#for only the second time since the first accident occurred

[xxchumanixx]

Uno pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You're teaching Bucky how to play Uno, but it takes a different turn than expected.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Bucky being sweet and caring, make out session

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello my loves! The idea for this came when I looked at my brand new The Mandalorian Uno, as I was watching Falcon and The Winter Soldier for the second time in two days (whupsi).

I'm definitely going to make a part two, we can't let naked action with Bucky slide, can we?

Enjoy!

It had been a while since you and Bucky started having game nights, playing cards and board games, whilst casually chatting.

Since working with Sam, Bucky was more relaxed, spending more time with you, after he started to work on himself.

You couldn't deny that your weekly game night was the highlight of your week, his presence enough to soothe everything that occurred over the days in between.

Of course, your ever growing feelings for him had a say in the matter, too.

"Let's play Uno!" you suggested, holding up the red box in your hand for him to see, when you returned from the drawer that held all the games you owned.

He cocked a brow, the bottle in his hand stopping mid-air, before he sat it back down.

"What's Uno?" he wanted to know, brows furrowing. "It's a card game." you replied, sitting back down in the chair to his right, placing the box on the table in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll teach you how to play."

"Never heard of it." he mumbled, fingers tracing over the letters on the front of the box. "Well, it's old, but not as old as you." you told him, smirking.

He scoffed at your words, playfully rolling his eyes. "I'm 106." he retorted, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. "And the game is 55." you retorted, cocking a brow at him with a grin on your lips.

"So you're almost twice as old."

He leaned back in the chair again, shaking his head in amusement, as he sipped his beer.

"Don't worry, you don't look like 106, though." you assured him with a wink, the alcohol loosening your tongue and nerves a bit.

He definitely didn't look like 106, more like so smoking hot you're gonna burn yourself.

He chuckled, wiggling his brows once, heart fluttering in your chest.

Taking the cards out of the box you pushed it aside, gathering the cards in your hands to shuffle them.

They were slightly curved and wrinkled from all the previous games played with them.

"First, you shuffle." you told him, starting to shuffle the cards. He huffed, eyes closely watching you, though.

"Never would have guessed."

Rolling your eyes, you tried to concentrate only on the shuffling, some of the cards spilling, though. His intense gaze made your hands tremble, nerves spilling over.

"Let me." he spoke up, carefully taking the cards from your hands, gathering the spilled ones. Shivers ran down your spine at his touch.

"My hand still hurts, I guess that's why I can't shuffle them as good, you know." you tried to cover it up, hinting at the accident you had when you tried to clean your windows this morning, falling from the small ladder, your hand partly taking the brunt.

It didn't hurt anymore, still you used it as a cover, as it came in handy in that moment.

He simply hummed, starting to shuffle the cards. He didn't want to think about what might have happened, if the ladder had been higher.

It took him a second to get back into it, but when he did, you couldn't help but stare. His hands expertly shuffled the cards, moving so swiftly, you thought he was playing some trick on you.

Though his fingers did a whole another trick on you, goosebumps covering your bare arms.

Swallowing, you tried not to think about what his hands could possibly do, too much.

Clearing your throat, you tore your gaze away.

"Everyone gets seven cards, dealt face down." you continued to explain, waiting for him to deal the cards. "The rest of the cards is placed in a draw pile face down."

He nodded, placing the pile in the middle of the table.

"Then you take the card on top, turn it around and place it beside the pile. This way you know which card to play."

He did what he was told, frowning at the sign on the card.

"Oh." you made, huffing. "Well, this card means that the next player has to skip their turn. Which means that, seeing as I'd be the one to start, I have to skip and you begin."

You gathered the cards he had dealt in your hands, trying not to show any signs of what cards you had on your face.

"I recommend to sort them, so you'll find matching ones more easily." you told him, doing exactly that. "You have four colors: red, blue, yellow and green. They all go from one to nine. When, for example, a yellow eight is on top of the discard pile, you can either play a yellow card with any number, or an eight of any color."

He hummed, sorting his cards as well, frowning at ones he couldn't place yet, showing you that he had at least one action card.

"There are action cards, too." you continued, arms resting on the table, as you looked at him again. "There's the skip card, a reverse card with two arrows, indicating that you switch from clockwise to counterclockwise or vice versa, a draw two card in any color, which means you have to draw two cards if you can't stack it with one of your own draw two card, a wild card that can be placed on any other number card, and let's you pick a color, and the wild draw four, which is the same, but the person following has to draw four in addition."

He sighed, overwhelmed.

You sent him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it, old man."

He sent you a pointed look, causing your smile to grow wider. He soon cracked a small smile of his own, though, not able to resist you, with a shake of his head.

Motioning for him to begin, you took a sip of your beer.

He thought for a moment, before he placed a blue one on top of the blue skip card. Humming, you placed a blue seven.

He frowned, sifting through his cards, coming up empty. "I guess I'll have to draw one when I can't play?" he spoke, eyes meeting yours in question.

You nodded, watching as he drew a card.

"Can't." he said, lips pursed. "Then it's my turn again." you returned, playing a red seven. "If you draw one but still can't play, your turn's over. There's a rule that says to draw until you can, but no one really uses that rule."

He nodded, scratching his chin, before playing a red draw two card.

Huffing, you shook your head, drawing two cards. He smirked your way, his dimples deepening.

"Your turn." you told him, after sorting your cards. "Don't you play after drawing the cards?" he asked, confused. Shaking your head, you denied with a smile. "No, the original rules say you don't. Even though most of the time we bend the rules a bit."

He chuckled, placing a red eight.

The game went on for a bit, him having to draw four, taking revenge with a duel of draw two cards, you ending up with six new cards on your hands.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that you have to say Uno! before you play your second to last card." you told him, just as he was about to play said card.

He frowned, but did as he was told, saying Uno!, before he played it.

You didn't have anything to let him draw cards, so when you played a green nine, he topped it with a red one.

Eyes wide, he cheered, grinning at you like a little boy who just received the greatest gift for Christmas.

Chuckling, you collected the cards, sorting them for him to shuffle again.

The game went on for a few rounds, him winning and losing, eager for more.

"I have a suggestion." you spoke up, watching as he shuffled the cards for the fifth time. He hummed, waiting for you to continue. "What about a drinking game?"

He cocked a brow, dealing the cards. "How does it work?"

Clearing your throat, you held up a finger, before getting up to gather two more beers.

When you returned, he had his cards already sorted, patiently waiting for you.

"So, when you are skipped, you have to drink one. When you have to draw cards, you drink the amount of cards you have to draw." you explained, handing him one of the bottles. "Means, if I have to draw four, I drink four as well."

He nodded, opening his bottle and handing it back to you, exchanging it for your unopened one, before he opened it as well.

The thoughtfulness of his actions had you smile to yourself, chest warming.

He was always somehow looking out for you, no matter how small the gesture.

It was one of the aspects that had you falling for him so hard.

You started the round, drinking and laughing.

When he played a draw two card mid-game, you topped it with one of your own, not expecting him to have another one on hand - and especially not to have a third, when you countered it, too.

Mouth agape, you stared at the pile in disbelieve, before your eyes went to his. He sent you a wink, smirking as he slightly leaned forward.

"Drink up, doll."

Swallowing, you did as you were told, drinking ten. Sighing, you drew ten cards afterwards, shaking your head in amusement.

His blue eyes were sparkling, sending shivers down your spine.

As the game continued on, he specified that the loser had to empty his bottle, no matter how much was left inside.

He was the first to do so.

An hour later you were into your sixth bottle, feeling good. The air was getting hotter, though it could have just been Bucky's presence.

Shouting in triumph, you played your last card, winning the current round. He shook his head with a grin, placing down his cards.

Only then did you notice how close he'd gotten during the rounds, legs brushing under the table.

"Drink!" you demanded breathlessly, grinning up at him. His eyes twinkled mischievously, head slightly tilted.

"What if I do this instead?" he asked, voice lowered to almost a whisper, as he leaned closer, breath fanning over your face. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, hands trembling, as your eyes flitted to his lips, when everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow-motion.

His nose brushed yours, as your eyes fluttered closed, before his lips met yours.

They were so soft, not rough.

Soft and sweet.

Your chair scraped over the floor, as he pulled it more towards him, so the table wasn't in the way anymore, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

His hands found your waist, pulling, until you were seated on his lap.

His tongue brushed over your lower lip and you let it in, sighing softly at the sensation. His flesh hand brushed over your back, slipping under your shirt.

Sparks elicited on your skin, wherever his fingers reached.

When you parted, you panted for air, eyes locked with his blue ones. His metal fingers came up to your face, brushing away a few strands of hair, before it cupped your cheek.

Swallowing, you moved on his lap the slightest bit, and he groaned, eyes fluttering closed for a second. His erection was straining his jeans, right between your legs.

Smirking, you did it again, only for his flesh hand to find your waist, stopping you.

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to stop." he warned, breathing shakily, as his eyes met yours again.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered back.

Something rumbled deep in his chest, as his hand tightened its grip, moving you over his erection again.

You whimpered, mouth agape. His pupils were blown wide, eyes shining with lust and desire.

But there was something else, too: deep affection.

"Then I won't." he promised, lips attaching back to yours in a searing kiss. Licking into your mouth, his tongue fought with yours, his flesh hand descending, until it gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You moaned into the kiss, not able to contain it, and he smirked against your lips.

"We should play Uno more often."

[sukirichi]

SUKI SUKI? @! ÷ 2? I THINK YOU HAVE CLOSED THE REQS BUT IT OCCURRED TO ME TO ME MAGICALLY HELP. LISTEN !!!! husband bonten but the first time they met with y/n, like THE FIRST INTERACTION OF EVERYONE AND IN WHAT SITUATION DID THEY HAVE AN INSTANT CRUSH TO EACH OTHER AND EVERYTHING THAT CONTAINS?×)÷,×!",!)0273*?× ¡÷ 2 I PRAY YOU TO WRITE IT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT IS IN 10 YEARS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYINH

BONTEN MEN MEETING THEIR WIVES FOR THE FIRST TIME !! (PART ONE)

☁️ mikey, haitani ran, haitani rindou

☁️ unedited. mild angst on mikey's part. ran is technically not a first meeting, but yeah! suggestive on ran's part. fluff. cursing. mikey is lowkey a stalker. (only putting the three of them first because it was getting too long 😭)

♡ — MIKEY

It’s just another day, another mission. There’s nothing new for Mikey. And even if there was, there’s hardly anything he looks forward to now. Whether it’s a mission accomplished or mission failed, he hardly notices. His executives will take care of it, anyway. So he walks aimlessly in the streets he calls his, unafraid of the night’s darkness and the dangers it might bring – quite frankly, because he is the danger that lurks. What is there to be afraid of when he’s the worst imaginable nightmare around?

So lost in his own thoughts, it takes him a second to register the collision of his body with someone else. “I’m sorry!” a sweet voice cuts through the night air. You sound adorable and apologetic enough Mikey’s eyes light up for just a brief moment. Dark, lifeless eyes come to life as he glances at you – bowing in apology while clutching your satchel to your chest. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

At any other day, Sanzu would’ve handled this for him. At any other day, Mikey would’ve let it slide and moved on because he just doesn’t care. You’re a civilian, anyway, and you knew better. No one bumps into him like this by accident. Curious, he tilts his gaze to you. There’s only one good conclusion of your unabashed expression that of guilt and genuine embarrassment – you must not have any idea who he is and treated him like you would anyone else.

He’s not the fearsome Manjiro Sano to you.

He’s just a stranger you inconvenienced, and for some reason, that soothes him. He’s not a killer in your eyes. He’s not a person who’s continuously done the wrong thing for the past few years. He’s just... him.

“It’s okay,” he replies after a moment, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s late, though. You shouldn’t be out around this time of night. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, I know,” you scrunch up your nose, “Gangs are running rampant and all. But this is the only time I can take a high-paying shift, and what’s the point of safety if I can’t pay my bills, right?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He hasn’t worried about bills in a long time – Kokonoi has that covered. Instead, he nods, finding it hard to look away from you. “Stay safe, then. And if you need help, then...” Then, what? The gangs would help? Bonten would keep you safe? No, that was ridiculous. Bonten was the one thing everyone wanted to be protected from.

It hits him, then, that he is the monster that makes everyone feel unsafe. And for once in his life since he’d established Bonten, Mikey feels sick.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your worries.

— It doesn’t take much to find out everything about you – where you work, where you live, when your shifts happen, and even silly details like what your favourite flavour or cup ramen is. He tells himself he’s doing this for your safety, and in a way, he is. You weren’t kidding when you said you take graveyard shifts because it pays the best, so upon finding out you come home really late, and go to work just as, Mikey takes it upon himself to watch from afar. Never approaching, never striking a conversation – because he doesn’t know what to say, and how could he explain he knows your routine by now – but always watching. Guarding. Protecting. He must look ominous gazing upon you from buildings afar, but he’s content with it. He thinks he can do this for as long as he likes, simply watching you from afar.

— But then he realizes he wants more.

— And he doesn’t know what ‘more’ means exactly. More time with you? You don’t even know who he is. More conversations? He’d probably stumble over his words, or make the worst jokes. Fuck. He hasn’t joked in a while. Would you even find him funny? He thinks about all day long, all night long, until you’re the only one running into his mind and he’s been so mentally checked out of his own meetings that his executives have – politely – asked him to just take a while for himself.

— So he does, and because he was never good at controlling his urges, he goes to you. He dresses a little nicer than usual; a newly ironed shirt, a good pair of jeans, and even asked Rindou to fix his hair up for him. “Going on a date?” he’d teased, but even Mikey doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s not a date, but he’d be damned if he let another day go by that you didn’t know his name.

— He introduced himself, rather awkwardly, and pretends like he didn’t come to your work on purpose. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, and it couldn’t be a bigger lie. But you just smile up at him like you’re happy to see him, like you’ve been hoping to meet again, and for a moment, Mikey lets himself believe that it could be true. Maybe he deserves that smile. Maybe someone actually wants to see him. He lingers on that delusion long enough that he’s matched his routine with yours – walking you back home, letting you talk about how much you hate your boss, and hate your sleazy customers even more. It’s not easy being a waitress, especially when you’re forced to wear tight-fitting clothes with the intention of attracting customers. And it gets to him. The darkness and rage he’s been letting quietly simmer beneath his veins as to not scare you off finally resurfaces.

— He hates it all – hates how you’re in such an unfortunate situation, and there’s only so little he could do. Until he realizes he’s the Manjiro Sano. After sending in Sanzu to deal with your boss, who may or may not have been gently blackmailed into treating you better and giving you higher pay or else, Mikey notices the weight being lifted off your shoulder. You’ve started smiling more and even invite him to your place one time to celebrate your ‘fortunes.’

“Are you sure?” he asks rather warily, “I mean, it’s late at night.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you reassure him, and lead him inside your home. He almost feels bad for you for being so unaware. You don’t have the slightest idea you’re bringing a killer in the safety of your home, but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it when you turn on the lights. He’s greeted by your homey apartment, a little cluttered, a little messy, and it’s a little small for you that he can’t imagine would be comfortable – but it’s yours, and you’re proud of it. Pulling out a mat, you tell him to make himself at home while you prepare some celebratory snacks. They’re nothing fancy – mostly chips, cheap wine, and a few hardened candies.

It’s probably the worst timing to realize he’s falling in love.

First of all, there’s nothing romantic about watching you lean against the counter, humming to yourself as you pop open the wine. Second of all, you don’t look enticing or seductive. Not in your mismatched pyjamas and even more hilariously mismatched socks. But you are enticing – from the way your throat vibrates at your humming, to your quick, swift movements preparing the snacks. You look so at home, so content, that he can’t help but want that for himself. Want you for himself. He wants you at his place and to decorate it as you wish. He wants you to liven it up and scatter knick-knacks all over his room. He wants your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. He wants you – wants all of you – from your crumpled shirt, to your aching shoulders after a long day at work, wants to kiss it all better for you.

He wants you.

And when the Bonten Head wants something, he will get it.

— If someone told him that a few years from now that his silly musings at three in the morning would finally come true, he’d have scoffed at them. But this is his reality is now, and how he’ll spend the rest of his life.

You’re standing next to him in his bathroom, brushing your teeth while simultaneously humming to yourself. He’s heard the melody enough to have memorized it. And when he’s having a hard day, he sings it to himself, although it never sounds as good like when you do it. The tune is comforting, a reminder you’re in his life now, that everything’s worked out. You married him, and he couldn’t be a happier man.

“Something wrong, Manjiro?” you ask after rinsing your mouth, turning to him with a hand on your hips. Stern, yet unbelievably gentle. Cupping his cheeks with your hands, he melts. “Tell me. How can I make it better?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, and it’s the truth. The moment is all too perfect. You’re here with him, you’re safe, and you’ve loved him after everything he’s done. “Just wanna hold you.”

You break him to it. Lunging into his arms, you giggle and bury yourself around his neck, knowing full well he’ll catch you. Mikey laughs, too, but it’s quieter, more reserved, the sound nearly muted because your skin is pressing against his so hard that it becomes hard to fathom there was ever a time he felt he wasn’t worth of love. And maybe he still isn’t. He still has Bonten, he still has horrible urges, he still gets the demanding itch to kill and hurt – but you’re there, in his arms, and he feels the darkness slowly simmer into tamed shadows.

♡ — HAITANI RAN

Ran is not subtle with his feelings. He believes in the beauty and art of flirting, of holding one’s gazes for just a second longer than what was considered polite, the fleeting, yet burning touches one could pass off as innocent. He’s had enough experience in his life to have mastered it. He’s handsome, he’s irresistible, and he knows it. Beauty and charm is a weapon he wasn’t ashamed of wielding, especially not around his current flavour of the month – or more like months, now. He’s played this game of tic tac toe with you, this push and pull, for so long that he feels he’ll lose his mind.

Like everyone else in Bonten, he usually gets what he wants. But you’re different. You’re attracted to him – that much he knows – but you’re the one responsible for all of Bonten’s uniform and suits that your attraction borders just on the edge of professionalism. But he knows. Oh, he knows. You aren’t so subtle yourself.

Each time he comes around for a fitting, your lips twitch as if you’re fighting back a smile. He also doesn’t fail to notice how you’re gesturing around to your staff in the shop to give you two ‘privacy.’ Bonten executive or not, Ran isn’t foolish – he knows he’s the only one receiving this special treatment. Knows you don’t touch your other clients like this – with a perfectly manicured nail grazing down his arm, your eyes lidded with lust, your blood-red lips caught between your teeth.

It makes Ran yearn.

He wants those same claws to run down scratches behind his back. He wants to take those lips into his mouth, instead, to have you ruin his suits by staining it with your lipstick on his collar, his neck, his tie, his pants. It’d give him more of a reason to come back, anyway. But you just had to be so professional that he always leaves the shop with his pants feeling tighter than ever, his lungs constricted because it becomes hard to breathe around you, yet feeling so addicted to the high of having you so close, yet so far away.

“You should come back for another fitting,” you call out to him just as he swings the door open. He freezes. He’s always the one scheduling a fitting. Unable to help it, he shuts the door and locks it, smirking to himself when he hears the vague hitching of your breath behind the counter.

“And why is that?”

“Oh, you know,” you manage to tease, but ah. He can see right through you. Even with your nonchalant facade, he can tell he’s getting under your veins with every step he takes to close the distance between you. Damn the counter. Damn any customers who might be waiting outside. For now, there’s only him and you, and he thinks he may damn well truly ruin his pants when you look up at him with eyes blown wide with want. With need.

He wishes you could just let go and give in.

“I, in fact, don’t know. But do care to enlighten me,” leaning down, he rests his arms against the counter, glad to finally be at your eye level. You’re prettier in this angle, which baffles him, because you’re already so pretty enough it hurts. And he can’t help but wonder if you’d look a hundred times better in... different angles. An angle under him, perhaps, where you’re helpless and forced to clutch his biceps while you hold on for dear life. Because Ran guarantees once he gets his hands on you, he’s never letting go.

“I just think,” with narrowed eyes, he feels your heated gaze travel from his face that’s inches away from yours down to his chest, and to the bulge constricted around his pants. You let out a breathy sound at the sight of it, his body responding by growing even harder. “Your pants are too tight for you now. Perhaps we should make you a better one?”

“I have other ways in mind in which we could resolve this problem. Preferably one that doesn’t consist of measuring tapes,” he raises his brow, watches as you slowly unfold and unravel right at his palms. It’s almost satisfying. Almost. He’s wanted you for so long that frustration is more what he feels right now, and impatience. “Although I’m not entirely against using ropes.”

♡ — HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou doesn’t concern himself with civilians. He has better things to do, and after a long day, he’s more than ready to just plop himself into bed and wake up only when the world is ending. Or, he could just let it end, too. He couldn’t care any less. Unfortunately for him, though, the universe has different plans for him that night. He just wanted to get a damned drink, for fuck’s sake, until he hears screaming and the shuffling of feet as soon as he steps out of the convenience store.

“Stop him!” someone squeals, the cry helpless and desperate. From where he stood, wine bottle on one hand, he could see the figure of a man running with what seemed like a bag clutched to his chest. “Someone help, please!”

Rindou sighs. There’s nothing more that he hates more than petty crimes that are more inconveniences than impactful. Before he could register what he’s doing, Rindou’s arm extended out in front of himself, and within the blink of an eye, the thief whizzing past him had been caught by the collar. The thief struggles against his hold, whining and thrashing with curses thrown his way.

“Let me fucking go, you oaf!”

“I don’t think so,” Rindou tips his head to the side just as a figure appeared behind the thief. You stand there, wheezing to catch your breath with your hands on your knees. At the sight of him effortlessly restraining the thief, you break out into a relieved sigh and snatch back your bag, holding it more possessively. And oh, aren’t you just pretty? With your skin layered with a sheen of sweat from all that running, cheeks damp with tears, your frown now replaced with a grateful smile – Rindou feels like you’re the thief. “Whoa. Careful with that smile, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow, and he nearly groans. It should be a crime for someone to look so adorably confused. “What?”

“Okay, that’s enough, they got their bag back, now let me go!”

Right. He still had a lame excuse of a criminal on his hand. With a roll of his eyes, Rindou throws the man against to the ground until he’s coughing out blood from when he hit the pavement. He hears you gasp, and it makes him wince. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. You’re probably afraid of him now.

“Run along,” he warns the petty thief, and he didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the man disappears, Rindou turns to you, a lazy smile making its way into his face. “You know, I usually hate being troubled, but this might be the first time I don’t mind as much.”

Your jaw drops. You look around frantically in your bag for a moment, and just when he thinks you can’t get anymore interesting, you pull out a wad of cash and shove it to him. Rindou cocks a brow. “And what is that for, sweetheart?”

“To-to thank you for saving me! And it’s also an apology because I troubled you...”

Rindou fights the urge to scoff. “I feel like I should be offended,” he says in a sing-song manner, only because you don’t take the teasing well, and the sight of you stumbling over your words is already making his night. He wants to reassure you it’s no trouble at all, that he’ll easily catch all your thieves for you, or that you can steal his heart and never give it back to him. But he doesn’t, because he’s just met you, and maybe, just maybe, he’s curious how this will go.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Say, if you really want to thank me, why don’t we share this?” he lifts his wine bottle, and you eye it for a moment before nodding eagerly. His heart drops. He lowers the bottle, his voice growing darker – yet make no mistake. Behind his scowl and hardened eyes, his heart is beating a mile a minute, and his skin is burning impossibly hot. “Don’t you think you say yes a little too easily?”

“Uhm, but you saved me. You helped me, and this is how you want to be thanked.”

Rindou thinks his brain might short-circuit. You are definitely trouble.

“I could be more dangerous than him, you know,” he leans toward you menacingly to prove a point, but you don’t cower. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your bag tighter. But you don’t move away, and neither can he. Now that he’s closer, he can smell your strawberry scented perfume and he shuts his eyes, greedily inhaling the scent. Shit. He hasn’t even drunk anything, and he already feels intoxicated. Taking a step back for his own sanity, Rindou levels you a warning glare. “You really should be more careful, sweet. Perhaps it’ll lower the chances of you running into trouble.”

“Oh,” you look dejected, though he could just be imagining it. “Yeah, okay, uh... I’ll be more careful. Thank you again...?”

“Rindou.”

“Rindou,” you repeat, and he realizes his name sounds sweeter when you say. With a scrunch of your nose, you eye the wine in his hands again. “Will I see you again? I really want to thank you for your help.”

With such a sweet offer, how can he resist? He’d be stupid to say no – even if you were trouble, it’s fine. He wasn’t notorious for being a troublemaker for no reason anyway.

[ailithnight]

Aheem... prompt from @regonold

16 Hours

Danny remembers the first time something shorted out his powers. Vlad with his stupid Plasmius Maximus thing. Well, 'remembers'. Mostly he remembers the aftermath.

Apparently Vlad hadn't known at the time exactly how Danny ended up half ghost. He thought it had been a slower progression like his own development. It hadn't occurred to him that Danny's original death had been much quicker.

Danny remembers a short, light shock. Really, the spector deflector was worse. But this shock... suddenly his muscles were seizing, his heart stuttering, his Lichtenbergs burning. And then, nothing. A blank space in Danny's head that apparently spanned 3 hours.

Next thing he knows, they're in some kind of vehicle. There are sirens outside (a police escort, Danny would later learn). His mom is driving like her life depends on it. And Vlad is giving him chest compressions, looking grieved and panic striken. He's crying. They both are.

"Please tell me you didn't have to kiss me." His voice comes out pained and raspy. Mom almost crashes the vehicle.

"No, Little Badger. Thankfully, you kept breathing. Just your heart that was struggling." Vlad chuckled, guilty yet relieved.

It was another hour before they made it to the nearest hospital from the stupid hunting cabin. 6 more for all the stupid medical tests. "An accident," Vlad told them. "Small shock, but with an already weak heart..."

Any other time, Danny might have argued. Tried to make Vlad admit more guilt. But the whole ordeal had exhausted him to much to care then.

The second time was marginally better. At least with the Fenton Crammer, it was a steady loss. And Danny managed to fix it before his healing factor fully failed. It still hadn't been pleasant, fighting Skulker and dealing with Dash while phantom echoes of his death arced across his body. But he'd managed.

This. This is so much worse. Danny thought it would be like the Crammer again. A steady decline. But it isn't.

And it isn't like the Maximus either, a one then done, pain then nothing, dying then dead, moment.

No. This is more like the blood blossoms. This is torture. This is hell.

The suppression cuffs let just enough of his power bleed through, just enough healing factor, to keep him alive. Alive and in agony for... hours? Days? Weeks? Minutes? Danny couldn't really tell. His thoughts had long since turned to nothing but static and pain. All he knew was that time was passing around him while he was here, suffering on the absolute brink of death yet unable to embrace it.

Oh god he wanted to die. Please just let him die already! It's too much. A death that should only last a few seconds drug out into an eternity. His muscles ached with the strain of being locked up. His insides were broiling from the electric heat. His heart stuttered and stopped and started and stuttered. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts!

He might have been screaming. He might have been Wailing. Or he might he been choking on weak uneven breaths. Danny didn't know. Didn't care to know. Didn't care if he ever found out the details of his time in chains. He just wanted, no needed, it to end. But it just dragged on and on and on. And Danny was lost in it.

Too far gone to even realize when it ended.

.

Batman hadn't been there when the new meta appeared, quite literally materializing from nowhere in the conference room mid-meeting. He had been dealing with a mass Arkham breakout at the time. So he wasn't there. An unfortunate fact which will haunt him for the rest of his life and possibly beyond.

He should have been there. If he had only been there...

He didn't blame his team mates. They didn't know. Who would have guessed that simple power suppression cuffs could ever be an instrument of torture. He'd never considered it possible.

He didn't blame his team mates. How could he blame them? Batman wasn't even the one to connect the dots. Red Robin figured it out. He always was good at stringing together thoughts know one else would think to connect.

Red Robin asked the right questions. He figured out in 5 minutes what the rest of the league and the best doctors -not technically- on earth had been agonizing over for 16 hours.

16 hours too long.

He should have been here. Should have come sooner.

"Don't know, B!" Flash had met him at the Zetas, already rambling at top speed before he could reorient himself after teleportation. Everyone else had gone home, unable to help and needing to tend to their own cities and responsibilities.

"He just- He appeared out of nowhere while we were in meeting. Didn't trip any alarms or nothing. Just popped up. We figured it had to be teleportation, but he'd have to know where the Watchtower was to do that.

So we figured, you know, random kid teleporting into the Watchtower during a Justice League meeting. Not good. Big threat. Bats would tell us to detain. So we did.

But before we could get him to a holding cell, there was this flash of light and he changed or something. He had white hair and green eyes and some sort of jumpsuit on when he appeared.

But after the light he had black hair and a t-shirt and jeans and I actually didn't see his eyes cause he just collapsed on the spot.

Started convulsing or seizing or something. And screaming. God, B, the screaming... So we took him to medbay and...

He's dying B. He has to be. He's got a fever that keeps spiking and dropping, his muscles keep spasming, and his heart keeps giving out...

He looks 14. He looks like..."

Flash had trailed off there, as they reached medbay. Bruce understood his reluctance to complete that sentence as soon as he saw the boy.

He looks like a Robin.

Like all 4 of his sons combined.

Like someone mixed Dick's and Jason's faces and put it on Tim's body at Damian's age.

It can't even be a trick. The suppression cuffs are nullifying his abilities. This is what he truly looks like.

His sons.

In pain.

In agony for 16 hours because Batman prioritized Gotham over an emergency on the Watchtower.

"When exactly did you say he collapsed."

"When we were moving him to a holding cell after we caught him. He was a trick to catch too. He-"

Red Robin cut him off. "Yeah, sure. But when exactly did this start. What happened immediately before?"

Flash was less then pleased about being interrupted, but acquiesced after a look from Batman. Tim had an idea. Tim was on to something. "Like I said, just after we caught him and got the cuffs on so he'd stop slipping away again."

Bruce couldn't keep the growl out of his voice one he realized what Tim was suggesting. Of course he knows it wasn't their fault. He's told all of them as much since. But in the moment...

"Take them off!"

"What?"

"It's the cuffs! Take the damn cuffs off! They're killing him!"

Flash wasted no more time, bolting out of the room to fetch the disabler. Tim didn't bother waiting for the fastest man alive. He had the cuffs disabled before Flash would have been able to swipe his access card into the detainment center storage room. Bruce practically threw the cuffs out of the room in his haste to get them away.

The change had been... not nearly as quick as Bruce would have liked. The heartrate settled out almost instantly, although into something a bit too slow for comfort. But it was steady and Bruce knew nothing about this kid's normal physiology so he counted it a win.

The screaming, of course, had long since choked off. According to Flash's report, his vocal cords failed after about an hour. But his facial expressions still indicated consciousness, though not awareness.

The muscles stopped spasming and unlocked slowly over the course of several minutes. Flash was back by then, looking a bit put out to have lost a race against Red Robin. Batman could not give a single flying fuck about Flash's ego right then.

Shortly after his muscles unlocking was when he finally passed out. Once more, Batman thought about 16 hours. 16 hours and he hadn't even been able to slip into unconsciousness for relief. He should have been here.

The fever was the slowest to break. In that it still hadn't broken almost 2 hours later. Batman had sent Tim and Flash home after Red Robin finished squeezing all the details he could out of Barry. Tim had given him a look before leaving, some mixture of worry and mischief. "Should I tell Agent A to prepare a room?" Bruce just rolled his eyes and shooed him off. Hopefully to bed. Knowing his son, probably not. Tim was most likely still up doing research. Bruce wanted to call Alfred to wrangle Tim to sleep.

But calling Alfred would mean leaving the room so the still potentially a threat meta couldn't hear if he woke up. And Bruce couldn't leave him. Not until the fever broke. Not until he woke up. Not until he knew the boy that looked like his sons would be okay.

Not until he could apologize for being late.

16 hours.

16 hours too late.

[dahliakbs]

Batfam x Reader: Unexpected Trip To The Future

❥synopsis: You sneak out of the house to hang out with your long time bff only to be caught in the cross fire and forcibly ripped away from your family.

✷

Here you sat alone around the small camp fire, su itrrounded by the endless heaps of trash you'd found that were still of use. The night sky shone a prominent blue colour with the clouds being seen far off in the distance.

The air around you was calm and quiet and seeing as how you were the only human being left on this earth it'd be weird if you all of a sudden started hearing noises.

On nights like this you'd sit around the camp fire and think back to the life you'd lived before the accident occured.

You'd always reminisce back to the day you first came to the manor. Bright eyed and filled with joy and enthusiasm, your closest friend Richard Grayson obviously sharing the same enthusiasm as you.

The two of you were know to be quite inseparable, always being seen together no matter the circumstance. The only times you weren't with each other were when Dick had to go out on patrol, reluctantly leaving you in the cold and dark manor by yourself.

Even though at the time you understood why he had to leave you didn't want him to. Back then it was your clingy behavior that got you into the accident.

Both of you having lost your parents at such a young age had left you yearning for some kind of affection and Dick felt the same way. So at any moment of the day you two would be together, playing whatever games you two could come up with until Bruce came home.

But since you two were together every second of the day you didn't see why you weren't allowed to go out on patrol with them. So when you were sat at home by yourself waiting for Dick to come home you'd just decided that if he wasn't gonna come to you you were gonna come to him.

On that night you'd snuck out of the manor, Alfred having not noticed since you escaped through your bedroom window.

You'd somehow squired one the tracking devices B used to know your precise locations and used it to find your way, arriving in less than ten seconds.

"Dick- I mean Robin I'm here!" You yelled out as soon as you made it to the scene. Having not noticed the intense battle going on between your father figure and the joker.

"N/n what are you doing here?" you could see his eyes light up under the mask as he quickly sprinted of the battle field towards you, arms opened wide and awaiting your hug.

You'd returned it quickly, holding out your hands towards him in a silly manner.

"Don't tell B but I snuck out to come see you, I stole one of his tracking thingies and now here I am" you showed off the gadget in your hands to a wide eyed Dick.

"Wait you stole it?!" He exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention towards the two of you.

"Keep quiet or else you'll get me in trouble-"

"What do we have here" Joker suddenly appeared behind Dick, roughly pushing him out of the way to get a good look at you.

"What's a little thing like you doing out here, did you come to say hi to your old uncle Joker?" he asked, you liked down to his hand. Noticing the strange gun he held in his hand. It looked like any regular gun, just deformed and reeking of a strange acidy smell.

"Get away from them" Dick jumped towards the Joker only to be harshly side kicked away from the two of you.

"Well since your here" he grabbed onto your arm, harshly yanking you closer towards him before flashing his deranged yellow smile at you.

His eyes held a mischievous look in them, bloodshot and looking down towards you as if you were nothing more than a puny joke to him.

"I've been meaning to test this thing out and you seem to be quite eager to help your ole uncle J, right?" He asked, pointing the gun in some random direction and pulling the trigger.

The gun shot out a murky green colour, the murky green forming into a circular portal that led to somewhere unknown.

The panic set in for you as you noticed the smile in his face grow to inhuman proportions. Harshly trying to jerk yourself away from him as you called out for anyone's help.

"Someone help me, anyone" your eyes turned blurry with tears as you turned to Bruce then to Dick for help.

"Daddy please help me" you cried out before you felt yourself being thrown towards the portal.

The last thing you saw before being thrown into you the green portal was Bruce chasing after you, wearing an expression you could only describe as scared and desperate. Calling out to you before you were fully submerged inside the portal.

Immediately feeling your body be transported throughout time and space before finally ending up in the wasteland you currently resided in.

The wasteland being the ruins of the former crime city known as Gotham City. Apparently the world had gone to ruins a little after you'd gone to the future, leaving behind a vast dry land ready to be taken over by mother nature.

And all you could think of as you reminisced and watched over this forgotten city were the regrets you had, you just wanted to see your family one last time.

Seeing that expression on Bruce's face really shook you to your core, you didn't think he'd even cared that much about you until you saw how desperate he looked that night.

One of the biggest regrets you had was not being able to see Dick's face one last time, to atleast be able to see his expression before you left him and all you do about it now was cry and look up to the night sky. Hoping that if there was a god out there that they would send you back to the family you belonged to.

Hoping that if you'd finally be able to confess to tell Dick about the silly feelings you had for him when you were both so young. Or maybe hoping to finally spend some time with your cold and hurt guardian.

And as if someone was really out there listening to your pleas you saw a familiar murky green colour fill up the space between you and the campfire.

Immediately lighting up the small space you were in.

A couple seconds of staring at it later you heard someone speak from the other side before s figure emerged from the portal.

?

"Richard is that you?" You asked the figure. They looked exactly identical to him, only difference was that this person was much taller and looked around the same age as you. His suit was very different, instead of the bright red, green and yellow he wore when he was younger he instead sported a black and blue skin tight suit.

The figure kept walking closer, expression slowly crumbling as they inched closer and closer towards you before they stopped Infront you. Taking off their mask to get a better look at you.

"It's time to go home n/n" his voice trembled as he forced the words out of his mouth. He crouched down in front of you, placing his arms underneath your legs and hoisting you into the air without giving you a chance to think to much in the situation.

He hurriedly passed through the portal, almost as if he was trying to get you away from the cursed wasteland as soon as possible. A wave of nausea overcoming before you emerged in the other side.

The intense feeling forcing you into a deep slumber before you could even get to see what was on the other side of the portal.

[solitary-traveler]

Stars Around My Scars

The scars on your wrists stood out to him though and he usually expresses great displeasure towards it.  “I don't like them” he frowns, “They reek of desperation”

Kabukimono x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hiii, so um let me clear a couple things first. I'm not able to post the second part for ascent to oblivion since I'm busy and exams are coming up. I promise I'll upload it as soon as possible. Take this simple gift for now. And yes this is a repost. Anyway, I just merged them together. That was a shitty decision honestly. Seriously, me and my impatient ass yesterday-

Art: @OogyPng (X)

Warning: mentions of self harm, i swear there's fluff-

The beauty of mortal life comes with its finite period of existence, that fleeting period before dissipating in the blink of an eye. 

Much akin to that of a firework display.

They explode, bragging their scintillating colors that douse the sun in jealousy. With an ear-piercing blast, it blankets the night sky, fluorescing like the moon as it gleams like the stars above.

If life was momentary for a puny human, why not make use of it?

Why not become a wanderer and travel the world?

You get to region hop and satiate your wanderlust. To encounter unfamiliar faces and attach their names to your expanding friends’ list. To pick up tidbits about riveting stories recounted by elders and children alike. The possibilities are unending, a spectacle waiting to be unboxed.

Yet there’s always the impending menace of falling victim to the grappling claws of solitude.

You’ve been plunged into that headspace a few times already. Despite your protests, the glister of joy and love you’ve gotten from simple things flickered faintly, the bleakness settling in. Your surroundings felt barren, as the dismal winds swept away every inch of ecstasy from within you. Your godforsaken history comes back to taunt you, a reminder of your internal demons who’s having a field day tormenting you.

“You’re so fucking petty it’s almost hilarious. So undeserving. Why are you still here? You’re not worth anything. And you’ll never be.”

“An accident? That’s a bullshit excuse.Without you, the accident wouldn’t occur. It’s all your fault. Everything is.”

“Everyone hates you. Why can’t you get that right? Everyone you talk to finds a fault in you that they don’t dare say to your face. But they know. They can’t help but judge you. Of course they would wouldn’t they? You’re a weirdo”

“A disgrace.”

“A worthless piece of shit.”

The thoughts bounce within your mind, endlessly toying with your emotional state.

You emit a burst of bitter laughter.

It‘s cold.

The temperature was rather freezing despite the incandescence the sun was offering. You can barely feel it radiate through your skin, as a pang smashes through your heart.

You don’t want to be cold.

Your gaze shifts to your sword resting on the patch of grass beside you.

Another benefit of wandering. No one would suspect that your scars are self-inflicted.

As far as you’re concerned, It’s only natural for wanderers to acquire marks that resemble cuts and bruises on their bodies. Incessantly faced with the turmoil of threats and hazards, scars are assumed to serve as tokens of the risk they have confronted on their previous journeys. 

Besides, it’s not like you wanted to do it. It just felt right. Like the self imposed wounds on your wrists belonged there. It felt as if the blade slicing your hand like paper was supposed to do it. That watching the red liquid flow out of it was because you deserved it.

At least you’re not cold anymore. Who knew blood could be so warm?

—-------------------------

The distant display of lights crackle against the tranquil night.

You flash a mixture of colors, expressing the turmoil of what you refer to as your emotions. Yet the speck of your allure was gradually dwindling. 

It wouldn’t take long before you vanish.

Like a pretty firework.

But what use is a pretty firework when it waves and dances all alone with the stars, concealed far from anyone's vision? 

What use is a pretty firework when they're just meant to blink momentarily and dissolve?

You got your answer when you met an eccentric puppet during one of your travels. Sweet, little Kabukimono found your dying spark and rekindled it with his saccharine smiles and candied words. 

You grasped the concept of how fireworks are meant to shine for others to see, for at least one person to view and relish. For them to admire. And for them to love.

And Kabukimono loved you.

There’s no denying that. 

Your traveling companion cherished you, always doting you with his presence. He would never leave your side unaccounted for and often offers you praises that you find doubtful.

“You’re so cool Y/N! You’re so efficient in fighting! Can you teach me??”

“I didn’t mean to stare! You just… looked pretty from here…”

“I just wanted to spend time with you! …Is that so bad?”

Much to your skepticism, you find yourself hesitating to swallow his words. They felt like lies, sugar coated phrases meant to lure you into a trap of false hope. False sense of security. I mean, who would find you this interesting? Who would want to be by your side? Who would want to constantly seek you out because they enjoyed your presence? Because they enjoy being with you?

Lies. 

Every honeyed statement that rolls out of his tongue are nothing but lies.

He was going to leave you. Sooner or later.

But for whatever reason, the puppet stayed. He would not tire from his sickening performance of pretending to care for you. He should visit the theater sometimes, given how top tier his acting skills are. He claims with a two faced, innocent grin that the place beside you was his, and only his for as long as you were together. He says he wants to know about you—to study and learn what makes you… you—all the while those deceitful puppy eyes stare at you whenever you recount tales from your journey.

You’re stubborn self refuses to acknowledge the fact that he’s showing you genuine affection. Authentic fondness.

Maybe… it’s not an act? 

You were perplexed. You aren’t sure how to navigate through the solution of this problem, considering how you have no experiences regarding this matter. You aren’t aware of what to do, of what to say. It was frightening really, venturing into uncharted territories. 

So you do nothing.

And Kabukimono remains by your side.

The puppet was nosey when it came to you. One time, he caught a glimpse of your scars when you attempted to snatch a fish for dinner, only to result in you falling into the water. You sure had plenty of them. He sighs, wondering how much they must’ve hurt. Poor you.

In all honesty, he pities you. You carry an aura of despair, a chilling sensation that never seems to go away. It was attached to you in a way, like a melancholic burden that lays upon your shoulders. A suffering the puppet doesn’t want you going through. 

He would often ask about the origin of your scars. You were quite reluctant at first, but his persistence was soon rewarded by one of your wondrous tales. He cherishes your stories. It was always enchanting to hear about different regions that he can not visit. 

The scars on your wrists stood out to him though and he usually expresses great displeasure towards it. 

“I don't like them” he frowns, “They reek of desperation”

In the young Kabuki’s mind, he notices that they don’t match the other marks on the surface of your skin. They were messy and painful to look at, like a blend of misery and torment was doused over that certain area. A mixture that can’t be dried, that can’t be removed.

He detested seeing you drowning in your sorrows.

An idea invaded his thoughts. He picks up a bright yellow marker from your bag and gently clutches your arm. He pops open the cap and uses your hand as a canvas, doodling little stars around your scars. This warrants an eyebrow raise from you, a look he just dismisses. 

“What are you doing?”

He flashes you a grin—one of the many precious expressions he loves to show off to you—as he huffs proudly, “I'm drawing stars!”

You were baffled. “...Why?”

“So that these little guys can protect you! That way, no more painful scars when I'm not around!”

When I'm not around.

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You were feeling a bit cold today. 

But Kabukimono seemed to have warmed you up in his own way.

For a moment, your inner demons  and insecurities were thrown behind a wall, padlocked there while Kabuki held the key. The world stilled, no movement dared to interrupt the serene moment between two wanderers who found solace in the presence of each other. 

Your gaze never left the indigo haired puppet as he continues to work on the stars. He was focused on it like it was some masterpiece he was dying to show to the world.

…Seriously, he's such a silly guy.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The true post-cyberpunk hero is a noir forensic accountant

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

I was reared on cyberpunk fiction, I ended up spending 25 years at my EFF day-job working at the weird edge of tech and human rights, even as I wrote sf that tried to fuse my love of cyberpunk with my urgent, lifelong struggle over who computers do things for and who they do them to.

That makes me an official "post-cyberpunk" writer (TM). Don't take my word for it: I'm in the canon:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/rewired-the-post-cyberpunk-anthology-2/

One of the editors of that "post-cyberpunk" anthology was John Kessel, who is, not coincidentally, the first writer to expose me to the power of literary criticism to change the way I felt about a novel, both as a writer and a reader:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

It was Kessel's 2004 Foundation essay, "Creating the Innocent Killer: Ender's Game, Intention, and Morality," that helped me understand litcrit. Kessel expertly surfaces the subtext of Card's Ender's Game and connects it to Card's politics. In so doing, he completely reframed how I felt about a book I'd read several times and had considered a favorite:

https://johnjosephkessel.wixsite.com/kessel-website/creating-the-innocent-killer

This is a head-spinning experience for a reader, but it's even wilder to experience it as a writer. Thankfully, the majority of literary criticism about my work has been positive, but even then, discovering something that's clearly present in one of my novels, but which I didn't consciously include, is a (very pleasant!) mind-fuck.

A recent example: Blair Fix's review of my 2023 novel Red Team Blues which he calls "an anti-finance finance thriller":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2023/05/13/red-team-blues-cory-doctorows-anti-finance-thriller/

Fix – a radical economist – perfectly captures the correspondence between my hero, the forensic accountant Martin Hench, and the heroes of noir detective novels. Namely, that a noir detective is a kind of unlicensed policeman, going to the places the cops can't go, asking the questions the cops can't ask, and thus solving the crimes the cops can't solve. What makes this noir is what happens next: the private dick realizes that these were places the cops didn't want to go, questions the cops didn't want to ask and crimes the cops didn't want to solve ("It's Chinatown, Jake").

Marty Hench – a forensic accountant who finds the money that has been disappeared through the cells in cleverly constructed spreadsheets – is an unlicensed tax inspector. He's finding the money the IRS can't find – only to be reminded, time and again, that this is money the IRS chooses not to find.

This is how the tax authorities work, after all. Anyone who followed the coverage of the big finance leaks knows that the most shocking revelation they contain is how stupid the ruses of the ultra-wealthy are. The IRS could prevent that tax-fraud, they just choose not to. Not for nothing, I call the Martin Hench books "Panama Papers fanfic."

I've read plenty of noir fiction and I'm a long-term finance-leaks obsessive, but until I read Fix's article, it never occurred to me that a forensic accountant was actually squarely within the noir tradition. Hench's perfect noir fit is either a happy accident or the result of a subconscious intuition that I didn't know I had until Fix put his finger on it.

The second Hench novel is The Bezzle. It's been out since February, and I'm still touring with it (Chicago tonight! Then Turin, Marin County, Winnipeg, Calgary, Vancouver, etc). It's paying off – the book's a national bestseller.

Writing in his newsletter, Henry Farrell connects Fix's observation to one of his own, about the nature of "hackers" and their role in cyberpunk (and post-cyberpunk) fiction:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/the-accountant-as-cyberpunk-hero

Farrell cites Bruce Schneier's 2023 book, A Hacker’s Mind: How the Powerful Bend Society’s Rules and How to Bend Them Back:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/06/trickster-makes-the-world/

Schneier, a security expert, broadens the category of "hacker" to include anyone who studies systems with an eye to finding and exploiting their defects. Under this definition, the more fearsome hackers are "working for a hedge fund, finding a loophole in financial regulations that lets her siphon extra profits out of the system." Hackers work in corporate offices, or as government lobbyists.

As Henry says, hacking isn't intrinsically countercultural ("Most of the hacking you might care about is done by boring seeming people in boring seeming clothes"). Hacking reinforces – rather than undermining power asymmetries ("The rich have far more resources to figure out how to gimmick the rules"). We are mostly not the hackers – we are the hacked.

For Henry, Marty Hench is a hacker (the rare hacker that works for the good guys), even though "he doesn’t wear mirrorshades or get wasted chatting to bartenders with Soviet military-surplus mechanical arms." He's a gun for hire, that most traditional of cyberpunk heroes, and while he doesn't stand against the system, he's not for it, either.

Henry's pinning down something I've been circling around for nearly 30 years: the idea that though "the street finds its own use for things," Wall Street and Madison Avenue are among the streets that might find those uses:

https://craphound.com/nonfic/street.html

Henry also connects Martin Hench to Marcus Yallow, the hero of my YA Little Brother series. I have tried to make this connection myself, opining that while Marcus is a character who is fighting to save an internet that he loves, Marty is living in the ashes of the internet he lost:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/07/dont-curb-your-enthusiasm/

But Henry's Marty-as-hacker notion surfaces a far more interesting connection between the two characters. Marcus is a vehicle for conveying the excitement and power of hacking to young readers, while Marty is a vessel for older readers who know the stark terror of being hacked, by the sadistic wolves who're coming for all of us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I44L1pzi4gk

Both Marcus and Marty are explainers, as am I. Some people say that exposition makes for bad narrative. Those people are wrong:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

"Explaining" makes for great fiction. As Maria Farrell writes in her Crooked Timber review of The Bezzle, the secret sauce of some of the best novels is "information about how things work. Things like locks, rifles, security systems":

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/03/06/the-bezzle/

Where these things are integrated into the story's "reason and urgency," they become "specialist knowledge [that] cuts new paths to move through the world." Hacking, in other words.

This is a theme Paul Di Filippo picked up on in his review of The Bezzle for Locus:

https://locusmag.com/2024/04/paul-di-filippo-reviews-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

Heinlein was always known—and always came across in his writings—as The Man Who Knew How the World Worked. Doctorow delivers the same sense of putting yourself in the hands of a fellow who has peered behind Oz’s curtain. When he fills you in lucidly about some arcane bit of economics or computer tech or social media scam, you feel, first, that you understand it completely and, second, that you can trust Doctorow’s analysis and insights.

Knowledge is power, and so expository fiction that delivers news you can use is novel that makes you more powerful – powerful enough to resist the hackers who want to hack you.

Henry and I were both friends of Aaron Swartz, and the Little Brother books are closely connected to Aaron, who helped me with Homeland, the second volume, and wrote a great afterword for it (Schneier wrote an afterword for the first book). That book – and Aaron's afterword – has radicalized a gratifying number of principled technologists. I know, because I meet them when I tour, and because they send me emails. I like to think that these hackers are part of Aaron's legacy.

Henry argues that the Hench books are "purpose-designed to inspire a thousand Max Schrems – people who are probably past their teenage years, have some grounding in the relevant professions, and really want to see things change."

(Schrems is the Austrian privacy activist who, as a law student, set in motion the events that led to the passage of the EU's General Data Privacy Regulation:)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

Henry points out that William Gibson's Neuromancer doesn't mention the word "internet" – rather, Gibson coined the term cyberspace, which, as Henry says, is "more ‘capitalism’ than ‘computerized information'… If you really want to penetrate the system, you need to really grasp what money is and what it does."

Maria also wrote one of my all-time favorite reviews of Red Team Blues, also for Crooked Timber:

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/05/11/when-crypto-meant-cryptography/

In it, she compares Hench to Dickens' Bleak House, but for the modern tech world:

You put the book down feeling it’s not just a fascinating, enjoyable novel, but a document of how Silicon Valley’s very own 1% live and a teeming, energy-emitting snapshot of a critical moment on Earth.

All my life, I've written to find out what's going on in my own head. It's a remarkably effective technique. But it's only recently that I've come to appreciate that reading what other people write about my writing can reveal things that I can't see.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/17/panama-papers-fanfic/#the-1337est-h4x0rs

Image: Frédéric Poirot (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/fredarmitage/1057613629 CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[sugar-omi]

I don’t think I read cove putting on a condom in that virginity loss post. Do I sense Cove having to awkwardly buy MC plan b? 😏😏🤭

[part 1]

listen. it's up for interpretation✋️😌🤚 maybe the parents left some rubbers in the house bc who KNOWS what'll happen. but that's exactly what i was thinking too🤭

you're both too eager to even think rationally, logically.

by the time he's ruined you with his tongue and stretched you open with his fingers, and the thought finally occurs to you two, you can't just let him go.

you promise him it'll be okay, that it's just one time and today should be safe. that you can just get a plan B and it'll be alright

his brain is too fogged to even disagree. because right now, his dick throbbing at the thought of losing his virginity raw. especially with you. to even think about all the lectures his parents gave, or even think about the consequences and how complicated his feelings are as a big fay teenage accident

tries to put up a bit of resistance, asks if you're sure. if you're really sure.

please don't try to reason with him by saying "well, if we do it raw the first time, i won't get curious when doing it with anyone else..."

because now he has to agree.

because fuck. what if the temptation is just as strong now, as down the line. what if he's too dazed to think straight. maybe, just maybe, feeling how hot and wet your pussy is around his cock will give him a bit of reason if he ever has sex with someone else..

finally he'd just growl lowly, curses and says "okay, fuck.. okay..." because now you've won him over. he can't go back now

thinks he's ruined just when the tip of his cock alone pushes past your entrance, that this is it. he's totally fucking pussy drunk for the rest of his life. there's no way he'll ever be able to recover for the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing around him, your legs and arms tangled around him and your thighs trembling and squeezing around his hips

all he'll be able to think of for the rest of his life will be how your eyes rollback, how they they flutter, and how his name sounds on your lips, all breathy and soft and whiny. it's a fucking symphony and he needs you to keep singing it

pants and inhales like he's running a fucking marathon with every cm and every inch of cock he sinks into you.

he's not small, and he hopes he stretched you enough, and of your hymn is still intact before now, he really hopes this doesn't hurt you too much.

it's so suffocating and hot. and even with tears welling up in your eyes, a tear or two running down your cheeks, he can't help but feel so fucking happy that you're under him like this, clinging onto him. whining and moaning his name. crying about his dick, how he's too fucking thick to fit inside you, how he's nudging your cervix once he's fully inside...

tries to ignore it but he's so happy you're doing this with him.

what if some other asshole had you under him like this. and then ran off and bragged, embarrassing you. or shamed you when you fought for how you cried and clung onto them like a needy whore

really tries to ignore the primalness rising in his chest. but fuck he has to admit his confidence is getting bigger by the second. has been ever since you said he's the only guy you trust to take your virginity and not regret it. that if you had a choice, you'd give it to him.

he's never cared about the whole virginity thing, and purity and all that... just wanted it to be with someone he trusted, and he's glad you feel the same

but now that you're here.. fuck it's flipped a switch inside him

right now, he doesn't know if he wants to give you up. your bodies are connected now.. you're taking him to the hilt, crying his name, and begging him for more.

just minutes ago you begged him to make you cum on his face.

he doesn't want anyone else to see that.

but that's so selfish, and disgusting. you're not even dating. this is just.. both of you taking precautions to not regret your first sexual experience

but fuck.. fuck if he doesn't feel like your souls are connected at this point. if he doesn't feel like you own a piece of him now..

which in fact. you do. and he does too.

he's the first to see you so vulnerable, so intimately.

no one else has seen you like this. you haven't called anyone else's name in that sultry voice and he's the first person besides yourself to make you cum.

he owns those firsts. and you own the same from him.

it's not like it's the first thing you've ever done together, really it shouldn't be this fucking life changing.

but not all best friends tell each other they want the other to pop their cherry, and not all best friends beg the other to please put it in, that that's enough and you're ready for it.

not all best friends moan out each others name, leav dark hickeys on each other, and definitely don't hold hands and kiss like lovers as they gently fuck into the other friend..

God he hopes he's your only best friend. at least the only best friend who can do this to you.

you're hardly accustomed to the intrusion before he picks up the pace. he had just kissed the tears off your cheeks and told you it's okay, he has you, you're doing so good..

and now he's slamming his hips down, his body weight pushing you into the mattress, and his face is buried in your neck, muttering apologies in your ear as if that'll make up for his cock bullying your sensitive, deflowered insides

you're so sensitive from your previous orgasms, and this is a whole new sensation. it's too much, he's so mean, but if he really was that mean, why is he holding your hand and kissing you, squeezing his hand between your body to rub your clit...

cove's always so sweet, so you can forgive him for being a bit of a bully tonight. even if your cervix and pussy is so tender afterwards, you can get over it because fuck it's too good to be mad at him

he's hitting all those spots you can't reach with your fingers, his cock dragging along every spot and his fat cock top nudging that delicious spot between your walls

he thinks he's gone to heaven when you lock your legs around him, begging him to keep hitting that spot. of course, he obliges, adjusting his knees and trying to keep a god rhythm as he fucks into that spot that has you crying so loudly, your nails dragging down his back...

you feel so fucking good.. and he groans when he looks between your bodies and see the creamy ring around his cock, strings of slick and cum connecting your pussy to his abdomen and the mess is all over both of your guys thighs.

it's sloppy. and dirty. dirtier than those sloppy French kisses you engaged in earlier, and cove didn't think he could get any harder until right now

between the mess and the way your pussy clings to his cock, the obscene shlicking noises, the way your cunt accepts him and gushes around him like you're made for him, and he's made for you..

he can't hold it anymore. especially when you cry as you cum around his cock, your legs locking behind his back ad your ego him to keep going.

cages you in his arms as he uses your pussy to bring him over the edge, running tight circles around your clit.

you're not letting up, even when he says he's gonna cum, that he should cum outside.. fuck it probably doesn't matter if he pulls out at this point.

all the pre cum his fat, pretty cock drooled inside your pussy, and if you made him cum before you went all the way, his cock was already sticky and wet with his semen, it's far too late to be cautious now.

his eyes roll back and flutter shut when he cums, groaning and he can't help but bite into your shoulder, not even thinking twice about it whole he dumps his fat, thick load inside your poor cunt..

he's totally painting your walls white, and it's spilling out around his cock.. you didn't think he could cum so much, didn't think it'd be possible..

it'll definitely be impossible to clean out later. you can feel how thick and clingy his cum is, you're going to be fingering and scooping out cum fron your sensitive guts for so long...

you have to ignore that dark part of you that says his cum is perfect for getting you pregnant. that it'd fill your womb up so nicely, that if it didn't take the first time it'd be a fucking miracle.

you choking around the primal urges filling up your chest, your brain.. you have to get him off you before you beg him to fuck you again. before a second round turns to three, than four...

you've been so irresponsible. but at least you can curse yourself about that instead of having your first times with assholes, right?

and at least cove will buy the plan B himself, or at least pass you the money for it. he's still a better gentleman than any other guy out there, so you definitely can't be mad about your first time...

[atticsandwich]

but you come back to what you need

pairing: mephistopheles / gn! reader (mc)

fluff, tension, mephisto's usual tsun tendencies, mc annoying their way into mephisto's heart etc etc

it's not your fault you enjoy crashing at the newspaper club room for your midday breaks. it's also definitely not your fault for pretending to be asleep when he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, so it really can't be helped that you're trying to figure out how to get more.

i finally finished it LMFAO... i am so sorry for the delay fellow mephisto lovers....

prompt based off of this tiktok reddit video, although it took its own form eventually. (please give it a listen though it's way too fucking cute)

—

"You're here again?" Mephistopheles groans, seemingly annoyed, putting his pen down as you waltz into his office at the newspaper club room. It's spacious— almost as big as Lucifer's study back at home. You immediately find your place at the seating couch situated at the office's side, feeling your body sink into the soft cushion.

"Previous class drained the hell out of me," you groan, watching the demon across you roll his eyes. "I have a week to list out a bunch of plants I've never heard of and their most effective usage. Potions and stuff," you continue anyway.

"Hmph," he ignores the way you blatantly disregard his posed grievance of your visit, trying to return his focus to his paperwork. "...I have some books on Devildom botany on the second shelf."

You stop yourself from laughing at his attempts at being dismissive— as much as he hates admitting it, you eventually figure out that he doesn't mind your daily visits; an occurence that started out of pure accident, no less.

-

[You recall the first time you barged into his office, out of breath, narrowly escaping Solomon's pure-hearted attempt of making you a surprise lunchbox. You love the sorcerer, you truly do, but you weren't in the mood to have your stomach collapsing onto itself for the next three days. You could only be thankful Simeon gave you a heads up about his plan so you could avoid him during lunch, knowing well enough of your inability to refuse.

"Do me a favor and don't let Solomon know I'm here," he didn't get a chance to retort before you dived to hide behind his chair, just in time as someone started knocking on the office door. With a huff of defeat, he grants the knocker entry— who turned out, to be in fact, the aforementioned sorcerer.

"Mephisto, have you seen my apprentice around? I was meaning to give them homemade lunch, but they ran off right as the bell rang," clearly, the sorcerer was earnest in his actions, but even the demon could feel the malevolent aura emanating from the supposed 'lunch box'.

"No, I have not. I doubt they would come here of their own volition, more especially during break period," he quirked an eyebrow, trying to ignore the almost-vice grip you had on the back of his coat.

"Hm..." Solomon pondered for a second. "That's weird. I thought I saw them run in this direction... I must have been mistaken, then. Thank you anyway, Mephisto!" with that, the clueless sorcerer turned to leave, and it is only when you hear his footsteps fade into the hallways that you breathe a sigh of relief.

Clearing his throat, the demon looks down behind him, and you flash him a bright grin. "I owe you one, Mephisto! You're the best!" you say before quickly wrapping yourself around his back, dashing out of the office before he could say anything in return.

He's relieved you just barely miss the way his face flusters, and the small goofy smile that creeps its way to his face after he double-checks that you're out of periphery.]

-

You couldn't stop yourself from giggling at the memory while picking out the book from the shelf Mephisto directed to. It's been a few months since then, and although your visits started off sporadic, it eventually became a daily thing— much to the demon's proclaimed inconvenience. A facade, considering no annoyed demon would start keeping an extra teacup in his office that wasn't Diavalo's spare, which just so happened to be your favorite color. Or the fact that that his record player started having your favorite music on rotation— a complete coincidence!— he exclaimed in defense when you pointed it out one day. Or even the fact that his seating area, which once felt like a completely separate space from his work desk, was slightly rearranged so the sofa just so happened to be in a closer, more comfortable viewing and talking range— not to mention the blanket draped over the backrest which also just so happened to be perfect for midday naps.

"—And what might you laughing about? I doubt a book on botany is hardly a comedic masterpiece," he quips, pulling your attention away from the book.

"Mmm," you shift your angle slightly to look at him better. "Just remembered something funny, is all."

Rolling his eyes, he gets up from his chair to the room's small tea station, where a pair of teacups are set out, a tray of snacks also already conveniently prepared.

"Barbatos gave me this blend the other day, it's supposed to help out with stress. I'm guessing it'll be useful for Lord Diavolo as well."

"Mhm," you nod along, your focus already returned to your botany study.

You hear him mumble an incantation— probably some sort of heat spell to boil water, and it's not long after that he sets your cup on the coffee table, along with a select pick of snacks you usually went for first. You would've teased him about how he knows exactly which ones you go for it if not for the fact that you're fully engrossed with Devildom's botany, making steady progress on your assignment.

"Thanks!" the faint scent of something familiar hits your senses, though you couldn't quite put a name on it. "Mm, this tea is quite fragrant."

"If I recall, it's some sort of human realm fruit essence infused in the blend," he explains, taking a book from one of the shelves, sitting down across from you. "Bergamot, I think it was? I took a little sip earlier, and it's pretty good; although I expect nothing less from Barbatos."

"Ah, that's what it was. I knew it smelt familiar."

He mumbles something incoherently, though you can barely make out the words 'humans' and 'calming effects of familiar scents'. It really is laughable how he still feigns not caring.

"Done with newspaper work already? It's rare for you to take a break at this time of day," holding back a laugh at his ridiculousness, you notice a more faintly lax expression on his face.

"I'm already a bit ahead in progress, so I can afford a small break. On the other hand, I didn't think botany would catch your interest," he points out.

"There’s a lot of cool stuff here! I didn't think I'd enjoy researching it this much. Plants in the human realm just kinda... grow?... with some exceptions, of course," with that, you start listing off the ones you chose for your assignment, particularly enthused about plants often used for traditional and ceremonial practices.

Before long, you managed to finish more than half of your task, all that's left being to actually put it in paper. Tea drank and snacks consumed, you let out a pleased sigh before letting out a yawn and a stretch. Without a word, Mephisto stands to return both your book and his back to the shelf. This time, he pulls out a record from the display and goes to play it, which you instantly recognize as a record you recommended to him some weeks ago. Before you can bring it up, he throws a glare your way, preemptively sensing the teasing that was bound to come out of your mouth. You laugh at him instead, sparing him actual words (for now).

"Fine, fine, I'll shut up and just take a nap. Happy, newspaper boy?"

Groaning at the nickname, he walks over back to his desk. "Do whatever you want. And I already told you to stop calling me that."

"Mmhm," is all you can say, already comfortably in place with the couch blanket draped over yourself, the soft music from the phonograph combined with being filled from the tea and snacks already starting to lull you into deep relaxation. You hear Mephisto grumble something, and you notice his gaze towards you when you turned your head to look at him— one he quickly broke, pretending he wasn't caught.

"Did'ya say something?" your eyelids grow heavy, sleep starting to take over.

"...Nothing. I'll wake you up before your next class."

"I know you will," you mumble before dreaming away.

—

You're not certain how long you dozed off, but the slight shuffling of an office chair lulled you out of dreamland. Still being sleepy however, your eyes opted to remain closed, hoping to grasp every second of slumber before your afternoon classes. They remained closed when you hear a familiar demon's grumbling noises as he threw another batch of proposal articles in the bin, and they remained close when you sense him quietly walk over to you, his form slowly leaning down over your face. He's so close that you could feel his breath tickle your nose, and you might be hallucinating it, but you think you feel his heart beating a mile a minute.

"Tsk..." you hear him huff out, fingers carefully tucking your hair off your face.

"...I'll never understand why you keep coming back to me," this time, his tone is a lot more soft, you almost didn't recognize it. Half your conscience is telling you to come clean and open your eyes, but you suck it and keep up the act, wanting to see where it goes. You just hope he doesn't notice your own heart beating a mile a minute. You sense him inch closer

"What am I saying..." he whispers to himself.

"...Please keep coming back to me."

In what felt like a blur, you feel the warmth of his lips silently land on the center of your forehead. He lingers there for a few seconds, before you feel him pull away.

Come back, is what you wanted to say, but words have left your throat, and you almost forget you're supposed to be pretending to be asleep.

"...Ugh," he huffs out again, feeling his hair tickle your neck as he lays his head next to yours in exasperation. He snaps out of it in a flash, and you think it slipped his mind that he wasn't supposed to be caught— so much for that anyway, you think. He walks back to his desk, mumbling to himself, and before your mind could start overthinking about what just happened, you slowly sink back into comfort, the last string of thought your mind provided was how much you wanted him to do it again.

—

You wake up fully this time, by Mephisto snatching the blanket from your sleeping form— keep it up and you'll be late for your last class!, he chastises, and you only groan out a pleading 'five more minutes,' in response.

It's not until a few minutes after you get up that it clicks— that wasn't a dream.

Mephistopheles really kissed you in your sleep.

Sure, it was on your forehead, but now you can't help but continue thinking about it. You thought about it as you waved him goodbye as you left the club room, you thought about it the whole time in class, and you thought about it all the way back to the HoL, where you finally let out a muffled scream as you buried your head in your pillow.

You want him to do it again. You wanted him to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, then your—

"Hey, dinner's ready!~" Asmodeus' intrusion cut off your thoughts, but you couldn't even be bothered to care about dinner.

"Hey Asmo?" you ask. The Avatar of Lust perks his brow up in acknowledgment.

"Yes dear?~" it's scary how it's like he can sense what you were thinking...

"...You got any ideas how to get someone to kiss you while awake and not asleep on his couch?"

[callsigns-haze]

You left me for too long

pairing: young!president!coriolanus snow x fem!first lady!reader

summary: he's gone on tour but you're horny and bored

warnings: smut, fingering, unhinged coryo, video sex, dominance, short fic

Having Coryo on tour and being alone in a large house might provide difficulties at times. Your schedules became unmanageable when Coryo was only permitted to use his phone in the morning and you were constantly hot and longing for his contact. He enjoyed having conversations with you, but when he wasn't busy, he was simply exhausted from the day.

Regretfully, this is one of those evenings when you wake up really aroused and aching, but Coryo isn't here. Despite your numerous journeys, you never felt uncomfortable sleeping alone on an empty bed while you were single.

Then an absurd thought occurs to you. Something you know works well since it gave you another opportunity to torment Coryo. You slink out of bed and into the wardrobe without a second thought. You're just so aroused that anything that eases your discomfort seems like a possibility.

You cross to the common closet between you and Coryo and open the large oak doors. Most of it is your stuff. You admitted to yourself that you had too many possessions, despite Coryo's complaints, yet you're currently visiting his favourite wardrobe aisle. Lingerie.

When you finally located Coryo's all-time favourite pair after searching into the back of your wardrobe. The set of black lace that encased the smallest possible portion of your body. the one who gave you the most attention. Closing the wardrobe behind yourself, you threw the set back on the bed.

Returning to your bed, you reached down to pull your panties and pyjama shorts down to your ankles. You slid the Longhorns sweater from Coryo over your head and let the chilly room air spill over your beautiful breasts.

After pulling your hair out of the dishevelled bun you had put on before going to bed, you began putting on the laced set and tossed the garments across the room.

Taking it off your nightstand, you placed your phone up against the headboard. Crawling across the bed on your knees, you took hold of the two pillows and positioned them behind you. You took your wand from your nightstand and set it down next to you.

Knowing that Coryo would cum in his trousers the moment he saw this, you turned on the camera.

It's time to show.

Without second thought, you hit the on button and bring your palm down to your dripping pussy. By accident, you let a loud groan to escape your lips as you position the vibrating head right over your hurting clit, enjoying the feeling it offers.

It's not too much for your small nerve, and you're horny from the hormones, but it feels so nice and powerful. Simply recline on the pillows and close your eyes to focus on using the wand to stimulate your clit.

You release the clasp at the back of the bra, allowing your breasts to drop freely while the bra slides down your arms. You softly massaged the warm flesh with your fingers. As the sexual tension built between your legs, you moved them in synchronised circles, letting your head drop back.

The cloth of your underwear was getting wetter and wetter on your thighs. Your own body was tempting you more and more, until at last you were unable to resist any longer.

Letting go of your breasts, you gently spread your legs, extend your hand, and apply a small pressure on your undergarments to feel your warmth. You pushed harder, tickling yourself with your own fingers, and your mouth parted slightly.

When you ripped the material off to the side and instantly pressed your index and middle fingers into your moist core, your self-control completely vanished.

Your lips was always releasing moans as they puffed in and out, dripping with your secretions. The liquid was gently trickling down your ass and onto the bed as you started to dribble.

You moaned, imagining Coryo pushing into you. "Ugh." Your noise level increased by an additional octave as your fingers quickened. With each forward motion, your hand was hitting your clit with great force. With your eyes closed, all you could think of was Coryo, his hips hitting yours as he hovered over you.

"Fuck Coryo, I wish you were here!" Your stomach twisted as you let out a cry and pulled out your fingers. You shouted out as you moved to vigorously touch your clit, forgetting long ago about the wand. Liquids sprayed from between your legs, soaking the bed's material.

Sickened and gasping from the encounter, you hesitantly withdrew your hand. You were sucking your fingers clean and your veins were pounded with adrenaline. You could only concentrate on the flavour that persisted in your tongue since your eyes had not yet opened.

After turning off the camera and hitting submit, you knew Coryo will have dessert when he watches the video, but you still felt like there should be one more small cherry on top.

Stretching your legs wide, you positioned the phone so that you would be in the clear for the picture. With nothing more to detect except the taste of yourself, you lick yourself clean after spreading your wetness across your fingers and placing them in your mouth.

Coryo would have adored this.

-----

His previous excursions were all strictly limited to using his phone. Ten minutes a week to speak with relatives while you were here was simply internet time.

Thankfully, Sejanus was gone when he managed to get back into the bunk. When he switched on his phone, he saw one delivered movie and other unseen photographs.

He was in awe. His stunning girlfriend gave him a video of herself giving him a good sex in his bed while wearing little black pants that didn't care if you were wearing clothing or not.

He watched you play with your fingers and that wand, making yourself happy. The way you beg him as though he were forcing you to come.

God, those photos. His favourite tiny pussy is flowing out of your come, smearing your fingers over the blankets.

He was tough. really sturdy. His trousers formed a tent. He has never been more attracted to someone. Something in him was piqued by your flawless physique, getting yourself off.

Whether you were in the air or not didn't matter to him. If you were asleep, it didn't matter to him. He had to hear your voice and confirm that you were aware that you would reimburse him for that when he returns home.

You: Hello?

Coryo: Hey angel.

You: Oh my god Coryo, hey babe!

Coryo: Ohh angel, don't hey babe me you know our gonna pay for that once I get home.

You: Pay for what cowboy?

Coryo: Your pretty little ass will pay for making me rock solid in the middle of the morning leaving me to deal with it myself.

You: Ohhh I think I'm really interested in this punishment cowboy…

Coryo: Ohh angel, you better be.

Hunger games taglist:

@rosiahills22

@shanimallina87

@callsign-magnolia

@hardballoonlove

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@buckysteveloki-me

@hookslove1592

@kmc1989

@callsign-dexter

[mypearlsareclutched]

Loving You Is Hard

High By The Beach | Chapter One

Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

To be loved, is to be known. Time passes so quickly when you are happy, and for the first time, Mila Stark seems to know true happiness. But when you fall in love with someone, and your walls come crashing down, your weak points are bared for all to see. Be careful who you trust your heart to...

Chapter one, babygirls. What seems like a blissful relationship in front of the cameras, is actually a leaning tower readying to fall. The heart is a fickle thing, once broken, can it be mended? This chapter is VERY Back to Black (Amy Winehouse) coded, I am warning you.

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), SERIOUS drug use, alcohol consumption, Targaryen daddy issues, smoking, romantical shagging, brief allusions to grooming, mentions of parent death, ANGST, infidelity, overdosing and almost dying.

Word Count | 5.3k

previous chapter // next chapter

Isn't it crazy how a year can pass in the blink of an eye?

For Mila, It feels like only yesterday she met Aemond Targaryen, the straight-backed second son of a business mogul. Only yesterday when he gave her his lighter, then she fucked him in the bathroom, subsequently offering him her number with a smirk.

But a year has passed since that night. He called her the next morning, talking to her in his deep, soft-spoken way, inviting her somewhere nice. Their first date was perfect, they sat together and spoke easily, his attention never wavering from her. They walked hand in hand back to her flat. Then he broke her bed.

Many months had passed with this being a regular occurance. Once Otto Hightower found out that Aemond and Mila were seeing one another, he was eager for their relationship to be public. All of sudden, Mila traded her candid shots of her walking out of a club shitfaced and bleary eyed, for staged shots of her walking hand in hand with the second heir to the Targaryen fortune.

Cregan had been shocked. He was uncomfortable with such an imposing and threatening looking man dating his sister, coming from such a formidable family no less. Aemond listened to Cregan's thinly veiled complaints, merely shrugging off his concerns. Even a year after their first meeting, Cregan remained uncertain about Aemond and his intentions.

Their surrogate family was even less happy. Rhaenyra and Aemond are half-siblings, sharing a father in Viserys Targaryen. Eighteen years difference between them, sure, but the fact that Mina is dating one of the sons from the family that replaced Rhaenyra stung. But Rhaenyra's hostility was not aimed at Mila. She, Jace, Luke, Laenor, even Qarl were against the relationship. An intervention was held at one point, but the eery familiarity to that night in her past made Mila run, falling into the arms of Aemond as she panicked.

Aemond's family had welcomed her. The first time Mila walked into the Targaryen mansion as Aemond's girlfriend, she had been celebrated as if she were royalty. Alicent had hugged her upon arrival, and she seemed genuinely ecstatic to get to know her. Halaena introduced her to Dreamfyre, and all of her critters. Daeron, Aemond's younger brother, talked her head off and showed her his footy skills. He went feral when she did a rainbow flick in heels, courtesy of having Cregan Stark as her brother. She did not meet Viserys that day, he was too sick to welcome visitors. As Mila was welcomed into the family, Otto watched with a small smile, his eyes sharp like a snakes.

The night she met his family, he showed her his hidden eye. An accident in his youth left him scarred, his one eye lost and replaced by a sapphire. He leans into her touch as she kisses his scar, telling him he is beautiful.

A year of public appearances, a year of hostility between family members, a year of sharing meals and moments with the illustrious Targaryens. A year of falling in love with Aemond Targaryen.

How was she to know this was the calm before the storm?

She and Aemond lay in her bed, his head resting on her chest. A vicious family argument had sent him into her arms, wound tight and on the verge of breaking something. He had fucked her hard and rough, making her scream loud enough to wake her neighbors, her headboard creating an intent in her wall. After making her cum four times, he laid down beside her, his own pleasure forgotten as he accepted her loving embrace.

"What happened, baby?" Mila finally asks, running her fingers through his soft hair. He hesitates, before releasing a sigh.

"My father brought our family together to talk about his will." Aemond murmurs, staring at the wall, "He still wants Rhaenyra as his heir, despite her insistence that she has to focus on her own career. Father wants Rhaenyra. He won't allow her to give up her inheritance... because of Aegon."

Aegon. Aemond's older brother was a difficult topic of conversation for them. The first born son of Viserys Targaryen was currently in rehab, some fancy facility. Aemond never spoke about his brother in a good light, though Mila heard plenty of kinder words from Halaena and Daeron, sometimes Alicent if she had had a few glasses of wine.

Halaena had said he had a kind heart, Daeron had said that he was funny, Alicent had said that he was trying to be better. Otto refused to speak about him, Rhaenyra said he was troubled, Jace said he was a bully. Viserys' forgot his name once.

The closest Mila had gotten to interacting with him was when he escaped from rehab. Aemond had received a call in the middle of the night. He spoke in a hushed voice to Criston Cole, the Targaryen head of security, and then rushed off into the night. When he did not return, Mila went to the mansion, and found a clusterfuck of chaos. The entire security team was trying to get Aeon out from the pool, but he was as high as a kite and refusing. Mila had watched as Aemond dragged him out by his collar, throwing him in Cole's car to be sent back to the facility. As it drove past, a pair of big blue eyes looked out at her, and Mila felt the urge to wave at him. When she did, he waved back.

"He won't even consider you?" Mila asks Aemond, feeling him tense against her.

"No." He bites, voice hard, "Otto has tried to make him see reason; Rhaenyra has had no involvement in the company since she married and left to start her own business. All my life I have worked for this. And yet the old man is still blinded."

"I'm so sorry, my love." Mila murmurs, unsure of what to say, "I'm sure your father will see sense soon-"

"Enough. I don't want to talk about it." Aemond sits up, shoulders hunched. His hair surrounds him like a curtain, shielding his face from her, "You don't know what it's like to feel like you're not enough."

Mila shudders, closing her eyes. Memories fill her mind, taking her to a dark place.

While the media only knew about her recreational drug use and partying ways, they never knew about her vicious affair with the needle. Heroin had been her escape when her parents passed away, and it was all on her brothers shoulders to get her help. When he was at his breaking point, Rhaenyra and Laenor took her back in, letting her detox and keeping her warm, fed, safe and loved. Even when she screamed, thrashed, and spat cruel words, they never lost hope in her.

Her brother and her surrogate family never thought less of her, but she thought less of herself. When she remembers who she was, how deep she was in her addiction, she hates herself. More than she has ever hated anything.

"Mila?" A warm hand presses to her shoulder, and Mila snaps back to reality, Aemond watches her with a worried eye, his sapphire gleaming in the low light, "What happened? You look pale."

Aemond cups her face, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone. Smiling weakly, she rests her hand over his own, leaning in to his touch.

"I... I know what it feels like to feel like a disappointment, to feel like you aren't capable." She whispers, "You're amazing, Aemond. But it's never enough for your family. My family believes in me, but I don't know if I deserve it."

He listens as she breaks down, confessing her sins through tears, recounting her addiction, her grief, her self hatred. By the end of her rant, Aemond holds her close, lay side by side as he soothes her.

"None of that is your fault." He murmurs, kissing her knuckles, "Your family know you are worth more than you think, and I know that to."

"Aemond..." I love you, is what she wants to say, "Thank you."

"No. sweet girl, thank you." Aemond leans forwards, kissing along her cheeks, soothing the skin that was stained with tears. His hands covered her body, warmth spreading through her, soothing her tremors. Familiar need coursed through her, and she leaned into him, kissing him deeply.

"Need you." Mila murmurs against his lips, and he smiles softly.

"I've got you." Aemond promises.

He pushes her back, climbing on top of her. Mila spreads her legs willingly, and Aemond fits snugly against her. He presses hungry kissing along her neck as his cock presses into her, hot and hard. She gasps as she spreads her legs further apart, accommodating his lean body.

As Aemond fills her, Mila whines, pleading for more as he sets a slow, passionate pace. Their hips clap together, their staggered breaths mingling as they kiss messily. The room is hot, sweaty. Aemond's pace increases, desire for release coursing through him, his intensity leaving Mila a whimpering mess beneath him, looking up at him with adoring eyes until he could bare it no more, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

"I've got you, I've got you..." Aemond breathes against her, lost in his own pleasure as he thrusts inside her, fucking her harder and deeper as they both tried to wash away their pain...

Today is Viserys Targaryen's sixtieth birthday. Probably the last one he will ever have, and thus, the celebrations are spectacular.

The once feared and revered CEO of Targaryen LTD walks out into the foyer of his pristine mansion with a cane, face half hidden with a masquerade mask as to not showcase his deformities. Otto was the one to suggest the theme, a masquerade party to add a touch of class. Definitely not to have an excuse to hide the rotting side of Viserys' face, taken by the inoperable tumour in his head.

As Viserys was cheered and greeted by his friends and colleagues, Mila stood by Aemond's side, a red mask across her eyes, matching the read, satin dress she wore. Aemond wore a green mask, covering his patched eye, and a deep green suit. His hand held her waist softly, keeping her close by as he watched his father with distaste.

"Do you want a drink, Aem?" Mila asks, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He does not answer, his eye trained on his father's hunched form, weaving his way through the crowd, "Aemond?"

"Yes?" He responds, looking down at her, his eye softening, "What did you say, love?"

"Do you want a drink?"

"No, thank you." Aemond presses a kiss to her forehead, and she beams up at him. The crowd around them mill about, the attention focused on Viserys and therefore letting the two of them idly talk and enjoy each other's company.

Mila raves on about a new song Rhaena was composing, eagerly spouting out facts and answering questions Aemond would occasionally ask. For the most part, he remained silent, content to listen to her and observe her with a soft look in his eyes.

A whirl of black hair catches the Targaryen's attention, and his eye flickers to look over Mila's shoulder. His face drops, eye widening as his grip on the Stark girl loosens, body going slack.

Mila stops talking, eyebrows furrowing as she takes in Aemond's harrowed look, "Baby, what's wrong?"

Aemond is unmoving, eye wide as he stares. Mila follows his line of sight, spotting a tall, slender woman watching the pair across the room. She is dressed in black, a veil over her mask. Her dark hair surrounds her like a blanket. Under the veil, Mila can clearly see a smirk. Ice grips her, as she huddles closer to her boyfriend.

A broad, bearded man walks over to Aemond, and he shakes out of his trance, offering the man his hand to shake, "Borros, thank you for coming."

"A wonderful event, Aemond." Borros nods, his eyes moving over to Mila, his eyebrow raising in judgment. Mila stiffens, feeling scrutinised and unsure.

Aemond clears his throat, extracting his arm from around her, "Mila, could you get me a drink, please?"

"...Sure." Mila says, clenching her jaw as she walks off. Behind her, she can hear Borros Baratheon mutter something about Aemond 'taming the She-Wolf', causing Aemond to chuckle softly and respond with quieter words. Suddenly, Mila feels sick.

Walking across the crowded hall, Mila finds herself at the bar, gripping onto the edge as she bites back tears threatening to spill.

"Woah, woah, that's expensive dark oak, kid." Daeron jokes as he joins her side, smile faltering as he sees her saddened eyes, "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing, Dare. I'm fine, just, uh, I need a drink."

"Okay... do you want me to get Hel?" He asks, clearly deeply concerned.

Mila manages a weak smile, "I'll go and talk to her if things get worse, thanks, kid."

"No worries, kid." Daeron elbows her gently, giving her another worried look before he joins his father's side. Mila shakes her head, catching her bearings as she orders Aemond two fingers of whiskey.

Grasping the drink in shaky hands, she weaves her way back around the crowd, saying the occasional greeting to people she knew. Walking past an alcove, she spots Otto Hightower's fuming form.

"What the hell is she doing here?!" Otto demands, as poor Criston Cole stands in front of him. Criston defends himself, saying that he had no idea how she managed to get in, it must have been the mask. When they notice her watching, they stop talking, Cold offering her a courteous nod. She reciprocates, but feels unwelcome at this event, suddenly.

Borros Baratheon bellows out a laugh, talking to three women instead of Aemond. With a furrowed brow, Mila searches around, palm warming the glass of whiskey she held.

She stops in her tracks, going cold as she lays eyes on Aemond and the person he is speaking to. The veiled woman from before rests a slender hand on his arm. Aemond stares down at her, making no move to remove her hand. The woman takes a step further, close enough to kiss him if she leant a breath closer.

Swallowing thickly, Mila abandons the drink, turning on her heel in search of Halaena.

It is often easy to find Halaena Targaryen. Just go wherever there will be bugs.

In the Targaryen gardens, a silvery head looks down in the bushes, the sleeves of her blue gown bunched up as she searches amongst the flowers.

"What have you found, lovely?" Mila calls, her rage dissipating as she joins the side of her friend. Halaena beams, her curls surrounding her face as she victoriously gasps, pulling out her closed fist.

Opening her hand, Mila smiles at the sight of a bright green caterpillar. It slinks across Halaena's pale palm, sniffing her out.

"Look at him." Mila murmurs.

"Her." Halaena corrects, "She's a girl."

"And a very gorgeous one at that." Mila follows Halaena as she brings the caterpillar over to one of her glass enclosures, putting him in it gently.

"Tessarion will eat him, I know he likes to play in these bushes." Halaena was right, Daeron's tabby cat Tessarion would definitely have the caterpillar as a snack.

"You're very kind, Hel."

Halaena smiles again, closing the enclosure and walking over to the open doors of the hall. The pair observe the celebrations, standing in calm silence before Mila realises Helaena is staring at her instead.

"Everything okay?" She asks, taking in the Targaryens suddenly grim face.

Without a word, Halaena takes her hands in her own, blinking rapidly as she tries to make sense of her own thoughts. "Love will make you sick." Halaena murmurs, looking somberly into Mila's eyes, "And love will heal you again."

"What do you mean, bug?" Mila asks softly, the blonde's strange way of speaking no longer startled her, only made her grow even fonder.

"The Stranger will try to take you too soon. But you can't go yet, you haven't met him."

With that, Halaena sighs, bringing Mila's hands up to lay a small peck on her knuckles, then wandering back out into the crowd. Mila took great pride in the fact that Halaena would only touch people she truly trusted, but something about that interaction made Mila worried.

The crowd was alive as people grew drunker. Mila watched as Viserys was lead back upstairs, presumably tired out by the evening. Waltzing in and out of conversation, the She-Wolf tried to find Aemond, wanting nothing more than to curl up into his side.

However, it seemed like that would not be in the cards.

Aemond stands beside Alys, the pair talking with a small group of partygoers. A laugh erupts at something Alys says, and she leans against Aemond with a smile.

Seeing red, Mila makes her way over. Aemond stiffens as she approaches, and the group quietens down. Alys remains smirking, looking the younger woman up and down. The Targaryen at her side makes no effort to move.

"Where've you been?" Mila asks, uncaring of those watching.

"What do you mean?" Aemond raises an eyebrow.

"I've been looking for you."

Aemond shrugs, looking around the surrounding area like it was obvious. A few guests chuckle, causing Mila's cheeks to heat up.

"With her?" Mila bites, nodding to Alys.

"My name's Alys." The woman says, unhelpful in her lulling voice.

"I don't remember asking."

"I thought you would want a name."

"Perhaps he would." Mila glares at Aemond, who looks to the floor, jaw tense.

"We've known each other a while." Alys purses her lips, a mischievous glint in her eye, "We're well introduced."

The mocking nature of her tone and words makes Mila feel small, her humiliation increasing with the beady eyes of the surrounding guests.

"What is going on here?"

Like meerkats, the groups heads turn collectively as Alicent appears. With Criston Cole at her side, the Targaryen matriarch's face contorts into a confused frown as she looks at Mila's downturned eyes.

With a look to Aemond and Alys, she turns to Cole.

"Remove her."

Mila looks up, eyes wide as she looks at Alicent. But when she does, she finds the red-haired woman looking at Alys, a sneer on her lips. Criston offers Mila a nod, stepping towards Alys, who holds up a dismissive hand.

"No need. I was just leaving." She purrs, turning her head to Aemond. Leaning towards him, she whispers something, before turning and leaving.

Aemond watches her go, until she is swallowed up by the crowd. Mila cannot break her gaze from him, her heart ripping itself apart by the longing look in her eyes.

"See she is truly off the premises, Criston." Alicent says, and Cole follows Alys. As he disappears, Aemond looks at his mother, who gives him a stern, icy glare. A silent conversation is had, which no one dares interrupt. As Aemond finally breaks eye contact, Alicent nods.

Taking Mila's hand, the Targaryen matriarch walks away.

Mila storms into Aemond's apartment, shucking off her coat as she seethes. Aemond follows wordlessly, face stony as he watches her outburst. Pacing, Mila gnaws on her lip, breath coming out in quick pants as she tries to reign in her rage.

The car trip back had been awkward. Mila had been silent, her knuckles white as she gripped her steering wheel, and Aemond was motionless beside her. After Alicent had taken Mila away, the two women had sat together outside, not speaking, merely sitting alone, together. It was peaceful, and Mila so grateful for Alicent, but the second she saw her son again, she grew enraged.

The only thing Alicent said to her was: "I know what it feels like, to live in another woman's shadow."

"Why are you so upset?" Aemond breaks the silence.

Halting, Mila slowly turns to her boyfriend, the air in his apartment alight with tension, "Why am I so upset?"

"Yes, that is what I asked."

"I am upset because you spent half the evening playing cat and mouse with your senior citizen ex-girlfriend, and then you humiliated me in front of your family and friends! Your mother had to come and defend me, Aemond. She had to save me from your embarrassment!"

"Please." Aemond scoffs, tutting as he walks over to his bar, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the counter to pour himself a drink, "You embarrassed yourself."

"By doing what?" Mila questioned, voice rising with her growing rage, "By trying to remind you that I am your girlfriend, not her? By trying to divert your fucking attention for five minutes?"

"You have nothing to worry about." Aemond says, his back still turned, "I didn't realise your insecurity would breed jealousy."

"Excuse me?" Mila demands, her voice taking an icy tone. Sensing her growing anger, Aemond turns to look at her.

"You're behaving irrationally." The silver-hair man insists, eyeing her with his singular eye.

"Oh, am I?" She laughs bitterly, astounded by the audacity.

"This is no way for you to be acting." Aemond sighs, looking disappointed, "Have you drank too much?"

Tensions were rising. They didn't often fight like this, but Mila was embarrassed now, as well as angry, "What? You think you're better than me? Huh?"

"I have a reputation to uphold, Mila." Aemond bit, shaking his head dismissively.

"Right. My apologies, oh great Aemond, for being a dumb, ditsy, drunken slag who you are forced to stand around with at events!"

"I don't think that-"

"Don't you?" Mila snaps, fists clenching, "I see how you look at me sometimes, when you think I'm not looking. When we're alone, you act like I hung the stars, but whenever you have to be in public with me, you sneer like I'm an embarrassment!"

"You behave like an embarrassment! Drinking, talking too loud, biting at the bit for the opportunity to get high again. Gods, my family don't need to be around that after everything with Aegon!"

"Why are you bringing him up again?" Mila groans, rubbing her hands over her face, "He's in rehab. He's been gone for months. He's trying, but you still see him as this big ,grey cloud over the family!"

"It's my responsibility to take care of the family." He insists.

"Because you're the second eldest son?" Mila scoffs, and Aemond's face turns stormy, his eyes dangerous.

"Because I will be taking this company over when my father passes."

"You think?" Mila laughs cruelly, the buzz of alcohol making her next words fall out of her lips before she thinks, "Even with your brother gone, they're never going to let you take over the company! You're always going to be the second son-"

Aemond slams his glass on the counter, storming over to her to point in her face. "And you will always be stupid junkie whore!" He yells, "Immune to responsibility, unwilling to grow up and move on from her pathetic vices! At least I have something I am working towards, something I want. You spend your days aching for the needle to make you feel something other than the emptiness inside of you!"

His words send a wave of ice through her, her mouth snapping shut and her anger dissipating and turning into a sharp stab in her chest, grief and anguish and betrayal flowing through her. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She turned her back on him, shaking.

Aemond regretted the words the second they came out.

He didn't mean them, not at all. Mila had told him about her past in confidence. The guilt at putting her through her addiction, the shame at feeling weak, the urge that still lingered in her soul... it was something she only told the people she trusted.

And Aemond knew it would hurt her.

His own shame filled him, and his stomach churned as he took a shuddering breath, running his hand through his hair.

"Baby... I'm so sorry. I- I didn't mean that." He whispers, swallowing as his mouth goes dry.

"Shut up." Mila sobbed, her hands shaking as she held them up to her mouth in an effort to stop herself screaming.

"Mila, please, I'm so sorry." Aemond pleaded, placing a hand on her arm, leaning into her to press his forehead to the crown of her head, "I swear, I don't think that. I have never thought that. My sweet girl, I am so sorry..."

Aemond clutched onto her, holding her close as she continued to cry, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She turned and pushed him away, shuddering as if she were cold. Aemond felt sick, watching with his heart broken and tears filling his eye as she grabbed her coat and left, slamming the door in her wake.

In her haste to leave, all Mila had on her was her phone. Her purse was left at Aemond's, along with her house keys and her car key. Looking at her black Range Rover, she releases a sob, turning on her heel and stomping down the path, too eager to be away from Aemond to think things through.

She needs space, she needs air, she needs to think.

Aemond, the one man she allowed herself to trust, to fall in love with, hurt her worse than anyone ever has. The policewoman who told her that her parents were involved in a car wreck, the doctor who broke the news that they had both passed... they had destroyed her with their words. But they hadn't meant to.

Aemond Targaryen tried to hurt her.

Clearly, he succeeded. Now she wandered in the streets, too angry to go back and get her keys, too proud to call someone to come and get her, too lost to know what to do next.

Little did she know, Aemond was hurting as well.

He sat in his chair, head held in his hands as he cursed himself over and over again. Cursed himself for his cruel words, cursed himself for betraying Mila's trust, cursed himself for falling into Alys' clutches, cursed himself for being deformed, cursed himself for being a second son.

A tear fell down from his singular eye, another cruel reminder that everything he does will only be worth half. He couldn't even cry like a normal person.

A brisk knock on the door startles him, and he whipped his head up in a flurry of silver before rising and rushing to the door. Flinging it open, he expected to see Mila... but his shoulders slumped and his heart dropped when he met the ice toned eyes of his all too familiar visitor.

"Hello, my darling." Alys greets, smirking.

The Targaryen stands still, staring down at her with what he hopes is a venomous look. It does not deter her, however.

"Well? Are you going to let me in?" Alys asks, though she knows the answer.

Despite it all. He will let her in. He will kiss her, he will fuck her, he will hold her through the night, as he always has. As he probably always will. Not so long ago, he would have done this and felt nothing, as he always has.

But now, as he lies on rumpled sheets, bare skin covered in goosebumps and a layer of sweat, he feels guilt, and he feels shame, and he feels so, achingly alone. His heart is bleeding out inside him, the woman lying next to him, sated and asleep, is not the woman he loves.

He wants her. He wants Mila. And he's the reason why she's not here.

The devil works hard, but the paparazzi works harder.

Just an hour after Mila left, mindlessly walking around Flea Bottom as she caught her bearings, her phone buzzed. An unknown number sent her a message, and she foolishly opened it.

Trouble in paradise? -LS

Larys Strong. The Perez Hilton of Kings Landing. Mila rolled her eyes, about to turn her phone off and ignore his bait. But then she got another notification, a picture...

It was of Aemond's flat. The photo was pointed up, focusing on the living room window, the lights dimmed but two figures could be seen. Aemond was leant over a woman, her hair the colour of a midnight sky, and a tattoo of an owl was wrapped around her bare shoulder.

Alys. He was kissing down her neck, her hand had disappeared down his trousers.

No fucking way... Mila clutched her phone, her stomach turning and her heart racing. It's got to be an old photo- But in the photo, she could clearly see her own car parked right outside the complex, where she had left it this evening.

Gods, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much, clawing at her throat and pressing down on her lungs. It felt so similar to how she did when she was told her parents were never coming back. They were gone, so far out of reach. Like how Aemond was. How he probably had always been. A sickening feeling was in her heart. A need, a deep desire to feel something else.

Mila had no desire to be sober anymore.

The night air nipped at her skin through her coat, biting and clawing at her as tears fell down her cheeks. A man wolf-whistled at her, but a sharp look his way shut him up.

That's right, bitch. I'm the motherfucking She-Wolf.

But she never felt weaker as she found herself in front of a familiar alleyway. Walking down it, deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast, her body hummed with the anticipation of what was to come. She makes her way to a rusty, metal door practically hanging off its hinges, and kicks it hard enough it shakes and groans like thunder.

A burly man opens the door, sneering down at her with blackened teeth, "What do you want, little thing?"

"Tell the Lion the She-Wolf needs a hit."

With a sigh, he turns and shuffles away, leaving Mila to shiver in the doorway. He does not reappear. Instead, a lanky, blonde-haired man saunters forwards.

"Mila?" Jason Lannister narrows his eyes, looking at her through thin blonde lashes surrounded by red. A smile erupts on his face as she steps closer, "Mila fucking Stark. Can't believe you're here."

"Enough of that, Jason." Mila sighs, wrapping her arms around herself, "Do you still sell dope?"

Jason's smile widens, patting his pockets before he finds what he's looking for, pulling out a small plastic bag, the white powder shimmering in the moonlight, "Free, for my favourite girl."

Mila eyes the baggie, chewing on her lower lip as she hesitates. But after Jason shakes it slightly, throwing her a wink. She takes it, stuffing it into her jacket before nodding.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, sweetness." Jason leers, looking her up and down, "Am I going to get an unpleasant call from an angry Targaryen?"

"Unlikely."

With a look over her shoulder, Mila disappears down the alley, heading to her flat. When she gets there, her vision is tunnelled, her mind only focused on getting high. Working on automatic, she uses her spare key to get in, finding it hidden under a flower pot. She doesn't even remove her coat as she storms to the bathroom. Underneath a bathroom tile, she finds her old stash of medical needles, her spoon, her cotton and her dad's belt.

Everything happened in a blur. Bag opening, lighter flickering, the tight belt around her arm, the needle... then she was lay back across the ceramic, euphoria taking over as she stared blearily at the ceiling-

But something was wrong.

Her vision flew in and out, her body unfeeling and her mind elsewhere. A voice could be heard shouting, doors were slamming, a distant siren... someone was lifting her up, someone else was holding her hand, telling her that everything would be alright.

Why wouldn't everything be alright? Was her last thought, as she succumbed to the fog within her mind.

AN// Well that was hella morbid, my apologies. I decided to write angst and so I wrote ANGST. Trust, things will get better, babygirl Mila is just going through it. See you soon!

Lula x

[schraubd]

The Israeli Right Wants to End America's Israel Bipartisanship

Bibi spoke before Congress today, giving his usual bluster in the face of growing Democratic discontent over his hard-right governance and naked disregard for Palestinian life and rights. Well over a hundred congressional Democrats boycotted his speech, and even some who attended gave scathing reviews (my favorite comment came from Rep. Jerry Nadler, who bluntly described Netanyahu as "the worst leader in Jewish history since the Maccabean king who invited the Romans into Jerusalem over 2100 years ago."). One comment I've heard many times is that Bibi has been recklessly pissing away the historic bipartisan support Israel has enjoyed in Congress to tie himself ever closer to the GOP. This has been occurring since at least the Obama administration and only seems to be accelerating. Why is he taking this step? At the bad place, Abe Silberstein hypothesizes that this is a "calculated" decision, predicated on the notion that Democrats will eventually abandon Israel anyway. I agree it is calculated (which doesn't mean it isn't reckless), but I actually might make an even more controversial point -- Bibi wants to drive Democrats away. The breakdown of the consensus is, for him, a positive good. The rationale is straightforward. Certainly, in an "ideal" world, both American political parties would support Israel in whatever it does, all the time. But in reality, a bipartisan "consensus" around Israel is going to be inherently moderating -- Democrats prevent it from drifting too far to the right, and Republicans from it drifting too far to the left. It's no accident that in the early 2000s (the apex of the consensus), Democrats and Republicans alike generally coalesced around things like support for two states, veneration of Oslo, and so on. There was, certainly, a lot less in the way of Democratic support for sharp and harsh Israel critique, but you were also less likely to see Republicans openly come out in favor of occupation forever. It was the epitome of a mushy middle. The problem is that Bibi is not part of the mushy middle, and it is affirmatively bad for him if American politics on Israel sit on moderate, middle ground. A theme I've hit on repeatedly in my writing is that polarization actively benefits extremists, and will be pursued by them, even if it reduces overall levels of popular support for their broadly-defined "camp". Polarization gives more space for extremists to flourish, and Bibi is nothing if not a right-wing extremist. Imagine you're Bibi and you have a choice between two worlds: one where 8 out of 10 Americans support Israel, but they're evenly divided between "left" and "right", and another where only 5 out of 10 Americans are pro-Israel, but 4 of them are conservative. He's going to pick the latter, because in the latter universe the pro-Israel faction is dominated by conservatives, and so will be a far more hospitable environment to his brand of unabashed and unapologetic conservatism. In the first world, the parameters of pro-Israel are set via a balance of liberal and conservative interests. In the second, they're set solely by conservatives -- even as the median position of Americans shifts away from support for Israel, the median position of self-described pro-Israel Americans shifts sharply to the right.  For that reason, it should not surprise to see Bibi and his allies seemingly doing everything they can to alienate American Democrats even in the face of stalwart support from Joe Biden. Are they spitting in his eye? Yes, and intentionally so. For them, having Democrats as part of the "pro-Israel" camp is more constraining than it is enabling. They'd much rather the parameters of pro-Israel be set solely by the right -- the better to consolidate their own power. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2k9Rxb0

[anonymooseforever007]

Romantic Escape

(Tommy Shelby x female reader)

Summary- After being confined to Arrow House for a week because of a small concussion, Y/N is determined to get out. But considering how overprotective Tommy's been recently she'll have to be smart if she'd to make it. To trick Thomas Shelby is a feat many enemies have tried but few have succeeded. But then again, not many of his enemies have the advantage of knowing him the way his wife does...

Or at least they're scared to get that close....

A/N: Hi y'all! No specific TW's for this one other than usual Peaky Violence, Language, and implications of smut (but non actually happens). There is one mention of a past attack but nothing's graphic. Also this was going to be one part, but then I didn't like how the breakup between scenes flowed, so there is a second part going to be posted in a few days probably! Anyways I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️ WC- 3.0k

Romantic Capture (Part 2)

Main Masterlist

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It had been a week and a half since the bad accident occurred. 

Well, your husband called it a bad accident. 

You called it "being a imbecile who'd gotten so distracted trying nicely draw a baby chipmunk out of the house she didn't realize the stairs ended two steps ago."

But in fairness, every other idea for the poor thing your beloved family suggested involved guns or stew. Besides, Thomas Shelby wasn't about to let even his wife herself, label his darling love as a common 'imbecile'....so 'bad accident' it was. 

Truth be told you didn't even think it should be labeled as such. Sure you were dizzy for the first two days, but you only almost passed out when you stood up once. AND there wasn't any blood so you didn't even need to go to a hospital. Polly was insistent it was a mild concussion and a couple days rest would be all you needed. But your husband thought otherwise, and here you were days later, still confined to the premises. 

You'd laughed at the irony of it. Your husband, who once decided to medicate a cracked skull with cocaine, practically ordering you to stay in bed. The hypocrite. Thomas Shelby was an undoubtedly smart man, but when it came to medicinal advice, he should probably have been the last one giving suggestions. 

In the beginning, you could understand why he was worried. Yes, technically you had been "shot" a few months ago, by a rather rude man trying to prove he was more dangerous than your husband. Truthfully, you'd had sewing accidents that bled more. One time when you were 15, you had accidentally sliced the side tip of your left pointer finger off using a pair of scissors. But luckily you father had been a doctor and was able to fix it up at the house with ease. If held up straight though, it did still look like the tip of that finger was slightly crooked, but that's another story. But the man who'd shot you must have been drunk, because even your blind uncle had better aim than him, and all you were left with was a small nick on your shoulder and a small tear in your dress. Yes, it was still terrifying, and both you and you husband still woke up some nights, hearts beating fast with the thoughts of what would have happened if he had better aim. But in the end you were, for lack of better term, just fine. 

That didn't stop your husband from worrying more though. It seemed the incident had flipped a switch in him, often shared by new mothers or teachers, who tended to be hyperaware of everything that could go wrong for their young steeds. For weeks after, Tommy had been on high alert, not even letting you go out with Polly alone, and everyone knew she could handle anyone just fine. Though maybe there were some good points to his overprotectiveness.

For about a month after, Tommy had decided to work from his home office so he could be closer to you just incase. This meant he didn't have to drive over half an hour to the office every day and could spend more time in bed with you in the mornings, something neither of you complained about. Then you spent many of those days in his office with him, working on your own projects or trying to convince him to let you play boss for the day. That idea was a quick no, but it didn't stop you from stealing his coat, sitting in his chair and, pretending to bark out orders to invisible blinders while he went to the bathroom. Nor did it stop Alfred Solomons from laughing like an hyena the time he had called right as you picked up the phone. You still weren't over knowing he heard you (as Tom) threaten to "make a pie out of the testicles out of whatever coward dared feed the horses Scottish hay instead of Irish!".... Luckily it hadn't been the time when him and "Tommy" were planning how to hide their secret affair. 

In the end, Tommy had eventually gone back to working at the office and only the maids were left to witness your "brilliant" impressions. Soon life went back to its usual order... atleast until you'd gotten hurt again. 

At first you thought it would be fun like before, and that you could spend time trying to convince Tommy he'd had better things to do than sign papers all day. Namely you. But unfortunately, it seemed your husband decided that your injuries weren't serious enough to warrant the both of you a bed rest this time. And truthfully, you also didn't mind that too much either. You adored your husband and loved spending time with him, but that didn't mean you didn't have plans that not involving him. Most days were spend either helping the maids around the house, planning the next gala with Lizzie, or going out with your own small friend group. You had plenty of things to do without him. 

That was until you realized for some reason, the things you wanted to do weren't able to be done. For starters, you had a suspicion all the maids and been ordered to politely decline your offers to help with anything, even laundry. They'd simply smile at you and let you know you didn't have to worry about it, before offering to make some tea so you could rest your head. Then it appeared that both of you and Tommy's spare cars were in the shop for "repairs" meaning you'd have no way to out to meet your friends. Yes, they could come over, but still not all your friends were lucky enough to have cars and you were often the one driving everyone around. Not even Esme or Polly were able to come over, as Polly had gone to take care of a sick Ada in London, and half of Esme's lot had their own mini cases of colds. Even Finn who lived with you and Tommy, had gone with Isaiah, Curly, and Uncle Charlie to Wales for the week to bring home the new horse Tommy bought last month. After a week stuck at home it was getting old, and you wanted out.

So you decided to hatch a plan. And because you had a sneaking suspicion he started it, you had a good idea who your unwitting accomplice was going to be....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was now 6:34 and you had made plans to meet Lizzie at a silent film at 8:15. Though some may not have expected it, you got on quite well with your husband's secretary, and the pair of you could often be found going out to lunch on days when Tommy was particularly stubborn, or having tea with the other Shelby women on the weekends, laughing over whatever foolish thing you'd seen that week. It also didn't hurt that your sweet older brother had shown an undeniable interest in Lizzie, which seemed to be reciprocated anytime they'd meet at a Shelby party. You smiled remembering how many questions he'd asked about her after she'd left the night they'd met, or the grin on her face when he'd "run into" the pair of you on the way back from lunch one day and offered her a flower from a bouquet for your mother. What a wonderful coincidence of course, that your mother and Lizzie had the same favorite flower. So it wasn't an unusually occurrence for you to be seeing her, though you had a feeling if you tried to tell your husband, the last car might just happen to be out of gas. Eventually, you simply decided not to tell him and now all you needed was a way to get there...

And at 6:46 that way came rolling up the gravel as your husband finally returned in the only "working" car left. Standing on the front steps with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a blanket over your shoulders, you waited until your husband had stepped out of the car.

"TOMMY!"

Running up to the man, you smiled wide, quickly embraced him, greeting him with a passionate kiss leaving you both warm. Then you handed him the whiskey, letting him hold his briefcase in the other hand.

"Now, I'm not complaining Love, but can I ask what new trinket I bought today, that deserves this kind of welcome?" Tommy inquired cheekily, bending his ear closer to yours as you lead him inside by his tie. 

He knew very well you loved him, and he absolutely loved you, but usually when he came home you were waiting in the living room or helping in the house somewhere. It had become a small game of y'all's too. If he managed to find you before dinner he'd get some kisses and some praises about how fast he'd found you, "your smart love" he was. If he didn't see you until dinner he'd still get kisses but it just wasn't the same. 

You'd never tell him your dogs played the same game when learning to play fetch. He didn't need to know that. 

Besides, it was all in good fun, and an easy way to try and get him home earlier. He could always work after dinner, but one thing you'd practically demanded the night you'd gotten married was that he was always home in time for the last meal of the day. And for the last two years he'd actually kept his promise, except for the days he was out of town on business. Even then you'd convinced him to have what you called "telly dinners". You'd sit by the telephone with your dinner plate on your lap and tell him about your day. While miles away he'd be listening, happy to hear your voice after being with Alfie all day. Hell, one time you'd even gotten impatient waiting for the call and inadvertently interrupted a meeting. You'd ended up having a lovely conversation with the other gangster himself about how his dog was doing, while your husband mumbled about "fucking betrayal on both ends." He didn't really mean it, but he'd always find something just plain odd about the friendship between you and the gruff man. If was as if the two most opposite ends of his world would come together sometimes and try to take a few more years off his life. But if being friends with Alfie made you happy then he'd likely have to deal with him forever. Or at least until he found a way to make the murder look like an accident....

"Can't a wife just be happy her husband's returned home? I missed you."

"And I missed you every second I was away." One thing about Tommy was that he could be quite romantic when he wanted to. And even if he did bottle up his feelings too often, he still had a sweet talk like no other. "But I seem to remember my lovely wife being slightly irritated with me this morning. Something about keeping her in a cage," Tommy rebutted thinking about the small argument you'd both had this morning. 

Yes, he did know that he probably should let up a little on the overprotective precautions he's set up these last few days under the guise of letting you rest. But what he'd not yet told you, is the same day you'd gotten hurt, another enemy had made a threat on your life. And then getting a call, not even an hour later, from Frances about your concussion had thrown him in to a small panic, remembering the last time he'd almost lost you. So he'd taken his chances and used your minor injury as a way to keep you at the house for a few days while he had the man delt with. He knew he should have just told you from the start, but then coming home and seeing you curled up in the master bed, asleep in one of his shirts with a melted ice pack by your pillow, he'd decided to wait. It wasn't until today he'd finally had confirmation the danger was over and he could be sure you were safe. Maybe if your head really was better, he could take you out to dinner to celebrate.... Hopefully that would also soften the inevitable lecture he'd receive upon you learning the truth.

"Well yes I did say that, but I've had time to think, and as long as you promise to make it up to me later tonight, I'll forgive you," you replied coyly, lips brushing his as your words left no room for confusion on exactly how he'd have to make it up to you. "And besides," you said stepping back from him in the front hall, nudging his arm slightly so he'd drink the whiskey, "My head really is feeling better now, so maybe tomorrow we can go out to dinner too. I've been at the house all week you know?"

Tommy drank the whiskey and smirked, spreading his arms open wide as playful show, "With an offer like that how can I refuse, eh love? You want a real romantic escape from this place huh?"

You laughed, before pulling him close again wrapping your arms around him tightly, not giving him the chance to set down his briefcase or the empty glass. After all, if his hands were full, how could he stop you from digging your hands into his coat pockets during the embrace. Loving kisses on his face and neck helped distract him from your less than honest intentions. Well, partially less than honest... you still did fully intend for him to make it all up to you, especially with the small noises beginning to come from his throat as you kissed the small spot beneath his neck he loved. BUT that would happen only late tonight after the movie and maybe a few drinks with Lizzie. 

Quickly but efficiently, you moved a hand under the blanket you'd wrapped yourself in outside, to muffle the noise and pulled back from him again. But this time, Tommy has plans of his own.

"In fact," he said slowly backing you up to the nearest wall, finally putting his case and glass on a nearby table and taking the blanket from your hands. You hopped he hadn't noticed the slight jingle it made when he threw it to a nearby chair. "Why don't we start now," he whispered, beginning to leave light kisses on your neck, "I do have a lot to make up for after all. Telling the maids not to let you help at all, and then I had the cars brought to the shop so you couldn't leave incase you almost passed out again." If he hadn't been kissing your own sweet spot right now you might have pinched his ear and began to lecture him on just that. Letting out one soft moan, you ducked your head to press his lips against yours once again. You pulled him closer and grabbed his tie, taking control of the kiss again.

"Nope Tommy Love, I'm sorry but that can't happen just yet."

Hearing those words your husband frowned as he was the one to pull back lightly this time. 

"Why? Does your head hurt? I can get something if you need it," he asked concerned. Maybe the fall was more serious than Polly said if it was still bad a week and a half later.

"No love, my head's just fine Tommy, but I got a call from Polly earlier, saying there were some papers you needed to get done by 11:00 tonight. They were the ones you neglected when I surprised you for lunch last week and got knocked off the desk," you cooed at him, running your finger down his chest slowly to remind him exactly what kind of lunch it was. Plus, if he got too worried about your head again he may not let you out of his sight, and your plans would be ruined. It was 7:00 now and you'd need to leave soon. "She said they were very important and you really need to finish them. Therefore, I insist that you immediately go to your office and get them finished. And finished properly too, don't just rush it to make time for me."

"Love you know I'd never rush with you,"  and you have a small snort at the truth in those words. "Besides, I guess you do make a point and we wouldn't want to anger my aunt would we," Tommy chucked, knowing at least six things he'd said today to piss his aunt off.

"Exactly, so why don't you go to your office and close the door. I don't want to see you until at least 10:30 Mr. and don't forget to double check spelling. Those papers better be fit for a queen because that's exactly what your aunt deserves," you commented, lightly pushing Tommy towards his office. You had him now. So close!

Tommy smiled lightly and leaned over to grab the blanket from the chair, intending to bring it back in his office where it came from. Shit.

"Eh eh eh," you scolded lightly, stepping in front of the chair and grabbing Tom's wrist lightly right before he could pull it up. "I'm not done with that," you took the blanket from the chair yourself and bundled it to your chest, "You. Office. Now. And remember," you pulled close to Tommy one final time, "after 10:30 when you're done with your work, come and find me. And Tommy?" you teased, teeth lightly biting his ear lobe drawing a small groan from him as his eyes closed, "Tommy I did do some gardening today. Why don't you start by looking places where one can get a little less," you lightly kissed his other earlobe, "dirty? Maybe the bath will still be warm..."

Tommy cursed lightly as you placed one final, deep kiss to his lips before pushing back and sending him on his way. You were still in the front hall when he looked back over his shoulder, waving happily to him. And he was none the wiser that underneath the blanket was your other hand....gripping tightly to his car keys.

Romantic Capture (Part 2)

[majosullivan]

Since it has been on my mind lately and I’m in the mood to ramble, I present to you: why I believe Lenore’s spectre is going to be a Phoenix/Phoenix themed.

Before I go more deeply into this, I want to cover the most agreed upon detail of Lenore’s possible spectre: Lenore having wings. This really seems like a slam dunk at this point. Lenore so far has had a clear association with birds, specifically ravens; with one of the Poe works she is based on being The Raven, her talking to and seeking out the Raven in Nevermore, the cane we see her using in her and Annabel’s memories having a Raven skull as the handle and her family crest having a pair of black wings a part of its design.

Additionally, there’s also the detail of Nevermore’s logo. Nevermore’s logo is comprised of a beating heart and a pair of black wings. Since Annabel’s spectre has a heart shaped hole in her chest, Lenore’s spectre having wings would make up the rest of the logo, with the logo symbolising our pair of deuteragonists.

Furthermore, there is also the scene with Lenore and The Raven, with him mockingly asking Lenore if she has a pair of wings under her blazer after she tries to stop him from leaving in episode 35.

Honestly, this panel might as well have a massive sign titled ‘FORESHADOWING’ in blinking lights attached to it when we take into account everything that we’ve pointed out. So, while it seems very likely that Lenore will have wings, why do I think she will be a phoenix specifically? With her connections to ravens, surely it make more sense for her to be a raven? Well, this is because of one word: rebirth.

Just to have a quick explanation for the basis, a phoenix is an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Being associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Throughout the comic, there has been a lot of links to Lenore and the ideas of rebirth. Specifically, there are three examples where Lenore has gone through a death of some form, before being reborn/brought back to life in some form.

The first time we see this after the accident with the tree. With the death of Theo, who was seemingly the only person in Lenore’s life at the time who genuinely cared about her, and being locked away in the attic for years after being deemed as never being able to recover from her injuries, along with her parents no longer seeing her as any respectable use since they wouldn’t be able to marry her off, we see Lenore go through her first ‘death’. Forced to live a lifeless existence hidden away in shame, with her ripping away the wallpaper being the only real change that occurred during her time in the attic. All of this leads into first time Lenore is reborn/brought back to life when she first meets Annabel, which allowed her to be freed from the attic and form a genuine connection with someone in years. Lenore even says so herself, describing Annabel as the one who brought her back to life long before she died.

The second time, and the one that arguably has the most obvious link to the ideas of Phoenixs, is when Lenore faked her death to go after Annabel. Here we see her in the process of disguising herself as a man, before finishing her packing and setting the house on fire so everyone will assume she died in the fire and she can assume her new identity without suspicion. Here, I don’t think I have to go too in-depth to point how through her actions, Lenore arose from the ashes of the house fire as Leo Vandernacht, leaving her life as the disgraced daughter of the Vandernachts to burn away in the house fire, just like a Phoenix arising from the ashes of its predecessor (side note quickly but Lenore I swear to fucking god you better actually have a cousin named Leo or I’m coming through the screen to shake you like a maraca). The parallels here are pretty clean cut.

Finally, we have her actual death and her appearing at Nevermore. While we don’t know the full details behind Lenore’s and Annabel’s deaths, whatever they are only have the possibility to strengthen the links to rebirth that have been clearly shown from the start. The whole conflict in Nevermore is the competition for a new life. With Lenore’s death and her arrival to Nevermore placing her in a competition for a second chance at life, she has once again been placed into a position similar to the cycle of a Phoenix, with this time following closer to legends where a Phoenix simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Additionally, Annabel’s complete faith in Lenore can also fed into this. We see in episode 41, how no matter what awaits them, no matter challenges they have to overcome, Annabel has absolute faith that Lenore will find a way to get them out of Nevermore. Not herself or any complex plan she has, Lenore is the one who will ultimately be the key to their escape. Lenore is the key to their second chance at life, to their rebirth.

Speaking of Annabel, the way she describes Lenore in episode 66 can add onto this line of reasoning. During the episode, we see Annabel describe Lenore as ‘ash the moment we met’, before going on to talk about how all madwoman die at least twice. First off, describing Lenore as ash already brings her back to the idea of being a Phoenix, with Pheonix rising from the dead through the ashes of predecessor. Secondly, the idea of all madwomen dying at least twice in relation to Lenore is yet another link to the concept of a Phoenix, with them going through multiple deaths in their cycle of rebirth.

To focus on some of the smaller details, the colours associated with Lenore can also strengthen the idea of Lenore’s spectre being Phoenix themed as well. As we all know well at this point, in very Romeo and Juliet fashion, Annabel and Lenore have clear colours associated to them, with Annabel often dressing in blue, in addition to other cold colours, while Lenore often dresses in reds, in addition to other warm colours. Considering this and Lenore’s already clear association to fire, like Lenore’s spectre having wings, it seems likely that Lenore’s spectre will also have fire powers. Now, what is something that has wings and it linked to fires? That’s right, a Phoenix. This small point can be strengthen by what we know about Annabel’s spectre. Annabel’s spectre is freezing to the touch, which matches up with the colours associated to her. Since White Raven’s spectres are definitely going to parallel each other, this detail increases the possibility of Lenore’s spectre having fire based abilities, and as a result, increases the possibility of Lenore being a Phoenix.

While there are still loads of other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be going around, to me at least, Lenore’s spectre being at least Phoenix themed is definitely the strongest theory I’ve seen so far. If anyone else has any other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be, or if you have any other evidence supporting the idea that Lenore will be Phoenix themed, I would love to hear it!

[quitealotofsodapop]

TMKATI AU Wukong accidently spawning pig ears every now and then. Only seems to happen when around Pigsy for extended periods of time or when he's looking for dad flavored validation. Pigsy at first thinks he's being mocked and complains to his husband. Tang subtly asks Wukong about the ears in private just to find out Wu had NO IDEA he was doing it! Pigsy is crying. Years later, after Wu finally found out it was happening and actively tries not to bc thats embarrassing, he texts Pigsy an unsteady photo of little MK messing with his hair in a mirror oblivious to being watched, trying to shape a second ear with gel he found. Child is frustrated. Caption: "What the baby doin???"

Another photo of MK noticing his audience and lighting up. Caption: "Hold on, he's asking for help"

Last photo, half an hour later. Both Wukong and MK are in the photo. MK in his dad's lap with Wu's head on top of his, both beaming at the camera. Both sporting fuzzy "pig ears." Wukong's are the manifested ears from before, MK's are his natural bang and a second ear sculpted with hair and gel. Caption: "He didn't understand why he was the only one to 'inhawit' anything from Dadsy and why he was missing an 'ear', so we fixed it lol :P"

Pigsy is INCONSOLABLE

omg, Wukong's limited shapeshifting abilities manifesting when he's in an emotional state/mood is so based.

I feel like shapeshifting is *not* uncommon among demons, many use it to appear "more human" and fit in, or to hide blemishes or injury, or even just to fit inside buildings. But the side of it thats effected by the user's emotions is not 100% well known. It's like only seeing experts in sports or games, you have a hard time telling whats "Hard" or a "Beginner" move.

I'm imagining Pigsy and "Wu" cleaning up after a very busy and stressful day (first time Wu has ever handled a rush hour), and they're just chilling when a convo like this occurs;

Pigsy (wiping down the kitchen): "You didn't screw up." Wu, sweeping: "Huh?" Pigsy: "For someone who hasn't worked in the service industry for a long time, you did really good today. I'm proud of you." Wu, quietly smiling: "Thanks..." Wu: (*suddenly shapeshifts a pair of pig's ears*) Pigsy, confused: "Tf?? Was that intentional? Whatever, he's weird enough already." ₍ •̀ ⚇•́₎

Later he mentions it to Tang, a little offended thinking Wu could have been mocking him, only for the scholar to point something out;

Tang: "Wait. You said he spawned pig ears when you told him you were proud of him?" Pigsy: "Yeah! He didn't even comment on it or nothin'! He just finished cleaning, still with the ears on!" Tang, thinking: "Well it's said that demons who use shapeshifting a lot can glitch out when they feel strong emotions." Pigsy (rarely uses shapeshifting): "Huh?" Tang: "Yeah. You telling Wu that you were proud of him probably meant a lot to him, and his magic responded by trying to mimic you." Pigsy: "Why??" Tang, shrugging: "I dunno. The article I read said it most often occurs in interspecies adoption since kids want to *be* like their parents and- Piggy are you crying?!" Pigsy: (*emotional at the realisation that Wu likely sees him as a father figure and/or role model*) "No." (*Lie*)

Macaque witnesses Wukong do this one day and just snickers. Him and Nezha are just quietly betting on how long it'll take for Wukong to even notice that his normal monkey ears now have a permanent "flop" to them, like a pig's ear.

At least until Nezha looks at himself in a mirror and notices that his regular tiny red face markings have spread into a suspiciously familiar... heart-shape. He clams up about any emotional shapeshifting after that.

I am just adoring the phone scenario with MK thinking his hair bang was him inheriting Pigsy's ears, it's so cute! X3

And the baby isn't shy about shapeshifting either. Pigsy and Wukong were super-confused when they went into the resturant one day and saw a little brown piglet standing there - only to both scream with amazement/pride when they realised that MK had manifested his first ever *full* transformation.

On the flip-side Macaque has been accidentally spawning fox ears and extra tails for centuries since his biggest parental figure was Jiuweihuli - who like her title indicates, is a nine tailed fox. He mostly has it under control, but the extras tend to "pop out" when he's being very catty or mischievious.

The vixen warns Macaque about flagrantly shapeshifting or "You'll get stuck like that" as any mother does like to a kid pulling a silly face.

When MK is born with three tails (like his kaiju form), Jiuweihuli smugly declares herself correct - after sobbing with joy after meeting her adoptive grandbaby.

[nahoney22]

That Floral Dress***

Echo X F!Reader

word count: 3000

After a sour date, Echo has one thing on his mind: is he a bad kisser? Luckily, you were willing to tell him the truth.

Warnings: no smut but it is rather saucy so gonna rate it at 16+. Slight insecure echo, unknown mutual pining, reader is female and is wearing a floral dress. Intense make out.

Masterlist

“Do I look like I would be a bad kisser?”

The question catches you off guard completely, making you spin around in your seat in the cockpit of the Marauder to face Echo who had been pacing back and forth for the better half of ten minutes. You’re surprised he hasn’t worn the floor down.

You're not sure how to respond to such an unexpected question, so you ask him to repeat it. "Do I look like I would be a bad kisser?" he asks again, biting his lip anxiously.

Even hearing it the second time round confused you just as much and then it occurred to you that a few nights ago he had come back from a date that Wrecker had sprung upon him. He didn’t look too pleased to go in the first place and his mood only worsened upon his return.

“I… don’t know?” You reply nervously.

Echo had been your friend for years now, even since before his accident at the Citadel so for him to ask you this type of question was a little odd as you two were merely friends. You didn’t want to upset him and say no, which wasn’t the case either, but you didn’t want to say yes in case presumptions start.

Echo lets out a deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand before leaning against the wheel of the Marauder. You can tell that he's feeling frustrated, and you feel a twinge of guilt for not being more helpful. So, dropping what you were doing, you decide to ask him what's really going on.

“How come you're asking me this, Echo?" you inquire softly, hoping to get to the root of the problem.

Echo fidgets nervously, his sharp jaw clenching with anxiety. "Remember that date I went on the other day?" he grumbles, clearly still bitter about the experience. To which you nod for him to continue, leaning back on your seat as he begins to explain his predicament.

“Well, not only were they quite dull as a person, and I’m not saying I’m a barrel of laughs either, but they were insanely dull so the date was not off to a great start.” He emphasizes on the word dull, making you giggle softly which always made him smile but before he gets distracted, he continues,

“Anyway, I walked them back to their place and just being the courteous guy I am, I leaned in to give them a kiss goodnight. Only for them to recoil back as if I smelt terrible.”

"They even said 'ew no thanks,'" he recalls bitterly, his face contorting.

Your eyes widen in shock, mouth agape. “How rude of them!” You exclaim with a shake of your head, feeling indignation on his behalf. “You were only being nice?” You stated, hoping to bring some ease to Echo but his furrowed brows and almost sad expression said otherwise.

“I only was going to go in for the cheek.” He grumbles. “Well, I just wanted to ask you if you think I looked like I’d be a bad person to kiss.” He folds his arms over his chest, staring down at the floor as your heart lunges out to him.

“In that case,” you stand and take a step towards him, resting a comforting hand to his forearm, “no, I don’t think you would look like a bad kisser.”

His eyes search yours, a mix of emotions residing in them. “You don’t have to say that because you feel bad for me.”

You scoff and shake your head at him. “Echo, you know me well enough to know that I’ll always be honest with you. So no, I don’t think you look like a bad person to kiss.”

The words gave him brief comfort and a smile is fighting its way on his lips. “Thanks. Though, I don’t think I’d be that great at it anyway.” He shrugs and this only piques your curiosity more.

“Howcome?”

Again, he fidgets a little before letting out a small sigh at his confession. “I’ve never kissed anyone. A proper kiss that is.”

Echo's confession about his lack of experience in kissing catches you off guard. You had assumed that he had dated or been in some kind of romantic relationship before, given his charming personality and good looks. But as he stands before you, vulnerable and honest, you can't help but feel a sense of compassion towards him.

Echo shifts his weight from one foot to another, as if unsure of how you would react to his confession. You can see the slight furrow in his brow and the way his lips purse as he contemplates the words to say next. His vulnerability tugs at your heartstrings, and you take a deep breath before speaking.

"Wow, I didn't know that. But it's okay, Echo. You don't have to be a great kisser right off the bat. It takes practice, and I'm sure with the right person, you'll be amazing."

As Echo's gaze meets yours, you sense a palpable tension between the two of you. It's as if you share an unspoken understanding that transcends the bounds of your platonic friendship, one that leaves you questioning whether there might be something more between you. But before you can dwell on these thoughts for too long, you hear yourself utter the words, "I'd be happy to teach you."

Your words take Echo aback, and he seems surprised by your willingness to help him with something so intimate. “You would?”

Your own eyes begin to widen, the reality of your words hitting home. But you're not about to back down now. "S-sure," you squeak, quickly clearing your throat to hide the nerves that were now bubbling, "I mean, we're friends, right? I'm sure you'd do the same for me."

As Echo ponders your offer, he realises that you're right. You've always been there for him, and the thought of not returning the favor is unthinkable. Supposedly it makes things better too that he finds you were impossibly beautiful and wearing that pretty floral dress he really liked. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a shaky exhale, Echo stands up straight and takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what's to come. He's grateful that he managed to brush his teeth earlier that morning, before any of the others hogged up the refresher. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

Your mind races, considering your options. You hadn't expected Echo to be so agreeable to the idea, and now you find yourself at a loss for words. "Um, well," you stammer, "do you want to just go ahead and reenact how your date went? And kiss me on the cheek?"

Echo's expression darkens at the suggestion. He doesn't want to relive that somewhat painful memory, but if it means learning from his mistakes, he's willing to give it a shot. "Sure," he concedes with a slight frown, "why not?"

You approach Echo with a hesitant step, feeling a flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze. His eyes hold a certain shyness, and you can sense the weight of his request hanging in the air between you. You take a deep breath and muster up the courage to speak with a slight mischievous grin dancing at the corners of your lips. Your voice tinged with a playful sweetness. "Well, Echo, I do appreciate you walking me back to my place," you tease, relishing the opportunity to poke fun at your friend's chivalry.

Echo looks momentarily confused, but he quickly catches on and chuckles at your literal interpretation of the situation. "I don't think they ever said it like that," he remarks, his amusement evident.

You roll your eyes, but your smile remains, and you lower your voice, adopting a more serious tone. "Say, Echo," you say, your eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter, "I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you for walking me back to my place."

Echo shakes his head, an adoring look in his eyes. You always knew how to effortlessly charm him with your humor. But, he knows there's something he needs to address. "Of course," he says softly but resolutely.

As Echo gathers his courage, you patiently wait, your hands tucked behind your back. You can tell he's nervous about kissing you, even on the cheek.

You watch as he tentatively reaches out to touch you, trying to remember how he kissed his date. But this time, he finds himself oddly wanting to impress you.

When he reaches out, his fingers trace over the fabric of your dress on your waist. A surge of warmth shoots through you, and you take a small step closer to him as if he was inviting you closer. His breath is heavy, and your heart races as you spot him staring at your lips… instead of your cheek.

"Echo," you say softly, hoping to bring him back to reality.

"Sorry, I, uh—" Echo stammers, his mind racing with uncertainty. For a moment, you worry that he might back away, but you take a deep breath and speak up.

"Just kiss me," you say, voice barely above a whisper as you lean in until your nose brushes against his.

Echo swallows nervously, stealing a quick glance at your lips once more before meeting your gaze. "Where?" his voice was almost silent. It was as if the obvious place you suggested to him had vanished and you find yourself not minding it at all.

You hold your nerve and ever so slightly, not quite sure what possessed or was possessing you, lean closer until your lips ghost over him and watch him with a steady gaze. “Wherever feels right for you.”

He couldn't resist any longer, the temptation too great as he leaned in to capture your lips in a quick embrace. The kiss was sweet, yet intense, sending shivers down your spine and causing your mind to go hazy with an unknown desire. The feel of his lips on yours was electric, igniting a spark deep within you that you never knew existed for him. His eyes were tightly knitted shut, afraid that you may turn around and sock him one but he was pretty certain you were kissing him back.

As he pulled back, breathless and eager for your response, you found yourself lost in the moment, unable to speak. Your face felt hot as you looked down at your shoes, struggling to find the right words to say. Everything about this moment felt different, as if something had shifted irrevocably between you both.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Echo finally spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "How was that?" he asked, his eyes still closed, as if he was afraid to see your reaction. He may have thought about kissing you once or twice, naturally. He just never knew it would happen quite like this.

Your face felt like it was on fire and you found yourself looking down at your shoes. “It was nice… your date was missing out.” You reply, almost stiff.

There was a certain type of emotion that hung on your words that you didn’t quite know yourself.

Echo licked his lips inconspicuously, savoring the taste of your fruity lip balm that lingered on his tongue. "At least I know I'm not a bad kisser," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

You laughed softly, the sound ringing like music in the quiet cockpit. "Definitely not," you replied, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

As you looked up at him, you could feel his gaze burning into you, as if he was seeing you for the first time. You were everything perfect in the galaxy, and his grip on your waist tightened just a little bit more, as if he never wanted to let you go.

In a moment of boldness, Echo's scomp came up to cradle your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your eyes locked, and you were lost in each other, the galaxy around you fading away until it was just the two of you. There were no words, no movement, just the intensity of your gazes. “How do I show that I want to do more then?”

As the heat between you and Echo intensifies, he challenges you with another kiss, pushing the boundaries to see how far he can take you. Your smile gives away your desire, and you whisper a command, "Maybe, bring them closer."

Echo doesn't hesitate, his arm wraps around your lower back, drawing you close in a swift motion. Chest to chest, his breath washes over your face, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. "And then?" he prods, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes close as you succumb to the moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of Echo's low tone. "I-I suppose you just kiss them again, but a little longer."

So he does. Feverish and intense with a passion that ignites your senses. Your heart beats wildly, consumed by the sensation of his lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. Echo gently trails his hand up your body to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss, and you gasp, lost in the intoxicating sensation. When he pulls away to gauge your reaction, he almost chuckles when he spots you leaning into him, chasing his lips. To your glee, he kisses you swiftly and you let out the faintest of moans in his mouth.

Echo's lips against yours are soft, and you can feel the warmth of his breath as he murmurs a phrase that sends a shiver down your spine. "Oh cyare," he purrs, and you're suddenly jolted back to reality. Your heart races, and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you.

You pull away, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head. "We shouldn't be doing this," you tell him.

Echo looks shaken, his expression concerned as he fears he may have overstepped the mark. "Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?" he asks.

You shake your head, feeling a twinge of guilt as you pull away from Echo's embrace. "I'm sorry, Echo. We shouldn't be doing this. I'm supposed to be teaching you how to kiss for other dates," you explain.

Echo tilts his head, sensing your unease. But the thought of you possibly being jealous makes his heart skip a beat, and he realises this may be the right moment to lay everything on the line. "What if there are no other dates?" he asks softly.

You blink in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he approaches you again, his flesh hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing over your delicate skin, "what if I just want to kiss you?” He lowers his voice, afraid to break the tension. “What if I want to date you?"

Shock is written all over your face, and you can't help melting into his touch once more. "But I thought we were just friends," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Echo chews on the inside of his cheek before admitting, "I don't think 'just friends' want to kiss each other, do they?" He uttered, voice almost vibrating against you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and a heat pools in your lower stomach. "No," you shudder, feeling the intensity of his gaze. "I suppose they don't."

He smiles coyly, and his lips gently trace along your jawline, edging towards your ear. "Then let me kiss you. Let me give you anything you want."

As his lips touch your ear, you feel a surge of electricity coursing through your body, and your mind is filled with conflicting emotions. But most of them were primarily focused on how he pushes you against the control panel.

You whimper under his touch, both of your hands coming up to clasp his cheeks as you guide his lips back onto yours. Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, and your teeth clash, but neither of you seems to care.

In a moment of need, his lips assault yours as he presses you down so your back hits at the buttons and switches, sandwiched between your legs.

"Echo," you groan his name into his mouth before he playfully bites at your lower lip. Your legs press against his outer thighs and around his waist and you crumble into a mewling mess once you feel his hand slide up under your dress, caressing at your thigh.

He stands up straight for a moment, admiring how you’re displayed beautifully on the control panel just for him. His eyes roamed your body, growing warm at how your dress hugged your body wonderfully and how your chest heaved beneath it, highlighting your breasts.

“Did I ever tell you that I love this dress on you?”

You blush deeply as he massages your skin, feeling the heat building between your legs. "No," you rasp, eyelids heavy with lust.

“Shame,” he chuckles, moving his lips down to your neck now, starting to suck and bite that sweet spot that your body perfectly reacts to - arching up into him. “Although, I wouldn’t mind seeing it on the floor one day.”

You chew on your lower lip, whimpering and moaning in pleasure as he leaves marks all over your neck and collarbones. Surprisingly, you find yourself not even caring if the others saw it. The pleasure you are getting is far too great to tell Echo to stop.

When he pulls back, panting and trying so hard to ignore the tent in his pants, he gazes down at you, his eyes dance with adoration. “You’re so beautiful, cyare.”

You're panting a little, causing his eyes to flicker between your chest and your eyes with a smile. “As are you. And a very, very good kisser.”

You don’t know what was going to happen from then on but for now, you just savored the feeling of Echo leaning down to kiss you, tongue begging for entrance at your lips.

Masterlist

More Echo Works

[rowiewritesstuff]

Got any thoughts on what yandere EarthSpark Megatron might be like?

TFE Yandere Megatron - The Protective Yandere

Dottie and you had been friends for a long time. You both fought side by side in the war, and you took a bullet for her. You recovered, but it took a long time to get better. 

Ever since then, Megatron has had a lot of respect for you. You often hung out with Dottie, who in turn hung out with you. You were like a member of the family at this point, almost living at their house. Mo and Robbie saw you as a sort of ‘cool relative’ that they could always trust with their secrets. While you were really chill, you still scolded them and took care of them when Dottie and Alex couldn’t.

When they decided to move to Witwicky, you were invited to go with them. You, of course, agreed. They were all you had left now. 

When you all moved there together, Dottie insisted that you live with them. Eventually you caved because Alex promised that he’d cook you your favorite food. Mo and Robbie were happy that at least you got to come with them.

Dottie and you went out to put cones up near where an accident had occurred the previous night when Optimus, Elita-one, and Megatron showed up. You were down on the side of the road picking up some pieces of broken taillight, so no one noticed you at first. 

When you came up the hill, Megatron had to fight the flustered blush that was rising to his cheeks. Dottie knew Megatron well and quietly teased him. 

“U-Uh, (Y/N)! It’s been a while!” He stumbled over his words. 

“Yeah, it has. How have y’all been?”

Megatron’s mind went blank as you smiled at him. When you didn’t answer, Optimus chimed in. “We’ve been good. We actually came to Witwicky because there’s a new enemy threatening this town. Prisoners are going missing.” 

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. “Abducting prisoners? Maybe a Decepticon?” 

Optimus sighs. “The drones didn’t find anything, we’ll have to search the towns ourselves!” 

That’s how you ended up in Elita’s alt-mode, racing into the town. You never expected your day to go like this. 

Because of the incidents in the town, you and Megatron worked together often. This unfortunately put a large target on your back. One day when you were driving home from work, you noticed a stealth-bomber sneaking up behind you. 

“Shit!” You fumbled around trying to grab your phone when Soundwave transformed on top of your car. You slammed around like a pinball and hit your head, making you pass out. 

When Soundwave attacked Megatron and the others, he had you in his grasp. You were unconscious with dried blood trailing down your face. “Wait! They have (Y/N)!” Megatron stopped the others from attacking.

“Soundwave, release them at once!” Optimus’ battle mask went on. 

Soundwave mocking dangles you between two digits. Your body swung by your arm. Megatron takes a threatening step forward, “Put. Them. Down.”

Soundwave shakes his head. “So, this is why you became a traitor? You care for this…insect?” Soundwave’s visor glows a brighter red. “You can have them.” He throws you as far as he can into the air, raising a blaster to shoot you. 

Without a second thought, Megatron dashes forward. He puts his fusion cannon right to Soundwave’s spark chamber, and in seconds his ex-third in command was gone. Energon tainted his servo as he reached up and caught you. 

Optimus and Elita-One were frozen in shock. Elita’s hand dropped to her blaster in slight fear. Optimus took a hesitant step forward. “Megatron. We need to get them medical attention.”

Megatron could only nod as he transformed, you strapped into the front of his alt-mode. He quickly made his way to the nearest hospital, not fully trusting G.H.O.S.T. to take care of you. 

Optimus and Elita followed closely behind. “Optimus, do you think…I mean he-”

“He did what he had to do. He was going to kill (Y/N).” Optimus had a hard time believing his own words. He wanted to believe his friend didn’t have a choice. He just had to remind himself of just how dastardly Soundwave actually was.

While you were in with the doctors, Megatron and Optimus talked. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to.” He looked at the dried energon on his hand with sadness. “I couldn’t let anything happen to them. I wouldn’t know what I’d do with myself if they got hurt- or worse- because I have a target on my back.” 

Optimus looked at his friend and sized him up. The true sadness on his face- he knew that he regretted killing Soundwave. He placed a gentle hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “It’s okay, old friend. I’ll talk to G.H.O.S.T.” 

When he talked to G.H.O.S.T., they were instantly wary. They demanded that Megatron face some sort of evaluation. While Optimus was fighting G.H.O.S.T. on the matter, Megatron was with you. He was watching over you when you woke up- it was a little weird to stand by your window, but he made it work.

“M-megatron?” Your voice croaked out.

“I’m here, love. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He reached his arm in and held your hand gently between two digits. “I will never allow something like this to happen again.”

The doctor walked in and was shocked to see Megatron standing there- but he managed to keep his professionalism. “O-oh. Well, you seem overall fine other than a concussion. You’re alright to go home, just take it easy. Someone already took care of your discharge papers. Have a good day.”

You looked confused, but realized G.H.O.S.T. probably took care of everything. Megatron gently scooped you out of the bed and transformed with you. 

“Uh, Megs? Where are we going?” 

“Shh, you’ll see soon enough.”

You both flew for a long time- probably two hours. After about fifteen minutes you fell into a peaceful slumber. You woke up in a comfortable bed. You were confused because you didn’t recognize your surroundings. You walked around what turned out to be a cabin, wondering if this was a G.H.O.S.T. facility. 

You walked outside to see where you were only to discover miles of forest- and Megatron. 

“Megatron, where are we?” 

He averted his eyes to the side. “Somewhere safe.”

“What does that even mean? Where’s Dottie? The kids?”

Megatron sighed sadly as he gently picked you up. “We can go visit them together in a few months, okay? You need to lay low for a while until you’re off the Decepticon’s radar.”

“Who are you to decide that for me?” You growled out. “Take me home, now.”

Megatron placed you on the ground. “You are home. I managed to buy this cabin discreetly, so no one knows where you are. It’s for your own safety- I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” 

“Megs, I understand that I got hurt. I'll be okay- I can defend mys-”

“You can’t! You were almost killed. You will stay here- when I can trust you, we can go visit everyone. Don’t try to get away- I’ll know. There’s also a hundred miles of forest around this cabin- so stay put. It’s for your own good.” Megatron leaned down and kissed your head. “I’ll be back with supplies soon. Stay inside, it’ll be cold tonight.”

With that, Megatron flew off. When he went back to G.H.O.S.T., he said you’d been captured by a group of Decepticons. While everyone looked for the ones who took you, they never suspected it was actually him.