#Tis much much much too early for all this aggravation feels

[kausstar]

ᯓ ✶ KISS ME HARDER ◞ elliot.

headcanons + ask tags female! reader. nsfw + sfw content. black reader in mind but anyone can read. swearing. speaking of drug usage (smoking). kissing. brief mention of dom-sub dynamic. praise kink.

⟢ elliot as a general boyfriend would be fun. he’s very funny, other worldly conservative, loving, blunt, sarcastic and sweet.

a pure gentleman without trying. holds doors for you, ties your shoes, holds your bags, etc…

does literally everything and anything for you. even if he complains and groans a little, he will do it with a grin.

a flirt, even when you too are in a relationship. just loves messing with you and laughing to himself.

enjoys you and your company. even if you’re sitting in silence, he just loves it.

compliments you a lot. no matter if it’s in the morning or late at night he’s telling you how pretty you look.

favorite place to kiss you is definitely your face. will be so aggravated with it too. kissing you on your eye lids and cheeks.

extremely clingy when high. lays down directly on you just to torment you.

loves being held close to your chest and getting his hair played with. adores falling asleep with you like that.

isn’t really the jealous type and i mean that in he will be, just sometimes. it’s rare if he does because he’s barely paying attention to anything but you if you’re there.

thinks you’re the best thing that has happen to him in a long time and he adores you.

will bring you little trinkets that are absolutely useless but will smile so big about them it will make you want to keep it forever.

takes a lot of pictures with you. you’re his homescreen for sure. it’s probably a really bad picture of you too. he laughs or smiles at it every time he opens his phone.

will call you weird nicknames in weird situations. like if he’s getting something for you he’ll be like “here you are, madam” in a weird accent too.

loves to ramble and laugh when he’s high. will start a argument about which music genre is the best and if aliens are real.

likes silence too. especially when he’s going at his guitar or thinking deep about something.

if you don’t smoke or don’t like it, he’s not tripping at all. he tries his best to keep it away from you or not do it around you at all.

will stare at you for a long period of time, just admiring you and will blame it on the weed.

feels for you so if you get upset, he’s there right away trying to make you feel better. but if you’re mad at him, he’d hate it but he’ll distance himself to give you time to yourself.

loves if you spend the night at his. sexual or not he just loves spending time with you.

if he really misses you, he’ll take a trip to yours and sneak in or just go through the front door.

you buy him an astray and he’s never using it. doesn’t want it to get dirty with ashes aka for what it’s used for.

he would lean against his pillow and watch as rue came into the room, joint in hand, eyes searching for an astray. she spots one on his desk and goes to tap the end of the joint on it to let the ashes fall from the lit tip but he’s quick to say something. “don’t use that one.” rue would be confused but does as he says. “why?” she questions. “she bought it for me,” elliot would reply and rue would grin. “oh!” she’d drown it on. “i will not put my filthy ashes in your beautiful ashtray,” she’d say sarcastically.

started calling you ma’am as a joke but then it started to be a almost everyday thing and now it’s not a joke.

⟢ at school or out in public, he’s just the same but he tries his best to be on his best behavior.

loves to kiss you out in public at random times to see how you react.

likes having a hand on you. it’s not much of a protective thing but of a casual thing. maybe like around your shoulders or around your waist.

will dismiss himself from class early to be at your classroom to walk you to class.

greets you with a hand around your waist and a kiss to your cheek, lips or forehead.

⟢ around friends, there’s a out of teasing and laughing.

rue calls him “lover boy” all the time. almost always in front of you because he loves hates it.

talks about you highly and i know it. especially if you’ve known each other for some years.

loves making out with you in front of rue and jules for a good laugh. seeing them roll their eyes and laugh right along with the two of you is funny all on it’s own.

makes sex jokes about the two of you all the time. brags about how good he fucks you and even goes as far as laying out the scene for whoever is listening.

⟢ when you’re getting down in bed, he’s very light hearted. takes it seriously but doesn’t at the same time.

100% a “for fun” panty stealer. will slip them into his pocket after taken them off of you and will just chuckle to himself.

doesn’t hold his tongue at all. if he wants to fuck you in a random moment he’s definitely telling you in your ear.

eats cunt like a fucking fat kid eats cake. his eyes are closed and he’s in it. makes little jokes here and there but nothing too crazy.

isn’t afraid to hold eye contact when he’s in it. actually prefers for you to look at him more than anything.

will ask you random questions to mess with you when he’s fucking you or eating you out.

“you know,” he’d start, words soft as he pulls away from your cunt. fingers still working into of you. “this reminds me, i really want ice cream,” he’d say, licking his lips of your wetness while watching your chest rise and fall, moans spilling from your mouth. “wanna get ice cream later?” he continued to ramble even after putting his mouth back on you. mouth full of your clit, sucking and licking at it. “elliot, stop— aah— fucking talking, please. you’re gonna make me cum.” he would only grin. “yes, ma’am.”

vocal. a lot of “fuck, baby” and “let me see you”’s.

moans, moans, moans. i just know for a fact he isn’t afraid to let em slip and he knows you like it.

a people pleaser but just for you— so a you pleaser. wants to please you to his best ability.

i think he would enjoy missionary but also doggy. missionary because he would like seeing you and holding eye contact while he would like doggy because he can whisper his weird questions directly into your ear and it’s better to keep up quiet if he’s cousin’s home.

he wouldn’t think of sex as a dom-sub dynamic. don’t think he have any extreme kinks either.

likes when you’re needy though. thinks it’s really cute and he gets to tease you about it later.

takes you anywhere private. a laundry room * wink wink *, in the school bathroom, in someone’s bathroom at a party, doesn’t matter as long as it’s private.

 2023 kausstar.

got a ask for a elliot version soooo here ya go! also got a good drabble idea that will be posted today 😌.

[ilikekidsshows]

Man, the Turtles sure haven't survived a building falling on them before Oh, wait!

I’m trying to think of something insightful to say about this episode, because there’s a lot of good character work in this episode, but my mind just keeps going: “Yay, Karai, yay!” Okay, I’ll try to focus.

Leo’s tendency to take on far too much responsibility for what’s happening around him is one of the big show-carrying theme, specifically because it’s a fault Leo is blind to. He thinks his thoughts and feelings are in line with taking responsibility for your own actions and helping those in need. He doesn’t see where the consequences of his actions end and the decisions of others begin. He thinks he has, or should have, more control than he actually does.

I also love how this episode introduces the next big concepts. The city of New York is being presented as more of a home than it probably has ever before, with the starting segment of Leo and Raph playing on the rooftops with jaunty music playing. This is followed up by the big plot of the episode; the city is under threat from all the gangs fighting for territory. The Turtles caring so much is justified within this very episode.

Another thing this episode focused on was the bonds the Turtles share. We had Leo and Raph playing at the start of the episode, his brothers coming in to back him up at the Foot stronghold, and how the brothers treated each other during the fight. This is, in turn, contrasted with Karai’s introduction, a lone figure practicing by herself, only speaking to give orders. Karai is being set up as a lone wolf to contrast the Turtles’ team and closeness.

Also, I mentioned way back in the early episodes that Stockman and the Turtles have a very close, although adversarial, relationship, even being tied to each other’s origins in a way. The idea that the one threat that keeps popping up the most consistently is Stockman therefore fits. He’s also still up to his old tricks of aggravating anyone he comes across with. The killer robot being designed as a frog might also be a nod to his growing obsession with the Turtles.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.viii // Bitter Mechanics

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After dinner, Conrad watches mutely from the dining table as Renee, after a quick smoke, slouches down on a couch in the living room area with a game console controller in his lap, a drink on the coffee table, and an weary, blank expression on his face. After clearing plates and pans away, Davin fetches a laptop and sits down too. That’s when Conrad snaps out of his dissociated state long enough to excuse himself.

If he’s being honest, he longs to have company, but not here, and not with either of these people. Even if he wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of breaking free, he would have preferred solidarity.

The handcuffs are still connected to the baluster, although one cuff lays open next to the pillow. They’ll keep him cuffed at night, Davin said, and keep the bedroom door locked as well. It’s only precaution. Conrad can’t fathom the way the man talks about it, as if he expects it to become the new norm. Nothing about this should be normalized.

He crawls onto the bed in the spot he’s been tied to all day, crouching down with his back to the wall, the cold metal of the cuffs brushing against his bare feet. Ears perked for any trace of noise in the hallway, he retrieves the screw from where he hid it in the crack between the mattress and the bedframe. It’s about as long as his index finger, but a third as thick. In the moment, he didn’t know why he even took it, what the hell he was going to use it for, but during dinner, a feeble idea came to mind.

The loose cuff gives several metallic ticks as Conrad locks it around empty air, then runs his finger along the hardened metal to find the small keyhole by touch. Holding the screw like a pencil between his fingers, Conrad tries to pick the lock with it.

Immediately, it becomes apparent that the spiraling threads make it impossible for the screw to fit in the keyhole far enough to reach the pin. Twisting it in helps, but then the screw comes in at an angle and gets blocked by the locks inner walls.

Conrad sniffs.

Stupid idea anyway, wasn’t it?

He palms the screw and gets to his feet, grimacing at the aching in his core and grasping the windowsill to balance on the sinking terrain of the mattress. His tentative hand fumbles briefly with the padlock there, but just from a glance, he can tell that even trying is redundant. The keyhole to the padlock is more complex and much, much narrower than that of the cuffs. There’s no way the screw would fit.

He stands there for a moment, feeling the soft draft that radiates from the window, pleasantly cool against his bruised skin. His eyes make out the unmoving silhouettes of trees in the back yard, mere shadows against the dark sky. The sun sets so early this time of year. Saps the energy right out of him. Makes him long for those moments last year when him and Howard huddled up on their couch along with their cat, watching predictable action flicks until either one of them dozed off, leaning heavier and heavier on the other.

They know he’s missing. Conrad wonders what that’s like, what they think happened. They must have some premonition, right? People always talk about knowing before they really know.

How is he going to explain all of this to them? It doesn’t even feel real half the time.

Careful not to move too quickly, he lets himself slide down the wall, wincing as the surface aggravates the bruises on his back.

He pauses. Runs his hand along the wall, feeling the tiny bumps in the paint, inconsistencies in whatever lies underneath. Knocks on it, and although the sound doesn’t tell him much, the slight pain in his knuckles confirms that at the very least, the wall isn’t made from plywood. It’s more solid than that.

When you sharpen a knife, you use stone to grind away at it, right?

Biting his lip, Conrad holds the screw flat between his fingers and begins rubbing it back and forth across the wall, careful to do it behind the frame of the bed so it only leaves marks that can’t be seen unless you’re standing directly over them. He gives it five minutes of continuous filing, the same repeated motion on the same part of the screw, until he can no longer stand the uncertainty of whether or not he’s making any progress.

Brushing paint dust off with a finger, he holds the screw close to his face, then up in the light, to get a good look at the metal. Maybe he’s imagining it, but the threads seem a tad less sharp in places. The wall itself gets worn down faster than the metal, of course, but with enough time, the metal does wear down.

He tries to curb the small hope rising in his chest. It might not be a stupid idea after all. If he can file the threads down and bend the tip of the screw, he might be able to unlock the cuffs at will. He has no way of opening the lock on the window, but… this is a start, isn’t it?

Heart beating a little bit faster than before, Conrad gets comfortable, fixes his eyes on the door, and files away behind his back.

💵

They’ll expect him to try to escape, so if they don’t see him trying, that in and of itself will raise suspicion.

It’s the first thought that comes to mind when he wakes up that morning. Another kink in his desperate lack-of-a-plan. And he hates that he has to think like them, but they’re fine-tuned to mind games, right? They’ll raise a brow if Conrad doesn’t play.

He's still thinking about it when, not long after sunrise envelops the guest bedroom in cold light, Davin comes in to unlock his restraints.

“Sleep okay?” Davin greets him, evidently an early riser himself – his waist-length hair is damp from a shower, and there’s no trace of morning fatigue on his face.

Thoughts fixed on the screw tucked away in its hiding place, Conrad nods a little too eagerly, catches himself, and suppresses a grimace.

There’s a slight pause in Davin’s demeanor, and Conrad doesn’t miss when the man’s gaze jumps from his face to his hands and back to his face. He snorts as he unlocks the cuff. “Alright.”

Conrad could kick himself. Of course acting nonchalant in a situation like this isn’t the same as acting natural. Naturally, Conrad should still be in a scared, dissociated state – and now they’re mutually hyperaware of each other, although Davin is better at hiding it than Conrad is.

He keeps his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched as Davin follows him into the kitchen.

He has to have a plan B, and plan B has to be visible. It has to be real, even if it doesn’t serve the purpose they think it serves. He still has to give it a genuine shot.

💵

It happens sooner than he expected it to.

He thought they’d give him another day to recover, but they don’t. The bruises are still deep and dark across his body, but it happens that afternoon.

He hears them in the hallway and barely has enough time to hide the screw a split second before Davin opens the door, his expression blank as ever. And then Renee follows.

All thoughts of acting are gone from Conrad’s mind. They’re here to take him upstairs again. This is real.

He stands up, instinctually backing himself into the corner of the room. A rush of adrenaline surges through his system, as if he’s been doused in cold water.

Renee smiles at the sight of him, nonchalantly adjusting his black leather gloves. “Sir,” he says, “turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Conrad only manages to squeak out a “N—” before his throat closes shut. He swallows, eyes flickering between Renee and Davin. He can’t move.

“C’mon, now. We can’t keep people waiting.”

Conrad nearly retches at the thought of which people Renee is talking about. “I can’t,” he croaks out. “You can’t.”

Renee snickers, stepping closer. “Can’t what?”

Heart beating dizzyingly fast in his ears, Conrad swallows again, hands pressed flat against the wall behind him. “I can’t go back up there.”

“That so?” Renee grins, not halting his slow approach.

 “I c-can’t go back up there,” Conrad says again.

Renee reaches for him then.

Conrad shrinks away, stammering out “Don’t, don’t!” as Renee grabs hold of both of his bruised wrists and tries to pry his hands onto his back, using his stature to push Conrad further back into the corner. Conrad has no room to kick, and no leverage to push Renee away, so he brings his knee up instead, cringing as it lands.

Immediately, Renee lets him go and buckles over himself, falling against the bed as he clutches his groin, his moan of pain stifled by breathlessness. “Motherf—” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Conrad doesn’t wait for him to get back on his feet. Instead he scrambles past him, only to make eye contact with Davin, who watches with a small, amused smirk playing on his face, but doesn’t move a muscle to catch him or even block his way. His nonchalance makes Conrad hesitate, but only for a split second – then he sprints out the bedroom door.

With Renee’s shouts rolling through the hall, Conrad runs as fast as his bruised body will let him, as fast as the smooth floor will permit without him slipping on his face. Rounding the corner from the hallway to the kitchen area, he grabs the wall to slingshot himself towards the entranceway and the front door.

It's locked. His shaking hands fumble with the tumbler as he pants for breath, but when he unlocks it and tries the door again, it doesn’t open more than a fraction before a second lock – a padlock above his eye level – seizes its movement.

Conrad lets out a sound of discontent and spins on his heels, pushing himself off the door. The moment he rounds the corner of the entranceway, he crashes into the figure of a now-recovered Renee and tumbles to the floor, not hard enough to get winded, although the deep bruises on his body rear up with pain.

But although Conrad hectically scurries backwards on all fours, Renee isn’t in a hurry to catch him. His eyes are dark, his jaw set. He’s walking.

The sight is enough to make the dam break for good, and tears well in Conrad’s eyes as he stumbles to his feet and runs past the dining table and the couch group in the living room area.

The sliding glass door sports a padlock as well.

Conrad lets out a cry of despair, slamming a closed fist uselessly against the glass pane. He’s still fruitlessly hitting the glass when a hand grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt and yanks him backwards, after which Renee throws him back-first into the wall and pins him there.

Conrad gasps at the pain in his battered body, clawing at Renee’s arm, vision blurry.

“You picked a fuckin’ interesting time to piss me off,” Renee growls, and before Conrad can even think of responding, a punch lands on his cheekbone, whipping his head sideways. He has no time to recover before Renee’s hands coil around his neck, pushing the back of his head into the wall and cutting off his frantic breathing.

Conrad claws at Renee’s arms, hits the man’s chest, tries to leverage his fingers in between the hands and his own throat, but nothing grants him even a sliver of breath, and soon enough, sparks begin to dance across his vision, and his lungs begin to ache.

Renee’s grip on his throat is vice-like, his eyes are wide and intense, jaw set as he squeezes. Behind him, another figure slowly enters Conrad’s field of view, unfocused and distant.

“Renee,” a voice says sternly, and with a final jerk that pulls him forward and slams his head back into the wall, the pressure lets up, all at once.

Conrad sinks to the floor, coughing and wheezing, trying desperately to blink the stars out of his eyes.  He’s still recovering when a knee in his back presses him flat to the floor, as a solid grasp on one wrist pries his arm onto his back, and a cold band clicks around it. When he tries to resist, tries to squirm away, Renee leans further weight onto the knee, agitating his battered back. Conrad lets out a cry of pain, one that cuts short only because he’s still heaving for breath.

“Yeah, you shoulda fuckin’ thought of that,” Renee sneers.

“Easy.”

“You – why’d you just stand there, huh?!”

A low chuckle. “You seemed to have it under control.”

Renee scowls. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

Once Conrad’s hands are cuffed behind him, Renee removes his knee and gets back to his feet, taking a moment to collect himself. “Get up,” he says then.

Conrad can’t get himself to move. His eyes seek out Davin, but the man has turned, headed back towards the stairs. His cheek hurts. His eyes are burning.

“Get the fuck up, Conrad.”

The name, said as is, sounds ominous in Renee’s mouth. Conrad tries to maneuver himself up, but apparently isn’t moving fast enough to his liking. He has barely gotten his legs curled up under himself before a hand in his hair yanks his head back and up.

“Ow! Renee, please,” Conrad gasps, staggering to his tiptoes to follow along with Renee’s movement, as he is haphazardly directed back towards the stairs. He can barely breathe. He can feel individual strands of hair on the back of his head being pricked loose by Renee’s hand. The tears flow freely now. “Please,” he whispers, “please don’t do it again, Renee, please don’t do it again. Pl—”

Renee suddenly stops in the hallway, pinning Conrad stomach-first to the wall with a shoulder as he fumbles with something in his pocket.

Conrad whines breathlessly. “Renee, please. Renee, please…”

The pressure on his back lets up a tad, and something passes over Conrad’s vision a split second before the cloth hits his mouth. The moment he tries to turn his face away from the gag, Renee presses the side of his face into the wall, closing the distance between them.

“You’re gonna bite it,” Renee gnarls in his ear, “or I swear to fucking god, man…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

The realization that there’s nothing he can do washes over Conrad like a wave of exhaustion. The strange urge to lie down and let whatever happens happen. He breathes out, feeling his shoulders slump.

“Better,” Renee mutters, sounding almost relieved as he guides the cloth gag into Conrad’s mouth, tying it tight on the back of his head. Then he grabs him by the arm and pushes him onward.

This time, Conrad can see the stairs, but the knowledge of what awaits at the end makes them harder to traverse than before. The air gets warmer the further up he goes.

The spotlights are already on, the fan of the server whirring. Behind the desk, resting his chin in one hand, Davin shoots Renee a look as he enters, hauling Conrad along by the arm.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, facing the camera, and besides it – rope.

Conrad feels the grasp on his arm tighten as he hesitates.

“Try me again,” Renee says lowly.

Conrad swallows. Feels his mind slip as he lets Renee steer him towards the chair and sits him down. He watches, as if from a distance, as Renee crouches beside him and starts to bind his legs to the legs of the chair, muttering under his breath as he goes. Knots are tightened with sharp jerks to the rope, ones that bite at the skin under Conrad’s jeans. Fighting back is no use. He has already lost.

“One-thirty waiting,” Davin says.

“Good for them,” Renee says, sarcastically cheerful.

“I’d rather it didn’t become a habit.”

Renee pauses, half-turning on his haunches, shooting Davin a look that Conrad can’t see. He looks at the cusp of saying something, then hesitates, turning back to his work. “Noted,” is all he says over his shoulder.

Another breadth of rope is tied around Conrad’s waist, looping around the chain between the handcuffs, securing his hands firmly behind the back of the chair. When Renee is finally done, he steps back, briefly checking his work before he turns to prepare himself for the stream.

Conrad’s gaze trails to the floor then, by its own accord drawn to the least nauseating sight in the room – at least, that’s what he thinks, until he spots a few brown stains on the hardwood, not far from where he’s seated, bound. His own blood, now dried, from just a couple days ago.

Soon to be joined by more.

Conrad closes his eyes.  

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[trainofcommand]

So, I mentioned my random AO3 tags (sex work; boys in chains; treachery; drinking to cope), and @colonelshepparrrrd made a few important points: Rodney's railroad brothel; that tied up on his knees in various ways is Sheppard's thing; and "shenanigans". Then this thing happened.

Maybe I'll write more. Maybe not. But the snapshot makes me laugh.

Snapshots from the Everyday Shenanigans @ McKay's Trackside Brothel

Later – though not much later – Rodney realized he'd made a terrible mistake. When John Sheppard had sidled up to him in the bar and suggested that a trackside brothel would be a good investment for the money he'd made with his find of a small naquadah vein, Rodney hadn't been able to fault his math.

And truthfully, the money wasn't the problem. The brothel was definitely making a good profit. Rodney was the owner of the building, but the workers were independent renters. So they didn't require too much from him except clean facilities and a place to store their earnings. And the rent gave him the freedom to think about his research, locked away quietly for hours in his cozy office.

It wasn't the money, no.

The problem was the aggravation.

"Sheppard!" he yelled, the minute he'd walked into the kitchen – hoping to make a quick sandwich before heading back to his office because he was working on a fascinating problem – "We all know that being tied up in various ways on your knees is your thing. But do you have to do it in the kitchen?"

All Rodney wanted was some basic hygiene, a little respect, and to stop walking in on Sheppard in flagrante delicto. Was that too much to ask? Honestly, some days he considered just pouring himself the largest possible glass of orange juice – made from oranges brought fresh on the train – and drinking it.

"Contemplating an early death isn't a great coping mechanism, Mr. McKay," Lorne said sincerely, having the grace to look slightly discomfited, even half-dressed.

Rodney could feel a headache coming on. "Get out of the kitchen," he told them both. "And if I ever see you in here again, Lorne is banned from this establishment, and I'm turning Sheppard out of his rooms."

Sheppard winked at him, unphased.

Rodney looked away, and wondered how hard it would be to sell McKay's Trackside Brothel and get the hell out of this end-of-the line town.

[inventors-fair]

Common Ally-Ties: Wordplay Winners! ~

Congratulations to @helloijustreadyourpost​, @nine-effing-hells​ and @reaperfromtheabyss​ for winning this (er, last?) week’s contest!

@helloijustreadyourpost​ — Oko’s Dearest

Ah, it’s “second main phase,” The Card! It’s a solid body that’s ready to die, and even then maybe not. One of the things I really like about this card is how you can then play your five-drop creatures on your next precombat main phase to make attacking more difficult for your opponent if you’re offering a trade, and even if they have a combat trick or need to multi-block it’ll be bad news for them. Trample’s an interesting one here because of how it encourages this creature to be an attacker. I think it was the right choice to make; vigilance would’ve been fine but aggravating. Its design shows the aggression hinted at in the format.

Oko as a choice here was nice as well. How does one show favoritism? Giving a nice death. I mean, yeesh, not that Oko’s giving the death necessarily, but it’s an interesting natural take on a character whose connection with nature is really, well, weird. I can clearly envision it, though, and how Oko would like to distribute his power. I wish the flavor text had been a little more concise? Besides the “subject” missing the plural grammatically, I think that “isn’t” or “wasn’t” would’ve been fine. I almost docked it for that reason, but I’m taking a step back and looking at the emotion and merit; for the fact that I can see the elk in the grove with a sunlit Oko leaning against its flank in ardor, well... I feel this card! Truly, it’s evocative.

@nine-effing-hells​ — Shadow Puppet

Is delirium back? It better be. Is artifact-y discard-y madness graveyard craziness back? Absolutely it is. Pumping for the sake of [graveyard mechanic here] at instant-speed, on a reasonable body balanced with color weight and a lack of tribal support—yes, the lack matters, can you imagine if this was a zombie?—is crucial here. Well, maybe I’m overthinking the environment, but this card screams Innistrad to me. If it had a voice, anyway. I suppose that’s the gist: that this card’s ability to elegantly do everything you’d want it to do is enough to make me pump my fist. It’s not P1P1, but it’s potentially P3P1-2 for sure. It’s a little slow, I think, in multicolored formats, and that’s still very much okay.

I’m really surprised that there’s no card with this name before, most of all. Seriously, there’s been double agents and whatever, but no shadow puppets? I guess it is kind of niche. This is one where I’m especially curious what you had in mind for art direction. I’m just now thinking of a scarecrow with a scythe in one hand, surrounded by a miasma of purple malice, glowing eyes drawn to a distant village, perhaps, as the skin-suit it’s wearing is stretched into a grin not of its own volition. One hand tugs at the place where it’s been nailed haphazardly several times into a worn, creaking post... Heh heh heh.

@reaperfromtheabyss​ — Eyecatching Preener

~ I’ll boo your puns later. Even then, this is gonna be an infamous card. Black fliers at common can be really darn good, especially with a card as versatile as this one. Late-game control discard to make ‘em hellbent, early discard for advantage, picking off postcombat creatures or getting rid of tokens before swinging—yep, this card does it all! The body makes sense for common; a 2/2 feels like too much with the modes even if the modes aren’t going to win you any games. The card might, though, a neat little toolbox for your slower decks. Maybe aggro can appreciate the flier, but I think this card’s more of a steady lil’ thing.

I wonder what world it exists on, too! Could be any with goblins, really, although I’m feeling more of a Lorwyn bend of all things. Ooh, or Eldraine, yeah! Eldraine’s got some eye horror and birdy things and also goblins, and fantasy tropes, too. Not that the world especially matters, but I think that if you wanna go for the dark humor angle showing the poor goblin who’s dealing with involuntary facial reconstructive surgery, might as well place it, right? It’s an obvious pun, but on a card like this, the supposed levity is dark enough to be a little more eerie than eye-rolling. The card feels fun to play, too! An eye for an eye, go to combat.

More to follow! Once again, thanks for everyone’s entries on this one. - @abelzumi​

[kishimotomasashi]

For the meme thing, Hashirama <3 (or madara if you'd prefer)

Pick a character I am likely to have Feelings/Opinions about and I will give and explain the top five ideas/concepts/etc that I believe are essential to accurately depicting them.

Choosing Madara bc I don't think I have a solid grasp on Hashirama, much (also I'm sorry for answering this WEEKS late):

1) I was thinking of talking about what I think are his some of his core traits separately (caution, power, control) but I've decided to group them together because they're all derived from his relationship with violence and how it's shaped him as he grew up.

In a world where it's almost a miracle to grow past 20 and where he's already lost three of his siblings at a very young age, he's always going to be on his guard, always watching his back, because it's easy to be caught unawares and to lose your life or someone close to you's unexpectedly in his line of work. He's always observing, double-checking, making sure, questioning. And not even just on the battlefield! Even when he's given his "trust" to Hashirama and agreed to the alliance and to build their new village, he's still not 100% on board, he's still taking mental notes, preparing himself for and predicting outcomes; this is almost too good to be true, is this really going to work, is this really going to last, is this really the answer? Pretty fitting, really, that one of the first things we learn about him is that he's always watching his back.

And of course, he often turns to power. It's the only thing he knows, in their lives driven by violence, that actually, indisputably works. Growing powerful and winning battles, being feared for your strength and intimidating others into submission, those not only keep you alive but keep you thriving. Only those with the necessary strength can move anything around. Power is quick, easy and dependable, always.

Both of these tie into the need for control, because to be able to predict and expect where anyone might attack and to have the strength and ability to actually deal with it is to always turn the situation in your favour. He'll always make sure he has full control over a situation in the end, especially when in the end he feels that he has no one left to trust but himself.

All of this is fundamentally tied to having grown up a child soldier and having seen nothing else but violence even into his early adulthood. He was raised on it, and honestly can't see a way out of it.

2) He needs tangible proof that something works and/or is possible before he'll go along with it. He's not going to be convinced into agreeing to something he's certain is doomed to fail, and it'll take a whole lot to get him on board with something he doesn't see having a 100% success rate either. Ties into the caution thing a bit, but he's a planner. A good one? Arguable, but even if things don't go entirely as he's laid them out in his head, he generally gets the job done that way. And is it really "taking risks" if you're confidently powerful enough to offset the consequences of them?

3) He has a bit of a temper. You could call it a short-fuse when he was a child, but that's something you train yourself out of as you grow and as an adult you'd expect him less to fly off at you for sneaking up on him unexpectedly. His anger isn't any less difficult to deal with, though, it just comes less in immediate bursts and more in long brooding periods that are difficult to shake him out of without aggravating him more. He'll get over it... at some point.

4) This is true for every Uchiha character we see honestly but it's always important to point out that love and the loss of it are an important part of shaping who he is. They tie into a lot of his feelings of guilt, and duty for his clan.

That he wasn't able to protect his other three brothers that died always weighs on his mind, so that amplifies the protectiveness he has over Izuna, his last remaining sibling. Tying into point 2, it's why he chooses his brother and his allegiance to his clan over Hashirama, no matter how badly he would have wanted to stay friends with him; because, to him, it was the safer choice. He would rather stick to his own side and focus on protecting all he can rather than wade into the uncertain and face risks he couldn't control.

His insistence, also, that the Uchiha would be better off not in Konoha and his fear that the Senju would come to oppress them is heightened in part I think by Izuna's death and the fact that he came to agree to a ceasefire only after being defeated by Hashirama and that members of his clan were defecting. When Izuna's gone, all he has left is his clan and the fact that he's their leader and that their future rests on him. Inevitably, he's going to be more suspicious (and he wasn't entirely off on that either).

5) I think I've said everything that's important so to close it off. I just think you Get Him more if you acknowledge that he's gay.

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 16

Chapter 1     Chapter 15

Marinette blinked as the room around her slowly came into focus.  She tried to bring her hand up to rub her head to help alleviate her pulsing headache but her hands weren’t responding.  It felt like there was a weight on them.  Or like they were being held down, bound.  Marinette’s eyes flew open and her heart started pounding as she searched the room for the akuma.  She looked at her hands and silently cursed to herself.  Not only were her arms bound to the arms of a wooden chair, she saw her own naked hands instead of her distinct red suit.  

She groaned and looked around for any clues to where she was being held and what the akuma might be.  If she could figure out their powers, she might be able to figure out how to get out of this.  She stopped when she saw a man in a green suit making his way toward her.  She blinked a few more times taking in his suit and hat.  “Is that… are those question marks?  Are you a question akuma?” she muttered out in French.

The man tilted his head at her.  “You’ll find English is necessary if you want to get out of this one alive, young Wayne.”

Marinette stared at the man a few more seconds, letting his words settle in her head as things started to click in her mind.  She wasn’t in Paris.  This wasn’t an akuma, because there weren’t akumas anymore. She and Adrien had defeated his father. She was in Gotham.  She had been on her way home after a disastrous dinner at the Wayne’s. This was a Gotham villain, not a Parisian one.  This was the Riddler.

Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief before her face scrunched in frustration.  “Are you kidding me?  Are you kidding me right now?  You had to do this right now?”

“Oh, I never kid about riddles.  Now, is not the time to panic, Little Lady,” he taunted.

“Oh, you have no fucking clue.  Now is most definitely NOT the time, but you made it the time,” she hissed at him.  “Do you have ANY idea how bad my week is going?  My night?  Do you? Do you have any idea of the trauma and nightmares I’m going to have to deal with already?  And that was before you forced me to witness your suit in person. And can you comprehend the mental and emotional cataclysm I’m already going to have to endure?  And you’re pulling this shit?  Now?”

“I’m just going to ask a few questions and then it’ll all be over and then you can have your little mental breakdown,” he jeered condescendingly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and tried to lunge at him, but her chest was tied to the chair, holding her back, and she’d never hated rope more than she did in that moment.  She growled and glared at him.  “Oh thank you for the permission.  And for the record, it won’t be little.  It’s going to be a monufuckingmental breakdown.  Thank you very much.  Granted it isn’t everything on Earth is destroyed but me and one other person, who caused it in the first place, level of bad.  But I think I’m justified in needing to take a fucking second to think and process. A second I’m not going to fucking get now am I?  Because of you.”  She turned her head to the side in frustration but her eyes got caught on a small red light.  Her mouth dropped open.  “Are you recording this?” she yelled at him.  That complicated things considerably.  Now she needed to watch her words.  Now she needed to make sure she didn’t expose anything.  Well that just sucked even more.

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a game show without an audience, now would it,” he purred.

She scowled at him.  “By all means, record this to watch later.  Most people aren’t looking to get bitch slapped as hard as you’re going to get so publicly, but to each their own, I guess.  But, consent is a thing and next time, keep me out of it.”

She strained against the ropes holding her hands to the chair arms.  She glowered at him when they proved too tight for her to move her wrists.  “Also, it’s already not much of a game show.  If you have to knock out people and tie them down just to get them to play, either your show sucks or your host does.  Or in this case, both.”

“Now, now,” he snarled, his smile considerably more strained than it had been before.  “We’re just testing the newest Wayne to see how you’re going to fit in.”

“I could have told you that without all this,” she glowered.  “But you wanted to be a big man and ask a question.  So ask your little question.  Be a big man putting a bound, petite, non-native English speaking woman, in her place.  Although if that’s what it takes to make you feel like a man, that’s one of the most pathetic things I’ve ever heard.”

Riddler seethed at her, attempting to keep his face neutral, but failing spectacularly.  One of the Waynes should be afraid of him.  He had been hoping the new one would finally give him a Wayne that cowered in fear.  Instead, he got yet another feral child.  He gripped his question mark staff tightly, fighting the urge to hit her with it.  It was too early to start.  She’d get her punishment soon enough.  He looked up with a grin.  Very soon.

He looked back at her with a sadistic smirk. “Fine.  I’d hate to keep a lady waiting.  Perhaps first I should start with the stakes.”  He moved closer to smile in her face.  “Think well on your answer young Wayne, because for every question you get wrong,” he pointed up with his staff, “a knife falls.”

Marinette let out a deep, annoyed sigh and looked up to see a series of knives tied to the ceiling right above her seat.  She sighed and gave him a flat look. “Really?  That’s the best you could do?  You realize what I’ve been faced with before, right? Or did you not do your research?”  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You look like a man who never does his research.”

Riddler sidled up to her in a step, his face a few centimeters from her own.  “We can start by testing out the knives if you’d prefer.”

Marinette leaned her head back.  Even if she couldn’t talk him out of making one drop, it wasn’t going to get her.  They would miraculously get diverted just enough to miss her.  Luck could be a bitch when it was against you and he’d left too much up to chance.  “Already changing the rules of the game?  What were you saying about a good game show?  Guess you really don’t care.”

“Fine!” Riddler screamed.  He walked away a few steps and turned back to her with a malicious glint in his eyes.  “Let’s start slow, shall we?  Starting in 1881, this hall brightened Paris’ nights while darkening its satire.  What is the name of this baby of Salis?”

Marinette stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Her face went slack.

Riddler leered down at her, his face breaking into a creepy grin at her apparent inability to answer his question.  “Oh, how sad.”  He gave her a mock pout.  “Looks like the new Wayne isn’t so smart after all.  What do they see in you anyway?  Can’t even answer a simple, easy question.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Marinette finally burst out.

Riddler frowned at her.  Instead of the fear he expected, her voice was incredulous and angry. “That’s the question, if you can’t answer…”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  That’s not a… You’re the Riddler.  That’s not a riddle!  That’s a… are you okay?  Like, seriously.  Are you okay?  Because I think… You know what?”  She took a deep steadying breath.  She opened her eyes to give him a serious look, completely devoid of fear, leaning more towards concerned.  

“I think you need a break.  I think you need to take a bit of time to reassess, refocus, and recenter yourself.  Then you can come back and be the Riddler I know you can be.  Because this,” she tried to motion toward him, “this is not it. That is... that isn't a riddle!  That's trivia!  You inaccurately named, evil Alex Trebek!  This would be a perfect opportunity to say I’m in Jeopardy, clueless asshole. So disappointed right now.”  She shook her head in disappointment, refusing to even look at him.

Riddler seethed at her, his face turning red with anger.  “Look either answer the question or…”

“THAT’S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM!” she screamed at him. “It’s a question, not a riddle.  And you missed a golden opportunity to ask a follow up question and saying it’s Double Jeopardy.  You missed the obvious pun!  This is why I say you need to take a break.  This isn’t you.  You’re better than this, I know you are.  I’m just… I’m worried about your mental health.”  She gave him a concerned look.

“If you can’t answer…” he snapped at her.  He gripped and regripped his question staff menacingly, leaning toward her with a snarl.

Marinette rolled her eyes at the attempt at intimidation. “Of course I can answer.  I’m from Paris and you’re asking about Le Chat Noir? Of course I know the answer.  Let me guess, your next question is about a ladybug,” she chirped, widening her eyes with false excitement.

Her face dropped the false sweetness and turned back into an aggravated frown.  “That’s not the fucking point.  My point is you interrupted my fucking abomination of a night for this bullshit and you’re not even on top of your game.  So I not only get shoved into the spotlight, against my will, by people violating my and my parents’ privacy, forcing Mon… my father to ramp up plans for my introduction.  Making sure my family and I knew we weren’t safe and exposing me to this bullshit along with the other attempts on me since it happened.”

Her frown turned into a disgusted sneer.  “And I was actually afraid for a moment because I thought you were an akuma, but you’re really just an underprepared asshole. It’s insulting frankly.”

Riddler swung his question mark staff at her catching her across her cheek.  He grinned at the blood trickling down her cheek.  Marinette glared up at him but refused to let a grunt of pain pass her lips. “Next question, hopefully this one is more to your liking.”  His eyes took on a malevolent glint.

Marinette’s eyes flicked behind him.  He smirked at her inability to make eye contact any longer. “No,” she interrupted, a smirk forming on her own lips.  “It’s my turn.  I have one for you.  It’s actually in the form of a riddle, if you think you can handle that.”  The Riddler growled at her and moved closer to tower over her threateningly.  “What lights up the day with black against yellow yet lights up the night with yellow against black.  It brings hope to those who see it yet marks your demise.  What is it?”

Riddler narrowed his eyes at her and backed away to get some space while he thought.  He looked down for a second, searching the ground as though it might hold the answer for him.  He suddenly looked up, his eyes bright with realization.  “A signal!” he exclaimed, jumping with excitement.  His face suddenly fell realizing the words that passed his lips.  

He spun around just in time for Signal to punch him in the jaw.  Riddler stumbled back falling backward on his ass.  Signal stalked toward him, eskrima sticks out and ready.  He kept his eyes on Riddler but raised his voice so Marinette could hear him.  “You alright, Ma’am?”

“I’m fine.  Just pissed,” she grunted.  She focused on her bindings, trying to figure out a way to loosen them enough to get out.

Signal smirked and gave a short nod.  “Preying on young women again?  Not a good look for you.”

“Penguin and Scarecrow both tried and couldn’t get to her.  I did,” he said defiantly, his chest puffing out even as he was slumped on the floor. “Penguin got to the museum too early. Scarecrow got to the hotel too late. But me?  I plan better.”

“And got a verbal bitch slap the likes of which Gotham has never seen for your trouble.”  Signal shook his head in mock sympathy and regripped his sticks. “Publicly.”

Riddler sneered at Signal.  “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” Marinette called from her seat.  She pointed at him threateningly with her now miraculously freed right hand.  “Next time I’ll do it physically too.”

Signal grinned proudly and snorted at her comment. Riddler growled before looking back up at Signal with an angry scowl.  “Looks like this show has come to an end.  But we’ll be back after a short break.”  He hit his staff hard on the ground and a gas started emitting from it, obscuring Signal’s view.  Signal backed away and rushed over to Marinette, uncertain if the gas was dangerous.

He pulled out a knife and quickly sliced through the remaining ropes and helped her get free.  “Can you walk?”

Marinette started sprinting toward the exit.  “I can do better than that,” she called over her shoulder.  “You just going to stand there and let the gas get you?”  Signal smirked and followed her out.

She grunted as her shoulder rammed into the doorframe when she miscalculated the distance.  She silently cursed how long it was taking her brain to recover from having been knocked out.  Now out of the room she stopped running and rubbed her head as if willing it to kick back into gear.

“You sure you’re okay?” Signal asked catching up to her.

Marinette couldn’t see his eyes under his mask but the bottom half of his face seemed to be contorted in concern.  She grumbled noncommittally in response and rubbed her shoulder.  She looked around them quickly.  “You sure this is a safe way out?  He has to have had help.  I don’t see him doing his own dirty work.”

Signal nodded.  “He did have help.  But, so do I.”  He nodded behind him.

Marinette craned her neck around him to look behind him. She cringed as she saw Red Hood kneeing someone in the face.  The goon fell limply to the ground, unconscious before he hit.  Red Hood looked up and ran over to them as soon as he spotted her.  “Pi… uh… pretty impressive mouth,” he stuttered.  He looked over her closely as he could without touching her.  His eyes zeroed in on her cheek.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds missing the incredulous look Signal tried to give him.  “Um… thanks… I think.”  She blinked a few more times before frowning.  “Yeah, can we not talk about my mouth, please?”

Red Hood choked on nothing and shook his head, leaning away, as if trying to get away from the idea.  “I meant your att…” he shook his head again and looked back at her. “Not a problem.  Let’s never talk about it again.  Are you okay?  Did he hurt you anywhere else?”  His eyes scanned her again and stopped at her wrists.

Marinette rubbed her wrists self-consciously. “No…” she started.  “I mean!  No he didn’t hurt me anywhere else.  But I am okay,” she rushed out when she saw him tense up at her words.

“Where is he?” Red Hood growled, still staring at her wrists.

“Got away,” Signal answered.

Red hood rounded on him, his entire body tensed for a fight.  “What do you mean he got away?”

Marinette stepped between them and pushed Red Hood back gently.  “He released some kind of gas.  He got me out of there before we found out what it did.  Seems like a good move considering how he got me in the first place.”

Red Hood looked down at her for a second before looking up to Signal with a nod.  He remembered seeing the gas dissipating when they finally caught up to where she was taken.  It had looked like there was enough to knock out an entire city block.  Definitely overkill, but spoke to Riddler’s desperation to be the first to kidnap her.  “Idea which direction he went?”

Signal sighed a heavy sigh.  “I didn’t see which way he went but it had to be out the west side of the room, but that’s all I got.”

Red Hood nodded and touched his com.  “You got that?”  He paused for a moment listening to whatever was being said over his com.  “Yes, she’s fine.  A few rope burns and a cut on her cheek, but seems okay other than that.”

Signal nodded and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do you have family we can call?”

Marinette shook her head absentmindedly, the strain of the night starting to hit.  “No, I can call my brother.  He’s probably terrified about me.”

Red Hood seemed to freeze.  “Just… the one brother?  You… aren’t you one of the Waynes?”

Marinette’s eyes widened and her face paled.  She plastered a smile on her face. “Right.  Yes.  Of course. I… I meant my one brother was with me at the time.  Yes. Yeah.  The Waynes are my family.  I’m a… I’m… Yeah, I’m a… Wayne,” she barely managed to get the word out of her mouth.  It felt wrong and foreign on her tongue.  She smiled wider at them.  “But you don’t… you don’t have to bother them.  They’re all busy.”

“Yeah, looking for you,” Red Hood answered back sharply.  “They’re the ones that called us.  They’re terrified right now.”

“I think they’d want to know,” Signal urged gently, his voice heartfelt and slightly pained.

She let out a bitter scoff before she could stop herself.  She squeezed her eyes shut and mentally berated her still drugged mind for letting that slip out.  “I meant,” she started loudly, “I’ll inform someone.  They’d want to… hear it from me,” she finished quietly.

Red Hood took a breath and moved closer to her, gently resting his hands on her shoulders.  “I promise you, they’re worried about you and they would want to know. They’d want to make sure you’re okay. They’d want to make sure you feel safe. They would want to protect you. In fact, I’d expect to see a lot more of them over the next few days.”

Marinette opened her mouth to answer but got interrupted by the police breaking into the room.  Marinette pursed her lips and seemed to let a calm come over her.  Red Hood looked harder at her change as the police led her off to take her statement.  No, it wasn’t calm.  It was a numbness, an absence of any feelings.  His face contorted into a scowl.  Exactly what Adrien had described.  “You get that,” Red Hood snapped into his com.  He waited a few seconds before shaking his head.  

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Signal scoffed.  “Of course she’s not going to.  She might send a text.  And even then I bet it won’t be much.”

Red Hood listened for a few more seconds before he shook his head again.  “I’m not taking that bet either.”  He watched as Adrien just stopped himself from tackling Marinette in his excitement to see her again.  After what looked like a worried conversation, he saw Adrien pull her into a tight hug and Marinette melt into it.  “We need to fix this and quick before B does anything else to completely destroy any chance we have,” Red Hood snarled.  He turned and started grappling away.  “I’m going rogue hunting.”

Chapter 17

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Apologies if this has been asked for a prompt, but how about one where they discover the real origins of the curse (like how they do in the last one) but in 1978 so they’re able to save Tommy? Can we also pretend it’s early on so he doesn’t end up killing anybody A very dramatic yet happy ending as Cindy ends up living but obvi the reader and Tommy are together and they get their own 70s version of “burgers and the pixies” :)

Hello :)) I love this prompt and this is also technically a semi-sequel to "are you in there?" where basically they tie him up and Cindy and Alice do what they need to in order to break the curse :)

Pizza and Aerosmith (Tommy Slater x Reader)

Warnings: major character death, blood mention/described, axe violence mentioned, devil shit mentioned, cursing, betrayal, attempted violence, minor angst, kissing, not proof read sorry

Word Count: 4.9k

"Her body wasn't there!" Alice yelled, throwing down her trowel and her walkie talkie. They'd told you about ten minutes before that they were heading back to the cabin, and you'd expected them to be carrying a bag of bones in tow. You and Arnie's heads snapped to her and Cindy, and your mouth fell open for a minute as you tried to think of what to say. Of what to do.

That night, your boyfriend had been possessed. If it had been six hours ago, you wouldn't have believed it yourself. But, after the four of you had found his name carved into solid stone and he nearly went for an axe to chop up Arnie, it was hard to deny.

You'd dragged him to your cabin. You weren't supposed to be supervising color war, so there was no reason anyone should've come to get you. And, well, you couldn't exactly let your boyfriend near anyone. You'd had to tie him up and leave him on your bed, where he continuously squirmed and tried to harm pretty much anyone within a certain distance to him. That alone made you positive that this wasn't your Tommy.

"Well, what do you mean it wasn't there?" Arnie asked as he stood up. They were talking, explaining, too fast for you to catch up. The body was there. The body wasn't there.

"Maybe you dug in the wrong place." You said, trying to be hopeful, and Cindy proceeded to lift up a rock. Written on it was, The witch forever lives. Shit, alright. Maybe they didn't dig in the wrong place.

But, that left the four of you in a deep pile of shit. What were you supposed to do? How would you find Sarah Fiers body? It had been over three hundred years, and Nurse Lanes diary was about the only insight you had! You sat on the bed, ignoring Tommy's jerking and grunts. You reached out to place a hand on his arm as you stared at the wall across from you.

You'd promised him you'd get him free of this. That the four of you would do what you needed to in order to help him. Alice and Arnie had already suggested- You weren't even going to think about it. You didn't care if finding the body sounded impossible. You'd successfully found the hand, and not even Nurse Lane had been able to do that. You could all find her body too. You went over everything you knew of the curse in your mind, and interrupted whatever fight Alice and Cindy were having to say,

"The blood." And they both turned. You looked up, at the three of them. "The blood. Blood falls whenever Sarah Fier is near. We just have to walk around camp and wait-"

"Wait until one of us gets a nosebleed? Are you serious?" Alice interrupted, and Arnie was quick to join in.

"That could take all night!" Arnie said, and you gave each of them a look. It was better than their idea. And, even if Arnie and Alice did seem particularly cynical about everything, for a second- Just for a second you'd seen how much they wanted to end this. For Tommy, for Shadyside. And there was really only one way to make this go faster.

"It wouldn't if you had more help."

***

At first, they'd thought just you and Arnie, but your plan stretched farther than that. It was why Joan, Gary, Ziggy, and, to all of your surprise, Nick Goode, stood in your cabin, staring at the tied up form of your boyfriend.

"Y'know, when Joan and I were talking about the curse earlier, we were just messing with you guys." Gary said, and part of your stomach sank when Joan agreed with,

"Yeah, this is way trippy." You knew it was going to be hard to convince them. You knew it was a long shot in total darkness but what else could you do?

"We know this sounds crazy," Cindy started, and you were happy she was the one taking over. Out of all of you, she was the one that would never play a prank like this. And if she believed it- Well. "We can even show you what we found, but we have to do it quick. Tommy- From what we know, he doesn't have a lot of time and-"

"I believe you." Nick interrupted, and you watched as Ziggy was quick to turn to him.

"What?" She quickly asked, an incredulous look on her face. And, while the sisters were as different as could be, you could see the resemblance between them when it came to their skepticism. Nick looked at her, even reached out to place a hand on her arm.

"Look at him, Ziggy. That's- That's Tommy Slater. He couldn't even kill the rat they found in the kitchen earlier in the month and now he's-" He glanced over at him just as Tommy let out a particularly hard thrash, and you tried to calm him. You shushed him, pushing his hair out of his face. His forehead was sweaty from all his exertion, his arms straining against the rope. Having more people in the room seemed to aggravate him more, and you watched as his teeth bit the gag in his mouth. "And Nurse Lane attacking him? Really, is it so hard to believe that it's all connected? That it's all..." He didn't need to finish for you to know where he was going, but he did anyways. "Sarah Fier?" For a moment, you nearly swore that you wanted to hug the kid. You glanced back over, watching as Ziggy looked between you and Tommy.

You'd never been close to her. Sure, you were friends with her sister, but, from what you'd heard from Cindy, they were hardly close either. But, you gave her a tilt of your head and you watched as she let out a small sigh and a roll of her eyes.

"What do you even need us to do?"

***

Cindy and Alice were going to take them to see what they'd found, to convince those that still needed an extra push, and then go find the body of Sarah Fier. You'd explained to them that at least two people needed to watch Tommy at all times, and that's when Nick Goode surprised you again.

"I can stay with him." He offered, and you'd given him a confused look. You and Arnie quickly shared a glance. The two of you had been watching Tommy all night, had an unspoken bond, a similar one to the one Cindy and Alice were building, already. "Arnie can go with his girlfriend and I can stay here." And you didn't miss the glance he sent towards Cindy. She'd been glaring at him the second he seemed just a little too familiar with her sister. You supposed he didn't want to spend the rest of the night caught in her group, and, well, part of you couldn't blame him. Especially when she quickly agreed. While the groups got ready to part ways, Arnie quietly asked you,

"You okay with this?" And you bit your lip for a moment. You should be. The Nick kid, while you didn't know him well, was always the nicest out of the Sunnyvale counselors. And, well, he was the only one that actually believed you. Completely believed you. And you knew that if you were in Arnie's shoes, you'd want to tag along with Alice. Really, you couldn't think of a reason to say no. So, why did you have a pit in your stomach?

"Yeah, sure. Just- Get this over with quick, okay?" You asked him, and he gave you a nod and a smile. He held out his hand for a fist bump, and you gave him one. Last second, you handed him the second walkie talkie that you'd given to Alice before, and quietly told him, "Keep it on, okay?" And, while his eyes had been confused, he'd given you a nod.

You'd been trying to conserve the batteries all night, but, with the pit in your stomach, you didn't want to take any chances.

***

Cindy, Alice, and Arnie took the others to see the room they'd found. That alone was enough proof the show that they weren't fucking around. That this wasn't some sort of sick prank. Though, as they walked out of the room, Ziggy still had questions,

"Well, yeah- I get this being a curse and all, but who lit the candle? Who wrote his name?" And Joan was quick to add,

"Yeah, like, you guys were with Tommy all day so it's not like he wrote himself." And the three of them paused. They'd been so caught up in trying to break the curse, in trying to save Tommy, that they hadn't really thought about who'd doomed him in the first place.

"This is so weird. And why Tommy? Tommys- Tommy. Why would someone choose him?" Gary asked, and the three of them were stumped. Tommy wasn't a jerk that made enemies with a lot of people. He was nice to everyone, even those that weren't nice to him. And why would they choose a camp counselor? Didn't they know that he'd be surrounded by children?

"I- We don't know." Cindy said, and the six of them walked through the little storage room. Cindy shined her flashlight in front of her as she thought, wondering just who would choose Tommy Slater to be the next Shadyside Killer. Cindy couldn't stop thinking about it even as they broke off in pairs and started looking for the body.

As she walked with her sister, she glanced over at Arnie and Alice, who were heading a different direction. She watched as he played with the walkie talkie in his hands, and, for a moment, she had a small sinking feeling in her chest before she pushed on.

***

At least with Arnie, you kind of knew what to talk to him about. You were at least sort of friends, since both of you were Shadyside counselors. You could talk about how stupid color war was, about the places back in town. Arnie had even asked you a few questions about Tommy, which you'd been happy to answer.

But Nick? You'd thanked him for staying, and then the pair of you sat in silence as you tried to keep Tommy calm. Gently, you pat him with a wet washcloth to try to cool down his fever. You tried not to think about what Nurse Lane had said as you did. One way or another, you're gonna die tonight. You wondered what would happen if he continued to resist the curse, and your heart tightened at the idea. You shook your head. You weren't going to let that happen. The others had been gone for awhile, almost two hours, so they were due to check back sooner rather than later. Hopefully, one of the groups would have good news. You ran the wash cloth over his cheeks as you said,

"After this, we're gonna get pizza and listen to Aerosmith all night. Watch a few movies, maybe. You like the sound of that?" You asked, even if he couldn't respond. Even if the only thing he sent you was a nasty glare. With a sigh, you wished for the moments where he'd look at you like you put the sun in the sky.

You turned around when you heard something fall, and you stared in confusion as you watched Nick reach for Tommy's bat. He'd left it here once, and you'd put the axe he'd gotten from that room right besides it. You stood when you watched him grip it.

"Nick?" You asked, and you watched as he turned around. He had a smile on his face, the same charming smile he'd given Ziggy, but the pit in your stomach returned. You glanced down at the bat, just as he started to explain,

"Oh, y'know- In case, he gets free." He said, and you glanced down at the way he was holding it again. The way his hands changed grip. You didn't like what he was implying, first of all. You didn't want to hurt Tommy, you wanted to help him. That was the point of all this. You'd lived in Shadyside all your life, and maybe that gave you a better bullshit detector than most. Or, maybe, part of you had become so used to things going to shit that now you could smell it. Quietly, you said,

"He won't get free." And you shuffled your feet. You stood in front of him almost defensively, but, part of you didn't think it was Tommy you needed to protect. He gave you a smile and a shrug, and then you glanced over at the walkie talkie you'd put on your desk. The second you did, the second your eyes left him, Nick moved. You didn't know what was happening, not truly, but you knew that it was bad. You snatched the walkie talkie and ducked out of the way of his swing. You turned it on as you hauled ass to the bathroom, side-stepping him as he tried to grab you, and slammed your back against the bathroom door to keep it shut as you fumbled with the lock. You heard him banging on the door, heard the knob moving as he tried to get it open, and then he stopped. It sent a chill up your spine to hear silence on the other side. Finally, you pulled up the antenna, pressed the button, and yelled into the walkie talkie,

***

"Code red! Code red!" Came screaming out in your voice from the walkie talkie so loud that Arnie swore he almost jumped a mile. He was quick to answer with a shout of your name, and a,

"What's going on? What's wrong?" And Alice backtracked from where she walked in front. They could hear the panic in your voice as you yelled back,

"Arnie! Thank god! Come back to the cabin right now it's-" And the line went dead. You must've taken your hand off of the button, and the silence sent a chill up both of their backs. The only thing they could hear was the sound of crickets and wind. They hadn't even stumbled across a camper yet, and the woods felt empty and ready to swallow the pair of them.

Alice and Arnie stared at eachother for a moment. They'd been walking aimlessly, the maps Cindy had made up in their hands. A second of unspoken words passed between them, and then they were both sprinting back towards your cabin.

***

When Ziggy stepped on the red moss, she made a noise of disgust and lifted her foot. It has stained her shoes, and she quickly asked,

"Ugh, what is this stuff?" And Cindy looked up from her map. She'd carefully given each pair a third of the camp to search over. With two people to comb through each section, they should've been able to find it at least within the night. They were supposed to check back She looked around at the red moss, recognizing it as the same moss from the outhouse. From the caves under the outhouse. She glanced around, looking where it grew.

"Holy shit." She said, and quickly walked towards the rock. She looked around, and her sister arched a brow at her. In disbelief, she asked,

"Did you just swear?" And Cindy quickly waved her off. She was spinning around, quickly stepping through the moss with a big smile on her face. She probably looked insane, but Cindy didn't care. They'd needed another sign, another thing to look for. She felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

"The moss!" But Ziggy gave a small shake of her head. She didn't understand. Cindy pulled the hand out of her bag and held it up. She pointed at it as she said, "We found this in the red moss. This," She said pointing around. "Might be apart of the curse!" And Ziggy's eyes widened in understanding. Quickly, she echoed,

"Holy shit!" And the pair of them were quick to start looking. It only took a second for them to each get on their knees and start searching through the moss. It only took a few minutes for Ziggy to feel warmth dripping down out of her nose, and she swore she'd never been so happy to get a nosebleed ever in her life. Quickly, she called, "Over here!" And Cindy scrambled over. They started searching through the spot, and when they finally dusted the dirt off to find a ribcage, they were both so happy they could nearly scream. They cleaned it off further, completely unearthing the body of Sarah Fier. And, finally, Cindy held the hand in both of hers and gave Ziggy a look. This was it. Ziggy reached out, and together they out the hand back with the rest of Sarah Fier.

***

Arnie practically ripped your screen door off it's hinges as they ran into your cabin. He wasn't thinking clearly, wasn't thinking about what he was doing. All he knew was that you sounded like you were in trouble and now-

He ran into Nick. The brunette grabbed him by the arms, and looked scared out of his wits. The words were leaving his lips so fast that Arnie almost didn't have time to process.

"I thought I heard something outside so I went- I went to see if it was one of you and then I heard screaming and now-" And Arnie cut him off.

"Where's Tommy? Where's y/n?" He demanded, and Alice was right behind him now. She gasped when she saw the mess of the bathroom door. It had been axed nearly in half, before being pushed open. She was quick to run towards it, and Arnie pushed Nick away from him to the same. There was a mess of wood over the floor, but there was no blood. And, when they spotted the open window, a glimmer of hope went through both of them.

You were resourceful and smart. Of course you'd gone through the window. It dimmed a bit however when they saw the broken walkie talkie. Alice picked it up. The antenna was barely hanging off of it and the body looked crushed, stomped on. Getting in contact with you was now near impossible, but they had hope that you were still out there. Arnie turned back to watch as Nick paced, seeming to lose his mind over what had happened. He looked like a ball of nerves, and Arnie could understand why. He'd been gone for one minute and everything had gone to shit. Though, as Arnie looked back at Alice, he saw something there. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, and Arnie wasn't surprised when she asked,

"Did you look for them? Do you know what direction they went?" And, when Nick shook his head, his story started to make a little less sense. The pair of them shared a look, and they had a brief moment of silent communication. How did Nick come back when he heard screaming and not see where Tommy went? Axing down a door didn't take a matter of seconds, it took minutes. And you sure as hell wouldn't have started screaming just before Tommy got the door open. So, the real question was, how did Nick miss you? The couple glanced over at Nick, but didn't say a word. Instead, Arnie asked him,

"So what do we do?" And they were relieved that at least his first idea was to get all the campers out of there.

***

Your thighs burned as you hid. Outrunning Tommy simply wasn't an option, but your mind was on hyperdrive as you tried to process the last five minutes of your life. Nick Goode was a dick. Whatever he'd been trying to achieve, it had ended up with Tommy getting loose. You thought maybe he was going to do what Alice had suggested at the very beginning of the night. Take care of Tommy to make sure no one else got hurt. Instead, now, you were trying to keep yourself from getting axed by your very own boyfriend. Not to mention, you were trying to keep him away from the direction of the kids. Sure, yes, you were hiding and running from him. But, you were also making sure that you were the one he stayed in pursuit of. It was a fragile balance, and you glanced around before you stood up to find a new hiding place.

You nearly screamed when you ran into someone, but you quickly ripped Ziggy and Cindy down behind a bush. The words left your mouth in a quick whisper as you started,

"Guys, I have so much to tell you. Nick Goode-" But Ziggy was finishing your sentence.

"Is a total douche." Her voice was laced with venom, and she sounded pissed. Betrayed, even. And you gave them each a confused look. You looked between them and asked,

"You know?" Your surprise was laced in your voice. How did they know? How could they know? But, Cindy was quick to explain.

"When we put the hand back with her body, we saw the truth."

"We saw everything." Ziggy added, and you looked back to Cindy when she continued,

"The Goode family is the reason for the curse. They made a deal with the devil, so Sunnyvale could prosper and they've been feeding him Shadyside blood!" And you stared at them. Really, hours ago, you would've thought they were both on drugs. But now? After watching your boyfriend get possessed, finding a creepy bone hand, and getting almost fed to your possessed boyfriend by the Sheriff's son? You'd believe Santa was real.

"Nick Goode just completely fucked everything up, and now Tommy's loose." You whispered, and their eyes widened. The three of you looked between eachother, and then around. You couldn't see anything in the dark, but you felt like an ant trapped under a magnifying glass as Ziggy whispered what you were all thinking,

"Shit." And you gave her a nod. Now that you were thinking about it, you had no idea if Nick even knew. He'd tried to kill your boyfriend to save everyone, and it turns out his family was the reason for the curse? God, how the hell were you going to explain that? You gripped each of them as Cindy continued again,

"But that's not the worst of it." She said, and you gave her a confused look. What could be worse than all of this? Nothing could've prepared you for the words she said. "Nick Goode picked Tommy. He's the reason Tommy's possessed." And you felt white hot anger replace every ounce of your fear.

***

When Arnie and Alice watched Ruby Lane climb out of the grate in the middle of the kitchen, more of a black sludge becoming the figure of the dead serial killer, they thought tonight couldn't have gotten any weirder. The only way to make it worse was that Nick had run out of the room, and Arnie had to knock his shoulder against the door to stop him from locking it behind him. They had already guessed that he was a back-stabbing little bitch, especially when they had to force him to stay to wait for the rest of you instead of getting on the bus with the campers, but this? Oh, they were going to kill him if they got out of this alive.

When she started to walk towards them, they were quick to head towards the door, only to watch as you, Cindy, and Ziggy ran inside. And guess who was only a few feet behind you? Tommy.

"Shit!" Alice said as they slammed the door closed, and they quickly did their best to stop him from pushing it open and getting inside. But, to their surprise, they watched as you practically snarled,

"You." At the brunette. You ran, tackling him to the ground before he could try to escape. Even if the crazy bitch from the sixties was quick to come out of the kitchen and you had to roll off of him before she slashed you with a razor. You dodged the milkman as Nick tried to run, as the killers quickly turned on Ziggy and Cindy. You knew, to some degree, you were the best person, one of the only people, that could go after him. You'd seen it when you ran from Tommy. He'd specifically tried to go after them, completely ignoring a prime opportunity to swing at you when you tripped on the way over. Because of whatever the Berman's had seen, it was like they had a target on their back. And you had a pretty good idea as to how you were supposed to end all of it.

"Watch out!" Ziggy yelled as you tried to get away from who you quickly realized was Ruby Lane, and as a man in a jumpsuit with a knife tried to slash Cindy. Cindy threw you her shovel, even as she dodged and ran from the man. She yelled,

"Don't let him get away!" And you knew what you had to do. You ran after him, seeing that he was climbing down into the hole below. He looked up just as you went to swing, and, you watched him panic. You watched as he lost whatever grip he had, as he fell into the hole rather than climbed down. You were about to climb down after him, about to make sure this was finished. Instead, you heard- a laugh?

You and the rest of your friends stood above the hole in the kitchen, staring down at it. The killers had disappeared, gone in a poof. The kids were safe on the bus, already heading back to town. And Nick Goode was dead. When he fell, he must've hit his head. Broken his neck. It was a quick death, one that could've happened to anyone. If anything, it could be labelled an accident.

"Should we check?" Alice asked, and the five of you looked between eachother, and then down at the hole. It was tempting. To see the body of the man that had done something so evil lay lifeless. It was Cindy that answered her.

"Nah, just let him rot down there." And, ultimately, you agreed. Arnie reached to close the grate, sliding it in place. The five of you nearly jumped out of your skin when Gary and Joan barged in the kitchen door, and paused when they saw you all standing around it.

"Why's Tommy knocked out outside?" Gary said, pointing with his thumb, and you gave him a smile as the others started to laugh out of relief.

***

You and Tommy sat on the rock in the middle of the woods. It was the one Cindy had labelled on your map. You'd gotten a large pie of pizza, and his little radio was blasting Aerosmith as you enjoyed the summer afternoon.

The camp had closed, and the News ran with the story. An axe murderer had wandered onto the camp grounds of Camp Nightwing, but, due to the heroism of it's counselors, not a single camper had been hurt. Tommy Slater, in particular, was famed for having distracted and fought the killer long enough to let the campers escape, to the point where certain counselors had at first thought he was to blame. And, when the police asked the only eye-witnesses to the crime, all of them had said one name.

Nick Goode.

It wasn't until a week later that anyone had found the body of Nick Goode in the caves, and the police hadn't known what to make of the discovery. With eight eye-witnesses and a cave full of occult shit, it was hard to cover up or deny. So, now, the News circled with the story of Nick Goode, the first Sunnyvale Killer.

Tommy handed you a bag of fries as the pair of you ate, and you smiled as you looked over at him. In the sunlight, the copper in his hair shined and his eyes practically glowed. The look in his eyes had returned, the one that he gave you. The one where he looked at you like you put the sun in the sky.

"So, this is her, huh?" Tommy said, pointing with his foot at the red moss. You nodded, taking another bite.

"Yeah, she saved us." You said, a small smile on your face. You wanted to visit for that exact reason. To silently tell her thanks, and to meet the girl that saved your lives. Tommy knocked his shoulder against yours, and you looked up at him.

"No," He said with a small shake of his head. "You saved me. You never gave up on me." He said, and your eyes softened. You looked at him, leaning in as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I heard you, y'know. Fighting for me. And I'm sorry I-"

"No, don't apologize." You told him quickly, reaching out to hold his hand. "That wasn't you." You told him, and you watched how the words made him tilt his head. How they soothed whatever ache he still had in him. Whatever regrets. You knew he was hard on himself, that part of him probably blamed himself for giving in. For what he could've done. Softly, you added, "Did you hear all the times I told you I loved you?" And you watched how he smiled, how the clouds of his regret seemed to fade. He gave you a small nod, and you smiled back. He leaned in to kiss you, and you met him halfway.

[erin-bo-berin]

Prove It

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request of Spencer getting mad at being teased and being motivated enough to prove he’s not vanilla. This took forever from the time it was first requested for me to write and post it, so I’m so sorry to the anon who requested it. It feels like it’s been FOREVER since I’ve posted a smut too, so enjoy some smutty Spencer to start your week. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut, rough sex)

Word Count: 4,246

“I will never understand it.”

“Understand what?” you asked.

You sat down in one of the chairs in the jet, across from coworker and teammate Derek Morgan.

You and the team you were a part of, the Behavioral Analysis Unit—BAU for short—of the FBI had just solved another case and were on the way home.

You’d seen plenty of sickos before, so another one didn’t seem to surprise you. Of course, it was disgusting and aggravating, horrifying and awful, but you never pretended to understand unsubs in the first place. So you were quite curious about what Morgan was thinking out loud about.

Spencer Reid plopped down in the chair next to you with his cup of coffee.

How the man managed to live off coffee and actually go to sleep was a mystery to you. At this point it would benefit him to just have his coffee injected into him through IV, that’s how much he consumed.

“This S&M stuff,” Morgan waved his hand, “It’s insane.”

The case they’d just recently closed had involved a guy who had taken his violent sexual desires a step too far and found himself turned on by actually murdering women. Whether it was by choking or gagging, somehow he’d discovered he got a sexual release from killing his female partners.

What started as auto erotic asphyxiation—something that was incredibly dangerous to begin with—had turned to something more sinister and even more deadly.

“When done right, it’s actually not as bad as some of these unsubs make us believe,” Spencer said.

“I’m sure you know all about it, don’t you kid?” Morgan replied, sarcastically.

“Anyway,” he continued, before Spencer could cut in again, “I’m not judging people who do it, it just seems like even when it’s done right, it’s too dangerous to even be exciting. It’d be a mood killer for me.”

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t bring out your dominant side every once and awhile,” you smirked, teasing him.

“Hey, I’m all for some good rough sex. I’m not as vanilla as pretty boy here, but I’m not about to emotionally and physically scar Savannah.”

“Hey! What’s that’s supposed to mean?!” Spencer protested.

Savannah was Morgan’s wife, now of three years. They had a son together, Hank. Being a parent according to Morgan, you didn’t get much “mommy and daddy time”, but even then, it didn’t stop him from shamelessly sharing details about his sex life. You got used to it; it was just a Derek thing anyway.

“Sure, I’ve done some tying up and spanking, but that’s mild compared to some practices in BDSM. I once asked Reid about it and unfortunately learned more than I ever wanted to about it.”

“Excuse me,” Spencer broke in, “What’s the vanilla remark supposed to mean?”

Both yours and Derek’s heads turned to see Spencer’s brows furrowed.

“Kid, vanilla ice cream is spicier than you,” Morgan teased.

“Oh come on, that’s not true!” Spencer retorted, exasperated.

“I’m sorry Reid, I just can’t imagine you being kinky. I mean do you just spout facts during sex or what?”

You held back a snicker although you heard the rest of the team chuckling.

“No, I don’t,” Spencer flushed.

You averted your eyes from his gaze.

You and Spencer had been dating for a little while, the team none the wiser to your relationship. You couldn’t quite defend him without giving it away.

It wasn’t really a secret per se, you just mutually decided not to say anything until it became more serious. You had only slept together a few times anyway, so it wasn’t like you were familiar with his sexual proclivities.

“You’re more vanilla than Vanilla Ice,” Morgan joked, making you choke on your sip of water, laughing.

“How would you know anyway?” Spencer crossed his arms, his face now a deep red, “I could be kinkier than you know.”

“Dude, when’s the last time you even slept with a girl?” Morgan asked with a raised brow, “Wasn’t it that bartender Austin from a case 11 years ago?”

Spencer pressed his lips together tightly. He wasn’t going to say anything and you knew it because it would give away yours and his personal business.

“That’s what I thought. Vanilla,” Derek laughed, standing to refill his tumbler with more whiskey, “Don’t worry Pretty Ricky, not everyone has to be an animal in bed.”

He patted Spencer’s shoulder as he walked by to head to the back of the jet—and the whiskey decanter.

You could tell by Spencer’s pursed lips that he was annoyed.

You promised yourself that when the jet landed, you would apologize.

•

You had been wrong.

Spencer wasn’t annoyed.

He was pissed.

“Spencer, I’m sorry,” you repeated for the hundredth time.

Once the jet had landed, everyone went their separate ways, so no one was the wiser when you’d climbed into Spencer’s car. You had spent more time at his place lately than your own, so you were heading back to his apartment with him.

The entire drive was filled with tense silence. His jaw stayed clenched all the way home.

“Spence, please talk to me. If I hurt your feelings, that wasn’t my intention.”

You followed him into his apartment, watching as he sat down his go bag and satchel by the door. You sat your own things near his, as well.

You didn’t miss how tense he was, indicating his anger.

“Spence-” you began, but got cut off by his sharp tone.

“Go into the bedroom, take off all your clothes and get on the bed,” he snapped.

You were taken back, unsure if you’d heard him right the first time.

“What?”

“I said, go into the bedroom, take off all your clothes and get on the bed. I won’t repeat myself. And don’t make me do it myself cause you will regret it.”

You stood frozen in place for a second, your mouth opening and closing. By the look on his face, you could tell he was serious. 

“O-Okay,” you stammered, walking backwards to the bedroom.

You had no idea what he had planned, but deep down, you could feel the tingle of excitement beginning to work its way to the surface. Maybe some rough sex would ease his anger.

You were out of your shirt and pants before you reached the bed. You pulled off your bra, letting it fall from your fingertips and then rid your underwear before climbing onto the bed like you were asked to do, laying back.

It was at least a good ten minutes before Spencer came into the room, with something in each hand.

“What’s that?”

He didn’t answer you. 

He sat what appeared to be a glass of ice on the nightstand and grabbed one of your wrists, starting to tie it to the bedpost with what you now realized was one of his ties.

You watched as he tied the opposite one before you spoke.

“Spence, I-”

“Quiet. I don’t want to hear another word from you unless I say to speak,” he growled, climbing onto the bed, hovering over you.

His face lingered above yours, his lips not far from your own. He didn’t kiss you yet, but you could feel his warm breath fanning over your face, the anticipation of his lips finally being on yours making you anxious. 

His nose nudged yours gently as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes lidded, although they occasionally flicked up toward yours. He knew how much you wanted him to kiss you and he was using that to his advantage.

Finally, it came, feather light. It was like kissing a cloud, the faint touch not nearly enough to satiate your needs. You tried to lean upwards to meet his lips again, taking what you wanted, what you needed, but he pulled out of your reach, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Oh so this is how it’s going to be?” you mock pouted.

“My bed, my rules,” he answered.

The anticipation of this kiss made your heart race and your breath hitch. If he was willing enough to deprive you this easily and this early on, what else was he capable of?

When his lips finally met yours, it was in a surprisingly gentle manner, considering you were currently tied to his bedposts. His mouth glided along with yours, the intensity picking up rather quickly. 

His hunger and anger seemed to meld into one as he kissed you roughly, pulling back enough to capture your lower lip between his, his teeth softly scraping over it. A small, satisfied sigh emitted from you, against his lips.

Your mouth parted as you continued to enjoy the feel of his mouth on yours, his tongue being both graceful and teasing at the same time, it moving swiftly over your bottom lip.

You were already struggling with your restraints, wanting to touch him as he kissed you. Normally, your touch was everywhere on him when you kissed. From his face to his shoulders and chest and in his curls, you ravished being able to touch him. But you didn’t have that luxury right now and it was absolutely killing you.

He pulled away, lips hovering over your jaw as he kissed it just slightly, ready to move on to other areas.

“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have more than enough proof that I’m anything but vanilla,” he whispered huskily, placing a kiss against your throat.

Your thighs clamped inadvertently as you suddenly became even more turned on than you had been previously. He reached over you, towards the ice, grabbing a cube.

You watched him intently, gasping sharply when the shock of cold touched your skin, just along your collarbone.

“You gonna be a good girl and do what I say?” he asked, sliding the ice cube along your chest.

You nodded eagerly, biting down on your lip as he moved the ice over the swell of your breast and across your nipple making them tighten, both from the cold and your arousal. His lips followed the trail of ice over your breasts, tongue moving out to encircle your nipple and flick it. He repeated it on the opposite side and you gave a moan of approval at his explorations.

A trail of water was left behind on your skin as he continued on, gliding the ice down the middle of your chest towards your stomach. You felt goosebumps prickle your skin at the continuous icy cold sensation.

“You’re so hot, you’re making the ice melt quickly,” he purred.

His touch left you as he reached back towards the nightstand to grab another cube. Apparently he’d been right, as the first cube had melted completely. 

Once the coolness touched your skin again you found yourself gasping. As tantalizing as this teasing was, you were extremely turned on by it. You could feel the heat within your body, your core already starting to pulsate with arousal.

“I really hate that I can’t touch you,” you groaned, tugging on your restraints.

“But that’s what makes it fun, sweetheart,” he grinned, placing a kiss on your stomach.

The ice cube moved down one of your sides, over your hip, where he gave it a playful squeeze. Then the cold hit the top of your thighs, his other hand gliding to the top of the opposite one.

You were desperate at the point and automatically widened the space between your legs. If anything, you were going to let him get a good view of just how wet you were.

His eyes flickered downwards then back up towards your face, a satisfied smirk on his lips. You squirmed, anxious for him to do anything.

“Problem, love?” he cooed.

You glared, arching your hips in an attempt to get some sort of contact.

He chuckled, spreading your legs further. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the ice moving over your outer lips definitely wasn’t it.

You hissed at the sudden cold, but you didn’t hate it at all. Not like you hated these fucking restraints. You cursed when he pressed it against your clit.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned.

He hummed, looking up at you through his lashes. You groaned in frustration, throwing your head back against the pillow, tugging at your bound wrists again.

You wanted to push his head or his hands to your throbbing core; maybe both at this rate.

“Spencer, please,” you whimpered.

“Okay,” he relented, sitting back on his heels, “You’ve been a good girl so far.”

He reached over you, pulling the knotted ties loose from around your wrists. It was like sweet freedom to you. 

Before you could even touch him, he’d taken a hold of you, rolling you over so you were straddling his stomach.

“Ooh, I’m in control? I like,” you grinned, leaning down to kiss him.

You didn’t quite make it to his lips.

“Think again.”

He grabbed the back of your thighs, roughly pulling you up to sit on his face. This, you hadn’t suspected.

“Oh god,” you moaned lowly as his tongue slid up your outer lips.

His hands held your thighs tightly and he wasted no time diving right in. His tongue flicked your clit and you had to grab a hold of the headboard just to make sure you didn’t collapse on top of him.

Of course oral sex had been a part of your sex life with Spencer prior to this, but never in this way. He was usually more timid about it. But right now, he went for it in a very enthusiastic manner.

“Fuck, Spence.”

You groaned, his lips circling your clit to suck on it briefly before releasing it with a tiny pop of his mouth. His tongue flicked over it again, alternating in speed and pressure.

You had thought it couldn’t get any better until you felt a finger slide into you. You could’ve sworn you almost lost your mind at that point. His finger slowly pumped in and out of you, matching the now slower speed of his tongue that seemed to be licking everywhere but your clit.

“Dammit Spencer,” you groaned, slightly grinding against his mouth for some friction.

You jerked a bit, a surprised squeal coming from you when his hand came down on your ass. It wasn’t a bad reaction though, it had just excited you even more.

“Did you just spank me?!” you asked incredulously.

He hummed, sending a delicious vibration against your clit as his hand came down again on your ass making you moan loudly.

You had no idea there was this side to him.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes baby,” you whined, your hips moving back and forth over his face as his fingers and tongue drove you crazy.

The faster his fingers went, the harder his tongue moved. You were gripping the headboard so tight, your knuckles were white.

“Ah!” you squealed, at an additional spank.

It wasn’t hard enough to be too rough and painful, just hard enough to be incredibly sexy, sending a charge directly to your currently, extremely stimulated clit.

It was also incredibly appealing to you to feel the slight scratch of his facial hair against your nether regions as he ravished you. 

You could feel your entire body tensing, preparing for the rush of adrenaline and ecstasy. Apparently, Spencer could too.

He worked you until you came shattering apart above him. His name mixed with a loud moan and curses sprinkled in.

When the high had ebbed a bit, he moved you back to sit on his stomach, a wolfish grin on his face. You still felt a bit dazed since there was still a bit of buzz left tingling within you.

You noticed then that your boyfriend was way overdressed.

“It’s time to do something about these,” you mumbled, unbuttoning his dress shirt, “You’ve got too many clothes on.”

He allowed you to pull his shirt off, but his hand grabbed yours just as they reached for his belt.

“I am going to fuck you bent over my desk and only bent over my desk.”

He gave you no time to react as he’d already lifted you in his arms and stood from the bed, heading to the living room.

“Spencer, what? I-”

The words died on your lips as he entered the living room and his desk came into view. Normally, it was stacked neatly with his books, files, paperwork that he needed to complete, pens, pencils, a couple of coffee mugs, the works. But now, it was completely clear, showing off its deep, dark brown, glossy desktop.

Heat pooled in your stomach when you realized he’d planned ahead for this. He’d imagined bending you over his desk, having his way with you. You swallowed back a moan, already eager for him to be buried inside of you.

Instead of immediately pushing you over the edge of the desk, he sat you on top of it, facing him.

You bit your lip, quite literally looking up through your lashes at him. His tongue moved over his lips, his hunger for you apparent as his hands traced every inch of you.

From your breasts, down your stomach, to your thighs and around towards your bottom, squeezing it gently, his hands traveled every part of you before capturing your mouth in another kiss.

It was no innocent kiss. It was fiery and filled with the mutual hunger for one another. He was still kissing you when he slid you off the desktop, your feet touching the floor once again.

He turned you and had you bent over the edge of his desk in a matter of seconds. You heard the clink and whir of his belt as he unbuckled it, the sound alone sending a charge through you.

You shifted impatiently, much to his notice. He smirked, running a hand between your legs teasingly, as he pushed his suit pants out of the way with the other hand.

He wasted no time on gentle and loving movements. He entered you roughly and quite honestly, when you weren’t expecting it.

You whimpered. The feeling of your most intimate parts stretching just enough to accommodate him was one of the best feelings in the world to you. 

By this point, you’d lost the ability to be quiet. He’d already brought you to one earth shattering orgasm and that was after the tantalizing ice foreplay that had turned you on beyond belief.

Your constant moans filled the room as your hands gripped the edges of the desk.

Your hips were tight in his grip as he thrust into you fast and hard, your own body bouncing off his in the opposite direction. He, for one, was much louder than he normally was. Grunts, groans, mumbled curses and pants came from behind you as he had his way with you.

His lips hovered over your neck, his appraising moans ringing in your ears.

“Fucking shit, fuuuck, Y/N,” he groaned before attaching his lips to your neck.

He sucked harshly, hard enough to know that hickies would be present for the next few days.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the slight sting of his teeth bearing down into your shoulder, but coupled with your current pleasure, it was actually hot.

Your back arched as he focused on what he’d learned—quite quickly, you might add—was one of your absolute sweet spots, his hips aiding in thrusting deeply within you.

Spencer’s hand snaked up your spine, tangling in your hair, his fingers wrapping around a few strands. It surprised you when he pulled on it, firm enough to pull your head to the side. You moaned at the sensation, ready for him to do anything at this point. You were so turned on, you were a moaning, whimpering mess underneath him.

“Still. Think. I’m. Vanilla?”

Each of his words were clipped, growled into your ear and enunciated with a forceful thrust.

“No,” you rasped, quickly losing control of yourself and becoming delirious from the ecstasy he was providing you with.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he grunted, halting his movements completely.

You about sobbed in agony, wanting the feel of him back. Your hips automatically moved backwards to get some more friction, but Spencer held them still.

“Tell me,” he groaned, the slight strain in his voice indicating he was struggling with keeping still, himself.

You cursed, craving the delicious sensation of him deep within you again especially since you were on the brink of shattering like broken glass.

“Who’s not vanilla?” Spencer taunted.

He began moving once again, his motions slow and teasing. He slid in and out of you with long, lackadaisical thrusts although he made sure each move was deep enough so you could feel every inch of him within you. 

“Dammit Spencer, please,” you mewled, encircling your hips in small movements.

His low groan that came from above you was telling enough that he was trying and failing to keep his cool.

“Answer me,” he murmured huskily, his lips traveling up your back, hands reaching forward to massage your breasts in his hands.

“Answer me,” he repeated, “And I’ll fuck you like you deserved to be fucked.”

Your mouth dropped, a haggard moan escaping your throat. You weren’t used to hearing Spencer dirty talk and you’d realized that you instantly loved it.

His facial hair scratched your cheek as his mouth moved in the vicinity of it, sucking on your jaw.

“Be a good girl and answer me and I promise I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars, baby girl,” his low whisper came, one hand gliding between your legs, finger ghosting your clit.

“I’ll make you cum harder than you even imagined. Until you’re dripping all over my cock. I wanna fuck my girl, good, Spencer purred.

“Oh my god,” you cried, the overstimulation of his words and his touch finally getting you to lose absolute control of your conscious mind.

“You, Spencer, you,” you moaned.

The only sounds that filled his living room were the mixed moans and the sound of your bodies moving together as he fulfilled his promise and resumed his earlier pace though more erratic this time.

Your inadvertent clenching around him with every move was making him lose control quickly. 

“Fuck, fuuuuck,” you whined, clenching the edges of the desk so hard you knew your hands would be sore later.

In the back of your mind, a small part of you registered that you most likely sounded akin to a pornstar right now, though you didn’t spend much time on the thought. The fire in your veins was igniting the growing pressure in your stomach, like a furnace growing too hot.

It took less than a few moves before you went tumbling over the cliff of ecstasy. Your eyes screwed shut, your vision going completely white behind your closed eyes as you managed out a satisfied, bliss filled cry.

It was like lightning had struck your body except the electricity had come straight from the pit of your belly. Spencer had been right, it was the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced.

It was the body shaking, breathtaking, best kind of high ever, type of intense.

His own had soon followed as you’d tumbled down the rabbit hole of your own delirium. His hands gripped your sides and his body shuddered behind yours.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he groaned repeatedly, still moving with you, wringing every last drop of pleasure out of both of your orgasms.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck as you arched back into him, reaching behind him to grip his hair as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

It took a few moments before both of you stilled, your breathing hard, heart beating wildly. 

When your senses had somewhat turned to normal and the rushing of your blood in your ears had calmed down, you noticed your legs shaking—a definite sign of a good fucking.

You felt his breath on your neck, his breathlessness matching your own. Your body felt slick against his from all of the exertion, but it had been totally worth it. 

Spencer pushed your hair to one side of your neck, burying his face into your neck sweetly before leaving a gentle kiss there.

“My god, Spencer,” you half laughed, trying to focus the tiny bit of energy you had left on attempting to stand.

Disconnecting himself from you, he turned you to face him. He lifted you back on to the desktop to sit, not caring that your thighs were currently slick with the product of his own orgasm. Your quivering legs were thankful for the momentary reprieve though.

“I know,” he smirked, “Didn’t know I had it in me, huh?”

“Definitely not,” you smirked, lifting your face up towards his.

Your lips met his lazily. You spent a few minutes enjoying one other, mouths parting and meeting over and over, enjoying the post coital consequential kisses before getting cleaned up.

His hands splayed over the tops of your thighs, stroking gently. He may have been rough with you earlier, but you knew his gentle touch was him wordlessly assuring himself you were okay.

You were actually more than okay—you had definitely been well fucked.

“Spencer?” you mumbled against his lips.

“Hmm?”

He pulled away from you, his eyes opening, his dreamy, currently hazy, hazel eyes meeting yours. 

“Remind me to never listen to Morgan ever again.”

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[legends-live-in-memories]

Business (Mis)Management

AYO you know the drill. MGI Trope Tussle! 

Fics Masterlist

Timari Oneshot 2.3K words

Summary: 

"Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. "

One shot using two prompts for this server event: Day 3:College AU Day 5: "Why'd you do that?" "I- I don't know..."

without further ado: 

It was Tuesday, bright and early at 9:30 am, and Marinette was ready to commit murder. She was sitting in her Intro to Business Management course with her cup of coffee and notepad ready and pencil about to snap in her grip. Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. 

Right there, on this awful Tuesday morning, stood one Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne looking all the world like he would rather be anywhere else; stupid rich people were all the same, thinking the world was doing them a favour by letting them grace everyone else with their presence. Marinette also wishes he was anywhere else but life doesn’t work that way. Her actual professor stood off to the side, waxing sonnets about how accomplished the young CEO was and Marinette listened to none of it. Rather, she was silently stewing in her thoughts, lost in how this man became the particularly large thorn in her side.

It was six months ago when she got an email asking for a commission. A commission for the exact three piece suit he was wearing today. He had gotten her contact from another client and his emailed request was perfect and professional. He had asked for the suit, listed all the required measurements and requested any personalizations he wanted. They couldn’t meet for any in-person fittings so it was currently both aggravating and satisfying to see it fit his lean figure so perfectly. The drama didn’t start, however, until two weeks after, when Marinette had sent the finished product to the designated address. While Marinette isn’t one for showboating and bragging about her capabilities, it grinds her teeth when others try to talk down on her skills. 

When Marinette had sent off the suit, and emailed the man that the package was to be expected within three business days, she got a rather crude email in response, labeling her work as ‘tacky’ and a ‘pathetic attempt at wiggling her way into his family’s pockets.’ That had her doubletaking at the sender, making sure it wasn’t some spam mail that she was reading. Nope, that’s his email right there. Marinette remembered a particular twitch she had in her eye the first time she read that email. It was one thing to be ungrateful of a finished product, Marinette was no stranger to harsh critiques and pieces that worked better on paper than as actualized designs, but the accusation of being a gold-digger set off warning bells that threw her back into the tenth grade where she had battles with a rich blonde with daddy issues. At least he had paid her in advance for the suit. Marinette would have been perfectly fine with silently cutting all ties with Mr. Wayne right then and there, and putting the whole ordeal behind her, until he decided that a crassly worded email wasn’t enough. No. He felt compelled to go on national television and insult her suit for everyone to hear. Marinette remembers his words perfectly, as if they were ingrained in her memory forever.

“You’ve seen the suits I’ve worn, I look like I escaped my own funeral. I’ve tried local, and outsourcing designers and tailors and nothing matches my taste. I’m only twenty-three and I dress like I’ve gone through my third divorce—”Marinette had turned off the television to shamelessly cry into her pillow. She couldn’t bear to hear him insult her design over the poorly timed laughs of the ‘live-studio audience’ that particular interview was filmed in front of. 

After that, Marinette had reaffirmed her conclusion that all rich people were assholes best left to their own privileged bubble. 

A solid clap snapped her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, eyes narrowing at the man by the podium. The presentation pulled up on the smart board indicated that he was going to be speaking to them about professionalism and how to engage in buyer-seller conversations. Oh that was bloody perfect. What did this guy know about any of those things? 

The time was 9:45 exactly when the guy decided to start his presentation. 

“Hello, everyone,” his voice was smooth and firm, not wavering while speaking before a hall filled with two hundred students. “My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne but you all can just call me Tim. It’s lovely to meet all of you and I’m honoured to be here speaking for you today.” 

Cue a very predictable, very standard, very boring introduction. Marinette was beginning to tune out at this point.

“To start off this presentation, I would like to talk about misunderstandings in professional conversations.” He started walking across the front of the room. Slow and methodical; he knew he had all eyes on him and he was taking full advantage of it. Marinette wanted to gag. “Additionally, I want to discuss how to avoid them, and what to do if miscommunication occurs.”

Blah, blah blahblah. Marinette didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“To start off, I’m going to talk about a situation I found myself in not too long ago.” That caught her attention. “It’s funny now and makes for great dinner conversation but not so much when it had happened. How many of you siblings?”

He paused and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and for a brief second she thought he focused on her for a blink longer than necessary. She banished the thought from her mind; she didn’t have siblings so he had no reason to notice her.  

“Now,” he continued, “how many of you have siblings who aren’t afraid to sabotage your work when they’re mad at you?” 

Another pause as some of the students lowered their hands. Some were unsure and Marinette had a weird feeling in her gut. Her instincts were screaming at her but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t feel shy,” the guy raised his hand to join the students, “my younger brother is a menace who can and has attempted to sabotage my business. Just recently in fact.”

Marinette looked around the room to see quite a few surprised faces. She was vaguely familiar with the Wayne family and remembered a few details about the youngest child. He was a menace, that’s for sure. As egotistical as any thirteen year old can be. That feeling in her gut returned with vigor. She was suddenly very alert and eager, almost desperate, to figure out how the ankle biter had sabotaged this man.

“About six months ago my brothers and I were butting heads as usual. My sister was enjoying everything while shit hit the fan from a safe distance. I’m not going to go into much details.” He’s arms were waving animatedly as he spoke. It was quite endearing. NO. Bad thoughts, Marinette. “The point of all this is that I pissed my younger brother off somehow. I don’t know, maybe I breathed too hard on his cat or something.” That got a laugh out of the students except Marinette. Six months. He said his brother had sabotaged him around six months ago. That gut feeling had turned her stomach into a pit, eating away at her nerves.

“My brother had hacked into my email and sent absolutely horrible replies to everyone that was marked as important in my contacts in a poor attempt at pretending to be me. Of course, most of those contacts work at Wayne Enterprises. It took a courtesy email explaining the mishap and a personal visit with an apology gift to clear the air. Now for the contacts who don’t work at Wayne E, that’s where it gets tricky.”

Marinette was holding her breath, wishing for this day to already be over and for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She both hoped she was and wasn’t wrong. On the one hand, it meant that he was truly that harsh in replying to her and she wasn’t among the contacts his brother emailed, justifying her slowly dwindling fury. On the other more plausible hand, it meant that he wasn’t responsible for the crude email. It still didn’t explain the interview he did but…but she never did watch the entire thing. She had started watching the interview already expecting him to tear her down. He never referenced her suit by any specifics before she had changed the channel. That probably meant that she had poorly misjudged him. But she would have been contacted in some way if she was among those people and she hadn’t. So he was still an ass to her. Right? 

“For those who I couldn’t visit in person,” Oh god, he was still speaking. “I sent them more personal emails compared to what I sent the employees. That was really the most I could do and I hoped for the best. I got a reply from most; they were rather understanding, actually, some even claiming that their own siblings would do something like that. It went over pretty well.” He suddenly had this forlorn look as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly against the suit. 

“While I was lucky that most of my contacts were understanding, one important thing to be prepared for is people who won’t be that forgiving. Do you see this suit I’m wearing? I love this suit. I will absolutely get buried in this suit. I had commissioned and received it just before the email fiasco and I, regrettably, never got a response when I tried to both thank and apologize to them. My brother had used my email to accuse them of being a gold-digger of all things. I would have loved to commission them again but it looks like my brother burned that bridge permanently.”

What? No. That’s not true and Marinette felt hot rage flare up in her. Was he really lying to try and save face right now? She felt the strong urge to interrupt him. To march down those steps and let him know exactly how she felt about him lying about emailing her to apologize. But, a treacherous hopeful part of herself whispered to her, she had to be sure. She had to have irrefutable proof that she wasn’t one of the victims to his rabid brother and he was just an ass. 

She couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. She searched for all the emails the two had exchanged, finding the most recent to be his harsh email. She had another niggling feeling, however, and decided to check her spam mail. 

Marinette has most definitely stopped breathing. 

Right there, in bold letters sat a Wayne Enterprises email waiting to be opened and read. She couldn’t bring herself to click it open, ice flooding her veins, freezing her in her seat. She actually misread the situation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bash her head on the table and grovel for forgiveness from this very handsome man. She didn’t do any of this, however, managing some degree of composure and sat through the remainder of his presentation. She would bet her left leg it was the best presentation she would have ever heard but she couldn’t recall a single word of it from that point on; too busy digging her own grave and writing her own eulogy. She could never show her face around Gotham again. Her life was ruined.

The sounds of people packing up had her crawling herself out of her own head. She mechanically packed her things up, gazing pathetically at her blank notebook. She made her way down the steps, eyeing the gaggle of students surrounding Marinette’s biggest missed opportunity to date. She was just about to walk straight out the door, resigning herself to her fate when she made a hasty decision. She turned to the dwindling crowd and marched like a woman on a mission. She wormed her away to stand directly in Tim’s line of sight and she braced herself for possibly her dumbest idea yet. She listened to the conversation going on and as soon as it appeared she was not going to interrupt anyone, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by his suit. The act caught everyone’s attention but before she could chicken out, she turned to leave and pulled the businessman along with her, leaving stunned silence behind. 

They didn’t get far out the door when he yanked her arm off him, stopping them in their tracks. He looked angry, confused but also very put out at her. Fair. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“I— I don’t know.” His glare was intense. Marinette felt her face flush and her knees weaken. She wanted to make things right but it seemed she was only making things worse. She took a breath. Focus, she reminded herself. She just needed to address one problem at a time. “I mean, I do know why but I wasn’t supposed to do it like that. I just needed your attention.”

“Well now you have it. So what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize. Not about dragging you out here. Yet. But for accidentally ignoring your apology email.” One of his eyebrows rose incredulously as she kept talking, but she ignored it and powered on. “It was, for some reason, in my spam mail and I didn’t see it. But if it’s any consolation, I would love it if you commissioned me for another suit. Or anything else really.” 

“Pardon?” He didn’t believe her, or was at least confused by her, that much she could tell.

“You suit. I made it. Here, look.” She turned her phone screen, showing him their conversations in her emails. At his slightly more relaxed posture she continued speaking. “I’m glad you like the suit.”

“Huh.”

“Also I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” She had curled her shoulders into her ears, still holding her phone out like an idiot. His chuckle in response eased her nerves only slightly. He had a cute laugh. And he was cute too. Bad thoughts! Stop getting distracted!

“Okay, I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.” The carefree smile he threw at her was disarming. “And I would love to talk more about working with you, Ms. Cheng.”

“Marinette, please, Mr. Wayne.” She could breathe easier now, no longer on the verge of catastrophizing. “If you want to get started as early as possible, I’m free for an early lunch right now.”

“Only if you call me Tim. And lunch sounds great actually. I know a great bistro off campus if you will let me escort you.” He really needed to stop smiling at her like that. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” He turned and offered her his arm. She was slow to move, still faintly caught in the emotional whiplash of the morning. Her gentle grip on his bicep was enough for her to feel the muscle definition under the suit. It pleasantly surprised her but not nearly as much as his next words.

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

What?

[gusu-emilu]

behind glass

Ship: Mu Qing & Xie Lian, Mu Qing / Xie Lian

Summary: Mu Qing would always be able to recognize Xie Lian on the ice. He just can’t believe it would be here.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Rated G, Modern AU, Ice Skating / Hockey AU, Flashbacks, when you miss dianxia and can only express it by lurking and quietly reminiscing

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Mu Qing would always be able to recognize Xie Lian on the ice.

Even after eighteen years, he would know Xie Lian's lithe footwork, the way he leaned so heavily into his turns, his loose, carefree posture while skating laps with hands folded behind his back, the strength hidden in his slender frame. With one glance at his skating, one can tell that he was born to be on the ice.

Mu Qing would recognize him anywhere.

He just can’t believe it would be here.

In a run-down, empty skating rink, Mu Qing stands in the shadows beside the benches. Half of the ceiling lights are out, apparently broken, but the dirty grey ice still shines bright as a man in a tattered tan coat skates laps around the rink.

His hockey skates are pitifully worn-out, the blades rusted. They must be falling apart because the man has tied what looks like a white bandage over the laces and around the tongues and ankle supports to hold the boots together.

Disgusting. Just for that, Mu Qing wants to punch him.

But Mu Qing just quietly clenches his fists, lurking a meter back from the edge of the rink, staring through the smudged, cracked Plexiglass as a knot forms in his chest.

Xie Lian skates with the same unique style as when they were teenagers, but he no longer glides with the same unbridled energy that once made every push off the ice like a burst of sparks.

He seems subdued. Tired. Weakened.

He skates like someone who was once afraid of aggravating an old injury but now no longer cares. Someone whose movements are hesitant and guarded only out of habit. Whose bones could shatter and he would just keep skating in circles until he collapsed.

Mu Qing swallows past the lump in his throat.

Dianxia…what kind of life have you been living?

* * *

Xianle’s skating rink used to attract people from all over the city. It was run by Xie Lian’s family, as was the local hockey team.

Mu Qing used to work at the rink, cleaning the locker rooms and bathrooms, manning the cash register, or renting out skates depending on the shift.

Once in a while, he had the chance to go out on the ice. Xie Lian’s family was kind enough to let him borrow skates from the rink’s rental inventory.

But Mu Qing had to be careful about when he chose to skate. If the hockey team was hanging around the rink, it was a bad day for Mu Qing. The players were a bit older than him, and they looked down on him and liked to pick on him. They made fun of him for his poor balance on the ice and his loner status in the district, as he had been too focused on school and work to bother making friends after moving here with his mother a few years earlier.

Mu Qing despised the hockey players.

Only one of them never treated him poorly: Xie Lian.

The pride of Xianle’s hockey team, nicknamed “dianxia” by his fans and teammates, with the best footwork and most goals scored in the league. Powerful and renowned on the ice, gentle and generous off the ice.

But from Mu Qing’s perspective, even if Xie Lian never treated him poorly, Xie Lian never treated him exceptionally well, either. So Mu Qing despised him just as much as the others.

And yet…

The hockey players had a running joke that they were in a martial sect, referring to each other as “shixiong” and “shidi.”

Deep in Mu Qing’s heart, part of him wanted to skate well enough to be on the team.

Wanted someone to call him “shidi” too.

But any feeling of longing was overshadowed by his disdain.

One day early in the morning, Mu Qing caught the chance to skate on an empty rink. He was far from a good skater. He had gradually picked up the basics by watching others, but he still fell down much more often than he could tolerate. It was humiliating, all the worse when there were others there to watch him.

But today, he had the ice to himself.

The air was cold and fresh, a clean winter scent as Mu Qing stepped onto the ice. For a while, he just clung to the wall. Then he pushed off the wall and glided to one of the face-off circles, where he skated round and round practicing crossovers.

“You’re getting good at those,” said a faintly familiar voice.

Mu Qing stumbled into the center of the face-off circle, barely saving himself from falling. Cheeks red, he furrowed his brow and turned toward the person intruding on his alone time. “They’re not that hard," he said, but couldn't help wondering if the compliment was sincere.

Xie Lian smiled. “Good spirit."

Caught between feeling starstruck, being giddy from the praise, and desperately wanting Xie Lian to leave, Mu Qing didn’t know what to do except cross his arms and turn away.

Undeterred, Xie Lian began circling Mu Qing without even moving his feet, his toes pointing outward and his hands folded behind his back as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“I can help you learn some tricks,” Xie Lian suggested. "If you want."

“I don’t need help.”

Xie Lian gave a smile that staggered the border between gentleness and overconfidence. But, strangely, his smile didn’t seem mocking. Mu Qing didn’t know what to make of him.

“That’s fine. Have a good skate.” Xie Lian glided away to the other side of the rink.

As much as Mu Qing tried to ignore Xie Lian, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. Xie Lian was practicing footwork that looked challenging, but the moves were less complex compared to the reckless tricks that he and the other hockey players liked to show off with.

It almost looked…attemptable.

Secretly studying Xie Lian when he wasn’t looking, Mu Qing tried to copy how he did stops and crossovers. Mu Qing could only create a pitiful imitation. It was difficult to keep his balance, and he fell almost every time, but thankfully Xie Lian never seemed to notice.

After achieving his first successful stop from a fast speed, Xie Lian suddenly appeared beside him.

“That was great!” Xie Lian praised. “If you lean a bit more, it’ll be even better.”

Mu Qing’s face turned red.

Realization slowly dawned on him.

By practicing simple moves where Mu Qing could see, Xie Lian had actually tricked Mu Qing into accepting a form of help from him anyway.

“Y-You—”

“I’m serious,” Xie Lian said. “You’re a fast learner. Just a few tweaks, and you’ll have it no time.”

Mu Qing frowned, but he let Xie Lian demonstrate for him and give him advice. As they practiced together, a warm, tingly feeling spread through Mu Qing’s chest, like he had drunk a hot cup of his favorite tea.

After a string of successful stops, Xie Lian nodded approvingly. “You definitely have talent on the ice.”

Mu Qing tried to hold back his grin, but his lips still curled.

They skated a few laps side by side, with Xie Lian encouraging Mu Qing to skate faster and faster. The sound of their skates scraping the ice was clean and satisfying, and as their pace increased, the cold air biting at Mu Qing’s ears become more and more exhilarating.

“Shidi!” Xie Lian called in excitement.

Mu Qing was so surprised that instead of turning the corner, he glided into the wall. Holding onto the ledge, he looked over at Xie Lian, eyes wide.

“Wh…what?”

“Shidi!” Xie Lian repeated, grinning as he skated over to Mu Qing. “You’re getting so fast.”

Mu Qing scoffed, but he couldn’t hold in his smile. “I’ll get even faster.”

* * *

Mu Qing would never forget what Xie Lian looked like on the ice, what it was like to skate beside him for the first time, what it was like to be his teammate after his recommendation to join the hockey league.

What it was like for Xie Lian to call him “shidi.”

Nor would he forget that the team’s fall into disgrace, Xie Lian’s ruined reputation, Xie Lian’s injuries…were partly Mu Qing���s fault.

He wouldn’t—can’t—forget that Xie Lian despises him.

Watching Xie Lian skate like this, tired and alone, with ruined skates and disgusting clothes on dirty ice…

Mu Qing doesn’t know if the ache in his chest, stinging like frostbite, is from fondness or hatred.

With his hair covered by a gray knit hat, his facially partially covered by a face mask, and his signature black skates swapped for a cheap rental, Mu Qing hopes that Xie Lian won’t recognize him.

He draws in a deep breath and skates out to meet him.

* * *

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please visit me on ao3!

[dorotharry]

tiny dancer ; chapter two

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: torture, nightmares, angst, let me know if there's anything else :) 

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: honestly I have no clue where I’m going but I’m hoping you’re all still following. There’s still soooo much to go into readers past and yep, it’s gonna take a while but I hope you enjoy this. Please feel free to give feedback, like and repost it would mean a lot! :)

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

1943

Your head felt groggy, as you woke up. Not enough energy from an ounce of your body to open your eyes for the time being. The more your body woke up from the darkness of slumber the more the pounding of aches and pains became less subtle and started to fill each and every muscle. You weren’t sure where you were or what had happened, but you suddenly became aware that your surroundings weren’t familiar. The air was too cool and there was an eeriness from lack of noise.

Finally, you were able to pry your eyes open. The colours swirled around you into one, until they became to create recognisable shapes. Although this wasn’t somewhere you recognised, just as your mind had thought even before getting to look around.

You were laid down on a metal ‘bed’ if you could even call it a bed. The coolness of the metal began to get to you a shiver running down your spine and you attempted to get up. Only to be restricted. It was now when you noticed you had straps holding your ankles, down, but not only this; there was a limpness to your form. In fact, you didn’t have any real connection to your muscles. As if a switch had been turned on in your head you realised, this wasn’t a bed. It was a table.

Suddenly your anxiety rose. In an ill attempt to do something you turned you head groggily to the left, only to be met with machines, and hospital devices. You took in a sharp breath. This definitely wasn’t a hospital so why the machines? Rolling your head to the right with just as much difficultly as last time you were met with darkness. The faint sound of feet shuffling in the distance, and the whirring of more machines.

Almost as if whoever it was had realised you were awake, a bright white light turned on above you causing you to groan from the sudden contrast to the previous darkness. The footsteps became louder, as whoever it was approached you from their hiding spot.

“Ah you’re awake,” the voice started, “you know you gave our men quite a difficult time back there. Are you going to behave this time?”

Your voice barely was able to respond, only a hushed whisper came out, “Who are you? Where am I?” This worked to rejog your memory as you saw flashes of men running after you, as you had leapt from this same table. You had gotten pretty far and fought back fairly well but this place… whatever it was; was a maze. Realising now that amongst being kidnapped and knocked unconscious. Your first attempt to escape was probably why you were in pain all over. A vision of a few men jumping on top of you and beating you unconscious. Again. That must have been why you were tied down this time.

“I think you know the answer to that.” the small man with glasses responded appearing finally out of the darkness. “…We’re HYDRA, and you y/n...” He spoke reaching under your chin in a condescending manner. “…Were firstly going to be a pawn against your stupid Captain America. But you’ve shown promise, something our other soldiers don’t have.  Neither your American ones. My guess is it comes from your ballet training.” He shrugged as he moved away from you, turning and looking for something. Suddenly his hand was on a switch and machines began to rumble.

“Please,” you responded choking on your own words, “please just kill me!” You knew something was coming, otherwise why would be so aloof.

He chuckled at your words as he stood behind you. “The red skull doesn’t want me to do that, he needs more soldiers, and that’s exactly what we’re going to make you.” And with that you saw a metal machine slowly being dropped down over your left eye, and below your right jaw, causing your panic to rise. As quick as the unbearable pain started, so did darkness.

Present day ; 2017

You woke up screaming as the pain of what had happened almost a century ago shot through your entire body. You fumbled out of bed in a sweat like you did most nights. Heading towards your small kitchen in your small apartment. It was filled with greys, no life within in, you felt there was no need, why celebrate a life with no life?

Your life had changed in so many ways after 1943. You were one of HYDRA’S many toys, the many men that surrounded you called you tiny dancer, but not in a kind way, in a misogynistic arrogant way. Most people at that time though saw you as a weapon, something to be feared of, and they should have.

After you had stumbled upon the Winter Soldier on a mission in 2014 working as a freelance agent having cut your ties with HYDRA mere months before hand, it was only a few months when so had Captain America. From what you had heard amongst assassins under the radar living in Madripoor like you, it hadn’t gone well for HYDRA and now the Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found, invoking fear within many who had made themselves enemies to him. But you were sure his best friend would be looking for him. Whilst you had decided to go against helping him, Steve was not that kind of person.

Time had not been kind to you, you were no longer the frail girl who could fall in love in a week. In fact, you weren’t sure if you actually could feel love anymore. HYDRA had to make sure there was no collateral. Still once you saw him that night you wondered how amongst your many years with HYDRA, how you had never run into Bucky: The Winter Soldier. You had heard of the winter soldier, but you never knew it was Bucky behind the ghost of a person. Probably on purpose, HYDRA had been in your mind. Tthere was no doubt they knew who he was to you back then.

Not only did it invoke these thoughts, but it had led to your retirement. Well not your retirement, you were still about 25 years old on the outside, and though nor Steve or Bucky knew you were alive you knew how it felt to be in their position.

Hiding out in your small apartment in Madripoor was where you had spent most of your life since 2014, staying on the down low in case HYDRA somehow re-emerged, looking for revenge on a project they had wasted so much time on. You.  

You weren’t sure why they were so surprised people like you hated them with so much anger. They had taken your life, Bucky’s life and made you weapons against your will. You didn’t hold their values, it was forced upon you.

You shook yourself from your thoughts again. You only got sentimental after nightmares, and the nightmares had been pretty continuous after seeing Bucky those few years ago, so really you were sentimental most mornings. You think it had something to do with seeing him and how it brought back memories you didn’t even know you had.

Reaching for a bottle of water, you took a sip looking over at the clock that read 3am. You groaned, knowing that you’d probably never have a good night’s sleep again. Terrible payback for a terrible past. No sleep for the wicked.

You shuffled yourself back to your room getting into bed and turning on the tv as a way to mindlessly distract yourself until you actually had to do stuff.

A few hours past until it was 7am, and you decided you could at least go for a shower before your day at work. Working at a bar that opened at 9am wasn’t exactly high class living; especially when you had to deal with drunks so early in the day, so it definitely required more motivation than most jobs. You couldn’t do what you were originally good at, dance. And you’d decided you probably shouldn’t be doing what you were trained for. Killing people.

Turning on the shower to allow it to warm up, you rid yourself of your clothes, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles were after another bad dream. Stepping in you let the water try and wash it away, and though it did help you knew it would only reappear tonight in another form of a nightmare. You closed your eyes sighing in content, and it did last for a brief moment until you heard banging on your front door.

At first you tried to ignore it, but it got louder and more aggravated and suddenly your heart had fell to your stomach, resorting to thinking of the worst that could be behind that door. Getting out you threw some clothes back on. You reached under your bed grabbing your shot gun, holding it close to yourself as you slowly walked towards the door that had started banging again. Times like this you wished you had a peep hole to look through.

You turned on your best poker face and opened the door abruptly to be more hostile. Only you were met with someone you didn’t know, though for some reason you felt you recognised. On the other side of the door stood a woman all in black, her hair was in a blonde bob and for a brief second you thought you saw a reaction flash across her face like she knew you too.

“Is this y/n?” she spoke firmly and with poise.

You raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Is it?” she returned her poker face staying on her face.

“Yes.” You huffed, the half-amused face falling from your face, returning back to the glare you constantly wore. “Who are you?”

She raised her hand for you to shake her face accompanying it with a small smile, which you hesitantly took.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@maybe-a-marvel​ @thatredlipped-classic​ @flightsandfantasy​ @7minutes-tomidnight​ @rebelemilu​ 

[just-a-creep-babe]

HABIT nsfw please

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Part one

Eheheh I would’ve edited this further but it’s been in my drafts for sooo long I kinda just wanna release it 😅

Warning: contains dub-con

You stumble through the threshold, clutching your stomach, feeling the wet warmth of your own blood staining your shirt

You’re alive

Exhausted and nearly mortally wounded but very much alive

A cough rakes its way up your throat and you spit out the taste of pennies on the floor

You need a shower

Your body’s slow and sluggish, and everything hurts as you take it one step at a time up the stairs

Down the hall you go, all the way to the bathroom

You close the door and lock it behind you, an early morning sun peaking through the windows so you’ve no need to flick the lights on

You reach out to turn on the shower but your legs buckle beneath you, muscles sore and overworked, and you collapse in a bloody, filthy heap on the ground

You can’t help it anymore

You break down crying

•••

A few hours later, after a warm shower that’s left you with some semblance of normalcy, you’re clean and snug in bed

You fall into a deep, blissfully empty sleep

When you wake up, your room’s drenched in darkness

You must’ve slept through the whole day

But then you feel it—a pressure on your eyes, wrapping around your head, and the taste of something foreign in your mouth

Your ankles and wrists are subjected to an identical force tying them down

Panic flitters through your sore body, mind reeling, seething with one word, one name

Habit

Thinking of the devil; you hear him chuckle

His touch meets the bare skin of your leg, and you have to hold back a shudder

“I have to say, I’m impressed, little (y/n)~” he purrs

Your heart jumps as he glides his hand up, up, all the way to your thighs, fingers fanning out, feeling the smooth goosebump-ridden flesh of your skin

“I didn’t expect you to survive. You’re stronger than I thought,” he continues

You jerk in your bonds as he reaches the hem of your tank top, slowly bundling up the fabric

His mouth is warm, breath hot as he grazes his teeth just below your navel

You whimper and whine beneath him

This can’t be happening

“I respect that, little rabbit,” he murmurs, “But it doesn’t change what you did… and I don’t like keeping dishonest pets”

You’re breathing heavily through your nose, chest shuddering, heaving with muffled gasps

His thumb rubs circles into your hips, touching you almost unbearably softly

“The only reason…” he brushes a finger between your legs, “I’m letting you stay…is because you still have some use to me”

You yank against the ties around your ankles but you’re utterly helpless

He hushes you, tutting

You‘re a prey beneath a predator

A stronger, faster, hungry predator

You loathe how fitting his nickname is for you

Your heart’s beating a mile a minute, breaths short and frantic as you uselessly writhe in your restrains—pathetic little rabbit

“And I think, with the right training, we could easily fix that little disobedience streak you’ve got going, hm?”

You shake your head, swallowing thickly, nearly trembling beneath his touch

His fingers return to stroke through the damp fabric of your panties, and you hate how your body’s betraying you, your sex already warming in anticipation

“Mmh, and look at that, already nice and wet for me~”

His voice is deep and gravelly as he cups your heat, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit

“So here’s the deal, little rabbit. You give me what I want when I want it, and in return, I’ll still let you stay here, with that pretty little head still attached to your body—lucky you~”

You bite back a mewl as he tugs the material of your panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt perfectly on display for him to sink a finger between hot, puffy folds

“In fact, I think I’m feeling so generous—“

He sharply twists his finger and your back arches, hips bucking as a sickeningly filthy moan slips from your gagged mouth

“That I’ll even give you a chance to leave all of this behind, (y/n). All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll let you go. How does that sound, hm?”

You know he’s just toying with you, and it’s absolutely aggravating, but you’re desperate and hopeless and you fall for the bait anyways

Squirming and jerking, you try to beg through the gag, but all that comes out is a muffled jumble of words

He chuckles at your naïveté and pushes another digit into your welcoming heat

“What’s that? Are you trying to say something? Speak now or forever hold you peace, little bunny~” he snickers

Your walls pulse around him, legs tensing as your incoherent pleads grow louder and more frantic

He nestles his thumb against your pearl again, slowly rubbing side to side and your body reacts infuriatingly well to his ministrations

“Aw, it looks like you wanna stay with little ol’ me after all. I’m flattered~”

He jams his fingers into you and it has your toes curling, muscles seizing with a scream bubbling from your throat

Your eyebrows knit together as he pumps his fingers out before cramming them back into you in one harsh motion

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears welling as you try to withhold countless scattered moans because he feels so fucking good

“Atta girl~” he breaths huskily, and just the sound of him has you clenching madly again

He doesn’t hold himself back from fucking you on his fingers faster and harder

Every push of his digits hits something magical inside your drenched spongy walls

Your back arches again, legs and arms tensing against the restraints, trying to kick yourself free from the overwhelming stimulus he keeps forcing into you

With your sight taken from you, every little touch is so much more intense

It’s like your nerves are burning—a mind-numbing ecstasy taking command of your entire form

You can already feel your orgasm encroaching, the sensation building like a heady drug completely consuming you

“Good little bunny~ I can already feel you tightening up around me. Surely, you won’t cum that fast, will you?”

Much to your chagrin, his mocking coos somehow only make you warmer

The chorus of whiney moans and desperate mewls dripping from your gagged lips become a symphony blurred by the adrenaline pounding in your ears

When all of a sudden, the wet warmth of his mouth tugs at your nipples, and it becomes too much to handle

Your body lurches—toes curling, hands balling into fists—but even throughout the bliss of your orgasm, he doesn’t stop slamming his fingers into the depths of your drooling cunt

Your thighs shake either side of him, a pathetic scream wrenching its way from your throat

You want to tell him to stop—dear god, he has to stop, it’s way too much—but even if you weren’t bound and gagged, with the way he keeps fucking you so thoroughly, you can’t seem to do anything but jerk and cry out ceaselessly

His fingers brush against a spot and your entire form goes rigid, like you’ve lost complete control of your body

You scream

You’ve only ever heard of what it felt like—never once did you think you’d actually experience it

But there’s no mistaking the way your cunt gushes out with a surge of unimaginable pleasure

All of your senses are taken over all at once by the same deafening sensation crashing through you

You don’t know how long it lasts, but by the time he finally pulls his fingers free, you’re breathless and utterly wrecked

Part of you is thankful for the blindfold now; you’d be mortified to see his arms and chest glistening with your arousal

“Mmh… not bad, bunny~”

You cringe, trying to drown out what sounds like him lapping at your slick on his fingers

“Looks like I made the right decision in keeping you alive after all”

Your heart drops at the unmistakable clanging of a belt being unbuckled

“Don’t think I’m already done with you for the night. After all, it’s only fair that you owe me”

[fireemblems24]

Post Grondor Field AM Analysis

I'm prefacing this by saying that I'm still not sure I can write a good analysis of this scene for two reasons:

1. I don't know what comes after, and

2. I'm very emotionally involved in what happened.

But I tried my best. One thing is for sure though, what happened in Grondor in AM was an incredibly significant turning point for AM and Dimitri and my thoughts and analysis on it will definitely expand as I keep writing about and playing the game.

Part of me is just so happy I got to see Dimitri's supports, have the inevitable turn around, and get to do things like tea and dinner time again that it's hard to be objective about this scene.

And by "this scene," I don't mean that actual fight at Grondor, but everything from Fleche's attack to Byleth's words in the rain later.

It wasn't all about Byleth . . .

Given how poignant Dimitri's character arc has been so far, I had a deep rooted fear player-pandering would ruin it. Byleth, as a concept, isn't bad, but too often the heaps of praise feel underserved and other things (like Claude's intelligence, Edelgard's relationships with everyone else) get ignored to make more room for player-pandering.

Thankfully this did not happen. Byleth, throughout the early chapters of AM's part 2, failed to reach Dimitri. And, honestly, seeing Byleth actually struggle for once has done wonders for how I view her character. Still, I worried that player-pandering-power, rather than something that felt earned, would cause the inevitable eye-opener for Dimitri.

But it wasn't just Byleth. Fleche's vengeance kicked everything off, what veered Dimitri away from his fate in other routes. He accepted his death at her hands, not bothering to defend himself. Rodrigue stepping in the way and his parting words forced Dimitri to confront things he'd ignored. Throughout AM so far, people have posed questions to Dimitri who refused to answer them because he didn't want to face what they asked. But Rodrigue dying for him, spending his final words telling Dimitri to live for himself - combined with Fleche's attack - forced Dimitri to confront things he avoided. It wasn't until after all of that when Byleth steps in.

And Byleth didn't "fix" him either. Dimitri's supports show a young man who's still very much struggling with his mental health, poor self-image, his previous actions, and wondering if he deserves not only to live for himself - but if he even deserves to live. Byleth didn't hand-wave Dimitri's problems away.

Everything about the scene is stronger because it didn't fall back on player-pandering, but more earned, realistic, and dramatic actions and consequences - including Byleth's involvement which felt far more earned than usual because of prior failure.

But I wish Dimitri's friends played a bigger role.

Not everything was perfect though. I wish we got a little more than we did from Dimitri's house mates - especially his childhood friends Sylvain, Ingrid, and extra special mention to Felix and especially, especially Dedue.

Throughout all of AM, none of the above mentioned characters feel utilized to their full potential. This isn't a problem exclusive to AM, and by all means it's far from the biggest offender, but given how close all the ties are in AM, it's felt when it's not there.

I still don't know what exactly I would've done with them. Maybe I'd need to make the game an actual novel to do it, and you can't forget how perma-death has historically held back games at times, limiting major moments to a select few "retreat" candidates.

Still, though, getting a bit more from Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue would've made the scene even more powerful.

I actually really liked the scene in the rain.

I haven't made it a secret that I dislike Byleth. Or maybe disliked is more accurate. Lately I've been rethinking my stance on Byleth, in part because I've heard from people who like her or found ways to make her work and from my own thinking about the game while planning future write ups.

I don't think it's Byleth I really dislike, but the player-pandering. Separating the two isn't easy, but it's easier since I've starting coming around to seeing Byleth as her own character.

There's been a few moments that made me care for Byleth, and this scene in the rain was one of them. Because she didn't just fix everything. She tried and failed for months to reason with Dimitri, and despite everything she never gave up on him or failed to keep offering her hand.

I'm not going to lie. I got all the bubbly, heartwarming, heartbreaking feels the writers wanted me to in this scene. Seeing Byleth reach for something and fail, and then finally, finally get through was rewarding in a way many of Byleth's prior accomplishments aren't because this one felt earned. And by God did she earn it.

Some people will likely disagree with that last point, but I disagree with them. She asked Dimitri hard-hitting questions, forcing him to come to unpleasant conclusions rather than trying to force him into anything. She kept Dimitri from veering to far off course, even at expense to herself when she killed Randolph. She saved Dimitri from Fleche when he refused to save himself. She quietly supported him, coaxing out the good she knew was still there and refused to give up on.

I'd never in a million years say someone in real life should put up with Dimitri's toxic behavior and verbal abuse, even considering his extreme trauma and aggravated mental illness. But seeing someone fuck up so badly still get forgiven, still get supported, still struggle but honestly change for the good, still get loved, start to accept and forgive himself through the power of love and forgiveness from others is very powerful, especially since media so often downplays those "softer" things as weakness in comparison to the "badassery" of ambition and stoicism. Using Byleth, who previously had little experience with feelings, who was encouraged to experience them in healthy ways by Dimitri, return the favor isn't really the worst choice.

It's cliche, but cliches aren't always bad.

The mentor dies. Redemption in the rain. Revenge against the protagonist's actions opens their eyes. Etc . . . This scene was chuck full of cliches, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Tropes serve an important narrative purpose because a writer can rely on them to convey a message to the audience that either saves time or sets them up for something unexpected or even expected. Fire Emblem has always and will always be incredibly cliche and full of tropes. It loves tropes so much there's in-universe ones that make some unit or character discussions sound like a foreign language to people outside of or new to the fandom, talking about "Ests" and calling someone a "Camus."

What matters is if a story pulled something off well, not if it's terribly unique. A mentor dying is powerful because it forces the student to grow. Redemption in the rain is high symbolic of water washing things away + the somber atmosphere rain creates. Someone trying to get revenge against a character provides an eye-opening experience about the ripple effect of their actions. We see these things in fiction all the time because they work.

All the tropes worked like expected in this scene. Using images instead of cut scenes did make less of an impact, but more on that later.

Tl;dr: There's nothing unexpected or terribly unique about what happened. It was honestly painfully predictable, but that doesn't make it bad and is in a series that does this all of the time.

The voice acting carried because those images can't.

A major downside to this scene is that it used vague images instead of a cut scene. I get that budget and time were likely concerns, but many cut scenes from earlier in the game seem rather trivial. Did we really need that dance one? Really? I don't think so.

This was a hugely important, action heavy moment. Using one or two still images to convey everything that's happening and all those emotions, really makes it less than it could've been.

That said, the voice acting saves it. I've raved about how amazing Chris Hackeny is as Dimitri, so nothing new here. Rodrigue's and Fleche's VAs also did a fantastic job. No one oversold or undersold the emotions. Even without the cut scene, you felt what happened thanks to the skill of the actors. This scene would've been so much harder to engage with without them, if this was an older FE game where all you got was text. This is 100% one of the moments highly elevated by the decision to have a fully voiced game and choosing high caliber talent (let's not talk about Radiant Dawn's voice acting).

Questionable support timing.

One issue I had came right after the scene when I viewed Dimitri's supports. The nature of some - like his with Raphael and Alois - didn't quite line up with the character I saw in dialogue right after. I wish they staggered them a bit more or got picker about what you could get in part 1 or 2.

This isn't limited to Dimitri either. In the same support batch, I also got a Marianne B support where she still had no confidence or self-worth. And then like 10 minutes later I talk to her in the monastery and she mentions about how seeing all the death in Grondor made her value her life even more.

In the past, I've also received entirely valid opinions that Dorothea in part 2 is hard to understand because she's cherry and flirty in her supports, and morose and hates the war in her monastery stuff, making her seem inconsistent.

It's a bit jarring. It's not really an issue for characters who don't change much like Edelgard or Raphael, but even for characters with more subtle differences than Dimitri, Marianne, and Dorothea - like, say, Lorenz - you get a lot of weird stuff because of supports. I just think Dimitri's stands out because he's a main character with a really prominent, important turning point for his growth.

[mercurysstars]

The Shadow Thief (part 3)

Summary: What happens when Peter has to work with the girl he hates to possibly save the world.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, Blood, Violence.

A/n: Sorry it took me so long to post again! I’ve wrote like 3 different versions of this chapter because I didn’t know what direction to go in just yet.

_

"Woah, dude. Did you see this?" Y/n held out Peter's phone shoving it in his face.

Y/n had gone over to Peters house early that morning to get the last finishing touches on their project done. So they both reluctantly decided to walk together to school.

Peter snatched his phone out of Y/n's hands as they crossed the street. "How did you even get my phone? It was in my hands." She shrugged and pointed back at the article.

Peter scrolled down the page. Incoming reports say Avengers went on a mission and since gone MIA. How didn't he know about this? And why didn't the Avengers at least tell him they were going to be gone. Peter was confused, to say the least. Were they in trouble? No, they couldn't be they are the earth's mightiest heroes. Right?

"They probably just had to extend their mission and forgot to report back in." Or at least he hoped. He didn't want to think of the latter. He decided after school he would go to the compound and make sure everything was alright.

"If you say so." They walked up the stairs to the second floor of the school.  Peter opened the door and they both walked into English. Y/n took her seat next to Mj and Peter next to Ned.

The thought of the Avengers missing did worry Y/n a bit. She wasn't a big fan of superheroes but she also was not, not a fan. It was complicated. Sure she liked the security of having someone to save the day. But she hated that they pretended to be better than everyone else. They judge criminals as they themselves have never done anything wrong. They tend to blame everything on everyone else and never take responsibility.

Y/n felt a nudge to her arm. She turned her head to face Mj. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"No, no it's alright I'm just thinking," Y/n said. She pulled out her laptop and opened her and Peter's presentation to have it ready just in case they had to go first.

Their opening slide was a picture of Anne Frank surrounded by a pretty border and Anne Frank’s name in cursive in the middle. Peter insisted their project had to look nice and not like some shitty last-minute one like she had originally done. Y/n had teased Peter relentlessly about it saying maybe he should be a graphic designer instead of Spider-Man. And he of course huffed and pretended to ignore her.

"Well, you just looked worried. Anyways tell me if you need any help." Y/n gave Mj a grateful smile. Y/n knew Mj could have this cold, hard exterior but she knew she secretly cared.

The bell rang signaling the first period started. The teacher stood up from her desk and walked to the front of the room clasping her hands together. "Good morning class. Today is the first official day for our presentations. We'll be picking who goes first by random. Any questions?"

One girl toward the front of the classroom stuck up her hand "Yes, Betty."

"Did you see the news? About the avengers?" The class erupted within hushed conversation everyone stating their theories of what happened and their worries.

"Alright, class settle down. I did see but we will continue like normal." She said. It kind of seemed like to Y/n she didn't care at all but she didn't really think anything of it.

The phone rang and the teacher quickly excused herself. Y/n picked at her fingers mindlessly. The teacher muttered a few words into the phone and hung up "Y/n, Peter." Her eyes snapped up at the sound of her name "They want you down in the office. And bring your things."

Y/n furrowed her brows. Her eyes met Peters "What did you do?" He mouthed just as confused as her.

What did she do? What the hell did he do. She hasn't done anything wrong. Well, at least nothing she gotten caught for.  "Dude if anyone did anything it was you! I've only been here for like 3 weeks." She whispered-yelled back.

He put his hands up defensively. Y/n shoved all of her things in her bag and zipped it up. Mj raised an eyebrow at her and Y/n just shrugged with a clueless look on her face.

Y/n walked over to the door opening it with her free hand while her chrome book was in the other.  Peter followed not too far behind. They step out and began to walk down the hallway shoulder to shoulder not a word muttered between them.

The hall was empty. No teacher, no janitor, no late students, not even the common lost freshman. It was strange to Y/n. She turned to Peter "This is weird. It's almost like it's too."

"Quiet." He finished for her. Peter felt off. His spidey sense wasn't alarming him with anything but it was almost like a gut feeling you'd get when some strange guy came up to you at a party being a little too friendly.

"Yeah." Exactly. They continued down the hall both on high alert. When they passed a window Y/n could see two men dressed in suits around the corner through the reflection.

"I think they're following us." She whispered to Peter. Y/n has picked up a thing or two of trying not to be noticed but the men behind them didn't seem like they cared much for subtlety. They had their eyes set on Y/n and Peter taking wide quick steps.

This time his spidey sense went off. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Peter reached for his web-shooters "We need to get out of here."

"You think?" Y/n back said in an aggravated tone. The next time they passed by a window she could see them screw something together slowly by their side.

Y/n glanced down to get a better look, it was a gun. All she could hear was the beating of her heart thumping loudly in her ears. Thinking quickly Y/n shoved Peter into a locker. A bullet whizzed past where his head once was and made a tiny thump when it hit the wall.

His eyes went wide momentarily stunned before he sprung into action. He shot out a web, grabbed the gun out of the man's hand, and flung it across the hall, making sure he couldn't get to it.

The men paused for a minute before muttering something to each other end breaking into a spring toward them. Well mostly at Peter luckily for her but still in her direction. Peter began to fight the one whose gun he had stolen hand to hand. The man got in a punch to Peter's face. Peter tripped him and tied him up with his webs.

The second man was coming toward her. Before she could second guess herself Y/n took her chrome book and slapped the man across the face with it. The man was momentarily shocked and Y/n opened an unlocked locker hitting him in the face. She watched him slide down the lockers unconscious.

More men turned the corner and came down the hallway. Y/n kicked a waist-length garbage can with wheels toward them as a small distraction. Peter grabbed Y/n pulling her into an empty classroom.

Y/n locked the door before she grabbed Peter and dragged him further into the classroom into a supply closet. They both crouched behind a mop bucket leaving the door cracked for a tiny bit of light.

"Would you like to tell me why there's someone outside this classroom trying to blow my brain out!" She huffed.

"Don't ask me. For all, we know they could be after you!" They both flinched as they heard the door handle shake.

"They were attacking you. Shooting at you. And you'd have a bullet in the back of your head if I didn't push you out of the way if I might add." She poked him in the chest.

The men began to start kicking at the door trying to break it down "Maybe if we figure out who they are we can get out of this."

"You know what I have an idea." Y/n reached back and grabbed the gun out of the waistband of her pants. Y/n started not to care much for introductions when they tried to assassinate her. Her motto was to shoot first ask questions later because she was not going down without a fight.

"What the hell Y/n! Where did you even get a gun?" Peter tried to put some distance between them but failed and ended up bumping into a shelf.

"Calm down bug boy I'm not going to shoot you." She rolled her eyes "I grabbed it off the guy while I smashed my laptop over his head."

"You are not shooting anyone!" He exclaimed. He was going to die with a psychopath. A literal psychopath. What would his uncle Ben say if he could see him right now?

"Fine whatever. How many webs do you have left?"

"Only one." He muttered.

"Only one! How the hell do you only have only one web left?" Oh lord. She was going to die in a janitor's closet with an idiot.

"Oh well, I'm sorry I didn't know I would have someone trying to paint the walls with my organs. I must have forgotten to mark it on my calendar!"

"Oh god, Okay." Y/n rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

She took the clip out of her gun and counted the bullets she had. Two. Okay, she could work with that, Somehow. She just had to live long enough to beat Peter up for almost getting them killed.

She turned back to Peter "Alright here's the plan so we are going to jump out of the window and see just how far that web can exactly get us." She could hear the pounds on the door getting more frequent and if she was being honest she was surprised it held this long.

"Are you crazy! You going to get us both killed." He didn't need the answer because he already knew she was. He swore he could see the shadows swirl around her for a moment but as quickly as it was there it was gone.

"Do you have any better ideas because I'm all ears, Parker?" He didn't say anything and just ran a hand through his hair letting out a frustrated sigh.

"That's what I thought." Y/n knew there was a good chance that they get hit by incoming traffic like a bug on a windshield but it was either that or the SWAT team outside.

"Let's get this over with." Said Y/n. They both stepped outside of the closet. The men outside the room gave the door one last kick and it broke off of the hinges. "Go." That was all Peter said.

Y/n shot the window with the two bullets she had. Peter ran over to Y/n and grabbed onto her tightly. They jumped through the window shattering it. Peter shoots out his last web hooking onto a nearby tree. At the peak of the swing, Peter let go of the web. They flew over the traffic narrowly avoiding the cars.

When they finally reached the ground they hit it hard. Peter took most of the impact but Y/n still hit her head. They continued to hold tightly onto each other as they rolled through the grass from the momentum of the swing.

They came to a slow stop and Y/n landed on top of Peter. She slumped off to the side of him and sat up. Peter did the same but with a groan feeling all of the bones in his body.

He noticed blood began to trickle out of Y/n's nose. "You got something." He pointed to her nose.

She wiped under her nostrils with her fingers and then again with the bottom of her shirt without a second thought "Oh, Thanks."

Peter rested his head on his knees. What was he going to do? As much as he didn't like Y/n he felt bad for dragging her into this. "We need to get going they are going to come looking for us soon."

"Where are we going to go?" The light was starting to become too much so Y/n put her hand over her eyes to shield her from the sun. She was starting to get a headache and just wanted to lay down. Peter stood up and dusted off his shirt and pants.

"Avengers compound." He held out a hand to her. She took it and he pulls her up onto her feet. They began to walk toward the street.

"I just don't know how we are going to get there." He added. They made it onto the sidewalk. Y/n was stumbling around so Peter kept his pace slow so she could keep up with him.

Y/n stopped walking "What do you think of this car?" She nodded to a 1997 Honda Accord.

"It's cool I guess." He said confused the car was a little old but he didn't say anything.

"Alright good. Now hand me your web-shooters." She held out her hand toward him.

"Okay?" He didn't really know what she was trying to get at. Peter just assumed she hit her head too hard but he complied anyway.

Y/n crouched down facing the car. She broke his web-shooters over her knee taking out two long curved metal pieces. She handed him back the rest of his broken web-shooters. Peter stared at her wide-eyed as she stuck the two metal pieces into the lock of the car.

"What are you doing." He hissed. Peter walked closer to Y/n trying to cover her as she picked the lock to the car.

"I just gave our problem a solution." She said without looking. She continued to twist the pieces around until she heard a little click. She gave a little cheer and opened the door.

"Yeah by stealing someone's car. Need I remind you is illegal."

" I like to think of it as borrowing. Besides I will happily leave you if you wish." She rolled her eyes. God, her head was throbbing.

Y/n took the plastic cover off of the steering column. There were three sets of wires and she grabbed the middle one. Y/n cut the red and blue wire. She touched the wires together until she heard the car start. She smiled to herself and lastly twisted the wires together.

She turned to Peter "Are you getting in or what?"

Peter looked around and then sighed "Fine, but I'm driving."

"What? No way, you don't even look old enough to drive." She crossed her arms.

"You have a concussion so I'm our best bet at not dying." He gave Y/n a sarcastic smile.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes but got out of the driver's seat.

"You know if you keep rolling your eyes they are going to get stuck like that." She flicked him off and he laughed.

Y/n basically collapsed into the passengers seat. Peter closed his door and started the car. He pulled into the street and Y/n rested her head against the window. The cool glass felt nice against her forehead. She notice a bruise on Peter's pale cheek from when he got hit earlier.

Every now and again he would glance at Y/n to see how she was doing. He figured she must not feel the best because she hasn't said one witty remark since they got into the car.

He hoped by now the Avengers were back at the compound and could Tell them what's going on and who was following them.

He looked over to her again and she had her eyes close. He jabbed her with his elbow "Hey, don't fall sleep. You might not wake back up."

"Hmm Okay." She said but didn't budge.

"I'm serious Y/n, open your eyes." Peter was starting to get worried. It wasn't that he cared about her. But he didn't know what to do with a dead body. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"Don't get your panties into a bunch, my eyes are open."

They pulled into the road of the compound. When it came into view Y/n suddenly sat up wide eyed "Holy shit."

"What?" Peter took his eyes off of Y/n and followed her line of sight.

"What the fu-"

Part 4

Taglist

@fandom-strumpet • @ginger-swag-rapunzel • @libraries-and-coffee

[cloudywriter]

camp staghorn - 3

alright, i had hoped for chapter 3 to be longer but then i decided to split it up for the sake of the flow. as i’ve been writing too things have naturally changed so i didn’t intend for this whole chapter to be in rowan’s view so now my summary isn’t exactly an excerpt but hope that’s okay. anyway enjoy! 

masterlist, main masterlist, AO3

~~~

Rowan was quickly realizing the grave error he had made in aggravating this girl. He thought she might throw a bit of a fit after getting flour dumped on her head in front of the whole camp but she took it upon herself to retaliate that very day.

That was how Rowan ended up with his campers 30 minutes late to the bonfire. His shoes were soaked through with muddy creek water and sloshed with every step he took. Even his socks were drenched and it was the worst feeling in the world. 

He had tried to jump up on the line a few times and let gravity pull the dinners back towards them but it didn’t seem to weigh enough. Thus, Rowan had to sacrifice his shoes in order to untie the bag directly from the zipline where it rested above the stream. 

His campers were both amused by the feud but also put out by having to wait for their dinners and be late to the bonfire. Rowan just trudged along, silently fuming, following the orange flames that flickered through the trees in the distance. His shoes making a disgusting squish with every step he took.

When Rowan and his campers finally appeared, obviously late, Aelin turned around from her spot on a makeshift log bench and gave him a dazzling smile, clearly proud of her work. It took Rowan a bit by surprise with the light from the fire reflecting back in her blue eyes and illuminating her face, she looked beautiful. He had thought so even the day before but then she opened her big mouth and blatantly cheated during the mud race and her angelic appeal took on a different form.  

Rowan just huffed and gave her a withering glare before perching himself on another log facing the opposite way. Maybe if she wasn’t such a piece of work they could’ve gotten along fine enough and been civil.

It was then that Fenrys came and plopped himself right beside Rowan. “Hey, man,” he greeted, energetic as usual despite the darkening sky. Fenrys was always sunshine come to life, happy but insufferable, unable to take anything seriously. Rowan was a little more tense in nature, a loner by heart, he only needed someone to make him come to life.

“Hey,” Rowan grunted. “What happened?” Fenrys inquired. 

“Aelin happened,” he responded with a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Aelin? She’s still bothering you?” 

“Yeah, she fucking tied our dinners to one of the ziplines and left a note covered in hearts.”

Fenrys was laughing his ass off, of course, always willing to capitalize off of Rowan’s misery. He tried to give Rowan a pat on the back but he shoved his hand away. 

“C’mon man, you can’t let her win like this. Get her back,” Fenrys pressed. 

Up until this point, Rowan hadn’t considered rectifying her actions. He was too caught up in the state of his shoes and getting his campers back to the bonfire to even think past his annoyance. 

“Okay, I got a plan for you. You go to her camp’s cabin and loosen all their facets so when they turn on the sinks they fly off and water sprays everywhere.”

It was brilliant thinking Rowan had to admit but his plan had a few holes that Rowan voiced. “When am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know her cabin number.”

“Those are easy fixes, dude. Go to the map outside the dining hall, all the cabins are labeled with which camp numbers are where and you know she’s number 6,” Fenrys explained. 

Rowan nodded along, surprised Fenrys was more observant than he was in this instance. “And you should go now. I’ll keep track of her and if she ever starts wondering over your way I’ll make a distraction,” Fenrys continued. 

“What are you going to do that isn’t outright suspicious?” Fenrys wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Fenrys shrugged, “I’ll just flirt with her. I mean, she’s hot anyway I was going to try to get her number one way or another. Plus, I’m practically irresistible.” Rowan wasn’t sure why he felt slightly irked by Fenrys’s strategy but he shoved the brief feeling aside.

“Get a move on before it’s too late,” Fenrys persisted, getting up to keep an eye on Aelin as he promised. Rowan did as told and slipped into the shadows, ready to execute his plan. 

By the time Rowan made it outside cabin 3B it had been at least 15 minutes, he was a little embarrassed to admit he got a bit lost on the dimly lit forest trail. He opened the main door and screen door with a creak, internally cringing as he did so, though no one was around.

The cabin was much tidier than Rowan’s own. The girls' belongings were organized and the beds were neatly made. Rowan quickly located the bathroom and flipped on the lights, hoping that no suspicion would be drawn. 

The bathroom counter had three sinks and various toiletries scattered around the counter. Rowan spotted a collection of hair and skin products and just knew they belonged to Aelin, he didn’t think any 12-year-old girls were using those. 

He left the toiletries alone though, that wasn’t his mission. He had only loosened one of the facets when he heard muffled voices outside the cabin. 

Rowan quickly shut off the lights and darted behind one of the shower curtains that shielded three showers in the back of the bathroom. The cabin’s door squeaked open and Rowan could make out Fenrys’s voice from the outside, pleading with Aelin. 

“Aelin, c’mon, we could go back to my cabin for some fun, you know.” Rowan could sense the underlying panic in his teasing tone. 

“Oh, go away you horn dog and take a hint,” he could hear the eye roll in Aelin’s voice too. 

Footsteps sounded, striding towards the bathroom and Rowan tried to quiet his breathing. His heart was beating out of his chest, he really did not want to be found in the girls’ cabin. As innocent as what he was doing was it certainly looked suspicious. The lights flipped on and Rowan cringed, silently praying to whatever would listen. 

Aelin hummed a little and a facet turned on. Judging by the lack of screams at least it wasn’t the sink Rowan had just tampered with. He dared a peek through the sliver of space between the curtain and the shower’s tile wall. Aelin was at a sink, washing her hands that seemed to be covered with chocolate and marshmallow residue, looks like he was missing s’mores. 

Just as quickly as Aelin appeared, she left. Rowan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart finally calming in his chest. He was just so goddamn lucky she hadn’t started taking a shower or something, Rowan would’ve definitely combusted on the spot. 

Rowan slipped out from behind the curtain after a few minutes of waiting, ensuring that the coast was truly clear. He quickly loosened the remaining facets and hurried back to the bonfire before any suspicion could arise.

+++

Rowan woke his camp early the next morning despite their protests. He played it off as wanting the premium breakfast selections before everyone else took them but truly he didn’t want to miss Aelin’s reaction to his little jest.

He expected it would happen in the morning when everyone was getting up and ready to start the day and he wanted front row seats.

As Rowan entered the dining hall he was immediately met with his failure of a lookout, Fenrys. 

“I’m sorry, I swear, dude, I pulled out all the charm and she still just kept walking, complaining about her hands being sticky,” Fenrys tried to desperately explain. Rowan just shook his head and brushed it off, reassuring Fenrys there was no harm done. However, if Aelin had found him he probably would’ve had Fenrys’s head by now. 

Rowan was disappointed by Aelin and her camp’s absence throughout breakfast but he realized it was still early and at least three camps were yet to appear. He tapped his fingers on the table and impatiently waited, thrumming with anticipation.

At last, he sighed and made his way outside to dispose of his food in the big trash can. As he was making the short trip back into the dining hall incessant stomping from behind had him turning around and he smiled like the Chesire Cat. 

He could tell by her face that Aelin was positively seething. She was still dressed in her pajamas, a large t-shirt dwarfing her frame but it was soaked from her collar bones down. The ends of her hair were a deep golden blonde, wet and dripping with sink water. 

She stopped face to face with him and shoved the detached facet into his chest with a force that should not have been humanly possible. Rowan almost stumbled back a step but kept with his facade, outwardly admiring his handy work. 

“Fix it, you dick,” she hissed in his face, lacing her arms across her chest. 

“What seems to be the problem, princess?” 

“Oh, don’t play stupid right now and come screw it back on or I will drag you there by your ear.”

Rowan was weirdly turned on. With her face so close to his and the tension in the air was as taut as a freshly tuned guitar string, he was struggling to breathe properly. Aelin stirred him like no other, she was a walking wildfire, burning bright and utterly uncontained. 

Rowan terminated his inner monologue and gestured for her to lead the way. Aelin huffed, spinning on her heel and marching the path back to her cabin. 

Rowan actually had to work to keep pace with this girl and he was an athlete, constantly practicing or on a field for one sport or another. Aelin breezed through the forest trail never stumbling on rocks or stray roots even with her heavy steps that communicated her frustration clearly. 

When they reached the cabin door, Aelin entered and let the door fall behind her despite knowing Rowan was only a couple of steps back. He huffed and pushed open the door once more. The cabin was empty, likely Aelin had sent the girls to get breakfast while she dealt with Rowan’s antics. 

Aelin stood expectantly in the bathroom.

“Do you need to watch?” Rowan questioned.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t put it back on and twist the handles off while you’re at it,” Aelin explained coldly, her arms still crossed, her stance daring him to challenge her. 

Rowan only gave her a bitter scoff and effortlessly screwed the facet back into place. “Look at that, good as new, now was that so hard?” He definitely enjoyed taunting her. 

“Save it smartass, now I might not even get breakfast.”

Aelin stomped back to the countertop and squirted some toothpaste onto her brush, reaching out to turn on another sink. Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen.

“Wait, Ae-” 

It was too late. The damage was done and once again Aelin was being showered as water sprayed through the crack in the loosened pipes. 

“ROWAN!” She screeched but Rowan was already reaching over and twisting the handle back so the water would stop running. 

“What the fuck! You did it to all of them!” Aelin’s face was flushed with anger and her eyes were blazing. 

“I tried to warn you!” Rowan attempted to defend himself but Aelin didn’t look convinced. Rowan snatched a white towel off of the drying rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. That’s when Rowan recognized what he was doing, swaddling the soaked girl in a towel, breaching a new territory altogether. They made eye contact. Aelin’s face was relaxed and she regarded him with a soft, perplexed expression. 

Rowan removed his hands from where they were holding the towel together and cleared his throat. “You probably want to change,” he suggested lamely.  

“Uh, yeah.” With that, Aelin exited the bathroom and dug through her bag for a change of clothes while Rowan tightened the remaining sinks awkwardly, putting his prank to a rest. 

Once Rowan had finished he slipped out of Aelin’s cabin while she continued to get ready. When he arrived back at the dining hall he noticed breakfast was quickly coming to a close and a kernel of guilt panged through him. His goal hadn’t been to starve her by forcing her to miss breakfast. 

Rowan grabbed an apple and recognized a girl with long, deep brown hair and brown eyes sitting at a nearby table, a girl Rowan often saw accompanying Aelin. He approached her and cleared his throat to capture her attention, she shifted in her seat to face the noise. 

“Can you, uh, give this to Aelin when she comes?” He asked, holding out the red apple. 

“Yeah, sure,” the girl said kindly, taking the apple from his hand. 

With that, Rowan went back outside to find wherever his campers had journeyed off to in their free time. Along with him followed an abundance of contradicting feelings. 

~~~

i gave them a lil moment - aelin will stab him in the back again tho don’t worry.

send prompts!

taglist: @live-the-fangirl-life // @rowaelinismyotp // @gosuckadickghostman // @camilamartinezdunne​ //