#that's off the top of my head IT'S EVERYWHERE these writers are unbelievable
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Ed Teach's Stories
From practically the moment we meet him, Ed's identity is unstable. We know who is he (Blackbeard) from context, from the story told by the the room around him, by Izzy and the flag his crew. But the thing is, Ed doesn't fit the story of the Mad Devil Blackbeard. Two of his first few words are "good" and "love" for crying out loud. He's called "Blackbeard," but his beard is grey.
This instability exists because Ed himself isn't sure what story he's telling--or wants to tell. "I shouldn't be bored, I'm fucking Blackbeard!" All through his early episodes Ed is in increasingly desperate tension with his own identity. He's trying to tell stories within stories, wanting all the stories to be true at the same time, yet aware of the reality that the world is constantly trying to wipe one or another of the stories away. And not really trusting that he can tell the whole story of who he is.
In the first season of OFMD, Stede wears a different outfit every episode. Yet Stede remains the same: despite his internal tensions (almost despite himself) there's a stability to his identity. But all through both seasons of OFMD, Ed putting on a new outfit means he's trying to tell a completely different story about himself.
And underneath this cacophony, there's Ed. And Ed is himself a chorus of stories, a living contradiction. A patricidal murderer who was protecting his mother; a paragon of masculinity who longs for softness and fluidity; a man renowned for violence and madness who has in fact carefully cultivated that reputation and is extremely careful with his violence; a killer who doesn't kill, yet who does kill all the time just at a bit of a remove; a half a dozen names and personas and yet always Ed; unloveable, yet deeply loved.
At the beginning of the show, Ed isn't actually good at telling his own story. He's good at listening to other people's stories, and conforming himself to them often without conscious effort. But when he tries to really tell his own story--asking Stede to run off to China, singing his break-up song song, going to become a fisherman--he fails. We don't understand in the first season why his judgement clouds, why he becomes weak when he tries to tell his story. But in the second season after spending half an episode in Ed's mind, a painful truth is undeniable: Ed, like Stede, doesn't think he's worthy of telling his own story.
So instead of telling his own story, Ed let other people tell his story. In the first season, Ed built off what Izzy told him he had to be. But he couldn't lose himself in Blackbeard, no matter how hard he tried. So in the second season, when Ed couldn't face living with his contradictions anymore, he wrote an ending worthy of Blackbeard.
All this, because Ed thinks he can only be "himself" by telling one, single story about himself. By denying his contradictions, rather than embracing them. Splitting himself in two to tell himself a story, rather than telling the story himself.
What Ed doesn't believe or trust is this: For Ed to really be himself, he has to be impossible. Two contradictory things, at the same time.
The second season of OFMD is about learning to embrace all these contradictions. In each episode of OFMD, character look at the same object or situation (a wanted poster, a unicorn, a velvety suit, a relationship, a past trauma) and they tell two completely different stories about it. Sometimes one of those stories turns out to be wrong, but more often than not both are true, and something else--something beautiful-- is born from the place where those contradictions meet. And the characters, Ed most of all, learn to accept and balance this dissonance.
Thematically speaking, I'd argue that's why the second season of OFMD is more fantastical than the first: fantasies are contradictions, real and not-real at the same time. And isn't that what transformation is, in the end? What you are and what you are not, meeting and becoming "you"?
Transformation isn't all good. At first, Ed's fantastic stories hide his pain or invoke despair
But later, the fantasies make their way into reality. The impossible begins to shape reality--and opens a way for hope.
In the last episode of S2, Ed emerges from the waves as the kraken--but there's 3 musical tracks playing, three themes: the kraken, Ed, and Blackbeard. Then he reads a love letter, and has a deeply romantic moment with his boyfriend. He puts on a new outfit to escape the British, yet his personality doesn't change at all. When Izzy first apologizes to him, Ed says "I'm the one who should be apologizing," but then Izzy changes his entire understanding of their relationship. Becomes the first family figure to offer Ed permission to be himself.
Contradictions galore, and yet Ed is still Ed. Both who he was formed into by other people (his father, Izzy, Pop Pop) and yet who he is.
In the final scenes, Ed begins to finally accept the tensions of his life. He tells Zheng that yes, he wants to kill Richie--but he doesn't go on a revenge quest. And while before his forays into being someone else meant changing his name, his clothes and mannerisms, his whole story, he doesn't act like that at all in the last scene of the ep.
And Ed's been able to do all this, to come this far, because of Stede. Stede, who Ed was drawn to because he was a "fancy man who leads a brigade of imbeciles," yet had won a fight with Izzy. Stede, who looked at Ed at his lowest moment, after Ed had admitted that the entire basis of their friendship had been in bad faith, and said, "I'm your friend." Stede who, even knowing Ed wouldn't want to hear from him, poured his heart into letters about how their bond was unbreakable.
Stede is everything he is, all at the same time. And when Ed was drowning in his own contradictions, (a rope tied around him that he could not undo and yet had put on himself) trapped somewhere "inevitable, yet impossible," Stede appeared as a fantastic, beautiful creature and brought him home.
Stede lets Ed be everything he is, and sees it all as true and worthy of love. Even when Ed fucks up, it's all right.
And sometimes, telling two different stories about something doesn't lead to a fragmented self, doesn't drive people apart.
Sometimes, it means understanding. Means acceptance, safety, connection.
From discordance (contradiction), harmony. A gentleman can be a pirate. A man can be a bird, or a unicorn. Izzy can have been one of the good ones and a fucking nightmare. And Ed can tell all his stories, they can all be true--and he can still be Ed.
#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd s2#ofmd s2 spoilers#ofmd spoilers#ofmd meta#ed teach#stede bonnet#blackbonnet#gentlebeard#okay every single s2 ep has A HEAP OF things where there's one “reality” and multiple stories: Stede's letters; indigo dye...#...zheng the soup lady; a betrayal; wanted posters; a storm; soup in purgatory; life itself; anne and mary to others and themselves;#; pinata and wedding cake; unicorn parts; what happened to buttons; ed's speech; stede's captaining skills; the suit; Izzy's shark#ned lowe's record; ed's treasure and the whole poison/positivity thing; ned's execution; having sex; stede's infamy#that's off the top of my head IT'S EVERYWHERE these writers are unbelievable#long ass post#ofmd season 2 love
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boys ain't shit. oscar diaz
word count: 2.2k
warnings: swearing, lots of just angst and angry feminist energy and if this doesn't align with your beliefs, feel free to leave!
requested: 'Hey!! First I want to say that you are an amazing writer so talented! So I was wondering if I could request and imagine with spookyxreader and she overhears Oscar speaking about her or something like maybe she is to clingy or anything you think will fit and then she sort of starts to leave him alone does t opposite of what she heard he doesn't like drifts a little he sees the change questions her and she tells him why- and so angst to fluff If you hate please disregard And thanks anyway ❤️'
a/n: thank you for this lovely request, i only apologise that it took me so long to write! but i'm also glad it did because i kept re-writing this over and over again and it never came out right, but i really love this version! i changed it slightly from the request lol i was listening to 'your power' by billie eilish on a loop while writing this and a lot of anger and preaching came out-- oop-- but also not mad about it. i really like this and hope you do too! enjoy 🤍
on my block masterlist / main masterlist
anger bubbled in your chest but your cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment. your stomach lurched, a mixture of emotions swirling through you. you were angry at him for being such an asshole, but mostly you were embarrassed that you'd found yourself in this position and hurt that he would think to treat you like this. he was an asshole, he always had been, you knew it before you started dating but, somehow, he still managed to worm his way in. mainly because when you were alone he was careful, and sweet, and kind. he cared about you, he told you any chance he got, and you believed him. you were always convinced he meant everything he said, which is why this stung all the more.
"nah, it ain't even like that— she's everywhere man, how you s'posed to shake a hyna like that?" their laughter rang through your ears as you stood, feet frozen in place, out of sight to them. "shit's ridiculous. she's always on top of me."
"man— if i had a hyna that fine on top o' me all the time—"
"the things i'd do—"
you shook your head, blocking out their vulgar comments and trying to rid of oscar's shrewd laughter filling your ears. you were sick to your stomach hearing him talk about you like that, to hear him encouraging his friends crude jokes about you.
you couldn't stop yourself as the small scoff left your lips, catching one of the boys' attention. sad eyes, his smile faltering when he spotted you tucked around the side of the house, listening to every word. "shit," you heard him mumble, nudging oscar whose back was facing you.
oscar always had a thing about keeping up his reputation, which you understood, to some extent, but this had nothing to do with that. this was his friends, talking about you as if you were an object to satisfy their needs. and he was encouraging them. this was you they were talking about, when he claimed to love you.
this wasn't a side to oscar you ever wanted to see, or believe existed. you knew how his friends could be, but to hear him condoning the shit coming out of his friends mouths, made you feel unbelievably uncomfortable.
not to even mention that he was being downright mean, and sleazy in talking about you. you could feel your anger growing the longer you stood there. oscar glanced over his shoulder, his face falling when his eyes met yours. your hands clenched into fists, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
you shook your head, finally knocked out of your state of shock, turning and stomping away from the group of santos. your breathing grew heavier, sweat dripping off you as the sweltering heat started to get to you. you were so angry you could cry. you trusted oscar with everything, it took you a long time to get to that point, and this is how he treated you.
you could hear his muffled calls from behind you getting louder as you continued to march away from the house. you yanked your wrist away when you felt his hand latch onto you, and carried on your walk home.
he sped up, jogging so he stopped dead in front of you, holding out his hands when you tried to manoeuvre around him. "i don't wanna talk to you right now," you spoke calmly, trying again to move past him, his hands latching onto your shoulders to keep you still.
"just— hang on will you—"
you shook your head repeatedly. "no—"
"i don't know what you heard but—" his grip tightened when you tried to wriggle free.
"no," you repeated harsher.
"y/n— c'mon— that was nothing—"
"oscar," you raised your voice, cutting off his ramblings. his eyes never left your face, his eyebrows unknitting when your frown deepened. he scrunched his eyes shut for a second, frustrated he'd upset you. he was annoyed with himself for being so stupid. "no," you repeated once more. his hands slowly released their grip on you, letting you walk passed him. you heard his curse under his breath, walking away from him.
you felt your lip quiver, a lump now growing in your throat as your anger turned into heartache. you weren't sure you wanted to forgive him. but, for now at least, you were going to give him exactly what he wanted. space.
-
hours later and you were stood in the middle of a crowded party, your teeth clenched around the rim of a red solo cup, biting nervously. you hadn't wanted to come, you would much rather have been at home with a pint of ice cream. but your friend convinced you that getting out of the house tonight would be better for you than wasting away your life thinking about boys and eating ice cream. so far, you weren't so sure she was right.
you'd lost count the amount of times you'd heard loosen up and, you should smile more, thrown at you tonight. you weren't in the right headspace to be surrounded by people who were drunk out of their mind, constantly telling you to cheer up. you wanted to shout out to the entire party, fuck off, so everyone would know to just leave you alone.
so when you spotted his familiar face across the room, having just entered the party, you almost lost it. "no," you muttered to yourself. "not happening," you shook your head. he had been exactly what you came here to get away from. you let out frustrated sigh, shoving your cup into your friends hand and pushing yourself out of the crowd of people.
you hoped to god that oscar hadn't spotted you. you could not hash this out with him right now, that pint of ice cream in your freezer at home was calling your name, and you were ready to claim it.
"fuck me," you felt a hand graze the small of your back. you shivered away from the unwanted touch, turning with a deep-set frown on your face, towards the stranger who'd touched you. "you're hot when you're angry like that—"
"i'm also a fucking psycho when i'm angry so back off," you spat harshly, pushing away the hand he held lingering on your skin. "and don't touch me again," the man backed up, his hands held up in front of him. you huffed, continuing to the exit.
you wrapped your arms around yourself as the cool night air hit your bare skin. you'd left your jacket inside, turning to retrieve it, you saw oscar walking right at you. deciding it wasn't worth the effort, you left, you'd rather freeze than have a conversation with him right now.
"i know you hate me," you heard him call from behind you, his pace quickening as he tried to catch up with you. "but you can't walk home by yourself."
you ignored him, hastening your walk so you didn't have to do this with him. you knew he was right, you knew how incautious you were being walking home late at night alone. but you also desperately wanted nothing to do with him right now.
"ma," you shook your head, trying not to lose it on him in the middle of the street. "c'mon—"
"no— you c'mon oscar," you halted your stride, not able to ignore him any longer. you might as well get it out of your system if he was going to keep persisting. "i have had it with men today. i never wanted to have to include you in that."
he ducked his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows you noticed now you'd stopped to look over him. his eyes rolled, letting out a heavy sigh he'd clearly been holding in for a while.
"c'mon," he tilted his gaze away from yours for a second, trying not to cave under your stare. "you know what the santos are like— it's not my job to keep 'em in check."
"it is when it's me they're talking about," you gritted your teeth, looking at him in disbelief. you'd expected that this was how the conversation was going to go down. which is exactly why you tried to avoid it, you simply didn't have the energy to stand here and explain basic human decency to him. "not to mention— it is literally your job. you run the santos."
"it's not that simple," he ran his hand over his face, taking a small step closer to you. his eyes meeting with yours, begging you not to run off again as he held out a cautious hand towards you. "they didn't mean anythin' by what they said— you think if they did i'd let them 'in an inch of you?"
"you're perpetuating a violent cycle of sexism and objectification by letting your friends talk about any girl like that," you felt your throat tighten, tears had, at some point, welled in your eyes. "and that's not even mentioning what you said about me."
he closed his eyes for a second, his hand dropping back to his side. he turned away from you for a moment, releasing a deep breath he'd been holding. "i didn't mean it," he shook his head, swinging round to face you again. his brown eyes, that you'd always been a sucker for, were literally boring into you. if you hadn't been so angry you would've done anything for him. "i wasn't thinking and i never thought you'd ever hear—"
"that makes it ok then?" you frowned, eyes narrowing at him. "god knows what else you've said about me when i haven't been around to hear it," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep up your appearance despite the tears threatening to fall.
"s'not what i meant," he threw is arms up in frustration. he had, in all honesty, been talking without thinking about what he was saying. he was tired and stressed about how stretched out his time was at the moment. he was taking on more and more work, and therefore, more and more stress and he wasn't dealing with it well. he clenched his jaw when you sniffled, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand. his eyelids drooped. "nena.."
"i just, don't get it," you let out a shaky breath, holding out your hands to stop him moving any closer to you. "if i was being too much, all you had to do was say."
his chest tightened hearing you talk about yourself like that. he shook his head, trying again to reach out to you but you only stepped further away. "you're not too much," he spoke quieter this time. oscar loved you, more than he'd ever loved a girl before, that much was true. he might be bad at showing it sometimes, maybe he let his frustration get the better of him a lot, and maybe he didn't simply tell you enough how much you meant to him. but he loved you, much more than you were aware of.
"then why would you say it?" your voice was soft, breaking when you spoke again. exhaustion was starting to get the better of the both of you. you didn't want to fight with him, you just couldn't get his words out of your head. why would he say it if he didn't mean it?
"it's not you," he reiterated, his lips pursed. he used his forefinger and thumb to unknit the crease between his brows. "it's everything else. with cesar fucking around, shit with the prophets, cuchillos— and then you," he ducked his head, pressing the palm of his hand into his forehead. "i don't know how to manage everything and make time for you."
"why didn't you just tell me?" your features softened, eyes watching him move under your stare. "it's what i'm here for."
he scrunched up his nose, shrugging. "i don't want you involved in santos business," you understood more than you did five minutes ago, but you were still holding yourself back.
"i'm already involved, oscar, it's too late for that," this caught his attention, his brown eyes focused on yours again. you weakened a little. "but if you would just talk to me instead of keeping everything to yourself, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation right now."
he nodded faintly, almost uncertain of where you were taking this conversation. last thing he wanted was to lose you because of something so stupid on his end. he reached out, you letting him come close enough now so he could take hold of your hands in his. he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, tugging you closer.
"you know, i love you," you mumbled now he was only inches away from you. "i don't wanna do this again so talk to me, please."
he nodded again, giving your hand another squeeze of reassurance. "i'll try," the way his brown eyes stuck to you made you believe he meant what he said. "i'll do better. promise. i'll keep the santos in check, too. you don't need to worry."
you sunk into his chest, letting him engulf you in a tight hug. you released a shaky breath of relief. his arms wrapped around you, your face squashed against his chest and your arms tightened around his torso. "love you, too, by the way," he mumbled, his mouth pressed into your head of hair. "so much."
#oscar diaz#spooky diaz#on my block#on my block imagine#oscar diaz imagine#oscar diaz one shot#oscar diaz fanfiction#oscar diaz fic#spooky#spooky diaz imagine#spooky diaz x you#spooky diaz x reader#on my block netflix#julio macias#oscar diaz x you#oscar diaz x reader#on my block season 4#on my block fic#on my block x reader#on my block fanfiction#omb imagine#omb#omb one shot#omb masterlist#on my block masterlist#masterlist#one shot#imagine#reader
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Sore Loser
Pairing: Mirajane Strauss, Laxus Dreyar
Series: PAINtball Series
GRUVIA version (It Won’t Hurt)
Writer’s Corner: So, this was a really cute, just passing series while we are stuck with a bad case of writer’s block. So far, I only have two chaps for this series but who knows inspiration might strike. Maybe the girls win again? Hehe. Enjoy!
---
Mirajane Strauss was a kind-hearted, easy-going, all-smiles woman. In other words, she was just a little ball of sunshine who got along with everyone. Until, you throw her into the battle field. Then, welcome to the dark side.
“Laxus!” cried Natsu. “Take your girlfriend away!”
“You pussies!” The woman shrieked, running havoc at the Fairytail Paintball Playground.
Despite winning this year’s ‘Boys vs. Girls Paintball Game’, the guys had to crouch behind the makeshift barrels, hiding from the crazy woman running the paintball gun at anyone in sight. It didn’t matter that the guys won. Mira felt cheated. So, she conveniently ignored their cries of surrender and open-fired at them.
Watching his five-foot-three-inch girlfriend go psycho at the guys like some kind of avenging warrior, it kind of made Laxus feel proud. His little goody two shoes making all those sons of bitches cry, putting fear in their trembling hearts. To top it all off, she was spewing cusswords at all the guys, some of whom were twice her size. Laxus was grateful he had to serve as mediator in this year’s game. Otherwise, he’d be hiding behind the barrels too.
“TAKE YOUR CRAZY GIRLFRIEND HOME!”
Loke demanded, covering that sensitive part targeted by Laxus’ psycho girlfriend, writhing on the ground in pain because he made the mistake of walking up to the fuming monster.
“Or no one in here will have kids. Ever!”
If he wasn’t burying his head on the ground in pain, Laxus was sure he’d find tears rolling down the Casanova’s religiously moisturized cheeks. But the biggest flirt of the century was right. If Laxus wouldn’t put an end to it, he’d be there the rest of the day watching the guys get their balls served to them. Laxus had better things to do, such as claiming his prize a.k.a the Dark Side Mirajane shooting the paintball gun indiscriminately. So, he walked up to the other half of the monster duo, wrestled the paintball gun out of her hands and hefted the hostile Mirajane over his shoulder.
“That’s enough, Mira.” said Laxus, patting her cute butt as Mirajane wildly wiggled over his shoulder for freedom.
“Not until I give them a piece of my mind!” refused Mira, throwing a fist at the guys behind the barrel. “You wimps! Why are you hiding now?!”
Laxus audibly sighed. “I think you’ve given them enough.”
The woman stopped struggling from his hold as Laxus carried her back to his car but she focused all energy calling the guys names. “Cry babies!” yelled she. “You don’t have balls! Hah. You don’t even deserve one!”
Laxus bit down a laugh. The woman was heartless. He reminded himself never to get on her bad side, ever. He realized the guys have finally discovered him taking care of their ‘problem’ since they started coming out of hiding and shouting back at his angry warrior.
“Well, what now? You sore loser!” He could place that voice everywhere. The same voice begging him to take out the avenging girlfriend – Natsu.
“We beat you this time!”
“Oh yeah?” retaliated she. “Put me down, Laxus. I’ll show them what ‘beat up’ supposed to mean.” Mira turned to him, propping a hand over his shoulder, ready to climb down him to smack someone. “Those spineless bastards.”
Laxus tightened his hold over her, slapping her butt this time to get her to keep quiet.
Didn’t work.
“Wait ‘til I get down from here you insolent bastards! I’m going to kick your balls up to your–”
That’s when the screaming started again. He didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. Chose not to. Because the cries gave him a clear picture of what was coming down in that battle field - a bloodbath. Some begged for their lives, some screeched in pain, and some just lauded the sacrifices of their fallen comrades.
“Yeah, that’s it Erza!” Laxus’ little monster cheered on. Whistling and yeah-ing at the other half of their monster duo.
Laxus shook his head. He was just a few steps away from where he parked his car. His friends called for him, pleading for his help. As much as he wanted to take care of the redhead too, he got his hands full of one sore loser.
“Give them heeeell!”
…
“Are you still pouting?”
“No.”
Obviously, she still was. But Laxus kept his silence as he pulled and led Mirajane into the lobby of his building.
“That freaking bastard!” She erupted after stepping into the elevator. “What a sly bastard. I didn’t even think Gray’s capable of that.” She spewed, crossing her arms underneath her chest. “What a sly bastard.” She mused, her brows meeting in the middle, eyes boring a hole at the steel doors.
“You would have done the same.” His voice was low and easy to miss except that Mira easily caught on to it.
“What?” She stared at him with disbelief. “What the… how could you even… hah. I can’t believe you’ll take their side.”
He wasn’t actually taking anyone’s side. Laxus was stating facts. But just like that, all of Mira’s anger was directed at him.
“Unbelievable.” She shook her head, hardening her jaw at his betrayal. Then, an outraged gasp bounced around the closed box. “So that’s why you get to have me as prize?” Mira concluded. “But you didn’t even join in the game.” Even if Mirajane’s height only reached his shoulders, she still stared up to him as if they were equals. Laxus loved that about his woman.
Laxus turned to face her, that accusing little thing glaring at him with questioning eyes. He bridged the gap between them, his purposeful strides intimidating her into taking steps back until there was no room to step back to. “Well, baby…” He planted both arms on either side of her head, resting his body against hers. “I saved those crybabies from this crazy woman shooting at them,” his lips hovered over her parting ones. Laxus pleasingly watched as his almost-kiss melted that angry expression on her face.
And oh how much she was anticipating that kiss.
With triumph in his voice, Laxus leaned into her ear. Slowly, he whispered, “Mine to do,” and he spoke the next words in that way he knew did things to her. “Whatever. I. Want.”
Mirajane jumped at the sound of the elevator ding. She marched out of that really, really cramp and really, really hot elevator before she forgot all about her anger and his betrayal. When did it get so hot in there? She asked herself as her feet brought her to his unit. All the while, fanning her reddened cheeks with her own hands.
A few minutes later, Mira was standing in the middle of Laxus’ apartment, confusedly staring at that golden, she dared call bikini, Laxus presented to her.
“You want me to wear that?” She questioned, expecting him to change his answer.
“Yes.” But of course Laxus has made up his mind. Handing her again the garments, this time more insistently, he reminded, “Don’t forget the hair too.” He totally ignored the way she narrowed her eyes at him and plopped to the couch to wait for Mira to get changed.
When it looked like he wasn’t going to cave in, Mira gave up and started for his bathroom.
“Fvck Gray.” She cursed under her breath.
“No, no, no, babe. You know I get jealous when you say some other guy’s name after fvck.”
Mira stopped and turned around.
“That wasn’t what I meant.” She quickly denied. But with a teasing smirk, Laxus waved her to move along and get changed into that sexy costume. It cost him a fortune but Mirajane in a Princess Leia golden bikini? Totally worth it.
One secret fantasy all the guys his age had was about to come to life and Laxus couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. He didn’t have to wait long as Mirajane materialized before his appreciative eyes, clad in the whole ensemble: copper brassiere, red loincloth, gold-plated arm-wrap, and last but definitely got the gears going was the gold-plated collar around her neck. And as Laxus demanded, Mira had her long silver hair parted in the middle and pulled into rolled buns on either side of her head. She watched the movie with him, albeit reluctantly. Mira had a faint idea what she was supposed to look like.
Laxus’ own Princess Leia. All the nerds at their parents’ basement must have died of jealousy.
Laxus ran his tongue over his lips like a predator about to devour his prey. Mirajane didn’t miss that, the way he bit his lip and how he was seemingly undressing her with his deep brown eyes. She felt her stomach knotted with the hot gaze that drank her in and she tried to ignore her own lust that flooded her body.
Undeniably and quite clearly turned on, Laxus walked up to Mirajane, holding her blue eyes captive. He stopped in front of her, mere inches away that the cups of her brassiere brushed against his hard chest. He had that half smile, that smirk that told Mira he owned her. At that moment, she thought that he might be right because Mira could hardly keep herself standing with that undeniable electricity bouncing between them. And when Laxus ran his fingers over her exposed skin, she felt the static surged through her veins. A light touch with an explosive effect.
“Your skin is so beautiful.” He said in a low rumble, only taking his eyes off of her to see where he was touching. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
Mira didn’t understand what he was driving at until she watched him take out a rope from behind the couch and a camera. One thought crossed her mind and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. But her heart was pounding loudly than it did earlier than when they were inside the elevator.
“Laxus… what are you…”
“Oh, this?” He dangled the rope in front of Mira’s stunned blue eyes. “Just a little payback, my slave.”
“P-payback?”
Mira matched Laxus’ measured strides with a step back but he was quick to catch on.
“Remember when you enjoyed hitting me with that whip of yours?”
Vividly.
Last year, when the girls bagged their second win and Mirajane got Laxus as her prize, the sweet and innocent girlfriend had the opportunity to show another side of her that not even Laxus has seen before – dark and domineering – who secretly enjoyed a little bondage and discipline, dominance and submission. She not only made him wear a crop top which read ‘Mira’s Little B*tch’ but Dominant Mira introduced him to a whole new world. He would be lying if he said the bondage and the whips didn’t scare him at first. It freaked him out how this alter ego enjoyed inflicting both pain and pleasure, something his Mirajane would never take delight in. The girl couldn’t even kill a bug! Or so he thought. But later, he seemed to have understood. He, a proud man, suffered through her dominance and now, Laxus was ready to give Mirajane a taste of her own medicine.
Well, sort of.
“Now, give me your hands.” ordered he, to which Mirajane complied.
Laxus watched her intently while he bound her wrists with the rope. Mira couldn’t handle the heat; she shifted her gaze and stared at her hands being wrapped together.
“Just remember my safe word–”
“–Bunnies. Your safe word is ‘bunnies’.” finished Laxus as he finally tied one end of the rope. Then, he took a step back to take a look at his masterpiece. Laxus took in her perfection, nodding satisfyingly to himself before he took a photo to memorialize this moment.
“Laxus!” complained Mira, dazed at the bright flash that almost blinded her.
But the master took his time waiting for the photo to develop and dry out. “Just a little remembrance.” said he. He looked at the Polaroid of slave Mirajane and frowned. Unfortunately, pictures couldn’t capture the perfection that was in front of him. Slave Mirajane was even better than any dream he had of this moment. But on those nights that he’d like to look back fondly on this very moment and Mirajane wasn’t around to do an encore, those photos would serve as substitute, albeit poorly.
“Now,” he threw the camera and the photos behind him, landing on the cushion of the couch, “let me remind you of who I am.” He grabbed the other end of the rope and wrapped it around his hand as he bridged the gap between them. “I’m the master, you’re the slave. That means I can do whatever I want.” Then, he pulled hard on the rope, jerking Mirajane towards him. He stole a quick peck from a surprised Mira and reminded her once more, “Whatever. I. Want.”
His deep brown eyes were full of promises – hot and wicked. Mira understood her role and, as an obedient slave, she averted her eyes away from him, cheeks turning hot and rosy.
“Yes, Master.” She consented with a small voice.
“Good girl.”
Holding on the rope, Laxus led his slave into his bedroom where a whole night of dominance and submission awaited them.
#miraxus#laxus x mirajane#be-dazzled#laxus dreyar#mirajane strauss#laxus x mira#lamira#miraxus drabble#miraxus short
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Hi!! I just want to say that you've become one of my top favorite writers for BTS! Thank you so much for writing, you lovely person, you! 💕💕 If you have the time and if you want to, could you write how the boys would be like when they're crushing hard on someone? So this is pre-relationship... who would be blushy? Will someone compensate by being overconfident? Who will be the adorable, stuttering mess? What will they do to get your attention? Thank you! :)
-You are literally so sweet, thank you! I couldn’t decide whether to do a bulletpoint- or story-format, so I tried a little mix of both. I hope it’s okay! 💕💜
((xMasterlist))
BTS Imagine: Crush
JIN:
blushes 24/7
but mostly just his ears so it’s not too bad
is actually pretty smooth and calm when talking to you, but his ears are glowing the whole time
One day you’re talking to him and you notice that his face is a little red. “Hey, are you okay? You look pretty warm.” You reach up and softly press the back of your hand against his forehead. “Are you getting sick?” He freezes at your touch but manages to say: “N-no, I’m okay.” Before you can take your hand away, he adds, “But-but what about the rest of my face? Is…is it warm, too?” When you lay your cool hand on the side of his face, he tries his hardest not to let you see his smile. “It is kind of warm,” you agree, but this time when you try to take your hand back, his hand shoots out to hold yours in place. In response to your surprise, he makes a small face and says, “I’m not feeling very well, actually. I think I might be getting sick…Your hand is nice and cool.” When you don’t protest, he takes your free hand and places it on the other side of his face. You laugh and pat his cheeks playfully. “Oh.” Your amusement fades into genuine concern, “Actually, you feel really warm now and you’re kind of flushed…” He smiles but doesn’t answer.
he secretly uses a picture of the two of you together as his phone wallpaper
has offered to be your fake-boyfriend any time you need the excuse
he buys you thinks he knows you’ll love (necklaces, phone cases, books, stuffed animals, makeup, headphones, mugs, gloves, etc) and gives them to you shyly
grabs your hand whenever he gets scared, but acts like it’s totally not a big deal—except his ears are on fire
YOONGI:
is always there
literally manages to be everywhere you are (but not in a creepy way)
is extra watchful and sensitive to how you are doing, so sometimes when you’ve had an absolutely awful day you’ll get fresh flowers delivered to your door from an Anonymous sender
he is constantly making playlists for you, but is never brave enough to send them
asks for your help with things all the time: “I am having the hardest time with this stupid tie—can you help me?” Smiling slightly, you cross to where Yoongi is standing in front of the mirror. “Haven’t you done this a million times?” you ask, taking the two ends of his tie in hand. He just smiles down at you, trying not to react too much when your fingers brush his neck. You step back when you’re done, but before you get too far, he stretches his hand out and grazes the edge of your sleeve. “Um, do you have a second?” he asks, reaching up to fiddle with his ear nervously. “I don’t know if this song sounds right, and I was hoping you’d help me figure it out?..”
becomes your very best friend
he confides in you with things he would never tell anybody else
he is the BEST listener: he never looks away while you’re talking, makes little sounds of understanding while you talk, offers solid advice when you want it
you know you can go to him with anything and he’ll be there
he is always making sure you’re comfortable
HOSEOK:
SO confident
like, unbelievably smooth and calm
he always finds an excuse to brush your hair back from your face, let his hand linger on your knee, lean in close when he talks to you, hug you every time he sees you
when he hugs you, he pulls you close to him, wraps his arms around your waist and snuggles his face in your shoulder for a second
“Hey!” Hoseok’s face lights up when he sees you, getting to his feet and smoothing his hair back. “Here’s our beautiful girl,” he says, stretching his arms wide for a hug. A little happy-flustered, you wrap your arms around his neck as he snakes his around your waist and pulls you close. You try not to smile too much as he buries his face against you. “Hi,” you answer, willing yourself not to blush. “How are you guys doing?” “Better now that you’re here,” he grins, pulling back and reaching out to fix a strand of your hair.
texts you ‘goodnight’ with cute little emojis
shows off a little extra when you watch him dance
volunteers to give you dance lessons
compliments you ALL the time
actually, will just do anything to make you blush a little because he thinks you’re so cute when you blush
is super flirty, but has a hard time actually asking you out because his confidence only goes so far
the others tease him all the time, but he likes you so much he doesn’t care
NAMJOON:
one of the smartest men on the planet, but he turns into an absolute bumbling fool when he’s around you
he gets so nervous that he actually stutters when he talks to you, gets his words all mixed up, gets flustered
tries to start conversations with you all the time because he loves talking to you, but it takes him a little bit to get over his shyness
after he does, you guys have the best talks about anything, because he thinks you are so smart and values your opinion the most
writes long pages of love letters but always tears them up because they’re embarrassingly cheesy
he talks about you to the others ALL the time; literally can’t stop singing your praises
can’t help but take care of you, even if he’s awkward about it the whole time
Feeling utterly defeated, you trudge into the building, not even completely sure what you’re looking for, but luckily he finds you first. “Hey!” he smiles so wide. “H-how’s it going? Are you—is you—have it—I mean, w-what’s up?” The tears that you’d been holding back well up at the sound of his voice, his warm presence. “It’s–it’s not great right now,” you admit. He frowns, and when you look up at him, you lose it. “I just got the worst news about work.” You drop your head to rest on his chest and start crying. The motion thaws him: his arms move automatically to wrap around you, pulling you against him in a tight hug, which just makes you cry harder. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his awkwardness completely gone. He rubs your back and leans his head against yours. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
JIMIN:
cannot approach you without a wingman
literally drags one of the others to come with him and talk to you first, but as soon as the conversation is started, he’s fine
will actually step in front of his brother so he can have your full attention
once he has that first foot in the door he’s unstoppable
chatters a mile a minute
always notices when you’re wearing rings and asks to see them so he has an excuse to hold your hand
whenever you’re all standing around together, he takes every opportunity to sling his arm around your shoulders and lean on you playfully
invites you to watch a movie with him and some of the others, but the others always end up leaving early
He glances over at you as you make a tiny squeak of alarm. Grinning, he scoots a little closer. “Scared?” You give him a look but find his proximity comforting. “Maybe a little…” His smile gets a little wider. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching an arm out on the couch behind you. “I won’t let those big, bad monsters get you!” He taps your shoulder, making you jump again, and then laughs, sliding his arm down around your shoulders. “Don’t be mean,” you scold, snuggling against him despite yourself. “Oh, I’m mean?” He’s grinning ear-to-ear. He starts to pull away, “Well then maybe I should let you fend for yourself—?” You catch his arm and cuddle back against him, knowing you were caught. “Oh, knock it off and come here.” You don’t look at his smug face. He smiles against your hair. “Absolutely.”
TAEHYUNG:
turns into an absolute comedian
will do anything to make you laugh: makes cute faces, little voices, ridiculous jokes, silly physical comedy
can’t stand it when you give anyone else attention
gets jealous really easily
will try to outdo whatever the other person is doing
just wants to spend time with you, and only you
asks you to come with him on random adventures: to grab a phone charger, go to the store for milk, literally has asked you to come with him to the kitchen to get a drink of water
always takes pictures of you/with you
“Hey, wait, stop right there!” Taehyung is somewhere behind you, so you turn: he’s got his phone trained on you, his goofy grin on his face. “Oh, Tae, come on, right now?? I look terrible.” You cover your face with both hands. He lowers the phone quickly. “You are beautiful, just like always.” He lifts the phone back up and taps to focus the lens on you. “Here, cutie, look here!” He starts making goofy faces and calling your name in a tiny voice, and soon you’re laughing too hard to really be mad. You lower your hands for a second and that’s when he snaps the picture. Satisfied, he saves it and turns toward you. You pout. “I—” “Here, I have an even better idea!” he cuts you off and moves to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He snuggles his face against yours, turns the camera to selfie-mode, and, when you put your arm around his waist, smiles so big. He takes a few shots and saves them immediately. “New wallpaper,” he announces, giving you a little wink.
always wants your opinion on his fashion choices
JUNGKOOK:
somewhat unfortunately, he acts exactly like you’d expect: shows off, does push-ups at the drop of a hat, makes sure you know he’s been working out lately
however, when you start talking to him, he gets really shy
he absolutely panics when you touch him (even if you just accidentally brush his arm) but misses you like crazy when you leave
is always looking at you from the corner of his eye
thinks about you all the time
asks his hyungs for advice on how to get you to notice him
even though he seems cocky, he is incredibly sweet to you
he gives you little indirect compliments ALL the time“Okay,” Jimin is whining, “But if Jin-hyung is gone, who is actually going to cook tonight?” You’re sitting at the table next to Jungkook, watching the scene in amusement. You turn to share a grin with him and are surprised to find him already looking at you. When he meets your gaze, he smiles automatically but his eyes dart away nervously. “I mean,” Jimin is still going, “I guess we could always order in, but—” “Why would we do that when she’s here?” The words burst from Jungkook defensively. “She’s literally the best chef on the whole planet.” You feel yourself blush. “I’m not that great.” “Yes, you are,” he dismisses easily. “Well,” you say, flustered, “I certainly can’t do it all by myself.” He’s already getting to his feet, rolling his sleeves above his elbows. “You obviously won’t be doing it by yourself,” he says, gently scooting your chair out and helping you up. “I’ll be right there to help you.”
whenever you’re out together, he always takes care of you—i.e. walks between you and the street, pays whenever you eat somewhere, takes your hand to help you into booths and up stairs and over rough terrain
#bts imagines#Anonymous#REQUESTS#bts clean imagines#bts scenarios#non-smut#fluffy#bts fluffy imagines#BTS#bts imagine jin#bts imagine yoongi#bts imagine hoseok#bts imagine namjoon#bts imagine jimin#bts imagine taehyung#bts imagine jungkook#jin#yoongi#suga#hoseok#jhope#hobi#namjoon#RM#jimin#taehyung#V#jungkook#JK#bts relatable
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Read Chapter 1
Chapters: 10/10
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Sexual Abuse, escort!au, AU, Wade is a sweetheart as always, Escort!Peter, Tagging as Updated, Slow Burn, kind of, rape mention, Angst, Suicide mention, happy endings, original origins, Bottom Wade, Top Peter, Complete, Prostitution
Notes: High Angst. TW: mentions/suggestions of rape
Chapter 2
It was another lonely, not alone enough night. Peter had done it all tonight, he had topped, bottomed, been fucked like a toy, and now he was staring straight into the barrel of a gun.
Peter gulped and he glanced from the gun to the foggy glass on the table in front of him. If he didn't drink the obviously drugged contents of the glass he would be shot, most likely somewhere non-lethal and raped. If he did drink the contents of the glass then he would still be raped and most likely killed, but hopefully it wouldn't hurt as much.
He carefully took the glass in a shaky hand, the man on the other side of the gun smiled, and that made Peter want to scream and fling the glass at his head. But instead he downed the glass and everything went hazy and then black.
~
When Peter woke up there was light filtering through the window. His entire body was sore, and he was laying in a bed that he didn't recognize. Fear spiked through him and he tried to lift himself up but pain shot through his entire body and he fell shaking back onto the soft pillows.
He felt like screaming and he tried but his throat was dry and soar and all that came out of it was a nasty rasp. Peter started crying, tears streamed down his numb face wetting his hairline. He didn't know where he was, didn't know what time or day it was, and he didn't know who was on the other side of the wall. The latter scared him the most.
Peter wasn't a professional sex worker, if he was he wouldn't be in this situation. He was a nerd from Queens that needed cash to get his degree. Older people had always asked him why he hadn't just gotten a day job, the fact of the matter was that minimum wage didn't pay tuition. But now lying desperately in this bed Peter wished he had figured something else out. Wished he hadn't thought sex was the only way out, wished someone along the way had pointed him in a different direction. But before he could fall deeper into his lament there was a soft knock on the door.
Fear lit Peter's body on fire, he didn't want to know who was on the other side. He didn't want to see the person who had done this to him. The door slowly swung open, and Peter promised himself he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. But the first thing Peter saw was a flash of red come through the door. It was Wade, fully dressed in his suit.
"Petey, how are you feeling?" Wade's voice was quiet, and tentative. As if he spoke too loud or too fast Peter might break. Seeing Wade, and hearing his gentle voice made Peter feel such a sudden rush of relief that he burst into tears. He started crying violently, his whole body shaking. Wade panicked, he wasn't the caring nurse type. He killed people for fun, and he didn't handle emotions well. Especially not the emotions of others, especially not the emotions of this beautiful angel who had been burnt so badly.
Wade rushed over to the side of the bed, he didn't touch Peter but he came close enough that if Peter wanted to touch Wade he could. "Peter, baby boy. Listen to me. You're safe, you're in the hotel that we were in last week, and it's Sunday morning."
Peter scrunched up his face, and took in a deep breath. It had only been a single night. He was safe, Wade was here. He couldn't speak, and he didn't have the energy to thank Wade, and there was still so many questions. The last thing he remembered was the gun, and the glass on the table taunting him. He didn't know what was in it, but he couldn't remember anything that had happened.
"Okay Petey, I'll tell you how you got here later, but first we gotta fix you up. I- I didn't want to do anything before. But you don't have any fatal wounds, and I didn't know if you wanted to go to a hospital or not... I personally hate hospitals."
Peter shook his head, the last thing he wanted was to go to the hospital. He would've rather died then have to deal with the bill afterwards. "Okay, can you try and talk?" Peter tried, he tried, but his voice was still a quiet rasp. Wade got up and left, he came back with a glass of water. He helped Peter sit up slightly and fed him the water. It was the best thing Peter had ever tasted, cool, and refreshing, like life was being poured down his burning throat. Wade was slow with Peter, and the room was unbearably quiet. Wade had run out of words. He didn't know what to say to Peter, and the more he looked at the bloody, bruised, stained body of this man who he had come to admire so much the more words evaded him. Wade gave Peter some pain-killers and then asked if he could look at the wounds. Peter nodded, and Wade went about cleaning him up, starting from his face and working all the way down to his thighs. Peter had bruised ribs, two black eyes, a split lip, and he was covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over. He was black and blue and red, and Wade didn't even want to think about the white stains that seemed to be everywhere.
To ease some of the tension in the room Wade took out an old beat up mp3 player, and a small speaker. Peter couldn't help but laugh, the noise he made was more a choked hiccup but the smile on his face made Wade's whole day. Peter couldn't believe the guy had an mp3, it was unbelievably early 2000s of him. The worst part was it wasn't even an iPod, it was a mp3. "Oh my god," Peter rasped out smiling and placing a hand on Wade's shoulder, "you're so old!!"
Wade started laughing, and be pressed play and the speaker started pumping out Elton John's, "I'm still standing" which only made Peter's age comment even more relevant. "I'm not old baby boy. I'm classic," Wade winked which only made the pair laugh even harder.
They sat like that for awhile listening to the music and eventually Peter all bandaged up and with about a 100 grams of pain killers in him fell asleep.
~
"YEaH duhh! Of course I need the whole place sweeped. I don't want any of his DNA at the scene, and I sweAR to the fucking writers that his deoxyribonucleaic acid shit is fucking EVERYWHERE!! GET RID OF IT BOB!!"
Peter woke up to Wade's one sided conversation. He felt a lot better, if not for a slight buzzing in his head. He got up and his feet hit the soft hotel carpet. Every part of his body was in a sort of numb pain, but Peter thought Uncle Ben would've said, "Come on Pete, just walk it off son." So Peter decided he should walk it off, obviously he was sure Uncle Ben hadn't thought the injuries Peter would be walking off would be the product of rape. At least he didn't remember anything that had happened.
Peter supported himself on the wall and slowly walked through the door and into the sitting area where Wade was pacing around on the phone, still fully in his suit. Wade looked over and smiled through his mask and then shut the flip-phone. "Hows ya doing baby boy??" He asked coming over to help Peter to the couch.
Peter smiled at the gesture, "You know I'm starting to feel like the old man now with you being such a great nurse." Wade smiled, "Does this mean I get to wear a sexy nurse outfit?!"
Peter started laughing, Wade was such a weird guy. Who helped a freakin male prostitute this much, without so much as asking for a kiss. In fact Wade had barely touched Peter, and he was glad only because everything hurt, especially the memories.
Wade was looking at Peter, he couldn't believe the guy was still capable of smiling after all the shit he'd been through. Wade thought Peter was the most amazing person in the world, more amazing than the Amazing Spider-man, "Wait is that the right timeline?"
"Huh?"
"Hmm? Oh nothing, just talking to myself."
Peter was the only person who didn't question his scars, one of the only people who didn't think his face was the ugliest thing in the world. The fact that Peter had even seen Wade's face was a miracle within itself.
Then all of a sudden Peter was getting up off the couch, "Anyways Wade, I think I should be getting home... I'll pay you back anyway I can okay? Thanks again."
Wade stood up abruptly, "Wait?! YOU'RE LEAVING???"
Peter had his hand on the doorknob, "It's not like I can stay here... I-"
"I would feel a whole lot better if you stayed until you didn't walk like blind Al. Otherwise I'd have to stalk you again... and it's cold outside."
Peter looked over at Wade and lifted an eyebrow, "You stalked me?"
Wade nodded a yup and Peter shook his head smiling, "Well I'm glad it was you and not some freak."
"Baby boy I think that's the first time I've heard a sentence where the word freak wasn't describing me."
Peter laughed softly, "Maybe a freak in the sheets, but definitely not in the streets."
With that Peter accepted Wade's offer to stay awhile. And so Wade helped Peter to the bathroom so he could finally get a shower.
Peter stood in the brilliant light of the 5-star bathroom, and he couldn't believe what he looked like. There was hand shaped bruises on his throat and his hips. Peter knew exactly why his throat hurt so much, and it wasn't just his throat it was all below his stomach. He was glad that his last customer that night had been his fourth, and that he had been prepped before because otherwise Peter was sure it would've been much much worse.
He wanted to cry just thinking about it, it had happened before of course not this severely, but after awhile they all blurred together, those terrible nights, some of them clearer than others. Peter turned on the heavy water in the shower and curled up in the tub as it came down, comfortably soaking him in warm calming water.
Peter didn't realize it, but he was crying. And the water never turned cold, and Peter never remembered to get out of the shower.
Wade paced back and forth in front of the bathroom door. He had gotten the call back from Bob, who told him the job was done. "Good," Wade thought, those guys deserved so much worse for what they had done to Peter.
Wade let Peter spend two hours in the shower, and after the shower still hadn't turned off he had panicked a little bit. What if he's drowned?!! Wade tapped on the door softly.
Peter jerked his head up, the knock reminding him where he was. He got up, and shut off the shower. Much to Wade's relief. Peter dried himself, his skin dyed a satisfying red color from the steamy water. He put on the clothes that Wade had given him, a warm red sweater and an oversized pair of grey sweats. Wade was about three sizes bigger than Peter, and Peter loved it. The clothes were the most comfortable things he'd worn in awhile. In fact Peter had gotten to wearing the sweater Wade had given him a week before almost all the time.
Peter stepped into the hall where Wade was standing, waiting for him, making sure he was okay. Peter came closer to Wade and wrapped his arms around his neck, bringing him into a tight hug nuzzling into his neck, "Thank you so much Wade."
Wade brought his arms around Peter.They fit together so perfectly, as if this was meant to be more. Of course it couldn't be. Peter was beautiful, and Wade was a burnt potatoe. Even though those nights with Peter had been more than satisfying.
"It was nothing baby boy."
Peter looked up at Wade, wondering how after everything he could say it was nothing. This wasn't Wade's job, this was pure charity, and it wasn't even for a good cause. "No Wade, I'm pretty sure you saved my life... what even happened? I don't remember - I- I was drugged."
They moved back into the bedroom, and Wade sat at the foot and sighed loudly. "Okay Petey, so really weird how this whole shabang went down... so... I called you a bunch of times, and you weren't answering. And- nobody does a job for more than three hours... cause eww. So you weren't answering, so I tracked your phone." Wade went quiet then, and Peter was looking at him with those large doe eyes made smaller by the bruises.
"Wh-what did you do?" Peter asked softly.
Wade wiped a hand over his head, "I found you, and they were-" Wade shook his head, he couldn't say it. What he had seen was something he'd rather forget. "So I shot them all in the legs first, and then- you were still alive, so then I killed them. Shot them so they'd bleed out slowly. Waited till they were all dead, and then I brought you here. I got Bob to MODIFY the scene. The cops won't ever know you were there."
Peter sighed his relief. The last detail set his anxieties to bed. Peter took Wade's hand and pulled him closer, "Who ever thought you'd be my knight in shining leather? I'll pay you back eventually."
Wade moved up the bed and layed down next to Peter, "Whatever helps you sleep at night baby boy."
They layed there on the bed for a long time, comfortably. Wade telling Peter knock, knock jokes, and Peter rebuttling with a few puns until finally Peter started drifting off to sleep. "Hey Wade?" Peter mumbled through half lidded eyes.
"Yeah Petey?"
"Could- could you sleep here? Tonight, if- if you don't mind?"
Wade's heart jumped into his throat. Somewhere in the back of his fucked up brain he knew he had been falling for Peter since the day they first met, and now this was bringing it up to the front. "Yeah, of course," Wade whispered softly and he layed down next to Peter, shedding his boots.
Wade didn't try to get any closer than necessary, but then Peter curled up into him draping an arm across his chest, and falling soundly asleep. Wade sighed contendly, and eventually fell asleep with Peter wrapped around him, and it was the best sleep he had gotten in a very long time.
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The Stories We Write (Four)
TSWW MASTERLIST HERE
**************************
“Stevie.” Bucky reached out with one hand, flailing about until he caught the seam of Steve’s pants as he passed by. “Stevie, who’s Yoolyn?”
“I dunno Buck.” Steve switched directions the second Bucky tugged at him, more than willing to all but collapse into Bucky’s arms, stretching out on top of him and puckering his lips for a kiss. “Who’s Yoolyn?”
“Hi.” Bucky said softly, more than happy to give Steve the kiss he wanted. “But I’m actually asking. Do you know who Yoolyn is? The name keeps coming up in this fic and I dunno who it’s supposed to be.”
“Is it a crossover fic?” Steve peered at Bucky’s tablet curiously. “Sometimes the X Men crossovers can get weird.”
“No it’s a crossover.” Bucky frowned at the screen. “The characters name is Yoolyn.”
“Bucky!” Steve’s eyes widened. “Are you reading— is that a threesome happening?? You and me and Yoolyn? BUCKY!”
“What?” Bucky defended. “It seemed harmless! We’ve talked about threesomes! Can’t hurt to read them right?”
“It certainly can hurt because that’s super weird.” He declared. “It’s weird that you’re reading about us having sex with some stranger. Why the hell—“ Steve cocked an eyebrow. “What does Yoolyn look like?”
“Dark hair and dark eyes and apparently we like their ass.” Bucky confirmed and grinned when Steve suddenly looked interested. “Yeah, I know. Definitely our type and that’s why I wanted to read it. But I gotta say, having the name Yoolyn is throwing me off! Who is that?!”
“Let me see.” Steve scanned the fic for a few seconds. “This right here? Y/L/N?”
“Yeah. Yoolyn.”
“…have you googled it? I feel like Y/L/N isn’t pronounced Yoolyn.”
“Well what else it could be!?” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “And also? I’m a little shy to google after the whole mpreg incident.”
“Understandable. Yikes.” Steve thought for a minute. “Well you could google which character is named Yoolyn? That way we’ll get some context without turning up anything scary?”
“Okay.” Bucky leaned in for another kiss. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I bet it’s an X men.” Steve said confidently. “Yoolyn totally sounds like an X men name.”
*********************
********************
Bucky rolled up a magazine and thwapped Steve on the side of the head as hard as he could, scowling down at his boyfriend as Steve sputtered hot chocolate everywhere.
“Bucky! What the hell?”
“It’s not Yoolyn!” Bucky hissed. “It’s not Yoolyn at all! Yoolyn isn’t a real person! They aren’t an Xmen!”
“Okay, I’m not understanding why you’re so upset right now.” Steve snatched the magazine and tossed it away. “Or why the hell you beaned me with a magazine. What is wrong with you?”
“Do you know what a reader insert is?” Bucky gestured towards his tablet in what could only be consternation. “Do you!?”
“I think it’s fairly obvious that I don’t.”
“Well learn about it!” He dropped his tablet in Steve’s lap and stabbed a finger at the screen. “Read this. Read it.”
“Fine.” Steve cleared his throat and started reading out loud.
“Hi (Y/L/N)” Bucky slapped you on the back as he passed, but it was okay because Steve caught you when you fell.
“The fuck, Barnes.” you scowled.
“What?” he asked.
“I have a first name!” you shouted, crossing slender but strong arms over your bosom, smirking when Bucky’s eyes fell to where your breasts were now straining at your shirt. You might be pissed at him but that didn’t mean you couldn't tease him, right?
“Easy (Y/N).” Steve cut in, his own blue orbs trained on your more than bountiful breasts too. “Bucky don’t mean nothing by it.”
“I sure don’t doll.” Bucky winked charmingly and you went all gooey inside. “Just thought it was more professional to call you by your last name.”
“But we’re sleeping together.” you scowled again, trying to pretend you were still mad. “You can call me something besides (Y/L/N).”
“Well let me make it up to you.” Bucky backed you to the wall and you moaned when his hot stick rubbed into your thigh, an intimate reminder of how he’d taken you so passionately last night, your insides quivering with dewy arousal--
“What in the fuck am I reading?” Steve made a face. “What is this?”
“It’s called a reader insert.” Bucky supplied helpfully. “Apparently Yoolyn? Not Yoolyn. It’s ‘your last name’.”
“My last name?” Blankly, Steve obviously not getting the point.
“Yeah, so you don’t read it like, ‘Hey Yoolyn!’ like I was doing.” Bucky explained, and then added, “You know, like a dumbass? It’s ‘Hey, Barnes’ because Barnes is my last name.”
“Oh.” Steve’s expression cleared. “OH! Reader insert. The writer putting themselves into the story, like they are a part of our every day life.”
“Exactly.”
“And um--” Steve looked back at the fic. “Do all of them have you pushing your hot stick into their thigh or…?”
“I dunno, seems like a lot of them talk about your blue orbs.” Bucky shot back. “And don’t even get me started on dewy arousal.”
“And like, they know we’re gay right? So why does the reader have bosoms?”
“It’s not like we haven’t been with girls, Stevie.” Bucky countered. “I mean, we’re probably more like bisexual than gay, yeah? It’s not that far of a stretch for girls to write stuff about us.”
“Right, right, I know but--”
“And you’re one’ta talk about mentions of bosoms being weird. You got boobies bigger than Tasha, maybe it’s a guy reader who works on his pecs. Guys can have boobs, Steve, it’s the future now. These things happen.”
“Okay first of all.” Steve had to wait for Bucky to stop laughing at his own terrible joke before continuing. “First of all, please don’t call my pecs boobies--”
“Can I call them tiddy knockers?” A wicked smile. “Mebbe you’ll let me thrust wildly between them whilst wearing something scandalous and lacy?”
Steve sent him a look that was just shy of entirely disapproving in a fully Captain America way. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bucky? None of those things are happening.”
“I have been reading a lot of fics today, Stevie.” Bucky sighed. “Lots of them. Reader inserts are fascinating. The way people want to be a part of our lives is sorta… it’s sorta humbling.”
“Humbling.”
“Well yeah. I mean, blue orbs and velvet love stick aside--”
“VELVET WHAT?”
“-- I mean look at this one.” Bucky clicked back through his bookmarks until he found one for Steve to read. “Read this one. It’s a guy reader so no worries about errant bosoms waiting to jump out at you. And they don’t use the Yoolyn format, so it’s easier to get through. Read it.”
Steve grumbled under his breath, but shut up when Bucky budged up behind him on the couch and wrapped thick arms around his waist.
You woke to a light kiss on your nose, a brush of lashes on your cheek that could only be Bucky giving you butterfly kisses as the sun came up.
“You’re dumb.” you mutter and Bucky laughs quietly, the cool metal of his left arm curling tight around your waist to pull you closer. “And you have morning breath.”
“Super soldiers don’t get morning breath, sugar.” he argues, and covers your mouth in a longer kiss just to prove it. “See?”
“Damn it, you’re right.” You’re fighting a smile and Bucky kisses you again. “Super soldiers don’t have morning breath.”
“Don’t lie to him.” A warm, solid body presses up against you from behind, Steve’s voice morning-rough and growly in your ear. “It’s not some side effect of the serum, he snuck out of bed to brush his teeth so he’d be minty fresh.”
“It’s a side effect of the serum that you two are awake at this hour.” You try to hide a yawn in Bucky’s shoulder, but it turns into a shiver when Steve’s lips land on your neck, whisper soft over the dark colored hickey he’d left the night before.
“We’ll let you sleep.” he promises, tongue tracing a line around the shell of your ear. “Just wanted to say good morning.”
“You might let him sleep.” Bucky counters, and the hand resting at your waist falls to slide over your ass. “I fully intend on keeping you awake. Suns up, buns up baby doll.”
“Suns up, buns up!?” You shout with laughter, and Steve rolls away so he isn’t laughing right into your ear. “Bucky, no one says that!”
“I say it.” he argues and pulls you even closer, fitting a thick thigh between your legs and rocking against you purposefully. “Assume the position, sweetheart. Buns up. Let me get at that ass.”
“Oh my god.” Steve is back, pushing his own morning interest into your rear. “Baby, I promise that Bucky is more romantic than this. But when he’s horny…”
“He’s the only one that’s horny, huh?” you push your hips back into Steve playfully, then grind down onto Bucky’s thigh, and both the super soldiers groan in unison. “Well if it’s only Bucky who wants my buns up--”
“Aw, I want to play too.” Steve is mock pouting, and Bucky leans over to plant a solid kiss on his lips, murmuring something that you don’t catch, but that makes Steve laugh anyway.
It's more than a little unbelievable that you’re waking up in bed with Steve and Bucky. Just yesterday morning you had woken up alone, had gotten your coffee alone, had resigned yourself to yet another day pining over the two men you wanted most in the world-- two men that had each other, which meant that they wouldn’t want you.
And yet something had happened during just a regular movie night. A joke that had been a little more meaningful, Steve’s arm over the back of the couch lying just a little heavier on your shoulders, Bucky edging closer and closer as the movie went on. Hands had mixed in the popcorn bowl, a quiet but lewd comment made while you were licking the butter from your fingers, and turning to say something snarky to Steve had ended with your mouths pressed together.
It had happened quickly then, a kiss with Bucky when he turned you his way, Steve running his hands up your back, Bucky feeling up your thigh and wow it had been easy to fell into bed after that.
And now you were terrified that they would want another round for the morning and then disappear back into their own lives, leaving you pining and sad and dreaming of--
“You’re thinking too hard.” Steve interrupts your thoughts by pushing you gently but firmly back into the pillows. “What’s on your mind?”
“Um, nothing.” you lie, and those beautiful blue eyes darken in confusion.
“You’re lying.” he states. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.” Bucky interrupts and you sort of definitely love him for it. “I’ll just have to give you something else to think about, huh?”
A hot mouth landing at your navel startles you, but whatever you were going to say next disappears as Steve covers your mouth in a kiss, a strong hand at your jaw, the other woven into Bucky’s hair and resolutely pushing him down your body until the feel of his tongue makes your vision white out.
They don’t have to know you already love them.
Just sex is fine for now.
“Wow.” Steve leaned his head back against Bucky’s shoulder. “That was-- that was pretty good.”
“Right?” Bucky dropped a kiss onto Steve’s ear. “And sorta sad, right? Like it really seems like they love us but don’t think we’ll love them, so they’re just going to sleep with us and hope that works? It’s sad.”
“It sort of is.” Steve checked the author’s name at the top of the page. “@youknowwhoIam. Is that someone we’ve read before?”
“Nah, I found them because another fic was listed as being inspired by them. They’re good, though, you know?”
“So we add reader inserts to the list of things we read now?”
“Uh maybe only reader inserts with male readers and no Yoolyn?” Bucky offered and Steve grinned up at him.
“What do you have against Yoolyn, Buck? Damn.”
“It’s difficult to read!” Bucky fussed. “Like my whole train of thought derails when I see it! Plus, they use weird words for sex. I feel like male readers don’t do that as much.”
“Yeah, quivering moist walls doesn’t really apply to guys butts, huh?”
“Captain America, the public would be horrified if they knew what a filthy mouth you have.” Bucky flicked Steve’s ear. “Also, never say quivering moist walls ever again, you understand?”
“I’ll say what I want, soldier, don’t you forget I outrank you.”
“Yes sir.”
“God, it’s so hot when you call me sir.”
“Yeah well don’t get used to it.”
“Have you ever actually said ‘suns up, buns up’?”
“Nah, but I gotta say, I’m looking forward to working that particular phrase into my every day conversations for sure.”
*******************
*******************
“Hey, don’t be like that.”
Bucky startled when you reached for his hand, linking your fingers with the silver ones and squeezing lightly.
“Uh hey.” he said lamely. “Sorry, I know we were supposed to leave but--”
“But you don’t want to go to the beach and are only going to make me happy?” You finish, and he flushes a dark red. “Bucky, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“You’ve been asking to go to beach for weeks now.” Bucky smooths his thumb over your bottom lip and you turn enough to kiss his palm. “Let’s just go. I’ll just… I’ll just wear a long sleeve.”
“Don’t.” You shake your head, heart breaking over the anxiety and nervousness in Bucky’s eyes. “Bucky, I think every bit of you is perfect, alright? Even your arm, even the scars, all of you.”
“Baby--”
“I’ve got scars.” you remind him, and his brow furrows at the reminder. “I’ve got shitty scars too, but I’m still going to go and people are probably going to look but I won’t care, you know why?”
“Because I’m scarred worse?” Bucky says bleakly and you cluck your tongue in annoyance.
“No, Bucky-bear. I won’t care because the only person I care about looking at me is you and Steve. And trust me, when you see my new speedo? You will ONLY be looking at me. And maybe Steve because I mean come on, who wouldn't look at that guy?”
Bucky finally smiles a little bit. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Scars are just a reminder that we survived.” you shrug and lean in for a real kiss. “You survived and I survived, and somehow our big blonde idiot has survived everything too. That’s all.”
“Heya, Soldier.” Tony whistled and waved at Bucky and he looked up from the fic with a big smile. “Where’s Big and Blonde?”
“Out running with Sam again.” Bucky put his phone away and patted the couch next to him so Tony would sit. “Sam’s gotten real fast but Steve still feels safe slanging insults and snark as he passes him, so they keep doing it.”
He patted the couch again, raising his eyebrows invitingly and hoping Tony took the hint.
Steve had given him the go ahead to try and flirt with Tony if the right moment came along, providing Bucky didn’t quote fan fiction at the beautiful brunette and that a first kiss didn’t happen without Steve being present.
Steve had the same set of rules, but Bucky had included an extra guideline of no wrestling style flirting since Steve was in charge of the team's fitness regime and definitely wasn’t above trying to get handsy during a workout.
Steve wouldn’t use a headlock as foreplay and Bucky wouldn’t quote fan fiction and hopefully Tony would fall sway to their charms.
“You look tired.” Bucky explained when Tony only looked at him in confusion. “Come sit down, take a load off. I’m comfier than I look, I promise.”
“Comfier than you look.” Tony repeated, and maybe Bucky was reading too much into it, but the smile Tony gave him looked a little bit nervous and a whole lot excited. “Yeah?”
“Come here.” Bucky motioned for him again, and Tony managed a chuckle as he fell back onto the cushions.
“One of these days Sam’s gonna bring a dart gun and tranq Steve’s All American ass if he doesn’t let up.” He said confidently, and Bucky didn’t comment on the wobble in his voice. “Steve’s gonna wake up chained to a tree while Sam runs laps around him screaming on your left or something.”
“Aw I hope I’m there to take a picture.” Tony burst out laughing then, and Bucky smiled as he listened. Damn Tony had a great laugh. “Or at least there to watch Steve panic for a second before he remembers he can break out of handcuffs.”
“Hmm, Steve breaking out of handcuffs.” Tony sounded interested and Bucky’s eyebrows rose. “So tell me, if Spangles and Sammy are out running, what are you doing? I’ve seen you on your phone more in the last few weeks than I ever have. Find anything good?”
“Um--” Bucky coughed loudly. “I uh-- reading. Did you know there’s books online? Just blew my mind, whew. All them books. Right there online. Amazing.”
“Oh you downloaded the Kindle app?” Tony’s eyes widened the tiniest bit when Bucky put his arm along the back of the couch. “Yeah, that’s good stuff. I can get you an e-reader if you want? Who’s your favorite author? Or do you have a favorite genre? I can recommend a few things.”
“I don’t… have one?” Bucky hedged, and curled his fingers just a little bit to encourage Tony closer. “I’ve mostly been reading independent authors. Self published books, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, good for you.” Tony leaned in, then leaned in a little closer, and Bucky blew out a quiet sigh of relief when Tony was finally tucked under his arm, pressed right up against his body. “Um, independent authors definitely need support. Most mainstream literature is all the same, the independent or self published authors have some really great work though.”
“Yeah, I’ve read some pretty great things.” Bucky agreed, and tried to discreetly sniff at Tony’s head. All the fan fics talked about smelling someone’s hair and damn they were right. Tony smelled like something woodsy and maybe pine and--
“Are you smelling my hair?” Tony started to sit up, and Bucky hushed him quickly, pulling him back down.
“Uh nope, not ever. Definitely not doing that, because that’s ridiculous.” Bucky was glad Tony couldn’t see his bright red face. “Why are you so tired, honey?”
“Uh--” Tony tensed for a second and Bucky held his breath, hoping Tony wouldn’t pull away just because he’d been a dumbass and called him honey. “I’ve been in the lab working on a new suit.” he finally finished, relaxing back into Bucky’s hold. “Being picky about it, probably but I’m the one that has to fly it so it’s gotta be perfect right?”
“Oh sure thing, definitely has to be perfect. Makes sense to me.” Bucky lay a very careful hand at Tony’s back, and when the genius only sighed and budged closer, he started running his fingers up and down, over and around, drawing nonsensical patterns until Tony’s breathing started to slow down.
“You are comfier than you look.” The words were muffled into Bucky’s shoulder, Tony’s arm winding carefully around his waist. “This okay?”
“Sure thing, sweet thing.” Bucky whispered and held Tony just a little bit tighter. “Sure thing.”
********************
********************
Steve found them almost an hour later and his eyes widened when he saw Tony snoring quietly, curled tight into Bucky’s side. “Um… what?”
“He was tired.” Bucky knew his smile was a little goofy. “So he’s napping on me.”
“I want to sit too.” Steve kicked his shoes off and sat himself on the other end of the couch, lifting Tony’s feet into his lap. “How long has he been asleep?”
“I dunno, forty five minutes?”
“Lucky.”
“Tell me about it.”
Tony stirred then, blinking up at Bucky in sleepy confusion, then down at Steve with something like alarm. “What’s going on?”
“You’re napping.” Steve said calmly. “And I just got here so me and Bucky were talking. Go back to sleep, Tony. We aren’t going anywhere.”
“I’ll just go sleep upstairs.” Tony pulled his feet from Steve’s lap with an embarrassed smile and got to his feet stiffly. “Sorry for sleeping so long on you, Bucky bear. See you guys a little bit later.”
“No, Tony it's--”
“You don’t have to--”
“Really it’s totally--”
“Tony, wait--”
The elevator to the penthouse chimed and then whooshed as it went up to the top floor and Steve winced apologetically. “Sorry about that Buck. Didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Bucky scooted over until he could kiss Steve hello. “Small steps, right? It was super sweet that he fell asleep on me, he’ll get used to us.”
Distracted by thoughts of Tony, and then by some hands on time with Steve, it wasn’t until they were in bed that night that Bucky realized Tony had called him Bucky Bear.
“Stevie.” he whispered into the dark. “You awake?”
“No.”
“Okay good.” He flipped on a lamp, and Steve muttered a curse as he hid beneath a pillow. “Stevie, has Tony ever called me Bucky Bear?”
“Not that I can remember, but probably.” Steve groaned over the light. “He’s got nicknames for everyone, you know? He’s got at least a dozen that revolve around Patriotism just for me, I’m sure he’s got a few for you.”
“Right.” Bucky nodded slowly. “I’m sure that's all it is. A nickname. Right.”
“Right. Now turn the fucking lamp off so I can go to sleep.”
************************
************************
“I’ve got you.” Steve’s breath is hot in your ear and it seems like such a simple thing, but you’re so overwhelmed that it still makes you shiver. “Ah, baby, I’ve got you.”
He’s strong and solid at your back, holding you securely on his lap and against his chest even as Bucky spreads your legs further open, hooking your thighs over Steve’s knees so he can see all of you.
“Fuck.” You whimper, and Steve’s teeth close over your ear lobe, tugging lightly to distract you from the way Bucky is just staring at you.
“Look how smooth you are.” he whispers. “You’re so pretty for me, sweet thing, holy shit.”
If you had a drop of blood left anywhere above your waist, you’d blush at such blatant perusal, but you’d spent an entire day getting ready for this, shaving and trimming and waxing until you were clean and smooth and ready for Bucky to do-- to do this.
“I can’t wait to taste you.” he rumbles and when a thick finger presses experimentally at your entrance, you nearly come off Steve’s lap.
“I’ve got you.” Steve is hard against your lower back, his cock thick and heavy where it presses into you, but his hands are gentle, loving as they smooth up your stomach to your chest, teasing and plucking at your nipples, moving back down to your hips to hold you still. “I’ve got you baby, relax, relax.”
You’re stiff, fighting for breath, for some shred of sanity as Bucky buries his nose in your thigh and breaths in deep.
“Hey hey.” Steve is still talking to you. “Baby, breathe out and relax. I’m strong enough to hold you, strong enough to keep you together.”
“Oh.” you breath out shakily and make a concentrated effort to settle down, letting your body go pliant in his arms. “I--I--”
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweet thing.” Bucky promises, and his tongue flicks out against your rim, a low moan when he tastes you. “Want you coming apart for me, want you screaming my name, and coming all over Stevie and--”
“Fuck.” Steve grinds up into you, his cock leaking and throbbing, burning a line into your skin. “Fuck that’s so hot. Can’t wait to see you come, baby. Gonna be so pretty.”
“Ready?” Bucky’s smile is wicked and knowing, but you know he wouldn’t even touch you without permission, so you gather your scattered thoughts for long enough to nod.
“Thank you.” he leans up and kisses you hungrily. “I love you.”
“We love you.” Steve corrects, and you laugh a little when Steve shoves Bucky’s head back down. “Now get busy.”
“Stevie.” Bucky hissed in his ear and Steve jumped. “You are definitely NSFW right now, take care of that before Tony comes in to watch a movie with us or things are going to get awkward.”
“Yikes.” Steve crossed his legs in embarrassment when he realized his situation was showing in his pajama pants. “Sorry. Got distracted reading.”
“Stop reading smut on movie night!” Bucky scolded. “For fucks sake, Steve have some self respect.”
Later, as Tony was snuggled between the both of them, knees touching theirs, teasing them in turn, Steve pulled out his phone and fired off a quick text.
To Bucky: Babe. Do you call Tony sweet thing?
From Bucky: Ummmm I did the other day when he fell asleep on me, why?
From Steve: No reason. Just curious.
From Bucky: Fan fiction is making you weird
From Steve: You’re one to talk. I heard you trying to growl the other day because the fan fics say it's sexy
From Bucky: Touche
************************
************************
“Please take the serum.” Steve’s hands are shaking as he holds yours, pressing the bottle against your palm. “Sweetheart, please. Please take the serum. There is no reason why you have to go through this.”
“I don’t want to take it.” You think you sound strong, but a tear tracks down Steve’s cheek and you know you didn’t sound as strong as you meant to. “I’ve lived my life, Steve. Lived it and loved it and I don’t need more.”
“That’s not fair!” Steve shouts and Bucky curses at him when you jump. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry but that’s not fair.” he shakes his head, gathers you closer. “Why should we say good bye when we don’t have to? That’s not fair to you and it’s not-- it’s not fair to us.”
His voice cracks then, and Bucky pulls him away, holding him in an unbreakable hug, whispering into his ear.
You feel guilty. Heartbroken of course, but more than that you feel guilty. You know you should take the serum, know that it would erase the sickness from your body and probably add another fifty years to your life and god do you want another fifty years with your husbands but--
“It might not even work.” you say quietly and it comes out like a sob. “I’m probably too weak to handle the serum and then it would do more harm than good to me. And even if it does work, I wouldn’t be young or fit or any of those things. You two would be as gorgeous as you always are, and I’d still be pushing sixty. You keep saying you want to grow old with me, but Steve it would just be me growing old. I don’t want that.”
“You’re being selfish.” he snaps and you flinch away from the anger in his voice.
“It’s his choice.” Bucky cuts in and you look up in surprise when you realize he is crying too. “It’s your choice.” he says to you this time, still holding onto Steve so he won’t break away. “I know you think the serum will kill you, will rip you apart. I know ya do, baby. I know you’re scared it will ruin you.”
Terrified, you think, but you don’t tell him that.
“And I know you’d rather go this way, than taken away sooner because of a bad reaction.” He continues and Steve makes a sound like his very soul is tearing. “I know you’re not being selfish, sugar but-- but--”
“But you think it’s the wrong choice.” you say, and Bucky doesn’t agree, but you know it’s what he’s thinking.
“Why don’t you just try it?” He is begging now, Bucky who has never begged for anything, who is usually content to let Steve be the emotional one. “Just try it, babe. Just a half dose, see what it does.”
“What if it ruins me?” you argue weakly.
“But what if it saves you?” Steve argues back. “What if it saves you and we don’t have to say goodbye for decades?”
Bucky lets him go and Steve stumbles to you, falls to his knees and puts his arms around your waist.
“Please.” he whispers. “Please don’t make me say good bye to you yet.”
“Stevie?” Bucky dropped his jacket and dove onto the bed, sliding right into full panic mode because Steve was crying on the bed, holding onto a pillow and gasping for breath through a sob and Bucky was panicking. “Babydoll what’s wrong? What’s wrong? Do you hurt? Are you sick? Did your cough come back? Is it your heart? Your lungs? The diabetes? What is it?”
“Bucky.” Steve sniffed loudly and scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. “I haven’t even had a cold since before the war, its certainly not diabetes, I’m not hurting.” He paused, then his face crumpled. “Not physically anyway!”
“Well for fucks sake what’s wrong?” Bucky bellowed, grappling at Steve until the big blonde landed in his lap. “How come I gotta walk into th’ bedroom and you’re cryin?”
“Ireadafic.” Steve mumbled and after a few seconds to interpret the rushed together words, Bucky’s expression cleared in realization, then reclouded in annoyance.
“A fuckin’ fanfic is making you bawl like this? WHY?”
“This writer!” Steve felt around for his tablet. “Whoever this @youknowwhoiam is? They wrote a soulmate fic where they’re in love with us and we’re in love with them and we’re all soulmates? But since we’re super soldiers and don’t really age…”
���We stayed young and they got old and sick and died.” Bucky finished and Steve nodded miserably. “C’mon Stevie, you know ya can’t read fics like that. You remember what happened when you read that one where they cough up flowers because of unrequited love or whatever? You were a mess!”
“I need to tell them I cried over this fic.” Steve blew his nose loudly. “I need an account so I can comment.”
“No one needs to know you’re crying over fanfic.” Bucky said firmly. “Comment anonymously cos I swear to Christ if you comment as Captain America I’ll break up with you.”
“Yeah, I probably deserve that.” He wiped at his eyes. “I just-- I feel like this author knows us, Bucky. They way they write? They get your sass and my emotions and I just--” he made a vague motion. “I dunno. Is it weird to feel like I know them?”
“Maybe a little bit.” Bucky acknowledged. “But you’re right, they write us a lot clearer than anyone else I’ve read. I’ve pretty much stopped reading anyone else.”
“I’m going to message them.” Steve decided. “Anonymously, but I’m still going to say something. This is beautiful writing and deserves a message.”
“You’re ridiculous and I love you.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but kissed Steve anyway. “Don’t come across as a crazy stalker when you write the message alright? And limit the keyboard smashes.”
“I don’t keyboard smash.”
“Aw, sure you don’t honey.”
**********************
**********************
There is mistletoe hanging above the door to the elevator and you smile when Steve and Bucky walk through it and promptly kiss.
Sure, maybe you feel a little weird watching them kiss, but they are both so beautiful, and so obviously in love and just so perfect that you can’t look away.
Steve is wearing a dark green sweater, ribbed and fitted and hugging that body in a way that makes you blush, but that’s alright because you can blame it on the eggnog.
Bucky is in a sweater of the same design, but his is red and his pale eyes seem to glow, his hair pulled back in a messy bun with jingle bells woven through it.
They are hilarious and goofy and this is the first Christmas they’ve spent together since the forties, so you don’t want to intrude on the moment.
You’ve wanted to kiss them forever, and sometimes you think that maybe they want to kiss you too. Sometimes Steve says your name in a certain tone that makes your knees weak and sometimes Bucky smiles and you want to melt, but they’ve never made a move and honestly, why would they want you when they have each other?
So you stand in the background and watch and try to pretend like seeing them together makes you happy, instead of sort of breaking your heart.
But then--
“Come here!” Steve calls for you, holding his hand out. “There’s mistletoe which means you should get a kiss too, huh?”
“Come on, sweet thing.” Bucky holds his hand out for you too. “Been trying to find a reason to kiss you, mistletoe seems like a good one, yeah?”
You blush bright red, but they don’t leave you alone, pulling you out of the shadows and underneath the mistle toe where first Steve and then Bucky tip your head up and kiss you soft and slow.
It’s your first kiss, but god you hope it’s not your last.
“STEVIE!” Bucky bolted off the bed and went charging down the stairs, shouting for Steve as he went. “STEVIE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”
“Oh my god!” Clint shrieked as Bucky tore past him, his plate of nachos slipping from his hands and splatting on the floor. “Frosty! Damn it!”
“Holy--” Sam flattened himself to a wall when Bucky nearly ran him over. “Slow the fuck down! Where’s the fire?!”
“Stevie Stevie Stevie!” The door to the gym about came off its hinges when Bucky burst through it, and Steve stopped right in the middle of working a punching bag.
“Bucky. Everything alright?”
“I know who he is.” Bucky gasped out. “I know who--” he held up his tablet. “I know who he is.”
“You know who he is?” Steve pulled off his gloves and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Babe what are you talking about?”
Bucky handed over the fic and Steve read through it as fast as he could.
“What the hell is this?” he frowned. “Bucky, this actually happened. Our first Christmas since the war. We bought matching sweaters and kissed under every single piece of mistletoe Tony put up in the Tower. Everything about this is true right up until we kiss the Reader too. What the hell is--”
His eyes widened and Bucky started nodding. “Oh my god, is this--”
“Yes! Yes, Stevie, it's--”
“Someone’s stalking us!” Steve yelped. “Oh my god, they’re stalking us! How else would they know exactly what happened? They must have access to the Tower’s camera’s and use the footage to write self insert fics OH MY GOD.”
“What?” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “No, no you idiot. Fuckin hell, it’s a good thing you’re hot because sometimes you’re sure dumb. It’s not a stalker.”
“Well if it’s not a stalker then who?” Steve thought for a minute. “Oh wait. Wait. Not a stalker so someone in the Tower?”
“Uh-huh.” Bucky made an impatient motion. “Which means---”
“Which means it’s someone in the Tower that likes us, someone that is there all the time.”
“Yes yes yes, get there faster PLEASE!”
“It’s got to be Tony.” Steve said confidently. “He was the one there for this kiss, I remember it perfectly. And he’s got the dark hair and dark eyes. He likes to nap on us and is super smart just like the reader.”
“Right.” Bucky made his eyes very round. “Which means---?”
“It’s Tony.” The enormity of it all hit Steve like a ton of bricks. “Bucky. It’s Tony.”
“Tony’s been writing fan fiction about us.”
“About the three of us being together.”
“About us falling in love and growing old together.”
“About us being happy.”
“And whole.”
“Together.”
“It’s Tony.” Bucky said again, and his hand was shaking as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Tony’s in love with us.”
****************************
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(in case tumblr ate it again) wakatoshikun finding cute little notes and tiny snacks and gifts from reader addressed to him on his desk and shoe locker and everywhere he goes and getting really flustered?
Sorry for taking so long to respond, and thank you for sending this in! I’ve been wanting to write for Wakatoshi for a while now, and I finally have a chance to do it!
The letter flew out of this locker as soon as he had wrenched it open. Twirling through the air, gracefully descending to the ground. After a few seconds of it dancing in front of him, it made a soft landing. Just on top of his shoe, sliding off of it and onto the panelled floors below.
Wakatoshi, after a few moment’s hesitation, picked up the piece of paper. Looking upon it curiously, focusing on the heart sticker that was used to seal it shut. Was this supposed to be a love letter? Probably not, he doubted anyone would be able to like the most feared student on Ikemen Academy’s campus. Then, if not that, then what the hell was it supposed to be?
He worked his fingernail under the flap, tearing it open. There sat a sticky note that was much too small to fill up the entirety of the space inside. Now he knew it wasn’t a letter which talked about someone’s undying love for him. Even though he knew it wasn’t going to be one, he still had some lingering disappointment inside.
He gingerly took it out, and began to read it. The handwriting looked rushed, barely even legible, as if the writer had to hurry while making this. But, he still somehow managed to read it, no matter how terrible the font was.
‘Are you sure you aren’t lost? Because this school is far away from heaven ;)’
He wanted to stop reading then and there. But, for the sake of satisfying his curiousity, he continued reading.
‘Sorry for that. Anyways, you haven’t met me, but I just think you’re pretty neat! I don’t get why so many people try to beat you up. I hope the rest of your day goes great, and you get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, there’ll be a special surprise on your desk from me! Hopefully, none of your classmates steal it before you get to it. So make sure to get there fast!
- From, a special someone’
That was where the letter ended, leaving him to wonder about who this special someone was. Was it one of his classmates, or an underclassman he had never noticed before? But, the words in the letter were just so unbelievably sweet. Unlike the empty threats he received from punks who picked fights with him, reprimands he received for his behaviour, nor the forced kindness when someone, who was so obviously scared of him, talked to him.
He remembered the ‘surprise’ they had mentioned in the letter, and anticipation bubbled up inside of him. He began to look forward to the next day, and he just couldn’t wait for the hours to pass. But, maybe this was a prank, a trick to bring his hopes up. God, he hoped that wasn’t it.
But, when the morning came, and he was the first to enter the classroom. He saw something, sitting in the center of his desk. Just waiting for him to go and pick it up. So, he bolted over to it as if his life depended on it, and swept it into his hand. Where another sticky note was placed on top of the gift.
‘Good morning! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I don’t really ever see you grabbing a bite in the morning. I know this isn’t the best thing ever, but it was all I had time for! I’ll grab you something better next time, I promise!
- From, a special someone’
Peeling back the note, he saw that it was just a simple pack of melon bread. And he could feel his heart warm up, and he had the sudden overwhelming urge to protect the sender of the letter with his very life. But, internally, there was a lingering doubt that there would ever be a next time. This was just a one time thing, where someone had pitied him so much that they had to give him something nice before they took it away from him.
Then it happened again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
After a while of being showered in gifts, snacks, and sticky notes filled with the sweetest words he had ever read, he realized that this wouldn’t stop. How could someone be this kind? To go out of their way to buy some food at the convenience store for him, taking time out of their day to write such delightful letters, even buying full on gifts for him. Bandages decorated with cartoon characters- they even managed to get ahold of the limited edition Pyo-kun ones- and even mini stuffed animals.
All of this, and he didn’t even know their name. He’d probably never seen their face, unless they were someone he knew, and they were just that damn good at hiding their identity. Maybe it was someone who never stood out to him in the crowds at school. He was just dying to know who it was, so he could thank them repeatedly for all they did for him.
That’s why he took things into his own hands, and trespassed into his classroom to pull an all-nighter. Which, believe it or not, wasn’t the worst thing he had done within the three years he had attended the academy. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be scared off when they entered the classroom and saw him looking like a hot mess from a horror movie.
The hours of the night drifted by, with him struggling to stay awake with every passing second. It was like there was lead inside his skull and it was pulling him down, tempting him to just flop on the floor, and fall asleep. But, if he did that, then the point of coming here in the first place would be defeated.
Just when he was on the verge of slipping into unconciousness, yawn after yawn escaping his mouth, he heard the door to the class slide open. He turned his head to the side, scrambling up from the floor, and trying to face the intruder properly. With a sheet of drowsiness slipping over his mind, he was barely able to hold himself up. But he managed, his eyes focusing on the person frozen in front of him.
And he saw you, gazing at him in shock with your mouth agape. In your hands was a full bento box, the meal you had planned for him on that day. While you stared at him with an expression of utmost shock.
Sleepily, he began to speak. “So, uhm.. You’re the one that’s behind all this.” His words were quiet, just barely above a whisper, and they were slowed. What else would you expect from someone who was running on just a few hours of sleep? After a moment’s silence on your end, he hoped that he wasn’t scaring you. Was he glaring at you, something about the way he looked? He really didn’t want to make the person who had been spoiling him run away.
You shifted your position, straightening yourself out. “Yep, that’s me!” You affirmed with a bright smile and a nod. “Sorry for hiding from you for so long, I kind of chickened out. I wanted to meet you, I really did! But I just couldn’t find enough courage to..”
You trailed off, looking to the side to avoid his gaze. He would have considered himself blessed if he got to meet you sooner, but thank heavens he got to do it now. Boy, you were even cuter than how you made yourself seem in the notes.
“A-Anyways! You’re here now, and I’m here too! So I guess I should give you the proper greeting you’ve been waiting for all this time.” You laughed awkwardly, scratching your cheek. Before holding out you hand for him to shake. “Hi! My name is {Y/N} {L/N}! The stranger, well not so much of a stranger anymore, who was sending you all these things all this time! Nice to finally meet you, Wakatoshi-senpai!”
A blush ran across his face, and he prayed that you wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. He took your hand, a shaky smile creeping up onto his face. He held onto it a bit longer than expected, but let go once he saw how long he had been holding your hand for. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. How did you talk to the person who had been pampering you with presents for months now? It was a hard question to answer.
“Ah- Um!” He spluttered out, trying to start some kind of conversation. “W-Well, ya give me no choice. How can I repay you? Can I buy you something, t-take you out somewhere? Or should I pull the same shtick as you and give you notes n’gifts in return? I r-really don’t know what to say, nobody’s really done this kind of thing for me before so..”
You hummed in reply, shaking your head at his suggestions. “Silly, you don’t have to give me anything in return! I just felt like it! And, you deserve a break from all the fights you get into. Unlike the punches people throw at you, it doesn’t hurt to receive something nice, and it doesn’t hurt me to give them to you!”
He choked on nothing, just too flustered by your words. He swore that this was all a dream, he probably just fell asleep, and you were just someone his mind thought up of. Just to make sure, he pinched his wrist. Biting his lip when he actually felt pain from it. That confirmed this was reality. It just felt like a dream.
“N-No, there’s gotta be somethin’ I can do for ya! I can’t just walk away from this and ignore all you’ve done!” He protested.
You blinked at his offer, tapping your index finger to your chin. “Why don’t we share this bento box I made! I mean, there’s only one pair of chopsticks, but..” You twirled the wooden utensils in your hand.
“That’s it? I don’t mind doin’t that.” He said, sitting down in one of the desks backwards, his chest leaning against the back of the chair. “Come on, let’s eat before class starts. Sensei will lose his mind if he sees us.”
With that, you practically skipped over to the desk, sitting directly across from him. Opening the box and feeding him the first bite, beaming all the while Wakatoshi tried to avert his gaze. Attempting to hide his obvious blush from you.
Kyouya sensei wasn’t all too mad when he caught you two in his classroom, fast asleep, and together in your own little world.
#notice me senpai game#skillshot labs#NMS#notice me senpai imagines#notice me senpai#notice me senpai x reader#delinquent senpai#delinquent senpai x reader#wakatoshi senpai#wakatoshi senpai x reader#nms x reader#psa i still dont know how tags work lmao#help im writing this at 2 am and i am barely functioning
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AWOMOD: I’m Impressed (Ch 7)
Characters: Loki x OC (Ashira)
Warnings: blood, stabbing, boredom induced fighting
Locations: Her ship
Word Count: 3000+
Summary: Loki figures things out; Ashira is restless.
A/N: There are probably still like a thousand mistakes in this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also, all the fighting is like super, super quick and only within the span of a few minutes. Also, as fanfic writer I’m entitled to do whatever the fuck I want and you can’t stop me.
AWOMD master
Previous
__
The following morning, they leave again with a new set of respect and trust. Instead of messing around with weapons, Ashira decided to stay in the pilot’s seat, mindlessly fidgeting with a dagger as she stared out to the stars. This gave Loki time to rack his brain for everything he knew of Greek mythology.
“Athena,” Loki declares after five hours.
Loki’s voice causes Ashira to jump from her seat. The pure white dagger clatters to the ground, droplets of blood with it after knocking her thumb. Her right hand flies to grasp her chest, her left lifting to her lips to stop the bleeding.
“Do not scare me like that, oh my god.” Ashira exhales loudly. “I could have just sent us anywhere, fuck.”
“Athena,” Loki claims again, coming to stand in front of Ashira. “If she is Selene and translations are messy, Athena. Or Artemis.”
Ashira laughs at his far too focused face. “Surprised? Athena is not a tall, glorious warrior yet instead is a short, kind of chubby runaway.”
“I mean Norse mythology claims I gave birth to Odin’s horse... so I know things get sloppy.”
Ashira blinks a few times to try and adjust her reality, ensuring what he just said is real. Rumors and stories always have a drop of truth to them and thinking he gave birth to a horse is not something you just make up out of thin air.
“I don’t even want to know why they would think that.”
Loki shrugs with a smile before it fades just as quickly as it happened, a suddenly confused twist to his features. “Then why are you so weary of magic? Wasn’t Hecate like the Goddess of Magic."
“Her name is Helene, Selene’s younger sister.” Ashira leans her head back. “And no, not really. She was just a major drama queen, like her sister.”
“So then why is Greek mythology so full of mysticism and magic?”
Ashira raises a brow as if it is so obvious. “It’s called high tech science that humans weren’t able to make sense of.”
“I have a hard time believing that.” Loki slips into the co-pilot seat. “There is amazing technology on Asgard and we still use and practice magic.”
“That’s fine with me.” Her head tilts back upright. “You’ll see.” A mildly evil grin appears on her face. “You’ll see.”
—
And he does see, three days later.
They landed on a planet Loki has already forgotten the name of about four miles outside of the closest village (forget city) yesterday. Today Loki is sitting beneath one of the trees in the prairie while Ashira sorts through her weapons. While he much rather be inside where it is cooler, after he witnessed her grabbing a a live bomb seconds before it touched the ground and detonated, he decided to hang outside.
Surprisingly enough, he isn’t in the mood to die, especially by the hands of stupidity on her part.
So he doesn’t think of anything of the sounds of her walking around the opening in the field as she has already done so several times to layout various equipment.
Ashira then towers in front of him, the bit of sun he was using to read blocked by the secondary shadow.
“Here.” A pure black dagger falls on top of Loki’s book.
It’s entirely matte and unbelievably smooth everywhere but a few spots along the handle where there is clearly texture added to help the grip.
“What’s this?” He asks.
“A dagger,” she replies slowly. “I assumed you knew.”
Loki scowls. “Of course I did. Why did you give it to me?”
She shrugs. “I’m bored.”
“So you’d like me to kill you?” Loki questions, mildly concerned about her phrasing.
“I want you to fight me.”
Loki finally looks up from his novel to the person blocking his sunlight. Ashira is standing above him, right arm across her body so both hands can rest on her jutted left hip, yet another different outfit donning her body. This one is unusual however: it is simply very short shorts and a tight half-length top without sleeves, both in the same deep royal blue as the items he has identified were likely either standard issue or part of a uniform from her home world. Her hair is braided back into a ponytail for once instead of its normal partly down or entirely braided state.
And gosh, it’s long even when tied up.
How fast does her hair grow?
“You want me to fight you?”
“I’m bored and haven’t gotten in any real fights recently and you’ve done sparring before so why not?”
Loki shrugs. “I must ask before we begin: the outfit, standard training wear from your home?”
Ashira looks down at her clothes, even picking up her right foot to observe her specialized ankle height shoes.
“Only worn for running and weightlifting, not for this kind of training but it’s hot and my armor is buried deep among other stuff.”
“You still have your armor?”
“Of course. I still have everything. It was my ship I took to get off Hala.”
Loki’s brows furrow. “Wait you escaped Hala? I thought you escaped your home?”
Ashira’s eyes narrow as her face twists at his stupidity. “Has all the chatter on the radio talking about also trying to attack the Kree been erased from your mind or are you just stupid?”
“I just don’t get why you would be there.”
“They have bodies to spare to test powers and also it was decided I would be better suited in their facilities while things were figured out.” Ashira shrugs, ignoring the annoying tiny nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her that they promised to be honest with each other. “Until of course it was no longer about testing and more about training. Their little experiment program, Inhumans, was then a good source of bodies. Powered enough to face off, not powered enough to actually hurt me.”
Loki nods. “So they kept you there.”
“So they kept me there.”
Loki looks down at the dagger, twisting it between his hands. “Alright, I’ll fight.”
“But no magic and I won’t accidentally disintegrate myself, deal?”
“Can I at least have more than one dagger?”
“Summon it now.”
Loki summons a second dagger, changing it to match the one Ashira gave him. He admits this all black look is nice. He stands and carefully leaves the book by the tree.
“And exactly what will you be fighting with?”
“If I need anything, I can grab it,” Ashira smiles. “I’ll be fine.”
“Alright. But I have to ask you something that has been bothering me now that you are basically baring yourself to me, what’s with all the scars? Do you normally hide them with cosmetics or something?” Loki asks, twirling around the daggers.
“Cosmetics?” Ashira chuckles. “No, a biomorphic nanomask that I just stick to my skin and it smooths it over.”
Loki has never seen anything like that before. “Alright, then why are there so many deep ones with such hacked edges? That’s not torture or surgery.”
“Well I couldn’t just walk out of there.” Ashira walks closer to him as he stays against the tree. “Had to rid of stuff implanted in me since a few days after my birth. Right wrist tracker, left wrist biomonitor, and near my tailbone was what we called a carousel. Needed any medication? It was fed through there.” She steps closer yet again. Loki presses himself further against the tree to the point where he feels the bark pressing into his skin. “Left upper arm is where they put this disk thing that confined me to the facility I was being held at before I escaped and oh, my neck.” She forces him to stay against the tree, tilting her head to the left to exposing the jagged scar. “Here on my neck is the lovely place where I started my hack job. Whatever bar implant thing they put here was keeping me mostly subdued and basically enslaved.”
“That does sound like a pain,” Loki replies. He’s grinning.
Ashira doesn’t reply. She knows he is going to attempt to attack her, likely by her arms. So while he thinks she is still focused on the scars littering her body, she really is thinking of the best spots to hit him.
His right leg swings between her legs and hooks around her right knee. While he expects her to fall, she instead throws herself backwards into a handstand, Loki losing his balance as she does so. She stays upside down and turns herself to face him.
He’s growling now, body bent over awkwardly from falling. Without a though he flings the dagger in his left hand directly towards her.
It’s flying towards her right side so she lifts her right arm up and tilts her whole body to the right. Just as the dagger tip flies past her she reaches out and grabs the handle.
Now upright, Loki is not any happier with her.
He lunges towards her. She doges by twisting her upper body away. Her hand switches the grip of the dagger and moves it so that the blunt end lands between the tendons in his right wrist.
He involuntarily releases the dagger and she grasps it in her left hand.
And as he pulls away she knees his stomach yet again. The prince falls back into the tree with each dagger crossed over his neck.
“I’m impressed.” He throws his arms up in defeat.
Ashira smirks. She tosses the daggers to the side, standing and walking from Loki. As she walks away, Loki takes a moment to stand, honestly impressed with fighting style and technique. And he cannot help but watch her walk away. He catches sight of white along her spine and looks closer. A tattoo, it appears, of some form. A combination of swirling organic shapes and perfectly geometric cubes from what he can tell, even though he can only see half.
“Wait, you have a tattoo?”
Ashira looks back over her shoulder to him. “You never noticed?”
“No…” Loki huffs. “No I haven’t.”
“Besides when we go out I don’t try to cover… though I guess my hair does a pretty good job at that.” She glances down her spine where only the bottom half of it is visible.
“So your tattoo, what does it symbolize?”
“Well do they symbolize things back home on Asgard?”
“Not typically. Decoration only sort of thing, though sometimes people will get family crests.”
Ashira nods once before moving her hair from her neck. “Well the spinal tattoo is basically the history of a person on Ares. It begins on the neck with their birth rank which is why I have such a bizarre pattern near my hairline and then goes down from there: battles, kill count, awards, discoveries. Those weird swirls? Got those for making new technology.”
“And all those tiny little dots?”
“Kill count.“
While he cannot count every single one (mostly due to the nature of her shirt) there are easily thousands of little white dots totaling somewhere near 6,000 that he can see, forget the ones he can’t.
Ashira chuckles at his slightly agape mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened.”
He looks back to her face. “Curious.”
“Good.” Ashira turns back to face him. “Again?”
“I’ll beat you this time.”
“No you won’t.”
He summons the daggers into his hands again.
They both go charging at each other, this time Ashira jumping over him and grabbing a branch easily. Loki spins to slash at her but she just lifts her legs up with the rest of her body as he goes charging back towards the tree.
He spins around again. Before he can get far, however, Ashira drops her legs down, thighs wrapping tightly around his neck, ankles crossing. She releases the branch and throws her torso towards the ground. Her hands touch the grass just as Loki grips her calves with the knives tucked in his thumbs. His fingers press into the underside of her knees to attempt to force her legs to move, but she just yanks him forward as her hands finally touch the ground.
Loki skids forward and catching himself right before he lands face first. He looks up to see Ashira coming down from a handstand perfectly.
She grins at his nearly fallen form.
Then he charges at her with his daggers ready. His right hand swings out to swipe at her but she simply ducks, grabbing his left arm and pinching between the tendons on his forearm and he involuntarily drops the dagger.
Now they stand opposite to their previous stances, his left dagger now in Ashira’s left hand.
“Ready?” Ashira teases.
“For what?”
No words are said as she charges at him. He ducks to avoid her and possibly catch her with his dagger only for her to jump up again suddenly. Before Loki even knows what’s happening the dagger lands in his shoulder and Ashira perfectly rolls upright.
“Ah!” He screeches, hand flying to grab his left shoulder with his right hand.
“Sorry.” Ashira shrugs. “Not really though.”
“By Valhalla and Hel you couldn’t just tap me instead?”
Ashira shakes her head as she attempts to hide her smile. “Nah. And I know you heal quick enough for it to not be a problem. I’ll grab something if you’d like to seal it entirely right now.”
“That’d be lovely.” He grunts as he yanks the dagger out.
She comes back a minute later with a tube no larger than her pinky finger in her hands. Loki has fallen back against the tree. His seidr isn’t working as well as he hopes it would for healing - in fact, it is doing absolutely nothing.
“Here.”
Loki grabs the bottle from her. While he fumbles with opening something so small, she leans against the tree as well, internally laughing at how ungraceful he is at the moment.
The second the gel hits his skin he hisses. It stings; it stings worse than that time Thor thought it would be funny to pour wine mixed with salt in one of his worse cuts from a training incident gone wrong. But then it seals over like he was never cut in the first place. He watches as his skin and muscles and nerves stitch themselves back together, miniature tendrils attaching back to one another.
“Huh.” Loki touches his skin gently. No pain, no blood.
“Yeah, huh.” She pushes away from the tree and turns on her toes to face him. “Now, go ahead and use your magic. But try to keep up.”
She reaches her left hand out towards the ship. A pair of white batons goes flying through the between them, landing in each of her hands.
Loki’s brows furrow. “You know magic?”
“It’s called science, like I said.” She twirls the batons around. “Let’s do some science versus magic fighting. Show you why the humans were wrong.”
So he goes for his magic instantly. Any form of memory reading or even an attempt to usually puts people down for a moment or two.
He presses his palm to her forehead.
Instead of memories, it’s blank, fuzziness. Static, just like before. No, not like before. Even worse. It’s pure blackness in her mind.
Loki, the stubborn asshole he is, keeps trying to push into her mind.
While he is distracted trying to pick her mind, Ashira grabs his left hand and pins the wrists together. Loki pulls back at this. Ashira knees his stomach, pulling herself back to extend his arms behind him as he falls to his face. Her grip causes both of his arms to pull uncomfortably behind his back. Then she steps onto his back with her right foot, wedging it between the shoulders and pulls up.
Loki yelps at the twist in his upper back as she forces his muscles to separate in ways that are most definitely not natural.
“Science,” Ashira gloats, releasing his arms and stepping away from him. She calls her batons back to her hands.
Loki stands slowly. “I’m impressed, I’ll admit. But how do I know you aren’t using magic as well?”
“Truce, for now, so I can show you.” Loki nods once. “Alright, here.” She switches both of her batons to her right hand and extends her left. “Feel.”
Loki takes her hand tentatively. She could flip him over even if she is cupping her hand and she has no legitimate traction.
“Feel it. There’s a bit in there like a magnet.”
His thumbs run over the crevices in her hand. He uses his magic to feel for different particles in her hands, finding an entire circuitry of electronics within her. There is a device in the center of her left palm, little tendrils of metal reaching up her wrist, deeply embedded in her arm’s nerves, extending as far as her brain stem.
“My right hand only has the magnet. I’m left handed so this was installed to go through my left arm to align with any of my weaponry.”
“So you can call anything to you?”
“Not anything, but things aligned with it. Batons, my sword, most of guns and grenades... Important things.”
Loki drops her hand. “What if you need to improvise?”
“You did just see me beat your ass like a bunch of times, right? And stab you?” Loki rolls his eyes. “Plus near anything makes a weapon.”
“Suppose you aren’t wrong about that. I must say, I’m impressed.”
“That’s why I am weary of magic. If it can be done through mystical means, it can be done with science.” She rests her hands on her left hip again. “Science is proven, nearly infallible once everything is factored in. Magic is messy.”
Loki cocks an eyebrow. “Science is still messy.”
“Yes but it makes sense.” She motions with her batons still pressed against her hip. “Magic doesn’t.” She points at him with the baton in her left hand
“Alright, another question. Why is all your stuff white? Why white?”
“Every planet has its colors, right?”
“Right.”
“Well Ares’ colors are that blue color and silver and white,” she taps the left toe of her shoe on the grass and leaves it there, weight moving almost entirely to her right leg. “As you get higher in rank, people can change their weaponry from the blue and silver to another color or a custom pattern. Most people go to all blue or all silver or something simple like that, but I wanted something different. So all of it is a pure white.”
“Interesting. But doesn’t white get dirty easily?”
A very terrifying grin pulls at her lips. “The blood falls right off.”
Loki opens his mouth to ask how that is possible, but closes it. He doesn’t want to know. Sort of scared to ask in the event she just tries to swipe at him to show him.
“Now come on, we should move soon. This planet actually has a Kree and Aresian outpost on it and capture or death is not in my plan for today.”
He gapes at that.
“How stupid can you get?”
“Oh, it can get a lot worse.” Ashira tosses both batons to flip them around. “For real, we need to leave. The radars degrade the cloaking over time and there is approximately two hours before it will be entirely uncloaked.”
“It’s like you want to be captured.”
The ex-princess simply shrugs and sighs. “I know the limits of the technology because I either built it myself or with Er -” She stops herself suddenly.
No, she reminds herself, don’t bring it up.
“Some others.”
The prince knows she cut herself off to avoid telling him something. A name, most likely.
Something too personal to her. Something she won’t share.
Or maybe something she can’t.
___
Next
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Taglist:
@illogicalfangirl @tarynkauai
#loki x oc#loki fic#loki fanfic#marvel fic#marvel fanfic#loki imagine#marvel imagine#awomod#a weapon of my own design
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Heroes for Hope
HEROES FOR HOPE
DECEMBER 1985
BY CHRIS CLAREMONT, ANN NOCENTI, JIM STARLIN, JIM SHOOTER, STAN LEE, ED BRYANT, LOUISE SIMONSON, STEPHEN KING, BILL MANTLO, ALAN MOORE, HARLAN ELLISON, JO DUFFY, MIKE BARON, DENNY O’NEIL, GEORGE R. R. MARTIN, BRUCE JONES, STEVE ENGLEHART, MIKE GRELL, ARCHIE GOODWIN, BERNIE WRIGHTSON...
JOHN ROMITA JR, JOHN BUSCEMA, BRENT ANDERSON, JOHN BYRNE, CHARLES VESS, RICHARD CORBEN, MIKE KALUTA, FRANK MILLER, BRIAN BOLLAND, JOHN BOLTON, STEVE RUDE, BRET BLEVINS, HERB TRIMPE, GRAY MORROW, PAUL GULACY, ALAN WEISS, JACKSON GUICE, HOWARD CHAYKIN...
AL GORDON, KLAUS JANSON, JOE SINNOTT, TERRY AUSTIN, DAN GREEN, JEFF JONES, JON J MUTH, TOM PALMER, AL MILGROM, BILL SIENKIEWICZ, P. CRAIG RUSSELL, CARL POTTS, AL WILLIAMSON, SAL BUSCEMA, BOB LAYTON, JOE RUBINSTEIN, STEVE LEIALOHA, WALT SIMONSON...
DAINA GRAZIUNAS, MARIE SEVERIN, BOB SHAREN, PETRA SCOTESE, CHRISTIE SCHEELE, MICHELLE WRIGHTSON, GLYNIS OLIVER, GEORGE ROUSSOS, LESLIE ZAHLER AND JANET JACKSON (NOT THAT JANET JACKSON)
SYNOPSIS
The X-men are attacked by a strange entity that makes them feel despair and end up going to Ethiopia to help people against the famine (and fighting this entity after a while).
OFFICIAL CONTEXT
CONTEXT BY CHRISTOPHER PRIEST
The most heated racial episode in my career occurred during Marvel's production of their charity book for Ethiopian famine victims. Promoted as work from "the top writers and artists in the industry-- the very best of the very best," profits from this effort were going to be donated to help the poor starving Africans. It was a truly noble effort, one the entire industry rallied behind (at least until DC decided to do their own book, thus dividing the talent pool along company lines).
Denys Cowan dropped by and mentioned, amused, that he'd seen the list of talent working on the famine relief project. There wasn't a single African American creator invited to participate. This actually amused me tremendously, and I went over the list myself to make sure, but, yup, no blacks had been thought of as, "the very best of the very best," and none were invited to work on this book.
Tickled, I picked up the phone and called Larry Hama, telling him no blacks were on the list. Larry was hugely amused, and suggested we do our own charity relief book for the poor white trash of Appalachia. He and I howled with laughter, and then shook off the dumbness of it all and got on with our lives.
Only, a white staffer had overheard part of the conversation (I assume the notion of my "recruiting" Hama to do my "own alternate charity book"), and some warped interpretation of my conversation with Hama got reported down the hall to the X-MEN office (where the book was being developed). The editors became incensed and loudly demanded my head on a plate for, essentially, inciting the black talent to stop working for Marvel. I mean, this thing got blown to huge proportions, so much so that, by the end of the day, it was largely accepted as fact that I was organizing a walkout of black talent, and the EIC kind of put me and the X-Men editor in a room to negotiate a deal.
I just couldn't stop laughing. I mean, it was all so stupid. These were stupid people. It was extremely stupid to do an African relief charity project and not invite any damned Africans to work on it. It was even sillier for these stupid people to invent some massive protest out of a silly joke in a 30-second phone call with Larry Hama.
The X-Men Ed was not amused, and refused to believe me when I said I had no intention of bad-mouthing the project. I was invited to participate, but I just chuckled and said, "No affirmative action, please." And this just set the Ed off into a screaming match that could be heard everywhere in the office, "What is WRONG with you? Why do you have to make a RACIAL ISSUE OUT OF EVERYTHING?!?!?!"
It just got out of control, and the episode (along with my paying my assistant to stay home on MLK's birthday once it was ratified as a national holiday but Marvel refused to recognize it, other than the numbingly patronizing "We got us our own holiday" speech by Luke Cage in the VISION & SCARLET WITCH Miniseries) fairly cemented my pariah status at Marvel. Without saying a word and without actually doing anything, I was routinely assumed to be some radical activist who saw everything as a race issue.
I felt trapped in a world of loons. It was totally no-win, and I tended to simply withdraw from the office more and more, from people who, in my view, had now invented a justification to do what they'd been doing all along: fencing themselves off from me.
CONTEXT BY JIM SHOOTER
Pam had arranged for Oxfam America to receive our donation. Their reaction to our offer, at first, was what one might expect from people who had never seen a comic book up close: “Comic book? There’s nothing funny about famine!” Sigh.
For some reason Pam was determined that we should donate the money to them, though, and we convinced them that comics weren’t always comic. They still demanded to review the finished book before they would commit to accept our donation.
When the book was ready to go to press, we sent a mock-up to Oxfam America to review.
Their response was that they wanted nothing to do with it. Flat rejection.
Furthermore, they said that the book was unbelievably offensive and that we, the people of Marvel Comics, were racist, sexist and reprehensible.
When this was told to me by Pam and Marvel President Jim Galton I felt as if I were being called on the carpet. I was flabbergasted. I showed them the mock-up.
They didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Galton called the exec at Oxfam America we’d been dealing with to ask what their specific objections were.
Their response was that, while under no circumstances would they have anything to do with our project or with us, they would send an executive to meet with us and explain the many horrific, repugnant, disgusting elements that made our “comic book” anathema.
So they did. Oxfam America’s representative came to meet with Galton and me. The meeting took place in Galton’s office.
I do not remember the man’s name.
He was a nice-looking, thirty-something man. He had on a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Designer shoes. He had on more gold and diamond jewelry than I’d ever seen on a human being. Jeweled watch. Cufflinks. Stickpin. Bracelets. A neck chain that would make a rapper blush. Doubt me, go ahead. Discount by two-thirds what I’m telling you and you should still have an image of a guy wearing clothes and jewelry that at market price would feed a thousand starving people for a month.
After the greetings and handshaking, Galton, making conversation, said that he imagined that Oxfam America and other charitable organizations had, at least, gotten a lot of people to focus on the ongoing tragedy in Africa, and had inspired many efforts such as ours from musicians and performers and artists.
This Oxfam America fellow, let’s call him Midas, just plain gushed about how good for business the East African famine was, how donations were rolling in at record levels. He talked about the millions dying as if it were a great marketing opportunity.
Galton and I were stupefied. We couldn’t believe how thrilled Midas was that his business was booming.
Midas explained that the purpose of his visit wasn’t here to request changes or negotiate. He had come to save us from our own folly. He made it clear that Oxfam America had nothing but contempt for us and our work. He came as a favor, to urge us not to publish the abomination that we had created. He assured us that it would destroy Marvel Comics.
Right. Well, naturally, I wondered why.
Midas flipped through the mock-up. Again and again he pointed out black characters that he said “looked like Michael Jackson.” We were obviously trying to capitalize on Michael Jackson’s image and fame.
Michael Jackson in particular and the Jackson family in general were huge supporters of Oxfam America, by the way.
Every drawing of a woman, he said, was sexist and exploitative. He was particularly offended by depictions of Storm, which he thought were more than sexist, a denigration of women of color.
I mentioned that the men were heroic and glamorous, too. Just like in the movies, stars tend to be good looking.
He pointed out a panel in which Chris had a carnival barker saying: “Yowza….” That, he said, was racist in the extreme. I don’t have the book handy, as explained above, but wasn’t that character Caucasian?
Moore and Corben’s pages? Yikes.
I cannot begin to tell you all the racism, sexism and hate that he (and Oxfam America) read into the words and pictures.
Wow.
The punch line is this: Midas accused Marvel of “stealing Janet Jackson’s logo.” He believed that the Heroes for Hope logo, credited to Janet Jackson, was ripped off.
I offered to introduce him to the designer on our staff who had created the logo, one Miss Janet Claire Jackson. He dismissed my obvious attempt at a cover-up.
No, really, we have a designer named…. Oh, never mind.
No wonder Janet Claire Jackson eventually started going by the name “Blog Elf.”
Finally, the lunatic left. Galton and I shared a moment of “what a jerk.”
Pam was instructed to find some other organization to which to donate the money. She came up with the American Friends Service Committee.
Heroes for Hope was a huge success. Thanks to our sales department, we got donations from downstream—distributors, retailers, even fans.
Can’t find the press release and the picture of me and Galton giving the AFSC honchos the PR “Big Check” created by our production department to symbolize the real check. I think the initial donation was $500,000. Much more came later.
It was a great thing. Jim Starlin, Bernie Wrightson, Ann Nocenti and Chris Claremont are great heroes in my book. Heroes for hope. There are people alive today who wouldn’t be without their efforts.
AND ABOUT THOSE STEPHEN KING PAGES
The non-comics writers who participated needed some help in most cases, which Ann and Chris provided. The biggest challenge was Stephen King’s contribution. I may be exaggerating here, but not by much—he gave us something like 5,000 words for three pages. Almost overnight, by the way. Chris, Ann and I somehow cut that down to what would fit on three comics pages. 500 words? I forget. Has anyone else ever had to cut out 90% of Stephen King’s brilliant words?
REVIEW
This was bound to not be a nice comic-book to review. The famine in Ethiopia at the moment had political origins that people decided to look over in favor of Live Aid and We Are The World.
Let’s just say that sending super-heroes there to help doesn’t guarantee a success (although they could have done something more against politicians, but let’s not go there).
The story is a bit abstract and the characters pretty much end up making sense of it without ever checking their facts (like the entity being a mutant and why it exists). The sequences about each X-man being tortured psychologically was too repetitive. By the time they end up in Africa (something that happens on a wild guess), the book is almost over.
The art doesn’t have a nice unifying feel. Something that could have been possible with breakdowns and less inkers and colorists.
But you know what? I understand why it had to be like that. This book was made ad honorem, and people did a great effort to just put the damn thing on the stands.
My other concern is that the X-men weren’t the right fit for a story like this. I understand they were popular back then, but these comics should attract non-readers as well (it’s for a good cause after all). And to be frank, things like Rachel Summers, Storm not having powers, Magneto being the leader... those are things of that time. Very hard to relate to. The Avengers would have been a better choice, or even Spider-man and the Fantastic Four (even if Spidey was looking a bit different at the time).
I like the message of not losing hope, and hope being the one thing keeping people alive in such tragedies... but then they kind of go back home. Leaving hope?
I don’t think the ideas in the book were brought down on something concrete or to keep thinking on. It is just confusing.
I give the book a score of 5
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[Extra Fic] Stay With Me (Lance Whump)
[edit: lmao i can’t tumblr and accidentally deleted my original post so here i am reposting it sorry aklsfjaklfj]
hello writer’s block for my current WIP is kicking my literal ass so please take the original story i’d written for Day 5 of Lance Whumpmas :’) i finished this story, but then the actual story i posted for Day 5 came into my head and i ended up liking that one better so this has just been sitting in my folders oops;; the theme for that day was Burns hehe
The mission had just been to scope out an abandoned Galra site, to see if there was any useful information they could scavenge and make sure there weren't any covert operations still going on. With almost all of the rooms in the hideout rummaged through, Lance was starting to relax. They'd all split up to finish the task faster, and no one had run into any stray Galra soldiers. Pidge even mentioned finding some new information on a Galra supply route she'd been tracking. So far, so good.
Lance peeked into another room filled with darkened screens. It was pretty empty, save for a few abandoned Galra guns on the ground. Everything looked like it had been inactive for a while. He stepped inside, bayard still out just in case. Probably wouldn't find anything in here either, though.
“Pidge, did you get everything you need?” Shiro asked through the comms.
“Almost. A few more ticks.”
Lance sidestepped another fallen gun as Shiro spoke. “Sounds good. We'll regroup and leave once Pidge is done. Great work, everyone.”
Hunk cleared his throat. “I finished my section of the base, so I'll just... start heading back towards the exit.”
“Same here.” Keith added.
Lance hummed, light and soft. “Bet I can beat you both to my Lion even with the headstart you guys have.”
“Oh really?” There was a smile in Hunk's voice. “Challenge accepted.”
Lance peered at the broken screens and control panel, deciding to give them a few more seconds just out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn't a fan of the eerie quiet, but he'd take that over dealing with hostile Galra at this point. Hunk's footsteps echoed through the comms, and Lance waited one more tick before he started towards the door. He'd been so focused on the ambient noises in his helmet that he almost missed the low beeping that crept into his ears. But even when he stiffened up and focused his hearing, he barely heard it. He whipped around, eyes landing on an object the size of a volleyball sitting on the ground a few feet away. The slight glow around it—which definitely wasn't there before—intensified with large crackles of electricity, and Lance only managed one step backwards, bayard raised to cover his face, before he felt it explode.
When Lance came to again, he was on the floor, his entire body feeling like it had been electrocuted. He couldn't even tell if he passed out, his mind hazy with pain. His body jerked as he tried to take in a full breath, each inhale not quite making it all the way. Any attempt he made to move his body failed miserably, but the effort hurt too much and he gave up trying.
“—at happened, was that Lance?!” Allura's voice crept in past the ringing in his ears, muffled and distant.
“He's not responding. I'm heading to him right now.” Shiro said, the urgency in his tone spiking up Lance's anxiety. He tried to speak—tell them he was fine, just a little dazed. But words failed him as he started to panic, the air starting to feel more like mud as it tried to pass through his lungs. His stomach burned every time he tried to take a deep breath. Breathing. He needed to focus on breathing right now.
A bunch of other voices rang out, overlapping in a way that made any sentence impossible to decipher. He heard his name a lot, though. Lance bit back a groan, trying to figure out what hit him. Something like a bomb, obviously. He figured his armor took most of the damage, but shit everything hurt.
“Shiro,” Lance gasped out, hearing the comms immediately peter off into silence.
And Shiro responded, his relief nearly palpable through the comms. “I'm here, Lance. I'm on my way. So are the others. I need you to tell me what happened.”
Lance tried to focus on the conversation, his vision blurring every few seconds. “Bomb... I think.”
“Bomb?!” Hunk cried out, panicked.
Had it been a bomb? Suddenly, Lance wasn't sure anymore. Another spasm drowned out any coherent thought he'd been gathering, waves of pain stabbing at every inch of his body. “Buncha electricity.” Lance groaned, hissing out a breath. “I can't—can't move. Hurts too much.”
“Don't move, I'm almost there.” Shiro said. He sounded calm, in control. Lance clung to it desperately, his mind needing a steady tether to grip onto. “Where does it hurt?”
Lance tried to move a hand, stopping at the jolt of pain that shot through when he did. “Everywhere.” An even bigger pain, this time near his torso. “Stomach.”
“I found him.” Shiro piped up, and Lance it took a moment of confusion to realize he was speaking to the others. “Give me a moment.”
A hand touched his shoulder, and Lance jerked in surprise, hissing when another flood of pain blinded him. The hand disappeared just as quickly.
“Sorry, I'm sorry, Lance.” Shiro spoke, his voice filling Lance's ears with surprising clarity. His vision cleared enough to catch Shiro crouched above him, face awash with worry. “It's me.”
It was a relief, to say the least, to see Shiro. The tension in his shoulders loosened just a bit, and he worked on getting air into his chest while Shiro continued to talk into the comm. Whatever Shiro and the others were saying was lost in Lance's head, all of the sounds melting into distant mumbles. Shiro's gaze kept alternating from him to something to the side of the room—probably at whatever it was that exploded. Lance felt a weight against his side as Shiro looked back at him, clearly speaking to him this time, and Lance did his best to try to focus back on the conversation.
“—n you hear me, Lance? I need you to stay awake, okay? Stay with me. The others are almost here.”
Lance nodded—or tried to. His body felt unbelievably heavy, like something big decided to take refuge on top of his chest. Exhaustion was probably starting to kick in, and Lance just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. But Shiro had asked him to stay awake, so he tried his best to push that feeling away.
“... 'm I dying?” Lance mumbled, feeling a bit regretful for asking the question when he saw Shiro's expression. Why would he even ask something like that? It was a terrible question.
“You're not dying.” Despite how he looked, Shiro's voice was surprisingly calm and confident. The weight against Lance's side grew a bit heavier. “Once we get you in the pod, you'll be fine. Just focus on breathing, kiddo.”
So he did. Shiro glanced up at the rumble of footsteps, and Lance suddenly saw Hunk and Pidge crowd his view of the ceiling. They glanced at him and then somewhere further down his body, the panic blatantly evident on their faces. He spotted Keith just a bit to the side talking to Shiro, although his expression didn't look too good, either. Despite what Shiro said, everyone sure looked like he was dying.
Hunk suddenly leaned over, so close their helmets nearly bumped. He smiled. “Hey, buddy. I don't know if you heard the comm, but Coran had a few questions. Are you able to move your neck?”
Lance nodded, turning it side to side at Hunk's request, albeit limply. Hunk looked relieved at that.
“Where's it hurting the most?”
Lance considered it for a second. He couldn't tell if the pain had receded anywhere. At least the spasms had stopped. “My stomach...”
Hunk nodded, grim. “You got a pretty nasty burn there, dude. But we can fix that. Can you breathe okay?”
The weight on Lance's chest hadn't gone away, his breaths still shaky as they rattled down his throat. His body burned with each inhale, the injury on his stomach probably irritated whenever he breathed in. “A little. It's hard.”
Hunk glanced at Shiro before he finally leaned back, the worried look back on his face. “We can probably move him, right? I don't think there's a spinal injury.”
Shiro nodded. “Get ready to head back to the ship. We're gonna go fast.” He glanced back down, looking a bit apologetic. “Lance, I'm gonna carry you, but it'll probably hurt.”
Lance had expected as much, anyways. He huffed out a breath, bracing himself. “Kay.”
Shiro straightened, and the weight against Lance's side disappeared. Oh, Shiro had been holding his hand. Lance couldn't really ponder much on it before Shiro scooped him up, and the pain in his stomach rippled through his body in furious waves.
Maybe he screamed, because Shiro muttered out an apology before sprinting. Everything was a blur during that time, and Lance honestly wasn't sure if he blacked out. But when he came to, he felt himself lying back on the ground, someone propping him up. He blinked the white spots out of his eyes, hoping that his now-frantic breaths weren't as loud as they sounded in his ears. They were in the Black Lion, from what he could tell.
Someone gently tugged his helmet off, and Lance was grateful for the open breathing space, his head falling to the side and against something hard. Paladin armor, he realized. Fingers carded through his hair, almost methodical in their movements.
“You're gonna be fine. Stay with me.” Hunk's voice drifted into his ears, and Lance felt himself relax a bit. Hunk mumbled little words of encouragement the whole ride back, and Lance could only lie there and listen, fully exhausted at that point. Before he knew it, they must've arrived, because Hunk suddenly moved to pick him up, the pain greeting him full force once more.
This time, Lance did pass out.
-
Lance woke up falling, although he felt someone catch him before he could instinctively panic at the realization. Sleep was still heavy on his eyelids, and he was glad that whoever was hugging him was basically holding up his entire weight. They finally pulled back, and Lance caught Hunk's beaming face, the others crowded up behind him with equal looks of concern and relief.
“Man, am I glad you're awake.” Hunk sighed, his hands still firm on Lance's shoulders. “You feel all better now? Not that I doubt the pods or anything, but...”
The fog in Lance's mind started to clear up, and he glanced down, catching the white of the healing pod suit. Breathing was fine now, the pain he'd felt before now a distant figment of his imagination. He looked up, a smile on his face. “All good, my dude. Maybe even better.”
It was like all the tension melted from the room, and the group stepped back a bit to give some more space. Lance straightened up, shifting his weight from side to side. “So, what hit me?”
Coran was the one who spoke up. “It seems to have been a Galra-crafted explosive. Set to detonate electricity should any intruders come after the base had been abandoned. For all we know, there could be more scattered around the base, but that was only one we detected.”
Lance huffed out a laugh. “Guess I was the lucky winner.”
Someone lightly punched his arm, and Lance caught Pidge scowling at him. “That's not something to brag about.” Her expression softened. “I'm glad you're okay, though.”
The smile on Lance's face grew before he reached out and tugged Pidge into a bear hug. “Aww. C'mere, you.” Pidge resisted for a half a second and then caved, returning his hug with surprising enthusiasm.
“We should get you something to eat after you find a change of clothes.” Allura piped up lightly. “Everyone can take the rest of the day to relax. We all need it. Especially you, Lance.”
“She's right.” Shiro said. “We can meet you in the kitchen after you're dressed.” He reached out, giving Lance's shoulder a quick squeeze. “You did great today.”
Lance flushed a bit, the embarrassment tickling at his stomach. “I didn't... really do anything.”
Pidge disentangled herself from Lance's grip as the group began to move towards the medical bay doors, although she still stuck close to his side. Hunk laughed, “Just take the compliment.”
Lance could barely think of a retort before another thought hit him. “Wait, I won the challenge right?”
Hunk blinked. “Challenge?”
“I bet Shiro and I reached the Lions before you or Keith did. So I won.”
Keith looked over at him, face scrunched in disbelief. “What? I can't believe you're thinking about that challenge after what happened.”
Lance clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don't try to pretend like this win didn't happen, dude. Life—or-death situation or not, the facts stay true.” He glanced at Shiro. “Did we get to the Lions first?”
Shiro contemplated for a moment before he slowly nodded. “We... did. It was an emergency, so I ran pretty fast.”
Lance beamed, triumphant. “Haha! Winner winner, chicken dinner. Take that, Mullet!”
Keith didn't look at all convinced. “That definitely didn't count.”
“Did so.”
“The challenge should only count when any of the participants aren't actively dying.”
“Dude, just accept it. You lost. I won.”
Pidge groaned, grumbling under her breath. “I seriously can't believe you two are arguing over this.”
A few more seconds of bickering later, they agreed on a rematch in the near future, and Lance headed to his room to change, his chest lighter than ever. Despite the chaotic end to that mission, he felt happy and his heart felt full.
His stomach, on the other hand, felt pretty empty. Food couldn't come soon enough.
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Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption 2
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all relation to real individuals is purely coincidental. I am not associated with any of the people named in this work of fiction and this is not intended to reflect negatively upon anyone.
Chapter 2: Jello Runs for Mayor
Jello’s feet clanked against the hollow metal floor of NMCDF headquarters. Agents clacked away at computers, analyzing various maps and news on PMRC operations. Lights blinked on and off in every corner of the cold underground room.
“So how are we going to take down the PMRC?” Jello inquired.
Prince spun around dazzlingly then menacingly pointed downward at Jello. A shadow was cast beneath his jaw. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear our true plan?”
Jello adjusted his stance and clenched his fists confidently. He nodded his head.
Prince lowered his hand. “Good, I was hoping that would be your answer.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“You are going to run…” Princes voice crescendoed with a deep, manly infliction. “For mayor!”
“Mayor?” Jello was confused. “Of San Francisco?”
“Not just mayor of San Francisco! But mayor of America! And of Hell! Also known as the unholy trinity.”
“I understand San Francisco and America, but why Hell?”
“Good question Jello. You must run for mayor of hell so that you can recruit Satan’s army of demons as an army to fight the PMRC.”
“Do they even have democratic elections in Hell?”
“Another good question,” Prince replied, “You see democracy is a result of freewill, and since freewill results in sin, democracy is a sin.”
Jello nodded his head. “Makes sense.”
“Good, then let’s get started.” Prince reached over and pressed one of the many flashing buttons on the side of the wall and a large tube instantly descended from the ceiling and absorbed the two heroes. They circumnavigated miles of tubes until they finally popped out at their destination. In front of them stood a classy, yet grandiose, building, one constructed in a classical Roman style to its very core. It had a thick central tower that concluded with a gray-blue dome, topped off with a spike looking thing. The base of the central area was relatively cubic. At its front stood four pillars and at its top stood a triangular prism whose hypotenuse was rather obtuse. To its left and right were two long wings, each lined with their own set of stone pillars.
“What is this?” Jello asked. “Did you take me back to ancient Greece?”
“No,” Prince replied, “This is city hall. However, we very easily could be in Greece, since our teletubes™ do have time travel capabilities.”
“Let’s burn this place down.”
“Now now, don’t let your anarchist desires consume you Jello,” Prince explained, “For now you will have to play the game of democracy, or else the world will be consumed by the PMRC and their fascism.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep, now let’s go register you for your mayoral run.”
They attempted to walk through the front doors of city hall, but none other than Dan White was waiting for them. He stood across the entire length of the entrance, his arms folded menacingly.
“May we please pass?” Prince begged politely.
Dan flared his nostrils then flexed his muscles, ripping his shirt into several pieces in glorious fashion. The buttons flew off of his shirt at insurmountable speeds, instantly blinding several dozen passersby. “Don’t fuck with me. I fought in Vietnam. I was a Sergeant in the U.S. Army. And if to you I am a Sergeant, to me you are a bitch. I am a Roman Catholic. God is on my side, and God does hate gays and punk rock.”
“How did you get so powerful?” Jello asked.
“Heh,” Dan scoffed, “I went on a special diet! You’ll never know what it is though! What you should know is that this building is now property of the PMRC, and the only way you’ll be able to register for mayor is if you can defeat me.”
Jello gawked at Dan’s impressive muscles. He could not be afraid. He ran up to the mountain of a man a punched him with all his force. Dan was unmoved. Dan chuckled sardonically. He poked Jello with his pinkie finger. The world seemed entirely still for a few moments, then a blast of air formed around Jello, and he was sent flying several hundred feet away from city hall.
Prince ran back to Jello, who was foaming at the mouth and hyperventilating. He had obvious damage to his ribs and had probably punctured a lung. “This is bad,” Prince said, “Jello, you have to get stronger. You need to figure out Dan White’s secret diet and take him down.”
“Glarglrlgarglralgra,” replied Jello, still foaming at the mouth.
“Snap out of it Jello! You only have one week to register for your mayoral run!”
“What!?” All of Jello’s ailments were immediately cured. “Only one week?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
“What are we going to do?” Jello asked.
“You have to right a song,” explained Prince, “A song the likes of which have never been seen before. A song with political commentary so beleaguering that Dan White literally dies.”
“How’s that supposed to work?”
“We don’t know how it works yet, we’re still researching it at the NMCDF, but we do know that punk rock has the ability to cancel out the powers of the PMRC.”
And so Jello Biafra returned to NMCDF headquarters to work on his song. He toiled day after day, sometimes not eating, sometimes not sleeping, and the deadline quickly encroached.
“How’s the song coming along?” Prince asked.
Jello looked up at Prince. He had a manic look in his eyes. His hair was messy. There were soup stains on his shirt. It was overall a bad scene. “This is overall a bad scene,” mumbled Jello as he grasped his head with both hands. “I’ve written nothing, and we only have one day left! It’s a classic case of writer's block!”
“Oh noooooooo!” Prince placed both his hands on his cheeks as the camera zoomed in and out on his face.
“I think I know what we need to do!”
“What?”
Jello whispered in Princes ear even though there was literally no one who could possibly be eavesdropping on their conversation and Prince nodded along.
Later that night, the two stood outside of Dan White’s house, and looked inside his window. Even though his house was two stories, the second floor had to be removed because Dan White had gotten so swole that he could no longer fit inside his own home. Dan White sat in a recliner, watching American football on his tube TV, as any all-American boy would, munching peacefully on a twinkie. In fact, twinkies were everywhere in his house. Wrappers strewn about the floor, boxes lining the walls, there wasn’t a place without them.
“Are twinkies the source of his power?” Prince questioned.
“I’ve got it!” Jello shouted. “I know what the song is going to be about!”
Dan stood up. “Who’s there,” his voice boomed.
Prince and Jello looked at each other. “Let’s get out of here,” Prince exclaimed.
Dan stomped over to his window and punched an elephant-sized hole in his wall. “You’ll pay for this Jello Biafra!” But it was too late, they had already escaped back to the NMCDF.
As they were being transported through the teletubes™ Jello noticed Prince holding something. “What’s that?” Jello asked.
“Oh this?” Prince held up a small piece of transparent plastic. “I snagged this as we were running away. This is a wrapper to one of Dan’s twinkies. I’m going to have the boys back at headquarters do some tests on it.” The conversation paused for a few moments. “Are you nervous about taking Dan down tomorrow.”
“Not at all.” Jello grinned. “This song idea is too good for it not to work.”
The next day came too soon, and Jello and Dan were seen grimacing at one another outside city hall. Jello pulled out his guitar.
“Hahaha,” Dan laughed smugly, “You really think that silly guitar will be able to defeat me?”
Jello grew disheartened, but he did not falter. He continued setting up his musical equipment. The microphone he set up buzzed subtly. He began his song. “Drinkin’ beer in the hot sun, I fought the law...” he sung.
Dan folded his arms. “Unbelievable!” he exclaimed, “You really think a cover of a song by The Clash will take me down! Despicable!”
Jello stumbled over his words upon hearing Dan’s cruel criticism, but he continued nonetheless. “Twinkies are the best friend I ever had, I fought the law, and I won.”
Dan’s eyes widened. “Nooooo! How did you know!?” he screamed.
Jello smirked. He sung, “I blew George and Harvey’s brains out with my six gun, I fought the law, and I won!”
“Nooooooo!” Dan squealed like a cornered pig. “Don’t bring that up! You’ll only ruin my already diminished public opinion!”
A crowd began to form around Jello. Whispering were heard in the crowd. “Man this Dan White guy really sounds like a dick.”
Dan continued screaming, and soon public opinion of him had sunk so low that his face literally began to melt like that one scene in Indiana Jones. “You’ll pay for this,” Dan White shouted as he ascended up to heaven, where every Catholic all-American boy goes.
Jello tossed his guitar to the side. He sprinted past Dan White’s melted corpse and up the steps of city hall. He ran up to the reception desk, and said, “I’d like to run for mayor.”
“Certainly,” replied the receptionist.
And so it was the Jello Biafra began his fateful run for San Francisco mayor. But what awaits him on the campaign trail? Will he encounter any agents of the PMRC during his mayoral run? Find out in the next chapter of Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption!
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Social media in Adam Lambert’s life&career
It’s been so long since I’ve written anything longer than a tweet about Adam, but this stanning lethargy doesn’t reflect the level of my interest in the man. It may appear so, but can the lack of online presence automatically imply the lack of interest? In today’s state of affairs, when artists have carefully constructed and heavily monitored internet presence, when YouTube views are everything and the most powerful politicians seem to pay more attention to Twitter than their jobs, it would be understandable if it could. The www. has finally become literally that – a worldwide group chat, where presidents tweet, where actors, musicians and sportsmen keep vlogs on YouTube, writers publish their essays on Facebook, and everybody comments.
Adam Lambert has chosen not to do so. In an era when YouTube stars become singers who get Saturday Night Live slots where they whisper the lyrics into a microphone, and when the top trending video which garnered more than 30 million views in a day is one of a reality star announcing her pregnancy, Adam has taken a quiet step back in the past few years - and I together with him. I couldn’t help it. Twitter has lost its appeal to me ever since a constant possibility that Adam could see a particularly flaily or witty tweet was no longer an option – the magic of giddy anticipation was gone. For all intents and purposes, Adam has semi-abandoned Twitter and moved to Instagram; a Facebook affiliated app which I never took a liking to.
I was upset and a little resentful. I didn’t understand why. Not only did I have to suffer the cruel Atlantic Ocean between us, but now we were on different online apps, which is a fate way worse than living on different continents, according to cyber sense of geography. In my bitterness, I even had an occasional mean thought on the subject. Oh yeah, that’s because he can ogle hot guys there. What about MEEE? Or, even worse: it’s because of the filters. The man LOVES a good filter, the vain queen. Or, absolutely the worst: he wanted to escape the twitter crazies. It was the worst because I should have known that the crazies are everywhere. I was bitchy, mean, and so, so wrong. This essay is my redemption. The price I want to pay for my stupidity, because Adam does have a social media presence, albeit not as aggressive as I might like. There is a reason for that, which he has already given. I had read it before, but it flew right over me like a sparrow, equally tender and fragile, leaving my head unruffled and thoughtless as if nothing had happened.
Even on his preferred social network, Adam’s behavior is somewhat atypical, in a sense that he doesn’t hesitate to share less than perfect photos. Unfiltered, sweaty, in-your-face, flaking makeup photos of the realistic kind - a rare occurrence among the Hollywood hotties. But he is a geek like the rest of us. The anticipation of waiting for the first photos to appear when he has a concert is one of the best parts of being his fan. Adam is incredibly photogenic, but sometimes, those photos are low quality ones, taken by fans on their phones, from pretty unflattering angles. Adam somehow manages to look great in most of them, despite the low angles and the fact that great physical exertion makes everyone look awful. Being photographed in the middle of an adrenaline rush while singing from the top of your lungs for two hours is challenging. His facial features almost rearrange with strain, but Adam simply knows how to pose and is rarely caught off guard – a life’s tiny miracle. I love those candid pictures. And Adam posts only the best of them.
It’s the professional photos where he shines the most. Those are usually true works of art, crispy sharp and simply stunning in their quality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen less than perfect professional photo of Adam. They capture the moments that would otherwise be missed and allow you to fully appreciate the visual side the concert. In videos, the focus is primarily on the sound and the movement, but if I had to choose which medium reflects Adam’s emotional state and journey during concerts best, I would choose photography. It’s a strange thing to say about a singer, but Adam has a very expressive face and body. It’s like their muteness and stillness don’t subtract, but add to the experience of Adam’s process of creation.
In addition to music photography, Adam posts everything and anything that’s important to him, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. His Instagram page is a mess, a potpourri of professional photos, fan photos, album covers, photos of his family, friends, his dog, travelling photos, fashion photos, and all that in uneven levels of quality which most posters would never allow themselves. Adam has it all, from professional HD quality to grainy and blurry shots taken by a phone. It’s a far cry from carefully coordinated, handpicked and posted after a thousandth try stylish representation of other serious posters. He doesn’t juice for a week before taking selfies. He doesn’t always filter. He doesn’t always look pretty. He isn’t always all mysterious and artistic. He’s sometimes such a goofball. He is definitely an undisciplined Instagram user.
It’s a revealing fact. He deletes his posts sometimes, and I’m not sure if it’s the morning after self-filtering, or he gets the call. Social media can make or break a career nowadays. But on the other hand, you can be a successful artist without constant media presence – although it is a pretty rare occurrence. The only example coming to my mind is Frank Ocean. There are artists who have a modest number of followers and YouTube views, and yet they can and do fill up arenas, just as there are artists who have millions of followers and cannot have a decent tour.
In Adam’s case, I feel like he is past making or breaking his career online. At this point, he doesn’t need a heavily moderated Instagram page or a vlogging channel to achieve anything - other than making me happier, that is. The fact that I would love if Adam was more present, by engaging with his fans more, or, in best case scenario, vlogging about his life and career (I would sell my firstborn for that), doesn’t mean much in grander scheme of things. Adam has allowed himself the luxury of doing what he wants, and his Instagram page reflects that in the clearest of ways. I am not saying he wouldn’t benefit from having 50 million followers on Twitter or Instagram, but, he just doesn’t have that. If he can’t get it from doing his job and being who he is, he will never get it anyway. He refuses to participate in the social media race. So, unlike many a budding YouTube star trying to make it in other fields by creating an ideal, unrealistic impression of themselves, with their uniform, heavily filtered, grayscale artsy photos, Adam’s multifarious posts do reveal a lot simply by not being what one would expect. He’s a rebel just for kicks there.
Oh, there is some vanity there; he isn’t above it nor does he pretend to be. He smizes and pouts in many filtered photos and videos, enjoying his flawless skin provided by Instagram CEO Kevin Systrom’s filtering system, turning his head like this and like that like a Valley girl – but that’s just Adam playing with his toy. He has this proclivity for ridiculous behavior; that and the fact that he loves the ageless chibi art of Creative Sharka makes me sometimes think that he has entered a serious fear-of-getting-old phase. It would have been true if he posted such photos only, which he most definitely doesn’t.
Adam is a naturally beautiful man, why does he have to goof around like that? Well, because he is so much more than that. Because more than stunning good looks, he has a killer sense of humor. Because more than looking pretty and feeding his vanity, he loves having fun. He mocks himself, too. “I swear I didn't realize I was making full duck face” is his own comment on a truly astounding full duck face he made while trying to credit Valentino for a clothing item. He loves stand-up comedy. He’s watched the Amy Schumer Leather special, and the Ricky Gervais Humanity special, and posted about both shows. That’s how I know.
There’s a selfie which he took while Antinous was being tattooed on his torso – a particularly painful experience, according to him; hence the awkward facial expression. The photo is so ridiculous and unflattering that it immediately reminded me of the comical selfies which Ricky Gervais takes all the time, trying to look as ugly as possible in them, thus expressing his mockery on the worldwide mania of posting unrealistically perfect photos. Adam has a comedic streak a mile wide, and not only does it come out in concerts and movie roles such as his part of Eddie in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, but also in his Instagram page as well. Unlike Ricky, Adam just wants to laugh at himself. Yes, he sometimes looks ridiculous and weird - don’t we all? He’s no bullshitter, and never will be.
Now would be a great moment to mention his Grandma June alter ego. So, Adam has decided it would be great to make himself look forty years older, name the character Grandma June and rant throughout several videos on many a current topic. Who? What? Adam, the most eligible gay bachelor of several times? Adam, the Zeus in a thong sex symbol for many? Unbelievable. Waves of discomfort could be felt throughout the shallower waters of the fandom. Was he just having fun with it? Was he mocking himself for overusing de-aging filters? Was he helping himself get over his own fear of aging by laughing at his own expense? Was it some kind of reverse psychology/psychotherapy via Snapchat filters? Was it to shock his fans who come to his page for hotness and beauty galore, only to find Grandma June blinking owlishly at them? The list is endless. It’s like he was saying, ‘yeah, I’m hot, but I’m also ridiculous, funny and a little bit on the crazy side.’ Who knows. It’s certainly less ridiculous than me putting words in his mouth. It is also very non-Hollywood of Adam, where ageism is rampant and the anti-aging industry flourishes, where kids start injecting botox as soon as they’re twenty and where a lot of people take faces they’re born with as a slight suggestion. Interesting topic.
We’re now traipsing deeper and deeper into Adam’s more hidden depths. This makes it sound like scrolling through his Instagram page is a voyage into the heart of darkness, the Apocalypse Now style; but it does feel adventurous after you parse through the regular job-related stuff. Such aside interests tell us a lot about him and his fascinations, like his love and respect for other artists. He is a true fan at heart, expressing himself unabashedly and passionately – so many pictures of Freddie, Bowie and George Michael, but also Goldfrapp, Demi, Lady Gaga, and all his musician friends. Sometimes, he puts the flailers in his own fandom to shame. I like that about him. I feel like it’s a level we can relate on. And I love that he doesn’t have cheap, tit-for-tat, I’ll-do-you-and-you-do-me mentality. When he says that he likes something, you better fucking believe that he does.
He also loves nature. He posts sceneries – the beloved Runyon Canyon, the Ibiza cruise, Mexico, Bali, Mykonos in Greece, Argentina, you name it - but, he will also post a photo of a single olive tree. The fandom speculated for three days about what it could possibly mean. He posted a video of a single butterfly flapping its wings, and a colony of bats, and a lonely gecko crawling up the wall and a mother duck and her ducklings swimming in the lake. Endless photos of Pharaoh don’t even count. Details from around him capture his attention in a way that he expresses his emotive, intuitive side by showing us the impact they have on him. In his private moments, he is a far cry from a wild rocker living his wild rock’n’roll life. He’s so much more than that. He’s a tree watcher. A butterfly watcher. A bird watcher. Life and observing life clearly excites him.
He also loves architecture. He will post pictures of streets and buildings, sculptures and monuments, from everywhere he goes, and he travels a lot. Someone else would probably spend all pre- and post-concert time in hibernation accumulating energy, but not Adam. He loves the bas-reliefs, ancient facades, the Greco-Roman culture, supporting columns and carvings of Venetian houses; but every now and then he will also post some strange things, like tombstones. He’s a traveler with a twist. When he goes somewhere new, he sometimes visits cemeteries. He’s been to Boston Cemetery and Buenos Aires Cemetery. He posted a photo of the entrance to Jesus’ tomb from his visit to Jerusalem. No matter what B Hollywood horror movies are trying to tell us, cemeteries are never about being creepy or frightful -- they are like a library for the imagination. Wandering cemeteries around the globe, reading headstones, thinking about the lives of the people there, the mind wanders into a thousand stories. It can be therapeutic. But, who knows what Adam’s motives were. All I know is that he is more than just a traveler – he is also a spiritual explorer.
In everything he does, he rarely stays within the lines. This diversity tells us that Adam is a complex man before he is an artist, and even less than he is an artist, that he is a promoting artist. His self-promoting campaigns are there, but ever so subtle and discrete - nothing like the aggressive campaigning that has become obligatory nowadays. I’m not talking about the management or the label part in it, or whoever is in charge of his promotion; just Adam’s own role in it. A few tweets, a few Instagram posts, mostly just informative in nature, before a new release. Regarding concerts, a tweet before and after is a rarity. An occasional review. He will sometimes post great photos after concerts, though. I have no idea how to explain such behavior other than to say that he doesn’t want to do it, nor does he feel like he has to. Maybe he is of the ‘an artist should never reveal too much and keep a level of mystery’ persuasion. Maybe he believes the music will find its way to those who want to hear it. Or maybe he just finds it tacky, as I do, the ad nauseam self-promoting of certain artists. Who knows. I certainly wouldn’t find it tacky if Adam did it. We’ll see how Era 4 will roll out and if Adam will be more talkative then. The one explanation I personally find the most believable is that he is a well-mannered man who believes that you should let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips; but that’s because I tend to attribute Adam superhuman qualities. He can’t be that much of a gentleman, can he?
He is not very verbose in his Instagram captions either; most of them, that is. His posts are usually with very little or no comment from him. He tags the people in the photo, or he gives credit to the photographer – he is pretty diligent about it. On few unfortunate occasions when that didn’t happen, we had a mutiny among the photographers which ended with bruised egos on both sides.
So sparse are his comments, that when you do bump onto a few loquacious ones, you just know that it must be something of utter importance or that he feels strongly about. You don’t have to guess anything then, or draw unfortunate conclusions, which is a game his fans like to play and that Adam likes to engage us in by dropping random hints. No game here – his words are loud and crystal clear, concise and to the point, and apart from bringing my attention to the relevance of such particular posts, they serve to remind me what a great thinker and an amazing human being Adam is. Those words are always about love and equality.
One of such glimpses into his more private, passionate side is certainly his love and appreciation for Creative Sharka, a fan who makes digital paintings and chibi art of Adam and the moments in his career. He has posted her art several times and even met with her during his tour - such gratitude and appreciation of a fan really warms my heart. It tells me what I already knew: that he is such a fan himself, a great lover of everything that inspires him and open in his heart for the reciprocal love exchange between artists as the highest form of flattery. He’s had such situation in his career several times, on various levels, but this one with a fan feels truly rewarding.
Creative Sharka gives him her art, but it doesn’t have to be a tangible thing. One of the most revealing and emotional comments he wrote under a photo from one of his performances reveals so much. It is a photo whose focal point are the backs of two people, two guys, who are leaning against one another in a hug, their heads connected, and they are facing Adam singing on the stage in the background. They are in the forefront, their body language speaking of love; Adam is in the background, perhaps inspiring such connection. His comment says, “Really in luv w this photo. So sweet.” I’ve never read Adam saying that about any picture, and it’s one of the amateur, fan ones, too – and all the more precious for that.
But, does he always feel the love? Do we? Most of the times, I am sure that he does. But I have always imagined Adam as a highly emotional guy, which also means a great capacity for sadness, too, especially with so many reasons for it surrounding us. There is one, literally one sad comment that I have encountered during all these years. It’s under a photo of Frank the Robot’s head, taken before the show, with the top half of it waiting patiently to be connected with its bottom half by diligent Queen crew, so that Adam can ride it and spew obscenities into the audience from its shiny, metallic head. “Sad Clown,” is Adam’s caption. I don’t know if he felt bad for Frank at that moment, or the words are about Killer Queen, but there is a possibility that the words are about Frank’s rider later on. Sometimes, he does have to hide his sadness and paint his smile on. Who doesn’t.
He truly belongs to one of the rarest of species – a beautiful man who becomes even more beautiful when he opens his mouth and speaks. Or sings. In the pre-Trump, pre-Brexit, pre-Vučić era, I used to take his words for granted. I believed everybody thought so, or almost everybody. I was spectacularly wrong. The bout of sadness that gripped me then is still not easing up. How can it? This Weltschmerz has affected everyone with a soul - Adam, too. Will our physical reality ever satisfy the demands of our minds and souls ever again? I believe so, as long as there are people like Adam, like Emma Gonzalez, like many others who are fighting for it. That is what hope sounds like. With rising urgency, Adam speaks up.
“Black lives matter. For all of u who totally miss the point of this movement, the GOAL is for all lives to matter equally. But as it stands, racism is preventing us from that ideal. We must fix the reality so we can grow toward hope.”
We must fix the reality… We really do, Adam. Faced with such thoughts, don’t all previous words about promotion and lack of internet presence sound frivolous? I am glad that this is how Adam feels. I am so proud of him for sharing his thoughts.
When he posted a photo of Freddie, pointing out the hypocrisy of the ruling US political party using Freddie Mercury’s music, some people seemed to have an issue with that. This was Adam’s reply:
“I realize that there are many different schools of thought frequented by people following me on social media. EVERYONE is entitled to their opinions and beliefs. Including me. This is MY Instagram page where I share my experiences and feelings. If you don't agree with something, that's perfectly ok with me - but I'm not going to refrain from being me, and no one is forcing you to either.”
And refrained he has not.
He’s spoken against the gun violence.
He’s spoken about Orlando. About Paris. About all mass shootings.
He’s also spoken at the Los Angeles Pride Resist March last year. Here are some of his words:
“I typically avoid publicly speaking about politics because of its divisiveness. People get real sensitive, and I ain’t trying to piss anybody off. But, this year things have gone way too far.
So I’m not speaking today about being a democrat vs. a republican. Today is about right vs. wrong. The current presidential administration has manipulated the country using fear and hate to gain power to divide us. Our differences are being used against us. And the shockwaves of this dangerous rhetoric have rippled throughout our community and beyond. And it fucking hurts. We’ve come way too far to stand by and watch our social progress be yanked backwards. It’s almost as if they’re going, ‘Eh, you’re different. You can’t sit with us.’ What the fuck is that? It’s childish and it needs to end now.
Our pride parade is usually an all out shit show of a party where we all dress up like crazy unicorns and prance around through the streets. Yeah! It’s a celebration of the progress we have made – our liberation, our freedom, our glitter. But this year, we are facing such dark forces that pride has taken on a deeper purpose. Protest. So today, we stand together in order to support anyone whose human rights are at risk. We resist homophobia. We resist transphobia. We resist misogyny. Bi-invisibility. We resist racism. Xenophobia. And we resist extremism, and anything else that helps promote hate. We stand defiant and will not be brainwashed. We refuse to be sucked into that kind of negativity.
But, I ask you not to fight hate with hate. We don’t want to be hypocrites. So how can we resist? I’ll tell you what I think: with unity, with visibility, truth, inclusion, acceptance, and most importantly – love.”
Don’t his words boom loud? Read them and abide by them. Don’t scroll through or ignore them.
Shame on those who think that Adam should only do his job and stop voicing his opinions and views.
Shame on those who, blinded by his beauty, refer to him as a Ken doll.
Shame on those who say that he is back in the closet.
In his Love Letter to the LGBTQ community, which was published in Billboard magazine last year, he talks more about what his community means to him:
“Y'all are my true inspiration. You're life lines that have kept me grounded and thankful. All the LGBTQ musicians, dancers, drag queens, bar stars, club kids, DJ's, designers, actors, stylists, glam squads..... YOU are my circus family. It is because of all those years traipsing round our nocturnal playgrounds that I had any sense of how and why I wanted to stay the course; to rep for my queer family!
And now 8 years later, the LGBTQ community has come SO far. I see fellow artists AND civilians coming out with no apologies and no fucks given. Despite the current obstacles we face, I am blown away by our progress. We have come so far. My true fans share the same principles so we continue to welcome other alien weirdos into our family. Thank you ALL for inspiring and supporting my journey. I promise to keep doing the same for all of you.”
Should he speak more frequently? Adam has voiced his opinions time and again, but he won’t misuse the opportunity given to him. He has a sophisticated sense for not crossing the line between his art and his humanitarian fight. He never pushes anything under anyone’s nose; not his art; not his fight. He never uses just causes as a self-promoting opportunity.
This is all part of the reply to the question from the beginning about what the lack of social presence can mean. His social presence isn’t lacking, it is just of the unobtrusive kind. It’s all out there, only a few clicks away. Are we so used to the constant media shoveling content down our metaphorical throats that we can’t even register when something’s said only once?
Apparently, I am. Because I have already read Adam Lambert’s own explanation about deciding to moderate his social media presence and it hasn’t even made a blip on my radar at the time. I won’t tell you where his words are from, you can try to guess. It’s a direct quote. It says everything.
How pathetic now seems the discussion about flattering vs. less flattering photos? Don’t ask this man about the size of his gauges for a hundredth time and expect him to engage with his fans more. But Adam does, he does engage, for he isn’t a mean man and he answers the same trivial questions again and again. It’s perhaps a much better option than talking, I don’t know, about Weltschmerz. Sometimes, such discussions are better avoided, and not only that - he has already said what he wanted to say. It’s much more bearable to repeat the silly topics than the raw, emotional ones. The repetition hurts, and devalues the latter.
It really is a journey, from Grandma June, to cultivating self-love and True Individuality; only not to the heart of darkness, but to the one of lightness. It’s all him, the philosopher and the comedian, the Frank’s head rider and the march speaker. Read his words. Don’t forget them, like I did. Laugh with him, but also think with him and be sad with him.
“True Individuality seems daunting in our age of social media popularity contests. Sometimes it’s terrifying to face your true, whole self, stripped of any pretense. The good, the bad, the cracks, and the scars. I am no stranger to the feeling of not liking myself. Once I get past my own body image issues, I realize that I sometimes also neglect my own spirit. Living in a world filled with so much hatred sometimes makes cultivating self-love a very difficult task. I have always struggled with this as I’m sure many of you have. My path is a kind of paradox in that I get to share my craft with the world, but also be willing to throw myself to the wolves. To dare to be different, but still wanting to be accepted. There is vast beauty to be found in life’s contradictions. This non-binary reality allows us to lead happy, expressive lives, and yet this very freedom comes with great risks. I’m not alone in this limbo. Through my art, I pledge to bring empathy and courage to anyone who has been made to feel unworthy or ashamed while daring to be themselves.”
***
~The sources for everything mentioned in the essay are Adam Lambert’s social media pages. I’ve decided against posting any links because I feel like this one reference is enough.
~No photos either, since I mention too many of them and this bloody thing is too long already. Just this one.
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TUSCANY, MY LOVE
A/N: Welcome to my contribution for the New Author's Month over at @loveinpanem
Nearly two months and 16,000 words later and I can finally present it to you. But this wouldn't have happened if for a couple of very special people, starting with the awesome ladies fom LIP: @thegirlfromoverthepond, @akai-echo, @titaniasfics and @louezem. Thank you for your dedication and all the work you put in. You're doing a wonderful job.
My biggest, warmest and most heartfelt THANK YOU is - together with INCREDIBLE beta @honeylime08 - for my awesome mentor: the unbelievably talented, witty and wonderful @xerxia31
I loved working with you so much, and look forward to our future cooperation. :D
And last but not least: to my best friend, Pez. She's not on tumblr, but she helped with this story like it was her own. I love you so much, bestie!
Enough said, let's start with the story. I really hope you enjoy! Thanks for all the support! :)
Editing to add: AO3 / FFn
TUSCANY, MY LOVE
"If you don't show in the next five minutes, she's gonna have a heart attack."
Katniss groans, the strap of her bag constantly slipping from her shoulder. With every other step, she nearly crushes her heels with the suitcase she's pulling behind her. Damn high heels, she should have worn her sneakers. She's a fit person: she jogs, she visits the gym at least twice a week, she loves hiking. Ok, fine. She could eat a little healthier, but between jobs and her sometimes very atypical hours she can't find the time to cook as well. So it's fast food most of the time. But all in all she thinks of herself as a person with good constitution.
Right now, she huffs like a railroad engine, and her feet hurt like she ran a marathon. All the while she tries to hold her cell to her ear and listen to her best friend’s calm but slightly sarcastic voice. Even though she’s running through a busy airport, she can hear Prim’s hysterics in the background.
Code Red it is.
"Hey!" she puffs slightly irritated. "It's not my fault the flight got delayed."
"Hey!" Madge responds immediately. "It's not my fault you didn't take yesterday's flight."
Katniss rolls her eyes and is thankful her best friend can't see it. "Excuse me that my editor wanted to meet. And I'm here now, so tell her to calm down and I'll be there shortly."
"Sometimes I really think you don't know your sister at all. And don't roll your eyes at me."
It's freaky how Madge just knows the stuff she's doing while only listening to her. It's no surprise they're soul-sisters after all.
Katniss slows to a walk. For one, she's simply out of breath and needs a break, plus the extra 30 seconds at the taxi stand won’t make a difference.
"Listen, Madgy," she tries again, this time without the sass. "Tell her I'm sorry. That I'm on my way and will arrive soon after lunch. That I promise the next three days are all about her. She should relax and enjoy the time with Mom and Dad and all the relatives she hasn’t seen in almost two years."
It's funny, she thinks, but she could swear Madge just rolled her eyes.
They end their phone call just as Katniss steps out into the heat of Tuscany's summer.
xXx
Uncle Haymitch, her mother's older brother, was 19 when he met Evelina Trinchini, an exchange student from Italy. She was superficial, arrogant, and shamelessly flirty - or at least it seemed like it. In reality Effie, as everybody called her, was clever, witty, and generous. Loyal to a T.
It was in the heat of an argument that they started their affair.
It took them six months to realize they were head-over-heels in love with each other. But her exchange year was coming to an end, and before they knew it, Effie had to return to Florence. Haymitch followed her, arguing that as a writer he could work anywhere.
They were like day and night, but somehow made it work. Endless arguments, fights, making up, two sons, four books, and a gorgeous estate in the Chianti valley later, and they still were madly in love.
The year Katniss turned twelve her parents gave her the choice between summer camp or staying for a couple of weeks with family in Italy. Of course she made the decision to visit Italy. Dreary, old summer camp would still be there next year.
It was soon discovered that Haymitch and Katniss had a very unique sort of connection. They were so similar in their behavior, their thinking, even their body language; nobody could deny they were related.
From that moment on, dreary, old summer camp was never an option again. Summers were now spent in Italy. Even as a grown-up she visited frequently, spent her holidays on the tuscan estate, and learned to appreciate Uncle Haymitch's fine taste in wine and his excellence in winemaking.
So when Katniss finally - finally! It's late afternoon already! - arrives at her uncle's estate and stores her suitcase and garment bag in her room, her first visit is to the wine cellar.
"Sweetheart," Haymitch welcomes her with a big hug, the crinkles around his eyes showing his age but mostly his joy that she's back.
"Hey, Uncle Mitch," Katniss sighs, and for the first time today feels herself relax. It feels a little bit like coming home.
"Did you see Primmy, yet?" he inquires, amused, while pushing a glass of wine into her hand. The smell of her uncle's famous Chianti Classico makes her close her eyes as she takes a sip. The ruby red liquid is still her favorite.
"Nah. I had the worst day, so my first stop was down here in the hopes of tasting the latest Abernathy vintage. It gets better every year."
"You still know exactly what to say to make me smile. Complimenting my wine will get you everywhere." They share a grin, but it only lasts a moment before Haymitch sighs, "But it can't be helped, Kitty. Avoiding the crowd won't change a thing. Hurry up, girl! Or your sweet little sister will have a heart attack." His laughter is deep and rumbles through the cellar, the walls reverberating the sound.
Katniss rolls her eyes and takes a last sip. "You're the second person to tell me that today." And with that, she presses a kiss to his cheek before going upstairs in search of her family.
Effie is the first one to spot her, and the screech erupting from her aunt makes her cringe slightly. Seconds later she's once again encased in a tight hug.
"My dear, dear girl! How I've missed you!" the older woman exclaims happily in her still slightly accented English, making a couple of heads turn in their direction.
Katniss embraces her back, and tells herself to ignore the slightly uncomfortable feeling she gets every time someone directs attention towards her, even if it's only within the family. She loves Effie, even though she prattles constantly about fashion, designers and beauty, so Katniss forgives her for the enthusiastic greeting.
It's then that the rest of the family realizes that she’s finally arrived. And it’s quite a crowd, starting with Prim, and her groom-to-be, Rory, her parents, Rory's parents and younger siblings, Effie as hostess with her sons, Katniss' cousins. Of course Madge and Gale are there, too, with their two beautiful daughters. Katniss adores them.
The moment Effie lets go of her, Katniss has her arms full of her little sister, who's actually half a head taller than herself.
"Finally!" Prim snickers. "For a moment there I thought you would pull a no-show."
"Sis …" Katniss sighs over her shoulder and can't stop the eye-roll. "As if I would miss the social event of the decade."
Prim's laughter sounds like tiny bells, and once again the older Everdeen realizes the effect her sister can have. She's charming, and funny, and stunning. Everything Katniss isn't. And to top everything off, she's a freakin' genius.
While other kids played in kindergarten, Prim solved the most complicated puzzles.When one of the teachers discovered that the child was able to spell every word one told her, they had their answer: Prim had an IQ far above the norm.
Although two years younger than Katniss herself, Prim graduated high school three years before her. Her undergrad studies were finished in a quarter of the time regular people normally needed. Medical School was finished in half the time. Residency followed, before the young woman decided to go into the teaching field of her profession.
At 24 years old, Dr. Primrose Everdeen was the youngest professor to ever teach at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. When JHSM started a cooperative research program with the University of Florence, Prim was offered a 3 year contract in Italy. Having family near Florence - and Rory’s job as a software engineer being flexible - they decided to move to Italy for the next few years.
A squeeze to her hand brings Katniss back to the present. She starts to greet the rest of her extended family, gives hugs and listens to news before Haymitch enters with a couple of bottles of wine and announces that they should finally start with dinner, he's as hungry as a 'fucking bear᾿. Which gets him a reprimand from Effie ("Manners, Haymitch!").
Dinner is amicable and light-hearted. Everyone has something to contribute, and conversation never stops at the table.
At one point Madge excuses herself, grabs her daughters and hustles them, under huge protest and with a stern look from their father, off to bed.
Prim mentions how thankful she is that one of her colleagues agreed to be part of the bridal party on short notice, and what a great help he has been the last couple of weeks. Katniss is intrigued, simply for the fact that while her little sister is amicable towards nearly everyone, she is always reluctant to give high praise. Her recognition is hard-earned.
"He is wonderful," Prim gushes, before she nudges Katniss with her elbow and winks. "I'm sure the both of you will get along beautifully."
And that's when Katniss' mother decides to drop the bomb. Now that she thinks about it, she's surprised it took so long. Still, it catches her off guard. A second ago she was talking quietly with Prim about the bridesmaid dresses when suddenly her mother's voice dominates the entire room.
"So, where's Oliver? Will he arrive later? Or tomorrow?"
While there was a constant humming of conversation in the air just a moment ago, now it's deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop.
"Mom …" Katniss finally tries to answer, already feeling the pounding in her head. It's not like her family doesn't know she and Oliver are no longer together. But she didn't tell them what exactly happened either. Only Prim and Madge know the gory details.
But it seems her mother isn't finished. "A couple of weeks ago, you told us you'd bring him."
"Mom." Even Primrose tries to intervene now, while Mr. Everdeen tries to stop his wife with a calming hand on hers. But it seems not even her husband nor the bride-to-be have any power to stop the oncoming storm.
"I'm just curious," Mrs. Everdeen continues, her eyes resting on her eldest daughter, "Six months ago we thought it would be your wedding we'd be celebrating. After all, everything was organized. And now he's not even here on time? He's going to be a groomsman, isn't he?"
"Jesus Christ, Haydee!" Haymitch's angry growl suddenly fills the room, his glare directed at his sister. "She arrived an hour ago. Give the girl a fucking break!"
"For heaven's sake, Haymitch! Language! Thank goodness there are no children present!" Effie chides her husband once again, who obediently only grumbles under his breath, eyebrows knitted.
At the same time Katniss throws her napkin on the table, her appetite completely lost, clears her throat once and stands up. For months now, the story with her ex-boyfriend has been simmering under the surface, an explosion was bound to happen.
"Thank you for reminding me, Mom, that I forgot to inform everyone in this room that I uninvited Oliver, because he's a cheating, conniving, stupid asshole, who thought it okay to bring his mistress to my apartment and fuck her into oblivion while I was on a photo shoot for two fucking hours. So, excuse me if I decided to attend my sister's wedding without him, and that I'm happy I got rid of this fucking piece of shit. I'm off to bed now, thank you for dinner." Katniss turns to her aunt. "Sorry for all the swearing, Effie."
As she leaves the room she can feel the stares following her. The last thing she hears before she turns the corner and rushes upstairs is Rory's calm voice explaining, "Actually, Haydee, Oliver won't be part of the wedding. The colleague and dear friend of ours that Prim mentioned will take over his part. His name's Peeta Mellark."
xXx
Two days later the estate is filled with people.
Her mother apologizes in the morning after the dinner debacle, stating that she's just worried, because when Katniss told them she and Oliver broke up, she shrugged their relationship off as just another bump in the road in her life. Nothing more.
They were together for four years.
Truth to be told, Katniss doesn't believe in love, although her family seems to be a parade full of people finding their happily-ever-after. Her relationship with Oliver had been fun. At some point she almost imagined herself in love. The next reasonable step would have been marriage. But she never felt like he stole her breath away, or made her heart race.
So when she found him and his dirty little secret in her bedroom, of course she was hurt. But more about the fact she didn't see it coming than the actual cheating. Needless to say she threw them out of her apartment, closely followed by the mattress and all of his remaining stuff.
His last words to her had been, "You're seriously surprised about this?! You're as cold as a fish when it comes to feelings, Katniss!"
Of course she cried. A little. Four days later she felt ok. His parting words had cut her, but she simply ignored it and plunged into her work. She was rewarded with a nomination for the International Photography Award for one of the pictures she sold to National Geographic. It’s telling that this made her happier than Oliver ever did.
So, while the major part of her family lives their happily-ever-after with their significant others, Katniss concentrates on her career and is happy with that. Ok, maybe not exactly happy, but content. Yes, content is close enough to happiness, in her opinion.
Therefore, she doesn't really mind going alone to her sister's wedding.
The rehearsal itself is uneventful, everything goes according to plan. The colleague Prim and Rory talked about the night before - What was his name again? Something with Pe? Pa? - arrives a little late. It irritates Katniss slightly, even though her heart seems to skip a beat when she first sees him. He's the epitome of sunshine, nearly blinding: his honey blond hair styled in a short cut, sapphire blue eyes sparkling, his somehow impish smile forming dimples. He's not that much taller than she is, but has broad shoulders and looks downright scrumptious in his grey suit. Handsome gets a totally new meaning.
When he rushes through the garden over to the rest of them, and apologizes profusely to the bridal couple, Katniss' anger vanishes. It seems to have been an honest mistake.
All through the rehearsal, she can't stop her eyes from developing a life of their own and drifting over to him, only to catch him looking back every single time. Which makes her smile softly. It gives her slightly ruffled ego a boost that a very attractive man keeps glancing at her. It even goes as far as her trying to figure out how she's going to be seated beside him at dinner without attracting attention.
Afterwards, her uncle and aunt's estate hums with excitement for tomorrow's event. Prim has never looked lovelier as she and Rory mingle with the people invited to the rehearsal dinner.
While the evening before was spent with alcohol, bright pink feather boas, and bursts of laughter at Prim's bachelorette party - Katniss truly outdid herself - tonight is an elegant affair. It surprises her that so many people are actually here. Wasn't the rehearsal dinner normally an event reserved for the bridal party?
Whatever, she thinks. Her eyes wander over the crowd, unconsciously searching for the attractive groomsman. When she finally spots him, her uncharacteristic giddiness deflates. He's standing with a pixie haired woman at his side and talking to Madge. Although he smiles fondly at her best friend, he looks rather skeptical at the woman beside him every time she says something. Nevertheless he hasn't shrugged off the arm which she has wrapped around his shoulders. When she seems to make yet another comment that makes his frown deepen, the pixie laughs out loud and presses a kiss to his cheek.
Even though the presence of his girlfriend is an unpleasant surprise, Katniss thinks very little of his animated conversation with her best friend, because Gale is also standing with them. But when the girls run up to them and need their father's assistance dragging him away, she can't believe her eyes when she sees him lean into Madge, brush her hair off her shoulder, caress her wrist. And Madge doesn't even seem alarmed in the slightest!
If that hadn't been enough testimony for her, the blatant brush-off and eye roll in the direction of his girlfriend right beside him that follows another of her statements would have been everything she needs to know.
For the next half an hour she mingles, fuming inwardly about the audacity of this man. Who does he think he is? God's gift to womanhood? The attractive ones are always the cockiest.
Finally, she steps up to the bar to order another glass of wine. While she waits she adjusts the neckline of her strapless cocktail dress for approximately the hundredth time tonight, cursing Madge for persuading her to buy it in the first place. It's normally not her style, way too short and it feels like a second skin. Underwear is not an option in this thing. But her best friend insisted that she looked "sinfully hot".
"Hi," a voice interrupts her struggles with the dress, and she gasps slightly out of surprise.
When she turns around she finds herself in the presence of none other than Peeta Mellark (yes, she learned his name by now).
She would have gotten weak in the knees at the smile directed at her if she hadn't witnessed the shameless flirting with Madge. The nerve of him now trying to chat her up. She is about done with the overly flirtatious assholes of this world. Therefore she simply raises one of her eyebrows, scowling at him.
"Hi," she offers curtly, before she grabs her glass of wine, turns around and simply walks away. She's only holding back because she doesn't want to cause a scene on the eve of her sister's wedding.
Katniss is nearly out of earshot when she hears an amused female laugh, and can't help herself but throw a curious glance back. His girlfriend joins him, all spiky hair and skin tight dress, her face nearly … gleeful? Katniss doesn't get it, they must have a very strange relationship. Nethertheless, she can't help but smile proudly when a couple of words reach her ears.
"If I ever saw a brush-off, Peeta, that was the mother of them all."
xXx
Prim is a vision in white.
It's not only Rory who can't take his eyes off of her. Katniss has to use all of her willpower not to burst out in happy tears at the picture of her little sister.
The ceremony is beautiful, as are the vows, and Katniss nearly forgets all about that annoying man from the night before, if he hadn't turned out to be Oliver's replacement. Of course, it's just her luck that one asshole gets replaced by another.
Speeches are given, and they're surprisingly good. The obligatory dances are danced, bride and groom for their first official dance as husband and wife, followed by their father with Prim, Rory with his mom, herself with Gale.
Time flies, and with all the delicious food and splendid wine it's soon time for the newlyweds to wave goodbye to start their honeymoon, leaving all the guests behind to celebrate into the early hours of morning.
Hours after Prim and Rory leave, Katniss finds herself leaning on the bar, but this time a small smile graces her lips. She observes the dance floor, where part of her family is gathered. Moments ago, the band started one of those old, romantic ballads, which somehow makes couples automatically find their way to each other.
She sees her parents sway to the soft tunes, her mother's head resting on her father's shoulder, his hand splayed on the small of her back. Not far from them are Haymitch and Effie, talking quietly to each other, both smiling softly at the other, their swaying out of time with the music. Madge has her arms wrapped around Gale's torso and his fingers play absentmindedly with the strands of hair sweeping down her back. His lips are pressed to her temple.
A surge of sadness rushes through Katniss. It would be a lie to deny that sometimes she feels lonely. Or that she sometimes wishes to feel that kind of happiness, too.
She downs her glass in a single move and reprimands herself, her signature frown back. It's just the sentimentality of the situation, she thinks. And those fucking love songs.
On purpose she lets her eyes wander in the opposite direction of the dance floor, only to catch Peeta Mellark watching her. His smile is much softer than the first one she received from him, not a trace of roguishness to be found. For a second she simply forgets that he annoys the hell out of her, getting lost in his stare which seems to hold her captivated. Suddenly every laugh, every word spoken, every note and sound, turns to background noise. All she can hear is her own breath and the blood rushing through her veins, while her eyes never leave his. The thought that this borders inappropriateness only fleetingly crosses her mind. Time seems to stand still.
And then he winks.
The nerve of that man! The spell broken, she turns her gaze away and gets angry. At him and herself. But more at him. Yes, definitely more at him. It wasn't like she was staring back. At all.
"You're amusing!" she suddenly hears to her right, followed by a chuckle.
When she turns to look at the person laughing at her, she finds the spiky haired woman. Her grin is devilish. Of course, out of everyone, it has to be his damn girlfriend witnessing their staring match.
Not that she was staring. She wasn't.
"Pardon?" Katniss finally finds her voice. Maybe, somehow, she still can conceal that something took place here. She's not even sure what she's talking about.
But then the woman starts to speak, and Katniss doesn't get it how she can still be so amused about all of this. Seriously, what kind of strange relationship do they have?
"At first I simply thought you were immune to his charms. That would have been a miracle on its own, let me tell you. But now I realize there must be something else."
Confusion must be written all over Katniss face. "I don't -"
"Oh, don't play dumb with me, sweetheart. You think I didn't see the staring contest taking place just now?"
Katniss blushes deeply. It's embarrassing to get caught in the first place, but when the other one so blatantly points it out it's simply humiliating. And normally, she's not even the kind of woman who would allow such a situation to take place. Especially after what happened to her.
"I'm so sorry!" Katniss therefore starts, guilt and anger - towards him? Towards herself? She's not even sure anymore - battling a war within her. "Really, I don't even know what happened here, but please, let me assure you that I would never ever make a move on someone else's boyfr-"
The thunderous laugh coming from her right makes her stop mid sentence. Ok, all this laughing at her expense actually makes her a little frustrated. What's up with these people?
"Excuse me, but what is so funny?"
The short-haired woman starts to hiccup from laughter, and Katniss is seconds away from simply turning around and leaving.
"Now I get it!" the other finally presses out between gasps for air. "You're simply brainless! This is going to be so much fun to watch." And with these words, a slight shake of the head, and another burst of laughter, the pixie turns around and walks off.
What. The. Fuck?!
What kind of Twilight Zone Scenario has just taken place here? How much wine had she drunk? What did they put in that cake?
When she's finally able to make out her surroundings again, it registers with Katniss that the music has changed to something faster and that people are no longer dancing in pairs but in one huge crowd. Madge and Gale, now joined by his siblings, signal her to join them.
Her eyes wander in the direction to where the strange woman just disappeared, only to discover that she’s standing with Peeta Mellark, still laughing and with tears running down her face, while he seems to be getting paler by the second. When his gaze shoots up abruptly it immediately finds hers.
Fabulous! This couldn't get any more embarrassing. Nethertheless she simply redirects her gaze, juts out her chin, and marches over to her best friends to join them dancing.
So, he and his crazy girlfriend are going to make fun of her? Let them, she couldn't care less! They deserve each other, and she has way better things to do than be bothered by Peeta Mellark's opinion of her.
For the rest of the evening she simply ignores the nagging voice at the back of her mind which calls her a liar.
xXx
It's still early when she steps into the garage and borrows one of the cars. The sun just rises over the hills of Chianti Valley, making the colors richer and deeper, the first rays kissing the tops of the olive trees and grapevines rushing by the window.
It doesn't take her long to arrive at her destination. She parks the car and grabs her camera from the passenger seat.
Although it's been almost three years since she last was here, Katniss still knows the streets like the back of her hand. When she arrives at Piazza del Campo she takes a deep breath and inhales the morning air. It's her favorite time of the day, the place still deserted except for the occasional local. No tourists yet. No street vendors. No constant humming of voices, and life, no oppressive heat. It's like the city takes its breath before another day filled with crowds and noise.
Katniss fell in love with Siena the first time she stepped into it, preferring it over Florence every time. Of course she knows she could never say this out loud or Effie, born and raised in Florence, would be deeply offended. It's no secret the two cities are rivals.
And still, the charm and beauty of the smaller city is undeniable.
She sits down at the piazza, takes out her camera and starts to watch the city through the lens. Now and then, the soft click of the shutter resounds in her ears. She discovers two young women talking, one with a basket full of fresh tablecloths, the other with a watering can. It seems they’re preparing the tables of a café for another day of tourists.
And then - she's not sure how it happens - her camera finds the last person she expects to see here.
Peeta Mellark sits leaning against a wall not far from the café, a sketchbook on his knees and a pencil in his hands. He's concentrating, she can tell from the way his eyebrows knit together. In the early morning light his eyelashes seem endless and Katniss wonders how they don't get all tangled up when he blinks.
She shakes her head, reprimanding herself for even thinking stuff like that. She has no business with him and wants to keep it that way. Best thing to do is simply turn around and visit another of her favorite spots in the city. Far away from the blond devil.
Unfortunately, just a moment later something breaks his concentration, and he looks up. Surprise is written over his face when he sees her standing a short distance away. But then it morphs into a soft smile and he raises his hand in greeting.
Awesome, no she has no choice but to at least say hello.
Katniss is still contemplating if a simple wave back will be enough, and she can be on her merry way, when he makes the decision for her by standing up and walking over to her.
She sighs, but at least remembers to be polite. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Katniss. How are you?" He sounds genuine and nice, and she hates him more because of the little jump her heart makes. Treasonous heart, being affected by such a man.
"Fine," she answers, short and pointed.
A silence settles over them, it's nearly painful, and she desperately thinks of a way to say her goodbyes again.
"Did you catch anything good?"
His question takes her by surprise, and first she doesn't understand what he's talking about. Only the pointed look at her camera makes her realize what he means.
"Oh … um, yeah, there should be a shot where the first rays of sun brush over the top of the Torre del Mangia."
Katniss pauses, not sure why she just told him that. She could have said no and gotten on with her day. But there's no time to ponder over the fact, because Peeta addresses her again, and she's astonished more than anything else at his words.
"That sounds wonderful. Prim showed me some of your pictures from the last time you visited here, and I especially loved the one where you captured Haymitch, crouched down in front of a grapevine and smelling the earth on his fingers, engulfed in the morning light spreading over the Abernathy estate. I looked at it and felt at peace. Your talent is exceptional."
And then he smiles at her, full of warmth and joy, his eyes a sparkling azure and his whole expression showing adoration. And she's not sure if it's for her work or for herself.
It makes her thoughts stop, and her heart beating twice as fast, because he’s just mentioned the picture she loves most in her portfolio, and she can't help but softly smile back at him.
For the first time in months it feels like all the stress leaves her shoulders, lightening her soul, and letting her breathe. The sun shining on her back not only warms her skin, but reaches into the depths of her being and spreads all the way to the tips of her body.
Something between them shifts, and Katniss can't for the love of god remember why she ever thought him so unbearable.
Peeta's arm still holding the sketchbook lowers a little and she catches a glimpse of his drawing: the slender neck and half exposed shoulder of the young woman with the watering can.
The moment they shared is smoke and mirrors.
"Of course," she murmurs. Her smile vanishes, making room for the typical scowl. She should have known. Lowering her guard was simply stupid. This pervert has nothing else on his mind than pursuing women, and Katniss can't believe she forgot that even for a minute. "I have to go."
Where there was a smile a moment ago, utter confusion now resides on Peeta's face. He grabs at his things. "What … why … Katniss?"
"Goodbye, Peeta." Her tone is cold and brisk, and before he has the chance to inquire about her sudden change of mood, she disappears around a corner and is gone.
xXx
When she comes back to the estate she's still rather irritated.
The thing is, she doesn't get him. When they talked today he seemed nice and charming. Genuine. Oh, and let's not forget, attractive. And the next moment she discovered once again that he's a pervert. With no inhibitions. And no shame.
When she rounds a corner into the garden, deep in thought, it takes her a moment to realize that Madge is walking in her direction.
"You missed breakfast," the blonde snickers, but when she sees her best friend’s face, her amusement turns serious. "What happened?"
Katniss shrugs and tries to wave it off, but somehow forgets that Madge can be like a dog with a bone. Her pointed look pierces her down.
"He annoys me," she blurts out, frustration evident in her voice.
"Who?" Madge wants to know, but secretly has a suspicion.
"Peeta Mellark. I ran into him in Siena this morning." Katniss simply states, but can't suppress her eyeroll.
"But why? He's like, the nicest person on earth!" Madge looks at her as if she'd grown a second head.
Katniss grows more irritated. How come he has everybody so wrapped around his finger?
"Excuse me?!" her bewilderment is palpable. "Not only does he think he's God's gift to women, he's also a terrible flirt. You should know!"
Madge is now irritated, too. "What are you talking about? Sometimes you make no sense at all, Katniss."
It's like a dam has broken, and Katniss can't stop blurting out the words. "And I can't believe you didn't recognize his shameful flirting with you the second Gale turned his back. He was all touchy-feely at the rehearsal dinner. Your wrist, your shoulder. And he knows you're married, what does that say about him?"
"What?!" for a second Madge gaps like a fish, before she finds her voice again, her disbelief clearly recognizable. "Katniss! You do realize that Peeta and I go way back, don't you? We both grew up in Old Saybrook, went to school together. It was a nice surprise when we met here. He complimented the bracelet Gale gave me for our wedding anniversary and brushed a wasp from my shoulder so I wouldn't get stung!"
Silence follows in which the two best friends stare at each other.
So, okay, maybe she misinterpreted his actions towards Madge. Now that she explained the situation it makes perfect sense. And it was awfully nice of him, especially with the risk of getting stung himself. Still, that doesn't explain his obnoxious behavior towards his own girlfriend. Surely Madge can't argue that.
"And what about his girlfriend?" Katniss therefore continues. "I can't believe how rude he was to her, rolling his eyes and brushing her off. Nobody deserves that, although their relationship does seem quite strange."
Now Madge is sitting down on the stone wall surrounding the herb garden, and confusion doesn't even explain the look on her face anymore. "What girlfriend?"
Katniss audibly exhales, and can't believe how dense Madge sometimes can be. "The pixie girl? With the spiky hair? And the strange attitude?"
It takes a second, but Katniss sees the moment her best friend realizes who she meant.
The blonde snorts. "Johanna is not his girlfriend. Peeta doesn't have a girlfriend. But let me tell you: it's funny you assume he was making advances when in reality it was her who was shamelessly flirting with me. Peeta stepped in."
Silence.
Well, damn. That actually makes a lot of sense, too. And was quite gentlemanly of him. And she is a fucking idiot, once again seeing something out of context and automatically coming to her own conclusions.
Only now she realizes how incredibly rude she has been every single time they interacted, the last time not even an hour ago. The blush that forms on her face can't be compared to any previous one. She feels like the biggest asshole on earth.
"Oh, sweet Jesus … I'm … Seriously?!"
Madge frowns and nods, her arms crossed in front of her.
"Geez, I really messed up!" Katniss doesn't whine about things, but this situation comes very close to it. Why didn't she simply ask before jumping to conclusions? She can't believe that she misinterpreted his genuine, friendly behavior for a cruel seduction act.
They won't ever let her live this one down.
Madge's anger lasts five seconds, then she relaxes a little and Katniss sees a hint of sympathy flicker over her features. That's her best friend in a nutshell: steadfastly protective when the moment calls for it, but compassionate the very next.
And still, the blonde seems unable to prevent her from more embarrassment.
"And afterwards he still somehow shyly asked about you, because he clearly thought you interesting. And not to forget attractive. It was all over his face."
It feels like a slap in her face. Asshole doesn't even describe her any more. Katniss wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Nothing in her life had ever been this mortifying. Hopefully she'll never see him again, or she probably will die from embarrassment. With a huff she sinks down on the stone wall beside her friend, shoulders hunched and head down.
"Listen," Madge pulls her out of her thoughts. "I can see where this came from. You’ve had a bad experience, Katniss, and it's understandable that you guard yourself. And with your talent of somehow always completely misinterpreting situations, I can even comprehend your conclusions. I'm sure, when you explain the next time you see him, he will understand."
She wraps an arm around her shoulders and smiles reassuringly. Katniss leans her head against Madge, but can't suppress a groan, "What makes you think I ever want to see him again?"
xXx
The next couple of days are a little … let's say hectic.
Haymitch's deadline for his latest book is approaching, and he needs to concentrate on his writing, while his eldest son, Nate, keeps everything up and running with the winery.
Effie gets a call from one of her celebrity-clients, the shoes they wanted to wear don't match the fabric, or whatever shit they come up with, so her aunt meets up with her contacts at Salvatore Ferragamo in Florence for an emergency meeting. Katniss didn't even know that a personal shopper could have an emergency meeting.
With Katniss being considered part of the Tuscan household by everyone, it falls on her to entertain the remaining guests for the next couple of days.
While they are at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Katniss has to take approximately 500 pictures of Madge and Gale's girls trying to lean on it, or push it up, or kiss the top.
When they visit Montepulciano it takes her nearly 30 minutes to convince them to try one of the delicious wild boar dishes the area is famous for. She doesn't have to convince them to drink the Vino Nobile di Montepulciano aplenty.
In Pienza Katniss has to remind her father that they're only allowed 23 kg of luggage per person on the flight back, after he nearly buys a shop out of their famous cheese. Only the promise of convincing Haymitch to send some in the future makes him halt his shopping spree.
In Florence they nearly lose Lily, Gale and Madge's 4-year old daughter, on Ponte Vecchio because she's transfixed by a tiara in the window of one of the many jewelry stores. The girl has the loudest cry in history, so they find her shortly after, and italian ice cream is the cure for everything.
Although Katniss loves her family dearly - and it's fun to show them around what feels like her second home - she can't wait for the return of a little peace and quiet. Yes, she missed Italy. She missed the area, the people, and the Tuscan charm. She even missed the heat.
But she also misses the solitude to concentrate on her own work. And none of all this chaos helps her to get started on her new project.
The meeting with her editor that had delayed her arrival in Tuscany, was actually to discuss the next step of her career: a collection of her most valued photos. Pictures that made her known. Pictures of people, of landscapes, of fashion. She has mountains of material, and she needs time to sort everything out, including her ideas.
Six days after the wedding she gets the remaining horde to Peretola Airport near Florence and waves them off as they board the plane to Munich for their connecting flight to JFK.
Madge is the last one to say goodbye, and they share a tight hug.
"Make amends, hon," she whispers in Katniss’ ear, "He's truly worth it. I promise." One more tight squeeze and the two friends let go. Katniss knows what her friend is implying. A funny feeling spreads inside her, though she can only guess what it might mean.
When they part - one last wave, one last kiss from the girls - Madge gives her a reassuring smile and winks once. And then they're off.
Suddenly it's quiet around her, even though she stands in an airport. She feels ambivalent about the change. On the one hand she already misses the happy babble from the girls, or Gale and Madge's constant banter like flirting. Her parents and the Hawthorne's conversations and amazement about the things she showed them. On the other hand now she's free to plan her days the way she wants.
With a last smile in the direction her extended family just disappeared, Katniss turns around and starts to leave for the taxi stand.
She stops short when her eyes fall on a blond man a few steps over. What are the odds? It feels like Madge just tempted fate with her half-cryptic order to right her wrongs.
But when the man turns around fully she realizes it's not Peeta. Now that the first shock is gone she even recognizes all the details which don't fit: The blond is a different shade, the shoulders are not wide enough, the eyes are brown and not blue.
Half relieved, half disappointed she continues on her way.
And then, halfway back to the estate, it suddenly dawns on her that somehow she’s filed away every single detail she’s learned about Peeta Mellark so far.
Panic starts to rise; it's nearly overwhelming in its force. She's not sure, but by the look on the driver's face she must have gasped. Thoughts race in her head, and the blood rushing through her sounds like thundering water in her ears.
What is happening here? Where are all these different feelings coming from? First, attraction. Followed shortly by hate and disappointment. Now, shame. Regret. But the most alarming: desire.
It's the guilt, she tries to convince herself, ignoring these most inconvenient feelings, pushing them back into the depths of her thoughts, and concentrating on her breathing. Thinking like that is not only dangerous, but most of all senseless. Her mind needs to focus on the thing she came here for: her work.
If she ever meets him again, she'll apologize for her behavior and then be on her merry way. He will live his life, and she will live hers, and everyone will be happy. End of story.
For the time being, she convinces herself, simply ignoring yet another thing by pushing it out of her mind. But she can't stop the single thought racing through her head: What is it about Peeta Mellark that she can't stop thinking about him?
xXx
It's raining cats and dogs. The cobblestones of Piazza della Signoria are old and smooth, and therefore so slippery she nearly tumbles down a couple of times. The soles on her sandals are not helping matters. Finding shelter under the Loggia dei Lanzi is useless, tourists are squeezed together tightly there, so Katniss makes a run for the Galleria degli Uffizi.
Somehow she makes it to the entrance of the museum without getting totally soaked through. There are surprisingly few people, and Katniss decides to take the tour. It's been years since she did this, last time she went with Haymitch when she was still in High School.
She forgot how beautiful it is.
She finds da Vinci, and Botticelli, and Michelangelo. Venus' Birth and The Annunciation are exactly as spectacular as the last time she saw them. She gets lost in the paintings and sculptures … and the people watching them. The urge to take her camera and start taking photos of them looking at the wonderful art is nearly overwhelming.
A small group enters the hall, but they don't look like tourists. It takes Katniss a moment, but then she realizes these are people who clearly work in the field of art. Here and there she picks up a phrase or two, but her Italian isn’t what it should be, given all the time she’s spent here.
When she turns, she finds herself face to face with Peeta Mellark.
He stands a couple of feet away, hands in the pockets of his jeans (and boy, do they fit him well, she can't help but notice), and he appears half surprised, half amused at the fact that she's there.
She’d forgotten that he's an exchange professor at the art department of the university. That's how he knows Prim.
Katniss wants to vanish. She is still mortified by her behavior toward him, and the smile he directs at her doesn't help, especially because she really doesn't deserve it.
It seems she can't make her eyes to cooperate, though. They skim over his figure, take in lean muscles, broad shoulders, sunkissed skin. Forearms carved from marble, like the sculptures surrounding them. She soaks in his appearance - for the first time with no assumptions - and realizes he's beautiful. Her first impression of him being handsome doesn't even come near it.
She allows herself to get weak in the knees, but tries her hardest not to show it. Embarrassment is still the predominant feeling when she's around him.
"Hello, Katniss," he finally breaks the silence. Once again it's him who takes the first step in her direction.
"Hello, Peeta." She sounds like a frightened child, which annoys her and makes her scowl. The laugh from him following that action surprises her.
"There it is," he chuckles. "It's not the same when you don't scowl at me. I'm rather fond of your scowl by now."
This makes her blush, and the urge to simply turn around and flee is strong. But she promised herself to make amends the next time she saw him. Therefore she takes a deep breath and braces herself. With every single spark of courage inside her she finally looks up, their eyes connecting.
His expression is open. Friendly. Somehow tender.
The words get stuck in her throat. Silence stretches between them once again, and Katniss hates herself for being such an idiot when it comes to words and apologies.
It's him who takes a deep breath and starts, "Listen, Katniss -"
But one of the men who entered the gallery with him steps up to them, nodding once in her direction, and then asks him something.
She's too flabbergasted to pay attention, barely notices that Peeta responds to his colleague in fluent Italian before he turns back to her, now looking slightly annoyed.
"I need to go, I've got an appointment with the curator. But …" he pauses, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. A nervous tick, she assumes, which she finds surprisingly endearing. "Could we meet afterwards? I think …" another pause, but this time when he continues he's certain, "I really think we need to clear some things up."
It takes her a moment to process his words, but finally she just nods dumbly.
Peeta rewards her with a blinding smile, then explains he'll be done in about an hour and suggests they meet at the Statue of David.
And this time it's his turn to disappear around a corner before she gets the chance to do more than accept his proposition.
xXx
Within the next hour Katniss changes her mind approximately 27 times. In the end, she decides to simply bite the bullet: apologize for her terrible behavior towards him, then wish him all the best before a swift escape.
The plan she forms in her head (and which repeats itself in an infinite loop) actually takes some of her anxiety away, together with the reminder that he was the one who suggested they talk. And that he acted collected and nice, with no evidence of anger present.
Peeta arrives 54 minutes after their encounter in the Galleria.
"I wasn't sure you’d actually show," he grins, his hands back in the pockets of his jeans, highlighting his beautiful forearms. Katniss is a goner for arms.
She rips herself out of her thoughts and even finds it in her to answer him with half a smile, "I considered bolting."
"Glad in the end you decided not to let me wait for hours."
He's joking, and there's not even a trace of accusation in his voice. It makes Katniss suddenly remember why she agreed to meet him in the first place. Wringing her hands, she tries her hardest not to blush. She knows he deserves an apology more than anything else. So before he gets the chance to continue with idle conversation, Katniss takes a deep breath and tells herself to just get it over with.
"I'm sorry," she blurts out. The dam is broken, there's no stopping her now. "So sorry. I know now that I behaved like a lunatic, blamed you for stuff without knowing the background, assumed the worst of you. Now I know you're neither a shameless flirt nor a cheater, but a gentleman. I was rude, and insensitive, and - to be blunt - a complete asshole. And I'm really, very sorry. I'm not sure I can ever make it up to you. You didn't deserve my brusqueness, nor my anger, or prejudice."
When she's finished the silence is palpable, even in their busy surroundings. Peeta simply stands in front of her and stares. It's intense, she can feel an excited prickle under her skin, the sounds around them still muted to her ears.
"Wow," he interrupts their silence a second later. "I really didn't expect this. Actually, it was me who wanted to apologize to you in case I did something to offend you in the first place, and it being the reason you've been acting so cold towards me. Seems we were both in the wrong." He nearly looks bashful.
Katniss blinks once. Twice. Isn't sure she heard him correctly. "What?!"
"It's fine, Katniss. How about we simply forget about our unlucky start?" he rephrases, even smiles at her again.
"How do you do that?" She looks frustrated and ashamed at the same time, and now his confusion is clearly visible. It takes everything to not stomp her foot like an angry kid.
"Do what?" he inquires, not sure what she means.
"How can you forgive me, just like that? I would hate me if I was in your shoes." Her eyes drop to her feet again, and she can feel the blush rising again in her cheeks. Shame consumes once more. This whole situation is more than uncomfortable.
Surprisingly Peeta only laughs, and there's nothing malicious about it. "So, thank god you're not in my shoes. Yours are way more attractive anyway."
Her blush deepens, but this time for completely different reasons. "Peeta …"
He sobers up, but doesn't lose the friendly tone to his voice. "Listen, Katniss. You apologized, you explained yourself, you feel remorseful. I would be spiteful and narrow-minded to hold a grudge against you when you chastise yourself the way you do. Which - by the way - isn't necessary at all. To be honest, the whole situation is a bit funny. Very romantic comedy, if you ask me."
His smirk is contagious and Katniss actually has to laugh out loud at his explanation. It somehow feels like all the worries she carried on her shoulders the last couple of days simply fall away with his forgiveness. She can't help but join in his friendly banter. "Only that there's nothing romantic going on here."
For a second he pauses, and she could swear his smile freezes on his face, but then he's back to nodding along, together with an amused, "Yeah … um. Of course."
She writes it off as imagination.
"So …" he starts speaking again when their chuckles die down. "Now that we’ve come to the conclusion that you're not totally disgusted with my presence, how about I buy you some gelato? I happen to know the best gelateria in all of Florence."
She crosses her arms in front of her. "Shouldn't I be the one offering to buy you ice cream?"
His smirk turns mischievous. "Not when you call it plain, ordinary ice cream. It's gelato. That's not the same. And let's face it: You have a lot of groveling to do, so if I say I’m going to buy you some gelato, you simply have to accept it as part of your groveling process."
Katniss playfully groans. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"
"Nope," he beams, showing his dimples. Now that they’ve cleared up the situation, she at least doesn't have to feel bad about finding his smile drop dead gorgeous anymore.
Or, him. Like, all of him. Not that she's ever going to admit it out loud.
Peeta nods towards his right, and with an answering smile from Katniss they start to walk.
xXx
Weeks fly by.
Katniss isn't exactly sure how it happens but somehow she finds herself spending quite a lot of her time with Peeta.
Sometimes they share lunch when she happens to be in Florence and he has no lecture. They visit vernissages together; Peeta has a nose for upcoming artists. They go for coffee, or gelato, or a glass of wine.
One evening they join Johanna - who turns out to be part of the university's biology department and not his girlfriend - for dinner and drinks afterwards. When Katniss winds up quite tipsy, Peeta puts her in a cab, wishes her a good night and pays the fare upfront, without her noticing of course.
If asked a couple of weeks ago, Katniss would have vehemently denied that Peeta Mellark could ever be more than an annoying acquaintance.
As it turns out, now she considers him her friend.
"See? I told you!" Madge gloats when they talk over the phone one evening.
"You're going to be obnoxious about this, I can already tell," Katniss deadpans, her cell pressed between her ear and shoulder while she sorts through some of her photos.
"You know me so well, bestie!" the blonde snickers. "I love to be right."
Katniss snorts. "As if I didn't know that."
She misses Madge. It's not the same when they don't see each other regularly. Normally, not a week goes by without them meeting at least once. It makes Katniss cherish Peeta even more, for he often resembles Madge's character. They're both thoughtful and genuine. Friendly. Amiable. Loyal to the bone.
She and Peeta fall into an easy pattern; their friendship feels so natural Katniss can't fathom how she ever thought of him as an asshole.
And then summer turns into autumn. It's harvest season.
And suddenly, everything changes.
xXx
It's October and Abernathy Vineyards is preparing for the vintage. Grape harvest is something special at the estate, as well as the surrounding area. Uncle Haymitch told her once that people were skeptical when they first started as vintners, because they didn't trust an americano to follow their traditions. The other winemakers’ respect was hard earned, but in the end, Haymitch succeeded.
The area the vineyard lies in - the zona del Chianti Classico - is the oldest and most prestigious one. Only here is it allowed to produce the Classico, following strict rules and stipulations. Downgrading to a simple Chianti is not allowed. Winemaking is an art here.
Harvest at Abernathy's takes between two and three weeks, during which time the estate hums with life. Harvesting still happens by hand here. It's Effie's favorite time of the year, playing hostess to so many people, while Haymitch looks forward to when the harvest is done and everything returns to normal.
The highlight of harvest season is the wine fest when they're finished. Tons of food is served, lots of wine gets drunk, and live music invites everyone to dance. It's always fun, followed by a huge hangover the next day.
Katniss is leaving the room she claimed as an office for the time being when Effie intercepts her and asks if she wants to invite anyone to the feast.
She pauses when her first thought is to invite Peeta, but shrugs it away as coincidence because she just read an email from him a couple minutes ago. Katniss tells her aunt that she'll ask Peeta if he wants to come, and Effie smiles brightly. "That's wonderful, dear. He's such a nice young man."
When she and Peeta meet for lunch the next day she tells him about it, and he gladly accepts.
xXx
The band switches to softer music.
Katniss feels the world spin slightly and giggles. As it is with her and alcohol, she normally becomes a happy mess, with her inhibitions lowered and her scowl as good as gone. Madge told her a couple years ago she sometimes acts like a completely different person when inebriated, looks younger and free, isn't as serious as normal.
She's not so drunk that she can't tell that now is such an occasion.
Most people have already gone to bed. A few small groups still linger around the bar, but the raucous laughter has changed to muffled conversation.
She and Peeta share one of the loveseats under the gazebo, both of them pressed into opposite corners. From the huge smile on his face Katniss can tell he's slightly drunk as well.
Conversation is easy and never stops, the topics jumping from politics to gossip to art and so on.
"You should wear your hair down more often," he tells her at one point, after taking another sip from his wine. He stretches his arm out on the backrest, so his fingers reach her locks, and starts to play with one of the strands. "It really suits you."
Katniss doesn't even blush, only grins back at him. "That's really nice of you, Peeta. Unfortunately it's very impractical when working." She pauses, but her brain doesn't work as fast in her tipsy state as it normally would, and before she can stop herself she confesses, "You, on the other hand, always look handsome."
If possible, his grin broadens. "Is that so?"
And again her mouth is faster than her brain when she replies, "Come on! You totally know that you're drop dead gorgeous, and to top it off, devilishly charming." She laughs softly, taking another sip.
When her amusement flattens, she realizes that conversation has stalled for the first time since they sat down here. When she offers him a confused look, she's nearly taken aback by the sheer intensity in his eyes. She notices that they have somehow moved closer to each other, her knee pressing into his thigh. His hand brushes her hair out of her face now. Tucks it behind her ear. Repeats the action.
"I think you're beautiful," he says. It's nearly a whisper.
Even half drunk she feels her cheeks redden. Her pulse starts to race, and she's not sure if it's from excitement or fear. Because the look in his eyes scares the shit out of her.
Peeta Mellark is the nicest, most generous and beautiful man she’s met in her life. And there's no possible way that he can seriously be interested in her. Not after their disastrous start. He must have seen her inability to trust, or the way she's prone to overreacting. He deserves so much more than to get involved with a broken and insensitive coward.
Her half befuddled brain registers then that he's leaning towards her. Panic rises within her, and every single cell tells her to 'Run away, now!'. The small voice in the back of her mind whispering that this could be something wonderful gets ignored.
With half a cry, half desperate laugh, Katniss jumps up from her seat. Her fingers fumble with the wineglass she's still holding. She avoids looking at him, her eyes fixed on the spot in front of her feet.
"Good … um … good night, Peeta," she tumbles over the words. "Thanks for coming tonight."
And then she flees, nearly running all the way up to her room, the unbraided hair flying behind her, her breath heavy and short. Reminding herself that this is for the best, that she saved herself from more heartbreak. That Peeta is way better off like this, their friendship so much more important than any half-drunken mishap both would regret the next morning.
She will give it a couple days and they'll be back to normal, she's sure of it.
Not once does Katniss turn back, or she would've seen the devastation she’s left in her wake.
xXx
A couple days later, nothing is back to normal.
Panic ebbs and flows, and about a week after the "near-incident", Katniss can't handle it any longer. She hugs Haymitch and Effie goodbye and boards a plane back to the States.
"My editor called, we need to meet," she explained while packing her suitcase. "I'm done with the pre-arrangement of the photos; now the real work starts."
Work comes in handy, explains away her rushed departure, and lets her concentrate on something other than the fact that she ignored every single call from Peeta since that fateful evening.
She knows it’s a shitty move, but can't help but think that it's also the only possible one. Best to cut off the starting attraction before anyone gets seriously hurt.
As the plane takes off, Katniss stares out the small window, takes in the scenery once more, and allows a single tear to roll down her cheek, not bothering to brush it away.
This is goodbye, and it's for the best.
xXx
When November turns into December, Katniss has nearly forgotten all about Peeta Mellark.
Or at least that’s what she tells herself.
In reality, not a day has gone by without her thinking of him at least once. It's the small things that get to her: a glass of wine, a piece of art, a dimpled smile.
Katniss delves into her work, rises early and stays up late. Exhaustion is her constant companion, but at least it occupies her brain most of the time. Only on nights when sleep won't come do her thoughts drift to a gazebo in a familiar garden.
The gallery she and her agent decided on lies near Chelsea Waterside Park. It's a beautiful place, and Katniss can't wait to exhibit her pictures there. Unfortunately, the book presentation together with the showing, and everything around it, requires significant preparation.
She hurries down the street for an appointment with her agent and the gallery-owner. Thanks to New York's public transportation system and its vulnerability to break down at the most inconvenient times, she's already five minutes late.
She’s just ended a call with her agent to apologize and explain, when she stops short. Because in front of her - not ten yards away - Peeta Mellark buys a newspaper from a street vendor. He smiles at the lady behind the counter, and Katniss feels her knees get weak. Eight million people in this goddamn city and he’s here at this very moment. What are the odds?
He turns around, and before she can react, his eyes settle on her. Katniss sees his surprise. She expects he'll turn around and walk away, without even acknowledging her. Astonished she sees Peeta taking a deep breath and stepping over to where she stands.
"Hello, Katniss," he greets her, and he sounds … normal.
She's relieved; it seems he doesn't hold a grudge against her. Nevertheless she doesn't trust her voice, so she smiles back at him in greeting.
"How are you?" he inquires. Peeta's voice is calm and collected, his posture relaxed, his whole demeanor friendly but also somehow distant.
"I'm … I'm good. Busy. Thank you. And you?" It takes everything for her to sound casual. The urge to throw her arms around him and apologize for her cruel dismissal back in October is nearly overwhelming. Her heartbeat is twice as fast as normal, and despite the chill in the air, her cheeks are glowing and her hands are sweating. Breathing gets harder by the minute.
What is happening?
"Good, I'm good," he answers, still polite, still collected. She hates that all the warmth he once directed at her seems to have frozen in the cold December air. "Back to Columbia, now that my visiting professorship is over. You're still working on your collection?"
Katniss nods and tells him about the gallery around the corner, about the presentation of the book in about two weeks, that preparations are in full swing.
He nods politely, asks questions at the appropriate times.
Before she's ready, he smiles once more, wishes her all the best for her presentation, and then turns around and is gone, swallowed by the people hurrying down the streets.
She wants to call after him, but her knees get weak again, and she has to hold on to the wall beside her. Her breath comes short, her vision is splotchy. Drops of sweat run down the back of her neck; her skin feels clammy.
It takes a couple of minutes for her heartbeat to return to normal, and her breathing to regulate.
Awesome, she thinks. You're working yourself into a panic attack.
When at last her vision turns sharp again, and the weakness in her knees dissipates, Katniss decides from now on she'll slow down a little. After the meeting at the gallery she'll take the rest of the day off. Maybe visit the Hawthornes.
It won't help anyone if she works herself to death. The panic attack right now showed that. Meeting Peeta Mellark was simply the icing on the cake, and gave her already frail nerves reason to go into overdrive.
With a last deep breath she continues her way to the gallery, successfully blocking every thought of Peeta Mellark from her mind.
xXx
"I'm worried about you."
Madge turns around from preparing PB&J sandwiches for the girls and gives her best friend a concerned look. Katniss sits at the Hawthornes' kitchen table, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate. She made her promise true, and drove upstate to visit her best friends after the meeting at the gallery.
"Why?" she replies, curious what Madge means.
"It feels like you're working 24/7, Katniss. Today's the first time in three weeks you had time to come by. And it's not only me, Gale is worried, too. The girls ask about you all the time," the blonde pauses, and Katniss can see she struggles with whether to continue. In the end Madge swallows down her doubts. "Ever since you came back from Italy something has changed. Did something happen there?"
Katniss sighs. Her first instinct is to deny everything, but who's she kidding? She's talking to her best friend. If she can't let Madge know, she can't talk to anyone else.
"You're right," she admits. "I'm worried about myself, too. My schedule needs adjustment; I need to cut back on work a little."
Madge is visibly surprised. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
It takes a few moments, but finally Katniss surrenders and decides to tell her. "Before my meeting at the gallery earlier, I had a full blown panic attack."
"Katniss!" the blonde gasps. Jam is dripping from the spoon onto the countertop, the PBJ's totally forgotten. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine now, don't worry. It's just everything with the presentation. I promise, I will take better care of myself. And when opening night is done, I'll take a couple days off." Katniss smiles and takes another sip from her mug, secretly hoping the other woman won’t notice that she never answered her first question. There's no reason why she should explain what happened immediately before her panic attack, all the more because it was just mere chance that she had run into Peeta.
But once again, she underestimates Madge. The look Katniss receives is intense, blue eyes boring into silver ones, tearing every carefully crafted layer of nonchalance to shreds. Madge Hawthorne is a bloodhound. "Answer my question: What happened? And don't you dare give me the 'Nothing'-excuse."
"New York public transportation is what happened." She tries nevertheless.
"Bullshit!"
Surprise and shock is written all over Katniss’ face. Madge isn't one for swearing. To the contrary, she often reprimands Gale to watch his tongue in the presence of the girls. So when a curse word falls from her lips, Katniss knows she means serious business.
Actually, now that she thinks about it, why shouldn't she tell Madge? It's not like the chance encounter with Peeta has any serious implication on her.
"So, okay," Katniss therefore relents. "I ran into Peeta on my way to the gallery. We talked a little, and then went our separate ways."
For Miss Everdeen, the chapter is closed with this, and she hopes that her friend returns to other topics as well. Even if she's quite sure that hope is in vain.
And she's right.
"When exactly did you have that panic attack?"
Katniss is confused. "What do you mean by 'exactly'? I told you -"
"No!" Madge interrupts. "What happened at the moment you realized you were having a panic attack?"
The scowl on the brunette's face makes her forehead wrinkle, but for the sake of getting done with the topic answers truthfully, "I hurried down the street and unexpectedly ran into Peeta. I started to feel unwell, we talked for a moment, parted, and then I had the attack."
For a couple of seconds everything goes quiet. Madge stares at her, and Katniss can't for the love of it tell why she looks so incredulous.
"Honey …" she finally addresses her, disbelief and sympathy in her voice. "You didn't have a panic attack."
Katniss snorts. "Of course I did. You think I don't know what a panic attack-"
But Madge cuts her off again, and the young woman freezes at her next words.
"You're in love, Katniss!"
It takes her a moment to respond, but then it's her turn to swear. "Bullshit!"
Madge crosses her arms in front of her, one eyebrow skeptically raised, before she starts to count down the facts. "Racing heartbeat, sweating in December, blotchy vision, dizzy feeling, problems with breathing. You tell me you had none of these symptoms and I'll leave you alone."
Katniss bites her tongue and glares at the blonde in front of her, but can't protest. It's hard to admit to any of it, but she would never lie to her best friend.
And clearly she was … or is … or whatever … fond of Peeta. They formed a close friendship while in Italy.
But love?
That's impossible. She’s come to terms with the fact that love, marriage and kids aren't in her future. And she's okay with that.
Katniss is so deep in thought she only notices Madge’s close proximity when she feels the woman sitting down beside her and squeezing one of her hands. A deep sigh escapes her friend.
"You're so dead-set on believing that love isn't in your cards that you’re too blind to see what's right in front of you."
xXx
Shortly after the revelation, Katniss says goodbye, this time dizzy for a totally different reason.
Madge understands, hugs her tight and makes her promise to call if she needs anything. Katniss is thankful but needs some time alone to sort everything out. Especially the question: Is she really in love with Peeta Mellark?
She has no recollection of how she makes it back to her apartment, or to her bedroom, or if she sleeps at all during the night. You're in love, is constantly racing through her thoughts. She tosses and turns the whole night, and when dawn is breaking and the first grey light creeps through the curtains, she's none the wiser.
Around eight she gives in and calls her agent to cancel all appointments for the day. There's no way she can concentrate on anything work-related anyway.
After a quick shower and a half eaten bowl of cereal Katniss finds herself at her desk in her living room, wearing her most comfortable yoga pants and sweater, trying to take a break from her confusing thoughts. Listening to the radio as a distraction turns out to be the worst idea yet, as Mariah constantly blares "All I Want For Christmas Is You" on every fucking station. She aimlessly clicks through pictures on her Mac, the ones she took in Tuscany, but doesn't even register what she’s looking at as she jumps from one to the next. It's all a swirl of colors and forms, making no sense.
And then she stops short.
The random clicking stops at one of the photographs she'll show at the gallery. It's her favorite. She worked hours on perfecting the light and color scheme, depth and contrast, sharpness and brilliance.
Only now she discovers why it is her favorite: it's the one single picture she has of Peeta.
It's not even a clear shot, at least not of him. He's off to the right, half of his body not in the picture. The focus is on a little girl in a red dress, her dark locks in two braids, shyly eyeing him while he crouches in front of her and holds out the stuffed animal she accidently dropped. Part of his face is visible, a soft, dimpled smile playing around his lips.
Katniss remembers that day in Montalcino, where they spent an afternoon strolling through town and talking about everything and nothing. They were on their way to a restaurant for an early dinner when they came upon the girl and her mother, who had not realizing that the beloved toy was missing. Peeta had called after them, and when the woman and her daughter turned around, Katniss grabbed her camera by instinct. She also remembers her fascination with the girls typical italian complexion, but her atypical stunning light blue eyes. After she returned home that night Katniss giggled happily when she discovered the perfect shot she had taken.
Months later she realizes that it's Peeta who makes the shot perfect.
She's an idiot!
No.
Wrong.
She's a gigantic idiot!
With a desperate cry Katniss jumps off the chair and rushes to her front door, grabs her keys and phone and ignores the fact that she's not really wearing clothes to leave the house in.
It doesn't matter.
She has to apologize once again, and desperately hopes that Peeta is generous and doesn't turn her down immediately.
Hopefully this time will be the last time she has to ask for his forgiveness.
xXx
The campus of Columbia University is busy, even though temperatures are low. Katniss is freezing in her outfit, only remembering that she didn't bring a warm enough jacket after the taxi was halfway to the school already. But she doesn't let this stop her as she hurries over the vestibule to the arts-building.
As she runs through the doors it strikes her for the first time that she has no idea how to find Peeta. Or if he has a lecture. Or if he's even here today. Katniss pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind and steps up to the digital information board.
She enters his name and a moment later the screen shows her his contact information as well as the room number of his office. The odds are in her favor, too, for he has office hours at the moment. In the blink of an eye she's on the stairs to the second floor.
Before she steps into the corridor where his office is located, Katniss closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to swallow down the knot forming in her throat. She feels like a fish out of water, well outside of her comfort zone. Words don't come easily to her, but she knows they are needed now.
You can do this, she tells herself, desperate to talk to Peeta as soon as possible. Another deep breath and she turns the corner.
And freezes in her tracks.
The blonde woman who has her arms wrapped around Peeta is beautiful. The golden locks flow down to the middle of her back, her figure is voluptuous, and Katniss has never before felt so inadequate as in this very moment.
Peeta's smile is contagious, Katniss can tell, even though at the moment she feels like she might never smile again.
She swallows down her tears when the two people break their embrace, but still hold onto each others arms, smiling and laughing at each other. Katniss is thankful that there are quite a few people surrounding her, so the couple doesn't notice her standing there.
When the woman reaches up to brush a kiss to his cheek, followed by her thumb rubbing over the spot to get rid of some of the lipstick she just left there, Katniss finally turns around and makes her exit. Thankfully Peeta hadn't seen her, or the whole situation would've been more than awkward.
Pain throbs in her chest, rushing through her in waves. Nothing has ever hurt like this before. Katniss feels her eyes getting glassy, but tries her hardest to not let any tears escape.
When I'm home, she promises herself. When she's home she can open up the water works, wallow in self-pity and curse herself over and over again.
Because Peeta Mellark has moved on, and it's her own damn fault.
xXx
She cries herself to sleep two nights in a row. Her break-up with Oliver hadn't made her feel even close to the way she feels right now. And that's considering that she and Peeta weren't even a couple.
Work distracts her only little, even though she tells herself to concentrate on it. She doesn't take another day off. After all, she's a responsible adult, and needs to act like one, not like an emotional teenager broken-hearted over their first crush. When the presentation is done, and opening night at the gallery is over, she will have enough time to give way to despair.
Karma really is a bitch.
Of course she tells Madge all about it a couple days later, and her friend has the decency not to comment on it. Instead, an hour after their talk on the phone she stands in front of Katniss' apartment with a bottle of wine in one hand, a bag full of cookies in the other, and 'The Notebook' in her bag. Katniss thinks she’s never loved her more.
There's only one thing Madge asks her before they start the movie, "And you're sure you didn't totally misinterpret the situation yet again?"
Katniss deadpans, "They hugged. And kissed. And beamed at each other. I'm not sure what there is to misinterpret." Madge holds out another Oreo and the two friends close the topic for good.
(When Allie and Noah break up the first time in the movie, both women sob like two emotional teenagers broken-hearted over their first crush.)
xXx
It's the night before the presentation, and Katniss walks into her apartment after picking up Haymitch and Effie from the airport and dropping them off at their hotel. Of course her uncle and aunt were determined to be there for her big, big, big day. Effie's words.
She’s just dropped her keys in the bowl beside the door when she gets a phone call from Rue, the assistant provided by her publisher, insisting that she needs to get to the gallery as soon as possible. Something about a light installation or whatever. With a sigh and an eye roll, Katniss grabs her keys again and leaves in the direction of Chelsea.
"I'm here," she calls 20 minutes later from the entrance area into the gallery. "So, where's this light install-"
The words get stuck in her throat when her eyes don't fall on Rue's figure, but on the blond man she’s subconsciously pined after for the last couple of weeks. He stands in the middle of the open floor, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and his eyes following her every move. Half a smirk plays around his mouth and Katniss can feel warmth radiating off him, even from standing all the way over there. The whole situation already feels so different from their chance encounter from a few days ago.
"Peeta …" she whispers, staring at him, and not sure if she's dreaming and will wake up at any moment. "What are you doing here?"
He takes a step towards a small table and busies himself now with a bottle of wine she hadn't realized was there in the first place.
Now that she takes a better look, she notices a loveseat which wasn't there earlier, as well as a little table with two glasses and the aforementioned bottle of wine. And the label on it looks conspicuously familiar.
"Rue let me in. She's a peach. You should keep her as an assistant."
He sounds relaxed, takes the couple of steps over to her and holds out one of the wine glasses. Katniss takes it by reflex, and Peeta steps back over to the table to grab his own glass. She finally finds her voice again.
"How?" She sounds raspy, but at the same time is happy she can speak at all. Even if it's a single syllable.
Peeta seems to understand what she's inquiring about, and shrugs once. "Oh, Madge gave her a call to tell her who I am."
This gets more surreal by the second, but when her best friend's name is mentioned she listens up.
"Madge? That doesn't explain-" she stops again. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment to gain her composure and hold back the tears. When she opens them again, she puts the glass of wine down, neither in the mood to drink nor feeling like she can handle alcohol at the moment. Then she looks him straight in the eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"We have to talk," he shrugs, putting his glass down as well. He steps back over to her. Katniss feels a gasp leave her when he gently but firmly holds her by her upper arms, preventing her escape. "You really need to stop making assumptions from now on or one of these days my heart might give out."
"Christ, Peeta!" she hisses, her frustration level reaching a new high. None of this makes sense, her heart nearly burst from aching so much, and she only can hold back her tears for so long before she'll turn into an ugly sobbing mess. "Answer my goddamn ques-"
"That night in Italy I wanted to kiss you."
This shuts her up for good. The frustration vanishes, leaving her speechless. The tears she hardly could hold back disappear completely. All kinds of different feelings rush through her, from surprise to panic, to hope and euphoria. She must stare at him for what feels like hours.
Peeta, on the other hand, beams like a kid at Christmas. Katniss feels his thumbs starting to brush her arms where he still holds on to her. The sparkling in his sapphire eyes was never brighter. Even his smile seems softer, warmer.
"And now that I finally have your undivided attention, I will explain a couple of things. Madge called me this afternoon."
Katniss gasps and starts to protest, but Peeta interrupts her by simply continuing. "My turn. As I said: she called. I was surprised about it, let me tell you. She asked how I was doing, if I was looking forward to Christmas, and what the fuck had happened in Italy. Because you're miserable, she told me. And that you stopped talking about me, when before you nearly wouldn’t shut up. Which flatters me immensely, by the way, but we will come back to that later. So, Madge tells me all of this, and I get confused. Even more than I already was. Because - I have to tell you - you left me high and dry. And I was hurt, Katniss. And kinda angry, because I didn't know what exactly I'd done wrong to make you vanish on me. And I told myself, if we were to ever meet again, to simply ignore you. Move on. That you wanted nothing to do with me, and that I had to accept that. And then suddenly you were standing there, half chilled through, hair a mess, your eyes the loveliest shade of grey. I tried to act friendly, but nonchalant. Tried to communicate to you that I got your message to leave you alone from now on. I-"
"Stop!"
Katniss shrugs off his hands and takes a step back, ignoring the fact that her tears started to flow after all. She can't listen to him utter another word about her being a insensitive human being and hurting him. If he continues, she might burst at the seams.
He's too stunned by the interruption and her tears to react immediately, but when he finally moves, Katniss raises her arms and stops him from getting nearer.
"We can't be friends anymore, Peeta."
Silence settles in, the air thick with emotions, ready to explode in one direction or another. His eyebrows draw together, his fists tightly clenched at his sides. All signs point to storm.
"Pardon?" He nearly hisses, but she can tell he’s still tryings to be calm and collected. The patience of this man …
"I can't. I'm so sorry, really. For everything. I was a fool, and a jackass, and I don't deserve your friendship."
Peeta's expression softens, his whole posture relaxes. "Katniss …"
But she’s having none of it, needs to get the words out before the tears choke her up for good. "Please, let me finish, ok? That night at my uncle's estate? I got scared. Shitless. And I reacted in the worst possible way. And it has haunted me ever since. You're the bigger person, Peeta. You came here to make amends, graciously forgiving me again after the way I treated you, and I can't tell you how much this means to me. But I can't be your friend anymore. It would kill me, Peeta."
Once again his eyes fill with confusion, but only a moment later something like realization flickers up, although she has no idea how he could know about her predicament.
He tries again, his patience slowly waning. "Katniss-"
"There's no way I can handle watching you with your girlfriend!" she blurts out before she can stop herself.
She's surprised when instead of discovering a pitying expression on his face, he takes her head in his hands and crushes his lips to hers. At first she can't comprehend what's happening, but only for a moment, before she falls into the kiss with a moan.
Kissing Peeta is like second nature. There's no shyness there, no reluctance. It's straightforward, all-consuming, nearly possessive. She loves the way he consumes her.
"Seriously, Katniss!" he whispers against her lips, his nose rubbing against hers, when they finally have to come up for some much-needed air. "If you would shut up just for a second I could tell you: There is no girlfriend. Didn't I tell you to stop making assumptions? I was getting there before you interrupted my well-prepared speech yet again."
She holds onto the front of his shirt for dear life, afraid her knees might give out if she lets go. Peeta's still holding on to her head, his fingers buried in her hair. His thumbs brush lightly over her cheeks.
Katniss' body tingles where they touch. Which seems to be everywhere since they're so tightly pressed together. The smile he gives her is nearly blinding, but that little bit of doubt in the back of her mind still needs further reassurance.
"But … the blonde girl-"
"Delly. My cousin," he chuckles, and she feels the vibrations all the way down to the tips of her toes. "She was the one you saw me with."
Wait a second … how does he know she was there?
"How do you …" she starts her question, but then it dawns on her. "Madge."
"Exactly," he confirms. The smirk now adorning his face gets mischievous. "Let's recreate that night from October, what do you say? I got the wine, and a loveseat. I couldn't figure out the garden, though."
Now Katniss beams back at him, no longer able to contain her utter joy. "Doesn't matter. Wine and loveseat are enough."
"Katniss, you’re beautiful." His fingers secure some strands of hair behind her ear.
Her arms sneak around his waist. "And you’re devilishly charming."
He chuckles again, leaning in, and stops shortly before her lips. "May I kiss you now, again?"
Katniss can't stop laughing out loud, at the same time tightening her grip on him.
"I’ll allow it.”
And before she loses herself completely to the feeling of their kiss, Katniss makes a mental note to send Madge the biggest bouquet in the history of flowers.
xXx
Two Years Later
Exhaustion nearly overwhelms her. With a sigh she leans against the closed door and takes a deep breath.
Vogue pays good money, but after years of frequently working for them she also knows why: some supermodels can be a serious pain. Good thing that by now Katniss is a well enough known photographer that she doesn't have to take all of their shit anymore.
Still, the shoot takes longer than she anticipated. At least the pictures she gets are really good. But she's looking forward to having some time off now.
A loud hiss makes her open her eyes. Buttercup, her sister's ugly orange cat, stares at her, and because she’s had an exhausting day Katniss simply stares back. She could swear the cat raises a bored eyebrow before it turns around and strolls back in the direction of the living room.
Katniss glares at the retreating form. "I hate you, you ugly beast."
"Well, thank you, babe. I love you, too."
Peeta steps out of the office down the hall and walks over to her.
Katniss ignores his teasing and gives him a short peck. "If Prim ever asks us to look after this devil-cat again, she can go sit on a tack."
"You're overreacting," he smirks before they step together into the living room.
"Am not," Katniss grumbles, but lets herself get distracted by the delicious smell coming from the table. Buttercup isn't worth all of this attention. "It smells like pizza from Sae's. With pepperoni and mushrooms."
She turns to him with a soft smile. Only now does she realize that she's starving. Her last meal had been breakfast, with only an apple somewhen in between. "You're way too good to me."
"It arrived only a minute ago. Want a beer?"
Katniss nods and sinks down on the couch. A moment later Peeta returns from the kitchen, holds out a cold bottle to her and takes a sip from his own as he sits down beside her. He opens the box on the table and grabs a piece.
After she swallowed nearly half the bottle, she takes another deep breath and feels all the stress leave her shoulders. "I'm glad we're going to have some time off now. It feels like we haven't really seen each other the last couple of weeks."
Katniss shifts and cuddles into his side, taking a bite when he offers his slice. Peeta wraps his arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. "I picked up the tickets today, so we're set. I'll drive over to Finnick's around noon tomorrow."
She frowns. "But he won't get you stupid drunk tomorrow, right? If you're hung over the next day I swear to god your best friend will father no more children."
Katniss loves Finnick to bits and pieces, but his ability to get Peeta and himself in trouble at the most inconvenient times is extraordinary. She and Annie - Finnick's wife - could sing a song about it.
Peeta laughs out loud and promises that they'll behave. He grabs another slice and offers it to her. She takes it from him and starts to eat. For a couple minutes they quietly enjoy their pizza.
"Madge and Prim probably will be here before the break of dawn on Friday. Your parents arrive around lunch. We'll meet the rest directly at the city clerk's office about half an hour before we have our appointment."
"Good," Katniss nods and munches on another slice. "When's the flight again?"
"Noon the following day," Peeta replies and swallows a bite of his own. They fall into another comfortable silence.
When their bottles are empty and the whole pizza is eaten, they clean their fingers with a wet wipe and she cuddles back into Peeta's side. Her head rests on his shoulder and she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of him running his fingers through her hair. This is the best part after a busy day: relaxing with Peeta.
With a drawn-out sigh Katniss finally turns her gaze and looks up at him.
"Organizing this wedding was way simpler than Prim and Rory's, let me tell you," she snickers, and nuzzles his neck. Takes in the scent of him and once again thanks heaven and the stars for Peeta's patient soul. Especially when it comes to her and her temper.
"Thankfully we're both not keen on rehearsal dinners with a hundred people around. Although, the location would've been nice," Peeta muses playfully.
"You mean a garden?" she inquires, being fully aware that's not what he meant at all. He's talking about Italy, about her uncle and aunt's estate. About the vineyards, and the olive groves, and the fields upon fields of lavender, poppy and mirasols. He’s talking about where they'll be in about three days time. She knows all of that, but likes to pretend otherwise. Only to make him say something cheesy and corny, which he knows will make her roll her eyes, but which they both secretly enjoy.
Peeta leans down and kisses her. Deep, and thorough, and with so much love Katniss wants to burst with happiness. She's the luckiest woman on earth.
When they eventually part, Katniss smiles softly at Peeta, looking forward to spending all of her future with him. Starting a family. Growing old together.
He beams at her and doesn't disappoint. "Not simply a garden, no. But where everything started, of course: Tuscany, my love."
FINE
#LitLifeLovers stories#everlark#katniss everdeen#Peeta Mellark#love in Panem#may challenge#new author's month#fanfiction#tuscany my love
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Episode 55*: Shirt Club
“This sounds like a very abstract problem.”
For fear of echoing Buck Dewey’s condescending assessment of Steven’s drawing, there’s just something endearing about a cartoon about making art. Animation as a medium is remarkable for how many types of artists are involved: for instance, Steven Universe exists as a collaboration between visual artists, writers, songwriters, actors, singers, composers, and instrumental musicians. It’s a crew that by necessity has a passion for art in many forms, and episodes like Shirt Club let this passion shine. (See also: James Baxter the Horse from Steven Universe’s big brother Adventure Time.)
Many of the artists behind Steven Universe have multiple roles: most famously, its storyboarders are also its scriptwriters. Some boarders even pull triple duty, like guitarist Jeff Liu and voice actor Lamar Abrams, who brings Buck to life. It’s fitting, then, that Shirt Club revolves around guitars and Buck as Steven navigates his way through the perils of publishing his art.
As sincere as this episode is, it’s also ridiculous. The final sequence of Steven as a faux assassin straight up shooting Mayor Dewey in the chest is absurd both as a situation within the show and as something that was allowed to be on the show itself, but sure enough, Steven Universe manages to give a lone gunman sniping spree an emotionally fulfilling resolution.
This scene proves a core lesson of the episode: just because something’s silly doesn’t mean it’s not art. Buck hits the nail on the head when praising Steven’s drawing for its sincerity and naïveté, even if he’s being a wad about it: the Guitar Dad shirt is awesome because it’s a pure expression of a kid looking up to a parent, even if that expression won’t win any medals for aesthetics (and because it won’t). Steven Universe doesn’t need to prove its artistic merits, and the episode is wise to avoid this path and devolving into meta defensiveness, but I appreciate how its structure demonstrates its message.
That Buck recognizes Guitar Dad’s merits but sees its meaning in a negative light speaks volumes about his own relationship with his father, as well as the general adolescent obsession with irony. And let’s face it, Buck is mean in this episode. The other teenagers laugh at the shirt, but don’t necessarily laugh at the subject: Sour Cream is a bit of a jerk to Greg, but Jenny seems to honestly appreciate him even if she thinks he’s funny. Lars is easily swayed, having no opinion on the shirt but seeing the value in at least pretending to appreciate it (which certainly lumps him in with real-life folks who feign an appreciation for art for impress people, if you’ll allow me an overanalysis). But Buck is cruel in a way that’s uncomfortable, but not totally out of character.
In Lars and the Cool Kids, Buck is the most enigmatic of the Cool Kids, as per his mirroring of Garnet. As he repeatedly pulls the rug out from under Lars with a straight face, it’s hard to tell how much he’s intentionally messing with the guy. The same goes for his ordering salad at the Big Donut after examining its salad-free displays. He plays it so cool in both situations (and in general) that some of it has to be an act, and he’s perceptive enough that he has to notice Lars’s barefaced need to please, but he’s such a closed book that we can’t get a read on what’s in his head.
We see more of him in Shirt Club than ever before, and while he’s always been friendly to Steven, we really don’t know him all that well. His father’s an obvious sore spot, and seems to be the only thing that can make him completely crack, whether from embarrassment or being genuinely touched (or feeling remorse or feeling more embarrassed, a tear from this guy could mean anything). It makes for a fascinating “villain” when compared to our emotionally open hero, and he’s really the only kind of antagonist an episode like Shirt Club can have.
Regardless, the fact that Buck is still somewhat out of character (he’s utterly kind to Steven everywhere else in the series) is worth noting, because this is one of the last collaborations between storyboarders Lamar Abrams and Hellen Jo before the latter left Steven Universe. While this team is responsible for some terrific episodes and my all-time favorite scene of the series (the ending of Winter Forecast), they’re also behind House Guest and Fusion Cuisine, which are essentially about evil twins pretending to be Greg and Connie.
For whatever reason, the Abrams/Jo team seems to enjoy bringing out the worst in beloved characters (or inventing negative traits out of nowhere) in ways that wildly diverge from their typical depictions. It allows for drama within a contained story, but in a way that clashes with the consistency of the series; with the exception of Island Adventure and its lesson that emotional and physical abuse is okay sometimes, these kinds of character-nuke episodes are my least favorite. Shirt Club is the best of these divergences by far, in that I can actually deduce Buck’s rationale and because he’s a mysterious character by design, but it’s still an unfortunate trend that happily gets ironed out as the show continues.
(Bear in mind that beyond letting us watch the snow fall, Abrams co-boarded The Answer and Chille Tid and When It Rains, and while it may be a coincidence that each contains a breathtaking scene of a character coming to grips with a scary new environment, I tend to think that he’s really good at framing them. He’s also the only boarder to work on every Onion episode; even if Onion Gang is a dud, Onion as a character certainly isn’t, and I get the feeling we mostly have Abrams to thank for that. I want to give no impressions that this isn’t a brilliant animator.)
Mayor Dewey and the Crystal Gems are here for comic relief, and oh boy do they deliver. Jo and Abrams are brilliant at giving the Gems incongruous background tasks: in Watermelon Steven it’s reading the paper, and here it seems to be assembling IKEA furniture. Their criticisms of Steven’s art and unwillingness to help his strange problem highlight Shirt Club’s casual tone, and they get little moments of self-parody without dipping too deep into meta humor: Garnet’s twinkling shades during a pregnant pause certainly counts, but Amethyst and Pearl’s escalating concerns about Steven’s shirt problem takes the cake.
Mayor Dewey is incredibly, but not unbelievably, lame. Between his outdated slang and his blatant desire to connect with youths (without putting in any actual effort) it’s easy to see Buck’s disdain. Bill’s speech about losing his speech is overshadowed by Steven setting up his sniping position, but is worth paying attention to for Joel Hodgson’s masterful meandering.
And despite his selfish and thoughtless intentions, actually seeing Buck and Steven making shirts is a bunch of fun. It evokes Steven and Greg’s adventures in rocket science from Space Race, but with the wrinkle of Buck demonstrating actual knowledge of the craft to contrast with Steven’s silliness. While the distribution and interpretation of art once it’s complete makes up the episode’s conflict, the creation process itself is joyful and pure, as it should be for a kid making art.
Buck comes around at the end, of course, apologizing to Steven and offering to take guitar lessons. But honestly, the nicer he is to Steven, the weirder his behavior here seems, whether or not he’s a mysterious guy. The best thing I can say about Abrams/Jo character-nuke episodes is that there’s only three of them, and finishing Shirt Club, from that lens, is a huge sigh of relief.
Future Vision!
The Good Lars not only shows Buck wearing the Guitar Dad shirt, but showing off what he’s learned! And he’ll continue to play guitar as one of Sadie Killer’s Suspects, a band that will eventually be managed by Greg himself.
I guess you could read it that way…
On the one hand, watching this after Joy Ride makes Buck’s cruelty even stranger. But on the other, getting to know him better there, and Bill better in Political Power, makes an examination of their relationship a nice coda.
Tonally, Shirt Club simply doesn’t fit where it’s intended to go. Open Book and Story for Steven at least have their dramatic moments that fit the simmering tension of post-Marble Madness Season 1, but Shirt Club’s lightness thoroughly deflates the momentum. The Gems casually building furniture makes no sense in this time period, and Pearl and Amethyst’s list of fears don’t even hint at them worrying about Homeworld.
Still, the reordering leaves us with pre-Jailbreak Garnet, which is a little confusing without context. (I certainly prioritize this minor continuity error lower than harming dramatic tension.)
Regardless of your opinions about the order shift, I’m happy to say that Shirt Club is the last of it! No more asterisks!
We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
Buck’s strange meanness doesn’t tank Shirt Club down to the bottom, but it does make me less inclined to rewatch what’s an otherwise wonderful episode about art. It’s a shame, but there’s still a lot to love when you get shirt!
Top Fifteen
Steven and the Stevens
Mirror Gem
Lion 3: Straight to Video
Alone Together
The Return
Jailbreak
Rose’s Scabbard
Coach Steven
Giant Woman
Winter Forecast
On the Run
Warp Tour
Maximum Capacity
The Test
Ocean Gem
Love ‘em
Laser Light Cannon
Bubble Buddies
Tiger Millionaire
Lion 2: The Movie
Rose’s Room
An Indirect Kiss
Space Race
Garnet’s Universe
Future Vision
Marble Madness
Political Power
Full Disclosure
Joy Ride
Like ‘em
Gem Glow
Frybo
Arcade Mania
So Many Birthdays
Lars and the Cool Kids
Onion Trade
Steven the Sword Fighter
Beach Party
Monster Buddies
Keep Beach City Weird
Watermelon Steven
The Message
Open Book
Story for Steven
Shirt Club
Enh
Cheeseburger Backpack
Together Breakfast
Cat Fingers
Serious Steven
Steven’s Lion
Joking Victim
Secret Team
Say Uncle
No Thanks!
4. Horror Club
3. Fusion Cuisine
2. House Guest
1. Island Adventure
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True Blood Season 4 Review
Ok It's done. The guessing and spoiling is over for another 9 months leaving us with only a serious fangover and an unprecedented post season body count. True Blood Season 4 was bat shit crazy even more than Season 3, the timeline of such memorables as jar of Talbot and spine ripping TV. So now post Season 4 finale whether you were calling for a Scream award or thought the whole thing blew chances are you're about to embark on 9 months of TB withdrawal. Yup even the haters feel its absence. So let's savor the moment in a post finale look at the best and worst of True Blood Season 4
THE BIGGEST THANK GOD MOMENT:
Wee Marcus and gang finally putting Tommy and us out of the misery that was Tommy Mickens sorry ass life. As soon as he went skinwalker you knew his days were numbered. Sam Tramwell was brilliant doing Tommy doing him and who didn't cheer when said Tommy/Sam fired Sookie! She is the worst waitress ever! Talk about sick leave; is she ever at work for more than half a shift!?! The fall out from his death will certainly carry us through season 5, where we can only hope Sam has some modicum of hope at returning to just running the bar and attending anger management sessions.
Close second was Sookie decisively shooting Debbie Pelt in the head, even though she begged her not to. Yup, we had to wait till the very end of the season for evil, laughing while pouring Talbot down the drain Sookie, to return.
BEST OMG MOMENT:
Ginger riding the coffin - nuff said.
SCARIEST/SEXIEST MOMENT:
Scary and sexy are often one and the same on True Blood, and this year Eric Northman ripping out, here to be known as, Juice Box Roy's heart will be stamped on my brain as a shining TB moment. Countless screamed everywhere, I had know idea THAT could be sexy! Give Skarsgård a raise!
BTW the T-shirts were on sale a mere 3 hours post show.
BIGGEST WTF MOMENT:
Sookie and Eric snow shower then frak in Narnia. I've never read the books but the post Spellbound roar over The Vampire, The Witch and The Shower Stall, chocked up the blog commentary for days. I suspect because nothing could ever live up to this sacred cow of the sookiverse sexcapdes, Ball and company for better or worse decided not to go there; thus sparing us from more Skinmax test reels by getting out of the shower faster than they got in
MOST IMPROVED:
King Bill - sure
he's damaged goods nailing his great great great great granddaughter and watching his ex screw his brain-damaged frenemy but sans Sookie round his neck, Bill was standing a bit taller this year. He even had a sense of humor, and Bill with balls is actually kind of hot. The developing bromance between him and Eric turned out to be one of the best parts of the season close.
MOST POTENTIAL:
Laurel and Hardy move over. With Sookie out of the way Bill and Eric make an an awesome tag team, dissing each other on the pyre then cooperatively staking and decapitating Nan and troopers. Here's to more of Bill and Eric's excellent adventure in Season 5.
MOST IN NEED OF IMPROVEMENT:
Sookie got enough of her spunk back to blow Debbie Pelt's head off, sure, but seriously she spent most of the season literally on her back, well sometimes on top. She was once a gifted mind-reader; we saw that maybe twice this season. Instead we learned more about her castrating powers when it comes to boyfriends. She mommied Eric into a hoody wearing puppy dog, did the dirty with him in every room of grandma's house and then kicked him, alongside Bill, to the curb come finale. In four seasons she truly did go from virgin to love em and leave em fangbanger. The classless moves have got to stop if the Stackhouse angle is to survive. We need an even slightly relate-able protagonist. I'm hoping another eligible lady moves to town, though god forbid she get a job at Merlotts - the most dangerous workplace in America.
SOOKIE'S ONE REDEEMING FEATURE SEASON 4:
Sookie had unbelievably great hair this season. I swear to god I saw the camera man reflected in her locks in Eric's cubby.
MOST IN NEED OF A HUG:
From defending herself against zombie slurs to losing an ear, Pam had endured what must go down as the worst week in her hundred plus years. She lost her maker to back country fairy vagina and her face rotted off. And things weren't exactly looking up when we left her, blood tears running down her cheek, hugging Ginger.
Why did they do that to Pam!!! Well for one reason she gave TB viewers some of the best gore the show has ever delivered. Still, writers, you better fix her. At the end of the day we really just want to look at Kristin Bauer being gorgeous and acting snarky.
Coming in second is Hoyt who despite the bitterness of his bad boyfriend rejection could really use a little lov'in right now, if not some of Summer's biscuits.
BEST RECAPS and REVIEWS:
VLOGS
#1 Bloodworks takes the stakes as a no contest winner. Besides being just the cutest couple in the world, Brian and Any's post show cocktails and theatrics amount to sometimes slurry worded and always hilariously astute recaps. I swear by mid season you look forward to Andy and Brian's upload as much as the episode itself. With its "staking points" and "do bad things" they were the best thing that could happen to a mediocre TB episode.
Brian Juergen and Andy Swist @campbloodbuzz @andyswist
http://campblood.org/Newblog/
#2 Think Heroes True Blood Review is tried and true. Roth Cornet has hosted solo for two seasons, and this season Jenna Busch was on board. Roth's reviews are first-rate often delving deeper than the show deserves. Busch does a good job of keeping things in the watercooler-moment mood of the short vlog format. The two combined offer a sometimes giggle ridden but always insightful True Blood take.
Jennings Roth Cornet @JRothC | http://www.jenningsrothcornet.com/
JennaBusch @JennaBusch | http://girlmeetslightsaber.blogspot.com
#3 BloodBites is family friendly fair with this sister and brother team showcasing familial bonds and blood-dipped funny bones. Reenacting then reviewing a given episode's wtf moments, Blood Bites has cross-gen appeal. It's quality YouTube content you could show your grandmother and your eight year-old niece, who you know are both watching True Blood too.
Honorable Mention
My Future Lover's Reason to Ship Sookie and Eric
Spawn of You Tube strictly for Team Eric members, My Future Lover's play by play captions to the best and worst Sookie Eric moments capture at least half the audience's joy, tears and tv punching moments.
BEST PODCAST
True Blood in Dallas Straight up fan founded talkshow and review of both book, show and TB culture with revolving guest reviewers each week. A steady dose of all the criticism only a Stackhouse booklover can bring, Talk Blood is laced with plenty of Charlaine Harris loving that fellow fans can appreciate.
Listen to internet radio with True Blood in Dallas on Blog Talk Radio
BLOGS AND WEB SITES
Best Recaps
Pros and Cons True Blood by Meredith Woerner nails it everytime. for a no holds barred, tell it like is play by play pro con style. This is one of the funniest and most astute TB recaps out there.
Meredith Woerner @MdellW | http://io9.com/people/MeredithDW/posts/
After Eltons WTF recap by Steven Frank is an imaginative post morteum with major plot points reviewed then rated in Grace Jones Vamp limps.
Jef With One F's music and episode recap for the Houston's Press is a creative spin that lets the show's lead track set the tone for review and analysis.
Jef With One F @HPRocksOff
Best Blogs
Talk True Blood Digging deep and ranting in the best way, Talk True Blood goes so far as to offer scene by scene body language analysis of major characters.
Buddhism and True Blood Dedicated to Alan Ball and the wheel of life, Buddhism and True blood reminds us that life is suffering especially in Bon Temps
True Blood Underground Do you really know what's going on in Bon Temps? Conspiracy theories abound as TB Underground calls out Alan Ball on his addictive mind control experiment.
FINAL WORD
Four seasons later there is still a bit of blood left in the series, and while fairy-finger-cop-outs and super silly, supernatural assumptions do show signs of laziness in the writers room, True Blood still does deliver some amazing TV. Godforbid we get bogged down by process oriented stuff like how amnesia Eric lost his shirt post-spell or ends up on a bonfire tied to Bill between episode 11 and 12. Things like how come no one reports a death in Bon Temp anymore or WHO IS running Merlottes only get in the way of a good story or at least a good "oh no they didn't" jaw drop.
I suspect, forty eight episodes later, TB writers actually relish every shark jumping moment as much as fangbanging spectacle. They know they can get away with it because they know how dedicated, creative and forgiving their fan base is. Plus narrative logic be damned, camp and drama are fine edges to play on, and they deserve applause for taking even tasteless risks.
For every bit of hocus pocus cgi True Blood throws at us, such as the anime forcefield surrounding Moon Goddess or the ridiculously bad fx exorcism of Mavis, there was a Pam getting a skin peel or Eric ripping the heart out of juice box Roy to make up for it. For each ridiculous Scooby Doo and the gang moment, there was a Vampire A-team or death by pencil. For each and every minute we tolerated Andy, we had a shot of Ginger riding a coffin or Eric drinking the whole fairy. True Blood IS very uneven but it IS very fun.
So that caps summertime Sundays and True blood still remains my ultimate guilty pleasure. The culture and coverage this year has been as much fun as the show itself and made Sundays feel like a party. I think Alex Skarsgård sums it all up in this quote,
“At 7 in the morning, I’m hanging from the ceiling in a Nazi uniform with fangs in[my mouth]. I look over and I see [Allan] there in his Nazi uniform hanging like a puppet. We’re about to descend down to kill this wolf, you know? And that was the moment where we just looked at each other like, This is what we’re doing for a living?‘”
Yup, IT IS! And even more surprising I CAN"T believe I'm watching you do it and not only that but loving every minute!
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$ 500 Million For Larry Nassar's Victims Is Insufficient.
When you're utilizing short article marketing to obtain words out concerning your affiliate products, the tendency could be to aim to turn the short article right into an ad for the product, or to send poor quality or non-original short articles. Keep in mind that you can become an associate for huge business as soon as, and then promote any of their items. The genuine advantage to associate sellers is that when they recruit energetic and established affiliates they get their products advertised instantly without doing anything themselves. The early affiliate advertising and marketing programs were susceptible to fraud because clicks might be generated by software, as could perceptions. I've been very conflicted concerning affiliate marketing for a long period of time. It's a best online program for newbies or for definitely any individual curious about making a great income online.|I slouch and not the brightest light bulb in the lamp but also a man like me could make severe money with an excellent affiliate business program. He has tons of experience with affiliate advertising, both from being an associate as well as driving the profits of other companies, in addition to with an associate program aiming to hire associates. Nevertheless, you could still generate income as an associate even if you don't have tons of website traffic.|Associate marketing experts are always searching for methods to boost and also enhance both compensations and also sales. A huge percentage of affiliates make money running websites as a hobby alongside their full-time work and also numerous have been able to add substantial second earnings streams by doing so. I have actually begun to look for other associate advertising possibilities due to the fact that I like the idea and have to learn more the best ways to start-up.|If you are an associate marketer that wishes to make a comfy living from referring your prospects to other people's service or product for respectable payments, then you have to consider building your very own subscriber list. For instance, the business's blog runs write-ups with titles like "How to Build a Multi-Million Dollar Ecommerce Business With $0 Advertising Spending plan." Neither Shopify nor the FTC has actually commented straight on this issue, as well as without a more clear look at business, the opportunity of regulatory involvement can not be totally discounted.|Affiliate advertising and marketing is a kind of performance-based advertising and marketing where a service compensates one or more affiliates for every visitor or customer brought by the associate's ownmarketing initiatives. Some companies have actually been understood not to pay, although there are methods to screen and also choose top quality affiliate programs. Myth # 3: Associate advertising and marketing is easy earnings. I discover Associate Directories better, with their category of programs, payment details and also more importantly evaluate and so on, all readily available in one location.|Affiliate advertising and marketing is an amazing tool for any business to take and also use advantage of. There are numerous groups of affiliate advertising pointers for newbies, yet frequently individuals have the tendency to miss the most fundamental details for rookies. Below are three various methods to make use of affiliate advertising and marketing on your site along with some extra valuable ideas when partnering with an associate advertising and marketing business.|Running a typical physical sort of service with an on-line visibility, is certainly one great method making at least part of your living online. Linking constraints: Inning accordance with Google: If the primary function of your web content is to drive people off of YouTube and into another website, it will likely violate our spam policies". Everywhere we turn on-line, we are all swamped with a lot details therefore many individuals desiring our interest in any way times.|Beginning an associate service online involves focusing on 3 vital yet straightforward areas in order for your launch to be successful. Doing this helps bring in consumers and also raises your opportunities of getting them to go to the site as well as not only view its material, however possibly get the services and products provided. They typically end up being trainees of web marketing by default, but as their compensation checks grow, they discover new methods to advertise even more products and services.|Associate advertising college is a terrific tool available that few individuals find out about. The high quality and also significance of the product itself trumps just what associate program powers the sales process. 2) Pay Per Each Performance: In this sort of approach, the seller pays the associate just when his reference exchanges a motion that is every single time the consumer is truly bye the something in the seller's.|Our international affiliate advertising network encourages marketers and also publishers of all dimensions to grow their services online. Concerning taking part in the ebay.com Companion Network along with various other associate programs. After selecting up to 2-3 items, locate its needs whether its a hot product or otherwise and if individuals are browsing online for this. 1. As opposed to a sales force of a couple of individuals, by utilizing Associate Marketing a vendor can have a sales pressure of thousands or more.|Associate advertising and marketing is one branch of the net revenue tree. Easy Search Engine Optimization (in some cases): Videos appear in 55% of keyword searches on Google 82% of these video clips are from YouTube. I find they will certainly advertise my items over others much more readily. The hardest feature of affiliate marketing is knowing how to get going as well as exactly what are the best items as well as firms to work with; to make sure that's exactly just what I'm going to teach you how to do.|You could have listened to or been associated with a residual revenue organisation chance in one way or another. An associate online marketer has to pre-sell the products. So if you really wish to promote numerous associate programs in your internet site, see to it that they jive with the style as well as topic of the remainder of the material on your particular niche. There are lots of trustworthy as well as trustworthy firms that provide associate marketing programs with on the internet residual revenue opportunities.|If you've been to the Clickbank internet site as well as have actually researched a book you want to advertise, you could have seen nearly all of the publisher programs have an affiliate help web page. Myth: The even more associate programs I have, the far better. The Business's exchanges located in Europe and also the USA profession equities, futures, options, fixed-income, and also exchange-traded products. In affiliate advertising and marketing, you're either a Supplier, a person that has products to market, or as well as Affiliate, someone who intends to advertise someone else's stuff.|You could discover that joint ventures and affiliate marketing are used nearly mutually in the advertising and marketing market if you have actually started looking into the globe of JV marketing. 2. A lot of standard retail services are called for to maintain considerable stocks of the items that they market. 4. Online programs or software program that can currently be utilized to examine data, existing patterns as well as customer demands at no charge whatsoever.|Affiliate advertising and marketing is a program that offers excellent loan making opportunities to all entailed. For a new website proprietor or blogger, Google AdSense is the easiest means to earn cash online. If you comply with the tested techniques I've made use of to develop my affiliate marketing company, you'll spend the vast majority of your time WRITING.|In today's cordless world, it's easier compared to ever before to introduce an Internet-based organisation. It appears so basic in the beginning to set up your Clickbank associate advertisement web links and also banners on your website or blog, but unless your normal readers or visitors want exactly what you are marketing, it is tough to get any kind of revenue on your own.|These days, the Net has acquired an unbelievable globally appeal, thanks particularly to the numerous profitable chances that the online world uses. Advertise that product on your website, Blog site or any kind of Social Media Network (NOTE: Facebook does not permit you to publish your affiliate link directly. Lots of extremely affiliates make six numbers just promoting the services and products of others. One of the fastest means to earn loan online with just a very little investment is running your very own affiliate service.|Don't think him if someone informs you that you cannot make money anymore on associate marketing. For the merchant's side, a great deal of loan could be conserved if advertising effort is concentrated on associate advertising rather than on taking care of marketing companies. Blogging is not the very best alternative for those who remain in search of quick and instantaneous earnings, it can provide a great deal of monetary flexibility in time with hard word.|New Delhi India, Apr Easy Blogs R United States is passionate about assisting on-line marketers and also various other blog writers discover, save money and time, and also most importantly, prosper. Some instance of being a reseller consist of signing up with an affiliate program, taking part in pay per head program as well as beginning a white label firm.|You possibly understand exactly what affiliate advertising is about, why company owner use it and also exactly how it has assisted a lot of on the internet business. Where lots of people stumble, nevertheless, is in thinking that success in associate advertising and marketing is quick as well as easy. Initially, recognize the distinction between private associate programs and associate networks. No unwanted advertising of affiliate programs.|Throughout the coming weeks, I am going to thoroughly cover the details of generating income online via affiliate programs. Talking about the brand-new bargains penned by his company Give Johnson, CEO of Esports Home entertainment Group said: The addition of these 10 eSports groups to our associate program, together with the 26 announced over the previous month, is yet an additional major turning point for the Firm.|Lately some affiliate programs decided to cancel their organization with particular states because of a proposed state sales tax on affiliate commissions. There are no costs credentials and also this program is open to all clients no matter how they pay. As an Amazon associate you have hundreds of items to pick from due to the fact that Amazon is so significant it continually adds new products daily.|Associate Advertising and marketing is among the Legit online work available today. An affiliate marketing training course will certainly additionally instruct you efficient methods of advertising and marketing such as search engine optimization, advertisement words, making an eye-catching website and more. Our services can provide you with photo banners, along with text web links, which you could in turn supply to those involved in your associate advertising and marketing program.|They have no understanding regarding the items they promote. They begin their organisation through associate programs as a result of two crucial factors: it's simple to establish and it is completely free to run and establish. If so, that is great, as long as the affiliate programs are related to, or come from the exact same niche.|One of the best ways to earn affiliate advertising and marketing commissions is Cost per activity programs, or CPA programs as they are also known. affiliate programs for beginners advertising tweets should start with RT @YourUserName', such as 'RT @SuperAffil: Would Like To Know Exactly How I Can Develop An Item A Day? Proceed focusing on developing your very own material, but additionally taking into consideration creating content for a couple of big, high-traffic blogs that are relevant for your particular niche.
I assume almost any person with additional time can do content advertising (Search Engine Optimization) around any specific niche and make greater than the ordinary American salary. You do not generate income from the act of blogging itself - I began my blog to ensure that I might share things I've learned, and also satisfy new individuals who also enjoy travel, and due to the fact that I'm an author in mind.
In Egypt, the researchers observed reputable network traffic being redirected in a different way-- not towards destructive files yet to affiliate advertising and marketing websites, as well as to websites configured to mine cryptocurrency in site visitors' internet browsers.
With a strong history in web marketing and specific niche marketing, collaborates with small to medium businesses in order to help them conveniently create as well as manage their own web sites. One of the most essential point to bear in mind and also recognize is, any person who is willing to technique themselves to learn, develop, and also master reliable Associate Marketing Skills and Strategies could create a financially rewarding income on command.
5.) As you gain your audience, begin making testimonials & refer products to amazon along with your affiliate tag. Among every one of the companies Neil has actually produced, he has had to manage affiliates, whether that was running affiliate programs or driving affiliate website traffic or potential earnings to other business.
If you are an affiliate for a particular program and you refer others to sign up for that affiliate program, a 2nd rate program will certainly pay you when the associates you referred make sales. Solitary item reviews such as this video or comparison videos, such as the one below, are an excellent method to create videos that can promote products.
After joining an associate programme and presence an actualized affiliate, you are now fit to begin making a lot of loan by offering other people's liquid online. You could achieve this (as well as keep within a thoroughly thought about budget plan) by careful Pay-Per-Click advertising, as well as by concentrating on constructing a quality customer base, instead of simply promoting the products themselves.
Keep in mind: Every one of these approaches think that you are currently sending traffic to the current material you're developing by emailing your listing on a regular basis (at least 2 to 4 times per month) to let them understand exactly what's new.
You could examine affiliate advertising and marketing in no period; all you destitution to do is pay a couple of deals of your example acquisition it. Beyond of the coin, you do not reach take advantage of by yourself team of affiliates if you are in affiliate marketing. Blog sites, web sites, online forums, e-mail blasts, write-up directory sites and also social networking websites are excellent areas to market products and services.
Whether you are a website owner or blogger, content is likewise mosting likely to be one of the most crucial aspect of your organisation. Since individuals from throughout the globe are starting to get even more comfortable online which implies they're less averse to utilizing their credit card online.
If you intend to be among these individuals, you 'd need to find out Online marketing tips to assist you stand an opportunity versus the lots of others that are establishing organisations online. Lycos possesses and also has partnered with affiliates outside its network to raise the circulation of advertisements from the Lycos AdBuyer Ppc program.
When building an associate advertising and marketing driven service, knowing about upcoming associate launches is a have to. She lets her readers recognize that if they buy any of the items she recommends using her links, she'll make a little loan from the sale.
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