#i just don’t understand it. and the moving the blog button thing is so evil like ppl are gonna click on tumblrmart BY ACCIDENT that’s just

[pepprs]

turned off automatic updates for this stupid app. i am protecting my peace ♥️

[lustbile]

Hold On

TaeyongxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warnings: based of this really old post here. Smut, stuffed animal kink?

first fic on the new blog! I’m losing my mind,

~~

You’d be slightly embarrassed to admit that the second Taeyong handed you the stuffed animal, it was as if it glued itself to your hands.

Yes you were slightly obsessed with the soft toy, but in your defense, it was the first present the boy had ever presented to you. Not only that, but it was also incredibly soft and, in its time spent hidden in Taeyong’s room as he tried to build the courage to give it to you, it had become permanently marked with his scent. These things, combined with its size, made it a perfect pillow.

So it never moved an inch from its corner of your bed. Waiting patiently every day for you to curl up, ready for sleep, and for you to pull it tightly into your chest. The only times it went untouched for the night, is the times you instead found yourself laid in the nest that was Taeyong’s bed, and it’s job as your pillow being taken over by his warm chest.

It was just a teddy bear. As classic as it could get with its brown fur and button eyes, but something about seeing it for the first time made Taeyong immediately think of you. You hadn’t been officially dating for too long, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t buy it right then and there, he just never anticipated how much nerve he’d have to build to actually give it to you.

But when he finally did, he was sure he had never seen something so adorable. The way your face lit up as you pulled it tightly against your chest, your neck bending slightly as you pressed your face into the fur. He could feel his chest tighten in endearment and his voice came out in nervous stutters when you thanked him with the same warm smile that was starting to feel exactly like home.

And he told himself, your reaction was what he found so cute. Yeah you holding it and cuddling into it was cute, but he was focused on your happiness.

So he didn’t really understand the way his stomach flipped when you let him into your room only days after to watch some movies and he saw it sitting perfectly next to your pillow as if it was waiting to see him again.

He shook off the weird feeling quickly, telling himself that he was just happy that you enjoyed the gift so much. And for that night it worked, and you innocently watched movies without a problem.

It wasn’t until about a week later did he have to admit that there was something else going on.

Same setting as the movie night only a handful of days before. Warm and cuddled into your bed, the sound softly pumping from the speakers of your tv. The soft brown teddy bear placed in his designated spot next to your pillow.

The only difference was his tongue rolling slowly over your clit and the quiet moans that fell from your lips.

The atmosphere in your room is so much softer than he’s ever experienced when he’s done stuff like this. Your muscles are completely loose as you sink into your mattress, the pleased noises you let out and the way your fingers tangle in his hair are the only indications that you’re still awake, as when his mouth first touched you, your eyes were sliding shut.

Your legs lay loosely against his back as he works you with his hot tongue. There’s no sense of urgency or impatience, allowing him to get a full taste of the arousal that builds between your legs. His hands smooth gently across the warm skin of your stomach letting him feel the muscles underneath the skin tense every time he hits a spot you particularly enjoy.

The second noises started coming from your pretty lips, his eyes had been trained on you. Watching the way the muscles in your face twitch and your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks every time he sucks the flesh of you clit tightly between his lips.

“Fuck Tae, I’m gonna come,” you whisper a warning, your fingers tightening around his scalp. He happily hums against you making you jerk and groan. He’s so enthralled by the way you start to squirm in pleasure, he’s thrown completely off guard at the feeling that hits him when you do it.

The hand that isn’t caught tangled in his hair starts to move eratically. He’s seen it before when you two had messed around. The promise of an orgasm making you so delirious your fingers would desperately search for something to ground you, but seeing that you usually only mess around in his room, you tend to find solace in crumpled up sheets. But in your bed, your fingers instead lock around your beloved teddy bear, and you’re pulling it to rest against your shoulder as you start to come hard on his waiting tongue.

You don’t seem to notice the quiet gasp he lets out when he sees this, as you’re too caught up with the orgasm that rips at your core. Luckily, regardless of his shock, he’s still able to lav his tongue against you to make it last just moments longer.

He’s unfamiliar with the feeling that claws at his stomach as he watches you twitch and shake with the stuffed toy lovingly gripped in your fingers. Something about it is so sweet and endearing while simultaneously makes him feel like he’s losing his mind.

He’s so thrown off by it, he decides to not bring it up, and even when you’re desperately pleading for him to let you wrap your lips around him in return, he can only wrap you in his arms and your blanket and tell you that it’s too late and you need to go to sleep.

And for a while after that, he didn’t really have to think about it. His room is the usual setting for your sexual escapades, that one time in yours was just an act of taking advantage that your roommate was out visiting family. So realistically he should have just put it aside and forgot about it, but that would just be too easy.

He thinks about it often. The scenes of it flashing randomly through his mind while he works or plays games, and he even shamefully thought about it when he was alone and touching himself to the thought of you. But it was at its absolute worst when you were together. Every time he pushed a whine past your lips, or when you started to come around him, a little demon in his brain would say, ‘now imagine if there was that cute little bear you got, just in perfect arms reach to grab.’

He just didn’t get it! What was it about you holding it as you came that got in his head so much. The amount of time he spent staring blankly at the wall trying to pick apart this new kink of his was bordering embarrassing, but he decided it was a combination of things. First, he always liked stuffed animals, he had a few himself that he’d push to the floor when you came to stay. Second, he liked you, a lot (that being a very easy factor to discover), and he liked making you come just as much.

Another factor was he knew it had something to do with it being a gift he gave you and how you would even refer to it as his bear as if he still owned it in some way. But the last, and probably most prominent factor, was that it was just cute enough to be corruptible. He knew that something about him making you feel so good and come so hard, that your mind would go blank, so blank that the first thing you’re subconscious mind would turn to is the soft and warm comfort item that he bought you, made him feel unhinged.

And he wanted to do it again.

——

First, he wanted to test if it was just that bear, or if it could be any stuffed toy he had a connection to.

You were coming over again and he was dead set on fucking you. This was this least uncommon thing in the world, but this time he just forgot to move one stuffed animal off his bed before he had sat down in only a pair of loose sweatpants to play games.

The large baby pink rabbit laid in the center of his bed when you walked in, seemingly keeping it warm as he sat at his desk playing games. You had seen it before so it hadn’t shocked you, but it was odd that he hadn’t moved it to sit on the floor at the end of his bed like usual.

But you weren’t one to complain, about the toy at least, so you just flopped as loudly onto his bed as possible and began calling his name and jokingly begging for attention like you’d do any other time.

He felt like an evil genius as he turned his chair slowly to face you, a deceivingly sweet smile pulling on his lips when he saw you had already claimed the soft rabbit without thought, the toy that had been seeped in his scent now tucked into your chest as you all but spoon it with your nose pressed against its ear. And his heart beat only ran faster when, as he stood to walk over to where you lay, he saw the way you subconsciously hug it tighter as if you feared he’d take it from you.

“You like the new friend you found?” He asks it in a taunting tone.

“Well yeah,” you keep your hold on the toy as you turn to lay on your back, your legs falling open as he stands between them, “you always put it away from me, so I have to take as much time with it as I can get.”

“Well then I won’t put it away this time baby since you like it so much,” he finishes his words with a huff, his eyes trailing across the scene below him. The way you’re laid out, soft and comfortable against his bedding while holding the toy, you’re so pretty and sweet smiling up at him, it’s enough to push him to put his plan into action.

“You don’t plan on letting it go at any point tonight?” he asks with a slight teasing tone, but the expression he wears tells you he still expects an answer. You shake your head softly in response, tightening your arms around it and your legs around his hips to prove it even more, “well if that’s the case…”

His fingers wrap around the bend of your knees, pulling them up higher on his hips and tugging you down the bed enough that your crotch brushes against his. He only grins and runs his cold fingers up your thighs when you grumble in response.

“do you think you can still hold on to it while I fuck you?” he asks so casually, a tilt to his head being the only indication of his mischievous mind set, that it throws you off for a moment.

“While you what?” you finally find the push to respond, your brain taking a moment to piece your thoughts together.

“While I fuck you,” he enunciates clearly, his eyes boring into yours as he reaches for the band of your pajama shorts.

He leaves you stuttering and shocked as his cold fingers dip below the fabric of your underwear, and as you lie there still trying to process his words, he tugs your shorts and underwear down and throws them behind his shoulder.

“What do you say baby?” he doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s bending forward, his head tilting as if he is scolding you as he pushes a slender finger into where your arousal begins to build, “you’d like to hold onto your cute little friend while I ruin you wouldn’t you.”

“Fuck Tae please,” you finally gasp out, your hips tilting towards him and your nails sinking into the soft fur of the rabbit.

“So cute,” he coos at you as he slowly works you with one finger, brushing his chapped lips and nose over the skin of your face as he waits for you to get wet enough for a second.

When he finally does, you’re panting. Your breath warm and gasping as his middle and ring fingers pump into you faster than you had mentally prepared for.

The heel of his palm digs into your clit while his greedy mouth devours the skin of your neck, and the pleasure that shoots throughout your nerves leaves you whining and squirming beneath him.

You don’t need to answer his original question. With the way he works you now, you can’t imagine letting the grip you have on his stuffed animal go even if you wanted. The soft fur being the only thing grounding you as you fall apart around his fingers.

He’s brought back to the first moment in your room when he hears the whining pitch that you fall into with your moans. The flush of warmth that runs over him from noises you make makes his whole body tense and causes a chain reaction when his fingers curl inside you, making you yelp in shock.

The growl he lets out when your free hand grabs his bicep and your nails dig into his skin is involuntary, but the harsh bite he sinks into your neck is retaliation.

You sound like you're bordering on hyperventilating when he sucks the skin between his teeth into his mouth to form a bruise, and with only a few more rolls of his palm, you feel pleasure shoot up your spine as you start to come.

Your eyes are watering as you wrap yourself around him, the toy squishing between your shoulders as you cling to him and whine. His fingers don’t slow down in the slightest as he works you through the orgasm, the way you tremble and curl around him with the toy still in your hold has his mind reeling and he can’t push himself to calm down.

Your mind is still fuzzy when he finally pulls away, and with the quickness of his motions, you don’t even connect that his fingers aren’t still pressed into you.

His still wet fingers curl around the bend of your knee, and he's pushing your knee towards your chest before you can even collect your scattered mind, and it's not until he’s sinking into you inch by inch do you come back to reality with a gasp.

“Look at my sweet baby,” he taunts as he shallowly rocks into you. His free hand trails up your side, taking a moment to tug at the rabbit and smile at the way you defensively hold it tighter, before wrapping his fingers gently around your neck, “you’re just so sensitive that you need your little friend huh?”

“Pleeeease,” your voice shakes as you let out the only word your shivering body allows.

He stands straight now as he harshly knocks into you, leaving your free hand to grasp frantically his crumpled sheets as your pushed higher on the bed.

He’s had you beneath him more times than he could count, every time he remembers as being more amazing than he could imagine, but something about this is different.

Your chest radiates warmth as you pant and moan, the muscles in your legs twitching harshly as you try to keep up with the pleasure you feel. Your eyes flutter as you try to watch him, your body rocks subconsciously as you try to match his motions, and you clench tightly around him making him spill just as many noises as you.

Though, of everything you do, the one thing he can’t pull his eyes away from, is the way you still cling onto his toy.

He had convinced himself that, even if you agreed to it, that the stuffed toy would be long forgotten once things got started, but the way you lay in front of him now, tells him you have no intention of letting go.

He can almost feel his heart beat in his throat as he watches you. The way you curl and arch against his bed, how cute you look in your old tshirt with the rabbit’s head pushing gently against your temple, makes him feel like he’s been handed heaven on a silver platter.

He can't imagine anything more beautiful than the scene in front of him, until he sees your hand wandering again.

Instead of reaching for his shoulder or his hands like usual, your fingers trail down your own skin. The way your face twists in pleasure tells him your hand moves with almost no thought, and before he can move to grab it, your rolling your clit softly beneath the pads of middle and ring fingers.

“You wanna come again that bad?” he doesn’t mean to sound mean when he asks, but there’s a mischievous energy in his chest he’s never really felt before this moment. He can’t help the pridefulness and glee he feels at you being so willing to indulge in his off requests, and he admits right then that this is something he’ll never let go. That night so long ago wasn’t a fluke at all, but rather you whining and moaning as you fall apart around him was just as beautiful and raunchy as he had hoped.

“Pretty little thing, you’ve always been insatiable,” he would have almost felt like a school bully with the way he spoke to you, but the shivering and puppy eyes he gets from you in response only encourages him.

“Please Taeyong, please please make me come,” you pout and plead up at him, the feeling you crave only a few pushes away as your stomach flutters and flexes in anticipation and pleasure, “want you to come in me so bad.”

He feels something inside him snap at the words that push past your lips, and the hand around your neck and his thrusts only become rougher. A yelping gasp that comes from you is the only thing he needs to know he’s done exactly what you wanted.

With a few more rolls of your cramping fingers, you're coming hard around him. Your second orgasm hits you harder than the first, the way he continues to stretch you pushing you through every second, and all you can do is squeeze the toy rabbit as your back arches sharply off the bed.

He loses the grip on your knee as your legs wrap around him, and the way you force him against you and the way you feel wrapped around him sets his own orgasm off. The pleasure making his chest press against your as you two rock against one another mindlessly.

His voice is raspy and dark as he lets out his own moans into your ear, and the noises only make you grasp for him to pull him closer. Your fingers curl into his hair as you return to a position similar to the one you only had momentarily after your first orgasm, but this time your clinging pushes him to the side and his moans slip into endeared chuckles, grunts, and groans.

You make no move to let him slip from you as he softens inside you, but instead you wiggle until your face is pressed into the dip of his neck and the rabbit is pressed against his side as you hold them both. You’re still racked with aftershocks, and the only thing you two can do is twitch against each other as every motion pushes him against the nerves inside you, making overstimulation bite at both of your bellies.

After what feels like an eternity of laying there, the only sounds surrounding you is your own panting and the quiet sound of the pause screen music coming from his game. But with a quiet huff and his fingers pushing under your shirt to run over your spine, he finally speaks again.

“Sorry… if that was ...weird,” he sounds unsure of his wording, sucking air through his teeth as he rolls his thoughts around his mind, but you only cuddle further into him in response, “I get it if that’s not something you’d ever want to do again.”

“Hm?” you let the noise slip out in confusion as it takes the words and your previous actions connect, “oh the stuffed animal?”

“Yeah that was… I could have asked before instead of springing it on you like that, that was kind of weird,” you can hear him grit his teeth in hesitation, “and I know you’re into the dirty talk thing but I was a little harsh. It was all just weird I’m sorry.”

“Taeyong,” you push up with your elbow on the bed to move just far enough away to look into his eye, “I mean if you’d be more comfortable bringing it up beforehand when you want to try something then of course, but no what just happened was really hot.”

“Are you serious?”

You have to jerk back slightly with a laugh when he springs up slightly with his own words, but the way you grin at him calms him almost instantly.

“Yeah I mean, the way you acted and everything, and I’m absolutely not against getting to hold onto something while you fuck me, I liked it,” you let out a dramatically airy sigh as you lay against him again, a question popping into your mind once you’re settled.

“Where did this idea even come from, I’m usually never anywhere near your stuffed animals when I come over?”

“Oh, um I doubt you remember but one day when I was at your place, you grabbed that little bear I got you when you were coming and I just never could stop thinking about it,” he admits trailing off towards the end, almost shameful.

“My bear!” you’re sitting up again, a scandalized look on your face as you swat at his chest, “that’s my most prized possession you pervert!”

“Hey! You’re the one that grabbed it while coming, pervert!”

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Three

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Three

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,091    

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, violence.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: Over the course of the last year, I have decided to fully embrace the swamp witch aesthetic that I have been side-eyeing for a long time. What this means for my blog is that I emerge from The Rosemire every few weeks to offer up what I’ve made, only to immediately disappear again. I don’t know if this is an explanation or an apology. Maybe a warning? Up to you I guess.

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Three

Bucky was watching you. Again.

He was trying to be subtle about it, as per usual, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help himself. To Bucky, you were endlessly compelling.

You took a couple of hours in your office every afternoon for researching… something… and he’d gotten into the habit of hanging out on the couch in there, originally intending to nap. Rather than sleep, however, he’d found himself watching you, enthralled by the serious demeanor he’d discovered in these moments. Between the narrow-eyed focus on whatever you were reading and the low muttering under your breath, he found you both charming and intriguing.

The intrigue made sense, considering your discomfort when he asked what information you were seeking in these hours in front of your computer. You hadn’t tried to deceive him, but you’d made it clear that you weren’t ready to talk about it. That had been before you’d let him into your bed, however, and he’d been hoping you’d share the truth ever since.

And so, he found himself stretched out on the couch in your office, watching you from under his lashes and trying to understand the mystery you presented.

Bucky was fascinated and frustrated by the puzzle of you. He’d spent hours talking to you, even more hours simply existing around you, endless days considering everything he’d observed about you. He hadn’t figured you out yet, nor had he uncovered why he was so obsessed, though he was getting an inkling.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love. He’d once had the heart and soul of a romantic, had been able to fall in love every other day, with a woman’s voice, scent, smile, but something about you was different. Something about you made him yearn for more.

He didn’t think it was the mystery alone, though that was part of it. You were in most ways an open book, outgoing and full of stories about anything up to and after your captivity. What happened to you in that blank spot you wouldn’t or couldn’t say, but he heard you whimpering pleas for help or mercy along with the name ‘Joseph’ in your sleep. The terror in your voice always made him want to destroy something. Instead, as he would pull you into his arms to comfort, he’d deliberately remind himself that those he wanted revenge upon were beyond him, but he could care for you.  

Most days, however, you were light-hearted and happy and being around you made him feel brighter, more like himself. Every day he woke up next to you was a good day simply because he knew it would be another opportunity to bask in the light and heat of you, the crackle and snap of the searing energy that arced between you. He wanted to understand you, wanted to understand that heated energy. He     was certain that there was something vital to be found there.

If he was being completely honest, however, he had to admit he was watching with as much interest the way you absent-mindedly brushed the pen in your hand over your lips as he was listening to your muttered asides about flames and one-way doors. He was utterly obsessed with the seemingly unconscious sensuality that characterized almost everything you did, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't something appealing particularly to him.

The fact was, if he was still the boy he’d once been and you were a girl he'd met before the war, he would already be thinking about claiming you permanently. However, he was in a new century, with new rules, new realities. Old evils still nipping at his heels. The boy he'd been would have adored you as much as the man he'd become, but the man was only comfortable enough to indulge that adoration thanks to his certainty that you could protect yourself should those evils catch him.

Except he was not at all certain he could have resisted you, regardless. The emotion that made his heart race and leap and ache was too powerful, the glory of what you gave him, the joy of giving back to you too exquisite. He'd begun to dread the day he was inevitably forced from your side. He wasn't entirely certain you'd let him go without a fight. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted you to.

You had made clear your genuine enjoyment in him, but he also wasn't certain how deep your feelings toward him ran. He wanted to believe that the softness in your eyes wasn't his imagination, that the tenderness in your touch was proof that you were as taken over by this as he was. But as long as you continued to keep secrets about things that terrified you, he couldn't be sure he wasn't anything more than a diversion. As long as you kept your own counsel about your past, and in the absence of explicit words, he had to assume that your feelings didn't run as deep as he might hope.

On the other hand, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the less than secure way you hid whatever it was you were researching. Every day you closed down your computer and put your paper notes in your desk drawer, which you then carefully locked. He knew that you were aware that the lock on your desk was something he could pick half-conscious with his eyes closed after a bender, and that was the point. That you trusted him to stay out of what you’d made clear was private told him how you felt. You evidently trusted him to respect your privacy. Maybe it wasn't a proclamation of undying devotion, but it was a start.

When it made him so warm and soft inside, he couldn’t even think of breaking that trust. No matter how mad it and you drove him with curiosity.

"I'm pretty sure you're not asleep, you know.” The sound of your voice startled him, so engrossed he’d become in watching the way you rolled the pen over your lower lip. “I feel like I can hear you thinking from over here." Though you weren't looking at him, a mischievous smile was playing around the corners of your mouth and Bucky felt the low-burning embers of desire that had been teasing at the edges of his consciousness burst into full flame. He always wanted you, but he wanted you most when you were teasing him.

Bucky smirked, but otherwise didn't move as he replied in a slow drawl, his eyes bright and blue as they glittered at you from under long dark lashes. "That pen of yours is giving me thoughts, the way it's playing with your mouth."

He was sorry to see said pen yanked away from your mouth, but the bashful grin you shot him as your laughing eyes met his more than made up for it. "Hey now," you mock scolded as your eyebrows lifted in playful challenge. Bucky adored the pretty way you played with him, the fearless way you challenged him. His grin turning feral, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

“Don’t get up,” you ordered with a smirk as you tossed the pen down on the desk and got to your feet.

Bucky sat back with a grinning leer as you circled the desk, hoping he'd managed to tempt you into his lap. When you dropped to your knees in front of him, skimming your hands up his thighs to his belt buckle as your mouth spread in a sly smile, he laughed in breathless wonder, grateful to be wrong.

"Fuck, doll," he sighed happily as your hands went to work on the button of his jeans as your eyes burned into his, "a penny for your thoughts."

Bucky's whole body tightened in desire when you leaned forward with a sultry laugh.

…

A long while later, after you'd destroyed first his body, then his mind with your wicked mouth, what was left of his heart crumbled when you led him from the room toward dinner without shutting down the computer or putting away your notes. He followed you without a backward glance, certain that the day was coming soon when you'd confide in him. He could wait until you were ready.

The intruder alert connected to the security system sounded from your phone at the same time the hissing, spitting panic of your friend had Bucky sitting up from behind you where he’d been sleeping curled around you as big spoon.

“What the fuck?!” he spat in a furious and confused whisper as he rolled to his feet in a move so violently graceful you caught your breath even as your heart picked up in fear at the sound of the low humming coming through the cracked window.

You scrambled out of bed and snatched up the nightgown you always left draped over the foot of the bed for just this moment. You’d almost started to think, hope, that it wouldn’t come, but you’d never been that lucky. “Kiki!” Your voice was hoarse with the terror that prickled at the back of your neck when the chanting started.

“What the fuck!” Bucky had put himself beside the window and peeked around the edge into the yard. He now sounded disgusted in addition to infuriated and if you weren’t facing your worst fear you would laugh at the aggravation all over him. Only Bucky would be exasperated by what appeared to be robed and hooded cultists surrounding the house.

When you peeked around the other side of the window and saw one man with his hood thrown back, a chill ran down your spine. The mask covering his face did nothing to disguise his identity. You’d recognize Joseph’s shining gold hair and arrogant stride anywhere, even if only by the light of a crescent moon.

You snatched up the phone on your nightstand and pulled up the controls on your security as you hissed. “Kiki, how is he still alive?” You couldn’t help the panic coloring the question, but at this point there was no reason to keep anything from Bucky any longer. You felt Bucky’s eyes on you when the popping hiss came in response and wished you’d had the courage to introduce him to Kiki before catastrophe struck.

Bucky crouched to pull the rifle from beneath the bed where he’d placed it when he started sleeping with you every night. As he loaded the gun and checked it over, he seemed only mildly curious when he asked, “Who’s Kiki?”

“Very small, Keek,” you said softly as you lifted your hand and turned it so that the backs of your fingers were facing up. Across the knuckles, a tiny orange and yellow flame with a vaguely animal shape, like a small lizard, jumped and pounced until it turned blue flame eyes on Bucky. You smiled a little at his raised brows. “This is Kiki.”

The flickering shape of Kiki’s face spread in what was unmistakably a smile even as the jeweled blue of her eyes narrowed in flirtatious charm as they rested on Bucky. He laughed a little, one of his scoffs of astonished humor, when she hissed and whistled in what could only be appreciation.

“Keek thinks you’re hot, for a human,” you said when Bucky’s eyes met yours over the happy little flame perched like a bird on your fingers. Your smile was a little sick around the edges and Bucky could see the fear that lived there. He was too familiar with the terror of rejection because of what one couldn't help but become to not recognize it when it was all over the woman he loved.

Bucky reached out and took your free hand with his own and squeezed gently as he smirked. “I guess Kiki would know, considering.”

You huffed out a laugh of relief. You could hear in his tone that he wasn't angry, that he understood. No wonder you'd fallen head over heels with the man. He was perfect, at least for you. “I was trying to figure out how to tell you," you rushed to explain, afraid to believe it'd be this easy. "Batshit cult outside kinda figured it out for me.”

“This works," he answered with a shrug. You'd trusted him when it was important. He had faith that the next time, you wouldn't hesitate. With a wink and a flirty grin, he nodded at the little flame still sitting on the backs of your fingers. "Pleasure to meet you, Kiki. You wanna help finish these assholes off?”

Your breathless laugh of wonder chased by adrenaline followed the low, long gleefully malevolent hiss from the little creature. You grinned fiercely at Bucky, ready to defend your home and everyone in it. “Keek likes the way you think.”

"Darlin'?" The deep Southern drawl that haunted your nightmares floated in through the window and sent a shudder of terror running over your skin. Bucky looked down when your hand clamped around his. Using that grip, he tugged you close, letting go to wrap his arm around your waist and crush you against his body as he took your mouth with his own.

"I'm not gonna let him hurt you." He growled the words not like a promise, but as a statement of fact, and one that required no further explanation. The sound of his utter confidence, his complete commitment helped you slow your breathing as he turned you both toward the bedroom door.

A shiver of fear still ran through you at the shouted "Darlin'!" coming through the window, however. Despite the still polite tones, you could hear the undercurrent of cruelty, of barely leashed violence, and the sound reminded you of the time you'd spent as his prisoner before that last horrible night. "I think I've been awful patient with you, darlin', but I'm already a mite annoyed that I had to chase you at all. Why don't you come on out here and we can talk about this like adults?”

Bucky kept you tightly snugged into his side as he pulled you into the upstairs hallway that ran between the bedrooms. He ignored everything but you as he spoke in calm, soothing tones to counteract whatever was in the other man's voice that made you shake this way. Fury lit a fire within him, made him want to leap into the fray with nothing but his knife to take vengeance for you in blood. Only his determination to see you safe could overcome that white-hot rage.

"I have an idea. Go to your library window," he murmured in a voice as soft as velvet as he led you down the hallway toward the room in question. "Stall him a bit while I get into position downstairs." He lifted the rifle still in his other hand, but his reassuring smile drew your eyes and gave you a much-needed boost of confidence. "Let him manipulate you downstairs, but you're only going to the front door."

You looked into eyes so blue the sight made your heart sigh and relaxed in a fundamental way for the first time since you'd been kidnapped by the man that was still taunting you and calling your name. You took a quick breath and leaned forward to snatch a kiss from that gorgeous mouth. With a quick grin into that stormy blue, you turned into the room to face your demons.

"Uuuugggghhhh!" As you threw open the window next to your reading nook, you shouted in hostile exasperation and hit the button on your phone that turned on the flood lights. Bucky grinned in appreciation from the shadows behind you as he turned to make his way silently to the ground floor.

Dropping into the seat with a huff, you leaned out to sneer at Joseph, the villain in your story, who was blinking and shielding his eyes from the sudden light. "What is your fucking problem?!" you sang out with malicious glee.

You'd learned very quickly as a matter of survival how to both fascinate and frustrate Joseph during your time as his captive. Like many psychopaths, he hated boredom above all else. Keeping him amused, even by irritating him, had made you a favorite, kept you alive. It had also led to your place as the vessel for his occult summoning, unfortunately.

"Ah, there's my girl." You were pretty sure you saw his grin flash with that familiar Southern charm. The mask only covered the top of his face and his voice was warm and appreciative. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes, there, darlin'."

You narrowed your eyes and ignored the flattery. He'd sounded the same even as he'd staked you to the ground, spread eagle for what he'd believed to be a demon. "Why’re you hiding your face, Joe?"

The face in question fell into cruel and bitter lines, the charming smile gone as though it had never existed. Despite the warm presence hissing reassurance in your ear and the burly man with the giant gun downstairs, you felt a chill run down your spine at the sight of Joseph angry. "I'll take off the mask if you promise to still think me handsome."

“I told you when we were dating that I have an ugly temper.” You kept your voice bored and unconcerned, well aware it drove him crazy. “If I did some damage on my way out the door, it was only to be expected.”

The dark and sinister cast to his features snapped off and his mouth spread in a wide, cheerful smile. The speed with which he switched from charming and pleasant to cruel and menacing and back again chilled your bones, despite Kiki’s ever-present heat. “I fell for that fire before it burst into flame, darlin’. Why do think I’m here?”

 You smiled at him, a thin baring of teeth that carried no hint of amusement. "I thought I made myself clear when I left that I was breaking up with you." You tilted your head in a taunting kind of curiosity. "Was setting everything on fire too subtle?

"I'm not mad, if that's what you're afraid of," he ignored the question with a sly smile. You were only half paying attention as Kiki was hissing warnings and instructions into your ear. Like the night you'd met her, she sounded both calm and competent, the neurotic worrywart you'd come to love these past months gone now that you were once again in danger. "I know you were a mite hysterical."

One corner of your mouth lifted in a darkly amused smile at the sound of Kiki's offended hissing. Describing the destruction that she'd rained down upon Joseph and his cult as 'hysteria' was an insulting understatement and only served to cement the little elemental’s determination to not hold back this time.

"Do I seem hysterical right now?" You drawled the question with a raised brow as you gazed calmly down at your nemesis, that mildly amused smile still playing around your lips.

Joseph let loose with an appreciative laugh that made you vaguely uneasy for reasons you couldn't quite put your finger on. He had a decent sense of humor for a psychopath, and he'd always seemed to enjoy the wryly sarcastic attitude with which you treated him. This laugh, however, had an edge that hadn't been there before, a sound that made you sick to your stomach.

"No, darlin', you sure don't." With another laugh, he pushed the mask up and onto the top of his head and the sight of his face made your blood run cold. His eyes were dark and red and raw, the skin around them cracked and blistered, as though he was burning from the inside out. "I gotta say, I like this side of you.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, but you could not respond in kind, only look at him in dawning horror. “Feisty."

Kiki’s low hiss communicated both fear and horror and terrified you more than anything else. Kiki was a fire elemental from beyond a portal into another dimension. If she was scared, you wanted to shake in your boots. The warnings she was muttering in your ear only added to your dread, concerned as they were with evil creatures from her realm, as powerful as she but without her kindness, or control.

"Joseph," you said in a voice gone cold with that dread, "I don't think we should hang out anymore. I'd appreciate it if you and your friends left now." With that, you pulled your head back in the window, lifting your arm to pull it closed behind you when Joseph's voice stopped you with a boom that made your ears pop.

"Except you didn't leave alone, did you now, darlin'?" Your eyes narrowed as his eyes began to deepen and darken. Kiki sighed in relief as she recognized what you were up against and knew she could defeat it, though there was hesitation in her mind that worried you a little. Still, it was an easy answer when she asked of you the same thing that she’d asked the night you met, the night she'd almost destroyed the man in front of you. "You took something with you!” Joseph bellowed. “Something that belongs to me."

Yes, you breathed, in the huffing sigh Kiki had taught you would allow her to work through you to channel her power from her own dimension into yours. Your eyes lit to flames as you replied in a voice that sighed with the same horrific rush of sound that accompanied a wildfire as it tore through a world. "I don't have anything of yours."

Downstairs, Bucky lifted a brow at the tone and timbre of your voice, the sound sending a rush of relief through him at the knowledge that you and Kiki were working together. He'd heard this the night he'd met you, knew he had nothing to fear. He glared, cold-eyed, at the people on the other side of the window that he'd silently cracked so that he could slide the barrel of his gun outside, and hoped for their sake they did nothing to provoke Kiki. Or you.

"You didn't set those fires on your own." Joseph sounded almost petulant, and the sound had you frowning in consternation and disgust. "That was supposed to be my patron, my power."

"Your power, my burden," your breath was starting to flame as Kiki settled more firmly into your form, her thoughts, her emotions sharing the same space as your own. When you were merged like this you worked in concert, each able to read the other. "You had no intention of carrying a demon on your back in return for that patronage. That was my job." Kiki spoke through you, trying to mislead the thing that Joseph didn't seem to realize accompanied him. "I took the patron and the power since I'm doing the work, thank you."

You and Kiki chuckled together when he took the bait and his demeanor shifted to convince, his tone to a wheedle. "Then let me take that burden. If you won't use the power on my behalf, then give it back. You never wanted any of this. Give him back to me and I'll leave you in peace."

Him? You asked the question in the popping language you'd painstakingly learned over the months you and Kiki had been companions.

(Her name, of course, wasn't really Kiki, but the sound you'd learned from her that represented her name started with a double scoffing sound that reminded you of the nickname. She liked the sound of it and so encouraged you in the familiarity.)

Kiki responded with her own confusion, not sure who or what Joseph had been trying to pull through the portal when she'd gotten caught in it. She was almost certain the thing that was currently hitching a ride with him was not what he was referring to, as it was highly unlikely that he'd meant to pull another elemental like herself through the portal.

"Why should I believe you?" You let your voice tremble, just a little, but enough to give the question a touch of vulnerability. You wanted to make Joseph think you were wavering, that he might have a chance at talking you into making a mistake. "You forced me into this before. What's to stop you from turning on me once I give it to you?"

At the tone of bitter betrayal, the sneer of suspicion that curled your lip, Joseph smiled gently and replied in a croon. "You know I never wanted to hurt you." He reached out with one hand and gestured in a come-hither motion. You wondered that you'd never noticed the condescension when you were dating. "Come on down here, darlin', and let me try to convince you. You have to be tired.”

"I am tired, Joseph." Bitter and weary, the words carried the weight of condemnation and the sting of disdain. "He's cruel and it scrapes at my brain. But I don't see how I can trust you to fix that for me. Since it's your fault in the first place." You folded your arms over your chest and glared mutinously down at him.

"There now," he chided, and the sound of his voice made heat climb from your heart up into your throat, your own anger feeding Kiki's fire, "you know you're my girl." If he'd been closer, he would have seen the flickering light behind your eyes, but he could easily see in the flood lights the smoke starting to climb from your hair and hurriedly changed his tone. "I always meant for us to do this together. Come on, darlin', you can't look me in the eye from up there and I want to make a deal with you." His act was completely believable, and if you hadn't already learned what he hid beneath the just-right remorse that cloaked him, you knew you'd have been fooled. "I bet you can smell a lie these days. I only want to take care of you."

This was what Bucky had asked you to do, and Kiki agreed that you'd made Joseph work for it enough that he wouldn't find your agreement suspicious. You glared down at him with narrowed eyes and an indecisive curl to your lips for a long, long moment. His expression didn't shift, except to grow softer and more wistful, as though he believed he could make you ignore the molten burn around his eyes.

When you relented with a deeply wary and resentful, "I'll come down to the front door," he looked both relieved and triumphant. You moved to exert just enough control to allay any suspicions and make him feel magnanimous in agreement. "But I’m going to get dressed first. Everyone stays where they are, got it?"

"Of course, darlin'."

With that same wary glare, you pulled the window closed with a snap and whirled to dart into the bedroom. You were on a clock and you still wanted to talk to Bucky before you stepped outside to face the fire.

Downstairs, Bucky had been listening to you almost as carefully as he had been watching the man in your front yard. After living with you for months, loving you for nearly that long, he knew you well enough to hear both the smoke he now knew was named Kiki as well as the shining brilliance of your canny brain. The way you allowed Joseph to believe he was talking you into doing what Bucky had asked of you had Bucky grinning like a fool.

He couldn't have asked for a better partner; even being back in the fight wasn't as bad as it could be when he had you by his side. He felt no conflict in the fight, not when he was fighting for you, for the home you'd shared with him, allowed him to make his own.

He would do anything to protect that home. He'd say the same about you, but the hellfire he could still hear in your voice reassured him that you were more than capable of protecting yourself.

Still, his eyes scanned the hooded figures on your front lawn with his enhanced and careful gaze, determined to miss nothing. He felt the satisfaction of a hunter's patience when he heard you snap the window closed, saw Joseph tilt his head to the side, and watched the shadow at the edge of the woods move to slip around the house.

Gotcha, he thought, and silently set his rifle on the floor next to the window and got to his feet, listening to discover which point of entry the shadow would choose. He could hear you upstairs, sounding like you were hopping around on one foot, but he could have kissed you for distracting the intruder.

Evidently, the shadow was either blessed with an abundance of confidence or cursed with a lack of imagination, because they had chosen to enter through the mud door into the laundry room at the back of the house. With a sneer of disdain, Bucky moved to the wall beside the door the intruder should come through if they were following the sound of your footsteps overhead coming from your bedroom to the stairs at the front of the house.

Part of him was surprised when the shadow, tall, slim, and largely androgynous, came through the door as expected, without a sound, but barely aware of their surroundings. Bucky easily had his metal bicep around their throat and was choking them into unconsciousness. He frowned in suspicion, worried that this shadow was meant to distract from something else.

If this was the best the bad guys churned out these days, no wonder HYDRA had still been using the Winter Soldier well into the 21st century.

You were coming down the stairs as the shadow was going limp in Bucky's arms. Your eyes widened in surprise, but your night vision had recovered while you'd changed and come downstairs so you recognized Bucky and, in his arms, Joseph's second-in-command losing consciousness from lack of oxygen.

Your eyes narrowed again, flames flickering behind the pupils. Brit had helped hold you down as Joseph had staked you to the ground the night of your escape. You'd never forget her face, and you had no sympathy for her feeble struggles.

You gave the two of them a wide berth as you ducked around Bucky into the kitchen down the hallway at his back. When you came back, Bucky was lowering Brit's body to the ground and you were carrying a hank of clothesline you'd gotten out of the junk drawer.

Bucky flashed a grin so bright with appreciation and warm with affection it made your breath catch, even with Kiki setting fire to your mind. You'd seen him through the curtain of flame when you'd first set eyes on him and had cried out inside that you should have to destroy something so beautiful. That cry of regret had made Kiki pause despite the gun he held and given you a chance to speak through the blaze.

His wry, irritated confusion had done the rest.

Joseph had lied and manipulated you with a carefully cultivated façade so that he could make you the vessel for evil to use its power without paying its price. He had also never even frowned at you until he had you captured and soon to be sacrificed. After that, Bucky's scowl had been irresistible.

Bucky snatched a kiss as he took the rope from your hands, thinking that he'd been completely right when he'd decided his luck had changed when he'd met you. "Do you hate the way he's talking to you as much as I do?" he asked with a smirk as he bent to tie up the intruder.

You snorted in response, wondered if Bucky realized how adorable he was, with his sharp eyes and gentle teasing. "Only with all my heart." You wished you had time to tell Bucky the whole story, wished you had told him before now about Joseph and the strange time in your life that you'd been under his spell.

Somehow, Bucky seemed to understand that because when he straightened up again from restraining your uninvited guest, he held his hand out for yours with a wolfish grin. "You want him alive for any reason?"

You laughed a little as you took his hand and moved into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Can't think of one."

Bucky was mesmerized by the flames that still twinkled in your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body despite the heat pumping off of you in waves. With a quirked eyebrow, he sniffed at the smoke still clinging to your hair and made you smile. "No complicated feelings? No need for revenge?"

"Nope." You stretched forward the few inches left between you to kiss him gently, with soft, warm lips that left heat spreading through him. The look on your face as you did so, bright flames in paradoxically gentle eyes, made his heart race. "I would love to be done with all of this forever."

Bucky's lips met yours with a tender greed that took your breath and made your ears ring loud enough that you couldn't hear the sound of Joseph getting impatient and shouting for you. Bucky could hear him but didn't care. He would show you how much he adored you before letting you walk out the door to finish this once and for all.

If he'd intended to distract you from the fear that had been shivering down your spine at the thought of having to confront Joseph face to face, it had worked well enough to have your knees trembling with lust instead of fear. When he broke the kiss and released you, it took you a second to steady yourself on them.

"Leave the door open and don't go too far out." As he spoke, he turned back to take his place at the window, kneeling down to pick up the rifle he'd left there. Sliding the barrel of the gun back through the crack he'd opened earlier and speaking in a soundless whisper. "If I start shooting, let Kiki do her thing."

You followed him to the window to give him the warnings Kiki had given you as you'd thrown on clothing while you were upstairs. "Kiki says that he must have dragged something through the door along with her because only something from her world could be keeping him alive right now."

Bucky calculated angles and checked the trees at the edge of the yard for the direction and speed of the wind. "What does that mean for killing him?" The bored tone to his voice had you smiling. He'd sounded much the same the night you'd met. It was clear Bucky found this kind of thing to be tedious in the extreme. Considering how he'd spent the 20th century, you could understand his ennui.

"If you see her come in from the right, shoot him as she hits. From the left, wait until she passes through." Bucky only tilted an eyebrow in your direction as you grabbed ahold of Brit by the rope around their ankles and began dragging them forward. As he'd left them on the hardwood floor, the lack of friction meant you didn't need to ask him for help getting them to the front door. "She didn't know how to explain further."

"If you trust her, I do."

"I trust her."

"Good enough for me." Bucky tipped a wink at you before focusing back on the man shouting impatiently for you in the front yard. "I can't believe you dated this guy. Anyone who doesn't know you're your own girl is clearly not good enough for you."

"I love you." The words had Bucky's head snapping around to stare at you in shock. Your gaze devoured his face, wanting to remember the look on his gorgeous face the first time you'd said the words to him. Plump, pretty lips parted on a breath of surprise, bright blue eyes wide with what looked like hope. You huffed out a little laugh and shrugged. "In case I don't escape him a second time." With that, you flung open the door to confront your own personal demon.

Bucky shook his head and snorted. "We're gonna have to have a talk about your timing, doll."

Part Four here >>

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @miraclesoflove @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @destiel-is--endgame @irritated-bisexual @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

[albino-whumpee]

To me, you are...

This is a heavy one so please go carefully. It deals with a lot of dubious heavy stuff like slavery and the relationship between captor and captive. And, to answer the anon who asked what Zarai saw Albus as, if more as a pet or a friend, here´s your answer.

I´m a bit behind schedule, so I´ll be posting them in the next few days. 

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

CW// box boy blanket TW, pet whump, bullying, defiant whumpee, noncon touch (non sexual), conditioning, discussion of ownership and fucky views about slavery, intimate whumper, diffuse line between caretaker and whumper, lima syndrome, self sacrifice, collars, grief and anxiety attack.

Lunch breaks were the best part of the day for the albino. He would meet up with Sasha and Tony at the food truck down the street, settle down on a bench together and order two crunchy tacos Zarai would disapprove of, saying they weren´t real tacos, but the boy would gobble them up regardless. Lunch breaks were the only times of the day he could relax, after all. Even just a bit. 

The atmosphere at the office had just started to get somewhat calmer after Zarai´s intervention. Albus’ cheek had a fading yellow bruise when he went back to the building with Sasha, talking excitedly about Sann´s progress with sign language.

“Thank you for spending the last Saturday with us” the albino said, smiling as they passed their cards over the scanner and moved to the elevator “He has been nonstop studying since then” he passed a hand to his neck, feeling the collar under his clothes “I’m starting to get worried I won´t be able to follow him someday”

 “Why´s that? We can always practice at lunch” Sasha signed perfectly after punching the buttons to their respective floors. Slowly so Albus could watch her movements perfectly. 

“I mean, yeah, but-” the boy flinched when Sasha lifted her finger and shook it in front of him. The boy sighed and put his hands up “I´m just afraid I won´t understand him” he signed even slower, mouthing the words under his breath.

“You´re doing your best, Al” she signed using the white gesture. Albus cheeks flared up remembering Sann´s words when he gave him his sign name.

The other pet had put his extended hand over his chest and then pulled away as if taking a pinch of salt. Sann had told him it was like taking a part of your heart and giving it to the other person. A sign for kindness that meant white, perfect for someone like Albus, the other boy had said smiling at him.

Sasha elbowed him back to reality “Trust yourself you can do it, ok?” she signed with a gentle gesture on her face that made him smile as they came out of the elevator and walked through a hallway to Zarai´s office “Also he learns too quickly, it´s quite scary! I couldn´t have learnt to read and write all by myself at all, so trust me. You´re doing just fine and normal” she finished signing with a pat on his back the boy winced to before patting himself. “Just try to watch your mouth when you sign and…wiggle your eyebrows more, yeah? Gotta emphasize” she said walking away.

Albus groaned as he straightened up “I still do that?” he shouted across the hallway. Sasha nodding with an apologetic face. He sighed before he signed bye to her, already turning on a corner. 

 He then took a deep breath and stepped into the large room and walked with eyes cast down to Zarai´s office, feeling too many eyes nailed on him. He just had to get used to the piercing glares and low murmurs in the air. He couldn´t make a scene again. 

 However, Albus jumped away when he felt someone get too close and heard someone laugh as he recomposed. 

 “Sorry, what´s it Jeremy?” the albino said looking at the blonde blocking his view from the other people as he stepped forward. He blinked amused when he saw Jeremy standing between him and the door.

 “Sorry, Sir. But, uh, Mr. Glass is inside the chief’s office” he whispered just low enough for both of them “Should I tell him to go, Sir?” Jeremy asked with genuine worry in his voice that warmed Albus’ heart. 

 In the last weeks, he had stood up by his side and tried to not leave him alone. That got him some side eye from other coworkers, but he didn´t seem to care and he was still as efficient as always, just slightly more tired though. Maybe he thought he didn´t realize, but he was deeply thankful to find a kind person among the cutting edges the office had turned into. 

 “Thank you for telling me, Jeremy. But I´m ok, go take your break” He said with a forced smile. Jeremy opened his mouth but closed it and stepped out of his way. He settled his hand on the handle and stepped inside to find Robert Glass with the framed photo on his hands, leaning against the desk. “Mister Glass”

 Robert´s eyes lifted up to see the albino closing the door behind him, smiling as he set down the photo back on its place. 

 “There you are. I wanted to speak with you” He said, lifting himself from the desk and walking closer to the albino. “Oh? What happened to your cheek?” he said lifting a hand to stroke him, amusing himself when the albino flinched and he had to grab his chin to force him to look at him “Hey, hey, didn´t they taught you not to move away?” Robert said, feeling the pressure he was putting on his jaw underneath his fingertips. 

 “Yes, from my owner. Not you, Mister” The albino said through gritted teeth. Robert let go with huff. Albus tried to shove down the disgust and replace it with his usual poker face. Couldn´t be too hard to force it up again. He had been doing it since he stepped out of the box after all. 

 The albino breathed in as he saw the man walk away, passing his hand through the stuff scattered around his desk. All of it lined up exactly like Zarai wanted to. 

As the albino saw his hand hover curiously around his things, Robert fixed his eyes upon another painting on the wall. 

 “That´s not what you said with Jefferson was it? I mean-”

 “You´re not here to talk about me are you, Mister?” Albus interrupted him, his chest brewing with newfound anger. “Sann is absolutely fine now, if you wondered”

 “Oh no, I came to talk about you exactly” Albus frown grew deeper, eyebrows tightening when he put his hand up. “Don´t worry, I won´t touch you. I only came to talk” he giggled, picking up the stress ball over the shelf and bouncing it on his hands side to side. 

 “You know? People think Pets aren’t people anymore. More like animals or objects” he started, stepping closer to the stiffening albino. A smile formed on his lips “I know some refer to their own pets as it, but do you know why I don’t refer to Sann or you like that?” He said in front of Albus. Lifting one arm up to trap him between the wall and himself. “Because you’re a person, of course” he giggled. Before he simply stared at him from above. Like a hawk above the trees just waiting for the perfect moment to dive for its prey. “Doing to you what you couldn’t to any other human… that’s the thrill of owning a box boy” He whispered to his ear, a freezing chill ran through his spine at the sickly sweet tone of his voice “Zarai knows that too”

 “There’s info she has been hiding from you” he began. Sweetly noticing the confusion in his face “A boxie can buy back their freedom if they pay for their contract”

 It hit him so hard, Robert was enjoying seeing his eyes widen with each word. He kept his grimace hidden and continued to explain to the dumbfounded albino.

“Of course, it is almost impossible to buy something when you’re not even allowed to be paid in most cases…unlike you” 

 Albus breathed in deep. Processing the new info and checking if it was info he should believe or not. 

 “Is that really possible? I-I-I could really…I could even-” Robert knew by the way his eyes widened that the question he had come to install on him had settled. Already knowing which words would come out of his mouth after that. 

 “However” the man interrupted him “It´s a one-time chance thing. Only one contract each” he noticed the drop of sweat going down the albino´s face as his smile widened “If I were you I would think it more thoroughly, Albie”

 —-

 After her meeting was over, Zarai walked to her office and thought it was odd people stared at her. She opened the office’s door to find Albus talking with Robert.

 The boy turned his head to see her and then back at Robert “Goodbye, Sir” he said with clenched teeth before opening the door. Zarai caught his arm before he walked away and pulled him closer.

 “What’s going on here?” She whispered.

 “Nothing really, princess” Robert interrupted their conversation. Albus closed the door with a short sigh. 

 “Then what did you come all the way here for? You should know by now you´re not welcome here” She said with fire in her eyes. Robert made his jaw work but hid it with a smile.

 “Zarai, darling, when were you going to tell him that he could buy his own liberty?” Zarai’s eyes widened slightly before she recomposed. “You let him win money, but you didn’t give him an object to spend it on. Doc Martin from Marketing would be really disappointed with you”

 “Albus, go outside and wait for me at the rooftop” she ordered the boy who quickly set off. Silence sat in the room as Albus closed the door “What are you playing, Glass?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

 The man snorted and whistled “I was being honest with him. Might want to do that more often. Do you even know what he said when I told him?” His hands shot up in a dramatizing gesture. “‘Is that really possible?’ With eyes all sparkly and hopeful! You might wanna help him understand that even if it is possible, he shouldn’t be showing that emotion” Robert kept talking but when he noticed she was quiet he talked again “Were you planning to even tell him Zarai?”

 The woman avoided his eyes, “…eventually” Robert laughed.

 “Well, would you have told Sann about it?” She exploded.

 “Don’t get confused princess. I didn’t give Sann the means to buy himself out of this. That’s all” he shut her down immediately. Robert gave her a sympathetic smile. “You are so lonely, so desperate to have someone on your side, you are forcing the only one who can’t displease you, to stay with you” Zarai inhaled hard “It’s alright though. I understand you better than anyone” he said stepping closer.

“Nobody wishes to be left alone, after all. Animals won’t help loneliness as much as a human would, so we buy pets for our broken hearts and call it love when they laugh with us” Finally Robert towered over her before talking into her ear the few words she didn’t want to hear ever “but they won’t ever be the family we lost, Zarai. No matter how much they look alike or how much they need to be cared for, they’re not Sirius, nor Jarred, Charlie or Fran”

 “He´s not a replacement, Glass. I´m not like you” she battled the tears prickling behind her eyes.

 “I know, he’s not that kind of replacement” he leaned to whisper on her ear “I know we are not playing the same game Zarai” he said stepping back as the woman’s head spun and pulsed with how hard she was clenching her teeth “You never wanted a secretary to help you. No, you never needed him to be your secretary” his lips twisted into a smile “You aren´t made of ice. You could´ve taught them just like you did with him. But you never would´ve been so patient with anyone that could leave would you?” he said enjoying the small frustrated gasps coming out of her.

 “¡Suficiente!” She yelled pushing him away. “If you are so sure of it, why did you keep Sann? What was the point in that huh?” Robert finally shut his mouth for a second. “If Sann is just a fake why keep him around?”

 “For the same reason as you. We’re so lonely we bought ourselves company” he admitted. Making Zarai burst into tears.

 “Vete” he stayed still “AHORA, Glass! FUERA!” she screamed before the man walked out of the office with a grim face. 

 “You know I’m right”

 She slammed the door closed on his nose. She waited a while, trying to calm herself down, but the violent tremble wouldn´t stop.

 Suffocating and sweaty and feeling too heavy on her chest, she stepped out of her office and didn’t even bother to cover the furious tears rolling on her cheeks until she let it out on the elevator to the rooftop.

 She passed to the bathroom to put herself together.

 When was the last time she hid in a bathroom to cry like she was? College? No, a year after the accident. When she came back to work and all of the sudden after one of her meetings, she just couldn´t stop herself from tearing up. Then she went back home to cry on the kid´s beds clenching their clothes before she fell asleep. No, wrong the last time had been a few weeks before Albus came. 

 She heard the water run as the realization roamed in her mind and concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out. Since he came to her life, she hadn´t had an anxiety attack.

 Every day for the last eight months, she woke up to homemade breakfast and a good morning, she went to work and had the exact thing she needed on her hand without asking, she went to sleep and her fingers lazily unbuckled the boy´s collar before he wished her good night.

  For the last months she had glanced back over her shoulder and found the albino immediately turned attentively at her. 

 Her breathing hitched as tears rolled down without being able to stop them. 

 For the last months, she always had someone on her side making her company.

 Just like she requested on the WRU form.

 “Ha ha…I really am a monster” she whispered to herself with a sniff “A lonely…lonely monster, just like he said…”

 It took a long time before she recomposed herself and walked to the rooftop garden where Albus was waiting for her.

 His hair had grown a bit and had gained some weight. He was not the dirty, malnourished box boy on a crate anymore. He was the best assistant she had ever had, and a simply adorable and promising kid. Her hands fell on the handle and doubt overwhelmed her for a second.

  In the end, Zarai opened the door and Albus turned to see her with mild surprise. Fixing his posture and face when he recognized her and followed her movements. 

 If she asked him, if she let him buy it…what would he do?

 She had no other way to know than asking and her heart broke when the boy widened his eyes and sulked on the plastic chair in the roof, rounding his thumbs one over the other, before he breathed out and looked up at her. 

 “I made a promise to you, Ma´am” the boy said calmly, crimson eyes looking at her as he wetted his lips “And I intend to keep it. But…I had enough time to think about it here” he looked around the roof, seeing the whole city under him but eyes fixed on the ocean beyond the beach. He turned back to see her with a light frown on his face, looking too young all of a sudden “I´ll make a request, and this will be the only one I´ll ever ask from you, Ma´am”

 As the breeze carried his words to her, she froze. She saw the way the albino smiled at her, a bold pleading on his eyes she couldn´t refuse. After a long silence, she agreed. With a big smile to hide the sadness underneath, Albus thanked her.

 The reason for their agreement would be completely secret from the other two, no matter what happened, both vowed not to tell either Sann or Claude about their deal. 

 At night, her hands had trembled when she was supposed to loosen up his collar to sleep like every night. And the albino had looked at her with those big crimson eyes that softened as he settled her hand over his collar and she finished the task.

 “Good night, Ma´am, Mister” he had said before walking through the door. 

 “Goodnight, Albus” she had replied back and curled closer to Claude. 

 She would wonder later, why she had agreed to it. Why didn´t she stop him or offered the backup way she had planned to give him from the beginning, but she quickly found her answer when she looked over her shoulder and found, always found, the albino trailing behind her.

 She agreed, because for her, Albus was company that wouldn´t ever go away.

[baseballbitch116]

Hot Encounters

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Prompt: Y/N and some of the others try to cool down on a particularly hot summer day - until someone ruins it

Request: Hello again ^O^ Can I request Daryl fluff where the reader says I'm so in love with you now shut up and kiss me? ( 35 and 34 prompt) maybe have Daryl be a bit pissy and jealous and the reader thinking hes adorable and says the prompts?

Word Count: 1777

Warnings: Confrontation, slightly jealous/protective Daryl, tiny bit of suggestiveness - sfw

A/N: Hey babe! Sorry this took so long to get to, I’m the worst! I really liked writing this, I hope you enjoy it!

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It had to be nearing a hundred degrees out today. The sun was beaming down relentlessly, not a cloud in the sky - making it the hottest day of the summer yet. You were busy most of the day, and just your luck it was all outdoor work. Everyone was dripping in sweat as you worked in the crops and on building up weak spots in the fences. Your hair was matted down to your face by the time that you finished. Rick decided to call it a day, seeing as it was unbearably hot and sunny. One of the woman from Alexandria mentioned that she was planning on swimming in the pond at the center of the community, which sounded like an amazing idea to you.

“Do you guys have any bathing suits or anything?” You question as you follow her alongside Tara and Maggie.

“Of course!” She exclaims, acting as though it is absurd of you to assume that they did not. You exchange a look with your friends, catching Tara’s smirk and Maggie’s eye roll, but remaining silent as you continue to follow the woman.

Apparently the community had some sort of “clothing bank,” where they kept any clothes that someone may want. There were dresses, shorts, bathing suits, socks, all kinds of miscellaneous stuff. Eventually you found a bathing suit in your size, a plain black bikini. The four of you changed and headed out to the pond with your clothes and towels. It felt very odd to be walking around in so minimal clothes - you hadn’t worn a bathing suit in so long now. You felt a little self conscious being so exposed, not missing the bewildered look Rick shot you guys when you passed him at the house.

You chuckled bashfully as he shook his head at you guys and headed inside the house.

You wished that Daryl would join you in the pond, but you knew that all the begging in the world would not get that man in there. You carefully dipped your feet down into the water, the mud squishing under your toes as you inch into the pond. The water was not as cold as you were expecting, but it was still very refreshing. The woman, Maria, dove into the water, splashing all of you in the process. “Oh my gosh!” Tara exclaims, jumping up and down in the water as she wiped her wet face off. You and Maggie laugh as she dramatically rubs her arms.

“It’s not that cold!” You taunt your friend with a smile.

“Oh really?” She counters, stalking toward you with an evil grin.

“No!” You shout, attempting to run away from her in the waist-high water. The four of you ended up in a splashing war, laughing hysterically and drawing the attention of the other residents. Eventually, Spencer Glenn and Carl joined in, stripping their shirts away instead of changing into suits. You were oblivious to some of the residents sitting out on their porches or stopping as they walked by to watch you guys.

After a while of splashing and dunking, Spencer suggested playing chicken. You were a little apprehensive at first but ended up agreeing. It was supposed to be Maggie and Glenn versus you and Spencer, with Tara, Maria and Carl sitting it out off to the side. You couldn’t deny that Spencer was a good looking young man, and his body certainly was nice - but you weren’t entirely comfortable climbing onto his shoulders. You worried what Daryl would think if he saw you in the compromising position, making you hesitant to play the game with him. You wouldn’t mind if Tara was your partner but Spencer was insistent - which made you even more uncomfortable.

“Oh come on Y/N,” He insists once again. Maggie exchanges a look with you, sensing your discomfort.

“It’s fine, we don’t have to play.” Maggie starts.

“What? You think I’m gonna bite?” Spencer asks, seemingly offended.

“It’s not that, it’s because I’m with Daryl.” You explain, hoping he will back off and understand. Instead, he rolls his eyes and catches an attitude.

“So? He won’t let you play a game?” He remarks. You raise a brow at him, not pleased with his tone. Glenn moves forward in the water closer to your side to face Spencer until he is interrupted.

“Hey!” You’d recognize that voice anywhere. “She said she don’t wanna.” Daryl growls, approaching you guys at the pond. He is wearing his vest and a black button down with the sleeves cut off, his hair greasy and body sweaty. Despite looking disheveled, he looks incredible sexy as he approaches you. You move to step out of the water and he reaches his hand down to help you out, which you graciously accept. You step up the slight hill, his large hand helping you up easily as his other holds your exposed back. You face him as you stand beside him, the humid air already heating your body back up.

“Chill out. It’s not that serious.” Spencer says. You don’t miss how he is clenching his jaw and tensing his muscles. You wonder whether he is flexing to try to look intimidating or if he’s just tense. Daryl moves to take a step forward but you react quick, grabbing hold of his bicep and shaking your head at him.

“Seriously, man? And you wonder why she didn’t wanna?” Glenn comments, shooting Spencer a look as he leads Maggie and Carl out of the pond.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted.” Maria mumbles as she exits as well. Spencer looks pissed off and you decide to get out of here before Daryl gets too angry. You give his large bicep a tug before leaning down to grab your clothes and the towel.

Daryl shoots Spencer one last glare before placing his hand on your lower back, leading you over toward the house. He takes the towel from your arm and wraps it over your shoulders, covering up your body as you walk. You smirk up at him and he only rolls his eyes, remaining silent. “I don’t trust that prick.” He mutters hoarsely as he steps up the porch, grabbing the door and waiting for you to walk inside. 

You only smile as you walk ahead of him into the kitchen, tossing the towel over a stool before opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of tap-water. You turn around and lean against the cool counter, eyeing Daryl as he stands there, shifting his weight and chewing on his bottom lip. You take notice of his eyes on you, nearly hidden behind his long hair. A smirk breaks out on your face as you set the water down, motioning him to come over with your finger. He stares at you for a moment before striding over to you, stopping a step away. You take his hand and pull him in so that he is standing directly in front of you.

You wrap your arms around his torso and look up at him with a smile. “I’m in love with you. Not him.” You say, looking up into his blue eyes, your arms holding him close. He stares at you for a long moment, a smile toying at his lips that he tries to fight back before dropping his eyes from the tension building. He does not touch you but does not pull away from your arms either.

Despite your time together, he would still hesitate in intimate moments like these. You remove your arms and grab onto his, wrapping them around your bare waist before placing your arms back around him, leaning your head into his warm chest. He leans his chin against your head and moves his hands to hold your waist more securely, hugging you back.

“He just wants to get into your pants. Ain’t no reason he needa be touchin ya.” He mutters in your hair. You roll your eyes and let out a laugh before leaning back to look up at him again.

“You’re the only one with that privilege, hun.” You respond, grinning when you see his gaze drop again and cheeks turn slightly pink. Daryl raises one hand to brush your wet hair out of your face, relaxing in your arms as you lean into his touch.

“Damn right,” He mutters after a moment, shocking you when he suddenly lifts you up by your bare thighs and places you on the counter-top, bringing you eye to eye with the archer. You grin and let out a giggle, taken aback by his burst of confidence. Daryl smiles lightly, a sigh for sore eyes, and you recognize the content on his face - goosebumps raising over your skin as he holds one large hand over your exposed hip. You lazily toss your arms over his wide shoulders and lean in slightly, a shy grin toying with your lips as you tempt him.

“You’re cute when you’re possessive,” you whisper, your face inches from his own. His blue orbs drop to your lips before looking back into your own eyes. He shrugs his shoulders before taking a small step forward, his body heat radiating off onto you. “Now, please shut up and kiss me.” You mutter with a playful grin, leaning in close enough that your lips are nearly touching, but not quite. You feel Daryl’s hot breath on your own lips, your heart racing in your chest as you look up into his eyes. You spot his lips curve back up into a content sideways smirk before he closes the gap between the two of you, finally pressing his warm lips against your own.

His lips are soft, unlike the rest of him, and move slowly against your own. You lean into his touch, melting into the slow, sweet kiss, his beard lightly scratching at your face - but you enjoy the combination of feelings. Your fingers tangle into his messy mop of hair affectionately, emitting a low groan from his lips that your own mouth captures. His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps as they climb up your bare hips to your waist, holding you close as he stands between your legs.

Daryl pulls away before things can get too heavy, resting his forehead on yours. “Yer gonna be the death of me, woman.” He mutters, making you giggle as he moves away enough for you to look up at his flustered face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The way he looks into your eyes and leans into your hand is enough for you to know exactly how he is feeling. You know how much Daryl loves you...

---

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[sassykittynoir]

The Fashion Rebellion of Adrien Agreste || Part I

Pairing: Adrinette (Marinette Dupain-Cheng x Adrien Agreste)  Warnings: Mention of alcohol consumption. Words Count: 1,8k words. 

A/N: I would like to say a huge thanks to my dear friend @smileytrinity for her infinite patience and help and support, as well as @helgabatwrittings who motivated me to write this. @miraculouslyinloveagain, @sparklesfriend4700-blog I hope you’ll enjoy this Adrinette. Well, I hope everyone does. <3

His plan was devious. If Plagg's giggles were any indication, Adrien would say he had crossed the line between mischief and Machiavellian by a long shot... alright, maybe it was  an overstatement.

"What you’re doing is more dabbling into little shit territory than being an evil menace.” Plagg drawled over his shoulders, only to shrug in disinterest when Adrien remarked that Plagg's barometer was skewed when it came to chaos and mischief.

Evil misdoings or shenanigans, Adrien couldn't bring himself to care or feel an ounce of guilt. After all, a taste of his own medicine wouldn't kill his father.

The whole thing had started a few months ago. He didn't know how such an innocent idea had gotten so out of hand. But, could anyone blame him for wanting to get back at his father when his actions were marred by his malicious intent?

Adrien had once believed his father was an overprotective parent, but, as the years went by, gone was the blind trust he had placed in the adults of his life. The Lucid maturity replaced the juvenile naivety. The perfect family facade had long since shattered, a cold truth seeping inches by inches in its cracks.

The idea blossomed into a fully-fledged plot almost overnight. Mere hours after his father  —  well Nathalie  —  had informed Adrien that he couldn't attend Marinette's picnic because his schedule had been modified to accommodate a last minute photoshoot. He had been so irritated that —

“ — I really want to get back at him.” Adrien hissed, plopping down on Chloe's bed. He felt bad for the glare he directed at Mr.cuddly. The poor bear didn't deserve it. 

“I’m not going to pretend I understand why you want to attend this dwee — Marinette’s” —   Chloe relented at Adrien’s pointed look —  “Marinette’s picnic.” Chloe rolled her eyes in disdain, applying the finishing touch to her makeup: a glittery peach lip gloss. ”But this is utterly ridiculous. You're eighteen! You should have the freedom to go wherever you want to. You’ll have wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

Adrien couldn't help the small huff of amusement falling past his lips. He took a deep breath in order to calm down. The last thing he needed was to be akumatized before the charity gala he was attending even began. At least Chloe — whom he considered his sister — would be attending as well.

“I have the perfect solution!” Chloe wiped out her phone, typing furiously until she reached the homepage of Versace’s online shop. “Retail therapy helps wonder. Care to put a dent in daddy dearest’s fortune?” She turned to face Adrien a grin on her face, the skirt of her haute couture dress swirling in a flurry of sequined organza.  

“You know he doesn't care about my shopping sprees, Chlo. I wouldn't have a climbing wall in my bed room if he did.” Adrien sighed suddenly deflated and laid his cheek atop of Mr. Cuddly’s head. He did give the best cuddles.

Chloe’s only answer was an noncommittal hum and joined Adrien’s on the bed. In an uncharacteristic gesture of comfort, she rested her hand on Adrien’s thigh “Do you know what he cares about? Your pretty face.”

“Go on.” He encouraged, cocking one eyebrow up in interest, mood perking up.

“What could make a designer angrier than seeing the face of his brand, his ambassador, publicly endorsing another brand?”

 Adrien could have kissed Chloe in sheer gratitude. “Chloe, you're a genius!”

“Yeah, I know. I'm just misunderstood.” she scoffed, one hand twirling a curl of hair framing her face.

—

“We don't have all night! Post it or don't, but make your decision. All this hesitation is ruining my appetite.” Plagg whined. How he could manage to sound so childish yet so disdainful at the same time was beyond Adrien’s understanding. Yet, the kwami had no trouble accomplishing such feat while sitting on Adrien’s shoulders, a slice of Camembert between his paws.

“Thanks for the moral support.” Adrien muttered. So what if he had been sprawled on his bed for the past hour, phone in hands debating whether he should be posting the video or not. To be petty, or not to be? That was the question. An existential question, one might add, as his finger hovered the share button on his screen. Teeth worrying his bottom lip. Should he really listen to the little devil on his shoulders? Should he even consider his opinion when his brain was still muddled? He had too many cocktails, tonight. 

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Plagg complained, words stretching around a yawn. “There!” he hissed, flying over Adrien’s shoulders to press share. “I posted it for you. It’ll teach your old man a lesson.”  

“Plagg!!” Adrien whispered, venom lacing his tone. “I can’t believe you did that! Two minutes in the drawer of shame!” He spat, opening the top drawer of his nightstand. 

An indignant scoff bubbled out the kwami’s throat. He titled his chin up in defiance as he plopped down on the plush pillows installed in the drawer of shame. “Just so you know, I’m going there on my own volition. A drawer full of silk pillows is hardly what I call a punishment.” he declared, petulant. 

“For someone who is supposed to be offended, you're certainly not eager to delete the video.” Plagg delivered the coup de grace in a disconcerting nonchalance, before eating his slice of cheese. As frustrated as Adrien was with Plagg, he had to admit, the idea had not crossed his mind once.

“I'm deleting it now.” Adrien declared just because he could, yet he made no effort to move.

"Huh huh. Sure you will!" Plagg retorted back. It took Adrien all the force he could muster not to dignify the tiny cat with an answer. He would be the better person. 

—

It had taken 8 hours of beauty sleep, for Adrien to wrap his head around the fact that he posted such a video of himself. He almost regretted his decision not to delete it upon waking up. Almost, but his head was pounding and he was never drinking alcohol ever again. After all, he did post, on Instagram, a 1:06 minutes long video of himself — two dry martinis away from drunkenness — singing along, no, belting along the lyrics ”Versace On the Floor” by Bruno Mars featuring Chloe’s judging looks, just to get back at his father. And yet, Adrien couldn't fight the feeling of satisfaction surging through his body when he noticed that #Versace was trending on all social media. 

The video going viral in a matter of hours? Expected. Fans sliding into his DMs?Anticipated. Nino freaking out over texts? Typical. 

What he hadn't counted on, however, was his video being broadcast on TV.  Adrien watched with stupor as a journalist reported — with supporting images  — how crowds of fan girls were waiting in queues outside of Versace’s boutiques to buy a dress. “Versace sales skyrocket after model video goes viral” read the words in bold yellow letters. He chocked on his eggs Benedict, eyes watering as he forced the food down his throat. 

“Oh, I’m was screwed. Father is going to kill me.” Adrien whispered to himself, voice barely audible over Plagg’s laughter.

—

”Dude you decided to kill the internet overnight? Were you drunk? Are you sure your old man isn’t going to kill you? You were on the news! The news, bro! -- every girl been gush-- ”

Adrien was trying to pay attention to Nino, he really was, but his attention was otherwise diverted by Marinette and Alya’s conversation. 

"He looked like an angel, so handsome. The disheveled look with the undone bow tie, and open dress shirt.” Marinette sighed. Adrien could hear the smile in her voice.

”Yeah, I know...” Alya interrupted, somewhat amused. ”-- He looked so good in his suit. His pant hugged his ass so perfectly. You've been gushing about him for two days, Marinette, two days.”  Adrien knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but who was Marinette talking about? Not that he cared, really. It was none of his business who Marinette was crushing on. She was just a friend. But why did he felt a sudden pang in his chest at the thought that a boy had caught his friend’s attention. ”I get it! Sunshine was stunning in that video.”

Wait. Hold on. What?! 

If sunshine was Adrien and Adrien was sunshine, did it mean Marinette had been talking about him? The Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Beautiful, creative, kind, intelligent Marinette? Marinette who was standing in front of him and currently paying for her caramel macchiato with a dash of cinnamon? That couldn’t be possible. 

Adrien.exe had stopped running. The epiphany short-circuited his brain. His eyes widened ever so slightly as the information finally sank in. His heart squeezed, then skipped a beat. And — 

 His train of thoughts came to a skidding halt.

"Dude, it's rude to stare at Marinette's butt like that.” Nino whispered in his ears and despite the fried synapses in his brain, Adrien still had the presence of mind to let out a noncommittal hum as an answer. Then, Nino’s words registered. A second too late if the knowing smile tugging at the corners of Nino’s lips was any indication. Blood rushed to his cheeks, tinting them a soft pink.

"You're totally blushing too! Are those thoughts appropriate?"

"I- I - I wasn't checking her out! ” Adrien stammered. Head shaking in disapproval. ”Marinette’s just... a friend. Yeah, a friend!” He forced the words out of his mouth in a breathless pant. ”Is she really though?” A treacherous part of mind wondered. Adrien didn't have to be a psychic to know — from the smug look on his best friend’s face  — that Nino was about to ask the same question.

”Oh shut up, Nino.” He mumbled, words devoid of any real vehemence. He was definitely not checking out Marinette’s butt. Not that Marinette’s butt wasn’t worthy of being checked out. She had a nice butt, and the way her skin tight jeans were hugging her in all the right places, leaving almost little to the imagination...Her legs, her toned, long, legs that seemed to go on for miles... Marinette was just perfect... From a perfectly platonic friend’s point of view, of course. It was just a friendly observation. Those were cute jeans, as a model he was bound to notice them. 

”You're still doing it.” Nino teased a second time, in his ears. The look Adrien threw his way was cold enough to freeze over the arctic ocean. Global warning solved with just one look.

A few minutes later, when the four of them were walking to their usual table in the coffee shop, drinks in hands. When Alya asked him “what’s got you so flustered, Sunshine? After the hip trusts in that video, it be must be quite something if it impresses you, huh? Adrien knew he was never getting out of this alive.  He was royally screwed.

[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

Roman’s Idea is Best

By @barelyticklishlee and @why-not-a-tickle-blog

Virgil was outside sitting in a tree with a notepad. Thomas had a date tonight and he had to list all of the things that could and would go wrong. 

Roman, of course was ecstatic, and Virgil was trying to avoid that at all costs.

Roman was walking in the Imagination. He spotted Virgil, and immediately walked towards him, continuing the argument from where it had left off. 

“Tall, dark, and Emo, hear me out before you run away! I know you don’t like them all that much but just— flowers. What if I compromised, and we did just one? Just one wouldn’t be too much!”

“Flowers? Really? That is THE MOST CLICHE thing to bring to a date. He’ll get slapped. Or pre-dumped.”

Roman pouted. “Cliche? It’s like you’re criticizing my very being! I wasn’t talking about any old flower, we’d only get the most perfect, unique flower. I’d go with Logan through the memory, and be sure to pick one with a real meaning to it!”

“Booooorrringggg.” Virgil scribbled something on his list and dangled from the tree.

Roman frowned, throwing himself on the ground and looking up at Virgil. “Well, I don’t suppose YOU had a better idea,” he pouted.

“... Pay for the meal with the money we would’ve spent on the flower and actually treat him right instead of using cliches to win him over. Just a thought, though, right? I don’t have any better ideas than the PRINCE.”

“Well, of COURSE we’re paying for the meal! I didn’t even know that was a point in contention. I’m arguing for meal AND a flower! We’ll treat him right AND romance him! And I do like your ideas... sometimes.”

“I’m touched.” Virgil said sarcastically. “Also, it’s going to be hard romancing him when we could-“ He looked at his list. “Order the wrong thing and not have the guts to tell the waiter to change it because we don’t want to bother them.”

“Ugh! See this, this is when I do Not like your ideas. Even if it gets to that, we can handle one poor meal in the pursuit of love—- OR! Or I can make a joke about it! Between me and Patton we’ll make a joke that will blow his socks off!”

“Don’t blow his socks off. It’s the first date. Consent and all that.” Virgil smirked. It seemed like he was almost TRYING to annoy Roman.

Roman suddenly had an idea. He stood up. “Oh, come on, you know my idea’s a good one.” He reached out, his hands held like claws, just over Virgil’s ribs. “Admit it. You like my idea.” Roman smirked right back at Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes widened and he shot himself back up on the branch. “Dohon’t.” He pulled his legs up, too.

“Nope!” Roman said, rocking his weight from his heels to his toes excitedly. “I’m waiting right here until you admit my idea is the best. And I can wait allll day~”

“How do we even know this dude likes flowers??”

“Who DOESN’T like flowers???”

“Some people!” Virgil shifted on the creaking branch.

“Oh, really? Who?” Roman shifted, with the creaking on the branch, he needed to be in position to catch Virgil in case it fell.

“Me.” Virgil scooted away from him. “They’re stupid. If you’re getting your SO something, get it from the heart. Don’t get them plants that will wilt in a few days time.”

“Flowers ARE from the heart! Each one has a special meaning, a special message, and putting them together artfully shows your care, and if you’ve spent money on them then it shows that you’re willing to spend money for the one you love. And they do wilt after a few days, but that just gives you more chances to show your love!”

“That’s dumb. I want food.” Virgil gave up and jumped from the tree.

Roman was in almost the perfect position, he only had to move a bit to catch Virgil. “Well, I’m not denying the appeal of an edible present, but you’ve still got to admit that my idea is the best.” 

He shifted Virgil in his grip so that his hands had access to his sides, fully intent on tickling the admission out of him if he wouldn’t comply.

“Roman! Lehet go!” 

Virgil groaned inwardly. He was already giggling? This was going to suck. 

“Ooooh, no, Stormcloud. I’m not letting go until you say that my idea is the best.” Roman wiggled and scratched his fingers at Virgil’s sides.

Virgil squeaked and pushed Roman’s hands off of him. “Nonono- Rohoman! Roman, I’ll hurt you, seriously.” His tone seemed concerned, rather than threatening.

Roman set Virgil down on the ground, sitting on his thighs and trapping his hands underneath his knees. “Can’t do anything like this~!” Roman smirked. “And now I can get you as much as I want!” Roman tickled 

up his sides and over his ribs.

Virgil fell into hysterical giggles, bucking and squirming to try and throw Roman off.

But Roman was stronger than Virgil, and knew how to use it. All Virgil’s squirming did was edge his shirt up and turn his hair into a massive flyaway mess. 

“Come on, Virge~ all you’ve got to do is admit my idea’s the best~” Roman gave a positively evil smirk. Virgil never, not once let his stomach show, and Roman had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. “Or else I guess I’ll have to push this button here.”

Virgil’s face went a light crimson as he shook his head frantically. “It doesn’t do anything! No use! Don’t push it. It wastes your time.” He tried to object.

“Methinks the Virgil doth protest too much,” Roman teased, giving the bellybutton a poke.

Virgil tried to pull his legs up and spewed out a little burst of laughter.

Roman’s grin got even wider. “Aw, does this tickle? This little button I’ve found?” Roman gave a series of pokes in a circle all around Virgil’s bellybutton, finishing by dipping his pinky finger inside and swirling it around.

“SohoMEOnE’S gohoNNA see!!” Virgil pulled at his wrists. His face went a deep red.

“Oh, little Tickle-me-Emo is embarrassed. You know how to make it stop.” Roman grinned down at Virgil’s bright red face. Since he had full control in the imagination, he grew vines up and around them, twining into a closed bubble that couldn’t be seen through. “Unless you don’t want it to stop~”

Virgil, now being closed off from society, fell completely limp in a little pile of bubbly laughter. 

Virgil was stubborn, and that was just a fact. He wouldn’t say Roman’s idea was better even if he had to sit like this for the rest of time. But, that didn’t sound too bad.

Virgil went limp, and Roman was almost worried for a minute, but he was still happy and bubbly and giggling. Roman grinned, and shifted to a more comfortable position. Virgil could get out of it easier, but he was all puddly at the moment, and he couldn’t get through the vines without Roman anyway. 

Roman traced little curlicues on Virgil’s stomach, his fingers dancing close, but not quite into, his bellybutton.

Virgil seemed genuinely happy, which was rare. Being the embodiment of anxiety, he usually wasn’t anything other than worried.

Roman felt very pleased with himself. It was decidedly not how he had anticipated the interaction going, but that didn’t make it any less pleasant. He kept tracing for several minutes, moving up over the ribs sometimes, or down over the sides,

Virgil’s giggles were sounding more loopy every second. He was still thoroughly enjoying it, but he also looked close to going to sleep because of the gentle tickles.

Virgil falling asleep? Now that was just not allowed. Roman used one hand to hold his bellybutton stretched out and open, and conjured a feather, swirling and fluttering it mercilessly.

Virgil shrieked and sat up quickly, trying to stop the feather.

“Uh uh, no, you aren’t getting out that easily!” Roman said, growing two of the vines up out of the ground on either side of Virgil’s chest, to twine together and hold him down to the ground. “You’re in my world, now, Virgil.” 

Roman started dragging the feather in a long, slow spiral, starting from the outside edge of Virgil’s stomach and heading inward.

Virgil’s laughter, as the feather drew inward, got higher and higher pitched.

Roman was laughing himself now, getting closer and closer. But just before he reached it, he snapped, swapping the feather for a softer, more tickly one. He rubbed the end between two fingers, spinning the feather directly inside Virgil’s bellybutton.

All Virgil could do, at this point, was dissolve into hysterics as he was driven closer and closer to insanity.

Roman swirled the feather for only a few more seconds. He didn’t want this game to be over quite yet. He went back to the light tracing, giving Virgil a bit of a break.

Virgil pulled one of his hands out of Roman’s hold and rubbed his bellybutton.

“Are you too ticklish for that spot~?” Roman teased, letting Virgil rub away the tickles. He’d get back to that spot soon enough. “I wonder where else you’re ticklish?” He squeezed and dug his fingers in around Virgil’s hips.

Roman discovered that, while it didn’t make Virgil laugh as much, hips were a key melt spot.

Virgil was melting into a little puddle again. “Who would’ve guessed our resident Emo could be so adorable~?” Roman cooed.

“Ihihi- mm-“ Virgil lost the ability to form coherent words.

“You’re what?” Roman asked, teasingly wiggling his finger just over Virgil’s bellybutton.

“Hmhmhm- Y-" Virgil pulled his other hand out and covered his face.

“What~? I’m afraid I just can’t understand you~” Roman said, dropping his finger down to trace a small circle around the bellybutton and then back to wiggle teasingly. “What did you say?”

Virgil whined and pulled down his shirt, holding it there for as long as he could.

“Now, no one said that was allowed,” Roman said, grabbing both Virgil’s hands. He was able to hold them with only one hand since Virgil had been so thoroughly melted by all the tickling. He sloooowly rolled Virgil’s shirt back up, letting out a low chuckle at the little squirms. He traced feather-light circles around and around the bellybutton. “Now, what were you saying?”

“Youhour ihidea...” Virgil was cut off by a river of giggles.

Roman laughed at the stream of giggles, but it just wasn’t enough laughter. He twisted his finger down into Virgil’s bellybutton, wiggling and twisting and tickling as best he knew how.

“AH- YOUR IDEA IS B-!!” Virgil jerked at his arms and shut his eyes tightly, letting all of his laughter flow out.

Roman kept tickling for a minute, but finally relented. He removed his hands and just smiled, taking in all of Virgil’s laughter. Laughter that he had caused.

Virgil’s arms fell to his sides. But, Roman realized, he wasn’t rubbing away the tingles.

Roman’s smile got bigger. He positioned his hands again, but doubted he’d need them. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you a minute ago. It seemed you were going to say something about my idea?”

“Youhour idea... is mildly better thahan mine.” Virgil crossed his arms.

“Oh?” Roman smirked. He leaned back slightly. “I’m pretty sure that means I get to keep going.” He reached his hands back and tickled Virgil’s knees.

“Ihi said it!!” Virgil kicked at him.

“Oh, no you didn’t!” Roman said triumphantly, moving to get better access and where Virgil couldn’t kick at him. “You have to say that my idea is best.”

“Roman, you a*s!!” Virgil pushed at his back.

Roman gasped. “Virgil! What would Patton say? I simply cannot allow this.” Roman started squeezing up and down Virgil’s thighs and calves, paying special long attention to tickling behind his knees every time he passed them.

Virgil seemed out of it, now. He laid back, not doing anything to stop Roman. He was tired. Really tired.

Roman stopped. Virgil looked exhausted. He moved to lay down next to him. “You about done, Stormcloud?”

“Mhm...”

“Well, I don’t want to tickle you completely to pieces, but I will keep my word. I must insist that you admit to my idea being the best.” Roman leaned over and blew a tickly stream of air at Virgil’s ear.

Virgil hummed. “Whatever... I’ll think about it when I wake up.”

“I bet you’ll wake up pretty quick if I go after your tummy again,” Roman said, setting a finger just over Virgil’s bellybutton, only very slightly touching. “Come on, say it and I’ll let you go.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna say it.” Virgil looked very smug.

“Maybe I don’t want to let you go,” Roman retorted, returning the smug look exactly as he skimmed his finger veeery lightly over the giggle button.

Virgil smiled and scooted back. “Fine, then. Just let me sleep first. Hey, could you summon an air mattress?”

Roman grinned. “Nope. I certainly don’t mind keeping you, and I’ll get you the most comfortable bed in my kingdom to sleep on if that’s what you want, but you aren’t going to sleep until you’ve admitted to my idea being the best.” Roman flicked his wrist and a large feather fell into his hand. “Don’t think I’m above pinning you down and using the feather again.”

Virgil squeaked and stood up, backing into the vines. He turned and pulled at them.

Roman jumped up too, giving a playful growl as he picked up Virgil and wrestled him to the ground again. “Clearly you aren’t too tired for more tickles, since you had so much energy to try and run away.” 

Roman pinned Virgil’s hands and pulled up his shirt again, skimming his fingers across his belly with more purpose. Finally, he readied the feather, spinning it with his fingers just over Virgil’s bellybutton. 

“Last chance, Stormcloud.”

Virgil bit his lip and covered his face. “Mfmf mfmf mf mfm mfmf.” He mumbled, squirming in place.

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea what you just said,” Roman said flatly. He fluttered the feather. “Guess that means more tickles!” 

He cupped one hand around the bellybutton, to hold it still and taut, and spun the feather around with the other, dipping it in and out, over and over, spinning the whole time.

“YOUHOUR IDEA IS BEST.” Virgil burst out through laughter. He grabbed at the vines with one hand to brace himself.

Roman snapped the feather away. “Ah, it’s music to my ears.” He clapped once, and they were immediately transported to the most comfortable bed in his kingdom, which happened to be his own. He flopped on his back onto the bed next to Virgil. 

“Ah, that was more fun than I’ve had in a long while!”

Virgil fell onto the bed in a little heap of giggles. “... Ihi didn’t mean it.” He said, still stubborn as ever. Roman just said he had to say it. Not that he had to mean it.

Roman laughed. “I figured.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the giggles, and looking forward to a short nap before they had to get ready for the date. “I suppose we’ll have to do this again some other time, then.”

“Not if you can’t catch me.” Virgil closed his eyes, slowly drifting into sleep.

Roman smirked. Oh, he’d find a way. Maybe if Virgil was naive enough to wander into the imagination again. Trees could be made to catch and capture, after all. But for now, he’d take a nap, his mind replaying all the giggles and squeaks and laughs. 

Postscript: With Virgil all tickled out and well rested, Thomas had a surprisingly small amount of anxiety about the date, and his creativity just kept coming up with more and new ideas the whole time, making the date go very smoothly.

[in-tua-deep]

I saw your other ask and I do wonder if an actual 13 yr old Five will pop up after they stop the apocalypse. It’s so interesting to have both Fives in the same place! And to see the stark contrast between what he was without the apocalypse. How does his older self feel (and does he still look 13 too?!). And how do his siblings react realizing how much the apocalypse and the Commission took from their brother! I love this idea and your blog!!

okay a solid half of me is like “wow there’s so much potential for angst and having Five confront the fact that he lowkey hates himself and what he’s become alone with feeling redundant alongside a younger version of himself that does match up to what his siblings remember instead of being the broken old assassin he actually is”

and the other half is like “but also consider the CHAOTIC GOOD TIMES” and at heart I’m a not so secret softie so that is the louder side at the moment

SO they stop the apocalypse. They’re all trying to figure out what happens now. Five is home alone (Allison flew home for a week to see Claire/figure out her situation, Vanya is at her apartment packing some things up to move back into the mansion for a while, Diego took Grace out shopping, Luther and Klaus went to grab groceries and are probably going to come back with so much sugar because Luther is still being a pushover trying to make up for his whole ‘locked Vanya away’ debacle) 

Five is sitting on the front steps of the house (it’s too empty and too quiet inside and he may or may not be coming down from a panic attack) and that’s when there’s a blue flash down the street and Five freezes. Because down the street there’s a boy turning with a puzzled look and they both catch one another’s eye and it’s like looking in a mirror because they’re the same person

So of course they go inside to figure out what the fuck and Five has no patience left for baby Five and pretty much gives it to him straight: he time traveled to April 3rd, 2019, where there was supposed to be an apocalypse. They may or may not fight when baby Five doesn’t believe him and he is convinced when Five beats him easy - thank you assassin training. There’s an hour more of incredulity and explanations as they both loudly theorize about the potential world breaking-ness of them both existing in a paradox

but hey it doesn’t seem like the world is ending and they already touched each other during the fight and nothing weird happened so,, they just both exist?

They’re sitting there quietly contemplating what next and waiting for the others to come back when baby Five, with his wonderful childish sense of mischief, looks at Five and asks a simple question: “Hey, how long do you think it would take for the others to realize there’s two of us?”

(they already had the breakdown where baby Five tried to go back in time and failed and Five smacked him because he worked really damn hard for this version of reality to exist thank you and basically informs baby Five that if he goes back the world could literally end and that’s kind of that. baby five is stuck.)

and look,,, Five is a grumpy old man assassin but he never did lose his sense of mischief - though it’s been somewhat buried over the years and especially so the last week or so. So he may or may not perk up at the suggestion with intrigue, and baby Five knows himself and knows that means he’s in so - 

(Baby Five kind of feels guilty for being a little relieved he doesn’t have to go back in time actually. He wants his siblings desperately, but Reginald is dead here. No more training. No more private lessons. Freedom. And - and technically his siblings are right here, right? They’re free as well? If he jumped back in time wouldn’t that be putting them all back under Reginald’s thumb? He isn’t sure if he could do that to them... but is that just a justification to himself?)

and cue the absolute shenanigans that exist as Five and baby Five pretend that there is only one (1) of them in this timeline. 

also cue some very confused siblings because there are some serious differences between the two Five’s.

Vanya is confused when she offers ‘Five’ some coffee and he wrinkles his nose and declines like he thinks coffee is gross. Which can’t be right, right? She literally saw Five chugging coffee straight from the pot yesterday?

Luther wonders if there’s something off with Five when he doesn’t seem to remember the conversation they had earlier about going to the local history museum with the rest of the family. He seemed excited earlier but now just looks put out?

(”We can’t both go to the history museum!” Five hisses at baby Five, who is rolling his eyes.

“Dude, you’re practically a dinosaur why would you even want to go to a history museum?” Baby Five points out, “Didn’t you see enough history with your little assassin job?”

Five scowls, “Maybe I just think it’s interesting considering my ‘little assassin job’ you sanctimonious child. Maybe I like museums.”

“You’re so transparent! You just want to spend time with our family.” Baby Five teases, fully aware that he’s probably going to have to dodge a knife in a second but continuing to push buttons anyway. It’s what he does. “Or - if it’s really just about all the wonderful history then we can always go again without the rest of the family.”

Five scowls as baby Five bats his eyelashes but doesn’t say anything, which means baby Five totally won the conversation, ha!)

the brilliant thing is that thanks to Five’s powers, no one thinks anything of it when they see Five downstairs and then head upstairs and see him doing something up there so even though a lot of the siblings get suspicious they probably attribute anything really off to Five’s glaring PTSD and trauma

the first one to catch on is Klaus. Well. Not really. Actually Ben is the first one to realize that he’s seeing double and tells Klaus

(”Well well well.” Klaus interrupts, making both boys on the bed jump where they had their heads bent over some mathematical textbook. Klaus is going full drama, draping himself in the open doorway like he’s a bad movie villain. “It looks like someone has been keeping secrets from your darling family.”

“Don’t tell the others!” One of them blurts, while at the same time the other growls out, “Tell the others and I kill you.”

Klaus claps his hands together, absolutely delighted. “So you aren’t the same person! Well, go on, introduce me. Is this your slightly less evil twin?”

They both exchange glances. There’s an short nonverbal conversation consisting of vague gestures and shrugs before one Five rolls his eyes and turns away, clearly done with this whole situation. The remaining Five smiles brightly and waves, “Hey Klaus! Long time no see, almost seventeen years now right?”

There’s a second of processing before Klaus gets it - or maybe Ben gets it and relays the information it’s unclear - and his hands fly to his face as he gasps loudly. “You’re a baby! A child! Under our rooftop!”

“I’m thirteen.” Baby Five protests while Five snickers under his breath. Age is a point of contention between the duo.

“What which one of you did I offer alcohol to the other day?” Klaus demands.

Baby Five raises his hand.

“I knew there was something off about you saying no to booze!” Klaus declared, pointing dramatically. Then he blinked. “Wait I offered alcohol to a minor!”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Baby Five rolls his eyes again, “Like a week before I came here I had to half carry you to your room you were so wasted and you were thirteen.”

“He has a point.” Klaus muses to the air, probably commenting to Ben. “But I’m still not seeing a way that you two aren’t gonna get your butts totally whupped by the others when they find out about this little charade.” He says charade with a fancy french accent that hopelessly mangles the word.

The two share a look again, and again it’s baby Five who takes the lead. It may or may not be that he’s the better of the two with people considering he didn’t spend forty some years in isolation. 

He grins at Klaus with bright eyes, “Aw, c’mon Klaus. It’s just a game! Besides, isn’t it more fun to be in on it?”

“Hmm.” Klaus hums, making a show of thinking it over. All three of them know exactly what the outcome is going to be, though.

“Please Klaus!” Baby Five demands, still grinning, and he suddenly looks so young and unburdened that there isn’t even a question about whether Klaus is going to be in on it or not.)

It’s not that the two don’t fight. They do. Because Five doesn’t understand how he could ever be so naive and reckless and impulsive (even though he really should expect it considering he jumped through time in the first place) and Five doesn’t understand how he got so grouchy and old and weird about so many things

but they usually solve it by shoving it down and getting along through bribery basically

(”...want to learn how to use a sniper rifle?” Five offers into the tense silence.

There’s a solid pause where baby Five is clearly mulling that over before he finally turns in the chair to face his twin. “...Griddy’s on the way home?”

“Deal.”)

It takes an alarmingly long time for the ruse to fall apart, and it 100% happens because both Five’s show up at the same time due to a miscommunication where they immediately devolve into a yelling match about how it was totally their turn downstairs and the other is an idiot and they’re literally spatial jumping after one another around the room before Diego throws two knives and manages to pin both of the arms of their uniforms to the wall and make both stop

“What the fuck is this?” Diego demands, gesturing between the two Five’s wildly. 

“It’s his fault!” Both Five’s point at the other

but the ruse is up and the duo are able to hop down whenever they like and torment the family. 

This au is full of healing and baby Five teaching old Five how to be a kid again and more of less rubbing off on Five and dragging him into games and appealing to his sense of mischief and drama and also making the rest of the family go to like,, the zoo or laser tag or a water park

baby Five is still holding out for disney world, personally

and they are a ferocious team up,, like literal terror twins they are fully capable of terrifying the pants off of the rest of the family and then turning around and laughing and looking innocent enough that it was difficult to say no because they’re kids and are fully capable of bringing out the rest of the family’s protective instincts

even if they know intellectually that one of that duo is an assassin who could kill them in the same breath it took to tell them what idiots they were being because he could protect himself

I dunno I just want actual kid!Five dragging grumpy old man!Five into shenanigans that Five complains about but secretly likes going along with them because lets be real who doesn’t like doing impulsive childish shit from time to time and he has an excuse because he has to stop baby Five from getting himself killed, right?

after all, as Five will defend himself, he isn’t sure if his younger self’s untimely death will also kill him, right? As a future version? Kind of like the whole “you can’t kill your grandmother” argument or whatever, right? Time is weird shush

(even though they’re both pretty sure that old Five is actually from an alternate dimension vs. time travel and that this is actually baby Five’s universe, but their worlds didn’t diverge until old Five popped in eight days before the apocalypse so technically baby Five’s death probably wouldn’t have any effect on old man Five but

hey, better safe than sorry, right?)

Baby Five feels kind of indebted to old Five for,, you know,,, saving his siblings by preventing the apocalypse and preventing him from a fate worse than death with not having to deal with isolation and the apocalypse?? so he’s more patient than old Five probably deserves

and old Five feels kind of responsible for baby Five because they both know baby Five can’t go back in time and unravel everything with how delicate it is and so baby Five still lost the equivalent of his entire family since he doesn’t exactly know these older version anymore and

hey, who knows the other better than themselves, right? Baby Five understands old Five’s motivations and shares history, knows exactly how far he would go for his family when pushed

so yes now they’re essentially twins and 100% pretend to be one another constantly and get on the others nerves and help each other heal and that’s the tea on that

[sometimesrosy]

omg I cannot believe the anon hate you got. I follow your blog for years, you have excellent and on point analysis, overall you are one of the pillars of bellarke fandom and many of us appreciate you! anyways, just a small note, absolutelly not important - Gabriel said he had a crush on Becca right. the show seems to put Raven somehow on the similar level to Becca. Maybe that could be the sign of new romance couple? or I am just matchmaking again, why I do that I dont know :)

You are not the only one who has thought about that connection that Raven and Becca are paralleled and Gabriel had a crush on Becca. Also, it has been mentioned that that mindview of Becca had her much younger, with more casual hair so that she looks even MORE like Raven. 

I’ll be honest I’ve been looking for someone to ship Gabriel with. He needs someone FAR better than that sociopath Josephine. I’ve thought Diyoza, Octavia and now yeah I could see Raven. Especially now that I’ve started shipping Diyoza and Octavia a bit. And maybe even Echo and Hope a bit though I’d need to see how they are in canon for five years on sky ring to do so. Raven and Gabriel are both STEM folk, different aspects of the sciences, both adventurers, both ravenclaw/griffindors, both rebellious and trouble makers, but with a deep sense of morality, both against the primes. It could work is what I’m saying. And he’s nothing like any of the yahoos she was with before. (sorry, Shaw wasn’t a yahoo.)

Yeah so maybe it’s a small note but I’m with you. And I find it a very exciting ship possibility. I have to wait until I see them together to see how they interact, because they’ve NEVER met!  It’s exciting. OH and for him, it will be five years since he’d lost Josephine. Mourning period OVER. 

As for the anon hate... i think it’s so weird. i’ve talked to a few people about it, just wondering, because it seems like no one else is getting this level of hate, and most of it is coming SIMPLY from shipping Bellarke at this point, and not shipping things that would block Bellarke. Like I used to get called all sorts of names branding me whatever is evil in the world, but they’ve run out of those, because, well, they weren’t happening in the first place but it was an excuse, and I’m neither being racist nor lesbophobic (and never was, it was just shipping and stanning.) Now they say i’m a clown or want to whore myself to jr. 

I would just like to say that if I were a clown, that is a valid life choice. Rock on Bozo. You clown your way to happiness. And if I did want to whore myself to jr, whether for real or fantasy, that is none of anybody’s business and has no relation to moral superiority. 

But I’m neither a clown nor do I have any interest in JR, in the slightest. Like at all.  Zero. Zippo. Zilch. 

I just like the show, the ship, the characters, and the story. That doesn’t mean I think it is flawless, it means I like it. It hits my buttons. And I enjoy watching it.

A lot of people are saying this is why the antis come after me. Because I am positive and use evidence to back up my theories and don’t back down or runaway. And this offends them.

I don’t really understand why people HATE people just because they like something they don’t. This doesn’t make sense to me. But it does seem to be a common theme in fandom. I mean if people like to hate something together, I guess that can be a bonding experience, but what does it matter if we like bellarke or The 100 and they think it’s shit? 

Who cares? 

But it really does to them. It so weird. 

Like why not just let that crazy lady who believes in bellarke and loves The 100 even in s7 (me) fade off into oblivion as you move off into your anti bubbles?  I mean, it’s not like my posts are reblogged all that much. I don’t have THAT much of a reach. I don’t go viral. I talk too much and have long posts and they’re all words and boring academics. SO easy to ignore me and brush me off.

[maxwell-pls]

I swear - (Thomas x MC)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x MC (Margaret Day)

Summary: After a long battle against her Ex-Husband, Guy, for custody of their daughter, Ophelia, Margaret Day’s world comes crashing down when the judge’s final verdict is not in her favor. When she thought all hope was lost, she realized who she still had standing in her corner...

Word count: Around 2000

Author’s note: Hi, hello! This is the first fic that I’ve ever posted, so the excitement is real! If you’re new to my blog, welcome! A quick couple things: I apologize for my misuse of past/present verbs, (that’s the one thing in English class I didn’t get the hang of), and any other spelling/grammatical errors. Secondly, this is the first time I’ve written in first person, I thought it conveyed the emotion better than third could have. This is also the first time I’ve done dual pov’s, again, I felt it was necessary to get all the emotion across. Lastly, I don’t know how custody proceedings work so pretend it’s accurate lmao. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love feedback! If you have any prompts, please feel free to send them to my ask (to the anon who sent one a couple days ago, I’m working on it next!)

Tags:

@dr-ethanjramsey @chanceisagoodboy @kingliamsbitch @chetachisblog @drakewalkerfantasy @annekebbphotography @adrianrainesworld @hopelessly-shipper @cordoniasmost @justinsbitchh

(If you want to be tagged on my future fics reply/ask/message me!)

—

*Margaret’s POV*

Everything was numb.

My ears stopped hearing, and my eyes stopped seeing. The only feeling left in my husk of a body was the tears streaming down my cheeks. I could feel their entire journey from eyelid, down as some even dripped onto my collar bone.

“Ms. Day?” Someone was calling out to me but I couldn’t make out who, perhaps the judge?

“Margaret..” I felt his hand touch my arm, it was Thomas. In the waves of ringing versus actual sound my ears made out a mutter of, “I’m so sorry.”

Everything happened so quickly, which I shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Guy’s smirk that was spread on his face was pure evil, it always had been. It was easy to tell he was never in this for Ophelia–

Ophelia.

I could see her blonde hair out of the corner of my eye, she had insisted on coming for “moral support.” She’s always been so wise for her age. What I didn’t see at first was his blonde hair.

“Mommy!” Ophelia’s cry snapped me out of my numbness. Guy was grabbing her and insisting she came with him, after all, he had won.

“Wait, please!” I screamed out, I just wanted to hold her, I need to say goodbye, to tell her I will fix this. But he won’t let me.

“Ophelia, lets go.” Guy pulled on her again. She barely moved, she was looking at me now with tears in her eyes. What was actually happening must have finally hit her. Guy decided on a new tactic and picked her up.

“Please, you can’t take her away!” I’m screaming and sobbing now. I instinctively tried to run out, but Thomas’ arms wrapped around me and held me back. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he held me in the air, my limbs wrangling to get out. “Please, I love her! You haven’t been here, you don’t even want her!” My screams were piercing the walls, but they weren’t piercing his ears. He didn’t care. Guy has never cared. “PLEASE!” I let out one last scream before my voice broke.

Thomas finally let me go after Guy and Ophelia were gone, probably halfway to his car by now. But I didn’t even notice, I had fallen to the ground, my despair taking over me, my sobs loud enough for the whole town to hear. It felt like hours had passed before he finally helped me up and walked me to his car to drive me home.

The ride was silent. My head pressed against the window, I could still see with my peripheral vision that he kept looking at me, hesitating to say anything. It was like this the whole way up the stairs to my apartment as well. When we got inside, I walked straight to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, continuing my sobs from the courtroom. Thomas came in, he still didn’t say anything. I felt the weight shift on the bed as he climbed in next to me, then he pulled my head to his chest. As I continued to cry, I managed to mutter an apology as my tears made house on his, probably expensive, white shirt. But I could tell he didn’t care, as he brushed strands of hair out of my face and hushed back a “shhh.” He continued to hold me as sleep finally took over my body.

A knock, no, a pounding on the front door had startled me awake. It didn’t even affect Thomas, as I peer up and notice he too had drifted into sleep. I manage to gently creep out of his arms without waking him then journey to the front door, noticing his suit jacket laying atop the back of one of the dining chairs. The pounding on the door happened once more and stopped when I slowly opened it.

Of course, it’s Guy.

“I’m here to get some of Ophelia’s things.” His condescending tone wrang through my eardrums. I held back my tongue and motioned for him to come inside. I could tell he too noticed Thomas’ jacket, but surprisingly, he didn’t say anything. “I’ll need her school things and some of her clothes.” I didn’t hold back my tongue this time.

“What? You can’t buy her new clothes with your million dollar snack company?” I raise my eyebrows at him and cross my arms. He didn’t seem amused as he clenched his fists and his eyebrows arched.

“Just get me the damn bag, Margaret.” His tone has shifted to pure anger and I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, so I just head straight back to Ophelia’s room to pack the bag.

*Thomas’ POV*

My eyes flutter open to the sound of conversation from outside the room. Margaret isn’t here, someone must have showed up, and I have a guess as to who. I climb off her bed as I hear her pass by the door and go into Ophelia’s room, Guy must be here for some of her things. As I walk out of the bedroom, I reach down to fix the undid buttons on my shirt, they must have came undone in our sleep. When I looked up, I came face to face with Guy who noticed my shirt, and my messy hair, which I hadn’t.

He let out a breath, not a sigh, it seemed too angry. “I should have guessed you would be here.” His breath was accompanied by a tone with the same message.

“Normal people like to check in on those they care about.” I cross my arms, it seems he is sizing me up. His next words came out a little quieter.

“Mm sure, that’s not usually the kind of IN they mean.” He glanced at my messy hair. I wasn’t sure what he—

Oh.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” I look him in the eye this time, but evoke no response. I was about to say something else before Margaret came back into the room, a bag filled with Ophelia’s things in her hands, which it wasn’t there for long before Guy aggressively snatched it out of them. He made a beeline for the door and went to open it but instead turned around, his expression was now a very large smile.

“You’re welcome by the way.” He looked right at Margaret and I instinctively stepped forward.

“For what..?” Her voice was low.

“Why, for giving you a free apartment to whore yourself out to every man—” Before he could finish my fist had locked with his jaw. I heard Margaret yell my name as I seemed to have blacked out, all I felt was his punches on my body and mine on his.

*Margaret’s POV*

I came out of the room and saw Thomas standing with Guy, the tension in the air was high. I looked on confused for a second before Guy ripped Ophelia’s bag out of my hands and headed for the door. I was staring at Thomas, he seems angry? I didn’t notice Guy stopped.

“You’re welcome by the way.” My eyes snapped away from Thomas and looked to Guy, who was smiling at me quite widely.

I’m confused, what were they talking about? “For what..?” I say with a low voice. If it was even possible, it seemed Guy’s smile somehow got bigger.

“Why, for giving you a free apartment to whore yourself out to every man—” My heart nearly stopped at the same time that Guy’s words did when Thomas’s fist collided with his jaw.

“Thomas!” I yelled out to him, but he clearly didn’t listen, his rage apparent as him and Guy were beating each other on the ground. I saw bruises being formed and a glimpse of blood, before hastily opening the door and running across the hall. I banged on Levi’s door with open palms, “Levi, help!” It didn’t take long for him to open his door and see the commotion happening through my open door behind me. He rushes, with me following close behind him, into my apartment and is going to break it up when he stops and holds his arm out to stop me as well. We watch as the scene unfolds.

Thomas hauls a bleeding Guy off the ground and within a second, shoves him against the fridge, pressing an arm to his throat. It almost seemed as though his eyes were flaming as Guy’s seemed to be tearing up.

“You listen to me.” Thomas spoke between gritted teeth, my heart is pounding so loud I don’t even know how I can hear the words he is saying. “You will not look at, talk to, or even think about Margaret. If you come anywhere near her, I will stick my hand down your throat, then I will rip out the good for nothing block of ice that you call a heart.”

Guy’s words came out with some blood as well, “What about her seeing her kid?” My kid. Shouldn’t he say our kid? I felt rage of my own now.

“You’ll do drop offs and pickups with her lawyer, me, present. Do you understand me?” Thomas looked at him as Guy stayed silent. His eyes peered toward me and he seemed as though he was going to say something but was stopped as Thomas punched him in the stomach. “I said, do you fucking understand me, Mr. Ledford?”

With his eyes looking into Thomas’, Guy mumbled out. “Yes, sir.” With those worlds, Thomas let him go, Guy coughed and rubbed his throat where Thomas’ arm used to be. I was going to grab Ophelia’s bag but didn’t have to, Thomas did and shoved it into Guy’s arms. Levi shifted beside me and approached Guy to escort him out.

Giving him an intimidating look, Levi says, “Sometimes I forget how difficult those stairs can be to climb.” I noticed Guy nod in understanding before they walk out of the door, which I walk to close, stopping for a moment with my palms pressed against it.

*Thomas’ POV*

I wiped my busted lip onto my wrinkled sleeve as I watched Levi escort Guy out the door and Margaret close it behind them. She stops for a moment and lets out a sigh. The realization of what I had done is finally dawning on me.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry. It’s just, he shouldn’t talk to you like that, plus we didn’t even—” My words were stopped with the press of her lips against mine. They’re very soft, exactly as I’ve always expected, and always wished for them to feel. The part of me that always ran away, that always felt ‘not ready’ is gone, I’ve never been more sure about anything as I’m sure of my feelings for her.

*Margaret’s POV*

Before Thomas could finish apologizing I crossed the room and pressed my lips to his, capturing the rest of his words with them. All of our unspoken feelings for each other were finally being told, without any words. It feels as though the world has stopped around us, as though it stopped for us.

Our lips finally separated and he rested his forehead against mine. “Thank you.” I say to him, with a smile spread across my face. He pulls away and caresses my face with his hands, softly rubbing his thumbs against my cheekbones.

“I will never let him hurt you again.” His words come out with confidence and determination. “And I will do whatever, for however long, to help you get her back.” His eyes search mine for a moment before his final words. “I swear.” Without hesitation I wrap my arms around him, hugging him amorously and he quickly melts into my embrace. His breath against my neck, he speaks in a hushed whisper. “I’m done running.” And I realize with his words that I too, am done running. We will get Ophelia back, because with him by my side, I am unstoppable.

(Thanks for reading! 1. SIS SNAPPED. 2. Just a side note, for those interested, the courtroom scene was inspired by this scene from one of my favorite shows, Desperate Housewives!)

[itsanerdlife]

Smoke 6/16

Pairing: Ronin!Clint Batron x Black Cat!Reader

Warning: Violence. Torture mentioned. Death mentioned. Nightmares. Lies. Seducing. Sexual humor. Broken and damaged pasts. Killing. Possessive Male. Struggling to open up. Secrets. Dark past.

A/N: ENDGAME SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT, DON’T READ THIS!!!

After the snap, the avengers split apart. Finding their own ways to cope. Clint found his under a new identity, Ronin. Getting revenge for those they lost. For the family taken from them. The evil left when heroes were wiped out, it became his mission to take out the evil. All while keeping a list of those who could help, if needed one day. Clint stumbles upon a woman, Cat. She’s a mystery in the dark. One happen stance meet, one night, gone like smoke.

After the second snap, setting the world right again. Fury is looking at those kept tabs on. When Cat appears on the screen, nobody know a lot about the mysterious woman who haunted Clint’s dreams and stole his favorite T-shirt. There’s a chance she’s in trouble, can Clint find her, convince her there is more, that he can save her? But is he the cause of what’s after her? Just what mystery is she keeping all to herself? Or is he the one she’s trying to save?

Clint

Strange strolls into the living room, only stopping when he takes notice of Y/N standing between Bucky and Clint.

“New member?” He lifts a brow looking at Tony.

“Something like that.” Tony smirks.

A low meow follows with a hiss. Odin is crouched low, tail coiled, his paw strikes out, at the edge of Strange’s cape. The cape pulls back, snapping at Odin, the corner of the material pointed at the cat, like a warning finger. Odin jumps, a startled meow escapes as he stumbles backwards, bumping into Banner. Odin looks up, only to be startled once more, he jumps, meowing, and taking off for under the couch.

“Pussy.” Y/N’s mouth puckers, shaking her head.

“Did he learn his lesson?” Tony smirks.

“No.” She sighs.

“The feline yours?” Strange looks from the couch to Y/N.

“Sadly.” She nods slowly. “Though I’m one hundred percent sure he would trade me for Morgan.” She admits. “He’s trashy for belly rubs.” She explains, when Strange looks confused. Her eyes widen suddenly, she shoots a glare at the couch.

“What?” He looks over at her. She holds up a finger at him.

“That was rude, and I will drop you off at a shelter.” She warns the cat under the couch.

“What did he say?” Nat smirks.

“He called me, the adult version of trashy.” She censors herself, avoiding eye contact.

“Slutty.” Wanda explains to Steve, who looked a little lost. Steve nods, finally understanding.

“Y/N where was Odin the other day?” Clint looks down at her.

“I thought we were going to Wally World or something?” She asks looking around.

“Y/N?” He asks. Tony is grinning in amusement.

“Wakanda, please.” Tony grins at Strange. Bucky chuckles to himself as Strange opens a portal, standing on the other side, is T’Challa, Okoye, and Shuri.

“Enjoy. Text when you’re ready to come back.” Strange smiles, letting them step through.

“You know ignoring me won’t make my question go away.” He smirks at her.

“I am trained in the art of distraction.” She bats her eyes up at him.

“Seems she’s pretty good at that actually.” Buck laughs.

“Stark, Nat said you needed some help? Not another war I assume.” T’Challa chuckles, hugging Tony. Buck lifts Shuri off her feet in a bear hug. When Buck sets her down, Peter hugs her tightly. Buck and T’Challa shake hands. Clint smiles at Okoye, she smiles, tipping her chin at him.

“No, no war. Just need some advanced tech you have plenty of.” Tony chuckles, hugging Shuri.

“T’Challa.” Clint shakes his hand; they exchange a smile.

“Wakanda royalty, meet Y/N.” Peter chuckles. “T’Challa, his sister Shuri, and their general of his army, Okoye.” He introduces her.

“She was not apart of the war, was she?” Okoye smirks, looking Y/N over.

“No, she’s currently new to our team.” Clint smiles.

“Finally, instead of another broken white boy to fix. Dreams come true.” Shuri grins at them. Buck laughs, pulling her into his side.

“I don’t think you could fix what’s broken with me. I’ve grown attached.” Y/N winks at her, a smile on her lips. Shuri grins, clearly taking a liking to Y/N’s sass.

“This is her former suit. Got into a tussle with something meaner than your typical house cat.” Tony hands over the suit.

“Tony, I’ll kill you and Odin will eat you. Don’t start with me.” Y/N smiles over at Tony.

“What’s an Odin?” T’Challa smirks.

“Her cat.” Buck chuckles.

“Follow me, we’ll head to my lab.” Shuri laughs, leading the way.

-------

Clint

The hologram of the idea for Y/N’s suit builds as Shuri talks. She’s looking at the damaged suit spread out on her table. She picks up Y/N’s set of ears, looking them over.

“The ears stabilize balance and equilibrium.” Shuri looks over at Y/N who is sitting watching. She nods slowly, agreeing with Shuri.

“Wait,” Peter turns looking at Y/N “didn’t you give a pair of those to Morgan?” He asks.

“They’re also low jacked as well and Odin has her sent.” She replies in a soft, casual tone. “He’ll always be able to find her, let alone will protect her to no end.” She adds.

“Y/N?” Clint looks over at her.

“She’s cute, and her brother is that.” She points a lazy finger at Peter. Clint nods, Buck shrugs, and T’Challa and Okoye smirk at one another.

“Offended.” Peter huffs.

“You let me knock you out cold.” Y/N points out.

“Thank you.” Tony smiles softly at her.

“I can fix that eye as well if you’d like.” Shuri smiles, point to her own eyes, looking at Y/N. Her hand comes up, wincing as she touches her swollen eye.

“What pick a fight with Banner?” T’Challa chuckles.

“More like a rhino.” Y/N smirks, letting Clint help her up, he leads her over to the table Shuri is waiting by.

“Brave woman.” Okoye smiles.

“Lie back, I’ll get you scanned. Match the suit to your form as well.” Shuri nods moving around the table.

“Can you show, um.” Tony scratches the back of his head “the changes in her?” He glances around quickly.

“He means my enhancements.” Y/N explains when the others look confused.

“Tony.” He sighs looking over. Tony shrugs.

“It’s fine. Show them.” Y/N looks over at Shuri who nods.

“Wow.” Peter and Shuri, whisper staring at the cell structure that was Y/N’s body.

“Meow.” She grins, giggling softly.

“So, you like cats?” T’Challa chuckles, smiling at her.

“Do you?” She sasses, smiling.

“I like her.” T’Challa nods, Clint laughs.

“Spoken for King.” Tony pats T’Challa on the shoulder, before standing behind Peter and Shuri for a better look.

“Shut up Tony.” Clint sighs, scrapping a hand down his face.

------

Clint

“I’ll have it built and ready in two days.” Shuri shows them the finished outline of Y/N’s suit. “With the stretch of your fingers, retractable, vibranium, claws.” She nods. “A nano tech eye mask and ears as well, it’ll form like a helmet, just in pieces.” She explains looking over at Y/N.

“One question.” Y/N looks over.

“Of course.” Shuri smiles.

“Can you make it stealth? No sound? Sort of like a cat on the prowl?” She shrugs.

“I can do that.” Shuri grins.

“Guess I could give Morgan my other ears.” She holds up the set of ears.

“She’ll always be low jacked.” Peter looks over at his father.

“Not such a bad thing.” Tony shrugs.

“Being your kid? It might be needed.” Clint snorts.

“Tap the charm, twice, your finger print releases the suit. Covering you in seconds.” Shuri explains, showing the necklace and charm.

“A cat?” Y/N smirks at her. The necklace was all silver, vibranium no doubt, with a outline of a cat as the charm.

“Fitting, yes?” Shuri grins, trying to not laugh.

“She’s a smart ass.” T’Challa sighs.

“Just happens to be my thing.” Y/N shrugs.

“Being one?” Clint grins at her.

“Oh sorry, I meant my type.” Her nose crinkles, and she grins at him.

“I really like her.” Okoye laughs softly.

“What is, this?” T’Challa picks up a small pocket size wand, that connected to Y/N’s old suits utility belt. Y/N smirks, watching. T’Challa turns it around, before finding a button on the bottom, he presses it, a long extension falls, suddenly.

“Is that a, whip?” Tony’s face practically lights up.

“It’s got a electric current through it when it’s snapped.” Y/N shrugs. T’Challa eyes the device in his hand.

“Dibs!!” Peter yells suddenly. Shuri laughs, Buck shakes his head, and Y/N looks startled. “I want to upgrade it.” Peter looks around, slightly abashed for his outburst.

“Might want Banner on standby, in case he electrocutes himself again.” Clint chuckles.

“Again!?!?” Shuri gasps, loudly, and rather excited. Peter looks rather off put.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He mutters.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Y/N shakes her head slowly.

“Can you tell me the story of you knocking him out?” Shuri pleads with a grin.

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

Everything Peaches 2/6/19: @xmtd5 @mo320 @all1e23 @courtmr @avxgers @eliza-kat @izzy--lee @irepeldirt @dumblani @nishanki1 @crist1216 @alyssaj23 @allyp1023 @joannie95 @kolakube9 @rileyloves5 @sarahp879 @sea040561 @sexyvixen7 @pcterpvrker @pigwidgexn @doctoranon @abschaffer2 @justrae9903 @bookluver01 @teller258316 @callie-bear15 @nickimarie94 @wandressfox @amandab-ftw @carostar2020 @henrietteoaks @nea90sweetie @circusofchaos @itsagalaxystar @bettercallsabs @miraclesoflove @lucifersnipnips @queenkrissy11 @sadyoungadult @destiel-artemis @paintballkid711 @isabelcrichards @iwillbeinmynest @sweet-honey15 @chanelmadrid13 @mellxander1993 @killerbumblebee @spookygrantaire @geeksareunique @supernatural508 @sammysgirl1997 @itzmegaaaaaaan @booksbeforebois @childishhoebinoo @elizabethaellison @aspiringtranslator @mariekoukie6661 @pure-princess-97 @capsheadquaters @samanthasmileys @nerdypinupcrystal @atlas-of-the-world @youclickedthislink @futuremrsb-r-main @lovemarvelousfics @notyourtypicalrose @petersunderoos96 @loving-life-my-way @buckystolemyheart @booktvmoviefangirl @supernatural-girl97 @abbypalmer14-blog @fanfictionjunkie1112 @meganlikesfandoms @awkwardfangirl2014 @supernaturaldean67 @xqueenofthecraziesx   @queenoftheunderdark @writingaworldofmyown @supernaturallover2002 @daughterofthenight117 @mustbeaweasleyginger @mcuwillbethedeathofme @sprinklesandsugarcubes @whothehellisbucky-1930 @verymuchclosetedfangirl @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @wonderlandfandomkingdom @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @stupendoussciencenaturepanda @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

Marvel Tag List 2/6/19: @lumelgy   @dottirose   @jcc04220 @rockagurl @a--1--1--3 @mizzzpink   @jade-taillia @coley0823 @widowsfics @bookluver01 @thelostallycat @shield-agent78 @dtftheavengers   @ilovetvshowsblog @capsheadquaters   @iamwarrenspeace @thefridgeismybestie @whenallsaidanddone @deanwinchestersrifle @fandomsstolemylife00   @daughterofthenight117 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect  

Clint ‘Destory Me, I’ll Thank You’ Barton: @ml7010 @coley0823 @yavanna80 @lakamaa12 @boltsgirl919 @feelmyroarrrr @mrsseizetheday @honey-bee-holly @marvelfansworld @mybarnesmyhero   @the-real-mary-jane @dumbbitchenergytm @agentsinstorybrooke @x-whyareyoureadingthis-x @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Smoke: @2s0uls @rimaries   @xxloki81xx @csigeoblue @demonlover87 @capandbuckylvr @marvelfansworld @natromanoffsboys @barton-you-dummy @thefandomimagines @thosesexytexasboys 

[imagineaworldlike]

Safe With Me

Here is chapter 2! I want to mention that I have also posted this on Archive of Our Own under the same username and story name. I’m going to keep uploading on both sites since this blog is dedicated to Stranger Things and I also want to have a space strictly for the story. 

I hope someone out there is enjoying it :)

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word count: 1668

2: Safe With Me

I instinctively pulled my hand down and hid it behind my back, my normal response whenever someone questioned me about it.

“How do you know about that?” I asked defensively. I was shocked that someone else knew what my tattoo meant.

“I.. I know another girl, Eleven,” she responded. My eyes grew wide in disbelief. There were others like me here in Hawkins? There were that many of us? A million other questions raced through my mind, but the man in shorts spoke before I could.

“Look, this is fascinating and all, but in case you have forgotten, Joyce, evil Russians are after us and not afraid to kill! Now, we need to get to the car, get Jim, and LEAVE.” They both moved toward the man still sitting in the grass next to me and I stood, slightly lightheaded. The man I had healed attempted to get up, but wasn’t able to on his own.

“Um, he’s going to be weak for a few hours, but he’ll be fine.” I was still in shock over the entire situation and wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Both of them reached under his arms to lift him up and support him as they walked between the stands to the parking lot. I followed and overheard their conversation.

“Murray, we can’t exactly infiltrate a Russian base with Alexei in this state.” Joyce said in a low voice.

Russian base? I had heard the man say something about evil Russians a moment ago, but it didn’t register until right then. Was this man, Alexei, Russian? And if he was, why were other evil Russians trying to kill him?

“I realize that. But we can’t just leave him somewhere defenseless for them to find again. He’s now seen as a traitor to the Soviet Union and he’s still considered an enemy of the State! We don’t have time to take him back to my place-“

“I’ll take him.”

For the second time that night, I wasn’t sure why I was getting involved in someone else’s business, but something in me told me I had to. All three of them turned in unison to face me, surprised that I had even followed.

“What?” Murray said, dumbfounded.

“I can take him to my house. I’ll be able to watch and take care of him while yall fight the Russians or whatever.” They didn’t look convinced, so I continued. “They won’t know where he is, they don’t know me so he’ll be safe. I can protect him.” Joyce looked over to the man like she was seriously considering my offer.

“Look, we really don’t have time for this-“ Murray began and made to turn away from me.

“You don’t seem to have any other option.” I quipped. “The way I see it, you can take him or leave him somewhere to be killed and either way my hard work is thrown out the window. I know how to take care of him and whoever these evil Russians are won’t know where to find him if he’s with me.”

“Murray, I think this is our best option..” Joyce said. Alexei began to look very tired, like he was going to fall without their support.

“For Christ’s sake, he doesn’t even speak English!” Murray yelled, frustrated with all of us.

“I don’t care!” I yelled back. I was surprised with how I was acting, but there was something about this man that I just couldn’t let go of. “It seems that none of us want him to die and this is your best option. You can come pick him up tomorrow or whenever you’re done with what you’re doing and go back to your lives.”

“Murray..” Joyce pleaded. She looked like she was about to fall from supporting Alexei’s weight.

“Alright, fine, FINE! You can take him but I swear to God if anything happens to him it’s on you!”

“I promise he will be fine. Come on, my truck is this way.” We headed to my Ford and they helped Alexei into the front passenger seat. He looked ready to fall asleep at any second. I heard Murray hurriedly speaking to Alexei in Russian, probably discussing their change in plans.

“I live on Salem, the brown house.” Joyce nodded and I climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I meant what I said, if anything happens to him..” Murray began, looking over at me from Alexei’s open door.

“Nothing will happen to him, now go kill some evil Russians.” Starting the truck I closed my door and Murray did the same. I put it in reverse and exited my spot. As I drove towards the main road, I looked over and saw Joyce storm up to Mayor Kline and punch him in the face before kneeing his groin. I did a double take to make sure that was in fact what I saw, not having a clue why she would do such a thing. I suppressed a laugh and turned onto the road, heading home.

The drive was quiet despite the soft music coming from the radio. Alexei rested his head against the window and I thought for sure he was asleep, but he sat straight up when we pulled into my driveway fifteen minutes later.

“Home sweet home,” I mumbled before turning my rumbling old truck off. My one story house wasn’t much, but it had always been my home. I did the best that I could with it, keeping the flowers watered out front and decorating the inside to reflect my own personal taste.

I walked around to Alexei’s door and helped him out. He seemed to have regained a little bit of strength on the drive because he barely needed my help to walk into the house. I immediately locked the door behind us and walked him back to my bedroom, flicking on lights as we went.

Sitting him down on the bed, I stood back and pointed to his shirt, hoping he understood tht he could take the blood-covered garment off. Without thinking, I reached forward to start undoing the buttons for him, but thought better of it and pulled my hands back. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to help, so I began fidgeting with my bracelets and looked down. I wanted to make this as easy for him as I could, but I also didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“You can take it off if you’d like.” He spoke softly and when he didn’t reach for the buttons I took it as an invitation to do it myself. I quickly undid the small buttons and pulled the shirt off his shoulders as he watched me intently. I was slightly surprised to see toned arms and the faint outline of muscles across his chest and torso, but I forced my eyes away from staring and focused on making him comfortable. I tossed the shirt onto the floor and turned back to find him looking up at me with a kind expression.

“I can’t thank you enough for this.” I had no idea what he was saying, but he was smiling so I nervously smiled back. He really was handsome, with his curly hair and a genuine smile that made his whole face light up; I had to remind myself again to stop staring at him.

“Um..” I motioned to his pants, which were covered in his blood as well and he seemed to understand. He unbuttoned them and lifted himself a bit to pull them down, letting them fall on the floor. I did my best not to look below his waistline out of respect, but I did notice his boxers also had blood covering the front of them. I turned to my dresser and pulled out an old pair of sweats that would fit him. After handing them over I turned around, hoping he understood that he could take his dirty underwear off and just wear those.

After a few seconds I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see him in just the sweats, boxers on the floor next to his pants. I smiled and reached behind him to pull back the bedsheets so he could lay down. As he made himself comfortable I walked to the light switch by the door and turned to face him.

“Good night, Alexei.” I flicked the switch and heard him mumble something in Russian. I walked out into my living room, turning off all the lights in my small house as I went.

The couch was soft and inviting, and I flopped down without a blanket or pillow. I couldn’t be made to care that I was still in my regular clothes or that my shirt was spotted with Alexei’s blood; I was so tired I felt like I could sleep for days. Just before I dozed off I heard footsteps and a slight tap on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw Alexei standing over me.

“Are you okay..?” He reached down and grabbed my hand, pulling me up. I followed him back into my bedroom where he laid down and pulled the sheets down on the other side of the bed, gesturing for me to lay down next to him.

I didn’t have to be told twice. The only light was coming from the full moon outside my window, so I quickly stripped off my shorts, shirt, and bra with my back to Alexei, putting on a bloodless shirt from the floor to sleep in. I climbed into my bed and made myself comfortable.

It was a strange feeling to have someone I didn’t even know in my bed next to me, but it was also comforting. Yes, Alexei seemed much stronger physically than I was and he did happen to be a Soviet, but regardless, he seemed like a teddy bear. I was surprised to find that I wasn’t afraid of him at all.

It didn’t take long for us to fall into a deep, sound sleep.

[clarasimone]

A perspective on the forewarning fascist iconography in GoT

Was it yesterday ? I reacted to a mind-provoking aesthetic analysis of GoT reblogged by @felixthemudnescat ... which basically no one reacted to (LOL) but... chatting with @scratchybeardsweetmouth and @ser-jorah-the-andal, I felt like revisiting it to add observations to my initial reaction. Even if it’s too heavy-meta for such a beautiful summer day. @felixthemudnescat pardon me for not using the reblog button cause I want to do this under the dot-dot-dot so as not to weigh down the usual degree of levity in our tumblr group ;-)

Also I only realized today that you actually reblogged without commenting and I assumed, maybe wrongly, that you adhered completely to what you reblogged. And that might not be the case, so I’ll alter my text accordingly...

So here we go... (my input comes at the end)

Anonymous asked:

Girl. Gurl. Who the fuck is Leni Riefenstahl? Y'all Sansa stans pulling the most elaborate nonsense out of your asses to justify shitty writing. Or you twist everything and make D&D sound as if they're the most brilliant minds the world has ever seen LOL

fedonciadale answered:

Hi there!

If you would have taken one moment to look up Leni Riefenstahl - and I assure you that it is not difficult to look her up - you would not have combined your question with a comment about the writing…. Look her up and learn a lesson about how tyrants manipulate.

The visuals of the show are alluding to famous/ notorious shots of Leni Riefenstahl. You would agree that the visuals are something that gives us hints? In addition to the dialogue?

Sansa stans have complained about the writing since season 5…. You all - I’m just assuming you are a Dany fan, correct me if I’m wrong - had no complaints about shitty writing in season 7?

Look I am not saying that the way D&D got to DarkDany this season was well executed, but the foreshadowing and the character development are there. And actually from all the things the show did Daenerys is one of the better from book to screen. The hiding of her path to ruthlessness by filming from her POV is well done in season 1 to 6, and the triumphant visuals are part of that.

Visuals are part of the foreshadowing. It did not come out of nowhere and it was always a major plot point - as has been argued by book readers for ages. That Dany blew up King’s Landing was always to be the culmination of her arc. And it was always meant to hit you in the gut. So, as you do nicely put it : get your head out of your ass as and realise that you have been duped. And ponder about why? Was it because Dany is beautiful? Was it because she had the occasional bouts of benevolence? Was it because you thought she was entitled to an ugly chair because she suffered? Was it because she was set up against people coded as villains, so that you don’t care about how she defeated them? Was it because she is a woman and woman can’t be evil?

Take your pick and learn something about yourself and your own bias, how we can be duped by a tyrant! If you do that you are doing exactly what GRRM intended his readers to do by writing Dany like he did.

une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir

(in fiction, all these logos meant to reference the nazi flag)

fedonciadale

Reblogging for @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir ’s excellent additions. I could not have done that because that film is actually forbidden in Germany.

justacynicalromantic

Ohhhohohoho the last one - I am😏 at people who half a year ago threw stones at me when I argued that Dany has always had parallels with Hitler.

felixthemudnescat

Found this shared on Quora, had to re-blog!

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

Hi @felixthemudnescat​ long time no see !

I had not seen the original posting of this. My first instinctual reaction to this iconographic/aesthetics research is to object to the simple equation of Daenerys with Hitler. No fiction character will ever match the scope of evil (for lack of a better word) this man and his ideology represented. By ricochet and association, it makes every fan who was moved by Daenerys a potential Nazi sympathizer and that makes no sense. It’s also unnecessarily hurtful and insulting both to these fans and the real World (those who suffered and still suffer from The Holocaust). This said, the iconographic evidence you provided through your reblog has weight and is exactly what I referred to in some of my posts as the visual clues given in the show as to Dany’s *possible* arc, its *possible* finality (more on the *possible* further down); clues which scream at you if you have the cultural baggage to recognize them, and when you binge-watch the series 3 times in one month instead of watching it an ep at the time over 8-9 years. The middle seasons are especially ripe with these visual signs because they’re tagged unto somewhat repetitious narrative (Dany freeing/conquering one city at a time with little intimate character dev scenes). And @fedonciadale is right in wanting fans to look more closely into themselves; we shouldn’t close ours eyes on the shady ideological and moral symbols casting shadows on Daenerys throughout the seasons. But they were shadows. I don’t think they were meant to be the beginning and end to all things explaining the character.

@felixthemudnescat​ or @fedonciadale don’t you think D&D were building something much more subtle than the end result they opted for and which gives weight to your comparative iconographic essay ? For many seasons, the fascist references or foreboding reminders of Targaryen madness never outweighed the characterizations of Daenerys as a young woman who, regardless (or because ?) of her thwarted and abusive upbringing was trying to conjugate her own suffering and road to affirmation with the conquerer’s path given her. She might not have questioned the necessity/validity for her to conquer her way back to Westeros, as the only way she could get home, but she didn’t do it through simple rampage either. She did care to free the people she needed to build her armies. She did have a heart. This she did spontaneously; it came from a deep source within her, not a calculated one. Even if, of course, it turned out to be an astute strategy. And that sets her apart from the Nazis and its leader. At their best, D&D conjugated the two: giving us a rounded character build-up and evolution with ominous symbolic shadows lurking about her. @scratchybeardsweetmouth also made me realize, I who have not read the novels, that this humane aspect of Daenerys is brought even more to the foreground in the books. I quote @scratchybeardsweetmouth: “In the books (...) she repeatedly communicates firsthand with her freed people. She hears their opinions, is not afraid to mingle with them, always finds a way to protect them, even went out of her way to help heal some when a disease was about...” Without getting as much detailed info on her compassionate stance and actions in the show, it’s certainly the impression she indeed left us with, and it’s what her most faithful and steadfast companion, ser Jorah, sees in her and repeatedly says out loud, lest we forget it ;-) (“You have a gentle heart,” etc.)

So I thought it was IMMENSELY daring of D&D (or the novelist I’ve not read yet) to give us that scene where Daenerys is called Mhysa/Mother by the slaves she freed because the scene was inhabited with so many conflictual signs: I was all at once moved and sooooo worried as to where this could lead. Moved because, bottom line, these slaves are freed, actually freed, it’s the start of something. Dany has always given those she freed a choice to leave if they so wished… Moved because it’s a woman effecting the freeing, not a man… Moved because it’s Dany, the girl who suffered, who was a slave of sorts, that does the freeing, not her mentors…. Moved to see a culture refer to their freer as “Mother” (what a great homage to mothers, to women in general) / buuuuut also worried to see a culture refer to their freer as “Mother” because it seems to infantilize them on screen. 

Here we could also open up a whole debate about the malaise one can feel in seeing an Aristocratic White Woman free Third World People but I urge you to go read @khaleesirin‘s meta writings on the subject. She makes a great case for us NOT to see Daenerys in this fashion. Regardless of her looks and lineage, the novels (and GoT, I insist in my chats with @khaleesirin ;-) shows her to be like the people she frees: an Other. She like then is homeless, uprooted, migrant, disenfranchised. If we fail to see it in Essos, the show really drives this home once Daenerys sets foot in Westeros where NO ONE welcomes, understands or appreciates her. (Which suddenly complexifies our rapport to Sansa and the Northerners we grew to love and respect since they seem not to be above xenophobia, and racism.) 

But to get back to the Mhysa scene. Once the worrying starts, I can’t seem to stop it, even as I am moved to tears. Literally. Because of the above-mentioned qualities of it, and also possibly because of the Christ-like iconography it uses to celebrate Dany (”Let the little children come unto me” - if I may paraphrase the New Testament -- and thanks to @ser-jorah-the-andal for the reminder). And I’m always partial to feminizations of Christ; I love it, I think it’s sublimely subversive :-) But I’m also kicking myself for liking this because I fundamentally don’t want a Messiah saving the Third World, I want the Third World to save itself... and I’m worried. I’m really worried as I watch Daenerys triumph in this scene because we know she’s lacking important elements in her “psycho-affective and socio-political tool kit” (regardless of the quality and loving care of advisers now on hand, *cough* Jorah -- in the books @scratchybeardsweetmouth tells me she needs no advisor to keep her moral compass straight) and, so, will this get to her head ? Will she get drunk on her Messiah complex (and of course she does at the end of season 8) ? And what will happen if those she freed disappoint her (again flashforward to the end of season 8) ? And how will she rule them exactly (ditto) ? And, finally, yes, worried because, the fascist iconography is there and I’m going: omg where are they going with this ?

Here I want to open another parenthesis, also brought on by something @ser-jorah-the-andal wrote me: “if this is what they meant in the first place, they sure as hell didn’t bother to tell anyone in the cast so they could act accordingly, tho a case could be made that Dany never saw herself as the villain so that’s why they didn’t tell Emilia.” Indeed I’m sure the cast, or at the very least Emilia Clarke, were never told about the endgame, or never cued to the quoting of fascist iconography in some of Daenerys’ triumphant scenes. Clarke’s shocked reaction upon reading the last screenplays is a testament to her profound surprise... and this raises ethical questions, doesn’t it ? I mean in the ethics of creative partnership. It’s a recent debate possibly because there are so many tales of directors manipulating actors into giving them the performance needed to embody and communicate the discourse they want to leave us with. But the professional in me cringes here a bit. You’d hope they would trust actors enough to let them into what it is exactly they’re supposed to be creating...

This said, up to the moment before “the bells” scene in season 8, I had nonetheless seen D+D and EC give us a woman struggling morally with her choices. That’s important to state. And to get back to the above demonstration of fascist parallels, well, please, let’s point out that the Nazis and their leader never did struggle morally with what they were doing (or if they did, History bears no markers -- I’m talking about the Nazis here, not the German people as a whole). And I was prepared to see Daenerys fail because she never healed, she never achieved psycho-affective soundness (shall we get into the chapter of her misconstruing what love is ? Her relationship arc with Jorah speaks volumes) but I was expecting her to feel remorse if she did succumb to true fascism; remorse to the point of self-execution if you will, because that’s the kind of moral person D+D had been building for 7 years.  But after D&D sent her over the edge, they erased all the previous nuances they had built into her, and I believe, tried to explained it away with a broken heart, megalomania and madness…. 

So if their plan was truly to make us see her as a fascist leader of the scope we’re talking about here, the way the above visual essay seems to suggest, they would have fleshed out her character’s arc accordingly throughout the seasons, and they didn’t. There were clues as to the possibilities -- yes, Dany stepping out for her final speech is absolutely shot like Triumph of the Will by Riefenstahl… but it’s also infused with other iconographic references. That image of her merging with Drogon’s wings belongs to the fantastic, and makes her into a formidable and powerful Id, which can be construed as a positive subversive marker. And some of us do celebrate WrathfulDany for this reason.... 

The reality of GoT is that there were no actual scenes developing her fascist ideology. So let’s not confuse allusions to fascism with actual fascism. With all D+D’s failings towards the end, Daenerys remained a more nuanced and contradictory character than that. She is NOT Hitler, please...... 

The iconographic research you provided in your reblog @felixthemudnescat show us one important aspect of Dany’s subtextual arc but not the full picture. It’s missing the heart and the suffering behind the soul who fell from grace.

I hope you don’t construe this long winding reaction as a slam. I know you come from a very specific place in regards to Daenerys. I just thought the excellent research you provided deserved to be reblogged, but with an added perspective ;-)

[let-it-raines]

Rising from the Ashes (14/?)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. 

As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: Two chapters in one week? What? I’m trying to get back to spacing this and BOTB out, so this one gets another posting even though I’m not entirely sure if my writing speed for chapters will keep up. I’m nervous about this chapter. Seriously. I’ve read through it a lot. So I hope that you guys like it 💕

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There’s absolutely no reason for him to be running today. He doesn’t have the time. He should be in his office reviewing his presentation for tomorrow. He and Robin have spent weeks preparing “what if” scenarios for soldiers to have to run through in the new basic training regimes, and it’s been such a challenge having to form things for teaching instead of actual warfare. He’s been retired from the Navy for half a decade this year, and yet he still spends nearly every day of his life reliving scenes and memories of his time in the military. It’s a bit of the crux of being a career military man. When you get out, what are you qualified to do?

Not everyone has this problem. A lot of people go to school through the services and learn trades. He didn’t go to school, but he did learn a trade in logistics and planning to make sure that the ships didn’t go down in the middle of the night by some kind of Titanic shaped iceberg or an attack. It’s still what he does now, even as a civilian. He’d like to quit one day, to do something calmer, do something that doesn’t bring back so many memories of loss or bring forth so much stress, but this job pays well and supports his family. He can stay at least until Ada goes to college.

In seventeen years.

He’s going to be fifty-five in seventeen years. That’s odd for him to think about, but it’s exactly what he thinks of as his legs burn, the muscles and joints aching a bit more than they used to when he was younger. It’s usually not too bad, the running helping more than hurting, but some days it’s not as easy to hold his daughter above his head to make her giggle or to make love to Emma.

Just last week he’d gotten a cramp right in the middle of their activities, and Emma had laughed so hard that he had started laughing too.

Mostly he was laughing through the pain.

That cramp may still be going on in his right thigh.

It’s always an adventure.

And maybe one day it’ll be an adventure where he can take Emma sailing without any thoughts of war and the pros and cons of Norway randomly invading Afghanistan on a particular day or time.

So maybe that’s why he runs. He’s got a lot that he thinks about, personally and professionally, and the release of endorphins fuels him in a way. It stresses his joints, but it destresses his mind. Besides, he will admit that while he doesn’t think he’s a particularly vain man, he does appreciate the way Emma tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth when he lifts her from the ground or the way that she runs her fingers over the muscles of his stomach. Plus, he wants to be healthy for his kids.

That’s why he keeps running for the next thirty minutes, his legs pounding against the pavement and sweat beading at his forehead and down his back, the early February chill keeping him cool to a point where he knows he’ll start sweating more when he gets inside. It always happens, so it takes him a little while longer to cool down and to take a shower at the gym that’s around the block from his office.

“Jones,” a familiar voice calls to him when he’s just finished buttoning up his shirt, and he turns to look at Neal, his hair sopping wet like he’s just showered as well, “aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I could say the same to you,” he laughs as he pushes his hair back, hoping that it’ll dry correctly since he doesn’t have any of his gel with me. “Lunch break?”

“Yeah, I don’t usually make it here, but it’s been kind of a slow day. Figured I’d eat while I work.”

“That’s how it goes,” he sighs. He bends down to lace his shoes, pulling up his socks the slightest bit before he turns to look back at Neal. “Hey, so Emma is dropping Henry off at my office, and I’m taking him to his therapy appointment. Do you want a ride?”

Neal’s really got to get a car, but now that he might be moving, he’s decided to put off the purchase until he knows for sure where he’s living. It’s likely a good thing. This way he can save up money and put as much down as possible without having to worry about making far too many payments with interest rates the way they are. And if he’s in DC, he may not even need a vehicle. It’s all complicated and still a bit messy, but he and Emma have made plans to sit down and talk to Neal sometime this week, possibly tonight, so that they can actually get through some of this. It’s odd basically regulating a grown man, one who is older than both of them, but they’re trying to figure out how to be a family. Sometimes that takes awkward conversations.

He’s not exactly looking forward to this particular conversation because he’s struggling with the thought that Henry might have to spend some time away from them. Emma is worrying herself sick about it, and she doesn’t even know what’s going to happen. Neither of them do. Hell, Neal likely doesn’t. If he’s honest with himself, Neal likely hasn’t put much thought into either. Killian’s not sure if it’s because Neal hasn’t realized that technically he has a right to having Henry live with him or if he doesn’t care.

Scratch that. Of course Neal cares. He loves Henry, but sometimes he thinks that Neal is more concerned about impressing Henry than being his father. Maybe he still doesn’t know how, maybe he doesn’t think he belongs as a part of their family. He can understand that. He felt that way for a long time, and it must still be difficult for Neal. It might not ever not be difficult, but all he and Emma want is for Neal to feel at home.

And be a father to Henry, to not worry about trying to be more fun or the one who gives better presents. He’s getting there. He really is, and maybe if he and Emma did a better job, Neal would feel more at home.

They’re trying. For as hard as it is on them, he also knows that it’s hard on Neal. So they’re all trying.

“His appointment is at five, yeah?”

“On the dot.”

Neal flashes him a grin while he rubs his hand over his scruff. “Yeah, I’d really appreciate that. Are you going to take me home afterwards or are you going to force me to walk?”

“I thought I’d make you walk. You’ve been letting yourself go, and I didn’t want to say anything.”

He barks out a laugh, the sound echoing throughout the locker room, and it makes Killian smile too, the corners of his lips tugging up.

“I could still take you in a fight, Jones.”

“Please,” he scoffs, tightening his laces one more time before standing up straight, “that never happened. I beat your ass in training every time.”

“Not on – ”

“October fifth.” “See, you remember?”

“Because you never let me forget about it,” Killian laughs, reaching down to pick up his bag. “It was all I heard for months. It’s been thirteen years, and you still don’t let me forget.”

Neal shrugs, his face still crinkled in happiness. “It was a damn good day. You even bought me a beer afterward.”

“Well, I figured since it was a one-time thing, it was the least I could do.” He takes a step over and claps Neal on the shoulder, smiling down at him. “I’ll see you at a quarter before five, and since I’m not evil, I’ll even let you ride home with Henry and me.”

“Such a saint.”

“I try.”

It’s a quick walk back to his office, and after saying hello to his secretary Anna, he settles down in his office and gets back to working on his proposal while eating the leftover pasta salad from dinner last night. He gets about two hours to himself to plow through things before Robin comes in, closing the door behind him and plopping down on the couch, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

“Are you almost finished with the coding for it? Because we need to send that down to Arthur for him to double check, especially since you’re leaving early.”

“I’ve got one section left,” he sighs, typing out one more scenario before rolling back in his chair and looking at Robin. “Did you come in here to procrastinate?”

“Most definitely.”

“So you’re whining about me leaving early because I have to take my kid somewhere, and yet you’re in here not doing your work?”

Robin shrugs and leans back further on the couch. “I already finished my section, mate. I literally can’t do anything else without you.”

“Aww, Rob, I always knew you loved me, but I never knew how much.”

“You’re an asshole,” he laughs, flicking a piece of paper in his direction.

“And yet you love me anyways.” He curls one side of his lips up into a smirk and winks at him, making sure to exaggerate it. “I really will be finished soon, and I’ll likely work through it tonight once everyone is asleep. Emma and I have a lot to do this evening, though.”

“I get it. I’ve got to go get Roland from his mom tonight, but we always get it done, yeah?”

“Aye,” he confirms. “Now get your ass off my sofa so I can finish this up in time.”

Robin mock salutes before walking away, leaving his office door open. It could be an accident, but Killian knows that Robin did it just to annoy him.

The wanker.

The rest of his day goes by as it normally does. He gets all of his program formatted and sends it off in time so that Arthur can run through the technicalities of it before sending it back to Robin. It’s a long, drawn out process, and when there’s a knock at his opened door, Emma and the kids standing there, he’s more relieved that he’s been in awhile to get to see all of them in the office.

“Hello loves,” he smiles as he gets up out of his chair, reaching down to hug Henry first before embracing Emma and briefly kissing her. “I can’t believe Anna let you in here with I specifically told her not to.”

“It’s because I’m super fast,” Henry explains, not at all amused by his joke.

“That you are. Did you have a good day at school, bud?”

“Yeah, but I need your help with fractions later. Mary Margaret made them weird.”

“Did she now?”

“Yeah, she said something about a pizza, but I didn’t get it.”

“It’s okay,” he promises, smiling at Henry to try to get him to perk up a little. “We’ll figure it out later. Do you want to get out your legos from my desk while I talk to Mum?”

Henry nods his head before dropping his backpack on the couch and hurrying over to get the box of toys Killian keeps in his bottom drawer for the times when Henry is here. Or even when Roland or someone else’s kid is stuck waiting while their parents work.

“I always hated fractions,” Emma sighs as she sways back and forth with a sleeping Ada. “And percentages. I still get those wrong sometimes.”

“We can’t all be geniuses like me.”

“Tone it down, Einstein,” she laughs, her lashes landing against her cheek. “But from what I can tell, Henry had a good day, Ada too, so I hope both of their appointments go well. I’ll call you after Ada and I get finished at the doctor.”

“I’m sure they’ll both be fine. Henry and I are going to pick up Neal and take him to his appointment too, okay?”

“When did that happen?”

“I ran into him at the gym and offered.”

Emma clicks her tongue and sighs a bit, her hands constantly running over Ada’s back. “That’ll be good. If you guys want to go out to get something to eat afterwards, that might be good too. Or maybe a snack since Henry has homework and we were going to talk to Neal tonight. Of course we could always talk to him tomorrow.”

He presses his lips together and reaches forward to caress her forearm, moving his fingers in a way similar to what Emma is doing to Ada. They’re both trying to comfort, even if it’s for different reasons. “We’ll talk to him, and it’s going to be fine. He’s not…we haven’t had many issues with him since we told him about us, and he’s grown a lot since then, yeah? He’s not going to try to take Henry away from you, from us.”

“I know that,” she whispers, looking over his shoulder to see Henry. “I really do. I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”

“I know, love. I know.” He leans forward and presses his lips to her temple. “Go take Ada to the doctor and maybe stop to get something you like to eat too.”

“That’s cute that you assume I wasn’t doing that already. Bye kid,” she tells Henry, waving at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Mom,” he murmurs, not even looking up from his legos.

You can’t get between the boy and his legos.

He finishes up a few last things, checks to see how many emails he has that he needs to respond to before tomorrow, and then shuts his computer down before taking Henry out to the parking garage so that they can get Neal and drive downtown to their therapists’ offices. Henry gets stuck on talking about how Avery told him a restaurant by the pier serves Mickey Mouse waffles, and of course, that gets him to talk about Disney World and how Grace and Violet went with their families over Christmas break. He and Emma have talked about it before, but it’s expensive and they have an infant they’d have to cart around as well.

Maybe some other time.

Why take your kid to Disney World when you can take them to see a hell of a lot of history in Washington DC instead? At least, that’s what they’re telling Henry about their trip next month.

But Neal easily joins in on the conversation about Mickey shaped waffles and the pros and cons of Woody versus Buzz lightyear. Luckily for Neal, Henry likes a lot of the classic movies, so he hasn’t been subjected to watching every new movie to know what his son is talking about. He still has to watch a lot of them, but he’s got the basic knowledge of Toy Story and The Lion King down.

The Lego Movie was all new to him. That’s a favorite in the house.

(He may never be able to watch it without his ears hurting ever again with that damn song.)

After shuffling through traffic, he pulls into the parking lot of the office building and puts the car in park so that he can take Henry up to Dr. Hopper’s office, the two of them dropping Neal off on the second floor.

“So Momma goes to talk to someone, I go to talk to someone, and my dad talks to someone?” Henry asks in the elevator. “Why don’t you talk to someone?”

Kids. They ask the exact things you don’t want to be asked about.

“I used to,” he says after thinking about it for a minute, trying to answer as delicately as he can. “And I might again. Sometimes we need someone besides our mums and dads or our friends to talk to, and that’s why we talk to Dr. Hopper, yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s nice. He talks about you and Mom a lot.”

“We’re very interesting people.”

“Sometimes you guys are boring.”

He chuckles and pulls Henry into his side right when the elevator doors open to their floor, the two of them stepping out and walking to the receptionist’s desk to tell them they’re here for Henry. Dr. Hopper almost immediately walks out, which has never happened to him at any doctor’s appointment in his entire life, and Henry happily walks back in his office with him. He knows that Emma waits in the office when she takes him, but he needs to go fill up the car with gas. So he gets back in the elevator and walks out into the lobby while responding to one of his emails from work.

When he looks up, though, he stops in his tracks, instinct taking over as he folds back into a corner of the lobby while he watches Neal get into a car outside.

What?

What the hell?

Why is Neal getting into a car? Who is he getting into a car with? Is this some kind of therapy thing? They drive and talk? That’s new but maybe it’s a thing.

Bloody hell. It’s definitely not a thing.

Neal is skipping out on his therapy appointment and getting into a random car, and he has no idea why, the blood in his veins heating as confusion and worry courses through him.

He’s already swiping out of his email to call Neal and ask him if he’s okay, if something is wrong that he had to leave, but something stops him from doing anything. Some kind of inner instinct that he honed from years in the Navy and years as a father understanding when a child is lying to him stops him from reaching out and asking Neal where he’s going right now.

He doesn’t…he doesn’t understand, and with the way his mind works, he can’t focus on anything but running through all of the scenarios that might be happening, even the crazy ones. He seems to only be able to focus on the crazy theories which don’t even seem coherent in his mind as he twists them around and tries to make sense of his muddled thoughts.

Something catches in his throat, and he tries to swallow the gulp that’s there while his heart pounds against his ribcage, something constricting in a way that causes his breath to be a bit shortened. Or a lot. He might not be breathing right now. He’s still alive, so he’s definitely breathing. But he can feel heat spreading across his cheeks and goose bumps rising on his arms.

Fuck.

This isn’t right. Whatever is happening isn’t right. Somehow, without any rhyme or reason, he just knows, and if he’s honest with himself as he has this psychological breakdown in the lobby of an office building, there are things that haven’t been right since the very beginning of Neal’s homecoming. He’s noticed them. Of course he has. But his kids, his relationship with Emma, and making sure that Neal has had an easy transition back into society have been his focus so that he hasn’t put too much thought into everything else. He screwed things up so badly with Emma, to the point where she might not have wanted to be with him ever again, and all he’s wanted was to get back on track with her, to make sure that she knows that he loves her more than his own life. All he’s wanted was to make sure that Ada is still growing as much as she should and that Henry is okay after going through such a transition both at home and at school.

All he’s wanted is for everyone to be okay, Neal included.

This, how he’s feeling, how he’s thinking, is not okay.

But maybe it is. Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s imagining things.

He’s not imagining things. He can’t be. He’s not crazy. His mind is fully functional. He knows what’s in front of his eyes, and he just watched Neal get into a random car when he’s supposed to be at therapy.

Shit. He should have gotten the license plate.

Why would he get the license plate? What would he do with that? To look up to see if the Uber driver Neal is using is registered on the site? Is it an Uber driver? Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe Neal didn’t feel like talking about things with his therapist today so he called a friend? Why would he do that? Why would he hide that from them?

Then again, why wouldn’t he hide that from them? Emma would make him go, would be upset if she knew that he wasn’t going, so maybe that’s it. He needed a break from talking. Killian understands that. There were days when he used to hate going to therapy as well.

But…

He’s got no bloody clue what’s happening.

It’s likely nothing, and this is just his paranoia and anxiety stepping up when he’s been living in a pretty stressful situation for a long while. Maybe it’s a bit of confusion, but maybe it’s just another thing about Neal that doesn’t add up when he truly thinks about it. Maybe it’s something. Maybe it can explain why Neal’s handling his PTSD better than anyone he’s ever seen. Maybe it can explain why none of Neal’s scars were fresh, why all of them had years to heal. Maybe it can explain why Neal is so hell bent on being an American hero and spending his time in DC. In working in the government even when the government failed him so spectacularly. Maybe it can explain why Neal seems to always be gone, to never be home on time. Maybe it can explain Neal knowing things he shouldn’t know. It’s only been a few things, a few random, unimportant things, but Neal knows things that he shouldn’t since he has been in captivity for eight years.

Or maybe it can’t explain anything. Neal was captured by Al-Qaeda almost a decade ago, and that’s where he’s been. He’s been through a tragedy, and he gets to be home and back with his family, even if it’s a little different than the way he thought it would be. Neal was captured, and he is a hero. That’s what’s happened.

But what if it’s not?

That’s preposterous. That’s the most insane thought he’s ever had, and Neal getting in a car to skip out on therapy doesn’t mean anything.

All of his thoughts are starting to sound like people who believe in conspiracy theories, and he is not that kind of man. He is too logical for all of this. He’s simply stressed and a little short staffed after a hectic day at work and the impending conversation about his son’s living situation. All he needs is to take a few deep breaths and calm himself down so that his mind stops working in overdrive.

His phone starts ringing in his hand and he sees Emma’s scrunched up smiling face from where he’d just kissed her cheek before she snapped the picture. She put it in his phone as her contact name, and it makes him smile nearly every time.

She makes him smile.

“Hello, love,” he greets, clenching his jaw and attempting to calm himself down from the race that his mind is currently running. He hates when he gets like this. It’s helpful at work but not now.

“Hey, babe. So guess who is the father of a perfectly healthy nine-month-old baby girl?”

“I sure as hell hope it’s me.”

“I mean, obviously I was just calling you to tell you about a random baby.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Exactly,” Emma laughs, her voice so light that it nearly breaks him apart thinking about everything that’s just happened. It has to be nothing. It’s just a weird coincidence, a misunderstanding. All of these odd little things happening over the past few months with Neal have been misunderstandings. They can’t be more. They can’t for Emma’s sake, for Henry’s. Emma doesn’t need to go through anything else. She needs to be happy. He’s overreacting in the biggest of ways. He’s got to cut back on coffee. “But seriously, Ada is growing just fine. She’s nineteen pounds and twenty seven inches. Dr. Kay said the only thing was that we need to try some more different textured foods, so I’m going to run by Whole Foods and get some of the things on this list we got.”

“That’s wonderful, love. I’m glad she’s healthy.”

He’s more than glad. He’s so relieved. He knows of all the things that can go wrong in young children, and it’s the biggest comfort knowing that his child is okay. She once had a high fever, just a few weeks after she was born, and that was one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life.

“You and me both. Sometimes I get so worried about her. Like, it’s so easy to mess things up, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Swan,” he sighs, smiling the slightest bit because he can’t help himself when it comes to her, “you are the best mum on the planet. There’s no competition.”

-/-

-/-

“I’m dying,” Emma groans, adjusting herself in bed again, kicking around the pillows at her feet.

“I’m sure that’s not true, love.”

Emma’s eyes basically turn into black slits, and he immediately inches away from her, putting space between them so that she doesn’t punch him. He likely deserves it.

“I have heartburn that is killing me. Actually killing me. I forgot about this.”

“Do you need something?” he asks softly, reaching over to her and rubbing his fingers into her arm while she still twists and turns on the bed.

“I think I’m going to just lay here and suffer in my misery, but if you want to get the remote for me, that’d be wonderful.”

“Now that I can do.”

He puts his book down on his bedside table before moving the covers off of his legs and rising from the bed to take the few steps toward the television and the remote that’s resting on its stand. He picks it up and tosses it over toward the bed so that it bounces on the mattress toward Emma. She quickly picks it up and turns the television on, flipping through channels.

“I’m going to go get some tea, Swan. Do you want anything?”

“Water. And some more Tums.”

“As you wish.”

It’s still early, the sun having barely risen, so he’s surprised when he finds Henry in the kitchen standing on his step stool as he looks through the cabinets. Usually he sleeps in on Saturdays, and they always hear the floor creak when he walks past their bedroom.

“What are you looking for?”

“Food,” Henry shrugs, not at all shocked by Killian’s presence. “Where did all of our good stuff go?”

“There’s plenty of good stuff in there,” he scoffs, stepping over to look in the cabinet with Henry. “Do you want some oatmeal? Cheerios? What about some scrambled eggs? I don’t think Mum is feeling up to one of our big Saturday breakfasts.”

“I thought babies are supposed to make people more hungry. That’s what Avery says.”

“Isn’t Avery an only child?”

“Yeah, but he’s smart.”

“Of course he is,” he laughs, grabbing Henry by the waist and plopping him down on the kitchen island so that he’s away from all of the appliances. “I can fix you something to eat, and we’ll go upstairs and eat it in my room, yeah?”

“I thought I couldn’t eat in my room.”

“But you can in my room when I say so, and I think your mummy needs some extra snuggles with you this morning.”

“Why? She’s already got the baby.”

Oh shit. He’s been expecting this, but he wasn’t really expecting it until after the baby was here and a lot of their time was spent focusing on her. He most definitely wasn’t expecting it now when Emma’s five months along and Henry has known he was getting a sibling for two months.

This is going to be one of those moments where he terribly screws things up, isn’t it?

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to spend time with you,” he says softly, making sure to be extra careful with his words while he closes the kitchen cabinets.

“But all she talks about with other people is the baby.”

“Mum is excited, lad,” he sighs, leaning back against the counter and studying Henry’s face, wishing his lips weren’t curled down. “I thought you were too. You’re going to be a big brother just like Liam is to me and David is to your mum.”

“I am excited,” he mumbles underneath his breath while messing with his t-shirt, the picture of someone who is not excited, “but what if you and Momma love my sister more than you love me?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, stepping forward and wrapping Henry up in a hug even as Henry squirms away from him a bit before finally wrapping his arms around his back, “that’s just not true. We love you so much, Henry, and that’s never going to change, okay? Yes, you’re going to have to share your time with us with your sister, but I promise that we will love you just as much.”

“Are you still going to come to my soccer games?” he sniffles, burying his head in Killian’s shoulder.

“Every Saturday afternoon. I will be there for as much as I can. And when your sister is big enough, she’s going to be there to cheer you on every Saturday as well.”

“Is she gonna be able to yell like Momma does?”

“Oh most definitely,” he laughs, leaning back so that he can look in Henry’s eyes, his little brows no longer furrowed and his lips beginning to curve up. “She’s going to be a big yeller. She’s going to be a lot smaller than you, but we’re still going to do a lot of fun things. I always wanted a little sister, and you’re so lucky to get one.”

“You wanted a little sister?”

“Of course I did,” he answers, pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator so he can make some scrambled eggs. “When you have a younger sibling, you get to teach them all kinds of things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you can teach her to play soccer and to draw those cool pictures of yours. She’ll need a lot of help at first, like learning to walk and talk, and you can help her with that. You can also tell her stories like I do to you.”

“I think she’ll like Captain Underpants.”

He snickers under his breath as he cracks an egg open on the pan. “I think she might.”

“Will she like TV?”

“Who doesn’t like TV?”

“Grandma sometimes.” “Well your grandma is just a silly goose,” he laughs, moving his spatula around a bit while adding some pepper. “But yeah, bud, she’s going to like all of those things, and you can help your mum and I take care of her so that her favorite person in the world is her big brother Henry.”

He and Henry keep talking about all of the things that Henry can do with his sister once she’s born, even if a few of them are a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice way to keep Henry excited, to make him be happy again when he’s apparently been a little down about it. He’ll have to talk to Emma about this later, to let her know what’s going on, and maybe they’ll be able to figure out a better way to talk to him about everything than his on the fly conversation with Henry. He also needs to tell her that today is definitely not the day to tell Henry about Neal. They’ve been working on that ever since they found out Emma was pregnant, and it was finally going to happen this afternoon. They had this whole plan, something researched and practiced and thought through, but if Henry’s struggling with a little jealousy, now is not the time for him to find out that Killian isn’t actually his father.

It’s never going to be easy, especially for Emma and Henry, but they have to do it. Henry deserves to know about Neal. Neal’s memory deserves to be honored through his son. It’s a difficult balance for him to not step on toes, to make sure that he does what’s right for Henry. He’s not his biological father. He never will be. But that’s their life, and biology doesn’t mean a damn thing to him when he loves this kid as much as anything.

But Henry should also get to know about his biology and all of the sacrifices and love that Neal made and gave for Henry and for their country in general.

He should know that his dad is a hero.

Just not today.

“Alright,” he sighs, handing Henry a bowl of mixed berries while he holds the eggs and his tea, “let’s go sit with Mum and make her feel better.”

Henry nods his head before running up the stairs, nearly dropping his bowl, but he catches himself and busts through their bedroom door, leaving the door wide open as Killian follows in behind him.

“Hey, kid,” Emma greets, sitting up a little bit and flipping the channel to something else, “what are you doing up?”

“Daddy and I made breakfast, but it’s not for you.”

“Really now? Why not?”

“You’re not hungry.” He climbs up onto the mattress and crawls over to Emma, sitting himself right in her side was she wraps her arm around his shoulder. It’s one of his favorite sights in the world, and it gets so much better by the curve of Emma’s stomach under her tank top. “So this is all for me and Daddy.”

“What did we just say about sharing?” He laughs, settling down on the bed as well.

“Oh yeah.” Henry looks from him to looking at Emma who’s got a soft smile on her face as one hand rests on her belly and the other hand messes with Henry’s hair. “My sister and I are going to be best friends like Daddy and Liam, and I’m going to teach her how to play soccer.”

“You are? Do you think she’ll be able to kick goals like you?”

“Maybe not as good as me.”

“She’ll need lots of practice,” Emma laughs. “Soon she’s going to be able to kick my belly, so I think she’s already trying to catch up to you.” “I have to go practice,” Henry gasps, moving to get out of the bed only for Emma to yank him back down and pull him further into his side.

“Not quite yet, kid. I want you to cuddle with me because I love you so much.” “I love you too,” Henry says as he squirms, finally settling into Emma’s side and resting his head against her shoulder. He’s just about to pick up his tea and try to find them something else to watch when Henry looks at him with this big cheesy grin on his face as he loudly whispers, “she does want to cuddle with me.” “I told you so,” he promises as he reaches over to grab Henry’s hand.

-/-

-/-

“I think you might be a bit biased,” she gushes, the sound of Ada faintly filtering through in the background.

“Well, I am rather in love with you.”

“You sentimental sap,” Emma laughs. “I love you too. Let me know when you guys are on the way home, okay?”

“I will.”

When the call ends, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down more. He needs to get a grip, to ground himself. Emma grounds him, her voice, her face. She steadies him when he’s the furthest thing from steady.

She’s…everything.

He’s overreacting. He has to be. Neal is allowed to live his own life. They’re encouraging him to live his own life, and that’s the thought process he maintains as he sits down in the lobby, completely forgetting about the fact that he needs to go get gas or respond to the rest of his emails. Instead of doing anything productive he sits in silence and watches as people move in and out of the building, the gentle closing of the glass doors followed by the click of heels on the tile, the sound only dying out when they get into the elevator.

That sound is what he focuses on, counting the steps it takes for different people to walk the same distance, and when he looks down at his phone and sees that it’s nearly six, he stands from his chair and makes his way back to the elevator bay, loading onto the cart with a woman and her children who are going to the same floor that he is. Henry is already waiting for him when he gets there, and the smile on his face calms him the slightest bit. He’s happy. That’s good. That means the session went well.

“Hey,” he waves, placing his hand on Henry’s back and guiding him out of the office. “Did you have a nice time? Anything you want to talk about with me?”

“Nope. I already told Dr. Hopper about how we can’t go to Disney World.”

“When your sister is older, kid,” he starts. “When your sister is older.”

Neal is waiting for them in the lobby when they get to the lobby again, his foot tapping against the floor, and even though he’s told himself to drop it, to drop all of the wild thoughts that are running through his mind, he can’t. Neal’s come back just in time for him to not know that he left.

Damn it.

If he had stayed in the lobby he could have seen him coming back.

What would he have said? Where the hell did you go? Why aren’t you in therapy? Is everything okay? Are you hiding something? What’s happening?

(He’s lost his mind and needs to get a grip.)

He could say all of those things. He could. he knows the words, knows how to speak, but none of them fall off of his tongue. He doesn’t want to be accusatory when there’s most likely nothing going on, and he’s going to continue operating that way until he knows for sure. There’s a tentative tightrope that they’re all walking on, and he’s not going to be the one to push them off of it because he’s lost his mind.

So he doesn’t say anything when they get in the car or when they stop and let Henry get a smoothie. He doesn’t say anything when they get home and help Henry do his homework, the two of them trying to explain fractions to him. He doesn’t say anything when they eat dinner, and he doesn’t say anything afterwards when they’re all watching TV while he does eventually finish up working on his emails. And he doesn’t say anything when Henry and Ada are put down to bed.

And he especially doesn’t say anything when he, Emma, and Neal sit down to talk about whether or not Neal is going to take the job in DC.

He is. He wants to do it. He’s determined to do it, to make a difference in the world now that he knows what it’s like to have a second chance at life. And when Emma very tentatively asks him what he wants to do about Henry, Neal tells them that while it’s not ideal, he’ll be happy to come home for every holiday that he can and every weekend that he can and that they don’t have to send Henry to DC by himself. He tells them that he doesn’t want Henry’s life to be disrupted any more than it’s already been. He tells them every single thing that a loving father who both wants to do good for his kid and good for himself would say.

And Killian is positive that he means it. Emma is even more so. She’s so good at reading others, her little superpower developed over years of careful use, and he’s got to trust that she’s able to use it with Neal. He knows that sometimes she can be wrong, but he’d bet that she’s right nearly every time.

He’d trust her over everything.

So while he’s calmed a bit over possibly losing Henry, over Henry being hurt at never seeing his dad (something he’s still worried about if he’s honest with himself), he can’t turn his mind off. He can’t make the thoughts stop, the theories cease from forming, the worries festering. And when they’re in bed and Emma starts trailing her lips up the cords of his neck, instead of melting against her touch, he pulls back, turning his body away from her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly, her voice barely a whisper above the hum of the ceiling fan.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he lies, twisting a bit so that he can see her face, see the worry in her eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

How can he ever be mad at Emma when he’s mad at himself for thinking that Neal, this man they all love, isn’t telling the full truth? How could he ever be mad at Emma when he’s so mad at himself for nearly every thought he’s had today? How could he…how could he think something so absurd that would hurt everyone he knew if he ever said the words out loud?

How can he be thinking any of this?

“No,” he promises, reaching over to her and resting his thumb in the indent of her chin, making sure that she can see the seriousness in his gaze, “how could I ever be mad at you?”

[casscutting]

Cass’s Cover Do Over: Round One

Welcome to Cass's Cover Do Over, the new monthly series where I take books who’s covers I feel could better represent the story and give them a fitting makeover. Originally I wanted to call this series Extreme Makeover: Book Cover Edition, HOWEVER, Disney owns the trademark rights to “Extreme Makeover” and I REALLY don’t want to get sued by Disney.  

Now before I get into the meat of today’s post I want to give a disclaimer. I am in no way shape or form mocking or making fun of any cover designers and or authors who put their own time into making the original covers. If the authors do happen to see these posts and like what I have done I will give them the high quality images free of charge. This series is to help authors both established and aspiring better understand the do's and don’ts of Cover Design from the perspective of an aspiring author and established graphic designer.

Let’s start at the beginning WHY should you hire a designer to design your cover? Whether we admit it or not the first thing that draws your eye to a book, be it online or in a store, is the cover. I, like many others, have bought or borrowed a book because I liked the cover. I also, like many others, have kept a book because of the cover to spite the contents of the book.

The book cover is your first line of attack when trying to obtain a new reader. If the cover is eye-catching it brings that person one step closer to picking up your book. A cover should envoke the overall feeling or theme of your book and a designer will (SHOULD) be able to do that.

I see so many authors, I’m speaking about the Indie Authors though there are some questionable covers that have come from the traditional world, however, traditional authors have a minuscule amount of design input if any at all. Indie Authors are the sole decision makers when it comes to their books.

An author has put in months if not years to writing this book then if they go about things the RIGHT way they put in hundreds if not thousands of dollars (insert applicable currency here lol) into editing and formatting. Then comes time to hit the publish button and send your book baby out into the world but wait you need a book cover.

I’ve seen authors talk about this on their blogs or their youtube channels they’ve put little to no thought into the book’s cover with their first book or first few books. I’ve seen people say they just grabbed a Royalty Free Stock Photo or used Kindle Drect’s or LuLu’s cover editor to make their covers. Or even worse I’ve seen authors say they just googled pictures and find one they like and slap it up there vualá they’re done.

I am going to say this loud DON’T USE PICTURES FROM GOOGLE AS YOUR BOOK COVERS!

A: those pictures could be too small making your book cover blurry and bad. Most importantly B: You don’t know the legal ownership of that photo. Best case scenario you, by some miraculous chance, get a Royalty Free Stock Photo but most likely you will choose someone else's design or photograph and that person will be entitled to sue your ass off.

When I was still in school for graphic design we were given articles to read, wish I still had them, where authors were sued because they used someone else’s photo. Not only did that author need to pay out a percentage of back earnings the rightful owner of that photo was entitled to a percentage of that author’s royalties for the lifetime of that book or until such time as the author changed the cover image.

So I reiterate DON’T USE A RANDOM GOOGLE PICTURE.

Now on to the Cover Do Over’s

I want to note that I have NOT read these books the designs I came up with are based on a few criteria. 1: Title, 2: synopsis, 3: Genre and Age Groupe, and if I needed more to go off of 4: Reviews

White Rabbit by John Stanley

Synopsis:

All his life Gabriel has struggled with childhood memories. Or better said; the absence of them. Now a young man and married to the beautiful Alaina, the memories begin to surface in wild and terrifying nightmares. Tormented by the dark images of a faceless man, he discovers an inner strength found only in the delicate fibers that connect what is real and what is not.

A thousand miles away Professor O'Bannon, Homicide Detective with the Los Angeles Police Department, is hunting a sadistic and cunning killer who preys on the city's most innocent. He too, tormented by a faceless man who displays his victims with devastating affect. Soon fate intervenes, and worlds of the Professor and Gabriel collide in a jarring, mind-bending thrill ride that will change both their lives forever.

I believe I saw where the author/designer was going with this cover but I feel it came across more cartoonish which made it feel less thriller to me.

So I created a stylized rabbit head on a dark cracked textured background with a deliberate light source and jittered text to envoke the ominous and unsettling feeling that John Stanley alluded too with their synopsis.

The Culling by Anthony Hulse

Synopsis:

A series of child abductions are linked to Jules Devlin’s touring circus. A team of CID detectives are deployed and attempt to unravel the mystery. The performers, including a clown, a lion-tamer, a fire-eater, a dwarf, and conjoined twins harbour a terrifying secret. Jimmy Crawford, an ex-CID detective turned private investigator is hired by the parents of a teenage girl, who believe her disappearance is linked to the circus. Crawford is aided in his task by a child psychologist and a priest. Through a handicapped boy, they discover that the circus is not what it seems. DS Jenny Stiles, believing Devlin is the head of a paedophile ring, soon discovers something more sinister. Could the evil carnival be responsible for the burning of churches and their priests? The Culling is a supernatural thriller set in Whitby and Dartmoor. From Edinburgh, Cleveland and Lourdes in France, strange and unexplainable episodes occur, which leads Jenny to believe that Devlin is indeed evil.

In my eyes they only thing that tells me this book is a Mystery/Thriller is the foggy road and no I did not use a low-quality image here every image of this book I’ve found has the same low-quality image. From Google to Amazon to Goodreads it’s the same.

Aside from the SLIGHT reference to the Mystery/Thriller, I would have no idea what this book was about without reading the synopsis and there is nothing about this cover that made me as a reader want to learn more about it.

So after reading the synopsis, I saw the Mystery/Thriller aspect of this story revolves around a creepy traveling circus and missing children but like I said I didn’t get that from the original cover. So I created the circus tent and found several royalty-free stock images that would work as a background when stitched together.

I chose to go with a more circus-themed font that I created for this project to tie in the title and author name to the theme because the juxtaposition between the creepy circus background and any flat color for the typeface would have thrown off the whole feeling.

Now I have almost 20 variants of each design and the ones I’ve chosen I feel best to represent the themes as stated in the synopsis. And so you know for when you’re choosing a cover designer they, after the consultation, will go and design, depending on the designer, 3-5 or 3-7 different designs with a handful of variants for each design. I personally offer in the 3-5 design range. What I mean by variant is the designer will move around the typeface or other elements of the design and or give you different typefaces as options as well to give you more to choose from.

Also of note and again every designer is different, but every designer will offer a set amount of Revisions where they will change something you, the client, have changed your mind on. This is usually anywhere from 1 - 5 revisions before charging extra with most I’ve seen offering 3, I personally offer 5. There are also Fixes if there is something the designer fucked up they SHOULD redo it and it SHOULDN’T count towards any of the revisions. During the consultation, a designer worth their weight will take extensive and detailed notes on what you want in order to prevent having to make to many fixes or to prevent a shady client from getting more revisions than they deserve.

How do you get your designs? Throughout the process, the designer is sending you a lower quality watermarked image so they can show you the design and get your feedback. Once the designs are done and payments are paid IN FULL the designer will send you the full HD images and they are yours to do with as you see fit, unless otherwise stated.

Now let's talk about price, again here is where every designer differs but I have seen designers offer flat rate payments and usually, that is paid upfront before the designer starts working. There is a second version of a flat rate payment where there is one flat rate but you pay 50% upfront and the other 50% when the designs are signed off on which is the payment method I use. There are hourly billed payments, where you as the client are to pay for a set number of hours upfront and the rest of the payment is to be paid in full before you’re given the final product. 

I’ve wanted to do this for a while now and I am glad I finally did it. One of my goals this year is to start designing book covers and I thought this would be a fun way to get my name out there.

Question of the day: Do you sometimes buy a book just because you liked the cover?

[wispythreads]

Oh, yeah, update, I finished both Knights of the Old Republic and Knights of the Old Republic II! The popular opinion online seems to be that the second one is better than the first one, but I... don’t really agree with that opinion. I loved both games a lot! And it might just be childhood nostalgia that has me biased towards favoring the original game, but I earnestly feel as if I had more fun playing the first game, and just enjoyed the overall feel of that game more.

I know I don’t actually have to list out the points of why I enjoyed the first game better and what I did really enjoy in the second game, but I kind of just want to do so anyway, especially since I didn’t really blog much while playing the games. Anyway, starting with my personal positives for Knights of the Old Republic II, and working my way down the negatives:

+ I was ecstatic when the droids became much more integral to the plot of the game, and really enjoyed playing those solo segments as T3-M4, being the MVP and pulling the rest of the team out of the fire. The closest I got to that in the first game was by making the active choice to bring HK-47 and T3-M4 around with me everywhere, and selecting T3-M4 to rescue everyone during the Leviathan quest.

+ I thought the influence system was really cool! Especially since I kind of had the silly, not very serious head canon that as HK-47 spent more time around my very light-sided Revan, he was being subtly influenced slightly more towards the light. Still very murdery, but begrudgingly accepting his Master’s change of heart and even eventually starting to understand it, slightly. Then, in the second game, I actually sort of did that! At one point, he was fully at the top of the light-sided spectrum, a great pillar of light shooting off behind him as he stood at attention, and then there was that moment where the pacifist protocol package got installed! I got a great kick out of it.

+ I appreciate that the dark sided options in the game (whether through dialogue or action choices), while still very obviously the dark-side choice, weren’t all giving off the vibe of “Muahahaha I’m so evil! I kick puppies and revel in it! See how evil I am!”  that I felt when seeing a lot of the dark-side options in the first game. There was even one dark-side option I very heavily considered accepting as canon for my play-through, just because I loved how chaotic and impulsive it was, even though I felt very bad about it because it was undeniably an awful thing to do. “Don’t press that button! It’ll set off the explosive charges I have beneath me!” “You mean this button? [Press.]”

+/- I loved how powerful my character felt while playing her, she was really a glass canon that had to be careful when going off on fights on her own, but when she had other force-sensitives around her to help back her up with healing, she could just lightning storm a few times and BOOM! all the enemies are down in seconds. But that power made it really difficult to enjoy it when the game forced me into solo missions with the non-droid party members, because those sections heavily favored the party members’ combat abilities and, no matter what I did, I couldn’t really make them as powerful as I had made the Exile, resulting in those sections being really slow and painful, especially when they jumped back and forth between a solo-section for the Exile and then a solo-section for one of the party members.

+/- I liked the ability to go into first-person perspective and see through each of the party’s eyes! It seemed really cool. Although, sadly, it’s very limited. You can look all around you, but you can’t move, fight, or interact with the world in any way while in first-person perspective. I understand that this is an older game, and though I don’t know when it first became an option in video games for you to switch back and forth between first-person and third-person point of view, I’m gonna guess it was probably after 2006, which is when this game was released. Still, I would’ve appreciated this mechanic more if it had more substance to the game? Being able to play fully in first person, especially with the characters who see the world differently than the rest of the party (Visas, HK-47, T3-M4) just seems like it would be so cool. 

+/- I love all of the new characters that were introduced and the return of old characters, but by the time I finished the game I felt like there was stuff that was missing from them. It seems like I can run through all the content that they have very quickly, leaving me with not a whole lot to talk about with them besides training new force techniques I’ve picked up to the ones that have become sort of the Exile’s padawans. Kreia definitely doesn’t give me this feeling, she has a lot to say and a lot of interesting depth to her, and mostly I don’t have this with T3-M4, but with the others there feels like there should be more conversations and talks and interactions between them and there’s just... not. I feel particularly upset about this with Bao-Dur, Visas, and Mandalore. I’m not sure if I just missed opportunities to speak with them about certain things, but I feel as if I had maybe three lengthy conversations with Bao-Dur altogether, which great swathes of silence in between them, and then he kind of disappeared and why he disappeared was never really explained? Despite him having the greatest connection to the Exile than all the rest of the companions, Kreia included? And with Mandalore I might not have felt so upset about it, considering all the great content with him from the first game, but his personal quest in trying to recruit the other scattered Mandalorian clan’s just felt kind of... really empty, with no real payoff, which doesn’t feel great when he’s one of the only companions with a personal mission you can assist with.

+/- I have very mixed feelings on the various cutscenes in the game. On the one hand, it’s great that there’s all these cutscenes that help provide a better understanding of the characters and the world that they’re all interacting in, and even some better understanding of the Exile, but on the other hand a lot of it takes place without the Exile’s presence or knowledge. It makes the game feel more cinematic and like an overarching story beyond the Exile, which seems like it should feel really cool on paper, but in practice, each time it happens it just kind of makes me feel weird while they play out, and even frustrated at certain times. The early ones were okay, but as they progressed it just kind of didn’t sit right. Plus, while it gives me a better understanding of the characters and the events that are occurring around the Exile, I can’t transfer that knowledge into the actions and perceptions of the Exile, which also feels frustrating at certain points.

+/- Speaking of, the stuff in the game that makes it seem more cinematic (even outside of cutscenes) is kind of part of why I don’t like the feeling of playing as much as I did while playing the first game? I can’t quite put my finger on why I feel this way, I just know that as I think about it in my head, it seems as if I should find it cool and have it heighten my experience while playing the game, but instead it just kind of bugs me in a vague way. Maybe it’s because it’s kind of jarring to be trying to do a quest and oop here’s a cutscene! oop here’s another cutscene! oop here’s another cutscene! oop you’re forced to play out this weird section where you don’t really have a lot of choice what’s going on, and it’s not really a cutscene but it sure feels like it’s just an interactive cutscene, oop you’re forced to play a solo section with this character! now back to you’re character! now back to the solo section! now forced interactive cutscene! Or maybe it’s not that, but it’s how the main story really does seem like the main story of a movie, with a very clear and structured ‘we go from point a to point b to point c with very little deviation,’ and the side-quests really feel like side-quests that ultimately don’t really matter that much. I might be on the wrong thread here, but in kotor I a lot of the side-quests felt optional, but also as if they were carefully tied into the main storyline, which created loops and a slight deviance from just going from a to b, and made the side-quests feel as if they mattered.

+/- The game itself felt a lot darker and depressing overall than kotor I did, which in itself is not a bad thing. I can get behind interesting dark and depressing stories! And, compared to those interesting dark and depressing stories, this one wasn’t really all that dark and depressing at all, mostly just a lot more of a realistic take what goes on in the world of Star Wars. But there’s some kind of weight to the darkness that is there, and at random points, even when nothing dark was really happening in particular at that moment, it just kind of brought me down.

- Some sections of the game felt a lot longer and slower than they should’ve been? The whole Goto section on Nar Shaada, and the Peragus Station prologue, in particular. I’ve seen that some people like the Peragus Station because of the creepy horror-movie vibes it gives off, which I can see in certain places of it and can appreciate in those places, but the majority of it just felt really empty and boring, and once things got rolling with the Exchange and Goto it felt like it would never end, becoming a very slow and arduous task to try and get through it and arrive at a more exciting and free point in the game. Looking back on the experience of the whole game, it makes sections like Onderon (even when including Dxun as part of the Onderon package) and Korriban feel very short and limited in comparison.

- Most of the new Force powers you learn through the gameplay that are unique to this sequel don’t really have that much use or importance outside of the one section where they are learned. It just becomes another force power I have to scroll through to try and quickly scroll between the ones that are actually useful and that I use very often.

- I didn’t really care for the changes to the workbench + the added lab station that they implemented into the game. Maybe other people enjoyed it but I found it kind of... pointless? The only aspect that I could’ve enjoyed because it gave me something unique I couldn’t get anywhere were the implants, but the good implants required a really, really high constitution that literally no one besides HK-47 had, which made all the implants pretty much useless.

- Not a big fan of the fact that one of the choices between two possible companions was decided based off of gender. The choice between two possible companions based off of alignment on the dark/light scale? Very cool, very understandable. The Disciple is very sweet and knowledgable and probably would’ve been favored a bit more if I had him around longer than basically at the very end of the game with a huge lore dump, but I think I would’ve much preferred having the Handmaiden with me through the whole game. Also it just seems like a really weird thing. If you’re a guy, the Handmaiden will join your party! But the Disciple will not. If you’re a gal, the Disciple will join your party! But the Handmaiden will not. It’s even weirder because their choice to join isn’t determined by some shallow thing like being attracted to the Exile, it’s decided by factors that should be unanimous regardless of whether the Exile is male or female.

- I don’t appreciate the game trying to tell me ‘well actually you’re exile was a choice you made yourself, whether you realize it or not, the Council really didn’t have a way to punish you, so you kind of did this to yourself for some personal reason’ because even though I know what kind of thing they’re trying to convey about the Exile’s trauma after what happened at Malachor V, that particular line they kept pushing just felt really dumb and I hated it. Maybe my Exile did eventually come to appreciate her exile and the distance it brought her from all the stupid stuff going on with the Jedi and the Republic, especially with how tired I believe she felt when being forced into the mess again, being forced to talk with Atris again when neither of them wanted to see the other ever again, but being told that the Jedi ‘couldn’t enforce their ruling’ is complete and utter bull, and trying to make it seem like my Exile accepted their exile purely for personal reasons rather than the very real threat from the Jedi should she try to ignore it or fight it is equally bull.

- The ending of the game felt really... empty, too. The ending to Kotor I was triumphant, a congratulatory celebration for destroying the Star Forge and managing to defeat Malak (which had been really, really difficult), at least on the Light Side ending. But still, it ended on a positive note with a definite conclusion and with things looking up for people. I think the ending of Kotor II might have felt better if I had played through it with the anticipation that they might continue the storyline with a third game, which is evidently what they were planning to do before said third game got cancelled, but as it stands by itself, it just feels kind of disappointing in comparison. Of the three boss battles, the only one that felt interesting was the one with Sion. Nihlus was very, very easy compared to all that he was chocked up to be, I had to do very minimal strategic thought and took him down with a lightsaber (which was something my Exile was pretty weak with) very quickly. And, yeah, I had Visas and Mandalore’s help, but this guy was supposed to be a big deal! He was spooky looking, he’d consumed the life Force of entire planets, he spoke like some kind of unknowable, terrifying Lovecraftian monster, but his fight did not at all live up to the expectations the lore surrounding him and his aesthetic had created. The one against ‘Traya’ just felt kind of... stupid. Like I can kind of understand what she was doing, but also, no??? I’m not going to strike you down??? You’ve been really suspicious and creepy the whole time, of course I knew you were manipulating me, of course I knew that this was gonna be the endgame, and that you were specifically trying to orchestrate events to line up to this moment where I would eventually defeat you, but you had to throw a wrench in my distrustful distancing of myself from you by standing up against the Exile’s mistreatment and speaking the truth and just really touching my heart at that moment so guess what, spite time, I’m gonna show you all the love and compassion and mercy my heart can muster, fuck you, you don’t get to die.

Anyway yeah that summarizes the major feelings I have from playing Knights of the Old Republic II beyond enjoying it purely because it’s another star wars game and is like the original Knights of the Old Republic. If you made it through all this, then, well, thanks? Good on you for taking the time to read my silly rant. Have a head pat.

*pat, pat*