#and so instead i have to just sort of. lock myself out of the fandom for a while

[astriiformes]

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[reddesires]

It Was Everything.

Part 3 of Is It Casual?

Previous Part

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Warning: Angst (with happy ending.)

Fandom: Wolverine/X-Men

A/N: ngl I struggled so bad when writing this like omfg, I'm tweaking with how much I had to push myself to write this Ugh. I think this is the longest I've ever written a fic like, bro. I was so stressed. I hope you guys like it, I tried my hardest 😪

You can feel the frustration building in your chest as you stand outside the Professor’s office, the conversation you had just moments ago echoing in your mind as you sharply bite down on your lip as you try to keep your cool, your eyes narrowed as you briskly walk down the hall.

Whatever is going on with your mind, it’s holding you back and it's becoming more burdensome as you try to reach your former potential, the sharp pains radiating deep from within the recesses of your head.

Your hand clenches and unclenches in agitation, everything seems to have a domino effect all around you, and it all starts with your lack of control over your mutation.

The Professor has been more than encouraging as he walks you through your sessions and he’s scoured through your mind countless times looking for the source of your problem but is cut short as it seems like your mind has built up defenses against outside potential threats, blocking out other telepathy users from reaching the vulnerable parts of your mind.

You’ve poked and prodded in an attempt to get past some sort of breach, but the lightning bolt of pain that passes through you is precise, leaving you defeated and with a bloody nose to prove it. You've expressed your desperation to Storm and she tries her hardest to comfort you with the idea that it’ll take more time for you to make a breakthrough but you’ll get there, and though you appreciate her optimism you have been finding it more and more hard to share the same sentiment.

The others have noticed that you have been walking around with that dark cloud over your head and they have made an effort to take away your attention from it but it always creeps back up slowly but surely.

Logan is especially worried about you and how much it’s been weighing down on you and though he doesn’t say a lot of his worries aloud you can see it through his actions and the way he looks at you. The way he lays his hand gently on your back as he sees you deep in thought and the way his gaze catches yours as he intends to bring your attention on him and him only, he’s become possessive of your attention not accepting the weak smile you throw at him in an attempt of appeasing him.

He always manages to make your breath hitch and catch in your throat as brings himself into your personal space, it’s almost like he's relying on some underlying feeling and he’s allowing his body to act on it and it’s gotten to the point where he’s been open enough to display this in front of the others earning some raised eyebrows which is met by his blank stare.

There are times where you stand toe to toe with him and as he looks down at you with that smug smirk you find yourself mirroring back his expression relishing in the self satisfied feeling that builds up from your stomach. Whenever he was around, it was like a switch went off in your body, and there was an instinctive way your body reacted, like it was as easy as breathing, no effort at all.

If only you felt that way all the time, have that confidence dancing on the tip of your tongue instead of that bitterness, the bitterness that lingers as the remnants of your paramnesia lays locked away from your use, your only allowed to use it in small intervals before the pain becomes too unbearable for you. As you walk with your head down, your nails dig into the tender skin of your palms, you hear your name being called from behind you, and you look back, unclenching your tight fists.

“Oh, hey Jean.” You feign your happy tone as she walks up to you with a small smile. “Hey, you doing okay?” Her tone has that worried edge again, and it does make your smile waver before you sigh decidedly against continuing to fake your way through the unsavory conversation coming your way.

“The Professor still hasn't been able to get past the blockages placed in my mind. He thinks I built it in an attempt to protect myself as a last resort.” Jean nods, a contemplative look on her face, her brows furrowed as the gears turned in her head.

“That would make sense, but does that mean there was someone trying to get into your head?” You can only shrug your shoulders falling back down heavily as you felt just how tumultuous this topic actually is. Was it really an outside source?

All these unanswered questions you have and so little to show for it, you are constantly told to have patience and the answers will come to you soon enough but the fact that those answers are blocked off from you along with your mutation makes you irate.

Jean places her hand on your shoulder, her smile sympathetic as she looks you in the eye seeing the frustration bleeding into your expression and the air is filled with a tension you're unsure of as she considers her next words.

“Maybe..I could take a look?” You raise an eyebrows as you fully comprehend her words, it does raise an interest in you but you're apprehensive as you think of the possibility of your defenses hurting Jean if she tries to get through what the Professor can't get pass himself, you open your mouth to voice your worries but she beats you to it.

“I'll back out if things go awry, I just want to see if I can see anything the Professor can't.”

You weakly smile, nodding. “Okay, but please don't push yourself. I don't want you to get hurt.” She nods quickly as she standing in front of you, you lower your head slightly as she places her fingers on your temples and you know that it wasn't necessary for her to do so but she's more than likely using you as an anchor to reality to pull her back from the complexity of your mind if need be, your sure she'll have to pull back since your fortification is aggressive in nature.

“Take a deep breath and relax.” You do exactly that, you try your hardest to keep all distractions at bay and open your mind up to her to the fullest extent but you know there's only so much you could do before she hits that blockade.

You can feel her fingers twitch on your temples and you're aware of where exactly she is in your head as she looks for any sign of frailty or low security but your mind holds up against her, as she looks through the memories available to her trying to decipher where it all went wrong, she gasps in sudden surprise as your defenses grab hold of her, the pain radiating to her own head in bursts.

“Jean! You need to let go.” You hurriedly say, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to will your mind into not retaliating against Jean. “I'm trying..” Her voice strains as she tries pulling back, her chest heaving in panic, with all the strength you can muster, you take hold of the connection between you two forcefully pushing her out of your head, your sudden action causing you to fall to your knees as you breath heavily, the sweat on your brow now noticeable to you as you panically look back up at Jean.

She's already looking down at you, her breathing slowly returning to normal as her hand is gripping the side of her head. “Are you okay?” You asked worriedly, she nods hastily as she nervously smiles in response as she extends her hand to you, you grab it exasperatedly, feeling the adrenaline rushing out of you just quickly as it came in.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Jeanie.” You laugh breathlessly. She shakes her head, mirroring your laugh. “I nearly had one myself. Your mind is on high alert. I felt the pain when it grabbed hold of me.. But it immediately stopped when you broke the connection..”

You sigh as you wipe your brow “Now you know what it's like being in my mind.” Her smile’s incredulous as she places her hand on your shoulder, and you know for a fact that she's shaken just by how strong the security of your psyche truly is. “That's one hell of a mind then.”

○●○●○●○●○●○

As you walk to your room, you're filled with thoughts of what just happened. Going into your head is not only dangerous for you but others too, so what could you possibly do?

If you don't do anything then your mutation will stay dormant, you’ll be left with little to no access to the full scope of your powers and though you know the others will never think lesser of you if that was the case but it's not how you want to go on, whatever happened to you it’s taken a part of your identity and you refuse to give up on that half of you.

The chatter of the buzzing students pulls you from your identity crisis as you look up, smiling and waving back to the students who happily crowd around you, their voices intermingling as they whine and express their want for your classes again.

“Hey hey, you know what's up, I'll be back and teaching all of you soon again.” The statement only seems to pull unanimous whining as they complain of how they are forced to do textbook work instead of the interactive lessons you've been adamant about doing with your students.

“Who’s your sub?” You smile, crossing your arms. Rogue, who has been standing to the side of you, laughs as she crosses her own arms. “Who do you think?” Rogue is a part of the class you teach for the older kids in the school.

Your class is an extracurricular class that helps the students understand their powers with more in-depth understanding and ways to use their mutation for more than what they think is the only option for them.

Gives them more purpose to life and a safe way to explore their powers in a more logical sense. Your class is a fan favorite since you tend to stray away from all the boring textbook assignments and come up with interactive lessons and projects.

“Hmm, why do I have a feeling, Mr. Howlett has been covering for me?” The groans and laughs uproar from the students, and Rogue shakes her head, her smile only growing as she looks at you.

“History is definitely more in his depth, Ms.Anamnesis.” You try to cover your laugh with your hand as the students complain of how boring it's been, but you hold your hands out, quieting your teenage crowd.

“Hey, cut him some slack! I know I'm more your vibe, but just endure just a little longer. Now get to your last period before you're late!” You place your hand on Rogue’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly as you smile at her.

“Don’t let them bully him too much, okay?” She puffs out air in amusement as she waves her hand. “As if they would do it to his face, that old man scowl intimidates everyone.” She giggles before she turns to her last period. “See ya later!”

You smile widely, waving back to her. You’ve always enjoyed Rogue’s company and your proud of how far along she's come since the first day she arrived to the mansion, you’ve always put yourself in a position to welcome the new children who come to the school, always quick to comfort and get to know the child so they could have some sort of connection while getting adjusted to their new environment.

You also treated Logan the way you would with a new student, allowing him the space he needed but always available when needed, you were not afraid of rejection or the hard exterior that protects the vulnerability that lays below that, he was rugged and harsh but your kind and nonchalant behavior got through to him and soon enough he became comfortable and open to your reasoning, you would never tell him outright that your method was a well used tactic, you’d feel he'd take offense despite it working well with him.

Speaking of the devil, he turns the corner with his all too well favorite brand of cigar hanging out of his mouth, the smoke haloing around his head. “You know how the Professor feels about you smoking inside during school hours.” You smirk, tilting your head, his eyes snap in your direction as he takes the cigar out of his mouth.

“Well, it’s a good thing he's not around then.” He smirks in response as he steps in front of you teasingly, blowing the smoke up above your head. Moments like this makes you question whether Logan puts up the brooding front of the others intentionally because he tends to fall into this laid back and smug air whenever your within his sights, your convinced that if he could he would push every button of yours possible just so he could have an excuse to be in your space.

His moodiness is few and far between the two of you as he much prefers your small glares and witty comebacks. “I shouldn't be surprised when it comes to the likes of you.” You roll your eyes as you flick your wrist, the cigar slipping from his fingers and up into the air far from his reach as you take advantage of your telekinesis to smugly stare back at him, his disgruntled grunt a sound so pleasing to your ears.

“Always one to put me in my place, huh princess?” You shrug, twirling your fingers as the cigar in the air imitates the movement. He looks to you with a raised eyebrow. “Who else will if I don't?” He smacks his lips, tilting his head as he heavily places his hand on top of your head causing you to lose focus and the cigar to fall down right into his palm as he puts it out with his closed hand.

“Wouldn't have it any other way, darlin.” He practically purrs in your direction as he leans closer into your space, you just push your open palm against his cheek pushing him away as if you were annoyed but you wouldn't admit that you enjoyed him most when he acted this way, but it does little to deter him as you can feel his amused expression against your hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He pulls back chuckling, as he runs his hand through his hair, the little tufts cause a smile to pull over your lips amusingly. “Anyway, we're training today in the danger room, so get ready.” He's quick to lightly flick your forehead playfully as you groan at the mention of training.

You and Logan aren't paired as often as he would like when it came to hand to hand combat training, it happened very rarely so he's always on top of the schedule for those times and although you did enjoy training with Logan, it could be pretty brutal when it came to the soreness of your bones the day after, it was an upside that Logan looked pretty good in those tight compression shirts you convinced him to start wearing for training.

“Ugh, fine.” Your lackluster response brings a glint to his eye as he ruffles your hair. “Don't be late.” You mockingly mimic him as you sludge your way to your room to get ready, mentally preparing yourself to get thrown around the danger room in the least sexy way possible.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○

You breathe in deeply, stretching your neck side to side loosening you limbs in front of the steel door to the danger room, you know you could do all this inside but you couldn't help but stall knowing that Logan was waiting for you inside, he more than likely knew you were outside anyway due to his enhanced hearing but you really didn't care as you try to calm your beating heart.

This isn't anything new to you but it is without the full scope of your powers at your benefit, it often gives you an upper hand knowing that you have a multitude of options when it came to both of your powers but your basically down to only 1 option with a small interval of time with the other, you'll have to make due.

As you tap the screen opening the door, you see Logan stretching his arm above him, the other hand gripping his right elbow as he tugged in the opposite direction, the movement causing his tight black shirt to ride up giving you an eyeful of his sculpted abdomen and the happy trail leading down into his sweatpants, you quickly look away coughing into your closed fist.

“Glad you finally made it. I thought you were gonna run off again.” His small grin is telling that he knew you were stalling, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you threw your towel to the side before cracking your knuckles, relieving the tension in between your fingers.

“Uh-huh, as if that would ever happen.” As you crouch touching your fingers to your toes, he stands cracking his neck, his head flicking to the side, his eyes hooded as he towers over you. “Let's see what you got today, Kid.” You jump up, flicking your finger under his chin as you turn your body away from him as you walk to mats, hyping yourself up.

“Sure thing, ol’ man.” You just know that he's taken slight offense to that as he makes his way to the opposite end to you, the narrow of his eyes and the slight condescending smirk making you feel like your heart may have skipped a beat, he's probably gonna make you eat your words, you don't know if you should be scared or excited.

“We'll see who's old by the end of this.” The two of you position yourself, the tension of the air shifting entirely as you stare the other down. “We'll see.”

The stare down was intense as you observed the other's stance, it was almost like a game of chicken, challenging the other to make the first move but Logan isn't known for his patience as he rushes forward toward you.

You run forward with your hands clenched and when your just within reach of him, you skid to the side completely springing yourself into the air, your hands pushing downwards using your telekinesis to propel your body up and over him as you shift your body around last second kicking him in the back sending him stumbling foward, he's quick to turn grabbing your wrist and swinging your body in the opposite direction.

You crouch, your fingernails digging into the mat to prevent yourself from slamming into the wall behind you. Logan surges forward grabbing you by the waist and allowing his body to fall forward in a attempt of slamming you into the ground but your open palms allow your mutation to stop the momentum as you knee his shoulder, freeing yourself from his tight grip. you twist yourself, lifting your leg up and over his head and onto his opposite shoulder, his head now between your thighs and completely under your mercy as he tries tossing you off.

You slap your hands over his ears, your mind allowing you to emit a high pitched static in his ears causing him to yell out and a feral growl rips from his chest as he manages to toss you off of him, you skid a foot away and before you know it he's on all fours, using his claws to propel him forward towards you and as you try to create distance between the two of you, it's no use as he manages to pin you down.

Your deep breaths intermingle with his as he has you pinned between his body and the training mat and as he gazes down at you, his eyes shift from your eyes and lips, his mouth slightly agape displaying his sharp canines. His smirk finds its way back on his lips as he pushes your hair from your face, his eyebrow raising teasingly.

“Who's old now?” You huff, suddenly raising both your legs pushing into his stomach and kicking him off of you and jumping up, back into position as you motion a ‘come hither’ to him with your fingers. “We're not finished yet, ol’ man.”

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

There it is, the ache and soreness settling in your bones that you've been dreading the day after. You knew that training with Logan was gonna become a competition of who was gonna tap out first, it only ended on a agreed truce since you two refused to give in for hours and others needed the danger room for their own training sessions, the mat was in dire need of replacement from all the claw marks that shredded through it.

As you lay in your bed trying to stretch out the pains in your body, you hold your hand out in front of you, your big mission is just on the horizon and all you have is your telekinetic power to make up for it. Dragging yourself out of bed for the recap meeting with the Professor was excruciating in all ways to be expected.

The grunt and groans only increasing as you heard multiple knocks on your door, one is fast and is intentionally rhythmic and the other loud and with an all familiar annoying edge to it, your door swings open with swiftly as your met with the faces of your beloved friends who love getting on your nerves.

Logan and Ororo smile at your laid out figure sprawled out on the floor, your whines and groans only egging them on to annoy you even more.

“Get her, Logan.” He salutes Ororo as he’s quick to scoop you up on his shoulder, your yells echoing down the hallways as you kick your feet and hit his back. It doesn't faze him at all. “Quiet down, girl.” His hand smacks down hard on your ass, your indignant scream loud as you smack the back of his head in retaliation. “You asshole! Put me down!”

As he strides down to the lower floors, you all pass by Scott, and he’s not even surprised by the commotion as his head turns slowly following after your movements before sighing, shaking his head.

“Logan, can you stop roughhousing her.” Scott follows after while you yell in agreement, kicking your legs. “yeah, you brute!” He chuckles as the hidden door to the elevator opens only, then he puts you down.

“You like it.” You scoff before turning to Ororo with a scowl. “I can’t believe you let him treat me this way.” She pulls your arm stepping into the elevator, a grin on her lips as she innocently lays her head on your shoulder, fluttering her lashes at you. “There’s only so much I can do, sweetness.”

You roll your eyes as you pull Logan by the front of his shirt into the lift. He stumbles in his arm, stretched out, caging you between him and the wall as he grins slyly at you. “Hey.” You're quick to flick your wrist, causing him to be pushed into the side of the elevator. “Move, you dog. Scott, get in." Scott is lowly laughing into his fist, clearing his throat, but the smirk is obvious as day on his face as Logan scowls at him. “Let's hurry up before we're late.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●

The atmosphere is serious as you go over the details of the mission. You're up against the Acolytes, and you are to retrieve their documents for their next plan to exterminate the human race once again. They have resorted to taking in innocent mutant children, manipulating them into thinking that in order to have a safer life, they'll have to take on humans.

Your task in this mission is to defend against the enemy mutants outside the compound along with Logan, Scott, and Colossus while Jean, Storm, and Rogue make way into the compound to get to the documents and rescue the mutant children.

You are to fight until the government can step in and arrest the enemy mutants, or at least until you have the desired results, then can you retreat.

“We are fighting against those who have turned their back on humanity. Be on look out for Magneto,” You can feel the irritation building in your chest, the twitch in your brow grabbing Logan's attention as he’s leaned against the wall next to you, his hip bumping into yours. You nod in acknowledgment, bumping him back.

“Remember we fight as a team, stick together.” Scott's voice is tense with encouragement. He looks around the room, a way of reassuring you all of your purpose to this team. “Let’s suit up.”

Sharp and short, it’s showtime.

○●○●○●○●○●○

It's times like this that wrings your insides with unmeasurable nerves as you approach the designated spot of operations, the black bird within the cover of Storm’s dense clouds.

You worry for the safety of your team and your ability to protect them from the uncertainties that hover over you all, the air thick with unspoken apprehension, the tangibility of the situation heavy on your shoulders.

You outstretch your hands out as you shroud the teams minds with comforting images taking advantage of the easiness of manipulating deja vu, easing the tension by triggering that sense of familiarity.

You felt like you were choking on the on edge atmosphere, so when there’s a unanimous sigh released, you felt your taut shoulders drop with relief.

“Approaching at approximately 0500.” Storm voices as she switches notches on the panel in front of her, you sigh deeply cracking your knuckles releasing the tension from your hands, Logan mimics you from the side of you and as you look at him, he shoots you a reassuring smile.

“Relax, Princess. I got your back.” You smile back, your hand reaching towards him, he’s quick to envelope your hand with his, the hold anchoring the both of you.

“Right back at ya, Wolvie.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Panic struck through you as you watched the chaos ensued around you, the wind blistering your skin from the sudden snow storm Ororo commenced.

You blocked the path that the others took into the compound throwing a huge pine tree in the direction of the enemy mutants, pushing them far back into the battleground where Logan and Scott parlayed their attacks.

Colossus was occupied with Juggernaut as their fight tore down half the forest. As you turned to back up the others, you felt a startling pain take hold of your head gripping your head as you looked at the source, a woman’s hand held out as she attempted to mind control you, her face contorted with strained effort.

Your teeth grinded harshly, you eyes narrowing as you allowed the defenses in your mind to strike her with precise aggression, she screams out in pain, her hands grabbing her head, shaking her head incessantly

You jump up and rush towards her. You towered over her hunched over figure, cupping your hands over her ears and emitting a high-frequency ring into her ears immediately knocking her out. You took off towards Logan and Scott, blocking the flame wall from Pyro with your telekinesis, protecting Scott from getting caged in, you pushed back against him.

“Scott, shoot the headlight!” Scott nods as he laser the headlight over Pyro, causing it to topple over him immediately, ceasing his fire show. You quickly tear off his wrist, contraping tossing it behind you.

“Where’s Logan?” You ask Scott as he looks around in search for the dark haired man, it wasn’t long before the two of you heard his rage filled scream from the crumbling compound, you two ran in that direction.

“You need to look for the others, take them to safety!” You yell to Scott, he quickly nods as he heads in the opposite direction where Jean and Ororo last was, you hoped that they all made it out safely. 

Your blood ran cold as you took in the scene before you, Magneto had Logan pinned to the wall, your fingers tingle with the pulse of your power, your breathing heavy as you stalk closer the lights flickering with energy building around you.

Your anger boils over as Magneto sends Logan flying through the walls causing the metal ceiling to pin him down, his lack of movement causing an angry yell to pull from you as you lift all objects around you, the static of your powers sizzling in the air and catching Magneto’s attention.

“Oh Anamnesis, how nice of you to join us,” You toss everything in your path in his direction, your hair standing from the overwhelming power stemming from your body. “I see someone’s been practicing.” He chuckles as he blocks the debris. You clench your teeth as you levitate off the ground, and the compound shakes all around you.

“It’s too bad the same can’t be said for Logan.” All the windows crash in as you throw your hand in his direction. “SHUT UP!” He tries to block but the glass shards slice through his skin, a expression akin to panic crosses his face, you can feel the immense rage building in your body as you continue to power up your mutation and you ignore the growing pain in your head until you feel a snap in your mind.

Everything rushing back to you as the blockades and defenses deteriorate, the memories and the anguish pulling you into the depths blinding you to everything as your scream echos to unbelievable distances, your mind pushing out the deafening sound waves and illusions right before Magneto’s eyes.

He backs away as the walls and roof top of the compound comes crumbling down. He retreats before he can be pulled down with the building.

You hear the Professor’s voice in your mind, pushing past the anger and anguish that you're drowning in. “Come back to us, don't let it control you.”

Your powers slowly falter as you close your eyes allowing the Professor's voice to talk you down, you allow your body to fall to the ground as the tears well up in your eyes before your head snaps up.

“Logan!” You run over to him, lifting the debris off him. He’s still as you try to wake him. “Professor! Logan’s not waking!” You sob, the panic enveloping you as you bring him to your chest.

“Please Lo! Wake up!” You shake him, but it’s no use as you don't even see a flutter of his eyes. “I can't seem to get through to his mind,” the Professor’s voice echoes in your mind, your eyebrows furrow as your teardrops land on Logan's cheek.

“Something seems to be blocking me.” You sob as you bring your forehead down on his, your hand going over his eyes. “I'm so sorry, Logan,” you whimper, undoing all the blockades and delusions from his mind. “It was all my fault. It was me.” You caress his cheek as you cry in silence before the Professor speaks up.

“It's done with, worry, not child,” You squeeze your eyes shut in shame as you hear the acknowledgment in his voice. “He’s gonna be okay.” You can only hope so.   

○●○○●○●○●○●○●○

The familiar smell of the antiseptic smell in the infirmary fills your senses as you sit by the table that Logan's laying on, you have refused to move an inch in fear of not being there when he wakes.

The steady beep on the heart monitor doing little to settle your nerves, he's gotten so many head injuries that you worry he may never wake up, you've checked him over a hundred times already, every cut and bruise long since healed by his impressive regeneration.

Jean has been constantly reassuring you that he'll pull through, worriedly looking over to you each time she steps into the lab but she knows better than to try and pull you away from him during a time like this, you and Logan are two of the most hard headed people there ever was to walk this earth when it comes to each other.

You gently caress your fingers over his knuckles, your eyes red and hazy as you think back on everything that you blocked out of your memory, the long nights spent in each other's arms, the warmth of his body on yours, the way he tasted right on the tip of your tongue.

You sigh deeply, you truly are way out of your depth, it was dumb decision after dumb decision, you could've killed yourself and possibly mess with Logan’s mind irreparably, the pain of not being his truly was a big pill to swallow, the love you have for him may have been the death of you otherwise.

Your head snaps up when you hear the groans escaping Logan, his body twitching and his face scrunched with an indiscernible expression. “Logan? Can you hear me, love?” Your only met with a groan before he springs up, the all too familiar ‘snikt’ of his claws reverberating off the infirmary walls, his head turns in a panic before his hazel eyes land on you, his voice breathy and with a relieved edge when he says your name as he jumps off the table enveloping you into his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his face is buried into the crook of your neck as he lifts you off the floor. “Oh God, Logan. I was so scared.” His grip tightens as he refuses to release you from his hold. “You're all alright?” His voice is muffled as he asks the question, you nod feeling the tears already welling up in your eyes. “Yes, everyone's safe.” He sighs deeply as pulls back to look you in the face, past the relief that everyone is okay, there's the anguish you've been dreading, everything is intact in his mind and you're confronted with the aftermath of your actions.

“Why?” The question comes out choked as he tries to understand your actions, his eyes glassy but stubbornly refuses to shed any tears. “I'm so sorry, I never intended to hurt you.” He pulls away from you as he looks to the door, his body desperate to escape the pain taking hold of him, he feels all the emotions gripping his subconscious as all the memories of you return to their rightful place. “I trusted you, you promised..”

Your hand reaches out, but you drop your hand out of defeat. There is no way of excusing your actions, and you hurt him while trying to protect what was left of your aching heart. “It hurt too much, I just wanted it to stop..” he turns to you, the furrow of his brow making your heart hurt wildly at the thought of him being angry at you, but you deserved his anger, his resentment.

His chest heaves as he looks you over, his mind trying to conjure anything up to help him fully access the situation, to somehow alienate his emotions from you. His hand reaches out towards your face as if he was gonna brush back the strand of hair in front of your eyes before he snaps his hand back and storms out the door, your tears trailing down your face in silent resignation.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○

That night, you laid in your bed as sleep evaded you. You stared up at the ceiling of your room. It was like everything was coming back to you with vengeance, biting at every surface on your body as punishment.

The empty feeling that consumes you is painful and dull at the same time, you try to hold back the tears but they slip out of your eyes with no effort, sticky and hot against your skin as your eyes stare with an empty gaze into the darkness. You would be haunted by this feeling. You would never forgive yourself for the harm that you caused.

You wouldn't forgive yourself for breaking your promise to Logan. Your thoughts stall as you hear a knock at your door. You groggily pull yourself from your bed as you wipe your eyes harshly, the puffiness of your eyes causing you to sigh. You pull your oversized flannel that you stole from Logan down to cover the top of your thighs as you open your bedroom door. 

Logan lurches forward, kissing you roughly as he pushes his way into your room. You yelp in surprise, but your eyes flutter close as he pulls your body into his before he pulls back “You fucked up bad but God, I love you.”

He kicks the door closed with his foot as he lifts you up and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist. “I'm so sorry, Logan.” You whisper into his lips as he trails down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin.

“Apologize by being mine and only mine, doll.” His tone is aggressive with want as your hands run through his dark hair, his dog tags clinking in the otherwise quiet room. “I love you, Logan.” He's quick to kiss you again as he sits on the edge of your bed, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

“I love you too, this whole damn time.” His voice is genuine, and his eyes tell you everything you need to know. This whole time, it wasn't just casual. It was everything.

《 TAGLIST 》

@flower-majesty-anon

@fandomsunited

@plan3t-plut0

@thewiselionessss

@the-queen-of-sorrows

@nerrivm

@aliisa-jones

@solarbxby

@uhnanix

@appetencyfortacos

@abarelyexistentbeing

@scarlett-witchhh

@butchers-girl

@thecraziestcrayon

@onlythehobi

[gemharvest]

Gf for the character thing ? :] or maybe Nene if you received her already

I HAVEN'T RECEIVED HER YET THANK YOU !!!!!!!!! I'll do Nene too, I'll just make it her own post after posting this. :J

favorite thing about them: I love her dumbgirl swag. There's something so special to me that both her and Boyfriend are fuckin'. Dumb As Rocks. ALSO I LOVE THAT SHE'S CANONICALLY AN ARTIST that's such a sweet thing to me. I would pay one morbillion dollars for a GF commission (because she has no idea how they work).

least favorite thing about them: I WANT HER TO DO MOREEEEHGNJFN.. Like she's probably done as much as BF has so that's not a critique of the game, I just wanna see her do more. Because I love women. Oh also I think they should remake every canon piece depicting her and make her canonically fat. I often forget she isn't fat in canon and then I feel sickly when I look at like, the volume 1 cover and she's thin. W-Whe';re h.er tumm-.my go..,m,l,l,...,, <- sorry for crytyping but it fits.

favorite line: That's how you do it! <- I was gonna jokingly just go up down left right but then I remembered she says that in the tutorial. And I quote it to myself all the time so.

brOTP: Y'know what, similar to BF, I think a GF & Darnell friendship would be fuckin' s-tier. I often think abt this post Keyy made tbh. I know that's specifically the Funkycule AU and pup has them in a QPR but I do think abt it often. Also, before I was a romantic PicoGF guy my interpretation of RGB had Pico & GF as just friends, probably closer friends the longer they're in their relationships with BF cuz like, bonding over a shared partner or smthn LMAO so I'll give an honorable mention to Pico & GF friendship.

OTP: WOag. RGB. Wow I've never heard of that before. How many times can I joke about RGB being my OT3 for this game before it gets annoying LMAO anyways. I ALSO REALLY LOVE GFNENE I wish they had more fics. So bad. I'm actually shocked by how bare their tag on AO3 is. They weren't lying, fandom does hate femslash. /hj

nOTP: Is there anyone out there who actually ships her with Senpai. I think that'd be my only answer ALSO YOU KNOW WHAT. I chickened out on saying it with BF but I also consider BF and Senpai a nOTP but like, I DON'T HATE ANYBODY WHO SHIPS IT. OF COURSE. I don't think it's "problematic" to ship Senpai with either of them it's just, like, the most thought I have on Senpai is that I want to kick sand into his eyes. So that feeling doesn't really translate into a desire to see him shipped with anyone. I'm sorry to anybody who ships Senpai with either of them, I respect your grind, it is just sooooo not for me.

random headcanon: This headcanon is like, so deep into my personal GF characterization/ fuckin'. AU. If you wanna call it that atp. BUT ANYWAYS. Fuck this is gonna need quick background hold on. The canon explanation for her looking human iirc is literally just "true love" or whatever tf. But that's not as fun to play with. So instead I like to write her as being ashamed of being a demon, especially because of her parents' actions, so she masks her demon traits. And she reaaaalllly does not like letting them slip through, especially around a specific person (this is foreshadowing for something idek if I'll get to any time soon Sorry). BUT! She is on a limit for how long she can hide her demon traits until doing so starts to hurt her, either through draining her energy or like, it causing physical damage to continue hiding parts of her. And while she trusts Pico & BF, she's still got shit that she's just. Not. Sorting out. So when she feels she's about to reach a limit with it she locks herself away to rest until she's well enough to continue like normal. Girlie No (guy who is writing her to do this) (don't worry I'm going to also write her getting better abt this) I'm gonna eventually have to make a "Karl's Personal FNF Demon World Building" master-post or whatever just cuz this shit is so fun for me to work with Idk.

unpopular opinion: GEH once again idrk if this is an unpopular opinion but I've been using this to just. Complain. About stuff I have seen and disagree with so whatever I'm continuing the trend. Like Pico, I feel like I see. So many. Interpretations of her that just feel Wrong. Like I see people make her The Smart One or like. Dominant Girlboss with little substance beyond that. And it's like. Cool, yay, I love fandom misogyny. FUCK it's probably still rotting in my drafts but forever and always my reaction to this phenomenon with her is "This girl gets her hand stuck in peanut butter jars trying to eat pb with her hands. This is your Smart One?" and I should get it out of my drafts bc I'm real for that. DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND ME WHEN I SAY THIS BTW. Interpretations that smarten up BF to the same degree do not flag this to me. When making more serious fanworks with these guys, you're gonna have to give them more smarts than canon will. My issue is specifically when I have seen people still write in a degree of stupidity with BF and then just. Don't? Do the same with GF?

song i associate with them: Very basic but I think the sound is cute with her. My secondary answer would be Nelward - "Werewolf" but that's more of a. Specific Instance. That I don't want to elaborate on. grins

favorite picture of them:

Like literally all of them The Fuck you're making me choose? /silly Here's the fruits of me looking through her wiki gallery:

^ If I had to pick a single favorite, it'd be those panels from the Nendoroid comic. She was real for that. Anyways FUCK I love her. Statements improved when you remember I'm Boyfkin LMAOOOOOO..

[senlinyu]

Hi sen! Hope you’re doing lovely. Just wanted to ask how writing outside of fanfic is going? I’ve only ever written fanfic in long form and now I’m trying my hand at original work and it’s horrific. I worry I have no original ideas and all my characters are a ripoff of dramione. Have you felt creating new worlds and characters is hard outside of fanfic?

Haha. It's going alright. I have written original stuff sort of on and off for longer than I've been writing fanfic but just always keeping it to myself and never finishing it for a myriad of reasons. Personally I have discovered that my mind exists in liquid form and wants to run in all directions at once unless there is a container to keep it penned it. Fanfic works nicely for me because it comes with presets for character backgrounds and worldbuilding that I have to work really hard to argue with. So I tend to have lots of ideas for original projects but then I get overwhelmed by the fact that I have infinite choices and they all branch off into more choices and I try to think through all my options until my brain explodes. So my biggest issue is making creative boundaries for myself so that I actually write instead of endlessly contemplating every possibility imaginable, and part of that has been by forcing myself to focus on the specific story I actually want to tell, and using that as the initial framework for starting an outline and draft, and cutting all the infinite possibilities that don't fit. Personally I find that my creativity actually thrives within boundaries because then I have to stretch myself and subvert the rules out of spite, whereas when there are no limits I turn rather dull and boring and placid.

As for characterisations: I mean, I think if anyone knows I'm a dramione, they'll be able to tell to some degree. But I don't really think that's because I'm just ripping off dramione but more that I have a particular type of characters and relationship dynamic that I specifically like and always come back to. I've been a voracious reader most of my life, I've been in a myriad of different fandoms, but dramione is the one I always come back to because it is my favourite dynamic. I want to write really blisteringly intelligent female characters, and I enjoy antagonistic/antiheroic love interests with dubious morals. The reason I like and write dramione is because I like that dynamic and dramione has consistently been the most interesting place to write and read that, moreso than because I like dramione and that's the dynamic they happen to have. But honestly, dramione has become it's own culture at this point in how we write Draco and Hermione. I just found out that Ianthe Tridentarius is drarry-coded femme Draco, and that literally never occurred to me when I read The Locked Tomb series, even though I'm in drarry enough to immediately recognise it once I knew which fandom she was based on. Subfandoms tend to evolve their characters into really fandom specific iteration that aren't necessarily recognizable to anyone on the outside. Besides you can always change things a lot in revision.

[weepingfromacedartree]

totally random reminder that most people who create dedicated "hate" accounts do so with the sole purpose of farming outrage and sowing seeds of discontent within fandoms. instead of feeding into that bullshit, I recommend using tumblr's block function liberally and engaging with blogs who actually want to bring joy to other fans.

speaking of bullshit... here's another excerpt from my WIP for anyone interested

tw: fife 🤮

Chapter 2: Meeting Each Other’s Friends

His grin falters. Slightly. 

“What does it say?” Penelope asks tentatively. Although she argued that this whole idea was stupid from the start, a little part of her is disappointed that it could be over so soon. If nothing else, arguing with Colin is usually her favourite part of these stupid little games. “Something we never managed to cover in our twenty years of friendship?” 

“Nope,” he says, eyes still locked on the screen before him. “It’s something we’ve done many times before. With varying degrees of success.” 

“What?” she asks when he does not immediately offer up any more information. 

He clears his throat before reading. 

“Number Two: Meeting Each Other’s Friends. Before you and your significant other get married, it is imperative that you get to know each other's friends. Friendships are an essential aspect of any person’s life. Knowing what sorts of people your significant other is close with is an important step in starting your life together."

“Well… I believe you’ve met my friend Eloise before, so —”

“I have met plenty of your friends, all of whom have been kind and lovely. Just like anyone would expect from a kind and lovely person such as yourself. Clearly Eloise — and perhaps also myself — is an outlier.” 

“Hey, that’s not —”

“I believe ‘meeting each other’s friends’ has only ever been an issue when my ‘friends’ were involved.”

Penelope bites her lip. 

“It was really just that one time.”

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

Twelve Years Earlier: August 27th, 2011

Relationship Status: Friends

꙳

“Remind me why we’re doing this again.” 

“To act like irresponsible teenagers whose sole purpose in life is to get plastered and party.” 

“That doesn’t sound like us.”

“Exactly. That’s why I said ‘act like.’”

Penelope has always been a good bullshitter. Since she was a child, she’s had an innate talent of bending the truth on a dime. It comes naturally to her; bullshit falls from her lips before she even has a chance to think it through. She never does it for fun (she isn’t a pathological liar), that filter is just built inside of her. There are certain truths that she simply can never say aloud, so her mind grew adept at talking around them. 

The truth: Colin had invited her to this party, and if there is one talent that Penelope does not possess, it is saying no to Colin Bridgerton. 

Another talent Penelope does not possess is walking into any type of social event by herself. Even at family gatherings — Featherington or Bridgerton — Penelope always found herself clinging on to someone else. Usually Eloise. Sometimes Colin. Sometimes Prudence or Philipa, if she was really desperate. 

Despite his invitation, Penelope knows she will not see much of Colin tonight. That this party will be filled with a ton of his Eton friends. That she will not be able to cling onto him all night — and that she absolutely shouldn’t.

That is how Eloise Bridgerton found herself being dragged towards her worst nightmare: a house party filled to the literal rooftop with  loud, obnoxious teenagers. 

“This isn’t Skins, Pen. This is gonna suck.” 

“It’ll be fun.” Bullshit.  

“So fun!” Eloise mocks. “Why not continue the fun tomorrow and go shopping with your mother. I heard Primark has a sale on yellow dresses.”

When Penelope forces out a laugh, Eloise pulls her in even closer. 

“Seriously, Pen. You owe me for —”

“Let’s see how the other side lives for a little while. If it is truly tortuous, we can leave and go get some chips. You know… how we usually spend our Saturday nights.”

The offer does not smooth over any of the sourness present on Eloise’s face. 

“You say that like there is something wrong with chips. There is absolutely nothing wrong with chips. Chips have never belched in my face or spilled a pint down the front of my shirt.” 

At this point, Penelope genuinely does not know whether to protest, laugh, or agree with her friend. After a moment, she decides on the first option.

“What are you talking about? You’ve never even been to a party like this.” 

Eloise gulps. Her eyes flash wide, like she’s just been caught in a lie. 

“Well… no. But I’ve seen Skins and —”

“Oh, for God’s sake El.” 

Penelope extricates Eloise’s phone from where it sat gripped between her best friend's fingers. After typing in the four-digit passcode, she clicks on the little clock icon.

10:09 PM.

“What are you —”

“I’m setting a timer for 20 minutes. If you’re not having fun when the alarm goes off, we’ll leave and get chips.” 

“Fine,” Eloise grumbles, grabbing her phone back from Penelope. “You got a deal, Featherington.” 

At 10:10 PM, Eloise and Penelope step foot into their first house party. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Fife’s house smells like piss. That’s the only thing on Colin’s mind as he continues conversing with his “friends.” They’re talking about the girls they’re dying to chase after at uni this fall, meanwhile, Colin’s thinking about how rancid this room smells. Between the stench, topic of conversation, and the idiots leading said discussion — it’s truly a miracle that he’s able to keep his ever-charming smile plastered on his face. 

“Excited for the birds up at Cambridge, Bridgerton?” Fife asks, his usual shit-eating grin plastered on his own face. 

“Hmm? Oh — yeah. Sure.”

“No longer interested in the ladies, Col?” his “friend” Dave chimes in. 

“For all his money and looks, he never had much luck with them in the first place, did he?” taunts his “friend” Zach. 

“Are you calling me pretty?” Colin shoots back, his usual smile starting to ache at the corners of his lips. “Flattered, truly.” 

Thankfully, the conversation quickly gets redirected to one of Fife’s reliably embellished stories about a girl he picked up at a pub last week. The commentary is just mind-numbing enough for Colin to mentally check out of it completely, his smile finally dropping as he glances around the party. 

It’s 10:11. The party just started, but the den is already packed with people. He recognizes most of their faces from Eton or just from his entire life living in Mayfair. None of them he has any particular interest in saying hi to. There’s really only one person he wishes to say hi to, and although she’s usually rather easy to spot, he doesn’t see her anywhere. 

Accepting defeat, Colin turns his gaze back to the men standing around him. Fife’s moved onto another story. Some bullshit about spending 20 minutes in a broom closet with some girl from Windsor.

Once again, Colin’s mind is adrift. 

Fife’s father is a member of Parliament. Why does his den smell like piss? 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Penelope checks her phone. 

10:29

Somewhere in this massive estate, her best friend’s phone is blaring an alarm, asking her if she’s having fun or not. Penelope has no idea what the answer is, because within 20 minutes of stepping foot into the party, she managed to lose Eloise. She also failed to find Colin during that time, but that matter is not as pressing at the moment. 

She steps out to Fife’s back garden, hoping to have better luck finding Eloise in the fresh air than in the crowded interior that, frankly, smells like someone pissed on the walls before the party started. Unfortunately, the garden isn’t any less cramped. 

Penelope pays special attention to where her feet step in the crowd, careful not to be crushed by the other teens dancing, making out, and throwing back shots around her. This sort of manoeuvring isn't anything she's not already used to — when you’re as short as she is, you need to learn how to get out of other people’s way. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is when you’re the one who always ends up crushed. 

Just when she is about to give up and look for Eloise inside again, Penelope makes an unusual misstep. She accidentally slams chest-first into someone’s backside. Someone tall. 

“Oh, hello,” he says, turning around. “That’s certainly one way to get a man’s attention.”

“Sorry, I —” 

It’s Fife, she belatedly realises. She’s never spoken to him before. She’s seen him from afar a few times, but nowhere near this close. Despite them being friends since grade school, Colin never brought Fife — or any of his other school friends — around his house. Penelope always found that odd; she’s a friend of the Bridgertons and spends more time at their home than her own. 

“I —” she says again. She tries to think of something logical to say. She also tries to step away from him so her breasts are not literally squished against his abdomen. But unfortunately, the crowd behind her does not grant her enough space to do so. 

Thankfully, someone else speaks before she can stutter out another mindless syllable. 

“Hey! Back off Fife.” 

It’s Colin. She knows it before she even has the chance to look up. Somehow, she knew it before he said a single word. 

He positions his body between her and Fife, creating space that wasn’t there just a second ago. 

“Woah, mate! She bumped into —” Fife starts. 

“It was my fau—” Penelope starts. 

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ve heard that one before. Never your fault, is it Fife?” Colin interrupts. His tone confuses Penelope. She can’t tell if he’s teasing Fife, or legitimately wants to punch him in the face. 

“Colin, really, it was my —” she starts again. This time, someone new cuts her off. Another guy, standing close behind Colin. 

“Do you know this chick, Bridgerton? Or do you simply enjoy saving random girls from becoming Fife’s next vi—”

“This is Penelope, my friend,” Colin cuts in, that confusing tone not letting up. Suddenly, he slings an arm around her shoulder, his hand gripping her skin. She suddenly questions whether or not this tank top was a good choice for the evening. “Pen, this is —” He starts pointing to each of the men now forming a circle around them. “Dave. Fife. Josh. Michael. Zach.” 

As Colin makes the rather curt introductions, each of the five men nod, smirk, and/or unblinkingly stare at Penelope’s chest in response. She feels a nervous blush creep up her cheeks as she says: “Lovely to meet you al—”

“No need for flattery, Pen,” Colin cuts in again. “Even these lot are self-aware enough to know they’re shit.” 

Michael snorts. Penelope gasps. Fife starts making a joke. Colin’s hand moves from Penelope’s right shoulder to her left elbow. He pulls her away before Fife can reach the punchline. 

“Sorry about them,” he tells her once his friends are out of ear-shot. “They’re —” He groans. He drops his hand from her skin and briskly runs it through his hair. “They’re fucking arseholes.” 

“They weren’t that ba—” 

“When did you get here by the way?” he interrupts, his usual light-hearted tone making a reappearance quickly. Almost alarmingly so. “I was looking for you.”

“You — you were?” The words slip out before she has the chance to stop them. 

Logically, such a statement shouldn’t be so surprising. They’ve been friends forever. He literally invited her to this party. But still… A part of Penelope cannot help but be surprised that Colin Bridgerton would specifically seek her out in such a crowded group of people. 

“Of course,” he says nonchalantly. Then, he raises his eyebrows, reminding her that he had asked a question. 

“Oh! Uh —” She looks down at her phone. 

10:36

Shit.

“About a half hour.” She lets out a quick, nervous laugh. “Have you seen El? I lost her rather quickly, it seems. And I kinda promised her we would be gone by now if she wasn’t having any fun.” 

Colin scowls, then turns his gaze from Penelope to the rest of the party. She wonders what it would be like to have an entire extra foot of height when Colin announces that he’s spotted her in under 30 seconds. He chuckles. 

“Well, I don’t think you need to leave quite yet.” 

She follows his gaze and finally spots Eloise. 

Colin was right — she looks absolutely giddy. On the other side of the garden, she and Theo — a boy Eloise met through an internship at Danbury’s publishing house last summer and has had a massive crush on ever since — are sitting together on a park bench. Closely. Then, even closer. Then —

“Yeah, I don’t need to see that,” Colin grumbles from beside Penelope. His hand finds her elbow once more. “Let’s go.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

“Are you sure this is… safe?” 

“Live a little, Featherington.” 

After climbing through the window himself, Colin extends his hand for Penelope to take. Begrudgingly, she takes it.

They sit on the north side of the roof, facing the street. The party and its noise linger in the background behind them. After flicking the cap off into the night sky using his car keys, Colin hands her one of the beers he had stashed under his arm on the way up here. It tastes like liquified grass, but Penelope tries not to grimace when she takes a swig. Thankfully, Colin is looking up at the stars; he doesn’t see her nose crinkle as the beer slides down her throat. 

“Beautiful night,” he muses, eyes turning back to her. 

She looks up, towards the moon. It’s barely a sliver in the sky. 

“Yeah. It really is.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and shrieking teenagers distant behind them. Penelope likes the quiet — she always has. Her entire life, it had been a cover. A cushion. A comfort. With Colin, it’s always a comfort. When she’s with him, she never feels the need to fill the air with noise for no other reason than to fill the quiet.

Colin is usually more willing to fill it. 

“Sorry, again, about Fife and those other dickheads.” 

“Colin, I told you. It’s —”

“‘It’s fine. They’re not that bad,’” he dramatically mimics. “Yeah I know… But speaking from the perspective of someone who actually knows them, they are shit and should be regarded as such.” 

Penelope could continue brushing all of that shit to the side, but she doesn’t. Even if bumping into Fife was her fault, she didn’t like the way he looked down at her in the moment after. She didn’t like how he didn’t step away until Colin forced him to, when he surely could have done so on his own. And she didn’t like the way all five of them looked at her when Colin officially introduced her — like her tits were more interesting than anything he could have been saying about her. 

Instead of brushing it off, she simply asks: “If they’re such shit, why are you friends with them?” Her own tone confuses her. 

Colin grimaces, then takes a swig of his beer. 

“Good question.”

He goes quiet again. When Penelope presumes that he is finished speaking, she opens her mouth again. 

“I —”

“Maybe I’ve outgrown them.” Swig. “Or maybe it’s just that I’m shit too.”

Penelope laughs lightly, praying that tiny breath of air will help lighten Colin’s mood. 

“The former, I think.” 

“I think you give me too much credit.” 

Penelope doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t know how. Her entire life, Colin has been like a light shining into her darkness — how could claiming he's "not shit" be giving him too much credit?

Penelope doesn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, she asks: “Are they also attending Cambridge?” 

“Not all of ‘em.” Swig. “Michael’s off to Edinburgh next week. Dave and Zach are both staying here for Imperial.” Swig. “Josh will be up at Cambridge with me, but he’s not so bad, I guess. At least when he isn’t actively under Fife’s thumb.”

“And Fife?” she questions. “Where is he going?”

Colin groans. He looks like he’s about to raise the bottle to his lips again, but doesn’t. 

“Fife was admitted to Cambridge, but deferring a year to ‘go find himself.’ Hopefully, he finds himself at King’s College when he’s finished.”

“What’s Fife’s real name, by the way?” Penelope asks, unsure of what else to say. “Why does everyone just call him by his surname?” 

For the first time all night, Colin laughs. 

“Oh — uh. Cornelius. Cornelius Fife.” 

Penelope snorts despite herself. 

“Oh God, that’s bad. Perhaps even worse than ‘Penelope Featherington.’”

“What’s wrong with ‘Penelope Featherington?’” Colin asks, earnestly. 

“Uhhh,” she stalls, hoping the night sky will hide the blush currently warming her cheeks. “A bit of a mouthful I guess. At least ‘Corn-eel-ee-us-Fife,” she punctuates each beat with one of her fingers, “is only five syllables.”

“I don’t know. I happen to quite like ‘Penelope Featherington.’”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, either. 

She should be used to this by now — existing in such close proximity to charming Colin Bridgerton. She should know that his flirtatious words are just that — words. That just because his words tug at her heart does not mean there was any intention on his end to do so. That there is no real intention behind them (at least not when they’re directed at her). 

She should be used to this by now, but she’s not. Even now, her cheeks burn red as he unknowingly squeezes her heart. 

“You ready to leave London?” Colin asks, his voice breaking Penelope from her thoughts. 

Next week, she and Eloise are set to leave for Cheltenham to begin their Sixth Forms (along with Daphne, who will be finishing hers). Literally, she isn’t ready; she’s been procrastinating packing for weeks and will likely not do so until the night before she leaves. But in her heart, she’s been ready to leave home for the past two years, ever since Colin left for Eton. 

“Oh — yeah.” She takes another sip of her beer. It still tastes like grass. “I think so.”

“It’s nice that you and El will have each other there.” He chuckles quietly, eyes turning from the night sky back to Penelope. “With your good influence, maybe she’ll make it through an entire semester without being sent home.”

Penelope chuckles too, louder than Colin had a moment ago.

“Eloise will be fine, with or without me. She’s all talk.”

“Yeah. The ‘talk’ is exactly what I’m worried about. Also fist fighting, but at least she doesn’t have the balls to do that in the middle of class.” 

As much as she wants to defend her best friend further, Penelope holds her tongue. He has a point. Eloise seemed to make a hobby out of backtalking their maths teacher last term. 

“Really though,” he continues. “Leaving home is amazing, but it also kinda sucks. Having your best friend there with you… It’ll be good.” 

“Why does it suck?” Penelope asks. Little alarm bells ring off in the back of her mind. When Colin had first left for Eton, he had nothing but positive things to say about leaving home. 

He keeps quiet for a moment, seeming to search for the answer in the stars above them. 

“It’s different for everyone — it might not suck for you at all. But for me…” Swig. “Maybe it’s just because I was so used to living with seven siblings and an overprotective mum. But going from that to Eton so suddenly…” Swig. “Felt a bit isolating at first.”

The alarm bells continue to ring within Penelope. A bit louder now.

“Colin, I —” 

“It gets better, obviously. You adjust. It took me a while to be comfortable living without the people I lived with all my life, but eventually I did.” Swig. “Your friends really do help with that. Hopefully you can learn from me though, and cut them off when you eventually realise they’re all bloody arseholes.”

She waits until she thinks he’s finished to open her mouth again. But just as she does, he continues.

“Sorry, by the way.” His eyes truly look sorrowful when he finally meets her gaze again. “I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I just thought, maybe it would have been good if someone had told me that before I left for Eton. Prepared me a bit.”

“You didn’t scare me,” she insists. “And I appreciate your candour, really.”

Colin opens his mouth again, looking like he’s about to say something else. She knows she should let him talk — allow him to alter the course of the conversation, if that’s what he wants. But Penelope also can’t ignore those goddamn alarm bells still ringing in her ears.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if — hypothetically — it could scare me. I’m always here to listen. For anything.” 

For the briefest moment, something new passes on Colin’s face. Something in his eye looks different than anything she had seen there before. It almost looked desperate. But then it’s gone, his head turned away from her once more. Then, for the second time that night, Colin wraps his arm around Penelope’s shoulder. His hand dangles lazily off her shoulder. 

“Yeah. I know, Pen.” 

Penelope should be used to this by now. Colin is her friend. His touch is innocent, always. It doesn’t matter if her breath quickens when she feels his side settle against hers. It doesn’t matter if her skin feels hot beneath his fingertips. None of this matters to Colin — at least not in the way that it matters to her. 

She lasts about 25 seconds before squirming out of his hold. She scoots back a few inches and turns so her entire front faces him. “What’s the distance between Cheltenham and Cambridge again?” she asks, as if the exact mileage has not been burned into her brain for months. 

Colin grimaces. “200 kilometres. Give or take.” 

Penelope nods. Mayfair and Eton were only 35 kilometres apart. There were countless times over the last two years that, to Penelope, it felt as though Eton may as well have been located on the moon. 

“Chin up, Pen,” he says, face already starting to light up again. “It’s not the nineteenth century. We can always Skype.” 

“I know…” She raises her bottle, letting the glass rim rest against her lips. She can’t bring herself to take another sip, though. “Even then, I’ll still miss you.” 

“Well, obviously,” he says through a smirk. Penelope scoffs, hiding her own smile behind her hand. Charm and arrogance do tend to come hand and hand. 

“Col—”

“I’ll miss you, too. Obviously. But that’s no reason to prevent ourselves from reaching our full potentials. We owe it to the world, Pen. We can’t possibly be that selfish.” 

In the time that it takes Penelope to think of a single sensical response to his words, Colin goes to take another swig, comes up empty, then peers one eye into the bottle to confirm its lack. 

“I sup—”

“To Cheltenham,” Colin says, raising his bottle towards her. 

She smiles. Resisting the urge to remind him that toasting with an empty glass is bad luck, she clinks the butt of her bottle against his. Hers is still half-full. 

“To Cambridge.” 

The quiet returns. It sits between them for a while. Penelope likes it. She likes it all.

[justonemorewallflower]

Bruises

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Pairing: Kara x Lee

Prompt: Bruises

WC: 500

TWs: mentions of ab*se, self-h*rm, bruises, etc.

***

Ever since she had gotten back from New Caprica Lee could tell Kara was different. He didn't know what had happened to her there but he knew something had at least, something that had changed her.

She never talked about it and while he couldn't blame her, he wished she would. That she would open up about it because maybe it would lessen the pain. But he knew that wasn't how Kara worked. She faced her problems and pain alone, she always did her best to make sure to not put them on others, or make them anyone else's problem too.

The first week after she had come back had been the worst. She had been the most different and far off, hard to reach. And he couldn't ignore the bruises.

Someone had hurt her. Abused her. And it pissed him off. He knew it hadn't been Sam but sometimes a part of him had wished it was so she'd have an excuse to leave him and Lee could finally have her, since she had chosen to run instead when he had offered her the idea to finally be together.

There weren't a lot, but it was enough, especially if you looked closely. Especially if you knew Kara like he did. She never let people hurt her, if she could help it. So seeing her as beat up as she was was concerning, to know someone had worn her down enough to the point where she just took the abuse rather than tried to fight it. Where that was the easier option.

And while the injuries were clearly from abuse of some sort he couldn't help but to wonder if any were self inflicted. If she had tried to escape whatever hell she had faced there by attempting to die. If it had been bad enough he knew she probably had. If her spirit had gotten broken beyond repair.

He knew it had because otherwise she would have been making jokes about it after day one. To make light of it, to cope, because that's what she typically did.

But she instead stayed quiet about it and Kara never stayed quiet. She was brash and loud and hated keeping to herself. She always spoke her mind.

She wasn't just staying silent. She was hiding too, and that was even more concerning. She was locking herself away, refusing to talk to anyone and almost seeming scared whenever someone tried to approach her. That was the biggest difference. Kara Thrace never showed fear, but now it seemed to be the only emotion she had left.

Lee knew the physical bruises would go away sooner or later, but the internal ones wouldn't. Those were the ones he was most concerned about.

And while she was avoiding everyone he knew he would have to be the one person to try and heal her wounds. And maybe, if he was lucky, she'd let him.

Maybe he could fix her bruises, once and for all.

***

A little ficlet/quintuple drabble I wrote. Inspired by the word bruises. I feel like this could be a good intro to a longer fic or oneshot. Maybe one day I will add to it. For now though it'll just remain as this as I'm challenging myself to write more drabbles/ficlets because even my one shots usually end up being at least 2k words. I have been physically incapable of writing anything short for Kara and Lee thus far and I'm wanting to change that so this is one of my first attempts. I have another I posted in a Tumblr community and another that is in my Google docs. But that's only 3 (around 1500 words) out of around the total 170,000 words I have written for this pair/fandom. That says a lot haha. I have a tendency to overcomplicate things or at least struggle to write any simple and more vague one shots so I am forcing myself to do exactly that at least a little bit more. So far I like the results and hope I can keep coming up with good ones. I will be posting this on AO3 as well within the next day or so just y'all are aware haha. Feel free to let me know your thoughts too :)

[fanfic-scribbles]

Dinner Date Chapter 27

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 27: Steve Rogers and the Terrible, No Good…Sort of Okay Day

Chapter Summary: Steve has a Bad Day. It’s nice to have a partner who’s willing to make it better.

Chapter Word Count: 2158

A/N: I really wanted to get this out last week, but I kept…getting fucking stuck. But it’s done now. Next chapter I think is going to be a bigger one, unless I manage to pare it down or split it. /fingers crossed. For now, please enjoy an indulgence of comfort.

~

Steve: So Steve: I hate to ask this but Steve: I’ve had a really bad day Steve: Can you come over to my place tonight instead?

My eyebrows went all the way up. Steve had already not been having a stellar first week back at work after his extended vacation, so this was…concerning.

Me: Are you okay? Steve: Yes Steve: Just…I see your point about being “too cranky to deal with people”

I smiled.

Me: I believe the actual quote is “too fucking cranky to deal with assholes” ;P Steve: :)

Oh no. That was the most insincere smiley ever. If he was hurt he would have told me, so he must have been really upset about something.

Me: Do you need me to bring anything? Steve: No. I’ll order in. Steve: Or bring clothes if you need to? Steve: But you have a couple sets of clothes here still I think Steve: I can go check Me: Don’t Me: It’s fine, I’ll see you tonight

I then added a little kissy face.

Steve: Oh no Steve: You’re being nice Steve: Do I sound that bad?

I rolled my eyes. It really must not have been that bad if he could sass me like that.

Me: Oh fuck you

I then sent a line of hearts. Since he was having a bad day and all.

~

I made it to his place without catching whatever bad luck streak he’d gotten, and as soon as I stepped in I got wrapped up in large arms and ensconced by an equally ridiculous body as Steve tried-not-tried to suffocate me.

“Are you okay?” I asked and wrapped my arms around him, trying to squeeze in return.

“Just…one of those days,” he said, voice wavering on the last two words so they ended up oddly stressed.

“Everything going wrong?” I asked, sympathetic, because those days sucked.

He huffed. “I think you said it best once…it was one of those days where everything goes wrong but you can’t complain because it all sounds petty and stupid.”

“Oh, I hate those,” I said, emphatic in my honesty, and tried to squeeze tighter. He sighed and slumped and made no move to leave, but I had to start thinking. Steve always took care of my bad days, so it was time to step up. I patted his back and pulled, but he let out a little…not quite a whimper, but it was a sad sound that pulled on my dusty, otherwise-immovable heartstrings. He did let go though, and I only pulled back just enough to look at him. “Okay then.” I held his face. “For tonight, I’m the boss.”

He cracked a small smile. “You mean you’re not usually?”

Hmm…he sort of had a point. “Well I’m not delegating tonight.��� I patted my chest. “Gonna do all the work myself.”

His smile faded. “You don’t have t-”

“Shush,” I said and put my finger to his lips. His lips moved and I pushed harder. “I’m the boss and I say shush.”

He rolled his eyes and saluted. “Less sassing, more shushing,” I said and thought about the things that Steve found most comforting. I could have made a list (probably should, someday) but the very basics were: warmth, a full belly, and close contact. “Mmkay. First: go run a hot shower for us.”

“‘Us?’” he repeated hopefully. Then– “Oops; sorry ‘Commander,’” and he mimed locking his lips.

I rolled my eyes. At both comments. He wasn’t getting anything up in his state, being as he looked like he was holding himself upright by a single thread of stubbornness, but I could let him be delusional for a little bit. “S’okay. I know you too well to think you’d shut your mouth for long.” I ran my hand up over his cheek, and tried not to melt when he leaned into it. He was going to be ridiculously cuddly tonight, I could already feel it. “Get the water going. I’ll pick some clothes and lay them out for after.”

His eyes lit up and he went to his assigned task with determination. I scooted over to the bedroom and rifled through his drawers for one of his more worn tank tops, and some sweatpants. The super-soft and ultra-worn ones were askew on the side of the laundry basket, but one thing about Steve was that if he decided he liked a particular set of clothes, he got multiples, so I was able to put together an acceptable outfit for him, and also one for me.

I then went to join him in the bathroom where he looked almost half-asleep just standing outside by the spray. I rolled my eyes– apparently I would need to cut the time I’d planned to spend in there with him, if I was going to get him out safely. But when I nudged him he smiled at me, already looking a little less tweaked at the corners, and I kissed his cheek.

“Good job,” I said and felt the temperature. “And it’s not going to melt us.”

“Tempting,” he said. “But I want you to stay in there with me. Delicate skin and all.”

“Because you’re having a bad day I will not turn the handle to cold and shove you in,” I said. “But only just because. Now strip.”

He smirked, but didn’t say anything. Exhibit B for why he wasn’t up for getting any tonight, but again, I let it go, and we both stripped down and got into his nicely sized shower. There wasn’t much more room than could just about fit us, but there was enough that I didn’t feel claustrophobic. I let him get rinsed down first and watched some of the tension in his body practically wash right down the drain. He was still a little stiff though, and he only just got his body wet before turning to the side and sliding his hand along my lower back to allow the warm water to hit me too.

“Get your hair wet, then sit on the bench,” I said and grabbed his shampoo bottle.

His eyes opened a little wider, but he did as he was told as I poured some of the shampoo into my hand. I then started lathering his hair and his eyes honest-to-god fluttered shut. I started out rubbing gently, slowing adding more and more pressure, and then lightening up when I started with my nails.

He moaned, and I smiled to myself and kept at it. His shoulders drooped and I even dipped my hands down to rub them a little. It was a weird angle though, and between that and the soap I couldn’t dig in, so I stowed that idea for later and went back to massaging his scalp. He seemed content enough with that, though, if the absolutely lovelorn glance he sucker-punched me with was any indication.

However, because I was too…wide, he wasn’t getting any of the water that was supposed to be keeping him warm. I shifted to the side. Not too far– there really wasn’t that much room– but he put his hand on my side to stop me. He quirked an eyebrow, but the water was hitting part of him now, so I shrugged.

“Don’t want you to dry out,” I said.

“I’m not a fish,” he said with a smile to one side.

I considered him…and then made a faux-hawk in his hair, trying to mimic a fin. “Da nuh…da nuh…”

He snorted– then grinned, and dove in to nip at my tummy. I laughed and smushed his hair, and spent just a little more time scratching his scalp before I turned to rinse my hands and grab the showerhead from its perch. As much as I ever hated to leave my apartment, Steve’s had enough creature comforts to make up for it.

“Lean your head back,” I said and he obeyed, shutting his eyes and showing me his relaxed, tired, entirely open and trusting expression.

I put the nozzle to the crown of his head, moving it slowly as I used my other hand to work out the soap with one last, good, quick scalp massage. He was so content already, and that was before dinner even, which was going to be great. Pricey, but great, and I was already making the order in my head.

So I maybe yelped when he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. He pushed his face into my stomach which…honestly made me feel a little weird that it didn’t make me feel weirder. I was naked in the shower with the most handsome and well-built man I’d ever seen, but the way he rested against me was…like it– like I was a comfort, and so I found it hard to be upset by it.

I put my hand on his head and he kissed the patch of skin closest to his mouth. “What’s on your mind?” he asked and sat back.

“I’m planning out dinner,” I said. “We’ll do that pasta place you’ve been hooked on lately. Extra extra garlic bread.”

His eyes widened and he looked at me with so much adoration it almost made me itch. “I love you,” he said.

I smirked. “I know.”

~

We finished up in the shower and got dressed and made it all the way to the couch before Steve continued to indulge in his super-clingy instincts. Honestly, sometimes it was like he saw me as a teddy bear or something. …Not that I was ever going to complain. Nor would I ever admit out loud that it was fine; that I, maybe, kind of liked it. My reputation was in tatters enough, and he already knew what a damned softie I was.

Case in point– I got through ordering everything for dinner and was on the payment screen when a card slid into my view. I almost thanked Steve for being so proactive when I realized that it was not my card. I rolled my eyes. This again. However I had the upper hand of not having had a terrible day, so I turned my head to try and glare him down only to see…the saddest eyes he could make.

I crumbled almost immediately. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” I said and just barely managed to keep from grabbing his card. “Cheering you up after a bad day, all that crap.”

“This will make me very happy,” he said and held it closer to me.

I rolled my eyes and, after a few seconds and requisite heavy sigh, snatched it. “You are such a fucking weirdo,” I said as I started entering the payment. Steve had never made me feel unequal, like I was freeloading, but it still felt…weird. To receive so much and have him act like it was natural and fine that I hardly paid for anything, and not even because he was ‘the guy’ but just because…because he had money now and was happy to provide.

But those feelings were mine to deal with and now was not the time, so I stowed them and went back to snuggling with my boyfriend while we waited for the food to arrive.

“This is…a good day,” Steve decided, somehow wrapped around and hiding in me both.

“I’m glad.” I kissed his head and went back to stroking his hair. “You can ask me to come over whenever you want. Or need. Whatever.”

“Even if it means you have to leave your apartment?”

“I will, in fact, put on pants and brave the subway for you,” I said, gravely dramatic, but still meaning every word. I lost the exaggerated effect and curled around him. “Also, your shower is much better than mine.”

“I don’t think we could both fit in yours. I’m surprised you can fit in yours,” he said, voice fading a little. “Though I am jealous of your in-unit laundry.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to give you nice warm clothes this time,” I said. “Though since you were having the ‘every little thing goes wrong’ day, you would have banged your head on the doorway. Or hit your shin on the coffee table. Or hit monster traffic. So staying home was probably the right idea.”

“Mm hm,” was his very sleep-addled reply.

Oh no. I sighed. “Steve,” I said and nudged him, but his body was already heavy on mine. “The food’s on its way.”

“Mm…hm.”

I rolled my eyes, and he was out within the next few moments. I glanced at the clock. Well…the food was going to take a while, given the amount we ordered and the fact that it was peak dinnertime. So maybe he could have a little snooze. I situated us just a little more comfortably, set my phone on the cushion with an alarm just in case, and leaned back to let him have some peace at the end of a long day.

~

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[sinkingaboutyou]

Dear Halsey ✮⋆˙

I've been part of many fandoms ── started out with the Spice Girls. Couldn't go anywhere without my big ass shoes and space buns. Couldn't shut up about them ever. I wanted to be Ginger Spice so fucking bad I told everyone they should call me Geri "from now on" and turns out, "from now on" went on for years.

I then moved on to the Backstreet Boys, then Leonardo Dicaprio, Charmed, Britney Spears, anything Moulin Rouge. I wanted to be Rose and save Jack from the icy cold water ── wanted to be Satine and escape Paris with my poet lover ── wanted to hunt demons with the Winchester brothers ── wanted to be a Slytherin ── wanted to help Frodo destroy the ring -and make out with Legolas, I admit ── truth be told, I can't even think of a period in my life where I wasn't a fan or viscerally obsessing over something.

And somewhere along the way, right between my 1D and KPOP era, there you were ── and I never felt the same connection with an artist prior to this. I never looked at you as an idol or some mystic, unattainable creature. You came into my life precisely when I needed it and showed me it was okay to be myself and to own it. Badlands became the soundtrack of my life, I cut my hair short, dyed it a crazy color and felt more alive than ever. Still, I wasn't obsessing over you. I loved to watch videos and listen to your music but my relationship with you was never one you typically expect from a fan to their idol.

You make me happy. You make me feel like I can be anything, anyone and just roll with it without a care in the world. Your words heal me. Your voice soothes me and I have nothing but a genuine love and admiration for the human behind these words, the person behind the glitters and fantastic shows.

I was ✮⋆˙ so lucky ✮⋆˙ to see you in Paris on Februrary 2020. My first and only Halsey show, right before the world turned to shit and locked us all down. Camped all day just to see you front row, not only because I'm pocked sized and can't expect to see shit if I'm not literally standing front row, but because I felt like I needed to see you from up close. To see the human. The person I admire, not only a silhouette from afar.

That night was the most memorable, fantastic night of my entire life. I couldn't help but feel the intimacy, the closeness, the efforts you put to make every person in the crowd matter even for a second. It literally blew my mind. I don't think I ever properly recovered.

Today, I'm sad. I'm sad to see how poorly you're being treated by so-called fans. I was already upset months ago while witnessing people's behavior ── how they gave you shit for being silent, for the lack of music release, for promoting your make up brand instead of being on stage ── I was never one to interact or take part in any sort of hatred debate because I know I can vomit words to the speed of light and waste too much energy on people who aren't worth it. But still ── it was hard to digest, hard to read, hard to step back and take a deep breath so I wouldn't snap at people treating you like nothing but the King's Fool whose purpose is to entertain the crowd only.

Of course, knowing what you were going through during all of this only adds bitterness to this situation ── I wish people would see the human first. I wish people would realize you were always there for us, how you handwrote actual letters to some fans (god knows I would die for that) ── how you literally bled out on stage just so you wouldn't cancel a show when any mundane person would take days off work to deal with such a traumatic experience. I wish they would realize you never treated this, treated US as a job. You're one of the only artists out there who remains genuine and always speaks their truth ── even the ones that hurt so fucking bad ── and still, it never seems to be enough to these people.

I'm sad you regret coming back, because I was genuinely the happiest to see you active and excited to release some music again. But mostly, I was happy to have my favorite person back.

I want nothing more but for you to be happy and I hope you know, for every 10 disrespectful, ungrateful meanies, there's at least one person who loves you a hundred times more than they ever will.

If this letter ever finds you, just know this one thing ──

Je t'aime et je suis en vie grâce à toi ♡

[firendgold]

Dumbledore for the unhinged character bingo?

but of course!

whew boy, no bingos but this was a lot.

guess we'll go left to right row by row?

Daddy Issues: um, yeah. It might be glossed over in canon and fanon, but it seems pretty clear that Albus has at least some. Percival Dumbledore was taken from him early, after a moment where he lost control and inflicted violence on those who were both crueler and weaker than him, all in the name of protecting his family. That probably left very deep impressions on the young Albus' psyche: both I can't let myself be locked away like he was, my family needs me and doing the right thing means suffering.

Adult!Albus takes many risks and makes many choices that lead to unhappiness twined with safety, and I think it all comes back to his parents and his home life. We also don't ever see him with a mentor: we know he "worked with" Nicolas Flamel but we don't have a clear idea of how close they were, how long they worked together or anything like that. Like many men in the HP series, he's probably another one who searches in vain for a father figure to replace his original one.

*Incoherent sobbing*: me every day since I finished Half-Blood Prince as a kid, honestly. I'm still not over it. Deathly Hallows was the second of the one-two punches. And then more Dumbledore and Dumbledore family meta is coming out all the time, digging into just how lonely Albus must have been for years and years. Think about how the people he let himself love toward the end of his life all either died or nearly died. Think about how major themes of Albus' life story are trust and love and betrayal. You'll start crying too.

Angst Angst ANGST: So, Albus never gets to be a child past the age of about ten. His parents' combined choices mean that he has to spend all his school years lying to most of his acquaintances about the most intimate parts of his home life and his sister. He also learns a lot of direct and indirect fucked up lessons that stick with him until he's at least seventeen. His brother resents him. His father dies in jail with people cursing his name. His mother is killed by his sister as he graduates school. Then, at seventeen-almost-eighteen, Albus falls in love!... with a budding fascist and future genocidal murderer. They plot to Take Over the World, but in a nice way maybe?

And then The Big Fight happens, Ariana dies too, Aberforth becomes estranged from him, Grindelwald leaves and his whole worldview gets upended. Rather than take some time to go to therapy, Albus spends the rest of his life overachieving to make up for what he did, never allowing himself the weakness of personal attachments... that is, until he finds himself having budding fatherly feelings for Harry. But since he didn't do any of that therapy stuff, he fucks up at a critical moment and chooses his long-dead family over said potential-son by putting on an old ugly ring, and then he dies to try and save the wizarding world with a convoluted plan that worked by miracle's light. The end.

God fucking damn it let them be happy: This is directed more at the fandom than it is at That Woman. Can y'all please write something nice about Albus and Harry for once instead of the same mustache-twirling manipulative fascist-fucking greater good garbage? I'm so sick of it lol.

I want to cradle them gently in my arms: I mean... Albus would not let me. He's almost allergic to intimacy. But if he would...

Go to FUCKING therapy: ...self-explanatory in my other answers. I am firm in my belief that if Albus had just gone to fucking therapy he would be alive today, searching google for funny Muggle cat videos and sending them to his hot old French boyfriend. And he and Harry would meet up for tea and biscuits every week because they would have long since sorted out all their issues and moved on to just loving each other. *sniff*

WHY Are They Like This: tru. I mean... I have a general idea of Why Albus Is The Way He Is, but it doesn't mean I don't still ask this question often. The fact that we got a whole movie called The Secrets of Dumbledore but we didn't learn any of Albus' important fucking secrets kind of supports my unhinged obsessed researching though.

I'm SO normal about them: ...*nervous laughter*

I would take a bullet for them: ...or, you know, I would if he wasn't dead already. But if we're talking about all the incorrect and unnecessary shots he takes from the fandom, then absolutely this applies.

LEAVE. THEM. ALONE!: seriously, fandom, holy shit. Don't y'all want to attack some people who have slid past morally gray territory and into "actual irredeemable monster" territory once in a while? You know, like some of those green-robed fellows you lust after?

Mommy Issues: oh, broooo. if Albus has daddy issues then he for sure has mommy issues too. Kendra Dumbledore shaped the majority of his life by virtue of being the only parent around in his formative years. All the things she taught him keep cropping up in his mannerisms and decisions even a hundred years later. Secrets, misdirection, hiding people and things and ideas away... draw a line back to his mum and you've solved half the puzzle.

Hey do you want to hear a ten hour speech about this character: because I don't like going outside, it would be more of a "five hour tumblr post" that's a billion paragraphs, but yeah. I can almost always find something new to talk about with Albus. ^^

And that's everything! Thanks and sorry it took me so long!

[hxhhasmysoul]

Honestly I sort of hate how some fandom think Gege hates Gojo or like any of his characters.

Gege doesn’t. Gege just have a hard time WRITING Gojo, since he is so strong and such!

Like… come on! Like don’t just assume Gege “hates” Gojo just because you’re a bit dissatisfied with the fight!

I swear. I’m this close of just leaving the fandom and just enjoy jjk by myself.

I find this one very funny when I see people say it. I block for any "Gege hates X" because whatever follows is stupid, but this one is so funny to me as a writer.

I get that Gege is frustrated with Gojou, because he's hard to write and he was kinda derailing the story. And I think Gege might've been surprised by how much people latched onto Gojou and loved him. How much they were uncritical of all of Gojou's very obvious flaws. At least I would've have been so I'm projecting this onto them XD.

Despite locking Gojou in the box, Gege has devoted so much time to Gojou in the manga. They gave Gojou several fight scenes which hyped the fans up so much. People wouldn't have been so much in love with Gojou if he wasn't given much attention and consideration by the author.

And I get being disappointed with the Gojou vs Sukuna battle, and even more disappointed with the few chapters before it. Gege didn't let us readers inside of Gojou's head. Apart from that last death scene in the airport he remained emotionally closed off to the reader.

It feels a bit like a poor attempt to mimic what Togashi did with Gon, who also becomes more and more closed off as the story progresses. But Gon is shown to the reader through Killua's eyes so we get some skewed insight into his mental state plus his mental state seeps through at times in his behaviour. I think this is what the fight was lacking, some, even subjective, view into Gojou's mind. Instead we just got the power system commentary which, don't get me wrong, I loved the contents of, I just wish a narrator delivered that and not the kiddos sitting on their asses.

I'm not sure why Gege withheld that from us. I mean maybe explicitly showing what was on Gojou's mind, his selfishness etc would've been too much of a rude awakening for the rabid Gojou fans who have constructed some fake image of him in their heads... and the editors were like nope! We need them to love the cashcow and buy his merch to cope with his death! This is just my bad faith take ;)

Either way, even though Gege created Gojou as a pretty shitty person or fumbled his last battle, it doesn't mean they hate Gojou.

People in this fandom love to ascribe ill intentions to the author when there's a much simpler explanation for poorly executed plot or character arc. And that is the author being imperfect. The author thinking something would be a good idea and then it turning out to be kinda lame. But this tendency to jumping to instantly ascribing malice really irritates me.

[drades-lair]

Poison

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Striker/OC, Stolitz

Calus slammed the door to the motel room behind him as Striker walked ahead, grousing the entire way while they both brushed dirt from their persons.

“That was a ruff one,” Calus grumbled.

“No shit, good thing we got the next couple days off,” Striker retorted, pulling off his hat to brush the dirt off it.

“How’s about you take first shower while I order us some well-deserved pizza,” Calus offered shooting a wary smile in Striker’s direction.

“Sounds good ta me,” Striker agreed heading straight into the washroom with his duffle.

Striker shut the bathroom door, dumped his duffle on the floor then proceeded to remove his clothing from the upper portion of his body first. Tossing his garments to the ground Striker winced upon discovering a shallow gash on his side, examining the wound closer he determined it wasn’t anything drastic and wouldn’t even need stitches. The buzzing from the bathroom lights began to get louder as Striker’s head began to throb, a blur beginning to coat his vision with an unusual feeling of anger beginning to rise inside him. Uncertain what was happening Striker decided to leave the bathroom, coming out to find Calus in the middle of the hotel room just finishing up on the phone with the pizza place after having obviously stripped down to just his own jeans.

“Calus…” Striker trailed off; voice scratchy as he held his head in one hand.

“Hmm? Done already?” Calus asked arching a brow in curious confusion as he turned to regard Striker.

“Nah…I-I’m feelin’ strange…” Striker stated, holding onto the wall with his other hand for balance.

“Hm? Strange? How?” Calus inquired, voice changing to carry a tone of concern to it as he moved closer to Striker.

“Strange…not myself…ugh!” Striker gritted his teeth as his head pounded causing his vison to fade further then the gash on his side began to ache.

“Striker!? Easy,” Calus exclaimed moving quickly to help support Striker with a hand on his shoulder and one on his side. Briefly Calus caught sight of the gash on Striker’s side causing him to furrow his brow down at it only to be caught off guard by the imp growling then lunging at him. Calus was flung backwards onto the ground with Striker on top of him, snarling savagely inches from Calus’ face, their hands locked together so the Dracony could hold the pale imp at bay. Striker’s eyes were wild looking with a sickly green glow to them and his complexion was paler then normal.

“Striker! What in the whole of hell is wrong with you!?” Calus exclaimed back, voice straining from struggling to hold the imp back.

Striker was growling and snarling instead of speaking, snapping towards Calus’ throat like some sort of wild animal. Calus grunted then managed to heave Striker off to the side, flipping them so Calus was on top now promptly pinning Striker’s wrists to the floor resulting in a dark chuckle followed by a wide malicious grin from the pale imp. Calus had only moments to contemplate what was going through his mate’s head before there was a searing pain in his side causing him to cry out, head turning to regard where the pain was originating from revealing Striker’s tail spade firmly jabbed into the Dracony’s side just below where his scales were.

“What the fuck!? What is happening to you!?” Calus gritted out earning only another dark chuckle for an answer.

Fortunately, Calus’ magic had come a long way allowing him to use it to restrain Striker to the ground while he yanked the imp’s tail spade from his side followed by pinning it to the floor as well. Cussing under his breath Calus moved to his duffle to retrieve some rope he kept inside, restraining Striker with it upon placing him in a chair. Striker continued to act feral, snapping at Calus every chance he got resulting in the eventual application of a muzzle to allow Calus to look over the gash on Striker’s side. Blood seeped from the wound as expected however what was unexpected was the slight green sheen the blood carried with it. Unfamiliar with such a thing Calus got on his cell phone whilst treating the stab in his own side from Striker’s tail spade eventually getting in touch with Stolas to explain what was going on to the best of his ability. After a brief exchange with Stolas, Calus was encouraged to bring Striker as soon as possible to the palace, although the tone the prince took did nothing to ease Calus’ already anxious mind. Once off the phone Calus slung his duster on not bothering to put a shirt underneath then with some degree of difficulty, he managed to sling Striker over his shoulder still tied up.

It took a while for Calus to make it to the Goetia palace however once there Stolas greeted Calus at the large ornate double doors, ushering him in. Calus plopped Striker into a chair in the foyer, the imp continuing to struggle with feral snarls and growls behind the makeshift muzzle around his snout.

“How long ago did he start behaving like this and when did he receive the wound?” Stolas asked noting Striker’s condition.

“He got the wound I would assume on our job today…maybe 10 hours ago and he started doing this maybe two hours ago,” Calus answered in an exhausted tone.

“Alright, we’ll get him into the infirmary downstairs where I can access my herbs,” Stolas declared gesturing for Calus to retrieve Striker. Unfortunately, while the duo were discussing matters Striker managed to break his binds lunging just as Calus was turning to retrieve him promptly sending the Dracony backwards onto the marbled palace floor with a thud followed by a pained grunt. Striker snapped a couple times inches from Calus’ face, one of the Dracony’s hands holding Striker at bay by the throat while the other one grasped the pale imp’s left hand. Stolas gasped in surprise, head whirling around in search of something to use when Calus shrieked in pain as Striker’s right hand swiped across his chest leaving deep claw marks behind followed by another swipe to the Dracony’s face resulting in three marks across his cheek. Calus growled baring his teeth just before a book was thrust against the back of Striker’s head instantly causing the imp to go limp, falling forwards over Calus unconscious. Looking up Calus could see Stolas now standing with a large book in both hands that he had clearly just hit across the back of Striker’s head.

“Sorry about that,” Stolas offered setting the book on the round table in the center of the foyer.

“No problem,” Calus retorted, maneuvering Striker with him till he could drape the imp’s limp body over his shoulder while standing back up.

Calus followed Stolas into the infirmary in the basement of the palace where he laid Striker on the metal table in the middle of the room, concern lacing his features as he looked over his unconscious mate. Stolas swiftly opened cupboards along the left wall, pulling jar after jar from them while Calus watched over Striker, noting the wound on his side was now a dark green color.

“So, what’s wrong with him?” Calus wondered, glancing over at Stolas who was now pulling out a mortar and pestle along with several vials.

“It’s a form of poison, I’ve not seen too many cases of this particular poison, but it originated in the Greed ring. Essentially the victim loses all their common sense to blind rage, and they simply lash out at anyone within attack range,” Stolas explained, opening the jars he’d pulled from the cupboard moments ago to pour their contents into the mortar before beginning to mix them using the pestle.

“I’m going to take it you know a cure,” Calus stated although there was the under tone of a question there as he looked at the mortar currently full of ingredients.

“Fortunately, I do however it’s time sensitive, the antidote must be administered within 24 hours of the initial infection or else it’ll have no effect,” Stolas answered, pouring the ingredients from the mortar into the vial.

“How long is it going to take to make the antidote?” Calus inquired, worry growing thicker in his tone.

“Eight hours…give or take,” Stolas stated, placing the vial over a flame in a holder after adding a small amount of water to it.

“That’s going to be cutting it close,” Calus worriedly pointed out.

“I know, this is all I can do though,” Stolas retorted.

Releasing a breath Calus went about getting Striker secured to the table using the built in straps to hopefully keep him in place should the imp wake up. Waiting was painful, Calus sat in a chair beside the table Striker was strapped too, healing the wounds Striker had left on him while Stolas kept watch over the antidote brewing on the counter a short distance away. A couple hours in Striker’s body began to shake and sweat began to bead across his skin instantly concerning Calus who brought the symptoms to Stolas’ attention.

“What’s wrong with him? Is this part of the poison?” Calus inquired, placing a hand gently on Striker’s burning forehead.

“Yes, this is the progression of the poison. I’ll get him something to take the fever down and hook up an IV to keep him hydrated,” Stolas explained, hurrying back to the same cabinets from earlier except this time he opened the bottom cupboards.

“Bring the items and I’ll help you,” Calus stated, cupping Striker’s cheek as his thumb gently rubbed across the imp’s cheek bone.

Calus helped Stolas apply the IV then allowed the prince to inject two separate substances, one that would take the fever down and the other that would hopefully calm Striker should he awaken. Calus applied a cold compress to the lump on the back of Striker’s head from where Stolas had knocked him unconscious to take down the swelling. Once they were only a couple hours from the antidote’s completion Striker began to stir with a soft moan however when his eyes blinked open despite still having that sickly green tinge to them, he seemed more aware with less rage to his demeanour as he focused in on Calus.

“C-Calus…I-I…I’m so sorry…” Striker apologized catching Calus off guard.

“Sorry? For what?” Calus inquired, furrowing his brow.

“For…hurting you…” Striker croaked out.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Calus chuckled slightly as the damage Striker had done was minor at best.

“I-I could see…but I couldn’t control myself…” Striker explained, softly panting.

“Hey, it’s fine. Stolas is going to give you an antidote and everything will be fine,” Calus explained, leaning in closer to Striker.

“Here Calus, you can begin cleaning the wound on his side while I proceed with the final steps of the antidote,” Stolas stated bringing over a metal tray on wheels with medical equipment on its surface.

“Alright, try to hold still,” Calus retorted, pulling the cold compress from Striker’s head to place it on the tray.

Calus grabbed a cloth out of the stainless-steel bowl filled with warm water to start cleaning the gash on Striker’s side causing the imp to wince with a pained growl. Calus gently placed a hand on Striker’s chest to hold him steady while he gingerly cleansed the wound, Stolas preparing the antidote in the background while Striker struggled through the effects of the poison. A short time later Calus finished up Striker’s wound just as Stolas was finished with the antidote, coming over with a syringe full of the purple liquid that he immediately administered into the IV line leading into Striker’s forearm.

“AH! Fuck, that burns!” Striker exclaimed, jerking against the restraints still holding him to the table, eyes squeezing closed.  

“Easy, easy…I got you,” Calus stated, gently cupping Striker’s cheek while his other hand rubbed lightly along Striker’s forearm opposite the one Stolas was injecting the antidote into.

“Alright, the antidote is fully administered. We just need to wait till it takes full effect,” Stolas explained.

“Thank you, Stolas,” Calus offered feeling relief wash over him.

“Of course, I’m going to go retrieve some things,” Stolas announced, putting the used syringe on the counter then headed out of the infirmary promptly leaving Calus with Striker alone.   

“Did the burning subside?” Calus quietly asked, carding his fingers lightly through Striker’s white hair.

“Y-yeah…Calus?” Striker quietly retorted, eyes averting from his mate.

“Hmm? Are you alright?” Calus responded, concern briefly rising in his stomach.

“I’m fine…I just…this scared me more then anythin’ I’ve ever done,” Striker explained in a bashful tone.

“Scared? Why were you scared?” Calus wondered as Striker didn’t exactly fear for his life even under the direst of circumstances.

“I…was scared of doin’ somethin’ horrible ta Ya,” Striker confessed.

“What? Really?” Calus chuckled softly; it was oddly endearing that Striker’s concern lay with hurting him.

“I…couldn’t live wit myself if I hurt Ya…” Striker admitted finally locking his gaze back with Calus’.

“Relax, I’m fine. I wouldn’t let you do too much damage against me,” Calus chuckled again, leaning in closer to nuzzle against Striker’s muzzle before sharing a kiss with the pale imp.

A short time later Striker’s eyes began to lose the sickly green glow, returning to his normal brilliant yellow while the wound on his side lost the ugly green coloration as well. Once Calus was certain Striker was mostly back to normal, he removed the restraints then assisted his mate in sitting up although he swayed upon doing so with a hand moving to grasp his head. Huffing a smile Calus gently pulled Striker into his torso so the imp could lay against his mate’s firm chest just as Stolas returned carrying a blanket as well as a tray of food. Stolas placed the food on the table next to Striker then wrapped the blanket around Striker’s shoulders while Calus grabbed an apple from the tray to offer to Striker as encouragement to eat something. Striker ate the apple slower then normal in his exhausted state, fully laying against Calus as he did so. Eventually the food was gone, and Stolas was confident that Striker was cured of the poison thus he detached the IV then told Calus that he was free to take Striker home or back to the hotel they were staying in. Understandably Calus said fuck the hotel room, he’d call the desk clerk later to arrange the return of their items or he’d arrange to go retrieve them either way he scooped Striker off the table bridal style as the imp dosed between consciousness and unconsciousness to take him home.

Striker was mostly back to himself in the coming days besides being utterly exhausted from the whole ordeal, sleeping most of the time until he got back on his feet.

[burins]

20 Questions for fic writers!

@froizetta tagged me ages ago and i've been picking away at this as my arm allows! thank you :D

putting these below a cut because this ended up quite long.

How many works do you have on AO3?

67... not including some older stuff I orphaned. total (including the orphans and 2 fics i put on an alt) is 78! i've been on ao3 for 12 years, which is a frightening number to contend with.

What’s your total A03 word count? 304,059 (half of which was written last year....)

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly DCU and subfandoms, but once a year I do Secret Samol for Friends at the Table my beloved.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

unfurl - DC, Superbat with bonus Timkon, 7.4k

Everyone loves a sex comedy (including me– there's another in my top 5 fics.) This one came about bc I wanted to come up with a shape for Clark's junk that wasn't your standard tentacle.

2. mission parameters - DC, Superbat, 33k

Alien fake dating! This was the first fic I ever intentionally posted chapter by chapter instead of all at once and I had so much fun seeing people's responses come in week to week. Also, this fic started as an excuse to write them fighting about Clark getting evicted and.... REALLY spiraled from there.

3. talk about all the good things (and the bad things) - MDZS/CQL, Wangxian, 6.3k

The second sex comedy! I just really think that "every day is every day" is a beautiful sentiment and not perhaps a feasible production if you are having Wangxian levels of sex on the regular. Plus a porn coda because, out of spite, I wanted to write Lan Wangji as a sub.

4. can I look the other way - MDZS/CQL, Wangxian, 2.7k

DEEPLY tropey Wangxian misunderstandings. The title for this one came from Westerman's "Think I'll Stay," which never ceases to give me post-canon Wei Wuxian emotions. This is the much much much lighter version of the story I'll never write about Wei Wuxian's probable mental state after the end of CQL.

5. everybody says - DC, Superbat, 2.8k

This was for Bruce Wayne Week using the prompts "inconvenient soulmate reveal" and "Bruce gets kidnapped," which I had great fun shoehorning into under three thousand words.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

lololol. i've written two separate fics where one member of the pairing kills the other onscreen! so probably one of those. whetstone (the edeleth major character death) i think wins out because the murder, while deeply romantic in my opinion, doesn't actually happen in canon. (while samot doesn't directly stab samothes in fatt canon he sure is instrumental in it happening!)

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this is the harder question! i write a lot of fic tagged "hopeful ending" and "ambiguous/open ending." i struggle with an unequivocal HEA! for a long time i struggled to write endings at all, and so i wrote mostly vignettes that just sort of faded out. i tell myself this is because life doesn't tie up neatly, and so neither do my stories, but also i am just bad at writing endings. probably one of my wangxian fics, tbh... i think give it all for a taste (sex pollen) or my remix fic (all the singing in the tops of the trees) have really sweet, happy endings.

Do you get hate on your fic?

I've never gotten actual hate directed at me! I got a kind of shitty comment on everything is new from someone who really hated that i had written a knightfall fic in which bruce pushed people away, but i think i've come out pretty lucky!

Do you write smut?

yes.

Do you write crossovers?

i've never written a crossover in which characters from different universes interact, but i did write a very long locked tomb/mdzs fusion!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge! i don't think my stuff is popular or long enough for most people to bother lol. like, love and light, idk if my 30k fake dating fic that was also a trojan horse for me to talk about class and oppression and the sometime futility of individual action in the face of systemic injustice is going to do numbers on wattpad? maybe i'm underestimating wattpad.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! itsuki_minatsu did an amazing mandarin translation of take a pic, strike a pose. i wish i read enough (any) mandarin to be able to see how they did the group chats bc i love seeing how puns and jokes get translated! shoutout to translators.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

only for OCs! but god did we write a lot of fic about RP OCs, most of which never made it onto the ol' ao3. i miss them :')

What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

oh god. this is like asking a favorite child and also DEEPLY subject to recency bias. we've been rewatching nine's season of doctor who and i've been getting smacked in the face by the absolute nightmare energies of nine/rose recently. nine treats every man rose looks at like a stray dog she brought home that's pissed on the carpet. for their first date he takes her to watch the destruction of everything she's ever known!! she completely abandons her entire life to be with him! every other episode they are tearfully trying to die for each other and also nine is the most heinous bitch you've ever met <3

What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hm... i'm not sure! i'm trying not to say "anything long" right now. my arm is doing better than it was at the beginning of the month but it's not up to longfic or really writing for more than about 25 minutes at a time. so it goes!

What’s your writing strengths?

individual scenes and character studies, imo! i am quite good at setting a scene and creating an atmosphere. also (i think) dialogue. i'd better be good at dialogue, since i've been doing the "rehearse scenes in the mirror with your characters" thing since i was about 12.

What’s your writing weakness?

plot! absolutely absolutely plot. i really struggle to plan out What Happens Next and how to get from point A to point B. this is almost entirely due to lack of practice; before 2020 i'd never written anything longer than about 6k, and never finished anything with an extended plot. also this is just something that writing endless amounts of fic is not actually the best tool to learn, because i'll always have the existing plot scaffolding of canon instead of really having to flex my plot-building muscles.

also action scenes, but is there anyone who doesn't struggle with those? sounds fake.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I wouldn't personally do it because I do not actually speak any other languages besides some pretty slipshod German! and nothing is more jarring than reading something and being like "that is NOT right." I don't think there's anything wrong with it as long as the dialogue is actually correct both linguistically and character-wise, but I'd need a very strong plot/character reason to do it, and also an assist from someone who did speak the language!

i also think English-language fandom has a tendency to toss in other languages to like, prove a character's either exoticism (as in a Latine character randomly dropping in Spanish) or skill (as in a white character suddenly sprinkling Thai in an otherwise English sentence) and I think that can be pretty shitty depending on context. but both of those are writing pitfalls that you can fall into without ever using the language!

First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior Cats! I read some of it out on Staircast :) It was honestly pretty good for being written by a 10- or 11-year old.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I couldn't answer this question the last time I got asked and I'm struggling again! I think this one really suffers from recency bias. right now, for instance, i'm deeply enamored of my secret samol which will go up next week! but that feels like cheating. i think i shouted out a lot of my faves already, though.

tagging: anyone who wants to do this, but especially @try-set-me-on-fire and @timetoboldlygo!

[overnighttosunflowers]

2022 year in review or what have you

It has been a busy year. Anyone who knows me will tell you that all of my years are busy years, and then gently yell at me that I need to do fewer things. They’d be correct; I was going pretty nonstop from June to Christmas and it took a lot out of me. BUT a lot of those things were good things:

went to three weddings and got to see many of my college friends for the first time in years

with my sister, organized and threw a big 60th birthday party for our parents

had visits from two other dear friends, neither of whom I’d seen since pre-pandemic

got to hang out for several cumulative weeks with my parents’ puppy whom I adore

played in two D&D campaigns; saw my cleric, who’s been with me for three years since level 1, hit level 10; and had some really wonderful roleplay moments

rejoined band for the first time since the pandemic started and picked my oboe back up for the first time in seven years

was deeply lucky to go to a bunch of shows both on and off Broadway, including Into the Woods, Merrily We Roll Along, The Music Man, Macbeth (Daniel Craig was fine) and Funny Girl (Lea Michele was amazing). I also saw the revival of Company with my girlfriend; it’s my very favorite show and it’s about relationships and marriage, so that felt a little vulnerable, but she loved it :’)

Not going to pretend it was all great, of course. My grandmother died this fall, shortly after turning 92, and that was hard. I fiddled with my meds when I shouldn’t have and gave myself a couple months of really bad anxiety. The forcibly slower pace of 2020-2021 had gotten me out of my habit of overbooking my life and I launched back into it in 2022 like an idiot with one of those clown punching bags. I kept sprinting relentlessly at overcommitments and then (surprise! who could’ve guessed!) kept getting slammed with the accompanying overwhelm and exhaustion. The worst was the day I thought I had finished my marathon autumn and instead found myself locked into a full month of jury duty. That sure was… something.

Pivoting back to the positives, though, the biggie was:

I changed jobs after six years!

I’d been at my previous job since I was fresh out of college and everyone’s assistant. While there were many reasons I finally decided to bounce, the biggest one was just... I was ready to hit reset and start fresh. So far it’s proving to have been a really good decision. Not one without its anxieties and stressors, but I’m much happier.

Not nearly as big, but felt big for me: I put together a whole cosplay and wore it! I’m a deeply self-conscious person, but lately I’ve been trying to chill out, loosen up, and let myself just happily exist as the person that I am. I’ve made costumes before, but wearing one with this level of effort and a wig and then like taking pictures in it felt like it crossed an event horizon of plausible deniability. And it felt good!

I also taught myself very basic leatherwork to make said cosplay, which was a blast.

Lastly, I know my job change should be what I’m proudest of this year, but actually, that’s this:

I wrote 47,000 words of fanfiction across seven different works.

I do a lot of writing (of a different sort) for my job, but I hadn’t written anything for pleasure, or even any fiction at all, in about five years. Then Imogen and Laudna decided to grab me by the throat, and suddenly I had things I wanted to say about them? And then people liked the stories I was telling? And then I kept writing and even pushed myself to try some new genres? And I found a community around all of it and made some great friends? (Sidebar: this has been such a wonderful fandom to be a part of, and y’all have been one of the things I’m most grateful for this year.) I didn’t see any of this coming but I’m so, so happy it did.

I historically haven’t been much for New Year’s resolutions, but this year I have a goal for real. I want to keep writing. There’s a longfic I’ve got fully plotted, and I’m intimidated as hell by the idea of writing something with chapters and a real plot, but I also think maybe I’m ready. Or I can certainly try :)

Anyway, happy new year, y’all. Here’s to another circle round the sun and however 2022 was for you, I hope 2023 is better. 💜

[wexhappyxfew]

2, 11, and 25 for the fanfic writer asks please!

HELLO ANON!! :D thank you so much for dropping by the askbox, i will happily answer these!! thank you so much truly!! <3

2. Where do you get your fic ideas?

My fic ideas usually start with the OCs! My first BoB fic, was my first ever fic I even published and the only one I wanted to publish and so years ago, there weren't many fics that I was able to find in the BoB fandom and so I just went with a very basic idea that I was happy with and saw a couple others doing. Charlotte Tarvers, a medic that joins Easy and lives the war with them; easy! Then by TSOS / AAPA, I went, hmmm....what if I did 3 OCs? A challenge! I made Hazel Parker, Catherine McCown and Elizabeth Elliot. I wanted a sniper so that went to Hazel, I wanted an OC with a degree and Lieutenant so that was Cath, and Lizzie became a medic! This fic focused on female friendship, platonic friendship and girlhood so heavily and I LOVED that so much! But as I ended the writing for that fic, I decided to move away from fic ideas based on OCs and went with plot instead and that's how Landslide and ATTDC were born!

Landslide developed from this story of heavy angst and grief and someone constantly fighting this uphill battle for themselves and their people - that's where Natia's was born. Polish-born, who became a SOE agent and was crafted very complexly. She had the struggles of her past, present and future tormenting her, this rough exterior, trust-issues, this feeling of abandonment and loneliness, depressing motives and thoughts, grief, the loss of her parents, this constant, overwhelming numbness....there was a focus on emotions and driving this heavy plot of Natia's internal monologue, motives, thoughts, behaviors and goals. It was based on the juxtaposition of having Natia 'numb' to emotions, but really, making the story FILLED with emotion, every aspect. You felt it. This fic was where I was able to reach that complexity, which I loved.

ATTDC was born because I wanted to take what Landslide was, but base it on the scale of 10 OCs (2 main, 8 more side OCs), with a different storyline and test it out and see what I could do, but still dealing with heavy emotions and feelings. We rather look through the eyes of a determined and eager reporter who faces the war and tells the stories of these women in the war; this idea was locked in my head for 2 years and is finally on some pages and so we'll see where that goes!

My ideas though really stem from what I want to see as well as what I want to challenge myself to do I feel, mainly. What can I do in the given setting and have it still make some sort of sense lol!

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

In order. I can't help it. I tried desperately to write and jump around when an idea came, but I found that the entire process writing up to that, I was beyond indecisive and switched things constantly, so that by the time the scene arrived, the character wasn't even the same person in the previously written scene lol! SO....everything from me is written right in order, as the story flows because my brain can't bounce (I wish sometimes it could though!!!).

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

answered!

[ramu-ego]

mind sharing your other fandom favs then? you have me sort of curious if ego is tots ur type LMFAOA .. omg aftwr u-20 win ego was such a proud dad the face he made was honestly sort of emotional ..!!

NEVVER APOLOGIZE 4 WRITING ANOTHER FIC IDEA HEL i think with my pussy half the time and i read ANYTHINGGG as long as it’s dom!reader (can you tell i’m desperate ORR WHATT?) ngl your “pussy dragging on the keyboard” comment made my ass giggle for a full minute LMFOAO i’ll be using that as well thanks!

personally 4 me i never was really into nikko ASSS MUCHH.. but i can see the hype .. cant stop thinking how sweaty and greasy his forehead must be after those thick ass bangs though.!.!?!

WOAH our timezones r so different HELLPP.. by the time you said it was 6:40 am, it was at least night for me, polar opposites in a way sorta! godd you’re a chronic coffee drinker?? i’m more of a tea person myself but coffee does power through most things with ur day anyways, don’t overdose on it or something!! (unless u alrdy do LOL)

i’ve been doing great as ever, taking my time to relax before i’ve got to get back to that tiring education life again.. 🥲 your blogs has been a good way to pass the time though so a win win for me!! for the blue lock anime last week, episode 10 was surprisingly good considering i was scared shitless of animation budgeting and if they would butcher it, sometimes the cgi makes me giggle but hell i’m such a blue lock supporter that i just move on from all of the questionable moments with the animation!

i’m a sub watcher for all animes (which, i haven’t touched a lot of animes .. if you’re an avid anime watcher, any recs?)

for me, u-20 match was an INSANE ride for me, def my fav and i always reread it in a way, i think everything leading up to it like the 3v3 or 4v4 matches were great too, but u-20 match was hype like no other !! whiichhh brings me to my next point, i need to see more of hiori as his design was just too cute for me to pass up, just the hair and the eyes were so ?!? eye catching imo..

oh jeez and there was this one panel with this blue lock player with the most nicest hair but he just. NEVER APPEARED LMFAOO? i haven’t seen him ever since — don’t even think we got a name

ah jeez i’m SOOOO SORRY if my messages get a bit too long, I HATE JUST RESPONDING INSTEAD OF. CONTINUING A CONVERSATION (if this makes sense?) .. so i tend to ramble ^^’ don’t feel pressured to mirror the length though!! i’d be heading off to bed as i send this message in, so this is sort of my goodnight :P - 💌

OH GOD THE OTHERS-

-this will be a dead give a way to some of my very very old followers who've accidentally re found me after I achieved my last blog and took a long hiatus. I have very specific...qualities...to a lot of them that overlap...

in order from top left to right; Kurono Yuichiro (Fire Force absolute love of my life and a near 1:1 character match to Ego honestly), Hanma Shuji (TokyoRev), Sir Nighteye (MHA), Asagiri Gen (Dr Stone), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Ginoza Nobuchika (Psycho Pass) ...three out of the six are played by the same English VA so you could say I have a type 😂

To be fair my other categories for favs are literally all copy and print similar too. My "These are my babies I'm breastfeeding them and enabling them" favs are near identical copies in every anime I watch 😂 then the third less talked about group...the dreaded libra group 😒

SOMETIMES YOU JUST WRITE WITH YOUR PUSSY AND NOT YOUR BRAIN AND THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING WITH THIS STUPID NIKO FIC THAT'S GOING WELL OVER SIX PAGES FOR NO STUPID REASON BESIDES THE PUSSY DESERVES IT UGH

ok but to gush a moment before forgetting the Ego during the U-20 match...that panel!!! Oh god that panel!!! Of him telling Isagi that what happened to him and his career didn't matter, that he was fine to be blacklisted from the sport he loved bc he assured all 22 of them had a career in soccer after this game, win or loose, OH GOD THAT PART. I will literally fist fight anyone at this point who wants to shit talk Ego and say he "doesn't care" bc that man was ready to throw away his livelihood for them to succeed on a world stage in the sport they love. Man's got protective dilf energy and I'm giving him a child this uterus is open for business rn

Niko is....Ok I'm blaming it on his VA actually (sorry I watch dubbed I just literally can't focus on subbed) and his English VA is a well known one but did a creepy high pitched voice with it and I mean I'm willingly fucking Ego like I'm advertising I'll kiss that weird man's ankles but Niko- Niko is just too fucking weird for me. But apparently the pussy wants to challenge that bc fuck me with a six plus page story over god damn nipples! Niko is still....too ugly for me RIP

My time zone is fucked at the butt end of everything so I am WAY use to being the last one up and last one to go to bed in every fandom I've ever been in 🤣 Learned that as a teen when literally no one was ever awake when I was RIP. But yes I'm a chronic coffee drinker I've always have been the bean it calls to me I must have it (given I don't drink enough to like NEED it or get a headache I just enjoy the taste but love tea too) Drank it thru my pregnancy and drank it breastfeeding no one's pulling the beautiful bean from my mouth. Love me a good tea though I won't deny good green, black and other teas hit different. Just no herbal shit stuff makes me wretch istg

Glad to hear I started this blog in good timing then! Ain't nothing like relaxing with some good pegging when you're trying to forget that book bullshit 💅 And honestly even though I picked up the manga right after like episode two (needed Ego I wasn't waiting lololol) I've been very happy with the animation cuz like the manga is illegally beautiful. Holy shit is the manga just so well done and the drawings are top tier throughout the entire thing (coming from tokyorev and jujutsu god I miss manga artists that don't just scribble on things like a coke addict) Questionable animation or not they keep slut drawing Ego's hands so damn fine and that man's watch I'll forgive any animation doozie long as my weird looking stick man looks fine as hell

I don't watch sub (I just can't take in the actual show and read plus I got a mad voice kink so....dubbed it is for me) But I've watch a fair share of anime. Don't really watch it for like...the sake of just watching anime (prefer western cartoons a little more) but I've watched some really good ones though. First on the list, Fire Force. I've single handedly convinced like two dozen people to watch this. It's my favorite of all time and will be tattooing the weird looking man in the collage on my body at some point bc of how much I love that series. Mob Psycho 100 is amazing as always for so many reasons and it has a bit of everything for everyone. The Case Study of Vanitas was better than it was aloud to be and I hate vampires. Dr. Stone fucking nerdy funny and entertaining. Psycho Pass is a good like murder mystery book. Sonny Boy and Space Dandy done by the same studio and will make you question your existence. Kekkaishi is old but still one of my favorites ever. And Blue Exoricst I wrote a 60+ chapter fan fic on it for a reason and its still going strong and written by a woman! Don't know about any of their sub versions but their stories and characters are so good they're worth it.

That entire block from the five round selection to the U-20 game was just- Fucking illegally good for a sports anime?? A sports anime for crying out loud?? Even the way they introduce so many new characters is so smooth and not even clunky and you genuinely take an interest in everyone even if you only see them for one game?? Hiori is cute...a little more feral than I expected when we first saw him being cute with Isagi and Nanase. But Hiori, Otoya, Karasu and Kurona haven't like wowed me yet. I'm invested but I'm still going real fucking soft on Yukimiya right now like. God. The eye thing. LET ME BABY YOU AND HAVE THAT SAD MAN. God he's gonna be so fucking pretty when he's animated I'm screaming already

Was that the panel of the dude with Gagamaru and Raichi? The one that's shown on the blue lock screen but we never have an actual manga cap of him?

PLS DON'T APOLOGIZE I TALK TOO MUCH I WAS A HAIRDRESSER FOR FIVE YEARS I TALK WAY TOO MUCH PLS NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR TALKING TO MUCH AS YOU CAN SEE I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL I'M SORRY I'M THE ONE RAMBLE. PLS HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY SINCE WE'RE OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE SUNNY TIME. RAMBLE ALL YOU WANT I ADORE IT <3

[rax-writes]

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Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes:  Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan​ did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two