#its criminal how long i spent on this entire build

[ka1omi]

unedited screenies of chioma's apartment in soho. largely inspired by @cocoelleansims and some of the paintings are by @kikovanitysimmer

[bonus: accidental shot cause i love her & this little corner of her room in her @yuyulie sweater and THE BOW IN HER IN HAIR UGH]

[spider-stark]

GUTS

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Peter gets seriously hurt saving someones life, in the midst of panic your true feelings for him come out.

Warnings - Stabbing, blood, violence,

a/n - wow what i'm actually posting something that is WILD. anyways, i recently moved to a new apartment so for the past month my brain has been fried and i have had zero time to write. but, here is this lil blurb! and i am in the process of finishing up the next part of Infinitely You if anyone still wants to read it haha enjoy :)

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

He had gotten hurt. Really hurt. 

It was a simple carjacking, or at least it was supposed to be simple. The type of petty crime he responded to all the time. 

He had been so bored, legs dangling over the side of the Empire State building when he heard the call come through over the police scanner he’d been listening to. Finally, he thought to himself, webs already shooting from his wrists as he dived off the side of the building, some entertainment. 

But everything went wrong. 

So fucking wrong, so quick. 

There was no time to think as he saw the streetlights dance along the steel blade of the pocket-knife in the carjacker's hand, its sharp edge just milliseconds away from plunging into the innocent man’s stomach. Peter could see the man’s kid in the backseat of the car, heard his shrill screams as he banged against the window, crying for his dad.

He let adrenaline guide his actions, throwing himself in front of the blade with not a hint of hesitation, shoving the innocent man to the asphalt as steel plunged through the fabric of his suit. 

There was so much blood, so much that it left him feeling dizzy. His vision went spotty, struggling to aim for the carjacker as he tried to shoot his webs at him, hoping to stop him just long enough for the police to get here. 

They have to be close, he could faintly hear the sirens blaring over the sound of his own heart thumping in his ears. 

But, due to a heavy hand and blurry vision, he missed. How could he miss? 

The man, the one he saved, was back on his feet and rushing to comfort his son. They hadn’t seemed to notice Peter yet, notice just what he had done, how he had potentially saved that man’s life. He was thankful for it, thankful that the kid was spared the trauma of watching it happen. 

Peter stumbled into the alleyway, the same one the thief had run into, but he had no intentions of chasing the criminal down. He couldn’t, not in the state he was in. 

It had taken every last bit of his strength to get to your house. To get to you. 

You hadn't expected Peter to come by, but then again he rarely ever gave you notice, especially for visits like this. Late nights spent with a cheap dollar store sewing kit and the skill set of someone who had a mild interest in embroidery often being the only thing that stood between Peter and certain death. You hated when he came to you like this, but you’d never say it. You’d stitch him up a thousand times, put yourself through the horrors of watching your best friend nearly bleed out over and over again if it meant that he would still be here—that he would still be alive. 

But this was the closest he had ever gotten to death, just barely holding on when he came crashing through your bedroom window. He was in and out of consciousness the entire time, as you removed the knife, stitched him up, and tried to clean his blood from your carpet. You worried that you would lose him, worried that he wouldn’t wake back up. But, by some stroke of luck, your security deposit was the only thing you lost that night. 

Still, it was different this time. His super-healing had kicked in once he was awake, the blood beginning to clot and stop leaking out from your amaetuer stitch job. But you couldn’t shake that feeling, the terror and anxiety that consumed you when you had to come face-to-face with the idea of losing Spider-Man. Of losing Peter Parker. 

He thought it was a fever dream. The thought of infection setting in to his fresh stab-wound much easier to believe than the possibility of his best friend, the girl of his dreams, suddenly leaning in and kissing him. But it wasn’t a dream, wasn’t his mind playing cruel tricks on him. You were here, right in front of him, your lips desperately moving against his own and your fingers getting tangled in his dark hair. 

So many times he had dreamt of this. Dreamt of crossing the line between just friends and something more, a line that the two of you had been balancing on for years now. He always hoped that one day he would spill his guts to you, but had never quite expected to almost literally spill his guts to you, and certainly wouldn’t have expected it to end like this. 

He was breathless when you pulled away, and he finally realized that he hadn’t even kissed you back, too lost in his own mind. “Wha-why?” 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

It was a desperate answer to a desperate question, a single beat of silence passing before you followed it up, doubling down on the statement. 

“I can’t fucking lose you.” 

Peter’s already shallow breath caught in his throat, butterflies erupting in his stomach (or maybe it was just pain from his newly sustained stab wound, though he found butterflies to be far more romantic). 

“You won’t.” He breathed out the promise, both of you unsure of whether or not it was one he could actually keep, though neither of you cared at this moment. Because for now he was here, he was alive, and he was finally yours. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but he didn’t care so long as it meant you would kiss him again.

[audible-smiles]

So, I think I may have accidentally found the worst book ever written by a human being.

I don't know if you guys have ever heard of Savitri Devi; she was a Hitler stan who moved from Greece to India, got really excited about "Aryan" racial mythology, changed her name, and tried to fuse Nazism with Hinduism. A lot of her ideology is patently absurd (e.g. Hitler is an avatar of Vishnu), but none of it is funny because she spent her entire life actively trying to build a coalition of the most violently racist people you can imagine. Hindutva paramilitary groups, American neo-Nazis, early ecofascists; you name them, she probably went to their meetings and wrote propaganda for them.

So, knowing this, it makes one feel particularly deranged to learn that she also wrote fiction about- and from the POV of- her many cats.

The book in question is called Long-Whiskers and the Two-Legged Goddess, or The True Story of a "most objectionable Nazi" and half-a-dozen Cats.

Published in 1965, this text features a protagonist named "Heliodora", who Devi admits in the introduction is just her lightly fictionalized self-insert. In the beginning Heliodora heroically rescues a stray kitten and its mother, but then the narrative grinds to a halt to explain the weird racial theories that brought her to India, before it picks right back up with the cat fancying. Here is an excerpt that may convey a little of how jarring these transitions can be:

"An unexpected thought crossed Heliodora’s mind, like a flash of lightning: “Had I gone to Europe in 1939, or even in 1940, 1 should not have had this lovely creature, nor, in fact, any of these cats to which I have given a home. They probably all would have been dead, by now — would have died of misery, in some gutter, without love, poor beautiful felines!” And a strange question followed that thought: “Was it for them that I was fated to remain here?” She knew the thought was a nonsensical one and the question too. For of what account was the life and happiness of any creatures, nay, of any human beings, including her own, compared with the Service of the Aryan Reich and of the Cause of truth?

It is all. Fucking. Like This. There are grim descriptions of feline suffering contrasted with long, ecstatic descriptions of her cats learning to trust the only nice human in the world (her). There are passages on the virtue of vegetarianism and the evils of (especially Kosher) slaughterhouses. She thinks it's a great idea to do medical experiments on criminals rather than animals! She thinks kids who throw rocks at cats should have their hands cut off! She starts chapters with direct quotes from Mein Kampf! When her favorite cat runs away she writes the (fully imaginary) story of his adventures on the streets, including him having cat sex. Here is the cat sex:

"The coquettish she-cat jumped up and ran away, only to stop again some twenty yards further and again to roll in the grass, calling for love, — and again to ran away as soon as the lover was about to take her. At last, however, — after many an unsuccessful leap and further and further galloping in the moonshine, Long- whiskers overcame her faked resistance and possessed her. He forgot himself, and she — his black silky panther — forgot herself. Their individualities ceased for a while to exist, and in him, the eternal He-Cat, Creator and Lord of everything, and in her, the co-eternal, sphinx-like, dark Feline Mother, Lady of all Life, once more mingled their opposite polarities and took consciousness of their double Godhead, as they had been doing for millions and millions of years. And once more the divine spark — the Creative Lightning — flashed through their furry bodies, and the daily miracle took place: there was life in the female’s womb."

Sooooo......anyway...........the lost cat finds its way back to her, but has caught feline distemper and dies in her arms, but then he is REINCARNATED IN ENGLAND, as a kitten in a decent (white) home where his family loves him. Heliodora is coincidentally going back to Europe at this time (she lists her religion as "national socialist" on the travel paperwork), which means we get pages and pages of her obsessing over every 'misstep' in the war, and Germany's tragic loss, but more importantly, she meets a random cat and he is (unknown to her), the reincarnation of her beloved Long-whiskers, the Cat Who Fucked. She sees that he's well-fed and happy and is like "I finally understand why Hitler was so nice to the British; they treat cats well so I guess they're Aryan too". I am not making any of this up:

“They have poured streams of fire over Germany; betrayed their own race; identified themselves with its worst enemies ...”

“Prrr, prrr, prrr,” purred back the cat; “that is because they had been (as they are still being) misled, deceived. But one day they shall wake up from their delusion, tum against their bad shepherds, and help the people of their own blood to build up a new Europe — the very Europe of your dreams, in which we creatures will all be happy — for they are good people at heart; good people like Aryans generally are, taken as a whole. Prrr, prrr, prrr . . . The proof of it is that they have taken such good care of me! Prrrrrrrrr . . .”

This version of her cat grows old and dies. Meanwhile, Heliodora is arrested and imprisoned for distributing Nazi propaganda. When she gets out, she meets the reincarnation of a different cat she had left behind in India. (All of her cats want to find her again after death because they love her so very much.) In between her banal, mundane descriptions of caring for this new cat, she describes her various arrests, interrogations, and brief periods of imprisonment. And then she moves, gives that cat away and gets another fucking cat. It is at this point where I completely lose track of which cat is meant to be the reincarnation of which other cat; this woman goes through cats like potato chips. She says she doesn't even love them as individuals, but as one piece of "the intangible Essence of Catdom", so I guess it doesn't fucking matter whether I know their names or not.

This woman's primary thesis is "human suffering doesn't matter, only animal suffering matters" and she beats it into the ground. Her secondary thesis is that national socialism is the one true religion and will save the world. Not only is this a deeply self-obsessed, morally incoherent, grotesque piece of writing, it is also boring as hell. It's half stories about how people who are mean to animals all deserve to get murdered, and half a travelogue where the protagonist goes on screeds about race-mixing every time she visits a new city. While you're reading it you feel as if time has stopped, and you will be stuck reading this terrible book for the rest of your life. All she knows how to do is repeat her two ideas over and over again. Honestly, it reads like heavy-handed satire of a very specific type of white woman. Heliodora wears golden swastika earrings.

I'm exhausted. Never read this book.

[yunjinsstar]

weak, only for you. | tim drake x reader

Tim Drake's philosophy is that sleep is for the weak. This is not a good enough reason for you to let him go without sleep. (Alternatively, a fic where Tim Drake is coaxed back to bed because we all need sleep, no matter how necessary it is to stay awake.)

pairing/characters: tim drake/reader genre: fluff tags/warnings: soulmates, sleep deprivation word count: 1.6k crossposted on ao3

You turned onto your side as you tried to get some shut-eye. Usually, you could get your eight hours of sleep but it felt odd sleeping without the extra weight of your partner, Tim. You understood his job didn't really allow for a lot of rest but he wasn't a robot, he was a human being. He had limits.

Tim hadn't slept for a couple nights now. The boys were hot on the trail of a new crime boss that recently moved his trade to Gotham from Star City. Green Arrow had been of much help but the home of Batman needed its' own vigilantes on the case.

While you appreciated the work Tim did as Red Robin for the city, especially in times like this, it made it especially harder to let him do his thing. You didn't sleep well at night knowing your partner and soulmate was sleep-deprived.

Time had run out for your patience.

You grumbled as you peeled your woollen blanket off your body. You did not appreciate having to sacrifice your warmth just to get Tim into bed. Gotham City was not a warm place at night, in both the literal and figurative sense.

Tim's insomniac-like habits were worse beforehand when he would stay at the Batcave. According to Bruce, Tim's 'bed' consisted of a thin blanket and a pillow off of the living room couch. Mind you, he didn't even use it to sleep, he used it for a quick power nap.

You eventually convinced to build his own Bat-computer at your shared apartment. He folded after you told him *exactly* how lonely you felt when he was away. With great reluctance, he left the Wayne manor that night and slept for a good five hours.

As soon as he woke, he started getting supplies to build a mini Bat-computer fit for the apartment. When you walked out to the kitchen for breakfast, you were met with a note on the bench: "Hi love, I've just gone to the tech store. I made eggs and bacon for you. I promise I won't be long. I love you :)"

Tim spent the entire day building the computer. He downgraded to only three monitors but the PC itself was still the same quality as Bruce's. He even improved on it, adding extra features. 

Your genius finished his project on the same day, proud of his achievement. You kissed him softly as a congratulations and a thank you. He was grateful you made him come back home.

Now, the only hassle was having to travel outside, rather than across town. Wrapped in a cardigan you picked up from the bedroom floor, you watched your soulmate type away at the keyboard.

The monitors displayed maps tracking all criminal activity in real-time, personal information on the crime boss, and details of his criminal record. Unsurprisingly, the desk was littered with empty coffee cups, of which you could count eight.

If Tim noticed you, he hadn't shown it by now. You padded over to him, a quiet yawn escaping your lips. Approaching him, you stood behind him as you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. You trailed your hand down his arm to his forehand, where the red mark stained his pale skin.

His body shivered as you brushed your fingers over the mark before settling your hand on his. 

•

You stared up at the Egyptian coffin. According to the Gotham City Museum, the sarcophagus you were looking at was extracted from the tomb of Hatshepsut, a famous female pharaoh who began her reign around 1473 BC. She was titled "The Queen Who Would Be King."

As you admired the detailing, you felt another body sidle up next to you. You weren't sure whether to break your stare to assess the person beside you or just continue looking. You opted for the latter.

The two of you stood there in silence until you saw him enter your vision to read the plaque in front of the glass display. This time, you got a good look at him. He didn't look too old, probably in his mid-20s.

He was wearing a collared shirt under a Gotham University hoodie. The sweatpants he wore bore the Gotham University logo as well. You wondered why you'd never seen him around the campus before.

Deciding to entertain the unknown, you stepped up to the plaque, reading it alongside him. Granted, you'd already read it but he didn't need to know that.

His slender hand drifted over the words. It had some scars and discolouration. You desperately wanted to know the secrets behind them but curiosity killed the cat.

"Did you know that Egyptians thought the most significant part of your life was death?" he spoke without warning. You looked up at him, bewildered by not only the fact but by the tone of his voice.

It was rich and full, but had a tinge of aching behind it. It felt like he was hiding something but you couldn't tell exactly what.

"No, I didn't. Why, do you agree?" you asked tentatively. For all you know, he could be a creep. It was never good to easily trust anyone you met in Gotham.

"Not at all. There's so much merit that comes from living," he said softly. It was at this moment his piercing sky blue eyes met yours. His face looked familiar but you couldn't place it.

"Some of us aren't living, though," you tore your eyes away from his, "we're just surviving."

"A pity," he agreed, his hand still resting on the steel plaque. You looked over to him once more to see his head hung low. He was a tainted soul in the city of the living dead.

You couldn't explain why you did so, but your hand reached out from your side to rest gently on his. So much for not easily trusting people.

"Maybe one day, peace will find us," you pondered. You only hoped his eyes would find yours.

They did, as his head rose.

"I only hope so," he added.

When he finished his sentence, your hand started to tingle. His was too, as his eyes widened at the sensation. Suddenly, a bright burst of light shone through the museum. You lifted your hand from his and turned it over to see your whole right palm covered in red.

His hand remained on the plaque as he took in the red hand mark branding his left forehand. Your mouth parted slightly as you gazed up at him. He mirrored your shocked expression.

"You're..." he trailed off.

"I can't believe this. We're soulmates?" you asked to no one in particular. You touched your left palm gently and shivered at the feeling, the area still sensitive.

The mystery man beside you finally turned to face you completely and it was then you realised who he was. Tim Drake, successor of Bruce Wayne as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, the corporate group that owns the entire city, was your soulmate. 

He attended Gotham U but according to one of your friends who was doing the same degree as him, he never really showed up to class. That made sense, but you couldn't imagine doing university and running a corporation.

"I'm Tim Drake," he stuck his right hand out. You took it in yours as you introduced yourself to him as well.

"I would've never guessed my soulmate was going to be a rich business CEO," you mused. He laughed and dear God, it was heavenly to listen to.

"I would've never guessed my soulmate was going to be the most insightful and beautiful woman I've ever met," he said. Your cheeks flushed at his kind words.

"Oh, I'm not anything like that. Once you get to know me, you'll find I'm just as ordinary as anyone else in Gotham," you denied. He clasped your fingertips and brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to your forehand.

"In Gotham City, no one's ordinary."

•

"What are you doing up, my love?" Tim mumbled, shifting your hands so his now laid atop of yours. He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles.

"Trying to get you to sleep with me," you responded, fatigue evident in your voice. You were heavily relying on the chair Tim was sitting on to hold yourself up.

"This case is important," he tried to reason.

"Your sleep is important too. When was the last time you got more than four hours of sleep, Tim?" you asked him, knowing the answer full well. He gulped as he let the silence act as his response.

"Exactly. Please, come to bed," you pleaded with him. He sighed, contemplating his decision.

"I love you, sweetheart but we're so close. I need to make sure I'm awake for when there's new activity," he told you. Now, you were getting frustrated.

"Timothy Drake," he immediately made eye contact with you as you took your hand away from his, "I'm not asking you to sleep for me. It's for you. I don't like seeing you barely alive and drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee."

His eyes softened as he saw how irritated you'd gotten.

"So, would it be that bad if you just got some good sleep?" you asked, tired of having to do this all the time.

"I guess not," he replied. You backed away as he pushed away from the desk and stood up. He took your hand in his as he tucked in the chair and walked to the bedroom with you.

The two of you tucked yourselves in and you faced in to each other. Your left hand laid on the pillow, the red soulmark faint in the glow of the Gotham moonlight.

His fingers traced over your palm lines ever so gently. The touch was soothing. He softly smiled at you and you returned the smile.

"Thank you. I just get so caught up in it, I forget," he whispered.

"You're in luck, because I'm always going to be around to remind you."

© yunjinsstar 2023. do not copy this work.

[1-800-c0sm1c]

꒰crossteaming pt.2 !꒱

genshin characters as your streamer bf/gf !

character x gn!reader

includes kazuha, venti, itto, thoma, and shenhe!

warnings : none.

a/n : thank you for all the notes on the 1st part , much appreciated <3

KAZUHA - THE GEOGUESSER PRO

of course the wanted criminal knows all about geography. (and poetry of course too, but well get to that later)

doesnt matter where in the world he is plopped down in, kazuha knows exactly where he is, and hes quick about it too.

competes in geoguessr tournaments too and often wins with ease.

hes the type to do google maps speedruns as well, and none of his friends are nearly as good as he is.

if youre ever lost somewhere, just send kazuha a pick of your surroundings on twitter, and hes sure to find your cross streets soon enough!

“you said how i got your address…? dont even worry about that bro.”

youre literally just there to distract kazuha, if im being entirely honest.

oh, hes 1 guess away from a 50 state streak ? not if you can do anything about it. especially if he had a penalty set up for getting answers wrong.

he has called you a pest multiple times, but its out of love <3 i dont genuinely think he could ever get mad at you for real, hes very calm all the time.

he also likes to share poetry! on the days you (lovingly) annoy him he likes to write funky lil haikus about how annoying you are <3 isnt that sweet?

what can i say, hes a funny little jokester, at least on camera. when its just the two of you alone hes a lot more romantic, i promise.

“shall i compare thee to a summers day? no, a summers day is not a bitch.”

VENTI - THE GENSHIN STREAMER

pretend for a second that hes not a character in the game, or even better yet, he voice acts one of the characters. venti never shuts up about how good his team comp is and how he always manages to get the characters he wants. (secretly hes just spending a LOT of money.)

character build reviews but hes actually pretty nice about it! sometimes there will be a build that he cannot physically say anything good about and its entertaining, so chat started sending in builds that were purposely bad just to get reactions out of him LMAO.

adventure rank 60, no doubt about it.

the most annoying co-op player. oh you wanted to be that character? too bad, now hes going to play them and hes got a better build too, guess you should switch <3

SOOO many unfinished quests yet he complains he has nothing to do. (guilty)

“go touch grass? im a genshin player… what is that supposed to mean?”

venti loves telling the story of how you two met in genshin co-op. you on the other hand.. well you wish he would stop talking about it every stream you appear in.

lots of streams together! he wont wish for a character without you, he claims youre his good luck charm. (he loses most of the 50/50s.)

will help you do any quest! as long as he wants to, and its one that he knows how to do. so maybe not ANY quest, but hes trying his best.

he may be annoying with strangers in co-op domains, but any character you want to play you can. no questions asked, hell switch immediately.

he does more damage than you but hell still say that you did all the hard work and hes proud of you <3

ITTO - THE FORTNITE STREAMER

“wow you did so much damage just now, you absolutely carried me! thank you, i love you. :)”

the best part about itto being a fortnite streamer is hes not even good at the game.

he tries his best, really he does. but somehow those cracked 12 year olds have got him beat.

has spent an embarrassing amount of money on the game, but you can tell how much he appreciates every item hes acquired.

plugs his creator code CONSTANTLY. hes gotta make that money hes spent back somehow!

whenever he has a really bad loss he just blames it on stream sniping because he can. yeah i basically turned him into ninja, whoops!

“oh my god bro again? you know what, reported for stream sniping!”

you and itto are truly a dynamic duo. youre actually decent at the game and hes entertaining to watch.

chat loves when you play duos games together, and you both do too! (even though hell take all the credit if you win.)

his favorite item is the chug cannon, mostly because he wants to make sure youre full health and shield at all times <3

has made many sacrifices of his characters life in you honor, even if you still dont end up winning, you appreciate it.

lots of moments from his streams have been clipped and put into funny moments montages and they all go straight to his neverending ego.

“we are the clowns and you all have front row seats to the circus.”

THOMA - THE VARIETY STREAMER

i couldnt see thoma sticking to one main category, i feel like every stream hes doing something new, and hes somehow pretty good at anything he tries out.

his commentary is really what gets people to stick around for his content, he can make anything sound interesting.

think of him as a steamer like rtgame! hes got really fun sims and hitman series, games you dont think could be made funny, but then he does and its overall a really great time.

hes got so many inside jokes from all the games hes played, youve got to be there for every stream otherwise you miss out heavily.

nobody even knew what he looked like for awhile because he didnt have a facecam, but once he started using one his viewers went up by 100k, no joke.

“where is that from? oh, its an inside joke, you probably wouldnt get it.”

thomas viewers are literally so jealous of you. youve pulled the ultimate man right there.

honestly i dont see you appearing on his steams much other than for the occasional mario party game.

i feel like since you never really appear most of his viewers didnt even know you two were dating until those random streams happen. everytime it does twitter goes wild with “THOMA HAS A S/O?” and half the replies are also freaking out while the other half is like “you didnt know?” its a mess every time.

most likely youre in thomas chat instead of in the room, and you tend to instigate chat into spamming emotes a lot and getting it turned to sub only mode. its honestly pretty funny.

one time you walked into his room to ask if he wanted mcdonalds and he was watching paint dry. this had been going on for 4 hours. you didnt ask questions.

“the hoes gonna love this.”

SHENHE - THE CALL OF DUTY PLAYER

i think call of duty lobbies are the only place on earth that can handle shenhe if shes genuinely angry.

shes a toxic gamer for sure, dont get on her bad side.

shes gotten pretty good at the game too, shes one of those people who buys the new game everytime one comes out instead of just playing the same version.

chongyun will make appearances at times, they played mario party together once and it was hilarious. (for the viewers at least, maybe not chongyun though LMAO)

chongyun won and she 1v1ed him in nuketown right afterwards. (hes never won against shenhe again)

“everybody gangsta til chongyun is in the lead.”

chat doesnt understand how you can handle shenhe half the times, but truthfully she just has her own way of expressing her emotions.

for example, she broke one of your controllers playing once, and she drove her ass to best buy at almost midnight to go get you a new one, along with a note saying nothing but “sorry :(“ in the prettiest handwriting youve ever seen.

sometimes you even make her angry on purpose just because its funny, and you know no matter how much it may look like it, she could never get mad at you.

i know i said shenhe was a cod streamer, but imagine also playing apex with her alright? definitely a loba main, and shes literally just as toxic on here as she is on call of duty. 

probably has had 3 xbox accounts banned already.

“no chat i am not saying slurs in general chat, this time at least.”

[fountainpenguin]

"Turn your face towards the sun... Let the shadows fall behind you..." (x)

---

Debut of Criminal Experience today! || Short Story

Chapter 1 - “Wanted”

Read on AO3

Basically a series prequel... Li'l bit Hermitcraft, li'l bit Traffic SMP, li'l bit Naked and Scared

---

Mumbo Killsalot Jumbo has never been one to take sides during war. He tends to his llamas, trades freely with his neighbors, and his doors are open to all.

Fellas, is it spoon behavior to not ask more questions when a burned-out phantom hybrid starts hanging around your llama farm? 🤔

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Criminal Experience ᓵ∷╎ᒲ╎リᔑꖎ ᒷ ̇/!¡ᒷ∷╎ᒷリᓵᒷ 392,861 Minecraft days before Dog's Life

Buzz and Ursula Uno don't know it, but they are (without a doubt) the most pampered llamas in all of Little Sun Valley. Yeah, that's right! He said it: Anywhere in the valley. That even includes the west side of the river, and you best believe he's digging in his heels on that one, mate. His wheat farm's been cranking out results this year… so much so that every time he checks its drops, he's practically up to his armpits in fresh hay. Took ages of iron collecting to craft all the hoppers, but Mumbo earned every bar of that stuff while still adhering to the valley rules of 'no non-essential harm done to passive mobs,' and he counts that as a win.

Double-U and Buzz are spoiled. He'll just say it. They've got the softest, driest straw and he switches it on the daily. He's got glowstone for heat tucked in one corner of every pen and he drops silk touch'd ice blocks in their water to keep it fresh and chilled. Surely even good parents are allowed one or two favorite children, yeah? As long as it's kept under wraps and all that.

I mean, come on… Just look at them. Heh. Even when it's nail trimming day, they can't stand to be apart. They're like two scoops of raw cookie dough, marbled brown and cream fur bundled together in a nest on the dirty floor. Which is… peculiar, actually, seeing as Impulse supposedly swept the barn out while Mumbo took the llamas down for water. Mental note. What's that man been up to?

"Foot," he says, and Double-U plops her pad in his lap. It scatters soil all over his robes, but he can forgive the dirty floor. Impulse went above and beyond this weekend already with the crops. You know, it's not every year a man who'll voluntarily harvest uncraftable blocks for hours just stumbles into your life… Actually, last night Mumbo offered him a few stacks of emeralds for a hard day's labor, but Impulse only laughed, sticking his thumbs in his overall straps.

"What? Can't a guy just want to lend a helping hand?"

And, well… He's a phantom hybrid, so Mumbo let it slide (Phantoms are safe to talk to; it's allay hybrids you don't want to make open-ended deals with). Actually, it's nearly noon. Impulse should be coming up the hill from the farm in just a couple ticks… hopefully with clover and alfalfa in hand. Alfalfa is a massive pain to farm since the rain will wash the redstone dust out sooner than you see it grow, but luckily, he doesn't need much. It's a special treat he'll lightly thread into the feeding trough… because Buzz and Ursula Uno are still the most pampered llamas in all of Little Sun Valley. Possibly the whole Between dimension.

Now, will their glorified loafing shed of a barn win any points for flair? No.

Was his use of maple wood in this build even a little bit unique? Also no. But maple's abundant - maple's efficient - and an entire village of wandering traders can't all be wrong.

Actually, Mumbo thinks, lining the edge of his shears against Double-U's toenails, out of every player hybrid type… I feel like wandering traders must be the MOST knowledgeable people when it comes to block qualities and how well they hold up in certain types of weather. Is that too big of a pat on the back? He's really not that kind of guy. It's just… you know… He and his friends have spent their whole lives swapping stories.

The maple mountain biome is always soaked in rain, but the residents of Little Sun make it work. When the ground's too moist for proper farming, the whole community gets together to lead the animals up the plateau. Everyone pools their harvests and they get by on what farms they still have. Mumbo's spent a solid 600 fresh, clean wet seasons (at least) in the shade of the tweenstone spawn temple, swapping stories and laughing until his stomach hurts. Because even when the rain rinses redstone dust off the farms, everyone in Little Sun still has each other. They have their llamas. They have community.

And when all else fails… they can always go out wandering.

Good fun, that… but some days are meant for sitting on dirty barn floors. Is there any better way to spend a morning than cleaning the toes of the most beautiful llamas in the world, occasionally bouncing ideas for silly redstone ideas off their heads?

"Uh-oh," says a voice at the door. Ah. Mumbo still doesn't have a name for that type of accent, but he definitely knows the man from his volume. Double-U's ears flick up instantly. Mumbo keeps trimming her toenails with gentle brushes of the shears. He doesn't even have to use the F5 cam to know Impulse is hiding behind the barn door, peering around it like a twitchy cat. Mumbo can almost hear the way he hunkers, knees shifting to a crouch. He's got wheat, yeah, because it flutters and whispers when he clutches it to his chest. "Uh… dude? Is that the llama who hates my guts? Or the one who just wants to headbutt me into the void?"

Double-U gets a slithery rumble in the base of her throat. This stirs Buzz into lifting her head and Impulse jolts again.

"No! What? Oh, come on! You really have to have both the llamas who wanna trample me in there?"

Mumbo chuckles. "Double-U's all right with you now, I reckon. I mean, yesterday she let you get within spitting range."

"Yeah! So she could spit." Impulse says the word like it's some sort of ancient curse. Mumbo listens for the scrape of shoes on creaky floorboards, but they never come. Tsk, tsk… Double-U would never hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. Llamas can sense these things, you know. "My pixels were fritzed for three hours before I got that stuff out."

"Did you really come all the way up here thinking there wouldn't be llamas in the llama barn, mate?"

"Just bringing you wheat," Impulse mumbles back.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[bi-bard]

Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here - Roman Sionis Imagine (Birds of Prey)

Title: Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here

Pairing: Roman Sionis X Reader

Based On: Karma

Word Count: 1,222 words

Warning(s): violence, mention of criminal activity

Summary: Roman never seemed to comprehend that you can only push someone so close to the edge before they snap. Play with your food, you give it a chance to bite back.

Author's Note: *whispering* Hey, hey... did you catch that Hannibal reference in the summary? Did you like it?

MIDNIGHTS - TAYLOR SWIFT WRITING CHALLENGE

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

Gotham was a city almost constantly on the verge of collapse.

A city crumbling to its very core meant that you had to take careful, calculated steps to avoid falling off the edge.

A delicate game.

I had spent my entire life learning exactly how to survive in Gotham City. Not just survive but thrive.

I played the game well.

The biggest obstacle in my game was one man. Roman Sionis.

He was ambitious. I admired that. That's why I gave him a second chance when his first deal almost sent my profits into the shitter.

His second deal didn't do much better.

All it did was make my blood boil and my mind race with possibilities.

I went to see Roman in his club.

It was... an interesting place.

Not a place where I liked to spend my time.

I walked up to the table Roman was sitting at with some group of people. I didn't know or recognize any of them. But I didn't really care to. I tapped the table.

"Roman," I grinned.

"(Y/n)," he cheered. "Pleasure to see you! Sit, drink!"

"Actually, I'm here to talk," I replied. "Can we go somewhere quiet?"

"Oh, you can discuss anything out here."

"Roman," I said sternly. "Quiet?"

"Fine, fine."

He managed to pull himself out of the booth. We walked toward the back of the building to a secluded room. I looked around as Roman shut the door.

It was what one would expect from a room in Roman's club. Red walls, low lighting, kind of strange artwork. I almost rolled my eyes at it. I wondered how much money he had wasted on a room like this.

"What did we need to discuss," he asked, walking by me. He went to grab us each a drink.

"Our deal," I explained. "You screwed me over, Roman."

"Oh, please, I'm sure it's fine," he waved me off. "I gave you a good deal."

"Bullshit," I snapped. "The only reason I'm still standing is because I saved myself. You tried to ruin me."

"Quite the accusation-"

"After two bad deals, you expect something different," I raised an eyebrow. "Roman, you are going to screw yourself over if you continue making deals like that."

He glared at me.

"I'm trying to be helpful. Understanding. I've been in this city a long time."

No response.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm expecting my money back. If you don't pay, then-"

Roman cut me off by pulling out a gun and aiming it at my head. I closed my eyes for a moment. Roman wouldn't shoot me himself. He would despise the mess.

"If you've been here for so long, then you can understand the danger of threatening someone like me on their own turf."

I sighed before pushing the gun away. "I wasn't threatening you."

He glared at me.

"Good luck, Roman," I said. "I hope you end up okay."

"Get out of my club."

I smiled at him before turning around and heading out.

The next few weeks were quiet.

I was rebuilding.

I was researching and working and making plans. It was like resetting the foundation. Making everything stronger. Leaving less room for rotten deals to make it in and make an impact if they somehow did.

It was very beneficial.

I made some amazing moves for myself and my group.

But, of course, no period of peace could last forever.

"(Y/n)!"

I sighed at the sound of Roman's voice. I handed the clipboard in my hands over to the man I had been talking to before turning my attention to Roman.

"Roman," I said, walking over to meet him in the middle of the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My club just got ambushed," he snapped. "The whole place is trashed. Most of my men are missing. I was lucky that I was out on a job when it happened, they have no idea where I am."

"Why should this concern me," I asked.

"I need resources to get out of Gotham for a little bit," he explained. "Regroup, get my men back, get my money back."

I sighed. "Roman... why would I help you?"

"We're partners. We work together."

"Every deal I have made with you has almost screwed me over. I was simply smart enough to know how to save my own ass. You have cost me a lot, Roman."

"Oh, come on-"

"And when I came to get my money, you thought it was a good idea to pull a gun on me."

He rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, Romie," I grinned at the glare I received for the nickname. "Are your men missing or did they resign?"

"What?"

"I just heard that they may have gotten a better opportunity. Better pay. A boss that can truly think through every consequence of their actions."

He didn't respond.

I stepped forward, leaning in so I could whisper in his ear, "Look around you, Romie."

He quickly did a circle, staring at the faces of the men around us.

I stepped back again. "I guess it really wasn't that hard to convince people that your leadership was... flawed."

"You son of bitch-"

"Language, Romie!"

He paused.

"Search him."

One person stepped forward and got all of Roman's weapons.

"It wasn't that difficult. I didn't have to do much convincing. Apparently, deals you've made haven't benefitted any of the men working with you."

I held out my hand to one of the men, quietly asking for the bat in his hand. He gave it to me. I admired it for a moment. The look on Roman's face was enough to tell me that he was realizing the situation he was in.

"I grew up in this city," I explained. "I saw it through so many transformations. I understand the beating heart of this city."

I stepped forward, tapping the bat against Roman's chest.

"I could've helped you," I continued. "I could've kept you from drowning. Protected you and taught you. You could've been part of Gotham's elite. If had just been smart enough to not screw me over."

His jaw clenched.

"But, hey, can't change the past," I shrugged as took a few steps back. "So, I just watched. You screwed yourself, Romie. That's how you ended up here. I need you to know that. I'm not saying I'm a god or the devil... I'm merely the one you're going to face on judgment day."

One of the men kicked the back of Roman's knee, causing him to fall to the ground in front of me.

I used the end of the bat to tilt his chin up. "Beg."

"For what," he asked. "Your forgiveness?"

"Oh, no... you lost any chance of that a long, long time ago," I shook my head.

I stepped back and twirled the bat in my hand before preparing to swing. I let it gently touch Roman's temple as I lined up my shot.

"I want you to beg for mercy," I instructed. "If you're lucky, I'll just kill you... if you aren't, well... don't wanna spoil the fun."

He stared at me silently.

"Your choice," I shrugged.

"(Y/n), wait-"

"Nighty-night, Romie."

I brought my arms up before taking a swing at him.

And I smiled.

Never had there been a more satisfying sound.

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

Author's Note: Villain!readers are so much fun!!

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[greatcanadian-eh-hole]

AUTOSTRADDLE’S FAVORITE LESBIAN, BISEXUAL AND QUEER TV COUPLES OF 2022

Lucy Tara and Kate Whistler, NCIS: Hawai’i

Nic: If you told me in the year of Beyoncé 2022, I would have a couple from an NCIS property on a queer “best of” list, I probably would have laughed in your face. When I heard tell of* (*read: saw my Twitter timeline exploding) about “Kacy”, I apprehensively binged the entire first season. It was cool to see real time spent on out queer character on a CBS show, but until the finale, I probably would have written it off as just “cool.” But in the lead up to season 2, when even the cast had gotten aboard the good ship Kacy, I started to wonder if this would be different. And oh, it has been.

Season 2 is still airing at the moment, and so far we’ve gotten to see Kate and Lucy navigate a new relationship while working together, learn each other’s quirks, literally and figuratively lean on each other for support, and in episode 207, communicate openly and honestly about what forced time apart might do to their relationship. I might eat my words, but after that conversation on the beach, I have a good feeling about these two going forward. I love a procedural (*waves from season 9 of my Criminal Minds first-time binge) and it’s been the biggest surprise of my year to see a queer couple treated this well on a long-standing network franchise. Plus! They’re so stinkin’ cute together, y’all!

Natalie: Back when queer television representation was in its infancy, Hollywood — or at least the side of it that cared about LGBT people — liked to funnel its gay characters into respectable careers. The gay character would be police officers, veterans, first responders…something that immediately conferred respect. It was a well-intentioned effort to ingratiate queer characters (and by extension, queer people) to a straight audience. How could anyone hate this gay character when they saved a kid from a burning building or solved the murder of a beloved community member? How could anyone hate gay people when they too could be heroes?

Today we recognize that all those depictions also fed — and continue to feed — into a mythology about police and the military. They help perpetuate this idea of cops and service members as inherently good and trustworthy and sincere in their pursuit of justice. They are copaganda…NCIS: Hawai’i is copaganda…and I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that. It’s easy to forget sometimes — I am, admittedly, perpetually charmed by Kate Whistler — but let’s be honest about the space they occupy.

That said, I still think Kate and Lucy are a couple worth embracing. With each episode, the chemistry between Yasmine Al-Bustami and Tori Anderson’s characters grow and they fit together perfectly. Their relationship isn’t without angst or tension — particularly once Kate’s girlfriend comes for a visit — and both characters come to the table with their own baggage but even those moments feel authentic. You never get the sense that the show is manufacturing drama for the sake of drama. The comforting, the open communication, the sharing of space, both at home and at work…it feels like a very adult relationship in a way that we hardly ever get to see. I’ve been relishing it.

And listen…I’ll admit, there’s something about this couple existing, in this franchise, on this network (which still ranks last among broadcast networks for LGBT characters) that I just find astounding. During the first season, I kept waiting for the moment that Kacy would take a backseat to a newfound relationship for Jane or Jesse’s marriage, but that moment never came. NCIS: Hawai’i is continuing the series’ tradition of centering one romantic relationship…and this time, that relationship is between two women. I never would’ve imagined. What’s more? When you combine screentime with the show’s ratings, I’m not sure there’s a lesbian pairing on television that’s watched by more people that NCIS: Hawai’i’s Kacy. That, in itself, feels like a reason to keep your eyes on this pairing.

[gensokyogarden]

"Surprise surprise. Perfect ties. Isn't that just fortunate? For everyone involved? You just love everyone? Well fine, fine, you want two files. You can have two files."

"Not like it bothers me at all. I've got better things to do than be handing out some pesky files. Gensokyo is blue and there's nothing I can do."

Urabe Tokifumi

(Faceclaim: Aesc the Savior/Tonelico from the Fate franchise)

Toki has been working at The Willow Shrine for almost as long as Kiki has. Officially he's meant to dress as an Onmyoji as part of the cafe dress code however ... the uniform just doesn't look right on him. For a time the owner had him dressing as a miko but he feels its a bit odd to expect a man to dress as a priestess. Instead he's mostly gotten away with just donning a kimono.

Kiki may be the postergirl of the shrine but Toki might just be the bigger draw. Friendly, pretty, and unafraid to go to lengths to charm customers. He's found that a cute smile and a bad tendency to flirt can do a lot to make new return customers.

He attends the same university as both Kiki and Hikari. Officially Toki is studying anthropology but his main interest lays in the study of folklore and myth. Stories of witchcraft and fantastical creatures particularly hold his attention. A set of encyclopedia and guidebooks on folklore were stuffed among his things when ripped away to Gensokyo. A fun activity he and Kiki like to do together is theorizing over the biological traits of mythical monsters.

Like Kiki, Toki's job calls upon him to entertain clients. He does not have the instrumental talent of his coworker but he does have a fairly alright singing voice. Serviceable enough to entertain customers during karaoke. He attempted to learn to play the koto but ... it really did not go well, so lets not think about that.

The Owner

(Face Claim: Orchid from Arknights)

Miss Kiryuu Yaeka (八恵花) is the somewhat strange owner of Kiryuu's aka The Willow Shrine. Its difficult to gauge her age from her appearance but, based on the anecdotes she shares with customers and employees alike, she's lived a storied life. What the others do know is that before Kiryuu's she was the mama of a bar somewhere else in Sapporo and that before this she spent a long time traveling Japan.

She owns the land the shrine was on herself. According to Miss Kiryuu's claim she also planted the willow trees around it herself but this is probably a joke given the shrine cafe hasn't been around long enough for them to grow. She's a bit cagey as to where she got the money to pay for an entire fake shrine. Kiki believes she's some form of rich heiress, Hikari thinks its a criminal front, Toki believes it was probably good investments.

You may expect someone that builds a cafe themed around a traditional faith and insists her employees entertain with traditional Japanese instruments to be traditionalist. Instead she seems to have a deep interest in foreign culture. With an entire in both foreign holidays and a collection of foreign films stored within her back

Miss Kiryuu was away on a business trip when the shrine disappeared. Meaning she is presently separated from her main source of revenue. How unfortunate.

[digadroit]

Did some stuff in NFS Heat, figured I’d make a little writing prompt out of it.

Legends Never Die

We were just driving by when I saw it. It couldn’t been for more than a couple of seconds, but I knew what I saw. Hell, I was confident. When we finally turned around and pulled over, I ran over to the side of the building that the car was parked next to. Once I laid my eyes on it properly, I became absolutely certain of what I was looking at. I turned around, and shouted at my friend, who was standing in front of the driver door of his car. “Jackson, get over here! You’re gonna want to see this!” He stepped away from the car, trying to peek at what was around the corner of the building. “What is it?” Jackson said, looking tired. I groaned in frustration. “Just come over here and see it!” Jackson let out a sigh, looking defeated. He slowly walked over to where I was standing, looking half dead until he finally made it around the corner. He shot up in surprise, his eyes fixated on the beaten car before him. “Holy shit, is that…No, it couldn’t be.” He ran his hand through his hair in shock, but mostly confusion. I looked back at the car. “No, it definitely is.” I said, filled with excitement. I turned around, pointing back at the car. “That…is the M3 GTR from Rockport.” I turned towards the car, grinning like an idiot. “I guess the old legends were true.”

There it was, sitting alone, unloved, next to some dumpsters and scraps left behind. Covered in a thin layer of dust, dirt, and dried up mudspots. This car had definitely seen better days, no doubt about it. Jackson got closer to it. “You sure this thing is the same one? I mean, it definitely doesn’t look too much like a GTR.” I walked over to the side, and pointed the line beneath the passenger window. “Positive. See this silver line here?” Jackson walked over to the door, and looked at the line. “Uh, okay? So it has a pinstripe, big deal.” I ran my finger along the side, following that same line. “Look at how it runs along the car, I’ve never seen a single car with a livery like this one.” I said. Jackson inspected the entire side, trying to see where the lines were. “Except for one M3 GTR, one that belonged to a national criminal.” Jackson tilted his head. “Alright, but what about all this other stuff? Last I checked, there wasn’t a racing number plate, red marks and a sponsor on the side.” Jackson said, walking over to the back of the car. I followed him, and tried to explain its history after Rockport.

“After escaping an entire PD by fleeing the city, the driver got caught somewhere completely different, and had to just leave the car completely behind. Later on, somebody bought it from a police impound auction, and used it for Sunday Cup racing. Spent three years winning against people’s daily drivers every weekend. Eventually the driver got bored of this car, and decided to sell it for way more than they bought it. Eventually, it got picked up by some drift-nut, who used this thing like they were trying to get killed. After that, the history is kind of a blur, all sorts of witness accounts and loose rumors.” I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath. Jackson sat down and rested himself against the rear bumper, which was already halfway from falling clean off. I cleared my throat, and began to ramble again. “The final piece of the puzzle was some word I picked up from somebody who apparently was also interested in the driver’s history. Said that the car was last seen a year ago, being driven around at night races, way further north of Palm City. Nobody had ever heard of the driver, but they disappeared not very long after, and the car went with them...” I let out a relaxed breath. “…and that, is how it ended up here.” Jackson stood up and brushed himself off. “Hell of a story you got there, how long have you spent researching this crap?” I rested my hand on the roof of the car. “Ever since I heard the myth of the driver from Rockport, who took on the entire system, and won.”

I looked down at the phone number on the rear window. “The price tag on the front said this thing was only five-hundred dollars, right?” Jackson walked over to the front. “Yeah, nothing more, nothing less.” I clapped my hands together. “Alright, call the number. It’s settled.” Jackson looked at me, slightly concerned.

“We’re buying this old thing!”

[longlostzoldyck]

high on your touch

wc: 3.7k, minors dni (sexual content 18+)

pairing: chrollo x reader

warnings: heavy smut, unprotected sex (don't do it, please protect your privates), drug use, smoking, dubcon (they’re both high), oral, fingering, the whole thing honestly, daddy kink, slight dumbification, borderline excessive use of petnames (angel, babygirl, princess, baby, pretty girl, bunny), tiniest bit of aftercare

summary: chrollo and you smoke after a big heist, but turns out the particular strain has you both longing for each other’s touch

notes lol: been needy all week and im convinced its the new strain ive been smoking so this is fully self indulgent but isn’t all my writing??

You couldn’t believe how that had gone. It was your first heist as a full fledged troupe member and it couldn’t have gone any more perfectly. They didn’t even know the target. Chrollo would simply call and the spiders would follow his commands. Chrollo never doubted your abilities for a moment. From the second he sensed your aura, he knew what he had in his hands: a blossoming specialist. Your nen allowed you to faze through objects which for a thief was an incredibly useful skill, especially because while holding on to another you could also share your powers. That’s exactly what you did that evening. Chrollo had always had an eye for the things he couldn’t have so it was a shock to nobody that he has his eyes set on the treasures most millionaires and criminals hoarded. However, this time it was a bit more complicated. Chrollo wanted them to break into the most prestigious museum in York New City.

This was a level of security the troupe had never dealt with and they had spent months planning this heist until they finally had a breakthrough. They had been looking for a new recruit since losing Ugovin and they just so happened to find the perfect new recruit. (Y/n) (y/ln). It was a name that would be etched in Chrollo's memory since learning it.

For a young barrista who didn't even know the first thing about nen, you showed a world's worth of potential. You just thought you were horribly clumsy, you couldn't even believe you were capable of that level of power. You barely even believed him when he first told you about nen. I mean why would you? But when he showed how your hands could faze in and out of objects, you couldn't deny it.

It only took months to grow your nen enough so that you could easily cover your entire body, but you got there. Then before you knew it you could do the same for others as they were touching you. All Chrollo needed to do was hold on to your hand and you could easily get him inside any safe. His first target was York New City's newest gem.

After a yakuza boss was taken down, the police confiscated all of his possessions where they found a wealth of treasures. They proceeded to donate these treasures to the most prestigious museum in the city who delighted in their new acquisitions. It was only a matter of time before Chrollo set his eyes on this treasure.

All Chrollo needed to do was get you to the safe and then it was his. That's exactly how it went down. They planned the heist to occur on the same evening as a gala so all the attention would be in one of the exhibit rooms. Their target was in the basement anyway. They snuck in as guests and then followed Shalnark's instructions through the building. They strut down that hallway confidently. Chrollo was guiding you down the hallway easily gliding as he followed Shalnark's directions. You stopped before the office at the very end of the hallway, taking a deep breathe before pulling him inside the room. It was the director's office. The new exhibits were supposed to be kept in a safe downstairs, but Chrollo managed to find out that the director was keeping the most valuable pieces in his office.

You were surrounded by a multitude of treasures: books, jewels, gold, paintings, and artifacts... Yet Chrollo crossed through all of them not even noticing the priceless objects around him. He stopped at the end of the room before a small painting. He reached for the painting unhooking it from its place on the wall revealing a small safe behind it. He turned offering her a sly smile. Chrollo Lucilfer was purely baffling to you. How could he know that was there? But above all else, how did he know that's where his target was?

"Can you lend me a hand?," his voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but offered no answers to your questions.

"How did you know about that?," you asked as you made your way to his side.

"All good thieves know their subjects," he simply responded as if it was an obvious answer. You rolled your eyes with a scoff enveloping your hand with your nen. Chrollo's eyes remained glued to your fingers as your nen quickly expanded. You sunk your hand inside the safe feeling some kind of package. You pulled it out then handing it to Chrollo who then gently stuffed it in his coat with a smile. "I'll never get tired of that."

"A new toy?," you teased.

"I'll show it to you if you like," he offered.

"I thought you went off tonight. You know, each going off in separate ways and such," you replied. The spiders worked quite simply: they would reunite, steal, and go their separate ways until their next heist. It's why they were near impossible to track.

"In the morning. The night is for celebrating our success," he said patting his new treasure over his coat.

Their exit was as slick as the heist. Chrollo again easily led you out of the building and to a luxurious penthouse apartment. It was the most luxurious place you had ever seen. The roaring fire drew you immediately and you enjoyed the warmth against your skin. You were eventually joined by Chrollo who had a blunt hanging from his lips. He exhaled the smoke then offering you a hit from it too. You took it bringing it up to your lips.

You both simply stood there for a moment smoking in silence in front of the fire until you finished the blunt and Chrollo turned back to the glass coffee table to roll another one. You followed him to the long sectional couch sitting on the couch cushion next to him, not wanting to ruin his work. He worked effortlessly, his long fingers quickly rolling the thin paper. He brought his finished product up to his lips licking the paper to ensure the blunt stayed together.

"Has something caught your attention?," he asked in a teasing manner. He offered you the blunt. You took it then popping it between your lips. Chrollo held a lighter for you as you took another drag. You were in a particularly intimate position which made the situation even more nerve-wracking. You were sitting across from each other on the couch as you leaned closer and closer so he could keep the fire steady for a moment.

"Are you going to show me what we stole?," you asked once sufficiently baked. You were normally quiet around Chrollo, nervous around your intimidating boss. The adrenaline of your first successful heist mixed together with the numbing effects of the drugs mixed to dissolve any nerves. He reached inside his suit jacket pulling out the treasure which he hadn't even unwrapped.

"Do you know what the first novel is?," he asked shifting his eyes away from his prize.

"I don't know. I wasn't alive for it, Chrollo," you sassed which drew a smile from his lips.

"Many think of Don Quixote as the first novel," he continued.

"I'm guessing you already have that one," you snickered and he simply smiled. He normally didn't let troupe members interrupt him, but Chrollo liked seeing you all giggly and relaxed.

"The Tale of Genji was written by Murasaki Shikibu about 1,000 years ago," he explained as he unfolded the paper around it revealing a book. You couldn't believe they had gone through all of that for a book. "This manuscript was thought to be lost for centuries, lost to time." He turned the book gently between his fingers simply admiring the condition of it. "Take a look for yourself."

He smiled then handing it to you to look at yourself. You were honestly shocked he was letting you touch it. You weren't supposed to even know what it was. Your hands shook slightly as you took the book from Chrollo's hands. You couldn't believe a book this old was in your hands. You weren't a diligent reader, but could admire the significance of the work of art on your lap. Chrollo sat back smoking the rest of the blunt then dropping the dead bud in the trash. You gently left the book on the coffee table as your boss returned. Chrollo was an attractive man, you knew that before, but there was something about him that made him seem like a god amongst mere mortals at this very moment. His eyes tinted slightly red staring at you like he just wanted to eat you up. You could feel the room just getting hotter or maybe it was just your skin...

"Do you have a new toy in mind already?," you asked as he sat next to you again. He had shifted himself closer to you. Your shoulders now slightly grazing.

"I have something in mind," he responded before leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. His lips were so soft but the kiss that started off gentle quickly turned messy and needy. You began increasingly whining more into the kiss which only seemed to spurge him on as he tightly wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you onto his lap. You were surprised at how he easily manhandled you to his desired position gasping into his mouth and keeping your lips apart to catch a breathe. He froze instantly evaluating the situation. "Did I overstep?"

"Chrollo, kiss me," you whispered before crashing your lips against his again. You needed to feel him closer, just the closest he could be. You began rolling your hips softly against his lap as he groped your sides and ass. He needed you just as close to him wanting to rip off the clothes on your body. "Chrollo please."

You gasped against his lips and moved one of his hands over your clothed mound. Just feeling him cup you was enough to have you shuddering. He couldn't imagine being harder than he was at this moment as he reeled over the sound of your lust-filled voice and moans. He was going to bust before he was even inside you at the simple sight of you falling apart on his lap. It was the most pornographic sight he had ever laid his eyes on, and he would get off on it for the rest of his life.

"So good for me, baby," he praised against your lips pushing your underwear to the side. He traced your slit softly pulling out a hiss from you. "You're so wet already for me and so... responsive..." he said in a tone barely about a whisper. "Use your words baby. Tell me what you want me to do to you," he commanded while rubbing circles around your clit.

You couldn't formulate words, you just wanted him. You could just moan at his touch feeling like you were in the clouds already. He pinched your clit shooting a pang of pleasure and pain up your body. He began to move his fingers slower making all pleasure begin to evaporate from your senses.

"You have to tell me what you want or I'm gonna stop, babygirl."

"I want you, daddy. You fingers, your tongue, your cock, everything," you finally strung together a handful of words you weren't even sure made any sense. You kept your eyes shut still recovering from feeling your building orgasm just slip through your fingers.

"Open your eyes for me, baby," he commanded softly. You opened your eyes to meet his lustblown ones. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. He was falling apart too and it had you clenching around nothing. "I want you to keep your eyes on me. Can you do that for me, princess?," he asked as he gently rubbed your slit slowly probing your pussy with his index finger. You sighed at the wave of pleasure his finger was bringing you. Keeping your eyes open felt close to impossible when he was making you feel this good. "I want you looking at me when you fall apart on my fingers. You go that, princess?," he asked sinking a finger inside your soaked pussy. You were so tight around his finger he was groaning at just the idea of how you'd feel on his cock.

"Yes, daddy," you responded with a gasp. His long fingers rubbed your walls so deliciously it almost had you purring in his hands. You were convinced his fingers were going to be your newest addiction.

"Oh baby. You might just be the death of daddy," he sighed, sinking in an additional finger inside you. You clung on to him tighter starting to nibble on his jaw which left him groaning in your ear. "I might just have to fuck you until you can't think about anything else but me and my dick. Do you want me to do that, pretty girl?"

"Please, daddy, please..." you begged. You didn't even know what you were begging for, you just needed more. You were so close. Your eyes shot open to meet his when you felt his finger rub you sweet spot. You were seeing stars like you never had before, soaking his hand with your juices as your orgasm rocked through you. You came as you looked into Chrollo's adoring eyes. He could get off on this forever. You cumming was the prettiest sight he had ever seen and he couldn't wait to see it again.

It took you a couple of minutes before you completely come down from your high. Once you did stared nibbling on his neck and jaw then leaning up to properly meet his gaze.

"I thought I lost you there for a second," he teased pulling you in for a chaste kiss and then a longer one. As he began to deepen his kisses he started to squeeze your skin tighter, wanting to tear your dress off your body. You pulled away from him for a moment lowering your dress sleeves to expose your bra. Before you could even take it off Chrollo already dived back into your neck sucking and nibbling down to your chest before returning to your lips.

"Let me return the favor," you said against his lips then rubbing your hand over his crotch. He was already alarmingly hard and you began to wonder how he was gonna fit inside you. He grabbed your arm pulling your hand up to kiss your wrist softly before meeting your eyes.

"Princess, I'm two seconds away from ruining my pants. I want all my cum stuffed inside your little pussy," you clenched around nothing at just the idea of Chrollo stuffed inside of you. He caught on to your arousal instantly smirking. "My pretty baby likes that? You want to get stuffed with my cum?"

You nodded quickly which only earned you a disappointed tsk.

"Use your words, pretty baby," he pinched your right nipple through your bra drawing out an embarrassing moan from you. "Words."

"Daddy, come inside me please. I want to milk your cock dry. Please daddy," you begged in his arms and whatever pride left was thrown out the window. You didn't care about anything but the idea of him being inside you.

"How could I say no to you, baby?," he cooed. "Take your clothes off for me, princess. I might just tear them off for you if you don't now."

You complied standing up to take off your bra and rolling up your dress over your head leaving you only in a black thong and boots. Chrollo leaned back in his seat outstretching his arms across the back of the sofa.

He had slipped his shirt over his head, but gotten distracted staring at you undress. Who watched you clumsily take off your chunky black boots and then your socks.

"Now you're overdressed," you teased slowly making your way back towards him. He proceeded to lift his hips and take off his pants and underwear at the same time. His hard dick slapped up against his lower stomach. He chuckled when he saw your eyes widen.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll fit," he cooed offering you a hand. You slipped your thong down your legs before taking his hand and climbing back on his lap.

Before you even sunk down on his lap your attention was drawn to the bandage still around his forehead. He had covered his tattoo for the heist and had just not taken it off since you returned. You reached up softly untying the band on his forehead then leaving it in the coffee table behind you. You stared at you attentively as you then pressed a gentle kiss on his tattoo before dying in for a hungry kiss.

"Do you wanna ride me, bunny?"

"Yes, daddy," you replied almost instantaneously which made him beam with joy. He leaned forward for a passionate kiss. It caught you off guard, but his passion had you melting into his arms. He tapped the outside of your thigh softly and you swung your leg around his hip feeling his hard dick under you. He was so close to being inside you, but refused to move further, just relishing in teasing you.

"There you are princess," he moved his hand on your waist down pushing his cockhead against your folds. Your head fell back in pleasure from feeling his swollen tip prodding your entrance. He was already stretching you out and it was just his tip. He leaned forward sucking your neck unable to resist the opportunity to mark up your body. His hand on your hip stopped helping you up and down his cock as he continued to focus more and more on just marking up your neck. You started to whine slightly needing to feel him move to help dissipate the sting of his size. He let go of your neck with a pop leaning back into the sofa outstretching his arms on the back of the sofa again. "Go on, bunny. I wanna watch you fuck yourself silly on my cock."

"Who said you're gonna fuck me silly?," you teased starting to slowly roll your hips up and down. Your sighed feeling your clit graze his pelvis every time making you see stars again.

"Oh, baby. You're already almost there. I'm just so nice that I'm going to take care of you and fuck you through it so good."

You clenched your pussy around his dick in response to his words, bringing out a groan from him too.

"Tired already, bunny?," you nodded digging your nails into his chest and shoulders.

"Please, daddy. I'm so close," you moaned out.

"Daddy's got you, baby," he pressed his thumb against your clit rubbing a new wave of ecstasy up your body.

You were so close you could taste it, but you wanted him to cum with you too. He moved his free hand to your waist to help your hips, but you grabbed his hands moving it to your throat and squeezing. He instantly understood your message putting enough pressure that you could feel it going to your head. The knot in your stomach finally snapped when you felt him cum inside of you. He took full control of your hips fucking you through a mind blowing orgasm. He just kept fucking in a combination of both your cum back inside you. He could watch your pussy take his cum forever.

He slowly lifted you off his lap when his cock was milked dry. You winced, feeling empty without him. Before you could complain he effortlessly picked you up in his arms making you feel like a doll. He carried you down to the door at the end of the hall. Chrollo dropped you on his bed softly and turned you to lay facing down. He climbed in bed behind you then lifting your hips leaving you face down and ass up.

"Don't worry about a thing, baby," he cooed kneading the skin on your ass softly. "Daddy's gonna get you all cleaned up. Don't worry your dumb little brain."

He proceeded to devour your pussy, unable to stop himself from lapping your juices. He could die between your thighs for all he cared. "Daddy, so good," you barely let out, but immediately groaned when his mouth left your folds. The next thing you knew he was stuffing a pillow under your hips and lining his hips with yours. He proceeded to drill into your pussy from behind. He had an iron grip on your waist that you knew was going to leave marks.

"Princess, you're squeezing me so tight. You're going to drive me crazy," he barely grunted out. His thrusts were borderline animalistic. He slammed into you from behind hitting your spongy spot over and over. You couldn't hold on for much longer. "Cum for me, angel. I'm right behind you."

His words were the last thing you needed to cum. You came so hard Chrollo was pushing you further and further into the mattress so you couldn't push him away from the overstimulation. He followed you, coming shortly after unable to resist how your pussy squeezed and milked his dick.

He simply fell over slowly fucking you through your orgasm. You were both spent and it took you a minute to come down from your high. Chrollo recovered faster grabbing wet towels to clean the masterpiece between your legs.

"What was that about me not fucking you silly?" he asked in a teasing manner running the wet towel on your inner thighs to clean the juices that had dripped down from your pussy.

"Shut up and come here," you outstretched your arms to him inviting him back into bed. He dropped the towel then climbing back in bed next to you. He easily pulled your body to lay practically on top of him, swinging one of your legs around his waist as you settled on his chest. You were so tired you were practically falling asleep already.

"I hope you know that I don't plan on letting you leave tomorrow... if that's okay with you," his voice drew your attention back up to him.

"I don't think I'll be able to walk properly so I don't think could leave even if I wanted to."

[bokettochild]

Violet

So y'all remember this animatic? Yeah?

I wrote a thing based off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how I fee about it, but y'all have shown how much you like my crack in the past, even if I wasn't sure about that either, so...

Here's Legend getting mistaken for a mom and pulling his brothers into a terrible impromptu acting adventure.

There are many things you do not do in Castletown.

One of those things, apparently, was taking Twilight with you, and next time he had a chance Legend was seriously considering muzzling their wolfish friend, in his shadow form or not.

He wasn’t the only one with that thought either apparently, although likely the only one who was thinking it out annoyance rather than utter and complete terror. Honestly, Twi needed to cut that protective streak of his in half, or he was going to be regretting it even more than he was going to regret this!

They’d all met thieves before, on the road, in villages, even here in Castle Town, and unfortunately Warriors’ central city was particularly full of them. The captain had explained it ages ago, something about the war displacing people and stirring up unrest with the refugees. It wasn't uncommon that someone got tired of relying on the crown for help, which, the captain had admitted sorrowfully, was rather slow in coming, despite all of Artemis’s efforts, to provide any sort of relief to the starving and displaced victims of the war. Legend had winced at that. Poor blokes, it had been similar in his own Hyrule when those trapped in the dark world emerged again, and even back in their Hylian forms, many of them had struggled to readjust to a world that had moved on in their absence.

It was little wonder than that those in the captain’s time faced the same struggle, especially after a bloody time war, but even so, it bothered him to no end that their group specifically had been the one that the idiot of a man chose to target. Honestly! They were all carrying swords for pities sakes! How did the sod even think he was going to catch a bunch of warriors unawares to steal from them?

Maybe it was because they were split.

It only made sense, after being dropped in the captain’s time, that they restock supplies. Both for practicality and to avoid suspicion, they’d divided the group into two to better run their errands, Time taking those less accustomed to bustling cities with him to gather food and potions, and Warriors leading the rest of them, those who could stand crowds at least a little bit better, to visit the blacksmith, fletcher, and tailor shops.

True to form, the captain strutted ahead with his scarf waving behind him, Wind tagging along beside him and chattering excitedly about something or other at the soldier. He and Four, however, had chosen to trail after, not for any particular reason other than both being extremely tired and maybe just a bit emotional.

In his own case, he hadn’t slept in a good sixty-three hours or so, and combining that with the stress of wandering around in an unknown place, he was a little more sensitive than usual and a bit put out as a result. Similarly, Four was fighting off his usual headache from their sudden switch, and ever since they’d pulled themselves out of the alleyway Hylia dumped them in, the shortest hero had worn his hood pulled over his eyes, mumbling softly under his breath in a way that was, unfortunately, unnerving Legend further and making him want, very much, to beg the other to stop.

That wasn’t an option of course, so he did something he hated almost as much as the saunter Warriors was using to get down the road.

He made small talk.

It helped, surprisingly, and while the four of them had run their errands, he chattered amiably with the smithy, who’d been willing to talk as long as he didn’t have to think too much on things. Legend could agree with that, and the two had spent the last half hour discussing if Four’s tunic really was red, green, blue and violet, as the smithy claimed, or red, green, blue and purple as Legend thought it was.

“It’s violet.” Four huffed, pushing the last bundle of arrows into his pack as they departed from the smithy’s shop and made their way back to the fountain at the center of town, where they'd agreed to meet with Time and the others.

“But it’s not!” He insisted, shifting the bundle of fabric in his arms and meeting the smithy’s gaze. “Violet is softer, duskier, a bit closer to grey or blue. That’s purple, plain as day!”

Warriors and Wind, for once, didn’t say anything, only exchanging grins every so often that the other two ignored.

Talking with Four was surprisingly pleasant, and ridiculously easy in comparison to talking with the others. For one thing, neither had to look too very far up or down to see the other, and as they’d found since their first dinner at the ranch, it was easy to say a lot with just a look. Subtle communication also went a long way further with the smithy than with anyone else, and it was a relief not to have to explain everything for once. Additionally, Four also liked reading, and unlike with most of their other brothers, they could actually have intelligent conversations with each other.

Not that that’s what they were doing when they’d trailed after the other two towards the fountain, but when they heard the snarl and resulting scream, the look the two heroes shared had carried as many words as a full two-hour lecture, while all at once conveying a single thought.

Oh boy, what did Twilight do this time?

What Twilight had done, he found out later, was spring a thief who had attempted to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild, who’d been a bit busy trying to calm his anxiety to really notice that one of the humans pressing close all around him was actually trying to steal it. That, naturally, was all well and good. The problem was the way Twilight had chosen to handle it and Legend swore there were days that Twilight forgot what form he was in; rather than pushing the thief away or grabbing ahold of them and confronting them, the gracious rancher had chosen to fling his entire body weight at the man and bite his arm.

Of course, that was only what Legend found out later, what he saw when the four of them managed to peek through the crowd, was Twilight standing there in full sight of the entire market with blood on his teeth and a man screaming in pain and terror at his feet.

Bravo, Rancher, bravo.

“Oof.” Wind winced. “That’s not good.”

“Shit.” Warriors swore, glancing around nervously and ripping his scarf off to hide in his pack.

Realization sprung on the vet like Twilight had the poor thief; Warriors was the hero here. If anyone noticed him, or any of the knightlier looking ones, they’d probably try and have them arrest Twilight. That was all well and good of course, as it would make a reasonable excuse to haul the rancher out of the way, but they’d be expected to call for help from some soldiers, and while they’d been planning on meeting with the queen while they were here, having Twilight presented to her as a feral, potentially insane, and definitely dangerous criminal was not the approach they were aiming for.

They needed a distraction, fast.

So, like the reasonable and totally mentally secure Hylian that he was, Legend shouted the first thing that came to his mind. “Violet!”

His three companions stared at him, and had he been capable, he would have stared at himself, but a desperate glance Fours way had the other drawing back, nodding slowly as Legend shouted again. “Violet? Honey?”

Warriors looked at him like he’d lost his head, gripping Wind’s shoulder firmly as if worried he’d have to pull the kid back from the apparently mad veteran.

Thank Din for teaching him acting years ago, even if it was all stage performing, but he was counting on it to get him, and Twilight, out of their respective messes, even if that meant building his higher before he could escape. At any rate, he’d caught the attention of a few people with his panicked shout. Turning to the nearest Hylian that wasn’t one of his group, he gently tapped the woman’s shoulder, letting his panic and everything in general spill over into his face and voice as the woman met his gaze with a startled look.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for-” Oh Four was going to hate this. “-My child, Violet. Have you seen a blonde Hylian child, so tall?” He lowered his hand to approximately where Four’s head would reach. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” He forced a fake sob into his voice, glancing from the woman to the surrounding crowd, and Warriors and Wind in its midst.

Wind was stifling a laugh behind his hand while Warriors stared in utter shock.

“Oh my,” The woman touched her cheek, clucking lightly and patting Legend’s hand in a consoling manner. “You poor dear! I haven’t seen a thing but just give me one moment.” The burly housewife turned, still patting Legend’s hand gently as she murmured something to the women behind her, before turning back to Legend with a sorry expression. “None of my friends have seen your little one, dear. But-” The woman turned and, with all the force and volume of a cow, hollered at the top of her lungs to the crowd as a whole. “Hello? Yes, this woman is looking for her daughter!”

Woman?!?!?!

“Her name is Violet! She’s-” The woman blinked, looking to Legend with a worried look as several other market goers turned to stare, many of them women with looks of pity and understanding that was making him wish he’d stayed silent. Fortunately, his ruse had startled them out of staring at the sight of a mauled thief as worry for a poor young mother and her lost daughter took its place. “She’s how old?”

Legend fought the protest of female pronouns, both on Four’s part and his own, but only in his head. Outwardly however, he covered his face with the hand not being smashed by the farm-wife's own. “She’s four.” Shoot him, he was saying whatever came to mind because he was panicked, alright?

A snort could be heard behind him, earning disapproving looks from the crowd that soon shifted to pity as Wind too joined the act, turning his snort into pitiful sniffling as he clung to Warriors’ hand, looking for all the world like a child who’d been to the market too long and wanted to go home, but was also panicking at the loss of their sibling. “Have you all seen my sister?” The sailor blubbered softly, actual tears spilling down his face as he pouted, expression making his act so believable that no one even questioned his height. As if to make the act more convincing, Warriors wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulder, his own face stiffening into something that could either be gas or worry, Legend was a bit on the fence.

“What’s going on here?” Legend wished that was Time stalking towards them in full armor, but it wasn’t, it was a Hylian Soldier, staring at the crowd with a grim frown on his face as he turned to Legend, standing in its center.

Oh well, those who crack under a tough audience get tomatoes to the face; he just hoped Wars would keep playing along. “My daughter,” He sobbed into his hand, pulling the other free from the housewife to properly cover his face. “She- My baby- I can’t find her anywhere, Sir!” Later, Warriors would begrudgingly admit that the look Legend shot the soldier was enough to break any heart as the vet stepped forwards, grabbing hold of the man’s arm with all the desperation of a worried mother. “Please tell me, have you seen a little girl? She’s in her favorite dress, the colors of the goddesses, red, green and blue?” He motioned down at his own tunic, skirt, whatever one would call it. “There’s a violet corner too, I made it for her myself- oh my poor baby! I can’t seem to find her anywhere!”

The grizzled soldier quickly melted under the power of tearful violet eyes, and he too gently patted Legend’s hands as if he thought it would do any good. “I’ll have my men look for her right away, ma’am. How old would you say she is?

“She’s four.” He reaffirmed. Might as well stick to his original story.

“So tall?” The farm-wife motioned, hands lowering a bit more than Legend’s had, but the woman was trying to help, so he couldn’t really be upset with her for getting it wrong. At this point though, he was a bit worried about where Four actually was, because he’d expected the shorter hero to make an appearance sooner rather than later so the act could end.

“Right.” The man nodded, pulling himself loose as Legend brought his hands to clasp in front of his chest in an imitation of the maids he’d seen worrying about the halls when Fable went missing. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your little one, madame, you have my word.” The soldier bowed, kissing the back of the vet’s hand graciously before moving back into the crowd and snapping orders at the soldiers stationed around the market.

People buzzed by, spreading the word of ‘little Violet’s’ disappearance as Warriors and Wind pushed forwards to where Legend stood.

“Really, vet?” Warriors murmured lowly.

“I panicked.” He admitted softly, as to avoid anyone noticing as he wrung his hands. “But seriously, where is ‘’Violet’? I thought he’d have appeared before it became a big thing.”

The captain frowned, settling a hand on his shoulder carefully and standing on his toes to look over the crowd as Wind giggled at the scowling veteran. The minute he shot a look down at the sailor though, the kid had picked up his role as smoothly as if he’d never dropped it. “I’m worried, mom.” Wind blinked past fake tears, and had he not needed to remain in character, Legend would have scowled and flicked the kid’s nose for the tease.

“I am too, honey.” He sighed instead, ruffling the sailor’s curls and looking over to where the others had been. Time and the others had disappeared into the crowd again, likely trying to keep a low profile and laughing their asses off at Legend’s expense while Time and Sky scolded Twilight.

“Mama?” A small voice called out, and the crowd, and he meant the whole crowd, the whole freaking crowd of several hundred people, froze as a small face peeked out from an alleyway, the smithy’s hand coming up to rub at his shimmering purple eyes with a sniff. “Mama?”

“Violet!” All three heroes surged forwards, Legend sinking to his knees and wrapping Four in a hug, taking the opportunity when his face was hidden from the crowd to scowl. “About time you showed up.” Aloud for the crowd however, he let sobs pitch his voice hysterically. “Oh honey, you can’t run off on mama like that! I was worried sick!”

And as if to put the icing on the cake of shame, one of the men in the crowd smiled softly, patting Warriors’ back with a friendly smile. “Your wife is quite the caring mother, isn’t she? Ah, you’re a lucky man, Mr.”

Legend forced himself to not blow their cover, no matter how little they now needed it with the others safely out of sight. Breaking character meant causing drama that they didn’t need. ‘Violet’ had been found, the cute little family would depart, people would calm. But if the worried mother turned out to be a screaming teenage boy and the lost daughter to be a smithy apprentice with a height problem, people would likely riot. So instead of turning around and giving the man a piece of his mind, he pushed forwards, hefting Four in his arms (the smithy sank into him with a sigh that couldn’t have been faked) letting the smaller hero nestle against him, hood hiding the smithy’s face from view as he pulled them both up, adjusting his arms so as to not drop the other.

Man, he was glad he’d put on power bracelets today.

“She is indeed.” Warriors forced out, a strained smile on his face as he settled his hand on Legend’s waist, stiff, cold and incredibly awkward. “We’d probably better head off, dear.” If the captain smiled any harder, he’d break his teeth. “Or the inns will all be full.”

It should have ended there, it should have. Legend was so ready for it to end (although Four was warm and a calming presence as the smithy began to doze against his chest), but because fate loved to mess with him, it didn’t.

“You’re looking for a place to stay the night?” The Man-Who-Needed-To-Be-Kicked cocked a brow. “I run an inn here, just across the square. I’m sure we can find a lovely little family like yourselves a place to rest, you and our wife must be exhausted after such worry!”

Warriors, sages curse and bless him, nodded along stiffly, gently pulling him along by is waist after the Blasted-Innkeeper-Who-Would-Be-Kicked as the man chattered about family discounts and free dinner. Legend’s shoulders only lowered when a free trip to the bath house was also thrown in ‘complimentarily’.

He regretted it when someone pointed him to the ladies’ side of the bath-house (think heavens it was empty that early), and he was about ready to strangle something or someone when the others joined them inside, stuck with a regularly priced room, and the smithy and vet both were bombarded with teases as Warriors sat looking utterly and completely disgusted.

“They thought we were married....”

Legend groaned, flopping over on the other side of the bed with a grimace. “Gross, right?”

“Yeah.”

"We’re forgetting this ever happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Regardless, no one ever let them forget it happened.

Legend was buying Twilight a muzzle, and he was pretty sure Wars would be willing to help.

[thesolferino]

Power(less)

⤷ smp!dream x gn!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, soulmate au

⤷ word count: 3.7k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: you pay a visit to the man you hate most when he exiles your brother/best friend, tommy

If there’s one thing you were sure of in this pathetic, despicable life of yours, it was that you hated Dream.

Honestly, how couldn’t you? He ruined everything you stood for, stomped over all of your plans for a hopeful future before you even started, never let you and your brothers build your life the way you wanted, because he had always been, and always will be, a selfish, narcissistic bastard. No matter how much you tried to negotiate, how many times you cried behind those walls because you knew you’d never be left alone, how many times you begged and pleaded Wilbur to let it go, let it all go, let Dream win because he’ll win every single time, no matter how many times the three of you try to stop him, he never gave up on making your life a living hell.

Despite the fact that you’d spent countless nights up, tossing and turning in your bed, wondering if life like this was really worth it if you’ll forever live in fear, if you can’t leave your window open at night without fear crawling up your spine that maybe, just maybe, he’d throw a bomb inside and kill you in your sleep - despite the fact that you always wondered if maybe you should flee, and never look back - you were one of L’Manburg’s proudest and strongest soldiers, at least for the time when the country was exactly what you built it to be. 

You waved your country’s flag and sung the anthem with equal pride, and you always stood right by Wilbur and Tommy’s side, chin high in the air, stance unwavering in the presence of Dream and those who stood by his side, always ready to show him what L’Manburg citizens were really made of. You shot best with your special crossbow - Wilbur had always complimented you on your eagle’s eye, and while you were built for a battle like the one Dream and Tommy fought for the prize of L’Manburg’s independence, Tommy was far too loud, confident, and forever blinded by his own vanity to have you fight it instead. 

Of course you’d let Tommy have it, despite being aware that he’s far too cocky, beyond his abilities, and that you’d handle it much more swiftly, because he felt the obligation to; because he wouldn’t give in and let you do it. Two sides of you chewed you away to insanity, because Tommy was your favorite - both you, and Wilbur’s - and while you wanted to let him have it, wanted to let him have the title of #1 soldier and have it his way, you also didn’t want him to get beaten by Dream, because you were sure it was going to happen. As much as you despised the man and everything he stood for, you had to admit that he was one hell of a warrior, and quite good with a crossbow.

That’s why, when Tommy got impaled by the arrow, you were the first to run up to him amidst all of Dream Team’s cheers, nursing supplies already out, (Dream had asked if you were so insecure in Tommy’s skills that you brought those along in preparation or if you were so confident that you had brought them to nurse him, instead; Wilbur had to physically hold you back from pouncing on him with the sword strapped to your back) slowly plunging the arrow out of his stomach and assuring him he’d be fine, that his well being meant more than a thousand L’Manburgs did. Dream missed none of your soothing murmurs and the worrying glances you shot to a boy no less than your brother, whether by blood or not, and he chose to turn his back, celebrating another victory. 

He couldn’t look away, though. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze always flew to the two of you.

What did it feel like - to be cared for? He’d have to ask Tommy, or Wilbur - what does it feel like, to have a chunk of your heart? What does it feel like to have you stare at him with flames in your eyes, but flames lit by adoration, and not by resentment? What does it feel like, to have you on his side?

Truth be told - he tried. He tried, he really did. When you first walked into his land, a traveller, somebody from beyond his sight, a fresh pair of eyes with a fresh perspective, he tried to befriend you, because even if he didn’t want to, it seemed like everything in this world brought the two of you together. He always ended up close to you, next to you, observing how you laughed, how your eyes crinkled, how your brows furrowed, how you tapped your fingers when you were bored and swung your legs back and forth when you sat on a wall too high for you. 

One thing you didn’t seem to care for, however, was Dream’s best attribute, and that was power. You didn’t care that he held all land on the palm of his hand, you didn’t care that he appointed and laid off whoever and whenever he pleased, you didn’t care that all looked up to him - you didn’t care that he was most powerful. 

He wasn’t the only one with the power, though. Power comes in different shapes and sizes, and a bold man is a powerful man. A man who stands out holds power, and the two who always stuck out like a sore thumb were Wilbur and Tommy. Because physical strength or resources aren’t always what make a man powerful - an entertainer is a powerful man, an intelligent man is a powerful man, a witty man is a powerful man, but above all, a courageous man is a powerful man. And Wilbur and Tommy were all of the above.

He envied Tommy, because Tommy knew how to get the attention on himself without the use of power. He envied Wilbur, because he had somebody to fight, he had something to stand for, he had a purpose, something in which he could put equal part bravery and intelligence in, both of which he had plenty. He envied the two, because they could be heroes, because he was there to witness their story getting built, while Dream was there from the beginning, and the only witness he had was himself. 

You grew close to the two of them before he even had the chance to try - his chance got wasted before he could even try, because the more Wilbur whispered into your ear and crafted plans, and the more Tommy encouraged you to go with the two of them, the less he saw of you and your shiny smiles. At first, it bothered him to no end, because he saw so much potential in you, both as a friend and as a warrior, and Wilbur just kept on stealing you away from him, over and over again. But then, when he saw you helping build those giant walls, and heard Tommy proudly announce that: “We’ve got Tubbo, Eret and Y/N on our side, too!” shiny smiles became dull, menacing even, to the point he didn’t want to look at them anymore.

And when the war had started and you proudly defended Tommy, no matter what, with an insane glint in your eye that he only recognised from reflections, he realised that the chance had fully, entirely slipped out of his fingers, and you’re nothing more than an enemy anymore. The opportunity to get you on his side was long gone, if it ever existed in the first place.

You were with them through everything, thick and thin - you were there when Tommy turned over the discs, cheering on Wilbur during the election, even retaliating against Schlatt once he revoked the citizenship of your two best friends, nothing short of brothers, and leaving with them, spitting on his shoes before running amongst a sea of arrows that were being thrown your way, escaping out of the country you built of your own blood, sweat and tears like a criminal, like a foreigner, like an outsider and not the very founder of the land they stood on.

You were always by their side, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you always agreed - you had gotten into way too many passive aggressive fights with Technoblade, told Tommy and Wilbur far too many times that he was nothing but trouble, told them that there is no more dangerous man than a man with power, and you thought they’d learned that lesson with Dream, long, long ago. But nonetheless, you stayed through it all - you stayed through the makings of Pogtopia, Henry’s unfortunate death, and the festival, at which you didn’t fail to shout “I TOLD YOU SO”s at Wilbur and Tommy despite being in a near-death situation. Technoblade suffered a kick in the groin, because you just couldn’t help yourself, which led you into a sword fight that was way more than you bargained for, and was ultimately stopped by Tommy who forgave Techno just to stop the two of you fighting, not looking forward to having your head cut off in front of him. 

You were there to see Wilbur spiral, breaking apart in the prison of his own mind, you were there to see the glint of heroism in his eye get bent into one of a villain, you saw him become the man he had once swore to you he’d never become. And perhaps, when you fought for L’Manburg again, deep down, you knew what would happen; but you still fought tooth and nail, desperate to get back what you once had. You fought next to Technoblade, even though both of you knew you hadn’t forgiven him, and you never will - you fought next to Wilbur, even though you knew he’s not the same Wilbur you once knew, even though you knew L’Manburg would never truly be L’Manburg again, because its founders aren’t the same as they once were, when their heart was full of foolish hope and love. 

You were there to see Wilbur mouth an apology to you, and even though you didn’t know what he would do, you knew that the apology wasn’t an apology, but a goodbye; at least a late goodbye to the Wilbur you once knew. You were there to see the betrayal in Tommy’s eyes when Technoblade turned against you, summoning monsters with his own hands, forcing the rest of you to kill them while he watched. You were close, so close, too close to putting an arrow through his heart, ready to get rid of him, tired of the tears and the blood you shed over getting back what was always rightfully yours; but you didn’t, because Tommy’s hand laid on top of yours, telling you not to do it. So you didn’t, and instead you aimed for the porcelain mask that haunted you in your dreams, the cause of all destruction. Unfortunately, you missed, with his foot jumping back right before the arrow was supposed to plunge straight through his chest, and you fell to the floor, defeated.

You were there when L’Manburg’s government formed again - you were there when Tommy burnt down George’s house on accident, and, unfortunately for you, you were there when your younger brother got exiled. You were there, watching him get escorted. You watched him leave. You watched that monster of a man escort him out, kick him out, away from you, from everyone he loved. You watched him, and gripped your crossbow with tears in your eyes, swearing to yourself that you’d never let him get away with this. 

That’s why you stomped into the Community House the next day, knife strapped to the inside of your thigh, sword fastened on your back, crossbow slinged over your shoulder, fire in your eyes, demanding to see him. And sure enough, as soon as you spoke his name, he was in front of you, cracked mask covering his face, dirty blonde hair combed, as if nothing had happened in the first place, as if he hadn’t made life a living hell for all of you.

“Hel-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, speaking through gritted teeth as you took a step towards him, heavy boots creating even heavier footsteps on the wooden floor. The mask remained expressionless as always, and his body language gave away nothing. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Dream? Is this funny to you? Are we some kind of sick joke to you? Is that what this is? Are you having fun, Dream?” you continued, almost spitting at him. “Take off that mask, talk to me like a fucking man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said, hand shooting to grip the porcelain at the mention of his mask, although he simply adjusted it slightly, still leaving it on.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. How could you kick him out?! He’s a fucking child, Dream! A child!” you yelled, hand clenching into a fist.

“Is this about Tommy? I’m sorry, Y/N, but it was not my decision. The people, and Tubbo, decided that he should be exiled- I just did my job.” he claimed, still stiff, expressionless, and you fired back almost before he even finished the sentence, rage lighting your whole body ablaze.

“Right, because you only have power over other people when it fucking fits you! You only have power when you want to! You’re only the most powerful person in this whole fucking land when you want to terrorise other people! What are you, Technoblade? Poor baby got succumbed by peer pressure? Miss me with that bullshit, Dream. You and I both know that if you stood up for Tommy, and refused to exile him, nobody would’ve done shit! But no, you chose to exile him, and you know that. So at least admit to your actions and don’t shift blame, asshole.” you spat, fury getting the best of you, and apparently him, too, because he pulled his mask off so quickly that the strings almost broke, menacing green eyes boring into yours.

“He shouldn’t have burned down George’s house, he shouldn’t have tried robbing George, he shouldn’t have been a criminal when he’s vice president of a country! All actions have consequences, and he has to suffer those consequences to learn!” he borderline shouted, defending himself.

“He’s supposed to learn by being exiled and ripped away from everyone he loves? That’s how he’s supposed to learn not to fucking rob people? He’s sixteen, Dream! Sixteen! He’s a fucking kid- yes, he makes mistakes, but so do we! And we’re adults! Full, grown, fucking adults. What has he done to you to deserve this, you fucking psycho?!” you yelled, and you briefly saw him grit his teeth, jaw clenching.

“I’m not a psycho and you won’t be calling me that. He can’t go unpunished for the crimes he committed. Tommy is not as innocent as you make him out to be. And, once again, this was not my decision, it was made by Tubbo. If you have any issues, take it up with him, not me.” his eyes go darker than they were before, mirroring a brewing storm with no glints of the sun anymore.

“Right, because you’re so innocent. You never committed any crimes! You’ve never done anything bad! Our favorite good guy, Dream. Never tried to kill any minors. Bless his heart.” you mocked.

“I don’t fight anybody unless they provoke me first. Every time I fought Tommy, I wished I didn’t have to.” 

“I really expected more from you, Dream, I really did. I expected you to at least fucking admit to your actions, at least give me a proper excuse as to why you haven’t left me and my brothers alone from the start even though we wanted nothing but to live in peace and independence, why you do so much of the fucked up shit you do, but I guess I expected too much from you. You’re nothing - even Technoblade is more of a man than you, you know that?” you asked, leaning on one foot lazily. You see his hand clench - someone’s getting mad. “Technoblade admits to his fucking actions. Technoblade has had his goals set from the start, he’s always made them clear, and even though he’s a dirty traitor, at the end of the day, it’s still your fault for siding with him. But you - you’re a liar. You’re a liar, and a manipulator, and you never play fair - you always play dirty and play with people’s emotions and that’s how you win.”

You continue: “That’s because you can’t win fairly. That’s because you lose when you play fair. You think you have power, but you don’t. You just play by a different set of rules than everybody else, and we let you. Power will turn a man evil, Dream, but you’ve been evil from the start. People will always fear you because you trick everyone into believing you’re far more powerful than you really are - but you know what people will do with me, Wilbur, and Tommy, that they’ll never do with you?”

Silence.

“They’ll respect us. And you are a man worthy of no respect.”

You unleash your sword, pressing the blade to his throat in a matter of seconds, ready to push it through with no preparation but he grips your hand before you can do it, and he’s about to speak, when your eyes dart to his, and suddenly, your vision blurs, a movie playing behind your eyelids without you closing your eyes at all. 

It’s almost like you see the events play out in the depths of his gaze - you see him, the real him, who stands before you, and you see his face mirrored in the scenes that play out, you see him staring right at you through some kind of screen, a smile plastered on his face. His features look softer, and his eyes don’t glint the same way they do now, but it’s not a bad thing; they look warm, homely. Something bursts in your chest the more you look at him, and it all goes by so fast, but you manage to somehow catch all of it. 

You manage to catch his warm smile just as the days pass in flying colors right before your eyes, you manage to feel heat spread through your chest when you look at the man before you, you manage to see him cooking, and laughing, and running, and driving, and crying, and sleeping, and kissing you and it all feels so odd but so perfect at the same time. You’re looking at Dream, but it’s not him - you call him a different name. You can make out the silhouette of the actual Dream, who still grips your wrist, behind the scenes of you and the man with a striking resemblance to him, and you wonder if this is happening to him, too.

You see him on one knee, at a beach, and you feel yourself crying even though you don’t know what’s going on. You see him in a field, and you can make out a man who looks awfully like Sapnap sitting on a plastic chair in the front row among many, wiping tears before your gaze turns back to Dream, who grins at you, dressed in a tuxedo. You see a young boy with blonde hair running around the house, laughing, while you try to catch him, and then Dream appears in front of you, picking the boy up before you could. You see his face wrinkle as the days pass, and you finally see him close his eyes one last time while tears run down your face uncontrollably, and the whole thing stops. The scenes disappear and you’re snapped back into reality, Dream’s teary eyes boring into yours. 

And that’s when you realise.

You harshly pull away from his grip, eyes wide in shock, putting your sword back in place as you shake your head in disbelief. The tears don’t stop flowing, and you can’t tell if it’s shock, horror, disappointment or betrayal - betrayal in who? Fate, you suppose. 

“N-No way. No way. No.” You keep shaking your head, voice trembling as you back away from him. He can barely collect himself, too, staring at you as if you’re not real, as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“We’re- no. Fuck no. Fuck this shit, dude.” You laugh dryly, no humor in it whatsoever, a mix of disbelief and fear still weighing down on your voice as he tries to step towards you, wiping the tears off his face.

“We’re- we’re soulmates.” He stutters, but manages to ground himself way before you do, gripping your wrist again, and you feel almost electrocuted when a spark shoots through your whole body at his touch. You pull away, again, stepping backwards, praying there’s no wall behind you.

“No.” you repeat like a broken record, not even bothering to wipe the tears. “No- I- there must be a m-mistake, this can’t be-”

“There’s no mistake, Y/N. You’re my soulmate.” He takes both of your hands into his, holding your fingers gently, and it takes all the power in your body not to burst out crying again. 

“Y-You’re no soulmate of mine.” you gulp, pulling your hands away once again, finally managing to somehow collect your thoughts. “Fuck you. I don’t care what- what we fucking are. I’ll never love you.” 

You see him visibly stiffen at your words, mouth parting, and you almost feel bad. Almost.

“You can’t- you can’t go against fate like that. We’re soulmates, Y/N.” He sounds hurt. You manage to convince yourself that you don’t care.

“Watch me do it.” You spit, anger recollecting in your gut once again. “Fucking watch me. Find yourself somebody else. I’ll never forgive you.” 

“Listen, I’ll bring Tommy back, just listen-”

“So now you can suddenly go against Tubbo’s orders? When it fits you? Fuck you. You don’t need to bring Tommy back, because I’m leaving with him. Him and Wilbur were more soulmates to me than you ever, ever will be.” 

And with one last glare in his direction, you turn on your heel, stomping out of the Community House, rage burning your whole body as he watches you leave. 

A powerful man needs those who will give him power. Watching you walk away, Dream realised that one day, he’ll have no one.

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 24)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,700

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

I hope it's gonna make you notice

“…I’m in the military, sir…”

“…James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone…And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why…”

Bucky lies awake in bed, fluffy pillow behind his head and one leg peeking out from the blankets, as random memories knack away at his brain in pulses. They weren’t new memories, but they were memories that he never looked at the way he was now.

He doesn’t know why now, he doesn’t know what triggered it, but they were clicking together.

After years of replaying the same moments in his head, there was a nagging feeling that was telling him that there was something not adding up.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s seeing things differently, if he’s feeling things differently.

Whatever it was, he knew there was something…off.

There was something off about Daisy’s story about her dad’s story, something was off about the way he was against Bucky fighting in the military, and her death was coinciding so much with his capture.

He doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach as he remembers.

When Bucky asked about her brother and what that whole commotion back at the club was she was blatantly honest with him.

“My father’s not a good guy. He’s been wanting some something from one of these performers that was suppose to be there last night, but turns out they weren’t even on the set list. He had lied about it, we don’t know where he is.”

Bucky raises a brow at this, “You do his dirty work for him?”

“No, I don’t like to get involved in that. It’s a dangerous lifestyle. I have to think about my future family. I was only there yesterday because my brother wanted to get me out of the house for once.”

Bucky isn’t too gleam on the fact that her family are borderline criminals and that she basically supports it, and for a fraction of a second he almost doesn’t buy it, but he decides to mention this later on, not wanting to ruin their moment.

Bucky shifts his leg as he continues to remember that conversation. Why was he not against it? Why did he never question the crimes? Was he that distracted by her?

Bucky smiles at her comment, but then his brows furrowed together in an adorable way that made Daisy giggle and bring her hand to his cheek, “What is it, James?”

What is it, James?

Bucky looks over to see you laying next to him, sat up with your back against the headboard reading some book with a beige cover.

You hadn’t taken notice of his self discomfort yet, emerged in your reading, tucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

Why was he remembering all of this now? Why was he feeling sick?

When they pulled away she slowly dragged her thumb across his plump bottom lip. He watched her like she was the most gorgeous and interesting thing on the planet.

“James?” He responded with a sound on confirmation and she continued, “do you think we are moving too fast?”

He grabbed her hand that was on his face and for a fraction of a moment she thought that that was it, they were over. This was clearly too unrealistic. But instead he brought her hand up over both his lips and he kissed her gingerly.

“Yes.” He whispered behind her hand, making sure he was making direct eye contact with her.

Her face dropped. “Yes?” Her voice was worried, cautious.  

He started trailing kisses down her hand, her wrist, her forearms. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck making her groan.

It wasn’t that Daisy didn’t like being pampered but she wanted to take this very seriously. With a reluctant sigh - because what he was doing to her flesh just felt so good - she delicately removes her arm from Bucky’s grasp. He narrowed his eyes as she moved away towards the head board, suddenly wondering if maybe he said the wrong thing.

Her eyes trickled his features and down his perfect little nose.

“I knew it since the moment I laid my eyes on you. That’s how you know it’s real. This isn’t crazy, it’s ludicrous. But it works for us. I want to be with you.”

After his little speech Daisy looked him dead in the eye, not batting one lash.

“Then come have dinner with my family.”

Was it too fast? He had barely known her and she was asking him to meet her family. Criminals.

But why would she give away such dire information if it were true?

Bucky sat up slowly, as if if he were to move too quickly, the bed would collapse underneath him.

His eyes had a far away look in him, and he was as pale as he felt.

You feel him shift and your eyes flicker up to him.

You frown.

Her blue eyes glisten with gentle tears, probably thinking the same exact thing. None of it still feels real.

Her, she, doesn’t feel real.

They spent nearly every night together just talking about what Bucky would do when he came back home after camp. Things like how they would have to go see the stars on the back of an outskirts farmhouse, how they would have to go to every club in the city and laugh their night away, how he would take her to coney island with him and Steve and show her a “good time” on the ferris wheel, and how they would definitely have to meet her family.

“They’re great, you’ll love them.” She had said as they laid in bed together just hours before, merely cuddling with clothes on.

“Oh, come on doll, even your Dad?”

Daisy hesitated for a moment and her hand that was rubbing his chest stopped suddenly.

Bucky noted this and they met eyes.

Bucky feels his heart palpitate and he opens and closes his right hand, sitting up.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, closing your book.

“Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.”

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance for just a moment.

He looks up to you, your eyes interlacing in a silent conversation of understanding.

He was revealing something to himself and you could tell that whatever that was it was leaving him overcome by feelings.

At the end of the day, he knows that he’s just insanely protective of Steve. Which is why his arm instinctively goes around him when Rogers almost gets hit by a speeding vehicle that abruptly stops to halt in front of them on the curb. With his mind far away, he hadn’t realized they were already standing on the sidewalk in front of one bright sign labeled Cotton Club.

Had Bucky known better, he would’ve had him on his left.

After that introduction, the two boys look over to the object that almost killed them.

It was pure black, the countless lights coming from the surrounding buildings and cars bouncing off its surface. The rain must’ve made it even shinier, the lights made a reflection so bright that it had everyone staring. Men looked in awe and a young paper boy, standing on the corner working over time, wondered if that would someday be his future.

With a look of disgust, Steve was repulsed by the obscurity of the man’s driving having nearly hit him. He wondered why people had no respect and he desperately wanted to punch his face in. Either that or give him a pep talk about general safety.

“What a twit.” He snarls, dusting off his small suspenders and kicking the invisible debris off his lapels.

Bucky’s face held something different. It explained why the woman staring had looked on in pure jealousy. He stared forward completely emotionless. He was neither annoyed at the fact that he almost just got run over and killed and nor in obsession over the Duesenberg J.

It was the beautiful goddess emerging from the passenger seat that caught his full attention.

On her left hand was a pearl and diamond bracelet and she used it to skim over the top of the priceless car door for leverage to push herself gracefully up from the leather seat. Her other hand was wrapped up in a prestige white glove. It held onto the hem of her silver sparkling gown, a long white cigar between her digits. Her gorgeous dress looked heavy, you could tell it was so properly made and expensive because it must’ve weighed as much as her petite self. The reason being that it hugged her body at just the perfect places, showing off her curves gracefully.

Her perfect blonde hair was pulled slick back by a diamond hair clip to the side in huge voluminous waves. The dress showed just enough back, the material dipping down towards the floor, the dip ending just above her bottom. The entire thing was held by two tiny silver straps on her shoulders.

In a sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington seemed to have played perfectly in sync with the exact moment she shut the door behind her. She looked up to read the sign, her perfect profile looking up in awe.

Bucky stands up from the bed, back rigid and face hard with anger.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He swallows thickly, gaze going towards you again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps looking at you.

Ironically, beneath his anger and betrayal, he also began to feel embarrassment.

He’s momentarily startled out of his trance when he feels a small hand grab his elbow.  He looks down and his eyes meet a small concerned Steve. Well, to be fairly honestly, he looked more pissed than concerned.

Bucky doesn’t feel the patience to deal with talking anything out, he’s too busy thinking about Daisy. But he feels like he should at least say something so he can get everyone off his back, “What is it?”

Steve looks at him likes he’s crazy and then manically gestures towards the entrance of the club, probably pointing to where Daisy just left through.

“Bucky, what the heck was that? Who was that? You know her?”

“I didn’t know her. No.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

He’s shaking his head to himself, mumbling.

“Bucky, who are you talking to?” You’re growing even more concerned by the second now.

The silence was broken by his strong voice.

“You’re real.”

She smiles in a way that makes him smile too. It was contagious and bright. He caresses her skin one more time.

He felt her own hand come over his and she whispers, “I’m real.”

“Not real.”

You are more than concerned at this point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe it was the fact that my body had finally developed into a women’s body. My breasts were now fully perked and my legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all I knew was they figured I could be put to good use.”

He shook his head and Bucky blinked away heavy tears.“I-“

The pretty woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky’s hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You do his dirty work for him?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“My father’s not a good guy.”

Bucky remembers them poking him with IV drops and then sticking his head in a blender. His owns screams fill his head. It was so painful.

“Reason unknown, ongoing investigation"

“I wasn’t going to let you keep her. She enticed you. She won you. It was always supposed to be you.”

“…blonde 21 year old was found shot…”

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever. He wanted her, “Will you marry me?”

“…Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —…”

“But you jeopardized it, Soldat. It wasn’t real.”

The memories are sucked out of him like a vacuum and his dark eyes meet yours, again, across the bed.

You had never seen his pupils so blown before.

You were terrified.

Your eyes go down to his flesh hand that is twitching against his thigh.

“Bucky.” You say cautiously, one more time. It was almost like you were afraid to get closer to him.

“I—“ his voice was hoarse.

He looks away and clears his throat. He blinks away the heavy daze, allowing it all to sink in until it settles in his stomach in a surprising pool of acceptance.

He sees you again and for some reason he feels okay.

It scares him.

It scared him how you took something that had been bothering him for so long, away that quickly.

In that moment he knows.

“I remembered something.” Your eyebrows came together suddenly. Nearly moments ago he looked heartbroken but now he just looked shocked and angry.

“What did you remember? I thought you had your memories back. In Wakanda.”

“I-I did,” he squeaks out running a hand through his hair, “maybe I’m just remembering differently, or adding pieces together, I don’t know, I can’t tell. It has to be, because it makes sense. It makes so much sense now, and I can’t—and she—”

“Bucky you’re rambling,” he stops and you continue to look at each other. His face drops all traces of anger and it softens, “Talk to me, I’m right here.” You whisper.

Bucky looks down at you and nods. No hesitancy.

“Give me your hands.” You say, reaching for him. He doesn’t hold back from doing so, and once you have his hands in yours, you pull him up onto the bed so he’s kneeling on it next to you.

Bucky takes a few minutes to compose himself before he says it:

“I think Daisy and her family were Hydra.” He says it like he’s afraid of his own words.

As if every word in that phrase was a curse word.

Somehow, it relieves him.

His chest feels light, shoulders worn. He can breathe.

+ + +

“I should’ve known it was too fast. Too perfect,” you’re also stunned as he tells you everything, his hands still in yours, “but—but I don’t think she was always hydra. I think she wanted out when I was captured and they killed her for it.”

You don’t deny it, that hurts. Despite never knowing the girl and secretly holding envy for her, it pains you.

“Oh, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But it was a lie. She enticed me, she fucking—“ Bucky sucks in a deep breath, “she was trying to lure me in. There was nothing real about it.” He says the word like it’s venom on his lips.

You feel him rub his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You don’t know that -”

He shakes his head again, “She was Hydra!” He doesn’t say it angrily as much as he says it in a way to announce it to himself.

He needed to say it out loud. He needed to let it sink in.

You watch Bucky as he becomes completely numb, and somehow free, in front of you.

For some reason you expected more heartbreak from him for discovering something so horrible about a woman he claimed he loved so much, a woman he wanted to marry, but instead all you got from him was anger and acceptance.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the same boat as you.

Why wasn’t he as heat shattered as he’d expect?

“I-“ he’s speechless as he looks around, trying to find something, but he does’t know what.

You think you’re more shocked than him and you quickly grab his arm, bringing him against you for a tight hug.

He hugs you back immediately, hand running up your shoulder blade and onto the back of your hair.

Minutes pass by. Many minutes.

“It was all a lie,” he whispers still holding onto. you, “All of it. I really was alone. I thought I finally had someone, but—It wasn’t real.”

You don’t know what to say as you run your hand up the back of his head.

It’s not until you pull him in tighter that he realizes it.

It was you.

You were there reason this didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. His heart no longer wanted to be with someone who was long gone.

It wanted to stay here.

Here.

He never thought he would ever feel this way ever again, and he never thought he would trust this hard ever again.

Realizing truth relived him of buried pain, and he wanted you to keep holding him, to keep helping him go through this.

He says your name softly.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk about everything.”

You stiffen for a moment as you let his words sink in. You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“All of it. Everything that I did. I need to get it out, I can’t keep doing this, holding it in, keeping it inside —”

The euphoria through your blood is addicting.

“Tell me.”

He loved slow dancing.

He loved the Yankees.

He loved math and Howard Stark.

He went to the Stark Expo every year.

He loved The Hobbit and he loved jazz.

He loved New York City.

He loved Brooklyn the most.

He misses flat hats.

He loved telling jokes.

His mother died when he was young.

His sister was taken away from him.

He cried when he couldn’t see her.

His father died not too long after.

He never enlisted despite his love for the military.

He was drafted.  

He experienced World War II but on the enemy side.

He fought with Hitler’s and Hydra’s men.

He was loved by the KGB.

He loved Prague.

He trained the girls in the red room.

He remembers every young girl.

He was told to kill four kids on a mission once in Bucharest.

He was tormented, beaten raw, and kept in a concrete cell between cryo periods.

He was only occasionally fed, most years spent asleep.

He was treated like an animal. They tied him to the wall once in the cell, with a chain around his neck.

He was brain washed.

He was sexually assaulted by Hydra.

He doesn’t remember if he was raped, which could be his brain’s way of protecting himself from more trauma.

He reminds you that loved Howard Stark.

He killed Howard Stark.

He killed Maria Stark.

He was the one that stole the super soldier serum from the Stark’s and provided it to Hydra.

He was the fist of Hydra.

He killed many other good men. Over two dozen assassinations.

He killed JFK.

He never wanted to do any of it.

He remembers all of it.

They named him a hero on the Wall of Valor before S.H.I.E.L.D fell.

He was taken into Wakanda, freed of his trigger words.

He still loved New York City.

He was pardon him, despite everything.

They named him an Avenger.

He remembers it all.

You’re laying down facing each other and you continue to watch him as he tells you everything.

It’s one of the most surreal experiences of your life and you find yourself in total awe.  

This was the Bucky Barnes you had been longing to see. This was the man you knew was hidden beneath layers of hurt and anger.

You had seen it before he even told you.

The fact that he even trusted you enough to be this transparent with you is what makes you so happy.

His eyes brightened as he played with a string on the blanket between you.

“And Friends,” his voice is small and there’s a little smile on his mouth. Your heart swells as you watch it, “I love Friends.”

You bite your tongue as you smile.

Bucky stared at you, just as amazed at himself as he was at you. He couldn’t believe he told it all to you.

It was as if Daisy’s image had begun to dissolve and he was finally seeing clearly.

He didn’t hate you. He never hated you.

His fingers peak out slowly to take a hold of your pinky.

It was the opposite. He wanted you.

He feels himself breaking when you pull away from his touch. His smile falls.

“I’m proud of you,” you say quietly, sitting up again, “For finally talking about it.” You mean it, “Thank you.”

It takes him a few seconds to eventually look away and he turns onto his back. Bucky drapes an arm over his stomach, letting out a long breath of contentment.

He felt free.

To do what?

He looks over at you again as you pull your book back out.

This. This is what freedom got him. You.

But it you weren’t his. He clears his throat.

“How are things with your boyfriend?”

You don’t like talking about Pietro with Bucky.

“It’s fine,” you answer anyway, “We only had one date. And I got sick, so hopefully the next one will be better.”

Bucky swallows thickly. Why was he feeling like this? He should be happy for you. You wanted this. You deserved this.

“What do you plan to do when it’s time for us both to leave and go back?” He asks.

You don’t miss the way he mentions both of you to leave and your eyes quickly flicker to him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say hoarsely, filled with unexpected relief.

+ + +

Bucky doesn’t remember experiencing this kind of happiness since he was nineteen and him and Steve went to go see a baseball game after scoring a date with two pretty girls on the F train.

He’s happy.

Ashen peaks up at him from behind dark lashes, smiling so hard his eyes peak up at the side, turning them into thin slits. Bucky’s aren’t too far off as he mimics the boy’s laughter.

“Connect four?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try it. It’s so fun.” The Ashens says happily, pulling out the little game from underneath his bed. Bucky wants to ask him why he has it hidden, but he doesn’t. He just reminds him that they need to stay quiet, “plus, it’s the only game I have anyway. But it’s fun Mr. Bucky.”

“Haha, alright lets try it.” Bucky says.

They sit across from each other on the floor, setting up the little game and dividing their colored chips. Ashen’s goes first, dropping in a yellow one.

Bucky picks up a red one with his flesh hand and drops it right next to the yellow. They continue for a bit until Ashens notices Bucky isn’t connecting his colors.

“No, you have to try to get a straight line and connect it!” He laughs, “you suck at this."

“Oh, no! What did I do?” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re not very smart for an Avenger.” Ashens remarks.

“Okay,” Bucky points at him playfully, smiling, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry but it is true.”

“Cut me some slack.” Bucky says, smiling.

They play for a little longer until Ashens ends up beating him.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at the boy, but smiles. He eventually caught on to the game and let him win. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Bucky,” Ashen says after he slides the game back under his head. He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them, "Will you tell me now why you are here to save me?”

Bucky licks his lip and sighs. He looks out Ashens' high rise window and then back to him again. “Not yet.”

“Should I be afraid.”

“No. I won’t let anything happen you. I promise.”

Ashens doesn’t say anything as he lets his Mike Wazowski slippers hit each other.

“Do you have any kids? Like my age?”

The question surprises Bucky, and for a moment a feeling of longing hits him. “No. I don’t.”

“Aww okay.”

Bucky stares at Ashens little sad face and his heart breaks.

“I always wanted to, though,” Bucky whispers, “But that was years ago.”

“When you were in world war one?”

Bucky smiles.

“Two, not one, but yeah,” it’s not a lie, Bucky knows that if his loved would’ve went a different way, he would have definitely had kids. To know he could never go back to such simplicity broke his heart, “Something like that.”

There was something, that even so many months later, still bothered Bucky. It was something so small, and it probably didn’t really affect you as much as it affected him, but it was something you said to him.

It was one of your many fights and the way you had spatted at him about buying you plan B after you had sex.

He didn’t want to burden you. What you two had done had been irresponsible. An atmosphere like this was no place and time for an unwanted baby.

You weren’t ready for one, let alone his.

At the time, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t want the baby, if you were to have gotten pregnant, he would have loved that child with everything. He was thinking about you.

He hated to think that he gave you that pill as a gesture to say that he wanted nothing to do with you.

If so, you were wrong.

He wanted you to be happy, just smart.

He cared about you.

And now, possibly more.

As he continues to watch Ashens giggling over his slippers, that feeling of longing washes over Bucky again.

He knows he needs to tell you.

+ + +

You still weren’t feeling well. Maybe it was your nerves. The end of the mission was getting closer by each day and you never expected you’d have to leave with a little kid. You still hadn’t met Ashens, but Bucky says he’s a delight.

Ashens has changed him. You took notice immediately and it made you happy. This whole experience would be good for him.

After Bucky had poured out his heart to you, you knew you needed to get away again. That was the dance now. You get pulled, you take a step back. You couldn’t let yourself go there anymore, no matter how hard it was.

Pietro would be the driving force to help you.

You just wish Bucky would stop doing things that he probably realized he wasn’t even doing. The way he touches your face and your hand, or some times the way he looks at you, was not appropriate for two fuck buddies who stopped…fucking.

You were still convinced that he wanted you two to go your separate ways at the end of this mission. Him indirectly saying he was going to walk out with you made you happy, it could’ve been Ashens that helped him have a change of heart, whatever it was, this thing between you had to dissolve anyway.

You couldn’t keep doing that to himself, even when he would blur your lines.

You really wished he would stop doing that.

That night you after the ball, you were almost sure that he was developing feelings for you - finally - it’s why you tried to get him to finally tell you why the kiss bothered him.

Bucky never told you the truth, and you were too tired to keep digging.

You were glad that was the last time.

It was over. All of it was over.

Your stomach churns again and you decide to make yourself some tea and head to bed.

@snakeeatery17 @utterlyhopeful-fics , @marvelfan1017, @iheartsebastianstan , @annathesillyfriend , @redhairedfeistynerd, @perksofbeingabookworm, @amyrose051, @meegggoooo, @morganclaire4 , @captainchrisstan, @bxndys , @shoesonpointe ,  @writerwrites, @rainbowkisses31, @lindatreb , @littlemissner98 , @dezzylou24, @ayeitslelee , @hardygal69 ,  @emmabarnes , @redbarn1995@thequeenreaders@ilovemysupersoldiers@maximumplaidzonknerd@ceapa-mica @s-trawberryv-eins@buckysknifecollections@sobangie@lindatreb@theseuscmander@nervous-plant @wildmoonflower @aya-fay@appreciating-fanfics@kaitlynisinfinite@justreadingfics@kaitieskidmore1 @mrsdancing​ @everythingiloveandcherish @shinykoalacat​ @dragongirl31 @kaitlynisinfinite​ @alwaysclassyeagle

[writingtoforgetreality]

Sleep Paralysis (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: You hated sharing a room with another person. Especially when it came to sleeping. Which usually resulted into you staying awake for the night if you were teamed up with someone. Sometimes you could not escape exhaustion, though.

Words: 2,381

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, insomnia, experiencing sleep paralysis, anxiety, TFATWS spoilers (I don’t think there are any but just to be sure I guess), Zemo awakens the poet in me idk, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The people you found yourself teamed up with gave you safety. Sam, Bucky & even Zemo. With the three of them on your side, you had nothing to fear. Missions with these guys were easy. If the two grown ass men children were not occupied with killing the other grown ass man child. Names were not needed here, that was explanation enough. You were surprised yourself when you started enjoying Zemo’s company. He was a criminal. He was supposed to be the bad guy. So why could you not view him as such? Was it the way he moved his body? Was it his hair which fell in place just perfectly imperfect? Was it his coat that accentuated the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders alone? Was it his smile that was just the tiniest bit bigger whenever he glanced at you? Was it that stupid head tilt thing that was everything but stupid to you? What the hell was it? And why the hell was resisting your urges so damn hard?

Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could have sworn that his eyes fell on you, no matter how big the crowd. You could have sworn that his body searched out your presence wherever you went. There was this unspoken thing between you guys. As much as you wanted to address the tension building up, you were apprehensive what your best friends would say about it. You were doubtful how he would receive the news. Your ever growing friendship was at risk. The mere thought of having to live your life without him was inconceivable. How did it work before he came along? It was like your brain erased those memories altogether. Truthfully, he changed your life around without having an idea of the effect he had on you. Or he did know but enjoyed messing with your feelings. Though he did not strike you as that type of man.

Countless nights were spent with you having deep, meaningful conversations. Thanks to those times, you perceived his side of the story. His motives & what drove him to the actions that brought him behind bars in the end. By no means were you trying to justify his crimes. There would have been multiple different ways. Back then, the only purpose for him was revenge. Apologies that came too late were given. Zemo truly was sorry. And while words & emotions could be faked easily, it was impossible to hide the deeper meaning that his eyes held. The softness, the wariness, he could not simulate this. Those beautiful brown orbs were withholding years worth of tears. It was not your position to force him to display his weakness in front of you. Sometimes, simply knowing that another person was available if needed, that was enough.

The same feeling of secureness was provided by him. Your past was not necessarily pleasant either. Innumerable regrets labeled your existence. You were not a good example of a hero. Every day, you contemplated the what-if’s. Overthinking was part of your diurnal routine. All the pondering was needless. The switch only shifted after the beginnings of Zemo’s nocturnal reassurances. Without him, you would still be stuck in that gloomy pit your body had constructed on its own. You two were reliant on each other. Not physically but mentally. Unpretentiously, small touches followed. Brushing his thumbs over your smooth skin on the back of your hand. Squeezing your shoulders gingerly. Goosebumps erupted each time his body warmth was transferred to yours. Whether he wore his leather gloves or not, your body responded with endless fireworks that launched from deep inside.

The hotel you entered radiated wealth. Zemo negotiated the reservations. Which was obvious by the mere impression of the lofty ceilings that were embellished with immense sparkling chandeliers. Your eyes overstrained from the extravagance, switching from one highlight to the next. As a regular citizen, your income denied you such a lifestyle. Avengers did not earn a fortune, this trait came with the job description. Meaning that you would savor every little ticking of your stay. The marvelous high of contentment ceased when the receptionist informed you of an immutable adjustment concerning your room situation. The only two vacant premises were a king size in one & two singles in the other. Apparently, the decision was resolved without you having a say in it. Your questions were answered with a definite proclamation. You were the only soul unable to kill the Baron. Your attempts to conceal your embarrassment were unsuccessful. The smirk adorning Zemo’s features was unhelpful in your current position. Sam & Bucky abandoned you in the entrance, heading off to their room to rest after a tiring mission.

Zemo demanded your luggage to be brought up to your chambers. One of his hands rested on your lower back. This motion warmed your body. It was so simple yet filled with extensive care. It should have been wrong but you have never felt more protected in your entire life. One thing worried you. Sharing a room with the man who brought out your true happiness. It was no secret that you suffered from insomnia. Usually, it vanished after indefinite missions. The interminable flight in Zemo’s private jet added up to your exhaustion. Under no circumstances would you sleep in a room with the Baron. The trust existed, that was not the issue. What happened during your slumber could not be controlled. The tossing, turning, screaming. Nightmares invaded your dreams every time you closed your eyes. Therefore, you obviated sleep as long as possible. Multiple cups of coffee, the heavy does of caffeine every day, aided your wish to stay up. If you narrated a good enough excuse, he would not inquire. At least, that was what you hoped.

Stepping through the tall door into the spacious room, you stopped dead in your tracks. You needed a second to take everything in. Never before had you occupied such a luxurious chamber. It resembled a suite. Different shades of warm colors complemented each other. The vast windows enabled your view of the city beneath. Colorful lights brought the dead of the dim night to life. Facing the stars aligning the somber night sky, Zemo arranged himself next to you. Minutes of silence enveloped you, filling the room to the brink. The man next to you fractured the quietness with whispers. He pointed out various constellations. Observantly, you absorbed his words. He was cultured but never bragged about it. His sentiment of deliberate timing was unique. One of his characteristics was fathoming when to quit talking. Or when it was suitable to speak. Zemo constantly knew how to ease the tension with his thoughtful comments.

“You take the bed. I am content with resting on the couch.” he proposed. As much as you appreciated his deliberation, you pronounced the contrary.

“No, Helmut. I won’t sleep anyway, you can have the bed.” your gentle smile underlined the tiredness emanating from your eyes. He tilted his head to one side, observing your body language.

“You have not rested after our mission yet. Not even during the flight where Sam, James & I slept.” he annotated, worry audible in his voice. Your shoulders lifted in a short shrug. Alleging that you were fine. Spending hours with you concluded to him comprehending your lies. Your features were different whenever you attempted feigning him. Approaching your figure in the barely illuminated room, he halted a few steps away from you. Movements of his hands caught your attention. The gloves were peeled off. Lifting one of his arms, you shivered when his skin touched your cheek affectionately. His fingers caressed your face so lovingly, your eyes closed instinctively. “You are exhausted, darling.” his words were soft, soothing your ears by the fragility of them. The space between you two was narrow. You breathed the same air. His body heat passed onto you. Your heart sped up, almost as if it could break out any second. Nobody had ever made you feel that way. Nodding obediently, Zemo dragged you closer to the soft mattress covered with silk sheets. It was a desired invitation. It did not last long before you gave in. The smooth material welcomed you. Realizing Zemo’s retreating steps, your hand reached for his wrist, freezing his tries. He glanced over his shoulder bewildered.

“Stay.” it was music to his ears, hearing your quiet proposition. Holding himself back, he shook his head briefly. A signal that he did not want to disturb you. “Please.” his face softened at your plea. How could he resist your sweet voice? How could he resist you when it was obvious that you wished for him to stay with you?

“Okay.” pulling back the blankets, he lied right behind you. Your back was facing him. The shock was only brief when your hand searched for his arm. Draping it over your waist, you sighed contently when he embraced you tighter. It was not just what you needed. This, it was required by him as well.

Peaceful hours of cuddling went by without disruption. The calm was interrupted by your eyes snapping open in fear. Your back was against the mattress. Staring at the tall ceiling, your breath quickened when you could not move. Could not talk. Could not scream. There was not a single thing that could be done but you awaited the bad that would arrive soon. It was not the first time you experienced such a situation. The pressure in your chest grew steadily, obstructing your breathing. Your muscles ached, your head pounded. Someone would murder you. If you did not rise soon, death would come knocking on your door. Your attempts to push away the sheets & your labored breath stirred the man next to you awake. His confusion ended when he noticed your struggles. Propping his head onto one of his arms, he scooted closer to your body. Zemo knew what you were going through at the moment. While he had never suffered from such a period himself, he had read about it. Your eyes widened when his locked onto yours. The fear was visible even without a light illuminating the room. His free hand moved to your cheek. In the process, he whispered sweet nothings to you in hopes that they would reach you. Irregular breaths were still very much present. Though you had him with you, your anxiety was acting up still. Your mind was determined that you would die in a few minutes.

“Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me.” your eyes slowly shifted from the ceiling to his dark, almost black ones. They were a beautiful shade of brown but it was too sinister to detect the different hues. “There you go.” his voice was steady, controlled. “What you are experiencing is called sleep paralysis. It means that you are awake but your body is asleep still. It will be over soon, I promise. This might feel life threatening to you but I’m here, okay? I am here with you & I will not let anything happen to you.” his eyebrows raised expectantly. The most you could give him was a useless attempt of a nod. His fingers stroked over your skin, bringing you comfort. You were not on your own. Zemo held you close to his body. Still unable to move, the one thing you could feel was his body heat. Minutes without change went by. Affirmations were whispered into the quiet of the ample room. Your leg shuffled the blankets. A small smile crept onto your face. Finally, you had control again. Your muscles were no longer frozen in place. Overwhelmed by the sudden liberty, you embraced Zemo into a tight hug. Reciprocating immediately, he held your head in place in the crook of his neck. His other arm raked around your waist, keeping you as close as possible. He assured you that you were alright. That nobody & nothing could hurt you. Not when he was around. The silent tears rolling down your cheeks were inevitable. They stained his shirt but he could not care less. All that mattered was you overcoming the feeling of uncontrollability. Maybe it was his explanation. Or his proximity. Or his sweet words calming you down. In the end, the cause was insignificant. Zemo helped you through this & there were no words to express your gratitude to him.

Pulling away slightly, he rested his forehead against yours. You mimicked his deep breaths, disposing of the last bits of worry. When you were in his presence, it was gratuitous to be fearful. Demons had no chance. Not when it came to Zemo. The next reaction came naturally. This time, you did not fight the urge to press your lips onto his. You took his breath away by the unexpected action. There were no complaints from his side. Both hands rested on your face, bringing you closer if it was even feasible. In your imagination, you recalled kissing Zemo to be heated. This right now was the exact opposite. No words could depict what emotions were rushing through your entire body. Descriptions were useless if you could demonstrate it with a simple kiss. After it ended, silence sheathed you two once again. It was everything but unpleasant. He kept holding onto you. Zemo would never judge you because of nightmares or similar occurrences. Your head rested on his chest, above his heart. The beat calming your nerves even further. Explaining that you had always suffered from the monsters of the night, he did not interrupt. You needed to confide & he was more than happy to be available. Another soft kiss was pressed on top of your head. A content sigh left your lips. Zemo assured you that he would stay, no matter what. He was in this for good. Whatever this was. Time would clarify the relationship between you two. All you knew was that it felt right. Having him close to you. Having him as your protector. Having him to brighten up your days. Simply having him. That was adequate. That was your unspoken wish. You expected a lot but you did not expect the fulfillment of a previous unknown dream. You were home.

Published (04/21/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @eristudytime, @hiraethmaximoff, @incansas, @fionanovasleftnut, @mundaytuesday, @ashamed23, @pedropascallovebot, @kpoptrash2000, @lulu-yuming, @bibliophilewednesday, @arctic--ash, @mischiefmanaged71, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @tatooineisdry, @obsidian-queen, @h0ly-fire, @dxnxdjarxn (thanks for your support <3)

[antoine-roquentin]

The American mainstream media is throwing a classic tantrum over President Biden's decision to withdraw from Afghanistan. We've got the hastily-assembled pieces telling the story of what happened in elaborate detail, "hard-hitting" interviews, thousands of op-eds, and cable news coverage so obsessive and breathless that even MSNBC barely interrupted Afghanistan coverage to mention that a Trump-supporting terrorist with an apparent truck bomb was threatening to blow up the Capitol building on Thursday. (Conservative white terrorists don't really count, it seems.)

At a White House press conference Friday, reporters pressed Biden with highly unusual aggressiveness. The American mainstream press, particular its television outlets, just can't quit the forever war.

As Judd Legum writes at Popular Information, big outlets have almost exclusively turned to critics of the Afghanistan withdrawal in their coverage, and in virtually every case people who supported the invasion and occupation. A public relations specialist told Popular Information that TV bookers were straight-up refusing to have anyone on who supports the decision to withdraw. Indeed, as Eric Alterman writes at The American Prospect, many people now being given a platform to hector Biden about his supposed failures were not only directly involved in the catastrophically bungled occupation but were revealed in The Washington Post's "Afghanistan Papers" to have blatantly lied to the public about how well it was going. The Post itself is not innocent either — a recent David Ignatius op-ed compared Biden's team ending a war to the infamous Vietnam-era "best and the brightest" who started one.

It goes without saying that until this outbreak of hysterics, the mainstream media had almost totally ignored Afghanistan for the last decade. Nobody except a handful of intemperate critics read the dozens of Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction (SIGAR) reports showing the occupation was a cataclysmic disaster through and through. The main evening news programs on broadcast TV spent a grand total of five minutes combined on the country in 2020, and even before the pandemic barely more than that. As Jim Lobe writes at Responsible Statecraft, "the three networks devoted a total of only 362 minutes to Afghanistan in the preceding five years, or just two hours of coverage per network, or an average of only 24 minutes per network per year."

It seems the media thinks it's fine to flush trillions of dollars down the toilet and get hundreds of thousands of people killed in a spectacularly doomed occupation, so long as the brutality is relatively easy to ignore.

It's not immediately obvious what explains a bias that is this extreme and widespread. Probably a number of factors are to blame. There is typical imperial chauvinism — the belief in American exceptionalism not only in thinking it is best country on Earth, but also that it has the right and ability to meddle in other countries' affairs whenever it wants.

Then there is the fact that a large fraction of purportedly "neutral" reporters have decided to brand themselves as hysterically pro-Troop — a tendency that got much stronger after 9/11. Every Veteran's Day and Memorial Day, you see a lot of normally buttoned-down reporters posting maudlin Twitter threads or Facebook posts appreciating American soldiers for their Heroic Sacrifice. (A recurring joke in lefty Twitter is baiting these folks into retweeting pictures of non-soldiers — like Chapo Trap House co-host Felix Biederman — or war criminals.) Some reporters have gotten so deep into instinctive troop worship that they can question basic principles of democracy like civilian control of the military, seemingly without even noticing. Here's CNN's chief national security correspondent:

Too many times, I’ve witnessed the US military attempt to dutifully carry out difficult & dangerous missions left to them by the miscalculations of civilian leaders.

Then there is the instinctive desire to appear "neutral." Mainstream outlets were extremely uncomfortable with the fact that, during the Trump presidency, simply reporting the news meant criticizing Republicans virtually nonstop. Therefore, anytime a Democrat does something that seems even mildly objectionable, they perform shrieking outrage so as to demonstrate their nonpartisan bona fides.

Finally, there is the fact that wars are extremely profitable for a small group of elites with deep connections to the press. Much of the tens of billions of dollars in occupation money was gobbled up by corrupt defense contractors who turned in shoddy work or straight-up fleeced the taxpayer. These contractors have hired dozens of former military officers who then go on television without disclosing that they have a direct financial interest in the conflicts they invariably advocate prolonging. In 2008, David Barstow at The New York Times found dozens of instances of this; Laura Bassett at HuffPost found the same thing in 2010; the Public Accountability Initiative found the same thing again in 2013; Lee Fang at The Nation found the same thing again in 2014; Paul Farhi at The Washington Post found the same thing again in 2020; and The Intercept found the same thing yet again over the last few days. Troop worship means that corrupt former generals get to ignore fundamental journalistic ethics.

Luckily, there are some signs that the American people are more-or-less sympathetic with President Biden's argument that withdrawal was a painful necessity. Despite an entire week of foghorn blast jingoist propaganda on every channel, a recent poll still found that 62 percent of Americans think the war was not worth fighting. I suspect if Biden continues to defend his position, most voters will conclude he did what he had to do.

note that that’s down from 73% in april prior to the onslaught