#I can’t even digest the actual ending yet

[justanotherrcblog]

🌹 THEM 🌹

[kyoghurts]

˓ ⊹ ˚. ‹ falling (without grace.) mash burnedead

my headcanons of mash having feelings for you…albeit very oblivious.

notes. love him sm bro aughh this actually took way too long than intended, mainly because i stretched it out until the part where finn and co. noticed your relationship with mash. (i’ll post that in the part two)

i don't think he's aware of it, because things really click slowly to him.

but he knows that he likes to be your friend. to be near you in ways he's able to. drawn in your presence like a puppy following you around, inexplicably yet admittedly so.

you’d see him idling around the door once your period ends with his widely known stoic face. he’ll walk you to your next class and maybe even carry your books/belongings if you have any, without much of an explanation (because how could he explain it to you? how could he when he can’t translate these actions from the heart to make his brain understand?). mash is a quiet person, that much you’re aware of, but in this breath of quiet—you know he’s doing it because he wants to, god he’s even willing to listen to you ramble too, somehow finding it easy to digest your words. your voice trickles in his head, sometimes echoing. something blossoms in his chest spreading far and wide. he feels at ease.

he asks you if you’re free at times, because he’ll absolutely pull you towards the school kitchen as you help him make his creampuffs.

don’t know how to or where to start? it’s okay, he’ll gleefully teach you the basics. and if you ask him the journey of perfecting his skills, he’ll tell you that too, vibrance coloring his eyes.

and he’ll also take the time to learn your favorites! if you like them extra sweet, or not so much, don’t even be surprised if he gives them to you one day!

໒ ྀི⸝⸝´ ˘ `⸝⸝ ა i could just see him timidly touchy with you (but with consent, of course!!) like bumping his shoulder to yours, ghostly leaning his head against your shoulder/head, fixing your hair, poking or pinching your cheeks. its just aaaAaaaaaAAAAAA such small acts would absolutely complete his day <3

there could be moments where you’d be in the library, he’d sit across from you—again, without the mouth formulating words of explanation. he’ll tell you he wants to watch you study: flicking his gaze every so often towards you, to your materials, and eventually will feel sleepy so he takes a nap with arms crossed, resting his head against it, and there’s something about him that makes you come to a halt with what you’re doing—like an invitation of sorts, coaxing you. he looks so peaceful, his lips parted just slightly as he breathes evenly.

maybe after doing your homework you’ll also take up the wonderful offer of a nap. there’s a want settling within, you know you want him to be near you too. and so you let him tempt you like this, because it’s nice, because he’s nice. and sweet, and quiet.

so earnest in his ways, and who wouldn’t discern them as a language of his romantic feelings? at least, you do notice them. you haven’t seen him done any of these things with anyone, the thought has only arrived at the point of midnight before you go to bed.

(the next day, it’d still be the same. for you.)

(however, how long will it take for him to realize?)

you were happy like this. you like the quiet—the kind that mash brings. he doesn’t quite understand why you were smiling so brightly one day, more…warmer than he’d ever seen, and that it sends him into a state of awe. fondness written in his eyes. albeit small, the ends of his lips rise in a grin. he’s just as happy as you are. perhaps a little bit than he’s aware. flushed pink ears that tells you everything. and when you gently pinch his cheeks and greet him “g’morning, sugar” he swears he’ll do anything just to keep you calling him that.

until then, your heart shall learn to bask in the quiet, falling—slowly, even without grace.

taglist. @seneon (taglist are open! just send me an ask :D)

notes. im actually so tired rn but mash does wonders to me, hes becoming one of my comforts now. cant wait to finish the part two as wellll

© kyoghurts. ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[kissitbttr]

Okay so like hear me out for Frat!Miguel ideas. Movie night at the frat house, very lowkey setting a few drinks maybe some people had an edible… But muñeca and Gloria being all cuddly, as best friends are. The two of the just in their own worlds watching the movie while cuddling and Miguel and Beck are in the corner just sad and jealous from lack of attention.

i am so happy at the fact that you are realizing that gloria and muñeca are basically each other’s soulmates, they do love each other more than their bfs🤍🤍🤍🤍

—

“I hear that strawberries are better fruits for your digestive systems”

“No shit, really?! I thought papayas were good!”

“That’s what i thought! But nopes, it’s all the berries babes!”

Miguel and Beck are sitting by the kitchen counter. wearing the same expression of disbelief as they stare at two of their girlfriends cuddled up in the sofa gossiping about —fruits? While others are busy with their own chatters and rolling blunts.

The girls aren’t even paying attention to the two boys who keep on staring at them. It’s like they’re just living in their own little world. Just simply talking about God knows what, fiddling with each other hands and laughing while they get high on edibles,

It’s like watching two women flirting with each other.

“no me gusta esto” Miguel grumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he slumps against the back cushion. Watching how his girl gets all lovey dovey and giggly with Gloria. “This is not how it’s supposed to go”

“Can’t believe that we are right here, yet they chose to get busy with each other!” Beck remarks in disbelief, shaking his head, “how many edibles did they take anyway?”

“Not counting but a lot” Miguel scoffs, eyes burning holes on Gloria’s side profile who’s staring at Muñeca with a hazy look on her eyes,

Beck notices, nudging him on the side. “Are you planning to kill my girl?”

“No. But i will continue to glare at her if she doesn’t take her eyes off my girl!”

“She’s basically doing the same thing! We’re victims here!”

“Holy fuck, you’re right” Miguel exhales a deep breath, leg bobbing up and down out of frustration. “Jesus—Are they eye fucking each other?!”

“Oh god please don’t make me imagine that. I can’t lose Gloria yet”

“So am i! I got fucking boys from class that i had to get off her back and i got to compete with girls too?!”

Never been so frustrated in his life before. Miguel throws a hard glare at the two of them, and it irks him just a little bit more when he sees muñeca running her fingers through Gloria’s hair. Pair of her eyes staring intently into hers,

“I had this huge crush on Kevin Levin on Ben 10, he’s like really hot—Had a shrine of him when i was twelve” she mentions, playing with the ends of Gloria’s dark hair

“Oh god, baby me too!” Gloria gasps excitedly, hands clutching onto muñeca’s as her eyes grow wide. “What about Danny Phantom?!” Muñeca simply squeals at the mention of his name, continuing to be bashful about her second childhood crush,

Beck and Miguel simply could not believe it! Are they actually ignoring their own boyfriends? To talk about weird cartoon crushes they had when they were young?!

Unacceptable!

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Miguel mutters harshly, hands going through his hair and groan. “Kingsley! You go in there and get your girl! I need my time alone with mine!”

“I did try! She didn’t want me to! Told me to piss off without even looking at me! How about you get your girl?!”

“And make her mad?! No thanks” Miguel refuses, his scowl only increases when he sees Gloria kisses muñeca’s cheek. Leaving a sheer mark of her lipgloss making both girls giggle. “Oh my god—you know what?!”

And before even Miguel finishes, he marches over the two of them with a pout and an upset frown. Trying his best to not look like a jealous man,

“Miggy! Hi, baby!” Muñeca’s eyes lighting up when she sees her boyfriend standing close, the delt of his muscles flexes a bit when he put his hands on hips. “Me and Gloria were just talking about making pot brownies! Well—she did. I, for one prefer strawberry blondies”

“Nooo, chocolates are better! Tell her, O’hara!” Gloria giggles, poking the dimple on Muñeca’s cheek,

Miguel rolls his eyes, not seeing any humor what’s sitting in front of him. “Not telling her shit—now quit hogging my girlfriend and go to your man”

“What? Jealous?” Gloria wiggles her eyebrows, laughing a little as muñeca snorts. “You have her everyday! I want to cuddle with my baby too”

“She’s not your baby. She’s my baby” Miguel corrects, staring down at Gloria who’s pouting. “You had her for an hour, it’s my turn!”

“Miggy, you can just cuddle with Beck!” His girlfriend suggests with a grin, as if its the most obvious thing. “That way, the girlfriends and boyfriends could be close with each other as well! Am i right?” Muñeca snuggles against Gloria’s neck,

“You’re crazy! I am not cuddling with Beck!” Miguel’s eyes hold a shocking expression, “Why are you suddenly not interested in your own boyfriend?!”

“Because you just want to cuddle with me so you can play with my boobies” Muñeca pouts, face looking like she’s actually heartbroken,

“Of course i do! i love your boobies! Obsessed even! Who doesn’t love your boobies?! Wait—don’t answer that” Miguel backtracks, “Beck doesn’t have boobies. They’re not as comfy as yours!”

“Jeez! Opposed to my chest that much, O’Hara?” Beck chimes in from behind with a smirk

“Cállate, Kingsley!”

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[jahayla-parker]

🎆 Hey J!! Congrats on your 1.5 followers I'm so proud of you girl!! So for my request I was wondering if it could be a Peter Parker one where y/n is somehow transported into Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Far From Home, or Spider-Man No Way Home you pick and chaos ensues 💜

Multiverse : Peter Parker x Real-world!Reader

Descr: short fic in which y/n finds herself in her favorite movie and has to decide how to proceed.

Warnings: I’m not really great at these kind of AUs but other than that, I can’t think of any but let me know!

This sucks; I'm sorry, nothing was coming to me

Y/n bounced her right leg nervously as she looked around. She didn’t understand what was going on. One second she had been rewatching the latest Spider-Man movie, No Way Home from the comfort of her apartment. The next, she was standing in front of a glowing circle, identical to the ones that were portals in the movie she’d been watching. She hesitated briefly but nevertheless let her courage guide her into the multi-dimensional opening.

Y/n squinted as her eyes adjusted to her new surroundings. She quickly realized she’d somehow seemingly entered into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. How that was possible, she wasn’t certain. Had it not been for her literally pinching herself several times, she’d have thought she was simply dreaming. But she wasn’t. This was real.

Y/n slowly made her way across the bridge, stopping the moment she heard the fighting begin. She was actually in No Way Home.. or… in the universe that held the No Way Home events..? She wasn’t sure how to phrase it, it was all so bizarre. Either way, she knew from having seen the movie countless times already, that she ought to run and hide unless she wanted Dr. Octavius or Green Goblin to harm her.

Y/n let her feet guide her away from the immediate threat, only looking up when her legs came to a halt. She blinked rapidly as she found herself standing in front of Doctor Strange’s Sanctum. Of course she’d managed to make it here. Perhaps she should just go with the flow and try to help. After all, she knew how things would go, maybe she could prevent Tom Holland’s char Peter from getting hurt and May from dying.

That idea turned out too optimistic as Peter understandably was weary of y/n. It was one thing to bring people who knew him/Spider-Man from other universes. But a universe in which he was actually just a character and not real, that was another thing to digest. Nevertheless, Peter didn’t want to take any chances so he let her help him, Ned, and MJ.

It was a bit difficult at first to get Peter to trust her. As in his eyes, she seemed to be able to tell the future and was offering to stop the bad things before they happened. Luckily, having seen Far From Home, y/n understood why he was so weary of such a thing being too good to be true. So even when Peter trapped her in a sheet of webs as he demanded answers he could understand, she remained calm.

Once he had heard her out and understood that she meant no harm, Peter let y/n guide him on what to do and what not to do. There were some moments of chaos nonetheless as they were trying new things that y/n knew Peter hadn’t done in the movie before. But, she figured it was worth all the danger and chaos because she was helping her favorite superhero.

Only that too was much more intense than y/n had anticipated. Yet, she was simultaneously thrilled to be playing an active part in the movie she loved so much. Especially since they were now near the ending and May hadn’t died!

The only issue is y/n now had to return to her own universe. As much as she wanted to stay and make a place for herself in this one, she refused to risk ruining the MCU by accident. So, with a sigh, y/n closed her eyes as she said goodbye to this universe before stepping back into hers.

Taglist: @justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires @wonderland2425

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[waywardstation]

Fair Trade

Akari shares with Ingo a bag of candy she found while distortion diving, though Ingo more appreciates the familiar feelings that sharing candy brings back than anything.

Happy Halloween!! I wrote this off a request an anon gave me about Akari sharing Halloween candy with Ingo. Hope you enjoy!! This is my first bit of writing that I’ve actually published in a while, and it feel like this writing in particular is a lot of nothing, but it was fun just to get something out again!!

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

————

“I am finding it very hard to believe that you dislike chocolate this much.”

“Come on,” From where she sat on the dojo bench, Akari held her hand out to Ingo, the shiny, brightly-colored wrapper in her palm already unfoiled to reveal the candy inside. “It’s not that I don’t like them, I just like other candy more. And I can’t eat all of these myself, so I gotta pick and choose. Also, you have to take it, I already opened it.”

Looking back at her from his position by the dojo, Ingo’s expression was one of discernment — she could certainly just wrap it back up and save it for later. She also could have done that with the last six candies she had handed to him. But eventually, he relented and took it. Popping it into his mouth with an obligatory “Thank you”, Ingo returned to casting his glance at the training grounds’ gate.

Unlike Akari, he had not realized how sorely he had specifically missed sweet, modernized chocolate until she had first given him a piece several minutes earlier, when she had come by the training grounds to see him with a big mystery bag in her hands.

“Look at this, Ingo!” She had called out to him, holding the packaging up against the sunset sky for him to see — orange and purple, it was full of colorful wrappers, and seemed to be decorated with ghost pokemon (some silhouettes he recognized much more clearly than others). “I found this in one of the distortions! Help me eat it!”

A moderately-sized, unopened bag of cheap assorted candies, wrapped in shiny foils that obscured the flavor and kept its brand a surprise until it was opened. No doubt it had been pulled from some store shelf, if not an unfortunate person’s cabinet. Akari had been unwrapping the candies one by one; if it was revealed to be a fruit chew or something of the sort, she ate it herself, but the chocolates were handed off to Ingo.

Reaching her hand back onto the bag, Akari fished out another wrapper and twisted it open, revealing a green gummy inside that vaguely resembled a cherubi’s shape.

“Gummy.” She announced to no one in particular, chewing on it and stuffing the wrapper into her satchel. Picking out and unwrapping another before she had even finished her candy, she held it out to Ingo. “Chocolate. Here.”

“Ah, thank you,” Ingo received it with waning enthusiasm, but dropped it into his mouth regardless. “Have you perhaps considered sharing with your friend Rei as well?”

“Yeah, but last time I did, he got sick the next day. He said he doesn’t want them anymore.”

“How many have you had?” Watching Akari pull out yet another candy from the bag, Ingo was beginning to wonder if she was planning to stop at some point, or keep pushing through until the bag was empty. Knowing her, he believed it would be the latter.

“I don’t know, maybe… Nine? Ten?” The teen did not look up from the candy she was currently unwrapping. “I haven’t been counting.”

Ingo looked away, back towards the dojo’s gates as Akari peeked through the small opening she had made in her wrapper. He was acutely aware of how anything as processed and sugary as candy would not mix well with a digestive system that had become accustomed to a Hisuian diet — concerning both Akari, and himself.

“I advise taking these tracks a little slower; there is no need to rush towards the end of the line in just one night, lest you end up like Rei.”

“Oh man, if you think I’ll get sick off of this, you should really see all the junk I eat that I don’t bring back to share with you,” Akari brushed it off with a laugh as if his recommendation was a joke, before holding another unwrapped candy out to him again. “Chocolate. Here you go.”

“...Thank you.” Ingo echoed once again, tentatively receiving the bite-size candy bar. He chewed it with a look on his face – hard to discern, but appearing to be guilty for appreciating it. He waved Akari off preemptively with a hand before she could even unwrap another candy. “But please, no more; Miss Zisu is supposed to return back from the hall at any moment to accompany me to The Wallflower. I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

“Well all you have to do is stop taking them, then!” Akari’s voice was tickled with amusement. Plastic crinkled as another wrapper was opened; thankfully for Ingo’s sake, bright, soft pink was revealed under the shiny covering. “Ugh, Taffy.”

Ingo cleared his throat as Akari bit into it anyways, having nothing to say at being called out – he certainly could refuse, but a part of him didn’t want to. And it went beyond the plain craving for the processed sweetness after such a long period of going without it.

Something about the flavor was obviously familiar to him, but that wasn’t exactly what kept nagging him to repeatedly want just one more. In fact, there really was much to be desired from cheap, waxy chocolate.

It was more so the simple act of Akari specifically handing a candy to him that she didn’t want, but knew he liked. It felt like it was tugging on a dormant cord still connected between his heart and his memories.

There wasn’t a lot there, but it was attached to something, deep down.

( )( )( )( )( )( )

It was just like when he and (Emmet went trick-or-treating together as children. The two of them) would always return home with enough candy that (could have lasted them several months, but) would probably only survive a week or two (between themselves and their Pokémon). They would always take turns trading (their candy between each other at the end of the night. Emmet) enjoyed the sour variety of treats and gummies (that would oftentimes end up leaving him with a sore mouth,) while he preferred the sweeter chocolates and (candy bars).

And (when Elesa had come into their lives during their teenage years,) the group would continue the tradition (of trick-or-treating together, and then) swapping at the end of the night. (Chocolates were not willingly traded to him nearly as easily anymore, and) he often ended up being traded the things neither (Emmet or Elesa) wanted. But he didn’t mind (because he liked them well enough, more so than the other two).

And even (into adulthood, when going trick-or-treating from door to door) was swapped out for (late-night scary movie marathons with friends, He found a habit had formed where) he was often handed (the candy bowl near the end of the night, in order to finish off the bit of) untouched candy no one else wanted. (Emmet and Skyla) would lightheartedly jab at him (for functionally being their candy disposal bin, but Elesa would defend him while he himself just laughed,) taking it all in jest.

( )( )( )( )( )( )

…It was just like when he and someone else would always return home with enough candy that would last probably only a week or two. They’d take turns trading, the other enjoying sour candies while he preferred the sweet ones. And when their group continued swapping candy, he was often traded what no one else wanted. But he didn’t mind. And even when things… changed, he still was given the candy that no one else wanted. They would make jokes about him for it, but it was all in jest.

There was so much missing, Ingo knew there was, and it made things confusing as to what actually happened. But he certainly didn’t feel bad about any part of it, when he lingered on the feelings that were left behind.

The fragments were horrifically shattered and spread apart over many, many memories, he could tell. But something about it was comforting. Perhaps it was the fact that so many memories seemed linked together; it implied that this was something that had never changed even while time went on, something that had been continued over a large span of his prior life. He had done something with friends very frequently. And it was something he enjoyed very much.

They were happy memories of people he couldn’t quite remember, and while that was not a novel experience for him at this point, it still dimmed the warmth around the edges. But he could not ignore that it was also cathartic, in an aching, lonely way, to feel that they were so worn and repetitive.

The phantom memories gradually retreated back out of reach, keeping their distance as the sweet aftertaste of the cheap chocolate faded. Something about the fact that an action as seemingly insignificant as being handed unwanted candy, and how it was able to dredge up only emotional remnants of so many hazy recollections… it was a little frustrating for Ingo, if he was being honest.

The complete picture was always just out of reach, it felt like.

But he had lost his entire previous life to the foggy nowhere that used to be his mind. There were a lot of pieces to pick up, and he supposed a substantial amount of them would be small and insignificant — when something shattered like this, there were usually many more small pieces than big ones.

“Another chocolate.”

Ingo blinked, his thoughts giving way to the view of the training ground’s dirt beneath his shoes, then to Akari as he turned to her — she had leaned forward to nudge his wrist with her own hand. Of course, a chocolate nestled within an opened wrapper was held between her fingers.

“Ah-” Ingo hesitated for perhaps a moment too long with a look that may have been a bit too piercing, as Akari’s hand began to retract.

“Right, sorry,” Akari sat back, leaning against the dojo wall behind her as she situated the bag back on her lap. “I know, I shouldn’t keep handing you these when you’re about to go have dinner.”

“No no, it’s alright,” Ingo hastily attempted to correct the misunderstanding. “I apologize, I was not rejecting it; my mind simply drifted elsewhere for a moment.”

“So…” With the usual spirited look returning to her features, Akari held the candy back up. “You do want another piece?”

One last glance over at the gate, but of course Zisu was still nowhere in sight. Only the autumn sunset past the village buildings, and a distant collection of drifblim mingling with the clouds over the fieldlands.

Ingo huffed through his nose and turned to join Akari on the bench, taking the empty spot next to her as the wood creaked beneath him. “…Perhaps just one more; Miss Zisu has not arrived yet, after all. She did say it would be a quick stop by the Commander’s office, but I’ll be honest; knowing her appreciation for conversation, I could be waiting here for her for another half hour.”

Akari held the candy back out to him, and this time, Ingo accepted it. “Thank you.”

Placing the chocolate in his mouth, Ingo sat back as he chewed on it. Mulling over the warm feelings of familiarity that briefly returned once again with the flavor, Ingo wondered if the memories themselves would return at some point as well.

[wwaheoh]

"Paranoia", Kafka x gnReader, SFW, Angst

a/n: first time writing fanfiction, sorry if it sucks.

Kafka, a beautiful woman with a silver tongue, able to poison the minds of anyone she wished to with only a few words. Somehow you’d gotten close and entered a relationship with her, an average citizen with an average job on an average planet. And Kafka, she was someone who seemed to be on a different level than you. Always traveling, confidence, and the looks to back her up.

She was great, someone happy to listen to you speak with an everlasting smile, sweet words at the tip of her tongue to ease you from a stressful day at work. Of course there’d be many times where she’d be gone for weeks or even months, sometimes able to speak over the phone whenever she had free time but more than likely there was dead air for the time she was gone. Though you didn’t know what her job was, she’d never told you.

One day while on these rare calls during her leave out of orbit, you heard a woman calling for Kafka to hurry and finish her call. It was the day when you learned of something called “The Script”.

“Yo! Kafka, are you still on the phone? Your turn on the script’ll be soon, hurry up!” The voice was nasally, clearly younger with a bratty tone, a clear contrast to Kafka’s more mature and silky voice.

“Ah, yes, I’ll be there soon Wolfie~.” Her voice was weaker than before, directed to ‘Wolfie’ before turning back to you, “Apologies dear, it seems our call has to be cut short.” It was clear she was pouting, disappointment staining her voice, “But I’ll be sure to call you back soon, okay?”

“Yes honey,” You spoke into the receiver, “I can’t wait to see you again!”

With that the call ended, and you never thought too much into it. Her job was demanding, yet you never learned what she actually did. Something involving a script? Acting? Maybe you should ask her…

The day when you asked her was the day Kafka would remember for years after. She loved you, cherished the normalcy you brought to her life, being able to exist and spend time with someone and do all the normal things that couples did.

They say “love is blind”. When you asked her, she decided to answer truthfully, knowing you loved her enough to where there was a high chance you’d accept her, even if accepting her would be accepting a criminal with a bounty worth the price of a several planet’s GDP combined. She told you of her true nature as one of Destiny’s Slaves, her role as Stellaron Hunter, and how she and the others in the group followed scripts made by a man who claimed to see the future.

It was a lot to digest, having originally believed that Kafka was an actress, to now learning she was basically an intergalactic terrorist. But you stayed true to her, deciding to push the reason of safety away and stay with her.

Your relationship continued, a little rocky at first, with worrying about Kafka’s identity being learned about, before learning that she had someone who helped keep her off any surveillance.

Though something weighed on your mind, those scripts that they followed to the letter. Kafka told you about those were steps to help “save the universe from destruction” and that they had to be followed as planned. But one day, when Kafka was out doing her duties, a stray thought hit you, like a snake digging its teeth into your flesh.

What if you were part of a script? I mean, think about it. This woman who was so out of your league, with a destiny in the stars, and you were just an office worker. Admittedly you were a government office worker, but… you were getting a promotion soon. You’d been told there’d be a party held, where some pretty important people’d be. You’d been told that you could bring a ‘plus one’ and you, very predictably, asked Kafka to join. She very conveniently had nothing planned for that day- or even the week before or after.

Thoughts began to spiral as the Moon drifted across the night sky.

What if you were part of a script?

You were just a lowly office worker when you started.

The scripts tell what’s supposed to happen, what’s not to say it was for the long-haul?

She always came back in time whenever you began to really feel the exhaustion you felt back when you were living alone. She was too good for you. Her words were always so sweet, yet the more you thought about it, they sounded less like something she’d say to you and more like “Get Well Soon” cards. Why, in all your memories, is she smiling?

Your memories began to be tainted, where love was, suspicion rose.

Is she going to break up with you after the celebration?

That’s when she’d be closest to the higher-ups of the company you worked at.

When she does, what’s going to happen?

You’ll be alone again.

Will she ever come back?

She won’t come back. You’ll be all alone again. You’ll never see her again, she will have toyed with you. You were never good enough for anyone, you were easy. You’ll be alone forever.

Rising from your bed in a panic, your sense of balance felt off. Stepping aimlessly, you checked your phone. It was blurry, confusion set in before you realized that tears had clouded your vision.

The celebration was in two weeks, she’d be back in a couple days. You still loved her, even believing she’d had toyed with your heart and would leave with it after the celebration.

They always said not to trust your thoughts in the middle of the night…

-

Stepping out of the restaurant that’d been reserved for your company, arms locked with Kafka’s, you both made your way back home. Along the way you both passed the park.

“Perfect afternoon for a walk, shall we?” Your voice shook slightly at the end. Kafka nodded, “It is, let’s.”

Birds chirped as you both walked, her heels clicking on the concrete. There was a tension that set in, despite the tranquility of the surroundings.

“Um, Kafka…” “Yes?” “There’s something I wanted to uhm, tell you.”

You unlinked your arms from hers, taking a couple steps forward and facing her. Her eyes shimmered with the moonlight, lips glossy, a confused tilt of an eyebrow- something someone who didn’t spend so much time with her wouldn’t know.

“I.. I want to break up.”

There, you said it. You looked down, not wanting to see her reaction- not wanting to face the reality of what you had said.

If you had, you’dve seen the expression of hurt that momentarily seized her before quickly schooling her face.

“I see…”

To you it felt as if she had quickly accepted it- nay, already knew. To her, she was surprised, this was something she never expected to happen. Then again, she usually had a script detailing what would happen.

There was an awkward silence. You didn’t want to break up, but you also didn’t want to feel the pain of her leaving one day and never coming back. She didn’t want to break up, but she didn’t want to push it.

“I’ll… be off then.”

Her usual voice returned to her, the plastic smile and emotionless eyes returned. You looked back up, tears in your eyes, as she turned away and left.

You watched her leave, tears falling, before your legs gave, and you followed your tears to the ground as you began to cry. You, alone.

-

“How’d your date go? Thought you wanted them to come with us to celebrate their promotion?”

“They broke up with me.”

“Huh!?”

Silver Wolf nearly dropped her controller, turning from her game to Kafka, thinking it was a joke.

Kafka set her bag down, the same plastic smile and faded eyes. When Silver Wolf got a good look at her, she could see a stray tear falling from her eye.

Kafka didn’t know what had just transpired. She had thought everything had been going well. Yet you had wanted to break up?

“I will be returning to my quarters for now. Have a good night, Wolfie.”

It made no sense, yet you had still done it.

[unhetalia]

"Timed Choice"

Word Count: 1,011.

Rating: Teen. Contains mentioned England/Portugal.

Summary: The day America tells you he's going to get over you, you realise you're in love with him.

Notes: Written for @usukweek Day 2 - Time. A quick one, once again not yet edited. This one isn't as clear in it's connection to 'time' as my fairy tale fic, but hopefully still works!

***

“Um, England, I was wondering if I could talk to you after the meeting.”

It’s America, looking uncharacteristically unsure. He’s approached you during a short recess, and you’re ready to refuse him - you have plans with Portugal, who is obviously more important to you than an ex-colony you barely get along with. Still, for some reason you agree, adding as long as you make it quick to your affirmative just so he knows not to waste your time.

“It will be,” he assures. It’s so odd to see him serious.

You wait for America when the meeting ends, and he leads you to a private meeting room. You’re surprised, since the rooms require someone to book them. Apparently, this talk is important enough that America had organised it beforehand. You start getting nervous, you wonder if America’s about to tell you something catastrophic about the economy, or advise you that his government is pulling out of something that requires American intervention. Bugger.

You take a seat, and he sits in front of you. 

“Firstly, I just wanted to say this meeting isn’t about politics or work,” America starts. You feel relief sweep through your body, though now you’re curious. What does America have to say to you that isn’t work-related?

“And to be honest, this is hard enough, so I’d really like it if you just… let me say everything I need to say first, okay?” he asks. 

Normally you’d protest, but the relief from not having to deal with a secret recession or having to tell his boss the Americans are pulling out of so-and-so project makes you more amenable. “Fine,” you grumble. “You have ten minutes! I have to meet Portugal for dinner.”

You see America fail to hide a wince. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to like Portugal, though he hides it well. You wonders if this is America trying to air his grievances about your boyfriend. Well, tough luck, you think. I’m not breaking up with him just because you don’t like him. You gave up being my little brother in the 1700s, you don’t get to interfere in my romantic life.

“Look,” America begins. “I know you’re with Portugal, and I’m not trying to get you to break up with him. I just feel like I need to say this, for me, you know?”

Is he actually going to complain to me about my boyfriend?

“The truth is, it’s time for me to be honest. More importantly, it’s time for me to move on…” America pauses, and you wait for him to continue. You decide that if he complains about Portugal, you’ll interrupt him, no matter what you’d agreed to do before, but for now you keep your mouth shut. 

“The truth is, I feel like I’ve always been waiting for you. When I was a kid, I was always waiting for you to come back from wherever you were. When I gained independence, I had to wait for you to see me as a country, then as an adult….”

America takes a deep breath. “Then when I first realised I was in love with you, you were with India. When you and her broke up, you got super drunk and told me that you’d never fall in love again. So I waited for you to feel ready, but I guess I timed it all wrong because a year later you were with Portugal.”

You know you’re gaping. You were ready to argue with him - it wasn’t your fault you always had to leave back then - but now all you can think about is the fact that America has just said he’s in love with you. America. In love with you. What? When? How? Why? You genuinely can’t comprehend what America has just told you, and yet he keeps going, not even giving you the courtesy to digest everything he’s saying.

“I realised lately that I’ve still been waiting for you, and how unfair that was to both of us. It was unfair of me to wish you’d break up with a boyfriend you’re happy with, and it was unfair of me to - to waste my time on something that would never happen. I talked about it with my sis - Maria watches a lot of those dramas so she’s like, an expert, and she told me the first step to moving on is closure. I needed to like, just rip the bandaid off and tell you, I guess. Tell you that I loved you for so goddamn long but that I’m trying to move on. I’m gonna do the whole shebang - go on stupid dates and meet a few murderers on Grindr before eventually falling in love with someone who loves me back.”

America finishes his spiel. “So yeah. That’s it, I guess. You don’t need to feel obligated to say anything. I just… needed to do this. Sorry if it was awkward, or if I’ve made future meetings weird for you… I promise I’m gonna be totally chill!” 

You try to find words - any words - but you can’t. America stands and starts to leave, offering a quick goodbye and an aborted pat on your shoulder. You want to stop him, tell him to sit back down and go through everything again, step by step. You don’t. You just allow him to leave.

When he’s gone, you sit in the empty meeting room. Your whole world has shifted, because today America told you that he’s been in love with you for years in the same breath he told you he’s going to get over you, and in doing so it made you realise - 

Well, he’s made you realise he was an option all that time. And it dawns on you that had you known he was an option, you would have picked him with no hesitation. You’re ten years into a relationship, and it took a five minute conversation to destroy it and make you want something that’s just been taken off the table.

What now?

You guess this time, it’s your turn to wait. 

[rainydayfix]

Take One

pairing: Nomad! Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Nomad!Steve Rogers fulfills his sex worker partner’s wishes until he can’t take it anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (MINORS DNI!!!), smut, lots of fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 3.2k

Notes: Please do not copy, steal, etc. My ask box is currently open if you want to send fic ideas / imagines / etc.

Snippet: It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting - could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

“I thought about what you asked for,” you said, resting your head on Steve’s chest as you settled in for the night. “And, I want you to finger me.”

“I always finger you,” he joked, lightly tickling you at your sides.

“No, I want you to only finger me,” you repeated. “Over and over again.”

You and Steve talked about fantasies you wanted to share. You both moaned between the sheets when you were in a race to hit that space where nothing else existed but each other. But, when he first asked if he could help you out on camera, because that was one of his fantasies, it was still a bit of a shock – leaving you a couple of days to digest, to ponder, to re-ponder, to really think about what you could ask him to do.

As your first video together, you finally settled one idea: him fingering you relentlessly. It was genuinely a fantasy of yours. You knew your body and what you liked, and always found it exciting to see your partner discover it too. And it was a blessing that Steve didn’t rest on his stamina from the serum to do all the work.

“Why only fingering?” he questioned softly. “Why not more?”

“You know why?” you answered, trying to tiptoe around one of the reasons you only wanted fingering. Truth be told it was that you weren’t ready to do a full length video with him yet. Your stream had a good fifteen videos on it so far. Thousands of followers who loved seeing your curves, seeing you naked, seeing you come. But your sex work always came with a caveat making partners turned on before becoming jealous and distrusting, or being distrusting from the start and making you feel cheap.

That was just men who were regular Joe assholes. This was Steve Rogers. Retired Captain America. Now Nomad. He stayed in the shadows. Popping up online, no matter how many creative angles you could try, someone would figure it out. Who you were. Who he was with. Where you were. Then come the headlines. The jokes. The invasion of privacy. You hoped deep down making a video out in the open with Steve wouldn’t change things, but you knew it would. “Not even you can hide underneath all this,” you finished, gingerly teasing his full beard.

A small groan seemed to be his only response. You could feel his pensiveness clench his muscles.

“I just - “ you started, before turning in his arms to face him. “I want us to be us for as long as we possibly can. And, blasting America’s ass on the internet will have the vultures coming around in a heartbeat.”

That made him break out into a small smile at least. You couldn’t help but lay next to him in silence as your fingers caressed his face – the deepened wrinkles on his forehead, the laugh lines, the freckles. Blinking up at the ceiling, deep in thought, he turned his face towards yours and gently took your hand into his. He brought it to his lips, taking his time to plant soft kisses along your fingers.

“When do we start?”

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

You know Steve asked if he could help. But you couldn’t find it to answer him with your actual voice. He ended up sitting on the bench at the end of the bed - with that ever-cool patience and calm he possessed. Positioning everything just right seemed to be the only thing to settle your nerves. It wasn’t like you were new to this. You set up the equipment a couple of dozen times before – sometimes for videos to post, sometimes with videos that didn’t make the cut. You set your phone set high on the tripod over the bed in the exact angle that would show your breasts down to your feet, if you poised your legs up right. You made sure the lighting was right – with soft lamps centered on your vanity and at your bedside.

As you slowly ran out of things to do, you started to realize you only started the channel with one person in mind – yourself. But now there was someone else you wanted your videos to mean something for – Steve.

“I’m gonna put the final touches together,” you said softly, giving the tiniest curtsy when his hand reached out for yours. He pulled you between this legs. How could a 240 lb superhero seem so small in your arms yet take up your entire world?

“This won’t change anything, this is just for us,” he reminded, running his hands over your hips and reaching his head up to nestle his lips between sternum. Your hands ran through his thick hair, gently bringing his face up. “I know,” you smiled down at him, taking his hands in yours before letting him go. “I’ll only be a minute.”

One minute turned into more than a couple of minutes as you changed your outfit. Steve honestly doesn’t need much to get going, but your “branding” wasn’t exactly in mind when you picked out the lingerie. From a technical point of view, you wanted something that showed enough skin from your breasts to your hips as the camera’s angle pointed downwards away from your face. For yourself, you wanted something that was simple but special – nothing said that better than see-through black and lace. Your hands ran over the delicate floral pattern as it shaped your taut waist, and the stockings that were lightly attached to the garter and underwear. After putting on the finishing touches of light make-up, you looked yourself over once more in the mirror before opening the bathroom door.

All of the equipment stayed exactly the same, but you weren’t the only one that had changed. A small array of candles were lit alongside the drawers across the room. The softest low-fi music played from the stereo. And, Steve stood next to the bed having changed into a long black shirt and pants, matching exactly what you wore. His eyes bore into you with an intensity that paled into comparison to the soft romantic set-up around you.

“Are you sure you just want my hands?” he asked, his voice deep and almost raw. He inhaled sharp but slowly, looking you over as his hands seemed to unconsciously rub together.

“For right now, yes,” you said – it was taking everything in you to not just shove the shoot aside and just let you fuck for the hell of it. There was so much about his body that you loved, and somehow restricting yourself to only his hands made you want him even more. The part of you that pushed you to save it for the video, caused you to turn away from him slowly before handing him the remote control and slowly crawling up the bed, trying to give him as much of a show as possible.

Once you settled onto your back, you reminded yourself to breathe as you could see Steve in your peripheral check the angle of your placement on the bed with the lens and press record. You forced your eyes to stay peeled on the ceiling, knowing that if you looked at him too soon you might call the whole thing off. It seemed like forever before his weight sunk on the bed next to you, his presence becoming a safe haven and a master in control.

When he was fully settled next to you, resting his weight on his arm, he whispered, “it’s just us.” His lips planted softly against yours, you immediately felt it start to leave you breathless and wanting more. Carefully, he left a trail of wetness as his tongue and lips ran down your neck, as his hand traveled over the rim of fabric covering your breasts and towards your stomach. Your breathing steadily grew heavily, when you felt his nails dig into your hips before gliding across your lower stomach and under your underwear.

You were careful to not shuffle too much, not wanting the position of your body to skew out of view. You also didn’t want to seem too over-eager as you peeled the underwear lower. A small smirk lifted from Steve’s mouth as he discovered you were already wet. One of his fingers dipped lowly, lightly skimming your outer lips before delving further. He didn’t seem to be in a rush and it was killing you. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as he added another finger, just playing with the power his touch had on you. He took you licking your lips as an invitation as he brought his fingers to your mouth, letting your head bob against them for a few seconds before he placed them back where they belonged.

He started with his digits pushing between your lips to your core, not wasting any more time, causing you to sigh heavily. It was exactly what you wanted. His motions mostly focused on dipping in and out of you, experimenting with the pace of rough and slow. When his fingers hit your inner lips in the perfect way, he alternated to hitting your core. Just like his cock that fit inside you perfectly, Steve knew the right amount of thickness and how to curve his fingers to create the same tight fit. You thought you were close to hitting your first orgasm, when he switched up the position, pushing his middle and ring finger deep inside you, and letting his other fingers pad against your inner walls. Your moan filled the room as your hand dipped low to hold yourself open a little more for his palm to slightly tap against you.

“Fuck, just like that, almost there” you gasped, as you felt your wetness coat not only his hand but slip down between your thighs underneath you. The concentration on Steve’s face, the way his eyes invited you to come all over his hand, pushed you over the edge as your moan was caught in his lips on yours, your tongues thrashing against each other. The first wave washed over you, as he finally let you up for air, and his fingers slowly returned to the caressing he had started with just minutes ago.

You didn’t expect the initial orgasm to take so much out of you, your eyes falling shut a little too quickly for your taste as well as Steve’s. You felt his hand gradually leaving you feeling empty, and the weight of him next to you lightening a bit. When he returned a second later, you felt something soft and plastic roll across your collarbone, and over the rim of your brassiere. Your eyes shot open, when you felt the odd object pulse against one of your nipples and over to the other. You caught the hot pink device looking small in Steve’s massive hand – your vibrator. The one you used in the video that Steve said was his favorite. That bastard.

His heavy breath brushed against your ear. “You can’t quit on me now. I’m just getting started, honey,” he instructed, in a gruff tone you’d never heard before he nipped your lobe between his teeth. He turned the device on and off again as he made sure to let it sail smoothly over breasts and across your stomach, just close enough for you to feel it pulsate through the lingerie. Once the vibrator made it towards your heat, you opened your legs further for him, letting him know how ready you were for him to give it to you.

This time he wasn’t waiting to take it slow and steady like he did before. This time he turned on the vibrator to the first setting for a few brief seconds, and then the second – the one that usually made you come within minutes. The only problem was that he held it right between your clit and lips – not letting you do anything to give him permission to go further or deeper. He was within the reason of pressing the vibrator right where you need it and perfect distance of making you yearn for his touch.

“Oh god, baby, please,” you cried out, and was silenced immediately, as he plunged the vibrator into you. Steve didn’t mess around with the pressure of the touch; he just let it pulse against your folds. It felt like an endless divine tease. Seconds gave way to minutes. Minutes felt like it gave way to eternity. You felt like you were heaven without actually crossing over the through the gates. You looked over at Steve with hooded eyes, wondering how much this man could possibly know exactly what you wanted without saying words, as the coil within you began to tighten and tauntingly refuse to unravel.

Gradually, the arm that was resting near your head slipped under your neck, lifting your face upwards. Knowing he wanted you to watch what he was doing, you helped by slightly lifting yourself up onto your elbows, prompting your eyes to roll back into your head before refocusing on the full view of his hand thrusting between your legs– the black of his shirt wrapped towards his elbow, and your lingerie, contrasted with the hot pink glimpses of the vibrator. It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting, could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

Steve’s body tilted towards you closer, you could feel his cock through his pants on your side. “I wish it was your cock inside me so bad,” you whined, as he suddenly dropped the vibrator and replaced it with his hand, practically fisting you. Your focus stayed on the continuous pounding of his hand that matched the throbbing of the vibrator and thensome for as long as you could. You never wanted it to stop, and Steve almost made you feel like it was never going to. Your one hand gripped the sheet underneath, while the other wrestled to reach for Steve’s arm as your head bowed backwards, as your body finally let go, and you released a high pitched squeal. Steve slowly lowered your head back against the bed, kissing away some of the tears that had freed themselves from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks, as everything in you crossed the finishing line. You could of sworn you heard him mumble ‘good girl’ before asking if you were all right, making you nod in response as your hands reached up to run through his hair and wrap around his arms.

You laid there for several moments, letting him hold you, caress you, plant kisses everywhere. You didn’t know if this was the end of your recording. You weren’t sure if you had another round in you. You weren’t sure if two times would be enough to follow with what you had on your stream already. You just wanted to rest with Steve, as much as it seemed like he just wanted to rest alongside you. He brought his hand up long enough for you to see him run it along his lips, coating his palm in his spit before dipping it inside you. You guessed he wasn’t done with you just yet as his hand splayed itself against your core– his middle finger found its home deep inside you while the rest of his palm rested on your inner and outer lips.

When his mouth started to trail down towards your collarbone, and towards your breasts, you helped him nuzzle your corset as low as it could, just letting your nipples peak out from the top, enough for him to paying attention to one, and then the other. His mouth grappled your breasts, back and forth, before he settled on one while his hands picked up the pace of strokes. It had been a long time before you felt an orgasm building from more focused attention on your delicate folds. But the ease with his hand swiping at you and the way his mouth enfolded around one of your nipples pushed your body to accept that he was building that eden in you again.

The slight slits in Steve’s palm seemed to ever so gently and rapidly rap against your opening, testing the limit if you could come against his motions. Gradually, your moans – the only sound in the room – was mixed with his own. One deep groan, one you’d never heard before surprised you, of ‘fuck it’ – signaled a swift change that took your breath away. Steve’s mouth left your breasts, his hand left your core, as he moved over you. Everything happened so fast – you helping Steve fling his shirt over your head and his pants down around his ass, a loud thud mixing with the pillow above your head getting roughly tossed to the side of the bed, and Steve filling you up with his cock. His arms snaked above you, as his weight practically pinned you to the bed. You reached down towards your ass and moved the flesh away to hold your thighs open for him more. In a matter of milliseconds, he was animalistically fucking away all of the tension that had been building up between the two of you. The mix of of his hands padding away sensitively at your core, and then every inch of you getting railed, was almost too much to bare. You actually surprised Steve lasted as long as he did before taking matters literally into his own hands. Both of your moans echoed in the room as his thrusts grew messier and faster as you hit another high, and he hit his first, feeling him empty his essence inside you. Once the pace of his thrust sfinally began to smooth over and stop altogether, you laid underneath him, your arms wrapped underneath his above your head.

“That was….” Steve began to say before, his words tapered off. All you could do was nod. His hand started to nuzzle the side of your neck, the coarseness of his beard brushing against your face as your lolled your head to the side.

“….only the beginning,” you finished his sentence before his head whipped up and in the direction yours was facing. Your phone had been knocked to the ground along with the tripod, lying next to the pillow Steve had tossed around aside. The realization drew a laugh from both of you. You were sure there was enough material you and Steve would be happy to post if you had to cut out the grand finale. There was no need for words or apologies, not being entirely sure if the phone had been damaged from the fall...the only thing you could do was reconsider what you could plan for take two.

[uchihaharlot]

MORE THIRST! ❤️‍🔥

I got the idea from a friend and I can't get it out of my head, maybe you have some headcanons for it or want to write something:

What if... you fed Shisui's own cum back to him after e.g. a blowjob? 😏

This is the sort of filth I am talking about. Seriously, am not computing how I came up with this trash.

Severely NSFW; bj; bird feeding cum; vaginal — all around hot shit I would absolutely do to Shisui in a heart beat and this man would thank me.

Let’s just say it’s a rather calm evening. You’ve already had your rounds for the day and as you lay with Shisui on the couch. You just can’t get this idea out of your head.

(And picture you more or less head on his abdomen and Shisui’s arms rubbing your back soothingly.) Nothing about this position indicates you want to fuck….yet. You both are very explorative with your desires. Binding, bondage, choking even. Possibly some other wild things that won’t be discussed right now.

You can’t stop thinking about this afternoon, in the kitchen. Shisui came home for ‘lunch’ and while he did eat lunch, eventually. He had dessert first. Which was you. You just looked so cute on your day off. Hair in a bun, house was immaculately clean. He just had to thank you by bending you over the table. And thinking over and over on this made you just wet all day. You were incapable of not making a damp spot on your panties. Fine, so be it. It was what he did after that had you reeling. See Shisui sometimes is too fast for his own good, and so to make things quick, he got off and filled you up like a cream puff. Took two fingers and gingerly stuffed it back in you while sucking your clit and putting you in overdrive with several climaxes before actually eating his lunch. There was a reason he stuffed his fingers to plug you, well two actually. One he just loved to see your weeping little cunt filled with his Uchiha serum, and two he didn’t want to mix the flavors so he made sure he was only able to taste you.

This would not do, and there were only two solutions.

He could either fuck you stupid again, and taste himself the proper way he should have today or you could suck him off righteously and essentially bird feed him his own essence. Either or worked but the mere conceptualization of dripping Shisui’s own cum into his mouth from yours won by a large margin. What would he even do? Should you ask? I mean he always kissed you and tasted of you. Polite and considerate you usually kissed his cheeks after taking him deep in your throat and digesting his creamy fluids. You’re such a good girl for him though. Only the best lip service for this man. Shisui can hardly ever be around you without being half cocked. So the moment you rub your cheek over his groin he’s already curled a hand at the nape of your neck. ‘I need a snack.’ You say, which if he wasn’t exceedingly hard at your subtle cheek rub, he definitely was now.

‘I have just the thing.’ His soft gaze looks down at you, oh he’s had a long day. Filing police work and all that. His eyes are probably tired from reading and memorizing mundane details.

So you gently position yourself between him and rub your hand over his aching cock. ‘Just close your eyes baby. I’ll take care of you.’

Hehehe yea, keep your eyes closed the whole time you thought.

You took him out of his sweats and ran kisses up his shaft. Shisui’s head rested against the armrest of the couch and his mouth parted slightly. He was tired so it took a little more effort on your end but that’s ok, anything for this beautiful man. Shisui was not in a hurry to cum which made you all the more wet. You were able to see him in his most vulnerable state. Completely relaxed but needy. His hand still controlled the depth he face fucked you. Slow and gentle, this was new? Shisui wasn’t necessarily a dog by any means but he must’ve been in a mood to really enjoy your soft warm mouth taking him in. Every now and then you’d swallow him a little deeper, tightening your cheeks each time. Hitches in his breath and a hiss here or there…. ‘Slow…go slow.’

He was really working himself up to it, definitely imagining that he was filling your sweet wet pussy with his thick diameter. Pumping you slowly from behind maybe? With a hand wrapped around your stomach. Or even just encumbering you with his whole weight and fucking you slow and deep, touching that spongey tissue in the back. Either way, he was a moaning mess of a man. And when you slobbered that backwash of spit that built up in your throat all over his pulsing cock. Only then did he touch the back of your throat. And from there he would be able to hear your small struggles for air. You’ve been conditioned well to take the entirety of his length right as he is about to cum. Which rises an issue for your ulterior motive.

If Shisui was deep fucking himself on your throat, his thick cum was definitely going down in one shot. Like the finest liquor or oyster. You couldn’t have that, no. You needed to make sure that there was enough on the ‘spoon’ of your tongue to kiss him with. So you reminded him, with soft words as you popped off his throbbing cock…’slow, remember?’ He nods hurriedly, of course! Of course, slow. He did ask for that. As you took him back in your mouth he reiterated words of praise to you, many a ‘good girl’ were said, ‘do you know how hot you look’ and your personal favorite was, ‘I love the look on your face when you can’t breath.’ Because yes, even though he was going slow he was drowning his cock in your mouth. Slow, deep thrusts to your throat and back. His hips shuddering a few times. This felt good, really good for Shisui. And your eyes watered a little bit when he held your face down to his pelvic area and wiggled himself deep enough to cause you to gag. ‘Such a good girl for me…fuck.’

When his cock stiffened for release, you took his hands out of your hair and laced them to his chest with yours. Hardly ever were you dominant, so the shift in power had Shisui full mouth grunting when you sucked and bobbed on just the tip. Holy shit this was so different. He could only watch as you took him deep a few more times before delicately taking a hand to tug on his bunching testicles right as he filled your mouth with his salty batter. You swallowed and left what was necessary on the tip of your tongue before crawling up to a chest heaving, wide eye and fucked out Shisui, who just had the soul sucked out of him, and depositing the smallest modicum of himself in a deep kiss. He groaned and raked a hand in your hair tightly and sucked on your tongue.

‘You’re filthy and I fucking love it.” He whispered before invading your mouth for more of the same.

This definitely didn’t hinder Shisui in the slightest, raging boner syndrome for this man. He flipped you on your stomach and sat on your legs pulling your shorts down just enough to stuff you full; nearly the whole weight of his body on you. Thrusts so fast and precise into that wet hole he calls home half the time. ‘Fuck…you’re so wet, did you like that? Hmm? Making me taste myself.’

Yea he is wired, definitely did not expect to be damn near bird fed his own cum on top of finding the whole ordeal arousing.

He overstimulates you, making you come several times over and for definite this time on his throbbing dick because he didn’t get to feel that this afternoon. Shisui came fast earlier and needed to make up for it. So each time you come and clench his cock, it brings him closer to the edge of a second release. He pins you by the neck, and listens to your pleas and cries of pleasure. His name and several curse words intermingle in a salacious symphony of sounds. Desperately chasing his climax, the timing was perfect. You let out a guttural moan and Shisui’s hips jutted enough to incessantly tap your cervix and drag over that sensitive bundle of nerves. You squeezed and fluttered around his stiffening cock as your orgasm milked him. The show in the background was overcast by the low but long grunts Shisui had made when he bent down to your neck out of sheer desperation to finish with you.

‘…fuck (y/n). That…that was hot.’ He breathed heavy. Easing on the full weight of his body over you, he adjusted your house shorts back up and kisses your ass before bringing you to his chest and holding on to you while you both catch your breath and process the hottest sex of the week.

[attorney-ramblings]

Okay, I have a fic concept living rent free in my head.

Miles has been helping Phoenix deal with the aftermath of his disbarment since the beginning, he pulled every string and called in every favor he could, and still nothing could be done.

He tried to assure Wright that things would work out eventually, that they would prove he’d been tricked. Wright had adamantly refused to have Trucy testify on his behalf, to lay the blame on her. Miles disagreed with the decision but didn’t push him on it, she was only a child after all.

As time passes, Phoenix struggles to make ends meet. He needs to go out and get a job but he can’t just leave Trucy alone in the apartment for his long hours. Upon hearing this, Miles reluctantly offered to watch her. He had not intended it to become a regular occurrence.

Yet here he was, slowly coming to adore the sweet and spirited girl. She was well behaved, and all around delightful. Of course she was a child still and sometimes he found her getting herself into trouble around the Prosecutor’s Office, however he’d never needed to scold her about something more than once.

He was careful about where he took her, often avoiding having her ever come near a crime scene. Whenever he had to go out investigating he would have Detective Gumshoe watch her for the hour or so he needed to get what was necessary.

Other than those times the girl was right by her side at all times, she asked a lot of questions when they were alone, about what was happening in the case. It was an interesting exercise for him, trying to explain the case to a child, he spared her any of the more gruesome details of course. He wouldn’t be held responsible for traumatizing her.

However, trying to explain the complex motivations of the human psyche for crime in a easily digestible manner had actually been a relatively helpful exercise.

Other times when talking to witnesses, she was mostly quiet, but sometimes she even landed up being helpful. Sometimes noticing speech patterns and little ticks that he would’ve otherwise overlooked. She was also amazingly emotionally intelligent, she covered for an area he was weak in, comforting others.

He had more than once, left the room for a moment to grab something just to come back and find her sitting next to a witness, them tearing up and suddenly ready to talk.

It was honestly incredible to him, and he found himself hopelessly enamored by this precious little girl. Phoenix often complained about how he spoiled her rotten, but he frankly couldn’t care less. It was payment for helping him with his work.

It was a few months after this pattern had started, and Trucy was skipping along behind him as usual. He needed to speak to a detective, so he was down at the station. A particularly peculiar case had just been set into motion and he needed more information.

Trucy wasn’t the type to wander off on her own, that had been a strict rule he’d implemented when he’d started bringing her with him places. She’d always been good about it, only ever getting lost in the madness once.

When he looked around and saw she was nowhere to be seen, he panicked. They were in a police station, surely she was safe, she had to be.

Except, often Police stations are filled with nearly as many criminals as officers, who knew what might happen if one broke out of their handcuffs.

It didn’t take him terribly long to find her thankfully, he heard crying in the distance, when he followed the sound, it seemed to be the voice of a child. Down a hallway and into a conference room, that was when he finally caught sight of her again.

Miles nearly shouted, he was sorely tempted to scold her for scaring him like that. However the moment he processed what he was looking at, the words died on his lips.

Trucy was sitting next to another little girl, she seemed slightly older than her, but only by a year or two. She wore her bright auburn hair in a side pony and she was sobbing, hysterically panicking.

Miles was all too familiar with that particular kind of terror, he made eye contact with the officer in the room and gestured for them to come closer.

“Prosecutor Edgeworth, I was a little worried when I saw your girl walk in here alone, everything alright?” The officer asked, she was a middle aged woman who mostly worked filing and desk jobs. She was always in the precinct, so she often saw them here.

He nodded curtly, “She walked off on her own while I was taking care of something, I’ll have a talk with her. I’m just glad she didn’t leave the station.” He looked back over to the two girls, Trucy was hugging her from the seat beside the the auburn haired girl. Trucy had given the girl her cape to wrap around her for comfort, and she was clutching it tightly and mumbling to herself softly.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She always seems to know when someone’s upset, makes it hard to be angry with her.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall for a moment. “Who’s the other girl?”

“Athena Cykes, the daughter of that astronaut that got murdered by the prosecutor. Surely you’ve heard about it… we don’t really know what to do with her. She has distant relatives from Europe we’re attempting to contact, but there’s some sort of hang up in the communications. It’s taking longer that we expected it to.” She sighed. “She’ll probably have to stay at the precinct tonight, I already offered to keep an eye on her. Poor thing.”

Miles did know the case, in fact it was the one he had just been assigned. Prosecutor Simon Blackquill confessed to the murder of Metis Cykes, the girl being the daughter of the victim.

Trucy finally seemed to realize his presence there and jumped in her seat, she scampered over to him and hugged his leg. “Uncle Miles! I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I run off, you just looked busy and I wanted to help her…”. She spoke softly for a child, clearly trying to be mindful of the young Miss Cykes.

“Miss, is ‘Thena really going to have to stay here overnight?” She asked the officer, looking deeply concerned.

“Sorry Lil Missy, that’s the way it has to be. She hasn’t got anywhere else to stay. Protocol would have us looking after her until she’s either put under the care of extended family or the foster system.” She explained, and Trucy glanced over her shoulder at the girl again. She had quieted down a little after Trucy gave her cape to the girl. When her gaze returned to Miles there were tears in her eyes.

“It’s so loud here though! ‘Thena has really sensitive ears, she usually wears these headphones when she goes out in public that her momma made for her. If she doesn’t then she gets overwhelmed really easily, and she doesn’t have them! She doesn’t even go to school at all because of it, even with the headphones.” Trucy had her fists at her sides and her mouth pressed in a determined line, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She can’t stay here Uncle Miles!”

The officer blinked, “She told you all that?”

Trucy nodded emphatically. It didn’t surprise Miles in the least… he looked over to the quiet trembling girl. He couldn’t help but see himself in her, traumatized, alone, having all of his decisions made for him by adults he didn’t know or trust. If what Trucy was saying is true, then.

He sighed.

“Trucy, stay with her. I’m going to see what I can do.”

[goodday-goodmorn]

Little blurb that’s been sitting in my Docs for while based on @auspicioustidings idea from a while ago now i think— But yeah! I’be got like zero motivation to continue this- butttttt i liked the scene a lot so it shall be seen now! (Plus it’s Mhari’s Birthday!!! Happy Birthday Mhari! :> Even though i’m a few hours late into the day Hope you’re having a wonderful birth celebration!)

Based on a a scene i cooked up where reader finally gets caught by none other than the Ghost himself:

The weight of a gun in your hand is familiar.

So is the quiet sounds of a break in. You point at the door, watching, waiting. Like clockwork it creaks open, and there he is.

“Don’t move.”

You say sharply. Making the gun in your hand well known to the intruder.

Silence. He stares at you, you stare back. How many times have you done this dance? Tense words and a dashing messy escape. (The poorly wrapped bandages around your abdomen throb answering you question for you. Too many then.)

You sigh, and lower the gun.

He doesn’t even look suprised.

With a soft, Thump! ,you plop backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched. The gun is still in your hand but it’s dead weight. (Just like you.)

“…You’re not gonna ever stop are you?”

It’s said up at the shitty hotel ceiling. Hushed in the darkness of the room.

“No.”

He says it so simply.

You hum, pulling your knees and legs up onto the bed and rolling over. Back facing him, on your side. You snag a plushie on the way, hugging it close to your chest and settling your chin atop its head.

“Well shit. Turn all my red flags to white then, i give up.”

Defeated. Hushed. Tired. It sounds so unlike your normal voice. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

There’s a dip in the bed, true to his namesake- he was silent as he walked to sit. You haven’t even heard him.

“…Who did your bandages?” Gruff bastard with his gruff voice. Sounding way too passive for talking with you, an enemy, his target actually. He should be barking orders and threats to you, you’ve heard the way he speaks on a mission before, all bite and harsh. But he shows none of that tension now. Not a lick of hostility.

“Who do you think?” You snort out, tucking your face into the head of the plushie and vehemently ignoring him.

“Kid, you need help. You can’t survive on your own.” Straight to business it seems.

Without even turning to look at him, you halfheartedly raise your middle finger.

He sighs.

Silence. Blissful, damning, silence. You’ve no more fight left to give and he knows it. Months on the run, months of constant near death escapes, months of being hunted like a dog. You’re tired. So tired.

“Ya know, Torture isn’t an effective way of getting info outta someone: statistically speaking.”

“We’re not gonna torture you.”

“But you do want that info don’t you?”

More silence.

You hum knowingly.

“And what happens after you get your precious information? You’ll kill me? Maim me like all the other fuckers who end up in your shit list?”

“No. Never.”

He says it with such ferocity it almost takes you by surprise for a second. If you were to be facing him, you would see the hardness of his eyes. The pure conviction swarming in his gaze.

“Not you. Never you.”

…

Finally you turn to him, feeling far too much like a young little kid on the playground who just can’t understand-

“Why?”

Something in his gaze softness. He wants to tell you this because he cares. The team cares. All of them- that they saw you, a prickly, panicked little bird in over their head and flying blind- but he knows it an answer you won’t accept. One you won’t understand. Not at this stage. Not yet. You don’t believe in words, you’ve been lied too far too many times for that.

So he says something you will believe. A watered down version of the truth that feels like such a disservice to everything that makes up your very being.

“You’re interesting.”

You seem to digest his words. Turning them over and thinking in that little head of yours.

‘How long is that interest gonna last?’

That's what you want to say. You want to scream at the top of your lungs that he doesn’t want you. No one does. He’ll get sick of your brashness eventually- he’ll learn and grow used to your tricks. And when your spontaneity grows old, you know what’ll happen.

But you don’t.

You say nothing except—

“…Can I at least pack my bags? …please?”

He knows you don’t have much to pack. He also knows you’re one tricky, flighty little bird. However, he heard your small plea, sees the defeated look in your eyes, the way your hand is so lax around the gun.

Gently, oh so gently, he takes the gun from your hand. You don’t even try and fight him.

“Sorry little bird. Can’t trust you to pack.”

The sad look on your face nearly makes him reconsider. But he can’t risk you getting away again. Not when you’re so easy to catch right now. So vulnerable.

“Can’t you restrain me and then i’ll tell you what to pack?”

That, he can do.

“Up.”

Commands come so naturally to him. You’re almost jealous at how easily they fall from his lips.

Like the old defeated dog you are, you listen, sitting up and presenting your hands to him to restrain. You don’t meet his eyes.

He takes no chances, you are securely bound with a pair of handcuffs. He tugs on them, standing you up and nudging you to the common area of your hotel room. It’s a sizable room, a nice hotel, though truthfully you hadn't really been thinking when you booked it. Brain to frazzled and exhausted to think about anything beyond a clean bed and a hot shower.

The lights are flicked on by his gloved hands, flooding your vision. You hiss blinking and adjusting while he nudges you to the center of the room, down into your knees.

“What am I looking for here, bird?”

Your gaze flicks to him, then to the corner of the room, a vent right by a little corner desk with a lamp.

He follows your gaze and then, (with one last hard look towards you that screams ‘stay’), he walks over. Inside the vent is a crumpled up backpack, old and raggedy. It looks out of place amongst the clean cream colors of the hotel amenities.

He prods at the thing, trained caution. (You don’t blame him after your last stunt with explosives.)

Unceremoniously he opens up the bag and dumps all its contents on the floor. You wince, watching your whole life be scattered on the ground.

A journal, a thermal blanket, a lighter, cash, USB sticks, Your laptop in its thick padded casing (thank god), stolen hotel amenities, nicotine patches, several pill bottles, a half empty water bottle, a pocket knife, bullets…

Your own personal little horde of trinkets.

“Was that necessary…?” You mutter, as he stuffs some stuff back into the bag.

“Can’t blame me for bein’ cautious.”

“Well- i could.”

He turns to look at you. Just… stares at you, all you can see is his eyes at that dreadful mask, boring into yours. He doesn’t need to say anything. You both know you could but you never. Been through too much to really blame him.

You’ve saved his life before, even though he was hunting you. You both know you would never blame him for doing his job. Not at this point.

(Just as he would never blame you for running.)

[andofone]

SNS fic rec

I have found lots of SNS fics that I think deserve even more love and recognition, so buckle in and here we go!

-PS, if you don’t want your fic on this list, I will take it off.

---

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot? by Skyheaven

Naruto thought he could impress his crush by landing the role of Romeo in their school play. With Sakura playing Juliet, it would be the perfect way to get close to her. So how is it that he ended up being forced to play the modern version titled Romeo and Julian with his arch rival Sasuke instead?

(It’s a full, flushed out fic. It was a joy to read through)

-

(This is part two - a POV change to see what Sasuke is thinking, I strongly recommend reading after the first.)

And Julian is the moon by Skyheaven.

Ever wonder what Sasuke went through when he got stuck playing the romantic lead together with Naruto in their school play about Romeo and Julian? Here's the answer.

A pov change of the fic 'Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot?'

---

The Frog Dealer by lilypheria

Naruto’s trusty frog wallet breaks down after years of faithful service, and someone delivers a new one to his office. Naruto is elated, not caring if it’s proper for the Seventh Hokage of Konoha to wander around with a wallet like that. But then he starts to get even more deliveries to his office—frog-shaped keychains, fridge magnets, everything you can think of.

Naruto has no clue who has found out about his affection towards frogs. But the gift giver is closer than he thinks…

(It’s a adorable one-shot. What else could you possibly want.)

---

Unrequited: sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't by KizuKatana

Naruto hates to hurt people's feelings. So when Hinata puts him on the spot about dating her, he doesn't want to come straight out and tell her he doesn't like her that way. Instead, he comes up with a poorly thought out idea to tell her he is dating someone already. All he needs to do to convince her is to show her a photo of the guy. He just needs to get a picture of someone so ridiculously hot she will know it's hopeless. He actually has someone in mind, a guy he'd had a one-sided thing for from his gym. Although, the guy is sort of an ass and probably wouldn't agree to posing for a picture. Naruto decides to ask him anyway. What's he got to lose?

(Another wonderful, simple one-shot. Easy and very nice to digest.)

---

In Good Company by weialala

This will sound a little ridiculous, no matter how Sasuke phrases it. I see dead people is embarrassingly tacky, and I'm half-spirit seems like something Sakura might say when she's stoned sky high. So he settles for a shrug.

(This is a gem of a fic. Highly recommend.)

---

Iced coffee with extra base by Dotec_1

Working in a cafe certainly isn’t the worst thing, that is if you find a certain raven a few tables down.

(Not too long, just 25,000 words and a good plot.)

---

Fire & Wind by Cyllia

Wind and fire: it's the most powerful combination of elements there was. So when Sasuke, the most talented fire elementalist in his year, pairs with Naruto, who has the greatest air element seen in centuries, they should've been the most formidable team in history. Yet they can't seem to win one match.

(OH MY GOD, okay, this has got to be one of my favorites on this list. And these are all some of my favorite.)

---

all i want to do, just like this by lunoiere (aeon_uriel)

"Good morning," he whispered, content, and peaceful. 

Naruto's nose twitched, still asleep. His lips were pursed to form a pout that somehow looked even more childish in this state. 

Sasuke's smile got wider and wider and something in his chest bloomed and exploded.

 Unbidden, a thought passed by: he loved that man so much it was unreal. 

Sasuke gets another reminder that waking up with arms around his waist and the smell of sunshine filling his lungs means opening his eyes to yet another good dream.(Because Naruto is there and he’s never leaving.)

---

 I hope this gives you some good reads!

And if you want more, check out another SNS rec I created here

[fuck-hamas-go-israel]

Ok so I have watched multiple videos on the history of Israel - Palestine and honestly? Go Israel.

The only thing I am not able to understand is, why is the whole world in the support of Palestine? Even Tumblr? (Yes the death of innocent people is bad but it's happening on both sides, why are they pretending that everyone in Israel lives in idk, rocket-proof luxury rooms?)

And people are purchasing books on history of Israel - Palestine, and still violently supporting Palestine. And not even seeing a shread of "blame" on them? :(

This is just an observation, but wherever muslims are in majority, they won't let the minority in peace, no matter what — they're not the “peaceful” community the world tries to show them as.

There is whole history on how they are ruthless, tyrants, who can not accept let alone tolerate another religion in their proximity.

I JUST don't know what will it take for the world to see the actual history and stop viewing Israel like The Evil Nation.

That’s a good question, but a very difficult one to answer.

As you’ve said, the information is out there in the open, available to anyone willing to put in the time to read and understand.

However, it takes a lot of mental effort to wrap one’s mind around the historical and geopolitical nuances of this conflict. As a result, it’s definitely less of a mental burden to get information from reading headlines, reading tweets, and watching TikToks.

Of course the information isn’t always accurate, and if someone absorbs news from these sites that all have the same bias, they’ll be inclined to think a certain way. But even still, it’s digestible, and why put in the work to make informed opinions of the subject when these smaller, bite-sized pieces of info are being spoon-fed to you easily?

You can tell people to “educate themselves”until the cows come home, but the chances of them actually going to read up more are pretty slim. After all, it’s more comfortable and safe to maintain your opinion than actively seek out information that challenges your point of view.

That aside, I think the Israel-Palestine conflict in particular has elicited, or rather, uncovered a very worrying hypocrisy and double-standard, and caused a rise in antisemitism that’s alarmingly reminiscent of 1940s Europe.

Those who support Hamas claim to be on the side of “human rights” and “protecting the innocent”, yet turn a blind eye to or rejoice at the slaughter of innocent children.

They present this issue as intersectional with other liberalist movements such as feminism and LGBTQ+ rights, yet Hamas rapes and parades the naked bodies of women around to publicly humiliate them, and calls the LGBT community “sinners” that will be “punished by Allah”, and refuses to allow any LGBT person on Palestinian soil.

Yes, it is baffling to see people defend a terrorist group that has such fundamentally incompatible ideologies with them, and would kill them on sight. Normally I wouldn’t just tell them to go to Palestine if they like it so much, but if they can’t see the irrationality of their own beliefs themselves, if they can’t see that their parroted platitudes are of no use and don’t make them immune or exempt from the hate-filled violence of Hamas, then maybe going there to see for themselves is perhaps the only solution.

So maybe there isn’t anything that can be done, unfortunately. It’s very telling that many pro-Israel accounts are sent hate mail daily, and instead of being presented with the opportunity for discourse on the complicated subject, it’s just crusty anons calling for the end of Israel and telling them to kill themselves for supporting Israel.

If someone calls for your death, then there’s little to nothing that can be done anymore to have a rational discussion. All you can do is stay safe and stay informed, and don’t stoop to their level because they’ll use that as ammunition against you to justify calling for your death.

Am Yisrael Chai 🇮🇱

[rambheem-is-real]

Gold Rings and Black Roses Pt 2

pairing: Radha Rama x Aadhya

warning: siblings!Deva and Aadhya

Pt 1 here

-

Aadhya comes back, fresh from her shower, and is shown to the seat at the opposite end of the table to where Radha Rama was already sitting. A female guard had handed Aadhya a new cotton top and pair of jeans for her to wear, and she could see that Radha Rama had also changed into a yellow saree. The table was laden with various dishes, and both of their plates were already filled with a sampling of each dish. After a silent look from the older woman, all of the guards bow their heads and leave the room. Obullamma also leaves, not before giving Aadhya a look that’s half confusion and half jealousy. 

I don’t know what’s going on either! Don’t look at me like I stole your favorite toy! Aadhya wants to yell at her, but figures that would not be good for her life. 

Finally, Radha Rama turns her gaze to Aadhya, who can’t help but squirm. 

Why the hell was this woman so hot??

She tilts her face, studying Aadhya for a few seconds. Aadhya hopes she won’t take long to decide whatever it was she was deciding, because she hadn’t had actual good food in days. 

Radha Rama finally speaks. She gestures to Aadhya’s plate. “Eat.”

Aadhya hesitantly mixes some pappu with some rice, and brings the hand to her mouth to take a bite. Swallowing, she tries to be polite. “The food is really good.”

Radha Rama keeps looking at her coolly. “I know. I have some of the best chefs in the country working for me.”

Interesting, Aadhya thinks. The words were not meant as a boast, but as a mere fact. Of course Radha Rama, whoever this woman was, would have incredible private chefs. 

She nods, and keeps eating, trying not to show her embarrassment on her face. What would it take for this woman to be impressed? A few seconds later, Aadhya realizes Radha Rama hadn’t eaten anything yet, and her heart skips a beat. Silently praying that the food wasn’t poisoned or something, she tries conversation again. “You should eat too.” And because apparently her mouth has no filter, she can’t help but joke. “You’re missing out on some great dal.”

Radha Rama looks taken aback, then the side of her lip curls up. “...You’re right.” 

Aadhya watches as the older woman, almost like she forgot how to, slowly mixes her own rice and pappu, and tastes it. Her eyes close, and she slowly chews, like she’s experiencing the taste for the first time. Abruptly, Radha Rama opens her eyes like she just realized she’s being watched, and Aadhya can’t hide her wide-eyed look in time. 

Radha Rama chuckles at her, but it’s not mean this time. “I pretended to be insane and incapable of doing anything on my own for seven years. It’s why Obullamma was so surprised that I could stand, and it’s why I haven’t eaten by myself in so long.”

Aadhya… digests that information. She doesn’t want to pry, whatever would make a person do all that would probably be upsetting, so she continues eating. 

They spend some time in silence, and Aadhya is aware that Radha Rama is letting her watch the woman enjoy her food, but what the end game is there Aadhya has no idea. Eventually her curiosity gets too much for her to stay quiet. 

“So why am I here?” 

Radha finishes chewing before answering. “I want your brother here.” She frowns. “The original plan was for him to rescue you from Rinda. He would have broken the seal, and he and that lover of his-” The word ‘lover’ is spat with a sneer. “-would’ve fought to the death. Even he has to abide by the Nibandhanam. One of them would live, and whoever survived I could easily pick off. That is, if they hadn’t mutually destroyed each other.” She shrugs. “But he didn’t do what I expected him to, so I just had Vedha send him a message about your parentage. Now he’ll show up, take you away, and Rinda can go cry to his dear karta that your brother broke the seal.”

Aadhya has so many questions she doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Ok,” she says, trying to process. “Ok, even before I ask who the hell my brother is supposed to be, or what the hell a nibandhanam is, you could have still killed me and sent him a message about that. Then he could’ve come to get revenge or something, breaking the seal by killing Rinda. That was Obullamma’s plan, right? So why am I here?”

Radha Rama studies her, like she’s unsure of whether she should say what she’s thinking of. Finally, she answers. “You remind me of myself.”

“Thank you?” It comes out as more of a question than Aadhya wants it to be. “How so?”

“You were willing to do anything for your father. And brave enough to stand up to the people that kidnapped you, making a deal with them. I was that way, once.” Radha Rama, having finished eating, uses her glass to wash her hands in her plate, and stands up. She slowly makes her way over to Aadhya, who’s sitting frozen. Radha Rama puts her hands on either side of Aadhya’s corner of the table, and leans into her space. 

Aadhya can see now that Radha Rama had taken her time freshening up in the time before lunch. The kajal had been reapplied to her waterline, her hair was neatly braided down her back, and the faded bottu had been replaced by a striking red one. Was that.. perfume? Aadhya can smell a faint floral scent, something expensive. Up close, she can see how much she had underestimated the older woman’s beauty. Even at her age, which Aadhya estimates to be around fifteen years older than herself, Radha Rama is regal and commanding, eyes piercing through Aadhya’s very soul. 

“I was once like that,” Radha Rama repeats herself. “I was going to be the next karta, did you know that? After my dear father’s reign ended. I would have ruled, as I was told since I was a child. I grew up with no votes, no power, no friends, because everyone assumed I would get my fifteen and a kingdom as soon as the time was right.” Aadhya has no idea what a karta is but she believes it, can see this woman on a throne. 

“I sacrificed so much for that throne,” Radha Rama continues, voice dropping into an intimate whisper that does things to Aadhya’s stomach, and she can’t help but glance at the older woman’s dark lips as she talks. “I married a man I didn’t love. I played watchdog for my idiot brother and that boytoy of his, fought for a ceasefire for that ungrateful bastard child, and for what? To be betrayed, to be cast aside like I was nothing.” She focuses back on Aadhya. “Us both, sisters of men who have never cared about anything other than their own self interest, daughters of men who we’ve been separated from, and daughters of dead mothers.” 

Radha Rama leans back, smirking at Aadhya who slowly lets out the breath she had been holding, wiping her hand on a nearby napkin to conceal the way it had been shaking. “That’s what I see in you.” 

Aadhya, for once in her life, practices great restraint to not immediately suggest for this woman to meet with a therapist. She has no idea what Radha Rama was talking about but she knows this speech was seven years overdue. 

She also has to practice great restraint to not jump this woman’s bones. 

Aadhya is saved from her thoughts from the servants that come to take her plate, and she smiles at them. “Thank you,” she tells them in English. 

Once the plates are gone, she looks over to see Radha Rama, now lounging in her chair. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she offers. Radha Rama raises an eyebrow.

“You had no idea what I was talking about, don’t lie.” 

Aadhya shrugs. “No. But as a fellow woman, I’m still sorry that happened to you.” She sees it again, that flicker of surprise in Radha Rama’s face. She presses her luck. “So who’s this brother of mine? Why haven’t I ever seen or heard of him before?”

Radha Rama just laughs again, and Aadhya tries not to instinctively smile along with it. The laughter is sharp and melodic, and goddamn Aadhya stop acting like you have a school crush-

“You spent the last few days with him and your birth mother, actually,” she says. Aadhya stares at her, then the realization hits. 

The momentary elation of learning she has more family members disappears when she remembers the last time she saw who was apparently her biological mother. Of course Aadhya had known she was adopted her whole life, her parents had never shied away from that fact. Aadhya just had never bothered looking for her biological parents. Now, thinking about Amma’s accusing glare, about Deva’s complete indifference to her safety, she wishes she never found out. Aadhya doesn’t know how much Deva knew about her adoption, but there was no way Amma didn’t know Aadhya was her own family when she realized she was Krishnakanth’s daughter. And she still let them take me away.

Radha Rama watches with confusion, as Aadhya’s face falls. “You didn’t like them?” she asks incredulously. 

“More like they didn’t like me,” Aadhya chuckles wetly.

Radha Rama frowns. “Why the hell not? What’s wrong with you?”

Aadhya wants to laugh again. How come this stranger, the woman who had kidnapped her, was treating her better than her own family? 

“Well, it doesn't matter. Either he’ll come to rescue you once he finds out you’re his sister, or…” Aadhya looks up to see a glint in the older woman’s eyes. “Or Obullamma will get her wish.”

A chill runs down Aadhya’s spine. Stupid, she thinks. She had completely forgotten about the fact that there wasn’t much stopping Radha Rama from killing her, that the woman was very much capable of killing her if her stories of ruling were to be believed, and went and started crushing on her. 

Radha Rama smirks at her visible fear, before calling for a guard to escort Aadhya back to her room. 

It takes a while for Aadhya to fall asleep, but when she does, she dreams of Obullamma taking a knife to her face, gleefully slicing it open. In the background, she can see Deva watching it happen, face blank and body unmoving. The dream suddenly shifts, and she’s now on her back, she can’t move- why can’t I move?? and she hears the voice of a young boy in the background. She can’t make out the words for some reason but he sounds distressed, pleading. The dream finally shifts once more to the hospital room she stayed in for days. Aadhya notices her mother, lying on the hospital bed but not hooked up to any of the machines. She’s dressed in one of her regular chudidars, the pink one with dancing figures around the border, not the patient gowns Aadhya had last seen her in. 

Her mother lifts a hand up to caress Aadhya’s face. 

“Naa bangaru thalli [my golden daughter],” she says, her smile radiating joy. “You were the best gift I ever got.”

Aadhya smiles back, wishing she could stay in this moment forever.

-

tags: @recentinterest @theimmortalprince @nini9224 @just-a-lazy-person @alezangona @omgdontlookatmeuniverse @greatkittykoala @sinistergooseberries @inveter and ofc all the server besties

[tendertenebrosity]

Promises

A little bit inspired by this post, but also just an idea that's been lurking for years.

After what we’d found in the ancient temple, all of the humans were despondent. I was surprised to find that I was, too - over the weeks of travel together I’d come to care about their goal.

I shouldn’t have. What did the human throne mean to me? I’d outlived one civil war, I’d do it again. I liked Prince Arin, but that didn’t mean he’d make a better king than any of the others. Neither would possession of the Cup, actually.

And yet.

I was exhausted from the dive, but I took the time and energy needed to make my human shape again before I went to speak with the prince, because he always seemed to find it easier to talk to. Maybe also because I was putting it off.

I found him on the cliff, looking down into the ferocious sea with his face unsettlingly blank. I sat beside him on the jagged rock and curled my arms around my knees. Anxiety fluttered formless in my belly.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked him after a long minute of silence.

He gave me a black look, and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he turned back to his regard of the crashing waves.

“I’m not giving up,” he said, his jaw set stubbornly. “If the Cup isn’t here, it must be in one of the other locations. There are Ancient ruins all over the Southern continental coastline. We’ll search them - all of them, if we have to.”

I digested this for a minute, my legs growing cold underneath me from the rock. I should have expected that answer, maybe - he was stubborn - but the Southern coast was long. How did he know it hadn’t been taken already, I considered asking him. How did he know the door mechanisms wouldn’t be destroyed or sunk below…

Below even my ability to reach.

“Listen - Tanial,” the prince said. He was staring out at the sea again. “I know why you’re here. What you want to talk about.”

I tensed. I couldn’t help flicking my eyes over the prince’s body, looking for hints. Surely he kept it on him and not in his tent. “My soulstone.”

He nodded. “I promised to give it back once we’d retrieved the Cup.”

The first knot of dread tightened in my stomach. “That wasn’t the agreement,” I said, trying to keep it out of my voice. Trying to keep myself calm, reasonable, as if we were haggling over a purchase at a marketplace stall. “I agreed to come to the Mouth with you, and get you inside. You said if I did that you’d give it to me.”

“I said that I would give it back when we’d gotten into the Mouth and found the Cup,” he said sternly. “You got us in - thank you. It was well done. But the cup isn’t there, so - ”

I took a deep breath. And then another, and another, as I tried to hold the words in. I failed.

“You promised,” I said, almost a wail.

“Tani - Tani, I know I did, but I still need you!” He darted a glance at me, appealing, guilty. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give up now, and if you part ways with us then we have no hope of getting into the next ruins. I can’t give up. You know what’s at stake, you know I can’t give up.”

“I might stay,” I said. “You could ask. You could give me the stone and ask me to stay. I… I was going to offer…”

I had been, too, I realised. But he shook his head, a look of mingled pity and distrust passing over his face. “I can’t - Tani, if you leave I don’t know what we’ll do. If it was just my life at stake I’d take the risk, but… this is about my country. My people.”

I knew it. I knew this would happen. I should have known from the beginning, when he’d seemed so fair and even-handed. I was such a naive little fool.

“I’m sorry, Tanial...”

“You’ll never give it back,” I said, bitterness making my stomach churn, as if I might throw up bile here into the salt-stained wind. “I should never have believed you. I can’t believe I was so stupid!”

I knew all the same fairy stories he did. Everybody who ever let a shape-turner’s stone slip out of their hands in the stories met a bad end, as the shape-turner killed them outright or tricked them into a bad situation and skipped away laughing. There were a scant handful where the hero of the story gave it back on purpose, and the shape-turner was never grateful, never spared them.

The prince had gone pale and a little queasy-looking, but his jaw firmed. “I will give it back,” he said. “When the quest is done. It isn’t done yet, but as soon as it is, I promise - ”

“Your promises,” I spat, turning away to hide my tears. “Worth less than dirt.”

“Enough,” he said, standing up. Resolution swept across his face. “I won’t be spoken to with that much disrespect, Tanial. I’ll be your king. I understand why you’re disappointed, and I’m sorry, but I’ve made my decision and it is final. You will get your stone back after I retrieve the Cup.”

I’d believed that Prince Arin would look past the stories. He’d treated me fairly - from his perspective - so why wouldn’t he expect fair treatment back?

But now he’d cheated me. And the quest for the Cup would stretch into months and years, and I’d have no choice but to follow until it was done. And once it was he’d have a kingdom to rule, and there would always be a reason for not yet, and all the while those stories of the hero laid low because he took his eyes off the shape-turner would be there in the back of his mind…

No. He’d never give it back now.

He was already heading down the path. “We have a lot to do if we’re going to book passage on a ship. Come on.”

“I hate you,” I whispered into my knees. “You were supposed to be different.”

He either didn’t hear me, or pretended not to. I got up and followed; I had no choice.