#helpless by the regrettes was fun

[pythiaswine]

CAN I JUST TALK ABOUT HOW BAD I WANTED LMM TO LEGITIMIZE LAMS but i kept being let down over and over again like ughhhh. first he gives the Angelica relationship a whole song and subplot and yes it was great, the whole musical's a lyrical, compositional, choreographed masterpiece BUT WE AREN'T HERE TO DISCUSS THAT. we are here to talk about how his source material was biased because Chernow gave breath to the Angelica thing, as improbable as it was (especially compared to the probability of the Laurens/Hamilton relationship? homophobia.) but then picture it, I'm a young, naïve teenager, I'm very fixated on lams and history, I loved the Hamilton musical, was a Hamilton teen and that part of me is irreparably burned into my brain. then LMM drops this sneaky little tidbit like the beacon of wisdom his fans see him as bc he wrote a historical self-insert fanfic for broadway, he says the Laurens/Hamilton relationship was real. great! but he didn't actually put it in the musical and that disappointed me. And damn, okay, he had a few lines here and there in the off-broadway version that were cut but maybe that wasn't his fault or maybe he planned on fleshing it out more and had to cut it down to make it more palatable for the people sponsoring his ride to broadway, a pathetic excuse but it could make sense. For all that, I could have forgiven, forgotten, etc etc... but I will NEVER forget naïvely believing during the year the Hamildrops were released that we'd finally get a Laurens/Hamilton song. In April it didn't happen, I thought okay, maybe pride month. Didn't happen in pride month. Didn't even happen in September or October, or as a last-minute gay reveal in December. It just didn't happen at all. We even got some covers of songs that already existed without notable variations on the lyrics and it's like... bro couldn't have done the bare minimum and had a Laurens cover of Satisfied? That's the moment I was let down for real. I had truly BELIEVED that because he said himself that the Laurens/Hamilton relationship was real, he'd actually follow through on something that could be digested by the fans more than a forgotten tweet. but damn it hurt. absolutely no queer representation in a musical about Alexander Hamilton. bro. to play devil's advocate, there is no way to "prove" hamilton wasn't straight (eye-roll) but it's not like Hamilton: An American Musical is historically accurate in the least. It's embellished, fun, glamorous. It paints people in their best (unless you're charles lee lol) considering it's about a bunch of people who definitely were not kickass abolitionist BIPOC, but because LMM found it important to represent America today, he made the cast very inclusive to cultures and ethnicities of those these historical figures oppressed. so why can't he fictionalize the story a bit more? it's not even FICTION BRO it's literally more provable (and less problematic and more interesting) than the Angelica/Hamilton affair so WHYYYY. all i mean to say is, i was very let down and i can't appreciate the musical or LMM the same as I did when i was younger because now it gives me the straight-man ick. the "yeah they were gay!" for ++ points with the lgbtq+ fans but a severe lack of action. i hate that shit. real allies would say "fuck your homophobia, i'm publishing my art as it is even if i face backlash and censorship," because that's how shit gets done. it really really let me down, that's all, good night.

[sanjifucker42069]

Sanji x Reader drabble

Word count: 1.5k

I am so in love with this man. I have so many feelings about Sanji, about his past, about him hiding his anxiety. And yeah this is based on a scene from Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries lol.

Sanji sees someone associated with his past, you calm him down. (Mild comfort, fluff, pre-timeskip, pre-relationship, no one is aware Sanji's a Vinsmoke by birth yet. Gender neutral reader)

It was a lazy day, the kind that makes Sanji's face stretch into a languid catlike grin. There were no pressing issues, no captain getting into the worst trouble imaginable, no swordsman annoying the shit out of him. Life was good. To top it all off, here he was, enjoying a drink in a small island pub with his favourite straw hat. 

Life was so good.

You had chuckled when he'd offered to buy you a drink as a thank you for joining him today. The sound was like wedding bells to him; loud, low, and one that made his heart race. He'd beamed at you when you'd agreed, pulling you into the nearby bar.

The two of you had been chatting for hours,  beyond comfortable with each other. It had been so good to be away from the others, just having your complete undivided attention. And soon enough, the sun was setting, the two of you too wrapped up in having fun to even notice.

You sighed. “I suppose it's time we got back, last thing we need is a search party looking for us.”

It was regrettable, but Sanji agreed. He'd s get the walk back with you, so win-win, really. With a flourish that made you smile, Sanji offered his hand, gently helping you out of the booth.

Life was good.

Or it would have been, had Sanji not seen it. A man. No, not just a man.

A Germa66 soldier

His blood ran cold. It couldn't be like this. No one knew his true lineage, and he was not about to ruin his whole life by telling you all! No. He couldn't let you know. Sanji could practically see how hurt you'd be, how he'd lied to you by omission. 

He'd finally gotten another family, he was not going to let some random soldier ruin it!

And besides, what was someone from Germa even doing here!? The implications made anxiety try to claw its way out of Sanji's chest.

You, unbeknownst to Sanji, were studying him. One second the two of you were giggling like lovestruck teenagers, the next he was frozen, eyes trained across the bar.

“Ji? You okay?”

Nothing. Sanji was still.

“Sanji!” You clicked your fingers in front of him. “Eyes on me. Nothing to worry about, ‘kay?”

The cook didn't move, still staring at the man across the room with palpable fear. You could practically taste the anxiety rolling off him in waves. 

“Just…someone from my past.” He managed to breathe out.

“And you're safe. Eyes on me. If you keep looking at him he's going to see you. Look at me.”

His shaking eyes regarded you for a second before wandering back to the soldier. You had no idea where they were from, or how they knew Sanji, but right now you didn't care. Based on how badly he was trying to cover up his fear, you were certain this was big. 

He didn't budge when you tried to direct him to you.

“Sanji!” You bit as quietly as you could. 

Sanji looked so scared, so helpless. It hurt your heart. Running out of ideas you cringed. You had one, but it wasn't exactly the best. But Sanji needed his crew right now. He needed someone to ground him.

With a speed you didn't often muster, you forced the tall man to look at you, hand cradling his chin. The fear was still apparent in his eyes, but ever the agreeable boy he stared in your eyes. You felt him startle when you wrapped your free arm around his neck. 

A small apology left your lips.

Before he could turn his attention back to panicking you pulled him down to meet you, kissing him softly. Using Sanji's shock to your advantage you spun the two of you so you could keep an eye on the man that had your friend so desperately afraid. 

Sanji gasped into the kiss, and for a moment you were worried he was going to push you back. His hands were thrust towards you, palms splayed. You braced yourself for the impact.

But it never came.

Instead you felt his strong arms encircle your waist, one travelling to clutch at your back, the other snaking to hold you closer against him. Sanji melted against your lips, a small noise of appreciation slipping out. 

Shit, he was a really good kisser. You fought the urge to close your eyes, to just give in and kiss the man silly, but you had a job to do. It felt wrong to kiss Sanji with your eyes open, but you trained your eyes on the man he was scared of. The soldier was exiting the pub with a beautiful woman, him eagerly leading her by the hand while she giggled.

Once they had left and the coast was clear you began to relax. You'd love to say you did the right thing and gently pulled back, but you didn't. Your eyes slipped closed as you kissed him with a passion that scared you, after all, when would you get another opportunity to kiss the man? Sanji clearly wasn't expecting it, if the cute little noise he made was anything to go off. You relished the feeling of his lips against yours. They weren't chapped, which surprised you, both living on the sea. But, you supposed, if anyone was going to take care to make sure his lips were soft and kissable, it'd be Sanji. 

You wish you could convey all your thoughts and feelings in the kiss; you're safe, you're loved, I'll follow you wherever.

I love you.

Regretfully you pulled back, both for air and out of guilt, you'd certainly taken advantage of the situation. Sanji chased your lips for a second before coming to and straightening. His beautiful eyes on yours in a moment, you watched him sigh, a more relaxed air about him. His eyes swept across the pub floor, anxiety rising when he couldn't find the soldier. You grabbed one of his hands, rubbing soothing circles into the top of his palm. Sanji's eyes snapped down to yours.

“He's gone.” You smiled warmly up at him. Sanji looked dazed, making you smile stretch to a grin. “He left about two minutes ago. It's okay Ji.”

Sanji wanted to say a thousand things, to thank you, to sing you praises, to cry and hold you close, thankful of your protection. Instead all he managed out was;

“You kissed me.”

You felt a light blush stain your cheeks, pointedly looking away from him. Sanji wanted to scoop you up and kiss you silly, you looked so cute when bashful.

“I needed to distract you, you were panicking.” You pouted dropping his hand, with narrowed eyes you snapped your gaze back to him. “Besides, you kissed me back.”

Staring up at Sanji took your breath away, he was regarding you with such genuine warmth. The intensity of his stare made you uncomfortable, and you made a move to excuse yourself. Sanji gently scooped your hand up, and held it against his chest between his hands. You blushed, looking up at him completely dazed.

“Love.” He paused. “(Name), I- thank you. You're so good to me.” Another pause, before he hammed it up. “And to experience a kiss from such a beauty? You're truly an angel fell from the heavens.”

He shot you such a cheeky smirk, his eyes sparkling, but you knew better. Sanji was a sweetheart, and yeah he could be a pervert, and a ladies’ man, and just a tad overdramatic, but he definitely played it up to protect himself. The feelings were hanging in the air unspoken; love, dedication, thankfulness. But it wasn't the time for that, neither of you wanted to have your hearts broken, brave on the battlefield does not always mean brave in love. But still, that stupid charming grin had you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Well my dear, if you ever need to distract me again...” He relished the laugh that escaped you. You pat his chest and moved your hand to delicately cradle his cheek.

“I'll make sure to keep that in mind. You might wanna watch yourself though, or you'll never pry me off you.”

Sanji chuckled, lovestruck. “Oh no, what a shame! You know I'm feeling kinda-”

You lightly swatted him on the cheek before he could finish, flustered but on cloud nine. “Alright loverboy, c'mon.”

“One more kiss?” He pouted, that boyish charm captivating you. He grinned when you pulled him down for a kiss.

You had aimed for a quick peck, but Sanji held you in place, peppering you in kisses as you giggled. He placed a last kiss on your lips, melting as you crushed him against you and kissed back with fervor. You pulled back with an audible smack.

“Wow.” He whispered, relishing in the love in your eyes.

“Now, c'mon, for real this time, handsome.”

You two didn't need to audibly say it right now, it was obvious you to regarded each other highly. The right day would come. 

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

[zeawesomeness]

Okay, so, I'm thinking about making another ROTTMNT animatic but I'm torn between what stories/concepts I should use. So, I decided it would be fun to make a poll to help me reach a decision!

For context, here's the songs for each story:

The Eldest Brother - Life Itself by Glass Animals

Ghost In The Shell - Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake

Cass's Apocalyptic Series - Final Duet by OR30

Shellshocked (MikeyXMiles) - Helpless by The Regrettes

[pancake-breakfast]

Time to finish up volume 1 of TriMax!

Archive

Trigun Volume 1: Covers + 1-3, 3 Detailed Thoughts, 4, 4 DT, 5-6, 5-6 + DT, 6 DT, 7-8, 9-10

Trigun Volume 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 1 Supplemental Research, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Volume 1: 1-2, 2 DT, 3-4, 3 DT

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 1, Chapters 5-6 below.

Chapter 5: Dancing Revolver

Gods, Vash always has to do that little hip jut, doesn't he?

Eyyy, geranium scene!

It's funny because geraniums are seen as almost plain here. They get used a lot in, like, planters for strip malls and such because they're hardy, drought-resistant beasts that need very little care and grow nicely from cuttings so they're cheap AF to reproduce and spread around. (BTW, if you ever want to add some pretty geraniums you see out in public to your yard/patio/whatever, you can just "borrow" a nice stem from that plant, take it home, and probably grow it for yourself.)

Vash is a growing boy. Of course he's thinking with his stomach.

As someone who has tended to them, I can confidently say that geraniums are definitely determined....

I'm sure he's trying to look somewhat fierce here, but mostly he just looks annoyed.

Uh oh. Vash might have the attention of someone who will try to do some damage.

Yeah... don't go pointing guns at people (purposely or no) if you're all tensed up. You might make a regrettable move.

Oh, no. I remember this guy from the anime. Please send him back where he came from.

LOL, this Elena girl is abandoning her duties to check out Vash the Stampede.

HAHAHAHAHAHA, it's the Vash slaughter song!

"Won't leave a single man alive." Vash, you're so full of shit right now, it's hilarious.

Sorry, Wolfwood. Now you have to deal with Vash being dramatic and calling attention to himself.

The funniest thing about this page to me is how Vash goes from screaming, "AAAAAAAA!!!" in Japanese to screaming, "AAAAAAAAA!!!" in English.

Pretty sure he just turned into a windmill of legs and coattails.

Yeah, from what I gather, bullet-proof vests don't keep you from getting nasty bruises and broken ribs. They just keep the hot lead from entering your body and doing the kind of damage that's harder to recover from.

He's remembering this morning's training session, I see.

Hey, Vash warned them....

Did he miss, though? Did he??

LOL, yeah, he did not.

This is, like, a Vash catchphrase at this point.

Well, if he didn't have Vash's attention before, he has it now.

Chapter 6: Sin

This doesn't have anything to do with the manga; I just want to note the number of times I've tried to navigate these pages by pushing left instead of right on my keyboard ('cause that's the way you read manga) is really, really high.

The contrast between the doctor's optimism and Brad's pessimism. Also, doc's viewing glass.

Wolfwood is having WAY too much fun spectating here. He looks like he's genuinely enjoying the chaos of it all.

Even scum can beg for its life when the tables are turned. Is the regret true and will it stick, or will being allowed mercy only open the door to further atrocities down the line? Do we have the right to decide?

Vash is making a choice, and it's not a choice to do nothing.

Hehhhh, people saying, "What do you know about my pain?" to Vash. Yes, this kind of pain is unique and individual, and Vash hasn't been through anything quite like losing a daughter in such a horrific fashion (that we know of; he is quite old), but he does understand both horrific loss and unimaginable betrayal, as well as the grief, self-blame, and feelings of utter helplessness that can come in its aftermath.

Poor Vash. He looks like hell after that fight. Probably feels like it, too.

Vash gave the father time to not become a murderer, and that's the sort of thing that would be of infinite value to Vash.

This panel, though. Important character notes here. In fact, one might say the only person Vash might not see as family on this planet is his very own twin.

The doctor sure has some trust in Vash getting out of things. And... he probably knows Vash well enough to know Vash would regret if his situation caused trouble for the doc and the rest of the people on that steamer.

LOL, Wolfwood, making a dramatic entrance, ready to bust through everything with hot lead and his beloved bike. He looks like an antihero arriving to save his kidnapped woman.

Hahahahahahaha, he pretty much buried Vash in rubble with that entrance. Mmmmmaybe didn't think it all the way through....

This panel has the same energy as Wolfwood telling Vash that kicking a rocket out of the air was "fucking stupid."

Awww, Wolfie, your heart of gold is showing....

We're just gonna ignore these panels where WW warns Vash that one of these days, pushing his luck won't work and he'll have to choose. I'm sure there's no foreshadowing in that whatsoever. Nope, none at all.

Ok, I tried to ignore it, but I also want to note I think Stampede did an excellent job capturing this running theme of how Vash is walking a precarious path trying not to choose. I don't remember that theme at all in '98. (Not saying it wasn't there; just saying it doesn't stand out in my memory.) Meanwhile, it's not just core to Vash's story in Stampede, but it's core to Meryl's and Wolfwood's stories in Stampede, too, even if in theirs, it's not mentioned so explicitly by the narrative.

Goshdarn it. That stupid Hitler-moustached, too-tall bowler hat guy is still here. Yes, yes, I know he wasn't dealt with so he can't just leave. But I want him to leave because it's better than him being in the narrative.

SEE?!!? GOOD PEOPLE DON'T HAVE PEOPLE PUPPETS LIKE THAT. SEND BOWLER HAT GUY BACK!!!

Uuuuhhhhh.... Look, I get that Legato (like a good percentage of the major characters in this story) likes fetish gear, but wearing a freaking iron maiden is taking it to a whole 'nother level.

Also, is he really big, or is this new creature person very small, or is the panel just framed weird for weird perspective? Questions....

Author Bonus Chapter: Gun Love Island

SALUTATIONS!!!

If this panel is meant to be the inside of Nightow's brain, it's a... very busy place. I do have a special appreciation for the dragon dissolving into a single sexy fishnet leg.

Oh, so the '98 anime had already started by the time this collection came out.

"First half of the story." LOL, half. Lies. But this might be a bit of a translation error. I've seen it elsewhere. Seems like (and I could be wrong here since I'm not a Japanese language expert by any means) the Japanese terms for parts of things don't necessarily mean equal parts like they do in English. To clarify, in English, if we say "a third," we mean 1/3 + 1/3 + 1/3 = 1, but the Japanese term that usually gets translated into 1/3 (三分; literally "three parts") can also mean 1/3 + 1/2 + 1/6 = 1. It's still referring to one part of three out of the whole, but that part is not necessarily equal to the other parts. Then again, the characters usually used for "half" are 半分 rather than 二分, and to the best of my knowledge, 半 does indeed mean equal halves, so maybe I'm wrong in this instance. I don't know, I'm not reading this in Japanese and I've only studied the language for like 3 years, which is nothing for Japanese.

Hahahahaha, sounds like Trigun is a bit of a case of the story running away with the author. It happens sometimes.

I'm also happy that people like Nightow's characters. Thank you very much.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

A Ranking of How Evil My Villain Harem Boys Are. Just For Fun:

Beelzebub: Has never done anything wrong in his life ever. Literally shouldn’t even be a demon tbh. Precious cinnamon roll. Maybe only a little evil because he’d steal my food all the time idk.

Mammon: Only slightly higher than Beel because he is literally who the songs Scrub and Bills, Bills, Bills, were written for and if he steals my shit one more time I’m gonna kill him myself. But he bends over backwards for his family and is that special brand of Pathetic and Helpless (you know the one), is actually super cool, talented, so so fine, and fun to hang out with, and is truly my #1 simp so I guess I love him back or whatever.

Gyuutarou: Like, listen...As far as I know, all he’s done is eat/kill humans and people trying to kill him and he needs to do the first one to live, so. And he literally only chose to turn into a monster to protect his little sister who he loves more than anything in the world. Literally not anymore evil than a basic vampire. In fact, I know I’ve simped for and stanned morally worse vampires. At least he looks cooler than them + cooler powers.

Touya “Dabi” Todoroki: Completely apathetic toward others according to canon, a whole arsonist + terrorist, killed people for no reason as far as I can tell like it was just for the sake of his Revenge Plot, CEO of unhinged Meant To Be Yours covers on tiktok, tried to kill shoto as a baby, probably just as misogynistic as his dad let’s be real.........listen I’m not tryna to marry the guy. But I for one support my edgy boyfriend’s need to soothe his inner child by destroying his abusive dad’s life and hero society along with it. Also he fucks me stupid and what more justification does a woman like me really need???????

Belphegor: THIS SMUG FUCKER IS ONLY HIGHER THAN DABI BECAUSE HE CANONICALLY KILLS ME?????? LIKE LITERALLY MANIPULATES ME INTO LETTING HIM OUT OF HIS PRISON, THEN STABS AND CHOKES ME TO DEATH WHILE LAUGHING AND DEGRADING ME THE ENTIRE TIME UNTIL I SEE GOD. AND THEN WHEN I COME BACK TO LIFE BY SOME TIME SHENANIGANS, HE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BE ALL, “👉👈 I’m sowee...can we kiss?” AND I SAY YES LIKE SOME STOCKHOLM SYNDROME’D DUMBASS. SO NOW I’VE SOMEHOW ENDED UP IN THIS ETERNAL THREESOME WITH HIM AND HIS TWIN BECAUSE APPARENTLY MY BRAIN IS IN MY PUSSY.

Ryoumen Sukuna: RAPE, MURDER, PILLAGING, TORTURE YOU NAME IT, HE PROBABLY DID IT. BUT THE WORST OF THESE IS THAT HE SIMPLY SAT BACK AND LAUGHED AT MY POOR JUNPEI!!!!!!!!!!! HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID AND DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK but regrettably I am still a whore and will be carrying his demon spawn babies, true form or otherwise.

[danpuff-ao3]

⭐️ Fic Rec: The Sleeping Prince

Snarry. Rated T. 42k.

It's hard to ignore your past — and impossible to do so when you can't remember your future. But a meddlesome portrait, a dragon with an ancient grudge and true love's kiss teach an unlikely Prince that a regrettable past doesn't have to mean an unhappy ending.

danpuff notes: I LOVE THIS FIC!!!!!!!!

It's one of my favorites and it makes my heart oh so happy and is just a plain fun read! It has deaged!Snape which...I don't usually care for. (I like my age gap, thank you very much!) But not only is that issue eventually resolved, the parts where he is deaged are just so good. Awkward. Teenage. Romance.

Awkward! Teenage! Romance!

It's adorable. And awkward.

And weird. And complicated.

All of my favorite things, basically!

Post-war Harry is not suddenly wise and mature above his years, not ultra polite and suave, just...still a teenage boy, yeah. Still embarrassed by his fame, still awkward and fumbling. Still prone to temper, and mistakes, and still cares more about Quidditch than his studies. I love him to death.

And teenage Severus is difficult and rude, more prickly and more vulnerable than his adult self. I also love him to death.

They do not become fast friends. It is quite a journey for both of them! Harry's crush that he refuses to think about. Severus dealing with having his world upended and being suspicious of everyone around him, but inevitably is helpless to Harry's charms because they're soulmates. (Sorry is my Snarry love showing?)

The emotions here are so twisty and well-executed. Humans are weird, complex creatures and our every thought and feeling are not so easily dissected by anyone, least of all ourselves! It is both fun and refreshing to see people, especially young people, so twisted and turned around by life and their own feelings!

And it's so fun seeing teenagers act like teenagers!

Nothing with these two is ever easy, but the road there is....well. Bumpy. But also very, very sweet.

PLEASE READ IT AND CHAT WITH ME ABOUT IT. Or y'know. Read it and love it with me from afar. Whatever floats your boat! It's one of my favorites so the more people in the world appreciating it, the better!

[samwontshare]

Sambucky ficlet: Fussin’

Rating: Idk Teens? Cursing? Sam was shot; he’s fine but surly.

Summary: Sam hates being in the hospital and Bucky is a mother hen. 

Link to AO3. 

-----

“Would you sit your ass in that bed for five minutes, Sam?” 

Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, aka the man who broke his wings and kicked him off a helicarrier, aka the jackass who threw him across the room like a very sexy football… was a goddamn mother hen.

When Steve once told him, even when he had nothing, he had Bucky, did he mean this obnoxious man who used his vibranium hand for evil to physically keep him in bed? 

“Buck, if you don’t let me up, I swear I will give every candy bar in the house to Joaquin and say they were a gift from you.” Never mind Sam was bleeding from three different orifices he shouldn’t even have; he wanted out of his bed and no amount of staring would keep him there.

“You broke a rib and were shot three times,” Bucky explained slowly like Sam wasn’t there. Getting shot. Three times. And it would’ve been a fourth to the head if Sam didn’t actually know so much about barrel rolls. “Take your meds and I’ll help you up.”

Sam Wilson didn’t negotiate with terrorists. “Man, you know I don’t like that stuff.”

Things that made his head fuzzy and forgetful? No, thank you. Sam liked to be sharp, alert, ready. Morphine would make him anything but. Experience had taught him that calm hid menace around the corner. Was it petty to reach for his gauntlet when Bucky turned away to tempt him with hospital water that tasted somehow like old tires? Maybe. Was it even pettier to deploy Redwing to peck, peck, peck at his back until Bucky let up enough that Sam could feebly worm his way from his bed? Fuck if he cared, Sam’s head was blitzed with bright, shocking pain and if he wanted junk food from the vending machine, he was getting up to do it. A man had to have standards. 

His triumph lasted about three seconds before he was collapsing into regrettably strong arms. Tears he would not acknowledge pricked at his eyes as the pain stung heavy into his leg. He hated this. He hated everything about this.

Bucky settled him back down, didn’t say anything about it even with Redwing still hovering at his neck. Sam pecked him again just because he could, and Bucky was taking the gauntlet, putting Redwing to bed and just looking at him. “Was that fun for you?” 

Sam would cross his arms with his best seething glare if one arm wasn’t in a sling. “I got shot.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a flash of guilt on his face, like he wasn’t engaged on the south side of the building. 

He clenched his jaw, blinking away the wet they weren’t talking about. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wondered how many news outlets would ask if he was up for the task. He tried to forget Sarah’s worried eyes on his screen. Tried to forget that death almost got him this time and it wouldn’t be the last. His leg throbbed steadily. “I’m not weak.”

“No, not weak,” Bucky agreed, planted a kiss on his sweaty forehead and pointed to the medication release button. “Just human, Sam. The best I know.”

He groaned like he didn’t need to hear every word of that. Like he could still pretend he never needed those kinds of assurances. Sulking, he dosed himself and felt the rush of medication hitting his blood stream. His leg throbbed less, the world was a little fuzzy. He knew he wasn’t getting up and tried not to feel the bite of anxiety at this helplessness. 

Bucky tossed him a bag of Fritos because that little shit knew the whole time how this would play out. He said, “Still my favorite pain in the ass.” 

Sam made him open the bag since he was flying without wings now. He crunched a chip, remembered he was alive with this overgrown hen clucking at him. Keeping him safe. “Yeah, yeah, love you, too.” 

[faulty-writes]

Warning: Mentions of Anxiety, Panic Attack.

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x ClassB!Student 

[ Alright, so life has been a tad crazy for me lately. My anxiety has been pretty much all over the place. I get a little angry that anxiety isn’t taken more seriously and is simply looked at as something “everyone has” which is both true and false. Regardless, I love soft Bakugou, and though this originally started as a simple drabble project. It turned into this, so I hope you enjoy and remember, your feelings are valid! Bakugou will tell you that himself if you choose to read. ] 

[ After a hard day of school, your anxiety is triggered, and though Class A and B had planned a hangout session. You regrettably can’t make it, as your panic attack happens, Katsuki Bakugou is told to check on you. What follows might hint that he has more of a soft spot than you originally thought. ] 

Katsuki wasn't the best at comforting others, in fact when he realized you were having a panic attack. He almost wanted to leave, almost. But, the way you latched onto him. Begging him to stay, he couldn’t ignore your obvious cry for help. Maybe it was due to the fact his heroic side couldn’t deny knowing someone was in pain, and if there was something he could do to fix it, he would. But, that didn’t stop him from letting out a frustrated sigh. "Fine! I'll stay...damn it," he growled the words before taking a seat on your bed.

You turned to look at him, you were a fellow hero though you were placed in Class B. It wasn’t unusual for Class A and B to spend time in one another’s dormitory. In this case, Class A had suggested a hang out date. Nothing too fancy, and the students of your class seemed to enjoy the idea with the compromise that it be held in the Class B dormitory. There was little objection and things went as planned, unfortunately, it seemed your anxiety was bothering you. Your day hadn’t gone right and by the time you returned home from class, your head was spinning.

Memories from the past came to haunt you as well as your own negative thoughts, which seemed to drag you down enough to the point where you lied to your fellow classmates. You had told them you simply weren’t feeling well and that you’d join in on the fun next time, in all truth, you walked straight to your bedroom and hid under the covers. Your face buried in your pillow as your breathing became more rapid and that fear, that certain panic that came along with the anxiety attack increased. Which left you feeling helpless for the moment, soft whimpers escaped as tears began to trail down your cheeks.

Though you knew of certain breathing exercises that claimed to calm anxiety, you found that nothing truly worked and often just let the panic attack run its course. But, as it were, your classmates and fellow students seemed to care more about your well-being than you thought. Which in a way made you feel better, however, you hadn’t expected Katsuki Bakugou to knock on your door. You nearly screamed when the knock sounded, followed by his usual commanding and angry voice. Part of you wasn’t surprised that Neito had a dislike toward Class A, as you found their class to be filled with a little too much personality.

But, nonetheless, you found yourself getting out of bed. Your face still wet from your tears and you attempted to dry them with the use of your blanket, “Open the door, dumbass!” Katsuki snapped and you let out a groan, but you knew Katsuki was more or less known for his impatience and anger. When you finally opened the door, you took note of the casual outfit the angry blond wore. A simple black shirt and loose-fitting sweatpants. He wore no shoes or socks and had his arms crossed with an annoyed expression on his face.

“The rest of the extras wanna know if you’re alright. Not that I give a damn,” he said, which you assumed was his version of inquiring something nicely. You pressed your lips together, originally wanting to lie to the fellow first-year. But, as soon as you tried to speak, a soft whimper came and you immediately clasped your hands over your mouth. Katsuki raised his eyebrow, “The hell was that?!” he demanded, bringing his arms down to his sides where his hands curled into fists.

His eyes were narrowed as if he were trying to see through you, however you, on the other hand, shook your head and went to grab the door handle. “N-Nothing! I-I’m fine, Bakugou just-” before you could finish your sentence, you let out a cry and covered your eyes. Katsuki didn’t hesitate to use his quirk, his hand was firmly pressed against the door and smoke seeped from underneath his palm. You groaned and rubbed your eyes before looking back at him, that quirk of his created some bright explosions.

“Shut the hell up! Do you think you can lie to me like that and I won’t notice?! I’m not a dumbass like the rest of these extras! You can fool them, but you can’t fool me! Damn it!” he snapped as he stepped into your room, completely ignoring the fact he wasn’t even invited in. He then slammed the door behind him, which caused you to jump. You were almost tempted to run and try to open the door again, but Katsuki was already cornering you. A cry left your lips when you hit your bed and fell onto it, quickly you sat up and gave Katsuki the best glare you could muster.

“W-What are you doing?!” you squeaked out, bringing your hands up to your chest. You were already scared because of the anxiety, but with Katsuki’s actions added on top of that? Your body was trembling and your eyes threatened to spill more tears. You watched as Katsuki’s angry expression faded, maybe tears were his weakness. Either way, the fact that he was able to see through your lie was a tad impressive.

“Pff, fine. I’ll just leave, you’re fine even though you’re lying. Not my damned problem!” he said before he turned his back to you. “W-Wait!” you hadn’t meant to cry out, nor did you mean to suddenly jump up and grab the back of his shirt. “Eh?!” he turned his head to look over his shoulder at you, it was clear he was annoyed by your sudden antics. You ignored his stare and glanced down, loosening your grip on his shirt.

“P-Please don’t go.” the words came out of your mouth in a hushed whisper, but Katsuki heard you well enough. Which is what led you to sit next to each other on the bed, you sniffled before leaning forward. Burying your face into Katsuki’s shoulder which caused a surprised gasp to leave him and he could feel your tear-stained cheeks soaking into the fabric of his shirt. His jaw tightened, he almost wanted to scream. But, when you muttered the words, "I...feel...scared," his expression dropped.

"Mm…well we're all scared, part of being a hero is pushing past your damn fears and being courageous but…" his hands curled in his lap and the sound of your hard breathing echoed through the room. He groaned and lifted his arms, wrapping each one around you with the intended hope it'd calm your breathing. Such action took you by surprise and you lifted your head, looking at Katsuki with wide eyes. His lips were turned up, and a pink hue colored his cheeks. His eyebrow twitched before he tilted his head, focusing his attention to the floor.

Then, he spoke, "You know, your feelings, whatever you call'em...Well I guess they are valid so, uh, don't be afraid to tell anyone when your anxiety is bothering you.'' he said, more like growled before he lifted his head up. His eyes narrowed on you, though you could see your own sad and unsure reflection in those red pupils. "If they ignore or just plain act like they don’t care, well I'd love to kick their ass, but overall, well maybe it just shows how ignorant they are," he said as he glanced to the side, you noticed his cheeks were growing darker in color.

Frankly, you were shocked that Katsuki even cared, you had expected him to push you away. Maybe use his quirk to keep you at bay, instead, you were treated with comfort and concern. Maybe Katsuki truly had a soft spot for others, at least you hoped. It certainly seemed that way, you sniffled before bringing your hands up. Your fingers lightly curled into his shoulder and you noticed the dark spot on his shirt where you had previously buried your head, you knew your cheeks were still wet. Katsuki shyly glanced back over, his eyes widening as he saw a faint smile come to your face.

He looked lost a moment before he growled, "What the hell are you smiling for?!" he demanded, almost as if he weren't used to such a positive response in regards to his presence. "D-Don’t think I'm soft or anything! I...I just wouldn't make fun of someone who has…well anxiety, a mental disorder, whatever the hell you wanna call it!" he snapped before looking away once more, his arms slightly trembling. "I…I'd never do that to you...I can't say the same thing about shitty extras though. You always hear the same thing from them, it doesn't matter how you feel because everyone has anxiety, sure.” he couldn’t help but roll his eyes, his teeth scraping together before he continued.

“Maybe everyone experiences it, but some have it worse than others and, well, it's not something that…should be ignored," he muttered the last few words, feeling his stomach twist and the nervous flapping of butterfly wings come. His eyebrow twitched and he squirmed at the unusual feeling, "Bakugou…are you-" he cut off your sentence with an absurd, "I'm fine...d-dumbass!" his voice was soft but, there was some uncertainty to it. He took a deep breath before retracting his arms from around you, something that made you miss his warmth. But, you were quickly distracted as you watched him rise from the bed.

His back was to you, which you found a little rude. Why would he suddenly get up like that? Unknown to you, Katsuki had a hand pressed to his chest. The other was at his side and his fingers were loosely pressing into his palm. He couldn’t make sense of the harsh fast-paced echo of his heartbeat, which he felt against the center of his palm. His jaw was clenched, confused at his own reaction. Regardless, he lowered his hand and curled both of them into tight fists. You took note of how those fists trembled and though you wanted to say something, you decided against it.

"A common problem shouldn't be ignored," Katsuki's sudden words caught you off-guard, "What?" you questioned, leaning the upper half of your body forward. Your hand outstretched and though, you should have expected it. You gasped when Katsuki suddenly spun around to face you, his hand took yours with a firm grip. You looked at him for a split second before he jerked his arm back, the force of which pulled you up from the bed. You stumbled over your feet but Katsuki welcomed your presence as you collided with his chest. His arm came to wrap around your shoulders and he pulled you close.

"U-Uh…" you could feel your face heat up as you realized you were trapped. Nuzzled against Katsuki's chest, the faint hint of sweat mixed with cedar reached your nose and caused your nostrils to twitch. Your anxiety under control for the moment as it was now replaced with what you could only classify as the best nervous feeling someone could have. You shivered when he buried his face into the crook of your neck, the soft touch of his lips brushed against your skin. "A common problem shouldn't be ignored," he repeated, his voice slightly muffled.

"We should address it because of the fact it's a common problem, but some fuckers…like to be damn ignorant about it!" he hissed and his arm tightened around you as if you weren't already as physically close as you could be with him. You could feel his hot breath against your skin as he let out another sigh and proceeded to lean back, releasing his hold on your hand. “Look,” he began, his eyes narrowing on you once more which was slightly intimidating. Still, you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. You stiffened when you felt his hands grab your shoulders and a smirk came to his face.

You assumed he was happy that he had captured your attention, his expression turned into something more serious just before he spoke, “Since I’m the only one that sees through those pathetic lies of yours, even if...we’re not in the same class...you can come to me whenever you feel like you need to.” he said, his words ending with a growl. “That’s not an invitation to come bother me whenever you feel like it!” you almost wanted to roll your eyes, why did he feel the need to clarify that? “Hey, look at me when I’m talking, damn it!” you hadn’t realized you had looked away, maybe you were too lost in your own thoughts.

Still, you turned your attention back on him as he requested, his eyes were slit and his eyebrows knit together. “What the hell was I saying...dumbass making me lose track…” he muttered and turned his head, his eyes drifting back and forth before he remembered. “If you have a panic attack or feel anxiety, whatever you wanna call it. Come find me and well, I’ll do the best I can, guess that’s all a hero can do. I’ll kick the ass of the person that made you feel that way...if there is a person that made you feel that way... the point is! Don’t go lying and make yourself believe your feelings are invalid! That’s not how emotions work, damn it. Your feelings are always valid!” he snapped before dropping his hands.

He groaned and reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. You noticed his cheeks were tinted pink again, was he embarrassed? That was almost amusing, but you latched onto your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. “Just...remember that!” he snapped again, which caused you to jump and lean back, “Uh...yeah! I’ll...keep that in mind,” you said sheepishly before turning to look at your bed, the sheets were a mess and the pillows were carelessly tossed around. Still, you sighed and proceeded to sit back down which earned you a strange look from Katsuki.

“What are you doing?” he questioned as he crossed his arms, you had the feeling he was trying to shake off whatever embarrassment he felt. You shrugged, “Sitting?” you responded before taking a breath, “Look Bakugou...thank you for...comforting me, that was really nice of you. Heroic even, I know we’re supposed to be heroes and we mainly look out for others. But, it's nice to know I have someone like you that looks out for me when I need it. I appreciate that.” you said, snickering as Katsuki’s eyebrows went up. Clearly, he was surprised to hear such a thing coming from you. He looked down, covering his mouth a brief moment before clearing his throat.

“Yeah well…” it was almost amusing to see him struggle with his words, “Y-You’re...welcome,” he responded, and once more you were reminded he wasn’t used to such positivity. You brought your hands together, your elbows rested against your thighs. “So...are you going to go back?” you questioned, “Hm?” Katsuki tilted his head, almost as if he didn’t understand the question, “To the hangout, I mean aren’t Kirishima and Denki waiting for you?” you questioned as you pointed a lazy finger toward your door. “Ah.” Katsuki’s posture stiffened as he thought about his idiot friends.

Yeah, they were waiting for him and if he didn’t leave soon, they’d track him down like they were the guidance counselor, Hound Dog. “Pff...yeah, they’ll probably come looking for me, so what?!” they were annoying, but not a threat. “So, don’t you want to, you know…” you trailed off, somehow you got the feeling Katsuki didn’t want to leave. “I’m alright now, you said it yourself. I can always come to you when something like this happens again,” you assured him as you once more rose from the bed and hesitantly reached over to place your hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll come out later just, I want some time to fully calm down.” that borderline feeling of fear still coursed through you and though Katsuki had helped ease most of it. Maybe you could finally try those breathing exercises to completely calm yourself. Katsuki faintly growled as you guided him to the door and opened it, you took note that the wood still had a dark burn mark thanks to his quirk. It would be interesting trying to explain that to your teacher, but for the moment it wasn’t a big concern for you. Katsuki stared down the hallway before turning back to you, he reached over and lightly grabbed your shirt collar.

“You better show your face later! Damn it or I’ll come back here and-” before he could finish, you nodded and pushed against his chest. “Yes! I’ll be out later, I promise. Thank you for your help Bakugou.” you said as you gently shoved him out the door and closed it. Pressing your back against it, you tried to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

Nothing like this had ever happened to you before, usually, you suffered alone in your own division with your anxiety. But, could this have opened an opportunity for you to actually open up about it and to Katsuki Bakugou of all people? You weren't sure how you felt about it, but one thing was for sure. You felt happy that someone finally seemed to understand the way your anxiety made you feel and even more so, tried to make you feel better.

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 6/8 - Fractals

~*~*~

The instant Alexander dropped below the entrance hall floor, he started clawing at the slide, trying to dig his toes into the walls, the slide itself, anything. His gloved hands slipped uselessly off the walls, and he skittered and bounced like a ball on a track, slamming into sharp bends that he couldn’t see in the dark. There were no footholds, no handholds, no outcroppings, nothing, and by the time he’d shook off the pain from crashing into another curve, there was no curve to grip (not that the slick walls would have afforded him any sort of leverage had he been prepared, anyway).

He didn’t know where this track was going, and he didn’t think it was anywhere good, and he wanted out. He wanted out right now.

Claustrophobic, shoved into a tiny, dark space, punishment for breaking a cup. Stretched and pulled like taffy for forgetting to wash a plate. Battered and bruised and frightened and angry and cold and tired and done.

He had rescued himself from Manannan. He would rescue himself again.

Fierce terror and anger rose in him, and he forced the emotions together, channeled them into what little fragmented magic he knew, and he snapped his fingers. At first, nothing, and he did it again, and again, muttering half remembered words he’d stolen from Manannan, and again, until finally the magic caught in his fingertips, and heat poured from his hands, and he slammed against the wall, and it melted away before him and sent him screeching down another road, one he made himself, and the new melted tunnel vanished beneath him and he felt himself falling, falling—but he saw in the split second before impact that he was probably going to land on something softer than the floor.

~*~*~*~

Normally, Graham liked mazes. Hedge mazes were lots of fun, he thought, and he’d always been fond of the corn maze Royal Guard Number Two organized every autumn. Even better when there were puzzles scattered around, just to make it extra tricky and entertaining.

But normally he wasn’t freezing to death, and normally he could see the sun, and normally he knew what the end goal was. Knew there was a way out. This one probably had a way out, but it didn’t seem to be following any rules, and he was starting to doubt. He felt like rooms were circling around, sending him in every direction aimlessly. He’d tried going through left-most doors, but then he’d gotten confused and turned around in a couple of the larger emptier spaces and now had no idea where he was headed. He was sure he’d already been in some of the rooms, corridors entwined and intersecting. There was an overall slow downward slope to his route, like he was going deeper into the castle, and he wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted.

The place seemed to be falling apart, too, perhaps a consequence of the castle moving and jarring against itself as it settled. He had to scramble over huge ice blocks and squeeze past fallen pillars. Had to find keys to doors that were locked before him and locked behind him again. None of which was an easy feat with his wrist entirely frozen over and his elbow starting to stiffen and his head starting to feel foggy (from the cold of the room or the cold of his arm, who could say). Strange carvings in the walls leered at him. Tunnels narrowed until he was hunched over, or swooped out so that his footsteps echoed around him.

He hadn’t found any signs of life. Just statues and sculptures that made him wonder if his curse had a solution at all. Distressingly realistic humans carved of clear blue ice, in all manner of dress and features, scattered the rooms. Reaching, cowering, curled up broken in pieces on the floor. He had the oddest sense they were watching him, moving when he wasn’t looking at them.

Sometimes, there were sounds, but mostly they were of the sinking ship ice-creaking variety that made him think the place was going to fall down on top of him.

Take this new sound, though. It was perfectly chilling. Sounded like someone screaming, but muffled by layers upon layers upon layers of ice, a fractured sound in the walls. Until, quite suddenly, it wasn’t muffled, and the ceiling opened up into a slushy hole, and Alexander, flailing, dropped out of it, landing on top of Graham. The two collapsed in a tangled heap of cloaks and scarves.

Startled and unwilling to immediately accept the presence of Alexander in this icy prison, Graham instantly slipped into the babbling safety of terrible jokes. “Aaah, ice to see you, son, but this is snow place for a prince. We’ve already had fall, you know. I winter why you’re here. Have you snowflaked on your mother? That’s a cold thing to do, you know.”

Alexander stared wild-eyed, uncomprehending. Frost slicked back his hair.

“Ah, sorry, not the time.” They stood a little unsteadily, and Graham leaned back to look at the tunnel Alexander had apparently blasted open. “That’s...” he struggled for the right word in his alarm, “impressive.” He glanced at his son, and he quickly smoothed his expression into bland kingly interest. “Could you explain why you’re here and not safe in the castle where you should be?”

“We were worried,” Alexander said, still breathless, still staring up at what he’d done. He knotted his fingers together. “You hadn’t...you just left, and we couldn’t...we had to come.”

“We?” The floor seemed to drop out from beneath Graham. “You’re not going to tell me your mother and sister are here, too, are you?”

“Um.”

“Valanice is here? Of her own volition? No one invaded Daventry Castle or forced her to come or anything, she decided on her own?”

“Yes.”

“Ohh, shining stars.” He was in trouble.

“You just left,” Alexander repeated defensively. “We weren’t going to leave you to freeze.”

“I’m not going to freeze.” And there was a sharp note of anger in his voice, he realized, a snap that he wasn’t sure if he meant or not.

Alexander looked like he wanted to argue, and his eyes were on Graham’s arm (which was definitely colder, definitely locking up, definitely aching), but all the fight went out of him. Especially after hearing the frustration in Graham’s voice, the words choked in his throat. Arguing wasn’t something that came naturally, not after Manannan’s treatment. Not after Graham’s irritated tone. Whatever he’d been going to say or do just...stopped. He hovered on the front of his toes, like a bird trying to take flight, and could do or say nothing more than that.

Graham sighed, and then smiled at his son, apologetically, gently. “Nothing like the Crackers for snowballing right into danger. I’m surprised Number One didn’t send you back.”

“We didn’t see him. We, um. We think something happened to him.”

“Hmm?”

“It looked like there’d been a fight. They were gone. All of them. We never even saw them.”

And that felt like a slap. Graham blinked. The castle had been empty, lonely. No human was here, he would have bet his adventuring hat on it. And yet. He glanced at the ice sculptures leering at them, wondering if they’d crept a little closer while he and Alexander were talking. Maybe not that empty after all.

But they couldn’t leave the way Alexander had come, that was clear. The hole was high above them, perfectly glossy with smooth ice, reflective as a mirror. And Graham wasn’t sure which direction he’d come from, now. His head was getting fuzzier, his thoughts starting to splinter. Going back wouldn’t do them any good: his own slide down into the maze was long and cold and slick and behind a series of locked doors by this point. They’d have to go forward. If only he knew which way forward was, and if only he could guarantee there was a way out in the end.

He’d been distracted by Alexander and news of Valanice for a few minutes, but the pain of his arm was coming back at double strength, slicing through his thoughts, a pain that pulled his attention in every direction and made him feel all the more helpless. Useless.

He rubbed at his frozen wrist, staring at the gaping hole above them. It really was something incredible. Alexander had blasted it with some sort of heat, but the slush had already refrozen into sharp, cruel icicles dangling above them. Deadly. Magic, deadly. His arm, deadly. He wasn’t at all sure he liked his son knowing how to do something Manannan could do. Magic. What if it killed Alexander just as soundly as it was killing Graham?

He drew himself up, took refuge in his knightly training and kingly history, found the confidence he needed to project. Regrettably, it sounded like chilly annoyance when he spoke: “We must find Valanice, Rosella, and the guards. We’ll figure things out as we go.” He chose a direction and set off, praying to all the stars that he wasn’t backtracking.

~*~*~*~

Gwendolyn spent the day trying to find Gart, and Gart kept avoiding her. Every time she thought she saw him down a hall or in a room, he managed to get away from her. She wondered if Aunt Rosella had taught him about all those alcoves and tunnels that she had liked to hide in as a child, and she wished she knew the castle as well as he did. Gwendolyn had grown up in the Green Isles, as far away from here as it was possible to get, and hearing Grandpa’s stories about the secrets of Daventry’s castle had sparked her interest.

But she knew she wouldn’t get to discover the twists and turns of the passageways. Gart was right about that. She would be going home soon, and he would stay here, learning to be a good king.

Her father Alexander had relinquished his claim on Daventry’s throne long ago, changing the line of inheritance to Rosella’s family. Gwendolyn knew it was because he’d fallen in love with her mother, Cassima of the Green Isles, and had submitted to her authority and rule on the other side of the world. He loved it, loved the little islands with all their characters and abilities and interests, loved the smells and the sounds and the feel of the place. Loved Cassima.

He had found a home, in the end. Gwendolyn couldn’t help but wonder if it was meant to be her home, too, or if, like her grandfather, like her father, she was meant to wander, to find something to call her own. She didn’t begrudge Gart’s inheritance, not even a bit, but she was jealous of his confidence that this was where he belonged. That he had so much trust in his future when she was questioning so much. When she wanted what was best for everyone, best for both countries, both families, both lives…but wasn’t sure how her happiness fit into the equation, too. Which made her feel guilty; she had so much good in her life. She didn’t deserve these doubts.

And yet. And yet, she doubted and worried and fussed, nevertheless, which just made her feel all the more guilty.

This was why the stories mattered so much. The stories were a way to explore and learn safely, to carve a road to decisions. If only Gart would listen to the stories, too.

Or if he would at least stop running away from her. She bit her lip, tugged up her hood, and hurried down another passageway, his name burning her throat as she called again and again with no response. Feeling lost in the labyrinth of the castle, not at all sure which way to turn next.

~*~*~*~

Royal Guard Number One shivered. “I hate being cold,” he muttered. His teeth chattered so hard that it sounded like he said every word twice. He was sitting on his helmet since that was warmer than sitting on the ice block chair that had been provided, blowing puffs of smoke as he tried to keep his fingers limber. Not that he had his sword to swing anymore, which made the exercise mostly pointless. Even with his quilted padding, even with his scarf and earmuffs and mittens and everything, he felt like he was turning to ice as solidly as Graham was.

He didn’t even have the others to huddle with for warmth: those strange living sculptures had easily determined he was captain of the little operation and had hastily separated him from the rest of the Royal Guard. He’d blinked away the cobwebs and shadows and pain just in time to find himself being flung face first into a frosty little cell. The door had slammed and locked behind him while he extricated himself from a snowbank.

In the distance down the hall, he had been able to make out No2 shouting something before being silenced, accompanied by an angry crack of ice against metal, and then...nothing after that. No sounds from his men or ice guards. Just the chilly creaking of the castle’s walls. He tried shoveling his way out (surely this place was no different than the pretend castles he had helped Rosella build when she was a toddler, a snow castle you could kick your way through in a pinch), but the blocks of ice were as hard as any actual dungeon wall he’d ever faced.

“I’m getting too old for this sort of nonsense.” He wondered how the others were getting on, and very much hoped they hadn’t been split up. Especially poor Larry, who possibly shouldn’t have been allowed to come considering how his bad arm locked up if it got too cold. Hopefully he and Kyle were together. If any of them had been hurt, those ice monsters were going to catch hell from Number One.

He had to get up and try to find another way out. He knew he did. But it was just so cold. In a minute, maybe, he’d stand up. If his knees weren’t frozen in place. For now, he blew on his fingertips again.

There was an incredibly loud crash from outside his door. It sounded like someone had knocked over a tray of glasses, shattering every single one on the floor and then stomping on them for good measure. He sprang to his feet, reaching instinctively for the sword he didn’t have, as the cell door swung open.

Princess Rosella leaned against the door frame, grinning at him. Around her, the anxious faces of the other royal guards appeared.

“Having trouble, Number One?” she asked.

“Not anymore, Princess Rosella.”

She handed him his sword, and he buckled it around his waist without looking at it, visually checking over all his men instead. They looked rattled, frost limning their uniforms, but otherwise all were accounted for, all seemed safe. He nodded sharply, satisfied, and marched out of his cell with his helmet tucked under his arm. Ice crunched beneath his feet like shards of glass.

“Ice guards,” Rosella said dismissively. “Not paying a shred of attention. Easy to break, turns out, if you can get them to hit the ground right.”

“Might I ask how you’re here, Princess Rosella?”

“You might,” she said, playing along as drily as him, and then she broke character by snickering.

Rosella, Alexander, and Queen Valanice (ohh, shining stars, if the queen was here then they were in trouble) had found Graham missing (No1 wasn’t even remotely surprised, just annoyed) and had hurried to the castle, where they’d been promptly trapped (meaning he couldn’t send her home, so don’t even try to order it, she insisted). They hadn’t found the king, or the royal guards, but they had found nasty little trap doors inside the hall, which split everyone up. Rosella’s slide had sent her bumping and shrieking with laughter down, down, down into what was probably a dungeon cell but which had been recommissioned into a breakroom by whatever minions this castle supported. Someone, likely not an ice guard, wasn’t pleased with all the snow around, and had made up a straw nest for taking naps in. She'd fallen into this nest, unharmed and giggly.

The cell-turned-breakroom was at the far end of a long series of twisting tunnels, made of dark blue and black ice that reflected her shadowy shape back at her. Her explorations went entirely unnoticed by anyone for a good long while. She’d eventually found the rest of the guards cuddled together in a heap of armor and scarves and gloves behind a locked door, and they’d hastily explained what was going on.

Armed with expectation, she wasn’t surprised when she saw her first ice guard, and she deftly dodged and slipped through the tunnels and open cells until she found the keys she wanted. It had been a feat worthy of anything her father had ever done on any of his adventures to sneak the keys out from the guard room unnoticed by the strange magic creatures. It had involved a bit of string, her tiara, and one of the windup Battle of Wits miniatures she had been carrying in her pocket from an earlier game with Alexander.

A sight to behold, totally memorable, a proper shame no one else had seen it. She gathered up the keyring and hurried away.

She had been unlocking the Daventry team door when the ice guard spotted her. It rushed her, grabbed her, and she would have been completely done for, adventure at an end—if the key for the cell hadn’t already been in the padlock, and if No3 hadn’t been turning it the rest of the way, and if the rest of the royal guards hadn’t burst out to protect their princess. The lone ice guard didn’t stand a chance.

Most of the sculptures from this dungeon area were now fuming behind locked doors, and a few more troublesome ones were now so much chunked ice, blue shreds of animation magic rising like steam before disappearing.

“Easy,” Rosella finished.

“Excellent job,” No1 said. He bowed to her, as befitting royalty. And then they exchanged a very complicated handshake that ended with a spectacularly silly fist bump and the two of them leaning back-to-back. No1 straightened quickly and gave an imperious glance over his men, silently suggesting that if anyone spoke of this moment again, they would be docked pay. “Now then. I imagine King Graham has ended up in some sort of unpleasant trap as well. Princess Rosella, would you perhaps like to assist in another rescue?”

“Always.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing down one of the long dark blue halls. “I heard the strangest noises coming from that direction. I didn’t check it out without backup, though—thought you’d be proud of that. We should probably investigate.”

“A fine idea. Shall we?”

“Let’s shall.”

~*~*~*~

The maze was definitely deteriorating. Walls sagging, pillars crunching. Perhaps the weight of the castle was heaviest here, pressing down on the honeycomb of tunnels. Maybe it was something to do with its movement, takeoffs and landings shaking things loose. Graham was vaguely certain he hadn’t been here before. But only vaguely. The rooms still looked about the same, the only difference being the types of statues leering at them, and his head was getting fuzzier and the pain of his arm was starting to pound in his ears in time with his heartbeat.

Graham dizzily recognized that Alexander had started taking the lead, but Graham was too preoccupied to say anything much about it. He was focused on his hand, cradling his arm, careful not to bump it against the debris and ice blocks strewn around the rooms that Alexander was pushing out of their way. Sometimes, Graham thought the ice blocks could have been moved a little faster. He almost said so, that anger rising in his chest again, a cold desire to hurt, but then decades of diplomatic leadership kicked in and he realized what he was about to say. He bit down sharply on his tongue and turned a snarky critique into a vague compliment, but then he was back to quietly moping and not paying much attention.

His teeth were starting to chatter as the ice snaked up his body. He yanked his cowl up higher, trying to trap warm air, to do anything to help. It didn’t help at all. Alexander kept glancing back at him, which made the puzzles take even longer, his fingers made clumsy by hesitation and uncertainty.

This room was different. Someone had shoved straw in the corner, between pillars and the wall and some ice blocks, making a sort of sleepy nest to sit in that was warm against the perpetual chill of the labyrinth. A hideaway, Graham thought, and that made him smile a bit, remembering how much he’d loved to hide in Triumph’s stable when he wanted away from everything. The scent of hay was comforting, and snapped through his bleary disinterest, made him stand straight and be aware of his surroundings again. Whoever had made up this little comfortable bed had access to the maze through a tunnel splintered through the wall by a fallen pillar. They must have taken an ice pick and made the tunnel just barely wide enough for someone to squeeze through single file.

“Ah. A short cut,” Graham said. “I’d bet that’ll take us out of the maze and into more inhabitable rooms.” Hopefully warmer ones, too.

Alexander nodded, inspecting the scrapes and scratches marring the narrow tunnel walls. The two men squeezed through the tunnel, which narrowed and widened and pressed and pulled. Alexander looked queasy and Graham’s arm ached, but they wriggled through without too much difficulty.

As hoped, this area felt considerably more lived in and used. The chilly silence of the maze was behind them. Graham could hear something metallic clanging and echoing nearby. He smiled at Alexander, pleased to have escaped. He pushed open a door—and walked into the center of a crowd of goblins.

There were probably two dozen rock goblins standing around. Most were clutching shovels and were in the middle of scooping snow out of huge hampers and wheelbarrows and into icy furnaces belching snowy clouds up huge chimneys. Some had ice picks, to break up heavier chunks of snow. All of them had scarves and hats and mittens dragged over their armor. Every head turned, and every eye was on Graham and Alexander, and the door swung shut behind them with a click, and Graham mumbled, “Oh. Zards.”

The goblins spun their shovels and held them like spears. Apparently, they didn’t have their real spears with them. The ones with the ice picks still looked as threatening as ever, though. All approached, slowly, encircling the two intruders, hemming them away from the door (not that there was anywhere to go—back into the maze wasn’t a real option). Their helmets revealed not a single emotion, and Graham stepped back unconsciously, swallowing. He’d run into goblins a handful of times since his awful experience in his twenties. They were part of Daventry, like the squirrels. And, like the squirrels, they had their own ruler. There were treaties. There were rules.

But goblins had never been the sort to follow rules.

Something sharp pressed against his shoulder blades, and he froze. It was a shovel, surely, but sharp and heavy enough to cause serious damage, and wielded by a spearmaster. He would never forget the pressure of a spear held against him, and it sent him spiraling back, back, back, and he felt young and inexperienced and out of place again, at a loss to defend himself and his friends. But this time, it was his son at his side, looking absolutely petrified with an ice pick point tickling his ear.

That couldn’t stand. His son had faced enough. Graham wouldn’t let anything hurt him now, not if he could help it. Graham’s fuzzy resolve hardened and he stepped forward, in front of Alexander, his good arm raised to defend, forcing his cold anger in his chest to help instead of hurt.

One of the goblins stepped forward to match him. It wore a hat with a fluffy white bauble sewn onto it, perched almost rakishly over its helmet. Goblins all had uniquely designed helmets, and this one’s forward swooping curl sparked a memory... “I remember you,” he said to it, sternly. “You stole my adventuring hat.” And had been one of the more enthusiastic ones when it came to flipping Graham upside down and shaking him hard to knock loose contraband in his prison cell—he'd had that goblin’s grip imprinted as a bruise on his legs for a month.

If it were possible to see expressions through those helmets, Graham thought the little fellow would be grinning. It swept itself into a low bow, flipping the multicolored scarf it wore like a lady’s ballgown skirt. Definitely one of Acorn’s scarves, Graham decided: he was sure he could spot the little artisan tag sewn near the ruffle. At least one mystery had been solved. Possibly more. Those were probably Amaya’s ice picks.

The shovel that had been at Graham’s shoulders swung low and the shaft whacked the back of his knees. He fell forward, landing hard on his knees. The same thing must have happened to Alexander, because he too fell with a startled cry. Graham remembered this, knew what would come next. Now that he was at the goblins’ level, they’d pull out the rope, bind his hands behind him, and march him away for stars knew what purpose.

But the goblins were chittering amongst themselves in their scratchy language, and there was a general movement of bodies and weapons as something new approached. Something hard clamped down on Graham’s shoulder, on his arm, as tight as a manacle and absolutely freezing. He looked up, startled, and Royal Guard Number One stood above him, entirely utterly horribly frozen through like Graham’s frozen arm, his icy cold hand grip—no, wait, not Number One. The mannerisms were wrong, the uniform just a touch off kilter.

Sculpture.

A living sculpture.

Who would possibly want ice guards to look like his Daventry ones? Well, everyone, honestly, Graham thought with a vague touch of glowing pride. No1 had trained the very best. It wasn’t surprising at all that someone would imitate that glorious Crimson Colada uniform for their own regiment. Even if this example of it was a little...abstract and malformed.

Which, he slowly realized, meant that whoever lived in this castle knew Daventry. Or at least had seen his royal guards before, knew of their uniforms. But who? How? Why?

What else did this ice castle have? If a yeti had walked around the corner walking a herd of wedzels on leashes, Graham would have thought it much more sensible. What next? Sentient scarves? Talking cats?

The goblins looked annoyed, like they’d lost something fun they’d been looking forward to playing with, shuffling back with fingers drumming on shovels and picks. Multiple ice guards hauled Graham and Alexander back to their feet, their hands digging like claws into the captives' shoulders. No need for further restraint, not with these things holding them.

The ice guards barked something at the goblins, and they skittered and scattered, rushing back to work. Their language was odd, brittle, and...backward? It somehow seemed reversed. But the goblins had understood well enough, and were back with their shovels, frantically scraping huge piles of snow into the furnaces, in seconds. As the ice guard harried and hustled the two royals through the room, past the bustle of workers, the king watched the furnaces. He was thinking of blizzards, of clouds heavy with snow, of a center to the storm that appeared to be coming from a single point. Number One may have been right after all.

Another ice guard, apparently there to watch over the goblins and prevent laziness, snapped something, and the goblins scurried to work faster. The last thing Graham saw was the forward-curl goblin straining under a very heavy load of snow, whimpering something unhappily. And then Graham and Alexander were dragged out of the furnace room and propelled along corridors and stairs, past alcoves and curtains and cheerless rooms, heading up, up, up, toward the center of the castle and the tower that loomed over everything.

[wordynerdygurl]

Lady In Waiting

Author Note:  Hiya everyone!  This one, man, I’ve thought about this for a long time!  I hope it entertains and delights you all!   Summary:  Loki calls you over for some fun with cuffs but an interruption leaves you a Lady In Waiting!

Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  So, SMUT.  Art House, Prose-y, SMUT... also restraints, in a committed relationship.

“Come over.  I need you.”

That was all it took for you to get yourself across town as quickly as your worn out canvas sneakers could carry you. Knocking on his door, breathless and heart racing, you bite into your bottom lip.  Already excited, you rocked on your heels, a bubble of giddiness rising inside you.

Hearing the locks turn, you’re expecting the door to open for you, Loki waiting on the other side but that doesn't happen.  Tentatively, twisting the knob, you push into the dimly lit room where your lover hides.  He is definitely here, you think in the clear moment before Loki’s hands find your shoulders, driving you into the solid wood of his front door.

Stopping his lips is not an option.  Cupping your chin, he has tipped your mouth into the perfect position, allowing him unchecked access to your soft, sweet mouth.  You’d moan, but Loki would just swallow it whole, so the sound you do make is a choked gasp of longing. His tongue is inside you, flicking over your teeth.  His tongue rubs against your own, tasting what you taste of.  

His tongue caresses your inner cheek, slick on slick, slipping further into the deep well of you.

His tongue traces the roof of your mouth, riding the ridges there, as if to conquer all of the flavors and words and songs that might be made in your carnal cave. Pulling away, dewy pink pout in place, “I came as soon as I could.” “It’s much appreciated.” Fingers grab his tight shoulders, enjoying the unbearable nearness of him, unwilling to break your embrace even if the kiss must end.  Searching his eyes for answers, “What’s your rush?” It’s innocent enough a question.  Loki’s call had sounded almost panicked.  But you knew nothing truly scared your God of Mischief.  No, there was something else at work here.   “I told you.  I need you.”  Pressing his hardening length against your belly, you could feel the agitation in him, the straight up desire that drove him to dial you up.  Still at the entryway, you flexed your hands, releasing your grip on him with great effort.  

But Loki didn’t yield an inch to you.  If anything he stepped closer, pinning you with his rigid body and his scorching gaze.  With a heaving sigh, “Loki…” “Go to the bedroom.  Take off these ridiculous pants… your silly sneakers… your stupid socks.”  

On you again, mumbling into your neck, mouth intent on marking you, “Kneel on the bed.  You know how I like to see you.  Feet tucked under you, head bowed, back straight… but with your knees spread, dove.  Wide open for only me to see.  Will you do this for me?” What could you say?  No?  Hardly.  

Loki pushed away from you then, leaving you behind as he moved further into his lair, his directions leaving your knees weak.  Inhaling a steadying breath, you moved quickly, struggling for calm.  Pulse racing, you throw your bag down with a thump once you're in Loki's room.  

Wasting no time, you shuck your clothes, heart pounding with anticipation.  You scramble onto the inky sheets, flushed with want, goosebumps breaking across your hypersensitive skin.  It seems like hours, but truthfully, in seconds you were waiting as requested, panting with pent up passion. 

You weren't left waiting long. Leaning into the door frame, Loki was without his shirt, a sight that made you writhe.  Black jeans, faded at the knee from wear, were unsnapped but hanging onto his hips in a way that made you salivate.  He was also barefoot, which probably shouldn’t be so sexy on a man like yours, but damn him… even his toes had the ability to excite.

And they did, actually, all of it did.  You couldn't recall a time when you had been so, so ready.  If Loki didn't touch you soon, you were certain your body would self ignite. “Put your hands behind your back, little one.”  Doling out commands in his honey hot voice had you complying without complaint. Forcing your chest out, bountiful bust barely contained by your flannel shirt, you felt the buttons tug tightly in your new position.  Lust lingered in Loki’s eyes at your shameless display.  “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, darling.  So much fun.” Deep down, you knew that the cuffs were coming out.  He wouldn’t have been so specific with his directions otherwise.  Still, when the cool steel snapped closed, trapping your wrists behind you, you keened softly, “Is this really necessary?” “Definitely.  Because, you see, you look so damn fetching with your body bent in the way I want.”  Pulling down on the chain between your shackles, back bending to relieve the pressure, Loki asserted his dominion over you.  

Long fingers plucked your straining buttons open.  Greedy fingers circled your nipples, the coarse lace of your bra offering no protection from the fantastic friction Loki was creating.  His palms squeezed, rough, fingers finding a hold on each of your glorious globes.   Tugging the frilly cups down, your breasts now heavy and free, Loki lowers his full lips to your tender bud.  At first it’s a lick, tentative, soft.  Soon he is sucking, precious pain pulling you closer to his tightly sealed kiss, perfect teeth biting into the gentle flesh. “Oh fuck… oh fuck… Loki…”  Whines tumble out of you, unbidden, unrehearsed.  

“Hush, dearest.  If you can’t quiet down, I’ll have to make you.”  Folding your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding with understanding, you silently agree.  Returning to his work, Loki focused on your opposite breast with the same erotic enthusiasm. Since you can’t speak, you hum.  But then your humming grows in volume.  Soon you’re moaning, unable to do more than bounce your bottom, needing the fullness that Loki offers to bring you some level of satisfaction.  Feeling him over the flimsy fabric of your panties, head thrown back in delirious desire, you want Loki to push inside of you.  You’re desperate to have him stretch you, open you up for his own amusement.  That eagerness makes Loki chuckle darkly.   

His hands find your hips, dipping under the elastic waist of your underwear.  Expecting Loki's lingering touch, a whine slides out of you at the sound of shredding satin.  “No, please, Loki!  I’ll be quiet.  I promise!” “Ah, it’s a bit late for that, unfortunately.  Open up.”  Loki expects your complete submission, never doubting that you’ll do what he’s asked.  Reluctantly you part your lips.  Loki takes his time, thumb caressing your mouth, before setting the ruined garment on your tongue. Kissing along your jaw, Loki husks, “Now you’re wet cunt is ready for me.”  Your eyes roll at his lewd language, a wave of euphoria coasting through your throbbing cleft, your stuffed mouth unable to do more than mumble.   His wicked words are still hanging there, floating in the air around you both, when there’s a knock at his door.  Freezing in place, his hand on your spread thigh, Loki’s head cocks to one side as if unsure that he’s heard the beckoning.

"Loki?  Are you there?” “Thor.  Fuck.  He's early.”  Shocked, you watch Loki push himself off the bed, buttoning up his pants.  Words form but are blocked by the fancy cloth stunting your speech.  Grazing his lips over your forehead, “Don’t move, darling.  I’ll be back.” Anger replaces arousal.  Loki can tell by the look on your face that you’re more than pissed off at the interruption.  “I know.  Just be a good girl.  Be quiet.  Be still.  And I won’t show my brother how incredibly sexy you look bound and gagged in my bed.” With one last look at your livid figure, Loki shut his bedroom door, leaving you as he described.  Wet, willing and now, waiting. You can’t hear what they’re talking about, all you can make out is tones.  It sounds rather serious, but without context, who’s to say what brings Thor here, unannounced.  He must ask after you, because Loki’s voice rises just a bit in order to offer a vague, “She’s tied up at the moment.”  And you really could scream with frustration and fury.   Internally debating your options, you realized that they were few, and of poor quality.  You could risk rising, near naked with your hands locked behind you, but how would you open the door?  Grunting, you sit back on your heels, giving your sore knees a break.  How long would Thor stay? Shortly you heard Loki’s footsteps coming closer.  Suddenly alert, your reverie broke in a flash, focused solely on the door.  Blushing hot, you watched the knob turn and Loki, finally, was there. He didn’t come closer, rather, Loki pulled a clean shirt from a drawer.  Tipping into near panic, you started talking even though you knew it was pointless.  Sensing your anxiety, Loki brought your face to his, kissing your cheek.   “Thor is still here, not a sound, kitten.”  His voice is rough.  Coarse.  But it also sends shivers shooting through your system.

The bed dips as he sits beside you.  Loki parts your opened shirt, hands drawn to your satin skin, palms skating over your belly.  Shivering, you can't help tilting towards him.  If you weren't so tense with need maybe you could afford to be angry with Loki.  As it is, just being near him is enough to reignite your ardor.

Whispering softly, calming you between chaste kisses to your chin, cheeks, the bridge of your nose, Loki calls you darling, sweetness, dear. His hands never stop exploring your tethered form, relishing your responsive whines, enjoying your trusting helplessness.  Mirroring your posture, sitting up on his knees, Loki grabs one of the pillows from his headboard.

Still adrift in the attention he affords you, his changing tone of voice jars you, "I only have a minute, pet."  His hands, aggressive now, slap your thigh.  The intention is clear.  Spread 'em.

"My sweet little kitten, so greedy, so ready for me… I am unable to attend to all your needs just now.  Regrettably."  His voice is a ragged husk.  

Arousal evident as he scrunches the pillow, "Come on… up on your knees." 

Unsure of Loki's objective, you're surprised when he tucks the cozy rectangle between you and the mattress.  The foam, pressing against your swollen sex, provides friction but not the satisfying stretch your body craves.  Using only your mumbled mewls as confirmation to continue, toying with you, Loki circles your hypersensitive clitoris.  Your hips jerk, surprised spasms sending you into the softness Loki has stuffed underneath you.

"That's it… keep going.  Gods, you are so beautiful."  His praise speeds up in time with your climbing desire.  Gasping behind your gag, once more on the edge of ecstasy, your thighs tremble around the cushion cradling your center.  Between Loki's dancing digit and the unlikely excitement caused by riding the downy pillow, you're seconds away from succumbing to a glorious finale.

And as fast as he began, Loki withdraws, leaving you drenched in unquenchable need.  Crying in frustration, muffled and desperate, your body is beyond the limits of begging.  At the moment Loki could ask anything of you and he would have your complete cooperation, if it meant that you could clench around his hard length.

Standing, those long legs carry him to the bureau.  Rustling around, Loki finds what he needs and faces you with a devious grin.  Crossing the floor in two strides, looming over you now, your tear streaked face lifts toward the man you love.  His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your back to bow, pushing your pelvis forward.

A familiar buzz fills the room.  He gives you no further warning.  One second you're open, ripe and ready.  The next you are overfilled, grateful for the gag muffling your cry, squeezing the toy stuffing your center.

“Loki?  Are you ready?”  Thor’s voice boomed from the other room breaking through the cloud of your nearing climax. “Nearly there, brother!  Give me just another minute!’  Turning his bright blue eyes to you, Loki flashed his finest smile, “He needs me to go with him.  I won’t be long… so you must cum.  Right now."

And it's the physically lethal combination of Loki's flashing glare, his wicked whispers, and false phallus that fight to free your feminine frenzy.  Humping his toy into you, the pillow giving you resistance, you feel the speculative shuddering start in your center.  Cresting in a wave of wonderment, your pleasure crashed over you, cries cut off by your full mouth.

Loki, holding onto you, cooing softly, caresses you through your release.  The toy stills inside of you, still filling, but no longer shaking against your tender walls.  Swiping the gag free, Loki forces a deep kiss on you, absorbing your aftershocks with his able mouth.  "That, my sweet, was worth every second."

Stretching your jaw, sighing softly, "Loki… undo these cuffs?"

Thoughtful for a moment, Loki looked over your flustered form, "I don't think I will.  I rather like having you here.  Knowing that you’re naked and needy, waiting for me.  Gods… I’ve been hard this entire time, dove.” Wasting no time, Loki picked up where he’d left you before, his hand finding your center as his tongue plundered you once more.  Slow, painfully slow, Loki dragged his fingers through your soaked slit, pressing the vibrator firmly into your velvet tunnel.  Soon, too soon, you were a mewling mess.  Sobbing softly into Loki’s ear, “Please… more, please.”

Shaking against him, body taunt, so ready to let go again, Loki’s fingers left you.  “I’ll be back in half an hour.”, his normally stoic voice streaked with desire. In a worried whisper, “What?  You’re really leaving me?”   “I am.  But once I get back, I’m going to ravage you soundly, so I need you to be ready.”

“Loki!  You can’t!”  It’s the loudest you can be while still whispering.  And it isn’t nearly forceful enough to change your troublemaking lover’s mind. “I can and I will.”  Walking around you, facing you full on, Loki stroked over your tummy.  Grabbing your bottom, fingers digging into your yielding flesh, you groaned.  “Oh yes, you’re staying right here, my pretty pet.” “Loki?  Are you ready yet?”  Thor sounded impatient, and more alarmingly, right outside the bedroom.  “Almost, dear brother.  Meet me downstairs, ok?” “Fine… but hurry up!  Jane’s expecting me!” “Oh, we don’t like to keep our ladies waiting, do we brother?”  Thor moves on, you hear his boots on the stairs.  Loki on the other hand, his look is sinful as he licks his lips, hungry for you.  Leaning into your ear, “I can smell you, kitten.  And I can hardly wait to have you.”  You lean into his strength, silently begging him to stop this game, hot skin abraded by his clothing.  “Please!  Don’t leave me hanging, Loki!” Laughing coldly, “Hanging?  Oh no.  You have so much to do, darling.  There are rules, you see…” Gritting your teeth, already on edge, you wanted to snap at your lover.  “Rules?  Loki, you’re really…”  But the rest of your words were lost as he manipulated the massager using some form of magic.  Arching away from him, your overstimulated body wanted to fly over the cliff into your next completion.   “Are you listening, love?  Because this is important.  You are not allowed to cum without me.”  

Rational thought was fleeting.  With every second of sensual overload Loki forced on you, all you knew for certain was that you worshiped the God in front of you, and because of this, your agreement was undeniable.  Nodding, voice useless, you let Loki kiss you again, his rhythm matching that of his tormenting toy.

"Do not cum, kitten. I will be back shortly."  Slapping your ass, Loki laughed at your shriek, shutting the door on you.  Could you hold out?  God, the thrumming vibrations were radiating through you.  Rocking your hips, fighting against the tide of your tension, your fragile nerves were rapidly fraying.  He had told you, commanded you, ordered you not to climax.   But how long would it take before your body broke Loki’s rule?  And just what would The God of Mischief do if you failed him?  Pulling against the steel bracelets holding your arms, snuggled into the cushion cradled against you, you laughed as a fresh release rolled over you.

You were going to be here awhile.  Loki was going to need a new pillow.  And paying him back was going to be so much fun.   

Tagging Team:  @just-random-obsessions​ @iamverity​ @brokenthelovely​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @archy3001​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @jamielea81​ @jessiejunebug​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​

[marvelousmawn]

10 songs by 10 different artists

tagged by @jiangchengstherapist !!

rules??? who knows!! i put my liked songs on shuffle and picked from there

ship to wreck - florence + the machine

twinkling lights - annalise emerick

house key - scott helman

some kind of disaster - all time low

glitter & gold - barns courtney

well this is shit - thomas benjamin wild esq.

higher - bishop briggs

helpless - the regrettes

boom, boom, boom, boom!! - cullen vance

decide to be happy - misterwives

a fun list here i gotta say!

tagging: @thevastnessof @limabeancafe @bayalexison @dickwheelie

[cheswirls]

[ i rly wanted to write smth for them that was short n quick n then i thought ‘oh bt what abt this small supporting cast’ and then it grew a lil but its still a short oneshot tho longer than intended.. anyway, heres kurosemi. no knowledge of to aru is necessary for comprehension. ]

“this plant smells good.”

semi knows exactly what plant kuroo is referring to, because it’s the only semblance of one in the quad. “what? that plant is fake.”

“oh?” kuroo pauses, bending down to sniff again, semi doesn’t know. “did you spray it with something or . . ?”

he stops writing when his hand jerks, a stray line of red ink stretching two centimeters farther than it should. his head snaps up away from the offending mistake so he can direct his anger in a glare at his research par- affiliate. “stop joking around!”

kuroo’s expression properly adjusts. the slant on his eyebrows is heavy -they’ve become so straight it would be possible to balance small objects on them. semi’s not entirely sure where the analogy comes from, or why he thinks it’s appropriate to the situation, but he doesn’t bother to take it back, even if he’s the only one hearing it.

anyway. kuroo deadpans. complete with a deep frown. he reaches a hand up to pluck one of the daisy’s petals, and it comes off easy, much to semi’s utter shock. “this,” he says, with as little inflection as possible, “is not plastic.”

•

semi devolves into panic, but it’s the first time kuroo has seen the plant, so a bit of explanation is necessary to garner any sympathy. unable to concentrate on anything else, semi moves the thick notebook he’s been scribbling in for the better part of an hour until it falls on the floor, half-buries his face into his ink-stained hands, and starts rambling just loudly and just coherently enough for kuroo to understand.

semi is a workaholic. his one-track mind is on his research. he can’t take care of anything but himself, and barely manages that at times. he’d acquired the house plant as a gag gift, because he couldn’t kill something that was fake. and, true to form, he’d had the daisies for five months without lifting a finger to their care.

five months.

but they were alive.

they were alive in perfect condition.

understandably, after hearing all this, he garners kuroo’s sympathy.

kuroo panics.

•

kuroo tetsurou is born in tokyo. academy city piques his interest, but he can’t see himself being a test subject. he works hard at school, and works hard at university, and only then does he apply for a graduate school inside the walls. purely for research. he is in no way a subject, nor does he desire to be.

semi eita is born in the northern tohoku region. academy city was constructed in the capital of the country before he was born. his interest was fleeting, but a chance encounter his third semester in undergrad changes that. he applies for a research position inside the special ward and is granted the transfer his fifth semester of undergrad. he is not interested in subjecting himself to strange drugs or practices, or in trying to raise his level at all. he’s not an esper.

and yet, somehow, he’s kept a small houseplant alive for five months with absolutely no conscious care. he thought it was fake, for crying out loud. the thing was only good for looking at, and that was only on particularly bad days.

semi eita is stressed.

•

“of course they found out,” kuroo grumbles, looking up to cast daichi a particularly scathing gaze. he reaches across the counter to wrestle the espresso from daichi’s fingers and downs the shot in one go. (the wrestling is not necessary, nor is it true; daichi had been handing him the shot to begin with; he simply took it with a minimum amount of nervous fumbling.) “i haven’t seen him all week.”

daichi retrieves the shot glass and holds on to it, reluctant to refill it. again. “won’t that hold up your research?”

“it already is,” kuroo admits. “not like it matters; not like they care. semi’s an important specimen. they’ll do what they want.”

“and what he wants?”

kuroo casts him another dull look and makes grabby-hands at the shot glass daichi has regrettably refilled. again. he passes it off.

“doesn’t matter much anymore,” kuroo mutters, chucking his shot right after. the words aren’t necessary to say aloud, and yet he does anyway, so daichi figures he must feel a particular sort of way about the whole thing.

•

“i don’t think it’s that bad,” yachi tells him, a couple weeks later. “sure, it can be intense, but it’s a lot of fun, too!” she smiles, sunny, as if contrasting kuroo’s deep-seated scowl. 

but here was the thing about yachi hitoka. she had been here the longest out of any of kuroo’s friends. she went to middle school here. she was level two. her esper powers were, to an average person, out-of-this-world impressive.

here was the thing about yachi hitoka. she’d grown up here. she was a success. she wanted it.

(kuroo thinks about semi, coming home to kuroo’s place instead of his own, eyes rimmed with red and hands shaking and teeth chattering, unable to fathom being alone in the dark and alone in his own thoughts and alone with all the shadows that could morph around him and alone to dwell in the negative emotions and painful memories and dreaded terrors of what was next, next, next-

semi, alone with the daisies to watch him from the corner.)

semi had kept a plant he thought was not real from dying, somehow. being an esper was not a dream of his. developing esper powers was not a desire. subjecting himself to what the city deemed necessary was in no way part of his plan when he showed up several years prior.

yachi hitoka started the power development curriculum at eleven.

semi eita was forced into it at twenty-four.

semi had kept a plant alive; some nights kuroo wished he had never mentioned it.

•

nine knocks come at rapid succession on his front door. kuroo knows this, climbing the stairs to said door, because only one person knocked like that these days.

also, because he had stopped near the top step to watch semi do it, surprised to see him there before kuroo himself, surprised at a lot of things and not surprised at all, all at once

semi is barefoot. today, he’s not breathing in odd intervals. his natural hair is more pronounced at the roots than the last time kuroo had seen him. he appears to be clean-shaven, unlike the last time kuroo had seen him. his eyes are wild, when he finally catches sight of kuroo behind him; his eyes fade to calm, when he finally catches sight of kuroo behind him.

he steps forward, bare feet loud on the floor, and kuroo has him wrapped in a hug before he’s even made it the rest of the way up the stairs. 

(he marvels at how, for just a brief moment, they stand at equal height)

semi never wants to talk about it. kuroo isn’t a therapist, and on some level, doesn’t think he can handle it. doesn’t think he can withstand the boy he loves breaking apart in front of him.

but sometimes semi writes. just as a release for his thoughts. to keep from having them pent up. and it helps, he tells kuroo.

sometimes kuroo reads them. sometimes, even rarer, he’ll read them all the way through.

it’s more of the same, usually. needles and strange drugs and pain pain pain that they insist will fade. electrodes and wires and brain experiments and nerve tests and practical experiments and live tests and plants and small animals and human cells and

semi collapses into kuroo and cries pathetic tears for someone suffering so much. kuroo feels helpless. all he can do is pull the boy he’s in love with close and whisper in his ear things he thinks are comforting. all he can think is that he has to be brave, for them both.

there’s not a name or classification for eita’s esper power.

eita. kuroo pauses on that thought. ah, i see.

kuroo runs his callused fingers through eita’s two-toned, choppy hair. he skims over fresh raises in the skin, tries not to tread too close to skull anymore. eita stiffens but relaxes quicker, burying his face more firmly in kuroo’s chest.

kuroo gets brave, bending close.

“eita,” he whispers. “you’re safe here. no one is taking you from me. you don’t have to grip so tight.”

eita’s grip grows slack, then tightens over the course of kuroo’s words, then releases entirely. he lifts his head, eyes huge and wet and fixed on kuroo and kuroo alone.

“eita,” kuroo says again, raising a hand to cup his face, run a thumb under dried tear tracks. 

eita bends closer, sucks in a breath, releases it against kuroo’s lips.

kuroo acquiesces.

•

“this is a dream,” semi mutters, glancing up from the results again. across the way, kuroo lifts his face from the microscope.

“this is dull.”

semi scoffs. “i meant overall. being here. doing this.” with you, he doesn’t say. “being here,” he says again.

“you’re running out of words.”

“hey.”

kuroo looks up again. semi has that look. the one that makes kuroo want to draw him close, call him ei-

“come over tonight. you haven’t seen my new place yet.”

kuroo hums, pretending to think it over. “got anything exciting?”

“no.” semi snorts. “i’m here all the time. no use in exciting. you’ll be the best thing there.”

the turn of phrase does something to kuroo’s heart that has him agreeing.

• 

kuroo has never called eita eita. 

kuroo is an only child. the one other person he’s ever addressed by their first name is daichi. semi eita is semi eita. research partner. assistant. what have you.

but it brings eita comfort, in a world of suffering, to be called such.

so kuroo calls him eita, and some days he lies and says it will all go back to normal. some days he believes himself when he says everything will be okay.

the daisies sit, unblemished. fresh. alive and well.

eita festers in kuroo’s arms.

•

semi nudges him on the way there. “actually, i have a couple decorations. housewarming things. flowers.”

“oh! that does sound interesting.”

“don’t get your hopes up. it’s all plastic.”

•

one day, eita’s esper ability gets a name:

repair.

kuroo laughs. what irony.

eita laughs, and bends close to suggest a synonym.

kuroo near chokes when he says tetsurou so easily.

[itzagothamcitysiren]

Welcome to the Family

Before I forget or get to tired to open my laptop after work, as promised here’s the second chapter I said I’d post today lol. This chapter was a little challenging to write but actually fun in a sad way. I hope I did okay with it and that you all like it!

Love Is a Burning Thing and It Makes a Fiery Ring pt.3

            Jason Todd was all too familiar with feeling like he screwed up. He couldn’t hammer it in any other way. He knew he took action without thinking the action through. It was his weakness, he laughed to himself. The Robin knew he shouldn’t be laughing, feeling the sting in his right cheek burning something fierce at the movement but he could feel the karma behind his actions finally catching up to him.

           His head hung low, thinking back to mere hours ago when his body wasn’t hung up and in pain and he actually felt pleasure.  Or even just back mere hours ago when he was the one dishing out the pain instead. Back when it didn’t feel so real like it did in this moment. Back when it felt like a playful game.  

           “Six!” Robin had huffed out, his foot retracting from the Joker goon he had taken down. He twirled around, round house kicking another, smirking as he did so. As the steel toed boot met with the goon’s face, Jason counted off again, “Seven!”

           “You’re still behind!” Nightshade chimed in, her own grin gracing her lips as she pushed further through the groaning bodies left in her wake.

           He watched from the corner of his eyes as she slide past him, knocking down two more along the way. She tossed out small chrome balls as she skidded to a halt, letting them roll in between another set that stood in between them. In a second she was clicking the flashing red button of a device pulled out from her belt, activating the little bombs.

           They exploded, emitting out a smoke. The smoke trailed up and into the nostrils of the clowns, efficiently knocking them out. Jumping up from her crouched position on the floor, she placed her hands on her hips as the room was now clear.

           “Eleven.” She boasted.  

           The mission was supposed to be as simple as that, Jason thought. They were too keep Joker’s goons distracted and down while Batman went after the Joker himself. They should’ve known that it wouldn’t play out that way though. Nothing ever played out easily in their line of work and Jason cursed that they thought this would be any different; especially when dealing with the Clown Prince of Crime.

           The clowns laughter rang through Jason’s ears as he instinctively jerked against his restraints. He shouldn’t have taken a break from trying to free himself of the tight rope that kept him dangling over the floor. Even with his eyes covered, he knew he was in danger and knew he needed to keep trying to escape. He had no doubt Batman was on his way to get him but he also didn’t want to be caught being completely helpless; Bruce would surely chew him out later for this.

           “Let’s go,” Robin had said once they finished securing the henchman, tying them up to the pillars in the open warehouse room.

           “Batman said to wait here for his signal.” Nightshade reminded, shooting him a glance as she looked around the room.

           She usually would hear her boyfriend out but she didn’t want to chance this getting messy by doing so. Joker had been making appearances in Bosnia of all places.  He was bombing banks and terrorizing the city. Nightshade knew how determined Batman was in preventing the Joker from spreading his madness outside of Gotham and she agreed so she was going to follow orders.

           Jason still remembered her sour face when he insisted they go help Batman take down Joker and how he wished he hadn’t pushed it. Her gasps for air was still fresh in his mind, replaying over and over, even after hours of them being silenced. He could still hear it over his own grunts and yells as he was again meet with hit after hit.  The pain didn’t cease even after the onslaught stopped, even if it was just momentarily.

           She had dropped down to her knees after the room was suddenly filled with green smoke; it was Joker’s own venom of laughing gas. Robin’s eyes widened, trying to hold his breathe and reach her but it was too late. He was dropped down to his own knees and hacking up his own lung as well. They both felt strange as the smoke entered their systems nulling their ability to fight back. They both felt light but also heavy. And was the room getting hotter?

           As the sensation continued they found themselves laughing for no particular reason. There was nothing funny about the situation as both desperately tried to catch their breaths and reach the other for help.  Nightshade felt her eyes water as she found herself unable to stop, shakenly snaking a hand up to cover her mouth and suppress the giggles as much as she could.

           The Joker appeared next, smirking down at the two sidekicks. He had explained how he could only carry one of them and it was up to them to choose. And of course Jason offered himself up, he wasn’t going to just let him take Halley away from him. Even now, as his body screamed at him for playing hero, he didn’t regret it.  

           The image of her horrified face and twisted smile was still burnt into his mind as the Joker lifted him up and started taking him away from her. He knew he couldn’t have looked any better, having laughed just as hard as she had. They laughed themselves into a lull, eventually the lack of oxygen knocking them out cold only to be woken up in a sweaty haze as they were separated.

           He was relieved when he found her nowhere in sight when he came too. A greater part of him was surprised that the Joker kept his word and really only took Jason. Though, he was still waiting for him to pop out with Halley with him. He tried not to think about that though, hoping that Bruce found her before the gas truly got to her and that Bruce was now on his way to him.

           He was blind folded but not wanting to waiting around from Bruce, still tried to get some sort of insight on his surroundings, even with his feet barely able to touch the floor and his hands tied up above his head. He knew they hadn’t left Bosnia yet, feeling the cold from the snowy outdoors from inside whatever building he was in.

           The first time he heard that he wasn’t alone he angrily kicked out as he heard a door slam shut and footsteps headed his way. He swore, cursed and spat threats but was silenced himself the moment the beating began. The only thing that came out of his mouth were grunts as he heard the Joker cackle as he beat him senseless with what Jason could only assume was a crowbar.

           That had been while ago, The Joker giving up for what felt like hours but then minutes once it began again. He braced himself this time as the footsteps got closer, waiting for the pain to intensify. It did but not in the way he expected. The bright lights in the room hurt his eyes as the sack was ripped from his head. His sight was given back and he partially wished it wasn’t or that he was a least still hallucinating from the Joker venom.

           Jason felt sick as now Joker began to taunt him. He teased him about how easily he gave himself up. He teased him for being so weak and showing just how fragile robins were without a flying rodent to come swooping in to save them. But what really made him snap was when he started to bring in the one person he shouldn’t have into it. The moment the Joker started proclaiming all the vile and despicable he’d done if it was Halley that he had taken was the moment Jason found himself finding his voice again, regrettably.

           “Fuck you!” Jason spat, spitting his own blood up at the man. “Don’t you fuckin’ think about putting one of your pasty ass hands on her!”

           “Tt, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Joker’s face fell blank, wiping the blood from his cheek. He found himself pulling the edges of his lip up into a smirk.

           He pulled out a small dagger, freeing the boy with it by cutting him down from his hanging position, still keeping his hands bound but letting him drop to the floor in a heap. Jason grunted as he hit the concrete floor, glaring up at the Joker who was now pointing the knife teasingly at him, waving it about as he spoke,

            “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how close you two are; gallivanting throughout Gotham at night when you’re supposed to be working. You may be able to pull one over old’ Batsy but you can’t pull one over your Uncle J now.” The Joker clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, putting the knife away and reaching down to the floor where he had previously left the crowbar he used on the boy prier.

           Jason couldn’t tell you how long he’d been in the care of the Joker, but it hadn’t kicked in as quickly as they should have about keeping his mouth shut. Jason knew he should’ve shut his mouth hours ago, knowing that he was practically asking for it now. He’d bit through pain as long as the Joker’s attention was on him and not talking about her. He took it, taunting him with “is that the best you can do” and “I’ve had worse”.

           He kept it up until he physically couldn’t anymore, his voice loosing itself and his body unable to hide how much damage he took any longer. After one particular hit with the crowbar, his already weak state looked weaker, jerking forward to try and get away. Jason couldn’t hold back the cough, feeling his just how dry his throat was.

           “Wow, that one looked like it really hurt,” the Joker looked down at him, grimacing.

           Even with saying that, he didn’t stop, bringing the crowbar down again and again until he eventually reached down and threw him to the side, making him lay on his back now. The corners of his lips twisting upwards some more as he gently tapped the crowbar against the palm of his hand.

           “Whoa, hang on now, Boy Wonder that looked like it hurt a lot more; so let’s try and clear this up okay, pumpkin?” he smiled down at him. “What hurts more? A?” he hit the boy again, “Or B?” and again.

           Jason tried to lay out some retort but the only thing that came out where a stumble of grunts and hoarse incomprehensible words. The Joker left out a laugh turning his head to look at him, mimicking his meager attempts at forming words. He stood up, fixing his suit jacket. He stood over Jason, relishing in the glare that the boy shot up at him. The boy clearly hadn’t learned his lesson as he spat blood out onto the Joker’s shoes.

           “Now that was just rude,” he said, his face looking offended but didn’t make a move to retort against him. “The first boy blunder had some manners. It’s clear you’re not interested in following in his footsteps.” Joker backed away, looking up at a clock on the wall and letting out a sound of disappointment.

           Jason had been so certain Bruce would come crashing in at that moment, just like the moments before, but it never came. Each moment passed by and there was still no sign of the cape crusader. His hopes turned into hopelessness and he started to feel his mind spiral into bitter thoughts about how he wasn’t coming; no one was coming for him and it scared the living hell out of him.

           “Okay kiddo, it’s time to go. I’ve got stuff to do; places to be and what not.” Joker’s voice brought him back out of his trance. He was putting on his coat, heading towards the exit. “We had a good time right?” He paused when Jason was unable to reply, finding amusement in it.

           “Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you. But you don’t have to pout about it; and don’t worry I’ll let your little girlfriend know you love her and all that junk.” He said as the door to the outside was now open. “Be a good boy for me now and please tell the big man I said hello,” He finished, laughing manically as he closed the door, cutting off Jason from the outside again.

           Jason’s heart nearly beat out of his chest as he was now left alone. A million different thoughts raced through his head but he couldn’t stop to pin point them all besides one. He had to get out of there. He had to escape. He had to call Batman or Dick or even Alfred. Groaning with newfound determination, knowing that no matter how much he wished and still hoped Bruce would come for him, he knew he couldn’t just sit around any longer.

           He forced his body to flip over, allowing him to be able to force himself to stand even if just for a moment. He staggered from side to side, until he ultimately tumbled back to the ground. He tried to stand again but a pain shot through his leg and found himself now instead crawling to the exit. Inch by inch, he pulled himself further the door seeming to get no closer until after what felt like forever he finally reached it.

           Bruce is coming. Bruce is coming. He repeated to himself.

           Reaching up to the door handle he grasped it tightly, turning it to side to side, letting out a louder grunt as it wouldn’t budge. He tried until his muscles screamed at him to stop stretching his arms upwards. He wouldn’t give up. Bruce is coming, he kept trying to convince himself as he plopped down and sat against the door. Holding onto his side he tried to labor his breathing and think of a way out.

           Once his breathing was calmed as much as it could be, he let out a sigh, letting his head hit the back of the door gently to rest it. Closing his eyes for a moment, het let himself try and settle his still beating heart. He could hear it. Thumping and thumping. Thumping and- beeping? Opening his eyes he let his gaze shift with wide eyes towards where the sound had been coming from. His stomach dropped and bile could be felt building at the bottom of his throat.

           Taunting him off to the side of the room was a timer, resting atop a couple of crates; it counted down,

           0:09

           0:08    

           0:07

           It wasn’t real, the thought quickly crept through Jason’s head.

           0:05

           0:04

           But he knew it was real. It was a clear as day what was about to happen. This wasn’t just some elaborate joke being played on him. He knew it was real as Bruce not coming for him.

           0:03

           0:02    

           0:01

           0:00

[imagine-loki]

The Slutty Web One Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 7 of 10?

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Astrid apologized, agreed to everything and Thor lead them to a location to hide their vehicle.

"Loki will be pleased to know your helping."

"I should have thought to from the start." She regrettably admitted.

Frigga hugged him. "Thank you for agreeing to take her back should this fail." ***** For eight days, their plan worked until her Father paid the palace an unexpected visit.

Odin was in the front courtyard boasting to some Einherjar about beating an Embassador at charades, when their commander, Nedvar, interrupted. "Ignoramus at twelve o'clock, Sire."

The King groaned. "Splendid. It's Rodderick the dipshit."

"Give the word and we'll pitch him over the wall."

"Tempting, but what do I tell my daughter in law?" Odin hated the occasionally unkempt Lord who preferred perfuming to bathing and greeted him from behind a hedge. "Welcome Roddy. I look so forward to your unscheduled visits."

The disdain was mutual with Roddy feeling Astrid could've done better than wed whom he considered a criminal, Prince or not. "Greetings, Heiness. Might you be so kind as to share the knowledge of when your son intends to return?"

Astrid's parents had two daughters, her being the youngest and known to the Royals as her Father's least favorite.

"That depends on whom you miss more. Asgards lovely Duchess, or my son? Her beloved pardoned Prince. I can give either a message."

"Miss? Impossible as Astrid's practically taken up residence again. Should I relay you wish she ceased luring her Mother from bed crying, or send her home to disturb your sleep?"

"I wasn't aware she'd returned from Midgard. Has age required you hearing aids, or were you night prowling in hopes of accessing Ingrid's locked bedchambers again?"

Roddy frowned and crassly replied. "The lovely Duchess returned with Frigga. Is your wife telling lies, Allfather? Mine would never."

Odin cackled. 'Festering dimwit. Ingrid is banging my valet.' "You shall regard Frigga as 'Queen' and with utmost respect."

"My apologies. She is celestial, yet your defensiveness is revealing."

Roddy liked poking subtle jabs at the Royals and assumed Astrid a barrier to consequence. Most were directed at Loki and the King, but he'd worn Odin's patience too thin. "Insult anyone in my family again, including your daughter and face repercussions. Be gone, Rodderick."

"So soon?"

Odin's jaw clenched. "Leave egghead before I crack it on the pavement. Nedvar, escort him to the gate."

"Gladly, Sire."

Roddy followed, hardly perturbed. "One might expect the offering of a beverage after a stuffy carriage ride."

The commander jolted the gate closed. "Try opening a window Lord Heskin. If you're thirsty, there's a pub nearby rumored to host naked wrestling in the basement. Some days it's ladies, others gents. Enjoy."

When Odin entered their chambers bellowing to the Allmother, her lady in waiting sent word through a chain of servants to a handsomely paid Stableman. Familiar with an alternate route to Astrid's parents, he arrived ahead of Roddy and rushed her to the observatory.

Thor received her call and left immediately. 'Shite, brother. Where art thou?' ***** Following two days in Paris, Loki and Brianna cruised Lake Laguno in Switzerlandand. She questioned him about Asgard and her grandparents, yet when asking the circumstances behind his adoption, Loki spun a tale of half truth.

"Jotunheim had a King named Laufey who owned a magical cube that opened bridges to every realm. Long ago, he used it to attack Earth. Grandfather bravely defended your realm, forced his army back to Jotunheim and demanded he relinquish the cube. Laufey refused and continued attacking Asgards army until most of his people died. Grandfather found me alone amidst the rubble and decided to adopt me."

"You didn't tell him who your parents were?"

"I was an infant and the only survivor for miles."

"Where was Laufey?"

"He'd gone into hiding like a scaredy cat."

Instead of finding his comment amusing, anger washed over Brianna. "He abandoned a helpless baby to freeze? Introduce us and I'll use him as target practice."

Loki booped her nose. "I'm honored you wish to avenge me, but Laufey died and still suffers in the afterlife."

"How?"

"King scaredy cat will never have the privilege of meeting you."

Brianna smiled. "Or you. Was Grandfather hurt?"

"He lost an eye, but recovered nicely."

In Amsterdam, they visited the Artis zoo with over 900 species of little animals, an aquarium, planetarium and Zoological Museum. Further confirmation Brianna's his was how quickly she learned enormous amounts information and remembered the smallest details when later initiating a quiz. Since confessing to the burglaries, Loki was curious how she knew the homeowners were abroad and worked it into their conversation.

She replied like it was all in a day's work. "Dory accompanied me to different parks in fancy neighborhoods around Jersey, posing as my babysitter. Between eavesdropping on adults and questioning kids, it's amazing what you can learn inside a sandbox."

"Questions of what nature?"

"Like, 'I'm new to the neighborhood and love my big house. Where do you live?' Or, 'I'm going to visit my aunt Matilda's lavender farm to make soap.'"

"How was that helpful?"

"Most thought it dull and bragged of their families planning grander trips. Once attaining addresses and dates, I'd stake out their houses and proceed from there."

"Ah. With Dory as the lookout?"

"I left her in shelters or nearby motels. She never figured out how I managed, but by the third burglary, stopped worrying whenever I'd sneak away and send her a text." His eyes widened and Brianna rose a palm. "Dory lacked powers and I wouldn't risk her arrested because of me."

Why lecture when she'd acted out of desperation to find him? "You're a good friend, Og Min Lille."

"Thanks. I regret the stealing, but pranking the authorities was fun."

Loki thought it something innocent like tipping off their hats, but discovered her mischievousness paralleled her intelligence.

"I always struck at night and at one house, four police were investigating inside when I turned on the lights, flushed every toilet and set off their sirens. At the third, I poured a large olive oil path onto the kitchen floor, slammed a pantry door and watched two come running. One slid into it and fell, while the other amusingly contorted himself until the first tripped him. They sure swear a lot for the good guys."

"Brianna." He playfully scolded. "Say you did nothing worse."

"I'd be lying."

"Oh?"

"At the last house, the master bedroom had black drapes and life size models of a lion, wolf and a fang baring polar bear on its hind legs. Weird people. After aligning them near the door, I closed it, extinguished the lights and tripped the alarm. The police came, shone a flashlight inside and from the foyer, I made the bear roar."

Loki chuckled. "Did they scream?"

"And shot the bear."

"What?!" He led her someplace quiet. "From now on young lady, all pranks must meet my approval or…" While pondering means of discipline, he blurted what first came to mind. "...All shoulder and piggy back rides are discontinued."

He made both fun, thought Brianna. Bumping into things when her hands covered his eyes, then flipping her over his head for tickles. Or feigning valiant attempts at shaking her off to escape enslavement.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~ "Have mercy and release me!" He pleaded, captured during a picnic.

Brianna popped him on the head with her fake sword, a stick with a bushel of leaves at its tip. "Cease your begging, pheasant! I rule this realm, appoint you my new zombie slayer and hunter of all things chocolate. Fail and be fed to puppies!"

Loki set her down and knelt on one knee with a hand to his chest. "A frightful demise your majesty of cuteness. I humbly accept."

"Daddy, I'm supposed to be fierce."

"Eh he he he. Sorry." ~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Brianna deliberated his threat and wittingly proclaimed. "Are you not the God of Mischief and I your offspring?"

He arched a brow. 'Don't laugh or she'll never take you seriously.' "I mean it."

Brianna had already pulled some under his nose. A boy who'd aggressively budded before her at a park slide discovered his shoelaces tied together after nose diving into the sand. A woman at a restaurant who harshly berated a server had red wine spilled onto her Gucci bag. Minor sprinklings of karma she happily administered.

"But you're still a prankster."

"Rarely and without endangering anyone." 'Shite. I'll need to keep that fib under wraps.'

Brianna crossed fingers behind her back and feigned defeat. "O-kay. Can I have a snow cone now?" ***** After seeing the Northern lights in Norway, they'd returned to their hotel where she became oddly sombre.

"Has something upset you?" Loki asked.

"During our travels, I've seen many people with children. It's obvious they're loved, but my family..why, Daddy?"

Her pain pierced Loki's heart as she clung to him. "People can do terrible things for incomprehensible reasons, but you're my little girl now and I'm overjoyed you've come into my life."

When her tears ceased, she unexpectedly opened up about the women. Her first memory was of Jillian singing her to sleep at age three. She and Claudia taught her to talk, walk, bathe and dress herself, brought her toys, fictional and educational books. Yet it was Jillian who'd paid her the most attention, their visits consistently monitored by Hannah. A person so controlling and void of sentiment, Brianna wondered how the trio became friends. The woman opposed their closeness and the first time Brianna defended her Mother, she was forbidden upstairs without Hannah present, who ordered Claudia to report otherwise. This became impossible when the two landed full time jobs. With Jillian delegated homemaker, Hannah was forced to trust her. Over the past year, she'd broadened Brianna's computer knowledge, snuck her for walks to a hidden trail entrance off the main road she'd marked with glow in the dark tape, taught her outdoor safety and survival skills and always stressed keeping everything secret, especially Brianna's magic or Hannah would separate them for good.

"Jillian knew of your powers? Why have you never mentioned any of this?"

Brianna frowned. "She bread me to thicken her purse. No amount of secrets and added kindness makes that excusable or her worthy of commeding."

An undeniable fact Loki avoided arguing. His daughter was hurting and preaching Jillian might've experienced a change of heart could impede their relationship.

She halted his conflictual thoughts by bashfully asking. "Do 'you' love me?"

"Very much, Brianna."

"Can I stay with you forever? Please? I'll move to Asgard."

Loki doubted she comprehended the gravity of her words. "Forever doesn't mean a month long visit as we previously discussed. It involves permanently residing on another realm thousands of miles from Earth where the landscape, culture, even people's wardrobe's are entirely unfamiliar."

"I know. Devoid of space travel, would it be any different if I moved to India, Antarctica or say..Bhutan?"

"I suppose not. I'm sorry, Bhutan?"

"It's a small country just south of China. I memorized Earth's geography and most of its cultures in one month."

"Very good." 'Genius supreme. I must catch up.' "Then you're willing?"

She yawned, proudly raising her chin. "Affirmative. I'd like to see those sandbox dwellers top that adventure."

Incredibly relieved, Loki chuckled. "You've ten remaining seconds to gloat, sleepyhead. Ten..nine.….three, two, one."

"Hey, you said those last digits awfully fast."

"It's time for vampire pajamas, your fierce and Royal Highness."

"A story too? Will you conjure The Empty Grave by Jonathan Stroud?"

"The Empty 'what?'" He amusingly queried. "No way, Jose. I've chosen three options of popular children's literature from the internet. The Cat in the Hat, Whinnie the Pooh, a rather peculiar name for a bear and Charlotte's Web."

"Isn't the last tale about a spider?"

"Yes."

"They're creepy. I choose that one."

'Mother would be impressed.' "Hurry then before zombies find us and eat my brains!"

Brianna shouted from the bathroom. "Nobody hurts my Daddy! Huyya! Take that you fiendish barbarians! Uh oh."

Loki rushed in upon hearing glass crack and found her standing on the bathtub ledge. "What did you do?"

"I was pretending to fight them off with my hairbrush when it flew from my hand, struck that picture and landed in the toilet."

He laughed renewing both with magic. "Your toothbrush is safe, yes?"

Loki finally thought her asleep when she reached out for a hug.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I forgot to say I love you too. Goodnight."

His heart swelled twice its size. "Goodnight, Og Min Lille." ***** Next they ventured to London and a budding lover of history, Brianna asked to visit The British Museum. While viewing a dinosaur skeleton from an upper walkway, she pointed into the crowd below.

"Daddy, isn't that Tony?"

He took a gander. "Well, well. Iron Man it be."

"Who's the strange lady he's with?"

"Pepper, darling. She often wears wigs to avoid recognition."

Her eyes brightened. "Please, can we say hello?"

"Inconspicuously. I'll him send a text." Daddy concealed his phone. 'Greetings kinky crossdresser. What brings you to Londinium?'

'Loki???'

'Yes. Act casual, we're hiding.'

'Holy shit! We're on vacation and at the Savoy in the Royal Suite. Can you meet us there ASAP? It's important.'

'We're on the ninth floor. Rendezvous in an hour?'

'Ha! We'll be there with balls on!'

'Come again?'

'🤪 Bells, dammit! Bells!'

'😂 Brianna can't wait.'

Tony hurriedly guided Pepper through the crowd. "Excuse us..pardon us..excuse us."

"Where's the fire?" She whispered.

"Daddy Snowflake's in town. Hustle, Butch." ***** Their door opened and Brianna ran to him. "Uncle Cootyoodles!"

"Little Warrior! Am I happy to see you!"

The couple listened with enthusiasm about everywhere she'd been, then Tony asked to speak with Loki alone.

Virginia led her into their bedroom. "Wait 'till you see all the cool stuff I bought."

"That'll keep her busy." Said Stark. "Pepper's a London shopaholic. So why the vanishing act? Thor called me."

Loki scoffed. "I did tell him not to."

"Don't be angry. Astrid returned and wanted to contact me."

"Why? You knew nothing."

"She didn't believe him. Neither did your Mother and Thor worried they'd show up at the Tower."

"What?! Our Mother came to Midgard in search of me? Shit..shit!"

Stark told him everything and Loki's face was unreadable. "Nope. There's nothing weird about staring like I've grown a nipple on my face."

"Did I mention it's pierced? You're saying 'my' brother, Shakespeare in the park, lied that extensively for me?"

"Yes and sent them back to your Dad to expand on it. What's everyone's problem with an awesome six year old anyway? Is that why you didn't go home?"

"Becoming a parent, you're suddenly bombarded with complex decisions centered around one tiny person you never fathomed loving so deeply, much less an indisputable desire to protect above all else."

Stark smiled. "Look at you. The master of Sheisterism all growed up..whose dodged my question."

Loki sunk into a chair. "Maturity aside, my life is a mess. Asgards people still regard me a traitor, Astrid and I are constantly arguing and it's completely unfair of me to expect she Mother a child she didn't bare and Odin's my grandest worry for classified reasons I've become an insomniac over. I can't subject Brianna to that. Her life has been dreadful enough."

"Not anymore. She has you now. I endured shitloads of public and political outrage over changes to Stark Industries. 'Wealth aside', I thought it my doom. People adjust and opinions fade. Astrid will come around once they meet. Look at the number Little Warrior did on us."

"She 'is' irresistibly charming."

"Whatever gramps issue is, arrange for her a few rounds with the old coot. She'll straighten him out."

Loki smirked, picturing Brianna dancing circles around the Allfather. "My Mother would buy ring side seats."

"See? The bulk of your family is on your side. Let them help."

"As appealing as that sounds, Astrid will expect hours of explanation I haven't the energy to convey. I love her, but she 'is' a drama queen."

"Eligible for an academy award."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Piss off, flying human."

"Thor's willing to talk without the wifey knowing. I've a burner phone as you tend to appear in the strangest of places."

"Mm. Like when I ran into you in a sleazy massage parlor near Carnegie Hall?"

Loki was still a bachelor then, but Tony wasn't.

"I didn't know they offered sexual favors until the masseuse grabbed my dick. They weren't listed on the brochure."

"Eh he he he. I'll call when I've a chance."

They clammed up when Brianna exited the bedroom. "Can I go Daddy, please?"

Pepper followed. "Sorry. I blabbered the Tea shops chocolatiers add finishing touches to their masterpieces at this hour."

"You may." Said Loki.

Tony slipped Little Warrior fifty euros. "Buy me an eclaire and keep the change. Badass ate mine."

"Yay! Thank you!"

They left and Stark unpacked the phone. "Here's your chance while Brianna's absent. Text him, 'Garage?'" ***** Jane distracted Astrid while Thor sat in the cabin of his truck and the brothers soon cleared a lot between them.

"I'm not upset you deceived me anymore Loki, nor is Mother. Yet I'm worried Father's making her life miserable. Are you fearful he'll scorn Brianna?"

"Not up for discussion and relax, brother. You've been gone a while. Mother's gonads have grown."

"She's taking male hormones?"

"I meant she's less meek? Have you dropped the toaster in your bathwater?"

"That only happened once." Thor defensively replied. "I was late for a waxing of my package and hastening making breakfast. Nor have I recently smoked Jane's medical marijuana. She threatened torture were there not enough to ease her menstrual cramps again."

Loki deadpanned. "Norns you're a tit, fruit of Odin's loins.' "How's Astrid?"

"Coping. Jane said she'd do anything to see you again."

"Coping amidst stewing over my bedding of another 'Midgardian hoe' I've fathered a child with, and the humiliating circumstances involved."

"Believe me, brother, she too is no longer angry and the diaries contents stayed within Stark's walls. It isn't my story to tell."

"Your software needs reprogramming, impersonator. Thor Odinson was never so thoughtful of his sibling."

The blond laughed. "He's turning over a new leaf."

Loki had sought privacy in another room and suddenly heard Brianna desperately calling him. "I have to go. Don't tell Astrid we spoke yet." Upon opening the door, she threw herself at him.

"Daddy!"

"What happened?" He asked Pepper.

"We neared the shops door when she gasped, bolted for the elevator and started frantically pushing the button."

Brianna was trembling. "Darling, why are you frightened?"

"We can't stay here, Daddy! She's down there!"

"Who is?"

"Hannah!" She cried. "I'd know that red headed witch anywhere!"

"Shhhhh." He soothed. "I promised they cannot hurt you, remember? Stay here with..."

Brianna wrapped herself tighter around him. "No Daddy! Don't leave me!"

She was so distraught, he couldn't. "I won't, Min Lille. Shhhhh."

"Virginia's gone." Said Tony.

Loki's head shot up. "Back to the shop?"

"Yeah. Said the witch looked familiar and went on a hunt."

"Fuck! Get her back here!" Brianna jumped from Loki's voice. "Sorry Min Lille. Tony, now!"

"Erm..why?"

"Because they've met! If Pepper confronts her, she'll vanish!"

[imnottiredofgettingoveryou]

Professor!Rami AU

I am slowly but surely emerging from post-Robot catatonia and being sick, so here’s something short and filthy to help me break on through, to the other side of this writer’s block.

I'm like 200% sure this has been done before but I saw this gorgeous moodboard and got inspired, so here's my take on it. Also thanks to @sherlollydramoine for giving me a reason to post this!

Note: I intended for the reader to be in their senior year of undergrad in this. So like 21-22 years old.

Warnings: Smut, pls don't interact if under 18

"My advice to you is this..."

You could still remember your reaction that day - all of your senses suddenly piqued - the first time you had heard his voice.

Well, you and give-or-take thirty other people.

"... if you like movies - I mean really like them - don't study them. It will ruin them for you."

What a great sign, you thought. It's the first day and this guy is already discouraging us from taking his class.

"But if you're prepared to take a peek behind the curtain, and maybe become the annoying movie snob in your friend group, then you've come to the right place."

A voice like melted chocolate, and a bad sense of humor. Interesting combination.

You doubted the class would have much of an effect on you either way. You were filling out your schedule and checking all the boxes you needed to graduate, and Cinema 101 seemed like an easy enough elective to breeze through. Even if it was at 8AM.

To your surprise, you started to look forward to those early mornings spent listening to Professor Malek talk about movies to a mostly-uninterested room. But you happened to be very interested, and you made sure he noticed. Sometimes you would show up a few minutes early to discuss close-ups and cutaways alone with him before people started trickling in. And you were always a massive show-off in class.

"Well, obviously Kubrick is the most famous example when it comes to the one-point perspective," you proclaimed one day in as sultry a fashion as such a sentence could be said. You crossed your legs and pushed your chest out just a little bit more, secretly hoping to draw the good doctor's attention to one or the other. "But we all know Wes Anderson loves his symmetry too."

Professor Malek gave a slight nod of approval and - was he blushing? No, you had to be imagining it. "Yes, he certainly does. Good examples Y/N."

Your roommate had made fun of your outfit choice for the day - "Are you headed to class or a schoolgirl-themed Penthouse shoot?" but with the benefit of hindsight, it had been a good day to play up your strengths. Mr. Malek certainly had; you were so wrapped up in daydreaming about slowly unbuttoning his collared shirt and peeling  off his painted-on-tight dress pants, you almost forgot you had something of actual importance to tell him.

You approached him after class as the room started to empty, once more putting on ‘the voice’ just a little bit. "Excuse me, professor?"

He came to stand in front of you, and suddenly you were as physically close as you'd ever been to him, close enough to see the blue of his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw, his perfectly-styled curls begging to be fucked up...

"Oh please, it's Rami after ten."

Now it was your turn to blush. "Really?"

He smiled broadly at you, and you almost lost some of your composure. Almost. "Yeah, it's a privilege I reserve for my top performers. Don't tell anyone," he joked. "So how can I help you?"

"Well, I have to miss our next class. We're watching a movie that day, right? Is there anywhere I can watch it online or something?"

"What for? You could probably write the paper without even seeing it."

Flattery will get you everywhere, Rami.

"Actually, I just have a hard copy, so I'm not sure. But I was planning on showing the movie tonight for my office hours anyway. Can you be here at six?"

You definitely could. And you silently hoped no one else planned on taking advantage of this alternative screening.

As luck would have it, they didn't.

When you walked into his office, you left the door just slightly ajar, not enough to be able to see inside but certainly enough for some noise to filter out. It was an unspoken dare for him to close it all the way and make his intentions clear.

He didn't. Instead, he decided to make it your problem.

"You've gotta be quiet," he whispered, lips and teeth teasing your ear to see how well you could obey him. "Or else someone's gonna hear." You were sat on his desk with him standing between your legs, and he had just finished sucking hard on your neck, which had made you cry out loud enough to merit his response.

The sequence of events between you walking into his office and you being completely bared open to his hands and mouth was a blur. All at once, it seemed, your eyes had connected just right and then your lips had connected just right and then the tension between you gave way like butter under a hot knife.

And now here you were, mind and heart racing as his warm hands gripped your thighs and his lips trailed from your ear down your neck, then slowly mapped out your collarbones with his tongue and teeth. He could feel how tense you were with restraint, your fingers digging into his back as you struggled to stay quiet. His hold on your thighs tightened, and as he pulled you closer to him, you realized just how little his pants left to the imagination.

"Fuck, Rami." You wondered if your ragged breaths were as loud outside the door as they were from where you were sitting.

"Need something?" His eyes flicked over your face, coming to settle on your own. He maintained eye contact as he dragged his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, making his way toward your core achingly slow.

"You, Rami. I need you."

He groaned in appreciation, a barely-there rumble of his vocal chords that sent waves of arousal coursing through you. Rami cupped your jaw and kissed you, his mouth battling with his other hand for your  attention as it drifted up between your thighs. His tongue found yours as his fingers brushed over your clit, the barrier of your underwear regrettably still present. When you arched up into his touch, plainly begging for more, he finally reached under them and started to tease his way into your wet folds, finding your clit again with his thumb.

"Rami," you moaned into his mouth. "I want you."

"How can I be sure you'll be quiet if I give you all of me?" At this, he slipped one long finger inside you, following it with a second once he met no resistance. "You're barely holding back now."

"Fuck, Rami! Please?"

He flashed you an absolutely wicked smile before his mouth was back on yours, silencing your moans as he fucked you with his fingers and started to apply more pressure to your clit. You were completely knocked off your equilibrium and helpless against him, shocked at how quickly he was able to parse out exactly what you needed, how he was able to start pushing you toward the edge in earnest. When he felt your body start to tense, he pushed in deeper and curled his fingers, letting the heel of his palm grind against your clit. Your climax washed over you within moments of this treatment, and Rami never took his eyes off your face as he worked you through it.

You held onto him tightly as you came down and the world came back into focus around you. You realized you had probably been louder than intended, but you couldn't find it within you to care, or be ashamed.

Worth it.

"God!" You buried your face into his shoulder and giggled, the flood of endorphins having worn down the barrier between your brain and mouth a bit. "Why didn't you just fuck me?"

His shoulder shook a little as he quietly laughed at your bluntness. "Well, I had to give you a reason to come back some time."