#and even then that is not straight in the slightest they r both too violently gay for their besties

[pear1ridge-a]

tate is so so clingy w the people he cares about

[3d-wifey]

NSFW Alphabet: JD Edition

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Pillow talk galore. And he's surprisingly cuddly afterward.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He's pretty proud of his brain. Not to toot his own horn, but he's a pretty clever guy. He's a quick thinker and he managed to plan and execute three murders while making them look like suicides.

He's awfully fond of your hips. How nicely they fit your jeans, how his hands look on them, the noises you make when he squeezes them a little too tightly.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

I can't see him ever remembering to wear a condom and having a kid is not in his cards (yet), so he's definitely pulling out. He likes to finish on your face or your stomach. It's almost like he's marking you. But, if you're fucking in public, he'll cum in your panties and he expects you to walk around in them.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not inherently sexual, but he's been looking for ways to tie you to him since he met you. He always thought marriage was a shame, too easily broken. So getting you pregnant after high school seems like the perfect plan. Of course, he's not getting your opinion on it beforehand. That's why it's a secret.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

None, considering he was a virgin before you. Surprising since he's so good-looking, but he's not the type to be attracted to people he can barely stand. You're the only person he actually liked being around in, well, ever. So, anything he does sexually is based purely on instinct and what you tell him you like.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Any position where he can have a good look at your face. He's pretty partial to you being on top of him though.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's a pretty intense guy with a dry sense of humor, so I can't see him making any jokes during it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hates being clean-shaven. Something about being bald down there doesn't sit right with him, and it's way too much work. He doesn't grow a lot of hair in the first place, but he'll trim it down if it bothers you so much. But not without some bitching on his part.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Jason isn't a romantic person by nature, at least not in the traditional sense. However, he's very attentive in his own way. If it's anything other than a quickie, you'll find he's pretty focused on your pleasure, your reactions. Some might even say obsessed.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

He doesn't really have a reason to when he could just pull you into an empty classroom or something. However, he'll do it if you're nowhere around and he can't, for some reason, sneak over to your place. But considering he's around you almost 24/7, it happens less and less.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Blood. Not your own, but he likes seeing other people's blood on you. I could totally see him fucking you in front of a dead body if it didn't get incriminating fluids all over the crime scene.

Choking. Going both ways. Not to the point where you might pass out, but he's aiming to leave bruises. He definitely wants you to wrap your hand around his throat until he goes lightheaded.

Hickeys. I know what you're thinking and I want you to stop thinking it because you're wrong. He wants you to mark him up. He's a very pale boy and he bruises easily, so you can apply the slightest pressure and he'll look like a leopard. He likes to show them off and the dull pain that comes when he presses on them shoots straight to his dick.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. He doesn't much care about getting caught. And it's not like he can't take care of anyone who saw something they shouldn't have.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You, wholly and completely. He's a teenage boy in love, you could wear a nun outfit and he'd still find it sexy.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He's a part of the anti-mommy/daddy kink club. His mommy and daddy issues are both too strong for him to view those words in a sexual light. Just the thought of them is boner repellent.

He's also not doing anything that could seriously wound you, on purpose or by accident. So, knives are out of the picture.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Likes giving and receiving pretty equally. However, there's something about being in between your legs and knowing that he's the one pulling those sounds and reactions from you.

It's borderline euphoric.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He doesn't really have a set pace. It usually depends on his mood, which is ever-changing.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I said in the Stamina part, he has a stupid high sex drive, so quickies are his best friends. In your car during lunch, in storage closets in between classes, etc. Name a place and he's doing you there.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He'd do just about anything you asked of him. He's a murderer, there's no bigger risk than that.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

I'd say 2 rounds (3 max if you're riding him). And how long each round lasts depends on the pace he's going. All in all, definitely nothing to spit at.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He definitely doesn't own any toys of his own, his hand gets the job done just fine, thank you very much. But I can see him using toys on you if you ask. He's really only doing it to humor you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He can't dish it or take it. He thinks he's a totally tease, and he does so good at first, but he always gets too horny to actually go through with the plan. He gives in too easily.

Teasing doesn't work on him either, because as soon as you make the smallest hint that you're in the mood, he's ready to go. Whenever, wherever.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He doesn't moan often, more into groaning and grunting. But the man is a talker.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Something about you acting aggressive or violent really gets him going. Murder's his foreplay, babe.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Above-average at about 7-7.5 inches with a slight curve to the left. He's longer than he is thick and he has a cute beauty mark at the base of his shaft. Like I said earlier, he's not clean-shaven but he'll reluctantly trim for you if you want him to.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He's a healthy, teenage boy. And like most teenage boys, he has an overactive libido. So, he's ready anyplace, anytime.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He actually isn't that tired after, assuming you've only gone one round. But if you're both pushing into oversensitivity, he's cuddling up to you and passing out right after.

[grade1sorcerer]

Three Minutes

pairing: bakugou x reader

warnings: SMUT NSFW, spanking, exhibitionism, dumbification, degradation, hint of praise, dub-con, masochism, humiliation, spit, swearing, edging

authors note: this is my first fic so please don’t judge too hard, feel free to leave any suggestions :)

Three minutes was all it took for you to read Katsuki’s text. Three minutes for you to stumble towards his dorm. Three minutes until you were underneath him while he basked in your beauty in the moonlight. The light hit your body in all the perfect places, Katsuki captivated as he stared hungrily at your lips.

“A little birdie told me you were flirting with that damn icy-hot today.” He growled as he nibbled on your ear, making you twitch in arousal. You love seeing him get worked up over this, giving you a sense of power as you smirked. “So what if I was?”

“I don’t like sharing dumbass, you’re mine. That icy-hot bastard can’t fuck you like I do. He can’t stretch you wide and fill you up like me,” he spat, the words words so lewd but oh so arousing.

He violently flipped you over as your laid on your stomach and wiftly took off your pants and panties.  You felt a sting on your ass and before you knew it, Katsuki was spanking them until there were visible hand marks. The last slap made you slightly moan and you frowned into the pillow.

“Tch. you must really like it when I slap your ass huh?” He laughed as he pushed his growing erection onto you. “Dirty slut,”

That made your face heat up as you pushed your face even more into the pillow to stop Katsuki from noticing.

“Alright let me get to the point, I called that icy-hot bastard over for a special treat.”

“You’re inviting him over for a threesome?” You gasped, snapping your head towards Bakugou as he balanced himself above you with his arms. This would be so embarrassing if he joined. Would it be considered cheating? Katsuki hates him. As if on cue, the door opens revealing a tired-looking todoroki.

“Yes Bakugou? What seems to be the pro-“ He cuts himself off as he notices you under Bakugou, half-nude. “S-Sorry am I interrupting?” He stuttered, face red as he tried to look away while gripping the door handle tight.

“No dumbass, sit the fuck down.” Katsuki instructed and Todoroki complied hesitantly. “I need you here so I can teach this whore to set her fantasies straight.”

What could this possibly mean?

You wondered for a split second until it clicked into your head. “Oh shit.” you muttered, cursing yourself for even talking to your hot-headed boyfriend today.

“You’re gonna watch me fuck this dirty slut until she tells- even better, begs for me to set her straight. Until i’m the only person on her mind.” Bakugou chuckles, exposing his evil side grin.

Todoroki gulps as he looks at your figure. It shouldn’t happen but he’s oddly aroused seeing Bakugou top you.

Bakugou turned you over again and burned a hole in your favourite shirt.

“HEY” you yelled, but we’re ignored after he saw your breasts. You watched him hungrily bite your bra straps, pushing it down until all was left was your exposed breasts. Quickly grabbing one, he watched your nipple harden as he breathed on the nub. “Ooh, your nipples already hard for me baby? Can’t fucking control yourself huh?” He grunted as he latched onto one, circling around it with his tongue. You let out a breathy moan giving him the green light to play with the other one with his fingers.

Your legs are squirming underneath him, and you already begin to feel yourself get wet. You can’t help it, but here you are trying to contain your moans which sound more like whimpers, as he laps up his saliva onto your nipples. “Ka-Katsuki” you groan arching your back.

“Gonna cum already huh? You’re so fucking sensitive, cumming at the slightest touch? Tch, you’re a needy bitch aren’t you?” He slurred, in between his kisses in your breasts. “Can’t have you doing that baby.”

He picked himself up and looked towards Todoroki who had a visible erection and smirked. “You’re enjoying me pleasure this filthy whore huh.” Todoroki could only nod with eagerness.

Todoroki wanted Bakugou to do that to him, HE wanted bakugou to make him feel good like what he was doing to you.

Katsuki removed his pants and boxers, revealing his cock. You had forgotten how big he was, and he took pride in watching you gasp at the size. “A dumb little slut like you wants a taste? You want this fat cock to fuck your mouth in hopes it makes you less braindead?” He mocked as he stroked himself before roughly entering your mouth. He groaned in pleasure and thrusted himself in and out of you, giving small grunts of approval. What he felt was ecstacy, as you sucked on the tip and played with his balls simultaneously. “D-Dumbass, you do it so g-good” He moaned as he threw his head back in pleasure.

You could feel his thrusts get sloppier as you continued sucking his cock, giving the impression that he was gonna cum. Oh boy it was hot watching him struggle to keep his composure as he gripped your hair tightly. “Baby- dumbass, I’m gonna cum s-soon.” He let out a breathy sigh. It was a matter of seconds before he jolted his hips forward and came in your mouth. You didn’t hesitate and licked up all of his milk and as he continued to catch his breath. Katsuki made his way up and clashed his lips with yours.

Todoroki sat their in awe, pants wet from the pre-cum. This man was so sexually frustrated, it wasn’t even funny. He unzipped them, pulling his cock out and grabbed the pillow that was placed next to him on the couch, and slowly started humping it. He made sure to contain his small whimpers as he relieved some of the tension. It made him so aroused watching you make out with him, the way your lips softly made love with the man of your dreams.

“This was the only praise you’ll get idiot,” Katuski bellowed as he pulled away, his eyes paying attention to your soaked panties. Pulling them off, he stared hungrily at your pussy. “Look at you being such a filthy bitch for me. Your dirty fucking pussy is so wet, I can drown in it” He grumbled as he blew on your clit.

“Katsuki, that’s so lewd” You whined, flustered from the degrading. You moaned in pleasure as he rubbed your clit with his fingers, coated with his saliva. What made you even wetter was when Katsuki spat on your pussy and spread it with his tongue. He circled your clit as you squirmed under him, humping the air. Once your moans became more prominent he added two fingers in, without giving you time to adjust. He plunged them in and out at a fast-pace making you scream in satisfaction.

Todoroki watched as Bakugou abused your pussy, devouring you like a feral animal. His thrusts increased and felt himself chasing his orgasm. “Ah- yes... r-right there,” he whispered as he came onto the cushion.

You felt so good, and he did it so fucking well. You didn’t care if he was talking down to you, because to be honest it was so much more arousing to you. “B-baby, I’m g-gonna c-cum” You stuttered while your moans filled the room. “You cum when I say so, got it dumbass? Your dirty cunt has no right to cum unless I say so. I’m going to get you so close and then stop because I know you fucking love it.” You gulped in agreement as he stretched your legs open.

“You only think with your pussy huh? Maybe the next time I fuck you will be the day you get a brain,” He retorted. He rubbed his hard cock as you laid there breathless and slid it against your entrance. You moaned and twitched at the touch. Without giving you any warning, he shoved his thick cock into you, stretching you so wide it had you seeing stars. “K-Katsuki, s-stop, w-wait!” You screamed as he pounded into you. His length hitting your cervix caused a shiver down your spine.

Todoroki was rubbing himself again, except fully exposing his cock. The way Bakugou pounded into you, made his cock throb. HE wanted to be in your position, HE wanted to feel Bakugou’s length.

Three minutes, Katuski had you crying from the continuous pleasure, your mascara running down your face as he choked you while pounding into your sweet pussy. “Dumb slut,” He growled, each time a little louder as you tried to rub your clit.

You wanted to cum. You wanted to cum so bad. You wanted to be filled with Katsuki’s cum. You wanted to be his cocksleeve.

“Stop being so fucking loud, you dumb whore,” He grunted as he continued to pound into you. You felt your orgasm coming, but you had to be quiet. Each time you made a small noice, Katsuki spat on you telling you to shut the fuck up. You were so goddamn close to cumming, you couldn’t even see clear at this point, your legs were numb, the only thing you could think about was cumming.

“You wanna cum so damn bad huh? Cum for me then, you dirty bitch,” You grinded against him a little harder and finally came on his dick. “K-Katsuki, Ah” you groaned as you laid there feeling on cloud 9. “D-Dumbass, y-your pussy feels so g-good!” He managed to let out before he caught up to his own orgasm and came in your hole.

Todoroki was so close too, watching you both lazily make out and clean each other up with your mouths. Before he knew it, he was cumming hard onto his pants and the pillow.

“Looks like we gotta take care of you next time, you damn icy-hot.”

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt58

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

“So what you’re saying is that Batman and his team have done more in two months than you managed it two years.” Discorde was about five seconds from Cataclysming Superman, relations with other heroes be damned. She only held back because Ladybug had a hand on her arm. Robin didn’t seem any happier and it brought him up in her estimation.

“That is wildly presumptuous and inaccurate.” Oracle’s voice came through the comm and both she and Red Robin were scowling at the others from a screen on the wall. “We only managed what we did because of the incredibly detailed and accurate information Ladybug gave us. There’s no telling how long it would have taken us starting from scratch the way she did. Not to mention she is one hundred percent responsible for the plan that gave us Mayura.”

“Convenient.” Superman still sounded doubtful but seemed willing to drop that part of things, for now. “Regardless, there’s still the matter of actually apprehending him and what we do with the object that gave him his powers in the first place.” The hand around Discorde’s arm tightened and she looked over to see an incredibly pissed off Ladybug.

“That is none of your concern.” Ladybug’s tone held an impressive amount of authority and disdain. She’d been around Damian a lot lately and it showed. “We are here as a courtesy but I will not allow you to interfere.” Multiple members of the League glared at her from their seats.

“She’s right.” The voice belonged to a rather subdued Wonder Woman. After the rundown Ladybug had given her of the previous meeting Discorde had expected her to be of the same mind as Superman. “The Miraculous are not our domain, nor should they be. While I’m not thrilled that such a burden was placed on children it is not our place to question a Guardian who has dedicated their life to protecting the Miraculous and maintaining balance.” There was complete silence after she spoke, no one seemed to know how to react. Batman recovered first.

“I agree. There’s a reason most of us didn’t even know the Miraculous existed until now. From what Wonder Woman has told me the Order that protects them is very good at keeping them contained.” Discorde felt Ladybug stiffen slightly, but otherwise she didn’t react to the words at all.

“They failed once. Sure this time it’s contained in Paris, but what happens the next time? We can’t take that risk.” Ladybug had apparently had enough of Superman’s self righteous attitude.

“It is not your decision to make.” Her tone was hard and frigid, it sent a chill up Discorde’s spine and she was thanking every Kwami she knew that it wasn’t directed at her. “Even ignoring the Order for the moment, the Miraculous exist to maintain balance. Having all of them in the hands of a group dedicated to their form of justice will wreak havoc on that balance. Villains and dissenters will start popping out of the woodwork at rates you won’t be able to handle. You’ll just be making everything worse for the people you claim to protect. The cost is far too high whether you believe it or not.”

Discorde watched the heroes' reactions, trying to decide which were threats and which were allies. Batman and his team were firmly entrenched on their side, at least for now. Wonder Woman seemed content to let things take their course and at least not interfere. Superman looked like he was ready to go to war with them along with a couple others so that’s where she kept her focus. When Marinette had suggested she be here Plagg had given her some tips and suggestions to keep them in line if necessary and she wasn’t going to hesitate if any of them came at Ladybug.

“So these powers are better protected in the hands of children? If this Order is so competent why didn’t they send their own people in to do the job?” Okay, that was a good question that she’d have to file away for later.

“You have no idea how the Miraculous or the Order work and I’m not about to enlighten you and put others at risk. You believe in very strict definitions of good and evil. I doubt you’d be willing to listen to let alone understand even if I did explain.” Batman’s lips twitched upward and Discorde thought he was trying not to smile. The rest of his team didn’t seem to feel the need to restrain themselves and were snickering in the background. Red Hood even gave Ladybug a thumbs up. Wonder Woman looked amused and… proud? One more thing to try and unpack later.

“You do not decide what is and is not pertinent information for us to know. We will ask questions and you will answer them to the best of your ability.” Superman’s tone said he didn't expect her to know much and Discorde felt the growl in her chest before she heard it. How dare this pompous, self important, alien…

“It would be wise for you to stop.” Discorde glared at Wonder Woman as she spoke, expecting to be the object of her censure, but she was focused on Superman. “Ladybug is perfectly correct in her assessment and the Justice League as no standing to interfere in the first place. What’s more, threatening her will do nothing but give her black cat a reason to show you just how ineffectual your powers are against the powers of gods.” Her tone was dry but firm. Some of the heroes were now looking at the two Miraculous holders like they were bombs ready to go off while others seemed to doubt Wonder Woman’s claim. Discorde almost hoped one of them would try something at this point. She knew exactly how much stress Ladybug was under and this wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“What’s she going to do, purr at me?” Something inside her snapped. She felt for the destruction inside her as Plagg had taught and pulled it to the surface. She was vaguely aware of Batman and his team moving away from the man of steel and heard Wonder Woman’s resigned sigh. The rest didn’t seem to know how to react. They would soon.

The table and chairs dissolved as though eaten by acid causing everyone to scramble away. After that she concentrated directly on Superman. He still seemed to think he was invincible but she knew better. Plagg and Tikki had created the universe and while Superman was immune to the dangers of Earth, he wasn’t immune to the dangers of his home planet, or the Kwami. She focused the ball of darkness inside her into the shape she wanted before letting it shoot straight at Superman. Just as Plagg predicted, he didn’t even try to move.

“Is that all you have?” His cockiness brought a feral grin to her lips. She waited. “This is a waste of time. I want to talk to whoever thought it was a good idea to entrust-” He broke off in a coughing fit that was so violent he ended up hovering over the floor. When he stopped and looked at his hand everyone in the room could see blood. “What did you do?” Discorde glared back at him.

“I infected you with Krypton’s version of the bubonic plague and Ladybug is the only one who can cure you so I suggest you appropriate a new attitude.”

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[brvdleymilligan]

HLO slinks in thru a bead curtain.......... truly sry this took me so long to concoct bt i’m here now, hand on hip, smiling coyly at u all...... i’m nai n i’m rly excited to b here so i’ll just dive right in!! u can find bradley’s pinterest board here n her muse tag here. like this or hmu for plots!

[ cis female, she/her, margaret qualley , twenty-four ] i can’t be sure, but i think i just saw BRADLEY MILLIGAN drive onto the parkway. don’t they know we’re not supposed to be driving on that haunted road right now? maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re so +RESILIENT and -VOLATILE that makes them feel UNPHASED about everything going on. i guess we could also chalk it up to the fact that they’re always reminding me of LEMON IN A FRESH CUT, THE AMBER BLINK OF AN ANGRY ALLEY CAT, GRINNING WITH BLOOD ON YOUR TEETH. either way, i hope they get back safely. [ nai, she/her, 24, gmt ]

aesthetics: singeing a hole in your fishnets with the cherry of a menthol, spitting a pistachio behind the bar just to hear it ping off the nozzle top bottles, lemon in a fresh cut, a war torn poppy standing alone in an empty field, pressing thumbs to yellow bruises, stomping over flowerbeds when there’s a path right besides it, dangling over ledges just to feel your chest jolt, a snarling rottweiler that needs muzzling, limp feet poking out behind a door, ‘I PROMISE I DON’T BITE’ scrawled on a name tag, slapping a bald head in front of you at the cinema like it’s a bongo, not owning a single jacket that isn’t stolen, driving a stranger’s car down the wrong lane against the screaming traffic, hair more feral than a wolf cub and eyes smudgier than a coal mine.  

BACKGROUND:

ok SO. her father owns a strip club in crescent hill named no angels. it’s kind of.... a seedy establishment i won’t lie. hs a red glowing sign like it’s lighting up a window in amsterdam. cigarette butts floating in oil slick puddles outside. unsavoury characters crawling all over like rats in a sewer. despite this it’s a legitimate business on the surface of things n it does pretty well in trade. it’s like.... that place people warn u NOT to have ur bachelor party at unless u fancy urself the type tht willingly enters a lion’s den bt tht almost??? adds to the allure in a way??? ppl r like wow so sketchy it’s the thrill of a lifetime........ i mean run while u still can bt go off i guess

it isn’t Confirmed Public Knowledge bt it’s pretty heavily implied thru the rumour mill that bradley’s father is the head of a gang of rly............ Not Nice people. all the ppl that work for him u would hands down NOT want to run into in a dark alley. while things seem legitimate on the suface it’s pretty clear they’re into shady dealings n the townsfolk that suspect that would indeed b correct! the club’s a front for a drug business n they’re also washing n running counterfeit cash thru it. they probably also have their hands dipped into a few other local businesses to run their cash thru these too n keep it all seemingly by the books so nobody comes sniffing around. they even r friends with a member of local law enforcement that’s working w them for a cut so they honestly have all bases covered to keep things airtight n foolproof. perhaps a business in reed too which bradley oversees bt i haven’t given this Too Much thought as of yet??

so ya she’s grown up fairly local most of her life n would maybe be known around town as such.................. the milligans r certainly Interesting as far as families go so like. it honestly wldn’t surprise me if ppl nudge elbows when they see one of them coming n immediately walk in the opposite direction. just quite an intimidating presence...... they’re like caged animals where ur specifically instructed NOT to stick ur fingers between the bars bc they WILL bite

on a more personal note her dad is pretty much the worst human being alive n bradley hs like….. a lot of issues with herself as a result of years of toxicity n abuse

in terms of more family bkground info her mum’s name was alyssa n she vanished when bradley was 12. jst like…. into thin air. nothing. no note. zilch. gan! n when bradley asked her dad abt it his response was essentially “guess she didn’t love us enough to stay”. as bradley’s got older tho n become (without intention) more involved in the business side of things, it’s become pretty clear there was far more to the story.

(abuse tw) they had a horrible marriage n tony ws emotionally manipulative at the best of times, violent at worst, which didn’t help the fact tht alyssa ws struggling a lot w severe depression n rly just… not in the mindset to b dealing w anything else, even where motherhood ws concerned. bradley p much… would look after her a lot n they’d both b scared of her dad n it was just a whole unhealthy mess.

(death implied tw) anyway im rambling bt basically tony (bradley’s dad) gt wind of alyssa sleeping w men tht worked fr him n he just… got rid. bradley’s kind of worked out over the yrs tht her mum didn’t jst leave on her own accord n tht something must hav happened to her bt she’s too scared of her dad to ever directly accuse him

when her mum went all of her dad’s cruelty pretty mch got channelled straight onto her. it ws diluted between two before bt as u can probably imagine her upbringing was jst…. a steep downhill decline

(drugs implied tw) she learnt ways 2 deal w the incurring trauma bt they weren’t healthy ones at all! bsically jst. will do or take anything fr the distraction. chases a thrill like it’s the only way to remind her she’s alive. has absolutely no regard fr her own wellbeing n often gets other ppl in trouble too bc she’s so insatiably reckless

(hospitalisation tw) she hd….2 separate stints of psychiatric hospitalisation n she never tlks abt it. like ever. acknowledging she’s been vulnerable is her worst nightmare n bc of the way her dad raised her she always thinks any sign of struggling within herself is weakness. truly does…. not kno how to properly emotion

CUT TO!!!! the present. she’s currently living at the motel which is like. the least homely place she cld ever live rly but bradley loves making her life uncomfortable n doesn’t rly believe in growing sentimentally attached to anything if she cn help it <3 probably gets into arguments all the time w her neighbours it’s a whole thing.... atrocious at feeding herself has breakfasts frm the vending machine like her organs aren’t screaming fr vegetables.... plays music too loud n sometimes vanishes for days at a time without a word. she’s a lot.

i honestly feel like the murders haven’t rly phased bradley too hugely....... i won’t lie she probably genuinely is like. oh maybe it’s smthn to do w my dad. n just blinks the other way not rly that phased. on some subconscious level i think she rly just thinks........ death follows her wherever she goes n is like. this is just life for me! kind of depressing. holds her hand bt then screams n pulls away when she inevitably bites me.

PERSONALITY:

the kind of sour cherry only certain people have a taste for

once drank a bottle of whiskey, insisted she could still do a cartwheel and accidentally kicked an old man’s front tooth out in the process. proceeded 2 collapse into a flower bed and laugh so much abt it that she cried

barely takes anything seriously 50% of the time and is angry the other 50%

if she was a coffee she’d be black with five grains of sugar that you couldn’t taste until the last sip

(alcoholism tw) high functioning alcoholic. if u ever see her w a coffee cup u jst kno tht one sniff will confirm high alcohol percentage. honestly idk hw she does it her liver must b yellin

loyal to a point of fault. if she cares abt u (rare) and u murder a man in cold blood (not so rare in the broad scheme of bradley’s life) she’ll brawl anyone that says ur guilty

honestly wld probably fight a person over anything. sometimes she’ll jst be having a bad day n she’ll burst n take it out on whoever says the wrong thing. minefield!

has the worst luck in romance…. ever. ALL her past bfs hav been absolute beasts n as a result she has the ‘romance is dead n love is a lie’ mentality. definitely NOT a romantic. very cut n dry abt these things. sex is mostly just sex n she’d kind of scoff at anyone that wanted more from her

mostly wears stolen clothes from strangers and jackets that swamp her. huge chunky stomping boots with steel toe caps that would RLY bruise if they gave u a kick. hair is p much always a wild mess n she usually hs kind of smudgy/smoky makeup bcos apparently she’s allergic to combs and generally looking presentable… relatable content. the only time she rly looks put together is when she has to do something/go somewhere/see someone on behalf of her father....... he kind of uses her as a sort of. honey pot sometimes fr shit his gang get up to it’s like. not! a way u should ever utilise ur daughter but :/ i cannot stress enough how much i wna drop kick him in the neck

she’s v sarcastic. blunt. kind of has a habit of…. assessing a person n she’s quite perceptive bc she’s been trained to b by the way she always has to monitor her dad’s expression fr the slightest emotion change. she’s very confident n can p much mke a conversation out of whatever if she feels like it. independent too like she hs a bunch of (predominantly surface connection) friends bt she doesn’t care abt going out places alone n does this often. she’s probably kind of known around town bt itd b a 50/50 balance between bein known as intimidating n bein known as that one girl tht always gets into anarchy

likes: drunken snow angels that drag on so long they flirt with pneumonia, stealing cars, throwing watermelons off rooftops to watch them explode, shooting pedestrian’s with bb guns from hidden spots on rooftops. 

dislikes: telling the truth, tulips so yellow it’s like they’re gloating, playing music loud enough to fry your brain and serve it on a piece of toast, going home.

PLOTS:

someone tht works at the ‘no angels’ strip club?? either as a dancer or bartender or whtever. just a forewarning it’s probably gna b a pretty….. seedy and Not That Pleasant environment bc it’s like. a crime hotspot inevitably bc it’s a gang hangout so. ur chara wld truly be in fr a rollercoaster ride to say the least

(drugs tw) she deals coke fr her dad’s gang so perhaps ur muse buys off her

anyone….. she’s brawled in the past like. she’s literally a menace i cnt express this enough. wil jst randomly throw a drink in someone’s face fr no reason bc she’s bored. she’s probably pissed off 1000 diff ppl in 1000 diff ways. the possibilities r endless n i jst think tht’s a sexy prospect!

fwbs perhaps??? exes??? (probably ws a tumultuous relationship honestly bradley is. a handful...... it’s also rly not often she ties herself down tbh so this would maybe have to b discussed/be circumstantial/kind of rare)

mayb someone tht she met at an aa meeting when she hd to go fr a court mandated thing one time after bein arrested fr public indecency. i feel like there’s probably a rly expensive statue somewhere thts fancily sculpted n she like. did a flying kick n broke the dick of it off n gt arrested fr it

ppl she……. Goes Wild Goes Crazy w. truly jst the most self destructive person alive so anyone w a similar mindset wld b a hellish bt fun combination

on the contrary a gd influence cld b nice perhaps? like someone tht genuinely cares abt her n she jst doesn’t kno hw to compute it

maybe people who r her neighbours that live at the motel too??

OH it could b fun if ur muse runs or works at a local business maybe like. a bar? idk? n bradley n ur muse have developed a rapport bc she frequents the place n is................ a Character

um. honestly the world’s our oyster. hmu n we cn brainstorm if none of tht catches ur eye!

[brw]

Simon Williams

first impression - well, at first i only rlly knew him as the guy who has vision's brainwaves who also dated wanda! so i didn't rlly like him much, because obviously there are. those panels of him hurting her and beyond being a bad actor and also not rlly being great to vision those were. the only personality traits he had. but i got interested one day and decided to search him up and? discovered he had an Interesting Relationship with a certain hank mccoy and this didn't rlly add up to what i knew abt him previously so i was inspired to read some stuff and. then i was hooked hsjsjeje

impression now - honestly he is SO underrated. like he. gets written weirdly... a lot and its very obvious that a lot of writers dont know how to write him outside his relationship w/ wanda but he's honestly cool! he makes a lot of mistakes but he genuinely wants to do good for people and he also sees the best in everyone. like he was vocally in support of wanda, and seemed completely understanding & accepting of hank when he told him all the bad he'd done over the years. he's also canonically a victim of abuse at the hands of his father & elder brother, which still seems to effect him and his relationships even now. and that abuse makes his decision to be a pacifist all the more potent and meaningful. he's also been implied to have suffered from an anxiety disorder & an eating disorder so like. he is genuinely an interesting and compelling character, it's just a shame he so often gets reduced to "guy wanda sometimes dates who doesn't like vision and doesn't know how to act" smh :/

favourite moment - ooo boy... its hard to say. but. probably his arc where he calls the avengers out on their bullshit in what i think was avengers vol 4. and it's a shame they kinda fucked it over and chalked it up to him being unstable because he genuinely had points. he wasn't wrong. like sure i think. threatening to chuck the avengers tower or whatever into the sea was a little extreme but he did genuinely have a point. and also then straight up told hank he loved him so I'm. hsjsjhjehjjrje. this was a good arc anyway and it's a shame they ruined it. special mention though to his talk w/ hank in uncanny avengers vol 2 #28 (i think it was 28 but it could also have been 25 i. can't remember jsjsjej) because that was genuinely also super sweet and shows how he's willing to grow <3 another special mention to his scenes in vision and the scarlet witch because i think we deserve more content of simon and vision being good family members

idea for a story - with our current understanding of child abuse i would LOVE to see him explore his past and actually get help for it. because it did genuinely affect him for some time and while i think him becoming a pacifist did help i also know that. isn't enough to make years of repressed trauma go away lol. i also think were he to meaningfully think about what he went thru w/ his brother eric, he'd be better able to build a stronger and less strained relationship with vision. and i also think it would be helpful if simon, with our current understanding of eating disorders, had that be a canonical part of him. because he doesn't look like someone w/ an ED. and i think it would be important to see a man who looks muscular and healthy struggle w/ that. just generally. character development. i think it would also be good to bring up his issues w/ amora the enchantress (who was implied to have r*ped him) because while his 90s solo series did bring it up it was also. the 90s jajsjsjsjs. i just basically think something similar to his other series but with better writing and a better understanding of what we're talking about.

unpopular opinion - probably that his relationship w/ wanda is um very unhealthy, on both sides. on one hand, when simon was unstable he violently attacked her and tried to kill her. and that is... not good in the slightest, and him being in emotional distress and physically being unstable due to his ions doesn't excuse that in the slightest. simon also had an issue of putting wanda on an unattainable pedestal, which as someone who did that exact thing with a past partner is not healthy at all. you should be able to admit your partner has flaws and is human, and he did not and could not. but also, wanda hasn't been awfully good to simon either. like for a while she refused to be upfront about her feelings to him, and she slept with him while he was still in incredible emotional distress and upset. and imo because of that he. wasn't rlly in a position to meaningfully consent. so yeah. his and wanda's relationship, even without the relation to vision (which makes it worse) has never rlly been healthy.

favourite relationship - his and hank's! tbh it's probably the best one he has. those two. really love each other it is very sweet. they've both obviously grown a lot but i still think they're good/best friends and their relationship, romantic or platonic is obviously very important to the both of them. they're. very close together and i hope that at some point we can. see them be avengers together again because they were so funny sjshwnsnejen. but i also really like his relationship w/ vision when it's written well, because the two of them have. obviously been thru a lot in their own familial relationships so seeing the two of them have some semblance of "normal" with each other is very sweet. i also like the mental relationship of him being viv's uncle a lot. its not canon yet but i have hopes 🤞 he was a good uncle to tommy and billy growing up so by logic he should be a good uncle to viv too!

favourite headcanon - hmmm, probably the one i have now that he is jewish. idk it just. works with him! he is after all a kirby creation. but there's also one i have where he played the violin when he was younger, which also works with him. like idk. it's seems like a thing rich ppl make their kids do and it fits with him 😊

send me a character!

[the-mad-starker]

‘m dying for non r*p*y overstim fic please halp?????

My dear anon, you caught me just as I got my smut powers back. I hope this is what you wanted D:

Edit: I have no idea what I did but okay, guess I went there.

Notes: multiple orgasms, consent is sexy, safewords mentioned, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, anal, some dirty talk, tiny hint of breeding, daddy kink

Also using this as my Free space in @starkerbingo. Woo.

Length: 2252

💗💗💗

Tony cleared his schedule for this. Not even just the evening, but the next three days just so he could focus on Peter and give him what he deserved.

Tony's undivided attention and love.

He could tell from the shy but eager look in Peter's eyes that the boy had been anticipating it long before they set an actual date. He was practically bouncing on his toes in excitement but once Tony pulled him in, Peter melted in his arms.

"You can back out anytime you want, you know that, right?" Tony reminded him.

Peter gave him an eager peck on the lips, eyes shining beneath the flutter of dark lashes.

"I know," he breathed, "if it's too much…"

He bit his lip, truly reluctant to even consider the possibility but he knows how important this was. And Tony being the more experienced of the two needed him to understand.

"I just… want this so much and… God, it's so embarrassing how easily I get worked up," Peter admitted, a tiny bit mortified. "But… but if you don't mind then…"

He looked Tony straight in the eye and nodded firmly. "I'll safe word, even if I really, really don't want to."

Tony smiled. That was all he needed. "Good boy."

Just those two words had Peter melting once more, pressing up against the older man and offering his lips for more kisses.

That was how it started.

Overeager protege on his lap as Tony's hands ran through his hair. Fingers dragged, scraping pleasantly against his scalp. Even that tore a gasp from the boy, his senses keying in and fixating on all the different sensations.

God, Tony loved kissing him. He pressed close and his tongue slid, wet and warm over Peter's. They both got goosebumps from that. His hands roamed over Peter's back, over his clothes and then under, warm skin beneath his palms.

Peter arched into his touch, he always did, and he forgot for a moment that Tony was in charge. Eager hands tugged impatiently at Tony's shirt buttons, then decided they weren't important.

Tony groaned when Peter touched him but he wasn't gonna let his lover take him apart.

Oh, no. The next few days were about Peter and just how far Tony could push him.

"Ah-!"

Tony returned the favor, palming between Peter's legs and finding him just as hard.

"Ton–" The moan was cut off, stolen by Tony's lips once more.

It didn't take much. it was easy to get Peter caught up in pleasure. The boy trembled in his lap, arms snaking about Tony's neck as he tried desperately to continue kissing him.

Between his legs, his jeans were unzipped, his erect cock flushed and leaking. Tony's hand was wrapped around the poor thing, jerking it off with slow, steady strokes. Too slow compared to the fast and efficient way Peter was used to bringing himself off.

To Tony, Peter's moans were music to his ears but the older man knew how much his boy loved hearing his voice. So even as he gave Peter his pleasure, he whispered all the dirty, filthy things into the boy's red tinged ear.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it, baby?" Tony murmured, voice rough from arousal. "Wanted all my attention… A night like this… Me taking and taking everything you have to give until there's nothing left…"

Soft moans answered him but the jerky way Peter nodded was answer enough.

"You wanna come now or you wanna hold off till later?" Tony asked as he nibbled on the boy's ear.

Peter's head tilted down and Tony could imagine what he saw. His legs spread apart and Tony's rough calloused fingers wrapped around his erection. The swollen tip was dribbling plenty of fluid already, it was literally dripping down Tony's fingers.

Tony waited, breathless for whatever Peter wanted.

"N-Now," Peter gasped, head thrown back. He couldn't look at it anymore, he'd come right on the spot if he continued to do so. He squirmed in Tony's lap, frantic energy cooking in the pit of his stomach with nowhere to go. "P-Please, Tony, I– Wanna come."

"Shh, shh," Tony soothed him. "Don't worry, baby, I got you… Just let go."

The pace quickened and Peter's hips twitched instinctively, chasing after that sweet friction. Chasing after his own pleasure.

"C'mon, kid," Tony murmured, "Come for daddy… Spill it all out… Let me feel you…"

Peter came with a moan, cock twitching in Tony's hand as it spurted out a nice, thick load. Tony didn't bother trying to contain it.

They were going to be filthy after what he had planned so why bother?

He let Peter lick every drop of his come off Tony's fingers and then chased after the taste in the boys' mouth with his tongue. He put Peter's mouth to good use shortly after, leisurely fucking his mouth while they waited.

The boy's mouth was so warm and wet… Tony had trained him well and there were only a few things better than watching his boy suck on his cock. Even then, Tony caught the slight movement Peter made when he went to reach between his legs.

It hadn't even been five minutes and Peter was hard again.

Tony went back to work.

This time, Peter was stripped of his clothing. They moved from the couch to the master bedroom where Tony could do as he pleased.

Peter was pushed back onto the bed, all long, tan limbs spread out for Tony's pleasure.

A lovely flush stained his cheeks when Tony crawled in after him, fully clothed compared to his nude body. The fabric of the suit brushed against bare skin and Peter shivered, legs parted easily for Tony to settle between them.

They rutted against one another, Tony's thick thigh pressed between his legs. His bare cock was so sensitive and Peter couldn't help but moan, wide eyed as it dripped all over Tony's suit. There was just something about it… The vulnerability he felt being completely exposed while Tony only had his pants open and his cock bare.

Tony didn't even need to touch him the second time. Just the feeling of friction and heat between their bodies had Peter spilling with a muffled cry.

"Again?" Tony murmured, hand wrapping around Peter's softening erection.

"Please–" Peter begged. His chest was rising, up and down like he ran a marathon. "I want… Give me everything. I can take it…"

Tony kissed his forehead, gently, lovingly. "I know you can, baby. Lay back for now…"

Peter obeyed so sweetly, eyes hooded and heavy with pleasure. He squeaked when Tony pulled his hips to the edge of the bed. When he saw Tony kneel between his legs, his thighs trembled.

Tony trailed his next series of kisses from the boy's ankle to his knee. He continued from there, eyes fixed on the boy as he slowly made his way.

"Oh–" Peter gasped softly.

"Hmm?" Tony prompted, lips pressed against his inner thigh.

"Your beard…" Peter mumbled. "Feels… feels good…"

"Does it…" Tony teased before repeating the kisses right there. His beard scratched over sensitive skin, leaving behind faint pink marks. The sensation made Peter's toes curl in the air, the pink flush deepening into a rosy red as it worked its way down his neck and across his chest.

His cock was twitching on his stomach, poor thing demanding attention.

"Daddy..."

Tony paused. His dark, hungry eyes had never left his lover.

"Yeah, baby?" Tony encouraged.

"M-My cock…" Peter whined. "Please…?"

Tony leaned down and took the needy cock in his mouth. His hands on Peter's hips stopped the boy from bucking his hips but what truly surprised him was the flood of salty sweet come.

The boy's thighs squeezed around him, just briefly before they fell apart.

"Oh, God… Oh, God…" Peter panted, staring wide eyed as Tony swallowed it all. Then Tony sucked, ever so gently, but it was enough to get a high pitched moan from the boy. "Ngh–"

Tony didn't begrudge Peter for the way he dug his fingers in the older man's hair. Once… Twice… Three times… Peter had already came three times and Tony was still testing his limits.

The pleasure still felt so achingly good that Peter was just tossing his head left and right, breathing through the sensations. 

Tony wondered how many more times it'd take until Peter couldn't take it anymore. How many more times until he started coming dry? Which would come first? Peter tapping out or his body wrung out, completely spent but still going?

The answer was quite a few. Even if each time was just shy of painful, his boy welcomed everything Tony did. As expected, they were a mess of sweat and fluids just a few short hours after they began. His limbs trembled after the next one and he squirmed and thrashed on the bed when Tony started to finger his tight little hole.

Tony was surprised he hadn't come just from his fingers alone but maybe Peter was making an effort to hold on.

Then he found Peter's sweet spot. Just the slightest brush of his fingers there and–

Peter's body gave an almost violent jerk and then one miserable groan later, he was spilling once more. The small load added to the mess on his stomach.

"One more…?" Tony asked, two fingers deep. 

Peter's body was limp and sated, his hole still tight but in this state, it was easy for Tony to stretch him open.

"Maybe…" Peter breathed with a lazy smile.

"Tell me what you need, baby," Tony urged him. "You want more of daddy's fingers? Want daddy's mouth again?"

"Mm– Want daddy's cock," Peter sighed. He was still a bit shy calling Tony daddy but he loved it. And when he got like this, the title that normally left him blushing, slipped out so sweetly.

The dreamy, dazed look on his face almost had Tony paused. Then Peter reached down and grasped Tony's arm, tugging on it until the older man followed. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony's shoulders and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

"Fuck me, daddy…" he begged just the way Tony liked, "wanna feel you come inside…"

How can Tony resist that?

"I'll give you what you want…" Tony promised. 

He didn't even bother with the lube, he simply passed his hand over the mess of come on the boy's stomach. He slicked his own cock with it, hissing in surprise when he realized just how much he needed this.

This entire time, Tony hadn't come, not even once. He had been so focused on Peter that he hadn't even realized how much his own cock ached. Now, with his hand on it, stroking it and giving it some much needed friction, the need felt daunting.

They both groaned when Tony pushed in. The boy clung to him, legs wrapped around his trim waist as Tony started to pound into him. They were both on edge but Peter was walking a thin line between pleasure and pain. 

His half-hard cock bounced from the force of the thrusts. Every brush against his sweet spot had a small drop dribble from his cockhead. He could barely breathe, the feeling was so intense.

He clung to Tony, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure ripped through him. His next orgasm was inevitable. It was the strongest one yet and when it crashed into him, his breath caught in his throat. It was so good that tears burned in the corner of his eyes.

Peter whimpered when he came back down. 

"Look at that," Tony marveled when Peter looked up at him with wet eyes. "You came dry, baby…"

Tony was still going, hips snapping as he fucked in and out… His cock felt so good… Peter was on the very edge and couldn't even keep his legs wrapped around the older man.

All he felt was the pleasure mounting, the way his skin felt electrified, and yet, he wanted more. needed more.

He moaned so sweetly for the older man, lips brushing against anything he could reach. Tony's shoulders his neck, his ear, his jaw. Desperate little kisses as Tony had his way with him.

This… This was what he wanted.

"Gonna come inside you," Tony promised him, "Breed your little hole and fill you up with my come… Got such a big load for you... Then when I'm done… Want me to clean you up, baby? I can lick every drop out… Make you come just like that…"

Peter whimpered at the image. It was that last push he needed to get his next orgasm. He didn't safeword even after Tony fulfilled his promise and came inside him.

Didn't safe word when Tony turned him onto his stomach and spread his cheeks apart. He whimpered and cried, fists clenched in the bedsheets as he came over and over, his cock twitching but nothing coming out.

It was hours after, the sun just a few short hours from rising once more. Tony, himself, was exhausted but when he couldn't go anymore, he used his hands, his mouth, and various toys until Peter finally couldn't take it anymore. His entire body ached, his hole fucked open and dripping multiple loads.

In the end, they soaked in the warmth of Tony's hot tub. Their sore muscles complained and complained loudly, but when Peter gave Tony such a loving kiss, all sweetness and warmth, Tony felt it was well worth it.

[angelsaxis]

Hey my dude, i’m not sure if you care but i’m a bit concerned because the idea that bi women and lesbians have a distinct and separate history is both inaccurate and distinctly rad-fem rhetoric. Bigots are’t checking gay cards before harrassing or abusing queer people to make sure they’re using the correct slur for you, you know? It would be nice if there were these clear cut words, but there really aren’t. Even words like butch and femme which are associated now with lesbians used to also be commonly used by gay men. The division of the community is very recent.

I understand the shared history aspect, but we also need to go based off what’s happening now in today’s times--also Im not sure femme necessarily stopped being used by gay men? I might have gotten the spelling wrong. But like femme gay men exist, and I know butch is used by gay men as well.

Historically, maybe dyke meant any woman who was attracted to women or appeared attracted to women--so women who dressed even the slightest bit unfemininely or didn’t act straight enough. But just like how the f-slur refers to gay men (and I think trans women but that’s not something Im knowledgeable of) now, dyke refers to lesbians now. Like we have shared and separate experiences because of our sexualities and our ability to love women, but not everything is shared between the communities. 

And about the “homophobes dont ask before using the slur they want” it’s because those homophobes are assuming you’re a lesbian. The vast majority of homophobes don’t even have a grasp on bisexuality, and they very strongly associate literally any attraction to women as inherently lesbian, even if you’re bi. Their not asking doesn’t mean that it applies to you, it just means you’re being violently mislabeled. 

Basically, they’re not asking specifically cause they don’t care; they’re going to “accuse” you of being a lesbian and then treat you like any homophobe would based off of that. Like....a slur simply being used against you doesn’t mean you get to use it. I’m nonbinary. If I was called the t slur that doesn’t mean that I get to use it because it’s been a word specifically for binary trans people (from my own observations). If a nonbinary person was clocked as a trans man or woman and called the t slur, it’s an incorrect assumption with a violent reaction based off that assumption. But that doesn’t mean that now all nb people can reclaim or use the t slur. 

I’ve been called any number of non applicable slurs--that doesn’t mean I get to start using the r-slur or f-slur or anything else. That’s how we end up getting nonblack people saying the hard r n word, because they think being called a “desert/sand n--” mean they actually get to say the second word. They don’t. 

And finally--we can’t ignore the racial aspect of it, which you left out of your ask. A lot of intracommunity drama that didn’t exist before is created by white queer people. A lot of white queer people feel their relevance slipping. They’re still the face of the gay community, but qpoc are tired of it and starting to shift focus to themselves. The entire point of that post was to call out the mindset of white bisexual women for trying to force a word that at least now has a set definition back to/into something it isn’t. Dyke originated from “bull dyke” which was used originally in the BLACK LESBIAN subcultures of Harlem. Literally a quick google search will tell you as much. Dyke belonged to Black lesbians before spreading to all lesbians. 

I see the same thing happening with stud too. A “stud” is a Black lesbian. White lesbians are trying their absolute hardest to take that word too. it’s cultural appropriation--the term, the style of dress, and the mannerisms because I guess middle class white boy/frat aesthetics weren’t enough for them. This just leads us back to the race analysis of the use of dyke. Current application is to all lesbians, but in the past it was Black lesbians. A lot of the insistence on this and other words being for everyone with the broadest definition possible is by white queers, and that was the point of my post. 

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found -Chapter 21

Warnings: nothing really. Mentions of blood and gun violence I guess

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.

 From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine. 

 She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so.  He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not  an option.

 So she let him sleep.

 The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict  buildings,  the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious. 

 Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage.  Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.

 Her feelings are mixed.  It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband.  Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration,  respect and worship.  She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach,  the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.

  She had thought she'd never experience those  again;  she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from.  She had no more trust left. No faith. 

 And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.

 It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge.  To see things through  to the end of the line.  Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.

 She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight.  She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.

 She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone.  She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching.  Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.

 It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.

 A little too well.

 Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons.  He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back.  She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent.  Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.

 She opts to send it to voicemail instead.

 ***

 He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and  asking if everything was okay.  He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.

 Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny. 

 His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching  for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar.  He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.

 It's empty. The lock picked.

 His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.

 Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.

 He calls the one person he knows can help.

 “Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.

 “Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”

 “I woke up  and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”

 “I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”

 “What are you talking about? What...?”

 “She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”

 “What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh.  “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”

 “I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”

 “Well obviously she hasn't.  And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”

 “I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”

 There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.

 “Tyler?”

 “I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”

 “Tyler, I don't think...”

 “I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”

 “I need a little time. I...”

 'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.

 ****

 “Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”

 Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market.  The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.

 “I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”

 “I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”

 “A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers.  “You've been well?”

 “I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?”  he nods down at her left wrist,  a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”

 “The clasp broke  and my husband fixed it for me.”

 “Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”

 “Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress,  the three of them sitting in the sand.  Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.

  It seems like a lifetime ago.

 “She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow.  There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”

 “I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”

 “Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”

 She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”

 “Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”

 Jason.

 “I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met.  They were on a first name basis.”

 She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”

 “Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”

 Her stomach clenches. And she has to  force the vomit down.

 “Why you ask?”

 She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”

 “Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”

 “The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”

 She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing  two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.

  That was invaluable. 

 “Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”

 “It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”

 Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

 ****

 The hotel manager gives her an extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for.  And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside.  The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor,  the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.

 Silence.

 She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive:  the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak. 

 Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.

 She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage.  There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.  

 He's been gone a while.

 She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing.  Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room.  The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.

 The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty.  Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.

 It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp.  And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too. 

 Photographs.  Some black in white.  Others in colour.  The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear.  Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now. 

 Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future.  One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more.  Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.

 Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

 Nik.

 She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.

 “Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.

 “I'm in Dhaka.”

 “What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose.  Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”

 “You said you would help me.  Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”

 “I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”

 “I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.

 “Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”

 “No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think.  I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”

 “You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”

 “Tyler? What...?”

 “He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to.  He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”

 “There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia.  As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”

 “What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”

 “I've gotta go, Nik.”

 “Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you.  Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

 “I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag. 

 ****

 She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.

 “Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.

 “More than I expected to.”

 Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.

 She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp.  Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.

 “Don't fucking bite me.”

 The voice is low. Savage almost.  Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.

 “Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”

 “I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”

 “I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state.  “I told you and you refused to listen.”

 “Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”

 “You've been following me?”

 “Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”

 “I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.

 “What the...”

 “He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”

 He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 “He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”

 “Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”

 “The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”

 “Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.

 “Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But  I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder.  “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”

 He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.

 “What are we going to do?” she asks.

 “We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”

 “Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”

 “Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

 She nods. “With my life.”

 He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”

 ****

 “I've done all that I can,” Nik announces.  “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”

 “I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.

  The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own.  The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway.  He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before.  Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms.  He was weary; panting and out of breath.

 But he kept going.  With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom.  Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve. Not that the sex wasn't going. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up.  Colorado was first on the list.  He wanted to see the mountains.  Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family. 

 And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.

 “Don't kill him,” Nik implores.

 “I will if I have to.”  He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live. 

 “If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”

 “We'll manage,” he says.

 “Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”

 He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life.  He choose the former.  “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”

 “You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone.  It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”

 He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.

 “Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.

 “It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.

 “I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”

 He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did:  Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well.  Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm.  You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.

 “I'm sorry,”  she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”

He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”

 “I know this isn't where you want to be.  In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”

 “You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”

 She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his,  her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.

 He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do.  Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his.  Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her.  He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.

 “That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”

 “I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”

 “You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens.  That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”

 “I'm sorry,”  he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.

 “And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby.  My  baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of right now.  Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”

 “I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his.  And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly.  “I know you hate right now.”

 “I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”

 She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”

 She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.

 “It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.

 “Tell me it's going to be okay.”

 “It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead.  “Trust me.”

 “I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”

 “I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do  do stupid shit sometimes.”

 She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his.  Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.

 All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.

[leroiloup]

Das Biest

⚜ The entirely unnecessarily long & violent story of how Klaus gave up on trying to be human.    ➥ Takes place : Fall of 1359 in present day Germany    ✥ Trigger Warnings : violence /gore

❝ –– the true problem remains my brother Niklaus ; he continues to hide his loneliness with                   cruelty. ❞                                     Elijah’s Journal ║ August 1359

                                                                       -✦-

                              Understanding   /  Forgiveness   /   Love   /   Redemption

         ❝ Such notions were thrown my way towards the latter years of my life, perhaps encouraged by the love that melted my frozen heart when my daughter was born. I wonder, though, does sixteen years account for well over a thousand ? Does the path I took mean anything so long as my destination was justified ? If you’re to ask me, I’d say no. Yes, when I died, I did so selflessly as a father ,  a brother ,  a friend ,  and a lover. But first and foremost I lived my life as only one thing :    a      m o n s t e r .

❝ I’m no mere villain in the stories you hear. I’m not the lackey who lives to serve under tyrannical rule. I’m not the bad guy thrown into the path of the hero set to challenge his ways and ultimately make him rise above and vanquish evil, thus becoming the pure symbol of good–– et cetera et cetera. No, I’m none of these things.

                                                                                         I’m much worse.

❝ I’m the nightmare that demons cower from. I’m the shadow from which evil flees. True, I softened in the final years of my life, finding a selfless focus of my power, but make no mistake. It is my name that makes the night itself tremble in fear.

❝ How did it come to this, you wonder ? How did the simple son of a wayward Viking become the ultimate terror to plague this world for over over a millennia ? There’s a plethora of examples from which I could cite, but the one that could truly drive my point home takes place in the fall 1359. Humanity was never a thing I could easily turn on and off as vampires today can, but in that time, I was truly anything but   h u  m   a    n .  ❞

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists, bruising them deeply. Rope, however, was nothing but a nuisance for a vampire. Klaus could have easily snapped them and freed himself in an instant - if it weren’t for the witch chanting incessantly. The words were like daggers through his very skull. The original vampire was on his knees in a wooden church, a small group of people surrounding him. They looked frightened but determined as they watched the witch subdue him. Dark red and black eyes framed by rippling veins stared back, his fangs bared as he yelled, promising unending torment the moment he was free.

It wasn’t often that a vampire was caught, and it was nearly impossible to catch an original. The people of the small town of Bedburg, Germany in the autumn of 1359 didn’t even know what vampires were. They were hunting a werewolf and ended up with Klaus in their snare. How could such a feat be possible ? How was the infamous and powerful Klaus MIkaelson overcome by the simple minded townsfolk ? A beautiful pair of brown eyes, of course.

His name was Johann and he had the unfortunate luck of coming across a vampire feeing in the woods under the cover of night. Elijah, Rebekah, Kol and Klaus had taken up residence in Cologne Germany, just fifty kilometers away from Bedburg. After a particularly nasty blow out over the morals of being a vampire, Klaus headed out into the night to clear his head. Not wanting to attract attention back home, he found the small village and hunted on the outskirts. It was just after a drank a pair of lovers out for a roll in the hay dry that Klaus heard the snap of a twig, announcing the presence of another.

Turning to the source of the sound, Klaus seemingly disappeared and reappeared right in front of the young man. He was tall and fit, clearly a labor worker like a farmer. Shoulder length brown hair was tied back at the base of his neck and his youthful face was void of a beard. He couldn’t be much older than Klaus was when he was turned. Wide brown eyes looked up at the vampire, fear mingled with something else - something that took Klaus by surprise : wonder.

❝ Aren’t thou afraid ? ❞ he asked in German, having learned the language a century earlier.

A tense moment passed and the young mortal finally broke the silence.  ❝ They- They told me t’was a beast who hunted in these woods. ❞  That immediately took Klaus off guard. As far as he knew, this was the first time a Mikaelson had set foot near Bedburg. The village was too small to even be on a map. It was a complete fluke that his rage fueled path took him there.  ❝ Something like a hound straight from the bowels of hell. Some thing like- ❞

❝ A wolf ? ❞ Klaus asked.

The mortal’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He looked to the two dead bodies, then back to the killer before him, blood still on his chin.  ❝ I didn’t know you’d be a man. Are you both ? ❞

Finding himself far more intrigued with the inquisitive mortal, Klaus felt his earlier anger ebb away.  ❝ I am not what you’re hunting. ❞  The fact that there was a werewolf in these parts was fascinating and Klaus filed it away for later.

❝ But you killed them, ❞ the mortal stated.

❝ Yes. ❞

❝ And you’ll kill me now ? ❞

Klaus took a couple of steps froward, wiping the blood from his chin with his thumb, bringing himself within reaching distance of the young man.  ❝ Thou art unafraid at the prospect ? ❞  Usually this would be the point of running and screaming, but the mortal seemed merely curious.

❝ Not of dying, ❞ he admitted.  ❝ I loathe this town. And the people in it. ❞  His eyes were on the dead couple when he spoke.

There was a kindred spirit in the mortal that Klaus could feel. He’d never loved anyone since Aurora had shattered his heart, and while the concept of love wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, he found himself yearning for kinship ; someone who could understand him. Taking a risk, he slowly reached out and brushed back a lock of stray brown hair from the mortal’s face.  ❝ Small minded people are never able to see the greatness within those like us. ❞

❝ Us ? ❞ he asked, not shying away in the least. On the contrary, he leaning into the touch, fascinated by the creature of fantasy.

Klaus nodded, dark blue eyes holding his gaze with a growing intensity as he leaned closer. When next he spoke, it was in a whisper as though worried that any volume would shatter the moment he’d unwittingly found himself in.  ❝ I can show you a better way to live. ❞  Drawn together by an unseen force, their lips met, and Klaus felt the first wave of peace overtake his soul in centuries.

Only when their lips parted did the mortal smile and say, ❝ I am Johann. ❞  Klaus grinned in return before kissing him again, letting his emotions take hold and guide his actions.

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The young love lasted three nights. Each night, Klaus would slip away from his siblings to meet Johann in the woods outside of Bedburg. At a time when his loneliness mingled with insatiable hunger had started to melt away the traits that made him human, it was Johann’s warm touch that coaxed a bit of his old self to the surface. It was pure bliss, reminding the vampire that there was more to life than rage, torment, and blood. There was beauty all around if only one were to open their eyes and look.

On the third night, Klaus didn’t even greet his new friend. He pounced from the darkness, shoving Johann up against a tree and kissed him with the passion he’d denied himself for so long. When the kiss ended, Klaus grinned, a playful expression in place. It was only then that he saw the fearful and saddened look in the brown eyes he’d come to crave.  ❝ What’s the matter ? ❞

❝ I am so sorry. I did not know- ❞

Confusion clouded blue eyes as Johann rambled, but before Klaus could make any sense of it, there was a searing pain that shot through his skull. Instantly the vampire was brought to his knees, hands to his head as he yelled. A witch had come into view from around a tree. Her hands were outstretched and she chanted, holding strong to the spell that was able to subdue the original. Betrayal and hurt boiled deep within his eyes as Klaus looked to Johann. A group of mortals had no descended and shackled Klaus, tying him up to bring back to town. As far as the townsfolk were concerned, their period of strife had ended : the werewolf of Bedburg had been caught. Oh, how wrong they were !

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had begun to rise when Klaus was tied down on his knees, hands behind his back in the wooden church at the end of the village. A ring of salt was around him as the witch continued her ritual to kill him. He wondered if he were a regular vampire whether or not it would have worked. The small handful of people who surrounded him weren’t recognizable, though they appeared to be people of powerful positions within the little community. One man in particular stood in front of the group, looking like the mayor.

Head bowed under long tresses of tangled blonde hair, seemingly given up, Klaus calculated the many ways he would introduce pure anguish into their lives. The inexorable torment that pounded through his black and broken heart fueled the machinations through Klaus’s mind. For a brief glimmer in his life, Klaus had found happiness ; the kind of happiness that he didn’t think would be possible after Aurora. It was nothing more than an illusion, he realized - not unlike his humanity. To hell with Elijah’s morals and speeches about being better than the beast. Klaus had learned where compassion would get him, and it was a road he never wanted to travel again. He wasn’t a human any longer, and he decided that eternity would be better spent accepting that truth. He was better than them - he could rise above them. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t human, but rather their god. Unfortunately for the town of Bedburg, he’s not a merciful god in the slightest. They needed to be punished and the monster within him reared its head, begging for blood.

Sunlight shone through the church windows, bathing Klaus in its light. One of the wives stepped back, confused. Apparently she thought demons couldn’t survive in the sunlight. It gave Klaus an idea - one that he was sure he’d regret later - but his mind was running solely on the need for revenge. Logic be damned.

Head raised slowly and inhuman vampire eyes met the group. Fighting against the searing torment of the spell, Klaus’s face set with a new determination. Apparently the blood thirsty look they were met with was enough to cause concern and the room froze. Even the witch paused, though her hands were still up. He couldn’t leave the ring of salt, so she felt safe.

That feeling was misplaced.

Hands still behind him, Klaus’s fingers found his daylight ring and pulled it off. Instantly his body was engulfed in flames, wide grin and dangerous eyes seen through the fire. The wood of the church caught instantly, going up like a tinder box.  It was an unseasonably dry year which worked in his favor. The mayor pushed his wife towards the door as another man was caught, screaming as fire lit him up. The ring of salt was gone and the people panicked as they ran for the door. Klaus moved at preternatural speed to the witch who stood in a shaded area. He sunk his teeth into her neck and she screamed as her healing blood filled his mouth and flames engulfed both of their bodies. He didn’t stop until her head was nearly severed from its neck, then Klaus dropped the body to the floor. He put his ring back on and moved with the same speed to the door and those trying to escape. The wind created by his movement was able to kill the flames still on his body. What clothing was left was singed to his melted flesh, hair gone and red eyes wild. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and yet the original was able to harness it and let it fuel him.

There were more screams as people were trapped in the flames. Those who would survive were met with sharp fangs.

Outside, the villagers were taking to the street to behold their church up in flames. The screams within died and after a few tense moments, the grotesque figure of Klaus emerged from the smoky doorway. It was immediately clear to anyone that he wasn’t human, for anyone with burns that bad wouldn’t still be walking. Blood fell from his lips as it began to heal him. His eyes scanned the ground as people started to run back to their home. He wasn’t bothered with them, though, as his eyes found Johann in the crowd.

The mortal had the sense to finally look afraid as Klaus approached. A scarred and singed hand reached up, affectionately caressing the side of Johann’s face.  ❝ I did not want to, ❞ the mortal pleaded, tears in his eyes.  ❝ You have to believe me. I never wanted this. They- ❞

Words ceased and brown eyes went side as his expression froze. When Klaus pulled back his other hand, it was dripping with blood, holding the beating heart of the man he thought to be his lover. There was nothing but a steely resolve forged by hurt and betrayal in Klaus’s eyes as he brought the heart to his lips and took a drink. Johann’s body fell limp to the ground and there was a piercing scream from one of the villagers who’d witnessed it. Klaus smirked and dropped the heart before turning his blind hatred on the people of the town.

The slaughter didn’t last long as Klaus tore through as many people as he could find. Blood painted the sides of buildings, limbs fell detached in his wake, and smoke began to could and blot out the sun. No one was safe from his ire and blood soaked fangs. The fire continued to spread, a visible metaphor to the vampire’s ever growing and all consuming rage. It wasn’t long before the entire village was on fire and not a soul was left alive.

Satisfaction wasn’t the emotion that Klaus carried in his heart as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the carnage. The tragedy of loss in his heart was gone, washed away with any semblance of happiness or peace. Instead, the only thing Klaus felt was numb. All attempts at being human were a thing of the past. The original would move forward in life only as the thing he was forged to be :  a beast.

Finding a wandering horse, Klaus approached it and - not bothering with a saddle - he mounted and guided the animal back towards Cologne. The village of Bedburg would be resettled in coming years, though to this day, there are still stories of the werewolf that once plagued the town. What there will not be stories of, is the monster far more terrifying - the one who gave in to the animalistic side and embraced his true nature in their very church.

[softkaebedo]

Walk || Reddie

Description: Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier take a nice little walk, one down memory lane it seems. (not good at descriptions i’m sorry)

Part: One.

_______________

It was silent. The only noises that could be heard were the howls of the wind, the flapping of missing children posters, and the sound of their footsteps. It was unusual, for the most part, yet... oddly nice. Though, Eddie was worried- he’d never seen Richie this quiet since they all returned back to Derry, and sure as hell doesn’t ever remember him being this quiet, but he didn’t speak up. He didn’t want to break the silence. So on they continued.

Eddie’s heart was pounding out of his chest. The final fight against Pennywise was soon... he wasn’t ready. Wasn’t prepared in the slightest. He was afraid. He quickly fumbled into his pocket, his fingers searching for that familiar shape, which they eventually found. He pulled it out of his pocket, and began to violently shake it- it was his inhaler. He quickly took off the cap, and closed his lips around it, pressing it down and taking in a large breath. That was better. He felt better. At least, until he heard Richie let out a small sigh, followed by a light chuckle.

“What’s so funny asshole?” Eddie looked over, finally breaking the silence, playfully glaring at Richie- but it obviously didn’t seem too playful. His heart was still pounding, yet it was slowing in pace, feeling a little more at ease now that he was looking at Richie. Richie had always tried his best to protect Eddie when they were kids, from his memory anyway... and Eddie hoped that he’d be able to repay the favour one day.

“You haven’t changed a bit Eds.” Richie glanced over at Eddie, with a small smile on his face, before he looked straight ahead again. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket- which felt oddly... safe to him. As an adult, he never really knew what to do with his hands, and he began finding himself constantly stuffing them into his pockets, so that was his... thing now. “I bet your mom hasn’t either.” he joked, still with the small smile on his face, staring ahead.

“Fuck you bro.” Richie never failed to make Eddie smile. Despite this being quite possibly one of the most stressful times of his life... Richie still managed to make Eddie feel at ease. Eddie reaches his hands out towards Richie, shoving him slightly, trying his best not to smile- but failing miserably. “I could say the same about you too Rich. You’re the same old trashmouth, aren’t you?” he liked that about Richie. Even in his stand up, Eddie noticed he still maintained the same posture, and everything about Richie stayed the same- just his jokes were a little suckier.

Richie slightly tensed up at the sudden touch, even if it wasn’t skin to skin, it was enough to spark a few butterflies within him. He hated it. He didn’t want to feel like that... especially not towards a guy. As Pennywise said... it was dirty. Unclean. Eddie would hate it. So he did too. But he quickly brushed off the feeling, and smiled yet again. “I’d like to think i’m more handsome now.” hes joking... he didn’t think that highly of himself. He knew he wasn’t the best looking loser- especially when Ben existed. He liked to seem big headed though.

Eddie just smiled in response, allowing them to fall yet again, into that silence. Richie didn’t seem to mind the silence either, and the further they walked, the more accustomed to it they both became. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nice. Although... it was obvious they both had so much they wanted to say to each other, yet no way of saying it.

Eventually, they found themselves slowly walking onto the kissing bridge, at this point, Richie didn’t remember what he did as a teenager, what he carved. Neither of them had spoken for a while, their legs were aching, and they were tired. Richie was the first to let out a sigh, and he moved himself towards the side of the bridge, sitting down. He didn’t care if his trousers got dirty... he just wanted to sit- though he knew Eddie probably wasn’t going to join him. But, much to his amazement, Eddie sat down right next to him, but avoided touching anything with direct contact.

Richie leaned backwards, resting his head against the wood, and stared straight ahead- only now did he notice the fading ‘R+E’ opposite him and Eddie. He stared for a moment or two, he didn’t remember instantly, but he stared. His heart was pounding, its pace quickening, yet he couldn’t understand why just yet. His face scrunched up into a frown, before his eyebrows widened, and his face instantly paled. He felt sick. He felt dirty. He remembered. He remembered what it stood for- who it stood for. He hated it. He wanted to rush over and boot it, break the wood. He felt so... disgusted with himself. He felt sheer panic knowing the person who the ‘E’ stood for was sat right next to him. He could look up at any moment and see it...

Richie’s hands began to sweat. His heart beating faster and faster- what the fuck was he supposed to do? They’d only just sat down, it would be weird if he just asked to leave but... “Eds, maybe we should sit somewhere else.” His voice was shaky as he spoke, and he noticed Eddie had just been watching an ant crawling around on the floor this whole time, he felt thankful. Maybe, just maybe, Eddie wouldn’t see it. Then, Richie could return and scratch it away. Dispose of it. Like it never even existed— Eddie looked up.

Eddie stared up, the first thing he noticed was an oddly large ‘R+E’. His heart fluttered in his chest slightly. Could it be- No. It couldn’t be. He was stupid to think it, yet... He couldn’t get the thought out of his head. He began to feel butterflies, something he hadn’t felt since he was young, since he... His eyes trailed down the wood, looking at the familiar carving. It was a little ‘R’ inside of a heart. He remembers it like it was just yesterday. He snuck out one of the knives from the house, it was the day they’d taken the photos in the photo booth, and he ran here just after Richie had led him home safely. He ran here just to carve that in- despite breaking his curfew. He needed it there, but he didn’t know any other time he could write it. Eddie’s eyes trailed back up towards the ‘R+E’, and yet again... those butterflies were there. He traced his fingers over his ring, the ring he wore to show the world he was married to the woman who reminded him most of his mother.

“I want to stay.” Eddie blurted out. He wasn’t even expecting the words to leave his mouth but they did. And he shakily removed the ring, but his hand was out of view of Richie, and he slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t want to hide anymore. He didn’t want to feel so... dirty. He was going to be proud. Going to be himself. Going to be brave.

“Eds...” Richie followed Eddie’s view, and looked over at the carving on the wood, frowning yet again. There’s no turning back, Eddie had seen it. He just hoped that Eddie wouldn’t think it was him. Though, he noticed something, not too far down from his own carving... an ‘R’ inside of a heart. Could that be- no. It couldn’t be. Eddie... Eddie is straight. And so was Richie- at least, that’s what he told himself. “Eddie i-“

“Richie, i need to tell you something.” Eddie spat out, his eyes still focused on the carving that Richie had made, though he didn’t know for sure if it was what he hoped. It was time to be brave. He had to be. He didn’t know how defeating Pennywise would go. So he had to do it now, or he would have to potentially die knowing he never told Richie the truth. His palms were sweaty, and he felt the need to grab his inhaler again but this time, just this one time... he didn’t. He moved his gaze from the carving, and looked towards Richie, he felt so nervous, so scared, but it was now or never. Now or never.

“Richie i-“ he made eye contact with Richie, his heart pounding. “I have this stupid fucking feeling in my stomach whenever we touch and i’ve had it since we were younger. Seeing you again for the first time made my heart beat like fucking crazy man, not even Myra makes me feel like that. Wow- that made me sound like an asshole... but seeing that carving on there, the r plus e, it had me hoping that it was you. Man, my heart rate is going like crazy, i’m trying my fucking best not to reach into my pocket and take my inhaler but it’s so hard not to. I’m trying to be brave. But fuck Richie... I’ve loved you since we were kids. I should’ve told you sooner but i just couldn’t... i just fucking couldn’t man.” his speaking was quickly paced, and his eyes were darting all over the place whilst speaking. “You don’t feel the same- i mean, of course you don’t. Ever since we were young you-“

“I fucked your mom.” Richie blurted out. His eyes were filled with tears, his heart pounding like crazy, the butterflies in his stomach had turned into fireworks, and they weren’t stopping anytime soon. He’s waited so long to hear those fucking words... a lifetime. He didn’t feel dirty anymore. He didn’t feel disgusting. He felt... clean. He needed Eddie’s approval, he realised it’s all he ever needed. For Eddie not to see him as this disgusting man... for Eddie to look at him different to how he looked at himself. He was proud. So fucking proud. Not of himself, but of Eddie. For being brave enough to tell his truth. He began to cry, the tears welled up in his eyes were now falling, and he slowly reached out, noticing that Eddie hadn’t looked at him at all since he cut him off, and he gently placed his hand onto Eddie’s cheek, gently turning his face so that Eddie was staring directly at Richie.

“No you didn’t...” Eddie murmured, staring up into Richie’s tear filled eyes. He saw the relief, he saw the happiness... And he knew. He knew Richie felt the same. His heart pounded even more, the butterflies swarming his stomach, he was happy- beyond happy. His own eyes began to fill with tears. A secret held in for so long... for so fucking long... He was glad it was finally out of his system. Eddie slowly reached his hands up towards Richie’s face, cupping it, and used his thumbs to gently wipe away the tears he notices were falling, allowing his own tears to begin to flow freely down his cheeks.

“Eds-“ Richie began to speak, before he was abruptly cut off.

“Beep beep Richie.” Eddie whispered, before leaning up towards Richie, his heart pounding. He had to be brave. This might be his only chance. He had to do it. His eyes slowly fluttered closed, as he began to feel Richie’s warm breath getting clothed, before he gently kissed Richie. Instantly, fireworks began to go off inside of him, his face instantly becoming heated, and he could feel his own blush.

It took Richie a moment, but he eventually kissed back, the tears still streaming down his face, and he gently began to kiss him back. With his free hand, he slowly reached towards Eddie, and placed his hand onto his waist. It was awkward as they were sitting down, but it was worth it. It would always be worth it.

Eventually, after a while of kissing and just genuinely sobbing in each others arms, they found themselves slowly walking back to the hotel. They weren’t afraid anymore. They were clinging to each others hands, both of their eyes red and puffy, yet soft smiles on their faces. They were happy.

“I love you, trashmouth.” Eddie whispered, stopping in place, and looking up at Richie, still holding his hand. He wasn’t letting go anytime soon. He couldn’t. Too afraid of what might happen.

Richie stopped a few seconds after Eddie, and then turned to face him. His smile was true, and he chuckled a little, stepping closer to Eddie, and stepped closer to the man. The man he’d loved all of his life. The man who loved him back for all of his. “I love you too, Eddie spaghetti.”

[tonystarkissist]

IronDad Bingo Fic #6

Trope: Bullying

Trigger Warning!!! Lots of self hate. Small mention of suicide and self harm.

Requested by anon. Thank you for the request!

The tabloids have always been known for their blatant hatred for the mess of a human being named Tony Stark. Of course, there were those select few reporters and articles that highlighted his few wholesome qualities, but people weren’t quite as drawn towards opinions not laced with drama and hostility.

The first truly demeaning article published about him that he could actually recall was when he was about 14 years old, attending a special gala with his parents during his Christmas break. His father had been giving a speech, and, yeah, Tony had snuck a couple drinks over the course of the evening, but this guy started choking on an olive in the middle of his father’s spiel and he didn’t even have any time to think before he was jumping into action. What was he supposed to do? Ignore the poor man? But in his drunken haze and fervent panic, he couldn’t quite remember the typical operating procedure to perform for a choking person, so he acted on instinct and reeled back his fist to send a punch straight into the man’s gut. It worked though, and the olive went sailing across the room, but the idiot demanded to press charges after he caught his breath and realized he was a Stark. And, of course, since no one else had witnessed the event in its entirety, young Tony had been labeled as a hostile, drunk, know-it-all without an ounce of human decency at the age of 14, and that title followed him all through his teenage years and into adulthood. The choking man had been set on getting his money and he wasn’t at all put out by the fact that it would require tearing down a somewhat innocent boy in the process.

His father had been pissed, even after Tony had finished explaining his side of the story. The press had been having an absolute field day with the abomination of a human being that turned out of Howard Stark’s son and Howard was beyond livid… and his mother, well… she had been disappointed. She didn’t speak a word to her son for nearly three days after the event. How could Tony blame them though? He had never done anything particularly noble, and he wasn’t known to be a truth-teller, but he had just wanted to help. He supposed that was what happened when you tried to help a person, so he didn’t go out of his way to try it out again.

After that, trouble just seemed to follow him. The press disregarded his accomplishments and highlighted the many many mistakes that only seemed to worsen the older he became. You couldn’t really blame the people either, because the mischief Tony Stark got up to was pure reporting gold. It granted them thousands, if not millions, of extra readers every time he didn’t something particularly stupid. The non-scientific community weren’t quite as interested in his inborn genius, and his amazing creations, lectures he gave, and ideas he had. People had always, and would always, be drawn to drama. And Tony Stark was the absolute Drama King.

So, over the years, he grew used to it. He grew used to the bullying comments made by human rights advocates, anti-war hippies, even some of his ‘friends’, and anyone else really… because they weren’t wrong. He was a selfish, immature, irresponsible, violent, impulsive, rich brat, and he’s long since accepted that fact. He remembered how the comments used to bother him as an adolescent and young adult. The self-hate, and depression that stemmed from the thought that everyone in the world, including his own father and mother, hated him with a passion. He had tried multiple times to prove his worth to the world, but he had always messed it up some way or another. And no matter how many so-called friends he would acquire over the years he could always see right through them. He could practically hear them talking and laughing about him behind his back. He knew they only wanted his money. But he didn’t care. He was fine with lying to himself for a while to gain a couple good friends even if they only lasted a few months.

He at least found one good friend, and Rhodey was probably the only reason why he hadn’t accidentally or purposely overdosed during those years at MIT, and even several years after.

He got over the deception quickly though, disregarding the people after realizing it wasn’t worth it to spend his time pleasing them, because the only person he should work on pleasing was himself. So, that’s what he spent the next few years doing. Spending every waking minute to prove to society just how right they were. To prove to his father that, yes, he really was all that the man believed him to be.

It wasn’t only the press and dumb college druggies either. After he took over the company… it was rare for anybody to take him seriously. His ideas were typically discarded by the board and Obie; nothing he wasn’t used to. His employees and coworkers had no respect for him even though he was the boss! He’d hear the whispered rumors as he walked down the halls, most regarding his inability to run the company or his nightly, drunken escapades, and he’d grit his teeth in annoyance before fleeing to his workshop to create something unquestionably amazing to prove his worth even though he truly believed every word the spoke.

Eventually, after a few years, R&D grew to respect his inventions, and the board members were impressed with the advancements he was making for the company. When it came to management… it was rare for anybody of any worth would actually listen to him. So, at about 26, he just stopped trying.

Even the people who worked for him believed the tabloids, so, really, what hope was there for the ordinary people of the world to look beyond what the magazines and newspapers said? He couldn’t expect the world to respect him, trust him, and believe in him when his own company wouldn’t… when his parents hadn’t.

The whispers and the shame never stopped… so he never did either.

Then, he had been kidnapped, tortured, and traumatized. He had had an epiphany in that cave. He realized how much he had done to hurt the world, and people in general during his years of spite fueled by self-hate, and he was determined to do everything in his power to fix it.

He became Iron Man, and he had pronounced his identity without hesitance, because he needed to be accountable for his actions. He couldn’t stand behind a mask, avoiding the responsibility and inevitable repercussions that would befall upon him during his doings as a superhero. He had already gone down that road during his years of selfish ignorance, and it had only brought trouble. He was determined to be accountable for his own actions, because honesty formulated trust, and he wanted people to trust that he genuinely cared.

Of course, when the news of a new enhanced robot-like being had shown up in California, and it had defeated another robotic enemy, the people had been both terrified and ecstatic at the possibility of someone, or something, there to protect them. Then, the people had learned who was really behind the mask, and it only went downhill from there.

Tony would sit on his couch every night for the following weeks, toying with a gauntlet, clenching his teeth until his jaw cramped as he watched reporters go on and on about his irresponsible actions, inability to protect them, and the unavoidable careless mistakes he would eventually make just as he had in the past.

Pepper and Rhodey had both encouraged him to watch the positive reports that were being given about him instead, because they knew about his tendency to spiral into a pit of self-hatred at the slightest mention of any of the deeper insecurities he’d been dwelling over for years, but he knew better. People didn’t want positive when it came to him. People wouldn’t believe those things; they’d disregard them as laughable lies and move on to the interesting, problematic portion of Tony Stark’s personality.

He tried. He really did. He did everything in his power to help the people and prove to them that all he wanted to do was help.

His public image went up and down through the following years. People would slowly begin to trust him and look up to him, but then sometimes he would mess up, and people would hate him all over again. Still, even despite the rare good, there were still many, many people who resented him during those times. They could always find some reason to hate him. There were fan pages dedicated to spreading their hatred for him and some news outlets were still fascinated with fabricating any lie they could to make everything that went wrong in an Avengers battle to be his fault. Which was cool, he was fine with that, because not all of it was really that wrong.

He had developed a disgusting habit through the years as a result. He’d sit down once a month and watch the negative reports about himself on the TV, always zeroing in on his blinding flaws. Sometimes his teammates would come close to catching him in the act, but he was always careful to make sure they never found out. He didn’t want them to know how the world really felt about him; to introduce the hatred the world rightfully harbored for him… but perhaps they already did. It would give them more ammunition to use against him. They were the first true friends besides Rhodey that he had ever had, and he couldn’t risk losing them because they found out how insecure, hated, and terrible he really was. Heck, Steve had already been influenced by the press and tabloids on their first meeting, and the hero had believed every word he read. Tony was too scared to find out who the man would trust when it came between the world and Tony Stark himself.

Tony had always been one to focus on the negative rather than the positive, especially when it came to himself. His self-image had already been ruined as a teen, despite the front he put up for the tabloids, and whenever a particularly demeaning characteristic that he had been hyper-aware of for years came to light, it sent him spiralling into a fit of depression and anger and he’d lock himself down in the lab, destroying, and days later rebuilding, his proudest accomplishments over and over again. It made him feel some sense of control.

He always sent Dum-E and U out of the room though, and he always shut down JARVIS for the night… he didn’t want to risk hurting them during his monthly fits of rage. He hated himself so much on those nights. He hated that he couldn’t be what people wanted him to be, and that he couldn’t live up to the high standard all his other teammates seemed to accomplish without a problem.

Years later, he was doing the same thing. His teammates, his friends, were gone… they betrayed him. The people of the world were terrified of him and all he stood for. His best friend was crippled because he was selfish, and the love of his life left when he refused to give up the one stable thing left in his life; the one thing that kept his head above water, knowing he was at least trying to help people. But everything was still his fault. The world knew it and they weren’t shy to tell him to his face. Everything was just so, so much worse.

So, just like every first Saturday night of the month he’d sit down in his workshop, bottle of scotch ready in his hand, and he’d instruct FRIDAY to stream the latest ‘lies’, as Pepper had called them (but he knew better), that had been circulating that month. He’d pay attention to the complaints given by citizens, especially when they suffered some sort of hardship as a result of an Avengers mission, and he’d do his best to reimburse them with both financial help and physical labor to rebuild anything they had lost. Any major disheartening actions or qualities brought to light that month would be mulled over intensely, worked through his brain a million and one times, before he set forth a plan of action to fix it. It didn’t always work. In fact, it rarely worked, but he tried. He tried so, so hard.

***

Peter loved going to spend time with Mr. Stark. After the Ferry incident had happened, the genius invited him over to the compound for some special training. Peter had been beyond excited to train with Tony Stark himself. He had always looked up to the man ever since he was a small child. He was his hero.

He remembered back when he was a bored thirteen year old, literally obsessed with the Avengers, particularly Iron Man, and he’d spend every waking moment scrolling through Twitter or Tumblr, or Facebook to find anything as to what they’d been up to that day. He had run across some not so nice thoughts expressed by some haters, and he didn't hesitate to set them straight. He had always been a hardcore Iron Man stan, and he couldn’t stand that they would speak of his hero in the way they were. Because the man was human, and he was allowed to make mistakes sometimes. Thankfully, the positive fanbase for the man was much larger than the negative. Iron Man was by far the most loved of all the Avengers, but still the most hated. And that had always pissed Peter off.

So, yeah, now he knew Tony Stark, his hero, personally, and he was allowed to visit every week! Sometimes they’d train in one of the training room and sometimes they’d go down into the lab to mess around with his suit or another project.

This week, though, he hadn’t been able to make it to the Compound because of Decathlon and the ridiculous amounts of homework he had to squeeze in between patrols. But Happy had said the Mr. Stark probably wouldn’t mind him stopping by on the weekend. So, here he was, Sunday morning, jittering excitedly inside the elevator as it descended to Mr. Stark’s workshop in the basement.

He hadn’t been greeted by FRIDAY, which he found a bit odd, but perhaps he assumed he was just down for maintenance for a couple hours. No biggie.

The elevators eventually opened, and the first thing he noticed was Dum-E and U chilling in the corner of the hall outside of Mr. Stark’s lab entrance. Peter quirked a brow curiously at the bots, and the two robots whirred excitedly at the sight of him. He greeted them with a smile and a pat on their arms before punching in the code to enter the lab. He was met with another bout of confusion as he glanced around the complete chaos and utter destruction that had befallen the room.

“Uh,” Peter mused with wide eyes, “Mr. Stark?”

“Kid!” Tony responded in surprise, popping up from behind the destroyed hot rod engine. “What-what-what are you doing here?”

“Oh, um, Happy said you probably wouldn’t mind me coming over this weekend.” Peter answered in a panic. What if Mr. Stark did mind? What if he hated Peter now? Oh goodness! Mr. Stark hated him for sure.

“Oh,” Tony mused tiredly. He glanced around the lab with a tight frown before returning his gaze to Peter. “Sorry for the mess kid. C’mon in. If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up a bit.”

“It’s alright Mr. Stark,” Peter responded hesitantly. He slowly made his way across the room until he was standing on the other side of the hot rod, watching as the man worked his magic on what looked to be a unsalvageable piece of machinery. “What-um… What happened in here?”

Tony chuckled under his breath, waving his arm dismissively. “Oh, I do this every month. It gives me something to do.”

“You-you destroy everything?” Peter questions, utterly perplexed.

“Well yeah,” Tony answered lamely, “that way I can rebuild it.”

“Oh, cool,” Peter drones quietly, “what are Dum-E and U doing outside?”

“I sent ‘em out there so they wouldn’t get hurt. Grab that wrench over there for me, will ya kid?”

***

The two of them got a lot closer as the weeks passed. Peter started staying over on the weekends once May picked up the weekend shift so she could come home earlier during the week to have dinner with her nephew. Peter had a blast on those weekends. He had his own room and everything, which was absolutely epic! He and Mr. Stark ate dinner with Pepper and Rhodey sometimes, and they’d watch a lot of movies too. Peter loved it.

They’d always stay up super late in the labs, or watching movies, on Friday and Saturday because, well, Peter didn’t have school or go home because May was expecting him.

But then one Saturday night was different…

“Alright, why don’t you call it a night and head up to bed, kiddo.”

Peter frowned and cocked his head to the side in confusion as he casted his mentor a questioning gaze. Mr. Stark never sent him to bed early, in fact, it was usually the opposite. It was typical for Peter to be so exhausted that he had to convince Mr. Stark that, yes, he needed sleep because he was a growing teenage boy.

“Uhhh… it’s only like 10 Mr. Stark. I’m not tired.”

He saw the man’s jaw tighten. “Just… just go to bed Peter. Watch TV, play on your phone, whatever. I don’t care. But take your project up to your room with you.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered softly, his eyebrows furrowed. He tightened his grip on his web shooter. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Peter,” the man responded tersely.

Peter didn’t argue anymore. He slowly started to gather his project into his arms. He eyed the man suspiciously once more before slowly making his way out of the room, but Mr. Stark didn’t say another word. He went up to Mr. Stark’ personal floor and was met with Pepper quietly lounging on the couch with her STARKpad in her lap. She glanced up at him curiously when he stepped into the room and Peter quietly admitted to her that Mr. Stark had sent him to bed early for some weird reason.   

Pepper didn’t say anything to that, really, which was even more weird. She just nodded her head sadly in acknowledgment and bid him goodnight. So, Peter hung his head, fled to his room and sat on his bed. He tried questioning FRIDAY, but she didn’t give him an answer. She remained uncharacteristically silent.

He waited an hour or two, listening closely for Pepper to go to bed, or even Mr. Stark, but Peter had a feeling that the man wouldn’t be going to bed early that night. He couldn’t help but think back on that first Sunday he came to visit Mr. Stark and the absolute disaster of a lab he had found when he went to greet the man. It made a gross feeling pool in his gut, and he really, really didn’t feel good about that look on Mr. Stark’s face when he left the room.

Eventually, he could hear Pepper’s soft footsteps move down the hall and her and Mr. Stark’s bedroom door close behind her. It was nearing midnight by then.

“Hey, FRIDAY? Is Mr. Stark going to go to bed soon?” Peter questioned in a whisper.

She didn’t answer, which only seemed to increase his anxiety. His senses tingled uncomfortably, and the anxiety gave birth to fear.

Peter jumped from where he was seated on the bed and he dashed for the door. He tiptoed down the hall, past the master bedroom and took off running towards the elevator. He jittered anxiously as he rode the elevator down to the basement floor, to the workshop.

The doors opened too slowly…

He rushed out in a flurry of limbs and wide eyes. Something was very, very wrong. He was met with the familiar sight of Dum-E and U huddled in the corner of the hall, emitting sad whines. Peter’s heart picked up speed and his breaths came in short, panicked bursts as the twinge in his neck became more prominent. He could hear yelling and crashing, and banging coming from the other side of the glossed glass and he rushed for the door to punch in the code… but it didn’t work. He punched it in again, and again, and again, but it wouldn’t work. The banging and crashing continued and Peter whined desperately. Something was wrong with Mr. Stark. Something was very, very wrong.

In the midst of his panic, there was a long, slow beep, and the door unlocked with a short click. Peter stared at the door for a moment, and he instantly knew who it was. He turned up his head to smile thankfully at the ceiling before grabbing the handle, throwing the door open and rushing into the room.

He was met with quite a sight.

Tony stood at the center of the room with a sledgehammer in hand as he swung it angrily into the side of the hot rod over, and over, and over again. The workshop was in ruins. Peter’s desk was covered in scrap metal, mangled bolts and ruined tools, and Tony’s was blanketed in old projects leaking oil, looking beyond repair, and a glass bottle that had been shattered. Amber liquid pooling around the surviving head of the bottle. Peter watched with his breath caught in his throat as his mentor released an angered shout, swinging the heavy hammer over his head to bring it down forcefully onto the hood of the car. Then he dropped it. He collapsed to the ground, bracing his back against the ruined car and hanging his head in his hands.

He was done.

There was nothing left to destroy that Peter could see. He slowly gazed over the destruction. In the corner of the room he saw the news on the TV playing, with several holographic screens alongside it to display articles of some sort.

He felt tears begin to bubble behind his eyes as he stepped closer to the side of the room to see what exactly was being played on the screen. It was news coverage of the Rogue Avengers… and Tony’s face was displayed in the corner as the reporter went on bashing shamelessly into him, blaming everything on Tony Stark and his selfish actions. Peter shook his head in denial, eyes wide with fear, clenching his teeth in anger as he stared through the tears to focus in on the reporter’s face. The TV flickered momentarily as it autonomously clicked to a new channel, and he was met with a different reporter. She spoke about leftover Stark weapons that had been uncovered in Eastern Asia earlier that month, accusing Tony Stark of forcing his company to deal under the table once more to make up for the loss of funds from the cleanup work he was paying for in Sokovia.

Peter’s face fell, horrified at the awful lies escaping from the womans mouth, and his attention quickly snapped over to stare at the holographs.

‘Tony Stark is responsible for the fall of the Avengers: Rumor has it he attacked Steve Rogers and arrested his teammates, denying them a fair trial-’

‘Tony Stark is just as selfish and immature as he was when he was a child’

‘Iron Man gives up. He was never worthy of being called a hero. He only fights for himself’

“Mr-Mr. Stark?” Peter whimpers pitifully, unsure of where to turn or what to feel. Everything was just… it was all so, so, so wrong. The world was so, so wrong.

Mr. Stark didn’t answer him. So, Peter turned away from the screens and carefully made his way across the room to where the man was still hunkered against the destroyed car.

“Mr. Stark?”

He was met with a defeated groan.

Then the man’s head was lifting and Peter saw his eyes. His expression was empty, his eyes rimmed red from tears. His gaze dropped to the man’s knuckles, which were split open and bleeding down the length of his arm and fingers.

Peter couldn’t help but cry.

“They’re so, so, so wrong Mr. Stark.” He cried, dropping to the ground beside his mentor to wrap his arms around his waist. He leaned into him and cried into his shirt, squeezing him hard. “They are so so so WRONG! You can’t listen to them. They’re so wrong.”

He felt a hand lift to pet his head, but there were no words to accompany the attempt at a comforting gesture.

“You’re so amazing Mr. Stark. None of this is your fault. None of this was ever your fault, and it never will be, because you’re good. You’re so, so good. You’re human… but you still try even after you mess up. And that’s so, so good Mr. Stark.”

The hand curls into his hair, gripping locks between their calloused, bloody fingers, and Peter can feel the ripple of a sob vibrate through the man’s chest.

“So good,” Peter whispers, tucking closer to the man with an insistent shake of his head. “So, so good.”

***

After that. Peter spent the first Saturday of every month, tugging his mentor to the Living Room, where he, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy would all sit on the couch watching the positive reports about Iron Man on the big TV. They watched random YouTube videos of little kids rambling happily about Iron Man and how much they love him and want to be just like him. They look at Memes, tumblr posts, and Tweets praising Tony and his compassion and love for the people. Pepper always brought fan mail for him to read through too, and it seemed like Tony enjoyed that part the most.

He’d always cry as he read through the letters and looked at the drawings. He cried every time, but Peter always made sure he got lots and lots of hugs, because Mr. Stark needed to know how much people really loved him.

Sorry if this feels rushed guys. I wanted to finish it fairly quick while I was in the mood. And thank you @irondadbingo again for the bingo card.

[tcrmommabear]

Happy Birthday Cat!

I stayed up until 12:30 a.m. and wrote this for you, and this isn’t even ALL I want to write for you, so expect more surprises later on.

But guess who decided to revisit her take on the “role reversal” prompt we had for the birthday bash? *clicks fingerguns*

Who knew Damsel-In-Distress!Baron was the type of Baron we never wanted (lies), but never knew we needed?

Happy birthday my love! Enjoy!

He was exactly where the other’s said she’d find him.

Nevermind the fact that she still had to fight her way through the twisting and spinning bodies of ball-goers, converting miles of dance floor into inches of personal space. She could feel her body flowing in and out of change, but she begged herself to stay exactly as she was, just enough to be hidden, but not enough to lose herself.

The Cat King, with wild fur and bulging eyes she could see halfway across the world, hadn’t let the other leave his side. Instead, he beckoned and called to any within his sight, within his reach, pulling them and purring deep into their ears to admire his prize.

No one looked comfortable, so close to the mad King with no sight of his reasonable son nearby. In the hopes to appease the demanding cat, and being released from his grip, they always fell over themselves, admiring the “object” of their King’s affection.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of pushing her way to the front again, of feeling the tight grip of the King’s paw on her arm. Who did she think she was, anyways? A hero? An adventurer? Someone with an ounce of bravery, and a dash of luck? She was just some teenager, with a clumsy streak a tripping mile long. Of all the people she knew, or even heard of, they’d all be better suited to stage a rescue.

Even those people would be better at controlling the whiskers lengthening on her face, or the ominous ache she felt at the base of her spine. No one would be so hopelessly frightened and lost like her.

She started to retreat back, letting the crowd surge around her and pull the sight of the King and the other man out of sight. Just as a body began to twist in front of her, fluffy fur so close she could feel it slide through her too-long teeth, he turned.

Green eyes scanned through the crowds. Impassive, bored, disinterested. Ever the stoic oak she had been told he was made of. He locked eyes with her, enough she thought he could tell why exactly she was here, before they glazed and continued their search through the crowds.

She couldn’t give up now. Not when he looked so desperate for an escape, not when the Cat King couldn’t help but purr every time he called the other “it”, especially not when she had come this far and gotten this close.

Her body was closing the distance long before her mind could fathom the situation. She knew in that instant, just like how she knew when the moving truck came roaring down the street. She wanted to curl in, but forced her spine to stand ramrod straight. She buried her shaking hands in the folds of her skirt, clenched her chattering teeth into a smile. Focused entirely on the one standing between her and home.

The King didn’t bother to hide the way his eyes flicked, pulling over every drape of the pale yellow dress until she almost thought she didn’t actually have anything on. She curtsied, bowed her head low the way the white cat had shown her before. The King didn’t even notice when she stepped on her own hem and nearly tripped.

“Well, hello there babe,” came the trademark pur, slinking down her skin like a thin film of oil. Her smile tightened, incling her head at the King.

“Your Majesty, an honor and a pleasure to stand before you,” she responded, repeating the exact same words she’d been practicing for an hour. Her gaze flickered between the two, sparing a glance when a shadow fell over the stained glass roof.

“No need for silly formalities, babe, as the pleasure is all mine to present you my prize.”

His grin was eager, starved for attention that he could never stop feasting on. She smiled, turned her face the “prize” standing grimly beside the King. She scanned over every part of him, the manacles upon his wrists, the collar faintly surging with purple light, the mask pulled over his face to lock his jaw in place. She couldn’t meet his eyes again, choosing to hover right where she thought his chin would be.

“One of a kind, and shows it too,” the King pressed, moving to sidle into her side. She felt him wrap around her shoulders, paw playing idly with the loose strands of hair she kept down. She swallowed, nearly stamping her foot to keep her knees from giving out.

She was so disgusted.

“Truly, a sight to see,” she mustered up, pretending her step away from the King was an excuse to examine a different side of him. She glanced up, took stock of what little of the other’s expression she could see. Eyes were narrowed at her, almost accusing, almost too fearful to even dare consider hoping for a rescue.

She hoped she put every thought, every little assurance-  I’m here to help, I see you as a person, The others haven’t left you, I’m here to help, I’m h e r e - but the King matched her step, and she had to melt under the feel of his paw, the ruffle of his fur. She glanced at him again, and those eyes saw nothing of her, only anger and fear.

“What do you plan on doing with,” she choked on the question, the one word, “it?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Creations, babe?” he assaulted her ears with the eager pur. “Immortal things, magic and some such. I’ve got myself a real treat here babe. An immortal bodyguard, soldier, assassin.”

The manacles rattled, the shackled one jerking back as muffled protests came through. The King rolled his eyes, producing a remote from- god don’t think about how he’s not wearing clothes, Haru!!

“That’s enough of you scaring my gorgeous guest,” the King snarled, a light hum coming from the remote, prompting a similar sound from the collar.

The reaction was instant. The room went quiet with the sound, the party pausing as they bared witness to the King’s cruelty. The collar remained as it was, humming along with the remote, but it’s victim reacted violently. His body seized, claws tearing through the remains of his gloves to claw at the perfect gold. The purple tinted his skin a similar shade, slowly creeping wood rising from the spot the collar was clasped around his throat.

She could see each individual vein, every muscle as they climbed their leisure way up his neck, turning his chin to solid wood, the same effect reaching lower as she noticed his shoulders locking in place. For a brief, panicked moment, she feared his lungs would turn and he’d suffocate under the weight of his own lungs turned against him.

She slammed a hand over the remote, muffling the humming. The collar’s effects rescinded, recalled back to their source faster than they spread. The King pouted, but placed a paw on her cheek instead of lashing out.

“Sorry babe, forgot you ladies have such delicate minds.”

She gave a sheepish grin, grip tight around the remote, the hum vibrating up her arm. She pressed herself against the arm, slowly working her fingers- fingers! Not paws!- under the Cat King’s hold.

“Forgive me, sir, but such an image was truly frightful,” she told him, another shadow pass across her face from the roof above. Her heart pounded, blood rushing to her face.

“Might I try a dance with it?”

The King paused, bulging eyes sliding together to narrow at her. Her stomach flopped, but her smile was big, her cheeks flushed. She angled herself in front of him, swiping her thumb over his paw. She nearly had it...

“Surely,” she bit her bottom lip, fighting the grimace when he took notice, “it could never compare to such an amazing dancer as you. Why don’t we all have a laugh at such a… A… Foolish thing.”

He pressed the remote fully into her hand, grin slick with an intent she refused to name. He spun her around, let her face her partner, let her hold the remote in shaking hands.

“I do love making fools of my toys. He tries anything, babe, you don’t be afraid of using it against him,” he rumbled in her ear, fur puffing against her will. He lifted her arm, let the remote dangle in front of his green, green eyes, and she felt her heart go out to him.

He lunged against the chains, and even she couldn’t help flinching back. But just out of reach.

The King called for guards, ordering a place on the floor cleared big enough to dance, the manacles and muzzle removed, but the collar still shined against the Kingdom’s ever-present noon sun. She was pushed and shoved and spun until the world was a blur of adrenaline and tuxedo cats.

And then he was standing before her.

And then she was looking right at him.

And then he was holding her hand, jerkily pulling her close.

And then that ache at the base of her spine truly became a tail, and her cheeks were hot, and there went those precious fingers.

He didn’t make a move for the remote between their hands- paws? Hands??? Paw-hands?!- realizing how deep the crowds went, and how close the guards were from practically breathing the air he exhaled.

Still, so close to him, even at eyes glaring straight ahead, even as his hand gripped hers too tight, even as she forgot for a moment she was a human girl, with a human life, and other humans just past a maze and up a tower waiting for her…

“Wow, you’re cool,” she breathed, startling the both of them.

His grip became a vice, claws threatening her the slightest bit. He didn’t seem to understand, or just on edge and surprised enough he felt unsafe. She swallowed, tried to take the words she just said back past her tongue and down to her lungs.

“A foolish “Creature” such as myself shouldn’t be so… Interesting, to you.”

His voice made her knees give out, though that may have also been the fact that she tripped over both their shoes and he had to convert their move into a dip instead.

“I’m sorry, I just-.”

“-Had to appease the King, just had to play along, just had to pretend, yes, I’ve heard it all before,” he cut her off, voice flat and bitter, but she noticed the little niggling voice, the little part that whispered and nagged.

‘Are you even alive?���

“Doesn’t stop it all from hurting,” she mumbled, but he didn’t respond, eyes moving to stare past her again.

“Why would you even care? I’m nothing but an object to all of you,” he hissed. Her heart jerked, and she really looked at him.

Not at his chest, or his chin, or just past all of it to the top of his ear.

Mint green.

“But all I see you as is Baron,” she spilled out.

He stopped her dead in their tracks, daring her to break away and prove him right. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and yet even as the Cat King shouted and demanded to know what they were doing, she focused on him. Nothing else mattered.

The ceiling above darkened, blocking the noon day sun.

Her heart roared, but relief still took out her knees.

“Oh thank God I got us in the right spot.”

And stained glass rained down upon them.

----

He never thought the sight of Crow soldiers, or Muta swinging from the palace chandelier would bring him to tears, but he also thought saving some human girl would just be the good deed of the day, job well done, a cup of tea for himself.

He thought she had looked familiar, catching sight of her across the ballroom, and worried his efforts were in vain. Yet the way she held herself, forced confidence, oozing over the King, and calling him… He saw red and that was the extent of his thought process.

Then he saw purple, fading to black, and just as he caught his breath back, he was being forced to dance.

He wasn’t entirely out of date with slang, but being called “cool” wasn’t exactly a priority, not with a life threatening and magic killing collar sapping away at his strength.

“But all I see you as is Baron,” she said, shattering his world.

Pretty literally, actually, if he felt the need to point out the poetic irony.

(He always did. It was truly perfect).

Chaos erupted as the calvary truly arrived, and without thinking, he threw himself over her to clock the glass shards. She mumbled something under her breath, but over the roar of everything, he couldn’t be bothered to care much past her and their dance.

Even as the sounds of Crows versus Cats echoed through the building.

“Baron, let’s go!”

Her hand- oh back to hand, huh- gripped his, the remote settle between their palms. She dragged him away, towards a back table filled to the brim with feast. Cat Guards chased after, surrounding the pair. She yanked his arm, pulling him onto the table, putting height and distance between them and danger.

A wing buzzed the tops of their heads, distracting the cats, long enough for a being of pure mass to roar their way onto them. They collapsed like dominos, each struggling against the weight of the others.

Muta rose to his feet, shooting a grin at the girl. He noticed she stood in front of him, arms shaking, but extended out so she could be his shield.

The gesture did tricks to his heart.

“Great technique, Muta,” she laughed, a touch hysterically, but he wouldn’t hold it against her. Not when he felt the same way.

He didn’t listen for Muta’s response, noticing the same crow- Toto he recognizes, circling back down towards them.

“Toto, old friend!” he shouted out, listening to the wicked laughter of the other.

“Good thing I had a few buddies looking for a good fight, hey, Baron!” he cawed out, tone light, but he never came down low enough to land.

“Haru, Haru down here!”

The pair jerked, a white cat tugging at the girl’s- Haru, her name is Haru and she saved both you and the Prince, and you never learned her name?- dress. Haru lept off the table, kneeling down next to the cat, and gestured for him to follow.

“Yuki, thank goodness! All the exits you told me about are blocked or too far away, what do we do?” Haru babbled, gripping the other’s paws.

“Not all of them! Here,” Yuki gave a grunt, hefting up a wooden hatch to reveal a slide down below.

“Wait,” Baron stopped, holding Haru in place before she could proceed down the slide, “this leads in the opposite direction of the Maze, away from the Human Entrance.”

Haru froze, glancing at Yuki, but the latter didn’t bat an eyelash.

“You’re really short on time. Lune,” Yuki flushed at his name, interesting, “and I found an old portal in disrepair. It’ll take you to the Cat’s Paw Lake, but it’s better than nothing.”

He and Haru shared a glance, but Haru merely looked determined. She tugged the dress up and off, revealing jeans and a t-shirt just underneath. He calmed his rather harrowed heart, touching the collar on his neck.

“Wait-!”

Yuki took the remote from Haru, pressing the front of it to a spot just above where his artery would be. The collar hummed lightly, clicking open and dropping to the ground.

“Now, go!”

Yuki gave him a shove, and down he went.

----

Haru could finally breathe as Baron began down the slide. She knew she’d have to follow after, but she took one last look at Yuki.

“You’ll come back right?” she asked hopefully.

Yuki smiled, softly, sadly, sweetly.

“If the King doesn’t realize what I’ve done, and Lune comes back soon. But you will, somehow, see me again, Haru.”

Haru smiled, launching herself down the slide next.

All thoughts of the ball were wiped clean with the crash of glass. She was still scared as all hell, she would never lie about that. Yet now, her only focus was on getting Baron home. Maybe he’ll realize no good deed goes unpunished, a lesson she’d been told he needed to learn for a while.

But what was her lesson, the thought popped briefly.

‘I’m capable of a lot more than I thought I could be,’ she found herself surprised to realize. But self evaluation could be saved for another day. Especially considered she had just landed on top of the one she’s supposed to be saving.

Since when did mint become such an overwhelming color?

‘Feelings are not an option, Haru, focus. Besides, Machida,’ she ordered to herself. Wasn’t it unprofessional to develop a crush on your client?

She stood up, offering a hand to Baron. He eyed it, slipping his fingers into her palm, letting her pull him up.

“Just for the record,” he started, clearing his throat, dusting off his clothes.

“You could have staged your own rescue?” she offered, starting off down the corridor. She caught a glimpse of an embarrassed smile, and thought seeing him a bit more cheerful, and more in his element, was nice.

“Well, obviously. A member of the Bureau must always be prepared.”

“How does one prepare for “kidnapping by cat”?”

“With newly gained prior experience.”

She laughed.

“Well, just for the record Baron, I think you could have done without this experience.”

“Just for the record, Miss Haru, I have no regrets over this situation. Though I apologize for getting you into this situation.”

She paused, turned to look at him. His ears dropped a little, shoulders hunched as he tried to feel less guilty. She smiled, gently pat his shoulder.

“Just for the record, I don’t regret saving you. Or Lune. I got to have this cool adventure, didn’t I?  Who knows, maybe I’ll go write a book.”

He smiled, fumbling for words. He never fumbled for words.

“Miss Haru, I-.”

“Just for the record?” she supplied, cheekily.

“Yes, pardon me, just for the record, I feel-...”

“That you two babes,” a slimey voice drawled, putried fur outlined by the waning moonlight and city lamps, “are so very, very predictable. Just for the record.”

[bradfordarchive]

clicks my fingers to no humanly discernible rhythm as i strut bk onto the dash w chara number two!! (it’s me nai bk again bt this time wearing a stick on moustache). bradley’s pinterest is HERE n u kno the drill mre abt her under the cut n like this fr those Sweet Sweet plots!!

MARGARET QUALLEY / CIS-FEMALE — don’t look now, but is that bradley milligan i see? the 23 year old psychology student is in their junior year and she is a rochester alum. i hear they can be brave, resilient, destructive and ruthless, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet she will make a name for themselves living in off campus. ( nai. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics: singeing a hole in your fishnets with the cherry of a menthol, spitting a pistachio behind the bar just to hear it ping off the nozzle top bottles, lemon in a fresh cut, a war torn poppy standing alone in an empty field, poking bruises, stomping over flowerbeds when there’s a path right next to it, dangling over ledges just to feel your chest jolt, a snarling rottweiler that should be muzzled, limp feet poking out behind a door, ‘I PROMISE I DON’T BITE’ scrawled on a name tag, slapping a bald head in front of you at the cinema like it’s a bongo, not owning a single jacket that isn’t stolen, driving a stolen car in the wrong lane against the traffic, blowing coke in someone’s face after asking “hey, does this smell funny to you?”, hair more feral than a wolf cub and eyes smudgier than a coal mine.  

BACKGROUND:

father runs a gang n strip club in queens called ‘no angels’ tht fronts an affluent drug trade, primarily coke. his name is tony milligan n his gang is p infamous around there fr being jst like…. completely cutthroat n awful. they were nicknamed ‘tony’s rottweilers’ by locals bc he bsically has all of these trained dogs on leash at his command n they’re still a growing organisation tday

he’s pretty much the worst human being alive n bradley hs like….. a lot of issues with herself as a result of years of toxicity n abuse

in terms of more family bkground info her mum’s name was alyssa n she vanished when bradley was 12. jst like…. into thin air. nothing. no note. zilch. gan! n when bradley asked her dad abt it his response was essentially “guess she didn’t love us enough to stay”. as bradley’s got older tho n become (without intention) more involved in the business side of things, it’s become pretty clear there was far more to the story.

they had a horrible marriage n tony ws quite violent at the best of times, which didn’t help the fact tht alyssa ws struggling a lot w severe depression n rly just… not in the mindset to b dealing w anything else on top of tht, even where motherhood ws concerned. bradley p much… would look after her a lot n they’d both b scared of her dad n it was just a whole mess.

anyway im rambling bt basically tony (bradley’s dad) gt wind of alyssa sleeping w men tht worked fr him n he just… got rid. bradley’s kind of worked out over the yrs tht her mum didn’t jst leave on her own accord n tht something must hav happened to her bt she’s too scared of her dad to ever directly accuse him

when her mum went all of her dad’s cruelty pretty mch got channelled straight onto her. it ws diluted between two before bt as u can probably imagine her upbringing was jst…. a steep downhill decline frm tht point onwards

she learnt ways 2 deal w the incurring trauma bt they weren’t healthy ones at all! bsically jst. will do or take anything fr the distraction. chases a thrill like it’s the only way to remind her she’s alive. has absolutely no regard fr her own wellbeing n sometimes gets other ppl in trouble too bc she’s so insatiably reckless

she hd….2 separate stints of psychiatric hospitalisation n she never tlks abt it. like ever. acknowledging she’s been vulnerable is her worst nightmare n bc of the way her dad raised her she always thinks any sign of struggling within herself is weakness. truly does…. not kno how to properly emotion

CUT TO!!!! huntington beach. she’s currently living in a spacious loft above a rly busy bar tht i picture like. p close to campus so a lot of students prob frequent it?? she loves it bc she can sit on the window sill smoking n argue w ppl tht walk past drunk. jst randomly callin out like. nice chest hair Loser. i feel like she hasn’t even paid fr wifi she jst uses the bar’s free one n like. goes in there expecting free drinks all the time?? is jst like erm? i live here? let me drink? this is my house? aka she’s. a lot.

her dad’s opening up a new strip club (also called no angels bc he’s trying to lowkey make it like a chain) n he’s only allowed her to make the move bc she’s overseeing it kind of???? as well as a few guys tht worked fr him back in queens. one in particular called billy hs made the move n he’s a menace so. three cheers fr anarchy!

PERSONALITY:

the kind of sour cherry only certain people have a taste for

once drank a bottle of whiskey, insisted she could still do a cartwheel and accidentally kicked an old man’s front tooth out in the process. proceeded 2 collapse into a flower bed and laugh so much abt it that she cried

barely takes anything seriously 50% of the time and is angry the other 50%

if she was a coffee she’d be black with five grains of sugar that you couldn’t taste until the last sip

high functioning alcoholic. if u ever see her w a coffee cup u jst kno tht one sniff will confirm high alcohol percentage. honestly idk hw she does it her liver must b yellin

loyal to a point of fault. if she cares abt u and u murder a man in cold blood she’ll brawl anyone that says ur guilty

honestly wld probably fight a person over anything. sometimes she’ll jst be having a bad day n she’ll burst n take it out on whoever says the wrong thing. a minefield!

has the worst luck in romance…. ever. the majority of her past bfs hav been absolute beasts n as a result she kind of has the ‘romance is dead n love is a lie’ mentality

speakin of which i feel like she’s bi bt wldnt have dated a girl or anythin. like guys r probably…. her preference just bc historically theyv treated her worse n she hs a very self destructive personality like that. sexy!

dresses like courtney love, 2014 sky ferreira and a character from this is england had a baby. mostly wears stolen clothes from strangers and jackets that swamp her. hair is p much always a wild mess n she usually hd kind of smudgy/smoky makeup bcos apparently she’s allergic to combs and generally looking presentable… relatable content

she’s v sarcastic. sometimes blunt. kind of has a habit of…. assessing a person n she’s quite perceptive bc she’s been trained to b by the way she always has to monitor her dad’s expression fr the slightest emotion change. she’s quite confident n can p much mke a conversation out of whatever. sort of independent too like she hs a bunch of friends bt she doesn’t care abt going out places alone if she’s in a certain mood n jst wants…… to get into chaos. she’s probably kind of known around campus bt itd b a 50/50 balance between bein known as intimidating n bein known as that one girl tht always gets into anarchy

likes: fishnets, stealing cars, throwing watermelons off rooftops and whiskey

dislikes: amy schumer, honesty, yellow tulips and going home

PLOTS:

someone tht got a job at the new strip club her dad opened up in town?? either as a dancer or bartender or whtever. just a forewarning it’s probably gna b a pretty..... seedy and Not That Pleasant environment bc it’s like. a crime hotspot inevitably bc it’s a gang hangout so. ur chara wld truly be in fr a rollercoaster ride to say the least

she deals coke fr her dad’s gang bt it’s more like. a hobby than a steady source of income tht she Needs bc she just likes the thrill of the fact tht encounters in tht line of work can turn sour tbh. a Thrill Seeker! mayb she deals to ur muse??

anyone….. she’s brawled in the past like. she’s literally a menace i cnt express this enough. wil jst randomly throw a drink in someone’s face fr no reason bc she’s bored. she’s probably pissed off 1000 diff ppl in 1000 diff ways. the possibilities r endless n i jst think tht’s a sexy prospect!

fwbs perhaps??? exes??? (probably ws a tumultuous relationship wtever…. ur muse is like like bradley is. a handful)

mayb someone tht she met at an aa meeting when she hd to go fr a court mandated thing one time after bein arrested fr public indecency. i feel like there’s probably a rly expensive statue somewhere thts fancily Sculpted n she like. did a flying kick n kicked the dick of it off n gt arrested fr it

ppl she……. Goes Wild Goes Crazy w. truly jst the most self destructive person alive so anyone w a similar mindset wld b a hellish bt fun combination

on the contrary a gd influence cld b nice perhaps? like someone tht genuinely cares abt her n she jst doesn’t kno hw to compute it

um. honestly the world’s our oyster. hmu n we cn brainstorm if none of tht catches ur eye!

[eldritchsurveys]

665.

1—are you moody in the morning? >> I can be. Sometimes I wake up and my mind immediately dives into rumination mode for some reason, and that kind of ruins the morning for me. It’s like my brain goes “hey, you’re defenseless and groggy, let’s just Fuck You Up On Purpose!” Thanks. 2—have you ever behaved like a stalker? >> No. 3—do you appreciate other people’s opinions? >> I appreciate most opinions. But some opinions, while I respect that a person may have them, and respect their freedom to have them, I just don’t want to hear. 4—does baby corn freak you out? >> No. I don’t really like it, though. 5—can you lie and keep a straight face? >> Probably.

6—have you ever feared for somebody else’s life? >> Maybe a long time ago. 7—do you prefer honesty, even when it hurts? >> I do prefer it, but I also prefer that people not intentionally be hurtful when they’re being honest. There’s a such thing as tact, and I for one know that it takes a bit of practice to learn, but... at least try. 8—have you ever consulted a psychic? >> No. 9—if yes, do you consider yourself a moron? >> Well, that’s fucking rude. 10—does the opposite sex’s bo turn you on? >> No one’s body or its odour turns me on. (Inworlders, don’t interact. This ain’t about y’all.) 11—have you ever stayed in a relationship out of habit? >> Yeah. Not a romantic one, but a lot of friendships formed by circumstance rather than genuine interest. 12—have you ever deliberately not told someone that they had something in their teeth? >> I mean, maybe. I don’t always care enough to make that step. 13—what was the best decision you ever made? >> Buying this absinthe. My brain did try to shame me for it because I’m not made of money, but I refuse to let it win. Life is a fuck and this Sparks Joy, fuck off. 14—do you have a father- or mother- complex? >> Well, yeah, considering I was abandoned by one and emotionally neglected by the other. 15—if you could pick your own pet name, what would it be? >> I don’t know. Most of the pet names I’ve encountered didn’t suit me. Most of them make me feel infantilised and that’s not a comfortable or affection-generating feeling... 16—have you ever masturbated while driving? >> Regular brain: “are you fucking kidding me lmao that’s extremely unsafe” Kink brain: “man I fucking love Crash (1996) dir. David Cronenberg” 17—how do you feel when someone takes the last of something? >> If it’s something I wanted, I hate it, duh. But most of the time they didn’t know I wanted it and didn’t do it to spite me, so I have to keep that in mind. 18—how do you feel when people tell you “bless you” or “gesundheit” when you sneeze? >> I don’t really register it, tbh. I never say it myself, so it doesn’t strike me as a particularly important gesture. I still say “thanks” because that social script is built-in, of course (and because I understand that people follow that social standard to be polite, so I’m acknowledging that). 19—what are you supposed to say when somebody coughs? >> Nothing. Unless you have cough drops on you and you want to offer one, I guess. 20—do you care what’s going on in the world? >> I mean, I’m sometimes interested, but I’m not going to obsess about it. 21—do you pronounce a second “r” in “sherbet” or an “r” in wash? >> No, I don’t have that particular accent. 22—do you throw temper tantrums? >> I have meltdowns, and people who are unfamiliar with neurodivergence / complex trauma response might interpret them as “temper tantrums”. Which is fine to me, because honestly, the internal mechanisms between a toddler having a tantrum and me having a meltdown are actually pretty similar -- we are overwhelmed by things in our environment that we cannot control and we do not have the internal resources to modulate our emotional response. The difference between a toddler and me is that a toddler, raised in a healthy environment, will likely develop those resources organically, over time -- while I am responding abnormally for my age because my development was not healthy. 23—have you ever committed a violent crime because of a video game or rap song? >> No. 24—have you ever actually overheard one of your friends talking shit about you? >> Probably. 25—how many partners is too many? >> That depends on the people involved. It’s not something I should be judging on behalf of anyone else but myself. (I don’t know how many is too many for myself, for the record. Right now, one is enough because I’m still working through a lot of disordered attachment and intimacy issues.) 26—do you know what the “myspace angles” are? >> Yeah, I remember that. 27—is tom still your friend? if yes, why? >> I never kept Tom as a friend. 28—do you have a sponge frog next to your sink? >> A what? Because if this means just... a sponge shaped like a frog, we need to get one ASAP. 29—do you believe that wearing an aluminum foil hat will stop the government from reading your thoughts? >> I mean, I assume the government isn’t reading my thoughts. They don’t need to -- I’m a resident of the Internet, they can just interpret my data like they do with everyone else’s. 30—would you rather have a hook for a hand or a peg leg? >> No. 31—do you tip the carhops at sonic? >> I’ve never interacted with this element of Sonic. I’ve only been to Sonic once, and I was not in a car. I did find the overall interface there to be a bit confusing, ngl. 32—have you gotten drunk specifically to lower your inhibitions? >> Yeah, definitely. 33—how close does someone have to be for you to feel obligated to wait and hold the door for them? >> Pretty close. It’s awkward for both people when someone’s far away from the door and someone else holds the door for them. Like, neither one of us is going to die if you just let the door go and let me get there on my own time. 34—do you give “breaks” to people who don’t deserve them? (i.e. are you a sucker?) >> I used to, and now I’ve flipped to the other end of the spectrum, which isn’t great either. Trying to slide down into the middle -- not a pushover, but not cutting everyone off at the slightest perceived error either. 35—have you ever been walked in on? >> Yeah. 36—honestly, do you think you’re better than everyone? >> No, my problem is the opposite problem. 37—what do you take to a pot luck? >> I don’t know, I’ve never been to a potluck. When we went to the NYE party at Lauren’s place, Sparrow made gumbo and we brought that. My contribution was a 6-pack of pear cider... yeah, I think that’s my thing. I bring the good booze. 38—do you examine the tissue after you blow your nose? >> Yeah, man. It’s gross to me too -- you know, me, with my extreme issues with being organic -- but you can learn a lot from the consistency of the crap that comes out of your body. 39—how do you know when you are an adult? >> Well, as long as we continue to eschew traditional rites of passage, we’ll never know. 40—what is your cure for the hiccups? >> I don’t have a cure, my hiccups go away on their own pretty quickly. But now I’m reminded of that Grey’s Anatomy plot where Meredith’s half-sister’s mother died of the hiccups. (Well, there was more to it than that, but that’s the funny interpretation.)

[feelingsinwinter]

Asked by @journeythroughtherain​

So, I picked one from each prompt list, so you can choose which one you want to do the most! From the first list: WinterIron 7 - “Aren’t you a little old for trick or treating?”. From the second: WinterIron, Spells and Curses, 41. “How can I calm down!? I have a tail!”

Tony bent, picking up his pen from where it had fallen and Bucky stared.

Tony’s well-rounded ass was a marvel in itself. The muscular kind but with just the right touch of softness. Bucky could only imagine how it must felt under his hands, how tender it would be, how the flesh would give under his kneading fingers. The firm muscles would be amazing too and Bucky died a little inside at the idea.

He sighed and choked on it when Steve elbowed him in the ribs.

“Bucky,” he hissed, “you’re doing it again.”

On the top of his head, Bucky felt his ears flattening against his skull, both in embarrassment and irritation. Sad but resigned, Bucky pouted before sitting on the nearest stool. He bit back a whimper when his tail, wagging furiously, got stuck between his ass and his seat.

It was the only way he knew of to keep it from moving like the worst give-away.

From his position on the fridge, Clint sniggered.

It was all his fault anyway. The bastard, as soon as Tony had entered the kitchen, had thrown a pop-corn which had hit the pen stuck behind Tony’s ear. Following gravity’s law, the pen had fallen and Tony had bent to retrieve it, probably cursing all the while but Bucky had been deaf to it, only registering the engineer’s lovely voice. Even cursing madly and growling, Tony’s voice held something magical to Bucky’s ears. That they were now even more sensitive only made it worse.

Clint knew what it would cause, had done it anyway.

Clint was dead but unaware of it.

Sniffling pitifully, tears stinging the corner of his eyes, Bucky stared at his half-emptied plate, trying to will away the hot, breath-taking pain erupting from his stuck tail.

Bucky had been shot, kicked in the nuts, had been sliced like a pig, operated on while awake but nothing compared to the insufferable agony of a stuck tail. A hand laid on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his seat but kind, warm brown eyes were looking at him, flickers of gold shining in them and Bucky relaxed instantly.

“You ok there, Bucka-r-oo?” Tony looked worried and Bucky had to resist the urge to stuck his elbow in Steve’s ribs since the bastard was hiding his chuckles behind his hand, Bucky could hear him.

“M’not hungry,” Bucky mumbled with a frown, looking back down at his plate and glaring at it.

There was a beat of a silence and Tony said: “Okay.” before turning around and leaving. Without the coffee he had come for.

Once Bucky was certain Tony was out of hearing range, he looked up at Clint, still nestled atop the fridge.

The archer yelped.

[beware the read more]

***

In retrospect, Bucky should have known better than to pick up a wand when they went out on a mission for the umpteeth piece of crap who thought October was the best time to fuck with magic. He should have, but at the time, tired and annoyed by the sheer number of wannabe wizards who thought October and Halloween would grant them the powers they’ve been dreaming of for whoever knew how long. The team had since long lost track of their mission and their number.

At first they counted, amused in a grim way, but they dropped it when they started taking turns to go on mission. They couldn’t keep up if they all went all the time, some were humans and needed rest, others needed to eat in order to sustain and replace the energy they burnt when on a mission.

This time Bucky was on the field and he wasn’t even that tired but annoyed and he had lost all patience four missions ago and this time he couldn’t wait for a special team to take its sweet time to arrive and retrieve the wand. What could go wrong?

What could go wrong indeed. The shifting had taken him by surprise, a piercing kind of pain that had sent him howling to the ground as bones and muscles shifted, snapping and breaking in a sick concert.

When Dr. Strange had arrived, Bucky was restrained and snarling, eyes burning bright gold. His body was an infernal mix between human and wolf, the kind seen in movie that could never quite retranscribe the nightmarish shape of a werewolf. Dark lips pulled up over long, deadly fangs glistening with drool as a low growl rolled up from his throat.

The Master of the Mystic Arts had found a way to reverse the process but only to a point. Since the shifting was still in progress when he arrived, Strange had managed to regress it a bit. Since then, Bucky was sporting a long, furry tail and tufty ears, both reacting to any and every of his mood and broadcasting it to the whole world to see.

Which wouldn’t have been too much of a problem, Bucky was good at keeping a tight leash on his emotions. Except where Tony was concerned. It hadn’t taken long for his tail to waggle as soon as Tony’s ass came into view, for his ears to point forward as soon as the man was in hearing range. His tail also wriggled at the smallest compliment, at the slightest glance, at the barest touch. Anything from Tony and his wolf features lost all common-sense.

Of course, then, how was he supposed to hide his stupid, ridiculous, crush?

Aside from Tony who seemed entirely oblivious to it, the whole team had picked up on it and while Bruce stayed quiet and understanding, Natasha had now that insufferable knowing smirk gracing her lips on a daily basis, Steve had a shit-eating grin that wouldn’t quit and let’s not talk about Clint who was a pain in the ass 24/7.

***

Bucky hid on his floor the next day. Tony had been avoiding him since the kitchen episode, nothing all too obvious but if there was one thing Bucky was mindful of, it was Tony. The genius hadn’t come up to refill his coffee which he had come for in the first place before Clint proved to be an asshole once again. Since then, he hadn’t been seen, not coming for movie night either. Sometimes Tony stayed in his lab to work on some important project but at the moment Bucky knew there was nothing keeping the genius’ mind busy. Except for the usual stuff.

So, Tony was avoiding him. He said as much to Steve, explaining his theory all the while going back and forth in front of the couch where his friend was sitting calmly.

Bucky felt like a lion in a cage. Or, rather, like a wolf in a bear-trap. His ears were slightly going backward, open but not as straight as they would be in a common situation. His tail hung low, tense, and the fur on it slightly raised.

“Why don’t you go and talk to him? I don’t know, I heard communication helped in the process of solving problems.”

Bucky snarled, the sound wild and violent, and froze guiltily as soon as he realized what he had done.

“Yeah, right, because going to him and talk it out, as I am, is a brilliant idea. What about you take some classes in making plans, sounds like you got rusty,” he growled, pacing some more.

Since the wand bullshit, there was always an underlying of violence, coiled tight in his muscles and waiting for the smallest excuse to explode in a show of brutality. He was grateful that Strange’s work had getting rid of the claws and fangs. Talking with oversized teeth would have been difficult, if not impossible, and the frustration might have driven him nuts. Also, the claws would have been dangerous for everyone involved. Bucky was already a hazard, he didn’t need any claws or fangs to make it worse.

“You should calm down,” Steve said placatingly, keeping his hands carefully in his lap. Raising them in order to appease Bucky might have the opposite result since wolves took that kind of gesture as a threat.

Bucky’s lips quivered, holding back another threatening sound. He glared at Steve and sat in the armchair. Only to jump back on his feet, a loud, angry snarl spilling from his lips when he sat on his tail.

“How am I supposed to calm down,” he roared, anger and despair mingling tight together in a sad mix, “when I have a fucking goddamn tail!”

Steve opened his mouth, his face pinched in that concerned way Bucky knew would lead to some appeasing bullshit that would give no result. Growling at his friend, Bucky stomped his way out of the room. The elevator’s doors opened for him, courtesy of JARVIS, and Bucky felt robbed from the possibility of slamming the door on his way out.

***

Anger and frustration burned in his guts as Bucky made his way up to the roof. Steve would let him be, at least for a while. Would give him some space and time to calm down. Then he would come back with his patented look of disappointment and spill all those nice crap supposed to lift Bucky’s hopes up.

Tony was so far out of Bucky’s league, there wasn’t even a way it could happen. Also, there was something deeply wrong about Bucky’s body reaction as soon as the man was around. The deep fluttering feeling made him queasy, it was worse than being sick and it wouldn’t go away no matter how hard Bucky tried to shove it down. The constant need of touching was unbearable but it had became infernal as soon as the spell had hit him. He was constantly longing for Tony’s eyes and have them on him, there was always those wondering thoughts about how Tony’s fingers would feel on him.

He knew how it felt, in a way. Tony was a very tactile person, always touching for a reason or another. A pat on the back, a hand on the shoulder, a small touch on the arm or a one-arm hug, any and everything. But Tony always retreated too fast, too quick, as if expecting rejection if he stayed for too long while Bucky yearned for more without daring to ask for it.

He sat carefully on the edge, keeping his tail out of the way and let his feet dangling in the void beneath. Bucky closed his eyes, smiling softly when a gush of air hit his face. It was cold outside, mid-October had brought its particular smell and the crisp air of Fall.

Natasha, Clint and Bruce were outside on another mission while Steve, Bucky and Tony rested from the previous one. The team had shifted since Bucky’s misadventure.

The burning pit of anger was settling, its glowing embers fading in the face of the cold, refreshing air and the calm of the night. Well, as much as New-York could be in the middle of October with Halloween approaching.

Footsteps made him tense but when Tony sat beside him, an arm length of distance between them, Bucky hesitated. The distance made him anxious and unsure but Tony’s presence and his smell made him want to relax and bask in it.

“Steve told me you were here,” Tony said quietly, looking straight ahead with his shoulders up to his ears.

Fucking bastard couldn’t leave it alone, finally. Had gone right to Tony and who knew what he had said to convince Tony to come up there.

“He shouldn’t have,” Bucky growled and Tony tensed furthermore, his back hunched and Bucky felt his guts twist in shame and guilt, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. “What did I do?” He asked sullenly, feeling his own shoulders drop and his goddamn ears drooping sadly.

Tony startled and looked at him, eyes wide. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky answered slowly, frowning in confusion. he made a gesture toward Tony: “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague lately. You didn’t even invited me to try out the ray of death we’ve been working on before something went wrong.”

Tony stared at him. “You are mad at me!” He protested, pointing accusingly at Bucky.

“No, I’m not! Why would I be mad at you??”

“Because it’s my fault if you’re like that!”

“What the fuck Tony! I picked up the godddamn wand on my fucking own, thank you very much!”

“But you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t gone there in my stead!”

Silence fell suddenly and they stared at each other, panting slightly. Bucky groaned and covered his face with his hands while Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So, if I gathered it right,” Bucky said through his palms. “You think I’m mad at you because you were so exhausted you couldn’t walk straight anymore, so I proposed to you to go on the mission for you so you could rest for once. So you think it’s your fault if I, as a grown-up, made a decision of my own to pick up a not secured wand?”

Tony sniffed and dropped his hand in his lap. He shrugged. “Said like that, it sounds stupid.”

“I can see why you’d think I’m mad at you, I guess,” Bucky mumbled, thinking back on the last few days. “But I’m not. Mad, that is. M’not blaming you either,” he added softly.

Tony looked at him. Slowly, his eyes trailed up and stared at the tufty things on top of Bucky’s head. They were pointed toward him, relaxed in a way. Attentive.

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered, popping it and smiling when it drew a snort out of Tony. “If I’m mad at something, I’m mad at all those batshit crazy wannabe wizards,” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with them.”

“Halloween,” Tony said immediately, looking alternatively between Bucky’s ears and Bucky’s eyes, a small smile stretching his lips. Slowly, almost shyly in a way Tony rarely was, he asked: “Can I touch them?”

Bucky blinked, taken aback. Butterflies rose in his belly, fluttering all around. His heart hammered against his ribs. Behind him, his tail thudded against the roof’s ground and Bucky felt his cheeks warming up. “Yes. Please.”

Tony smiled, something sweet and soft and Bucky held back a whine as his tail thudded harder. Slowly, Tony scooted closer until they were side by side, Bucky’s left plastered against Tony’s right. Tony lifted his hands, his eyes going from Bucky’s face to the ears on top of it, watching Bucky’s reaction as his fingers finally made contact with his ears.

Gently, Tony petted them, scratching behind them and, with a touch of hesitation, carding his fingers through Bucky’s strands and coming back to the ears.

Bucky felt himself melt as he leaned against Tony’s shoulders, closing his eyes, a happy rumble thundering softly in his chest.

***

Later, when the chill of the air became too cold to be comfortable, they made their way down to the workshop where they settled on the ratty couch they usually sat on while discussing ideas. If they, later on, agreed on a date as soon as the craziness of Halloween died down, it was nobody’s business but their own.

Steve smiled as soon as he heard about it, smug as fuck. Smiling softly, Bucky kneed him and, as Steve yelped and fell, thanked him.