you couldn’t deny that you felt something for Tom. College was a busy time and yes, you should have fun, and yes, you should shoot your shot or whatever the Internet says these days, but the fear of rejection outweighs the possible acceptance. Things are too good with Tom and you wouldn’t want to lose that. You know that if Tom denied your feelings, you’d immediately run away and lock the door on your heart for who knows how long. You’d abandon all traditions and any paths that could cross with them, foreshadowing that if you ever did see them, the embarrassment would overtake you. At that moment, you would want nothing more than to dig a hole and stay in it for the rest of eternity. 

“You’re being so dramatic,” you mutter to yourself, knees bent as you lay on a throw pillow against the arm on Tom and Harrison’s couch and flip through their Netflix. The microwave had long been fixed, and though your ears can definitely register the sound of corn kernels aggressively hitting the sides of the bag, they evidently didn’t catch Tom coming to see if you’d made a choice on a movie yet. 

“Who’s being dramatic, darling?” He asks in a genuinely curious tone and you almost want to smack yourself in the head. 

“Harrison,” you fib, mind scrambling for a scenario. “He’s watching the popcorn like a hawk.” 

“Oi!” He yells from the corner where the microwave is. “We can’t be having burnt popcorn under this roof, not on my watch.”

You give Tom the look, the kind that says see what I mean? and it only makes Tom laugh, which makes you happy because that’s the sound that dissolves any of your worries for the day. Well, except the one where you might accidentally burst and confess your undying affection for the guy. Other than that, it’s one of the few things that can really calm you down and let you relax. 

As Harrison dumps the popcorn into a bowl, Tom comes to sit next to you and your feet naturally pick themselves up to give him his space. He then pushes them back down so you can spread your legs over his to create a perpendicular model, and you try to ignore how the motion makes your heart flutter or how just his hands on your legs send heat surging through your system. It’s not fair -- no person should have such an effect over another human being. Can this be illegal? Can this not be allowed?

While thoughts are swirling in your brain, Tom can only think about how much he craves the moments like these, the ones where you’re comfortable enough to be in a position like this, the ones where you sometimes crash in his bed and he gets to see what your sleeping face is like. He prides in the fact that you seek him out on the rough days, that you see him as a source of comfort. Tom wants nothing more than to be that and more for you, just for you. It’s sappy, it’s gross, it’s cheesiest of all cheesiness, but he can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by how enamored he is with you. 

Harrison had caught on long ago on how whipped he was. “Just tell her bruv,” he pushed one time when Tom had gotten a little tipsy in their dorm. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She rejects me and never wants to see my face again,” Tom had immediately slurred back and his eyebrows had sagged into the saddest kicked-puppy look that Harrison had ever seen for the first time in a while. Of course, he rolled his eyes to let Tom know that he was being unreasonable. Clearly, you were just as smitten, but both of you were as blind as bats. 

With the apprehension that neither will accept the other, both you and Tom have learned to become content with whatever is happening now. But at the end of the day, when good nights have been said and lingering hugs given, you and he both can’t help but wish for just a little more time with each other.

Just, a little more.

I think the push-back against thinking about media critically comes from how it's like we're back at school as kids being pushed around. We think of adulthood as freedom from that but NOPE it just means other adults pushing you around. Thus fiction in various media becomes one's few respites... until people on the internet start telling you to analyze this or that scene as if you were doing homework. I might be giving this crowd a bit too much empathy but it's something that just dawned on me.

Thinking about media critically falls under the same umbrella as “critical thinking,” so I’ll use the latter as an example

Critical thinking when you go “hey, why do I just do X out of habit? I should reassess whether this habit or tradition has value” is great. Critical thinking when a college student stops doing multiple things that they were taught to do and then has to re-learn why shoes are important, why showering is important, why you need to put a plate under your food in the microwave is annoying but mostly harmless. “Critical thinking” when someone fell down a YouTube rabbit hole and is now disputing the existence of microscopic organisms and thinks that cell phone towards cause disease is just brainrot, and the same applies to when someone tries to rethink human rights or gets r*dp*lled, using the term “critical thinking” to mean “rejecting reality in favor of something else”

In the case of critical thinking of media that we consume, I think that people work themselves and others up into a frenzy over nothing at times, but that there are times when being passionate about the things that you love might mean feeling upset, disappointed, or conflicted

In general, I think that backlash against critical analysis of what we watch, read, and play is because sometimes it’s exhausting, even for the people who love doing it. Everyone has a right to consume something with an empty head at times

There is also absolutely a set within fandoms that loves to attack other people, and they do it for social media clout, saving screenshots of offhand comments and waiting months or years before bringing them up again so that they can “expose” someone whose friend they have been pretending to be. I don’t get involved in that but I’ve seen it happen to good people. I think that most of the fans who do this are younger so I hope that this is something that most of them can outgrow

Neashi Tamiki, regarded as The Fifth Pierrot, was an Islander who once lived in the Destiny Islands. Awakening in Twilight Town in the wake of the Heartless Attack, the girl was reborn as a Nobody with no memory of her past life. She later became involved in numerous incidents and conflicts regarding Organization XIII's Project; "[Project: Pere Noel]". After graduation, she later entered the Organization as their 15th Member, Shenxai, the Capricious Artist.

~Information Bio~ Name(English Translation): Neashi Tamiki Hiragana: なし=たみき Romaji: Nashi=Tamiki Other Names: Princess/Oujo-Chan(Xigbar's pet name), The Fifth Pierrot(Pere Noel's code name), Number XV(Rank), Shenxai(Nobody name), The Capricious Artist(Organization title). Age: 16(KH1 to Early-358/2 Days), 17(Mid-358/2 Days to KH3), 18(Post KH3) Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Heteroflexible Race: Islander(Asian decent) Hair Color: Green Eye Color: Dark Teal Weapon: Halberd(Naginata, later Guandao) Element: Paint Lesser Nobodies: Pictomancer Occupation: Human(Formerly/Post-KH2), Nobody/Vessel(Slain in KH2) Affiliations: Destiny Islands(homeworld; formerly/Post-KH2), Twilight Town(Formally), The World that Never Was(Slain in KH2)*The Pere Noel Project(Graduated), Organization XIII(Slain in KH2). Alignment: True Neutral Inspiration: Me, Elluka Clockworker and Chirclatia, Platonic, Lemy Abelard, and Seong Mi-na ~Neashi's Theme~  Sunday Afternoon at Tamagawa River by Guitar ~Headcanon voices~ Japanese Seiyuu: Nana Mizuki Voice Actress: Caitlin Glass ============================================================== ~Personality and Traits~ "I can't believe I'm doing this again, "They" will pay for this humiliation." -Neashi's vendetta against "First Santa Clause" Neashi was a hardworking and creative individual and a thief, determined to become a well-known artist. Coinciding with her artistic lifestyle, she acts as a critic, particularly for anything related to art such as painting and catering, having such great taste within the creative world, though is still practicing to become better in her skills. Neashi is often relaxed and confident, but a little childish, occasionally teasing her peers to provoke them. In Addition, she had a tendency to mood swing. Xigbar often instigates her and she usually vented her anger toward him by attacking the Nobody. When faced with stressful situations, she'll try to escape if not fight back. She would also delay her heists or her missions' completion should her life be at risk. Although confident in her abilities as a Thief and a Fighter, she was against killing and refused to murder anyone; especially Sorcerers and stronger Organization members, knowing the crime would risk her being hunted down and executed, occasionally, however, she would threaten to end Xigbar's life if given the choice to cripple the Organization or to finally get him off her back, making her a hypocrite. Neashi also has a personal grudge against "Mr. Pere Noel", the founder of the "Pere Noel Project", vowing to get her hands on them for using her to do their dirty work. Neashi isn't very open with showing affection, often acting apathetic and sarcastic, even berating Demyx for his laziness, this was mostly due to her Trauma and [Mr. Pere Noel]'s manipulation, causing her to have some difficulties in forming relationships. Despite this and the fact she's a Nobody, she has a soft side, caring for the children of Twilight Town, including her youngest partner Nemu, and the friends she does trust to ease their misfortune as best she can, even going as far as to dedicate her thievery into making money to help them or bring back rare items. Having a liking for boyish things like combat and swordplay, Neashi fully embraced her Tomboyish lifestyle. Despite this, she does have a small liking for feminine things such as dresses, though doesn't do them very often. She does, however, make a few exceptions during certain occasions such as light makeup and accessories. She also acts stern at times, such as when she is doing house work or her missions for the Organization. Despite that, she does have fun and enjoys relaxing. Unbeknownst to most of her peers, she has a fear of thunder and lightning as a result of her PTSD(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Having witnessed her parents's death in a thunderstorm two months prior to the islands being destroyed by the Heartless. Becoming depressed, withdrawn, broken, and amnesic. Having lost her memories of her friends, relatives, and deceased family as a result of it, even after becoming a Nobody, her trauma is still caked into her mind, and any lightning based triggers such as a simple thunder spell will cause her the to suffer from an attack of PTSD before fainting, then waking up with no recollection of the attack. As Neashi begins to remember most of her past life, the more self aware she became, and as a result she became slightly depressed due to the pain in her past life, although still retains most of her outward personality as an attempt to hide it. The only ones who know of this was Demyx, Roxas, Xion, Nemu, Dimitri, and later Xigbar. When working for the Organization as Shenxai, she began to present herself as intimidating to her foes and the denizens of light outside the Castle That Never Was so no one would take advantage of her. When off the clock however, she's actually pretty chill and whimsical, albeit apathetic due to her depression. Thereby was more excepting about her demise because of it. Eventually before said demise, she began to realize the true horrors the Organization is causing regarding Kingdom Hearts and Sora and Kairi, as such she rejected her previous desire for revenge against [Mr. Pere Noel] and embraced her newfound desire for freedom and safety for herself, her young comrade Nemu, and her childhood friends. After becoming a Somebody again, she regains all her memories of her childhood and teen years prior to her trauma, in addition to finally regaining a heart and all of her human emotions. But while she was at first genuinely happy upon gaining a heart and her freedom, she became even more emotionally temperamental and visibly stressed due to her experience in both Pere Noel and Organization XIII, thus became very paranoid and anxious around any mentions of either groups and it's former members, in addition to becoming suspicious as to why the Organization had became Somebodies without the use of Kingdom Hearts. But at the same time she had became more worrisome about her friends, having to chase after Braig to "save him" from Master Xehanort and apologizing to Kairi for leaving her behind, meaning that she now acknowledges her friend's well-being or frustrations. ============================================================== Skills and Talents Despite coming from the life of a simple Islander, Neashi was able to have some success as a thief and fit well into the lifestyle and work required in Twilight Town. Although working alone, Neashi's connections to Pere Noel and the Organization allowed her to be well informed on her targets and more easily break into homes and avoid their inhabitants. Due to being a Nobody, Neashi was also resistant to being attacked by both powerful and lesser Nobodies by smell, also given the ability to control her own Dusks. In spite of that, she herself is also rendered helpless to the Darkness if not wearing the clothes made from the same material that makes up the Organization's standard attire. When fighting, she shows great skill with the naginata in both athleticism and grace. However, there are times where she does mess up and ends up either stabbing herself or stabbing someone important. Given the power of paint and thinner, she'll manipulate them in hopes of killing and/or trapping Heartless with them. She's weak against fire and lightning magic but can withstand ice. Outside of weaponry, she is skilled in martial arts such as physical combat, which can only be used in self defense. She also trains herself in Parkour to make her escapes from the police during her heists easier, in addition to making herself healthy. Neashi is shown to have a skill in drawing in any forms of media from sketching to painting. She can also cook for herself, be it microwavable to home cooked delicacies. Despite that, she does have trouble making homemade Sea-Salt Ice Cream, for she usually makes it either way too Salty than it's attended amount and/or give it an inappropriate color scheme. Naturally, as a Nobody and later a Organization member, Neashi can command the lesser Nobodies and use Dark Corridors at will. ============================================================== Character Connections Braig: An apprentice guard from Radiant Garden and Neashi's first friend, the memories of him were tragically forgotten when she grew older and became a Nobody. She met this capricious man at a young age after being transported from her world to his, he didn't think much of her at first but later grown fond of the child and vice versa, but they were later forced to part ways by Master Xehanort to avoid confusion from the public and to prevent the girl from foiling his plans, this resulted in her having trust issues. Like his Nobody, he's shown to act as a father-figure to Neashi in place of her birth parents. She was later horrified to learn that he and Xigbar are the same person and is working for the 13 Seekers of Darkness. Xigbar/Fourth Shadow: Neashi's Mentor from the Pere Noel Project, "Adopted Parent", and later her partner, she first met him in a Nobody territory under "Mr. Pere Noel's" last order. Though completely unaware of the Freeshooter being Braig's Nobody, her resurrecting memories allowed her to recognize his Somebody's scent thus earning his trust, though not fully. Despite that, they always get into fights both verbal and physical even threatening death on each other albeit, for naught, she is also often annoyed by his constant teasing, joking, and pranking, and is very aggravated with him making her do his errands such as buying him alcohol. Like his Somebody, he's shown to act as a father-figure to Neashi in place of her birth parents. He soon finds out that Neashi is starting to grow depressed, thus ruling her out as a potential vessel. She was later horrified to learn that he and Braig are the same person and is working for the 13 Seekers of Darkness. Dimitri: One of her former employers during her previous heists and later partner for the Pere Noel Project, she was first hired by this man due to her multiple thefts, and ever so often she would get ripped off and blackmailed by him, often getting half of the profit than she wanted. They were both surprised when they discovered that both of them are in the Project together, both being monitored by Xigbar as Second Dealer and Fifth Pierrot, and even worse being relocated to her apartment as a way to keep an eye on him. She is often disgusted with his greed and philandering with multiple lovers and wishes that she doesn't become one of his women. He's one of the few individuals who is aware of Neashi's growing depression and the first person to discover she had PTSD. Nemu: Her young neighbor and later partner for the Pere Noel Project, she was quite surprised to learn that someone their age was part of the Project as its Third Sleep Bringer, also being monitored by Xigbar. She also expressed both amazement when she saw how intelligent they were, hence satisfying her wonder as to why they're in the Project, though is often disturbed by their lack of communication, leading her to wonder if they had Mutism, regardless, she was able to bond with the young Nobody, even acting like a older sister to them. They lived in a studio apartment a few floors underneath Neashi's two bedroom one. They're one of the few individuals who is aware of Neashi's growing depression. Even though she became aware of Nemu's past life, she exonerated the child of their misdeeds due to their past abuse and manipulation. Sora: An Islander from the Destiny Islands and Neashi's childhood friend, he's also the reason she became a Nobody due to his influence. She first met the young boy after Master Xehanort sent her home, She was resistant at first but later developed a close bond with the boy, even becoming a sister-figure to him. She gives both him and Riku a few pointers in fighting growing up. Sadly, the memories of him were tragically forgotten after witnessing her parents' death 2 months prior to the Islands being destroyed. When she met him again, she only sees him as a ploy to the Organization, but feels like she knows him due to his resurging memories, thereby doesn't really show herself as a threat to him in particular. Riku: An Islander from the Destiny Islands and Neashi's childhood friend. She first met him after meeting Sora, she gives both him and Sora a few pointers in fighting growing up, she sees potential and trust in Riku thus becoming good friends. However, the memories of him were tragically forgotten after witnessing her parents' death 2 months prior to the Islands being destroyed. She eventually met with him again as a Nobody, under the impression that he was an Organization Impostor, she was taken aback when she saw his face however, feeling like she saw him before. Kairi: An Islander from the Destiny Islands and Neashi's childhood friend. Though never first met at Radiant Garden, she later meets her on the Islands and developed a close bond with her. However, the memories of her were tragically forgotten after witnessing her parents' death 2 months prior to the Islands being destroyed. When she was visiting the Islands one day, she accidentally ran into Kairi, but eventually became good friends(again) despite being a Nobody. Neashi was surprised to learn that she was one of the Seven Princesses of Heart and became genuinely horrified when Saix kidnapped her just to use her to anger Sora. ???/Mr. Pere Noel: Her Employer from the Pere Noel Project and later her target of Vengeance. She was first hacked by the mysterious person one day and was forced into the Project as "The Fifth Pierrot." She eventually grew to despise them after receiving many heists that almost got her killed and/or caught, she willingly stayed in Pere Noel in hopes to one day meet and punish them. She was though certain that the Organization's Leader is him due to Pere Noel being a funded Project by Organization XIII. Eventually she gave up on seeking revenge against him in place of wanting to escape due to discovering the horrors the Organization is creating. Demyx: A member of Organization XIII and later her friend and partner. She first met the young Nocturne after confronting Xigbar sometime afterward, at first she thought of him as an idiot and berating him for his laziness, even during their first mission together in the Organization, but later grows fond of the Nobody's company, even allowing him to hide in her apartment from Saix and stating that he's more tolerable to be with than Xigbar, although she doesn't show it and is quite irritated with his cowardice behavior. They also express their same interests for Music and Games, and he's one of the few individuals who is aware of Neashi's growing depression, proving his belief that Nobodies do have hearts. Eventually due to their closeness, they ended up having a secret relationship with him, but it was mostly on and off due to the Organization's rules, despite this however, she was genuinely regretful of his demise. Character Trivia ~ She's the only character known for having green hair. ~ She currently has 6 piercings on her face and ears. 4 thick rings(2 on her bottom lip and 1 on each ear lobe). And 2 thin rings on the helix part of her right ear. ~ Her Naginata fighting style is similar to that of Seong Mi-na from Soul Caliber. ~ Pere Noel is French for "Father Christmas" or "Santa Clause", the program is based on the fictional criminal organization under the same name from the Evillious Chronicles during the Sloth/Pierrot and Greed/Wrath arcs.

Stave One: Niall’s Ghost.

STORY PAGE Word count: 6k

Pic credit: samcsch

A/N: HIYAA ANGELS ❣️ I’M SO EXCITED FOR THIS FIC *SCREAMS* !! hope you lot like the first chapter and i’ll see ya when you hit up my askbox bc !!!!!!!!!!! CHRISTMAS !!!!! anyway, enjoy and tune in next saturday for chapter 2!! ily x

Niall was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that. With him had gone a presence of warmness, a glow of hope that Harry only knew and associated with his best friend and better half. Within him was a hollow space, right in his chest and a little to the left, where he felt like no pulse could reach; no warmth could roam; where he had once imagined something beating to keep him alive, but having stopped at the news of Niall’s death. There was no other way to explain it, but Harry felt like the last year had gone by in one big blur, an everlasting haze that he didn’t know how to trance himself out of. All because he had been alone. Utterly and completely alone. And it was all his own fault.

Last Christmas Eve, his best friend, and only friend, in the whole entire world died. Niall had only been 26, but the ice on the road he was driving was new, and he had lost control completely, crashing front first into a trailer driving in the opposite direction. Harry still remembered the very moment he got told about Niall, how he had gone home to his London house, not leaving it until he was forced out by his little brother. Life ever since had felt bitter, the world seemingly actively working against Harry in every aspect.

This Christmas Eve, Harry was working in the ground store shop of the Dymond headquarters. Harry was the co-founder, now only living founder, of the best-selling guitar brand in the world. Him and Niall had started it five years ago, when they were both 21, and it had skyrocketed faster than either anticipated. Big rockstars were using Dymond guitars, promoting and thanking Niall and Harry for making them personalised guitars. The overwhelming success and wealth that had come with the band had shocked the best friends, but neither had complained. This was everything they had wanted after all, but now it was only Harry living his and Niall’s shared dream. And it felt wrong doing it without his best friend.

Further down the shop, Y/N stood noting the sales of different guitars that day, writing it down in the little notepad she kept with her wherever she went. Guitars lined three out of four walls of the store, as well as three aisles down the middle where you could find everything you needed to keep your guitar at its best. Y/N knew every single little corner of this shop, knew where everything went and how to work her way around the cashier. She had worked at Dymond as Niall and Harry’s assistant for four years now, having been on their every call ever since, never calling in sick or having been late. A dream assistant and doing nothing but her absolute best at all times. There was a liberty to her job, a sense of being needed, that had Y/N had found quite nice. It was good to feel like you somehow belonged somewhere without needing to be related to any of the people around you. She had fit right in. But there had always been that one part about this job that she had not liked, and that was Harry.

Lone description of a vitriolic and virulent human being, concept of kindness and warmth lost on him, especially after Niall’s death. But before Christmas Eve a year ago, Harry wasn’t so bad. Moments would come when he’d show the human in him, where he’d let himself smile at Y/N, or when they’d share a moment behind closed doors that would have everything Y/N thought of Harry questioned. The occurrences had become rarer as the years had gone on, but Y/N still remembered when she’d first started working for him and he’d look at her a little longer than appropriate for her boss, and she found herself blushing afterwards, Harry smiling to himself, too. Odd how people you once were so infatuated with and admired, are now people you can’t stand to be in the same room as. Y/N couldn’t tell a living soul why she was still in love with Harry; couldn’t tell anyone why she felt the way she did, or why she, after four years, hadn’t told him yet. Suppose it was the fear of rejection, of having him never take her seriously again, of losing her job.

Being in love with her boss had caused her more trouble than it had good, and she knew the moment she started catching feelings for him all those years ago, that it wouldn’t end pretty. And it really hadn’t. Because now she was standing in the opposite end of the room to him, and it didn’t feel like far enough away. She wanted to get out of the shop, out where she could breathe fresh air and not one infused with old memories and words left unsaid. She wanted to get away from him; away from a person she knew she’d never have; knew would never feel the same way about her. She wanted to get away from him, out of the same room as him, because the reason she wanted to escape Harry was because she still longed to be close to him. Still longed for him to hold her, to care for her and love her like she loved and cared for him. And it was because of all of this that she wanted to quit. Not only that, but Harry had forced her to work Christmas Eve, even though, all three Christmases she had worked at Dymond before, they’d never been open on Christmas Eve. Harry knew that Y/N loved Christmas, she had always been vocal about her love for the festive holiday, but Harry hadn’t seemed to care much about her wanting to head down south to her family in Plymouth today. Hadn’t seemed to care that she had a life outside work, which it seemed he had forgotten all year because he constantly kept her working, even when she had nothing in particular to be doing.

So, Y/N stood there taking notes in her little notepad, thinking about how much she’d rather be in Plymouth with her family, and how she would quit her job after the holidays. The thought made her both happy and sad at the same time.

Harry stood behind the cashier, reading through his e-mails and trying not to care about the lack of people out now that the eve of Christmas Eve was getting closer. A light snow fall was descending outside, crystals of iced rain lowering towards the ground with angelic delicacy, coating London in an even thicker layer of snow than the slight one that had come some days prior. Lights hung on the buildings around the Dymond headquarters, all shop windows decorated for the holiday. London at Christmas was a sort of carnival. The whole city was transformed into a halo of light, snowflakes, and choirs singing praises of Christmas and Christ, creating an atmosphere that was supposed to be associated with excitement.

But Harry never felt the excitement for Christmas. Maybe this was because he didn’t have anyone to spend it with. Or maybe it was because the Christmases he had, they’d all ended up disastrous. Niall had always spent his Christmases with his family, and even though he was invited over every year, Harry had always said no. Some days later, Niall would be back in London with Harry, sleeping in the guest bedroom he had claimed as his own, and the two would spend the following days doing nothing. Even though Niall had done things that would tick Harry off, like always leaving the microwave open after he had used it, or leave the light in the guest bedroom on, Harry appreciated those nights Niall had wanted to spend with him. As much as Harry enjoyed his own company, he had enjoyed Niall’s more.

Harry flinched when the automatic doors opened, a cold gust of December wind blowing past him and making him shiver. Looking up, Harry flinched once more, standing up straight as his little brother stretched his arms out, grinning from ear to ear.

“Merry Christmas, Harry!”

“Fuck off.”

Reuben, two years younger than his big brother of 26, laughed and walked over to the counter, taking his beanie and gloves off. Just like Harry, Reuben had brown curly hair, a tall figure, and deep dimples in each cheek. But unlike Harry, Reuben had brown eyes, the exact same their mother had had, and a kindness and humour standing in such contrast to Harry’s that neither of them could ever imagine actually being related. Their facial features weren’t that similar either, as Harry had taken more after their mother’s delicate and round forms, while Reuben’s consisted of sharp, elegant lines like their father. But regardless of their differences, Reuben had tried for years now to get on with Harry, to understand him, but it was always in vain. He never knew why he kept trying, but there was a sliver of faith inside him that told him to not give up on Harry, and so he never had. They were brothers after all. “What’re you up to? You’re never open on Christmas Eve.”

“Decided that we were open this year.” Harry said, closing his laptop. “What are you doing here?”

Reuben’s face fell a little, but he tried to compose himself. It always shocked him just how unhappy his big brother was. “To wish you a happy Christmas.”

Harry huffed. “Fucking humbug.”

“No, I’m serious!” Reuben frowned, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I wanted to come here and wish you a happy Christmas. It’s so lovely out now.” He looked out the glass doors, and the windows that stretched out across the front of the store, from floor to ceiling. “The snow is light, it isn’t too cold, the Christmas lights are spectacular.” Reuben smiled, looking back at his brother. “Regent Street is absolutely amazing, have you been there in December?”

“No.”

“Well, you should really go-“

“-Reuben, I’m at work.” Harry sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching his little brother intently. “You’re distracting me while I’m working.”

This had Reuben standing upright again, holding onto his gloves and beanie tightly and trying to compose himself; trying not to lash out at Harry. “I’m also here to ask you something.”

Harry nodded for Reuben to continue.

“Would you come to Christmas Dinner?”

A memory flashed in Harry’s mind just then, a reminder to never let it be repeated ever again. A reminder to keep himself at a distance. Swallowing thickly, Harry opened his laptop again, trying to busy himself with something other than his brother before him.

“Don’t think it’s a good idea, Reuben.”

“Don’t care what dad has to say about it, Harry, I want my brother there.” The underlying heartache and longing in Reuben’s voice almost made Harry look up at his brother again, just to make sure he wouldn’t hurt him when he said what the had to say next.

“But I don’t want to be there, Reuben.”

“Yes, you do.” Sighing, the younger sibling pulled and tightened his grip on his gloves. “You do want to be there, I know you well enough to know that you want someone around on Christmas Day.”

Harry sighed again.

“And tonight. Come tonight. We’re staying around mine. It’s just the family.” Reuben tried, looking hopeful as Harry hadn’t interrupted him yet. “Cousins mostly, and aunt Camilla and uncle Phil.” Reuben paused a little. “Dad.”

“No.” Harry – who had almost considered coming to Reuben’s Christmas Eve at his semi-detached house in Camden - continued to look through his e-mails, even though he had answered all he needed to. “Absolutely not.”

“He won’t bother you, Harry.”

“I’m not going.”

“Harry, please-“

“-No, Reuben.” Harry looked at him then, the stern furrow to his brow taking away most of the handsomeness about him. “No.”

Reuben took a step away from the counter, taking his beanie on his head while sighing exasperatingly. Shoving his hands into the two gloves, Reuben opened his mouth, “Hope you have a happy Christmas no matter where you choose to spend it.”

Harry stayed silent, watching his brother turn away from him without a second glance. Reuben lifted a hand in Y/N’s direction, giving her a dimpled smile as he walked toward the door.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. Don’t let the spirits of this one get you down, yea?” Reuben pointed over his shoulder at Harry and Y/N smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Reuben. I’ll try my very best.”

“And have fun down south with your family.” The automatic doors opened as he neared the exit, still smiling at his brother’s assistant.

“Thanks, have fun tonight with your family, as well.”

Reuben waved, and Y/N waved back, smiling as she watched Harry’s younger brother disappear into the fog of the snow. She went back to writing in her notepad, scribbling away at things she needed to remember for later.

“You’re going to Plymouth?”

Y/N almost jumped at the sound of Harry’s voice, not expecting him to talk to her. She looked over her shoulder, blinking a couple of times as her eyes met Harry’s. A phenomenon resembling that of enclosing your hands around a warm mug of hot chocolate, of feeling its effect as your fingers prickle with warmth; a thrill like that ran through Y/N. Y/N couldn’t remember last time her and Harry had shared a look quite like this, where both parts were equally as invested in the other, where both were transparent.

“Yes.” She answered, voice low. Clearing her throat, she continued, “Leaving later tonight from Paddington.”

Harry seemed to be mulling over this, and Y/N didn’t know what to. Every minute of every day she longed for Harry to look at her; look at her the way he had that period when they’d first met and started to know one another. When Harry hadn’t been as cold as he was now. But before Y/N could savour the moment, bathe in the bliss of Harry’s gaze on her, the automatic doors opened again.

“Hi,” A middle-aged man said, out of breath as he walked up to the cashier and to Harry. “Please, you’re the only store open that sell musical instruments, and I really, really need your help.”

Harry pretended to have been focusing on someone on his laptop, and, uninterested, looked up at the man heaving for breath across the counter.

“Yes?”

“My son,” The man started, swallowing thickly before he smiled. “He wants a guitar for Christmas.”

“There’s a toy store across the street.”

“No, he wants a real guitar.” The man said, sounding proud. His smile vanished as he continued. “Thing is… since it’s the holiday season, me and my husband are running low on money.”

Harry just stared at the man, not knowing what he was getting at.

“And I don’t have enough money on me right now, but I’ll leave all my card details, e-mail, phone number and address with you so you can get in contact with me about the payment. I’ll pay some in advance now, but-“

“-No.”

The man blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“You… won’t take payment in advance?”

“I won’t give you a guitar unless you can pay everything here and now.”

Flabbergasted, the man’s mouth fell open. “Sir, I… I don’t…”

“You don’t…?”

“My son just wants a guitar.”

“And I’m trying to run a business. By giving you a guitar for your son, I’ll go in debt.”

The man took a step back, feeling disgusted by Harry. “Go in debt?”

“I own Dymond, and I won’t give you any guitar unless you have the money for it.” Harry closed his laptop. “No matter if it’s a present for your son for Christmas or for yourself. Whatever it’s used for or whoever uses it, it all looks the same in my bank account.”

The man let out a bitter laugh, dragging is beanie over his ears and talking with pulling his gloves on. “Not even for Christmas? You won’t even consider it?”

Harry didn’t answer, he just stared at the man until he huffed out a sickened breath, and then stormed straight out of the shop.

At 14:30, Harry and Y/N closed the shop, Harry walking some metres behind Y/N as they made their ways to each their parked car on the side of the road further up the street. Snow was still falling, now thicker than before, and the yellow streetlights looked hidden almost, as a single flickering candle inside the grandest of snow lanterns. Y/N opened the door of her car, about to get in when she looked back at Harry. She caught him looking around, blinking rapidly as a snowflake landed on his eyelashes. Moments like these, when Harry wasn’t being watched, it was almost as if you could imagine him not being a horrible person. And Y/N hated herself for thinking that.

Harry opened his car at last.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” Y/N blurted out, soft and urgent.

Harry looked up, seemingly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden utterance. Straightening from his hunched positioned as he was about to get into his car, Harry just looked over at Y/N, unsure of what to say or do. The sound of her voice alone took him back to a simpler time; to a time where all he knew was that he would fall in love with her in due time; to a time where he was fine with that. But now all he could think about, all he could feel pressing down on him, were the opportunities lost; how his life could’ve been. So, as he looked into Y/N’s eyes, snowflakes landing in his dark hair and on his heavy shoulders, he didn’t know what to say. Her eyes that he had stared into so many times before, that he had fallen into and let haunt him, were waiting for an indication of any kind that he’d respond. Y/N wanted Harry to answer her, to give her back what she had given him.

But he couldn’t. So, he opened the car door wider, and got inside. Y/N watched as he closed it, feeling every hope of ever getting anything remotely close to closure for everything Harry and her had been through these last four years, leave her completely. This was the last straw. On Boing Day, Y/N would quit her job at Dymond, and leave Harry Styles behind for good.

¤ ¤ ¤

Harry closed the door into his London house, a huge detached white house with three floors, his front door a stark red and his front garden well-kept due to his weekly gardener. One pillar stood on each side of said door, the small roof above them shielding Harry and his grocery bag from the downpour of snow. The inside of the huge North Chelsea house was almost as cold as the winter night outside, but nowhere near as dark. As the door closed behind Harry, he struggled to light the lamp on the table out in the foyer, grumbling to himself before he finally found it and switched it on. He walked into his kitchen where he didn’t bother lighting the room as the streetlights outside did it well enough for him. Putting his Marks and Spencer bag on the kitchen island, he took his microwaveable Beef Roast out along with the wine he thought he’d treat himself to. He placed the wine in the fridge, noting how he didn’t really have anything he could use for dinner the following day. Grumbling some swear words under his breath once again, he wrote it down in the notepad on his phone before closing the fridge. He took the frozen dinner out of its package, following the instructions for how he was supposed to ready the meal. After he had memorised how, he threw the packaging away, grabbed his food and walked over to his microwave where he stopped.

Harry had known Niall for so many years that he had lost count. Over all those years he had picked up on a couple of traits and things Niall did that annoyed him. For example, Niall would always make a moustache out of the beer head when they were out for drinks, or he’d always sign his name with a little smiley behind it, even on serious business contracts. Sometimes, when he liked an idea that had been suggested in a meeting, he’d said “Hashtag amazing” or “I’m shook”, phrases that had Harry cringing and Niall howling with laughter. Or he’d always leave the light in the guest bedroom on after he stayed over for the night. One of the most annoying ones, however, was when, after Niall had made himself dinner or popcorn at Harry’s, he’d leave the microwave door open. Harry had always nagged at Niall to just shut it, it would take him one extra second, but Niall just smiled and said “But that’s one more second I’m not spending with you, mate”.

The microwave door was open. Harry never left it open. Never once in his life had he left it open. He would have remembered if he did. He looked around him, trying to notice if any other items in his kitchen could indicate a burglar. But the room was neat, nothing amiss or disturbed. So, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour, Harry opened the door wider and placed his food inside, closing the door and putting the timer on. It dinged when it was done, Harry having watched the snow fall outside, now lighter than it had been before. Trying not to let his mind race off to Paddington Station where Y/N would be heading as he was eating his meal just now. He sighed, taking a fork, knife, and wine with him before he left the kitchen, turned the lights in the foyer off, and started walking up the stairs, his room the second on the left. The grey walls of his house were bare, no pictures of family or paintings he had bought at expensive auctions. Harry thought of his house as a place where he rested, not as something of his own. It was rather somewhere he charged his batteries, somewhere he would spend his nights and mornings, but not his preferred place to be. His mum would always decorate their house, a woman crazy about Christmas and her family, but Harry had never been like that. During his childhood he’d enjoyed the interior and decorations of their North London house, but he would never take the initiative himself to do s his mother. By this point, Harry didn’t care how bare his house was, as long as it was nice and as long as it was quiet, he was happy.

The first door on the left when you came walking up the stairs of Harry’s house was the guest bedroom, the neighbouring room to Harry’s. It was slightly smaller than his, the walk-in closet that came with the major room of the house not part of the guest room. Niall, who had been the only one to ever stay in there, never minded, though. He could stay in the same clothes for days, and if he wanted to change, he’d just steal something from Harry. Harry had never minded this. In fact, if Niall smelled bad, Harry encouraged him to shower and borrow some of his clothes. What he didn’t encourage however, was to keep the lights on when he didn’t need them to be, like when he wasn’t in the room. Niall never listened and always forgot to turn the lights off, especially the guest bedroom.

By the small slit at the very bottom of the door, a small line of yellow light shone. The only light in the whole entire house. Using his elbow as his hands were full, Harry opened the door into the room, looking around it. No sign of anyone ever having been in there showed, and Harry was fearing he might have gone mad. Was he doing all of this unconsciously because he missed Niall so much? Especially now, on Christmas Eve, exactly a year since his best friend’s passing? He shook his head, blinking frantically to himself, trying to check if he was still awake or if he was asleep and this was some kind of weird lucid dream. Quickly, Harry turned the lights out and slammed the door shut, not knowing what kind of bloody prank this was, but he did not appreciate it.

His bedroom was cold, the window having been open all day, and he closed it after putting his dinner down on the small coffee table between the two red recliners. A huge fireplace stood before them, his bed by further back, place parallel to the chairs and the window. Hunching down, Harry put three logs in the fireplace and started it up, using some time to get the fire going before he stood up again. He sighed, the sound of the fire taking over the logs, burning its surface and warming his bedroom soothing to him. Sitting down in the recliner closest to the door, the one he always sat in, he reached over for his dinner.

“Bit of a sad Christmas dinner, isn’t it?”

Harry looked over at the other recliner, greeted by the slightly transparent and white image of his best friend.

He screamed. Jumping up from his recliner and backing away, heart racing and hands searching for the wall he wanted to stand against. If he was next to the wall, if he felt something solid, then his crazed mind would stop playing tricks on him. Then all of this would be over. Then he would stop seeing the microwave door open. Then he would stop imagining the light in the guest room being on. Then he would stop fantasising his best friend alive and sitting there in the other recliner. Where he always used to sit before. When everything was okay.

“You’ve never been this happy to see me before?” Niall said, chuckling a little.

Harry felt sick to his stomach. This couldn’t be real. Niall was dead. He had been dead for a year now. He was going crazy. That was it. That was why. Because Niall couldn’t be here. That wouldn’t make sense. Because Niall was dead. Dead. Harry had seen him when he was buried.

Niall chuckled again, louder and longer this time. And it sounded so real that Harry, for a split second, thought this was real. Harry couldn’t help himself as he uttered a faint, “Ni-… Ni-Niall?”

“My name, yes.” Niall – that was 100% all made up and formed in Harry’s head, no other explanation - said, nodding his head and resting his hands on his knees. “Sounds nice when you say it like that. Makes me feel special.”

Harry started breathing faster, rage filling him up. He was mad at himself for doing this to himself; mad at the world for taking Niall away from him; mad at everything. Brows furrowing and forehead wrinkling, Harry watched as a smile formed on Niall’s lips.

“What…. What the fuck is this? What… You’re dead!”

“Yea, I am.” Niall nodded again, looking over at the fire in the fireplace. “I’m a ghost now.”

Harry – fed up with himself for all of this, for causing himself more main on the anniversary of Niall’s passing – scoffed. “Fucking humbug.”

Niall roared with laughter, always having found it funny beyond belief when Harry said that.

“I’m going crazy.” Harry mumbled to himself, looking down at the floor. Thinking that might help, not looking at Niall. “That’s it. That’s why. Niall’s not here, you’re just going crazy, Harry.”

“As cute as it is to see you all freaked out like this, I can’t stay for long. I’m here to warn you.”

Harry looked up again, the frown that had covered his forehead earlier back again. Confusion filled him, min running marathons as he tried to figure out what his own brain wanted to warn him of. That was why he was imagining Niall, right? He was talking to himself?

“You’re dead!” Harry shouted, feeling his fingertips prickle a little with fear as the image of Niall wavered, going in and out of focus. “You’re not real!” Nails start to claw against the wall at his back, eyes searching Niall and his surroundings for some kind of explanation for all of this. “Dead. You died a year ago.”

“And now I’m here to warn you, Harry. You need to listen to me.” Niall got up from the recliner, seemingly struggling a little but regaining his balance and posture. Screwing up his face, Niall rolled his shoulders like he was stiff, and was about to take a step toward Harry.

Harry threw his arm out in front of him, trying to keep Niall at bay. “Stay there! Don’t come any bloody closer to me!”

“Harry-“

“-You’re fucking dead, Niall!”

“Harry, listen to me!”

Harry’s arm was shaking, petrified out of his own mind as he watched Niall just stand there, sighing. Nothing of this made any sense, because Harry was desperately trying to make some sense of all of this. But try as he might, there was no sense in any of it, no rational cause for any of it.

“If this scares you, you’re going to piss yourself when the three spirits of Christmas arrives in an hour.”

Harry blinked. “Three spirits of Christmas?”

“Yes, Harry, the three spirits of Christmas. Know why they’re coming?”

Harry couldn’t so anything but stare at the supposed manifestation of Niall in front of him.

“Because you’ve been a right bellend, and they’re here to make you change that.”

“Thanks for that, Niall.” Harry grumbled. Niall from his imagination or the real one, that still stung.

“Harry, you have been miserable for as long as I’ve known you. They’re coming to show you that you don’t have to be.” Niall explained. “That you deserve happiness, regardless of what you might think. Life is much simpler if you allow yourself to love and be loved.”

Harry huffed. “And good luck with that.”

Niall nodded, resting his hands on his hips. “That’s what I told them as well, but they’re still coming.”

Harry lowered the hand he was still holding up, trusting made up Niall not to come any closer. He still thought this was all in his head, or a very weird dream. “You’ve… met them?”

“Yea, legends the lot of them.” Niall grew serious again, a change Harry had seen a lot over the years. Niall would first stare at you, and then to the right of you, look down at the floor, then let go of a huge sigh. “Harry, look, they’re here for a purpose. Don’t ruin it.”

“Why are they here?” Harry asked. “How would I ruin it?”

Slowly, Niall turned and started walking toward the window. Harry threw up his arm again, wishing he could sink into the wall and into he guest bedroom, away from all of this. Niall’s steps were silent, like he weighed nothing. And, though he had been a very small bloke when he was alive, he always walked with his heels first, making the rooms on the second and third level of Harry’s house shake.

“Come here, mate.” Niall said, looking over his shoulder at Harry.

Reluctantly, Harry does and looks outside like Niall does. That’s when he smells it; the awful stench that has to come from the manifestation beside him. Niall smelled like burnt corpse; like a week’s old, rotting corpse that had been thrown into a bonfire to perish; to disappear forever. The foul smell makes its way into Harry’s nose trills, clawing its way down his throat and clinging to the back of his tongue, making him want to be sick. Finally, Harry takes the time to look outside after getting over the shock of Niall’s smell. Outside, flying over the streets of London and walking about the quiet, snow-covered streets, are green apparitions that can be explained as nothing short of ghosts. All of them ear metal weights, some more than others, and the smell that came from Niall is nothing compared to this one. These are corpses and nothing but. Skin is missing on some of them, others are bleeding, and the really old ones have arms or legs or other parts of their body showing as skeleton alone. Harry can feel the very soul of him shaking, needing to get out and away from this sight before him.

“Know why I don’t bear the weights of my misbehavings?” Niall asked Harry, looking over at the friend to his right. “Because I’ve been a good boy.”

“Piss off.”

“No, Harry, all those people you see here have done about their lives being miserable twats, and they get paid for that by walking around eternity bearing the weight of all their wrong doings. Do you want that to be you?”

Harry only looked at the ghosts outside, catching sight of a woman screaming in agony as one of the weights tore into her skin. Blood pouring down her arm, dripping off her fingers, falling to some unknown destiny.

“Then don’t fuck this up.” Niall said, sounding stern. Like he wanted for nothing but to have Harry listen to him and believe him. Harry bit his bottom lip, tearing his eyes away from the woman he had been watching. Harry felt Niall sigh and straighten up. “And while I’m here, please just… tell Y/N you love her?”

Harry’s head whipped in Niall’s direction, seeing his friend’s apparition this close made everything realer than he wanted it to be. He took a step back. “What? I-“

“-You have loved her for four years now, Harry. Stop treating her like shit.” Niall said, taking a good look at Harry before he gave him a little smile. “Stop not allowing yourself to live.”

Harry swallowed thickly, not knowing what Niall wanted him to say now.

“Good luck, mate. I’ll see you some other day.”

And just like that, Niall flew off through the open window, Harry just barely making him out as he zig-zagged his way through the ghosts of London. Harry suddenly heard the agonising wails of the tortured ghosts even louder then, fearing his own hearing as they continued and continued to screech and cry and yelp.

“Niall!” Harry shouted, trying to make his deceased friend out among the dead. “Niall!” Harry shouted, desperate to see his friend and get some answered. He had so many questions, he needed Niall to answer them. “Niall!” Harry tried again, but to no use. With huge force, Harry shut the window of his bedroom, the ghosts outside suddenly disappearing, and so did the wails. Harry blinked, shaking his head as the suddenness by which it all vanished stunned him. His heart was still beating fast, his pulse sounding in his ears. To try and calm himself down, Harry walked over to his recliner and sat down. Right away, he started thinking about what this all meant, why this was all happening, and if this was all even real. No matter, he was terrified of the clock striking 17:00, when Niall said the spirits of Christmas would arrive. Harry took his now lukewarm dinner and his fork with shaky hands, eyes falling on the clock above the fireplace.

16:13.

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Dog Sitter Part 12 - A Simple Truth

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here.

Oswald stares at the little creature sitting in his lap. It would be a stretch to say this white, fluffy thing is a dog. The tiny, furry ball rather reminds the mobster of a marshmallow exploded in a microwave - sprinkled with three black dots for its eyes and nose.

Curiously, the little Pomeranian darts out its tongue and licks the kingpin’s hand. Oswald flinches.

“That tickles,” he chuckles.  

The dog ignores him. Yawning wholeheartedly, it makes itself comfortable on the Penguin’s thigh.

Oswald pets the small creature absentmindedly. Now that he’s in the back of his limo, on the way to Jim Gordon, he starts to doubt his actions.

His mother would definitely not be pleased with him. A living, breathing thing is certainly not suited as a gift, she would say. It’s irresponsible, she would say. Ironically, an adjective Oswald often used to describe the man he intends to give the dog to. Yet according to Bullock, the adjective should be replaced by suicidal.

But what if the Detective got it wrong? Could this endeavor end the fragile truce he managed to establish with the Captain? In the past, Jim never reacted kindly when Oswald tried to form a friendship with him. His efforts always ever earned him insults and rejection.

The definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So why should Jim accept a tiny dog from him?

But then this is not only about Oswald’s vain desire to keep Jim Gordon - poisonous, toxic, dangerous Jim Gordon - in his life. This is primarily about the man himself. Oswald would never be able to forgive himself if he knew Jim was walking into his fate without trying to rescue him.

He saved his life already too often. In his eyes, Jim is his responsibility. He owes Jim. And Jim owes him in return. He would always owe him for all the times he wronged Oswald and Oswald would always owe him for that damned day on the pier. The Penguin’s fate is inseparably intertwined with the Captain’s. For better or worse.

The Penguin won’t allow the Captain to die at his own hands. If anyone had ever earned their right to kill Jim Gordon, it’s him and only him. In his eyes, he not only owes him. He owns him.

He is his cop. Just as he is his gangster. For whatever reason, they can’t stop chasing each other. Maybe Jim Gordon is his own personal hell. Maybe they have both died a long time ago and now they are doomed to chase one another, and whenever one catches the other, their game begins anew for all eternity.

Together, they had turned Gotham into what it is today. They had both left their marks and made their impact. Yet, while the Penguin strives for money, power, and order, Jim strives for justice, safety, and order. Their constant game of push and pull brought the city to the brink of destruction and keeps it in balance.

Jim Gordon is keeping Gotham from being taken over by gangsters and corruption. The Penguin keeps it from plunging into chaos.

Gotham is a city like no other. She is not just an accumulation of streets, cars, and buildings. She is a living, breathing being. A monster drawn to the darkness. Gotham needs her gangsters, she needs the order only established by fear and violence. But she also needs men who keep her from falling into the abyss. Men who keep the peace, who hold her back from going too far, and destroying herself. Men like Jim Gordon.

Exhaling wearily through his nose, Oswald disturbs the dog sleeping in his lap. The Pomeranian stares reproachfully at him while chewing the hem of his suit jacket.

“Oh, no,” the mobster scolds while detaching the creature from the garment. Unimpressed, the dog starts chewing on his finger.

“Ouch!” he yelps. Staring angrily at the fluffy thing, he places it back in its bag. “I’m not an oversized rubber toy,” he chides, earning himself a heartwrenching whine from the Pomeranian.

“Oh, don’t do that to me,” he grumbles. “You’re not supposed to get attached to me anyway. You’re supposed to cheer up an old friend of mine up. Don’t worry,” he carries on. “He’ll take good care of you in return. I hope, at least,” he whispers.

When the car stops, Oswald has almost lost his courage. Jim is probably absolutely fine and Bullock was just overreacting. This whole visit is only going to end in an argument and if he’s really unlucky, with Jim starting new investigations against him.

Picking up the dog carrier, he exits the limousine. It’s not too late to turn back, he muses, while his feet already carry him down the slippery stairs. Once again, it’s raining in Gotham. This entire city is always enshrouded by a thick blanket of darkness as if an eternal winter had settled over all of them.

Oswald knocks once and almost turns on his heel when the door doesn’t open instantly. He’s too slow though with his bad leg. He would have been too slow with a healthy leg, too.

“Cobblepot,” Jim growls angrily and the mobster cringes. They’re obviously back on a second name basis and judged by the look the Captain shoots him, he’s anything but happy to see him.

“Did you lose your dog again?” he growls unkindly, while at the same time opening the door further, allowing the Penguin to come in.  

Swallowing hard, the kingpin shakes his head. Jim’s eyes snap up. “Your kid then?”

Oswald wonders how the cop’s voice can sound anymore deeper than usual. It’s not even a human voice anymore but the low rumble of a beast ready to attack. The thought alone of an innocent being in danger, even if it is a murderer’s child, sets the Captain’s teeth on edge. He stares into Jim’s stormy eyes, sees the rage lurking deep in those blue orbits, and hopes he’ll never have to learn the full force of his wrath.

“Nothing as abysmal,” he responds lightly. Oswald smiles then because he always smiles when being uncertain.

Jim studies him for a long moment before he nods. He’s probably making sure the Penguin doesn’t lie. “Why are you here then?” he demands to know.

The cop walks into his kitchen, sure the kingpin will follow. And it’s exactly what Oswald does. He would follow Jim anywhere after all, wouldn’t he?

Subtly scanning the room, Oswald assesses the state of the flat and his doubts tenfold. This is not the apartment of a man who lost his will to live - quite the contrary. The place is still tidy, still nicely furnished. There’s nothing lying around apart from a white shirt dropped carelessly beside a door Oswald assumes to be leading to the bathroom.  

Leaning over the counter, Jim hands him his usual cup of tea. It’s still the weirdly oversized mug the cop always uses when he visits. He wonders if he gets it because Jim wouldn’t even drink accidentally from it.

“So?” the Detective asks, arching a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“I like how you redecorated your home,” Oswald answers. Before he can stop himself he blurts out, “And still so clean.”

Jim snorts. “You mean a clean place is very much unlike me? Or any cop for the matter?”

Opening and closing his mouth, Oswald tries thinking of a reply.

“Well, you might be right. The maid has only been yesterday.” The bastard has the audacity to laugh at the Penguin.

Filling his own cup with coffee, Jim gestures toward the living room.

“Maid?” Oswald echoes incredulously while taking a seat on the man’s new sofa. Well, not that new anymore. He places the bag containing the small Pomeranian beside him and waits for Jim to follow.

“Yes, maid,” he confirms while making himself comfortable in a chair opposite the mobster. “In the long run, I’m indeed useless at keeping this place tidy.”

“How can you afford a maid?” Oswald blurts out unthinkingly.

To his credit, Jim merely looks bemused. “I’m the Captain of the GCPD. Not a welfare-case,” he replies.

Considering the number of bribes he regularly pays the other cops, Oswald highly doubts that statement. He wisely keeps that thought to himself.

“But I hardly think you came here for my impeccable taste regarding interior design or to recruit my maid,” Jim spats sarcastically.

Taking a sip from his tea, the kingpin glares at the cop. The man is as unmanageable as always, rude even. On top, his worries seem to have been entirely uncalled for. No way in hell this stubborn bastard would ever entertain the thought of killing himself!

No, Oswald coming here is only going to end their truce and Jim would start chasing him for the murder of Brian Gold. The Penguin would end up in prison again and his Martin would become an orphan.

How could he have been so stupid? Had all of this just been a trap set up by Bullock and Gordon to lure him out here? To break their arrangement without Jim being the culprit? It wouldn’t be the first time the Captain had played him in such a despicable way. But then, if Jim wanted to go after him, he simply would, all promises aside.

“You sent Harvey Bullock,” the kingpin starts thoughtfully. This had been a bad idea. He should leave instantly, he thinks. Taking in Jim’s calm expression, he starts getting certain this had indeed been a trap. Rage starts slowly cursing through his veins, blocking out each and every rational thought. He has been betrayed again and Martin would pay the price.

“I still honor our arrangement,” Jim responds angrily.

“You obviously don’t!” he spats back, involuntarily already reaching for his cane. “We both know Bullock turning up at my place is as good as you coming.”

“And we both know that is not quite true,” the cop growls, slowly rising to his feet.

“Not true?!” the Penguin exclaims. “He’s practically your right hand.”

“And your left,” Jim replies, catching the mobster off guard.

Tilting his chin petulantly, Oswald explodes into a rant. “His loyalties have always been with you. And now you’re sending him to take me down again, to drag me to the ground, to turn my child into an orphan…”

Placing a firm hand against his chest, the cop interrupts his tirade. “I sent Harvey because I had to be certain Brian Gold’s death would not be the beginning of another turf war,” he tells him earnestly.

The cop’s gaze is soft, remorseful even when removing his hand and dropping it to his side. “I’m almost positive you had nothing to do with this death,” he admits softly.

Oswald’s eyes widen in surprise. “Then why?” he stutters, unable to process how Jim, for once, doesn’t believe him to be guilty. The rage slowly abates, allowing his brain functions to come back online.

Jim shrugs. “Could have been someone who wants to impress you. Someone who heard Martin talking about what happened. If that’s the case, Gold’s side would retaliate. And you’d have to defend whoever was responsible.”

Sitting back down, Jim rubs his temples. “I’m so done with turf wars,” he mumbles wearily. “Nothing but revenge and blood.”

“Eye for an eye and the world goes blind,” Oswald quotes.

Looking up sharply, the cop nods.

“How can you know I had nothing to do with Gold’s death?” he can’t help asking suspiciously.

“I would have never found him,” Jim merely replies. Leaning back in his chair, the cop heaves a long, heavy sigh.

For a moment, Oswald only weighs the cane in his hand, the little dog beside him in the bag long forgotten. “I can promise there’s no turf war coming,” he finally admits.

“Then I really don’t know why we’re still having a conversation.” Leaning forward the Captain places his cup on the table and readies himself to throw his unwanted guest out.

A ray of Gotham’s rare sunlight filters through the window, highlighting the man’s ashen face. It must have stopped raining at some point, Oswald muses while studying Jim’s features. His cheekbones are for once clearly visible, standing out so prominently he could cut himself on them. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips dried out, almost gray from constantly chewing on them, and pressed into a tight line.

The way Jim moves is jerky, erratic almost. He’s constantly on the edge, ready to jump up at any given moment, but once seated, he looks like a puppet with their strings cut.

Oswald could leave right now. And maybe he should just take this gift Jim had given him, an honest ceasefire, and return back home. The man never claimed to be his friend, made it clear time and time again he doesn’t want him in his life, so why pressure him?

“Bullock believes I’m threatening you,” Oswald informs him, his hand already on the doorknob.

The cop doesn’t even flinch. At first, the gangster believes Jim hasn’t heard him. Turning around, he looks back. Gordon is standing behind him, eyes trained intently at his face.

“I already told him that’s not the case,” he tells him quietly.

“He doesn’t seem to believe you,” the gangster quips.

Jim frowns. “He will,” he states determinedly.

“He also believes you want to kill yourself because of my alleged, evil machinations.”

If possible, Jim looks even more displeased. “I already told you he won’t believe that anymore once everything is said and done.”

“So it’s true then?”

Gordon shrugs. “I’ll be keeping my promise. I’ll stay away from you and your kid.” His voice is harsh. He pauses for a moment. “How’s the dog?” he demands to know. The question comes out like an order.

“Ed is fine,” the mobster replies gently. He feels movement in the bag he’s holding and when looking at Jim, Oswald makes up his mind.

“Speaking of Ed. I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of him.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Jim interrupts him.

“I feel like it is.” He chuckles nervously and wonders what he must look like to Jim. A small, seemingly insecure man, with greasy hair who always laughs too often, too obnoxiously. “I have a little gift for you.”

“You know I can’t accept presents from you.” The other man is clearly annoyed. Pushing past Oswald, he opens the door.

“It’s nothing I paid money for,” the Penguin consoles him with a devilish smirk. Holding up the bag, he offers it to Jim. “Careful!” he warns.

Jim stares at the bag as if it was a bomb he asked him to dismantle.

“What is this?” he inquires suspiciously, but dutifully opening the zipper, he reaches inside.

When Jim Gordon picks up the tiny dog, he’s speechless. Oswald had been certain he would have to fend off a flood of words once he sees the little creature but Jim stays silent. Cradling the fluffy ball carefully in his hands, he exhales a shuddering breath.

The small dog takes a curious sniff and promptly sneezes. The Captain laughs. And for once, he sounds carefree, relieved.

“Oh, I’ll have to get another cologne, won’t I?” he chuckles while pressing a little kiss to the top of the dog’s head.

Gently putting the dog on the ground, Jim observes how it starts fearlessly exploring his apartment. Already completely enamored, the cop runs after the dog. “I guess he needs water,” he coos excitedly and promptly fills a bowl.

Smiling fondly, Oswald follows him back to the kitchen where Jim is already busy fussing over the dog.

“I got it from an animal shelter,” he explains. “That way, you won’t have to worry I gave you something pricey.”

The cop hardly acknowledges him. “You can call this one Chester,” the mobster suggests with a mischievous smile.

“Chester,” Jim replies thoughtfully. “Yeah, I should probably do that,” he adds, his smile growing wider.

Yet all of a sudden, the man’s face falls. “I can’t keep him,” he whispers, looking longingly at the little one.

Oswald frowns. “I thought you liked him?” he asks, a tad bit angry. “If that is about me being…”

Jim stops him. The expression on his face is raw, honest - and entirely broken. “That’s the most beautiful, thoughtful gift I ever received in my entire life.”

Oswald’s breath hitches in his throat. He would have expected any answer but this. It’s not like Jim’s response makes sense, yet the sheer amount of passion in his voice makes his knees go weak.

“Thank you,” Jim whispers. “He’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you want him though?” Oswald needs to know, entirely at a loss.

“I want him,” Gordon reassures him. “I just can’t keep him.” A wistful expression crosses his face when gently picking up the dog and handing it back to Oswald. “It would be irresponsible,” he elaborates with a lopsided grin.

Despite Jim’s nonchalant demeanor, hearing Jim describing himself as irresponsible feels like a stab to Oswald’s heart. Especially, with the other man being so serious about it. He wants to contradict, opens his mouth even, but Jim merely smiles sadly at him and shakes his head.

“There’s no need to be polite about it, Oswald,” he tells him firmly. “I lost control a long time ago. I won't drag an innocent being down with me. You already said it yourself, didn’t you?” Jim’s mouth twitches, he almost looks victorious.

“I didn’t mean that,” the former umbrella-boy protests unconvincingly, insecurely, and Jim grunts. Oswald wonders why he’s never steadfast when it comes to what is most important to him. He’s cunning and suave in each and every negotiation but when dealing with people he cares for, his silver tongues remains silent.

Jim snorts derisively. “I’m responsible for my ex-fiancee losing our child. I’m not a man who should ever look after a living creature.”

Oswald wants to interrupt him but for once, the Captain’s armor cracks.

“What did I ever achieve?” he asks. “What good did I ever do? Before my arrival in Gotham, the city was corrupt to its core, yet stable. I brought even more violence to Gotham, I jumbled up the old order but what for? Is this city any less rotten? Have crime-rates gone down?”

Taking in a shuddering breath, he continues. “I thought a war against you, brought Sofia Falcone here, but what for? I fought fire with fire and wondered why everything exploded. My actions led nowhere, Oswald!” He’s outright screaming at this point.

“This city is being held together by your organization, and whenever I drag you down, worse men, more cruel men follow. It took me too long to realize that, and others paid a terrible price. Lee, our baby, colleagues, friends, you! I sent you to Arkham -  for nothing! And for whatever reason, I’m coming out unscathed, always. And now, after everything I did, you’re giving me a present? I don’t deserve this, I can’t have this…”

“Jim…,” Oswald utters helplessly but the other man doesn’t want to hear it. He simply stares into the distance, unable to react to his own name.

But what should he say anyway? How could he ever make him understand how deeply he feels about him, despite all his flaws. He admires Jim, regards him as his hero, his knight in shining armor. He is the last honest man, the only man who still has morals, integrity. Jim never adapted to Gotham’s rules, he always stayed true to himself, fought his war and carried on like the honorable soldier he is.

The Penguin though had always been able to determine when a man is utterly broken, when he’s beyond repair, and ready to receive the final blow. When making business, this is the moment for him to strike. It’s a crucial point. If he attacks right now, victory will be his. The Penguin exploits weaknesses and Jim Gordon is so very, very weak right now.

And it’s also the very moment the Penguin, the selfish, reckless bastard, and Oswald Cobblepot, the hopeless romantic, truly become one and attack.

Oswald doesn’t even think, just leans forward and encircles Jim’s waist. He’s utterly inexperienced but he knows exactly what and who he wants and when he can have it.

Pressing his lips against the other man’s, he silences Jim’s self-loathing tirade. He pushes past his barriers, practically forces his tongue into his mouth until Jim has no other choice but to surrender.

It’s not even a kiss at first, more a battle for dominance Oswald is intent on winning, but then Jim’s arms embrace him and he’s being pulled against his chest. Afterward, there’s nothing but heat and want.

Oswald wants, wants, wants.

Jim walks him backward, to the blue sofa in his living room, and pushes. And then he feels his weight pressing him down, the heat emanating from his body. He inhales his fresh, clean cologne and closes his eyes.

Somewhere beside him, the little dog barks, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll feed him later, or take him for a walk, or do whatever the creature wants.

His long fingers curl desperately into Jim’s shirt, crumpling the fabric. He doesn’t care. He simply wants to tear it off, have the man beneath the fabric finally for himself. Frantic little gasps and moans escape his throat, undignified sounds he would be ashamed off under any other circumstances.

Even now, Oswald is greedy. Even when Jim is kissing him along his throat he needs more, desires more. His legs are being pushed apart and he gasps. He has to say something, wants Jim to know what he feels.

Before he can stop himself, the words tumble from his lips, a truth he can’t contain anymore. It’s the reason for Jim still being alive despite everything he did and what he would be doing in the future. A most simple truth, quite obvious, really.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he chants between kisses, effectively breaking whatever spell the Captain is under.

Jim stills above him, stops moving entirely and pulls back enough to look at his face. His expression is unreadable despite the flush creeping up his face and his wide, lust-blown eyes. Or Oswald could just never read the cop. He fails whenever it comes to one Jim Gordon, over and over again.

“I know,” Jim whispers, barely audible.

Oswald expects Gordon to jump to his feet now, to throw him out of his flat and to pretend this never ever happened. Instead, he moves his body just enough to lie somewhat comfortably beside him. His eyes are almost black when they stare back at him.

The Penguin is trapped between a heavy body and a backrest. He wants to bolt. He never wants to move again.

The silence stretches, becoming unbearable in the process until Oswald can’t help laughing. He’s laughing like a maniac, like the psychopath he is. If you can’t cry, you simply have to laugh, right?

“I have a way to ruin the mood,” he chuckles, his voice cutting through the room like one of his knives. “But you, you,” he laughs, almost crying. “ I know ,” he screams. Cause seriously, is there anything worse to say?

Jim rolls onto his back, mutely staring at the ceiling.

“Say something!” Oswald orders. Once again, he had been a fool. An idiot wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Like?” the other man asks.

And there it is again. Rejection, his old friend.

“I don’t,” he answers jokingly. His voice sounds broken even to his own ears.

Jim’s eyes snap back up to his face, then to the pale, long fingers still lying on his chest.

“Did anyone ever tell you, you have beautiful hands?” he asks instead. Tugging at his wrist, he pulls the murderer beside him onto his chest.

“No.” Oswald grimaces.

“You do,” Jim reassures him.

The mobster rolls his eyes. “Just get over with it and tell me you don’t reciprocate the sentiment.

“I can’t,” he rumbles with a voice seemingly coming straight out of the deepest pits of hell.

The gangster gets angry, impatient. “Why not?” he demands to know.

“It would be a lie,” he simply replies, complete with a little shrug.

Oswald’s breath hitches in his throat. “So you…?” He can’t even finish the sentence.

Jim falls silent, entwines their fingers instead while studying his wrist with great interest. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear,” he whispers while shaking his head.

“Why not?” Oswald has to know. Even if he got more than he could have ever dreamed off. Especially now, when he had almost gotten everything he wanted but not quite.

The cop beneath him laughs softly. “You would think it would mean I’d make you happy. I’ won’t,” he promises solemnly.

Oswald desperately closes his eyes and inhales more of Jim’s scent. Slowly, he gets up and searches the little dog. He should probably leave but his limbs feel heavy and the old pain in his right leg is back. He’s weak but there’s a flicker of hope burning merrily in his chest.

“You know where to find me should you change your mind.”

Jim follows him to the door. “I can’t," he says ruefully while carefully readjusting the gangster’s tie. He doesn’t only mean the furry gift.

Oswald hesitates. His palms are sweaty when placing them on the doorknob. He thinks he should say something to change Jim’s mind. Chester whines in his little cage and the Penguin remembers how much he has to offer. He could give the cop everything he desires and more. There would be no boundaries.

“You know,” he starts, “Gotham is the only city that could be shaped into something different, better if a cop and gangster teamed up. We both left our marks already. We could leave some more marks and make your visions for this city become real.”

The cop remains silent.

“I could do that for you,” Oswald freely offers.

There’s nothing more than a twitch around the corner of Jim’s mouth. “Oswald,” he breathes.

“I could change the city for you.” Desperation is creeping into his voice.

Leaning against the doorframe, Jim shakes his head. “How is it possible?” the Captain’s voice cracks. “How do you do it?” Closing his eyes he inhales deeply. “Every time I’m getting too close to you, I feel like I’m about to sell my soul to the devil.”

Oswald smirks. “Jim, you really shouldn’t believe in devils but in me.”

He can hear Jim leaning heavily against the door when he leaves.

would you please go on an excessive rant about kawoshin? i got a pack of popcorn to microwave i got time

Alright, there’s a whole variety of topics to address here. I think I’ll just make a long bulletpoint list. I’m trying to be reasonable in my saltiness but I’ve lost my patience with the anti-kawoshin stuff. Though if I’m wrong about anything I say on a technical level, I apologize.

[[MORE]]

I’m not surprised by the presence of dudebro fans per se. I’ve never been in a fandom with some level of mass appeal where they didn’t appear. What I’m baffled by is that they don’t just hate Eva considering that, for all the debate around whether ep24 was gay, it’ certainly something they would find gay for two guys to do and the mental gymnastics to no homo kawoshin are way more convoluted. I guess I’m becoming tired of this type of person. And of the fact that every meta community requires one to never say the word ‘gay’ even once, or everything else will be instantly dismissed. Eva is where I officially lost it regarding this topic because it’s so very obviously gay that denying it sounds like straight-up satire. But what do I know, they’re the Serious Fans and I’m just some delusional fangirl, I guess. Let them keep being smug, because clearly, “realism” is acting like lgbt people don’t exist, they got us, it was all a conspiracy to fuck with them.

What is up with the wiki’s editing? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the work that went into compiling all the information but the ep24 first draft’s wiki page? The exaggerated emphasis placed on it being ‘Just a draft that was rejected!!!!’ And the added commentary on how a lot of draft materials are ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT ANNO’S AUTHORIAL INTENT’ which begins to diverge from the article’s topic itself. They went as far as bolding the phrase. All of this, after explaining that Satsukawa’s drafts are written based on a general outline Anno gives him... Question of the day: what outline did Anno give Satsukawa that led to him writing that draft? The 1-2 episodes’ worth of homoeroticism, you know. Not to mention the actual ep24, the one that was okayed by Anno, which is still, frankly, really gay. Truly, whoever edited that article was the shining star of intellect. Congratulations!

And, about the quest to prove Shinji’s straight, I find it intriguing that every. single. person. brings up the fact that he jacked off to comatose Asuka. Because any normal display of being attracted to women or any of his erotic mental imagery couldn’t have done, you had to pick that as the typical behaviour to represent straight people. Interesting. I don’t understand their rituals, unfortunately. I figure they just wank to unconscious people on the regular since they love talking about it so much.

Meanwhile bisexual people let out a soft sigh at this whole discussion.

My favourite phenomenon, and the one I was originally going to complain about, is the group of people who took the step of admitting kawoshin is canon, but because they’re sore losers they’re trying to demonstrate how it’s unhealthy. I don’t like having to say all of this because some of the analysts on board with this, I actually like a fair amount. But sorry, if it’s a stupid idea, then it’s a stupid fucking idea and I can’t act like it’s not. So, apparently, Kaworu=bad because he’s too idealized and conforms too perfectly with what Shinji wants, and that’s impossible for human beings so that’s — allegedly — why he turns out to be an angel and has to die. I think the second half of this interpretation has elements that make sense. Maybe. In that I agree that having to kill Kaworu was relevant to the plot and Shinji’s character development (‘unraveling’ might be a more accurate word...). But it’s not because there was any problem with kawoshin as a relationship; it’s because Shinji has to learn not to rely on outside factors for self-worth. That doesn’t say anything about how good those outside factors are for him in themselves, just that he has a tendency of making his own value depend on them whether they’re healthy things or not. Declaring Kaworu to be a negative influence because he’s ‘not a Real Person’ is akin to saying Shinji would be better off hanging out with the ‘Real People’ in his life. The choices for healthy bonds are then: 1) Misato, who has issues with drinking and sex and has made moves on Shinji while being twice his age 2) Rei, who is debatably even a single entity and is a clone of Shinji’s mother that he occasionally sees as a substitute for her 3) Asuka, who continuously talks shit to him, beats him up, expects him to fulfill her desires for precocious sexual maturity and is completely insensitive to anything bad happening to him, including the time he almost died 4) Gendo. I’m being harsh. I appreciate all of these characters and it’s independently from their individual complexity that I observe how they keep trying to dump their own issues on Shinji. I don’t know if it’s about gender. I’m never quite sure.

I can’t say much about the Netflix dub that hasn’t been said already. For one thing, changing ‘love’ to ‘like’ makes no sense in terms of the plot. For another, I agree that phrasing means little to nothing with the visuals on screen. But, just to add something to it, the next time I see someone piggybacking on this discourse to express their “sympathy for how the translators are being treated”, I want them to know that it’s really transparent. Also that anyone from the staff could have said “I did this because it’s my job but I don’t think it was a good choice to translate it like that” at any point. But, for all I know, maybe Netflix is some kind of corporate dictatorship where you can’t express mild disagreement with your colleague’s work or you get instantly fired. I don’t quite care what emotional state translators are in because of the backlash. With this attitude, we’d be obligated to suck it up with any divisive higher decision, lest we hurt someone’s feelings by disliking it. It would have been so easy to keep the phrase in. Absolutely no effort. This was done, I believe, intentionally to pander to dudebros because a lot of people involved probably had no clear understanding of what Eva is and which people it attracts, so they went with ‘eh, it’s probably the average mecha fans’. Companies like this want you to sit back and stay comfortable and amoebic, never being exposed to anything that pokes at your sensitivities — so lgbt content needs to be in a segregated place, available for The Gays while everyone else can peacefully avoid it. And we’ll all be content and appeased and really fucking dopamine-hooked on online streaming. It’s gonna be really, really funny when everyone finds out Eva is centered around subversion with or without the homosexual undertones.

To make it clear, I have no way of knowing what goes on in Anno’s head and I would never blame him for anything considering he created kawoshin and Eva as a whole, things that had a positive effect on me. It needs to be said though; are we sure that and only that which he says publicly is an accurate canon fact about the show? Do we really think his public statements don’t go through any filters, especially when it’s about topics like homosexuality? He already got so many death threats over the tv ending that he got pissed and made EoE. Can you imagine what would happen if he declared kawoshin to be canon? Just ponder on this before taking it for granted that him not saying there was a romantic relationship between them means there wasn’t.

Tangentially related; Anno’s “it wasn’t carnal” as well as the draft rejection seems more related to how the ep24 draft would have, according to the staff, looked like borderline porn. I think our perspective on how far Eva goes is a bit skewed by the clusterfuck in EoE. None of the kids really had carnal desires in the original series — no, not even Asuka, she thought she did because of her issues but it’s fairly clear from her introspection and breakdown that she likes only the idea of being physically intimate but is kind of disgusted by the reality of it (washing her mouth after just kissing Shinji), as people normally are at fourteen. I take Anno’s statement more as “Shinji wasn’t blushing because he was turned on”, not that he didn’t like Kaworu romantically.

I find a lot of discussion around representation formulaic and word salad-ish. The same niche terms with no distinct meaning thrown together in random combinations. But I think I understand it somewhat now, to a small degree. I was so happy about kawoshin. I was genuinely so, so happy. Granted, my expectations for canon lgbt are so low they’re approaching the Earth’s core, but this ship gives me so many positive feelings that I don’t want it taken away from me. I don’t have it in me to engage in anyone’s intricate debates on whether it’s canon or not and I have absolutely no time or care for straight fans’ gaslighting on the issue.

Tony Stark Has Many Problems

“Ah, my friends!" Thor booms, and it's a strangely-familiar sound amid the slick noises emanating from Loki's (very pert) bottom. "My brother and I could hear your lovers' quarrel from our positions here. Would you care to join us?"

Tony and Steve have been dating for a while, but one little problem - they haven't had sex. It's making Tony very frustrated - he's never been this sexually inactive in his life - frustrated enough to take his anger out on Steve. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for them, Thor and Loki, recently reconciled and newly intimate, are more than happy to share their expertise with Steve and Tony.

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Steve/Tony, Thor/Loki (but mainly steve/tony centric)

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr messes up the formatting)

Count: 7k

Tony Stark has many problems.

Dum-E's gotten smart enough to figure out how to brew a cup of coffee, but not smart enough to realise that bringing a hot, steaming cup of coffee to Tony's worktable when he's holding a blowtorch, and spilling said cup of coffee all over Tony's lap, isn't usually the way coffee is served. Clint needs new arrows but this time he wants arrows that play Taylor Swift music when they explode - God only knows why - and Tony is having a really hard time trying to pick a song of hers that doesn't make him puke at the first teeny-boppy chord. Loki has recently taken up residence in his tower - his tower, goddammnit! - and hasn't caused any mischief in the past two days; in fact, he's even helped Tony out of a sticky situation on the battlefield, and things are getting so unreal right now, and oh, Pepper isn't answering his calls because he forgot to vet her speech for the Stark Industries annual ball even though she sent him twenty emails to remind him about her speech, and he really needs chocolate but Thor ate the last Kit-Kat yesterday, and Jarvis - that asshole - conveniently forgets to add chocolate to his grocery list, there's nothing wrong with his weight, goddamnit -

Oh, right, where was he?

Tony Stark has many problems, yes, but his new relationship with Steve isn't one of them. The fact that he's actually started dating the star-spangled, pinnacle-of-human-achievement, Spandex-wearing Captain America hadn't quite sunk in until after Steve had asked him out to lunch at the new diner down the road, and he'd looked down and seen that little burn mark on Steve's thumb, and felt a warm sensation flare in his chest. Because Steve'd told everyone he'd gotten it from fighting the Doombots that morning, but Tony alone knew he'd really gotten it from accidentally sticking his hand in the microwave when it hadn't been switched on. The memory had reminded him that, behind the facade of stoic patriotism and stern-faced Mama-bearism that Steve Rogers wears, he really is just Steve , a dork of the highest degree, who still thinks Jarvis is an actual human being hiding somewhere on one of the ninety-three floors of Stark Tower.

So yes, Tony can hardly believe that Steve is his, really his. It still has somewhat of a dreamlike quality about it, him and his childhood idol, holding hands on a picnic mat under the stars, watching Pretty Woman on Netflix while Steve respectfully gushes about how beautiful Julia Roberts is, kissing desperately in Steve's room while Clint and Thor play Mario Kart in the living room next door -

Okay, maybe there is one teeny-tiny, miniscule, quark-sized problem. And the problem is that Steve is absolutely not down for anything involving him, Tony, a bed and possibly fruit-flavoured condoms (well, a man can always dream). Sure, they'd kissed a couple of times, and maybe even engaged in some heavy petting where Tony had gotten to touch one marvellously-shaped pec before Steve had broken off stammering and red-faced, unable to look him in the eye and sporting an impressive bulge that had Tony drooling. But of course, Tony is all about respect - how proud Pepper would be of him now, if she'd only answer his calls - and he'd mournfully backed off every time Steve had called the festivities to a halt and gone off to spend a suspiciously long time in the bathroom.

Tony thinks sadly of the steamy dream he'd had last night - Steve on his lap, hands down each others' pants, and stroking each other to completion. If his younger self were here now, he'd be laughing his head off at how fucking tame Tony has become. Fifty Shades of Grey has nothing on his college days, but now he's with Steve, quite possibly the love of his life, and even the thought of a quick handjob between the sheets is arousing as hell to Tony.

Tony thinks the problem between them's because Steve's still a virgin. Hell, he knows it's because Steve's a virgin - no girl had wanted to put their hands on the skinny, asthmatic twig that had been Steven Rogers in the good ole pre-world war days, and once he'd become the gold standard for male attractiveness, being a war hero and propaganda tool hadn't exactly left much time for him to indulge. And now, in this new world where sex isn't as big a taboo as it used to be and with everyone speaking practically a foreign language, it's made Steve even more wary of carnal relations.

Yeah, Tony understands, and he's heartbroken for Steve, really he is, thinking about all the times someone'd rejected him just because they could curl their whole hand around his wrist and have their fingers meet, and about how Steve sometimes comes back after a solo jaunt about Brooklyn and just needs to lie down in Tony's lap for a while.

Unfortunately, he's also suffering from the worst case of blue balls in the entire American history. No, scratch that, the entire history of humankind, and animalkind, the entire history of the universe . Hell, he'd gone out and seen a pair of squirrels in flagrante delicto on a nearby tree branch, and he'd been so frustrated he'd pulled on his suit and taken out a whole fleet of robots in the training room.

The two sides of him - the one that's all sappy and pussywhipped and wants to worship and adore the very ground Steve walks on, versus the side making him make a bonfire out of all the Avengers' porn mags (except Natasha, because he actually values his life, despite what everyone says, and he doesn't even know if she has porn mags. Do girls read porn?) - are in huge conflict, and it's driving him crazy. Crazy enough that he's taken to avoiding spars with Steve, because if he has to endure one more chokehold with Steve's very hard, very manly body pressed against the entirety of his back, he will possibly fly to Latveria himself and offer himself as a sacrifice to Doom. Which is not a very welcoming thought, and Tony is sorry he even thought about it.

And of course avoiding Steve never works, because they know each other so well. Instead, Steve has started following him around Stark Tower and hiding outside his workshop to give him heart attacks at one am, with his goddamn baby blue puppy eyes. He doesn't even need to say anything, and already Tony feels guilty.

That's why Steve manages to corner him when he's dragged himself out of his workshop at - surprise! - a perfectly respectable hour to scrounge up some dinner, holding a plate of mac and cheese and touching Tony’s bicep with a gentle enough touch that makes Tony want to scream.

"Tony?" he says, and his eyes are very blue. "Can I talk to you?"

Tony knows he's lost the moment Steve opens his mouth, but he feels the telltale itch in his left ball - the one he gets when he hasn't experienced a release in many days - and suddenly he's resigned to the conversation that will follow. He sighs, and grabs the plate from Steve. At least he won't be hungry later during the inevitable argument, he tells himself, sadly.

He keeps walking to the kitchen anyway, hoping to get a cup of coffee, and slowing down to keep Steve at his side as a concession. Steve looks at him, his eyes crinkling, and oh no, that's not a good crinkle, it's a bad crinkle, and it usually means he's sad about something, and this time it isn't Tony's left ball that twinges, it's somewhere in his chest.

"Tony, you've been avoiding me," Steve says, directly, without preamble, because that's just the kind of guy he is. "At first I thought you were injured, y'know, because you only avoided me when we were supposed to spar, but then I realised you're not doing the same for Clint and Thor and Natasha and uh, I just wanted to ask..." He trails off, and Tony stops. He feels his heart in his mouth (and the macaroni too, but that's a different matter altogether) as he looks into Steve's eyes, and sees them bad-crinkle even further.

"Is something wrong?" Steve finally asks, and holy shit, he must've just bathed, because there's a strand of blond hair so dark it looks almost brown, escaped from his perfectly groomed fringe, and hanging over his eyes. It's adorable, and yep, Tony is totally whipped, because he automatically lifts a hand to brush it away, and immediately Steve's expression softens.

But he's still waiting for an answer.

Tony sighs. Best to get it over with, then. He fidgets with the spoon and can't meet Steve's eyes as he says, "Well, it's not something wrong , per se... Just, y'know, I'm just feeling a little... a little sick. Yeah, that's right. Feeling a little... under the weather. I think it was something Dum-E gave me, that salad he served me the other day didn't look very fresh..."

God, he's such a chicken, and when did he become such a bad liar, because Steve looks totally unconvinced. He steps closer and lays a hand on Tony's forehead instead, and that was such a bad idea, he should've said he'd gotten food poisoning instead, because now he can smell Steve's scent, the smell of fresh pine trees from his deodorant and underneath, that musky smell that is, uniquely, Steve's. Hasn't he read somewhere that if you liked a person's smell, you were compatible, because you had the same kind of olfactory receptors, or something? He tries not to think about it, and focus instead on not spontaneously combusting or ejaculating in his pants or something equally embarrassing.

Thankfully, Steve steps away after a harrowing few seconds, frowning. "You don't feel like you have a temperature, though," he murmurs, and there's so much concern in his voice that, suddenly, Tony feels irrationally annoyed. He's being such a mother hen, God , and usually Tony finds it adorable, but this time he's in a mood, a sexually-deprived, pissed-off mood, and he just wants to hole himself up in his room with twenty boxes of tissues and his Cockyboys lifetime subscription. And meanwhile he has this actual hunk of man-meat all to himself, but he can't touch him - the gods are truly evil. Tony wonders if switching to Norse pagan faith would give him better luck, seeing as how he's currently housing two deities of said faith under his roof, at great personal and financial cost.

His patience finally snaps when Steve produces a thermometer out of absolutely nowhere , and tries to stick it in his mouth. Angrily, he pushes him away, and tries to make excuses for running up to his room, but Steve is having none of it, and really Tony can't be blamed for finally yelling: "I'M ANGRY BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T HAD SEX, OKAY?? Now will you stop bothering me and let me go upstairs so I can jerk off over the one porn mag I have left?"

It's almost worth it for the comical expression of shock on Steve's face, his plump, beautiful lips in a perfect 'o', the one strand of hair once again escaping his fringe to hang over his eyes. Then of course his mouth snaps shut and pinches into an unhappy line, his eyes bad-crinkle even further, and Tony wants to hit himself. God, he's the worst person ever , isn't he? Yelling at Steve when all he'd been trying to do was make sure Tony's okay, taking out his frustration on Steve and bringing up the one thing he knows will hit his boyfriend the hardest. A low blow it was, and Tony immediately regrets ever opening his mouth. This is why people aren't supposed to talk to him when he hasn't had his caffeine, dammit!

He grabs Steve's biceps and, for the first time, doesn't focus on how they feel like the goddamn rock of Gibraltar under this hands. "Look, I didn't mean that," he babbles, frantically trying to erase the past few minutes. If he doesn't remember it, it means it doesn't exist, right? "I just meant, uh, I've been really tired recently and I haven't been able to -"

"To indulge yourself?" Steve interrupts him, and his voice is strangely steady. In surprise, Tony lets go of his biceps, and, finding nothing to do with his hands, lets them fall limply to his sides. Steve is staring down at the ground now, his face expressionless, but Tony knows him - he knows he's thinking.

"I'm just... I'm just afraid," he finally whispers, so soft that Tony hardly hears it.

"Sorry?" Tony says. He can't believe his ears.

Steve finally looks up, and his eyes are burning with anger and frustration and hell, is it inappropriate for Tony to be having an erection right now? Because his dick has taken the train to Bonerland and it sure as hell didn't buy a return ticket. Just imagining that intensity focused on him, in the throes of passion, Steve's strong hands pinning him down as he pounds his ass to high heaven -

"I said, I'm just afraid of sex! With you!" Steve says, and it hits Tony that he's yelling, his face blotchy with anger and his fists balled at his side. "It's easy for you, isn't it, you've done it a thousand times, how could I possibly compare? The farthest I've ever gotten is kissing - with you , I might add - and I'm just a virgin with hardly any experience, how would I know anything about how to please you, and after a while you're going to get bored of me because I don't know how to fuck you properly, and then you'll leave me and I'll just - ugh! " Breaking off with the most eloquent, disgusted exhalation of fury Tony has ever heard, Steve turns on his heel and stomps angrily down the hall towards the kitchen.

Tony stands stock still for a few seconds, his mind rapidly whirring through the deluge of words, before it finally clicks and it all falls into place.

Steve's scared , scared of having sex with Tony, because he thinks he's not good enough, with all Tony's experience, never mind that Tony's had sex a thousand times before, sure, but he can count the number of times he's made love on one hand. Steve isn't going to be a nameless fuck to him, Tony knows he's special , and he curses himself as he realises it's his fault for not making absolutely sure Steve knows it too.

He turns and runs down the hall to the kitchen, where Steve has already disappeared behind the door, pushing it open and fully intending on explaining himself to Steve, when the scene before him makes him stand absolutely still again, for the second time in minutes.

Because there's Thor, and there's Loki, and a whole lot of naked skin, and they're fucking against his kitchen counter .

A voice in his brain reminds him that this is hardly sanitary, but he brushes it aside in favour of looking at Steve, who's also standing there in shock, his hand gripping the table as if he can hardly stand upright.

"Ah, my friends!" Thor booms, and it's a strangely-familiar sound amid the slick noises emanating from Loki's (very pert) bottom. "My brother and I could hear your lovers' quarrel from our positions here. Would you care to join us?"

---

Tony can't move his limbs. Although he's seen a good many bodies in his lifetime - and with many of them belonging to the sexiest stars of his generation and the next - there's just something different about watching Thor and Loki going at it. For one, they're brothers - adopted , Loki always insists, but it never seems to make a difference to the way they treat each other - which adds an illicit touch to the whole affair that makes it just that tad bit more arousing. And for another, it's just unfair the way some people seem to get all the luck. Even though Loki's an evil son of a bitch, there's hardly a blemish on his soft skin, and the smooth lines of his back flex as he writhes and undulates sinuously under Thor's body. He's bent over with his hands braced on the counter, neck thrown back, and Thor pauses in his movements to lean forward and issue a sharp bite to the back of his neck that leaves a bright red mark against the pale skin. In response to that, Loki utters a high, unabashed keen that sends a thrill up Tony's spine, and Steve's too, from the way he shudders next to Tony.

You'd think he'd be embarrassed, but no, the smug smile he gives Tony while he glances at him under his lashes, speaks otherwise.

"Ah, yes, the noble - ah! - Captain, and the - uhh , Thor, harder - and the man of iron," he says, the breathless moans punctuating his sentences. "Quite a spate of good weather we've been having - ohh, Thor, don't stop , fuck, right there - don't you think?" and yes, he's an absolutely evil piece of shit, because it's been raining and thundering like an Indian monsoon every single day the past two days since Loki had joined them, and now Tony thinks he knows why.

Thor grips Loki's hips and adjusts him, his cock driving into him in a way that makes Loki squeal and lift his arm to curl around Thor's head and dig into his hair. Tony can now see his cock, and he's really going at it, driving it like a piston into Loki's bottom, and why can't he look away?

Steve has been standing silent and stock-still for the past few moments, but now he rouses himself and lets go of the table. "But - but - you're brothers! " he cries, his eyelashes fluttering, and Tony has to swoon a little at that. What, he's only a man, a very mortal man, with a very aching hard-on in his tight work pants and surely there's no harm no foul if he just slips his hand down to cup himself for a bit -

"Yes, Loki and I are brothers - "

" Adopted - " Loki sighs, like an afterthought, and Thor gives him a particularly athletic thrust as if to shut him up.

" - but that far from diminishes the love we feel for each other!" Thor booms, again - he only has one default way of speaking. "Actually, we have you my shield brothers to thank for helping us rediscover our love for each other. It was only when Loki came to Midgard last week to greet us that we discovered our passion for each other was beyond that of brotherly love. Loki, say thank you," and he slips an arm under Loki's chest and heaves him upright so he's facing the two of them, and Tony can see the blissed-out expression on his face and his very long, pale, slim cock bouncing with every thrust.

"Thank you, " Loki breathes, his eyes half-shut, the words like a prayer, but Tony swears that he's looking straight into Tony's eyes, and there's a little half-smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Yup, he's definitely the devil. A devil, actually, seeing as how they've met the actual, literal devil - but really, Mephisto isn't the one Tony wants to be thinking about, right now.

Instead, he moves closer to Steve and grips his elbow, right as Steve says, his face a little green: "You mean last week when Loki unlocked all the zoo enclosure gates and let the animals out into Central Park - when you two disappeared halfway through the fight - you mean you were - "

"Yes!" Thor rumbles, an ecstatic smile lighting up his face, and really, it's not like Tony's never noticed that, objectively, Thor is probably the most attractive member of the team. Because nothing can hold a candle to Steve, his Steve, but this is really doing a number on Tony's poor battered underserved libido, all that rippling golden muscle and the way his hand is moving over Loki's skin, pinching at his nipples and leaving pink trails where his nails have cut into the flesh.

"And we couldn't help overhearing your argument from just now - " Loki butts in, one hand now gripping Thor's hand and guiding it up to clamp around his throat in a parody of the intimate touch Thor often exclusively confers on his brother. Now, his voice sounds a little bit choked, and a lot breathier , but still he continues. "And we were wondering if we couldn't offer some, ah, assistance ."

"Assistance?!" Steve says loudly, and yes, he is turning green, but Tony chances a peek downwards, and it appears that even though Steve is uncomfortable with the whole situation, certain... parts of his anatomy... don't seem as uncomfortable.

"Yes! My brother and myself, having recently discovered the wonders of carnal pleasure in each others' bodies, are of course enthusiastic for the rest of our beloved team members to find the same! Especially for such beloved shield brothers as the two of you, Friend Anthony and Steven," Thor exclaims, with a series of vigorous thrusts that make Loki go "oof - oof - oof - Thor, there, fuck - "

Tony finally rouses himself out of his reverie at these words, feeling that he has to at least try to look after Steve - even though the words leave him shivering with unadulterated lust, especially after the deep growl that rumbles through Thor's chest as he drills deep into Loki and holds himself there. He grips Steve's elbow tighter and attempts to smile without letting on how frazzled he is.

"Uh, thanks for the offer, Point Break, but I think we'll figure it out ourselves - " he says, already ready to drag Steve out of the room where they can go and finish their argument, but to his absolute surprise, Steve rips his arm out of Tony's grip and turns to face him. His eyes are burning again, but this time with a determined expression that tells Tony that he's already made up his mind.

"I want to do it, Tony," he says, decisively. "I want to... I want to learn how to pleasure you."

Tony's eyes widen. "I can do that," he offers weakly. "I know you have your insecurities, but really - "

That was totally the wrong thing to say, and Steve's eyes narrow stubbornly. Instead, he turns away from Tony and strides over to Loki and Thor, who have paused in their lovemaking to look at the two of them. Loki has a speculative gleam in his eye that bodes no good, but still, Tony follows Steve helplessly, caught in his orbit. He only just remembers to set down the macaroni plate, with a tremor in his hands that he quickly stills.

"Tell me what to do," Steve says, and the purposeful lilt to his voice makes Tony adjust himself again. God, he's using his Captain America voice , as if he doesn't know that that drives Tony absolutely crazy - except, well, he probably doesn't.

Thor and Loki exchange glances, then Thor places a hand in the small of Loki's back and bends him over. He takes Steve's hand and places it right there , where Thor's fat cock is half thrust in, the rim of Loki's hole is stretched taut around the expanse of Thor's dark, almost-purple cock. It's obscene, and possibly the most arousing thing Tony has ever seen.

"Can you feel that?" Thor whispers, and the reverence in his voice is startling. Steve nods sharply, panting in quick, short breaths, his eyes half-closed as if he's trying to block out what's happening. Almost involuntarily, his fingers gently caress the stretched rim of Loki's hole, where lube is glistening on the wrinkled skin.

Thor presses down on Steve's hand, and Steve gasps as his finger slips in with a wet pop. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, as he watches Loki's hole clench and ripple around the unexpected intrusion. That same low growl rumbles through Thor's chest again, just when Loki lets out a hiss of shock that ends in a high-pitched whimper.

"That's right," Thor murmurs. "Finger him. Feel him open under you. Get him wet and open and ready to take your cock. If you press there - " Thor's finger slips in and guides Steve to below his cock, where he presses and makes Loki convulse with the stimulation to his prostate. If Tony was a woman, he'd be creaming his pants right now - as it stands, he really needs to wash his boxers already.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of Thor's cock, and the two fingers, squelching around inside Loki's hole, and the pants issuing from Loki's mouth as he swivels his hips in a desperate plea for more stimulation. Then Steve speaks, his voice breathless and rough with lust: "Is that - is that how you start? Is that it?"

Loki bangs his hand against the table in frustration, finally finding his tongue. "Thor, you imbecile, you skipped foreplay," he snaps, bitingly. "Pull out, pull out, show him from the start."

Thor rolls his eyes, clearly used to Loki being a demanding little bitch, and unceremoniously pulls out. Tony isn't sure what's worse, the unabashed fucking of earlier, or seeing Thor's cock flushed and leaking, and the swollen rim of Loki's hole. And is that beard burn around the swell of Loki's buttocks - ?

With his other arm, Thor pulls Loki up again, the other hand on his hip steadying Loki as his legs threaten to give out. He regards Steve thoughtfully for a few minutes, then gestures to Loki's nipples.

"First, you have to arouse him, bring him pleasure so he will writhe and crave your touch," Thor advises, when Steve looks puzzled. "Touch him at his erogenous zones. Stroke him across his neck, his nipples, his belly, the area above his cock, where he likes it the most - but of course Anthony will have his own preferences."

Steve lifts his hand hesitantly and touches Loki's chest gently, right in the centre of his cleavage, his fingers trailing feather-light over the almost-translucent skin. Loki, already on the edge of orgasm and high-strung from Thor's cock, twists and shakes in agitation. He tilts his head, helplessly seeking, his mouth moving and mouthing soundless words. Thor drops his head and answers with a tender kiss, breathing softly across Loki's lips and mouthing absently over his cheekbones.

Although there is the delicious vision of the two gods' cocks dripping below their legs, and the scratches marking the expanse of Loki's chest, Tony cannot tear his eyes away from the sight of Thor and Loki kissing. The movement of Loki's head had seemed so unconscious, without artifice, a desperate wish for contact, and Thor's kiss so tender and intimate that it makes Tony's chest twist. One glance at Steve's face tells him that Steve feels the same, his fingers frozen and unmoving, his eyes full of desire and wanting and trained on Loki's tongue licking at Thor's half-open lips.

A surge of boldness flows through Tony, and he steps closer, next to Steve, and cups one side of Steve's face with his hand. Steve turns to look at him, and although he is much taller than Tony, somehow the warm glow in his eyes makes Tony feel like the greater one. He pulls Steve down and they kiss, lips moving quietly over each other. Steve whispers something against his lips, and the soft caress of his breath across Tony's skin feels unbearably close. Tony pulls away and, with one swift, suddenly-brave movement, pulls his wifebeater over his head and bares his chest to Steve.

Suddenly, he's glad he bathed yesterday.

Steve's fingers settle on his chest, over the blue glow of the reactor. Tony tenses, wondering if perhaps he's made a mistake - if Steve feels repulsion at the inhumane - thing - he's made himself into - but then Steve leans down, and presses his lips to the scarred skin surrounding the reactor. Tony can't feel any sensation from the nerveless skin, but as Steve lifts his head, eyes sparkling, and says "I didn't expect it to be warm - "

Tony pulls him up and lunges for his mouth. Perhaps it's less of a kiss, more of a desperate, sloppy, desire-filled devouring, but Tony feels an unaccountable warmth filling his body, right down to his fingertips and the tips of his toes as Steve keeps his hand steady on his chest, his anchor. He digs his fingers into the soft golden hair at the base of Steve's skull, and strokes frantically through the fine strands, pulling Steve's body flush against his as if by doing so, he could swallow Steve into himself and possess him fully, underneath his skin and in his heart where he's already wormed himself in.

A soft laugh beside them reminds Tony, suddenly, that they have an audience, and simultaneously, he and Steve turn their heads to regard Loki and Thor. There is a new line of bruises along Loki's jawline, outlining the smirk that pulls Loki's mouth to one side.

"Why don't you take his pants off?" he asks, his voice a bored affectation but belying the sharp, keen interest in his eyes, as Thor carelessly kneads the swell of this buttocks between his large hands and watches them, his pupils dilated. "You do know how the basic biology works, don’t you, Captain?"

Steve flushes a bright red, and for a moment Tony panicks and wonders if Loki's words had been too much, perhaps he's scared Steve off with his brazenness and callous words - but then Steve turns back to Tony, and, miracles of miracles, he starts furiously working at Tony's buttons. Tony could almost weep for joy. A little bitter that he hadn't thought to try taunting at first - but maybe it wouldn't have worked, coming from him - Tony's fingers move automatically to his jeans and help Steve. When the jeans finally come off, and Steve yanks them off his legs, he groans involuntarily, his cock springing out, red and throbbing from the pressure of having been confined in his tight-ass jeans.

"What now?" Steve says, defiantly, the flush still high on his cheekbones, and Loki lifts a dainty eyebrow, as though unimpressed by his bravado. He glances over his shoulder at Thor, levelling the same disinterested look at his partner, and Thor smiles lazily, his eyes hooded. With a violent movement, Thor pushes Loki down onto the counter and holds him there with a strong hand at the base of his spine. Loki arches his back and thrashes a bit, but it looks futile, and he's clearly enjoying it, so Tony just rolls his eyes.

Thor reaches down and picks up a bottle of lube from under the counter, and Tony makes a strangled noise, because that's his emergency kitchen lube, and it's mint-flavoured too, and it's half-empty, goddammnit, it hadn't been like that the last time he'd used it , clearly some people have been very, very busy. He squeezes a generous helping onto Steve's outstretched hands, and his own large, thick fingers, and places them on top of Loki's buttocks. Steve mimicks the action, and his fingers are warm against Tony's skin.

"What I showed you before," Thor murmurs, gesturing a rude gesture with two fingers liberally coated in lube, "do it to Friend Anthony. One finger." And with that, he trails his finger down Loki's crack, a soft caress, and probes in slowly. Loki wiggles his bum, clearly impatient, but Thor stills him with a heavy hand on his hip.

Tony watches as Steve's Adam's apple bobs, as he swallows, and he looks down at Tony's hole with such trepidation that Tony feels slightly offended. So he strengthens his hold on Steve's cheek, forces him to look into Tony's eyes.

"Hey," he whispers, "It's alright. It's just me, okay? Little ole Tony Stark. I want you, any way you'll have me. Any way you want. You can take it slow." At his words, Steve's jaw clenches, and he nods, like he's made up his mind. He smears the lube all over his fingers, makes sure they're thoroughly covered, then places his fingers on Tony's hole and pushes.

Tony gasps. It's been such a long time since he'd been penetrated, he'd almost forgotten how painful - and how pleasureable - it could be. It does feel a little clinical, like he's getting a doctor's examination, with the cautious but determined way Steve's spelunking around, but one look at the adorable furrow between Steve's brows, and Tony's unbelieveably turned on, beyond anything he's ever felt before. The simple knowledge that Steve's pushing beyond his boundaries, beyond what he'd initially been comfortable, just for Tony ... the thought makes Tony want to curl up into a ball and squeal like a girl. Except he'd probably take someone's eye out with his dick, which is already hard enough to hammer nails.

"Does it feel good?" Steve breathes. "I'm trying to find the - the prostate - but I can't really, um..."

"It feels good," Tony slurs. He's going out of his mind, but hell, this is possibly the best way to go. He envisions the headlines: CAPTAIN'S COCK CRUSHES CEO. STARK SACRIFICES HIS ASS FOR AMERICA. "A little bit lower, yeah, yeah, lower... uh, not there... ah!" He jerks as Steve brushes his fingers over the spot, sending a warm thrum of liquid pleasure through him and his cock spitting out drops of pre-cum over his stomach as it bobs.

And all the while, Steve keeps relentlessly at it, his touch starting to feel a little less like Tony's last prostate exam - conducted by Bruce, and hadn't it been awkward . Steve's always been a fast learner, even before the serum, from what Tony's heard, and of course now he has the serum coursing through his blood he's practically a genius, because he's found a way of massaging just so in a way that makes Tony utter a very undignified screech, and clutch tight at the base of his cock so he doesn't spill prematurely. Because that would just be the cherry on the cake, wouldn't it.

When he can finally open his eyes, he realises Steve is staring at him with a rapt expression, awe and lust warring in his big baby blues, and Tony fucking blushes , yeah he does, like a goddamn virgin. Because this is turning him on like you wouldn't believe, being despoiled by his hero, being taken apart slowly by Steve , with his hesitant but sure finger pressing at his prostate, and his other hand stroking up and down Tony's side like he needs to keep touching Tony.

"Can I add another?" Steve whispers, his voice tender, and Tony nods, once, tight, not trusting his voice. Steve draws his finger out and presses back in without giving Tony a chance to recover, just the way he likes it. Tony gasps, because now Steve's scissoring, all on his own, and Tony feels almost proud of him, except that he's too busy trying not to die of a heart attack because of Steve's fingers rubbing against his walls and massaging him persistently. Sue him, he's old, and he has a goddamn heart problem. In fact, if he didn't have the arc reactor in, Tony's sure he would have expired of a heart attack ages ago, because now Steve is breathing fast as he looks down at his fingers and Tony's hole tight around them - pained, short, sharp pants of breath as if he's not getting enough oxygen, and it's the most adorable thing ever.

Steve starts moving his fingers in and out, slowly at first, then faster as he gets more sure of himself, fucking Tony on his fingers. And Tony can't help the whimpers coming out of his mouth, because it feels too good, can't help the involuntary swivels of his hips as he tries to grind down on Steve's fingers. But Steve gives a nervous little laugh, and pulls away - Tony thinks he's been scared off, and looks at him, but he sees a hint of a smug smirk around the edges of Steve's mouth, and he can't help it, he laughs a little too, because under the whole goody-two-shoes exterior Steve's actually a little bit of a little shit. And a fucking tease too, apparently.

Tony feels himself loosening, and he knows he's ready. He wants it, wants Steve's cock, so he lifts his foot and strokes one sinful, long stroke over the bulge in Steve's pants. With his toes, he deftly pulls the zipper down and dips inside, caressing the hot flesh within with his foot. Steve's mouth drops open, and his eyes shut, eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones like a benediction. And hell yes, Tony does feel blessed, thank you very much.

"You going to give it to me, big boy?" Tony breathes. "Gonna give me your big fat cock? Gonna press me down into the sheets and fuck me rough and hard? Can't wait for it. Can't wait to take your cock." And bingo, he'd guessed dirty talk would press Steve's buttons, because Steve is tearing at his button and shoving his jeans down feverishly like he can't wait to get naked. Tony gives a triumphant smile and a mental high-five to himself.

A moan next to his ear reminds him, all of a sudden, that they're not alone. He turns his head and sees Loki's bright green eyes a few centimetres away from him, his pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat, pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as Thor fists him vigorously with his hand. Tony cranes his neck to see because, wow, Thor has really big hands, and when he pulls them out Tony can see the slick glisten from the lube, and the way Loki's hole clings to Thor's hands like he's not willing to let go.

Loki lifts a hand and lays it on Tony's cheek, his mouth curling into a mischievous smile. He thumbs at the corner of Tony's mouth, wipes some of his saliva away, and leans closer.

"You and I are much alike, Tony Stark," he purrs, the rich timbre of his voice like silk. "What say you we taunt the boys a bit, hmm?"

Tony's up for anything, he is, and he returns Loki's grin with one of his own. He's not expecting, however, for Loki to grip his chin withh superhuman strength, and yank him into a deep kiss that involves a lot, a lot, a lot of tongue. Loki moans into his mouth, and God, that sounds a lot sexier that it usually does, muffled by his own lips, and Tony gives back as good as he gets, nipping at the corner of Loki's mouth and tangling his tongue with Loki's.

They're ripped apart from each other suddenly, Loki keening a high, unsatisfied keen, and Tony blinking disorientedly. He looks up and sees Thor's hands fisted in Loki's hair, pulling him backwards and forcing his back to curve into a sleek, sinuous arch that pulls his skin taut. Immediately, Thor bends forward and captures Loki's mouth, swallowing his whine in an angry, vicious kiss. Tony can't look away.

Until Steve curls his arms under Tony's buttocks, and lifts him bodily from the kitchen counter.

Tony yelps, and looks at Steve accusingly, a stinging rejoinder ready, but the words die on his lips as he sees the look on Steve's face. His eyes are dark, blown with lust, but more than anything, with possessive anger and intensity that makes Tony shiver uncontrolledly. There's no more shy virgin in Steve now, that's for sure, especially when he wrenches Tony close and presses them together in a full body caress, pressing their lips together in a greedy kiss. He mutters words into Tony's mouth - mine, mine, mine - and Tony answers mindlessly - yours - and he only vaguely registers being carried up the stairs like he weighs nothing more than a feather, and then finally, into Steve's bedroom.

Steve lays him out on the bed and rips off his own shirt, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, but it only serves to make him look like a man in a L'Oreal commercial. Really, his looks should be illegal, it's criminally unfair that he looks the way he does, all fair, freckled Irish skin across his shoulders, the deep vee of his hipbones, the dusting of golden hair on his chest and happy trail leading down to Happyland. As he approaches, Tony grips his deltoid wonderingly, feeling how the muscle stretches and flexes under his hungry, questing fingers.

Suddenly, Steve stops, and Tony sees a strange vulnerability in his face.

"Is it the... is it the muscles?" he asks, haltingly. “Is it the muscles that you - ?” And suddenly, Tony remembers - remembers the boy he'd seen in Howard's memorabilia pictures, Steven Grant Rogers before the serum, a scrawny, weak-looking thing - but still effortlessly, ethereally beautiful to Tony, even if everyone'd been too fool to notice at the time. Vehemently, Tony shakes his head, trembling with the strength of his emotion.

"Steve," he says, instead of all the words he wants to say, and that's enough. Steve comes to him, wraps him up in his arms, and slides home. He thrusts deep into Tony, into his core, until Tony can't tell where he ends and where Steve begins. Steve laves kisses over his jaw, his neck, the tender inside of his wrist, until Tony knows he'll have to wear a turtleneck with long sleeves tomorrow. Somehow, the thought excites him, knowing that only he will know the bruises underneath the fabric exist, knowing that he's been marked by Steve, that he's Steve's .

He can feel his climax approaching, almost a distant afterthought, because he's so focussed on the feeling of Steve, around him, inside him. But then Steve grips his cock with a steady hand and starts working him, and Tony tries to hold on, he really does - but he's not released in a long while, and all too quickly it's over. He spurts, long white strands of cum, all over Steve's hand and his abdomen and Tony's own stomach. Steve gasps at the feeling of Tony clenching around him, in the throes of his orgasms, and it's not long before he follows, a mass of hot, sticky fluid filling Tony's insides.

It's the best feeling Tony's had for a long time, all of it. His head's in the clouds, he feels like he's floating on air, and also Steve's cum dripping out of him is possibly the only thing he wants to feel for the rest of his life. He realises Steve feels the same when he feels Steve probing at his poor overstimulated hole, and although he hisses at the sensation, his hips involuntarily jerk towards Steve's fingers.

"Next time," Steve says, distractedly, like he's not even aware of his words, "I'll buy you a plug. So you can keep my cum in you all day, and whenever I look at you, talk to you, kiss you, I'll know you're full of me. Inside you."

Tony sits bolt upright. "You..." he manages, because where did that come from?? But Steve is looking at him now, fondly, that familiar one-sided smirk curving his lips, and really, the thought of being plugged up like that, full to the brim with Steve's cum, and not being able to do anything about it... Well, it turns him on, and his cock gives one valiant twitch. He lies back down.

They lie there in contented silence for a while, Steve humming an unfamiliar tune, and combing his fingers through the sparse curls above Tony's cock. There's so much Tony wants to say, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to say it. Steve looks at him, their eyes meet, and Tony opens his mouth.

"You think they're still going down there? We're going to have to eat breakfast on those countertops tomorrow, y'know," is what comes out instead, and Steve laughs, a quiet, exasperated laugh. Happy and satiated, Tony closes his eyes, wraps his arms around his Steve, and goes to sleep.

His left ball doesn't itch anymore.

---

Precisely at that moment, downstairs:

Loki draws pictures on the countertop with his and Thor's mingled cum. He traces the outline of Mjolnir, remembers the time last week he'd stretched Thor out and made him sit on the hammer for two hours, loose and wet and wanting, and thinks, we'll have to try that again sometime . Thor is slumped over him, watching him trace his little pictures on the countertop with an affectionate look in his eye, one hand carding absent-mindedly through his hair. It's a bit sticky, and uncomfortable, but Loki decides magnanimously that he'll allow Thor this liberty, just this once.

"That was a good thing we did there," Thor rumbles, in his usual self-satisfied manner. Loki rolls his eyes, but quietly, because he's still feeling generous. With both of Thor's fists up his arse, he orgasmed twice, and he's still floating on the cloud of endorphins, so he supposes he should be thankful to Thor, at least...

In fact, he's still feeling a little randy. His cock is beginning to harden again, where it lies against his thigh, and he knows Thor isn't finished with him yet. Thor's not known for being a fertility god for nothing, he isn't.

"You didn't tell me Tony Stark was quite so good-looking," he sighs, affecting a dreamy air. He feels the air pressure around him drop, the distant roar of thunder outside the windows, and smiles a secret smile. Yes, he knows how to rile Thor up, like no one else can - no one knows his brother like he does. That mortal woman can't even compare. Pity she and Thor used to date, because from the things he's heard of her, he thinks he and her might have gotten on, if it weren't for her unfortunate romantic past with his brother. After all, he is something of a scientist, as is she, but daring to touch his Thor isn't a transgression he forgives easily. He can't count how many past lovers of Thor's he's vanquished, and not only that, how many of these past lovers Thor himself had willingly left, just for Loki. No one can take his place at his brother's side, just as he's unwilling to give up this place he's rightfully earned.

As Thor roughly yanks his buttocks apart and settles between his knees, Loki sighs a satisfied sigh, and turns around to gaze languidly at his brother. There's a twinkle in his brother's eyes that signals that he knows he's being played, knows it, and enjoys it, just like how he'd wrested the truth of his past lovers' 'mysterious' disappearances from Loki and simply laughed the matter off before. How can the puny mortal Tony Stark even hope to compare?

Yes, there is no one but Thor for Loki, and no one but Loki for Thor, thinks Loki hazily, as he buries his face in his arms and loses himself to the wicked pleasures of Thor's tongue.