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cancerjupiter · 4 years

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🔥 fire moons 🔥

aries moon

Probably the simplest, most bluntly honest and emotionally direct of all the Moon signs, they tend to be single-minded when involved in their latest enthusiasm, not liking to be bothered (least of all by “emotional” distractions or someone else’s “personal needs”). Most of them will have thousands of such interests in their lives, each of which takes on a feeling of pressing importance and tremendous urgency … until they lose interest when the source of excitement is no longer new. Very action-oriented and thus often a bit pushy, they frequently react impatiently, even when they are not nearly so annoyed or irritated as others may assume from their explosive behavior. Aries above all needs new challenges throughout their lives. Often fearless, the one fear Aries Moon does have is fear of boredom. They always need a new challenge.

They are usually poor listeners, not just because of their obsessive self-interest but also because they tend to jump to conclusions (unless they have, say, lots of Gemini or Libra in their charts, in which case the result is people who can be superb at “active listening”—quickly grasping the essentials and energetically giving lots of instant feedback). Actually, as one perceptive woman with Aries Moon pointed out to me, they need to feel that they are not influenced by others, and therefore they appear not to be listening to others’ advice or observations. And yet, months later, they may inadvertently reveal that they heard it very well and even reflected on it and accepted it later.

Easily bored, restless, rather self-centered, they are by nature competitive—even though many of them don’t like to acknowledge it. They simply have to be the best at everything! As one woman wrote, “Two women I know with Aries Moon are domineering. They think they know all the answers, and that they are always right” (AQ). However, even though instinctively competitive, they do not tend to hold a grudge since they move on to their next interest so quickly—unless they see the other person as an enemy to their freedom who is trying to control or limit them. They are in fact extremely self-sufficient; they prefer independence and the freedom to act without restriction and rarely seek any kind of input from others.

Women with Aries Moon (or Sun for that matter) often use “toxic masculinity” at least in a gentle, non doctrinaire way, because they respect strength and competitiveness, and thus have little time for weeping and moaning from others.

Men with Aries Moon tend to expect a lot from women. In women it gives a strong sense of purpose and freedom.

A thirty-year-old female wrote the following about men with Moon in Aries:

“They seem to totally involve their attention in a very direct and powerful way in the scrutiny of new “data,” often to the extent of monopolizing conversations or others’ attention until their interest wanes or changes focus. They’re also very self-centered: their ideas, their action, their feelings come first, and they don’t usually have a lot of empathy for the needs or feelings of others; they’ll listen, but they’re not consistently good with feedback or support.”

Aries Moon can be outspoken and tactless. Their emotional reactions to stimuli seem raw, completely spontaneous and uncensored.

leo moon

Those with Leo Moon react warmly, generously, and often with enthusiasm and/or humor. There is a childlike simplicity about them, and in fact their notable pride often resembles that of a child as well. These people need recognition and demonstrative affection, and their pride is often hurt if such attention is not given in sufficient and public ways. Like all the fixed signs (Taurus, Scorpio, and Aquarius being the others), Leo is a sign of extremes; and it is therefore difficult to paint a balanced picture of their personal tendencies. They are often shallow and prone to flattery, and yet they have considerable personal integrity, which is not usually compromised. Needing to live up to a big and rather dramatized image of themselves, the Leo Moon person can be rather a show-off. But they do it with such innocence and high expectations that they are often forgiven for their tendency toward self-absorption and dramatization. In fact, it seems they are so in need of attention and so childlike themselves that in very few cases do they have room for children in their lives, even though they often have a natural way with kids and can be great parents. Although not a scientific fact, all the Leo Moons I can think of offhand have either no children or only one child.

They can be loyal, sometimes blindly loyal to the point of foolish behavior that has a negative impact on everyone concerned; and they can be generous (but they do not mind if others notice their benevolence). Shortsightedness is perhaps one of Leo Moon’s worst faults. Some “cannot see past the ends of their noses” and are so self-absorbed that they do not even notice others’ reactions to their sometimes obnoxious, grandiose behavior. This shortsightedness surprisingly extends to their understanding of their own potential. It has always amazed me how many Leo Moon people (with innate talents and ability in abundance!) sell themselves short and wind up worldly failures in comparison to what they had the ability to do. I cannot help but suspect that one reason for this is that their huge pride prevents them from ever listening to (or asking for) honest feedback about themselves. Perhaps they secretly fear that they are not quite up to their self-image. They are known for being insulted easily, so they naturally do not want to expose their fragile ego to criticism, no matter how well-intentioned. But unless they develop a deeper self-understanding and the ability to accept authentic personal communication from others, they may remain engaging in their earnestness and simplicity, but it can eventually wear thin, like a person who never grows up.

Leo Moon people have a capacity for encouraging others that can be extremely supportive and strengthening in a crisis. They can be as solid a support system as one could ever want, but in other cases they seem fanatically convinced that they are having a great, positive impact on others (regardless of the truth) and they want to be thanked for it. Being admired is a central need in many with this Moon placement. (Note that Leo Moon is much more passive than Leo Sun, who is usually busy creating and doing.) There is a deep-down feeling of needing to live up to an image of bigness and greatness, even if they wind up resenting others for not noticing all that they have given. In short, the vast range of Leo Moon personalities evokes extreme reactions, and they are probably included in anyone’s list of people whom one has either deeply loved or strongly resented! Note the extreme and varied qualities noted about Leo Moon in this questionnaire response:

“People with the Moon in Leo always like to be on top of things. They like attention and some can be easily appealed to through the ego. Moon in Leo makes for dynamic personal expression. These people tend to make their presence felt.… the person often tries very hard to make others see them as somebody special, getting mixed reactions from others. While tending to be somewhat opinionated these people can make good listeners, can be very concerned, very caring even if a little overbearing. Moon in Leo is gregarious, dynamic, and can be very creative.”

Another perceptive observation about them:

“Moons in Leo are emotionally melodramatic. They’re easily upset, and tend to get fixated on what they’re feeling, sometimes to the point that their feelings become a major issue in which everyone around them has to participate. They like the excitement of having everyone’s attention on them, even when the price for that is an argument or some kind of conflict. Once they’ve satisfied themselves that they have everyone’s full attention, they’ll usually happily drop the issue and magnanimously allow someone else the “spotlight.” They’re performers.”

sagittarius moon

Tolerant, broad-minded, with a buoyant attitude toward life, those with Sagittarius Moon are idealistic by nature and instinctively react with a philosophical attitude toward any setback, knowing that the future (not the past!) is what matters. They are most comfortable when exploring ideas, ideals, or outdoor places and love a sense of freedom without limits. The distant horizon is always felt as more appealing than the here and now. They particularly need mental freedom (including religious and spiritual room to improve themselves), since their aspirations are not just high but boundless. In fact, the term “upbeat” was invented by a Sagittarius Moon! As one Sag Moon woman always repeated as her mantra, “I see the glass as half-full, not half-empty.” They like to entertain groups of people with their humor. In fact, they want to say yes to every opportunity; they want to feel that life is unbounded by any limits, and so they tend to instinctively promise far more than they can ever deliver. They assume, I suppose, that everyone else forgets as many immediate details as they do, a habit that backfires when angry friends and colleagues confront them demanding to know why the promise did not follow through. As a questionnaire reply asserted, “A need to be all things to all people” characterizes Sagittarius Moon. Generosity and “bigness” are dominant factors in their lives and in their sense of reality and self-image.

Sagittarius is the sign most likely to be oblivious to the realities right in front of them that are obvious to everyone else, so focused are they on the distant goal. Since the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Sagittarius Moon people need to be sure that their goals and ideals are grounded in what is truly possible. They do need a large guiding vision to motivate them in life, but they also need periodic times of self-examination to assess whether they are themselves living up to their ideals. They like to preach to others (usually “helpfully,” in their view), but if something does not work out, well, that is not their problem. Sagittarius Moon people rather dislike the heaviness of daily “reality” and personal or emotional problems.

They have difficulty handling any criticism and often in fact become more indignant than any other sign—a pride that is usually hidden and often surprises others who take their positive, happy demeanor at face value. As Donna Cunningham wrote, “The things that set Sagittarius Moon people off are having one of their pet theories or convictions demolished”. This pride, manifesting at times as a rather exalted view of oneself (perhaps as the only one who can reveal the “truth”), is part of the dualistic nature of Sagittarius, the symbol for which is the centaur—half horse and half human. Sagittarius has the lifelong task of integrating their more idealistic nature with their more unrefined, impulsive, egocentric tendencies. At their worst, they are so proud of their “honesty” (sometimes viewed by other people as tactless bluntness) and of their own moral or intellectual righteousness that—unless more humble or sensitive factors are also dominant in the chart—they can be so uncompromising in their mode of expression that they are often perceived as inconsiderate and unnecessarily hurtful.

Perhaps the key for Sagittarius Moon people to feel authentically at home with themselves is to apply their honesty to themselves as bluntly as they express it to others! They often think too highly of themselves and want to project an admirable image to others. They like to feel idealistic and upstanding, but if they look at themselves honestly, they often have to admit that they are not as impeccably honorable as they like to think; for they can rationalize their behavior as well as anyone when it is convenient or advantageous to do so. Sagittarius Moon is thus a good example of the fact that how people feel about themselves (always directly related to the Moon in anyone’s birth chart) is not necessarily how others see them and their behavior.

A couple quotations from questionnaires can round out this description of Sagittarius Moon:

“Easygoing, gets along with and accepts strangers without discrimination—though sometimes self-righteous and snobbish. Independent emotionally, doesn’t seem to need so much from one as they can get from many.”

“Moon in Sagittarius can be very high-minded, they respond very actively to life. These people can try to push others or just be domineering in general. They can be a little pushy but this is generally out of enthusiasm. For both sexes, can be very direct. For men—very honest in attitude, they say what is on their mind. For women this is also a very blunt placement. Both sexes can often be tactless; they speak the truth as they see it and figure that others should just accept it no matter how hard it is to swallow.”

#astrology #zodiac signs #aries #leo #moon signs #sagittarius #aries moon #leo moon #sagittarius moon #moon in aries #moon in leo #moon in sagittarius

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

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Unknown.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x puppy!girl OC

For: @kazooli

Warnings: sex pollen, tw.dubcon, tw.unbalanced relationship, tw.blood/gore, unrequited feelings, puppy!reader, established OC, NSFW/18+only

Word Count: 3681

Notes: the is part of the Evil Exchange! i had a lot of fun with this concept & am so glad i got to take part! this fic does have an established OC & while she is not named, she does have physical descriptions that are not neutral.

[ 2:15 am, Monday morning ]

He shouldn’t have taken you along. You don’t belong here.

Your quirk isn’t equipped to deal with something like this [ or is it perfect? since all of your senses are acutely attuned to him, your lips open, tongue heavy between your teeth, drool pooling under your jaw and down your neck, your eyes gleaming with an unnatural sheen as you try to hump against his leg like a bitch in heat ] and you have little in the way of melee attacks, or a true defense. No, all you have is your pretty blonde hair, floppy ears that prick each time you hear him, and that incessantly wagging tail that sticks out from your pert little ass, like a goddamn antenna. You’re absolutely too pure for this, too fucking saccharine, and too damn nice to be here.

Fuck. This was a mistake.

[ 72 hours before the mission ]

“It’s in that old warehouse, the one by the docks.”

“Which one? The images that we have show multiple buildings.”

“The fuck do I know? You only wanted me to ask around about the place. If you wanted me to do the damn job for you, you should have said.”

Shigaraki narrows his eyes at Dabi’s hunched back, doing his best to remind himself that they’re already low on funds, on members, and they can’t afford to lose anything else. Not now, when they’re literally scraping along the bottom of the barrel, yanking out whatever dregs they can find and trying desperately to make them stick.

“Did they give you a time?”

“For the exchange? Yeah, said they’re gonna be down there around 1am.”

“And the date?”

“Date?” Dabi questions, whipping his dark head back to Shigaraki’s impassive face, arching one dark brow.

“Yeah,” Shigaraki intones, a half concealed snarl lifting his cracked lips. “The date for when this is all going to take place. We can’t send someone down there every night, hoping it’s the correct time. They’ll be noticed.”

“Said they wanted it to be this Monday, something about shelf life. Apparently this shit is better when it’s fresh. Sells quicker, is more effective.”

“How much did they agree to hand over?”

“Fucking–look man, I didn’t grab a cup of coffee with them, or ask if they wanted to go get some lunch. I told them our terms, they agreed and gave me the location, ‘date’ and time. What did you want me to do? Paint their nails? Suck em’ off? If you’re wanting to get into the drug trade, maybe ask a few more questions yourself. Not leave them to middlemen. You act like you wanna be a leader, so fucking act like–”

A quiet knocking breaks Dabi’s tirade and both men turn toward the closed door.

“What?” Shigaraki snaps, raising a hand to his neck, scritching his long nails against the scars that he finds. It’s a shitty habit, and he knows it gives his agitation away, but he doesn’t care. The sooner Dabi loses his temper and fucks back off to the streets, the better.

The door creaks open and your golden head pops around the corner, hair falling into the empty air as your dog like ears waggle, listening, testing the safety of the room. Your eyes shift from Dabi’s bristled form to Shigaraki and the moment they alight on his stony expression, you smile.

“M-mister Tomura, um, the others… well, we were talking and heard Dabi shouting… uh, they… I mean… I was wondering if you’ve assigned anyone to the new mission? The one you mentioned the other day?”

Dabi snorts and you toss his lanky frame a glare, ears flattening along the side of your head. “Yeah, I bet you wanna know who’s going with Mister Tomura. Got news for you girly, it’s prolly not gonna be you.”

Your quivering pink lips are about to form a retort when Shigaraki’s voice croaks out. “Enough. Tell the others we’ll discuss this later. Dabi, don’t you have some recruits that you’re supposed to show me?”

The flame user waves a lackadaisical hand and stands, inky head cocked toward your pouting face, letting his sharp gaze linger against your angry expression. “Soon boss. Told you already, quality takes time. Not that you know that, since all you seem to attract is freaks, like this one.”

[ 21 hours before the mission ]

“You’re really taking her?” Toga asks, twirling a small knife between her splayed fingers. “I mean, isn’t she kinda lacking in… experience?”

“She’s the only one who can smell out any fakes. I don’t trust these guys. They might try to offload a lower grade product to us.” Shigaraki explains, tucking the battered case of quirk destroying bullets back into his jacket pocket. In the last 24 hours things have gone from bad to worse, what with the news that Twice couldn’t replicate the serum, and the potential, permanent loss of Kurogiri. He’s not about to add double crossed by some two bit drug dealers to that list.

“You want me to give her some weapons? A knife or something? I’ve got plenty of extra. Can’t ever have too many and besides, I like her. And I know she’ll bring them back, safe and sound. She’s such an obedient girl.”

Obedient.

That’s an apt word for you. Maybe it’s an after effect of your quirk, or the puppy-like way you act around him [ with that permanently blissed out smile and thumping tail of yours ] but your swift, unquestioning compliance always makes him think of an over eager pet.

“She’s malleable, and that’s what I need on this mission.”

“Ah! You saying I wouldn’t be?”

“Tch. You wouldn’t even try.”

[ 7 hours before the mission ]

He’s taking you.

It hadn’t been some kind of dream, he’d really shown up in your doorway, with his red eyes glowing in the low light, his sharp jaw tensed, and told you that you’d be accompanying him. Just you and him, together, alone, on a mission where he’d need to rely on you. Could trust you, would talk with you.

As soon as he left, you’d flopped back against the ratty mattress that sat in the middle of your room, trembling fingers already shoving the elastic lining of your shorts down, letting you thumb a quick circle over your throbbing, distended clit. In seconds you’re leaking all over your hand, mind whirring, picturing how he’ll look as he walks beside you, listening for the bite of his voice, imagining him telling you what a good girl you are. He’ll be so pleased, so happy with you. Oh, the things he’ll say to you.

Look at you, you did so well.

Thank you. Thank you for coming on this with me.

I can’t wait to take you [ bend you over and ] with me again.

I can’t wait to [ fuck your little pussy until you’re screaming for me ] get you home safely.

You did such a good job.

I wouldn’t have [ until you’re cumming all over my cock ] been able to do it without you.

You’d make the perfect apprentice, you know?

You really [ such a greedy little bitch ] would.

You’re perfect [ look at how you’re taking me. i’m gonna fuck you stupid, you dirty slut ] and I’m happy that you’re here with me.

That I found you.

Your release builds swiftly. Making your feathery tail ripple over the tattered sheets and your ears tremble in the chilly air. You feel you’re catching alight. It’s too much, and you hate that you’re not taking your time, but you can’t hear his voice as well now.

The memory of it is fading as Mister Tomura pads away from you, down the long hallway that leads to his room.

You remind yourself to listen more, as your fingers pinch and twist at your shuddering clit, to memorize every detail of him. You want to see him every time you close your eyelids and be able to picture him again each morning. To wash yourself in that hazy vermillion of his eyes and the timbre of his voice.

It’s too soon, but your toes are already curling, your back is arching, welcoming the rush of wetness that slips between your shaking thighs. You feel lightheaded, but your dulled senses does nothing to mask the giddiness that keeps bubbling its way out of your chest.

Tomorrow. Mister Tomura is taking you with him tomorrow.

[ Mission begins: 1 am, Monday morning ]

“Um, Mister Tomura… do you want me to go in first? That way you can–”

“No, they know I’m coming.”

“Oooh! So there’s no need for surprise!”

“Correct.”

The dark buildings along the wharf are slowly peeking into view and Shigaraki peers over at your grinning face, his red eyes watchful under the dark hood of his jacket. You look happy, a little too happy. You’re the best choice for this mission, but he can’t shake that uneasy feeling that keeps nagging at the back of his mind.

Eager is one thing, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. That tail of yours won’t stop lashing back and forth and each time he sees your ears twitch and your head snap up to his, he’s reminded that you’ll need to be looked after on this. Unlike the others, you don’t have an affinity for combat or a quirk that gives you any kind of advantage in a fight. Nevertheless, you’re a member of the league and that connection affords you certain privileges.

Unless he has no other option, he won’t abandon you.

As the two of you step toward the fifth warehouse, you lean closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his obsidian jacket, a quiet huff of air falling from your parted lips. “This is it,” you tell him, mismatched eyes blinking up at his impassive expression.

When he says good, you almost snatch at his arm, and you try to hold back your panting breaths, to not let them slip out, but you know he can see, he can tell. He always can. You feel his sharp gaze passing over you, and sense his blistering annoyance when you subconsciously lean into him a little harder, rubbing your clothed shoulder against his.

“You ready Mister Tomura?” The question leaves you on a whisper and you bite your lower lip into your mouth, wanting him to say yes, wanting him to tell you what a good job you’ve done, finding the location like this. That he’s ready for anything as long as you’re by his side.

“Step back,” he murmurs, lifting three fingers to the door as he shoves it open, the metal wheels screeching into the static quiet of the night.

[ 1:45 am, Monday morning ]

“What’s wrong with her?” Shigaraki demands, releasing the throat of the leader of this de facto gang, sending him crashing across the grimy floor of the warehouse.

“I– koff, koff, I d-don’t… fucking know! She just… shit… sniffed the stuff and started shaking.”

“What’s in it? I’ll give you five seconds.” There’s no time for this and if you’re having some kind of reaction to the drugs, he’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do with you. A villain hospital is out of the question and sensei’s doctor can’t be located. Shit.

“It’s… it’s got some kinda quirk enhancing property… I don’t think that–”

“Five,” Shigaraki begins, stepping over the gristled remains of the others, his red shoes bright against the pools of darkening blood.

“What!? You can’t be serious! Look, man, I’m not the one who manufactured them! I–”

“Four.”

“Oh my God, oh m-my…. look, he said something about increasing the instincts. Making the user less–”

“Three.”

“Libido! It increases libido! I think… no! No! Please! Don’t you–Keep the fuck away from me, you freak! Don’t–I’m trying to tell you! Come on! Please! I don’t–”

Shigaraki lets the man struggle, watching his fruitless scramble across the floor; hands flapping against the gritty concrete with loud smacks, and feet slipping. He looks like a fish on a line.

“None of those things let me know what’s in the drug,” he informs his prey, blood slicked shoes stepping down, trapping the man under his heel, halting his frantic motions.

“That’s not… not… Y-you said you’d give me until five?”

“Did I?” Shigaraki asks, a wide grin cracking over his face, one hand lowering, fingers splayed, reaching. “Looks like I lied.”

The man’s shrieks quickly turn into deep throated garbles as the decay of Shigaraki’s quirk races up his body, reducing him to a mass of shattered bones, hollowed teeth and gushing ichor. Pity, Shigaraki thinks, wiping his bloodied hand against his dark pants and twisting back to your trembling form.

You’re whimpering, your voice catching as you try to gulp down a few breaths and your tail is flat, its usual golden hanging lusterless in the darkness. When he steps closer, your head lifts and he can see the hopeful prick of your floppy ears. Your cheeks and the line of your neck are flushed, creating a burst of dusty pink that blends perfectly with your flaxen hair. You look like a doll, tiny and shivering in the cold, your puppy-like features wilted under the weight of the drug that’s coursing through your bloodstream.

“M-Mister T-T-T-omura,” you whine, one hand lifting, straining for him. “I-I feel… I feel… hot. It… it’s too warm. I think I’m… I don’t know if… if I–”

“Can you walk?” He cuts right to the chase, not liking that shimmering line of desperation that’s laced within your words. You look like you’re about to fall to pieces, but he needs more information. He can’t help you, he reasons, pushing down that inner voice that’s screaming for him to step away from your curled body, if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“D-dunno…” you stammer, licking your pastel tongue across your lips, making them slick, pouting them forward. “I don’t… I don’t feel so good.”

“I know,” he reminds you, kneeling in front of you, placing himself within your reach.

In hindsight, it was a stupid move. He knows better. It could have been avoided. He should have paid more attention, not underestimated your tenacity, your want.

Your fingers are under his shirt before he can blink, and before he can breathe, you’re coiling your way into his lap, forcing him to fall to the ground, pressing against him until he’s sure there’s nothing else of you he can hold. “M-Mister… please… p-please! Mister Tomura! Make it go away!”

He tries to shove you off, carefully lifting fingers away, pushing at you with eight digits, hoping you’ll stop squirming. But it doesn’t work and the wet lap of your tongue catches him utterly by surprise. He stiffens under you, his arms falling to his sides, neck rigid, vermillion eyes wide, but you don’t care.

Mister Tomura smells so nice this close.

It’s a musty scent, sticky and clammy, but oh, there’s something else under there. Something that makes you think of slickening skin, the rub of your fingers, and the tacky drip that sometimes falls from between your legs. It’s too much; it’s making you feel woozy and your hands shake as they reach for his face, but you want more. You need more.

“Is this ok? I-Is this alright Mister Tomura? Can I pet you? Please?”

There’s no reply. So you continue, lacing your hands into his pearlescent hair and lowering his lips to yours. He feels rough against your soft lips, so you dip your tongue out to loosen him up, poking until he gives you a halfhearted press, the hot exhale of his nose passing over your pink tinted cheek. “That’s right Mister,” you repeat, encouraging him to let you taste more, rutting your hips against the stiffened plane of his upper thigh. “Let me take care of you, Mister Tomura. Can I be your good girl? Hmm?”

When your fingers pad over his crotch, he groans and his back arches. You pull away, awed by his reaction, hoping he’ll be looking at you, imagining how pretty his eyes will look when they’re lit up with the want of you. But his head is turned and his jaw is set in a foreboding clench. “Mist–Mister Tomura?” you blurt out, hands grabbing at the sides of his face, forcing him back to you.

The dark look he fixes you with makes your heart pound and you can tell your tail is wagging furiously behind you. You like it when he looks at you like that. He likely thinks it’s cold, uncaring, but you know. You know the truth, that he wants you.

Everything inside of you is clattering, rattling at you, screaming out that he wants this.

“I see,” you begin, your hips picking up their pace, hoping he’ll let you slip your rapidly dampening pants off. “You want me too, right? You want me to help you with that.” Here you pause, lowering one hand to trace up the curve of his clothed cock, cupping at it until he’s gritting his teeth, showing you a bright line of white. “I can do that, Mister. I’ll do anything for you, anything. Just let me be your good girl, ‘kay?”

[ 2:24 am, Monday morning ]

He’s pushed you back, but not too far. Not far enough that your delicate toes can’t reach him.

It hadn’t taken much to work his black jeans open, just a quick flick of your wrist and a sharp tug and then there he was, his tip red, beads of pre-cum frothing against his slit, weeping downward. Delicious, is all that you could think, and your lips were around him before he could stutter forward. He makes the cutest sounds when he’s shoving past the ring of your mouth, but it’s gotta hurt his hands when he’s clawing them along the ground like that.

He should relax.

Once you’d worked him over, hungrily slathering over his dripping cock head, and greedily felt him pulse against the flat of your tongue, you’d shifted off of him. He gasped when you let go, and you thoroughly enjoyed the pop that all that wetness made in the still air.

When you slid your pants over the curve of your hips he’d stood, but maybe this drug had given you some kinda super strength besides that fire that was thrumming in your veins, because after you’d trapped him between your spread knees, he hadn’t struggled since.

Maybe he’ll like this? Or this?

It’s really just a guessing game now, and even though Mister Tomura isn’t the most enthusiastic player, he is a reactive one.

The mess of your saliva quickly lubricated the arch of your foot and his copious pre-cum and you run it up and down his straining length, pressing the other forward when you hear him grunting, his hips bucking upwards, helping you.

“You like this Mister Tomura?”

You’re still waiting on your good girl and you hope you’ll do something that ekes it from his clamped lips. But you can wait, after all Mister Tomura likes when you work hard, when you do your best for him.

He lets out a yelp when you speed up and you laugh, so happy that he’s happy.

[ 2:56 am, Monday morning ]

“Mister! Mister Tomura, please! It… ah… it hurts again. C-can you p-put it… mmm… in… inside me?”

It’s the third time you’ve asked him that question, but he’s not listening to you anymore. Instead, he’s shoving you down, lifting the round globes of your red smacked ass and tracing the heavy tip of his cock over your leaking slit. He presses forward and back, slicking himself with your milky release, tacking your arousal all over him. At some point, something broke within him and you’re still exalting in the heady feel of him over you.

“M-Mister Tomu–”

“Shut up. If you call me that one more time, I’ll stop right now. Just leave you here, naked, all alone and unprotected,” Shigaraki threatens, reaching around for your swollen clit and giving it a sharp pinch. You quake under his hands and he watches as your puppy ears fall and your tail brushes against his sweat slicked chest. “Imagine what would happen if someone came along and saw you like this? Saw you panting and humping the floor. You look like a fucking dog. Like some loose bitch who can’t think of anything other than the feel of someone’s dick. You want this? Huh?”

He grabs at your golden hair and pulls you upwards, forcing your spine into a u shape, watching as your tongue flops out of your mouth, as your drool falls down your chest. The tiny buds of your breasts do little to catch the saliva, so most fall on your trembling hands and you let out a piteous whine, hoping he’ll show you some mercy. Hoping he’ll fuck you until you can’t think.

“Answer me.” His voice is iron and you shudder, ass wiggling as you gasp out his name and a chorus of yeses. When his tip aligns with your entrance, it sends a jolt of electricity across your heated skin.

“Want me to call you a good girl?” he asks, pushing until his bulbous head is just tucked inside that first ring of pink muscle, grunting as you try to take him deeper, your cunt ravenously clamping around him.

“Y-yes! C-C-Call m-me that! T-Tell meee!”

“Then promise me you’ll never touch me again. Promise me you’ll never come near me. Tell me I’ll never have to look at that simpering face of yours and I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

“B-But Mister… I mean… but… T-Tomu-Tomura. I-I can’t do that. I l-love you!”

“That’s too bad,” Shigaraki hums, jerking his hips forward, feeding you another tantalizing inch of his cock, watching as your viscid arousal gushes outward, coating the flesh of your inner thighs and staining his curled thatch of pubic hair.

“Because I don’t love you.”

#evil exchange #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: dubcon #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: unrequited feelings #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x oc #puppygirl #sex pollen #bnha smut #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #kazooli

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clusterbuck · 3 years

Text

in the eyes of all posterity

(1.8k, rated T, complete) (read it on ao3)

tw: no one actually dies, but there's a lot of thinking about death

post-well, eddie makes an if you're watching this it means i'm dead video for christopher (and a little bit for buck, too)

Eddie sits in front of his laptop and stares at the grainy reproduction of himself on the screen. The image quality is—abysmal, really. And since posterity is kind of the whole point, he considers putting this whole thing on hold until he can acquire a different camera, something where the planes of his face are actually discernible.

But it’s taken him several days to psych himself up enough to actually do this, and if he stops now he isn’t sure he can make himself start again. And this is important.

Maybe the quality is a good thing, anyway. It smooths out the dark bruising under his eyes, blends it in and makes it looks like shadows from the uneven lighting of the room. Christopher doesn’t know the specifics of the well, but Eddie knows his kid is worried about him, knows he still looks like he was buried alive even days later. The mud washed off, eventually, but the haunted desperation in his eyes didn’t.

So maybe it’s a good thing that the camera softens some of it out. If, god forbid, this video ends up being the last thing Christoper has of him, at least he won’t look quite as wrecked as he currently feels.

He moves his mouse over to the record button, but he can’t make himself click it just yet. He’s never been too superstitious, but—the idea of preparing for his own death just feels deeply wrong. A small, irrational part of him worries that preparing for it is as good as letting the universe know he’s ready to go.

But the rest of him knows that when the universe decides to come for him, it isn’t going to care one way or the other how prepared he is. So he might as well do what he can.

Eddie takes a deep breath and hits record.

“Hey, Christopher,” he says, trying to remember to look at the camera and not his own face. “If, uh—if you’re watching this, it means something bad happened to me at work. Or—I guess it could have happened somewhere else, too, but work is most likely.”

Eddie is hit with a sudden, deep conviction that he should have planned this out. Should have prepared what he was going to say, written down some kind of script or at least some goddamned bullet points.

Except he tried that. Has been trying it for the past several days, really. And every time he managed to get something down, when he looked it over later it never felt genuine. It felt like someone took his feelings and shrink-wrapped them, freeze-dried them.

Rehearsing what to say might have made for a more coherent video, but if this is all he gets to leave behind, Eddie doesn’t need it to be coherent so much as he wants it to be authentic. He wants Christopher to remember the real him, and try as he might, he couldn’t get a pre-written script to feel real.

“There’s a couple of things I want you to know,” he says now. “First—and this is the most important one—I need you to know that whatever happened, it wasn’t my choice. I want you to remember that if I had a choice, I would come home to you every single night for the rest of time.”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “But something happened the other day that reminded me we don’t always have a choice. This time it had a happy ending—I got to come home to you—but next time it might not. So I—I just wanted to make sure you’d have something to hold on to.

“The second thing I want you to know is something we’ve talked about before. I don’t know if you remember, I don’t know when you’re watching this—god, I hope you never have to watch this. But you might, that’s the whole point. So. It might be a while since we talked about it, but remember how I asked you who should look after you if I couldn’t be there?”

It was the first thing Eddie had done when he’d gotten home, that day after the well. Or—the second, after he’d spent just slightly too long in a shower just slightly too hot, trying to scald the memory of the mud off his skin.

It hadn’t worked. He still feels it every time he closes his eyes—the weight of forty feet of earth collapsing on him, the pressure of the mud surrounding him, the water attempting to breach his lips and replace the oxygen rapidly disappearing from his lungs.

But he got out of the shower and put all of that aside, at least long enough to sit down with Christopher. Long enough to ask the question he hopes he never needs the answer to.

Christopher looked thoughtful for all of ten seconds before asking, “If you can’t be there, can Buck be there?”

And Eddie felt steadier than he had since descending into that shaft. The question hardly bears thinking about, but at least he and Christopher were on the same page. Buck was his first choice, too—how could he not be?

Buck, who’s never treated Christopher like anything but a fully-formed person in a child-sized body. Buck, who accommodates Christopher’s needs as easily as he breathes, and goes out of his way to build accessible skateboards just because. Buck, who walked through a watery hell for hours on end to find Christopher, and who Eddie knows would do it again and again and again, as many times as is necessary.

Of course Buck was his first choice. His only choice, really. He stopped having other choices a long time ago.

“Buck’s going to take care of you,” Eddie says now. “Just like we talked about.

“This isn’t going to be easy for either of you, I know,” he says, and feels like the most arrogant man on the planet. Even if it’s most likely safe to assume that his son and his best friend will miss him if he dies, saying the words out loud feels—presumptuous, somehow.

But this isn’t about him, it’s about Christopher. And if he knows his kid at all, giving him something to focus on will help more than anything else. “So I need you two to look out for each other, okay? It might take a while to adjust, but I know you’ll figure it out. Together.”

He should probably tell Buck he’s changed his will, so Buck can be prepared. Just in case. It’s the rational thing to do. Guardianship of a child is not something Buck should be blindsided by, even if Eddie knows there’s no iteration of the universe in which Buck refuses to take Christopher in.

He’s tried, a couple of times. He’s picked up the phone and pulled up Buck’s contact, intending to invite him over so he can tell him about the changes he’s made to his will. But he stop himself every time.

Because the truth of his feelings for Buck bubbles under his skin every time Buck is near, and he doesn’t know how to lift the lid enough to tell him about the will and then clamp it down again before everything boils over—and it can’t boil over, not when Buck isn’t the least bit interested in anything but friendship.

He’s going to do it. He really is. He just needs to work up to it.

“I could give you all kinds of practical life advice,” he says to the camera now. “But I don’t know that it would be worth much if I’m not there to see the context. So instead I’ll tell you this: listen to Buck. Whatever it is, Buck will help you figure it out. The two of you are gonna get through it together. I know he’s always gonna do what’s best for you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t ask Abuela or Pepa or Carla, but—if you ever wonder what I would think, I want you to know that I trust Buck to make the same decisions I would. I have absolute faith in him.”

He shifts his gaze a little, hoping that on the video it lands somewhere close to where he needs it to. “Buck, I know you’re watching this too,” he says. “I need you to believe everything I just said, okay? I need you to believe it because it’s the truth, and because I don’t know how you’re gonna get through this if you don’t.”

And just for a moment, Eddie thinks about letting everything spill over. About telling Buck he loves him, just for posterity’s sake, so that even if he never gets to say the words to Buck directly they’ll at least be out in the universe.

But it doesn’t seem fair to Buck, to leave them behind after he’s gone. After he’s no longer there to witness the potential fallout.

So Eddie just sighs and looks back at the camera. “One last thing,” he says. “Christopher, never forget how much I love you. I told your mom once that being your dad is the single greatest joy of my life, and that’s going to be true whether I die at work tomorrow or in fifty years as an old man. I’m going to remind you as much as I can, for as long as I can—but tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, so this is a reminder that will outlast me. I love you, and nothing is ever going to take that away.”

Eddie ends the recording and drops his head into his hands. He’d thought he’d feel lighter, getting it all on the record, but it turns out spending any amount of time actively thinking about the prospect of your own untimely death isn’t exactly the mood booster he’d hoped it would be.

It’s still a relief, though—knowing that if something does happen to him, he has an ironclad plan for Christopher, and a chance to say goodbye, even if only indirectly. It’s a relief, but now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how to switch back out of the morbid headspace he’s climbed into.

There’s a shuffling sound, and then Christopher peers around the door. “Dad?” he asks. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Thank god for his kid. “Yeah, buddy, I really do,” Eddie says. He picks Christopher up on his way out of the door, relishing the warm weight of his son in his arms, and Christopher squirms and protests that he can walk by himself.

“I know you can,” Eddie says, but he squeezes just a little tighter and kisses Christopher’s temple before setting him down. Just because he can.

#911 fox #eddie diaz #911 fic #buddie #emma writes #shush emma

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it.

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.��

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it. I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming. I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them. By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner.

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural. Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell. One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,” I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did. They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.”

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air. “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival. Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious. Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.28

A Dangerous Homecoming

04/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,529

Warnings: wounds, blood, language, fluff

A/N: We are in the home stretch my loves. The end is in sight. Hopefully I can speed up my momentum. I have the chapters outlined out but always seem to slow down when I’m near the end. I’ve done it with lots of my stories. And I am SORRY. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Consciousness isn’t something that Steve is often at odds with.

From that fateful day when his mother gave in to her most rabid of fears and made her deal with the Sun Witch. With Doctor Erskine’s enthusiastic encouragement and his own experimental flare, Steve’s fate was changed.

He was altered, irrevocably so. The man he might have grown up to be—or rather, the man he would have died as—had disappeared and in his place a new one was formed. One of drive but not ambition. One with the will to do good and now with the strength to do so.

Steve had been blessed with the body to fight, but now he understands that he was also cursed to drag everyone he loves into the darkness opposite his light.

He gasps, sweating into his expensive and ridiculously extravagant tunic. The dark blue, etched in delicate silver and blacks is nearly soaked through.

His dark gray undershirt clings to his wounded and bruised form.

His lungs struggle for breath as his fear mounts, choking him as silver steel eyes grow dark, black, and dangerous. A curtain of deep chestnut hair flutters around a pale but cold bitten face. There’s a gleam to this man’s left and a fist curls with a keening cry as metal bends.

Steve’s hands twitch. His lips part, dried blood crackling around the edges of his lips.

His fever rages, burning hotter than he’s ever burnt before. The wound in his side stings. The pain is consistent until suddenly it stops.

As the dark eyes charge forward, his weapon hand raised to strike, a soft dampness coaxes Steve away from the image. He gasps, death poised to strike only inches away, when a soft whisper pulls him out.

“Shhhh.” The whisper says and Steve lashes out.

His eyes open wide, his hand closed tight around muscle and bone.

“Ow.” You whisper, pained but also controlled.

Steve’s eyes search and find you to his left, right hand angled painfully away from his face with a damp piece of cloth in its grasp.

“You’re safe.” You tell him gently, trying to convince him. “You’re alright.”

The panic in his chest dissipates. His heart begins to slow. There’s a searing burn on his left side and he looks down to see his shirt and tunic pulled up to expose a long wound now stitched together and freshly cleaned.

“Steve…” You plead. “My hand.”

His panic returns and he drops your wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

He pushes himself up but stops as you place a restraining hand on his chest.

“Don’t get up.” You order.

And it is and order. No doubt about it.

Though Steve knows that you take your role as Queen of Broklin very seriously, he has never heard you use that very authority on him and it strokes it heartstrings like a harp.

He sits back, resting against what feels like sacks of grain. It isn’t exactly soft but it’s better than the ground. Beneath his is warm mattress, hay by the feel of it. Grass too probably.

With his senses returning, he takes a quick look around where you’ve brought him.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” You tell him, resuming the cleaning of his face. “Or it used to be.”

You gently massage away the grime from his skin. The blood caked on his scratches and cuts require a bit more pressure but you’re as gentle as can be.

While you work, he takes it in. Your once home.

It’s small. Only one room, slightly smaller than his study back in Broklin.

The floor is made of aged wood that creaks as you shift on your knees to reach the far side of his neck.

There are small holes and cracks, moldy spots of green in one corner. In another a vibrant yellow weed pokes through from the ground below.

The wattle walls have been painted to attempt a brighter interior. The paint is scarce. He can see how you tried your best to make this little room a home.

The windows, all without panes of glass and only shutters to keep out the cold in winter, have begun to crumble and splinter. A vine has begun to take over, weaving it’s way in and up into the leaky thatched roof.

“Sorry about the water. It started raining while I was in the village.” You explain and his eyes hone in on you.

“You went out alone?” He demands, fear beginning to grab hold.

“Just for a little bit.” You stop your cleaning, meeting his fretful gaze with what he knows now is a stubborn will to be independent. “I needed to get some food and clean scraps for your wounds.”

Steve frowns, hating that you'd gone anywhere without him.

He reaches up to place his hand along your left cheek, caressing your skin until his finger finds a small three inch pucker across your cheek bone.

“You’re hurt.” He hates it. He hates it so much his stomach begins to bubble with bile.

“It’s just a scratch, Steve.” You shake your head, then lean towards him again to resume your cleaning. “Luckily my old sewing box was still in the cupboard. I tended your wound as best I could but we should get it looked at properly.

“I don’t want you getting an infection.” You sigh.

Steve’s turns towards the cupboard beside the small table by the fire you’ve got going. There’s an old rusty pot resting just beyond, handle broken.

All of your furniture, including this bed that he’s laying on is of the poorest quality. With you gone and without your care, even though it’s been under a year, it has fallen into disrepair.

“I won’t.” Steve assures you, looking at the sewing box by your legs, resting on the tattered skirts if your once fine dress.

“That won’t work on me, Steve. You’re seeing a doctor as soon as we’re with father.” You frown.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at your stubborn pout.

He could kiss you. He loves the way you are bot afraid to challenge him or show you care. You love him so openly. With no fear.

He’s never known this kind of love. Freely given with no thought of restraint.

“I mean, I can’t catch an infection.” Steve explains. “I’m already healing. Even my fever is already gone.”

You almost dive towards his cheeks, hand thrown out to feel his temperature. You press your little—well, little to him—palm against his forehead and wait.

Steve can’t help but love you in every moment that you are by his side.

Especially now as you teeter over him, face screwed up with concerned concentration. You’re a mess. Like him.

Skin broken in small places from rocks and the falls you took. Hair completely disheveled. Your crown, the smaller one he’d had made for your outdoor events, is gone. Lost somewhere in the crowd and amongst the fight.

He doesn’t dare bring it to your attention.

His eyes naturally follow the curve of your throat down to your chest, and then finally your stomach.

His calm glee at your fussing quickly fades as the small swell of your stomach—more noticeable to him day after day—grabs hold of his attention completely.

With two hands he cups the bump, wondering if he might somehow know how the little prince is in your belly. His son.

“How are you feeling?” He checks, meeting your gaze which calms as you sit back onto your ankles and place your hands over his.

“He’s alright.” You stroke his fingers, a gesture of comfort. “I was a little worried while we were walking. After the carriage flipped over, I didn’t feel him for a while, but he did wiggle a bit as we walked here.”

Steve feels a rush of relief, grateful to you for always being your shared son’s protector. He knows how much you love him already.

“That’s not what I asked.” Steve clarifies, eyebrows raised high as he waits.

“I’m fine, Steve. A little tired. Achy but that’s to be expected after today. And very worried.” You sigh, shoulders rising high and dropping low as you slouch with the weight of your grief.

Steve knows what you’re thinking about, because he’s been thinking about it too.

He thought about how far he needed to get you away from the city. And Bucky. He thought about his son and his health. And Bucky. He worried about his friends. And Bucky. He wished he could do more for the innocents he’d left behind. And Bucky.

“They’ll have subdued him by now.” Steve promises.

“How do you know? He was so…so lethal, Steve. I’ve never seen him like that. How is it even possible?”

Steve takes a slow breath, knowing that it’s time for this story. He would have preferred for Bucky to tell you himself, but this time…he’ll have to make an exception.

“There’s something you should know about Bucky.” He begins, but you nod.

“This has to do with him being taken a few years ago?” You offer, entirely more knowledgeable than he’d expected you to be. You never cease to amaze him. He shouldn’t be surprised.

You’re smart as a whip. Perhaps not by a Lady’s standards, but you know more than anyone knows. You’re observant and your common sense and instinct is unparalleled.

If you weren’t so important to him, so precious; if you weren’t his only love and the mother of his child, he would recruit you onto the team and find a way to make you impervious to harm.

Maybe find a witch to bewitch you the way they’d done him or even Peter.

“How do you-?”

“The other day when Nat and I spent some time together alone, she alluded to a story. She didn’t tell me, but she said she would. Later.” You explain and Steve can see the resignation of your all too special patience.

“I suppose it’s later.” Steve nods. “A few years ago, Bucky, Nat, Clint, and I were on a quest to find one of the secret Hydra camps in the Southern forests. The deep south. In the elder wood.”

He watches as you bring out your feet from under you and settle on the floor. He hates it, you on the hard surface while he’s on the soft bed…but if he asks you to sit with him, you’ll argue.

“He was gone for weeks. Nat was inconsolable. Clint did what he could but eventually they had to move on. They had things to attend to. Responsibilities. Thor had to go back to Asgard, Tony had to help Pepper run his own Kingdom, and although I—I should have gone back to ruling Broklin, but I couldn’t give up.

“Nat and I kept searching. How could we stop looking? Bucky is…he was my only remaining family. And for Nat…well, it would be like when I lost you. Knowing you’re out there with no way of knowing whether you’re safe, only we knew that Bucky wasn’t.”

“This was after Margaret’s death?” You probe carefully, fearful it seems in upsetting him.

He’s driven that fear into you and it upsets him that you feel you can’t be open with him about Margaret. It’s his own fault.

Steve nods. “Only just. It was so fresh. Her death…and I was grateful for the distraction; however painful it was. The thought of losing Bucky too after everything with Maggie…I couldn’t stand it. I was determined in finding him. As was Nat.”

Steve can almost sense his own desperation again. It was just as bad as when you were missing. He ignores the ache in his chest at both memories and instead presses on, pushing those bad times out of his mind.

You’re here, attentive and precious in front of him. He won’t waste another moment on the thought of you anywhere but at his side.

“When we finally found him, he’d been strapped to a wooden bed with no mattress in the lowest level of a ruined castle. It was damp but hot, as we were farther South than I’d ever been. Although Natasha knew the territory well and we were able to search it with ease thanks to her expertise.

“For the most part, Bucky seemed fine. He was a little tired when we pulled him out of that wretched cell, but he was happy to be with Natasha again.

“His arm…it was gone. Replaced by the one he has now. When we asked him what had happened to it, he said that he didn’t remember and that it did hurt, but not as much as he might have thought it would to lose an arm.”

“Weren’t any of you worried about what they’d done to him?” You ask in shock, voice tight and whispered. Steve can only guess at what has you so spooked but he’s certain it’s the loss of Bucky’s arm. Here was no grand tale of him losing it in battle.

One day it was there, the next it was gone.

“Yes. Of course. Nat and I more than the others because we couldn’t understand why they would take him only to do that to his arm. So, we kept a very close eye on him. We secluded him to one room in the castle with guards at his door day and night.

“Tony was also very suspicious. Only Tony…Tony wanted to do more than just keep an eye on him.” Steve says, voice dropping low and his eyes going dark at the memory of Tony’s panic, the fear in his eyes as he looked at Bucky laying unconscious as he recovered.

A perceived threat. But to Steve, it was Bucky. His friend and brother. Like hell he was going to let anyone hurt him any more than he’d already been injured.

As Steve can’t fight his anger, with his brow furrowed, you seem to realize suddenly that this must have been what drove your Father and Steve apart. This was what had needed your marriage to bridge the divide in their relationship.

“He wanted to lock him up permanently.” You say, not surprised one bit, but a little disappointed? “Or worse…”

As Steve’s gaze meets yours, you read his eyes like no one else in his life can and realize that Tony had actually tried to do something about it, not simply wanted to.

“What did he do?” You barely manage to say.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I fought for Bucky. Nat did too. We were split, though Thor and Bruce weren’t there for the fallout, everyone else was.

“Peter was the only one who managed to balance both sides even though he initially fought with Tony. He realized what this would mean and helped mediate a stop to our quarrel. At least for a while.

“Tony and I didn’t speak again until we arranged a marriage between Morgana and myself with the full intention of having it end before we could ever truly consummate the marriage. That’s where you came in.” Steve sighs, feeling a surge of gratitude for you.

He doesn’t even plan for it to happen, but his voice becomes softer as he reaches out to stroke the curve of your chin. Caressing you whenever he has the chance. How long will you allow him to show you his affections?

He cannot be touching you always, despite his desire to do so. He must maintain some form of decorum in front of his friends and subjects.

However, here in the dimly lit home of your past, he can be as free with his love as he pleases.

You catch his hand and release a held breath, looking appeased and happy to feel the heat of his skin, just as he relishes in yours.

“So, Bucky never showed any signs of mental manipulation until today?” You wonder.

“No. Nothing until today. When nothing happened, we assumed he was fine.” Steve sighs heavily, the weight of his fight with Bucky weighing heavy on his shoulders. Had he missed some sort of clue? Had there been an indicator of what was to come? Had he been blind because of how close he was with Bucky. “It’s been more than two years…”

As if that might ease his strife. It doesn’t. It only makes him worry that maybe there is more to come. What if it isn’t over? What if they’ve turned his friend into someone dangerous permanently?

Steve pulls you a little closer and you shift for him, moving where he wants you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. He isn’t satisfied until you’re right against his side, your hands pressed against his chest where your fingers take to restlessly twitching against the loose threads of his shirt.

He watches you, so grateful that you’re safe. You’re as lost in thought as he is. Reliving the terrible day just as he is, no doubt.

Steve’s arm tightens again, and you look up to meet his eyes. Your own worry seems to dissipate as you see the stress in his.

As much as he loves Bucky. He can’t help but think how close he came to taking you from him today. How easily his life might have changed again. For the worse.

With a small quiet sigh, you reach up towards his cheek and begin to wipe at the smudged dirt there but stop after two swipes, eyes going wide as you stare into Steve’s storm blues.

“What?” Steve asks, seeing the shift in your expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it was important.” You begin, and Steve can hardly breathe.

“Didn’t tell me what, flower?” He coaxes, adjusting on the bed to sit up a little straighter.

“I…I think I know what happened. What set Bucky off today.” Steve begins to speak but you’re quick to shake your head to silence him and he obeys you, shushing if that is what you wish. “I didn’t think it was real. I was just waking up in the carriage when I saw it. I was drifting in and out, but I found it odd and even asked father about it.”

Steve’s impatience begins to prod at him, but he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet for you.

“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see him any other time except for that moment.” You shake your head, shutting your eyes as you struggle to pull the image together in your mind it looks like, so Steve reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Tell me.” He pleads gently, forced but willing.

When you meet his eyes again, he can see the terror there but also the absolute certainty.

“I saw Lord Pierce across the square, getting out of a carriage. Bucky was there with him. Looking upset, I think. Then Lord Pierce leaned in and whispered something into Bucky’s ear.

“He went a little stiff, his face went blank, but then I must have gone under for a moment and when I opened my eyes, Bucky was gone. Lord Pierce was gone too.

“Even then, my heart was racing. I knew that what I saw wasn’t good, but I could have been dreaming it. And when I asked father if Lord Pierce was in attendance at the procession, he said that he wasn’t. That he’d made sure to exclude him purposely. So, I put it out of my mind.”

Steve’s hands are claws against your back, the rage within him is nearly choking. He wants to scream. To destroy. If he weren’t injured, he might have even torn your house apart with his bare hands.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, he assumes because you can feel his upset.

“No.” He manages to say, voice deep and quaking with his anger. “No, Y/N. You did right to tell me now. I don’t blame you.”

“But I should have said something.” You fret.

Steve looks down at your belly, the agony of almost having lost both of you today eats at him and helps calm him. It levels him out and he breathes in slowly, then releases the breath but pulls you to him in a soft embrace.

“You’re safe.” He shuts his eyes, really letting himself feel you there in his arms. He trails one hand down to rest on your stomach, tracing the shape of the small curve. “You both are. That’s all that matters.”

“What does this mean for the kingdom? For Lord Pierce? For Bucky?” You ask him, looking to him for a response to this new crisis.

Steve doesn’t often feel as if he is a king with people who depend on him.

Though he knows that he does indeed have a responsibility to his people, he doesn’t often feel as if he’s looked on for leadership. Those moments when someone is truly waiting for him to make a decision.

In your eyes he sees devotion and respect. He sees a genuine intention to follow. And yet he knows that even with this willingness, you would easily disagree with him if you felt it were important.

Everyday you are proving to him that you are not only the woman he loves, but the Queen he has needed at his side.

With you beside him, he truly feels as though he could rule his Kingdom with confidence, with grace, and with a will to do better. For you. For his son. And for all of the people who depend on him.

“I will issue a warrant for his arrest.” Steve declares, confident in his decision. “I will state his crimes clearly so that everyone may see what a snake he is. It will ruin his name and he will have no choice but to either turn himself in for trial or run.”

“What if he runs?”

“Then we will follow.” He nods. “He’ll pay for what he did to Bucky. He’ll pay for what he’s done to you.”

You lift your chin, filled with what he hopes is belief that he can do it. That he can bring Pierce to his knees.

“No one hurts my family and gets away with it.” Steve declares. “No one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?!” Natasha shouts, shoving herself between Tony and Bucky, fully intent on punching if the need should arise.

The beautiful pale stones of Tony’s castle are a stark contrast to the horrors on the bed behind her.

Natasha glances back at Bucky, wary of the amount of blood he’s losing from the countless wounds to his torso.

What tortures her further is the knowledge that she was the one that put three of those stabs into his side.

She’d been careful to avoid his most sensitive spots, but after he’d woken up on the way home, he’d tried to fight his way out.

It took a hard hit from Tony to the back of the head to knock him out completely and he hasn’t woken up since.

“I need to remove the metal of his arm.” Tony replies exasperated with Natasha’s meddling.

“I needs to wait.” She says.

“It can’t. Bruce said I need to remove it immediately. He’ll have to treat that wound too to prevent infection.

Natasha licks her lips, her green eyes blazing with fear.

“Nat…Let me fix him.” Tony pleads.

“I don’t trust you.” Nat replies, brow crinkling with distrust.

“I know.” And Tony can’t blame her. He’d made a bad impression the first time Bucky had shown up altered. Now here is the results of what he’d always feared but he knows better now about what he’s willing to lose by taking certain precautions.

Bucky is irreplaceable to Natasha and Steve. He must respect that if he’s going to keep not only you but the team in his life.

“But you have to.” Tony argues, holding his hands out for her, his tools held tight as he waits for her to move.

Natasha turns around to look at Bucky once more, her face contorted with indecision and grief and reluctantly moves aside.

Tony lunges for Bucky and works quickly on his arm while Natasha cuts away Bucky’s clothing to tend to his other various wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s stable for now.” Bruce declares, wrapping up Bucky’s arm recess where before there’d been shredded metal.

“Will he wake?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice down for Natasha’s sake.

She’s only just fallen asleep, sitting in a large cushioned chair with a high back. Her hand firmly wrapped around Bucky’s scuffed up right hand.

“What did you give her?” Bruce asks, ignoring Tony’s question for a moment as he also looks to Nat to see her sleeping so peacefully.

“Just one of Agatha’s herbs. She’s a witch with herbs.”

“Or just a witch.” Bruce says quietly, fixing Tony with a wary look.

“I’ve been thinking so too. But she’s devoted to keeping Y/N safe so she’s a good one, as far as I’m concerned.” Tony moves to the wall to pull the call. Somewhere in the castle, he’s sure a bell rings.

“She’s going to be upset when she wakes.” Bruce points out.

“She needs the rest. Thor, Clint, and Peter are out searching. Sam has gone back to Broklin in case they head that way.” Tony assures his friend. “We’ll find them.”

“Y/N is going to be upset that you’ve got Sharon helping Samuel.” Bruce teases, a small awkward smile playing on his lips.

“She’ll deal with it. Finding them is most important right now. Not jealousy.” Tony argues.

Bruce huffs a small laugh, turning to seal Bucky’s bandage before checking on the wounds that Nat had tended to just to be sure they were sealed well.

“You are aware that Sharon snuck into Steve’s room to try and seduce him, and your daughter caught them in bed together, right?” Bruce asks, turning a knowing look to his friend.

Tony blinks, hands clasped at his front before he begins to fix his shirt.

“I am now.” Tony admits. “I’m sure she didn’t let them get away with it. And they seem fine now.”

Mind racing with what might have happened after finding Steve and Sharon like that, he resolves to give Steve a scolding when he sees him.

When. He will find you both if it’s the last thing he does.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, voice groggy from sleep.

You’re uncurling from his side, moving to his removed tunic to rifle along the front at his expensive baubles and medals.

“To get us some food and something less conspicuous to wear. We don’t know if we’re being pursued. We must lay low.”

“And going into the village to buy things isn’t the opposite of laying low?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “I’ll only be half an hour and I know the people here. They won’t hurt me.”

Most of them…

“Let me go.” Steve begins to get up, but you frown when he groans.

“No.” You insist, moving to him with a handful of jewels and silver.

You push him back down onto the bed and fix the ratty blanket you’d used to use over him.

“Stop arguing with me.” You chastise him. “I’ll be faster. You’re still wounded.”

“I don’t like you going out there alone.” Steve argues.

“Steven, please. Don’t fight me on this. I will be as quick as I possibly can. I’ll be as invisible as I was before I left. You’ll see. No one will pay me any mind. I was an insignificant orphan. No one will care that I’m here.” You assure him.

“You’re Queen of Broklin.” Steve argues. “And you look like her now, whatever you may think. You don’t look like the girl that came to my castle nearly a year ago.”

“What do I look like then?” You wonder, stripping off your dress before pulling on an old ratty set that you’d had here in the house from before.

It’s thin and meant for summer. Does little to shield the cold but it’s better than your regal, however torn up it might be, gown.

“Even in that you look like an angel.” Steve says.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” You ask him.

He frowns at you.

“Steve, I’ll be fine.” You move back to him and he welcomes you despite the terrible clothes you’re wearing.

He pulls you in suddenly, no warning as he kisses you hard.

You gasp, hands tense on his shoulders as his lips crush yours painfully.

When he pulls away, he does so slowly, his kiss shifting into tenderness.

“What-?”

“Please be cautious. Don’t talk to anyone that you don’t have to. Turn my cloak inside out and take it. I will not have you and our child freezing.” He worries.

“Why weren’t you this annoying when we first got married?” You tease him and he shuts his eyes, head falling forward to rest against your chest.

You chuckle and stroke his dirty hair, smoothing it out despite the blood and grime still caked into it.

“Please be safe.” He begs, looking up at you again. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Y/N.”

“You’d go on. Because you’re strong. And you have a whole Kingdom that depends on you.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t want to be rational. I’d gladly follow you into the end.”

“Then I guess I’d better not meet my end.” You decide.

Getting up, you move to his cloak and turn it inside out as he wished. It’s plain gray on the underside. Still a fine fabric but less ostentatious in its stitching. It makes it much warmer in this clothing and it smells like Steve still.

“Stay quiet.” You tell him, then pick up his shield and put it beside him. “I’ll be right back.”

You slip out into the early morning freeze. The wheat fields are barren and give you no cover as you trek across the cold semi-frozen mud. It sticks to your shoes, much too nice for the plain peasant dress you’re wearing but with the cloak they’re somewhat hidden.

You’re tired by the time you reach the edge of the village and take shelter in the smithy’s doorway. He’s already open, an older man who had tried his best to ignore your hunger plight often. Many of the wealthier villagers had made the very conscious decision to pretend you didn’t exist.

You can’t blame them. You were a child in need of care and many of them, though richer than you, still struggled to make ends meet. They had no way of caring for a whole other mouth to feed.

He’s working inside, too busy making his living to care that you’re resting on his doorstep.

It takes you fifteen minutes to walk across the village make your purchase with only a somewhat lingering look from the tailor who must be the only one to notice your absence in the village as you’d always been a bit of a pain to.

You had offered to mend clothing at a cheaper cost and so stole most of her mending business.

“Haven’t seen you around here.” She states, wrapping up your new dress and the clothing and shoes you’ve purchased for Steve.

“I’ve been travelling.” You say quickly. Offering no further explanation.

“You look different.” She says, pushing the parcel over the counter towards you.

Fucking Steve.

“Do I?” You take the package and throw a silver pin on the counter worth six times as much as she’s charging you for the clothes.

Her eyes go wide at the sight, but you don’t wait for her to say anything and instead leave as quickly as you entered.

You buy some food from the bake, just something to tide you both over until you can go hunt something up and pay with a small ruby.

You’re gone before he can respond to the payment.

With both errands out of the way, you make your way back towards your cottage, eager to be back by Steve’s side.

Your trek is quick across the barren fields, pace increasing the closer you get.

It’s just beyond this slope, beyond the windmill.

As you curve around it, smile stretching your lips, you gasp as a large stocky man blocks your way.

Your free hand drops to your stomach protectively as your eyes take in the only threat to you in this village.

“Well, hello, hello, hello. If it ain’t tha little mouse.” He says.

As you take in his pale skin, a messy array of vibrant red curls on his head, your mind provides you with several excruciating memories of his large beefy body pinning you against the tavern wall. His hands tearing away at your clothing. Ripping your skin as angry tears stained your cheeks.

Both times you’d been able to fight him off. You’d been lucky.

As he devours you with his eyes, you can see the wheels in his mind turning.

“You’ve been gone a long time, little mouse.” He grins. “I’ve missed you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x reader #medieval au #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #buckynat #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt28

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fpinterviews · 17 years

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Alex Prager

FP: Your career began at a very early age, and you’ve achieved much success in such a short time. How did you get involved in photography?

AP: Actually, I didn't get my first camera until I was 20. Before that, the thought of photography hadn't even crossed my mind past taking below-average snapshots on trips I took. I came back to Los Angeles after living in Florida and Switzerland off and on for 4 years, and when I finally settled in with a job and an apartment, I realized that I had no idea what I was doing with my future, and that kind of excited me. I was at a point where I had to make up my mind about what I was going to focus on as an adult. It was exciting because I was starting from nothing, therefore every career in the world was an option. All I had to do was get the education for whatever I decided I wanted to be. I started going to a lot of art shows. I already knew I wanted to be some kind of an artist, I just didn't know what medium I wanted to work in. I went to these shows alone because I didn't want anyone around swaying my opinion. Anyway, a couple weeks went by of going to museum and gallery shows, and then one day I ended up at the Getty where William Eggleston happened to have a show up. The moment I saw his work I knew that I wanted to be a photographer. I looked at every picture over and over for hours and when I was finished I bought his book. A week later, I had everything I needed to become a professional photographer. After that, I read every book I could find that had anything to do with photography. I made a little darkroom in my bathroom and I was in there every night till 3 in the morning processing my film and enlarging the pictures I had taken. After I got home from work, I used to go around my apartment building photographing still objects like a washing machine or a door, and then I'd go right into my darkroom and make an enlargement of the picture. When it was dry I'd go back to the thing I had taken a picture of and I'd tape my picture right on top of it. It would look kind of surreal. I guess those were my first art shows. Sometimes, when I'd go back to look at it, the picture would be gone and I'd imagine that someone had seen it taped up there and liked it enough to take it home with them.

FP: You’ve published an amazing book called "The Book Of Disquiet: The Seven Deadly Sins,” a collaborative piece with artist Mercedes Helenwein. In it, your work has a surreal through-the-looking-glass quality, reflecting both the glamorous and the perverse. How did the book come to be?

AP: Well, Mercedes and I had just finished a show called 'America Motel' that involved us taking 2 trips across the country. She wrote, I took pictures and our friend Beth Riesgraf documented the trips with her Super 8. The show was great. With the help of our friend, Jason Lee, we rented out an entire motel in downtown Los Angeles and basically turned it into an installation. My photographs were hung on the walls of each room like motel art, Mercedes' book was on the night stands in place of the Bible, and Beth's film was being played on each television. It was awesome. After this, Mercedes and I decided we wanted to do another project together, but this time she was going to do drawings. We had both been really affected by the people we met while driving through Middle America, and coming back to Los Angeles was such a dramatic shift in culture that we both, in our own ways, came to conclusion that our next show should be based on The Seven Deadly Sins. It just seemed like the obvious choice. I thought it would be really cool to do a book of our pictures in the style of a cardboard children's book because The Seven Deadly Sins theme was already really dark I thought it would lighten things up a little by adding some humor.

FP: Diane Arbus once remarked that “a photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.” That seems to be fitting for your work. Do you have an intention in mind before you shoot and then stage things or is it more of an organic process once you start?

AP: I guess it's a little bit of both. Although I don't entirely agree with Diane Arbus. On their own photographs are more like incomplete stories, and the missing chapters are filled in differently by each person who looks at it. In other words, a piece of art is only done once it has an audience to communicate to. Everyone has their own experiences, their own story, and when they look at a picture, they're probably going to somehow relate it to something they've already seen or experienced. Since we all have different pasts, I like to think that no two people can see a picture the same way. As far as how I make the photograph, I always have some kind of idea of what I'm going to shoot beforehand. How general or specific it is doesn't really matter because once I start, I try not to think at all.

FP: Who are your primary influences?

AP: William Eggleston, Stephen Shore, Loretta Lux, Philip-Lorca Dicorcia, Diane Arbus, Helmut Newton, Brassai, Annie Leibovitz, Guy Bourdin. Painters are John Currin, Egon Schiele, Toulouse-Lautrec, Bruegel, Gustav Klimt, Lucian Freud, Balthus. Filmmakers include Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch, Peter Greenaway, Federico Fellini, Victor Fleming. Musicians include Bob Dylan, Joy Division, The Beatles, The Pixies, Spoon, The Kinks, Bjork, David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Elliott Smith, The Smiths, etc.

FP: Can you talk a bit about your technique and how you use high-gloss plexiglass?

AP: I like the saturation that you get by face-mounting color photographs to plexi-glas, but I don't always use this process. For my next series, I'm mounting the pictures to Sintra Board from behind so nothing will touch the front of them.

FP: Where do you find your models? Are they friends?

AP: It depends. Sometimes a friend will work out perfectly for a shot I had in mind, other times I'll see someone on the street or in a magazine and I'll get in touch with them and ask if they'll pose for me. Another place that can be good for finding models is modeling agencies! What!? I know, weird...

FP: Since your sister is featured in this issue as well (painter Vanessa Prager), I assume you come from a very creative family…

AP: Hmm.. 'Creative family' implies that they we grew up in a family of artists, which we did not, but our parents, and grandmother (who helped raise us), are definitely the opposite of Middle Class in the way of thinking. They're creative in the sense of the freedom they gave us. They always left it up to us to decide what our goals were going to be, and no matter how far-fetched they were they'd back us up 100%. One day when I was 15, I told my parents I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, and literally the next day they had bought me a guitar and had lessons lined up for me whenever I was ready to start taking them. When I was 14 I had the opportunity to work at a knife shop in Switzerland for 4 months with my best friend who was also 14, and they let me go not only that year, but every year after that until I didn't feel like going anymore. I don't think many parents would let their kids have this much self-determinism at such a young age. I'm sure this influenced my sister and I to becoming artists.

FP: What advice would you give for anyone young trying to break into the business?

AP: Some of the best advice I ever got when I first started was from a painter friend of mine, Bryten Goss, he told me not to talk to any photographers for 1 full year and during that year to always have my camera on me, take as many pictures as possible and find other photographers and artists I like and study their work. That first year is really important because you're so new at it that you can be misguided and influenced really easily, so trusting yourself to be able to learn what you need to know on your own enough to start getting pictures you can be proud of is important.

FP: In what direction do you see your work heading currently? And where can we next see your work?

AP: For the past year or so, I've been working on a series of pictures called 'POLYESTER' and I'll be exhibiting these in my first ever solo show in April at the Robert Berman Gallery at Bergamot Station in Santa Monica. With this show, I wanted there to be a staged, retro quality to the images while keeping them modern. Almost like the people in my pictures are kind of bad actors dressed up and playing roles from movies in the 60's.

#Alex Prager

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thedigitalmediamarketing · 3 years

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5 Best Practices for E-Commerce UI/UX Design

UI/UX design is a big part of what separates effective eCommerce websites from ineffective ones.

After all, it defines how customers interact with a brand’s online store when they get there.

It determines everything from what mouse clicks do to how detail-oriented and appealing product pages look.

When done right, it gives people an experience that they wish to return to.

In other words, a great UI/UX not only helps eCommerce brands maximise sales but also foster fans and repeat customers.

No wonder businesses spend months planning their digital launch and nailing how their eCommerce websites look and feel.

In light of the same, here are five best UI/UX best practices you must follow to build a killer eCommerce website:-

Avoid Inducing Choice Paralysis

More often than not, imposing the right limits helps you achieve your conversion goals far better than providing endless choice.

Amazon does this exceptionally well.

Instead of bombarding users with its massive catalogue all at once, the platform optimises its home screen according to the user’s preferences and purchase history.

In other words, Amazon limits user choice by giving centre-stage to what people are most likely to buy.

We understand that you may not have access to Amazon’s sophisticated engineering team but there’s still a lot you can do.

For starters, organise your catalogue into intuitive categories and avoid exposing users to too many choices in a given window.

Thereafter, spend time analysing how many steps users need to take before stumbling upon what they were looking for.

Researching your product pages in such a way will help you optimise on-page customer journeys for maximum conversions.

All in all, craft a user choice that gives users just the right amount of choice.

Leverage Scarcity and Urgency

When it comes to buying behaviour, human beings are influenced by psychological biases a lot more than we notice.

That’s why products with limited availability entice us more than products with virtually unlimited stocks.

Essentially, we want to grab hold of what’s rare, and instantly associate scarcity with desirability.

The same goes for items on sale. The satisfaction we feel upon buying them goes deeper than the joy of snatching a bargain.

The fact that items on sale will soon go away is exactly what draws us to them.

Thus, scarcity and urgency are powerful guiding forces to implement in an eCommerce website’s UI/UX design.

However, it’s better to avoid being disingenuous when trying to hook users with ongoing sales and limited stocks.

That’s because when eCommerce websites are caught for using fake urgency and scarcity, the reveal causes irreparable damage to brand image and consumer trust.

In short, urgency and scarcity can supercharge eCommerce UI design as long as you stay ethical in their implementation.

Foster Intuitive Interactions

Though designers are always trying to break into new frontiers, the good ones are careful not to make creations that sacrifice function for form.

In the context of an eCommerce website, this means ensuring that the designs feel intuitive to use.

Now, this entails incorporating elements that people have gotten accustomed to with time.

For instance, people prefer to have the choice between adding items to a cart or buying them directly.

Now, imagine if a modern eCommerce website eliminates this choice to achieve a minimal look.

Even such a tiny development is likely to puzzle and frustrate users.

So, it’s wise not to get too radical with designing the UI/UX of an eCommerce website.

However, this doesn’t mean that you never experiment with modern design choices, or expect users to adapt to unfamiliar interactions.

Like most things in life and business, balance is the key here.

Use High-Quality Visual Assets

With electronic displays getting more and more capable every year, designers can no longer get away with using subpar images and graphics.

Given how e-commerce websites are rich in product images and brand-appropriate visuals, the statement above asserts even greater authority than usual.

But, that doesn’t mean you need to go overboard with the equipment you use for product photography and general UI design.

When you rely on the right expertise and know-how, even a simple smartphone camera

can give you all the visual assets you need to craft a beautiful eCommerce experience.

So, pair up with the right design talent, and build an aversion to visual assets that don’t meet a certain standard.

Experiment with Trends

UI/UX Design is a dynamic discipline that evolves with time.

That’s why new trends pop up every year, giving webmasters the freedom to ride waves as and when they come.

Now, it’s not wise to revamp your entire e-commerce experience every time a new design choice finds resonance with the mainstream.

However, you can dip your feet in the water ever so slightly, and experiment with trends that don’t demand a rigorous overhaul of your website.

For instance, trying out trendy page animations offers you the best of both worlds.

Doing so not only lets you maintain your website’s overarching design but also lets you dive into what’s new and exciting.

Moreover, you can always A/B test changes to see what works and what doesn’t.

CONCLUSION

By 2040, only 5% of the purchases that we’ll make will happen outside eCommerce websites.

Even today, there’s hardly anyone (less than 10%) on the internet who hasn’t purchased something online.

Thus, it’s clear that eCommerce websites hold immense value.

That’s why getting the right talent to design one for your business is the obvious thing to do.

Ask the clients that Creaa Designs has built eCommerce websites for, and they’ll tell you the same.

We regularly incorporate the tips mentioned in this blog in our work, and our results do the talking.

So, if you’re an eCommerce brand looking for design talent with the right expertise, we’ve got you covered.

#website #logo design #website design #ecommerce design

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isadcrajade · 4 years

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💀 * [ barbie ferreira + cis female + she/her ] —— have you met isadora oliveira ? they are a twenty-one year old sophomore currently studying fashion design & merchandising. they live on keating house, and word around campus is that this aries is loyal + warm, as well as self-objectifying + obsequious. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. chocolate covered strawberries, gothic platforms, lingerie under leather jackets.

hiii bbies it’s me (gabby) finally here again to post this finalized, messy version of isa’s intro! she’s a brand new never-been-played muse of mine so it’s def bound to be a bit more scattered & less developed than ezra’s, but also much shorter? so i mean there’s a bonus lmao alright here we go:

so isadora (also known by many nicknames such as isa, izzy, iz, & dora the explora if ur trying to piss her off vgbjhksjs) was definitely not brought up in a world of prestige and recognition like the one she’s become so accustomed to in attending holloway university

growing up in the small town of lisbon, maine the only reality isa knew during her childhood was that of living as the only child of a woman who was (TW) both a compulsive liar & and compulsive hoarder. their house was floor to ceiling with things her mom collected as well as garbage built up over time- her condition had already driven isa’s father out of the house when she was just three years old, and she never had a relationship with him as a result

she was still fairly young when she realized the true severity of her own situation, just how abnormal it was compared to that of her friends. she missed out on so many rights of passage during her upbringing like birthday parties, sleepovers, etc. for much of her life her own living space / bedroom were just as bad off as the rest of the house, given her mom’s inability to keep from passing her hoarding tendencies onto her daughter. isa simply didn’t know any better at the time. to her, that was normal.

not only was her mom a compulsive liar & hoarder but she was also extremely neglectful, often leaving isa to her own devices in the dangerous environment they called home. as a result of this she (TW ED) developed harmful coping mechanisms surrounding food, regularly overeating to combat negative feelings of loneliness, and this went on from the time she was just a little girl all the way until she was in high school

high school was rough in many ways- she suffered depression, anxiety, experienced bullying at the hands of the more popular kids for her weight & her mother’s financial situation, and was all around extremely isolated from her peers- the only person she really had to depend on was her cousin (WC) . she had so much respect and envy for her cousin, they had more of a sisterly dynamic than anything, she was just so gorgeous and everything she did just seemed so effortless, to the point isa couldn’t help but idolize her and consider her a best friend.

like, remember when spongebob said he hoped that by being in squidward’s presence some of his artistic ability would rub off onto him? that was deadass isa & (WC) in high school jhbksnjs my girl was so sure if she just spent enough time with her she’d inherit some of her pretty & cool

high school was also where she reached a turning point when it came to her home environment, able to put a name to her mom’s condition after years of struggling with her strained and toxic relationship with her mom, and ultimately changed the rest of her life. she stayed the night at (WC’s) one night and after she fell asleep, isa stayed up watching TLC- it was there that she first discovered the TV show ‘hoarding: buried alive’ and realized there was a name for her mother’s infliction- but more importantly, learned that there was help available for her condition

when she went home to excitedly tell her mother that she’d basically discovered a cure, a means to change everything for them... she certainly hadn’t been expecting the reaction that came: her mom, who’d always been so indifferent toward her, so lethargic and uninterested in what she had to say, was suddenly listening very clearly- and she was not happy. isa had never heard her mom scream like that, had never really heard her express any heightened emotion, but it was in that moment at 17 years old, just a few weeks away from her 18th birthday, that she realized what she needed to do. she had no choice but to make plans to leave her mom behind.

the final weeks leading up to the big day she was counting on as a turning point consisted of her cleaning out her own space, little by little, enough that she had somewhere to set up her secondhand laptop and webcam. blowing out the candles on her 18th birthday cake came with wishing for a whole new life, and she was determined to make that for herself by any means necessary.

(TW SEX WORK) isa spent half her 18th year in her room working as a successful camgirl, showing everything but her face, & of course always being careful not to dox herself. she eventually earned enough money to start buying herself nicer clothes, but it didn’t take her long to realize she wanted more from life than just rotting away in her hometown. she bought herself a higher quality webcam to keep making money... and a nice sewing machine, something she’d always dreamed of owning.

all her life she’d been drawing and sketching as a means of escapism, it’d always been therapeutic to her to be creative and conjure up unique designs for outfits in her mind, drawing models in all shapes and sizes to represent her fantasy outfits. but she never felt like a visionary, even though anyone with an eye for fashion who got a look at her work could see that she had the natural talent and potential to be.

isa had been an a straight-A student her whole life despite having almost no support at home from her mother growing up, and with plenty of encouragement from (cousin WC), she plucked up the courage and applied for holloway university, with ivory falls being far enough from her hometown of lisbon, but still in the same state so that she could go and see her mother from time to time (bc although their relationship is quite strained now, she still loves and worries about her)

the next summer she received her acceptance letter at holloway u for the coming fall semester, and the fact that she’d been able to make it into such a prestigious school made her feel so proud of herself that she completely underwent a massive arc of character development; evolving into someone so much more confident. realizing that plenty of people found her desirable as she continued to earn money through cam shows had been part of that transformation, but realizing she was talented enough to get accepted into the fashion design and merchandising program at her dream school had a completely different effect on her.

( TW BODY IMAGE ISSUES ) isa decided that as she entered college, she was no longer going to be the meek, insecure girl constantly playing the role of the doting, loyal fat best friend to the ‘prettier main characters’ she’d always been sidekick to- she told herself that she was the main fucking character in her life from here on, and has spent her entire college experience up to this point just,, navigating as she figures out what that really means to her

still has a terrible underlying tendency to be overly-loyal and a bit obsessive with girls she closely befriends, if she has any kind of jealousy towards them. but ! is a lot more confident than she used to be, and it shows in the way she dresses and carries herself, as well as in her long-term goals (to transfer to FIDM for her final years of university)

( TW ED MENTION ) as a young adult, she’s mostly she’s replaced the compulsion to deal with her body image issues by using food to cope that she had as a teenager... by using sex to cope instead, so she’s definitely a bit promiscuous but does her best to keep that Her Own business

personality-wise she has a massive heart & is loyal to a fault but is also wild AF & loves a good time! never rly dabbled in drugs until she got to college but since then has acquired an interest in trying everything under the sun, even if it’s just one and done. mostly though she just likes to get really drunk & stupid. used to feel like she was constantly living in her cousin’s shadow, & in some ways she still does, but she’s trying hard to make herself believe that she’s reached a place where she won’t be playing second fiddle to anyone, ever again

i’m gonna shut the hell up now & stop pretending i know this character better than i do bc i deadass do not jbhnjss like she’s literally brand new so lemme go head & leave plenty of room for development!

same story as ezra i’ll have a full connections page posted for her soon but in the meantime some ideas i have are: friends, frienemies, ex friends, high school bullies, classmates, old high school friends, people she gets fuckt up with on the reg, people she hooks up with on the reg (any gender, she’s bisexual / biromantic), someone she had a crush on in high school / has pined for from afar maybe?? someone who used to watch her cam shows?? someone she almost kinda dated but Not? someone who she hooked up with while they were dating someone else?? idk that’s what i have for now but there’ll be more where that came from <3 xoxo like this or hmu !

#holloway.intro #this is a hot ass mess #but i'm rly excited to finally play her x

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taggedmemes · 4 years

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SENTENCE MEME ⟶ THE WITCHER / 1.02 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

“If I tell you now, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“You’re a very, very naughty boy.”

“Roses are cliche.”

“Daisies are cheap.”

“I can still kiss you, right?”

“You been spying on us, you creep?”

“Your own family doesn’t even want you.”

“Am I dead? How did I get here?”

“Looks to me like you portalled in.”

“Your backhand is even more impressive than your magic.”

“Look, you can trust me.”

“You can’t let them have her.”

“The woman’s a witch, you know what they’ll do.”

“Uh, no thank you. I don’t eat rat.”

“I haven’t spoken to anybody in three days.”

“I guess I’m on the run.”

“I’m supposed to be going towards someone, but instead I’m running from someone else.”

“I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“I can’t be caught by him.”

“Abort yourself!”

“I’m so glad I could bring you all together like this.”

“Sit down and shut up.”

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone.”

“No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you.”

“You don’t have to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”

“White hair, big old loner, two very scary-looking swords.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll come through.”

“You take no prisoners, so I hear.”

“I won’t be but silent back-up.”

“Maybe real adventures would make better stories.”

“You, sir, smell chock-full of better stories, amongst other things.”

“Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak.”

“Do you know how many people wouldn’t blink if you died?”

“You should’ve let me die.”

“You weren’t taking control. You were losing it.”

“I sense your terror, and you are right to be afraid.”

“Chaos is the most dangerous thing in this world.”

“Chaos is all around us all the time, volatile and powerful.”

“Just because you are conduits of chaos does not mean that you care capable of magic.”

“Magic is organizing chaos, and while oceans of mystery remain, we have deduce that this requires two things: balance and control.”

“Without balance and control, chaos will kill you.”

“There is no conjuring something from nothing.”

“Sometimes a flower is just a flower and the best thing it can do for us is to die.”

“May she rot in hell.”

“Every day, I make sure his death’s not in vain.”

“He died fighting to defend that wretched bitch and her wretched family.”

“Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum, I’d say you have got a bit of an image problem.”

“There I go again, just delivering exposition.”

“What are we looking for again?”

“We’re looking for blessed silence.”

“Yeah, I don’t really go in for silence.”

“Have you ever hunted a devil before?”

“Devils don’t exist.”

“Sometimes there’s monsters, sometimes there’s money, but rarely both.”

“What happened to you, your mother fuck a goat?”

“You’re a dick, with balls.”

“Did your mother fuck a snowman?”

“You are intelligent, I’ll give you that.”

“Seek to understand your partner’s greatest fears.”

“You struggle to perform even the simplest physical tasks.”

“Your worst fear makes such sense.”

“Even if you were a beauty, still no one would love you.”

“I’ve been here for weeks and can barely do shit.”

“He had a phobia of cheese.”

“I want to be good, good at something.”

“Are these the things you love?”

“These are the things I thought you would love.”

“My parents died when I was a baby.”

“What you did was pathetic and dangerous.”

“It felt pretty powerful to me.”

“There are mages like her who ignore their emotions, and then there are mages like us who are consumed by them.”

“It is your job to control chaos, not become it.”

“If I send you to advise a king, and your precious little feelings get hurt when he won’t listen, and you submit to chaos, he dies and his people turn on us.”

“You lie, you keep secrets, you succumb to emotion, to weakness.”

“Do you really have what it takes?”

“This is the part where we escape.”

“This is the part where they kill us.”

“You don’t deserve the air you breathe.”

“Everything you touch, you destroy.”

“You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye?”

“Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?”

“Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home?”

“No matter what you choose, you’ll come out bloody and hating yourself.”

“As long as you understand that it won’t be long before you follow me in death.”

“Humans just adapted better.”

“You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face.”

“You think this is about pride?”

“I don’t wish to bury anyone else.”

“Show them that you are more than what they fear you to be.”

“If you must kill me I am ready.”

“We’ll never see each other again.”

“My worst fear is true, I’m still not enough.”

“Rewriting history with the stories we tell, the songs we sing about our own triumphs, it’s what we do.”

“No one could ever love me.”

“You must be able to give me something.”

“You stupid little shit.”

“You turned my friend into a slug.”

“I took away her control, but she still has power.”

“Credit where credit is due.”

“The whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way.”

“This is where we part ways, for good.”

“That’s not how it happened.”

“Where’s your newfound respect?”

“Respect doesn’t make history.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences #KIND / SENTENCE.#KIND / IN CHARACTER.#BASED ON / TV SHOW.

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alexiethymia · 4 years

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mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all

title: mirror mirror on the wall notes: Character study on Kou and Mitsuba. Written before chapter 65 came out, but I decided to share it since there was a lot in the chapter which coincided with what I’ve always felt about their characters. I’m glad they’re not closing off the painted world with a neat little bow and that they keep referring back to it since there are so many things unresolved there.

I wanted to play around with the meaning of fair or fairness. It can mean beautiful like Mitsuba. It can mean light like what the kanji in Kou’s name stands for. And it can also mean justice, which can refer to Teru or even Hanako. I think that for Kou, he sees one in the other, maybe because of his admiration for the both of them, or how he perceives them to be strong, and duty-bound, either way it’s a source of confusion for him.

summary: Kou is a Minamoto and with that name comes a century’s worth of tradition, pride, and pain. But he is also just Kou and he has to live with that.

But at least he can live.

fair /fer/ adjective 1. the quality of being just 2. of a light nature 3. beautiful

Kou is a Minamoto and with that name comes a century’s worth of tradition, pride, and pain. But he is also just Kou and he has to live with that.

But at least he can live.

And Kou isn’t one to grumble, he’s the type to just suck it in and push forward, like a steam engine, even if the train tracks are cut, he’ll just move forward, forward, forward -

Even if he tips off the edge, he’ll just keep moving forward even if he doesn’t know where he’ll end up.

Looking at Teru-nii is like looking at a mirror, like looking in a mirror, but not quite.

Other people have always said they were reflections of each other, but Teru-nii is perfect, and he’s just Kou.

And he’s perfectly fine with that because he’s a trier and his whole life has been trying.

For the longest time, Teru-nii had been his pinnacle...

Teru-nii is the Minamoto family’s pride; he is Kou’s pride. Meanwhile, Kou is the least powerful in his family.

Maybe it’s because he’s dumb or simple-minded or naïve. He can never do well in studying, so it’s a good thing he has the smartest older brother in the world to help him. When there’s something he can’t understand, he only has to ask, and Teru-nii will have the answer.

He’s not as smart or as talented as his brother, and this is not Kou complaining, but just a statement of fact.

Instead what Kou lacks in ability, he makes up for with his convictions. It’s the one thing that he can be sure of is solely him, and not Minamoto or Teru-nii.

So he’ll stubbornly hold onto those convictions with the simple-minded foolishness of someone who has always been protected, with everything he’s got. Even if…even if those convictions will put him on the other side of his Nii-chan.

This side? The other side? Their side? Our side? Kou used to think the divide between good and evil was clear.

Fact one. Kou is a Minamoto, which means Kou is an exorcist, which means his job is to protect this side. The near shore, where Nii-chan, Tiara, Yokoo, and Satou are.

Fact two. Hanako is a supernatural. More than that, Hanako is a murderer. He belongs to the far shore, which means he and Kou will always be on opposite sides.

He really must be dumb if he can’t even get simple concepts like these. Nii-chan is already telling him the answers, but all he has is questions.

Because if Kou is meant to be on this side, and Hanako is meant to be on that side, where does that leave Senpai, who’s smack-dab in the middle, not belonging to one or the other? Because, Fact three, Senpai will might (he'll change it) die soon.

Kou protects because that’s what a Minamoto man does, and has been doing for centuries – just like his Nii-chan. And because he’s been protected for all his life, and he just wants the people he loves to be happy.

But Nii-chan, who protects those who have no one to protect them?

Nothing much can get Kou down. He doesn’t grumble nor does he complain. Besides what is there to complain about when he’s been blessed – with the perfect older brother, the most adorable younger sister, surrounded by his best friends – his whole life? When there’s a setback, he just picks himself up and tries again. He has neither smarts nor ability nor talent; all he has is positive thinking and his one-track mind.

Sometimes though, in the middle of the night, while clutching an old and well-loved camera in his hands, he cries about the unfairness of it all like a spoiled child.

unfair, unfair, unfair

Life and Death aren’t fair. No one gets to choose.

Of course it’s not fair that Hanako murdered his younger brother or that Mitsuba died far too young without Kou even knowing about it (his fault, his fault, his fault).

Logically he knows it’s no one’s fault, but Kou has never been the logical sort.

All he can do is rage against the unfairness of fate (he can’t imagine a world without Senpai’s smile in it, disappearing and fading like an old photograph, like Mitsuba’s did, he doesn’t know if he can go through that again-)

It's unfair that he can live, and they can't.

At his lowest point, he thinks he’s resolving himself; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad just slipping to the other side. That way he can better understand Mitsuba, he can be with Senpai, and ok yeah maybe Hanako, when it does happen. Put like that, it doesn’t sound too bad.

(There's no need to rush. You’ll be a fine exorcist one day. A little spirit like me will be a piece of cake to expel. I’ll be looking forward to it.)

(Are you really trying to kill yourself? Are you that much of an idiot?!)

(I want to live for the next ninety years!)

He hates Hanako for calling him ‘boy’ and treating him like a kid (and yet trusts him enough to exorcise him, and he doesn’t know what he hates more among that many things he hates about him – being Tsukasa’s mirror image, reminding him of Teru-nii, making Kou rely on him, taking on all the burdens by himself and making Senpai worry, the list goes on and on, that bastard-)

But it’s at moments like these that he really feels he’s just a kid. He thought he knew the worth of sacrifice (I don't care what happens to me as long as I can protect everyone!), but faced with two kids his age who have already lost life and his precious Senpai who might lose hers, he realizes he is still so impossibly young.

Because he thinks he’s comforting Senpai just like how he comforts Tiara when he tells her it’ll all be alright, when in fact it’s the other way around, her placing a reassuring hand atop his and smiling as he’s crying.

Because it’s Mitsuba saving him as he jumps off a building.

Because he’s too weak to watch Hanako’s back and lessen what he’s carrying.

Kou is just Kou. He’s not Teru-nii or even Hanako. He’s powerless and weak.

But because Kou is just Kou, he doesn’t understand difficult concepts like sacrifice and trade-offs and impossibilities. He’s too dumb to know when to give up. He’ll just keep pushing forward, forward, forward, with all his stubborn naiveté.

Even if Hanako gave up on finding a way to save Senpai, even if Mitsuba gave up on living in the real world,

especially, when Senpai won’t give up on herself, especially then,

Kou doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he resolves himself that he will. He’ll save and protect all of them, his weakness be damned. He may not be Hanako or Tsukasa who can grant the wishes of the living or the dead, but he’ll grant them regardless, even if only through sheer force of will. He swears on his name as a Minamoto and everything that comes with it.

Because Kou has always just been Kou, and all he’s ever wished for was to make the people he loves happy.

______________________________________________________________

Is a reflection real?

Mitsuba has had plenty of time in the Hell of Mirrors, alone, that he can hear himself think, the thoughts so loud they ricochet off the glass and reflect back to him.

If all he is, is a reflection of the real Mitsuba Sousuke, who exactly is he? Or is the better question, what?

Maybe it was better when he was just an empty shell that didn’t know anything.

If anyone asked Mitsuba if there’s anything he worried about, he’d tell them he was too cute to worry about anything.

But for the longest time, there was no one for him to ask or answer.

Mitsuba hates being alone.

I mean come on, how could anyone leave someone as cute as him alone? Were people blind or something? (He hates feeling like a ghost, even if that’s all he is now, and even then, not even that.)

So he’ll grasp onto anyone or anything as proof of his existence.

If he was never alive in the first place, he wants to shout into the void, then at least, he was here.

(But only echoes answer him)

He grasps onto Tsukasa-kun because at least Tsukasa-kun wants him here or at the very least doesn’t care enough to get rid of him. At least Nanamine-senpai and Hyuga-senpai are nice.

Tsukasa-kun’s mirror image, aka Crazy Knife, aka Honorable No. 7, aka apparently his boss, most definitely wants him gone. Something about the balance or order of the world, but he can’t really talk when he went evil mastermind to keep Radish-senpai trapped, dragging all of them into his crazy scheme in the process, so there.

(But Mitsuba wonders what it’s like to love someone that much.)

Radish-senpai is also nice. Even if she’s obviously not as cute as he is and has fat ankles to boot. He really doesn’t know what Hella-Lame-Traffic-Safety-Earring sees in her. Maybe it’s because they’re both the same – idiots who don’t know how to give up.

He misses Yokoo and Satou. Maybe it was fake, but they were as much his friends as they were ‘Mistuba’s’ right?

Even if they’ll never remember him.

Real or Fake, it doesn’t matter anymore. If he’s not real anyway, can’t he take advantage of a fake world? He can pretend for his whole life, like a marionette on a string. Fake happiness is still a kind of happiness right? Right?

Why wake up from a dream, why break the illusion, why destroy the mirror -when reality is more painful?

What Hella-Lame-Trafic-Safety-Earring doesn’t understand is that when you have nothing, you can settle for anything.

Tsukasa-kun was cruel giving a reflection dominion over mirrors and memories, especially when he has none of his own.

But Minamoto-kun is crueler still for seeing his dead friend whenever he looks at him, even though it’s not his fault.

But Mitsuba is desperate. He’ll let Minamoto-kun call him friend even if it’s not really him Minamoto-kun is seeing, like a trick of the light.

After all Minamoto-kun is dumb, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.

And yet if Minamoto-kun was so dumb, why was he able to tell what Mitsuba’s real wish is?

And with that infuriating face, why does he have the gall to tell Mitsuba that he’ll make his wish come true?

With what power can he act so high and mighty.

And oh, Mitsuba must be the dumb one here, because despite all the odds, why does he believe him?

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #minamoto kou #mitsuba sousuke #hanako kun #yashiro nene #minamoto teru #fanfiction #fanfic #fics #writing #ramblings about jshk

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piccolina-mina · 5 years

Text

The dynamics on this show are interesting, but I love how there are groupings because so many of them have such similarities. Objectively speaking, even characters you find unfavorable or unlikable are often in some way similar to characters you like. Like you have:

The Runners - Liz, Alex, and Rosa

Liz didn't used to be a runner which makes her so interesting. She said something broke in her after Rosa died and she was restless ever since. Running was something she resented in her mother and Rosa, but then she ended up doing the same thing. She and Alex, they're good at running towards things they can make sense of, concrete things, purpose: running towards science and achievement, war and battle, danger, but they run away from feelings.

Those are terrifying and harder to make sense of. Feelings and connections. In all of their relationships (friendships and romantic: Diego, Arturo, Maria, Michael), they always have one foot out of the door. It's not that they don't love someone or care, they show all of that in their own ways but it takes work for them to not bolt. They're fighting against their nature. It's survival and self- preservation. Rosa runs to escape too. Ironically, while the other two run for themselves, Rosa does too but also runs for everyone else. She thinks it's better to put a divide between her and the world.

The Internalizers - Kyle, Alex, and Max

This group, fks me up on a personal level because of this, but many of the characters have a bit of this quality, but these three really embody this to the hilt. But they all showcase it differently.

Kyle functions the best. He functions so well people don't even realise or consider he has problems. He's good at giving the illusion that he's sharing more than he really does, and he's great at coaxing other people to be more open, but he doesn't always practice what he preaches. He holds onto the past a lot in part because he doesn't want to repeat it. But that boy has internal battles, and no one really notices. The two people who do are Liz and Alex, but both are runners, and one is a heavy internalizer too.

Alex is one of those internalizers who feels everything but doesn't emote and show it. So he comes across like he's unfazed, but he keeps everything in. It's possible it's an effect of his abusive childhood. It's a conscience effort for him to express most feelings and he distributes them carefully and usually with specific intentions.

Max is the most emotionally open but he's the sort who internalizes blame like no other. It's actually funny that so many fans hate him because he would just take that totally accept it. He'll take blame for things whether it was his fault or not. Guilt eats away at him. He's the poster child for depression out of the three aliens. Hides his pain, sadness, most of his feelings that affect him and him alone, he buries.

The Caretakers - Maria and Kyle

They take care of people. Often at their own expense. There's a reason why Liz feels safe with Kyle, why Alex despite their history is less guarded with Kyle. There's a reason why Liz can confide in Maria. Why Michael responds to Maria, Why Max is at ease around Maria. Kyle and Maria are natural nurturers without even trying to be. They probably have the warmest vibes around them.

They make people gravitate to them with their personality and energy. They're the reason there are quotes about protecting your space, because they have a draw that the wrong people will siphon from at it can be at their own expense.

They take care of people, but they don't have people taking care of them often. They present themselves as if they don't need it. Kyle allows himself to be "a distraction" but also hints at wishing his needs were met too. Maria takes care of her mom without complaint but also doggedly pursues anything that can make her mom better because she misses her mom but she's also tired.

They're the emotional support characters everyone leans on. They tend to needs: physical, emotional, sxual, and mental.

*caveat. Max can also fall into this too. Some of his caretaking is out of guilt (Arturo) but he shows this most with his siblings. Later on with Liz. His entire life is the three of them. But it's limited. We saw that with how neglectful he was with Cam, how it doesn't extend to his mother etc.

The Fixers - Michael and Liz

This is probably why the Science Bros is so appealing even though Michael often treats Liz like trash. They're both highly intelligent, STEM geared, and born and bred fixers. If you have a problem, they can pull off some of the emotional labor (we see that with Liz and Maria when she's made aware and Liz and Isobel and Michael and Isobel and Michael and Maria), but they're fixers first and foremost.

That's why they work so well together and probably will be at the forefront of getting Max back if Michael can keep it together. Michael is the most literal fixer. A handy man and mechanic, the go to for any fix. He's not calculated though. He's impulsive and wants immediacy. He jumps into the first solution he wants it fixed now.

Liz wants it fixed right. She weighs the options and has to figure out the best solution. So they're so similar in that regard but still clash. But that's how they both end up dragged to a healer in the desert. Do they believe it? No. But a fix is a fix.

The Moral Compasses/Arbiters - Kyle, Liz, Cam

Kyle and Liz are definitely the moral compasses of the gang. They're balanced and fair. They run on both logic and emotion effectively. When one threatens to supersede the other, they catch it and correct it. They're driven by what's right. They're moral and conscientious. You can trust that they're always pointed at due north. They have codes they live by. Affirmations.

Cam is like this too. It's interesting how she was set up to be an antagonist, but what's right was prioritized over personal gain. She didn't compromise her ethics even for her sister. She lost her job doing what was right at her own expense.

The Masked Posers - Isobel and Alex

Posers isn't meant negatively, but I couldn't think of a better way to word it. Just FYI.

These two spend so much time hiding behind a carefully crafted facade and mask that sometimes they lose sight of themselves. They both ended the season having to meet themselves in the mirror. Alex is tapping back into who he was (that leather jacket 😍) and Isobel has to figure out who she is outside of Noah and Max.

They're shackled by image and projecting specific ones. But their masks crack and you see bits of what's behind them. They have the most prominent and consistent identity issues.

The Survivors/Outlaws/Rebels - Michael, Maria, Rosa

They're all survivors in their own way, but these three have a very distinctive style. Virtual outcasts of the town. Who they were was decided by outsiders whether they fit the profile or not.

They do what they have to do to survive, and they don't compromise or make apologies for it. They are who they are and they own it.

They're the ones who are inclined to break the rules or laws. Michael and Maria are both hustlers who do what they need to in order to make ends meet. Rosa self-medicated to survive. Michael is the known troublemaker and rabble rouser, Rosa is the town pariah and stain, Maria is the weirdo.

The Protectors - Michael, Max

The brothers probably clash so much because they'll both do whatever it takes to protect their people, but they don't always agree on how to do that. They will fight for you if they care.

Max can extend this farther and does since he's a cop. Michael protects the people he cares about and doesn't give a damn about anyone else. That circle is very small. So far, he protects Isobel, Max, Alex, and Maria. That's it.

The Riders - Michael, Maria, Cam

They are ride or die for their people. No questions asked. Even if you're fking up. They'll bitch but have your back. They will ride shotgun to your crazy every time.

Michael visibly didn't agree with things Isobel did or suggested and verbally and physically disagreed with Max a lot, but he'll still ride with you until the wheels fall off.

Maria endlessly supports and held a decade long grudge on Rosa's behalf. Knew a lot about Rosa and how troubled she was but was her ride or die anyway.

Cam knew Max was lying to her and put up with a lot, but she had his back the whole time.

#anyway I just thought that was interesting #roswell new mexico #kyle valenti #maria deluca #liz ortecho #rosa ortecho #I'm sorry that person most people hate is clogging up the tag with random posts but no worries I think I'm done for now 😊#Roswell nm angst hours #my babies i still left some out tbh #but groupings fascinate me and you can almost always put characters in set groups

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dansnaturepictures · 4 years

Photo

10 of my favourite pictures to take from 7th-13th June 2020 and recap of the week

As I stood looking at Marbled Whites butterflies and then Bee orchids at Stockbridge Down and then (briefly) Lakeside yesterday afternoon I had a thought. I didn’t want to take photos of them as I had taken pictures I was pretty proud of featuring the species only days before, albeit with the Marbled Whites yesterday I saw some unique image opportunities to the ones at Lakeside on Tuesday so did try in the end but wasn’t quite fast enough to take them before the butterflies flew. But the thought was that it didn’t seem like they were only days ago like it normally would as with working from home even on in places greyer and wetter days of late I am just producing so many images on daily walks and more. So if its like this for me a high turnover meaning images taken in the week proceeding this Saturday felt like ones from ages ago I dread to think what its like for my social media mutuals! More Twitter than Tumblr but I think similarly I do have such a high turnover at the moment. This isn’t a thought that worries me too much, I always console myself that they’ll always be churn I just can’t help it.

For Twitter especially a picture I take on a Sunday afternoon when life is normal I’m working all week perhaps in winter and then I don’t take another or don’t upload any old pictures for whatever reason until the following Saturday is always going to get an advantage being at the top of my profile and displayed in the six most recent images on the profile for longer than a photo taken the Wednesday of a week I’m off work say and am producing 10s of photos every day. Its just that every week feels like this at the moment, I have reasons when working from home to keep my finger off my camera button a bit here and there but mostly related to the subsequent processing of them clashing with things in evenings. But I’ve long realised whilst in these very weird times I am so lucky to be able to safely get out and walk in a varied, biodiverse and beautiful country park on my doorstep. I’ve also been extremely lucky of late with restrictions easing to safely get back to some of the more normal for us weekend walks we have been able to do and in many cases take unprecedented amounts of pictures for me on days really seeing amazing wildlife as well.

One way I’ve perhaps tried to give photos a chance to stick around a bit is by keeping my system of pinning my most interacted with new photo or wildlife sighting tweet to my profile each week, instead of it being just out of what I took at the weekend out of every photo taken the week prior. This week especially will be an exciting one to pick because all across social media but especially Twitter I seem to have had so many people interacting with my photos this week notably which has been happening more and more for a while really so I am so so grateful for that. A huge thank you to everyone for doing that, whether you’re a regular friend of mine on here or not. Seeing people interact even in a small way makes posting my photos so much more worthwhile. But this weekend I had the idea, a bit like one of my picks which I occasionally do where I either tweet what was my favourite photo to take that week or do a post on here with the context of that photo, to do this post. One big reason being doing the pick perhaps more regularly would help give photos that are maybe a bit lost in the crowd another chance to be seen as my photo of the week system which this replaced in 2017 did but the past week unlike the one before it there were too many standout photos (I hope I don’t seem big headed saying that) from different themes which every one of these tweets has to have now so it would be too time consuming to pick one. So below are captions to each pictures in order of appearance in this photoset, with a little bit about the day and if anyone is interested a link to the blog post I did on the night...

1. Common Tern at Pennington on Sunday, a great day to kick off this week with a variety of birds seen it really was a top late spring day of New Forest birding at a site I love so much and missed a lot in the stricter days of lockdown, including key year ticks my first Little Ringed Plover and Eider Ducks of the year.

2. A dramatic landscape at Pennington also that day

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620294983274184704/7620-flowers-in-the-garden-pennington-walk-and

3. Young Goldfinch in the garden on Monday, alongside a lovely Lakeside walk around the lakes with my Dad at a 2 metre distance under the current restrictions a key moment from Monday was seeing and finally getting to photograph another adorable young bird in the garden with this Goldfinch.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620383808053739520/08062020-spider-from-my-last-night-in-my-room

4. Meadow Brown at Lakeside Country Park on Tuesday, one of my best days of butterfly watching this year thanks to a sweet 45 minutes or so at Lakeside characterised in part by a notable amount of these butterflies opening their wings which I don’t often see giving picture opportunities.

5. Marbled White at Lakeside also on Tuesday, the key part of my working week really after a few lunch times of looking in the area I am so used to seeing them in at this country park and that I nickname after them I was over the moon to come across this one it was a wonderful natural moment a key part of my year and felt like one of my best days for butterfly photographs in a week that had three of my best so far I feel all of which are in this post.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620477036347129856/09062020-flowers-and-marbled-white-and-more-on

6. Bee orchid at Lakeside on Wednesday, just metres from where the Marbled White was taken this day was very different with showers up until half way through my lunch break, by which point I stretched the legs at Lakeside after eating lunch and seeing this amazing wildflower which I photographed a bit further along in the walk last month with my macro and being able to capture it with raindrops still fresh with my big lens the only one I had on me was one of my greatest natural and beautiful moments this week.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620568869335105536/showery-wednesday-10th-june-2020-starlings

7. View at Lakeside that peaceful evening, Thursday was another wet and stormy this time day where garden birdwatching took a lot of focus to be honest as it did the latter half of this week as I didn’t know what quality of walks I’d get with showers for most of the afternoon and early evening, the lunch time one wasn’t very eventful that day but I did have a peaceful evening one as it got dry which this view summed up really.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620660235307270144/thursday-11062020-thunderstorm-the-calm-after

8. Oxeye daisies at Lakeside, Friday, another evening walk after another wet lunch time one which I did this time get out to Lakeside on. This was another flower picture and another oyeye daisy picture I am happy with this year. The day belonged to moths though supported by butterflies with Yellow Shell seen on both walks alongside my first ever Burnet Companion on the evening walk which was a fantastic moment alongside Meadow Brown, another Marbled White and another Small Skipper like my first of the year there a week prior as it got brighter in the evening.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620751463837319169/12062020-birds-butterflies-moths-and-more-at

9. Dark Green Fritillary at Stockbridge Down on Saturday, yesterday it was a butterfly classic for me at one of my favourite places to watch them headlined by this one of the next species I needed to see this year but another early sighting compared to previous years. We saw so many as well as other top species such as Small Blue (which I forgot to mention in my wildlife sightings summary yesterday!), Marbled White and Small Tortoiseshell. So many pictures taken yesterday too across wildlife, landscapes and flowers.

10. View at Common Marsh also on Saturday, with a call in at this nearby spot too it became a brilliant general wildlife day as I saw my first Sedge Warbler, Banded Demoiselle and Scarlet Tiger moth of 2020 too as well as loads of water birds.

https://dansnaturepictures.tumblr.com/post/620838370171666432/13062020-stockbridge-down-and-common-marsh-with

So there we are, another unforgettable week. I would add this is a one off right now and I don’t think I’ll be able to do this every week going forward. But if I get the time, maybe I will do now and again of a Sunday morning/early afternoon just so I know I am reflecting really. Thanks once again for your amazing and truly valued support!

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angstymarshmallow · 5 years

Text

part seven - “give me a sign.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I’ve been wracking my brain on this for two weeks now and I think...I think this is where I want it to be. It’s a bit different than what I imagined originally for a crossover and is loosely based off that particular bloodbound chapter. I mean like why are action sequences so hard and there will be a secondary piece of more crossover time in the next part! Can you believe this is still going on? And we’re not even at the end yet. If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you!.]

[words counted: 7600]

[summary: While MC (Wren) heads to New York in hopes of finding Cal, Cal tries to come to terms with what he wants vs. what he can’t have. Trapped in Kavinsky’s makeshift prison, he can only count on himself. Little does he know, Wren and the most unlikely allies are here to break him out of this hellhole].

[part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six]

The trip to New York was short, but it’s been one anxious moment after another during the several hours she’s been locked in her seat – peering at the clouds from her window as late afternoon gradually became night. For someone like Wren whose spent most of her life being unperturbed by nearly everything, it says a lot. There isn’t a great deal of things capable of making her anxious.

Still, her anxiety is half the problem and the other half is completely fixated on Cal. He’s all alone out there.

She tries to picture his boyish smile, the light flush in his cheeks when she teases him or the warmth in his laughter – but the images quickly fizzle out at the thought of anyone hurting him. I swear to god if that asshole harms one fucking hair on his head –

She would do anything to have him safely in her arms again.

Wren inhales deeply, sagging against her seat as the plane comes to an almost complete stop. It won’t be long now. She’s supposed to be meeting with Nik’s contacts as soon as she’s out of here.

Keep it together. Just keep it together.

She tries to push him out of her thoughts, but he funnels through. She can’t stop thinking about him, and her mind will end up thinking the worst at the rate things are going. Checking the time on her watch, she sighs and relents to resting her head against her seat. She peers at the plane’s ceiling.

Focus on something else.

She wracks her brain, absently tapping the screen of her phone.

Adrian Raines. Kamilah Sayeed. Jax Matsuo. Lily Spencer. Harlow Daniels.

She mulls over their names as the pilot exchanges his farewell across the intercom.

Only half of them vaguely rings a bell, but the latter are a mystery as far as she’s concerned. Who were they beyond what the media reports?

They’re supposed to meet, and yet she has no idea what meeting with them will entail. Vampires of all the things. In the flesh. Fangs and all. There’s a quiet kind of exhilaration at the knowledge that they’re real, that she’s really meeting a bunch of bloodsuckers. Hell, even a year later – the supernatural world still continues to catch her off guard.

It’s only a shame that they haven’t exactly been forthright about anything else. None of the people she’s meeting tonight have expunged any information as to what they need from Kavinsky, but she’s assumed as much that they must have bene looking for something specific. He was after all – a glorified artist that collected the highest quality of merchandises.

But people aren’t merchandise.

Scowling, Wren wrenches her seatbelt free. The thought infuriates her.

She steps in front of an elderly woman without thinking and flinches before making enough for her to pass. Muttering a stiff apology, she follows the rest of the crowd out of the airplane shaft.

A swift vibration emanating from her pocket has her glancing down in time to catch a glimpse of Danny’s name floating across the top screen of her phone. She quickly swipes it free, thinking the worst until she’s able to read his entire message.

There were some wolves poking around earlier. They smelled weird but Pete sent them packing before we realized they’re apart of Shaw’s pack. He’s kinda in bad shape but Nick, Theo and Sabine are fine. Just wanted to check in that you got to NY okay.

A pause before another message pops up.

Not that I care or anything.

Wren hides a smile behind her smirk. The little shit does care about her.

She’d be lying if she said the idea doesn’t lift her spirits – even a little at the thought, but she knows better than to make a big deal out of it. At least not right now. She can always tease them later when their lives aren’t in danger anymore.

Ah hell, who’s she kidding? Their lives will always be in some level of danger.

Tapping her fingers lightly against the screen, Wren tries to think of a response.

Heard you loud and clear kid. I got here fine and I’m about to meet with Nik’s associates.

She waits a beat before adding.

Then we’ll find Cal and we’ll be back before you even know it.

He doesn’t say thank you in so many words but she can tell he’s grateful for her reassurance. Before Wren is able to pocket her phone safely into her jacket, another text dings and flits across her screen.

Good. Stay safe.

You too kid.

Taking a deep breath in hopes of settling her nerves, Wren manages a sharp nod at the security that ushers her through. If she has anything to say about it – they’ll be back home in no time.

The place they’ve agreed to meet her seems a little far off the normal radar. Well, normal radar being – not dark, dingy and creepy. Although, she’s been to her fair share of sketchy places, she’d feel much better if they were meeting in Time’s Square instead of backstreets leading into abandoned alleyways.

At least she has a switchblade with her.

Still, the side streets and corners with flickering lights all but scream serial killer.

This is where psychos kidnap or knock out the few people dumb enough to travel out on their own. But Wren isn’t just some random idiot taking a shortcut home – she’s here for a reason. And she’s hellbent on finding Cal, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it costs.

Besides, Nik’s one of the few people she trusts and a favor is a favor after all.

However, Wren still finds her anxiety getting the best of her. Her thoughts are ridiculously stuck on things out of her control as she toys with the brunt edges of her blade between her fingers. After a few minutes, she checks the time on her phone.

They’re late.

It isn’t until the sound of light footsteps coming from the long-winding alleyway does some of her anxiety finally began to chip away. She glances up and notices shadows casting sinewy figures across the cobblestone pavement in time. They belong to five people. The closer they grow, the more she’s able to discern their appearance and what she sees – has her whistling in soft appreciation under her breath.

They’re seriously good-looking – not that she thinks she’s ever seen an unattractive vampire before, but her eyes can’t help but be drawn to each of them, as if against her own will. It’s almost close to indescribable when it comes to how enthralling they appear at this distance.

The first is a well-dressed gentleman with an almost bronze look to his skin as his intense-looking obsidian eyes meet her stare. He’s taller than the rest of his cohorts. She feels trapped by his gaze somehow and she sucks in a breath when her lungs fight for one. Seconds pass before his gaze travels south – to the rest of her. When he finally breaks eye contact, she manages to scope out the rest of him with something akin to a relieved sigh.

He’s in a grey suit that’s way too fancy for this part of New York. His dark and thick hair has been sleeked back as a stiff grin settles and draws her attention to the sharpness of his cheekbones.

The woman a few paces beside him wears her own expensive-looking suit as well. Although hers’ is several shades of dark purple – not quite the colour of licorice but not quite anything else either, she possesses such an air of authority that Wren fights with the sudden urge to sink her gaze to the floor. The woman drags a tanned and flawlessly manicured hand through her long and almost oakwood-coloured hair. Something in her penetrating stare causes gooseflesh to break-out across Wren’s skin.

The third person stands a little off to the side and heaves a mean-looking crossbow across her back. Unlike the other two, she doesn’t radiate an ounce of unfriendliness. She seems to be the exact opposite down from the laid-back way she’s dressed. Her dark eyes and skin are a stunning comparison to her lavender-style braids. She sticks out from the people in suits – but in the best way possible. She tosses a few of her braids across her shoulder before waving at her.

The remaining two stand a little closer together from the rest. Wren can’t help but think there’s something more between them than just simple business partners as she diverts to their attention. In fact, the taller of the two seems to almost glare suspiciously at her as he places a protective arm around the secondary person.

He’s the one that deserves Wren’s own glare in response. He’s wearing a dark crimson jacket that isn’t even his colour and tight-fitting jeans that seem a little outdated compared to the rest of his companions. But it’s his protective arm loosely tucked to the woman’s side that’s convinced her there’s definitely something more. Her eyes follow the length of his shoulders and she nearly does a double-take.

Is that…is that a katana?

His jet-black hair nearly obscures his dark eyes, but Wren is still preoccupied at staring in awe at the sword that’s strapped across his back. What I wouldn’t give for one of those.

It isn’t until the much smaller and wiry framed woman nestled beside him steps forward that she finally breaks eye contact.

Her bangs are even longer than her counterpart, but she wears it with in such a fashionable style that Wren is barely able to tell the difference in length. She’s dressed just as impeccable as her partners, but unlike the rest of them – there isn’t as much of an otherworldly-ness to her. She doesn’t have the same likeness that makes them a vampire. Still, something about her remains vaguely familiar despite Wren being unable to put her finger on it.

Apprehension makes the air around them shudder and Wren shifts uncomfortably on her feet from the sudden awareness of the terse atmosphere.

If their intentions aren’t as sincere as she hopes, she’d severely outmatched and a complete dumbass for meeting them alone. Even with her half-working fae powers at best, nothing can prepare her for taking on a bunch of vampires on. They’re ridiculously stronger than any average human, and as much as she’s fae – the rest of her is still human.

Steeling quiet resolve, Wren forces a smile at the sign of their approach. They’re a few feet away now and she has to convey complete confidence. You’re in control Wren, you’re in control. Not some meek-minded weak person. Although she’s looking for information, she can’t give them the idea she’s desperate. “I heard you’re the people that I’m looking for.” She inclines her head.

“Maybe, that really depends on you.” The guy with the crimson jacket grunts, his hand on his weapon.

The woman that’s been beside him this entire time, shoots him a sudden look. Then she straightens herself upright, the ruffles of her blouse crinkling at the motion. “I take it you’re Wren Howell, right?”

“Yup. And you’re…Nik’s associates.” Wren makes a gesture at them.

They’ve gradually grown closer and she can make out a gleam in one of their eyes.

“That’s correct. He mentioned you were looking for information.” The particularly fancy grey suit has folded his arms. His eyes are carefully neutral, which Wren suspects is something he does quite often when he’s assessing someone.

“Actually, I’m not just looking for information. I’m looking for someone. Cal. Cal Lowell.” She says his name a-matter-of-factly. “And I heard you may know how I can find him.” She takes a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice even. Although, she’s desperate to find him, she refuses to break down in front of a bunch of strangers. “I know you’re all meeting Landgon Kavinsky.” Her gaze steadily flits across to every one of them, pausing to emphasize the depth of her words. “And I know Cal’s last whereabouts were through him.” She hesitates before adding, “a couple night ago if I’m being completely honest. They had a meeting,” she continues steadily, the blade between her fingers moving more rapidly. “And no one’s seen or heard him since.”

The man in the crimson jacket whistles. “You sure don’t like to waste any time, do you? I kinda like that.”

“Me too.” The lavendair-haired woman chirps, flashing Wren a wide smile.

“Lily, we’re here to discuss something important – not flirt with our new guest.” Another one of the women chimes in; the shortest of all three with a bemused expression flitting across her face.

Lily pouts and Wren wrestles against the abrupt urge to smile. “I don’t see a point in beating around the bush. Time isn’t something I have a lot of, and I don’t want to spend precious seconds here when I could be looking for him out there.” She jerks her chin behind them.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Something in Wren’s chest tightens. “Look,” her voice cracks a little and she winces at the sound. “You can obviously tell that I care about the guy. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me something.” The switchblade within her grip moves a little faster – from finger to finger, “my gut is telling me that he’s in danger and I need to find him.” Her gut feelings have rarely – if ever been wrong before.

Grey-suit folds his arms while his brows arches to seemingly contemplate her words. Scrutinizing his expression, he breaks the quiet tenseness in the air first. “Harlow, you didn’t mention any of this.” He cuts his attention to the shortest of the two women in front of Wren.

The woman – Harlow, pinches her expression together as her lips thin into a faint frown. Cautiously, she peers back at him. “Sorry Adrian, I didn’t realize it was this serious. Nik wasn’t keen on so many details other than a name and Mr. Kavinsky’s usual meeting places.” She bites her low lip.

“So, you do know Kavinsky then?” Wren interrupts impatiently.

The other woman – tallest of all three who has yet to speak, suddenly bristles. Every length of her seems to stiffen. Her eyes narrow into slits as she speaks up, abruptly interjecting before Harlow is able to assemble any sense of an answer. “We may or may not, although that doesn’t explain why we should divulge such delicate information.” There’s an emphasis on her words and Wren detects a hint of a slight slur – fairly unlike any accent she has ever heard before.

“Kamilah!” Harlow’s face goes a little pale but Adrian seems to consider the other woman’s words carefully – he strokes his chin.

Kamilah snorts and crosses her arms. “You certainly can’t blame me. After all, we’ve only just met and I’m merely stating the obvious.”

Wren tenses. She gets it, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. If circumstances were reserved, she wouldn’t be necessarily jumping at the opportunity to help. But she’s the one that needs their assistance – so she bites her tongue and shifts on her feet.

“She has every reason to be cautious. How do we know we can trust you?” Adrian tilts his chin, eyes glimmering from ashen black into twinges of deep red against the dark backdrop of the dim city lights.

“And how do we know we can’t?” Lily cuts in.

“This is no small favour.” Adrian meets Lily’s sudden frown until she drops her stare. “This isn’t just some stranger without a single pull in the city. We ‘re talking about – Mr. Lavinsky and he’s the kind of man no one should cross lightly.”

“I’m not asking for you to cross him,” Wren fights to keep her tone steady, but it’s hard. Every second she wastes standing here talking is another second Cal remains missing. “I’m asking for you to let me come along – let me find him on my own.”

“Like hell we will!” Kamilah snarls, baring her teeth.

The other vampire, whom Wren presumes to be Jax seem to echo her sentiment with a derisive snort, and his hand that’s rested on his weapon has turned white as he shoots Wren a glare. Although, both Harlow and Adrian seem to hesitate – glancing at their companions uneasily, it’s Kamilah who keeps pursing it. “This is not up for discussion. Absolutely not. You would jeopardize everything we’re trying to accomplish.”

“– you said you wanted information where he was – not that you wanted to come with us.” Jax adds, frowning.

Wren takes a deep breath, “okay fair. But you don’t get it. It’s for him. For Cal.” It’s always been for him. “I shouldn’t have let him go alone in the first place. I should’ve –” Her voice trembles a little, “dammit! He just shouldn’t have gone alone!” Her free hand clenches into a tight fist and suddenly she’s left with fighting the urge to hit something. “I should be there because when you love someone – there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. So that’s why I’m here,” she spreads her arms out wide. “Standing and barely capable of holding it together at the thought of him being out there – alone.” She jerks her chin, “because that asshole locked him up.”

“You don’t know that.” Adrian’s brow furrows. “Mr. Kavinsky has never been the sort to add living people into his collections. That blurs all kinds of lines –”

“I’m not here to argue with you.” Wren interjects, jutting her chin out stubbornly. “I’m only here on a hunch and I don’t need the details of what you’re all doing here.” Okay, she’d love to know but that’s besides the point.

“Nik sent me, and like he said – you owe him one. These were his terms.” She makes a point of staring directly at Adrian and feels some satisfaction in noting a slight grimace in his appearance. She’ll definitely have to thank Nik later. If there is a later anyway. “And you don’t strike me as the type of person to go behind their word.”

“No.” Adrian sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I am usually a man of my word.” He turns his attention to Kamilah and Jax, “we need to take her with us.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kamilah says curtly, shaking her head. “She could jeopardize everything.”

“Or she could help us.” Jax adds, his brow creasing in thought.

“Are we all on team Wren now?” Lily asks, bumping Jax’s arm.

Kamilah arches an eyebrow. “…..what makes you think we can even trust her?”

“…Uh, hello?” Wren waves a hand wildly in front of them, breaking shifting all their attention back on her. She gestures down at herself. “I’m still here. I didn’t just fade out of existence.”

“We can’t.” Adrian answers evenly, glancing objectively back at Kamilah. “Not with absolute certainty.”

“Hey!” Wren presses her fingers to her lips and whistle. “Listen, you can trust me enough because Nik sent me here.” Wren grumbles hotly, drawling out his name to emphasize her point.

If Adrian’s heard her, he makes a note of blatantly ignoring her outburst. The bastard.

Sure enough, within seconds Adrian lowers his voice until Wren can barely make out his words or what anyone else is saying.

Huffing a breath, Wren settles for balefully watching them instead. She taps her feet impatiently. Every now and then, they glance in her general direction and she opens her mouth to speak before they glance away and her mouth snaps back shut.

Ugh, I don’t have time for this. Clearing her throat, Wren glares at them. “As interesting as this has been, if you aren’t going to help me then we’re wasting each other’s time and I’ve got someone to save.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Harlow breaks the tenseness in the air first, her smile – alarmingly cool for someone that’s been mostly quiet this entire time. Her steady voice seems to put the others at ease too as she gestures between them. “We’re on board with taking you with us. We know exactly where Cal was taken.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Kamilah intercedes, pursing her lips.

“I do,” Harlow suddenly retrieves a phone and points at the screen. “Because he suddenly decided to change our meeting spot and something tells me it’s where Cal is.”

Wren swallows back her sudden excitement. “Great.” She’s close – so close in finding him, so close in seeing him again. She takes a few steps towards them as Harlow taps across her phone’s screen. “When do we leave? Tomorrow night?” She’s hoping it won’t take anymore time. She’s itching for a fight.

“No. It’s happening tonight.”

Blood.

The smell of it is heavy and pungent in the air. It’s not just his blood either. There’s a mix of all sorts in here – supernatural creatures that has no business being locked up and tucked away from the rest of the world. And no matter what Cal does – there’s no escaping from it.

His eyes snap open with a gasp until he realizes he’s still cuffed and in chains, as the rest of details from the last several days come rushing back to him. Again.

Although he knows it’s futile, he wrestles against the metallic material across his wrists until his struggles turn into shaking, and the stupid thing administers another jolt of shock into his system. Another painful fucking reminder that he’s trapped.

The wolf in him whelps and practically seethes but the rest of Cal settles for gritting his teeth to prevent himself from yelping out loud. Fuck, he won’t ever give them that satisfaction. He wets his cracked dry lips as he sniffs the foul atmosphere; trying desperately to pick up any hints as to a way out of here but when nothing sticks out to him – he settles for slamming his fists against the glass – hoping feebly that his wolf strength won’t fail him now.

But it does fail him. He’s hungry, practically ravenous for something and his footing slips as he staggers against the surface.

He hears the sound of barely contained and muffled laughter. He growls. The least these assholes can do is feed him regularly but he supposes Kavinsky knows enough of werewolf physiology that feeding him more than a little does wonders for his strength. If he even has a little more, he’d be able to do something more than howl and shove his shoulders and fists fruitlessly against it.

Slamming his fist again, Cal manages another hard punch before slumping down the floor. He hugs his knees and leans his head back until it’s able to rest across the glass’ seemingly impenetrable surface. It’s no use. There’s no way he’s getting out of here.

Cal has spent the last few days trying to scratch, break, punch his way through the thick walls of his prison. But nothing’s changed. There’s no dent in the wall. No cracks in the glass because they know he’s not strong enough to do anything more. He’s not going to escape – Kavinsky built all these in a way that makes the idea laughable at best but still, Cal hopes.

His hope carries him to sleep. It deludes him into thinking he’ll wake up the next day in the comfort of his home – surrounded by people who love him. Donny and his petulant frowns whenever he’d scold him. Wren’s smirk or the mischievous glint she gets in her eyes whenever they’ve been left alone. I miss them. And the absence of their presence has left him cold all over.

He wedges his eyes close, tries to fight a panic attack with simple breathing. The wolf in him isn’t satisfied though, he snarls and tries to take control. But the cuffs around his wrist quickly remind him there’s no hope of him getting out.

Fuck – if he could only get these things off.

When Cal’s eyes flutter open, and he heaves a sigh. He’s never getting out of here. They narrow into slits a second later when the light above his head suddenly flickers then dies out. He stands a little straighter, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking as something in his gut implores that something is strong. Ignoring the abrupt panic seizing his chest, Cal presses his hands across the glass while he waits anxiously for something to happen.

The lights make a soft humming noise as they flicker back on.

What the hell was that? His ears perk at the abrupt and nearly muffled sounds of footsteps, followed by the rapid shouting voices. He can’t make them out yet – they’re still too far away. But he does gather through keenly listening that there’s some kind of a commotion going on. And by the sounds of it, it’s definitely something Kavinsky hadn’t expect.

Good, that bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.

If only Cal wasn’t stuck in here and while all the action out there made him itch to try sifting again. If only he didn’t have these stupid cuffs on. If only he could do something more than stare miserably at the door, hanging onto every sound –

The cuffs around his wrist suddenly go slack and Cal blinks down at them in surprise. Something tells him not to wait – he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d rather count his blessings than take them for granted and he clenches his hands into fists – squeezing tightly before pushing them several inches apart from each other.

Snap.

He breaks free and what’s left of the metal is littered across his feet.

Stretching out his wrists for a moment, Cal grins. They’re still raw from how long his skin has been chafing but at least they’re free now. At least he’s free. Whatever’s out there – that’s where his concern should be. But instead of focusing on the qualms of what’s behind the door – his other half is practically straining against his rational side to be free.

He doesn’t waste any more time. With a howl, Cal sheds his human form and embraces the wolf with eager and wild abandon. Hunching over slightly; it takes seconds for the familiar rush of adrenaline to envelop his senses – to wrap him in an overwhelming sense of joy at finally being able to shift again. His pulse turns erratic while his bones crack and reforms themselves into place. Russet-coloured fur rapidly replaces where skin and he launches himself at the window – a streak of dark brown that shatters the glass barrier on contact.

The pieces fall at his feet.

Cal pauses long enough to howl and deeply inhale the heavy atmosphere.

There’s a change in the air and it spells something bad. Or good. He can’t decide. He doesn’t have complete focus like this, his instinct has almost completely taken over. The fact that his body is shaking in excitement but remains unmoving is a miracle of itself. His nose twitches as he inhales again, deeper this time – and there is a lot to find familiar.

There’s the unpleasant stuff that’s not easy miss – the dried blood of torture, the smell of unwashed people left alone for far too long. And the heavy odor of security’s body spray. But not all of it makes sense – some of what he’s able to smell is ridiculously strange. Another whiff of it allows Cal to realize the scent of blood isn’t merely the kind of creatures locked away – there’s fighting going on and the sickly odd smell happens to be bloodsuckers. His fur stands at ends with the rest of his body.

But there’s one - one familiar scent in the entire universe that he never thought he’d be able to enjoy again. Especially not after ending things.

No fucking way. It can’t be her.

But he knows her scent. He knows it so damn well because he’s spent a lot of time committing her to memory. He’s spent so much time running his tongue across her skin, nibbling her most sensitive spots, burying his lips by the crook of her shoulders, by her inner thighs – there’s no way he can ever forget her and suddenly he can’t wait to get out of here.

With another low growl, Cal hastily bounds to the door. There’s no sense in trying the lock, he simply paws at it – claws crunching the metal, until he’s able to administer one hard shove.t

The door bursts wide open.

It looks like he’s made it just in time.

Their plan worked.

Wren wants to laugh in disbelief but she’s too preoccupied with fighting against the wave of security to stay alive. She can’t give anything more than a momentary we-did-it yell inside her mind before there’s another asshole to clock in the head.

She ducks under the arm of her current assailant and deftly switches the hand of her switchblade. She wipes alongside the length of his beefy arm. The man cries out in pain and Wren takes the opportunity in stride, knocking him flat on his ass by shoving the brunt of her palm towards his chin.

Another guard manages to land a solid punch to her jaw and Wren fights against the sudden stab of pain. Gritting her teeth, she spins away as he titters forward to push on the offensive. She utters a harsh battle cry and feints right, landing a front kick to the chest before his entire body goes flying.

A third guard slams into her, knocking her to the floor. Her back arches in pain and she hisses as the man tries to press his palms into her neck. Choking, Wren head-butts him, almost seeing stars but it isn’t enough to throw him off.

Suddenly he cries out and stops moving. Shoving him off her, Wren kicks him for good effort as she spots two arrows lodged firmly into his chest. Surprised, she glances up in time to notice Lily’s thumbs up before she spins away to strike another security guard.

From across the room, the crimson jacket vampire tosses his katana with breakneck speed towards another guard that seemed to be seconds away from grabbing Harlow’s arm. It lands almost directly in the base of his skull and Harlow yells a word of thanks before gripping the hilt of the sharp weapon and yanking it out.

A hair length away Kamilah has already dealt with a handful of security, dancing in and out of their reach as the set of her elegantly tipped daggers follow the motion. Her eyes are terrifyingly beautiful; dark red – glimmering in delight as another guard falls to her feet. She throws a wink over her shoulder when she spots Wren watching.

“Duck!”

Acting on instinct, Wren listens to the commanding voice and watches in awe as Adrian practically sails across her head. He’s launched himself at two enemies, burying his fangs into their neck as they scream in pain.

Holy shit, they’re amazing.

The group in front of her aren’t just business associates. They aren’t just friends either. They’re well-oiled machine, stepping into place to defend and attack on each other’s behalf. If one doesn’t make a killing blow – another person is suddenly there to aid them, and Wren does everything she can to keep pace with their efficiency.

A sudden howl fills the air in the middle of all this chaos. Her heart skips a beat at the sound. There’s only one wolf that sounds like that. Powerful. Magnetic. It’s not like she could ever forget his voice – wolf or human.

Without thinking she raises her chin – just in time to spot all eight hundred pounds of lycan bustling from out of the hall and sending the rest of people scattering in his wake. Screams fill the air and there almost isn’t place Wren looks without a splatter of blood.

His bright amber eyes meet hers for a moment, softening before hardening again at guards still left alive. A howl rumbles and escapes his throat.

Wren watches a little mystified at the immeasurable speed he’s able to strike – muscles that bunch together and ripple beneath his fur with every movement. His razor-sharp claws slice through thin air as though he knows exactly where they’ll be before they even know it. The sounds of complete agony fill the re room and become loud enough to drone out the erratic pacing of Wren’s own heartbeat.

The screaming quickly turns into silence.

Wren wipes the worst of the blood off of her face.

The adrenaline is still flooding her veins at an incredible rate and it doesn’t take her long to cross the space between left them – her heart hammering wildly in her chest again, every step of the way. It’s him. It’s really him.

She can scarcely believe it. But he is – right here.

He bounds loftily towards her – fur practically trembling from anxiety.

She can’t hear what he’s thinking but radiates worry, fear. “I’m here. I’m really here Cal.” She wants to reassure him but her voice chokes on the words. “And you’re okay, god I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Are those tears?

Something wet has touched her cheeks but she doesn’t care, he’s here.

Cal drops to his hind legs and his large forearms cocoon her to his chest.

The heat is a blissful, welcoming feeling, like the furnace he always is – it takes no time for her to feel his heat all the way down to her toes.

He lets out a deep hum as she buries her fingers into his mane.

Seconds pass before the fur she’s been stroking turns to soft skin. His skin is slicked with sweat and he’s almost too hot for her fingers to wince in return, but to Wren it’s still the greatest feeling in the world. He’s back where he belongs – he’s home.

Wren squeezes her eyes shut and buries her lips into the crook of his neck as he effortlessly lifts her off her feet. The sudden motion makes her fumble and nearly lose her footing, but the rest of her body reacts almost steadfast – clinging onto him tightly as an abrupt and startled laugh leaves her throat.

Usually, she hates when he does that – hates it more when she cries, especially in front of him – let alone the audience she’s all but forgotten in her haste to get to him. She hates what she’s doing now even more, trembling at his touch and muttering non-stop through ardent words of how much she’s missed him – missed them.

But she does it all the same, because the words keep leaving her lips without her thinking – without her censoring any of it. She’s shaking so much with relief that when he lifts her higher, all she has is an eyeful of his breathtaking smile – and it’s as if she’s staring into richly intense sunshine.

Warm-eyes, like the colour of soil flecked with black and gold don’t waver from her stare. They’re just an enthralled. Then he bumps his forehead affectionately against hers’, pressing his sweaty brow and whispering softly under his breath. “I love you too.”

What?

Her heart leaps. A hysterical laugh bubbles from her throat.

Is that the only take-away he’s gotten from what she’s said?

Then she says it again, only because he’s smiling at her and she wants to keep commit it to memory. “I love you – you idiot.” She repeats it a third time and then again, cupping one of his cheeks as her own cheeks suddenly grow hot – flushed by the sincerity behind her words.

“Does that mean we’re no longer broken up?” His eyes search hers’ uncertaintly.

She manages a shaky laugh. “I think Nik wants his couch back, and I can’t even manage a whole week without you let alone a whole lifetime.” She doesn’t care if they have an audience, she can’t stand the idea of not touching him any longer – of not sinking into him the way she’s thought of ever since he left.

Greedy fingers quickly tangle in his hair. It’s matted and sweaty but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s still Cal. Her Cal. Her mate.

She has all of him in front of her and the last she wants to do turn away from something so fruitless. She yanks him closer, impatient to have more than just him looking at her with clear adoration clouding his eyes – she needs to feel him, to really feel him. She has to show him how much she really loves him.

The kiss is hot and demanding.

God, she’d forgotten how much she melts under his lips. They’re rough and coarse – but they’re everything. She’s on cloud nine, swimming with happiness and relief all melded into one. Fuck, how had she managed to let him go? To let this go?

She grips him tighter as his fingers drift into a downward trail across her hips and then her thighs. He hooks his hands there as she wraps her legs scantily around him, hiking the length of her pants when his fingers dig into the garment.

He moans low in his throat.

It’s a sound that makes heat coil in her belly and painfully aware how long it’s been since she’s had him, naked and panting in their bedroom – since she’s seen the face he makes when he comes inside her. At this angle she can feel every bit of how much he’s missed her too.

God. He is real. And she’s never letting him go again. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s stuck with her – for good this time.

The sudden clear of someone’s throat behind them has grounded Wren back into reality. She blinks and then reluctantly pulls away. Before he sets her on her feet again, she watches in mild satisfaction at how quickly his eyes darken once they linger on her face.

Taking off her jacket, Wren hastily ties it around his lean hips as all eyes remain rooted in their direction.

Before she can step away, Cal snakes a hand loosely around her waist and keeps her tucked at safely at his side. “I think I’m missing something here.” He doesn’t relax completely. He tilts his chin and sniffs the air. “Bloodsuckers.”

“Good, bloodsuckers –” Wren elbows him. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have found you.”

Kamilah wipes her daggers clean and raises one critical eyebrow. “The least you can do is say thanks, pup.”

Cal’s stiffens.

“I think what Kamilah means to say is,” Harlow holds up her hands, smiling hesitantly at Cal’s decisively protective stance. “We wanted to help.” Jax appears by her side as she speaks, rubbing blood absently off her arm. “The idea of anyone suffering in some place like this is sickening and wrong.” Her face twists. “It seems that our information on Mr. Kavinsky wasn’t all what it’s cracked up to be anyway.”

“You didn’t find what you were looking for?” Wren asks, dragging her eyes away from Cal. If only for a moment. The least she should do is properly thank them.

A look passes between all four of them. Ah. They definitely aren’t going to share that kind of information with her – which makes her want to know even more. What exactly are they hiding?

“While I think introductions are in order,” Adrian lips curve in slight amusement, breaking Wren out of her wayward thoughts. “I believe we should probably head out of here. We did let go all those other people too. They’re probably destroying the place as we speak.”

“Wait, what?” Cal’s mouth hangs open for a moment before just as swiftly snapping shut.

As if to emphasize his point, the entire ground floor begins shaking.

“Yeah, you’ve missed a lot.” Wren pats his arm.

Lily’s the only one that’s still staring as if struck in awe. “You’re a werewolf?” She pauses to think, “well – I mean I saw you. But I still can’t really believe it.” She smiles, “I have so many questions.”

“Before you ask – no werewolves do not go into heat.” Cal’s tone is almost deadpanned.

“And it’s definitely not the time Lil.” Although, Harlow laughs as she says it.

“God, I know so many fanfic authors that’d be disappointed.”

“Who are you again?” His brow furrows.

“I’ll fill you in on the way.” Wren mutters, grabbing his arm. Although she hesitates, and drops her gaze down the length of his body – almost drawing in a shaky breath at how visibly stunning he is.

Gaah. A part of her wants nothing more than to pry that jacket off him, but the rest of her realizes she’ll have to wait. Although, she has a peculiar feeling that it’ll be worth it – it still takes a tremendous amount of effort not to jump him right then and there. “I uh -,” a spot of color touches her cheeks as she glances away. “I brought some clothes with me.” Then she clears her throat, turning back to smirk at him. “But feel free to walk around naked on my account.” She gestures to him, “I certainly won’t stop you.”

His confident smile falters and he bashfully glances down at his feet before chuckling. “I’ll take my chances with the clothes this time.” He shifts his attention briefly towards the rest of their little group. Already, they’ve started dispersing after checking the security feeds. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“You should be thanking her” Jax jerks his chin towards Wren. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Cal bends slightly to bump his forehead affectionately against hers’. “Thank you.”

“Never scare me like that again.” She says the words seriously but her stomach still flips at his heart-felt gesture. “And you can thank me properly when we’re all safely outside.”

He breaks out into a grin. “Deal.”

Giving his hand a light squeeze, Wren returns the smile before fixing Adrian with raised eyebrows and a very important question. “Now how the hell are we supposed to get out –”

“I’ve already got us covered.” Lily interjects, tucking several braids behind her ear. She’s been tapping through something on her phone for the last several seconds before glancing up with a confident smile. “Just follow me.”

By the time they’ve left, the building is almost in ruins. From the outside, it looks nearly the same – a few missing pieces of brick and cracked windows, but these are the only telltale signs of destruction. However, on the inside – most of Kavinsky’s collections have either been stolen, broken or severely disfigured.

It’s a pity he isn’t among what’s left behind. Even if he was still alive – Kavinsky has multiple targets on his back.

Cal doesn’t think he’ll re-surface anytime soon, but he’d have liked giving that asshole a piece of his mind.

The rest of his mind has more important matters to contend with – he’s alive and he vows never to take that for granted ever again. He can scarcely believe it himself, after the last couple days he’s had – trapped in the prison of a madman.

But he’s not there anymore – or is he? How is being in the company of strangers any better? He doesn’t know them and they’ve offered him a place for the night, a place for both of them.

For a moment, Cal was beginning to think escaping was some sort of fever dream. How else can he explain the absence of cuffs on his wrists? The uneasy happiness filling his chest? Did he ever leave? Or was he so lost in his delusion that he’d concoct this whole reality?

The last time he’s seen her, she wasn’t nestled by his side the way she is now – she was throwing accusations at him. How can he believe his own eyes, or listen to his heart after everything he’s been through?

Cal feels soft fingers cupping his chin, forcing his gaze from the window and unto the softest expression of pure love he’s ever seen from her face.

It’s like she can tell his thoughts are spiraling and having her touch helps to ground him back into reality. His eyes flutter close of their own accord as she leans into him.

“You’re okay.” She says the words gently, “we’re okay.”

He listens to the sound of her voice, allowing its gentleness to creep back into his heart. She’s right. He isn’t back here, he’s with her – with the only person he’s ever loved. Fuck, it feels so good to have her here.

“Wren,” his voice cracks and she’s looking up at him again. There’s a lot he wants to say, a lot that they haven’t said. Where do they go from here?

He’s still the alpha.

She loves him but he’s still the alpha.

As far as he’s concerned nothing’s really changed.

In any other reality – maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could shirk from his responsibilities and ride into the sunset with her; build a life together - separate from all this chaos in NOLA. But he thinks about Donny and his last year in school. He thinks about those kids from Shaw’s pack and all the other people counting on him.

“We can talk later.” She promises.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and forces a smile of gratitude. This isn’t the time or place for that kind of conversation, but staring deeply into those deeply warm eyes – Cal wants to put her first.

And that, perhaps is the most dangerous and scariest knowledge of it all.

#cal x mc #cal x mc fanfic #cal lowell fanfiction #cal lowell #playchoices #nightbound #nightbound fanfiction #choices stories you play #cal x wren #cal lowell x wren howell #playchoices fanfiction #choices fanfiction #long post #we're seven parts in #and i figured out a title name lol #maybe i should run it by you guys #an angstymarshmallow writes

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