#insert series of expletives here

[otrtbs]

i leave the uk and jobs at the tate open up?????????????

[ladyvillainous]

Get Up

Set before series 4, insert of my own character

Description

Charlie is tired of covering for Eddie being late to school so she takes matters into her own hands...

Warnings

Implied nudity but otherwise just fluff

Word Count: 1497

“Has anyone seen Eddie Munson this morning?” To say Mrs O’Donnell was pissed was an understatement.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the desk behind her where Eddie usually sat in vain, there’s no way he’d have arrived in the last 2 minutes since she checked without hearing him.

“Miss Jones?” Charlie jumped, snapping her head back to the front of the class guiltily, she always felt guilty on Eddie’s behalf even when she hadn’t done anything wrong herself.

“Well?” Mrs O’Donnell demanded, advancing on Charlie, and standing over her hands on hips.

Confused Charlie peered up at her “What?”

The normally mild-mannered teacher closed her eyes as if praying for patience “Have you seen Mr Munson this morning? You’re usually joined at the hip if anyone knows where he is it’ll be you”

Some of the jocks and Cheerleaders sniggered at the teacher’s words whispers of “Freaks flock together” rippling around the classroom, Charlie glaring at the nearest cheerleader with so much venom the girl actually shrank away from her in fear.

Turning back to the teacher Charlie thought quickly, what excuse hadn’t she used to cover for him this month, the last thing she wanted was to repeat one they’d be stuck in detention together if she made that mistake again “Ah no I haven’t… I think he said something about having a dentist appointment” she lied smoothly keeping her expression and tone as neutral as possible, gazing impassively up at their teacher.

Mrs O’Donnell’s mouth thinned into a grim line, but she didn’t immediately declare that she was lying so she must have chosen correctly “Miss Jones, please be so kind as to explain to Mr Munson that if he doesn’t come to class, Dentist appointment or not, he’s never going to pass my class and that means he’ll be seeing me next year for the 3rd time”

Charlie nodded “Yes Mrs O’Donnell” as the teacher retreated to her desk and begun the lesson, glancing behind her once more Charlie frowned, where the hell was he today.

 The second the bell rang Charlie was already up out of her seat and racing to the payphone in the quad, she had literally minutes before she’d be late for 2nd period herself, but she had to try. The phone rang and rang while she tapped her foot anxiously muttering “Pick up, pick up, pick up” with increasing impatience.

“Hello” Eddie’s voice was deep and rasping like he’d just woken up, which explained his absence.

“Are you sick?” Charlie asked at once, dispensing with the pleasantries.

“Charlie?” Eddie muttered confused.

“I said are you sick?” Charlie insisted, her tone becoming more agitated.

“No” Eddie murmured, his voice muffled by a yawn.

Charlie cursed under her breath “Look at your watch idiot!”

There was silence for half a heartbeat and then a loud expletive as the phone was slammed down the line going dead.

With a sigh Charlie returned the receiver to the booth and trotted off to her next period. He couldn’t keep missing classes like this, but she knew full well he’d never go to bed earlier and he already had an alarm clock he ignored, clearly drastic measures were required.

***

The next morning Charlie hopped in her Jeep and headed over to the trailer park, she’d allowed plenty of time to get Eddie up and for them to get to school on time but what she hadn’t factored in was Eddie’s ability to sleep through anything.

She had been banging on his front door for 10 minutes shouting his name and earning glares from the neighbours, who’d come out of their trailers to investigate the ruckus at this ungodly hour of the morning, when Eddie’s Uncle arrived home slightly earlier than usual from his shift at the plant.

“Charlie?” He called up to her on the porch as he exited his truck “What you doing here so early?”

Charlie had been making such a racket he caught her by surprise not having heard his truck arrive, jumping she swung round sheepishly waving at the neighbours when she spotted them staring at her “Sorry Mr Munson”

Wayne chuckled waving his hand in a dismissive fashion towards his neighbours “Don’t worry bout them they’ll get over it, assume you’re here for Eddie?”

Charlie nodded “Yeah he was late again yesterday I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t happen again, but he won’t answer the door”

Arriving in front of her Wayne unlocked the door and ushered her inside “Boy sleeps so soundly you’d have thought he was dead”

Charlie nodded grinning evilly “That’s why I’m here”

Wayne frowned briefly he could see she was up to something, but he had a feeling it would be entertaining so he simply waved her towards his nephew’s room “Take your best shot sweetheart but don’t say I didn’t warn you”

With a wink Charlie turned and headed straight to the kitchen grabbing the nearest empty glass she filled it from the sink and headed down the corridor weapon in hand.

Bursting into Eddie’s room with a bang as the door hit the wall, Eddie stirred muttering but didn’t wake, only turning over so he was laying spreadeagled on his back one arm hanging off the edge hair spread out across his pillow like a halo.

Without hesitation Charlie marched across the room and dumped the entire contents of the glass on his face, leaping back as he leapt up arms flailing in shock, the bedclothes slithering from his grasp as he did so.

“What the fuck?” he shrieked, eyes wildly scanning the room finally settling on Charlie whose gleeful expression was morphing to shock as her eyes travelled south.

Belatedly Eddie remembered it had been a warm night, so he’d slept nude, snatching up the sheets in an attempt to cover his modestly he screamed at her “Charlie… get out… what the fuck!”

Unable to tear her eyes away from his now covered body Charlie only snapped her eyes up when he screamed, shrieking apologies as she dashed from the room arriving back in the living room with a horrified expression on her flaming face.

Wayne peered around the corner curiously just in time to see Eddie’s bare ass disappearing into the bathroom at the end of the corridor, glancing back to Charlie’s expression a snort of laughter burst from him.

“It’s not funny” Charlie protested weakly her face beetroot red, but Wayne just laughed louder, tears now running down his face as attempted to catch his breath.

“Tell Eddie I’ll be waiting in my car” She muttered bolting from the trailer, Wayne’s laughter following her out of the door.

 Minutes later Eddie appeared fully dressed taking in the sight of Wayne still laughing his ass off as he clutched at the kitchen counter and his chest.

“What is going on?” He asked confused his hair still damp from his sudden waking.

Wayne was barely able to speak so he pointed towards the door gasping “came to get you… make sure… you got… on time… school”

Eddie shook his head at his uncle “It wasn’t that funny man”

Wayne disagreed shaking his head rapidly “You didn’t see her… her face”

With a roll of his eyes Eddie grabbed his bag and jacket from the chair next to the door and headed out leaving his uncle to calm down.

Charlie had taken a moment to compose herself a cigarette dangling from her fingers as Eddie strolled down the steps towards her, resolved to pretend like that hadn’t just happened.

“So, you’re my ride today?” Eddie grinned at her nervously.

Charlie nodded dropping her used butt onto the floor and grinding it into the dirt with her foot stealing herself to look at him “Tired of covering your ass Munson” she added, immediately flushing at her poor choice of words as the sight of his very naked body flashed through her mind leaving her unable to meet his eyes.

They drove to school in a tense silence that was unheard of for them, both moving as if to say something several times before snapping their mouths shut, when they arrived in the car park neither exited the vehicle both just sitting in the same tense silence aware that it needed to be broken.

“I..” Charlie began as Eddie muttered “Look…”

They both laughed awkwardly, Eddie taking a deep breath and continuing “Look this doesn’t need to be a big deal, so you saw me naked it doesn’t need to be a thing we can just pretend like it didn’t happen”

Charlie raised a sceptical eyebrow smirking slightly “I dunno I think it might be imprinted on my brain”

Eddie frowned at her “There’s no need to act like it was the most horrific sight you’ve ever seen though” he muttered affronted.

Charlie laughed at his put-out expression; Eddie having jumped to the worst conclusion of course “Who said I thought it was horrific?” she contradicted quietly eyes on the hands clasped in her lap.

“What?” His mouth fell open as she lifted her head to look at him a small smile stretching her lips at his shocked expression, feeling sudden bold Charlie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, slowly raking her eyes deliberately up and down his body “Oh” his only response.

Chuckling Charlie alighted from the Jeep as the embarassment broke replaced with a new tension that couldn’t be addressed right now. Reaching behind her seat to liberate her backpack she crooked her finger at her friend “Come on big boy let’s get you to first period”

“Well, this is new” Eddie muttered as he scrambled from the jeep and bolted after her.  

[omnitf]

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him.��“Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

[niffala]

Baby Blues (Pt. 6)

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, cheating mention, manipulation, noncon/dubcon mention, making up

A/N: Reader insert version found here. 18+ only due to smut and noncon/dubcon situations. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 5      Series Masterlist  Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

Tony repeated the expletive, looking at Natasha and Pepper-Bruce who looked just as uncomfortable. Well that came so far out of left field, he could never have predicted his investigation would lead to this…this witchy business. It wasn’t metal arm’s fault. They villainized him when he needed their help. Shit! And poor Dani... double shit!

Bucky's heart twisted painfully, the back of his neck and cheeks burned, his head throbbed. His teammates… former teammates were staring at him apprehensively. It took him a few minutes before he found his voice. “May I request a few hours to gather my things and send communication to Steve before... before I’m fired.”

“Fired?”

“The deal was to help me prove I didn't do it so I could get my wife back. You've proven the opposite. I have done e-everything she accused me of.” Bucky’s face screwed up in pain. “I thought it was fake, but it was me the whole time. I… I cheated on my wife. That means I lost my job, like I lost her.”

Tony puffed out his cheeks, letting out a long exhale. “Look, I just got to second base with The Hulk a few moments ago, so I'd call this extenuating circumstances. As much as I dislike you, it would be cruel to punish you for what happened. Consent is a two way street and that wasn't the case here, what that witch did negated that… And it pains me to say this, but I think we all owe you an apology.”

Bucky knew he should have felt some relief at Tony’s words, but there was only guilt. He hurt the person he'd vowed to love and protect, the details didn't matter. He wasn't sure how to make it better. Would she even believe what happened? Would she forgive him and take him back? He wasn't sure he deserved to be.

Natasha decided to say what they were all thinking. “How are we going to explain all this to Dani?”

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

Natasha walked into her apartment, a ziplock of the blue dust in her pocket. She quickly spotted Dani on the couch in her pajamas. She took off her shoes and sat down next to her.

Dani smiled, “Welcome home Nattie. What did Tony have you doing that had you out so late?”

The redhead took a deep breath as she turned to face her friend. “Before we start, is this what you’d been smelling on Bucky?” Nat pulled the bag out, opened it and held it just under Dani’s nose. Careful not to let her get too close.

She recognized it all right. Dani frowned, “Yeah… What the hell is it? I figured it had to be some kind of icky perfume.” 

Instead of answering, Nat got up to let the rest of the group inside. 

Dani eyed Tony and Bruce suspiciously as they shuffled in. Both of them looked like they wished they were anywhere else. “Why does this feel like an intervention?”

Tony winced, “It kinda is.” 

She quirked an eyebrow at her employer, “Are you retiring again?” Then she saw Bucky slowly step into view. He looked utterly defeated, movements rigid, eyes downcast. This was the first she's seen him since the fight. Emotions hit her like a tidal wave. Shocked, upset, betrayed. “What the fuck is this, Nat? I can't be here if he is.” Dani tried to retreat to her bedroom, only to be stopped by Tony’s hand on her shoulder.

He coaxed her back to the couch. “You're gonna want to sit down for this one, kid. We have a lot to go over.”

The group did their best to explain what they discovered. How they were victims of a jealous witch hellbent on destroying their marriage. That the powder made Bucky unaware he was with Tanya, because his eyes only saw Dani. He believed it was his wife, even though everyone else, and video, showed the real person. Dani was reluctant to believe them. Witchcraft, spells, this was more than her brain could handle right now. It could not be real. Why were they suddenly on his side?

“It’s very real, Dani. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not for him. Thanks to that blue crap I got a little too up close and personal with Banner earlier.” Tony pointed to Bruce, “You may see the big green over there, but I see Pepper.” 

Natasha interjected, “Actually you groped him after we told you it was Bruce.”

“Semantics.”

Dani’s body felt frozen in place, her mind running a mile a minute, as she came to terms with what she just learned. “But… but that would mean…” She gave her husband a panicked look, tears in her eyes, before having to turn away. 

Natasha, seeing the look etched on Dani’s face, began rubbing her back. “Are you alright? You're going to worry a hole through your lip if you don’t stop biting it.”

“No, I'm not alright. Nothing about this is alright.” Feelings warred in Dani’s gut, the guilt slowly seeping in and suffocating her. She buried her face in her hands before screaming. “Fuck!” She put her legs up, lowering her face between her knees. “This is so fucked. This is so fucking fucked up.” 

Bucky felt even more guilty seeing his wife’s distress. Maybe she was better off in the dark, hating him. He nervously stared at the floor by Dani’s feet. Sneaking glances at her reaction before reverting his gaze in shame. He was an active participant in this mess. He could understand if she never forgave him.

Tony agreed with Dani’s summation. “The skank is in the wind, but we will find her. We can't arrest her legally, the law hasn't caught up with the mystic world, but I assure you she will be punished for her crimes.”

Natasha continued soothing her friend. Promising that she would personally see the witch suffer and spend the rest of her short life in agony. After allowing Dani to cry for a few minutes, she ushered Bruce and Tony out. Indicating with her eyes for Bucky to take her place next to Dani. She then announced she would be going to bed to give the two of them time alone.

The former couple sat in awkward silence. The truth of the situation crippled them, making both terrified to speak. It was so quiet Dani could hear the rush of her pulse. She didn’t know what to say. A chapter in her life she thought was closed suddenly burst open and in bright neon pointed out how wrong she had been. That vile witch assaulted her husband and she thought… but how could she know... Oh god, what did she do? She wanted to apologize, but she couldn’t instantly erase the bad feelings toward him that still resided in her heart. It was all too much. 

Bucky faced her with a broken smile, his eyes pleading, “Dani...” He reached out to hold her, but she moved away from him. 

“I can’t, I can't do this right now. I’m sorry. I need time to process all of this. I’m so sorry.” Dani asked him to leave and walked to her bedroom, shutting the door.

Bucky watched her walk away from him again. Feeling just as crushed as the first time. He reluctantly got up and left the apartment. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he didn’t want to go home. It didn’t feel right without her. 

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

Dani unblocked her husband… ex-husband… husband’s number. Honestly she wasn’t sure where they stood right now. Swallowing her uncertainty, she hit the call button. Her stomach flip flopping as it rang. Bucky sounded rough when he answered, but his voice perked up when she asked to come by the house to talk. He agreed to meet her there in an hour.

She hesitated at the door, unsure if she should knock or use her key.  Bucky opened the door before she could decide, he’d clearly been waiting by it. He greeted her, his smile not reaching his eyes. It made her heart clench. This shouldn’t be this hard. 

Walking into the house felt foreign to her. How could two weeks seem so much longer? Nothing was different from the last time she was here, and yet everything was. Bucky followed Dani to the dining room table. It felt like a neutral enough space. He sat across from her, immediately extending his right hand to hold hers. She curled her fingers in, letting him know his touch was not welcomed. She was not ready to feel the warmth of his flesh on hers yet. 

“I'm sorry.” He lowered his eyes, sadly. He couldn't stand the look on her face, knowing he put it there. 

“Stop.” Dani shook her head, “You shouldn't be sorry, I should.”

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do though. I acted like such an asshole and you didn’t deserve it. You didn't…” She sniffed and wiped at her watering eyes. “God, everything is so fucked up right now. I’m still struggling with all of it. I’m ashamed of how I behaved.”

“Don't be. You're a strong and capable woman, Dani. If it… if I had hurt you intentionally like that, I’d deserve worse. You handled it the way you should have. There was no way for you to know it was anything else. Fuck, I didn’t know.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I’m not strong. I've been a wreck without you.” 

Bucky couldn't help the spark of hope her words created. Maybe she needed him as much as he needed her. “Me too. It's been hard sleeping alone. I’ve missed you so much. It doesn't feel like I'm living if you’re not there.”

Dani felt something inside her tear open. “We can't just go back to how things were. I can't pretend it never happened... The horrible things I felt, the things I'm still feeling.” She let the hot tears slide down her cheeks. It was too much to bear. “I’m sorry, I’m trying so hard, I know I'm wrong. I know the truth now, but my heart refuses to believe it. I still feel betrayed. My heart and my trust are broken and I can't just wash it away. I know that's not fair to you. I know it wasn't your fault, but I'm not sure I can get over it. I want to so badly. I don't want to lose you, but how can we move on? I don't know what to do, Bucky, I can barely stand to look at you. When I do, I see you with her. Hear the things you said to her. Saying you loved her, wanted a baby with her…” 

“I thought it was you. I never would have... I only love you. I want babies with you, no one else.”

She was sobbing now, unable to hold back. “I hate this. I wish I could forget. I'm so sorry.” Dani knew she abandoned him when he needed saving, and she hated herself for it. He needed her and she didn't even give him a chance. She broke his heart… she's breaking his heart, because her own felt impossibly and irrevocably shattered. “How could you not know it wasn’t me? You should have been able to tell. There had to be red flags telling you something was wrong.”

Bucky didn’t know how to answer that. How he never suspected. He couldn’t say which memories of Dani were really her. To him, it was her the entire time. He’d been happy. These last few months were good ones, or so he thought. Which memories did he make with the wrong woman? He didn’t know. Near as he could tell, the entire year had been poisoned, and he enjoyed it. He refused to ask Dani about every moment, what was real, when was it her, too afraid to know the answer. How could she stand to be around him? “I didn't mean to break us.” He cried with her. He didn’t want to lose his wife, not when he had a chance of keeping her. “I need you, Dani. I need my wife. Please tell me you still want to be that. That you still want me as your husband. We can't undo what's happened, but we can repair our relationship, right? We can get past this.”

Dani finally looked at him, really looked at him. His tears matched her own. His face as heartbroken as hers. Two fractured souls mirroring each other. This was still her husband, she still loved him, still wanted him. “What my brain knows and what my heart remembers are at odds right now. It will take time, but I want to try. I want to fix us.” 

They calmed down enough to talk more. Trying to hash out the details of how they were going to proceed. Agreeing to start slow, not jumping into anything, not forcing it. Dani was going to continue staying with Nat until she felt comfortable enough to move home. He walked her to the door when it was time to leave.

Bucky grabbed Dani’s hand before she could go, needing the contact, needing to keep her with him just a moment longer. He pressed desperate kisses to her knuckles. “I love you, Dani. Tell me we're going to get through this,” he begged for reassurance. Worried that she was already too far gone from him to ever take him back.

Dani looked down at their connected hands and nodded. He reluctantly released her, but could not watch her leave. Flinching at the sound of the door closing… At least this time he knew she'd return.

Chapter 7

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

books i actually like

A solid 97% of my ‘book reviews’ (for lack of a better term) are bound to be just me bitching about said book for way too long with way too many expletives, because books I genuinely adore rarely invoke the visceral reaction within me that causes so many of my ‘reviews’ of books I don’t like to be so impassioned and long-winded. Here’s to kicking this dumpster fire off with a little positivity, because that will be little and far in between henceforth.

Harry Potter – J. K. Foul Thing I never understood how someone could appreciate the art and not the artist until Harry Potter. JKR’s dead to me, but the seven original (and only, because I refuse to accept the flaming pile of dog shit that was The Cursed Child as canon) books remain i c o n i c. And you’ll probably witness a LOT of Harry Potter-inspired shitposting on my part if you decide to stick around, because Harry Potter trivia makes up a solid chunk of my personality, and I like to shove my fandoms in other people’s faces. Again, I’m cute like that.

The Diary of a Young Girl – Anne Frank By some odd coincidence, my mum got me Anne Frank’s diary for my 13th birthday, and I always felt like a Super Special Snowflake because of that. Obviously, I can’t relate to being Jewish and in hiding during WWII, but there’s a lot of Anne’s views and thoughts that… resonated with me (ain’t that the most basic-ass description of a book, ever). There’s always the lingering sadness while reading because you know how her story comes to an end, but it’s a book that’s still stuck with me six years later, and for the rest of my mortal life.

The Book Thief – Markus Zusak Why Must I Adore Books That Give Me Naught but Pain: An Autobiography.

Freak the Mighty – Rodman Philbrick Ditto.

Bad Alice – Jean Ure When I first saw the cover, I expected a lighthearted, cheery book. I was very much mistaken. Duffy, a self-proclaimed ‘oddball’, and Alice, another self-proclaimed ‘oddball’, are easily two of my favorite fictional characters, ever. The subject matter is pretty damn dark and rereading the book as an adult is actually kind of scary, but it’s so well-written and engaging and this sounds like I’m an elementary school teacher writing a report card so I’m just gonna stop here.

Tiger Eyes – Judy Blume A true Relic of the angst-riddled phase of my adolescence (I say as if I am not still going through said angst-riddled phase). I’ve been a fan of Judy Blume’s work since one of the girls in my third-grade class bestowed upon me Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing; growing up, I’ve become more detached from Blume’s work but Tiger Eyes is a book that’s never gotten old for me. Davey, the angst-riddled adolescent protagonist, is also stubborn and headstrong and angry and scarily relatable to myself at her age, though under wildly different circumstances.

Changeling – Philippa Gregory I’ve read a couple of Goodreads reviews on the Order of Darkness series, and I’ve garnered that Philippa Gregory fans (Philippans? Philipinos?) are not fans of the series. I can’t vouch for that, given that I’ve only ever read the said series, and I’m admittedly not a fan of books two through four (which is basically every book of the series published to date, exempting the first), but Changeling is a book I liked enough to attempt to handwrite it in a notebook back when I was 12 (I gave up after, like, two sentences because my hand started cramping), and also to try and write a ripoff, featuring an angsty young preteen girl with (short) wavy black hair and eyes like limpid tears (gee, I wonder who that could be) (my eyes are brown, though; I dunno why I wrote the self-insert to be blue-eyed).

The Secret History – Donna Tartt My first foray into dark academia; sadly, reading The Secret History before any other books in the (sub?)genre made every other book pale in comparison. What’s so special about The Secret History for me is that I hate every main character, with passion. Each and every one of them; not just Bunny, but Richard and Henry and Charles and Camilla and Francis and Julian can all go fuck themselves for all I care- but I find them so fascinating. The story and the way it’s written is pretty over-the-top dramatic and my struggling bilingual arse had to look up every tenth word or so, but I adore it with every fibre of my being. Well, the leftover fibres of my being that aren’t simping over Kim Seungmin.

A Series of Unfortunate Events – Lemony Snicket Does this count as the first step of my emo phase? Shoutout to the girl in seventh grade I sat next to for, like, two weeks, who lent me The Wide Window and got me hooked on the series.

Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll This entire book feels so trippy.

The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett It’s corny and Everything Works Out Swell for the Goody Guys in the End! in period-typical book fashion, but it got me through many a boring class in the spring of my ninth year of personhood, so I’ll always have a soft spot for Mary and Dickon and Colin and the rest of the gang. It also inspired me to Cultivate, and there are two pretty bougainvillea plants in my garden thanks to one Mary Lennox.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post – Emily M. Danforth Cameron Post: the lesbian baddie we all aspire to be.

Vicky Angel – Jacqueline Wilson Yet another shoutout to my seventh-grade seatmate for lending me her copy of Vicky Angel, which I read under my covers like it was a bloody nudie mag.

A Song of Ice and Fire – George R. R. Martin Where’s Winds of Winter, George?

Turtles All the Way Down – John Green Paper Towns used to be my favorite John Green book until I read Turtles All the Way Down last year. I adore John Green’s writing style (maybe not the #deep #woke #sadboi #middleclass #white #male #cisgender #heterosexual #personalityofabreadroll leads in a solid chunk of his books, though) and okay, so maybe Davis fits all of the above, but my true faves are Aza and Daisy and their dynamic.

To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee I keep calling this ‘HOW to Kill a Mockingbird’ in conversations and it gets really fucking inconvenient.

Coraline – Neil Gaiman I just wish I’d read this sooner than I did.

[nerdyfangirl67]

A Christmas with You - NCIS Reader Insert (12 Days of Christmas)

Pairing: Tony DiNozzo x reader

Warnings: depressed mood, language

Word count: 1713

A/N: Y/H/T means your hometown. I was really excited about this one, but the ending feels forced to me. Anyways, here is my next installment of my 12 Days of Christmas mini-series! (FYI, I totally imagine Tony smiling at the reader like this!)

You stare at the flight departure board, an overwhelming feeling of disappointment and melancholy sweeping over you as you see the words FLIGHT CANCELLED following your flight number. This was the first chance you had had in years to go home for the holidays, and you had been so excited. You can’t even remember the last time you had seen some of your family members and you had been stoked at the idea of seeing them, and their children (many of whom you hadn’t even had the chance to meet). Yet here you stand, all those hopes dashed as your flight, as well as a dozen or so others departing from the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport within the next few hours, is grounded due to inclement weather.

You cast a look at the customer service desk for the airline you had been flying and let out a soft groan. The line was already long and it was continuing to grow. You pick up your bag, which was full of wrapped presents for your family, and your suitcase, making your way to the end of the line. If you were lucky, you’d still be able to get a flight home, albeit one that put you a day late.

--- Two hours. You had waited two hours in line to speak with a customer service representative, who quickly referred you to a phone and a number for an agent of the airline. That phone call led to a series of transfers, and an hour on hold, only for you to be told that, because of the weather, no flights could be guaranteed with a new departure date. You had hung up quickly after that, the frustration of not being able to get a flight home clouding over the need for details about a refund.

You angrily sling your duffle bag over your shoulder, heedlessly dragging your suitcase behind you as you make your way back out to the parking lot, letting your family know, with a quick text, that you wouldn’t be making it as you go. Reaching the sliding doors, you do a double-take as the frigid winter wind smacks you in the face. You pull on the gloves you had shoved in your pocket and hunch up your shoulders against the wind as you speed walk through three parking lots to where you’d parked your car only a few hours earlier. The snow starts swirling just as you fire up your car. Upbeat Christmas music fills the car as you start on the drive back to your apartment. You change the station a few different times, each switch bringing on a new Christmas song. You eventually shut the radio off, sick of the festive music, as you go the last ten minutes of drive in complete silence.

You reach your apartment, finding no empty parking spots near the front of the building. You drive around for a few minutes until you can find a parking space, a good two blocks from your actual building. A string of expletives flies from your lips as you struggle to get your bags out of the front seat, and continues as you fight the wind and snow to your apartment building.

Then, as if the day couldn’t get any worse, you find that the building’s elevator is out of order (something that had to have happened in the few hours you had been gone, as you had taken it down to the lobby earlier that day). You curse a few more times as you make your way up five flights to the fifth floor of the building. You arrive at your front door, fumbling with your keys for a few moments for getting a solid grasp on them and unlocking your door. You shut your door harder than you intend to, causing some of the framed pictures on the wall shared with the door to rattle, as you drop your bags by the door.

--- After changing into some sweats, shutting off your phone, and cocooning under your favorite blanket, you turn on a sappy romantic movie. An hour into the movie, you decide to order some take-out from your favorite restaurant, hoping some comfort food would ease the ache of disappointment in your chest. The take-out comes almost an hour later, and after paying the delivery man, you take the food back over to your ‘nest’ on the couch.  

A knock sounds on your door shortly after you sit with your bags full of take-out. You huff out a sigh as you set down the food and make your way back to your front door. You open the door to find a very surprised looking Tony DiNozzo. He had one hand held awkwardly behind his back, his normally styled hair disheveled, and the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone.

His face relaxes when he sees you and he brings the hand from behind his back up to rest on the door jam. “I thought you left.” He states simply. “I just wanted to make sure no one was breaking in while you were gone.” The relaxed smile that hung on his face made a warm feeling blossom in your chest.

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “My flight was canceled.” You leave Tony standing in the doorway as you go to the fridge and pull out two beers. You hand one to Tony, who is now standing in your living room. “Thank you for checking on my apartment. You didn’t have to do that.”

You take a long pull of your beer as Tony asks, “What happened?”

“That storm that rolled in grounded flights and made any rescheduled flights uncertain. It’s been years since I’ve been home and it looks like it will be one more before I can get to Y/H/T.” You say, moving to the table and taking your food out of the brown paper bags.

“You want to stay for dinner?” You ask, looking up, expecting to see Tony, but instead, you were greeted with nothing but your empty doorway. Of course, what’s one more thing going wrong on this already shitty day. The guy whom you had a massive crush on, and also happened to be your neighbor, just left at the sight of your slow descent towards a breakdown.  

You roll your eyes at his weird behavior, getting up to close the apartment door. You are just about to swing it shut when a slightly breathless Tony reappears. He’s wearing a jacket and holding a duffle bag in his hand.

“What in the actual-” You start, completely perplexed at his behavior.

“Grab your boots, jacket, and bag.” He states as if it is obvious that is what you should be doing.

You do so hesitantly, wondering if you knew enough about Tony to follow him without question. You knew he was a federal agent, he enjoyed movies, he was suave, handsome, and a real flirt,  and you knew he had a sophisticated taste (you had seen the inside of his apartment, after all).

You pull on your boots and jacket, slinging your duffle bag over your shoulder, as Tony takes your suitcase in hand. “Tony, what are we doing?” You ask a moment of clarity washing over you, bringing you to question Tony’s actions.

Tony gives you a look before asking you a question of his own. “Do you trust me?” You know that the answer will tell Tony so much more than what your words do, yet you answer truthfully.

“Yes.” You say softly, staring into his almost emerald color eyes. Aside from the mischievous glint you had grown accustomed to, his eyes held another, deeper emotion that you couldn’t quite place. Or rather, you felt that you felt you knew what that emotion was, but the rational side of yourself knew better than to look any deeper into it.

He extends a hand out to you, which you take without hesitation. Although he does it in a platonic, friendly way, you feel anything but platonically towards him as you hold his hand all the way to the front door of the building.

“You ready doll?” He asks, zipping up his jacket all the way in preparation for the snow that was blowing outside.

You nod, confused at what the two of you were doing with your bags, heading into a snowstorm. He grabs your hand, pulling you quickly out in the storm, towards his vehicle, in one of the prime parking spots in front of the building. Tony gestures to the passenger side as he takes your duffle off your shoulder.

“Get in, I’ll throw these in the trunk.” He says, as you climb in the car. Tony gets in a few moments later, settling in the driver’s seat and turning the car on as he does so.

“Tony?” You question softly, turning slightly in your seat to look him in the eyes. “What are we doing?”

Tony gives you a satisfied half-smile. “Why, doll, we’re getting you home for Christmas.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Tony, we are in the middle of a blizzard.”

“It’s going to stop snowing in a few hours.” He says, squeezing your hand as he turns his attention back to the car as he adds. “And it doesn’t matter if it’s snowing or not. I won’t let you miss Christmas with your family.”

His words make your heart swell and tears spring to your eyes as you are overcome with happiness. A feeling of complete wholeness sweeps over you. “Tony. You don’t have to do this.” You say, your voice rough with emotion.

“I want to do it for you doll.” He murmurs as he pulls onto the street, giving you a brief look before looking back at the road.  “Besides, if anyone deserves a Christmas miracle, it’s you.” He grabs your hand after saying that, lacing his fingers through yours.

You didn’t know how you got lucky enough to have Tony in your life, or to have the chance to actually see your family, after your hopes had been dashed earlier that day, but you hope that this ‘Christmas miracle’, as Tony put it, turns into something more. Something that will last long after Christmas comes and goes.

[blfanfest]

The Moon and His Earth

2 Moons 2 The Series: Episode 9

The episode that has most likely put all the MingKit shippers to rest.

Or that episode wherein you needed a pack of tissues and an oxygen tank just to get through the entire episode unscathed.

Director Aam did not disappoint everyone! This episode is by far my favorite episode, not because I am a MingKit trash, but this episode was executed beautifully. Both Joong and Nine did an amazing job bringing Ming and Kit to life as well as all the emotions that go with their characters.

Kit, the epitome of a tsundere

Constantly keeping his cool and his feelings for Ming hidden even if he had a few slips here and there -- “The love that we have…”. Insert Pin, Kit’s ex-girlfriend  to save you Kit. The female heroine we all need, the one that supports you and tells you it’s okay to feel something for a guy. Though her appearance was short, she made an impact not just to Kit but most likely to all those who have watched the episodes.

Ming, the unexpected guest

I was a little off with P’Kieng’s reactions when he caught MIng and Kit inside the car. But then again he is from a convervative family so he is probably just looking out for his brother. What was so shocking was when he suddenly entered Kit’s bedroom at exactly the moment Kit said that Ming is neither his friend nor his boyfriend (Ouch Ming!) Was Kieng just waiting outside of the room listening and waiting for the right moment to spoil the moment? I was even more upset when he told Kit to stop seeing Ming. He was able to redeem himself in my eyes when he supported Kit’s decision that he will not break up with Ming. Okay Kieng, at least we now have 2 under team MingKit. Yay!

From dinner conversations to confessions

This episode has made me realize a lot of things about Ming. From the start he has always portrayed this happy-go-lucky guy, always confident, putting up a smile and being the Moon that he is. But in this episode he showed us his serious side especially when it comes to his feelings for Kit. He declared to Kit’s older brother that he is very sincere with his feelings for Kit, he is willing to prove himself to Kit’s family so he can be accepted as Kit’s boyfriend. And the fact that he will not give up for Kit. 

Ming also mentioned that Kit’s family is nice and adorable, twice. And this had me wondering, what kind of family does Ming have? I felt that Ming wants to be accepted in Kit’s family not just as is boyfriend, but probably he just wants to be part of a family. Maybe I am reading too much on this but that is the impression I had. What are your thoughts?

The Moon and his Earth

Ming: “The first time I saw you was when I was in grade 9. It was sport day and we were both in the green team.” 

“Have you ever seen me?”

Ming has had feelings for Kit since they were in high school, he just never had a chance to act on those feelings. But when he got into college, saw an opportunity, he decided to pursue whatever he was feeling for Kit. 

“The moon thinks that earth is very important. So important, that the moon has to revolve around it all the time. If there is no earth, the moon would not exist.”

Ming: Kit, you are my earth.

Insert all the expletives, scream I can think of. This is by far the best line and metaphor in the entire story for me. I cried when Ming declared those words. I felt his sincerity and it was truly magical and beautiful  scene. 

Ming’s feelings for Kit are true and deep. This scene has given Ming depth when it comes to emotions. The symbolism of the moon and earth as Ming’s feelings for Kit catapulted the MingKit story. I think Ming did not have any intentions of winning the contest, but when Ming and Kit had that conversation at the beach, Ming decided to get serious to win the title (of course the dinner date with Kit was a bonus). And he also decided to get serious with his feelings for Kit. Just like the phases of the moon, Ming had to go through some setbacks to get where he is right now (which is Kit’s bedroom, kidding). 

When Kit heard this confession, he was shocked, shy but most likely he felt happy. Elated.

Ming: Please be my boyfriend

This is the part wherein both Ming and Kit showed their vulnerability and insecurities. Ming’s facial expression was so open and vulnerable, that despite the bravado he was displaying, he was probably a wreck inside. And Kit was hesitant to answer immediately as he was insecure of himself. How can Ming like someone like Kit who is not sweet, fouled-mouth and all. But that is what love is, love sees beyond the beauty and accepts the flaws that comes with the person. And Ming has that love for Kit. As I have said, Ming’s feelings for Kit are true and deep. I respect you Ming. Kit, it is okay, nobody is perfect. We all have insecurities. 

And this is why I believe MingKit is the most stable and healthiest couple out of the three. Their love story grew naturally over time, with  open communication and perseverance, they have reached this stage of their relationship. 

Push and Pull

And Kit has decided that he’s had enough of acting cool around Ming by initiating a hug! Scream! 

MingKit is now official! Yahoo! And with the forehead kiss to seal the deal, it was a lovely episode overall. Though I am missing the “I Love You’s”.

I can go on and on about this episode but this will be a very lengthy post. So I will probably write another one. I am looking forward as to how the MingKit ship will sail. This couple has so many possibilities and if there will be a season 3, I hope it will get the same treatment it had in season 2. 

For now, let us all celebrate MingKit fans, we have a week to rewatch this episode. To Joong and Nine, I am just so proud of you two and how you have improved. Keep up the great work! 

Let me know your thoughts, comments and feedback. Thanks for reading. 

[nautiscarader]

Desperate Milo/Amanda

yeah, ten days late, I’m [insert expletive here]

() (Ao3) (next>>)

They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and in that moment, Milo Murphy realised this was true. Amanda’s kisses got hungrier with each second, and with each piece of their clothes that got undone. The shy and usually restrained college student turned into a insatiable beast that straddled him and kept pressing his body into the mattress, and with that force exerted on him, Milo had to surrender, especially when his girlfriend started moving her hips back and forth against his crotch. Her hair flowed with each of her subtle, and yet decisive move, her lips - whenever she wasn’t kissing Milo - were curled into a sultry, sexy smile that only deepened as the two got progressively more naked.

Soon, Milo Murphy was met with her breasts, bouncing in sync and when he buried his face between her enticing bosom, his mind became blissfully blank, and he started remembering how he found himself in that situation.

——————-

For Danville’s standards, it was a rather regular day, so far interrupted only by the rampaging sloths that after twenty years have reached a semi-busy intersection, and as a result were finally noticed. A group of old friends watched police trying to contain the incredibly slowly spreading pandemonium, wondering how come no one has tried doing anything before.

- I think they simply had more stuff to do. - Melissa spoke, sipping her pumpkin latte - For the last two decades?! - Zack countered - That thing was a thing when we were born! - Yeah, but they had more pressing matters. Like… making sure that coffee shops have pumpkin spice every year. - My mom has been trying to deal with that for years. - Amanda spoke - That’s what happens when you don’t plan ahead. - Speaking of…

Melissa leaned back from the fence and sneaked her arm around Zack’s neck, watching as his lips curl into a giddy smile.

- I think it’s time for us. You guys have fun.

As Melissa, turned around, she winked, making Amanada’s face turn as red as her friend’s hair, something that piqued Milo’s interest.

- Cold? I got something for it in my backpack… - No, it’s not, Milo, you’re sweet… - she leaned and gave him a kiss - Though I think I might have a fever…

Her arms closed behind his neck and the next moment her lips were on his, joined in a long, sensual kiss. The cold, September afternoon gave them an extra excuse for deepening their hug and share their warmth, and Milo did not object when he felt Amanda’s arm sneak underneath his coat to further bring their bodies together in an intimate, yet strong pull.

- A-Amanda? - Milo, I’ve been checking our timetables… and… I found a window of opportunity tonight.

Milo stared into her brown eyes, noticing a familiar, frisky gleam he’s been wishing to see again for quite some time, and as her hands moved on his back, he received more and more signs of what was to come.

- To-tonight? - Yes, Milo. Should be just enough time for something to eat and…

She shied away, as Milo was still staring at her with his widened eyes.

- Well… I got a surprise, let’s just say.

Amanda looked up again, and this time her boyfriend’s face was not filled with astonishment, but content and excitement, and his wide smile couldn’t have been a better early present.

- Oh, that is… that sounds cool. When should I be ready? - Actually, I was thinking… right now. We-we still have enough time to deal with any… complications…

Amanda leaned and their lips met again, sending electrifying, shocking signals down their bodies to bundles of nerves that needed them most now. Their hearts beat faster, as their prolonged their kiss, locked in a tight, romantic embrace. And then the two shrieked when they both felt they lost balance.

The fence they were pushing against gave up, and next thing they knew they were dangling from the bridge, clutching to the last two planks of the railing.

- Don’t worry, I think I have something…

Milo spoke and waved his backpack, watching as various things fall from it, one by one, but Amanda was faster: she dug her hand in and made a large, yellow raft fell down and started inflating itself.

- Jump!

Milo followed her words at once, and the two young adults found themselves falling into the makeshift boat that now floated on the calm river, in a vaguely correct direction towards their homes. Amanda, however, was less than thrilled.

- Oh, no, we’re gonna be late! At least five minutes! - Don’t worry, Amanda - Milo replied, using a tick to steer - I’ve got this…

A small, hissing sound reached their ears, and the next moment, the inflatable raft, now with a hole in it, sped up, bouncing from one bank to the other, until the compressed air ran out, and their only mode of transportation suddenly lost buoyancy. That, however, was not the biggest problem.

Suddenly, the current of the river became more and more rapid, as the two got closer to the entrance to the canal, that by all rational means should be secured. Milo grabbed Amanda’s hand, but it was her who reached into his backpack again, procuring a long rope that soon found its way around their torsos. with one precise move, she threw the other end, tied in a hoop op, and the two were able to walk to the dry land.

- Well, that’s one way to start a date - Milo spoke, using a portable hair-dryer to heat their soaked bodies up.

She replied with a smile, grabbed his hand, gave him another peck and pulled him back onto the street level, leaving the hairdryer to fall into the river. The two ran, giggling on the way, until Amanda pinned him against the wall of a nearby building, shielding themselves from any onlookers, and cupped his face, meeting his widened eyes.

- I just can’t wait, Milo… - she whispered in a conspiratorial, smoky voice, before her lips met his in a quick, ravenous kiss.

A kiss that was interrupted by a series of very loud crashes just next to them. One by one, several lampposts, construction cranes and at least one brick tower fell to the ground, cluttering the street they were about to cross.

- Oh, wow, I didn’t know there was that much work being done in our town. - Milo spoke - Though then again, I might be responsible for that… - Oh, come on! - Amanda cursed, grabbed Milo’s hand and against common sense rushed towards the labyrinthine mess that covered her street.

She jumped, she crawled, and she ducked, manoeuvring around swinging pieces of metal, engines on fire and streams of water from the nearby broken fire hydrants, dragging Milo behind her. Every now and then she heard him suggest using things from his backpack, but Amanda knew it would only postpone their date, and the burning sensation in her forced her to keep moving. Calamity followed them closely, but Amanda was unyielding, bravely crossing each new obstacle, until she finally landed on the doormat to her house, and opened the door to the empty house.

- Come in, Milo!

She didn’t have to say it, as a giant raccoon just missed the two, smashing against the door that closed in its face.

- So, Amanda, what’s the surpri-

Another kiss cut him off, and he was once again pulled, this time up the stairs, by Amanda’s strong grip on his sweater. Despite her haste, only when she broke the kiss, she realised they weren’t going up at all, and instead they were sliding the long carpet underneath their feet. Amanda let out a roar, grabbed her boyfriend and unapologetically carried him up, jumping two or three steps at a time, until she finally reached her room.

With their lips still joined in a long, wet kiss, the two crashed onto her bed, and only now, as Amanda began undoing buttons of her blouse, Milo’s eyes went wide.

- Oh! Oh, er, you-you meant- - Yes, Milo. - she leaned and whispered, looking him straight into his eyes - Let’s make love.

She pushed him against her pillows, her hands already digging into his clothes, undoing each layer with her skilled, impatient fingers.

- Actually, let’s not “make love”… let’s rut! - she spoke, licking her lips as Milo’s shirt fell to the floor revealed his flat chest. - Er, wait, Amanda, I got the condoms in- - No condoms. - she suddenly spoke, her hands fumbling with his belt. - No-No? What about- - I got patches. - Amanda replied, grabbing Milo’s legs and pushing them up, so she could slid his jeans off - And if it peels off? - I got pills too. - she said, making equally complicated-looking acrobatic move which left her in just panties, exposing her naked chest. - And what if… - Then I got more plan-B pills. - she spoke - And if that fails…

Amanda stopped, cupped his face and hovered against his crotch, her wet sex inches from his.

- The we’ll think of names.

She grabbed his boxers, and in one decisive move, she ripped them, revealing his cock that soon disappeared into her soaking wet pussy in a single slide. Amanda let out a might roar and securing her hands against his chest she kept bouncing up and down, watching as her chestnut-haired lover’s face is torn with grimace of pleasure. Milo’s mind was torn with conflicting thoughts, especially as he was experiencing making love to without protection, and the sheer change in amount of stimuli made him lose himself inside her, which was exactly what Amanda was looking for.

His hands wandered to her thighs and waist, and even though Milo was performing admirably, it was Amanda, who made most of the job. Her frantic, impatient bounces filled her with Milo’s cock each time, stimulating her wet, needy sex. With each dive, her yearning only increased, and though she found some solace in his lips, she knew the burning sensation can only last so long until she’d be consumed by their shared passion. Still, she wanted to make the most of it: she changed the pace, delaying their orgasms, and listened as her room is filled with needy moans of her boyfriend, as she only allows him a fraction of an inch inside her, literally edging him by sliding her folds against his head.

But the truth was, she needed the release as much as he did, and the very next time she slammed her body against his, she pushed them both closer to their shared peak. Amanda leaned against Milo, looked into his eyes and kissed him, just as she felt her pussy twitch, and her hips quiver. The very next moment, the blissful pleasure that spread through her body was accompanied by jets of warmth spilling inside her that otherwise might have caused her to panic, but in her desperate state, she counted her blessings and used each spurt of seed to prolong her climax, revelling in the fact that they shared their love and joined their bodies.

Their love-making lasted maybe ten minutes tops, but when Amanda collapsed onto Miio’s chest, feeling jets of his cum fill her, she was as overjoyed, as if they weren’t late and made love for hours. She wanted to treat Milo with a dinner, a new set of lingerie she bought for him, and exquisite, long foreplay she mentally was prepared herself for for the last two days, reading extensive posts on-line.

And yet, when she added her boyfriend to the equations, the meticulous plan crumbled, just like she has under the orgasm that wrecked her body. But Amanda wasn’t sad. As she revelled and basked in the afterglow, she simply knew her dream date will take place at a different time.

She kissed Milo and rested her head on his chest, listening to his increased heartbeat, ready to fall into a deep slumber.

And then she spotted the same raccoon from outside, wearing her new, pink lingerie and jumped to her feet, ready to fight for it.  

[octannibal-blake]

this must be the place

rating: mature (for language)

words: 2,287

(ao3)

The universe tries to tell Bellamy not to go out, of that he’s almost certain.

One of the students in the class he’s TA’ing for decided to have a mental breakdown over finals and kept him in his office for almost an hour longer than normal. It was a lot of awkward reassurances and going over their final paper in minute detail, something which exhausted him far more than it should have,  After that, his truck mysteriously wouldn’t start, but only just long enough to put his day completely off track. Two cars tried to jump him, the first being unsuccessful but the second somehow having the magic touch. He barely got home in time to change into the stupid costume Miller had picked out for him, some gladiator outfit that was supposed to reminiscent of 300 because -- “Dude, it’s perfect for you and your nerdy greek fetish!”

They had a few issues calling the Uber, their order repeatedly getting cancelled, before deciding to just walk the mile to the bar. (Note: Greek-designed sandals are not ideal for long walks.) And upon arrival, Bellamy discovered he left his I.D at home, meaning another walk back to their house to grab it because damn it, after the day he’s had, he needs a fucking drink.

He arrives at Grounders during the second band, a local punk band who are appropriately singing only Halloween songs -- a punk version of Monster Mash in not something he knew he needed until now -- and tries not to think about all the shit that’s gone wrong in the last ten hours.

He should have followed the warning signs because now he’s here alone at the bar mid beer-sip,  as Clarke Griffin, of all people, strides toward him wearing a spandex Deadpool outfit with a purpose that equally scares the shit out of him and turns him on.

“Blake.” she greets casually as she moves in front of him. He’s still getting used to her hair, the choppy platinum blonde locks with red peeking out from under the edges. It’s a new thing, something she did when she decided to, as she explained her mother’s description to him during a library study session: “Completely throw her life away!” He liked her hair before, long golden curls cascading down her back (not that he’s paid that much attention), but this look suits her more.

“Griffin.” he smirks. It’s an automatic reaction around her, mostly because he knows she hates the Blake Smirk™  but also because he enjoys the way she pops out her hip in annoyance every time he does it. It’s routine, at this point.

(Again, he’s not paying that much attention.)

“I need a favor,” she reaches up to tousle her hair, something she only tends to do when she’s anxious, her eyes flit over her shoulder.

He should make some joke and move on. It’s not like they’re, you know, friends or anything. They just so happen to be in the same circle of friends.  And maybe they’ve had classes together over the past couple of years...and been project partners in most of them. But she’s also his sisters arch nemesis so, no, they aren’t friends. It’s against the code.

“And what’s that, Princess?” he sips his beer again, trying to pretend the way she bites her lip doesn’t make his heart thud against his rib cage.

“Kiss me.”

If this were a romantic comedy, he’s almost positive a screeching record scratch would be inserted here.

He manages to cough up almost the entire drink he just took, “I’m sorry, what?”

He really never got the full story about Clarke or why his sister seemed to hate her. They were in the same class in highschool and Octavia wasn’t her biggest fan. He believes her words word: “That fucking snot-nosed spoiled bitch thinks she’s so much better than everyone!” And it’s his sister, so of course her enemies are his enemies. Except she joined the Marines and hauled ass as far away from Bellamy as she could get and he ended up at Columbia with Clarke so, really, it’s her fault because she left.

(Note: The code, as far as he knows, is dead and it’s really just an excuse for him to pretend he’s not madly in love with Clarke Griffin.)

He tried to keep his distance, especially after their fight at Freshman Orientation, also known as The Blake-Griffin Blow Out, a very well known screaming match that they are often reminded of any time they walk through the quad. Not one of his finer moments, where he was feeling particularly hateful because his sister decided to run off to the armed forces and he was looking for a fight. She was an easy target but he had not anticipated her to fight back, especially in a series of expletives and insults he had no idea she was capable of -- the problem with knowing someone in high school is that they know some of your more embarrassing moments, and having those put on blast during fucking freshman orientation was NOT part of the plan.

Sure, they’ve come a long way since then. Friends, mostly, and the bickering is all part of the relationship. The very platonic relationship in which he’s never, ever thought about kissing her. No, not at all.

(Fact check: that’s bullshit, Bellamy Blake has, in fact, imagined kissing Clarke Griffin many times. So many times, he should be embarrassed.)

“You remember the guy I was dating a while back?” she continues. He nods, because words aren’t really forming for him in this moment. “Yeah, he’s here -- don’t fucking look!”

His head snaps back to her and she reaches up to touch his shoulder. His blood feels warm.

“Anyways, he’s here and I’d like to not interact with him so if you could pretend to like, be my boyfriend for a few minutes that would be awesome.”

Her words oddly sound far away, almost like he’s underwater. Maybe she’s mistaken him for someone else. Maybe it’s a joke. They play pranks on each other all the time. There’s no way she’s asking to kiss him. Right?

“So instead of just not talking to him, you want him to think you’re dating me?” he’s proud of himself for sounds remotely normal because his heart is probably at 150 beats per minute and his brain hasn’t really caught up.

“Yes?”

He glances over he shoulder again and see someone approaching quick. He’s shorter guy, glossy hair, and frankly, not what he pegged Clarke’s type to be. He seems to have her in his sights, so he has to act quick. He turns his attention back to her.

“Backstreet boy? Desperation and a tad bit of psychopathy seeping from his pores? ”

“Ew, you know I hate that word,” she groans and he doesn’t have time to joke because now he’s within earshot.

Fuck it.

He tangles his free hand into her hair and pulls her gently towards him. Her lips are soft and warm, her chapstick leaving behind a small hint of mint. She melts into him, causing him to smirk victoriously into the kiss. Her nails scrape the back of his neck as if telling him to shut up and before he really even knows what’s happening, he’s running his tongue along the seam of her lips and she’s more than enthusiastically accepting of him. As far as make out’s go, it’s fairly tame. But he feels every moments of the kiss deep in his core, like puzzle pieces falling into place or lightning striking three times in a row. Satisfying and something that doesn’t happen every day.

Things Bellamy should absolutely not be doing right now:

Kissing Clarke Griffin

Enjoying kissing Clarke Griffin

It could be minutes or hours later, he’s not really sure, but when they finally pull back the entire bar suddenly feels too crowded. He searches her face and if the far away look in her eyes is indicative of how she feels, well, he imagines she’s thinking the same thing.

Things Bellamy is doing now:

1. Wanting to kiss Clarke Griffin again.

2. Possibly, maybe suggesting they continue doing it. 

“Are you really interested in seeing the last band?” he asks and she laughs, hand still wrapped around his neck. She leans up to peck him again, grinning wildly at him and God, he really loves making her smile.

“No. Let me tell Harper I’m leaving.” She winks, fucking winks, and heads off to find her friend and he turns to close his tab, trying not to act like a love struck idiot. The bartender gives him a look, something along the lines of seriously, you just opened it? And he shrugs, signing off on the bill and leaving a good tip because he’s in a good mood and he’s feeling generous.

He catches sight of Miller at the other end and approaches, trying to hide the goofy smile threatening to overtake his face. He must fail because Miller greets him with a kinked eyebrow, “What the fuck are you so happy about?”  

He’s not sure what say. Clarke’s coming over. We just made out and I’m hoping we can do it more. Or maybe, I finally made a move on her, you can stop making jokes about sexual tension.

(Fun fact: Miller has long believed that he and Clarke just had a bad case of sexual tension. Bellamy is dreading the moment he has to tell him he’s right.)

“I’m taking Clarke home,” is what he settles on. Simple and not really a lie. He doesn’t specify whose home. Or what that entails.

Miller’s shit eating grin tells him he already knows what that means, “Yeah, I saw you attached at the mouth a minute ago. Wish you would have done that like six months ago. I owe Monty fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there was bet going on when you guys would get your heads out of your asses and apparently, I had too much faith in you. Took you long enough, Jesus.”  Miller actually seems genuinely grumpy about this.

Of course their friends bet on it. He should be mad that someone was making money on his love life, but his mood is hard to ruin at this point.

“So Monty won?” He won’t admit that satisfaction of Miller losing. Serves him right for getting involved and being a dick about it.

“I hate you.”

“See you later,” he claps him on the shoulder and Miller flips him off as he passes.

He searches the crowd for the blonde bob and scowls when he finds her next to the glossy-haired ex-boyfriend. She looks uncomfortable, not making eye contact with they guy and instead searching the room. He heads towards them, trying not to feel triumphant when she perks up at the sight of him.

“Bell!” she calls when he gets closer and the Harry Styles knock off glares.

“You ready to go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She leans into him, doing her best to look apologetic towards Justin Bieber.

“I’ll see you around,” she tells him and Bellamy leads her off. He keeps his arm around her as they leave and once they find the exit she lays her head on his shoulder and laughs. His hand finds its way back into her hair, scraping at her scalp as he chuckles along. It’s almost like now that he’s touched her, he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s completely unhealthy and irrational, but he’s never been rational around her.

There is a comfortable silence as they stand outside, just leaning into each other. Exploring new territory but tentative to move forward. The lines between real and fake have become blurred, but he’s feeling particularly bold now, perhaps because of the show they just put on or because deep down, he knows it wasn’t a show at all.

“I hope you know that kiss wasn’t fake for me,” he murmurs. She lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him, her blue eyes searching his face for any indication that he might be joking.

“Me either,” she says quietly.

“Good.”

“Good.”

And they start laughing again, because it really is ridiculous that this is how it happened. They’ve been dancing around it for years, it’s always been there even when they didn’t want to see it. The opportunity has presented itself under less awkward circumstances -- late night study sessions, times she’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. The time she stayed with him for two days when her heat went out.

(The Truth: he’s been afraid because Clarke is terrifying and amazing and he wonders why someone like her would want to be with some like him. But he’s done questioning it.)

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” she mutters into his shoulder, avoiding his gaze but continuing with her confessions, “I was just terrified Octavis would kick my ass.”

“She probably would have,” he confirms and she smacks his arm playfully. “I’ve been going crazy trying to be just friends, for what it’s worth.”

“Really?” he hates how surprised she sounds, but he’ll spend however long she needs proving it to her.

“You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do.” She grips the plastic breastplate of his gladiator costume and she pulls him towards her, smiling against his lips as he holds her waist.

This kiss is better than the last. This time it’s on their terms, no ex-boyfriend storming towards them. No crowd watching. Bets being made. It’s just them. How it’s supposed to be.

Fuck the universe and it’s attempts at preventing him from this moment. He wins.

[mfackenthal]

What are your 5 favourite choices fan fics?

Insert long list of expletives here.  Damn it! Shit! Fuck! etc.  I had a whole answer written out for you and then I did something stupid (clicked on something else) and it went away. 

Insert tears here. 

I didn’t have a short answer for you, I had a long amazing answer for you.  Waaaa!

Okay  ... well, let’s go with try number 2 shall we? It won’t be as good.

First off, as I said in my initial response ... you are so sweet to make sure that my tease from tumblr is rectified.  Thank you so much @ritachacha!

Secondly, I had paragraph and paragraphs avoiding actually answering you. (like 4 of 5) I mean, how in the hell can someone who reads as many fics as I do have 5 favorites?!? Oh, who am I kidding? It’s a great question and I should be able to do this, I just can’t. 

To be fair (to me) ... every time I post one of my review posts, I learn I’ve read something like 90 fics a week.  I acknowledge that this is probably, ha definitely, unhealthy ... but asking me to pick 5 of the literally hundreds if not thousands of fics I’ve read is impossible for me. 

Just for comparison, I was in my late 30s before I picked a favorite color.

It’s mint green/light teal for those who might wonder.

So I had started to write you a list of the last 5 completed series that I’ve read and then 5 of the current uncompleted series that I beg authors for more for ... but I did this as a way to avoid writing the 7th MFack reviews and that was almost an hour ago ...

So now I will do the lame thing and say I can’t choose 5 fics and tell people to check out my MFack Reviews.  I’ll be updating my masterlist with the latest editions soon (tonight if I’m lucky).  

I apologize for being lame.

Despite my lame answer - please know that I am very very very thankful that you asked this question!  

I will answer a slightly different question - because I hate to be so lame.  I need to give you something of substance.  So, I’ll answer my top 5 pairings ...  In no particular order:

1. Drake x Megs (or Liam)2.  Ernest x Megs3.  Hunt x Megs4. Chris x Megs5. Jake x Megs6.  Anthony x Megs

Yeah, I tend to always cheat and add a 6th or 7th ... or create my own question ...

Oh and just know that Megs is a stand in for MC or whatever the name of the MC is in the fic I’m reading. LOL

Again, I cannot thank you enough @ritachacha!

Hugs!

~MFackenthal~

[monstaxnight]

Rainy Day Love with Minhyuk

Part 6/7 in the Rainy Day Series

Warning: NSFW. Smut.

Minhyuk had picked you up for your Friday night date at 7:28pm.

He was supposed to be there at 7.

You stood out by the road in the slight drizzling rain, your face and hair protected by your coat.

When he finally pulled up in his bright red car, you were annoyed as hell.

You approached the car and bent down to the window, mouthing expletives at him.

He pressed a button and the window slid down.

He looked stunning, a pair of black aviators resting casually on the tip of his nose.

'what the hell is wrong with you?' you blustered 'it's practically raining and-'

'get in the car, sweetcheeks.' he interrupted, a shit eating smirk tugging at the sides of his mouth.

He was so damn sexy. It pissed you off.

He parked by the river with the intention that you'd take a romantic night-time stroll along the river route to down town.

You insisted on waiting until the drizzle cleared, otherwise you'd be soaked by the time you got to the restaurant.

So yo sat in the car for about twenty minutes, bickering about time and umbrellas, kissing passionately between it all.

He took you to your favourite dessert place.

You had *insert sin of choice here* and he had the special: the caramel macchiato cheesecake.

You always had the same thing, he always tried something new. That was the way of it.

Throughout it all, his feet would play with yours beneath the table. He'd feed you generous forkfuls of his cake and deliberately make a mess so that he could wipe it off your mouth with his thumb and make you suck it.

Once, he leaned over the table and grabbed the back of your head, pulling you in to lick it off your lips.

It embarrassed you, but it also turned you on.

Sometimes you wondered if he even knew he was doing it or if it was a totally subconscious thing; just a part of his general natural sensuality.

He paid, as always, and you began the long walk back to his car. He took your hand firmly in his and dictated the pace and direction you walked in.

The drizzle was back, coating your face and hair in a fine mist. But you didn't mind so much this time. You were with Minhyuk and he didn't seem to care.

'I would give you my jacket, honeybunch, but what I'm wearing underneath is much more expensive than what you are.'

Truth bombs you loved about him.

You chatted about life and love to the backdrop of the glittering, orange-white city scape.

You bitched good-naturedly about the members as you crossed the bridge, high above the glistening water of the river, commuters rushing past in cars numbering hundreds.

But nobody else existed but you both.

Every now and then, he'd lean down so you could kiss his cheek, his mouth, so that he could push your damp hair back from your eyes and tell you how wildly gorgeous you were.

No, you thought, you're the wildly gorgeous one.

When you were almost back to the car, just as you were talking about his busy schedules over the next week, the heavens opened and the rain began to pour down.

'fuck!' you shouted as it began to drench every inch of you from your coat to your hair to your pants and shoes.

Minhyuk laughed uproariously.

'come on, Minhyuk, jesus!' you shouted at him over the clamour of falling rain; tinny as it bounced off the nearby bin, beating as it bounced off the concrete ground and your head. You blinked through the downpour to try and see him.

His face was turned up to the rain, devilish grin across his features, and you knew in that moment he was a madman.

'let's go!' you pulled on his arm, desperate to get back to the car like it would make any difference to how drenched you already were. But the car was in sight.

You turned, but a strong hand stopped you.

'you know what I've always wanted to do?' he said lowly through the clamour.

You just looked at him.

Then he kissed you, kissed you roughly and with total abandon. His hands by the sides of your face, his wet body pressed against your own, his hot, wet tongue searching for yours.

You moaned, and he moaned with you.

You kissed so hard and so desperately there was literally steam forming in the areas where your bodies weren't connected; sweat mixing with water and passion to create a sticky, sexy mess.

He began backing you up towards the car, his hands gripping your ass, pushing you deeper into him.

God, you were weak, ready for whatever he had in mind for you.

He lifted you up and sat you on the bonnet of his car, pushing your legs apart so he could stand between them. He began to kiss your neck, your chest, his wet hair ticking your sking as his head trailed downwards.

You tilted your head up to look at the black-orange sky, closing your eyes over as heavy raindrops began falling into them.

It was like he was everywhere. That was his 'thing'. There was no part of your body he wasn't in possession of even if he didn't really want to be the one in possession.

He broke apart from you, breathless, and tugged your hand to feel his crotch.

'feel that?' he said, his forehead connected to yours as hot drips from his hair ran down your face.

You groaned. Oh, you felt it.

'we're gonna get in this car, and we're gonna fuck.' he told you, simply.

A moment later, you were inside, fumbling with each other's clothes, dripping wet and hot and so reckless.

The windows were already steaming up.

Did either of you even care that the inside of his luxury car was getting soaked? Not one little bit.

He peeled your drenched shirt over your head, a nipple immediately in his mouth.

His hands were already snaking inside your panties.

Teasing you.

Fuck, he was always teasing you.

You gripped onto anything you could find to hold. You cried out his name, desperate for him to be inside you.

He pushed his pants down and lay across the front seats, pulling you on top of him.

He slipped inside your wetness so, so easily.

So deliciously.

'ride me.' he almost growled.

And you did, wildly.

You bounced on him until your wet bodies had dried and then instead become drenched in sweat.

Until the air was almost too thick to breathe.

And then, after you were both spent, you collapsed onto him.

Your naked bodies stuck together.

And you laughed.

[starfaring-princelotor]

Second Touch

Summary: Prince Lotor’s touching goes a little too far for the Medic!Reader. 

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four ___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One ___Part Two___Part Three ___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

Prince Lotor found himself in a familiar situation a mere few days later, albeit a bit more…dangerous. Scratch that, MUCH more dangerous. Of course, he was still secluded in his cozy cell with his cozy food and his cozy stitches. Though, while he laid in relative comfort and skewed security, the Castle of Lions was, simply put, falling apart. In the literal sense. The ship was being attacked quite viciously and there was no news being passed to the only prisoner who was stuck in a soon-to-be death dungeon.

The Prince let out a gruff curse, his body flung up against the ceiling as the ship jerked once more when another attack pierced the hull. He had to get out if he wanted to live and learn all there was to know about the galaxies. He had to get out to, well, to explore that insistent tickling that urged him to pull your strings, to cater you to his wills and whims, to dissect you, all for the sake of discovery. When Prince Lotor was determined, he would go the distance to achieve goals. No prison would restrain him. Victory or death.

“-lura, Allura! Open cell 87A-3, Lotor’s-” a loud BANG resonated throughout the giant chamber, “Fuck! Allura, can you-God DAMMIT!”

The lights flickered off for a few seconds and Prince Lotor was met with pitch blackness. There wasn’t even a glow of energy in the room and, for a rare fleeting moment, Lotor was…hesitant. There was obviously a battle taking place outside and HE was stuck here, doing nothing. But his ears did not deceive him! He heard you and SAW you riding the lift down to his level before everything went dark. Though, as of now, you were…quiet. Did you die? Did you leave him to suffer his cruel fate?

“Lotor? Lotor, can you hear me?” you concerned voice echoed the hall.

A loud CRASH resonated again and the lights flicked on once more. The barrier caging him was still active, still trapping him, and he saw you just a few feet away hastily tapping keys on the holographic screen that denied him his freedom. The station blinked red and you slammed a closed fist upon it in frustration, cursing some expletives that he strangely found amusing. It wasn’t working, obviously, and Lotor can see your brows scrunch up in anger, as if you were running out of time.

Which, in this case, wasn’t completely wrong. You turned towards the barrier, running towards it, and began hastily inspecting it for SOME sort of weak point to jailbreak him out of there. Lotor was in there for a few days and he found nothing of use, though you were adamant about helping him. He never thought he would see the good doctor fret and worry like this for his safety. Given, he too was worried about his fate, but you…those eyes of yours, frantically flicking here and there, it reminded him of a ticking time bomb. If you didn’t figure something out soon, you would die, you would LOSE everything you worked so hard for.

“I am here, doctor,” he spoke in a wavering voice as the ship jerked once more, making him stumble to his feet, “Curses, what in the cosmos is going on out there?” “The ship, some space creatures, I don’t-” you tried to explain, but your words were too fast and he couldn’t hear you very clearly over the sirens blaring in warning, “They’re sapping the crystal, we’re running out of power and-”

The mechanism above Lotor’s cell exploded, dislodging an enormous component that began falling right over his prison. With no escape, no barrier dropping to grant him freedom he desperately needed in this situation, Lotor was left with his fate. The large chunk of metal smashed through his roof, successfully knocking it completely off the catwalk. You stared at him, horrified, fearful, scared, and his expression? It mirrored yours. He couldn’t die here, die by some slab of metal taking him out, before he got to experience the rest of his damned life.

Though, your eyes…you held a sense of immense sadness behind them. Guilt, he would even dare assume.

“Prince Lotor!” you screamed in urgency, watching as the prison cell fell lower and lower into the chasm.

The barrier was no longer active, now that it was completely disconnected from its power source, but it was a few seconds too late. Lotor was plummeting farther away your figure reaching out to him. That arm, open hand, calling him, demanding he come back. Demanding he TRY. And who was he to simply give up? That was not Prince Lotor. That was not the Galra way he was taught.

With the agility and strength he gained as an exiled Prince, Lotor quickly hopped up to his feet and rushed to the broken edge of his prison. There were more pieces of the ceiling falling down towards him and time was of the most critical essence. His mind and body went into overdrive, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he calculated the best possible route to take. He crouched and launched himself upwards, using the momentum to carry him from concrete chunk to chunk.

When the pieces dwindled down and his pathway was slowly running out, he used all his strength to propel himself as far as he could to you in one final leap. His claws reached out in the flickering light before it completely went dark. Lotor could hear his heart drop in his chest. His fingers grabbed nothing but air. Just like every aspect of his life, his goal slipped through his clutches, reminding him that fate was the one in charge here. Fate decided the outcome, no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears he worked into changing it.

“I got you!”

Your hand had managed to tightly grip around his armored wrist at the very last second. It was odd to think about, especially on the brink of death, but your voice in the endless darkness was like a starlight calling to him. A wish granted. The voice of the moon. Dear cosmos, he was grateful. And he would not take this act of grace without thanks. Still rushed with adrenaline, his other hand reached up and those claws of his latched onto your arm. He was secure, even though everything around the two of you was falling apart.

“Fuck! Lotor, you’re-ugh-you’re heavy!”

Now was not the time for this, but he couldn’t restrain himself from ordering you around, “Get me up at once and THEN we can begin insulting one another!”

You followed his order and hauled him up the platform with struggled grunts and pained whimpers. He crawled up and allowed himself a second to breathe, though the threat of danger was still hovering the ship. The room was dark and the only thing he could use as a point of reference was…your hand. Your warm, soft, smooth hand. Tethered together, you led him to the stairs, where a glow of red was illuminating the only exit available. Lotor ran with you, too eager to get as far away from this hellish prison as fast as he could, and he tightened his hold to remind himself that he was in your debt.

The Paladins and Princess were in worse for wear. As it turns out, all the power from the castle has been sapped from a swarm of Titan Anguisobers. Energy sucking space eels, in short. Floating in a dead vessel around an empty asteroid field was the least of the crew’s problems, however. Without healing pods to assist you in aiding the more sore wounds, the castle was stuck with primitive Earth medicine practice. Meaning you were now overloaded with work.

The hospital wing in the castle was completely destroyed as well. All medical supplies were gone or unsalvageable. Prince Lotor knew this would only slow down the recovery process. Hence, why all of the members of Voltron were currently gathered in the main command center, himself included. Now that things were more calmer, Lotor could take time to reflect on all the events that happened.

His stare was on your person, observing you once again, though this time without the restraints of his prison’s barrier.

Exhaustion was clear on your face, as well as all the other’s in the room. Allura was passed out, no doubt from having her life source directly connected to the energy crystal. What those eels took from the crystal, they took from her as well. Coran was tending to her, but otherwise, she had no injuries on the surface. The same could not be said for the Voltron Paladins, though. This was a battle lost. It showed on their defeated expressions.

“Shiro, I need a hand here,” you ordered, that bored tone no longer mixed in your words like before, “Put some pressure there-yes, just like that. Pidge will be fine, the bleeding has stopped.”

It was like watching a completely new you. There was no hostility, but Lotor supposed the urgency with everyone’s health pulled out the sense of professionalism to the surface. He could see you were more comfortable with them than you were with him. He took no offense to that. In fact, he would praise you for your caution, even if there was none hovering around you now. Shouldn’t there be? He could easily harm you if he so desired to do so. He could very well snap your neck before the Paladins had a chance to step in. Did you feel safe with the Paladins surrounding you?

Prince Lotor could touch you, but a quick glance down to your forearm told him that he already had in the worst way possible.

Four, no, five lacerations, all about two to three inches long, scarred down along the length of your arm. The wounds were still open, still sensitive, though the blood has long since been dried and wiped away. They didn’t need stitches, no, just bandages. However, with limited supplies going around, it was the good doctor’s ridiculous selflessness which left you being unattended to. Stupid, he thought. If you died, if you bled out, who would take care of the injured? This was why he was no medic at heart. Their morals were too closely tied to accursed emotions.

Prince Lotor was honorable, to an extent. He caused this injury, so he will heal it. Given, this wasn’t what he had in mind for his next test on exploring your odd habits. You were touching the Paladins just fine. Skin contact did not make you flinch away like before. For now, all he could rightly conclude was that you despised any contact from HIM. Solely him. So, why then, were you so willing to save him from falling in that pit? Did something change? What was added, or taken away, from his experiment?

The questions piled up and he could see his hypothesis crumble to pieces. Too many anomalies, not in a controlled environment, missing background information.

More data was needed, but seeing you wince in pain, Lotor realized that he needed a subject that was well and alive. He wasn’t done with you yet. Lifting himself off the wall he was leaning on, the Prince walked right up to you, disregarding Shiro’s warning stare. That stare which told him his defenses were active and the big guns will come out if he so much looked at you wrong. Those raised hackles was something Prince Lotor knew quite well.

“Did your stitches come undone?” you regarded him carefully when he stood in front of you, but not in the sense of wariness, more like concern for his well being.

Ever the caretaker, you were. Lotor waved his hand, arm showing that his stitches were still, in fact, set in place. If he was to say so, he was probably one of the few who came out unscathed from today’s attacks. A small glimmer of relief passed your eyes, relief of…not having to heal him and knowing he wasn’t injured. You knew that deep down, it could have been much, much worse.

“Doctor, your arm,” he nodded towards your injury, decidedly leaving out that his claws cut into you because he was nervous at the time, “Would you allow me to aid you?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at Lotor and he could very well feel the stare pierce his back. He paid no mind, seeing as he was the only one here who was in good health to lend a hand. They needed all the help they could get. You studied him, those calculating eyes boring into his stoic face. Lotor could hear it, hear you weigh the pros and cons of his question in that little head of yours. Oh, if only he could read your thoughts, he would poke and prod and dissect your brain for days. And days. And days. Until you lost your beautiful mind in his madness.

You lifted your arm to him slowly, still on the fence about offering yourself to his services, “Don’t-”

“Touch you. Yes, I will refrain from doing so, good doctor.”

He had already indulged himself once and now, you gave him your skin so willingly. Of course, this was for science. Heal you so you may heal others. All you did was give and give and he would gladly push that limit of yours. Prince Lotor picked up a spare roll of bandages once you gave him the nod of approval. Everyone else was on the road to recovery and there was just enough on the roll to cover your arm.

He got to work, slowly, carefully, and with the tenderness of a lover. This was so new to him, touching but not touching. Healing by the demands of the patient. Give control to get controlled in return. Perhaps it was the intimacy of flesh touching flesh which left you uncomfortable? That was one possibility he would have to explore by getting closer to you, both through the mind and body. Challenge accepted, challenge very well accepted.

It was the thrill of not getting what he wanted. Not yet, anyways. Prince Lotor found it fun, even though he knew he could, he WILL, get you in the end. Instant gratification does not happen in science. When he finished his job, following your demands of NO CONTACT ALLOWED, he was granted that first door to access your heart.

A flicker of trust behind your eyes.

And he was absolutely ready to devour you whole.

[gumnut-logic]

Road Rash

Title: Road Rash Warm Rain Series Author: Numnut 30 Sep 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: Virgil didn’t think, he just threw himself off the roof. Word count: 1380 Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo very vaguely, Virgil!whump Author’s note: This one is for @weirdburketeer because she asked :D It is an expansion of a n incident mentioned in Sharing the Scenery  I really need to stop throwing off random lines - I find I then have to work out a way to explain them :D Occurs after Lug Day and before Sharing the Scenery. I hope you enjoy it :D Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

The first question should have been why were they there in the first place?

The answer, as always, was to save people. The difference this time was that it was a bungled train highjacking. The GDF had called them in as a last-ditch effort to save all the people on the train.

The fact that Virgil was now crawling along the top of said train was unexpected at the very least. He was unsure what he was doing there himself, but somehow it all had a logical progression, despite the expletives issuing forth from Thunderbird One.

“Virgil, I don’t like this.”

“Trust me, Scott, neither do I, but we had the equipment and we’re here, so we do the job.”

“Damnit, you be careful.”

“Always am.”

The expletive that rolled down the comline at that comment was entirely unfair.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”

The wind generated by the train rushed over his helmet. Kayo had managed to sneak him into position, Thunderbird Shadow ghostly in her camouflage. The highjacking had been bungled and the train was now out of control, but the perpetrator was still on board. His demands had been outrageous and it appeared he had more than one screw loose upstairs. The fact that there was only one highjacker also tended to lean in that direction.

Virgil slipped down between the first and second cars, careful to stay out of sight. A glance through the door and yes, one criminal and a handful of people. One man, likely the driver was out cold on the floor.

Crouching down, he unhooked the safeties and demagnetised the coupler. A wrench and the coupler separated, the cars behind them slowing and drifting away.

Quietly and as fast as possible, he climbed back up onto the roof, waiting for the inevitable ruckus when his actions were discovered.

He slithered along the roof, heading for the driver’s compartment. A glance back, the cars behind him now quite a distance away, and he saw Thunderbird One swoop in snag them with a grappling cable.

How the people on board this carriage hadn’t noticed, he had no idea. With most of the train’s weight removed, the single engine compartment had increased in speed.

He needed to stop this train.

Someone was screaming. He peered over the edge of the roof and to his horror found a toddler being held out a window.

Shit!

The little girl was screaming her heart out, he could hear her mother shouting and god she was-

Virgil didn’t think, he just threw himself off the roof, grabbing the tiny girl as she fell and wrapping himself around her.

The briefest thought of thank god, I caught her, and the planet up and hit him. Hard asphalt and he was tumbling and skidding. Pain blossomed everywhere.

The little girl was screaming. Scott was in his ears. Amongst it all someone was whimpering as he came to a halt jammed up against a grassy verge.

He got the briefest flash of Thunderbird S landing on top of a fast vanishing train carriage and the world went wobbly.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil!” His name was out of her throat without thought. She saw him catch the little figure falling from the train and then her brother was tumbling, skidding on his back across the road that lined the track.

A man was hanging out the train window yelling abuse at her fallen brother.

“Scott, do you have him?” Her voice was hoarse.

Scott’s voice was equally pained. “On recovery.” The train carriages had been pulled to a halt and people were clambering out of the carriages. Thunderbird One was approaching for a landing nearby. “Secure the engine compartment.” She could hear the anger in his voice.

“FAB.”

She landed Thunderbird S on roof of the carriage where her brother had been moments before.

Slipping out of her cockpit, she flipped herself over the edge of the roof and straight through that same open window.

There was a man with a gun. Then there was a man without a gun and two broken legs crying on the floor.

She stepped over him, heading for the crew cabin. Moments later the train was slowing as she overrode the corrupting virus the highjacker had inserted into the driver program and then slammed on the brakes.

Walking back into the carriage, several people approached her, praising her, thanking her. She smiled a smile she didn’t feel. She stepped on the perpetrator’s hand ‘by accident’ before leashing him for the GDF.

“Engine compartment and perp secure, Thunderbird One.” A breath. “How is Virgil?”

-o-o-o-

Scott was running, first aid kit in hand. The huddled figure curled up against the grassy bank wasn’t moving. Scott’s breathing was loud in his helmet.

“Virgil? C’mon, talk to me.”

There was no response.

Scott skidded in gravel as he came to a halt and knelt beside his brother. Held tightly in his arms was a crying little girl with scrapes on her hands and knees. Virgil was still curled around her, protecting her with his body. His helmet was dented, the faceplate cracked and his uniform was shredded in places, his back…oh, hell, raw meat was too apt a description.

His brother’s face was screwed up in pain.

“Kayo, get down here!”

He touched his brother’s shoulder, ever so gently. “Virgil?”

His brother finally responded, his eyes looking up blurrily. “Scott?”

“Yeah, how you doing?”

“Ow.” His brother’s teeth came together in a painfilled grimace. “M’back.”

“Yeah, you’ve grazed yourself. Uh, can you let go of the little girl?”

“Huh?” There were the sounds of rushing footsteps behind him, a siren or two. Dust swirled up as TBS landed not far away. Scott leant over his brother protecting him as much as possible. “Girl?” Virgil looked down at the struggling figure in his arms. “Oh god.” And he let her go abruptly, the movement causing him to gasp, followed by a whimper. “Shit.” Between his teeth.

Scott gathered up the toddler, who clung to him, still crying in pain and terror. Spinning, Scott handed her off to the first paramedic who arrived on the scene, returning immediately to his prone brother.

Kayo appeared at his elbow. The sight of Virgil’s injuries caused her to pale, but she didn’t say anything.

“God, Virg, you know how to do it properly don’t you.” His eyes ran over his brother in assessment.

“Sorry. Wasn’t able to be as careful as usual.” His eyes darted to Kayo. “D’d you get him?”

Kayo’s voice was firm. “Got him.” A flicker in her eyes. “Got him good.”

Virgil smiled up at her, his eyelids drooping. “Good.” And those eyelids closed.

“Hey, no you don’t. Virgil!”

His eyelids flickered, brown eyes opening briefly to glance at first Scott then Kayo. The smile returned. Almost a whisper. “Beautiful.” And they closed again.

Paramedics swarmed. Virgil remained out of it, this time fortunately. His back looked so painful that movement looked to be hell.

Curled onto a hover gurney, he was rushed off to hospital.

-o-o-o-

Waking in hospital sucked.

Waking in pain sucked even more.

Oh, god.

Everything hurt.

He groaned.

“Virgil?” A musical voice.

He cranked his eyes open.  “K’yo?” A beautiful smile. He smiled in return. “Kayo. Hey.”

“Hey to you too.” Her green eyes searched his. “How are you feeling?”

He was laying curled up on his side. “Hurts.”

“I have no doubt.”

“What happened?”

She frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“Train.” He frowned. “Where’s Thunderbird Two?!”

“Gordon has her. You parked her in the middle of a soccer field.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I rode on Thunderbird Shadow.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Nice ship.”

She smiled. “Yes, she is.”

“Nice pilot.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Footsteps entered the room, walking around the end of the bed. A pair of familiar blue eyes peered down at him in relief. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, I am.”

“How you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

An arched eyebrow. “Not really a surprise. You need pain relief?”

Virgil tried to nod and regretted it immediately. He hissed between his teeth. “Damn.”

That set Scott running for the nearest nurse.

A small hand landed on his. “Take it easy.”

He looked up at her through pain glazed eyes. “Okay.”

Her hand squeezed his.

-o-o-o-

[hogsteeth-archive]

alright then i answered one of them oc questions things for both versions of ira bc like. why wouldnt i. first answer is 1976 58y/o rhodesian ira, second answer is 201x 16y/o houstonian ira. i just wanted to figure out how different they really are. questions from here. if readmores still dont work on mobile im sorry lmao

what are some things they have strong opinions about?

he has sort of a cioranian attitude to the value of life, like, hes one of them “theres always reason to kill a man, theres no way to justify his living” types. he doesnt believe in nationalism per se but he does believe in war, hes literally a mercenary, and hed probably get along just fine with someone like mike hoare, but hes not one for unnecessary cruelty. hes kind to who he considers innocent. if he was alive today i can see him getting grouped w/ like, anti-natalists, right-wing “primitivists,” people who browse /fo/, people who think theyll thrive in the post-apocalypse even though they cant even spin yarn, people who dont understand fallout, you know, those types, but i like to think his attitude wrt civ is closer to perlmans or, well, mine. its a good thing he doesnt live in internet times. he thinks technology makes people complacent and weak and hes fallen into the trap of the “noble savage” myth; sign of the times. he could just as easily live off the grid in like, alberta, but he chose to stay in southern africa bc of his colonial attitudes & fetishization of the “less developed.” (sidenote, if youre like, new here n reading this for some reason, yea i write like really really bad characters were talking irredeemably evil here, just like, know that im aware of that.) also he detests hippies for both bad and good reasons ⸻ not much, really, hes an opportunist, a hedonist, hes selfish, goes w/ the flow. he thinks denying yourself pleasure for no reason is microfascism — not in those words — and while he doesnt think that selfishness leads to a bettering of overall society, hes no randian, he feels justified in what he does. hes uh, a mercenary in spirit and ive always intended to have him join the marines n later work for a pmc but were nowhere near there yet

what traits do they like in other people? what traits do they not like?

he likes people (men, that is) that are exactly like him. he likes Narrator bc hes just as quiet, as patient, as stubborn, as antisocial (using that the right way here, i like, know about psychology), as violent, as old-timey-ly masculine as he is. he can tolerate clade (his former accountant) bc she keeps to herself and shes loyal to a fault, but he doesnt go out of his way to like, actually talk to her. he likes will bc he reminds him of what he was like as a child living with his matabele mother. ⸻ he hates everything he perceives as weakness, but hes not all that open about that, i think hes not even 100% aware thats what it is. he needs to be talked back to. he lacks compassion, doesnt know how to deal w/ anyone whos less resilient and abrasive than himself.

do they have a significant other? if so, who?

i mean, theres Narrator — thats kinda what this whole thing is about. but theyll never think of each other that way. its complicated. theyre uh… closer to being marlow and kurtz than to being boyfriends. idk how to explain it. its bad. ⸻ hes fake-dating millah for appearances and secretly seeing jack, im not sure about the details either so im not getting into that, but hes eventually gonna meet will; ive written their first encounter like ten different ways and i still dont really know what i wanna do w/ them........ also Complicated

whats their friend group like? what role do they play (leader, mom friend, etc.)?

he lives in a hut he built w/ his bare hands on the edge of the kalahari. his friends are one horse and one vaalboskat. ⸻ he uses his friends but they use him too. hes reasonably popular bc hes athletic n wealthy, but i think the only one of his friends who really truly sees thru his act is millah, and bc he doesnt take her seriously as a threat, she has more control over him than he realizes.

do they care about their physical appearance? whats their routine like?

nah ⸻ not really. he showers too often and his hairs kinda dry but other than that hes like. Normal. idk i dont care about these things

do they have any physical or mental disabilities?

i dont think so ⸻ he has adhd

what would they die for? kill for?

oh hes not picky. he joined the military at 17, hes made peace w/ the prospect of dying. hes been more uncomfortable w/ the thought of growing old, actually. and again, hes literally a mercenary. not a big deal to him. ⸻ i dont think hes selfless enough to die for anyone. hed kill to protect the people he cares about, but thats more just bc hes possessive. im sure thats gonna come up eventually. i cant really write shit w/o weaving murder in somewhere.

do they have any magical powers or abilities? if its a realistic world, what religion do they follow?

absolutely the fuck not i hate magic. hes not religious, actually feels a little intimidated by religion. in one version of his story he spends his 50s on east nusa tenggara where he doesnt live far from a church, and he makes peace w/ the concept of god thanks to the influence of catholic-raised Narrator, but i doubt hell ever actually step foot into a church, or temple, or mosque, or what-have-you. hes internalized some things during his upbringing though that he doesnt classify as religious. little superstitions. he likes to keep objects that may be used for divination around his house, but he never touches them. ⸻ not religious, but if he had to pick, like to pretend, hed say baptist.

do they celebrate any holidays? how do they celebrate?

nah ⸻ like, the regular american ones. hell welcome any excuse to drink and to socialize, and id say his favorite holiday is the 4th of july, really just bc he likes warm weather and theres not a lot else you can celebrate in the middle of summer. hes not attached to the significance of any holidays. hes not crazy about christmas but he likes his family well enough and hell go along w/ it all, just to have sth to do. hes not good w/ time off.

if they were the protagonist in any book series, what series would they choose? alternatively: what would be their favorite book?

he doesnt really read but hed feel right at home inside heart of darkness or maybe the thin red line. or maybe sth by mccarthy ⸻ hes 16 he hasnt read jack shit. i wanna say deleuze would probably resonate w/ him bc hes a total self-insert but i really dont know. i try to keep the intertextuality way low bc i hate that shit in most fiction, so like, i try not to think too much about other books here

do they have any vices?

uh he drinks and he occasionally smokes opium but compared to most of my characters hes pretty okay wrt that ⸻ yea like… all of them. already said hes a hedonist make of that what u will

do they play any instruments?

nope ⸻ violin but he hasnt been practicing a lot lately

what would their favorite ride at an amusement park be?

hes never been to one ⸻ i feel like hed be into sth really lame… like you know that video by jenny nicholson, top ten lame things to do at disney world? sth like that. like hed go just to get a specific food item or to admire the infrastructure

what animal would they say best represents them?

hyena 100%. the spotted kind. id say tortoise also but hed find that insulting ⸻ id say hyena but hed be reluctant to answer that bc hes a Youth and he knows what a furry is

how do they act when theyre drunk?

vulnerable. little more talkative. he talks to himself (or the cat, rather) sometimes ⸻ more abrasive/tactless/impulsive. he talks w/ his whole body and feels like moving/running bc, again, self-insert

which era of history would they most like to live in?

the old west, like early to mid-19th century, maybe late 18th. that or like the really olden days, like mid-paleolithic ⸻ idk maybe like ten or twenty years earlier. i think he fits the 21st century pretty well. hes a curious person though and if he had a time machine hed go Everywhere at least once

whats their favorite food?

ah thats. complicated actually i have a whole list of foods that remind me of Narrator but ive never gotten around to making one for ira. hm. he likes poultry, like ostrich. white fish. dry/salty foods. sour fruit. breadfruit. fatty dark meats, blood sausage. hes not picky though, hell live on pap and water if he has to. ⸻ i genuinely dont know. im not used to the contemporary western setting yet like… pop tarts exist in the same world as he does and im not comfortable w/ that yet. like, branded food articles wrapped in plastic. thats so weird to me. i guess he likes (american) pizza w/ greens on it, like spinach? and seafood. sour candies, maybe, i dont think he has much of a sweet tooth. he puts salt n butter on potatoes and cottage cheese on pancakes.

what songs remind you of them?

conveniently theres a whole playlist rite here

whats their favorite season and why?

dry season. he doesnt like cloudy/foggy weather bc it makes him feel trapped when he cant see as far. ⸻ summer. i honest to god think people liking cold weather is a conspiracy like im not sure thats even biologically possible. like summer is the obvious answer here

which d&d class would they play as?

nah we dont do nerd shit round these parts

whats their favorite expletive?

he like, barely talks ⸻ nothin weird thats for sure, we campaign for simple straight-forward language in this house. having a Favorite is inherently at odds w/ that. bad question

whats their favorite candle scent?

no scented candles in the desert ⸻ sth fruity but not sweet, like mixed berries, sth red or purple

how do they feel about death?

he doesnt ⸻ hed feel cheated by life if he died young. he has a lot to see and do and itd like, bum him out not to get to do that but hes not afraid of death

do they collect anything? whats their most prized possession?

he lives pretty austerely but he does keep little rocks and gems and bones and pieces of wood n such. also coins from all the countries hes been to bc hes a simple old man. i wanna say his most prized possession is his hogs tooth bc he does value the marines a lot still. its where he first met Narrator :-) ⸻ he really appreciates gifts people give him, things that remind him of people. jack carved him an eagle once

do they play any sports?

no ⸻ nothing too organized. i dont think hes on any school teams bc idk if he has the time but that might change. he does run/hunt/fish/shoot

what one place do they really want to visit and why?

he likes deserts, wide open spaces. hes been to the kalahari n namib but not the gobi/sahara/simpson etc, so, those. no ice deserts though those scare him ⸻ polynesia/southeast asia, just tropical places in general. bc theyre nice what do you want me to tell you. tropics good

what languages do they speak?

northern ndebele, afrikaans, english (w/ various influences), some vietnamese ⸻ english, some cajun french, some spanish

what are some items they always carry? what weapon do they favor using if they exist in a world where weapons are necessary?

hes got his fal obviously and he does always carry a knife, just to be safe. more out of habit than actual necessity (not to imply rural areas were safe in the late 70s, but he lives in the literal wilderness, hes not much of a target. stays away from roads and all that.) ⸻ man hes really not as classy as i want him to be :/ he probably has like, a glock 17 w/ ten thousand pointless modifications n some uglyass stipling pattern. hes a little bit paranoid + irresponsible n carries all kinds of shit he doesnt need, mostly way too much cash

which emoji would they use the most?

no ⸻ he doesnt have a phone, hell maybe use a burner if he has to. this is an anti-phone household

what fantasy race would they be? if they already are one, pick a different one.

absolutely not

do they want to start a family? if they already have one, describe it.

no ⸻ no

what stereotypical high school clique would they fit into?

hed swing between the jrotc kids n the stoners honestly, but still mostly keep to himself ⸻ hes like, too much of a jock for the Delinquents, too much of a Delinquent for the jocks. hes really only popular bc hes rich-ish n blessed w/ good looks, and by association w/ millah

whats one thing that they dont need do they waste the most money on?

he doesnt ⸻ everything. hes really wasteful. he buys more food than he can eat, clothes he never wears, etc etc, hes terrible

what kind of shoes do they wear?

combat boots or just traditional sandals. the terrain around his house is mostly grass and flat boulders so he goes barefoot a lot ⸻ regular tennis shoes, nothin too fashionable bc he cant be bothered to keep up w/ trends, but usually clean n new. hiking boots when hes not w/ his regular friend group

do they believe in ghosts, aliens, and the occult in general?

really dont like how aliens are always grouped in w/ esoteric shit bc like, thats like asking if you believe in atoms honestly. no shit “aliens” exist thats like not up for debate. both iræ would agree w/ me here. 70s ira doesnt believe in like, Ghosts per se, but he has some vague concept of spirits that he got from his mother. he sees/feels them when hes half asleep. ⸻ 2010s ira doesnt believe in jack shit

which deadly sin do they most correspond to? which heavenly virtue?

nooo cardinal sins dont work that way theyre not hogwarts houses. its so much more complicated than that thats impossible

if you had to choose one tarot card to represent them, what would it be?

hmmm four of swords? knight of coins? eight of cups? this is hard ⸻ seven of swords? nine of cups? the devil? i dont know

what do they consider to be their best quality? what actually is their best quality?

his strength, which is really just his callousness and lack of convictions. and uh. i guess his independence ⸻ same here for the first part. and. maybe his loyalty? i dont consider loyalty a good thing personally idk

what do they consider to be their worst quality? what actually is their worst quality?

his lack of social skills maybe? he doesnt need them too often of course but like, the first time Narrator showed up at his doorstep he was genuinely nervous and that did fill him w/ some semblance of shame and in his eyes he should be good at everything, so like. that. really its his lack of conviction and his timidness/avoidance of the world ⸻ his dependence on others/lack of discipline. really its his lack of compassion, like, obviously

[bookriot]

What if I hate this book? It’s a New York Times Best-Seller, on all of the important lists, displayed at the end of every grocery and bookstore aisle, and has been chosen as my book club’s current read. I hate it. Okay, maybe “hate” is too strong of a word, but I’m really not enjoying this book. I feel like a whiny child refusing anything “good” for her, “Yucky! I don’t want it! Noooooo!” I might even cry and writhe on the floor.

I’ve started it and put it down. Picked it up. Put it down. Please tell me you know this drill. Now it sits on my nightstand with a bookmark maybe 50 pages in—and that’s a generous estimate. So the book lies there under the table lamp atop a stack of its predecessors who all fared markedly better. I’ve decided I don’t care and I’m not reading it tonight. I scroll through a smorgasbord of social media outlets on my phone as my husband sleeps next to me. Facebook alerts me that they’re adapting this book into a series. Insert any one of your preferred expletives here. I glance at the book. Am I not getting something!? Self doubt ensues. Should I tell by fellow book club members?

https://bookriot.com/2017/11/15/hate-best-seller/

[othercat2]

Fic: Eriond: be the Rogue of Hope 1/?

Okay so I finished the first chapter extremely obscure Crossover Crack. On one side we have Homestuck, and on the other side we have David Edding’s Belgariad/Mallorean series. In which a young God decides to steal himself a Signless Sufferer after hearing his Vast Expletive.

==>Eriond: steal yourself a Signless Sufferer

Watching was a nightmare. The one You’ve come for, the one whose cry woke You in the night dies hard, burning in the sunlight, burning from the manacles chaining him to the stone pillar. You watch him die when every instinct is screaming for You to rescue him, to put out the fires and ensure they can never be lit again.

(You have never felt so angry, or so helpless.)

He’s shot, and his final cry is the Word that traveled over an unimaginable distance until it reached Your ears. It was a cry full of frustration and grief, a cry that shook You in a way that reminded You of Your poor fallen brother. The Word had been a furious expletive, yet You had known that encoded within that cry was a great and powerful thesis of peace and cooperation.

Despite knowing that the Word was the death cry of the one who spoke it, You were determined to somehow rescue him. The Word had not been a cry for help, and did not demand an answer, You felt compelled to answer it, to see the one who had shouted it to what he had thought was an uncaring universe.

You conferred with Your Father, and listened to the silent voice of Your Mother. (The former would have been closer to arguing, the latter was more like a waking dream. Both were worried at the feat You were attempting, but in the end, They gave way.) The voice of the Singular Destiny doesn’t disapprove, but warns You to take care, grants You little hints and riddles.  

You learn during Your journey that there is something out there that creates universes, put in place by some other Being or Beings. (You suspect this is just one of many ways Universes are born. Your Parents as far as You know created Themselves.) It presents Itself as a game, the way the Two Destinies played a Game with each other. The Players of the Game are the Children of the Game, created to play, and hopefully in the playing, create a new Universe.

The Universe you find is a universe created by the game, though it is actually a tangled double binary of Universes, at the middle of which is a Demon. Not a Demon like the ones You are familiar with, but a Demon just the same. The Demon seeks to perpetuate Himself through a vast loop of Destiny, forever creating, forever destroying and forever becoming. The Demon has infected this particular branch of the universe-creating game, and might infect Yours if You’re not careful.  He is aided by slaves and pawns and a number of objects. Being outside the universe, You have time to learn as much as You need to.

You have no choice but to learn. Though you want to destroy the Demon, the Demon is not for You to slay. You are informed of this by a strange and terrible being, a woman with curling ram’s horns and white fire for eyes. She is bitter and angry and utterly foul-mouthed but she answers your questions and gives you advice. She knows you in some strange way that isn’t strange at all, because she already knows what you’re going to do, because you’ve done it already and her being there is simply closing a loop.

Your moment is the moment they turn their back on the body. The Empress and her retinue leave, the crowd is dispersed. All that’s left is the one you came for. You insert yourself in that moment. (There are flickering words flaring across your mind: Rogue of Hope.) The sun is bright and terrible, and the still body hangs stiffening from the pillar. It’s a work of a moment’s thought to remove the cuffs, and catch the body.

The woman appears, dressed in green, eyes flickering with a thousand colors. In her hands are slim wands that crackle with deadly energies. She has been sent here to investigate, as You were warned by her furthest iteration. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“You don’t need him anymore, do you?” You ask in return. You’re speaking, and your languages are completely different with different concepts, but You Both understand each other.

“He’s played his part,” she says indifferently, though she doesn’t lower the crackling wands. “But you are an unknown. Who are you?”

“No one you need to worry about, Damara,” You tell her.

She starts with surprise. “How do you know that name?”

“You told me it,” You tell her, and she frowns, her chin tucked in defensively. “A further iteration did, anyway. She told me to tell you, ‘we weren’t given a name, but that’s our name. Damara Megido.’”

“No,” she says, suddenly both angry and afraid. A whip of light is aimed toward you. You send it back and she dodges.

“Yes,” you say in return, and hold her in place with an extension of Your Will.

She curses furiously at You, angry and frightened now. “It’s all right Damara,” You tell her gently, kindly as You know how. It’s easy for you to soothe people, to reassure them because you know them and love them. You don’t know Damara beyond what she told You, but You can sense that her life has been terrible beyond measure in the service of her Master.

You want only to reassure her, to gentle her, but she flinches as if the sound of her name or the sympathy you’re sending her is painful. “No,” she says again. “It’s never been all right. It will never be all right. I’ll make sure of that. Don’t fucking look at me like that. You’re not my moirail.”

“I know Damara, I’m sorry,” you tell her. The word “moirail” has a strange and wonderful meaning, strange and beautiful for such a harsh people. (All languages have such beautiful words, even Old Angarak, but this one was especially lovely since it was a word that meant a deep and protective love that subdues rage and madness.) “Everything will be clear to you, many years from now, when you become your furthest iteration. For right now though, I need you to forget about Me, and remember what I tell you.”  

You tell her what she needs to remember. You don’t push and don’t even have to exert Your Will. There is a part of her, a very small part of her capable of defiance toward her Master. A part of her is seeking escape, and that part of her overwhelms the obedience that had been beaten into her. It is a tiny burning spark that You try to strengthen. When she no longer sees You, when her eyes slide over You as if You aren’t there, You release her. She sways on her feet for a moment, and then disappears in a crackle of green light.

You take the body. The soul hasn’t gone very far. (Souls in this universe don’t seem to travel or move the way souls in Your universe do. You think it’s because of the essentially broken nature of it, due to the Demon.) It’s still raging, still full of despair. You gather it up, calming it into something not quite like sleep. and shift out of the moment, out of the universe. (Before You do, You see a boy dressed in blue, trousers, tunic and a long-tailed hood. He stares at You in surprise. You can’t help but wink at him in return.)

The journey is both long and not long at all. The spirit of Damara follows You at least part of the way. You would invite her further still, but she tilts her head in a gesture You’ve come to realize means no. “Not yet,” she says, and looks at the body, and at the soul. “Not while the Green Sun burns, and I am not there yet.”

“If that’s what you want,” You tell her gently.

She frowns at You. “You are still not my moirail,” she tells You.

You apologize. She snorts, and disappears in a flicker of shadow, and the after image of a clockwork wheel.

==>Signless: wake up

The first things you’re aware of is the mattress beneath you and the pillow. One stuffed with dried grass, the other with avian down. You’re covered by blankets, and the room is dark and comforting, the only light a candle shielded by a glass cylinder. You burrow deeper under the blankets at first, and don’t worry very much about the strangeness of the bedding materials. There’s a strange buzzing in your horns, a bit like feeling Psii’s psionics, but not quite. You’re awake, but still so tired, you could drift right back to sleep.

You almost do drift back to sleep, but then you remember.

You remember burning, the smell of your own flesh. You remember your family in chains, your mother, Mituna, Meulin. You remember screams, you remember the Empress. You remember the deaths of your followers, each one more horrible than the last. You remember screaming, though you don’t remember what you said. You remember the arrow, and sit up fast.

This is a mistake. The dull pain you’re feeling sharpens for a moment; you gasp, hand over the wound. You’re wearing some kind of long, light tunic of some kind of plant fiber, with sleeves that go down to your elbows. It’s white with multicolor embroidery and shell buttons. Beneath the cloth you can feel a bandage wrapping your torso. Your wrists are also bandaged.

Now that you’re sitting up, you look around cautiously.

The room has no windows, and has the feel of being underground. In the light of the little candle lamp, the walls are closely fit stone and the floor is wood. The platform you’re sleeping on is narrow but fairly comfortable, just big enough for you to lie flat on your back, and just wide enough to fit you. (It makes you think a little of a concupiscent couch, but the materials are all wrong and there’s no indentation toward the middle.) In addition to the bed is an armoire, a chest of drawers, a writing desk and a small book case stuffed with paper books and oblongs you think might be…scroll cases? (Scroll cases, like something from one of Dis’ favorite historical romances!)

The thought almost makes you smile, but not for very long. You can’t think of Dis without remembering her face. She had been trying so hard to be strong, to analyze what she was seeing so she could record it later, (if there was a later) but you had seen she was on the edge of losing it. You had shouted her name and the highbloods had laughed, thinking you were calling to her for help. You had wanted her to stop looking, but she hadn’t. She wouldn’t look away. (None of them would, and not because they were being forced to watch your death.) Your eyes start to tear up, and you draw a hard, shaky breath.

There’s no sign of technology in the room. That’s the first thing that draws your attention away from grief. Even when you were living in caves as a child with your mother, there had been technology. You and your mother had husktops, an inflatable mattress, electric lamps, a camp stove. Candles were for ambience, not light sources. This was a very strange afterlife.

There are footsteps outside the door, which opens. An alien, almost trollish except for its disturbing lack of horns and the color of its skin and eyes peers into the room. It sees you and speaks in a low, musical voice. The buzzing in your horns, which you had almost forgotten about becomes a bit more intense, though not painfully so, and you hear, “My daughter notes you are awake, and greets you,” in your head.

“Hello,” you say, to both the mysterious (and apparently very intelligent and very telepathic) lusus and its alien daughter. “Yes, I’m awake now. I. Thank you, but where am I?” How you were still alive was also a question.

The lusus seems to translate this to the alien, who speaks in its own language. The lusus translates. “You are in Maragor, this is my Daughter Taiba and this is her home. The room belongs to one of her sons who is away in Ulgo to study. My Brother Eriond brought you here.” The lusus seems both put out and amused by this last detail.

“I see,” you say. You saw nothing. The lack of visibility was absolutely astounding. All was a void unpenetrated by a single point of comprehension. The terms that you almost understand swim quickly by, impossible to catch.

The alien speaks again, and again, the lusus translates. “Taiba asks if you are hungry.”

Your digestion bladder informs you that yes, it is empty and would prefer to remedy this as soon as possible. At a loss for the moment, you indicate “yes,” though you aren’t sure if you’d be able to consume alien food. “Thank you,” you say, and clamp down on any nervous requests. Making demands of a host--or captor--right away was sometimes seen as rude. You don’t know how long you’ve been here recuperating from what turns out wasn’t your death, but they haven’t poisoned you yet. Perhaps the aliens understood enough about troll biology to not accidentally kill you.

The alien shows you flat teeth in a smile and retreats from the room, leaving it slightly ajar. It’s either reassurance that you’re not a prisoner or an invitation to explore. Then again, it might be neither of those things.

“You are My Brother’s Guest,” the lusus murmurs, and finally makes an appearance. It appears to be the same kind of alien as the “daughter,” Taiba. It was dressed in kilt and a long sleeved tunic. It wore leather sandals that were laced to its knees. It’s hair was dark and long and tied back in a simple braid, and looked a great deal like Taiba, though much taller. Despite the similarity to its “daughter” it wasn’t the same kind of alien at all. It was something other, something more spirit than flesh and bone. “He heard your voice and was moved to seek you out and give aid where he could.”

You press your hand to your wound. “He was a little late,” you say dryly.

The being smiled. “He would have taken you before the arrow even reached you, but he was warned against it,” the lusus says. “He could do nothing that interfered with the causality bound in the creation and destruction of your Universe.”

Your hands clench into fists at that. Everything you worked for, everything you had said and done hadn’t changed anything. All you had done was create the circumstances that would enable your Descendant to play the Game. What you had wanted was to create a world where your Descendant wouldn’t have to hide. You wanted to create a world where the hemospectrum was a circle instead of a hierarchy, you wanted equality for everyone. “What does he want with me?” You ask.

“From what I understand, he wants your help.”

“My help?” you ask. What kind of help could you give a being allegedly capable of bringing you back to life? Or who was apparently able to steal you out from under the Demoness’ sniffnode.

The being nods its head, and you understand that it’s indicating an affirmative. “I will let Him explain,” the lusus says. “For now, eat and rest.”

You dip your head in acknowledgement, confused but curious. “I’ll do that then.”

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