#i hate metaphors but damn i do love it when something clicks

[ignisregina]

watching restoration videos and i realized marianne's approach to people is very much like her approach to restoring artworks. she doesn't seek to change the essence of the piece, despite her views on it, and just works on and with what's already there. her influence on it is barely detectable, only bringing out or enhancing what is already present as opposed to "fixing" it. it takes a certain level of control to not want to project your own style onto something, especially if you think yours is better. but she recognizes that the artworks she restores, and the people she meets, are not hers to "fix".

[bringmefoxgloves]

i am now actually sitting down and listening to the downward spiral in full tonight (surprising i haven't) cause i'm in a music mood. so witness my live track by track filled with a lot of imagery. that's just how my mind works. okay here we go:

damn. mr. self destruct already has my entire attention and has me by the throat. the electric guitar breakdown at the end...... just jfc that song feels like my heart is a misshapen record with scratches and it's being played with an icepick.

piggy makes me feel like i'm in the middle of the summer and walking through one of those massive drainage pipes until about minute two. and then a summer storm rolls in and i'm about to drown. and listening to trent reznor inhale in the play out is doing something to me.

heresy HOLY SHIT feels like i'm driving at night in a car that has a conversation in the front that you really want to hear but the bass boosted speakers against your back are rattling your teeth in your head so hard you can't hear anything but your bones clicking. but then you're in a car crash. also the lyrics are so wes-core i feel like this is just my brain draining out of my ears after said car crash.

march of the pigs is like you're playing a mario or sonic level from hell in the middle of a berlin nightclub while on a mixture of drugs that will have you raving for weeks. i fucking love it. the switch that feels as sudden as a tapedeck clicking on the lyrics of 'now doesn't it make you feel better?' with the piano.... if there is a way to make audio moments physical so i could fit them inside my mouth and chew? yes, that is one i would like to have.

closer.... need I say more. this is one i have heard before (you would have to be dead to not have heard closer) but now that it's in the atmosphere of the entirety of the downward spiral, it's only better. yes i want you to fuck me like an animal mr reznor. this lava lamp type of electric sound & marriage of bass is a physical presence and it is perhaps fucking me.

that transition into ruiner WAS CLEAN!!! i feel like i'm in the middle of a mosh pit that is somehow in like. idk dracula's castle. that entire section (you know the one in this) is indeed a dick metaphor. and then when the tortured guitar that sounds like it’s about to snap every one of its strings played by a resurrected jimi hendrix that really hates you in particular comes in it just is. so much. hearing the wetness of reznor's mouth as he breathes in and out is.... i shan't say.

oh WOW that cut off from ruiner to the becoming had me pausing and going wait. that's insane. anyways the becoming. teheheh i beat my machine. ALRIGHT ALRIGHT. i'm in the middle of the nightclub featured in the collection (2012). and i'm absolutely jamming to the screams while reznor's voice is carrying me by puppet strings. the switchup after the line 'but it's all clear' feels like i'm now on the floor slowly bleeding out, and then i'm being torn apart by dogs. goddamn this noise inside my head, indeed.

i do not wait this, but yes, yes, i really do want this. please keep speaking directly into my head yes. the music is scratching an itch i didn’t know i had. the entire last minute of the lyrics is #mood. hearing trent pronouncing 'fuck' in that way makes you think about the meaning of the word.

ooooo funky noise and drumbeat that has me immediately bouncing my leg. yessss big man with a gun. this is pure machismo and makes a gun the tool of sex. (meme voice) oh wow.

a warm place. just. is me floating facedown in a saltwater pool filled with water from the dead sea. i feel so cradled and light. glorious. completely immersed in this instrumental like few instrumentals ever make me.

eraser at the beginning makes me think i'm driving through some godforsaken part of the american west and the radio is on and the people in the car are making funny noises over the radio static. then that drum kicks in and the bass layers like i'm about to enter a boss battle. it's a cobra with those cartoon eyes that are swirls and it wants me to kiss it. then it all snaps apart for trent to swoop in riding a hurricane screaming: kill me.

reptile, the start has me thinking i'm back in the backroom of an empty grocery store trying to sneak away from a killer. the sudden smash in at the one minute mark is me hitting the ground. dead. the rest of the song i feel like i'm overhearing sex between an angel and a devil while i'm tied like a dog on the floor at the end of the bed.

the title track!!! the downward spiral at the start of it has me feeling like a fly buzzing against a broken glass window after escaping a dish of honey, too drunk to find my way out from the gap directly in front of me. once trent's voice comes in, with those screams in the background.... i feel like he's leaning into my ear and confessing to this in a darken movie theater watching a goresplattering flick.

and goddamn. hurt. i had heard the johnny cash cover of this before i ever heard this one, and then i listened to the original shortly after and it's the only other song i've heard before (closer was the other). but once again, with it in context of this album..... it feels like a baptism in wine you're not quite sure isn't just blood that trent reznor poured out for you from his own wrists. just. goddamn. godamn. it sounds like he has salvation right in his trembling hands and is asking you to take its heavy burden from him, please, but instead it’s a knife he guts you like a fish with, and you still say thank you.

conclusion: if i had heard this album in middle or high school i would have become a very different person i think. i might have burned down the catholic church i grew up in. i might have had sex even. that's how powerful and solid and sensual this album is. it has its reputation for a reason, and i can't believe i hadn't heard this album in full before this. but i have now. also robin finck i need your gender NOW

[jimilter]

little princess (m) | m.yg. | drabble

pairing: yoongi x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | humor | angst | fwb minus the friends!au

summary: In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive. 

warnings: emotional constipation, mean!reader, age-gap, explicit sexual content (dom!yoongi, sub!reader, dom-sub themes, oral (m), manhandling, unprotective penetrative sex, bondage, gagging), not a happy ending, unrequited feelings that are being denied left and right (’:

word count: 3.9 k

submission for the September Games hosted by House Yoonus.

❂ “Fall For Romance”          ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Dia @yoonia​ through @bangtansorciere​

⤐  AU Type: Salted Caramel Ice Cream - Unrequited Love AU ⤐  Themes: Forbidden Romance | Age Gap ⤐  Kinks: Bondage, Throat Fucking, Cum Play

note: so i saw this yoongi and lost my sanity, which resulted in this! this fic seems to have a lot of backstory bec it’s somewhat of a spin-off to a bodyguard!jk series i have in the works. i also decided to tweak it a bit and make it presentable for this month’s games for the bcs net, bec why tf not?

a very huge bucket of gratitude to ridzie, my luff @taegularities​ for beta reading this for me! y’all could never imagine the kind of typos she sifted through to stop this from turning into a whole comedy, smh. one of them was “noses” instead of “noises,” and that is a tame one. LOL. thank you so much for brushing this, and hyping me, up, bestie! 🥺 i love you! 🥺❤

↦ moodboard

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching through the dark roots of his undercut beneath the silver locks. Sweat is collecting under the collar of his white oxford despite the air-conditioning in the room. His pants are straining so hard, it hurts. 

Maybe he should stop staring and do something about all of this.

He licks his lips, unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back on his heels, wondering if he should sit down for this. 

But then a tiny, little whimper escapes your gagged lips and he launches into action – unbuckling his belt and whipping down the zipper of his pants as he undoes the fly. He lets his pants fall down to his ankles, making the hasty decision to sit on the edge of the bed, and beckons you closer.

You immediately follow, like the obedient pet you are, crawling closer to him on your knees. Your large eyes blink up at him and when he nods to grant you your wordless permission, your face presses up against his boxers clad length. He cups your jaw in his palm, smoothing his thumb over the side of your cheek bulging under the impact of your soiled panties that he stuffed into your mouth roughly an hour ago when he had to urgently leave to take an important call. 

And you waited for him to return, sitting and waiting all pretty in the same position he left you. His dick pulses and heart thuds at the thought. He wishes he could curb the latter, though, because that is highly inconvenient.

You look so good like this, all bound and gagged and wet for him, only him. If he was a weaker man, he would nut at just the sight. Who knew that the girl he first met at an airport and hated with all his might for spilling coffee on his pristine, white shirt would some day beg him to use her body the way you daily do? He certainly didn't. 

You whimper again, and he hums. 

"What is it, princess? Got something to say?"

You sit back up to nod so violently, your chin collides into your collarbones. He laughs at your pathetic state, clicking his tongue. 

"God, look at you. So fucking desperate. So filthy. So damn unbecoming of the country's metaphorical princess, hmm?"

You bat your lashes at him, pushing your breasts out in defiance, and he bites his lips to hold back a moan. It’s funny how you love it when he calls you that, but absolutely despite the pet name’s usage in any other capacity. Especially with regards to the reality of who you are.

"You're such a nasty baby, fuck. What would your father say if he knew what his little girl is up to when she leaves with his trusted guard, hmm?"

Your eyes narrow at his goading, and Yoongi has to coo at how adorable he finds it. He reaches forward to tug your gag out of your mouth, watching your heaving breasts with rapt attention when they rise, fall and jiggle with your rapid breaths. 

A string of saliva extends from your lips and lands next to your nipple. His dick twitches at the sight, and he finally grabs his underwear to tug it off and free himself. He is fully hard, his tip angry and in dire need of friction. His eyes catch the sight of his wristwatch, a curse leaving him with the realization that he needs to get back to work in less than an hour.

"C'mon now,” he mumbles to you, “we've wasted enough time. Your dad needs me at his office by seven, let's move quickly."

You don't say a word in response, as you have been trained not to, and simply open your mouth and jut your tongue out for him.

Yoongi groans at the sight, wrapping a hand around himself, running it over a couple of times to spread the precum all over before resting his tip against your waiting tongue. You look into his eyes and start to roll your tongue around, licking him like a fucking lollipop. He can’t believe how amazing you are at this – both, giving head and listening to commands.

His other hand reaches down to rub your saliva over your boob, fingers plucking at your nipple, and he wishes he had more time so that he could feast on these the way he loves to. For now, he settles on briefly groping them before his attention is forced on the sensations in his dick when you rub your tongue all the way down from his tip to the base.

“Fuck, princess, you’ll be the death of me,” he mutters as he gathers your hair in a loose fist, later chuckling to himself when he realizes how much factual truth his lustful words actually hold.

Well, because –

Remember when he asked what your father would do if he knew what you were up to when you went away with Yoongi? Well for one, he would murder him. And then maybe lock you away at a Church, or something, for fucking around with him – Min Yoongi, the President’s most trusted security detail.

Yeah, that's him. Along with being the Leader of one of the country’s most reputed Security Agencies, one that is always working with high profile clients like your father, the President of the country, himself.

In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive. 

But, like, maybe lusting after the President's daughter when he didn't know she was the President's daughter was alright. But fucking your face like a deranged demon after he has gained full knowledge? Yeah, that might not be very ideal for his job. Or his life. 

But what's he gotta do when you're kneeling in front of him, all naked and pretty with your hands behind your back and tongue out? Basically begging him to ruin your throat? Is he expected to say no? 

Fuck off.

Yoongi grunts in pleasure when your mouth wraps around his tip, looking down at you with shuttered eyes. How is it that you look this beautiful when his cock spreads your lips apart so obscenely? 

There's gotta be something wrong with his head for feeling the things he feels when he's with you, because going down this line of thoughts is straight up suicide. And it's stupid, too, because the only time he spends with you is when you're fucking in some or the other capacity. 

And your arrangement works fine. You need someone to push you around in bed and Yoongi needs a fucktoy. Besides, whoever heard of a dom falling for their sub? No one, that’s right. It’s always the other way round. Which is why Yoongi refuses to acknowledge all the lurches his heart gives when he’s with you.

What business does he have feeling things when he quite literally knows next to nothing about you beyond the details of your family. You can’t fall for someone you don’t even know, right? Obviously. 

His tip hits the back of your throat when you suddenly attempt to swallow him whole, and Yoongi sighs at the feel of your throat clenching over him, all unwanted thoughts cleansed off his brain.

He grins at you with his teeth clenched, lazily trailing his hands up your body to find purchase in your hair. He grips at the gorgeous curtain of your tresses—immediately mentally cursing himself for thinking of them as gorgeous like a stupid fuck—and gradually slips into directing your head over his cock, gliding the heavenly warmth of the wet cavern of your mouth all over himself.

“Oh, princess, this mouth of yours – fuck,” leaves him in a low pitched groan, his breath hitching with every brush of the back of your throat against his crown.

Finding a satisfactory rhythm, he hurriedly nods at your inquisitive eyes, reassuring you that you can relax your throat and your mind, like always, and you do just that. He grips your hair harder and thrusts into your mouth with complete abandon, throwing his head back when the knot behind his navel starts to tighten.

You gag around him, helplessly, tears dropping down your face, mixing with your spit when they run past your lips and adding onto the lubrication. Yoongi unhinges his jaw at the sight, letting all kinds of uncontrollable noises escape him.

Over the couple of months that he has been doing this with you, your body has become remarkably trained at keeping your needs and reactions in check. Yoongi cannot help but be appreciative of how you don’t fidget in your bonds for a single second even when he very nearly cuts your air supply off with the force of his thrusts down your throat. Your shoulders stay still, hands calmly crossed behind your back where he neatly tied them with your favorite, dark purple silk rope.

That is not to say your body doesn’t shake from the impact of his bruising pace, because it certainly does. You get dragged back and forth on the floor every few seconds and your knees are sure to develop abrasions after this, no matter how soft the carpet beneath you is.

Yoongi’s gaze leaves said knees to travel along the length of your folded legs to zero in between your thighs.

Your center is not as visible to him from this angle as he would like for it to be, but knowing you like the back of his hand as he does, he is certain you’re very close to dripping your arousal down on the carpet, across the couple of inches of distance between your pussy and the floor. The thought makes him groan loudly, eyes screwing shut involuntarily. 

Suddenly, he wants to check and see how right he is. 

He pulls you off his cock, hands clenching in your hair as a shudder passes through his body at the sudden change in temperature his length is exposed to. When he opens his eyes, he finds you panting and trying to maintain eye contact with him. His heart does that thing again, and he curses all deities in the world for inconveniencing him with the damn organ that he has no need for in his life.

“Come here,” he grumbles to you, frowning and projecting his anger at you for something that is not in the least your doing.

When you move to crawl closer, he shakes his head and leans down to wrap both his palms around your upper arms to lift you off the floor.

“On my lap.”

Your wide eyes meet his from less than an inch away when he situates you comfortably over his thighs, slowly unfolding your legs from their hairpin bend so as to not cause your muscles to cramp up. You still wince, and he lunges forward to pull you in a deep kiss.

Your lips are already open, and it takes him less than three seconds to win against your feebly fighting tongue and ravage your mouth with his. 

His palms run down your back to hold your ass firmly and when he pushes you towards him, your leaking cunt molds over his length.

“Fuck—” he gasps in surprise at the amount of wetness spread all over your pussy. 

Leaning away from your mouth, he runs his wondrous gaze across your face. Your eyes are closed and little and helpless whimpers stumble out of your mouth at every motion of your cunt over his length.

“Princess,” he breathes in your ear, removing one hand from your butt to cradle the back of your head, hugging you to him. “You okay?”

You nod against his neck, and the protectiveness that he feels for you in the moment makes him want to throw himself out of the closest window. He reels everything in as best as he can and instead lets your head rest against his shoulder while he uses the freed hand to guide himself towards your sopping entrance.

His fingers brush against your clit which, despite the moisture collected everywhere, is still easy to locate because of how swollen it has gotten, and it makes him go mindless with arousal that you have been this messed up from having him in your mouth.

“This okay?” he whispers in your ear, sighing happily when you nod back, and arranges himself the slightest bit before thrusting up into you.

A broken cry tears out of you, spine arching and fists clenching behind your back. Yoongi bites down on his lip to quieten his own moan of pleasure and reaches behind you to run a finger over your clenched knuckles. 

“Easy, little princess.” He brushes his mouth against your temple, covering your clenched fist with his hand.

Your fingers loosen and pride swells in Yoongi’s chest.

Just the next second, though he scowls at being stupidly soft again. Growling in irritation at himself, he twists the two of you sideways to press your back on the bed. You frown at him with worlds of confusion held in your gaze. He shakes his head to stop you from questioning him. Not that you would say a word, anyway, because he hasn’t asked you to speak up yet and you’re impossibly amazing at never faltering when he gives you instructions.

Sometimes Yoongi kinda wishes you would, just so he would have an excuse to spank your perfect, pert ass red.

He pushes into you again, now leaning over your prone form on the bed, and wraps your legs around his waist, while his own stay planted firmly on the ground. Your petite body bounces with the force of his thrusts, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, and he swears he would profess his undying love to you if you stared at him like this for a second longer—

Not that he… feels that way. No, that’s stupid. It was, uh, hypothetical. Of course.

He moves his gaze away from yours, anyway, focusing it at the place the two of you are joined, instead. 

Your cunt looks so tiny, speared open lewdly by his cock, and paired with the whines every stroke pulls from you, it makes him lose his entire mind. Why are you so perfect for him?

“You good?” he still asks you to check if you’re hurting anywhere, given the less than comfortable position and your still bound hands.

You frantically nod back, as if annoyed at the intrusion and he huffs an incredulous chuckle.

Things get faster and louder with every passing second, and he can feel your body winding up tighter and tighter beneath him. Your eyes are finally shut, saving him from confronting things that he doesn’t want to, and head is tossed back into the mattress. Your hands must be suffering under the weight of both of your bodies, but not a single sound of complaint escapes you as he fucks into you without giving either of you any time to breathe.

“Princess,” he pants above you at the feeling of your heat gripping him tighter, reaching up to grip at your face, thumb digging into your bottom lip. “You gonna come for me, princess?”

You nod, hair flying about your head, sticking to your sweaty neck and splaying over the bedcovers. Yoongi removes his gaze when the sight starts to feel a bit too beautiful.

He, instead, focuses on digging his pelvis into yours in such a way that it presses over your clit, sighing in satisfaction when you shriek in response, and grips your body against him harder.

“Come on, then.” He nips at your thigh before leaning over the length of your body to dig his teeth into your breast, right above your nipple. “Be a good little princess and cream my cock. Clench me so hard, I lose it with you. Come on, princess, come for me.”

Your gasps are loud and saturated, body twisting around in obvious desperation, and Yoongi takes that as sign to press harder into you, stifling a moan when your soft body presses up harder against his planes, sending rushes of arousal down to his dick despite the oxford and the jacket he still has on. 

It is with one of his hands grabbing at your tit and the thumb of the other pushing into your mouth that you come apart – screaming more than just incoherent words this time, such as curses, words of gratitude, and his name. Yoongi can’t believe himself when he realizes how much he missed your voice when he finally hears it tonight.

He is being a whole moron and it’s gonna incinerate him at the end.

Your clenching walls pull him under, though, and just as he feels the plug in his lower belly about to come off, he pulls out of you, leaving your mouth to grip his length all wet with your slick, stroking a loose fist over himself twice before he comes undone. 

“Fuck fuck fuck, princess, fucking hell—”

Thick ropes of white land on you, coating your stomach, your tits, your nipples, fuck, in his release. 

Yoongi sighs long and hard when he’s done emptying himself, extremely tempted to take a picture of you painted in him. The hand he still has over your breast catches some of his release, too, and before he can move to wipe it on your body, your whimper catches his attention.

You stare up at him with huge, dilated eyes, slowly opening your mouth and extending your tongue to wordlessly invite him.

Yoongi loses his goddamn mind.

“You’re such a fucking cumslut, aren’t you?”

You give him a shy but somewhat conniving grin, your mouth still open, and Yoongi curses.

He wraps his clean hand around your waist to sit you up on the bed, offering you his soiled hand to clean it up. And you lick at it, tiny kitten licks of your tongue making his head spiral with lust again. When he feels a twitch in his spent dick, he huffs in astonishment, and cupping your jaw with one hand, slides his dirty fingers into your mouth.

“Clean them up like a good, little cumslut, princess. Don’t pretend to be demure when we both know how your throat swallows my cock, hmm?”

Your lips close around three of his fingers, head bobbing up and down like does on his dick. Yoongi hates himself for wanting to tenderly tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re being so lecherous. What the fuck is wrong with him?

His clean fingers pop out of your mouth, your lips immediately curving up in satisfaction and Yoongi gives you a pleased smile in return.

“Good girl.”

He chuckles at the way your eyes sparkle at his praise, immediately sighing when he checks the time. 

“Alright, princess, let’s clean up and leave. I only have ten minutes to spare.” You nod but still look at him expectantly. It takes him a moment to realize. “Oh, you can speak. Show’s over.”

You roll your eyes at his joke, tense shoulders relaxing, and Yoongi can almost see the way you change personalities from being his perfect, little sub to the President’s bitchy, entitled daughter. 

Aftercare? Never heard of her. Yoongi shakes his head, amazed at how harshly you divide your behavior in and out of bed. You literally never need a single word or touch of comfort from him. The first time he tried, you got so alarmed that he was trying to start something romantic with you that Yoongi laughed until he cried. When he explained the concept to you, you were so adamant at refusing it, that he laughed some more.

Who’s laughing now, huh? He certainly isn’t.

“This was so good,” you tell him, hopping off the bed on wobbly legs that make him smirk. “Even if I’ll have to wear bracelets to cover up the bruises on my wrists.”

Working on untying your bonds when you stand with your back to him, Yoongi snorts at your words. “You’re the one who insists on ropes. I could always get you softer and more comfortable bonds.”

“I’ve already told you – I love the anticipation that builds when you’re tying them.” You turn around to narrow your eyes at him, cradling your reddened wrists in your palms. “And can you not talk like a Sugar Daddy?”

Yoongi laughs aloud at that, buttoning his pants and buckling his belt firmly over it. “As if you need one.”

“You couldn’t afford me even if I needed one, Chief Min.”

Yoongi tries to mask the impact of your words by pulling on a blank face, deflecting instead of addressing your insult. “You don’t work for me, don’t call me that.”

“I won’t call you by your name outside of bed, Min. If you don’t want me to be respectful, your wish.” You roll your eyes again and disappear into the en-suite bathroom.

He looks into the mirror hanging over the back of the hotel room’s door. His hair has gotten slightly out of place, but other than that, he looks pretty put together. Not quite what he feels on the inside, though. He doesn’t like you calling him ‘Chief Min,’ because that is what literally every other person in his life calls him. Even if you choose to address him by his surname instead of his given name, he finds solace in the fact that you’re the only person who does.

Your phone suddenly gives a few successive pings on the dresser, catching his eye.

joonie <333 Don’t be late! I’ll give you a call when I get there. I swear to god if you’re late… I will KILL you!

His jaw clenches.

You exit the bathroom, sauntering up to the dresser to retrieve your phone in all your naked glory. He observes your face closely, teeth grinding when you grin at the text messages.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Going somewhere?”

“Yep!” you say, popping the ‘p’ and walk around the room to quickly get back into your thong and slip dress.

It suddenly strikes him that you’d been braless today. He frowns. “Dressed in that? Are you sure?”

“What the hell is wrong with my dress?” You give him an appalled look. “Joon is a friend, Dad trusts him. I’ll be safe.”

A friend. Yoongi scoffs.

“He goes to your college?” he asks, unlocking the door to the room as the two of you make your way out.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi hums in response, it suddenly hitting him how dumb what he’s doing with you really is. He’s definitely catching feelings and you… well, you can’t be bothered to so much as look at him when you’re done with the sex.

And why would you, when you have guys your age texting you to meet up, in perfect freaking grammar, spelling and punctuation. No matter how pliant or accepting you might be when you’re in his bed, you’re still a college sophomore — not even twenty yet, while he’s entering his mid-thirties. Nothing can ever, ever fruit from this. Your arrangement isn’t fine, the fuck? It’s messed up. Bound to get messier if he keeps feeling the things he does.

Which is so dumb because he doesn’t even know your college major! How the hell can he have feelings for you?

But he’s always been too weak against your pretty smile – ever since you had him washing his shirt in an airport toilet before his first meeting with your father. And so, no matter what becomes of him, no matter how messier things get between you two, he knows he will come running every time you call.

Some dom. Ugh.

tagging: @shrimpmsg @codeinebelle @afangirllikeme-blog​ @jimidol​

note: DO NOT WORRY - you’ll see more of these two in the jk series! (tho i might not release it before 2022 bec LOTS to do!)

© jimilter | 2021

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[obscureamor]

— gold

♡˖°꒰ ukai keishin x fem! reader

❥  t/w  |  nsfw, daddy kink, spanking, hair pulling, very light degradation, 18 y/o manager

»  keishin can’t wrap his head around his feelings for you.

Karasuno’s manager...

The team’s manager...

It lingers in the back of his mind as he moves, cock being sucked in and swallowed by your sopping pussy.

He’s angry at how you make him feel, angry at how this was his idea in the beginning and now he’s the one that’s caught up. He’s the one letting his emotions get the best of him.

“Daddy!” you gasp. “Go harder, please!” 

Your voice brings him back in the moment. Your hands are fisting the sheets, trying to ground yourself before you get too lost in the euphoric feeling of Keishin’s long cock pressing flush against that sweet spot, thrust after thrust. He can’t help but be somewhat resentful at how you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his intentions, by his ultimatum.

He twists your arm behind your back, other hand rooted into your hair as he fucks you like no tomorrow. You’re drooling from both ends, dirtying his bedsheets and he loves the sight of you cock hungry and ruined.

“You’re such a stupid little girl,” he mutters. “So fucking dirty and stupid.”

He pulls your hair, harshly tugging on the roots making you cry out before he releases his hold. You can feel his hand coming down hard on your ass. There’s already bruises from your other escapades, so the pain lingers as if it’s a bad memory like the time he made you choose between the team’s success and... It wasn’t about that anymore— for you at least. Keishin’s your boyfriend, the greatest person on this earth. He’s the man who makes sure you’re fine. The man who makes sure you have everything and anything imaginable.

But he knows he’s a piece of shit, knows he shouldn’t like the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. 

Keishin hates the way the chain on your neck dangles with every thrust because it only reminds him that he’s the one who bought it for you. It reminds him that he has a gold ring on his hand matching with you. The metal seems to burn into your skin with how tight he’s holding you. It glimmers in the moonlight and it reminds him of the time he fucked you over the stores counter. The lights were off and the only illumination was the light of the moon coming in through the windows.

‘K’ hangs from your neck in pretty gold with a ring next to it. You never wore it out in the open. It was always under your uniform, but the one day you do slip up—

‘That’s odd because normally teachers and students don’t have matching rings,’ Takeda chastises him one day after practice. He sighs, ‘Look... even though you're not fully faculty you'd still get in trouble. You need to be careful, Ukai...’

He can hear the clicking of the metal, the clicking of your pussy every time he thrusts back in. His hand comes down on your ass again and again and again. Then there’s the clicking of the bed moving as he starts going faster, wood flooring being scratched to hell and back.

“Keishin!” you wail.

“That’s not my name right now, pretty girl.”

He can feel the arm he’s holding twist and writhe. He knows you’re trying to grab onto him, trying to have any semblance of connection like you’re not connected in the deepest way possible. It’s like he’s not balls deep inside of you— like he hasn’t put load after load in your fertile little womb.

His eyes are hard as they burn into the back of your head and suddenly his hand is grabbing your hair again. He’s pulling it making your back arch in the most delicious way possible.

“I’m sorry, daddy! I’m s-sorry!” You’re gasping because there are too many things happening. It’s like he’s rearranging your guts with the way he seems to be hitting every spot that makes you moan and cry out... it’s too much.

“You let anyone on the team fuck you like this, huh?!” he snaps.

“N-No! No, daddy, just you! Always you! Only you!”

Your mind is scrambling like Keishin is scrambling to stop his emotions for you, but he’s in too deep... metaphorically and physically. He lets go of your hair once again, coming down to rest against your body, and his arm wraps around your waist. The hand holding your arm behind your back moves so that he’s holding your hand in a ruthless grip. The side of your face is pressed into the mattress as you mewl.

“Keishin...”

You can feel his lips on your skin. He’s going over the faded marks, making sure every inch of you is covered in him.

“Keishin... I love you.”

He falters, lips coming to a stop and hips stuttering. You can feel him bite down when your walls flutter around his length, pussy pulsing and gushing. He bites down even harder as he shoots ropes of his virile seed into you.

The silence makes your heart race. Did you mess things up? Does he not feel the same way? Oh fuck, you knew you were just a fling, just a distraction in the meantime until he—

The wetness on your skin stops your scrambling thoughts.

“I love you too, y/n,” he whispers into your skin, hand giving yours a small squeeze.

You turn your head to face him and it’s immediate when your lips connect. You can feel him rolling his hips into you and the way his warm muscle is swapping spit with yours has drool leaking down onto the already wrecked bedsheets. There are squelching and moans that can be heard within his bedroom walls.

He knows he’s a piece of shit, but he’ll be damned if he let you go on thinking he didn’t love you.

»  a/n  |  it’s been a while since i’ve written anything for ukai and manager. for some reason, i get feral at the thought of keishin making reader wear something that marks her as his. 

[bloody-bee-tea]

Sweat

Jiang Cheng knows that it’s a risky move to show up to this office party with Nie Mingjue in tow, but then again it’s not like he cares. Much.

He had tried to introduce Nie Mingjue to his parents countless times, but they always shot him down, citing that they don’t have time for things like this. So Jiang Cheng never got to introduce them.

But the invitation to the party had said he could bring a plus one. It didn’t specify any further than this and Jiang Cheng had waved the invitation at Nie Mingjue, who of course hadn’t gotten one of his own.

Jiang Fengmian wanted to cut a deal with Jin Corp. and everyone knew that Jin Guangshan didn’t make deals when the Nies were involved. So Nie Security hadn’t gotten an invitation at all.

Jiang Cheng is aware that his father will be furious with him for bringing Nie Mingjue but he will be going in his capacity as Jiang Cheng’s boyfriend. It won’t be work related. And it isn’t either of their fault if Jiang Fengmian wants to make a deal with the slimiest bastard in their business.

Jiang Cheng is going to give his dad a metaphorical fuck you by bringing Nie Mingjue.

At least that had been the theory. Now that they are actually at the party, Jiang Cheng is getting pretty damn nervous again, sweat clinging to his temples and back.

“It’ll be alright,” Nie Mingjue whispers and pulls him close with a hand on his hip. “I’m right here.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t say that that is part of the problem and instead leans into the contact. He has to admit that it does feel pretty nice to not be alone for once.

“Until someone steals you away and then where will I be?” Jiang Cheng grumbles, mostly just to be contrary, because he does feel better this close to Nie Mingjue.

“I hope you’ll be on your way to save me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and brushes a kiss over Jiang Cheng’s temple. “Since work is not what I’m here for. Look, there’s Wei Wuxian,” he then tries to distract Jiang Cheng and he has to admit that it works reasonably well.

Wei Wuxian drags Lan Wangji over to them as well and Jiang Cheng is sure that Lan Xichen is mingling somewhere, too, so there are at least four friendly faces around. Five, if you count Jin Zixuan and with how hard he’s trying lately with Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng is inclined to count him.

Jiang Cheng tries to follow along with Wei Wuxian’s excited chatter about his newest project, but his nerves are getting the better of him once he catches sight of Jiang Fengmian and so most what Wei Wuxian says flies right over Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Uh-oh, here he comes,” Nie Mingjue mutters and steps that little bit closer to Jiang Cheng, making sure that he knows he’s there and he’s supporting him.

Wei Wuxian throws a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before he turns the same wide eyes on Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Go,” he tells him, secretly a little bit relieved that Wei Wuxian wants to remove himself from this situation and Wei Wuxian is gone faster than Jiang Cheng can blink.

Speaking to Jiang Fengmian is never pleasant, but it’s always worse when Wei Wuxian is present. It seem like the sheer existence of Wei Wuxian makes Jiang Fengmian forget that Jiang Cheng even exists and no matter how much time passes or how many therapy sessions Jiang Cheng goes to, it never stops hurting.

Nie Mingjue puts a steadying hand to the small of Jiang Cheng’s back and presses another kiss to his temple where anyone can see and Jiang Cheng loves him for how little Nie Mingjue minds all that family drama that comes with dating him.

It had been one of his big worries when they started dating, but Nie Mingjue seemingly never cared beyond hating how it always hurt Jiang Cheng and that more than anything helped Jiang Cheng to seek out help and to realize that this isn’t normal.

It isn’t normal how he tenses more and more the closer his father gets. It isn’t normal how his heart starts to beat faster when Jiang Fengmian’s eyes fall on him. And it’s certainly not normal how Jiang Cheng starts to shake when clear displeasure clouds over Jiang Fengmian’s face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks once he reached them and he’s not even looking at Jiang Cheng anymore.

All of Jiang Fengmian’s attention is on Nie Mingjue.

“What a surprise to see here, Mingjue,” he says and Nie Mingjue tenses with the address.

Jiang Cheng knows that Nie Mingjue hates how overly familiar Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan get whenever they talk to him and so he leans just a little bit more back into Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Fengmian,” Nie Mingjue gives back, his voice pleasant, though his jaw is clenched. “I’m here with Wanyin.”

“Wanyin,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and turns to look at Jiang Cheng as if this was the first time he noticed him next to Nie Mingjue. “You should be mingling with the Jins.”

“I should be showing my boyfriend around,” Jiang Cheng gives back, hating how there’s the tiniest shake to his voice.

“Your boyfriend,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and looks back at Nie Mingjue. “You’re colluding with the Nies?”

“I am dating a Nie,” Jiang Cheng says, forcing himself to remain calm and collected. “Which you would know if you had ever taken the time to meet my boyfriend.”

“Ah, you know how it is,” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng hates that tone of voice, especially when it’s aimed at him. “I am a busy man and who knows how long this fling of yours will last. There’s no need to introduce us when this is bound to end sooner rather than later. I mean, Mingjue is a busy man himself. You shouldn’t hog his attention.”

It’s a reprimand that Jiang Cheng has heard several times before, in different contexts, but it still cuts him deeply. Deeply enough that he can’t even find his voice and it only worsens his mood, because he should be able to defend his boyfriend and their relationship from his own father.

“Enough about this now,” Jiang Fengmian decides as if Jiang Cheng had actually managed to say anything. “Mingjue, about that contract—” Jiang Fengmian says, his attention completely on Nie Mingjue already, and Jiang Cheng has to bite back some tears.

“I am not here for work,” Nie Mingjue bites out and takes Jiang Cheng’s hand in his. “I am here as a plus one to my boyfriend. If you really do want to talk about the contract, you should make an appointment with my secretary.”

Jiang Fengmian blinks, clearly surprised by Nie Mingjue’s firm rebuke and Nie Mingjue takes that opportunity to drag Jiang Cheng away from him.

“I know he’s your dad, but I seriously hate him,” Nie Mingjue mutters once they are out of earshot and Jiang Cheng laughs wetly.

He hates his dad sometimes, too, but he can’t bring himself to say that.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Jiang Cheng says, slinging his arms around Nie Mingjue’s middle and just breathing for a few moments.

“Even though I just made it more difficult for you?” Nie Mingjue wants to know, but he squeezes Jiang Cheng back.

“He would have found something to criticise me over anyway,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “It’s easier to endure when you’re there.”

“I’m not leaving you out of my sight tonight,” Nie Mingjue promises him and Jiang Cheng is just about to breathe in relief when the severe clicking of heels announces the arrival of Yu Ziyuan.

“Oh, fuck,” Jiang Cheng whispers and moves away from Nie Mingjue only to come face to face with his clearly disapproving mother.

“Is this how we make business deals now? Whoring yourself out?” she asks, clearly not caring at all who hears her and Jiang Cheng is quick to shake his head.

“Mother, this is my boyfriend, Nie Mingjue. We’ve been dating for a while,” he rushes out, hopes to salvage this situation somehow and he has to admit that he wasn’t prepared for the surprised look on her face.

“Boyfriend,” she repeats. “The boyfriend you have been trying to introduce to us several times?”

Ah, so at least she noticed his attempts.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng meekly gives back and Nie Mingjue holds his hand out.

“Nie Mingjue, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, finally,” he says with a small smile and Yu Ziyuan only hesitates a second before she takes his hand.

“I wasn’t aware my son was dating you,” she says and Jiang Cheng flinches.

He had told her, several times actually, but of course she didn’t listen to him. She listens more to him than Jiang Fengmian, but it is still not a lot.

“I am,” Jiang Cheng says, trying to sound surer than he feels, and he can’t read the glint in his mother’s eyes at all.

There is a very long silence before Yu Ziyuan speaks again.

“If you hurt him, I will ruin you,” she says and then turns around to leave in the same manner in which she arrived.

“Was she talking to me or to you?” Jiang Cheng asks, once his mother vanishes from his sight and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“I think she actually meant me,” he gives back and then pulls Jiang Cheng into a kiss. “That actually went better than expected,” he mumbles against Jiang Cheng’s lips and Jiang Cheng has to agree.

He has anticipated his father’s disinterest in his boyfriend, so even while that had still hurt, it wasn’t unexpected. But his mother is always a little bit of a wild card and Jiang Cheng never knows what to expect with her.

“Come on, after this I need something to drink,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng couldn’t agree more.

They mingle for a bit afterwards, speaking to Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and even Jin Zixuan for a while before they retreat back into a relatively quiet corner.

“This wasn’t so bad so far,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh and leans against the wall. “Being your arm candy certainly has its perks.”

“Like what?” Jiang Cheng snorts but he has to admit that having Nie Mingjue here did wonders to relax him.

“Like being able to simply walk away if someone starts to talk business to me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and threads their fingers together. “And I get to admire you all evening, so that’s a definite plus.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hisses, but he can already feel how he turns red.

“Never,” Nie Mingjue whispers and kisses Jiang Cheng’s burning cheek.

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells him, aiming for stern but of course he softens immediately when Nie Mingjue looks expectantly at him. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” is the immediate response he gets and Jiang Cheng didn’t know how nice it was to never having to wonder or wait for those words.

Nie Mingjue always makes very sure that Jiang Cheng knows just how much he’s loved.

“What the fuck is your father’s problem?” Nie Mingjue mutters suddenly, breaking Jiang Cheng out of his pleasant thoughts and he leans around Nie Mingjue to see better.

“Fuck, he had something to drink,” Jiang Cheng whispers under his breath, because Jiang Fengmian is never a pleasant person to be around—at least not if you are name Jiang Cheng—but it only ever gets worse when he had something to drink.

“I’ve got this,” Nie Mingjue decides and hands Jiang Cheng his empty glass. “Get me some more, would you?”

Jiang Cheng works his jaw a few times, but when Nie Mingjue nudges him into the opposite direction of his father he sighs. “Fine.”

Nie Mingjue gives him a winning smile before he turns around to meet Jiang Fengmian halfway and Jiang Cheng can’t help it. He knows that no matter what’s going to happen it will hurt him, but he simply has to know.

He doesn’t leave to get them new drinks.

“Mingjue, what a nice surprise,” Jiang Fengmian says, just a tad too loudly and Jiang Cheng winces. “What brings you here?”

“We already talked today,” Nie Mingjue reminds him, his hands clenching at his side.

“Oh, did we? Remind me again, then,” Jiang Fengmian says, his voice now a little bit more appropriate and he leans into Nie Mingjue’s space. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with your son. You know, because we’re dating?” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng knows what’s going to happen a split second before his father opens his mouth.

It feels like someone reached inside his chest and tore his heart out.

“Wei Wuxian? I thought he is with that Lan boy?” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng sees how Nie Mingjue freezes.

Jiang Cheng has trouble breathing himself, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Nie Mingjue, because it’s the only safe place to look at right now.

“You piece of shit,” Nie Mingjue mutters, and before Jiang Cheng or anyone else can react, he moves.

Between one blink an the next Jiang Fengmian is on the ground, clearly knocked out cold, and Nie Mingjue is shaking out his hand as he turns around and looks for Jiang Cheng.

“Fuck, you heard,” are the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth, before he rushes up to Jiang Cheng to crush him to his chest.

“You punched him,” Jiang Cheng mutters, blinking several times, because it doesn’t make sense.

His father is in on the ground and people are staring at them, but it doesn’t make sense.

“Of course I did!”

“You just punched him,” Jiang Cheng repeats and it’s only the arrival of his mother that prevents him from breaking down into hysterical laughter.

“What is going on here? Wanyin, an explanation!”

“Your husband forgot who his actual son is,” Nie Mingjue hisses at her, not letting go of Jiang Cheng and clearly not going to apologize for his actions.

“Ma’am, do you want us to call the police?” a security guard suddenly asks and Jiang Cheng tenses in Nie Mingjue’s arms.

He will not allow Nie Mingjue to get punished for this.

Jiang Cheng is about to tell his mother that when she waves them away.

“That won’t be necessary,” she says. “I think it was deserved,” she then adds, much more quietly, before she turns to the room at large. “It seems like my dear husband had a little bit too much to drink and he slipped in a rather unfortunate way,” she calls out. “Please don’t be worried and continue to enjoy the party.”

Jiang Cheng stares at her, his mouth open and it’s only when she turns back around to him and Nie Mingjue that he gets a little bit of control back.

“I think you should leave now,” she says, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure she ever heard her sound so soft. “Well done,” she adds and pats Nie Mingjue’s arm before she goes to deal with the situation at large.

“What the hell just happened,” Jiang Cheng mutters, but he allows Nie Mingjue to pull him away from his father and from this party.

It’s only when the cold night air hits him that he starts to realize what just happened.

“You punched my father because he was an asshole to me,” Jiang Cheng whispers and Nie Mingjue grimaces.

“Well. I would do it again,” he declares as if Jiang Cheng was about to tell him to not do that again. “He deserved it.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng agrees and then steps close to Nie Mingjue. “You punched my father for me,” he repeats and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry right now,” Nie Mingjue admits, but he puts his hands on Jiang Cheng’s hips.

“I am in absolute awe of you and I love you so much,” Jiang Cheng tells him and leans in for a biting kiss. “And I think you should take me home now.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Me punching your father is doing it for you?” Nie Mingjue teases him, but he starts dragging him towards their car.

“Hell, yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because no one has taken such a stance for him.

“Good to know,” Nie Mingjue says. “But I’d still rather not make it a habit.”

“I think the memory will serve me well, too,” Jiang Cheng says and before Nie Mingjue can get into the car, Jiang Cheng crowds him against the side of it, tucking his face into his neck. “Seriously, thank you.”

“My heart, I love you and no one gets to behave like that when it comes to you,” Nie Mingjue says and puts his arms around Jiang Cheng. “No thanks needed.”

“Oh, I’m gonna thank you,” Jiang Cheng says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrow and Nie Mingjue barks out a laugh.

“Alright,” he says and then they scramble into the car.

It’s a quiet ride home, despite everything, but Jiang Cheng keeps a hold of Nie Mingjue’s hand and he has to admit that he has never felt so loved before.

And he will make sure Nie Mingjue knows how much he appreciates his actions.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

Whistle

Yelena Belova x reader, oneshot, mentions of Natasha's death, angst, hopefully ending, took a few liberties with Yelena's fake family

You woke up alone. Again. Third time during the last two weeks. Even with your eyes closed, you knew she wasn't around. Familiar anxiety was already crawling under your skin, coming up to your throat.

Cold floor, soft fabrics of the robe, click of a lamp. Exactly the same occurances and exactly in the same order.

And then you heard it. That damn whistle. Harmless by itself but so critical for you both. For Yelena it was a constant reminder of something terrible, that she never shared with you. For you it was an indication that this very moment your girl was drowning in pain and regrets you couldn't possibly fathom.

Trying not to wake up your dogs, you followed the note. Yelena was sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half full bottle of vodka, she didn't even bother to use a glass. Smoldering cigarette in her hand and who knew how many already burnt ones in the ashtray.

"Oh, isn't it my favourite girl?"

You could barely understand her. Her usually adorable accent became so much thicker. You were surprised she didn't attack you with her favourite Russian curse words. Maybe everything wasn't as bad.

"Yes, I'm here."

You wanted to get her at least a glass and clean the ashtray, but Yelena caught you with her free hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I'm with you." You let her hug you. "How are you?"

"Great. Don't you see it?" She smiled in your chest.

"Yeah, I do."

You started massaging her scalp, carefully trying to bring her back to you from that whistle.

"You're so good, girl." She moaned. "I'm sorry, I woke you up."

"It's ok." You felt her grip on your back tightening. "Nightmares again?"

"Yes."

"Wanna talk?"

"Nope."

Sometimes you were wondering how strong this woman actually was. Being able to overcome so many obstacles, so many enemies and still being able to show her vulnerable side. Fighting, surviving, sharing a life with someone. You admired her. And you hated the world for making this woman suffer so much.

"How long have you been here?"

"Well." She looked at the bottle. "An hour or something."

Not long enough for her to get really drunk. But enough for her to muffle the memories.

"How are so warm?" Her nails were already digging in your skin.

"How are you so adorable?" You kissed her forehead. "Let me go, Lena. I'm going to make us coffee. Since it's already 5 a.m."

"Fine." She reluctantly freed you.

"Oh, and no more smoking."

As an answer Yelena mumbled something inaudible. But it was Russian and it wasn't a praise.

When she returned from the bathroom, she already felt better. Cold water helped her to sober up a little.

When she came back her cup of coffee was waiting for her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." You were already sipping yours.

"I can only imagine how much you hate me right now." Yelena preferred not to look at you at all, already feeling the guilt.

"Don't say that. I'm worried about you. You're sleeping less, drinking more, being somewhere very far from here. How long will you be able to go on like this?"

"I don't know. It's just...maybe it's because of the anniversary or..."

"Anniversary of what?"

Yelena saw genuine concern in your eyes, heard it in your tone, felt it for months in your touches. She had to tell you. What if it freed her, what if it helped her to cope with the loss. She couldn't handle it on her own any more.

"In three days. I promise, I'll explain everything."

Those three days were so ordinary. With routines and talks, and reality. Both of you carefully avoided the subject. Until Yelena told you to get ready.

She didn't tell you where you were going, remaining silent for hours. Seeing her like this was devastating. But from time to time Yelena glanced at you as if to remember she wasn't alone.

You don't know how many hours you spent on the road. It didn't matter, once you got to your destanation.

A graveyard. Yelena never told you about this. Never told you about deaths of her close people, you were not even sure she had them.

When you were about to enter it, she whistled as if to hear something in return. But she only heard rustle of leaves.

You held her hand, interwining fingers. Her veins needed to be filled with trust and love, yours with her despair and fear.

She looked at you and nodded. Your walk took around 20 minutes, when Yelena suddenly stopped. You followed her gaze to the one of the tombstones.

Natasha Romanoff. Of course you knew who that was. Everybody knew. A hero who saved you all, a woman who defeated pure evil. Her and Tony's monuments were in every big city. But apparently this was her real grave. Or rather symbolic one. You knew Yelena had her ties with Avengers, but she never told you she knew Natasha.

"Daughter, sister, Avenger."

Sister. Natasha was the sister from Yelena's dreams, the one whom she so loudly was searching for. Not the metaphorical black widow from the same mission.

"I'm sorry, I never told you about her. She was a part of a past long forgotten." Yelena regretted, she didn't bring you here before. How could she be so ignorant to think, you could make it worse for her.

"Your sister."

"Yes. Adopted one. We didn't have much time together. She just had to save the world, you know?"

"She was a hero. The one others aspire to be."

You walked closer. Now you could see all the flowers and toys, and letters, and candles, and who knew what else.

Yelena got down on her knees and whispered something. She was greeting her sister, was telling that she was not alone. Not anymore.

"She would be proud of you. You've come a long way since the old days." You carefully avoided all the mentions of the Red Room.

"I hope so. Red on the ledger. That's how she used to call it."

"You whistle to her?" You knelt down to Yelena's level.

"Yes. That's a stupid thing from childhood. Whenever she whistled back, I knew I had a family to come to. With my fake mother being the mastermind of the mind control and fake father being a jerk, Natasha was the only family I had. Do you think... you think... one day we can become a family?"

This question caught you off guard. You never talked about it. You loved Yelena deeply, but you were not sure she was ready for such commitments.

The pause was too long. Yelena could read the doubts in your look.

"It's not because I need a replacement or something. I thought about it a lot. And I'm ready to have a responsibility."

"Are you sure?" You didn't want to give to both of you false hope.

"I know, I'm far from perfect. But... yes, a family."

"A family. I want it with you." How could you say no to her. To the woman you already knew, you wanted to spend your life with.

"And you will always whistle me back?"

"Always."

[thotsforvillainrights]

Hello! Can we get a geten x s/o morning fluff??? Thank you!🤙🤙

(No problem!)

~Dew~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

The rustling of sheets in the calm silence of the bedroom slowly began to wake you from your sleep. A small creak, padded footsteps, and the soft clicking of the door being closed all signaled his departure. You carefully sat upright and rubbed some of the sleep from your eyes for a moment before peeking over at the clock nest to the bed. 8:29 a.m. it read. Geten was supposed to be off today, and he was most certainly not a morning person, so why on Earth was he leaving so soon? You groaned as you stretched the sleepiness out of your joints before leaving the bed in search of your love. When you peered out into the hallway you couldn’t see or hear a thing. He wasn’t in the bathroom, the kitchen, living room, or even the guest room. You paused for a minute to gather your hazy morning thoughts into something coherent. Then a lightbulb began to shine metaphorically above that head of yours. “Outside” you muttered to yourself. You walked to the front door and slipped on some shoes to head out. When you peeked out the front door, both of the cars were still parked where they were supposed to be. You looked back indoors next to your head and saw the keys were still hanging up. Finally you decided to make your way to the backyard. 

You took a moment to admire the dewy grass hugging the sides of your feet like a plush outdoor carpet when you stepped out. The sun was barely making it’s way out, and the air seemed so very fresh and new. The birds calling were few, since they were just beginning to start their morning song. And there, underneath the shade tree in the back, was Geten sitting on the bench and staring at his feet. You smiled gently and approached him, taking a seat next to him on the bench. “A little early to be out here right? I mean, especially for someone like you” you spoke quietly. Without warning, his head leaned onto your shoulder and he held himself on you. “Geten, you okay?” 

“Yeah...I’m not up for training or the MLA or anything like that. Of course I’m off today. I was up early because I was trying to brainstorm some things. Of course you couldn’t just stay in bed and let me do it huh?” He complained in false annoyance. You smiled and stayed quiet, once again taking a second to admire that dew. It seemed to sparkle when the sun hit it in just the right positions. Geten soon started to talk again. “You always do so damn much for me. It’s annoying as hell because I don’t feel like I’m returning the favor. I hate feeling like this. I got up earlier than usual so I could come out here and think about ways I could surprise you like you do for me. You got up and followed me out here. That was not apart of the plan.” He looked up at you with those ice eyes of his and a small pout. It was something so entertaining to see on a grown man’s face. You began to stroke his head, soon running your fingers into his locks of  course. “You worry yourself too much” you spoke. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles soon if you don’t cut it out.” He scoffed at your joke but you could only chuckle. “Geten listen, I love you okay? Just because my love language that I speak (how you give/show love) involves doing a lot of things for people, it doesn’t mean that’s the same language that I hear (how you feel loved). Romantic gesture are great and I wouldn’t turn one down no matter how grand, or how simple it would be. However, I prefer you just the way you are. I mean spending precious time with you doing anything really! We could be watching a movie on the couch, or going for a drive to the sea, or even just grocery shopping together. I appreciate how much time you’ve been giving to me, and I feel very loved for it! back when I first met you, training was always the biggest hurdle between us. I’m talking about the way you would train all day every day on your off days and I could only see you maybe once or twice the entire week...and that was usually before going to bed! You’ve been spending so much time with me nowadays, how could I ever feel unloved? You’re perfect to me.” 

“Wait a minute...are you crying?”

“NO! I JUST HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYES!!!” He grumbled as he rubbed his tears away. Regardless of what you say, he would find a way to make it up to you. To feel as though he’s matched all the love you give to him and double it by a million. Even if it takes him forever to find it.

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

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[seeuonadarknite]

smile for me — yandere kozume kenma x f. reader

warnings: slight angst, abuse, threatening, noncon, hickeys, oral, creampie, kidnapping

Kenma was always quite the outcast. He had a difficult time fitting in with the rest of his classmates, and preferred just being a face out in the crowd. In fact, the only real friend he maintained throughout junior high and high school was his upperclassman, Kuroo.

But their time together was cut short as Kuroo had to move on and graduate with the rest of his fellow third years. Once he left his life for good, Kenma's world turned black and white. Every bland day felt the exact same.

Wake up, attend class, go to practice, go home, sleep, and repeat. There wasn't any real reason for him to continue playing, seeing as his original reason for joining was to be there for his best friend. He was an adult now, having better things to do with his time.

Compared to his performance last year, he was mediocre at best. It was sad for his teammates to see him like this, but they couldn't blame him. He had no outside motivation and no reason to give it his all. At this rate, it'd probably be in his best interest to just give up and quit volleyball.

But his pessimism came to an abrupt end as soon as the doors to the gymnasium opened up on that rainy day during practice. Looking up from the dirty gym flooring, his eyes landed on your graceful figure. Not only were you a sight for sore eyes, but you brought colors back into his world once again.

“Everyone! This is [y/n]. She's going to be your manager for the year.” The coach introduced you to the rest of the team with a large grin covering his features. You gazed at each and every player on the court, briefly studying their features.

“Hi! I'm excited to be here with you guys and although I'm inexperienced in volleyball, I'll try my best to help you guys out in any way that I can!” There it was again. That damned smile you always seemed to wear. 

Your beaming smile lit up the dark cave Kenma had been hiding himself in. And he wanted it all to himself. However, it was as clear as day that Kenma wasn't the only one on his team looking forward to seeing you more.

—

His obsession started off innocent. Kenma was just a dependent person, and without Kuroo, he needed somebody else to rely on. At least that was what you told yourself.

At first he would just walk you to your homeroom class. It was on the way to his, so where was the harm in it?

But it gradually became overbearing. Not only would he walk you to homeroom and practice after school, but he soon began walking you home from school in order to “protect you from creeps.”

He followed you around like a lost puppy. An insecure, lost puppy. If you ever tried gently approaching the subject by telling him that you're alright on your own, he'd simply stare at you with glossy eyes and frown.

It somehow felt worse than him getting angry at you. You just felt pure guilt, and would end up apologizing for bringing it up.

Kenma knew what he was doing. With the advantage of his lack of friends, he could cling to you like a magnet without any questions asked.

From an outsider's perspective, it looked as if you had him wrapped around your little finger. But it was really Kenma who had the upper hand. It didn't take him long to analyze your overall personality and learn how to evoke certain emotions from you.

He was strategic, calm and collected. He knew he wasn't the kinda guy you'd go after, so he'd have to take extra measures in making you reliant on him. In a few months time, you'd be begging him to walk you to class and you'd be afraid of being without him.

It was perfect. As long as he played his cards right, everything would go to plan.

“[y/n]! I know this is sudden, but I've really enjoyed spending time with you during practice and I'd love to maybe.. take you out sometime?” Or not.

Kenma was on his way towards the front of the school where he'd normally meet you to walk home with you. He had planned on asking you if you'd like to hang out at the nearby arcade after school. However, he was beat to it. Right before his eyes was the sight of Lev asking you out on a date.

The situation at hand didn't dawn upon him until his vision was filled with the sight of you pressing a gentle kiss onto the lanky Russian's cheek. Sure, he was peeved at his teammate for asking out his crush. But your positive response was what had caused the crushing sensation in his heart. He thought he was going to be ill.

You stabbed him right in the back. That was supposed to be him. Was he not good enough for you? He crossed over so many bridges in order to earn your attention, yet it still wasn't enough. You'd never choose a guy like him.

He'd have to make you.

—

It had been a few days since you last interacted with Kenma. It was weird; you were used to him following you around wherever you went with his focused gaze constantly diverted towards his game. Sure, having him by your side 99% of the time was mildly inconvenient for you, but it was something you had grown used to.

It was nice having somebody that seemed to care about your feelings so deeply. While your bubbly attitude helped you in terms of popularity, it didn't quite fill the void. Not even the boy you had recently began seeing really seemed to deeply understand your emotions like Kenma did.

As much as you hated to admit it, you needed Kenma just as much as he needed you. That was why you were more than willing to walk him home for the first time in days after being asked.

Whilst you didn't understand why he took a break from walking around with you like this in the first place, you were glad to know that he was doing alright. You really did worry about his wellbeing during your time apart. Perhaps you had grown a soft spot for the introvert.

“Do you.. wanna come in?” Kenma kept his gaze on the sidewalk as he offered you to come over. As much as you wanted to agree and try and rekindle your friendship over pop drinks, you unfortunately already had plans for that evening. Lev promised he'd take you to see fireworks at a festival in town.

But you couldn't just flat out reject him. There was something wrong with him and you wanted to resolve things before goofing off with his teammate. Flashing him a small smile, you nodded your head and followed him into his vacant house.

As soon as the two of you slipped your shoes off, he led you into his living room and plopped himself down onto the couch. You could tell that he was nervous by the way that he was timidly fiddling his fingers and avoiding your eyes.

“I can stay for a few minutes. Lev promised he'd take me to see the fireworks in town, but I want to know what's been going on with you before I leave. I care about you, Kenma.” Were you joking? Kenma was about ready to be emotionally vulnerable with you and you decided to bring him up?

It seemed as if your words flipped a metaphorical switch in Kenma's brain. His immediate change in expression gave you chills. “No.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stood up from your spot on the couch and narrowed your eyes at the pudding head. “I'm sorry?” Your intuition was right. Something was wrong with him.

Following you in suit, Kenma stood up from his spot on the couch and began making slow strides towards you. For each step that he'd take towards you, you'd take a step back. By the time you had taken around five steps back, you ended up with your back pressed up against the living room wall. How cliche.

“Kenma, what's gotten into you? Are you okay?” Even during a time like this, you were still seemingly worried over the male's wellbeing. It was almost laughable.

Instead of lashing out, Kenma gazed at you with dulled eyes. Taking a few steps backwards, he took in a deep breath and prepared himself for his next plan of action. “Just.. follow me. I need to show you something.” Only you could understand Kenma when he murmured like this.

Something about the whole situation was off. The apathetic look in his eyes was unsettling to say the least, seeing as his eyes were clouded with frustration just a minute ago. But you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So you took him up on his offer and allowed him to take the lead. He ended up bringing you upstairs into his room. Upon first glance, there was nothing that stood out. His bedroom was exactly how you expected it; organized and cleanly, yet not quite bland. The figurines and posters he had set up complimented the room nicely.

But it didn't make sense to you. Why was he so insistent on having you follow him up here? You easily could've continued your conversation inside of the living room, so what gave?

Click. Glancing over at the pudding head, you watched as he swiftly locked the door, rendering it difficult to exit and impossible to enter. Before you could question his actions, Kenma shakily pulled out a pocket knife from his pant’s pocket, slowly inching towards you with the weapon. “Get on the bed..” He almost seemed unsure of his actions.

But his reluctance quickly turned into assertiveness when you wouldn't oblige. “Now.” His arm stopped shaking. One step closer and the blade would be poking at your throat.

You reluctantly climbed onto the queen bed placed up against the wall. There was a window! Perhaps you could— “Don't even think about it.” His tone was dripping with uncharacteristic dominance as he spoke.

Climbing up onto the bed, he lightly nudged your shoulder, quietly ordering you to lay down. Of course you were going to listen, the guy had a weapon in his hand. As much as you wanted to question his actions, your body was in a complete state of shock. What happened to the innocent, introverted boy you once knew?

Noticing your shocked expression, Kenma sighed, crawling up in between your legs. “[y/n], you're all that I care about. I just want you to love me back.” His face heated up as he inched his head towards yours, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on your lips.

However, your reaction wasn't as positive as he wanted it to be. As soon as his plump lips pressed against yours, you immediately drew your head back, forgetting about the weapon in his hold. “Kenma! What has gotten into you? You know that I'm seeing Lev!” You couldn't be gentle with him anymore. There was a line you sure as hell weren't willing to cross with him.

Upon hearing the Russian's name, Kenma clenched his teeth, wearing an expression with pure lividness written all over it. Even after mustering up the courage to confess his feelings and to even kiss you, you still weren't content with him. There would always be somebody better and he'd always have to go through desperate measures just to earn your attention.

But as he gazed down at your petrified expression, he came to a realization. He didn't have to fight for your attention and idly stand by as you gave it to other people. He had the upper hand. He was in control here.

There wasn't a single damned person on this planet that could stop him from taking you away and ravaging your innocence. You belonged to him now. He was the only person you'd get to look at from now on and there was nothing you could do about it.

“You know.. I don't know why I thought you had a thing for me. I guess I was just being really, really stupid.” He gazed at you with a vacant expression. You almost felt bad for him. Almost. But your guilt was gone as quickly as it came once his fingers began peeling your shirt off. “But it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter at all.”

Dropping your shirt onto the hardwood flooring of the room, Kenma gazed at your bare skin with pink tinting his cheeks. Your skin was like a blank canvas, and Kenma was ready to paint a masterpiece.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up at the feeling of his plump lips peppering gentle kisses across your collarbone. Sooner rather than later, he made his way up towards yours your nape and his soft kisses turned into nibbling. “Kenma. Please..” Your voice was strained as you begged him to stop.

But your pleas only egged him on as he began running his tongue over your neck, giving you a ticklish sensation from his wet appendage. He eventually attached his lips onto a certain spot on the side of your neck before sucking on the sensitive skin like a leech. It was your first real hickey and it ached. It felt like your skin was being sucked by a tiny vacuum.

The worst part about it all was that he ended up leaving a giant trail of hickeys from your neck to your chest. Your entire upper body was scattered with vibrant love bites.

Wiping his swollen lips off with the back of his hand, Kenma sat up and admired his work. Just the sight in itself caused metaphorical hearts to form in his eyes.

But it wasn't enough. The need to feel your soft skin against his own overruled Kenma's insecurities, as he reluctantly pulled his t-shirt over his head. Before he could begin dreading the thought of you laughing at his scrawny figure, he leaned down and stared at the bra that blockaded him from your breasts. That wouldn't do.

It was difficult to say the least for Kenma to try and figure out how to remove your bra, especially with you thrashing and squirming beneath him. Not being able to figure out something as simple as a bra clip was frustrating enough; you deliberately making it difficult just pushed him over the edge.

“Stop squirming or I'll cut you.” His small voice was stern as he scolded you for moving. You wanted to believe that his threat was empty, but his exasperated expression told you a different story.

After what felt like trying solve a jigsaw puzzle, he finally freed you from the death trap of your bra, eagerly throwing it off to the side. It didn't take long for him to place a hand on each of your breasts, kneading at your skin like cat.

Kenma felt like he was on a power trip as he fondled your breasts and squeezed your hardened nipples between his fingers. The way you sat idly whilst he leaned his head downwards and began swirling his tongue around each bud was absolutely exhilarating. You knew there was nothing you'd be able to do to defend yourself without hurting Kenma, and you weren't willing to make that sacrifice.

The fact that you still seemed to care more about his wellbeing than your own caused his heart to skip a beat. He really did have you wrapped around his finger.

As he sucked on your soft mounds, he trailed his hands down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging at the fabric. He soon diverted his attention towards your bottoms as he eagerly slid them down to your ankles, leaving you in nothing but the thin material of your panties.

Of course, it didn't take him long to grab onto the sides of your panties and pull them off as well. He had waited far too long for this moment and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.

Upon first glance, Kenma was mesmerized. He couldn't help but bask in your naked glory. The sight in itself was so entrancing that his body began moving on his own as leaned down on his stomach, bringing his face so close to your sensitive parts that you could feel his hot breath fanning your skin.

“Kenma.. Please don't do this.” It wouldn't hurt to try and stop him one last time, right? Even if you weren't officially a thing with Lev, it still felt wrong having another man's hands exploring your body like a sacred temple.

Unfortunately for you, Kenma was trapped in a lustful trance, leaving your pleas unheard. Without further notice, Kenma flicked his tongue against your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves. As he parted his lips to suck on the sensitive nub, you couldn’t help but unintentionally wrap your legs around his head, practically grinding yourself onto his face.

The sight of you almost bucking your hips into his face gave him a sudden burst of confidence. He plunged two fingers into your greedy hole, feeling his cock twitch at the feeling of your muscles tightening around his thin digits. God, the look on his face screamed shamelessness.

Your back arched as he pumped his fingers in and out of your drenched cunt, feeling a tight knot begin to form in your abdomen. Thinking rationally was out of the question; all you wanted was for him to finish you off and give you that sweet release.

Fortunately for you, his tongue seemed to swirl at just the right pace and his fingers seemed to curl at just the right angle as they rubbed up against your g-spot. It wasn’t long until your hips suddenly bucked upwards whilst you reached your end, feeling your walls clench around his digits and your juices coat his hand.

Although Kenma’s expression was as nonchalant as ever, you could just tell he felt triumphant by the glint in his eye. The look in his eye was akin to the way he’d look after defeating the final boss in a video game.

Dread sat deep in your stomach as you finally came to your senses, allowing your surroundings to truly dawn upon you. Realization struck you like a bolt lightning as your captor pulled his last articles of clothing off, allowing his erect cock to spring out.

The fact that he was a hell of a lot more hung than you pictured for a scrawny guy like him just added insult to injury. This could not be happening. “Stop looking at me like that.” How on earth he still managed to act timid was a mystery to you. This was all on his own accord. And only on his.

But his lustful desires overruled any possible guilt he could feel. If he was being real with himself, there wasn’t a guilty bone in his body. He needed to claim your body as his.

Prodding the tip of his throbbing cock at your entrance, Kenma gradually slipped himself inside of your needy cunt. His movements were painfully slow. The way he slowly pushed his length into your hole really allowed your insides to memorize the shape and form of his cock.

By the time that he had fully inserted himself inside of you, your back was arched and you were moaning like a pornstar. Before doing any movement, Kenma leaned downwards, catching your lips in a needy, desperate kiss. And although the kiss went unreturned, Kenma felt a surge of euphoria take over his senses.

Without further notice, the pudding reared his hips back, only to slam back into you, earning nothing but a choked moan from you in return. Kenma’s timid movements were nowhere to be seen. He thrusted into you at an unbearable pace.

If you weren’t so overridden with forbidden pleasure, you’d be shocked over how rough he was in bed. Was this really the same guy that didn’t have the guts to talk to you without looking up from his game? Where did this sudden burst of confidence come from?

Your internal questions went unanswered as Kenma used your hips to steady himself as he pumped his throbbing cock in and out of your cunt. You’d be shocked if the death grip he had on your curves didn’t end up leaving bruises.

After awkwardly trying to find a better angle, Kenma ended up hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he thrusted even deeper inside of you than before. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the tip of his cock pressed up against your cervix with each rapid thrust.

Trailing his hand down south, Kenma placed his fingers onto your nub and began rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. It was all too much. You hated how much pleasure this man was giving you. But you couldn’t help your muscles from twitching as you suddenly arched your back, releasing your flow of juices onto Kenma’s cock.

The way your cunt hugged his cock had his eyes rolling backwards. It didn’t take him long to hold onto your hips with a vice like grip as he shot his load into your cunt, perfectly filling your womb with his thick, sticky fluids. By the time that he pulled his cock out of your aching hole, fluids were dripping down both of your legs, staining his bed sheets with cum.

As the both of you struggled to catch your breaths, the sound of popping rang throughout your ears. After pathetically scooting your trembling legs over to Kenma’s window, your heart shattered at the sight before you.

Fireworks were going off in the distance— the fireworks you promised you’d see with Lev. Wrapping his arms around your bare figure from behind, Kenma placed a chaste kiss below your ear before whispering bittersweet words.

“This is how things are meant to be. Come on, smile for me..”

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 6.1

Twenty-four hours, thirty minutes, ten seconds and counting.  Xiao continued to pace outside of Dawn Winery in complete silence.  He still hadn't heard a single word from you, and he had stayed awake all night.  Not really a sacrifice since he pulled all-nighters frequently, but his hopes were crushed when his long night was filled with nothing but silence.

Inside, Aether approached Diluc rather quickly with Paimon in tow.  "How would you like to kill Fatui?"

"I beg your pardon?"  Diluc set his glass of grape juice on his desk.  He had been busy with mapping the next wine delivery route when they suddenly barged through his doors.  He kind of wished they had the kindness to knock, but the desperate glints in their eyes caught him off guard.

"We said, how would you like to kill the Fatui?" Paimon crossed her arms.

"We need to infiltrate Snezhnaya.  They took her."

"'Her?'"  Diluc raised a brow, already annoyed by the vagueness of their requests.

"Ugh, the same girl from yesterday! Who earned her cryo vision!  She was taken last night at your tavern! Didn't you see us all run out?"  Paimon's brows furrowed impatiently.

"We need to infiltrate Snezhnaya," Aether repeated and took a step forward.  "We can't do it without you on our team."

"Hold on," Diluc waved a hand to silence them.  "We can't just infiltrate a foreign country.  There are laws and regulations you have to--"

"That's why we came to you!" Paimon yelled.  "If anyone can get us in there, it's you and your underground connections!"

"You hate the Fatui more than anything," Aether continued.  "Will you help us?"

Diluc thought for a moment while he traced the rim of his glass with his index finger.  "We can't recklessly barge into enemy territory.  I'll see what intel I can gather.  Wait here."

Xiao burst through the doors almost as if he had seen a ghost--actually, that would be an inaccurate metaphor since he's quite experienced with the spirits of the dead.  No matter.  He burst through the doors as pale as a sheet.  "I hear her."

..................................................

You glared at the third plate of food that sat upon the stool Childe left in your cell.  You had refused to eat the prior two meals while he was in the cell with you.  He had your cuffs unlocked so you could eat, but you refused to move from your place against the wall.  Cooked fish, some sort of vegetable, and white rice.  They were treating you well.  You were needed alive and healthy, after all, but you weren't hungry.  And since Childe had finally left you alone, well, that gave you the chance to talk to the only person you could.

Xiao.  Xiao! The thought of startling him brought a thin smile to your lips.  I wonder if I scared you...I'm safe--well, as safe as I can be at the moment.  I miss you... Your smile faded.  But I  cannot call for you.  It's too dangerous; I'm sure they already have a way to capture you.  Now that I know you're always listening, it's nice to talk like this.  Less lonely.  

Something clinked against the outer cell door, and it opened.  Childe and one of the harbingers you saw yesterday entered.  The latter held a strange white-and-gray mask that obscured everything besides part of his right cheek and lips.  His bluish-white hair almost seemed to brighten the small room from how light it was.

"It's a sign of disrespect if you refuse to eat the food provided for you," Childe commented once he saw that your plate was yet again untouched.  "We're treating you with more hospitality than our prisoners, after all."

"This is still imprisonment.  Screw off," you brought your knees to your chest as if your legs served to protect you from their stares.

"Ah, yes," the other harbinger picked the plate up and placed it at your feet.  "My test subject needs to eat.  I suggest you do it by your own will before I see to it myself."  

"You might want to listen to him."  Childe was warning you, but not out of consideration for you.

"Go to hell!" You threw the plate at the new harbinger since he was closest, and covered his tidy suit in food.  The white rice mostly clung to the fabric.  Thank the archons that your shoulder was healed and your arm could be put to good use now.

"Listen here, you little--"  The man grabbed you by the collar and lifted you like you weighed nothing until your feet dangled above the ground.  "I don't have the patience of the Tsaritsa's war dog.  I do things quite differently, and you are under my jurisdiction now.  See to it that you follow my orders to the tee, or I can make things very unpleasant here on out."  He dropped you to the floor and exited the cell.

Childe gave you a look of 'I told you so' as he followed suite.

...............................................

What day is it? Your hazy mind stared at the opposite wall.  You lazily traced figure-eights over your tattered jeans.  Approximately twenty-one meals were served--and wasted-- so maybe it was day seven?  A full week of sitting in this barren room?

A few days of no nutrition were of no consequence to you; you were a light eater anyway.  But by day five you were beginning to get dizzy from your voluntary starvation.  You slept most of the day.  The slightest of movements made the world spin around you.  Thoughts of giving in and digging into the meals crossed your mind several times.

I will not falter.  They will not get what they need from me.  I'll starve before they can have me, you gave yourself the pep talk over and over again.  The hours that were filled with zero social interaction drove you mad; you'd either talk to yourself, or to Xiao, who you only hoped could still hear you and maybe even reply in his own mind.  It was a shame the conversation couldn't go both ways.

"I miss you," you murmured a breath.  "If I get out of this, would you like to go eat almond tofu with me?"

Childe entered quietly, and knelt in front of you after giving your full plate the side-eye.  "This little hunger strike of yours needs to stop.  You need to eat."  You didn't answer, and he let out a small sigh.  "Il Dottore finished his set-up this morning.  I'm sure he'll be ready to take you from under my watch by tomorrow at the latest."  He sat down now, and examined you carefully.  

I didn't think we'd break her this quickly,  he thought.  Such a stubborn personality reduced to this pathetic heap of a woman.  A slim smile spread across his lips when he realized how much he loved watching you break under the pressure.

"Leave," you breathed.

"You're smarter than I thought, you know."  Childe placed his chin on the hand that was propped up on his leg.  "If you really thought he had a chance at defeating us, you would have called for Xiao by now.  You've isolated yourself from the only person that caught your eye."

That's what you think, you scoffed.  I've been talking to him this whole damn time.

"Or have you been praying to him?"  Childe's eyes narrowed and the grin on his lips only widened.  The small glance you sent him validated his question.  "You're telling me that this great and mighty adeptus has heard your suffering, and has yet to do a single thing about it?  Are you really sure he's reliable? Oh, ojou-chan," he clicked his tongue and shook his head at you.  "He won't neglect his duties to protect Liyue to come save you."

"You don't know him like I do," a bit of fighting spirit entered your hoarse voice, and your eyes began to glow.

"Oh, but I do.  An ancient yaksha that's at least half the age of Morax himself, falling in love with a human girl?  Is that what you're expecting from him?"  The words cut deeper than his blade had cut through your shoulder.  "You really believe such a hardened soul could learn to love in as quickly as a single human lifetime?  Ojou-chan, open your eyes.  He does not care for you, and he couldn't even if he tried.  Look around you, ojou-chan.  You're still here, in this dark cell, and he's where?  In Mondstat? Liyue?  He doesn't seem to care all too much about you."

"That's because I told him to stay away," you growled, eyes shining brighter.  You curled your fists and prepared to strike him if he had the audacity to continue spewing nonsense.  "You know, you have your entire life to be a jerk.  Why don't you take today off?"

"Even if he did save you, there's no future with him.  You will continue to chase after the illusion of love with him for the rest of your life, only to die alone with your youth wasted.  Even if you escaped, you would be on the run for your entire life, hiding away from the preying eyes of the Fatui.  Is that worth an escape, if you can no longer truly live?

"You're better off working with us, following Dottore's orders, and gaining the trust of the Tsaritsa.  You can make a life for yourself here if you decide to survive.  But out there," he pointed toward the cell door.  "Out there, you will not live."

"You know, your ass must be pretty jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth!"  You yelled as he exited the cell.  Your plate collided with the door right as it closed.  Hot tears stained your cheeks once you were left alone.

He's only trying to break you into submission, you soothed yourself as you hugged your legs.  They felt thinner than usual.  He's just trying to break me.  But why do his words...make me feel so upset?  You buried your face into your knees.  Maybe he's right.

......................................................

"So the guard schedules all overlap? There's no way in?"  Paimon looked over the scattered notes on Diluc's table.  Most of them held ineligible scribbles on them, and she furrowed her brows because of it.

"This was all you were able to gather in a week?"  Aether pulled at his hair and sighed heavily.

"Not many are willing to oppose the Fatui," said Diluc.  "It took all my resources to get this much.  We don't know the interior layout of the castle other than the main exits and entrances.  But I did manage to find us a caravan that leaves at dawn tomorrow."

"Finally!"  Paimon huffed.  "Something useful!"

"I am sorry I haven't been of use to you all," Zhongli bowed his head in a sincere apology.  "It has been years since I've last seen Snezhnaya and the cryo archon."  You meant a great deal to the group, and Zhongli probably took your abduction the hardest since he could not intervene with the Tsaritsa and her plans.

"At least we finally have enough of a foundation to squeeze out a plan!"

"Have you heard from her at all today, Xia--?"  Aether interrupted himself.  "Are...you okay?"

All eyes turned to antisocial yaksha that stood at the back of the room.  It was a small thing the traveler had noticed, but it was significant enough that it totally contradicted everything Xiao was.

He was crying.

First,  you asked to eat with him when this was all over.  Then an overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness flooded his mind like a tsunami.  A single tear rolled down his cheek and he hastily wiped it away.  A tear?

"Stay out of my way," he disappeared from the room and manifested outside.  What was this unfamiliar clenching in his chest?  This clenching in his throat?  The way his hands tingled and his eyes stung?  The afternoon sun seemed to worsen it.

"Xiao," a deep voice spoke behind him, and he turned to face it.  Zhongli placed a large hand on the yaksha's head and closed his eyes for a moment.  When he released his grip, he too, felt the same pain in his chest.  

"She's in pain," the yaksha murmured.  "Every day she grows weaker.  Her strength, it...diminishes."  While it was a blessing to know you were alive, it was also a curse.  He could hear the uncertainty in your voice when you prayed, and the way you hesitate to speak to him each passing day.  The centuries of hardened walls blocking the yaksha from emotion grew weaker the more you did.

"Your bond has grown," the archon explained the physical and mental phenomena Xiao was being put through.  "You feel her emotions, just as she feels yours."

"Rid me of them," Xiao ordered.  "I have no need for the emotions of a human."

"She is no longer the only one that holds human emotions.  You care for her deeply, do you not?"  No answer. Blank stare. "I'm certain you've contemplated and understood my words in Qingce Village by now."  Zhongli's eyes followed the ascending path of two cranes flying overhead.  "You wish to rescue her, even though Liyue requires your protection?  You're worried I won't grant your request?"

"...Yes."

"Worry no longer; it is granted.  But be warned, Guardian Yaksha, emotions cannot be permanently ignored.  They will rise to the forefront sooner or later,"  his gaze returned to Xiao's.  "You best be sure to share them before they fall on the ears of an early grave."

[writingdotcoffee]

#183: The Writers’ Love-Hate Relationship With Writing

Last week, I posted about writing every day and taking a break from writing — something that I found confusing when starting out. Today, I’d like to take a look at another counterintuitive aspect of writing.

(Thanks to @loki-used-to-rule-the-world​ who gave me this idea 🙏)

Writers often complain about how hard writing is. You could probably start a blog that only quotes writers airing their grievances. A few examples:

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

—Ernest Hemingway

“Anyone who says writing is easy isn't doing it right.”

―Amy Joy

“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness."

—George Orwell

“Writing is the hardest work in the world. I have been a bricklayer and a truck driver, and I tell you – as if you haven't been told a million times already – that writing is harder."

—Harlan Ellison

You get the idea. Writing is hard for various reasons. I would agree. The hardest job in the world? I’m not sure about that...

But when writing is so damn hard, why so many people keep doing it? There are plenty of other ways to be creative, preserve your thoughts or spread your ideas. Nobody's stuck being a writer for the lack of other options.

Despite all the whinging, most writers love writing. It's for different reasons, but we all do. There's no other way to keep going without having fun in the process.

My favourite metaphor for writing is running. Running is hard. It takes a while to get going and it never becomes completely effortless. Some days, I feel like I should've just stayed home. My chest hurts. It's raining, and I'm tired. Other days, it feels like my body is a machine that can keep going forever.

The problem is that you can't have good days without the bad ones. If you skip a run every time it's raining outside or you don't feel like going, you'll never reach the level of ability necessary to enjoy it. 

I feel that writing is the same way. You will absolutely hate it one day and love it the next. You can't have the good days without the bad. Then the question is: are the good days worth the struggle on the bad days?

The situation is a little different when you're just starting out. It takes a while before you get going. Having a purpose beyond just 'becoming a writer' can help a lot. Maybe you want to spread an important idea or share your story. Writing with a purpose will help you get through many, many bad days.

Want More?

My email subscribers receive a notification when I publish these posts along with a few things I found interesting or helpful on the literary internet every week. Click the link below to join the club.

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Past Editions

#182: Taking a Break from Writing, February 2021

#181: Venturing Into the Unknown, February 2021

#180: Will It Work?, January 2021

#179: Throwaway Stories, January 2021

#178: Progress Over Perfection, January 2021

[horansqueen]

New Angel - Chapter 22

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1  ☆ chapter 2  ☆ chapter 3  ☆ chapter 4  ☆ chapter 5  ☆ chapter 6  ☆ chapter 7  ☆ chapter 8 ☆ chapter 9 ☆ chapter 10 ☆ chapter 11 ☆ chapter 12 ☆ chapter 13 ☆ chapter 14 ☆ chapter 15 ☆ chapter 16 ☆ chapter 17 ☆ chapter 18 ☆ chapter 19 ☆ chapter 20 ☆ chapter 21

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.6k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

I have no idea how I managed to peel myself off of her but I ended up laying on my back in my bed. I kept staring at the ceiling in the dark without moving, my hands behind my head, as lights from cars outside made shadows move on my walls. I was tempted to message Millie or to even get up and walk up to her room but to stop myself from doing something stupid, I gripped my hair on the back of my head tight as if it could stop me from moving.

I could still feel her lips on mine and her taste on my tongue. How was it possible to feel connected to someone so deeply that you can still feel them even an hour after they left? How was it possible to sense their presence, smell their odor, or feel their body when they were not even there? If I wanted to be honest, before Millie, I would have said it was impossible. I have loved very strongly before but I wouldn't go until saying I felt connected to them. I knew that a relationship needed to be build, and I always thought that metaphorically, you had to build a bridge together to make sure both persons in the relationship could reach the other, but with Millie, it was useless. It felt like we were already on the same side of the river.

After a while, I just closed my eyes, trying to remember the short moment we had had and playing it over and over in my head until I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning wearing the same clothes than I wore the day before, and I groaned low, turning in bed to hide from the sun coming from my window. I tried to fall back asleep without much success and sighed before rubbing my eyes and opening them. It took me a few seconds to gather enough courage to get up and get out of my room. I yawned as I walked in the kitchen and my heart skipped a beat when I heard her giggle.

"Hey hot lips!" she let out, making me blink a few times until I could see her clearly. She was making food on the stove while sending me an amused smile and when she raised her eyebrows, I held my breath. What did she just call me? "Weren't you wearing those same pants and that same shirt yesterday?"

"What?" I asked, shaking my head. I hadn't heard a word after 'hot lips' and I was not sure I'd ever hear anything else.

"Same shirt, same pants." she repeated, pointing my chest and then my thighs with the spatula in her hand. "Does that also mean you're still wearing the same boxers?"

"Maybe."

Her face twisted in a grimace. "Damn, run to the shower, Horan." she pointed out. "Do you honestly think Summer will want to have sex with someone who stinks?"

"Summer?"

"You've got two minutes!" she added. "The eggs are almost ready and it gets cold fast, so hurry up!"

Without thinking, my legs brought me to the bathroom and before I knew it, I was under the stream. Why did Millie mention Summer? Didn't what happened between us the night before mean anything to her? And why did it mean so much to me? Why did I wish she was here with me in this stupid shower while the eggs she made got cold?

I started getting a bit mad at myself for not messaging her the night before, after we kissed. I should have gotten up and knocked at her door. I knew it had just happened and we both needed some time to realize and acknowledge what had happened but I felt like it would be different between us this morning if we had taken the time to talk about it when it happened if only because the feelings would have been very recent. Still, I think we both needed time to sort things out in our minds and hearts, I was just scared it would ruin what we had, whatever it was. Maybe it was just a friendship, maybe it was more than that. All I knew was that this relationship was the most sane and important I had had in years.

I picked a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, telling myself that I didn't want to go out at all on that day, and when I came back in the kitchen, Millie was sitting at the table, waiting for me as she sipped on her coffee. I took place next to her and when my butt touched the chair, I saw her lips curl slightly as she stared at me.

"How did you sleep?"

"Very well, actually." I pointed out, hoping she would understand that it was because of our kiss. "And you?"

Her smile faltered and she put her cup on the table before licking her lips. "I dreamed of you all night."

My heart skipped a beat at her confession and I gripped my fork harder. "Really? Is that a good or a bad thing?"

Her lips curled more this time and she chuckled, tilting her head. "Good, of course." I was about to answer something but she kept talking. "I have to go to work, I'll be back tonight."

I held my breath again when she got up, her chair making an annoying sound against the floor, and when she passed by me, I reached for her arm, wrapping my fingers gently around her wrist.

"Wait, Mill." I asked quickly and maybe a bit too loud. She turned around to look at me and raised her eyebrows. "We need to talk, don't you think?"

"We do, I promise my evening's all yours."

My eyes roamed up and down on her and I finally nodded, licking my lips and letting go of her wrist. When the door closed behind her, I pushed the air out of my lungs, only then realizing I was keeping it in. I looked at my untouched food and her almost empty plate but I couldn't get myself to eat anything.

Slowly, I washed the dishes and tried to watch a movie but I couldn't focus on anything and I knew I wouldn't be able to until Millie and I could talk. After a a few hours, I couldn't handle it anymore and once again without thinking, I jumped off the couch, grabbed my keys and hopped in my car. I kept tapping the wheel impatiently with my fingers as I drove but my mind was almost blank when I pushed the door of the library. It was quiet and I remembered that it was monday and that mondays were probably not their most busy day.

I walked near the counter but she was not behind it and I scanned the room, trying to find her. I didn't really want to interact with anyone but her but I finally reached the counter and leaned slightly on it, getting the attention of the girl behind it. I was pretty sure she was the same one to whom I borrowed a pencil a week or two before.

"Excuse me, I thought Millie was working today?"

The pretty girl's face illuminated and her lips curled as she nodded. "Mmhm, yes, she's placing books on the second floor."

I smiled and tapped the counter gently. "Thank you."

Quickly, I ran up the stairs, skipping a few to reach the second floor faster. I looked through all the rows, getting a few weird looks from people, and when I saw Millie with her book trolley, my heart jumped in my chest. I breathed in deeply and walked slowly to her. It took her a few seconds to notice me and she almost dropped the book in her hand. I knew she was supposed to place it but she was actually reading the summary behind it and it didn't really surprise me.

"Niall?" she whispered with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

I promise that my plan was to talk to her. I wanted to ask her how she felt and what it meant to her. Did she even know the answer to these questions? Did she even ask herself those questions after we both returned to our room?

As all the questions were moving like a storm in my head, I couldn't seem to pick one  and even less pronounce any word. I have no idea what got into me but I just bent down and crushed my mouth against hers, my hands reaching her face again. I tried to kiss her exactly the same way I had kissed her the night before but the circumstances were different. However, the feelings were the same. I spread my fingers on her cheeks, jaw and neck and when she deepened the kiss, I groaned in her mouth, taking a step closer to her and pressing her against the shelf.

"Oh my god." she whispered in my mouth in the short second my lips were not pressed on hers again.

I turned my head to kiss her deeper and pressed my body more against her, making a few books move and not even a second later, I felt something hit me in the head. I backed away slightly, my face twisting in a grimace as I let out a 'ow!' louder than intended.

"What the fuck?" I asked in a softer tone, rubbing the top of my head and finally opening my eyes.

Millie was looking at me, her hand over her mouth to hide the obvious smile on her lips. I knew immediately that she was smiling just by looking at her eyes and my lips curled too.

"Oh you think this is funny?" I asked before she nodded quickly. "You think it's funny that I got hit in the head by a book?"

"Yes, very." she admitted, pressing her lips together before bending down to pick the book now laying on the carpet. "Could be worse, could have been the bible."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes as I grabbed the book from her hand and moved on my tiptoe to place it in the top shelf. My eyes found Millie's again and the way she was looking at me made my heart skip a beat. Her head was tilted and she was wearing a fond smile that I couldn't help but mirror.

"Why are you here, Niall?" she repeated her question.

"I'm pretty sure I already answered that." I let out, my smile getting bigger. "But I can tell you again if you want."

Slowly, she ran her tongue on her bottom lip and nodded lightly. "Yea, maybe you should."

This time, I bent down slowly and just as I hoped, she moved her chin up to reach my mouth with hers. I had no idea why I liked it so much but I did and I didn't want it to stop ever. Her parted lips brushed against mine before placing a soft kiss on my mouth and I allowed my hands to reach for her waist. I felt her tense slightly but she kept kissing me slowly, pushing her tongue in my mouth and turning me on in a way I hadn't in a long time.

I knew that if we were not in a public place, it would be dangerous to go further and that thought made my heart skip a beat. She finally pulled away after about a minutes and when my eyes fluttered open, I saw the way she was looking at me. I loved it and I couldn't explain why. Who was the last girl who actually looked at me that way?

"You remember that we kissed last night too, right?"

"Yes Niall, I have no memory problem." she replied with a cheeky grin. "My brain is totally functional."

"I was not sure you'd want to talk about it."

Her smile disappeared but she kept staring at me lovingly before bringing her hand to my face, brushing her fingertips on my cheek and jaw. "I really want to talk about it."

"Me too." I whispered, my eyes roaming on her face. "Tonight?"

"Yes."

"I'll wait here until you've finished." Her face suddenly changed and her lips parted. I had no idea why she seemed surprised and it made me frown slightly. "You okay?"

"Yea, yea. It's just... I'm not used to that sort of kindness."

My traits softened and I raised my eyebrows at her, my eyes not leaving hers. "Well you're gonna have to get used to it now."

She shook her head slightly while rolling her eyes, a smile still spread on her lips, and I felt her hand against my chest. It felt like her skin against mine, even separated by the fabric of my shirt, left a burning trace on me.

"Okay but you need to let me work now."

I didn't really want to, I just wanted to keep kissing her until I couldn't feel my lips anymore, but I still backed away slightly and nodded, making her chuckle low. I wanted to tell her something smart or something sweet but nothing came to mind and I took a few steps back, still looking at her as she was placing books on the shelfs again. I sat at a close table and kept glancing at her from time to time when she was in my field of vision but after a while, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It's only when I opened the screen that I realized I had been waiting for over an hour even if it had felt like five minutes.

'My place tomorrow night?'

I stared at Summer's words on the screen of my phone and held my breath as my heart started racing. Instead to make me think more about her, it reminded me of Millie mentioning Summer's name at breakfast and I frowned, taking a mental note to ask her about it.

I was still wondering what to tell her when her second text message appeared on my phone.

'I miss feeling you inside me'

Instead to turn me on, it made me feel extremely guilty. I made things clear with Grace, it was true, but somehow, I felt like I was playing with Summer and Millie now, and I hated it. I decided not to answer anything and wait until Millie and I had a serious talk but I knew that no matter what she'd say, I was not sure I wanted to keep this thing I had with Summer going on. It was fun and it could have lasted a bit longer but the fact that she admitted her feelings to me and that I didn't reciprocate them messed everything up. I sighed, not knowing if it was true or if I was just lying to myself in order to find a reason to stop everything with Summer, but quickly got back into reality when I felt a presence near me. I blinked a few times and looked up, a smile popping up immediately on my face when I saw Millie.

"Wanna go for a walk or just drive back home?"

I got up and her eyes followed me. I moved my upper body slightly closer to her and it made her eyes get bigger. "I'll bring you somewhere. Do you trust me?"

[lloydskywalkers]

let me just start out by saying i love ever single one of your stories!!! i’m pretty new to the show and your works just add so much more feeling to everything and it’s sooo good!!! i don’t know if you ever do requests or not, so don’t bother with this if you’re busy!! but if you ever get a chance could you write smthg abt Jay and Kai? their friendship is so underrated but so good and i live for the moments in the show when Kai’s big brother instinct(tm) kicks in for him as well as Nya and Lloyd

aH thank you so much!! i’m so glad to hear that :D and this isn’t...exactly what you asked for, but Kai and Jay have this fun of dynamic that reminds me a lot of me and my brother, and i’ve been tossing around little bits of interaction between them for a while now, so i tried to make something coherent out of those :’D

Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at the whole compartmentalizing thing, for the most part. Mainly because he actually knows what it means, and it is not, for instance, locking your team up in a literal compartment while rushing off to fight the other compartment that is your resurrected homicidal father into submission.

“That was one time,” Lloyd will grumble, as if he’s only almost-died once. And then Jay will flinch, because that’s where his compartments come into play.

(Nadakhan gets one, Unagami gets another, the whole fun-times adoption reveal another, and everything else can get stuffed into the metaphorical attic since they won’t pay rent.)

Unfortunately, the attic is where the bad stuff lives.

Metaphorically.

If Jay had a nickel for every time he almost lost all of his friends, he’d have two nickels, plus another nickel for Cole falling into the fog, and another for Lloyd getting crushed by a roof, and another for Zane blowing up, and another for Nya in that awful dress with paling skin as her breathing stutters and the light in her eyes draining and —

And Jay is way, way too familiar with how it looks when his family dies, and all the nickels in the world won’t help that.

So while Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at compartmentalizing, he also thinks he’s got a valid excuse for the way he reacts when Lloyd goes down in the fight that afternoon. Sure, some vague part of his mind remembers that they’ve got a plan they’re running, and Lloyd should easily be able to handle a tiny little stumble — but Jay’s mind is stuck in glaring oranges and health bars, the unsteady gasping noise Lloyd had made before he went down, dissolving into digitized cubes just like everyone else, and Jay—

Jay can’t handle that, compartments or not, so he clears the space between them in a heartbeat just in time to take the bullet that comes hurtling Lloyd’s way.

It’d probably be a very noble and touching scene, if one) Jay didn’t make a hideous squeaking noise when it hit because bullets hurt, and two) the bullet would have missed Lloyd by a good two feet anyways.

Ah well, he thinks, as everything devolves into panicked yelling. It’s the thought that counts.

Except thoughts do not count when Kai is involved, apparently. Or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.

“What is wrong with you?” Kai hisses right in his face, eyes wild and sparking. “I was covering Lloyd, what were you doing?”

“Filling in for you, obviously,” Jay retorts. He has an excellent followup to that, real snappy and all, except that’s the moment Kai’s hand clamps down on the bullet wound in his arm to stop the bleeding, and Jay ends up stifling a shriek instead.

Great, he thinks, fighting back stinging tears of pain as he tries not to take Kai’s apparent wrath too personally. At least Cole looks worried, along the the rest of the team, who are dutifully concerned for his wellbeing like proper teammates should be.

“He’s going to need the hospital,” Zane informs them, his voice a lot steadier and calmer than his words make Jay feel. Zane’s eyebrows furrow as he studies his arm. “Stitches, probably.”

Jay swallows, trying not to curse. There’s a sharp scream as Nya finishes taking out another attacker just beyond them, and Jay figures that’s good enough.

“Okay,” Lloyd says, squeezing Jay’s wrist briefly. Either in comfort about the stitches or thanks for trying to cover him, Jay’s not sure. It’s a nice gesture, nonetheless. “Kai, Cole, can you get him there while we finish up? Sooner the better.”

Cole gives a sharp nod, and offers to take Jay from where Kai’s got him in a death grip. Kai shakes his head, and Jay’s stomach sinks. Sure enough, as soon as they’re clear of the scene, Kai starts going off.

“What did you mean, ‘filling in for me’,” he grinds through his teeth, clearly not about to let this go.

Jay bristles in response at his tone. “I meant,” he bites out, through a hot flare of pain in his arm. Kai’s always merciless with the bandages, even when he’s not in a mood. “That you weren’t there. So I covered.”

He should leave it at that, but Jay’s in a foul enough mood to finish with a condescending, “You’re welcome.”

Kai’s expression grows thunderous. “You didn’t need to. I was right there, you shouldn’t have — you weren’t needed, you should’ve held back.”

Jay feels his chest go tight. His head is clouding with anger, and the pain in his arm isn’t helping, but — ‘you weren’t needed’? Kai really didn’t skimp on the jerk juice this morning, did he.

“Oh, like you could’ve done so much better,” Jay glares. “Lloyd would’ve been toast by the time you got to him.”

“I could’ve made it!”

“Yeah right—”

“I would have, and I wouldn’t have gotten hit!” Kai snarls back. Something in Jay snaps. Or maybe it’s just the steadily increasing blood loss, but of all the nerve—

“Well you didn’t, ‘cause you weren’t there!” he snaps back. “You were too slow, which is real funny since your brain is too!”

It’s not his best comeback, he’ll admit, but Kai looks as if he’s about to light him on fire, if he weren’t stuck carrying Jay like the cover of some awful romance novel, blood getting all over his uniform as they both scream at each other. Maybe Jay will get lucky, and Kai will combust, and they’ll both go up in flames before they can remember that Cole is right there watching them.

“Cut it out, now!”

Oops, too late. For all the incensed authority in Cole’s voice, there’s still a traitorous falter that lets them both know they’ve screwed up. They fall silent, the atmosphere heavy with the lingering tension and new sense of guilt.

And the disgusting sound of Jay’s blood leaking through the makeshift bandage and hitting the ground, truly revolting, he hates blood.

“Just…no more. Please, shut up until we’re at the hospital.” Cole marches forward, snatches Jay from Kai’s arms, and proceeds to beat the fastest route to the hospital at a militant pace.

Jay still looks like some helpless romance cover heroine, dangling from Cole’s arms like he is. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even need to be carried — it’s his arm that’s hurt, he can still walk—

But any protests die rapidly at the look on Cole’s face. And at least this way, Jay thinks sullenly, he can fixedly ignore Kai.

Then again, Kai’s got a killer glare, and Jay’s always been garbage at ignoring people when his feelings are hurt.

* * * * * * * *

Despite the fuss everyone makes, Jay’s arm really isn’t that bad. They hook him up with some pretty sweet meds so he remembers zero of the actual arm-fixing, and he wakes up just in time to complain about being held in the hospital for ‘observation’ or whatever.

“It’s to make sure there’s no infection, or that you don’t rip your stitches out,” Nya tells him pointedly. Jay cringes under the look she gives him at that last part. Geez. You get kicked in the stitches one time after sneaking out early and suddenly no one’s got any faith in you. Typical.

“Why couldn’t we have just gone to medbay,” Jay grumbles. “Pixal gives way better stitches than this, anyways.”

“Gun wounds get hospitals,” Nya reminds him. “And it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on Pix when we can avoid it.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Nya glares at him. “It most certainly was that bad.”

“Oh, so when you get your arm crushed by a car, it’s fine,” Jay glares back. “But when I get a tiny little bullet nick, it’s that bad.”

Nya rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “Just think of it this way,” she says. “Now you have a little more time before Lloyd starts weeping apologies all over you.”

“Aw, no,” Jay groans, leaning back in the hospital bed. “Tell me he’s not blaming himself, Nya.”

“I think we had a promise about not lying to each other, or something,” Nya says, sympathetically. She winces. “Pretty sure he made the connection, too.”

Jay frowns. “What connection?”

Nya shifts, her eyes darting from side to side. “The, uh, the whole…Prime Empire, thing.”

Jay stares at her for a beat, trying to reconcile his blatant shock with the roiling nausea at the mention in his stomach. Nya looking at him all kind and sympathetically isn’t helping, either, because she might have made it down to the final two, but she was never all alone, and the reminder that she’d have been fine if Jay hadn’t gotten her killed twice is—

Bad. Real bad, not good, zero out of ten stars. Maybe he can take a bullet for Nya, next, and that’ll — that’ll help things, maybe. Equivalent exchange? Restitution? Some kind of fancy word that means Jay swears he’s gonna make it up.

In the meantime, he smothers the rising sickness in his throat and sinks lower into the bed, sulking. “It’s too easy to recognize trauma in this team.”

“I hear you,” Nya sighs, wearily. She nudges his shoulder, rising from her seat near the bed. “Speaking of. Someone’s got something they want to say to you.”

It takes Jay a second, but his eyes widen as Nya heads for the door. “Wait, wait wait wait, don’t you dare—”

“Love you,” Nya says cheekily, before taking her merry leave of the room. There’s a brief scuffle from outside, and the sound of Kai yelping, before Nya shoves him through the door, slamming it shut behind him with a damning click.

For a second, Jay’s tempted to hit the ‘call nurse’ button as hard as he can, in some desperate attempt to escape. Then he gets a good look at Kai, who’s turned a pale, queasy color that frankly looks awful on him, which is saying a lot ‘cause there isn’t much that doesn’t look good on Kai, but the expression he has on now—

Aw, man, now Jay’s feeling guilty and it isn’t even his fault. Stupid moral conscience center, he curses himself.

“So, uh…” he begins, because far be it from him to let this kind of awkward silence stretch on any longer. “Nice, ah, weather we’re having?”

Kai doesn’t respond, staring fixedly at the floor, and Jay sizes up the ‘call nurse’ button again. Just for the both of their sakes, of course.

But then Kai takes a deep breath, blows it out, and rocks back on his heels, fiddling with his hands. “I, um. I’m sorry.”

Jay’s jaw drops open. Which is probably an overdramatic move, all things considered, but unless he’s suddenly lost the ability to understand words, Kai just apologized to him.

Kai apologized. To him.

It’s not that Kai apologizing is some great big deal — Kai might have his pride, but he’s also an intuitive and good-hearted person who knows when he’s messed up. But to him?

Jay knows how he and Kai work. Kai knows how he and Jay work, and he’s breaking the rules. Because Kai and Jay don’t apologize to each other. Unless it’s some awkward expression of sympathy, they’ve never needed to. They fight dirty, aim for each other’s kneecaps, swear eternal vengeance and hatred at each other before storming off, then an hour later Jay’s bounding into Kai’s room to show him dumb meme videos and neither of them even remember what they were fighting about.

Acknowledging said fight with something as gushy as apologizing is not only useless since they both forget what they’re apologizing for anyways, but also useless because it’ll take too much time, and counterproductive on top, because it’ll most likely end in another fight about who apologized better. So for Kai to walk in and say sorry—

“Oh no, who did you kill?” Jay says, paling.

Kai spears him with a look, but it’s so pathetically watered-down and miserable that Jay forgets to glare back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jay mutters. “I just—”

“No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Kai interrupts. He hesitates, then sighs. “But that’s fair. I — I was unfair. To you, back there. Like, really unfair, in a bad way, ‘cause you were shot and I know you meant well, but you—”

Kai gestures wildly with his hands, his stream of words cutting off. Jay is left to stare open-mouthed at him again. Babbling like this is Jay’s thing. Kai is breaking all the rules today, huh.

“I just…” Kai trails off, ducking his head. “I don’t like watching you guys get hurt. I don’t — I don’t like watching you get hurt. And I get scared, but it comes out angry, and then I make a mess of things so I’m — sorry. Really sorry, for biting your head off.”

He exhales, a little shaky, fingers balled up in tight fists as his head hangs low, refusing to meet Jay’s eyes. Something softens in Jay’s chest, like gooey melting butter or something else equally pathetic. But it’s rare that Kai vocalizes this stuff, despite the fact that Jay knows he cares, and it’s nice to hear it, so he figures he’s entitled to all the butter he wants.

Jay’s own gaze falters, and the something starts to twist. He bites his lip, tugging half-heartedly at the bandages around his arm.

“Well,” he pauses, thinking of the way his brain had shifted to autopilot when he’d watched Lloyd falter, the razor-sharp shard of terror that always splinters through him when any of their teammates come too close to the awful images of death left in his head. He swallows. “I guess I don’t really have any room to talk,” he murmurs. “Be pretty dumb if I blamed you for that.”

He’s preparing to sink back into his own well of self-pity and loathing, resigned to spending the next few hours until they check him out of the hospital replaying bad memories in his head, when Kai’s next to him all of the sudden, shoving him over on the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the big idea—”

“Move, c’mon. You don’t need that much room, you’re a stick,” Kai grumbles, before grinning brightly in success as Jay makes him space. The contrast in expression is enough to startle Jay into silence, and Kai takes advantage. “I know that look. But you already got shot, so you gotta cheer up now.”

“So you’re forcing me into cheerfulness by stealing my hospital bed,” Jay scowls, but the sting is lost in the sudden surge of affection as Kai elbows his way on the bed with him, a steady warmth by his side.

“I’m gifting you my presence, you should be celebrating,” Kai huffs, as he pulls his phone out. “Now stop looking so sad and watch this video I got of a bunch’a geese chasing Zane at the park the other day.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Jay says, but he’s already snickering as he leans his head against Kai’s shoulder to get a better look.

He’s forgotten to tell Kai he forgives him, but like most things between them — Jay doesn’t really need to say it out loud.

[showtoonzfan]

Disney Pixar’s new movie “Turning Red” is honestly getting waaayyy too much hate, especially for a movie that isn’t even out yet. Let’s talk about it for a bit shall we? “Turning red” is a movie about a 13 year old girl named Mei Lee. She’s a girl who speaks her mind and doesn’t waste any time in the world, as well as having a group of girlfriends who stick by her side. Over time, she learns that her family carries a certain tradition, and she turns into a red panda whenever she feels a strong emotion, a metaphor for adolescence and puberty.

https://youtu.be/XdKzUbAiswE

Now I’ll admit, when I first saw the trailer, I wasn’t really jazzed at all. In fact, I was instantly lost during the the first opening SECONDS, I mean....come on, WHEN’S the last time you heard a kid say “Boots n’ Kets?” As the trailer continued, I only rolled my eyes further, because the movie so far was looking like it was REALLY going to be cringe, as well as me being afraid that the kid characters were going to sound like they were clearly written by adults rather than SOUNDING like how actual kids talked today. Like.....yeah, it seemed to me like the main character herself as well as her friends were going to be “QuIRky uWu”, but let’s get to the actual plot. I didn’t hear about this movie by a one click of the trailer, I knew it was a thing when it was announced just around after Soul came out. When I heard about it, I actually really liked the concept, and I still do! A movie about a girl going through puberty and her turning into some kind of animal (a red panda in this case) isn’t bad! There are many things to like about this, like the design of the Red Panda looks adorable, I love how her friends immediately accept her instead of this sort of being a “reveal” story, Mei Lee as a character seems like she’ll be a lot of fun, so yeah, this doesn’t look bad entirely. Not only that, but I’d like to point out that as a female myself, there isn’t a lot of media today about GIRLS going through puberty, (wether it be adult or for kids) but mainly it’s been just boys. I will say that while this movie hasn’t really made me believe that it’s going to be something phenomenal and emotionally moving, (as well as a good depiction on female puberty), hear this.

I’M STILL GOING TO GIVE IT A CHANCE.

Like damn, this is towards all the people who are already shitting on it. At least WATCH the movie when it comes out and THEN gather your thoughts. The fact that people took one look at this trailer and instantly said it’s going to suck, look, I don’t mind if you genuinely feel that way, but please give the movie a chance like I am, because you’re not being fair. Now I will say this. I’m not really jazzed or hype for this movie, I’m kinda “eh” about it, I honestly feel like this will be one of those movies like The Good Dinosaur or.......sigh........Onward, where it just came and went and then nobody talked about it. I have a huge feeling that this movie won’t lead up to my expectations, but I’m going to watch it anyway, as Pixar has shown me they can make damn good films, like Inside Out which was fucking PHENOMENAL, or Coco which was AMAZING. That’s kinda all I wanted to say, again, I’m not really jazzed or obsessed with this so I didn’t want to write too much, but when it comes out, I’ll give it a look!

So what are your thoughts on Turning Red? Do you think it looks good? Bad? What are your thoughts on the characters and concepts? Let me know if you want, and I’ll see you soon! 👋💕

[the-silentium]

Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job! 

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths. 

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife. 

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it. 

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors. 

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings. 

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher. 

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him. 

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom. 

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by. 

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct. 

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him. 

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed. 

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you. 

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands. 

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe. 

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar. 

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him. 

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly. 

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him. 

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon. 

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory. 

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other. 

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close. 

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling. 

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it. 

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place. 

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder. 

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years. 

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face. 

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused. 

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness. 

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either. 

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night? 

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows. 

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time. 

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back. 

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes. 

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair. 

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return. 

"What was that?" You whispered. 

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight. 

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle. 

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it. 

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips. 

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one. 

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity. 

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath. 

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something. 

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path. 

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much. 

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission. 

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off. 

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good. 

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that." 

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job. 

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper. 

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed. 

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you. 

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture.  As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job. 

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you. 

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew. 

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks. 

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded. 

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it. 

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here." 

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home." 

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable. 

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again. 

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance. 

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment. 

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell. 

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings. 

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction. 

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right! 

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self. 

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable. 

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear. 

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps. 

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his. 

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy. 

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration. 

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.  

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next. 

[michyreadsthenwrites]

Plain Bad Heroines - Let Me Give You My Thoughts On This (Character Analysis)

**major maaaaajor spoilers ahead**

(Here we begin with the handful of characters from Danforth’s sophomore novel that have found their way into my heart and apparently, this Word document. It didn’t hurt that they were all women that love women. And I mean, they really loved women.)

 ·   Merritt Emmons is easily my favorite character. She’s got that dry, sarcastic humor and air around her that makes it really easy to love her and hate her guts all at the same time. (If she were here, she’d tell us that this was a talent, not a flaw.) I felt personally affronted when characters in PBH didn’t like Merritt, like they were overlooking the diamond in the rough right in front of their faces. Then, like most things, it became pretty clear: Merritt Emmons could be one hell of a bitch at times. But it really only made me love her more. I realized that I identified with her. Yes, about being a queer woman that really fucking loves other women, but also because she was a writer that wanted her writing to stay true to how she wrote it, especially with so many people traipsing all over it and trying to make it into something it’s not. That was where I realized I loved her early on; when she pitched a genuine fit over who was to play Clara Broward. It was something so petty and childish, something so very me to throw a fit in a packed room of professionals when you have no idea about that kind of world and what it demands. But she fought for what she believed in, alright. Until she didn’t. This made me love her some more, incidentally. We got to see Merritt’s character development throughout the novel, and more specifically, we got to watch her bounce back and forth between the person she was too scared to be but wanted more than she could ever admit, and the person she spent twenty long years being; the person she was oh-so-tired of introducing to people. This constant shift between new-Merritt and old, crabby, prickly-Merritt was a very raw and vulnerable thing for us to experience as an audience. Merritt was certainly a lot more refreshing than every one of the overdone-Hollywood-types we became acquainted with within the book. She was mean and arrogant and wildly insecure, yet somehow confident and sure of herself, when it came to her work or her knowledge or anything that had to do with any book written, ever. A walking paradox, that one. Merritt was a good way to remember that real people, not built-and-put-together-by-Hollywood-people don’t always have their shit together, and they can’t always get it together by the end of a novel, albeit a long, six-hundred-page one. I think I’ll cut myself off here, friends. Not that I want to, but I feel we have a lot to get to in these pages, and Merritt Emmons can’t be the star of all of them (lord knows I’d let her, though). To sum it up: Merritt Emmons was the star of this book, for me at least. And I hope for you too. (This means go get your ass over to your closest B&N and buy the damn thing).

  ·   Harper Harper is somewhat of a mystery to me. She was a major character in the story, as well as one of our three protagonists, our three heroines, and yet I have trouble finding her as authentic and outlandish as she tries to come across. What I’m still having trouble deciphering is if this is an intentional character flaw created by our Miss Danforth, or if Harper Harper really has nothing to her besides being completely reinvented and marketed by Hollywood. Even in saying this, I know I have to give Harper credit where it’s due. She’s a proud queer woman in the movie industry, as well as openly queer online and really with just anyone and everyone she meets. She’s known for various flings and love-interests of the week, which is still a gross misrepresentation and stereotype of (masc?) lesbians and how they’re emotionally unavailable and unfaithful, which again is a possibility of the author’s intentional writing, something that we can leave for further discussion. We do get a bit of a glimpse into Harper’s life – her real-life – about how her mother is struggling with her sobriety, how her little brother seems to be caught in the middle of her mother’s messy relationships, and how she really has mixed feelings about how she fits into her new movie-star life. That’s about all we get from Harper, though. And it really is almost enough realness to take away from the fact that everyone else in the world sees Harper as the face of Hollywood, as this thing of beauty and money and badassery instead of a real person. But still not enough. And I could be wrong, friends. I could be pulling all of this out of my ass because Harper Harper is a badass queer woman that took over the movie industry with barely any experience under her belt. Harper Harper took every room she walked into by storm, and she made everybody pay attention to her, and she became the character we had a little crush on, simply because she was that big of a deal. But nothing of substance, not really. Not ever. But perhaps she had been her most real self with Merritt Emmons, in between the quiet pages that we didn’t get to read entirely. Merritt, our dry and arrogant and favorite heroine, had been Harper’s favorite, too. The most credit that I find myself giving Harper is her aid in Merritt’s character development. She brought Merritt out of her shell in a massive way, though at times she did have a hand in driving her back into the said shell. It was flawed, their relationship, which is another authentic Harper Harper insight we saw, as little of it there was. They were hot and cold, on and off, but always so enthralled with each other. And while Harper seemed to have had an impact on Merritt (among other factors), it doesn’t seem like Merritt had the same effect on Harper. I could be wrong and do feel free to correct me, friends, but Harper Harper did not come out the other end of PBH a changed woman. She was not burdened with the weight of a life-changing revelation. She was Harper Harper, as she always was, floating and untouchable, the kind of woman you wished to know, maybe to be, but also the kind you see right through. They’re transparent, friends, that’s what I’m trying to get at here. And they tend to stay that way. And I realize as I’m nearing the end of this, that I sound harsh in my critiques and analysis of Harper. I don’t mean to come off that way, friends, I really don’t. The truth is I love Harper, she’s everything we wish we could be. She’s gorgeous and sought after, can land any girl she wants with the bat of her eyelashes and a lazy smile. But you have to remember, she’s everything we’re not. I can only speak for myself, friends, and I encourage you to speak for yourselves if you find you have anything to add. I never related with Harper the way I did with Merritt’s character, but that doesn’t mean that Harper isn’t a beautiful enigma waiting to be unwrapped. I just don’t happen to be the kind of reader that would know where to begin unwrapping her, if that makes sense. And because I’m afraid it doesn’t, I do believe it’s time to stop with the metaphors and wrap this up nicely for you, friends: Harper Harper is number two on my list of favorite characters from PBH, and that is not something done lightly or by accident. She was one of our three heroines, after all. And a proper heroine she was, friends. Don’t you ever forget it.

  ·   Libbie Packard broke my heart more times than I count, friends. You’ll notice I have kept her maiden name, then. This is intentional, friends, for our Libbie never wanted to be a Brookhants, not really. It wasn’t towards the end of PBH that we learned much of what we now know about Libbie, and how it came about that she had been married (to a man no less!), as well as the very young principal of an all-girls school. Throughout their chapters in the book, Libbie and Alex, her Alex, were seemingly at each other’s throats constantly. There seemed to be a mysterious tension that we as an audience weren’t privy to – but it didn’t stop us from speculating. I found myself drawn to Libbie more than I did her counterpart, and I still can’t point my finger as to why. Libbie seemed sad, right from our first introduction, and Alex always seemed angry and cynical (as a queer woman in 1902, is there any other way to seem?). This might serve as a dual character analysis yet, friends. I’m not sure how much I’ll have to say about our Alexandra Trills, but Libbie Packard deserves a long sentence, or two. You know when something finally clicks into place and you can’t help but just let out a long “ooohhhhhhh”? That’s a recreation of how I looked when I read the explanation of how Libbie Packard became Libbie Brookhants. Learning that she had become pregnant with a baby she didn’t want was mind-blowing enough, and it filled in the blanks of how young, gorgeous Libbie had become the wife of a rich, old, old man. Libbie gave up her child was because she didn’t want to be a mother, and she had originally rejected Harold Brookhants offer of marriage because she didn’t want to be a wife, regardless of false the marriage was. And for a while, Libbie’s new life was amazing; she got to live with her Alex in a beautiful house and became the principal of a promising school. This was the life she’d always wanted. Or was that just what we wanted to believe, friends? Only at the end did we learn that Libbie had rejected Harold Brookhants offer (to live a quiet, queer life with her lover and without the child she clearly didn’t want) because she didn’t want to be tied down; not to Harold, not to anyone. If you think about it, friends, this was exactly the life that she had been living for years to come now. The tension with Alex had much to do with the circumstances surrounding them at Brookhants and the evil that was unfolding before them, but it seemingly had even more to do with the fact that Libbie Packard felt smothered. She was hiding secrets from Alex, secrets that she felt could destroy this already fragile relationship that they had between them. How vastly different it was to read and experience their relationship at the beginning of their love; playful and full of joy, both women giddy with the promise of something new and exciting. To compare that kind of love to the broken, tight-lipped, empty vessel of the relationship they now pretend to have is heartbreaking. And yet, completely understandable. Alex had fallen in love with the Libbie she wanted her to be, not the Libbie she was. Our Libbie wanted to be eternally young; playful and happy, bouncing from city to city with Sara Dahlgren in a sea of eligible bachelors (and bachelorettes!). It was almost a shock to discover that this life Libbie tried so hard to defend and protect was not a life she had ever wanted for herself. Despite this, she loved her Alex and her students, and devoted her life to them. There was that whole business with cheating on Alex with Adelaide the housemaid (don’t even get me started on that broad) but I’d like to extend to you, friends, the fact that I won’t comment on this. Queer relationships in 1902 are definitely not what they are now, complete with century-old curses and dead schoolgirls. Libbie Packard became the 1902-lesbian-headmistress version of our stereotypical bored housewife, stuck in a marriage that she secretly wishes she could be free from. And my heart broke for her, friends, it really did. But she was a heroine all on her own. A deeply intelligent and remarkable woman. Make no mistake, friends. Libbie Packard and Libbie Brookhants differ by more than just a surname. Our young, vivacious Libbie disappeared the moment she accepted Harold Brookhants’ offer, and this is indeed the sad truth of it, friends: Libbie Packard was gone before she could ever find herself. But Libbie Brookhants was our gorgeous, brilliant, queer heroine that never got what she deserved. So, friends, let’s all have a moment of silence for our dearly departed Libbie Brookhants… wherever she is.

·   Alexandra Trills is a character that I don’t know where to begin with. Her end is not one that I saw coming, at least not in the gruesome and deranged circumstances that came to surround it. Or maybe, friends, I just didn’t want to acknowledge the clear downwards spiral that our Miss Trills had seemed to be heading towards. Her steadfast and growing obsession with the death of Florence Hartshorn and Clara Broward was apparent in every page we turned, and the following death of Eleanor Faderman did not aid in absolving Alex of her obsession with the one, single copy of a book they had all possessed at one point: The Story of Mary McLane. Alex grew hysterical in her investigation of the novel and whatever evil she believed it had brought to the students of her school. I remember feeling a bit hysterical myself at times, following along with Alex’s scrambled train of thought that never seemed to find a place to stop. She was right, you know, my friends. And now what does she have to show for it? A gruesome death and an eternity of haunting the same grounds, day in and day out? I may not have liked her, and felt like she had been the reason Libbie was so unhappy and stuck in a life that she did not want, but the way Alex’s story had ended really did take me by surprise and break my heart. She deserved a better ending than what she got; she deserved to reconcile and fix her strained relationship with Libbie. Damn it, they deserved to live quiet, happy lives with each other. Neither of them got the endings that they deserved, and God, did they deserve plenty. This, friends, is the hill I choose to die on tonight.

 Alright, friends, this is it for my character analysis of Emily Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines! I have a special place in my heart for book characters that you can relate with (or characters that just really make you love them). The way that Emily Danforth brought our heroines to life was remarkable and highly impressive (I say this because it’s decidedly been a while since any book character(s) have weaseled their fictional way into my little heart). It’s rare that I give a book five stars (check out my Goodreads reviews) (oh god, please don’t), and yet halfway through PBH, I knew that this book deserved it. Good book characters are the ones that stick with you long after you’ve closed the book on them, and our heroines are stuck with me. And believe me, friends, I’m certainly not complaining.