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vodika-vibes · 1 year

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Find Yourself part 1

So. I had an idea, and I decided to write it. I'm not 100% sure how this is going to end, since I don't plan anything in my life, but that's okay. I tried to proof read this since some parts were written in present and some were written in past tense, but I doubt I caught it all, lol.

tagging: @starrrgazingbunny and @kiss-anon

The Clone Wars changed a lot of things in the Galaxy.

There was the obvious one, of course. The genocide of the Jedi, and the overthrow of the Republic into an Empire. Something that affected the life and livelihoods of millions of people across the galaxy.

But there were also smaller changes.

On Naboo, people suddenly realized that they could make it so their ruler had identical decoys. They considered, for a time, cloning potential rulers, but quickly ruled it out as far too expensive.

And then someone mentioned that Genetic modifications existed, and that it was a relatively safe procedure. Not to mention surgical modifications. And with Bacta therapy, the young decoys wouldn’t even have any scars to show that they had been altered in any way.

The theory was bounced around for over a year, and then it was signed into law.

Due to the young age of the Queen, or King, of Naboo, training began young. Which meant the selection process began even earlier. Potential sovereigns were interviewed and selected and sent to diplomatic training. And, at the same time, families across Naboo would be approached by members of the Royal Household.

Families were offered massive monetary compensation if they signed their child over to the Decoy Program. They were also promised that if the potential sovereign wasn’t elected, the child would be returned to them, slightly altered, but still their child.

No one ever denied them.

Handmaiden Ceté had been one such child, once upon a time. Chosen due to the fact that she had the same fair skin-tone as the Queen Elect, as well as the fact that the Queen Elect knew Ceté, she was the first Handmaiden chosen.

The first to go through the genetic manipulation to change her hair and eye colors. The first to undergo the surgeries to make sure that she remained as dainty as the Queen Elect.

The first to lose her name and identity as a Nubian citizen.

The first Fragment of Eté.

And now, almost 20 years later, Ceté had nothing that made her any different from her sisters. She ate what the Queen ate. Spoke like the Queen. Styled her hair and wore her clothes like the Queen.

She had no individual likes or dislikes, as they weren’t allowed. She had no hobbies that weren’t the Queen’s first. She was a fragment of Eté. It was just how it was.

She wasn’t happy. Or content. But neither were her sisters, so her guess was that this was just a way of life.

Oh, but if she had a choice, Ceté would wear shorts and tank-tops and cut her hair to her chin and dye it pink or blue or green or-. She would dance and laugh and sing and explore the stars. She would wear pinks and yellows and both at the same time. She would lay under a tree for hours, lazily whittling the hours away by watching the clouds. She would dance in the rain and jump in mud-puddles.

If she had a choice, she would choose to be happy.

But her right to have a choice was taken when she was four years old.

“What do you think the Queen has decided?” Jordé asked Ceté as they stood at the side of the room, watching as the Queen prepared for her speech.

“Something awful, I’m sure.” Ceté murmured back with an unamused smile, “Like every other decision she’s made.”

“They haven’t all been bad.” Jordé tried to defend, “I mean…she made the child services system-” She trailed off, “The food drive for widows-” She trailed off again, “What about-...hm…”

“Like I said,” Ceté replied dryly.

“We have a strong military now.” Jordé said weakly.

“A military made up of the children who she shunted into the care system,” Ceté countered under her breath, “Not exactly paragons of Nubian Loyalty, sister.”

Her sister hummed her agreement, “Well, maybe this will be a good announcement.” She murmured, straightening as their other sisters and the Queen finished what they were working on and approached them.

Eté seemed to look through Ceté and Jordé, something that she’s been doing for almost 20 years now, “How are things looking outside?” She asked.

Ceté bowed her head respectfully, “The people have gathered for your speech, your majesty. Everything is prepared for you to begin your speech at the top of the hour.”

The Queen nodded, once, “And the weather?”

“Sunny and humid, Majesty.” Jordé answered promptly, “We have made arrangements to ensure that the podium where you will be giving your speech is shaded with an appropriate cover. There is a chance of rain later this afternoon.”

“Nothing that will interrupt my speech?” The Queen asked.

“No, your Majesty.”

“Good.” She brushed past them without so much as a second glance. Jordé and Ceté waited until their sisters slipped past them as well, and then they fell in line at the end of the procession.

Hopefully the speech would be something warm and uplifting.

It wasn’t.

Ceté kept her face carefully placid, something that long years of experience helped her with, as she listened to the people of Theeds cheer over her Queen’s words.

She tried to ignore the disgust coiling in her gut, but that was much harder for her to ignore.

How could they agree to this?

The Gungan people were, are, the native people to Naboo! The Republic named them sentients ages ago. Queen Amidala III did not have the authority to overturn that-

Ceté took a steadying breath and gratefully accepted the cool drink that one of the servants offered her.

Her sisters were acting like all was well, hell, even Jordé had looked pleased with the Queen’s announcement that she was beginning a military campaign to exterminate the Gungan people.

Ceté’s grip around her cup tightened, and then she carefully loosened her grip and took a sip of something cool and sweet. A juice made from a fruit harvested here on Naboo. It was the Queen’s favorite, and so it was Ceté’s favorite.

Ceté had put up with a lot in the name of being one of Queen Amidala’s fragments. Years of training, genetic and physical alterations, not having a past or a family, or even a future that wasn’t tied to the woman her parents bound her to.

But this-

She couldn’t accept this.

Wouldn’t accept this.

If no one on Naboo would help her, and, judging by some of the comments she was hearing, none of them would, then she would find help for the Gungan people elsewhere.

Reaching out to the Gungan people themselves was out of the question. As one of the Queen’s fragments, they would likely just kill her on sight. And Ceté couldn’t blame them.

No. She would have to look elsewhere.

She wasn’t sure where, just yet.

But she had always been adaptable, years of training had ensured that.

Ceté leaned against a wall, and sipped her drink, her face calm, even as she started building an escape plan in the back of her mind.

A ship would be leaving Theeds the following morning, heading towards Outland Station, a space station that acted as a hub for spacers, bounty hunters, and pirates.

Ceté would be on that ship, whether anyone liked it or not.

*****************

Kix looked up from where he was doing inventory in his med-bay when the door slid open, and one of the pirates he worked with bounded in with a wide grin on their face.

He didn’t remember their name, he didn’t care enough to remember.

“Hey Doc!”

It was valid since they didn’t bother to remember his name.

“We’re about to be rich!”

Kix turned back to his inventory, “Is that right.” He didn’t care. Doesn’t care.

Apparently the interloper in his med-bay didn’t get the memo, as they plopped themselves on a medical bed, and leaned in towards him, as if to gossip. “Yup, Boss captured one of the handmaidens of the Queen of Naboo. We’re going to ransom her back to them for a massive amount of credits.”

Kix stilled, a lifetime of memories flashing through his mind. He shook off the melancholy as best as he could, and pinned the pirate with an annoyed look, “Did you hurt her?”

“Eh, she might be a little banged up,” They sounded unconcerned, “Nothing to be worried about.”

Kix stood and grabbed his medical kit, slinging it over his shoulder, “I’ll go and see, just to make sure.” He didn’t trust them to seriously hurt her if it meant that she wouldn’t be able to run.

Plus, there was a little voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Rex at his Dad-est, telling him that checking on the hostage was the right thing to do.

He wondered if he would ever stop hearing the ghosts of his brothers.

“Come on, doc! I said she’s fine!”

“And I remain unconvinced. Where is she?”

The pirate made a disgusted noise, “She’s in one of the holding rooms.” Kix didn’t wait for him to say anything else, he just brushed past him and left the room.

She was pretty. That was the first thing Kix noticed about her. Long black hair tied in a bun, a slender frame, and a stubborn set to her lips. She had bruises on her cheek and temple, ugly bruises that were already turning red.

“Those look painful.” Kix noted, “Would you let me treat them?”

She gazed at him evenly, “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice,” Kix replied.

“Then let me go.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not one of your choices.” He countered as he folded his arms and regarded her curiously. She was remarkably unafraid for someone who had been captured by pirates. “Your options, from me, are letting me treat your injuries, or not letting me treat your injuries.”

Her lips pursed, and her gaze darted around the cell, likely looking for a possible escape.

“Look, the Captain is already reaching out to Naboo.”

That got a reaction. She jerked as though he just slapped her, and all of the color drained from her face, Kix had never actually seen that happen before, though he knew it was possible.

Kix regarded her through half-lidded eyes. Her face was ashen, and her gaze was suddenly darting left and right, as though looking for an escape. And then her gaze met his, and something deadly calm crossed her features. "Once your Queen pays your ransom," Kix said quietly, (Stars how low has he fallen?) "You'll be returned to Naboo, unharmed."

She lifted her chin, and for a moment, Kix saw a hint of Senator Amidala in her bearing, which made sense, he figured. "My Queen will never pay ransom for one of her shards. And if she did, my life would be forfeit the moment I stepped foot on Nubian soil."

"Shards?"

"I am a decoy. Nothing more than a fragment of Her Majesty. Fleeing as I did is tantamount to treason. If you return me, you return me to my death."

Something cold ran down Kix’s spine.

He was no Jedi. He had no way to determine if someone spoke the truth or not, but he did know people. He knew how people reacted when they were afraid, and she was terrified.

“Why?” Kix asked, he needed to know. Needed to understand. Naboo was a peaceful planet, or it was during the Clone Wars-

“My Queen has ordered the extermination of the Gungan people.” Her voice was quiet, and her hands, clasped over her stomach, were shaking, “I cannot, will not, allow it to happen. So I’m looking for help.”

She wasn’t lying, Kix realized with a sinking heart.

“Let me go, or a lot of people are going to die.”

Kix stared at her, his mind racing. And then he made a split second decision. “Alright. But I’m coming with you?”

Something cold crossed her face, “Why, so you can get your own ransom?”

He scoffed, and unlocked her cell, “Just because the GAR doesn’t exist anymore doesn’t mean that I’m not still a part of it.”

She blinked at him, startled, “You’re a Clone?” She asked, shock crossing her face. Likely doing the math and realizing that he should probably be dead.

“The last one,” Kix replied with a humorless smile.

She stepped out of the cell, she was tiny, the top of her head level with his shoulder, maybe it was a Nubian thing. “My name is Ceté,” She finally said, “Is there a ship or something?”

“Follow me,”

In the lower part of the pirate ship was a small shuttle, big enough for two people, but only just. “Who does this belong to?” Ceté asked as Kix helped her on board and then climbed up after her.

“The Captain stole the ship from Corsec,” Kix explained as he slipped around her and into the pilot’s seat, “There’s no tracking on it, which makes it good for our escape, but it’s not the best on fuel, so we’re going to want to ditch it somewhere and get a different ship.”

Ceté sank into the copilot’s seat, and absently started helping with the preflight checks, “You have a plan?”

“Not yet,” He glanced at her, and then back at his panel, “Let’s get out of here, and then I’m going to need some information.”

“I’m going to have some questions for you too,” Ceté warned.

Kix released a humorless laugh, “Fair. A question for a question.” There’s silence for a long moment, though it isn’t uncomfortable, as the pair work in tandem to get the shuttle on and off the ship without too much trouble.

They remained silent as Kix pushed them into Hyperdrive, and then he turned and focused his gaze on Ceté, “We’re heading to Takodana, Maz will help us. Or, at least, she won’t hurt us.”

“Alright,” Ceté agreed with a slight incline of her head. “You have questions?”

“Yeah.” Kix paused, likely thinking of all the questions he had, “First, you called yourself a shard. What does that even mean?”

Ceté hesitated for a moment, and then she turned in her chair to look at him, “It’s a long story.” She warned.

“Tell me anyway.”

“Alright.” She leaned back in her seat slightly, “You know how the Sovereign of Naboo has their decoys, five or six young people who take the sovereign's place when they need to be elsewhere, or if they might not be safe.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the practice.” Kix replied.

“Right, well. The Clone Wars changed things,” Ceté paused, “To be more specific, the Clones changed things. People suddenly realized that they could have exact doubles of their sovereign, rather than just close enough.”

“...you’re a clone-?”

“No. Not like you, at least.” Ceté’s smile is slightly bitter, “Cloning is expensive, you see. Genetic alterations and plastic surgery are much cheaper.”

Kix stared at her, hard, “What did you originally look like?”

“I don’t remember. I was four when my parents got the offer for me to join the Decoy program. I underwent surgery and genetic alterations before I was five. Then they took my name and gave me a more suitable one. And before you ask, I don’t remember my name either.”

Kix stared at her silently for a moment, “That sounds…really fucking familiar. Do you have anything that makes you distinct from your Queen?”

“No. I don’t even know what things I like or don’t like, because I had to be a perfect reflection of my Queen.”

“...I never thought I would ever think this, but you somehow had it worse than me and my brothers,” Kix said flatly, completely unimpressed with Naboo. “At least I was able to pick my own hairstyle, and my own name, and how to decorate my armor.”

He drummed a rhythm on the armor covering his thigh, and then he stood, “Do you want a haircut?”

Ceté blinked at him in surprise, “I don’t…I never thought about it.” She stood as well and followed him out of the cockpit.

“It’s just hair, it’ll grow back if you don’t like it.” Kix pointed out as he dug through his kit and pulled out a pair of scissors.

Ceté stared at the scissors for a moment, and then she hesitated, “Maybe…” She gestured to her shoulders, “Shoulder length hair?”

Kix grinned, “Excellent. Have a seat and I’ll get you all sorted.”

Ceté sat on an open chair and Kix stood behind her, carefully cutting her hair to the length that she wanted. His mind was racing. A non-clone Clone. Someone who never had any choice in her life, rather like him, only worse since she existed for a single person.

Kix’s gaze focused on the back of her head. He needed to protect her. She deserved to be protected.

She also deserved to have a choice in her life, maybe he could help her find herself while helping her save the Gungan people.

Maybe she would be able to help him become him again.

Long hair fell to the floor around his feet as he cut her hair, and a small grin crossed Kix’s face. For the first time in, what felt like, forever. He no longer felt haunted by the ghosts of his brothers.

Yes. This would lead to good things. He was sure of it.

#star wars #star wars oc #vod'ika writes #kix x oc #Find Yourself

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findingvigilante · 2 years

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Date: May 20, 2022

By the time morning rolled around, everyone in Evergreen knew that Peacemaker was a wanted man. It was all over the news and the police even held a second press conference to emphasize how wanted he actually was. As they mentioned the first time, they had every cop in the county and state on the lookout for him. I watched the conference on tv as I ate breakfast and it still didn't sit right with me, the way this was all playing out.

Why this was all playing out weirdly for me is hard to explain. I guess being a reporter and trying to link up all the stories and evidence while simultaneously trying to make sense of what was going on in the now, it's bound to get confusing at some point. It made sense that the police are only getting around to arresting Peacemaker now because he was in prison for the last four years. What didn't make sense however was why would he kill Senator Goff? Or those poor souls at Glan Tai? Was there something here that I just wasn't seeing? Looking back at my Wall of Nonsense, nothing made sense to me anymore. Nothing linked up and my story was falling apart before my eyes.

In other news, those weird alien messages have been popping up more and more on my laptop. Having no idea what they say, I merely delete them but they keep coming back. I can only assume they have something to do with the drive I found at Glan Tai, which I actually came up with a theory for not long ago. The theory in question: what if there's a top secret mission happening in Evergreen involving aliens? It would make sense considering all those people suddenly went missing at the same time. And it would also explain that weird green goo I saw at Glan Tai as well. Plus it very obviously explains the weird alien USB drive and the messages I've been receiving. I could be onto something. Or not. I'm not risking my life even more for something that doesn't involve me.

In other news, I overheard a few people at E-Z-P-Z Mart say they heard an explosion on 395 North near Contorinis Road, just outside of town. There's nothing but trees and the occasional house or two out there but other than that, there's no cause for anything to explode such as chemicals or whatnot. They also brought up the fact that when they tried calling 911, there was no answer. The cashier chimed in by saying he saw a little man dressed in green outside his store earlier that fought two guys harassing him (this is the first I'm hearing about a little green man but at this point, things like this don't surprise me. It's been a weird few days).

I decided to go to the police station myself to see why nobody was answering their calls. There wasn't a single car out in the parking lot belonging to a civilian or police cruiser. The inside was just as bare but the further I went into the station, my stomach dropped. The place was covered in blood. The ceiling, the walls, the floor. Everything was painted in the color red. Something in the back of my mind told me that neither Peacemaker nor Vigilante were involved in this and that it was something else entirely. Where was everyone? I was about to leave when a terrified corrections officer stumbled into the station shaking and crying. He said that he was in the bathroom when he heard screaming and yelling out in the hallways. When the noises finally quieted down, he crept out to see what had happened and he said the place was covered in blood the same way it was here. He told me there wasn't a soul around to tell him what happened. Even the prisoners were gone. The place was completely empty. "That's why I came here" he said to me. "To see if anyone knew anything. But it's like they were just....taken."

Charlie would have answers. They almost always did. So I text them and asked if they knew anything about missing police and corrections officers. The answer was immediate: shooting at Overview Lofts. Saw police outside. They just left. So naturally I headed over to Overview to see what had happened. From the outside, you would never have said that the police were even there to begin with. I searched around on the first and second floor until I saw a busted door with a body laying inside the room, sprawled out on top of the island counter with several bullet holes in his chest. I didn't touch anything for the sake of getting my fingerprints everywhere and contaminating the crime scene. Did the police do this? Who was this guy and what did he do to deserve to die this way? I texted Charlie to tell them there was a body in one of the rooms. They said it was no good to call the police because one: there's no one to answer calls and two: the police were the ones that did it. So it was best to just leave it for now. On top of there being a dead person in the room, it also looked like a fight went down as well. The bathroom was in a bad state; the shower curtain off its hooks. The toilet smashed to pieces. Whoever was in here put up quite the fight in a probable attempt at escaping their attacker. Maybe it was the dead guy in the kitchen. I honestly had no idea. It all seemed very suspicious. The police breaking in and shooting someone without calling the coroner. The empty police station and corrections center. None of this made sense or felt right.

Charlie also texted me about Paws A Moment, the local veterinary clinic. They said "don't ask how I know but there're three employees that were tied up there that I think you should talk to". Which is exactly where I went next for my investigation. Sure enough, Charlie was there with the three vets, questioning them about what happened. Their story went like this: they had been tending to a patient when three men barged into the building. One was very tall with an obviously dyed beard, another wore red and beige with a bird in the middle of his shirt, and the third wore a mask with a red visor and had a blue and white design on his chest. My heart skipped a beat. They were describing Vigilante. When I asked what the men wanted, the vets said they needed help and that their eagle was injured. Later after they patched up the eagle, two women showed up, saying something about Butterflies that needed to be stopped. I asked them if they meant butterflies as in the bug and the vets shrugged and nodded, also bringing up that the group was headed to Coverdale Ranch to kill a cow (this just kept getting weirder and the weirder the more questions I asked). I thanked them for their time and headed back to my apartment just to sit in silence as my brain tried to make sense of the information I was given. Butterflies. Coverdale Ranch. A cow. What the actual fuck was going on? I find myself asking that with every damn update but I have to. Because none of this makes any sense.

I need a nap. A long one.

#finding vigilante #vigilante #have you seen the vigilante?

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minhosbitterriver · 2 months

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🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ You and your lover, Changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where Changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression.

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 + g. neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ) 2.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a while ago by my beloved mootie, Merin! It was such a sweet prompt, honestly, and I am really happy with how it came out. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, Established relationship, Y/N is afraid of initiating any kind of intimacy, I would consider this to be vague smut — maybe it should be labeled as suggestive? Probably not actually, romantic sex, making a mess with wet paint during sex, descriptions of anxiety, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

“You have to turn around or I won’t do it,” you huff with feigned annoyance, a thin veil over your mounting anxiety. The words come out sharper than intended, a desperate attempt to mask the tremor in your voice. Changbin pouts, his lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both endearing and maddening, but he complies, turning his back to you. The playful pout is a façade, a small rebellion against the uncertainty that lingers in the air between you.

He had asked you to use him as a canvas, an unusual request that was meant to surprise and unsettle you. The idea was simple in theory but fraught with emotional complexity. During your free time, painting was your solace, a means to escape into a world where you could create beauty out of nothing. You were accustomed to painting on your own skin, using it as a blank slate for your artistic expression. But this situation was different. Changbin, your lover, was not just a body; he was a living, breathing embodiment of your deepest feelings and insecurities. His presence was electric, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over you with the slightest glance or touch.

The mere thought of painting Changbin was both thrilling and terrifying. His skin, normally the subject of your artistic fantasies, now became the canvas upon which your emotions would be laid bare. Each brushstroke would be an intimate declaration, a blend of color and sensation that went beyond mere artistry. The stakes felt incredibly high, and the vulnerability you felt was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about the painting; it was about the raw, unspoken exchange of trust and affection that came with it. As you prepared your paints and brushes, the flutter in your chest spoke louder than words, a testament to the profound impact Changbin had on your life.

Eventually, all of your painting supplies were meticulously arranged, a testament to your preparation and anticipation. The array of colors and brushes, each placed with care, awaits the moment when they will come to life. Despite Changbin’s back being turned to you, despite the full control you have over this artistic endeavor, and despite the gentle, tender nature that defines him, an inescapable fear grips you tightly. It’s a fear that seems to rise with each breath you take, a curse that has followed you through the months of your relationship, even after four years of friendship.

You still find it nearly impossible to initiate any form of intimacy, a struggle that feels like a heavy weight on your heart. Changbin, ever perceptive and understanding, is acutely aware of your struggle. You can't help but wonder if this request to be your canvas was his way of gently nudging you past your barriers, a subtle invitation to confront your fears. The sight of his toned, bare back, illuminated by the golden sunlight streaming through your windows, is almost too breathtaking to bear. The natural light caresses his skin, highlighting the contours and making him look like a living masterpiece.

You reach for the paintbrush with a hesitant hand, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to steady them. Each brushstroke will be a step toward bridging the gap between your fears and your desires. The internal turmoil roiling within you feels almost insurmountable, yet Changbin remains a pillar of patience and quiet support. His silence is filled with anticipation, a silent encouragement that heightens the intensity of the moment. As you begin, his breath hitches, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability and trust that this act of painting symbolizes.

“Don’t think, love,” Changbin murmurs softly, his voice a gentle whisper that seems to float in the space between you. There is a delicate fear in his tone, as if the very act of raising his voice might shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy you both are nestled within. His words are meant to soothe, to gently guide you through the swirling maelstrom of anxiety that threatens to engulf you. “Let your hand decide what to do first, like it does with every other painting.”

His encouragement is tender, a quiet plea for you to relinquish the hold of overthinking and simply trust in your own instincts. The way he addresses you, with such care and understanding, reveals his deep awareness of your inner struggle. The idea of allowing your hand to move freely, unburdened by conscious thought, is both comforting and daunting. It’s a call to embrace the organic flow of creativity, to let your artistic instincts take the lead just as they do with every other canvas.

In his gentle insistence, there is an underlying promise of safety and acceptance, a reassurance that you are not alone in this moment. His soft voice, laden with affection, is a beacon that guides you through your hesitation, offering a pathway to overcome the fear that clutches at your heart. As you absorb his words, you feel a shift within, a subtle easing of the tension as you prepare to let your hands move with the grace and freedom that Changbin so patiently encourages.

You exhale shakily, a soft, uneven breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes for a fleeting moment. The brief respite is a small sanctuary from the storm of emotions raging within you. With a deep, albeit hesitant, breath, you allow the brush to make its tentative contact with his back. The sensation is both thrilling and disconcerting, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you’re trying to navigate.

Your heart pounds erratically, lodged firmly in your throat, as if each beat is a protest against the simplicity of the act. The sensation of the brush against his skin is strangely overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a touch of absurdity at the intensity of your reaction. The thought strikes you with a sting: why should something so seemingly simple provoke such a profound response?

You frown at the self-criticism, a mix of frustration and self-doubt clouding your thoughts. The very act that should be a natural extension of your creativity now feels like an insurmountable barrier. You remain frozen in place, the brush hovering delicately against his back, your mind tangled in a web of conflicting emotions and the weight of your own insecurities.

“First contact, good,” Changbin says softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. His praise, though directed at the simplest of actions, carries a weight of sincerity that pierces through your anxieties. The way he acknowledges your effort with such kindness and appreciation makes your heart swell with a mix of emotions.

Each word of praise from him feels like a tender caress, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. It’s as if his approval alone has the power to lift the heaviness from your shoulders. Yet, amidst the comfort of his support, a pang of sorrow tugs at your heart. You can’t help but feel that Changbin, with his unwavering patience and boundless kindness, is deserving of so much more than you can offer.

The realization settles heavily within you: he is too good, too pure, and his affection for you only highlights the depth of your own insecurities. The disparity between his gentle, unselfish nature and your own self-doubt feels almost unbearable. As you grapple with the bittersweet ache of his praise, the profound sense of his worth and the feeling of inadequacy intertwine, leaving you with a lingering ache for him and the love you fear you might not fully deserve.

“I can’t do this,” you sniff, your voice trembling as you pull the brush away from his back. The words are more a cry of frustration than a simple admission of difficulty. Your hands feel unsteady, and the weight of your own insecurities feels almost too much to bear in this moment of vulnerability.

Changbin remains motionless, his presence a steady, reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil. Despite your agitation, he does not waver. His voice cuts through your self-doubt with a calm and unwavering reassurance. “You did good, love, you made the first contact — now keep going.”

His encouragement is gentle, yet insistent, a soft nudge to continue despite the internal resistance that threatens to pull you away. The words carry an undercurrent of faith and support, a reminder that progress has been made and that there is a path forward. Changbin’s steadiness provides a counterbalance to the storm of emotions within you, his calm demeanor a beacon of hope as you grapple with the feeling of inadequacy. His trust in your abilities and his unwavering patience offer a precious glimmer of confidence, urging you to overcome the hesitation and embrace the next step.

You found yourself caught between two conflicting desires: the longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and softness of his skin beneath your fingertips, and the impulse to abandon the entire exercise in a wave of self-doubt. It was a precarious balance, and every moment felt fraught with the tension of your inner struggle. Yet, it was Changbin’s gentle, affirming praise that kept you tethered, a constant reassurance that dispelled the doubts threatening to hold you back. His words, tender and encouraging, provided a steady anchor amidst the churning sea of your uncertainties.

Changbin’s beauty, so striking and profound, seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity. The sight of him, so effortlessly captivating, made it difficult to process your own emotions. The paintbrush in your hand danced across his back with a new fervor, as if guided by an unseen force. The vibrant hues of oranges and yellows spilled across his skin, transforming his usually plain canvas into a vibrant display of color and emotion. The image you painted was a burst of fireworks, a visual symphony meant to capture the depth of the feelings he stirred within you.

Occasionally, your free hand would find its way to his back, a tentative gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. It was a gesture of closeness and reassurance, a small but significant effort to bridge the gap between your hesitations and his unwavering support. Each touch was a deliberate step towards overcoming your fears for his sake. As you put the final touches on the painting, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. The work, now complete, was a testament to the emotions Changbin had evoked and a reflection of the journey you had navigated together.

After admiring and praising your work through the bathroom mirror, Changbin returned to kneel before you, a look of dazed contentment lingering in his eyes. The intimate moment you’d shared while painting him had left an imprint on him, and it was evident in the softened, reverent way he now regarded you. His voice, barely more than a murmur, was tinged with a gentle, almost reverential tone as he took your hands in his and requested you to touch his face.

The intensity of his gaze was nearly too much to bear, a silent plea that seemed to pierce through your defenses. You almost refused, the weight of his unspoken emotions making it difficult to act. In a bid to soften the moment and manage your own trepidation, you asked him to close his eyes. His response was immediate and graceful, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips as he complied with your request.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted them to cup his face, the act both intimate and nerve-wracking. The contact was met with an immediate reaction — a shiver that coursed through his body, a physical manifestation of the deep emotional connection that had been kindled between you. The sensation of his warm skin under your trembling fingers was both grounding and electrifying, a testament to the vulnerability and trust that had been shared in this quiet, tender moment.

The shoulders were your next focus, and your fingertips traced their contours with a delicate touch, as light as a feather. Each movement was deliberate, a gentle exploration that sent ripples of sensation across Changbin's skin. You watched intently as goosebumps emerged, spreading across his body in response to your touch. Despite the palpable reaction, his eyes remained closed, a gesture of trust that deepened the intimacy of the moment.

Changbin's hands rested calmly on his knees as he continued to kneel before you, his posture a silent testament to his patience and willingness. He didn’t shift or flinch, his stillness adding to the weight of the moment. It was an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a profound blend of emotions that left you on edge and in awe.

As you allowed your hands to move freely, a newfound sense of power and connection emerged. You ventured across his chest, tracing the ridges of his biceps and the smooth planes of his belly. Each touch was a discovery, a chance to map the landscape of his body and to feel the subtle changes in his breathing and muscle tension. The freedom to explore his skin, to feel the warmth and texture under your hands, was both a privilege and a revelation, marking a deepening of the bond you shared.

Eventually, a surge of bravery propelled you forward, and you allowed your lips to gently meet his. The contact was electric, an immediate and fervent exchange as he responded to your kiss with equal passion. Changbin sighed contentedly into your mouth, his lips moving with a depth and intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling between you. You surrendered to the warmth and connection of the moment, letting him lead the kiss as you immerse yourself in the shared intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the atmosphere shifted, and soon the two of you found yourselves on the ground. The transition was both spontaneous and fluid, a natural progression of the intimate exchange that had begun with your kiss. In the heat of the moment, your hands, which had once traced delicate patterns on his back, now inadvertently smeared the artwork you had so carefully created. The paint, which had once been a canvas of emotions, was now spread across both your bodies.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his skin, while he moved with a rhythm that was both euphoric and synchronistic. The paint became an unwitting participant in your passion, staining your bodies as you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of the experience. The ground beneath you was forgotten, replaced by the intense connection and shared vulnerability that defined the moment.

His rhythmic movements were a symphony of whispered confessions of love, each tender murmur sending your mind drifting away on a cloud of pure pleasure. The combination of his words and actions created an overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation that filled every corner of your consciousness. Each whisper was a thread weaving into the fabric of your shared ecstasy, intensifying the connection between you.

The melodies of your intertwined breaths and muted moans became the only sounds that reverberated through your apartment, a private concert of intimacy and passion. The room was enveloped in the hushed symphony of your bodies moving together, a melody of love and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

A thin layer of sweat formed a glistening sheen on both of your skins, the evidence of your fervent connection. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, fading light that mingled with the dimming hues of night, creating a soft glow that highlighted the tender vulnerability of the moment. As the daylight surrendered to the encroaching darkness, the scene became a portrait of intimate beauty, a snapshot of a night filled with profound emotional and physical connection.

It was no surprise when you both reached the pinnacle of your shared experience simultaneously. The strained, almost primal sounds that escaped you both were a testament to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that enveloped you. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

Amidst the euphoria, the purity of the love you had just shared became palpable, stirring emotions so deep that tears began to roll down your cheeks. Each tear was a manifestation of the profound connection and overwhelming affection you felt for him. Your heart ached with a fierce love, and you found yourself wanting to express it with every fiber of your being.

He responded to your silent confession with words of his own, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. As he kissed away each tear that stained your cheeks, his eyes held a softness that you had never seen before, a gentle radiance that spoke of the depth of his feelings. A tender smile curved at his lips, amplifying the beauty of the moment. His presence was nothing short of devastatingly beautiful, and in that intimate, vulnerable space, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and disbelief at your fortune. To have a lover so deeply attuned to you, so wonderfully perfect in your eyes, was a gift you could scarcely believe you had received.

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tacobellpotatotaco · 5 months

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i can’t stop crying i genuinely have turned into a cold and soulless being. andrew made me feel so beautiful and i get confused if that’s all i loved him for. this is a horrible feeling to have. he looks at me like i’m the only person in the room and i love it so much it takes the breath out of my body. he is so gentle with me before and after sex. i pretended to fall asleep and he kept touching my neck and hair, and made sure the blanket covered all of me. when i get fucked up and cry drunk over david and i pass out disgustingly he takes the time to take off my makeup one by one and braid my hair so it isn’t frizzy in the morning. he changes my clothes to fresh ones and takes off my bra so i don’t have to sleeep with it on. he’s cleared out a drawer for me like david did and that was all i thought about, the third drawer of david’s. i feel so gutted. i feel so wrong and moronic and sociopathic almost it makes me sick. andrew, i decide to surprise him and he has the biggest smile on his face and he grabs me and he throws me in the air, my head gently bumps the ceiling and his expression makes you think his whole world is crashing down bc i have a little boo boo on my big ol head, and i still tear up. expression was hard with david. andrew is an open book everyone seems to claim they are. he loses his mind over david sometimes. but he knows how important the apology is to me so he persists and i drag my feet onwards too, very unsure of how much longer it seems to be. i was sure we would sever ties in february, and i mean both of them. i’m not sure why david wants to not meet, except i do bc all i’ve ever shown him post breakup was anger and sadness, but why keep me in my life? And when i ask that, why do i not want him to completely exit my life as well? and andrew, well i genuinely have a theory he has just never been said no to. he is really beautiful i guess, and he is also endearingly dumb like an oaf LOL like a gentle giant in the best way. like Kronk, i guess, or carlos sainz.

i don’t really know what the fuck i’m talking about. i’m devoid of all human feeling with andrew sometimes which makes me sad since he’s this random dude i haven’t known for a year even and he’s holding my hand the most out of all this. I tell him all the time i just don’t want to use him as an emotional crutch but i can’t seem to stop.

And you want to know what is truly truly the deep dark chasm of my romantic dichotomy, i genuinely feel that andrew would probably absolutely my type. he is so nice, fair, kind, objective, a little ditzy, but cute, a descriptor most wouldn’t expect. he is mean (grumpy) to everyone else but me. and for some reason i like that. a lot i think. his face softens when he sees me enter, and when we talk. he protects me often, we’re very traditional, embarrassingly so. i am every homemakers picture of perfection. he is very much the textbook definition of chivalry. i liked it. i remember asking david to open doors for me. i felt so much embarrassment when he rejected that idea so heavily. i guess it was the way he said it too. i cried the first time i cooked for him. i said i’d never do it. not after david. i didn’t do my best for david but i desperately did my hardest work. it just never came out the way i liked it. andrew got some real beautiful food when i had my home kitchen again. he jokes about marrying me and i felt awful. i don’t even know andrews favorite color. and i remember telling david how i wanted our kids to have his eyes. that was about four months into dating him. and i realize i’ve known andrew for four months too.

i feel toxic and so i am. and i look through andrews phone so i could finally activate my least favorite traits about myself, jealousy and blinding rage. i am utterly devastated. he googles all my interests, he’s trying to learn the fishtail braid, he texted his mom that he wants to surprise me with it, he’s added some necessities i have on me in his cart. i think about the kitchen knives david put in a wishlist he made for me. i wince. another thought comes in, when andrew first asks me for my instagram and i click the search bar for my username, i have a hard enough time allowing myself to do this bc i am still so emotionally attached to david. i see twenty JENNY ————-‘s in the search history, i try fast to not react in the face but it’s too late, andrew looks at his phone and turns red. i think it’s cute before noticing my feelings out in the blue like that, and then i do, and then my stomach turns, and i’m not sure what to even feel.

i remember first meeting andrew too. i remember seeing his face and thinking how he looks kinda douchey and normie. never thought if he was in my league or not. really, i didn’t consider him or anyone in front of me as attractive. i just really chased the feeling of love or even just, really, attention, but he wasn’t even on my mind to seek it from him. i was so avoidant of him i remember. i didn’t smile and i looked away a lot. i guess i’m very much a bitch without noticing it in myself. everyone goes to grab boba after class, and i love boba, so i was gonna carpool with sharon. Andrew is invited and we are partners, he asks me in front of everyone if i want to ride with him, and i can’t look dickish despite every action i’ve done to him proving me to be the ultimate dickhole, i fold, i go, the small talk there is surprisingly funny. we hang out all together, he thinks i’m very smart and funny and adorable. he seems to make that very clear cause i’m getting looks from enough people in the group to make me want to ignore him harder, so i do.

we dance more and more, he tells me i look sad. i look sad? yeah. you hesitate but you know what to do. oh. hearts not in it i guess. why’s that? and the dialogue goes on. i know why. he drones on and eventually says something about damn who hurt you yadda yadda, and i don’t like how he hit the nail on the head so i turn and go to the restroom to cry rightfully in the privacy of a cramped bathroom stall. i’m better than dead, i’m depressed. and it’s sinking in me and all the horrible memories come back. i thought that, after this breakup i could be free to do what i want, and it wouldn’t matter. but it still has a hold on me, and i can work on it until i lose my mind, and it doesn’t matter if i work on it or not because it’s time that will do the healing. i probably do still have a great time dancing. i don’t care enough though, cause i’m not in love, and i’m not dancing with the person i love, because that person never wanted to dance with me and that is the pain unraveling right in front of me.

i ditch the classes, and he calls me for the first time. i was expecting a call from a job interview, so i answer all cheery and sweet. i don’t think andrews ever heard that voice from me. he sounds obviously taken aback, and his voice softens too. it’s sort of flattering when a ginormous, beautiful and tan himbo of a man weakens for you, and bends for you in every direction you’d like him to go, at your will. it makes me feel weird. i know i’d appreciate it if i weren’t so fucked up in my head but what do i know, i’m sort of appreciating it retroactively like i did with david. like how david called me for three hours before he went to the gym, and i remembered how weak i was from sickness that year in 2022. Andrew asks me if i’m okay and what he can do for me if i need something, i snap out of the daydream, and i wonder what excuse sounds just right enough to hang up the phone in the next twenty seconds. oh sorry, i’m on the way to a job interview. which is a lie because it’s 8pm.

he says look, can we just get boba, and i frown because i do actually want a fucking boba. i say yeah halfheartedly. he seems to find sick and twisted enjoyment at beating me to the door and at the card reader. it’s actually nice and not something he has to do, i’m not really like that and i don’t really mind splitting as long as i get acknowledged. i really wish david said thank you for paying for dinner those ten or twenty times i silently kept count which yeah, that’s a bad thing of me to do, but i just.. i don’t know. but you know what’s insane?! i get the thank you anyways. thanks for changing your mind, thanks for taking the time out of your day to see me, thanks for your company, thank you for being so good at adapting. it almost knocks the boba out my mouth.

we start hanging out more, i contemplate to drop the class because it was just a soul crushing wound i kept reopening and i wasn’t really good at it if my heart wasn’t in it yet. which made me sad. i just finished reading jeanette mccurdys book, and in the midst of her struggling to have a good relationship with food, her abuse, her inability to understand herself, she also finds she likes to dance. and i did too at some point— i liked moving my body and having some power over self expression, a connection to music, and in some sense, sensuality sometimes. and i notice that i want to drop the class, but i appreciate fully and honestly that i tried my hardest. there’s something else though traveling in my mind. hmm.i don’t think i want to see andrew dancing with anyone else. i mention it the next time he bothers me to get a freakin boba, as i call it. he seems very enchanted by my lack of non swearing which seemed to be my default again, now. i just tell him i’m dropping class. he stays quiet and says, did you want to find a different class together?

???

not the reaction i expected or really, understood. i ask why, he answers he doesn’t want to dance with anyone else. that seems to be the best answer from a romantic interest, except i couldn’t figure out if i even liked anything about him. i think i like it, i like the way he makes me feel and his devotion, yeah, devotion. feels good to me.

the timeline is all so fucked up. could this genuinely be the right person wrong timing. i think back to julia and how badly that hurt and stung and dismantled me when she told me that. like a gut punch i couldn’t understand if she claimed to love me so much. and there were times where i seemed to develop feelings, not quite love, but feelings for andrew, that i tried to push down into a denser compact form to enter the ether of my mind to float away in mt brain like space junk, and i realize, holy shit, i am that person.

we go out a lot now these days with his cousins, and we drink a lot and we pass out and we cry but we always have a good time. i start to see it crumble as fast as it begins. i’m in an alcohol induced comatose sleep, until i’m not. there’s something warm and wet and sticky pouring out on my lips. i don’t want to open my eyes, my heart is stopped and my stomach is tight like a heavy iron pan. and the stickiness is pouring slow like honey and it’s.. cherry carmex. distinctly warm from his pockets, and he’s got tabathas sweatpants on me and borrowing satin scrunchies for her too. i overheard her and bea talking about him and i while this is all happening, and the echoey reverb of that conversation is the only thing distracting me from the pounding of my headache. he doesn’t know i’m awake still. i see him digging through my tote bag. i perk up my little ears to finally catch a moment i can accuse him of looking through my shit. and then i realize he’s got my charger and is trying to stab it into the outlet wall. he’s charging my phone while i sleep. i want to gag in disgust at how much i am not deeply in love with him, but i’m not. he even lifts me to the inside of the couch, because i like being close to a wall when i sleep. i always think about david not letting me sleep on the comfier side of the bed on occasion. i was so bitter about it and i was mean to him for that. i feel guilt, and it’s not for andrew caring for me, a person who doesn’t care much at all for him. i feel guilty for being upset and grumpy at david and i think if i weren’t maybe i’d still be with him right now. tabathas squeaky soft little voice circles back into the apartment chamber choir of an acoustic haven. she’s telling bea about her teaching him how to put pads on panties. and i become conscious of my lower half and holy shit, i started my period, he must have noticed when changing my clothes. a month from now when i get my period again, he gets my pads ready for me before i shower. he also very much enjoys period sex. it looks so violent and i think he likes that, and i think i kinda like it too when he frames it that way. i’ll kill myself if andrew ever sees this. but i don’t think he was my favorite at sex, but he is the best at after care, which did make him my number one in terms of stats and score. he blew it out of the water, the way he was delicate. the way he looked after me. he wasn’t bad at sex at all. my heart just wasn’t in it. he didn’t do anything wrong or say anything corny or even uncool. he was great but i was absent minded. i was looking forward post fuck for the perfect hold he could give me. he cleans me each time and props me up and holds my face in his palms, and he’ll dress me too, each time, and when i reach for my own clothes he looks so bewildered like i’ve stolen his purpose. something spills out of my thigh, while i get up to have him wiggle my shorts on. i think it’s my cum. i don’t remember so much of it ever spilling out of me since, maybe david and i were going at it like 6x one of those days. he doesn’t skip a beat to celebrate, and it takes me out of my daydream again. i always sit with my thoughts now, i don’t give away what goes on in my head, andrew and i could not be farther opposites.

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

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An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided. The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes.

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook.

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.”

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree.

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face.

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase.

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word.

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out.

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant.

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam.

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement.

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming.

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too.

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again.

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side.

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn.

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.”

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment.

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll.

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink.

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life.

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating.

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table.

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again.

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what.

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List! @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think.

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

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traincat · 3 years

Note

I’ve been trying to piece together a few things from your Twitter and Tumblr posts alike and still can’t make heads or tales of things, so would you mind helping out a FF & spideytorch noob? 1) what is currently happening with Johnny in the comics? (I’ve fallen head over heels for this guy, largely all your doing) 2) when’s the last time he and Peter have interacted, canon wise? (And do you think upcoming interactions are likely?) 3) your thoughts on if they’ll have him come out in the near future? (has that ‘biggest change to the fantastic four’ teaser come to pass yet?) Love all your content, thank you!

I'd say no problem but then I started thinking about this current run again and got a headache. But yes, I can do that to save you from reading it, because it is very largely not good.

So I don't think it's unfair to just flat out say the current Fantastic Four run is not very good, largely due to writer Dan Slott's efforts. Slott was previously on Amazing Spider-Man for 10 years, to mixed opinions, but a large portion of Spider-Man fandom, myself included, blames him near singlehandedly for the decline in quality of Spider-Man books over those ten years. I will say, in the interest of fairness, that Slott as a writer has an incredible fondness for the Spider-Man/Human Torch relationship, and that a lot of the recent teamups and interactions between them have been written or co-written by him. So it's all not all negative here. But in general, I personally find Slott's more recent comics (the last seven-ish years especially) to be badly plotted out, messily characterized disasters that feature characters written with all the emotion of a cardboard cutout. That's me putting it nicely.

To explain this fully, you have to understand the position Fantastic Four comics were in from the years 2015 through 2018, both in the fictional 616 universe and in the real publishing world. Following the 2015 Secret Wars event (great if you want some Johnny angst in the background of your plot), the Fantastic Four were disbanded -- Reed, Sue, and their many biological and found family children were presumed dead but in reality were remaking the multiverse, unable, for a reason that was never clearly defined, to reach home. Ben and Johnny were left on Earth. They had an unspecified falling out, likely due to Reed and Sue's absence, and went their separate ways -- Ben joined the Guardians of the Galaxy and went to space. Johnny was featured on both Inhumans and Avengers books. What's notable about this period is that it's the first time since 1961 that there was no Fantastic Four book being published by Marvel. Now the real world reason behind this is both complicated and extremely petty: Marvel really wanted the Fantastic Four film rights. Marvel denied this explanation at the time, stating that the reason was sales motivated, but it was a thoroughly flimsy excuse and Jonathan Hickman, writer of 2015's Secret Wars and overseer of the current X-Men plot, gave an interview saying the decision was film rights motivated. This decision kept the Fantastic Four books off the shelves for three years, up until the Disney-Fox merger, which secured the X-Men and Fantastic Four rights for Disney's Marvel Studios. Marvel then announced that the Fantastic Four book would be returning. So that's a little bit of background as to the precarious place the Fantastic Four currently occupy in the Marvel universe -- it's worth noting that this year is their 60th anniversary, and Marvel has done very little for it. Compare this to the X-Men, whose film rights Marvel also obtained during the Disney-Fox merger, and whose books are currently dominating the publishing lineup. The Fantastic Four definitely occupy an unpopular position, one Marvel themselves is at least partially responsible for forcing them into.

But to move back into the actual content of the book -- the readjustment period Slott wrote reintroducing the Fantastic Four into the Marvel universe can be described as clumsy, at best. It's never fully explained why Reed, Sue, and the kids couldn't return to Earth, something that was explored in Chip Zdarsky's 2017 Marvel Two-in-One, which featured Ben, Johnny, and Doom on a multiversal roadtrip to try and find their family and which I on the whole recommend, despite it having an awkward ending due to being cut short by Slott's announced Fantastic Four main title.

(Marvel Two-in-One 2017 #4)

Instead, the Fantastic Four return to a Marvel universe a little different than how they left it, with the Baxter Building -- formerly the offices of Parker Industries, the company Doc Ock started in Peter's body during Superior Spider-Man that Peter inherited after his defeat and then lost spectacularly when he trashed his own company to fight nazis (good for him) -- occupied by a different fantastic foursome in a plot that goes nowhere and does nothing. This is somewhat emblematic of the early days of Slott's run -- he introduces ideas that fail to go anywhere, including Johnny's rekindled relationship with his other best friend and former college roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot, who he was seen being very cuddly with in the early issues.

(FF 2018 #1) A small group of Fantastic Four fans have argued for a while that if Marvel was to have Johnny come out, a relationship with Wyatt would feel very natural -- they're already close, with Wyatt being an important Fantastic Four supporting character since the '60s. I have some further analysis here on the conspiracy theory that Johnny and Wyatt were supposed to be in relationship at the beginning of this run but that that plot was, for whatever reason, nixed. I don't know that I entirely believe this theory, for the record -- but I do think the pieces line up remarkably well.

Anyway, that didn't/hasn't yet happened, obviously. Slott instead for the most part put Johnny on the back burner for the beginning of his run, up until the Spyre arc, which I have reason to believe is the main story he pitched that he credits with securing him the Fantastic Four title. The Spyre arc suggests that the Fantastic Four's failed space exploration during which they got their powers wasn't just to beat the commies to the moon, as Lee and Kirby envisioned (simpler days), but to reach a specific planet outside of our galaxy. When the team sets out to conquer this mission, they arrive at the planet, but are quickly captured. The planet, they find out, operates like a soulmate AU -- everyone has a fated person that they are matched to via a gold armband. Reed and Sue are soulmates (and Ben is confined to an underground subterranean with the other monsters, because this is a Fantastic Four comic) while it's discovered! Shocker! That Johnny is actually the soulmate of the one the planet's inhabitants, a winged woman named Sky, with the suggestion that this is both why Johnny's previous relationships have never worked and why he loves space exploration -- he was just trying to get to his Soulmate TM.

(FF 2018 #15) "What's going on here? Where are my clothes?" As you can see, this didn't start off super great, with Johnny being separated from his family, stripped naked, and put in Sky's bed with a soulmate armband slapped on him. Did I mention they're only removable if your soulmate takes it off for you? And that Sky has consistently refused despite Johnny asking her to? Yeah. It's bad. (I think it's important to note Johnny's long history as a victim of assault plays into this narrative, whether or not Slott is personally holding that in mind while writing, which I don't believe he is. cw in the linked post for discussions of sexual assault.) There's an additional issue here in that Slott has a history of problematic writing regarding women of color, featuring characters he's created to act as love interests being oversexualized, infantilized, villainized, or some mix of all three, with two examples of this phenomena being Cindy Moon and Lian Tang, both of whom he introduced in quick succession in Amazing Spider-Man. Slott certainly didn't have to write Sky as manipulative or controlling towards Johnny, but that's what he chose to do, and that factors into the bigger picture of unfortunate themes in his writing.

Sky returns to Earth with the Fantastic Four despite Johnny appearing unenthused about the idea and initially generally reluctant to interact with her. Apparently they went on a few dates after this and kind of made up. I don't know because I stopped reading for about ten issues in there but I feel confident I missed very little. It's hard to talk about the Sky plot without referencing Johnny's previous interactions with a character named Lyja, a Skrull whose relationship to Johnny I have a long breakdown of here. It's doubly hard, because Lyja actually showed back up in Fantastic Four during this plot. Lyja's modus operandi has remained consistent throughout almost all of her appearances, which I guess makes sense, because she literally has no storylines that do not involve her being obsessed with Johnny, and this recent story isn't any different: Lyja shows up, Lyja disguises herself as another woman in Johnny's life to get close to Johnny, Lyja gets caught and claims it was all fine because she did it for love. This time she disguised herself as Sky.

(FF 2018 #32) Not gonna lie, kind of proud of him for this one. That's one of my problems with Slott -- very occasionally, he busts out good moments, only to undermine them with the rest of his narrative.

In the same issue, Alicia Masters, the first woman Lyja impersonated in order to get close to Johnny, uses her supervillain stepfather's radioactive clay to control Lyja's mind and send her back to space, and I do think she utilized girl power when she did this. Johnny, left reeling after Lyja's latest attempts to trick him into a relationship, ends this issue by sleeping with Victorious, Dr. Doom's right hand woman.

I know she pegged him. I know it. This scene was a little controversial in Johnny fandom, because a lot of people viewed it as Johnny cheating on Sky and thought that that action was out of character for Johnny. I'm personally of a little different opinion, which is that regardless of whether or not you view Johnny and Sky in a committed enough relationship that Johnny's tryst would count as infidelity when all Johnny and Sky are bound by are magic plot soulmate bracelets, I think Lyja's involvement changes things significantly when it comes to Johnny's characterization. All of Johnny's "playboy" periods, if we can call them that, coincide directly with Lyja having been in and then left his life again, which I think makes a certain amount of sense -- it's Johnny trying to wrest control back after a situation where he had none. None of this is explicitly canon, I have to note, but sometimes in comics you have to do the work yourself. So I think this is a case of something being accidentally extremely in character that Slott accidentally stumbled into because he had these love triangles in mind, not because he put a lot of thought into it.

Speaking of love triangles! Johnny sleeping with Victorious gets more complicated when Dr. Doom announces his intent to marry Victorious -- not because he has any romantic interest in her (this engagement caused a lot of uproar in Fantastic Four because Victorious had been previously referred to as being like Doom's adopted daughter) but in order to install her as Latverian regent in his absence. I'm not going to lie, I love a political wedding. Victorious, for some reason, thinks Doom will be deeply upset that she slept with some closeted blond twink and the member of the Fantastic Four he views least as an enemy and more as an annoyance. Johnny, who Sky is currently not talking to because she "felt" him sleeping with Victorious through their magic plot soulmate bracelets, also feels nervous about Doom finding out about this, which I guess is slightly more valid. Anyway, for some completely ridiculous reason, Victorious decides the best time to tell Doom about this little indiscretion is when they're standing at the altar, which coincidentally the Fantastic Four are also standing at, because Doom asked Reed to be his best man in a not at all homoerotic little setup involving midnight swordfighting and Reed slipping Doom's emerald ring onto his own finger. Sorry to sidetrack into DoomReed territory here but it's just like. It's just a lot.

(FF 2018 #33) Also, Ben walked the bride down the aisle. :,) Look at his gigantic hand.

Anyway then Doom decides he's going to kill everyone in a completely reasonable and not at all overblown reaction to Johnny and Zora having what was most likely both disappointing for Zora and weepy for Johnny sex. And that brings us up to where Fantastic Four comics left us yesterday -- in answer to your "big change" question, that's most likely coming up in the next issue, so it hasn't come to pass yet.

Having gotten all that out of the way -- the last time Johnny and Peter interacted canon-wise was in the recent Empyre Fallout Fantastic Four, at the end of the Empyre event:

It was cute! Slott does right good interactions between them. This is possibly the Stockholm Syndrome talking. I don't know if more interactions are likely imminent -- the Empyre event was fairly recent. On the other hand, Slott does like writing interactions between them. So I'd give it about a 50/50 shot. I was skimming the letter page in the latest issue and someone wrote in asking if Peter was likely to appear in the pages of Fantastic Four again any time soon, so there is definitely a demand.

As for Johnny coming out -- I don't know. It's not a call I feel comfortable making at this moment, which I guess means I wouldn't bet money on it. I'd like to say yes, especially because I think Slott set up, whether that was his intention or more likely not, several good places in his run where Johnny could have come out. The beginning, when he's implied to be living with Wyatt again and where he and Wyatt are paralleled against Ben and Alicia. Ben's bachelor party, where Johnny laments not finding the right person -- specifically person and not woman -- and where Ben tells him to "be brave, Johnny Storm." And the soulmate planet plot, where I think could have had a very different and much better ending if Johnny had told Sky that she couldn't be his romantic soulmate, because he knows he wants to be with a man. But those are just places that I think would have made good opportunities for a coming out story. Instead, Johnny's been involved (dubiously) with three different women over the space of the last 10 issues, which is more heterosexuality at one time than he's been confronted with in the last 60 years. So my thoughts are still that it's going to happen eventually, but quite possibly not anytime soon.

Hope that helps! And that my incredibly long answer about what's currently going on with Johnny in comics sheds some light on things!

#johnny storm #traincat talks comics #*replies #long post/#wednesday spoilers

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worldviewcast · 3 years

Text

The Origin of Worldview

So this is going to be a semi-personal, but also a semi-explanation post about alot of the background info regarding Worldview. Yes it’ll be a long somewhat boring wall of text for many of you, but to ME it’s words I feel need to be said and it would mean the absolute world to me if people would take the time to hear me out. Even if its only gonna be the five of you that continue on after this. Anyway...

Worldview technically started forming in my mind when I was probably about fifteen. (For reference, at the time of writing this, I’m about half a year to thirty-one) I was really into doing comics, I had done probably a hundred pages of a really dumb fantasy comic I came up with when I was TWELVE, a Sonic fancomic, and every morning on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I would upload my micron inked and colored pencil story about some DnD characters into the school scanner to post on Drunkduck which is probably all still there today. Adventure’s Guild is missed in my heart, for sure. But in between looking for my first job, the constant writing and doodling I was doing, and my schoolwork I was tossing another idea around in my head. A really DUMB idea, cuz ya know I was FIFTEEN. And I wanted to call it ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’. At the time I was influence by all the dumb anime I was watching and my best friend at the time who always wore black and stood about two feet over me. I don’t know if he’ll ever read this, but trust me if he knew I was talking about this he would recognize this story right away. Well. My first job came around, along with my post secondary college work, and then a tech school I paid for, and.....life really started to get in the way of development. I was more focused on drawing Adventures Guild and other doodles for a long time, and soon enough taking care of my daughter took precedence over everything, and then I started sewing, and doing conventions....and the idea of ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was just stuck in the back of my head. Sitting. Waiting. Forming slowly as it waited for its existence - its time in the sun. And at some point I decided I wanted Android/Robotic like characters too...some of my FAVORITE series are Kikaider : The Animation and Chobits (the books, not the infants show they try to pass a a fully written anime) - things like that. So I KNEW long before Worldview had a proper name I would be writing robot characters with a twist. But I couldn’t figure out what that twist was, what would make it work. The whole idea was still....building. It needed a push. Right around the time My Hero Academia came around everyone with a creative mind seemed to be suddenly struck with a similar idea - what if unique powers WEREN’T so unique in a world? This is fairly common now, but at the start of MHA I remember finding it weird that suddenly every half the new shows out had a whole population of super powered badasses in a world where living daily life with it was more the norm than the exception. And I remember finding it REALLY weird this all came out the same time I evolving a similar idea for my own thing.... I wish I could prove I was evolving this ideas before I saw em but I can’t. I have a much deeper theory about the evolution of cultural art and how influences drive creative minds to similar conclusions but that’s a LONG mental dive for another day. ANYHOW.

So my original idea in ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was the Ninja would be the weird super power in the normal world. NOW I wanted the NINJA to be the ‘normal’ one...and the younger sister would be the WEIRD one because she DIDN’T have some sort of power or ability. I fell in love with this new dynamic and now things were REALLY starting to come together in my mind, what kind of powers were people gonna have, just HOW mundane was it gonna be, how many fantasy elements did I want to have? Because I already KNEW another element I really wanted to include was modern day Paladins - and YES I WILL be covering modern-day style Paladins in Worldview proper, but this meant the universe needed a Deity system, a hierarchy or pantheon. And the world just started to grow....but something was still MISSING, the binding, the elements of what all I wanted to do - Aaaaaaaaaand then came UNDERTALE. And yes this ENTIRE long post is just me mini ranting about how WV came to be so people can TRULY understand just HOW much is inside MY universe so we can stop tagging it as part of the UT Multiverse please and thank you - it’s not that I don’t UNDERSTAND the confusion, but here is your ultimate ‘for the record’ post regarding mine and @little-noko ‘s personal frustrations. Undertale was obviously a HUGE part of pop culture, personal experiences, my life, MANY of my readers lives, I GET why the emotional connection is there and why its the first thing that comes to mind - but the ONLY part I truly was fascinated by with Undertale was the way the Souls were. PHYSICAL Souls - an actual magical entity that represented a person - THIS idea. This was my missing piece. To say artists get inspiration from other artists is beyond an understatement - even Sans and Papyrus are references to Helvetica, right? If not references, inspired by, or ‘great minds think alike’, whatever your argument there....its not uncommon. And Souls being PHYSICAL was the element I wanted to play with - the idea I wanted to expand on, and so much more I want to go into detail about but don’t want to go into spoilers yet so I’m not going to - and the absolute CRUX of my frustrations when dealing with ‘WV is just UT with different characters’. Worldview has.....humans. Only humans, divided into four race. Mechanoid. Masic. Skeleton. Metazoan. (The last one exclusively because I wanted an excuse to draw cute cat girls, so sue me) A pantheon of Gods. It’s own world map. Special BIOLOGY that I have developed to work specifically with the races I have built. Ability trees (diagram to come, don’t worry, we’re just still working out the kinks). It’s own countries, nationalities, and even it’s own tangible form of afterlife which I blame watching WAY too much Supernatural on but HEY Reapers are freaking COOL man. It’s absolutely gut wrenching painful to have people argue with me over a world that I have nurtured and slowly tended to for a good fifteen years...now that it finally, FINALLY gets a chance to exist and be worked on....I feel like the one binding element I finally found and played with and tried to expand on is the ONLY element that people care about. As if absolutely EVERY other element that I want to show just - doesn’t EXIST. We started with Finch because its a good transition from the old projects to the new and it’s the earliest event in the timeline - nothing more than that. But I’m almost starting to feel like that was a mistake because it’s TOO familiar. There’s no going back now, and thats fine. But it does make me anxious to move on to the next ‘chapter’ we’ll be delving into. MAN. I hope that helps clarify a few things. I love answering questions (those that I can) about WV...so my ask box is always open. For those that made it, thanks for listening. :)

#alainatalks #worldview #worldview origins #long post #semi-rant #mostly annoyances I just wanted to get off my chest but I didn't want to be mean about it #its just REALLY frustrating on my end #XD #thank you #!!

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writersmorgue · 3 years

Text

Something Immortal

word count - 3k

warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross

pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.

"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.

Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"

The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."

Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.

"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."

"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.

Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.

No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.

But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.

"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."

"He's an actual angel."

"How is he only eighteen?!"

Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.

Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.

"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."

She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."

Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.

"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.

It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.

The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.

His following count, however, is the shocker.

"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.

"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"

"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"

"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.

Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.

"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."

Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.

"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.

"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"

"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.

Sero nods, "Fair point."

"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."

"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.

"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."

"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.

"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."

"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."

"...agencies?"

"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.

They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)

A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.

"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"

"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."

He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.

"Alright, what do you want pinky?"

She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"

Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.

Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"

The rest of the group nods emphatically.

Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."

Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"

"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.

Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.

"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.

Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.

"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."

"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.

She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.

Shouto stares at the street below.

He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.

Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.

Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.

Whatever he can get over it.

His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.

A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.

The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.

The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.

"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.

"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"

"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.

"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.

Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."

Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."

Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.

"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.

"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.

He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.

Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.

"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"

"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.

"I- Shouto."

"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.

"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."

A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.

"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.

Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."

The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.

"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."

Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."

Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.

"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."

Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.

A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.

Fuck he almost just killed himself.

"Thanks, Bakugo."

"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."

"Thanks, Katsuki."

"No problem, Shouto."

The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.

"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"

"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"

Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."

Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.

"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"

Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.

"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.

“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”

“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.

He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.

The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.

“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”

“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”

“Bakugo!”

The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.

“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.

“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”

“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.

“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.

“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”

Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.

“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.

“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.

“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.

“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”

“Aren’t all suits fancy?”

“Shut up.”

“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.

“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”

“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.

“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.

“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.

Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-

…

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”

The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.

“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.

Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.

“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.

“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.

The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.

“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…

TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”

Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.

“Hello everyone,” He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”

Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.

“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.

“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”

Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”

He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”

Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.

Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.

“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.

Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.

“Happy two years, Katsuki.”

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years

Text

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Text

As I Lay Sleeping: Ch. 2 - Sanctuary

Chapter 1

“It’s about time you woke up.” The sun is bright and harsh from the moment John steps outside and he has to lift a hand to help shield his face from its glow. The voice is familiar, he thinks, or it should be and it washes over him like an old song with words he can’t remember, just the melody. “You heard it, didn’t you?” A question, sure, but John thinks she already knows the answer and it’s unsettling because when he lowers his hand, eyes finally adjusted to the light, he peers into hazel eyes and realizes that she knows him. “He said that this would happen. That when it was time, she would call to you.” She holds his gaze for a moment, and she looks hopeful, like she’s just waiting for some spark of recognition, but it never comes. Her face falls just a fraction before she smiles, and he feels so wholly unworthy of that in this moment that it leaves him shifting from one foot to the next a little uncomfortably. “Well, that’s okay,” she says gently, diplomatically. “Rodney said that it was possible this would happen too. Tell me, what exactly do you remember, John?”

Nothing. He remembers a whole lot of nothing and he thinks, based on the look she’s giving him, she already knows that. “Listen, I’d really like to stay and chat, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” “Oh really?” She asks, eyebrow raised. “And where’s that?” Okay, she’s got him there. “I can help you, John. That’s why I’m here, to do just that. To help you try to remember. But in order for me to do that, you’re going to have to trust me a little.” Trust. It feels foreign to him, but in the same way that he knows that she’s familiar, he knows that he can trust her. Like maybe he has, before. He thinks back to the voice that spoke to him in the hut, the one that she seems to know. Had she heard it too, then? “Elizabeth,” he says and for a second, her eyes light up and she gives him a smile so genuine that something shifts inside of him. “Yes, that’s right. Very good, John. I’m Elizabeth and a very long time ago, we used to work together. On Atlantis.” Atlantis. Home. Those two words are synonymous with each other, John knows, and it’s the first thing since he woke up that he can be sure of. “Why am I here?” He asks. “Where exactly is here?” Elizabeth gestures for him to follow and from where he’s standing, it’s not like he’s got much of a choice. He has no idea where –-or who—he is, and she seems to be the only one who can provide him with some answers. At least for now, where she goes, he has no choice but to follow. --- They don’t walk for very long. She leads him down to the tree line he hadn’t noticed when he’d first stepped out into the light. There’s a large tree, and it looks like maybe it’s a place she comes often. There are a few logs that she leads him over to and as she sits, she gestures for him to do the same. “Your name,” she says, “is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Airforce. We met when you joined the Atlantis Expedition.” She pauses for a moment and he tries to remember, but it’s all still blank. “You were my military commander, leader of our Alpha Gate Team and you were... well, you were my friend.” She gives a small smile, one that seems sad. “We’ve been through a lot together, John. The Pegasus Galaxy, as beautiful as it is, came with plenty of dangers that we were not prepared for. Dangers that we never even saw coming.” “Immediately after arriving in Atlantis, you and a team led by Colonel Marshall Sumner traveled to a nearby planet through what we call a Stargate. It was there that for the first time, we encountered the Wraith. It was then that we... well. I suppose for many, that would’ve been the beginning of the end. But not for you.” Elizabeth is quiet for a moment, lost in her own thoughts like she’s a million miles away. “Elizabeth?” He prompts. “We lost a lot of good people,” she says and her voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. When she glances back up at him, there are unshed tears in her eyes, but she swipes them away almost angrily. “We spent nearly three years fighting the Wraith, doing what we could to protect the people of Atlantis—to protect Earth but it wasn’t... It was never going to be enough.” “Three years after waking the Wraith, after fighting them off of our doorstep more times than we could count, they were bearing down on us. We evacuated the city, got as many people out as we could.” “But we didn’t win.” John doesn’t need his memory to know that; he can see it written all over her face. “No,” she agrees. “No, we did not win. But we didn’t lose, either. Not yet.” John’s not sure what she means by that but before he gets a chance to ask, she’s speaking again. “We are on M7-X732, otherwise known as the Planet of the Cloister,” she says. “It had been abandoned for about a year before we brought you here.” In the sky, the sun is fading and there’s a chill that fills the air. He can feel it, but Elizabeth doesn’t even seem to notice. “You were mortally wounded during the last stand in Atlantis, John. Rodney had come up with a plan in the eleventh hour, like he

always did. The Wraith had woken because we’d inadvertently woken their Queen. They wake when she wakes, they slumber when she slumbers. He needed more time though. You were the one to give it to him and you nearly paid for it with your life.” Hazel eyes flicker to meet his. “That was nearly one hundred years ago.” “That’s not possible,” John rasps and Elizabeth gives him the smallest of smiles. “I can assure you, John, had you not lost your memories, you would know very well that it is. Anything is possible when it comes to Rodney.” She gestures around them. “You got trapped here once. A time dilation field. By the time Rodney had figured it out, you’d spent six months with the people of the Cloister and it was a world where we knew you’d be safe.” “This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.” “I know,” Elizabeth says. “And I’m sorry for that.” She reaches for him then, thin fingers curling around his wrist. “You were put into Stasis, John. The intention was to keep you there until the very last moment, to give you the time you needed to heal. Rodney ensured that no one would find this place, that you would be left undisturbed until it was time for you to wake.” “Wake for what? You said he figured it out, right? This Rodney guy. What do you need me for?” “As we speak, Rodney is back on Atlantis in a Stasis pod of his own. It was a design we took from the Aurora, a sort of shared consciousness so to speak. A virtual reality. For the last one hundred years, he’s shared a reality with the hibernating Wraith Queen, keeping her from waking, keeping the hives from waking.” “He’s losing, John. She’s figured it out, Rodney always knew she would, but he’d hoped it would give you enough time to heal.” “I don’t-- what am I supposed to do?” He can’t even remember his own favorite color, how was he supposed to remember how to find Atlantis, how was he supposed to remember what to do? “Find him,” Elizabeth says. “Find them. Even now, if Rodney’s theories were right, there are sixty hive ships in hibernation just outside of Lantea’s orbit. Find Atlantis. Control the chair. Destroy them all while they sleep.” Well, doesn’t sound like that’s asking for too much. Given the fact that, you know, these things apparently almost killed him a century ago. “And what if I can’t do what you’re asking? If I couldn’t do it before, what makes you think I can do it now?” “When you and Rodney made your last stand, you two were alone, John.” Elizabeth stands and for a moment, turns her back to him. “Spread across four worlds, you will find sarcophagi containing exactly what you need. It would be reckless to try to return to Atlantis now, without your weapons, without your memories. Find each sarcophagus and save our home.” She turns and John is taken aback by how much older she looks now. How... frail she appears. “And what... what about you?” She gives him a rueful smile. “I’ve done my part, John. I’ve watched and I’ve waited for a very long time; I’m very tired now.” She sits down on the log and John pitches forward off of his own, gripping her shoulders gently to keep her upright. “Elizabeth...” “It’s alright.” A wrinkled hand comes up to rest on his cheek and it’s so familiar that John closes his eyes, savoring it for half a second. “I would tell you to be brave, but that’s all you’ve ever been.” “I don’t know where to go,” he says, and there’s panic rising in his chest with each passing moment as she fades away. “Climb the mountain. Go through the cave. I’ll keep the door open long enough for you to pass through. Let... Let Atlantis guide you.” It’s time to go, John. The voice in his head is gentle, mournful and he wonders if Elizabeth can hear it too. He shifts on his knees and he reaches for her, guiding her into his arms carefully before he lays her down against the soft grass. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” because he knows, somehow in his heart, that it’s his wakening that’s caused this. Hazel eyes meet his one last time as a peaceful smile touches her

lips. “When you... find Rodney,” she manages, voice so soft that he almost can’t hear, “tell him... I always knew... it would work.” And then, in much the same way as it was when he awoke in that hut, John Sheppard is alone.

AN: I took some liberties with a few things, mostly the time dilation field and you know, the whole One Wraith Queen to rule them all thing, but I figured since it's an AU... well. Forgive me, please.

#fic: as i lay sleeping #sga/breath of the wild #sga au #john sheppard #rodney mckay #elizabeth weir #ronon dex #teyla emmagan #carson beckett #aiden ford #sga fic #fandom: sga #mcshep #pairing: mcshep #warning: character death

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violetrose-art · 3 years

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Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix· Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again· After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve· Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage… and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

#corpse bride #Tim Burton

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mimik-u · 4 years

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Gloves, Ch. 1

Summary: There's a reason that Yellow Diamond doesn't take off her gloves.

A/N: The other day, as a part of my 100-word drabble word series for SU, I fulfilled this prompt, which required me to question what might be beneath Yellow Diamond's gloves. The headcanon I came up with intrigued me, and inspiration to write a seven pt. fic was thus born. Between school and other creative projects, I'm not entirely sure that this one will get updated regularly, but I do have a fairly firm outline in mind, so I hope the wait between chapters won't be too long! Enjoy!

AO3 Link

“Blue?”

“... yes, Pink?”

Though the other Diamond barely looks up from her screen, Pink Diamond can tell that she’s listening from the way that her long chin slightly inclines in her direction.

Good.

Because she has an important question to ask.

Attention is hard won from the likes of Blue and Yellow Diamond, so even half-victories are still victories that have to be capitalized upon with immediacy. Pink lightly hops upwards from her own throne to the arm of Blue’s, floating downwards into an expectant sitting position, happily ignoring the fact that her elder flicks away her screen with a sigh that filters visibly through her nostrils. If Blue was really annoyed, then she’d just have her Pearl usher her to her chambers... but tellingly, the imperial command never quite comes.

Pink takes courage from this implicit sign and forges ahead in a rush of breathless words.

“Why does Yellow wear her gloves all the time?”

It’s an observation that has increasingly captured her attention as the years have marched on with seemingly zero deviation in pattern.

Yellow Diamond never removes her gloves.

Pink wears gloves, too, but they’re nothing like Yellow’s—so stiff and armor-like, as inflexible as their wearer. Plus, she pulls hers off from time to time so she can feel flowers on her fingertips… their soft, delicate petals... those spiny, fragile leaves. Yellow, in stark contrast, never goes anywhere without hers—even when she joins the Diamonds in the pool on extraction cycles, even when she retires to her chambers at the end of a long day. Exceptionless in most things, so intransigent and firm, it’s no great surprise that the elder Diamond adheres to her own chosen mold, but still…

Even Blue Diamond lowers her hooded veil.

Even White Diamond occasionally unpins her cape.

Blue frowns thoughtfully, subtle lines striking themselves beneath her eyes as she peers downwards at Pink. There’s a look of calculation in her gaze, a sense of measurement, as though she’s already weighing how much she can get away with not saying.

“Have you ever asked Yellow about them directly?”

Pink briefly considers lying, but then thinks better of it. While she might get away with an occasional white lie to Yellow, Blue and White are far more discerning in their judgment—White especially.

(Sometimes, she swears that the matriarch can read her mind.)

“... not really,” she bites her lip. “I just assumed it would be rude to ask a Gem about her appearance modifiers...”

“And so you settled upon asking another Gem about someone else’s appearance modifiers,” Blue observes, a certain wryness in the slight tilt of her lips.

“Something like that,” Pink confirms, not entirely abashed. “I just figured that you would know, and that would save me the trouble from having to pester Yellow about them.”

But Blue’s expression recoils to its former solemnity again as she immediately shakes her head, her hair shifting heavily with the movement.”

“Yes... please do not do that, Pink... not unless she brings it up... Yellow—“

But now it’s Blue’s turn to be hesitant; she doesn’t blush, not in the way that Pink blushes—so furiously, all of her emotions scribbled across her face—but her cheeks aren’t as coolly colored as before, taking on a tinge less like her hair and more like the facets of her gem.

“Yellow what?” Pink asks insistently, pressing her momentary advantage. As subtly as she can, she leans forward a little bit on her blue perch, like an organic avian preparing for flight. “Please, pretty please tell me, Blue. I won’t tell Yellow that you told.”

(Probably.)

(Likely.)

(It’s a tossup of probability, really.)

“You’re being facetious, Pink,” Blue admonishes quietly, glancing away. “This is a serious matter that deserves the utmost respect.”

And though Blue is almost always serious, Pink instinctively intuits that Blue has rarely been more serious than in this conversation, which had begun so innocently, with errant curiosity. When she faces Pink again, her expression has returned to its usual placid coolness, but her fingers are interlocked in her lap, woven into a rigid temple that bespeaks far more about her feelings on the situation than the studious coldness of her eyes.

Pink cowers beneath the weight of this silent gesture, leaning backwards on her makeshift seat.

“Sorry, Blue,” she mumbles shamefacedly and hopes that the apology is sufficient. She doesn’t want to go to her chambers for the rest of the cycle. It’s so rare that Blue allows her to accompany her for the day.

Thankfully, though, the other Diamond seems to accept her contrition as sincere, nodding slowly, the ice melting from her eyes in degrees.

Pink can’t help but wonder at these microscopic exchanges, so subtle but undoubtedly there—who knew that gloves could wring such excess of emotion in the nigh emotionless Blue Diamond?

“Yes, well,” she says, each word doled out carefully, with all the air of internal constraint, “I can give you the basics... but as for the rest, you’ll have to wait until Yellow is ready to tell you—if and when that ever is. She doesn’t like to dwell upon the matter... even with me... perhaps even especially with me...”

Blue trails off, an aching concern seemingly troubling her brow. Pink think she’s know why. Of the four Diamonds, Blue and Yellow emerged from the same supernova some hundreds of thousand years ago, sharing atoms and stardust and precious intimacy in a way that has always made Pink feel a little lonely. They’re bound to each other by far more than simple affinity, tangled, intertwined, and enmeshed.

Naturally, any breach between them doesn’t settle right in Blue Diamond’s gem.

Pink forces herself to be patient, to allow the other Diamond to find her words again.

“But that is no matter,” she finally says—rather unconvincingly. “I know enough… I know how it began.”

“And how is that exactly?”

Blue’s arctic gaze settles upon the younger Diamond again, and there’s sadness in her eyes, ancient and unfathomable depth.

It strikes her suddenly, with all the force of blow, how much older than Pink that she is.

That they all are.

White and Yellow and Blue and all the very stars which surround Homeworld in their bright and intangible embrace.

“It begins as we Diamonds all do,” Blue whispers, reaching upwards to glance her fingers across her gem. “As entities with nearly infinite power, inexplicably constrained within the boundaries and volatilities of our emotions…”

Pink’s immediate confusion must show in her face because the other Diamond immediately clarifies, frowning softly.

“Which is to say, think about your own powers, Pink—how, at the height of your emotions, they can inadvertently manifest in strange ways…”

“Like, a few cycles ago”—Pink can’t help but smile—“when I accidentally made those pebbles come to life.”

She’d cried on a few decorative rocks—upset that she couldn’t accompany Yellow to her Jungle Moon colony—and within mere seconds, they were animated with life, growing arms and legs and expressive faces, clumsily moving around on her vanity, knocking things over.

Now, they live in her chambers, parroting the words she says.

“Yes, precisely,” Blue nods approvingly, in that way she only does when Pink manages to get something right. “The general theory—according to White—is that when we Diamonds feel any strong degree of emotion, we generate those emotions into tangible consequences, whether we intend to or otherwise…”

Pink tilts her head curiously. It’s hard to imagine any of her three elders showing a “strong degree of emotion.” In their own ways, each of them—White, Yellow, and Blue—are so meticulous in their chosen facades, bearing their regality on their faces with a modicum of control that they often scold their most junior Diamond for lacking.

But Blue is perceptive in this front, too, her frown slowly shifting into the slightest, most incremental of smiles.

“Constraining yourself, learning to manage your emotions, will come with time and age,” she promises gently. “But it is essential that you learn this lesson sooner rather than later because, well, there are some consequences of our feelings that we can rationally accept, and others…”

“Not so much?” Pink guesses astutely, beginning to have a burgeoning idea of what this entire story must be about.

“Aye,” Blue Diamond affirms with a measured nod of her head. “Aye… Yellow Diamond’s powers are electric, you know. When we were younger Diamonds… when we didn’t have all that much possession over ourselves and our emotions and everything in-between … she couldn’t touch anything without hurting it.”

The finality of the statement bruises the entirety of the throne room with its magnitude. Pink stares upwards at the other Diamond with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“What?”

“You must understand, Pink,” Blue returns emphatically, her voice strained beneath its own quiet urgency. “Yellow then was very much like she is now—stoic, temperamental, quick to action and reaction—but all of these qualities were amplified by her youth and relative impulsivity—and so she was nigh constantly creating her own energy. It pooled in her fingertips. It sparked in her eyes. It electrified her entire body. When she was frustrated, she could barely touch a screen without short-circuiting it. When she was furious, she could destabilize an entire court of innocent gems. Even when she was happy, joyous after conquest or battle or victory… she couldn’t even touch—“

But Blue Diamond stops short, her breath hitching.

It only takes her seconds to recover, to regain at least the semblance of composure across the smooth facets of her face, but Pink isn’t entirely naïve.

She knows that the completion to that self-interrupted sentence must have been me.

“After one especially harrowing incident,” Blue continues, closing her eyes against what appears to be a painful memory, “she tasked a group of Bismuths to forge special gloves for her that would insulate her powers more efficiently. The gloves helped. Absolutely. She could lean her hand against a pillar and not char it to dust… and since then, of course, she has become more… practiced in tempering her emotions, so much so that I have a sneaking suspicion that the gloves are less functional than they are habitual… but still, she wears them…”

Blue doesn’t say anymore, but the implicit completion to her speech needs no articulation to be known.

And she’ll continue to wear them.

Forever.

For time immemorial.

Pink Diamond scarcely knows what to say, how to process this terrible truth, how to feel.

Silence presses upon the cavernous throne room like the weight of a palm sinking downwards and downwards still, and she can’t help but stare downwards at her own gloved hands, wondering if they, too, have the capacity for engendering such violence.

She hopes not.

Stars, how she prays.

“What was the turning point?” She dares to ask when the quietude gets to be too much, the invisible hand too oppressive.

And yet, her own voice is quiet.

Solemn.

Terribly afraid and equally curious.

The oxymoron twists the gem in her stomach. She half-wants to know and half-dreads the answer.

Thankfully, though—(disappointingly?)—Blue Diamond shakes her head firmly, her brow lowered sternly over her eyes.

“That is not my story to tell.”

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pink diamond #s: steven universe #mimiku #hisoisoaihdfhidhfiofhsio #do i have time to be writing a seven pt. fic #no #am i doing it anyway #yeah #gloves

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johns-prince · 4 years

Note

John also had a lovely mix of masculine and feminine physical traits, though this wouldn't become obvious until 1968. When he was on the skinny side (which I loved, sue me) you could tell how beautifully delicate and dainty his bone structure was, way more than Paul's imo. He had those gorgeous long legs and graceful narrow hips that you most commonly find in fashion models. And I love that until at least 1975, he showcased his body beautifully, especially those legs.

Ironically I feel as if people didn't embrace John's femme beauty as well as they did with Paul. I don't know why. Most people seem to prefer him with the more masculine look of 1966. Which was great as well, he was gorgeous but I am a big fan of the 1968 to 1974 run. Btw, note to fanfic writers: please, show John's body some love, I know Paul is stunning but it's kind of exhausting reading 10 pages about how pretty he is and when it comes to my boy John he barely gets a paragraph 😂

Alright, I feel like I’m probably gonna rub a lot of people in this fandom the wrong way with what I’m going to say but this is my blog and you did send this to my inbox so here we go; At the end of the days these are my thoughts and feelings and I might not articulate them very well or I often ramble till I do!

I have my issues, and a complicated relationship with 1968-70s John Lennon. I love John, and thought him healthy and just right in his body type, basically up until 1968, and it’s spotty onward throughout the 70s. To me, John was naturally masculine looking, there’s not exactly an era or year that I could give you like you gave me [Specifically 1966? What about his teddy boy days? All of the early 60s? Hell even throughout the 70s, to me John still was masculine looking to me] He was a bit awkward in his teenhood, but all the boys were, and gradually grew into his adult body. Boy was built and sturdy, naturally thick and strong.

So we’re probably split on this, because while you see the positives in 1968-1974/70s John, I only really see the negatives. You say skinny, I say malnourished and/or sickly. Depressed druggie who was pushing everyone and everything he loved away, and becoming pathetically dependent on an individual like Yoko [and the other vultures during that time who were terrible influences]

George was skinny, John was not well and either starving himself or simply using drugs and alcohol as the basis for his diet. And diets.. don’t even get me started on that, the diets he was on, the unhealthy lifestyle that his wife only seemed to enable and help him get on.

When I look at George, sometimes I get the need to feed him, like an old Mexican mother. When I look at John, who’d lost an unhealthy amount of weight for what it looked like for his body type, I don’t see delicate and dainty bone structure. I see a man who just, he’s not well, something’s wrong.

I’ll give it to you that 1974 New York photoshoot looked very nice, he had muscle again in his arms, though he was still relatively skinny, he didn’t look sickly, or depressed. So I can give you that period during the 70s, I will give you that [hey he was away from Yoko during this no fucking wonder he looked pretty good here] and that shoot was definitely a model moment, wasn’t it? [Not like he didn’t have many of those moments throughout his life]

So there moments in the seventies where I think John doesn’t look half bad? Even relatively fine? Certainly, I’m devastatingly attracted to this man, dear God almighty have mercy on my soul yes I am. So I’ll agree that yeah, there were periods during the 70s in which John seemed to hold himself fairly well, I’d still climb it.

But I’m at least willing to admit that when John started his spiraling, in 1968, that he was Not Okay. And I personally believe he wasn’t all that okay throughout most of the 70s too... Maybe my issue isn’t with him being ‘skinny’ as it is I don’t like the underweight/severely underweight look on John, I just don’t. The incredibly unhealthy way he went about losing weight... Physically frail doesn’t fit him, and it only upsets me whenever I see photos of him that show how thin his legs became or how you can see his ribs, just how wasted away he’d look at times throughout the 70s, up until the last days of his life.

You want a “skinny” or ''skinnier'' John Lennon? A healthy, ‘’skinny/skinnier’’ John Lennon for his body type, is ‘66 and ‘67 in my eyes, and even then it wasn’t a radical change in weight loss; John still looked like John.

And speaking of 1968-1969, or the White Album era; don’t think it isn’t lost on me when I see people making light of John’s unhygienic appearance during the making of the White Album. Boy was depressed and hurting for whatever reason, again, spiraling, and getting lost in Yoko and heroin as a means of escapism and someone to tell him ‘it’s alright it isn’t your fault it’s everyone else’s fault’. Of course he didn’t care much for his personal appearance or hygiene... I will say I appreciate your appreciation for him during that period, instead of getting the whole ‘stinky/smelly rat man.’ Maybe I’m too much of a ‘’stan’’ but I don’t find it very amusing or endearing.

Don’t find me mocking or ‘’teasing’’ Paul’s depressed ass and his appearance during the breakup period/white album era-- but I suppose it’s because Paul actually tried and wasn’t on hard drugs, and had a good wife, so he was able to wear his depression and struggle with alcoholism a bit better, hmm? I don’t like Paul’s beard simply because I know it was the result of his lack of energy, depression, and falling into the drink-- he simply didn’t feel the need nor had the energy to care for himself, so that’s why he let it grow out. I don’t like it because of that, but that’s as much as you’ll get from me.

Anyway... Maybe I just don’t see John as characteristically feminine/effeminate as Paul, although he has his moments of acting and wearing clothes that are campy and elegant or give off a softer appearance, specifically around 1968 and throughout the 70s. But otherwise, I can’t agree, John didn’t have the same mixture, or balance of masculine and feminine traits as Paul-- and if it’s only made obvious during the downfall turning point of The Beatles and John (1968), then I don’t think that really counts as a ‘’lovely’’ mix of masculine and feminine traits for the reasons I mentioned. So I’ve got to disagree. John's always come off as much more masculine, or naturally masculine, both physically and characteristically, to me.

You know maybe it’s just the blogs I interact with, but I feel like it’s the other way around. I know I can sometimes come off as aggressive but at the end of the day I don’t necessarily care what one person thinks or believes, since it’s all relatively subjective to our own ideas of things and biases, etc... I have my thoughts and beliefs and theories and whether people agree or disagree with them on tumblr dot com... Well, what’re you gonna do? Nothing, it’s not my problem.

What I 100% agree on you with is about showing Johnny’s body a bit more love and attention to detail when it comes to writing about him in fanfiction!

There’s his auburn red hair, a darker ginger, which was thick and fun to watch as it lit up like fire when sunlight hit him, and could easily go wavy and curl when left unkempt and natural. The splattered and scattered galaxies of light freckles up and down his arms, his shoulders, his back, even a couple on his face. His aquiline nose, a relatively square jawline and facial structure, thick, heavy eyebrows which really intensify expressions of rage and hurt, almond shaped eyes which are the color of honey-amber when the light hits them just right and outlined with thick, long lashes, blind as a bat without his glasses but can give a mean squint which either helps scare off trouble, or brings it right to him, especially when he’s got thin bitten lips that could pull off a devilishly cheeky smirk or a no-good, charming grin to showcase teeth with the upper front turned slightly in towards each other, gives that imperfection which truly just perfects it-- a face like that of a tragic hero in a Greek Romance, distinctive and handsome. How he just oozed filthy sex and genuine trouble, sweaty leather and smoky dancehalls and rock & roll that crawls up your spine like an orgasm. Hips that could roll like Elvis and strong legs, thick thighs which would make a lovely place to sit. Broad shoulders, strong arms that could easily manage to lift you up and manhandle you in any way he’d like. Big hands, almost like shovels-- beautiful hands, with fingernails usually bitten short and occasionally had black ink or charcoal under them from when he’d be working on art, and rough, callused fingertips from playing guitar till they split and bleed, add a lovely roughness to any gentle touching he might do. A naturally thick midsection, a normal, healthy layer of fat which covers the sinewy just beneath. Any hair is light, light and lightly colored, on his arms and legs and chest. Cute tush, nice butt, a nice boy butt, slightly muscular bubble butt.

Fun facts; he had the largest feet out of all four Beatles. John isn’t circumcised. John and George share the same height. John has a surprisingly long tongue. John’s skin tone may be light, but for comparison, he’s much tanner compared to Paul-- he’s a bit more olive or wheat to his skin tone, and tanned very, very well. John’s cheeks could become easily red though. John liked the scent of citrus to wear-- he was also self conscious about the fact he could easily sweat and so usually wore such colognes or scents, didn’t want to smell bad. He started smelling of witch hazel when with Yoko. Despite his issue with sweating, he didn’t smell bad naturally. John was a true romantic, being an artist outside of being a musician/rock and roller-- he just didn’t like to show it, and growing up in his time, you couldn’t. John’s a swimmer, he loved to swim and loved the ocean.

#questionsquestionsquestions #beatles discussion/discourse #these are my feelings and thoughts and i can't feel bad for them

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athenasbloodyspear · 4 years

Text

The Viper: Chapter One

What happens when an agent of the Red Room falls into the hands of Hydra? What happens when Hydra puts out a hit on their favorite assassin? Who is the mysterious woman with a twisted history and an even more twisted mind?

The team wants to know. They want to know what you know. Nat and Bucky want to know if there’s any light left in you.

They want to know you.

Bucky x Female Reader

The Viper Master List | My Writing Master List

The sounds of car horns are loud around you. The blaring, beeping and bustle of pedestrians creating layers and layers of sound. You’re trained well enough to sift through the sounds, listening to pieces of conversation and various sounds of your environment to orient yourself.

You can feel the smallest shift of every person who’s moving in the space around you. Your senses are so focused you can practically hear the blood rushing through the people closest to you. Your prey is about a block up, completely oblivious to where you followed.

The streets around you were loud and the sounds were strong, but nothing could keep your focus off your mission.

Underneath your hood and the rim of your baseball hat, your face was hidden in shadow. If anyone would have seen or marked it, they would have seen the wicked gleam of a grin.

“What’s got you all in a tizzy, Tony?” Nat asks from Bucky’s right. The whole team was gathered around a conference table in Avengers tower looking kinda bored. Tony had called everyone here this morning, much to everyone’s chagrin because he had promised a week off and then apparently changed his mind a mere three days later.

Bucky sighed and rolled his shoulders, leaning back in the office chair he currently sat in, lifting the two front feet off the floor. All he really wanted was to go back downstairs and into the city with Nat and finish looking for a birthday gift for Steve. That’s what they were doing this morning before they were quickly called back to the tower. He’d procrastinated too long and really had zero idea of what to get the man.

“I’m confused about something and I don’t like being confused.” Tony retorted.

“Oooo” Sam piped up from across the table. “The great Tony Stark admits to not knowing something. I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of those ears.”

Bucky smirks at his friend. God he loved Sam and his remarks. He would say something similar, but his relationship with Tony still wasn’t perfect and he didn’t want to push his luck at the moment.

“What is so confusing, Iron Man? Don’t know what to get Pepper for your anniversary? Or did you say something stupid again and your giant brain can’t figure out exactly which asshole statement pushed her over the edge this time?” Nat chimed in with a mocking smirk.

Tony pointed a single finger at Nat. “I have had our anniversary present for two months already and I’m actually getting better at figuring out which one of my snarky comments goes too far, just so you know.” He sighs and presses a few buttons on the large screen under the glass conference table, whipping up a bundle of information to appear on the screen behind him. “What I’m confused about is why Hydra put out a public hit on one of their top agents.”

At that, Bucky’s chair drops back to all four legs abruptly. The confusing piece of information startled him into finally giving his full attention to the conversation. His heart rate picked up a bit.

“They did what ?” Steve asks from the end of the conference table opposite Tony, voicing the question on all their minds.

“This morning Hydra posted a bounty on a known dark web forum. It’s not unheard of for them to post some of their lower enemies on this anonymously for unaffiliated assassins and bounty hunters to take down. What’s different this time is they made it very clear that Hydra was posting.” He whipped up what looked eerily similar to a reddit post up on the screen. “And what makes even less sense is I know for a fact that the person they called a hit on has been their little secret weapon for over ten years.”

Bucky scanned the post up on the screen. Sure enough, it said that Hydra had a hit out on a well known assassin and was offering 50 million along with diplomatic immunity in a country of their choosing for the head of the operative.

“Who’s the target?” Nat murmured.

“So, this is the fun part. Especially for you two.” Tony continued, pointing at Nat and Bucky.

“What?” Bucky grumbled. Fun for him? What the hell? What could possibly be in Tony’s twisted brain to think anything to do with Hydra would be fun for him?

“Here’s the mark.” Tony pulled up a blurry photo of a figure wrapped in muted colors clearly captured on some sort of security camera somewhere on a bustling street. If Bucky was tracking the cobblestones and architecture of the buildings correctly he’d guess it was taken somewhere in Cairo.

“Is that the best fucking picture you can get us, Stark? You can barely see their face.” Sam quipped, leaning forward in his seat to squint at the screen.

“This is the clearest photo of her face, yes.”

“Her?” Nat snapped, popping her eyes to Tony.

“Yes. Her. The Viper .” He smirked back at Nat. Bucky heard a quick intake of breath from his right. Nat.

“No…” She whispered, and trailed off.

“Oh yes, Natasha. Oh yes.” Tony flicked his fingers across the table again and all the known stats on the Viper pulled up on the screen. “This is where the fun begins for us. This is what we know about the Viper. She was “found” at a young age somewhere in middle America. It’s a little unclear where, but from where I tracked it must have been somewhere in the Midwest.”

“They stole a kid from Wisconsin? Why would Hydra bother when they had their fingers in so many other countries?” This was from Steve.

“It wasn’t Hydra…” Nat murmured.

“ What? ” Bucky piped up again. He felt like his brain was spinning. A top Hydra assassin? Did he know her? He would have to spiral into his memory to find out if he ever met this Viper…

“It was the Red Room.” Nat whispered then. Her eyes staring directly at the table.

“Yes indeed!” Tony quipped. “Remind me Nat, were you still there when they dragged in the little girl kicking and screaming or not?”

“Tony!” Steve seethed from his end of the table.

“I wasn’t living there anymore, no. I had just graduated. She was a couple years younger than me. They said she caused quite a nuisance during the assassination of a target. Instead of killing her they decided to bring her back. I saw her maybe twice. They had always referred to her as the snake. She was less refined than the other girls, she started her training a little too old, but she was… desperate to make up the difference.” Nat shuddered a bit then and Bucky felt compelled to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. “She reminded me of… me.”

There was a small moment of pause before Tony started again. “So our little snake graduated from The Red Room and spent a few years as an agent for them before falling in with our buddies at Hydra.” Tony looked at Bucky then, “Where she was trained and conditioned to fill a missing position in their ranks after they unfortunately lost control of a very important asset. ”

“You’re a prick Tony.” Steve muttered, his eyes falling on Bucky. Bucky waved him off. He was fine, really. He’d started making peace with his history when he was on Wakanda and though he still had a long way to go, he wasn’t going to fall to pieces at the mere mention of the Winter Soldier.

“You’re telling me that they…” He trailed off, his mind spinning in circles. This poor woman he didn’t even know subjected to what he went through, simply because he had left. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt responsible that someone else had to fill a hole he had created.

“Yes they trained this little spitfire to be their top assassin and she has been in their top ranks since about 2010, only stepping into the role of top assassin after the events in 2016 finally severed you completely from the organization. She’s been racking up kills ever since. Much like you my dear metal armed friend, she’s nearly impossible to catch on camera, let alone see with your own eyes.”

From the corner of the room, where he sat in a chair separate from the table, Bruce finally spoke. “I always thought The Viper was a myth.”

“Yeah and you thought the Winter Soldier was a myth. Hell I always thought Thor and Loki were just some folklore.” Sam remarked. “I believe almost everything nowadays.”

“Wait so, this woman was a trained Red Room assassin, then a top Hydra operative and now they’re asking the internet to kill her? Why didn’t they just take care of her themselves? Surely they had her locked up or brainwashed somehow.” Bruce said.

“You guys are seriously just assholes sometimes.” Steve murmurs.

“I’m fine, Steve.” Bucky says. “It’s a valid question. Even when they wanted me eliminated, they only worked with people inside.”

“Exactly.” Tony said. “My theory is, they want us to know that they want her dead. In fact, my more specific theory is that this is bait in order to get us to hunt and eliminate her. I want to know why.”

“She must have slipped away from them.” Nat said then. “Even if no average internet bounty hunter could ever touch her, surely they’d at least keep her a little busy. Busy enough that we might be able to get a jump on her. She must know something.”

“Exactly. What does she know? And why don’t they want her to utilize whatever information she knows?”

“So we’re going to find her then.” Steve said. “What if this is a trap? Specifically set up to intrigue us into bringing their very own top operative into our facilities.”

“It could be.” Nat responded. “But it seems a little weird to send a bunch of people they don’t control after her unless they genuinely didn’t care about what happened to her. It seems unlikely she’s still an asset to them if they’re willing to risk her actually being caught off guard, no matter how unlikely that is.”

“See, this is what I meant by being confused.” Tony quips then, heading for the door. “I’ve sent everything I know about the woman to each of you. Study it. See what conclusions you come to on your own. We’ll reconvene here tonight to discuss an action plan.”

You sat in a corner booth at a tiny cafe, facing the door. There was a swinging door into the kitchen to your left, which led to three back exits. Directly in front of you was the only door facing a main street. The whole front of the coffee shop was glass, giving you a clear view of the two targets you’d been tracking all morning, who had stopped to grab breakfast at a restaurant across the street.

You were twirling a long since lukewarm cup of coffee in your hands, your eyes flicking back and forth between your marks and the swinging kitchen door at your shoulder.

You watched as your marks both stretched and stood up. The woman hailed a cab. They seemed disgruntled.

Interesting.

While the woman tried to snag the attention of a cabbie, you threw a few crumpled bills on the counter of your table and slipped through the swinging kitchen door. There were a few shouts of alarm as a stranger wandered into the bustling diner kitchen, but you quickly weaved through the crowded kitchen and out a back door. You jumped on the sleek black Kawasaki bike you’d stashed behind a dumpster in an alley.

You pushed the bike out and around the corner before turning it on, waiting to confirm that they had both piled into a cab. You revved the engine and punched the accelerator, weaving quickly between the piled up traffic, causing lots of horn honking and a few near rear-end accidents.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tore after that cab.

The grin still plastered on your face.

Bucky’s head was reeling as he read through the intel, albeit a small amount, that Tony had managed to dig up.

There were a total of 3 videos captured on a security camera of the Viper on a job. He watched them all multiple times.

The Viper was ruthless and unnervingly calm. It reminded him of himself, what he saw in the footage of the Winter Soldier. It made the bile in his stomach churn. He knew that feeling of uncontrollable calm very well and it made him break out in a cold sweat.

The first video showed her walking calmly up to a high security warehouse, putting bullets between the brows of every operative in sight, barely even looking in their direction before pulling the trigger. She walked directly with purpose toward the door that was clearly her mission. Once every operative in view of the camera had fallen she reached for the door handle. Before she slipped inside, she lifted her pistol without looking and fired one round into the camera, cutting the feed. With the hood on her jacket, there was no clear footage of her face. Bucky wondered how they were even sure it was her. Her murderous calm must have been enough evidence.

The second was a terribly grainy video taken in some basement somewhere. There was someone strapped to a chair and he watched as the Vipers fists slammed into the man repeatedly. A choppy, distorted, and heavily accented voice spoke about 40 seconds in. “Good, Viper. You may play now. Make sure there’s something left of him to interview tomorrow.” Bucky flinched as he saw the woman stride toward a table, likely filled with instruments of torture. The man strapped to the chair began to scream, pleading in Russian that he’d say anything they wanted him to. He heard a low woman’s voice come through the video, murmuring “Too late.”

The third was a more recent video according to the time stamp. It was less than six months ago off a security cam in Maracaibo. It was about a 9 second video, just watching the woman cross a bustling street in Venezuela. Bucky remembered that some hot shot Hydra agent had been found dead in Venezuela this year. Could it have been the Viper taking down one of their own? Is that why they were mad?

There were about 5 other attachments of images. The only photographs that Friday could find of this enigma apparently. 4 were blurry security camera footage from various places. The one Tony had shown this morning was truly the only one that even sort of showed the woman’s face. Well, except the 5th.

The 5th made Bucky even more sick than the footage of brutal violence. It was a Polaroid image of what appeared to be a 16 or 17 year old girl in ballet clothes, standing in the middle of what he assumed was a dance studio. It would have been normal, a young woman after a dance class, if it wasn’t for the red blood splattered up her pink tights, dripping off her knuckles and smeared on her jaw. The subject wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather seemed to be standing at attention with her focus to the right of the photographer. Written in sloppy Russian at the bottom corner of the Polaroid was “Option 4.”

What does that mean? Bucky thought to himself. Option for what?

It made him sick staring at that photo. If the blood wasn’t there, it would just look like a young woman preparing for a ballet class, or perhaps being photographed so a costume designer could see her figure while they created dazzling outfits for a production. It was so wrong for someone so young, whose face was filled with innocence, to be covered in blood. He felt so protective over her, this young woman he didn’t even know. This young woman who he knew grew up to be a murderer with a kill list almost as long as his.

He knew, looking at that photo, that this woman had never wanted this. He didn’t know how he got such a gut reaction to the image, but he saw himself in it. A young person who was given the worst hand of cards to ever be dealt, and was simply trying to stay alive. He stared at her thin frame, the hollow look in her eyes and nearly wept.

He needed to find her. He needed it more than he’d needed anything in a long time. He needed to find out how far she had fallen from this image, and if he could pull her back.

He needed to do it, because he’d always be grateful that someone did it for him.

Your marks had gone into the tall skyscraper a few hours ago. You were too antsy to sit around and wait to see if they’d venture back out into the city.

You prowled the sidewalk like a caged animal. Tracing patterns through the busiest blocks. Keeping track of nearby cameras.

Everything smelled like garbage and piss. You hated it. You loved it. It was such an easy city to get lost in.

An even easier city to be found in.

When Bucky finally dragged himself back to the conference room that evening, he felt like a wreck. He had worked himself up considerably throughout the afternoon. He was antsy and apprehensive.

He really didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was just some random assassin, why was he so worked up?

Steve noticed his touchy mood as soon as he walked in and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m fine.” Bucky grumbled. “Just want to figure this out. It’s bothering me for some reason.”

“Maybe because it’s a little too personal, Buck.” Steve said quietly.

“Yeah maybe.” Bucky coughed out. His chest felt tight with someone who knew him so well staring at him like this.

Before Steve could rib Bucky more, Tony sauntered into the room with Nat behind him. “So what’s everyone’s thoughts on our little snake in the grass?”

“I think the woman is damn fucking scary.” Sam piped up from the same chair he’d been in this morning. “And really good at her job. Reminds me of robocop over there a little too much if you know what I mean.”

“That’s what I find so interesting.” Steve says. “Because obviously we know that Bucky wanted out, and was not the person that the camera showed. I wanna know what’s really going on in her brain.”

“Banner, question for you, if we managed to set a little trap for our snake and actually got her in here, would you be able to scan her brain and see how much of it was under her actual control?” Tony said as he dropped into a chair at the head of the table.

Banner responded from where he sat in his normal chair in the corner. “I could compare a brain scan to early scans of Barnes’s brain. See how similar they look. Then compare to his post-Wakanda scans. In a sense, yes. But the brain is complicated as you know.”

“Can’t we just talk to her?” Bucky pipes up. “I mean, if it makes you feel more comfortable to hook her up to a lie detector whatever, but I just… I know what they do to people there and let me tell you there’s no way she’s in control.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tony questions. “I mean, I was wrong about you. I’ll admit that. I’m a bigger man now. But not everyone is Cap's former BFF brought back from the dead with a heart of gold trapped in a twisted hydra web. She could have gone willingly. In fact, I have a hard time believing that a Red Room agent was accidentally captured by Hydra. What if she went to them willingly?”

“But then why did she leave?” Natasha counters. “Who’s to say that she ended up in all this willingly. I don’t know the whole story of how the Red Room got her, but it’s rare that people join without coercion. There’s more to this story, I can feel it.”

“Me too.” Bucky whispered. There had to be so much more to that 17 year old girl than a brutal murderer.

“Nat, can you explain this image to me?” Tony says, pulling up the very polaroid that was going to haunt Bucky for weeks. “This looks like a pretty willing agent to me.”

Bucky cringed at Tony’s short sighted assessment. Sure, the subject looked relaxed but that didn’t mean willing. Nat sneered.

“Well Tony, when every week your instructors challenge two students to spar and the loser is killed however the classmate prefers, you too would willingly fight back, to the death if necessary.”

Steve flinched, and looked at Nat with eyes full of grief. “They made you kill each other?”

“Kept us from attaching to each other.” Nat said simply.

Steve just shook his head, placing his face in his palms. This was one of the reasons Bucky and Nat had gotten along pretty quickly. They’d come to terms with their trauma, and the others sometimes had a hard time brushing past the torture that the two of them had simply moved on from.

“Touche.” Tony shrugged. “So why does this image say option 4?”

“That I don’t know.” Nat sighs. “No photos were ever allowed to be taken of us, but the fact that this was clearly taken by an instructor confuses me.”

“So we have no answers.” Sam quips. “Do I need to go stand on the street with a sign that says “Viper take a crack at me” so we can maybe get a glimpse of her? I’m only doing it if I can wear the suit Tony.”

“That’s the thing, there have been no sightings of the woman for years, and the one tiny glimpse in that surveillance shot from Venezuela 6 months ago was a blip. There was no record of anyone matching that description entering or leaving that country or any near it. We have no idea where she is.” Tony muttered. “I have Friday combing every single camera we can get access to, and hacking into those we don’t. The tip line on that forum is blank. No one seems to have seen her.”

There was silence for a moment, as everyone sunk into their own minds. Letting the gears turn.

“Mr. Stark.” Friday’s voice came lilting out of the ceiling. “I have a hit.”

Everyone jumped a bit, leaning forward in their seats.

“Put it on the screen.” Tony snapped. Suddenly the whole blank wall of the room was filled with various camera angles showing crowds of people wandering on the sidewalk. In the middle of a cluster of pedestrians was a figure draped in black, a baseball hat on their head and a hood pulled up over it. As the person moves, the different security camera’s flip past on the screen, keeping up with their movement.

Instantly, Bucky’s blood ran cold.

“Where is this?” Sam whispers.

“Queens.” Bucky, Steve and Tony answer in unison.

“Very close to Parker’s apartment…” Tony whispers.

“It’s empty.” Steve mentions. “Happy and May are on vacation and Peter is staying with his friend. That Ned kid.”

“I know.” Tony says. “Doesn’t mean I like her being around the corner from his place regardless.”

The room goes quiet for a few moments as they all watch the Vipers progress through the streets of Queens. She never picks up her head, seeming to be watching the sidewalk in front of her. She slips easily between groups of people, never bumping into anyone even though she doesn’t seem to be looking at anyone.

“What are we doing?” Sam says then. “We know exactly where she is. She’s so close. Let’s go suit up.”

“There’s no way she’s here by accident.” Nat says quietly. “It’s like she wants us to find her…”

“Another layer of intrigue.” Tony snarks.

“She wouldn’t be stupid enough to show up in this city unless she actually wants us to find her.” Nat continues. “Either they sent her here as a trap and finally had her look into a security camera long enough for us to track her, or she’s doing this on her own. Either way, I don’t understand the motive.”

There’s another moment of silence as they all watch the cameras track the target.

Abruptly, the Viper stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The pedestrians continue to flow around her, many seem to be grumbling and some throw rude gestures in her direction.

There’s now only a single security camera in the area able to capture her image, she stands right in the center of the frame.

“What is she doing?” Steve whispers.

Through the grainy camera footage, the whole team watches as it looks almost like her shoulders shake slightly. She seems to be looking at her feet.

No one breathes as the woman in the center of the video lifts her head slowly. Her eyes land directly on the lens, as if she’s peering straight through the shitty security camera and into Avengers tower.

There’s a huge grin on her face.

Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she pulls a pistol and calmly points the barrel at the camera.

The last thing the camera sees in her head dropping back as she begins to cackle. Then she pulls the trigger, ending the feed.

“Holy shit.” Sam whispers.

Bucky is speechless. His heart is pounding in his chest. He felt like her eyes seared through the camera and right into his chest. He can barely breathe.

“Friday, show us the other cameras in the area.” Tony barks.

Friday pulls up tons of camera angles of the street the Viper was just standing on. The crowds are screaming, attempting to run away from the spot that the Viper had clearly just been standing. However, there are no further gun shots and no one looks injured.

“What the hell? ” Bucky says under his breath. She just shot out a camera in the middle of a busy street in Queens? For what?

“Are there any figures matching her description on any of these feeds?” Tony snaps again.

“No sir.” Friday replies. “I’ve scanned every camera in the borough and I can’t see her on any of them.”

Everyone sits in shocked silence as the security footage continues to roll. The NYPD show up, helping to calm the pedestrians. They watch quietly as they start to tape off the area. Everyone knows however that if no one was hurt, it’s unlikely that the cops will pursue the incident further. They have much bigger fish to fry in this town.

“Well goddamn.” Sam finally breaks the silence. “That was quite a little performance.”

“She really wants us to find her then.” Nat mutters.

Around the room everyone mutters their agreement.

Bucky finds his voice finally.

“So let’s find her.”

There’s unending adrenaline in you now. It was reckless you knew that. It was also so obvious what game you were playing with them at this point, but you didn’t care.

They clearly weren’t going to make a move, so you had to play your hand first.

For better or worse, it was their move now.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female oc #Female reader

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browniefox · 3 years

Text

Color Theory

@wrightfamilyweek Day 2 - Investigation/Hijinks

In which an anniversary is coming up, so Trucy makes some plans.

You can also find this on AO3 right here :)

“Have fun at work, Daddy!”

Trucy runs up to Daddy and hugs him around the stomach. He kisses the top of his head.

“Mmhm, I expect your homework to be done and you to be in bed by the time I get home, alright? No exceptions!"

“Of course!”

“And no trips to Germany, alright? I’m sure you can hold off for another few months.” Daddy teases. Trucy sticks his tongue out at him and he ruffles her hair before going out the door. In a few months, she is going to actually get to go with Daddy on one of his trips to see Miles, a reconnection between the two of them since Trucy's own little trip a year ago.

As the door closes, Trucy runs over to the window and waits until she sees Daddy riding down the street on his bike, officially out of the building. Her homework is already done, most of it finished during class time and the rest of it finished up during recess and on her way home from school. Walking while writing had made her numbers come out a little odd, but it didn’t matter, because now she had hours and hours of time to work.

She stops by the fridge, staring up at the calendar. It’s four weeks away from the date circled in red, and two weeks from the date that sits ominously empty. It’s plenty of time, though.

Trucy makes a lap around the office, double-checking that the windows are locked just like Daddy does every time before leaving. Everything seems safe and sound, so she grabs her backpack and leaves, making sure she has the spare key and locking the door behind her. Daddy won’t be home until late, but she’s still going to make care to be home with plenty of time to spare. The meer idea of putting him through the same fear of last year sits in her chest like a promise.

It’s a few bus-stops to get to Gummy and Maggey’s house. They’re both out at the moment, so Trucy finds the spare key in the fake rock and lets herself in. She’s spent a lot of time over here by now, and the couple has spent alot of time over at the office, the big and towering man she’d met at the airport transforming into a familiar and lovable family friend.

She skips over to the closet, pulling out the supplies stuck in there. Streamers and confetti, magic wands and fake flowers, tumbling out from where Gummy had helped her shove them in last time. She looks down at the supplies and begins organizing it into the different acts that they’re associated with. There’s a lot of pieces, a lot to get over to the Wonder Bar eventually. Keeping so much of it over here makes it harder to practice back at home, but that’s kind of the point, even if it’s really annoying.

Gummy and Maggie came home after an hour, setting their things down and chatting about their day while Gummy starts dinner. The smell fills the house, warm and comforting. Trucy likes the Gumshoe house. It’s not too big, but not too small either. Gummy and Maggey used to clean it up before she came over, but they’ve stopped making that special little change for her, and so she gets to see it all lived in, a sock strewn here, a few dishes left out, pillows lying wherever they were last placed. Small things that make the place not a house but a home. She’s never had a home like this one, and oh there are sometimes where she’ll be lying on the couch and imagine what it would be like to stay here.

She knows she could.

Daddy has made it clear that if she ever felt dissatisfied with the cramped office, with him, all she has to do was say something. Gummy and Maggey have mentioned, before, that they’d be willing to take her in if anything ever happened to Daddy. Gummy had laughed about all the sorts of injuries Daddy tended to accrue, recounting a story about Daddy getting amnesia before a case - Trucy knew that one, she’d read it a bit ago.

Trucy doesn’t want to leave the cramped little office.

After dinner, Trucy uses Gummy’s phone. Gummy and Maggey know how to set up her stuff for a performance by now - they’ve already agreed to be her stage crew for the performance. While they’re doing that, Trucy calls up Aunty Maya.

“How’s my favorite magician doing?” Maya answers, and Trucy can hear the smile in her voice.

“Working on her next trick.” Trucy replies. Maya makes a humming sound.

“Well, things are going well on our end over here. Are you sure about the color? You don’t want to go darker?” Maya asked.

“Nope! It’s, well, there’s a reason for the shade.” Trucy says. She can hear Maya hum in understanding over the receiver.

“Well, I’m almost finished with it, although I’ll probably come up soon just to make sure everything is right. Pearly says hi, by the way.”

“Oh! Is she there?! Is she there?! Hi Pearls!” Trucy shouts over the phone and gets a distant and soft ‘hi Trucy!’.

“When I come down I’ll bring Pearly with me, don’t worry. If I didn’t,she might just run the whole way over there anyway!” Maya laughs and Trucy laughs along.

“If everything’s working out, then I’m gonna have to go. I need to make sure the rest of the show is ready to go!” Trucy says.

“Alright, alright, just say you’re afraid I’m going to start prattling on about the new season of Rubber Samurai. But you know there-”

“Love you Aunty Maya bye!” Trucy hits the end call button still chuckling to herself. She hopes that Aunty Maya makes true on her promise to come back down and to bring Pearls before the big day, but if she doesn’t then Trucy guesses she can wait that long, even if it’ll be agonizing.

She stares at the next number for a long long while before finally hitting the call button.

The phone rings once, twice, three times before he picks up.

“Gumshoe, this had better be fucking import-”

“Hi, Miles!” Trucy chirps. There’s silence on the other end.

“... who is this?” Miles grumbles.

“Trucy Wright!”

“Trucy?!” Miles sounds a little more awake now.

“Yup!”

“Ms. Trucy… why are you calling me at… three in the morning?” Miles groans.

“Th… three in the… OH!” Trucy gasps, feeling her face flush in embarrassment. She’d completely forgotten to take into account time differences. “Oh my god, Miles, I’m so sorry, it’s pretty late here and-”

“It’s, it’s fine Ms. Trucy. Just tell me what you were calling about… from Gumshoe’s phone? Is your father alright?” Worry creeps into Miles voice.

“Oh, yes, Daddy’s fine! Daddy’s just at work right now, and I went over to Gummy and Maggey’s! We had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and then we’re gonna play a card game, and then Gummy is gonna drive me back to the office ‘cause it’s all dark now!” Trucy says.

“Ms. Trucy, I don’t mean to sound rude, but again, it is three a.m. here…” Miles sighs.

“Right! Right, um… Mr. Edgeworth, do you think you could help me with a little something.”

“I’m going to need a bit more information than that.”

Trucy rattles off her little plan into the phone. Miles stays silent for the entire explanation, only grunting here and there to assure her that he is still awake and listening on the other end.

“... this is very short notice.” Miles says.

“Oh,” Says Trucy, looking down at her feet, “Well, that’s okay, I’m sure together, the rest of us-”

“I never said I wouldn’t do it, just that next time you’re planning something like This, please, tell me about it a little more ahead of time.”

“Okay! Yeah! Next time! And this time… you can do it?” She double checks.

“Yes, you can count on me, Ms. Trucy.”

“Thank you! Um, I’ll let you get back to sleep, thank you!”

Trucy skips back into the kitchen, where Gummy and Maggey have set up a board game. She still has her show to practice a bit more, and even now thinking about it she’s a little nervous, but she’s found she’s more excited. It’s coming together.

oOo

“Please, Daddy, please, come and see my show tonight? Pleaseeeee?”

Phoenix lets out a long sigh. Trucy is bouncing around in excitement in front of him. She’s already done her stage makeup, and he’d helped her put little weaving braids into her hair. Most of it will be covered up by her hat, but there are usually moments during the performance where the hat comes off, and so she needs to look amazing no matter what’s going on. Phoenix is fine to help her with this, but on today of all days, all he wants to do is sit in his office, read through old case files, and mourn what he has lost.

He was disbarred two years ago. That both feels like too much and not enough time. For the most part, he likes to think that he’s been coping with it well. He’s been working, and raising Trucy, and he’s had some other little things in the works, but on today of all days, it’s so hard to focus and not feel the ache of what was taken from him, of what he’s lost, of those who have come to his door in the past couple years looking for help and having to be turned away.

“Trucy, baby,” Phoenix starts, trying to let her down easy, but Trucy stomps her foot.

“No, Daddy, please, just, just come? To the show? Please?” She begs.

She’s been 'off' all week, too quiet and then too talkative in bursts that serve to confuse Phoenix. Now, there’s something almost akin to fear in her eyes, and it tugs at Phoenix’s heartstrings.

“Alright, sweetie, let me just,” He looks down at himself, still in sweatpants and a hoodie. He’d meant to get dressed today, but even now he’s struggling to find the energy to get into something better, and eventually he just says lamely, “Put some shoes on.”

He gets a pair of beat-up sneakers on and walks outside with Trucy, who is still vibrating with energy. He considers for a moment that perhaps he should buy a new pair of shoes, but then he sees Trucy’s cape, starting to look thread-bare in places and sitting so much shorter on her than it did two years ago. It used to fall to cover her almost completely in a mysterious sort of way, but now you can see her entire hands. Trucy has told him before it’d be fine, her cape had been too long anyway, but maybe he should start to consider how to get her something new and nice. Things for himself could be put off as long as they needed to be.

The ride down to the Wonder Bar is quiet between them, Trucy sitting on his handlebars with careful balance. The first five times they did it, Phoenix had been worried about her falling off or something, but now it was routine if they had anywhere they both had to be and didn’t have the time to puzzle through bus schedules or the budget for a taxi.

Phoenix recognizes some of the people in the Wonder Bar, and Mr. Wunderbar himself comes over and greets.

“Ah, Ms. Wright, so glad to see you! Your assistants are already backstage.” Mr. Wunderbar says. Phoenix’s brow furrows.

“Assistants? You mean the your staff?” Phoenix asks.

“Alright thanks Mr. Wunderbar Daddy find a seat love you bye!” Trucy says in one breath and runs over to the stage.

“This way, Mr. Wright. Trucy asked that we have a table upfront reserved just for you.” Mr. Wunderbar leads the way to one of the tables close to the stage, which does indeed have a a ‘Reserved’ marker on it. Phoenix feels suddenly self conscious in his outfit. He’d been planning to sit in the back, where nobody could see him, and he feels like everybody in the bar, waiting for Trucy to perform, are staring at him.

Mr. Wunderbar took his order and then slipped away. Phoenix drumms his fingers on the table, a cowardice sweeping through him with such force that he almost gets up and walks away. Something odd is going on, and it's making him even more nervous.

“Oh good, Trucy was really worried you wouldn’t show up.”

Phoenix jumps at the familiar voice, and spins around to see Maya and Pearls.

“Wh- hey, what are you two doing here?!” Phoenix jumps up and hugs both of them, “And especially what’s Pearls doing in here?”

“Mr. Wunderbar says that so long as nobody at our table orders drinks, he’ll allow it this once.” Maya says, sitting down, and Pearls sits on the other side of Phoenix, sandwiching him between the Fey’s.

“But why are you two-”

“Now Nick, do you really think we’d let you spend today on your own to mope?” Maya sets her hands on her hips. Phoenix looks away. He doesn’t point out that they didn’t last year, because it’s not their responsibility to look after him. Maya has her own life she’s living. She had texted and called him, though, regularly, throughout the day, at random intervals. She threatened that if he didn’t pick up any of the times, she’d be coming over right way, “I’ll admit, though, clearly we came mostly to see Trucy perform. Right Pearls?”

“Yeah! She’s so amazing, Mr. Nick! And we also had to bring the-” Pearls starts to say, but Maya puts a finger to her lips and shushes Pearls, who’s mouth slams shut.

“... alright, enough of this, what’s going on?” Phoenix asks more plainly.

“So she still hasn’t seen fit to tell you yet?”

And then, slipping into the fourth seat at the table, is Miles. Miles, in California, in the flesh, in the Wonderbar.

“M-Miles! What are you doing here?”

“Your daughter had a simple request, and I obliged.” Miles sniffs, “You look,” Miles regards Phoenix and Phoenix looks away, wishing he’d brought something to cover his head as well, “Alright, all things considered.” He ends.

“No need to sugar coat it, Miles.” Phoenix laughs bitterly.

“I’m not. You seem to forget you’re not the only one who has gone through some trying times.”

Before Phoenix can formulate anything to say to that, the lights in the bar dim. The curtain lifts, but there’s a sheet behind it, so that all once can see of Trucy is her silhouette.

“Now introducing… Trucy Gramraye!” The announcer booms, and there’s some applause, even though nothing’s happened yet, Trucy still not seen.

“There are times that we, in life, come to a crossroads,” Trucy’s voice booms through the speakers over a mystical sounding soundtrack, “ Where we our lives take sudden changes.”

Oh, Phoenix thinks, heart plummeting to the bottom of his stomach, a theory forming in his mind, She wanted me here for her Last Show. Did something happen that made her want to stop being a magician? He’s tried to be supportive, even though he’s had some trouble keeping track of the supplies she needs, and how to help her out, with her teaching him far more than he can possibly teach her about this stuff. He’s offered to get in touch with Max Galactica, but Trucy had made it plain her opinion of that magician.

“Sometimes, you need to say things. And sometimes actions - and appreances - speak louder than words.”

Phoenix almost wants to stand up, to shout at her that no, he doesn’t want her to give up her magic just because she thinks it’s going to make him happy, but he’s frozen in his seat as the sheet of paper hiding his daughter from view is torn through and fog comes rolling out… but she’s not there.

In a puff of smoke, Trucy appears on top of his table. She winks down at him, the spot light finding her.

Her red hat and cape and bag are all gone, replaced by pale blue versions. New, lovingly crafted, and Trucy puts her hands above her head in a pose.

“I am Trucy Gramarye, but your little witch in red is now a magician in blue. Sorry if I startled anybody by coming… out of the blue like that?” Trucy says. She smiles, twirls around, and in another puff of smoke she’s gone. The room goes dark.

The spotlight finds her back on the stage, still in the strange blue uniform.

“Wh-what- when did she-”

“You know, in Kurain, we have to make all our own clothes.” Maya says with a mischievous little smirk.

“You mean you-”

“She wanted to put together something to make sure you weren’t too sad today.” Maya explains, smiling.

Phoenix does his best not to cry so that he doesn’t miss any bit of the show.

When it’s done, Mr. Wunderbar brings over another chair and Trucy sits with them. Phoenix spends the evening surrounded by his friends, by his family, and staring at Trucy’s new outfit. Blue, just like his old suit, he thinks.

“Do you like it?” She asks, surprisingly shyly, right before bed. Phoenix grins, picks her up, and twirls her around.

“You look amazing sweetie. You know, you didn’t have to go through all that just for me.”

“I didn’t do it just for you.” Trucy defends, “I did it because I wanted to! And because I love you!”

“I love you too Truce.”

Tomorrow morning, reality will set in again. He’ll have work, and maybe all the grief he was able to put off today will make a forceful comeback, but tonight he knows he’s loved, and that Trucy wants to be a part of his world, wants to be a part of his broken little family, and maybe that’s all that really matters in the end.

#ace attorney #wrightweek21 #phoenix wright #trucy wright #fanfic #fanfiction #browniefox speaks #browniefox writes

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