#look the bunnies did the best they could to look ferocious

[spawksstuff]

The De Completionist Checklist Part 17 (Final)

(Excludes all Star Trek entities)

1967 - 1998

Note on the dates: I will mostly be going by when a show/movie was shot rather than its release date. Variety Magazine will be given first priority.

My score: 6 / 10

Need To Find: The Silent Force – The Judge, Owen Marshall – Make No Mistake, Afternoon Playbreak – I Never Said Goodbye, The Cowboys- David Done It

Favorite Movie: Both for different reasons: Night of the Lepus and Brave Little Toaster Goes To Mars

Favorite TV Show:  The Littlest Hobo - Runaway

Favorite Scene: When he’s using he phone in “Littlest Hobo” and starts talking the answering machine: “I beg your pardon?....egah another machine…30 seconds?.”

“No Viking I the bagel.” (Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars)

“Some genius smart alecky kid at NASA thought it would be a ton of yuks…”  (Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars)

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

The Pétion playing with the dog anecdote is so sweet. Could you do a pet compilation? I know there’s Brount and that Couthon had a dog (and a bunny?), but that’s all I’m aware of.

That’s a great idea!

Is the puppy (petit chien) you are raising for my sister as pretty as the model you showed me when I passed through Bélhune? Whatever it is, we will always welcome it with distinction and pleasure. We can even say that, however ugly it may be, it will always be lovely. Robespierre to ”a young girl” in a letter dated June 6 1788

[Robespierre] had a dog, named Brount, that he loved a lot; the poor animal was very attached to him. Le Conventionnel Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 107

At Madame de Kéralio’s I have seen [Robespierre] hold himself apart for an hour, playing with a big dog. Anecdote reported in 1791 by Charles-Engelbert Oelsner, cited in Robespierre: a revolutionary life (2010) by Peter McPhee, page 94.

On these occasions [Robespierre] was always accompanied by a large dog , of the Pyrenean breed, of which he was very fond. Strange to say, several of these monstrous anomalies of the Reign of Terror, were most partial to animals; and the ferocious Couthon would shed tears when his favourite spaniel was ill. Robespierre's dog always kept watch at the door of his master's bed-chamber. […] [Robespierre] appeared to me like a bird of prey — a vulture; his forehead and temples were low, and flattened; his eyes were of a fawn colour, and most disagreeable to look at; his dress was careful, and I recollect that he wore a frill and ruffles, that seemed to me of valuable lace. There were flowers in various parts of the room, and several cages, with singing birds, were hanging on the walls and near the window, opening on a small garden.  Recollections of Republican France 1790 to 1801 by John Gideon Millingen, page 283-284 and 288.

[Maximilien] rarely shared the games and pleasures of his comrades; he liked to be alone to think at his ease, and passed entire hours reflecting. He had been given pigeons and sparrows which he took the greatest care of, and close to which he often came to pass the moments which he did not consecrate to his studies. […] We were sent, my sister and I, to go join our two brothers every Sunday. These were days of happiness and joy for us. My brother Maximilien, who collected images and engravings, displayed his riches and was happy with the pleasure of seeing that we felt they should be contemplated. He also gave us the honors of his aviary, and placed his sparrows and pigeons, one after another, into our hands. We strongly desired that he should give us one of his favorite birds; we solicited this with entreaties; he refused for a long time, fearing that we would not take the best possible care of them. Yet one day, he ceded to our insistences, and gave us a pretty pigeon. My sister and I, we were enchanted. He made us promise to never let it lack for anything; we swore thus a thousand times, and kept our word for a few days, and moreover we would have kept our oath forever if the unhappy pigeon, forgotten by us in the garden, had not perished on a stormy night. At the news of this death, Maximilien’s tears flowed, he piled reproaches on us that we had only too well merited, and swore that he would no more confer any of his dear pigeons on us. It was sixty years ago that by a childish flightiness I was the cause of my elder brother’s chagrin and tears: and well! My heart bleeds for it still; it seems to me that I have not aged a day since the tragic end of the poor pigeon was so sensitive to Maximilien, such that I was affected by it myself. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1833) page 47-49

Talking of so important a subject, shall I be pardoned, Mademoiselle, if I speak to you of canaries?  No doubt I shall be if the canaries are interesting; and how could they not, considering they come from you? They are very pretty, and, being bred by you, we expected them to be the most gentle and sociable of canaries. What was our surprise when, upon approaching the cage, they threw themselves against the bars with an impetus which made us fear for their lives! They recommence this performance every time they see the hand that feeds them. What plan of education did you adopt for them, and how have they acquired this savage character? Do the doves that the Graces rear for the chariot of Venus display this wild temperament? Such a face as yours should surely have familiarized without difficulty your canaries with the human face.   Or is it that, after seeing yours, they cannot tolerate any other? I beg of you to explain this phenomenon. Meanwhile, with all their faults, we shall always find them lovable. My sister begs me to express her thanks for your kindness in sending her this present, and to assure you of the affection with which you have inspired her. Robespierre to mademoiselle Duhay in a letter dated June 22 1782

He detests violent entertainments, and when M. Deshorties spoke to him this very evening in front of me of going on a hunt, M. de Robespierre, only responding by a refusal of his head, gently moved away the firearms that were shown to him. This gesture was imbued with a kind of repugnance. I even saw a kind of tear glint and a bitter smile form on his lips when we talked about the prey that we would infallibly bring back. He is seen as the greatest lover of the pigeons with which he coos. […] I have taken detailed notes on all this from one of his friends, with whom he is lodging on rue de Saintonge. This friend, like M. de Robespierre, is a great lover of birds;  they have raised several hundred birds in a fine aviary; these gentlemen are skilled bird-keepers even if they are not deputies of the first rank. Mémoires tirés des archives de la police de Paris: pour servir à l’historie de la morale et la police(1838) by J. Peuchet, volume 5, page 340-342. The historian Hector Fleischmann questioned the authenticity of this report, given the fact he could see few reasons for police to investigate Robespierre back in 1789-1790.

I was able to converse between 1838 and 1839 with a  famous parrot who had been the friend of Robespierre. He belonged to Mme the widow Lebas...whom I had the honour of seeing often in her little house in Fontenay-aux-Roses, where she would make the sign of the cross when she pronounced the name Robespierre... As to her parrot, when one said "Robespierre", it replied Hats off! Hats off! (Chapeau bas! chapeau bas!)  It sang the Marseillaise with perfect diction and Ça ira like a Jacobin. It was - and perhaps, thanks to its diet of grain, still is - a parrot sans-culotte, the like of which can no longer to be found. Mme Lebas recounted  with great emotion how she had managed to save this precious psittacus  after Thermidor.  It had been seriously compromised.  After the arrest of Robespierre and Lebas, in the course of a long domiciliary inspection,  every time the name of Robespierre was pronouned the parrot would repeat its refrain, Hats off! Hats off! The government agents had grown impatient and were about to wring its neck, when Mme Lebas, as quick as lightning,  grabbed the bird, opened the window and set it free. The poor parrot flew from window to window, until it found a charitable person to open up for it; a few days later Madame Lebas was able to regain possession of this last friend left to her by Robespierre, the only one perhaps, besides his elderly mistress, who has remained faithful to his memory. L’Union médicale: journal des intérêts scientifiques et pratiques, moraux et professionnels du corps médical (1861) volume 12, page 258-259. This anecdote is a bit suspect, because how would Élisabeth be able to go and fetch the parrot ”a few days” after the arrest of Robespierre when she herself was arrested just three days after it?

My husband had a dog named Schillichem, of a German breed; he only returned three days after the death of his master; he was panting, his tongue hanging out; that poor beast had passed that time on his master's grave.  Le conventionnel Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 145

Embrace Henriette for me. Schillickem (sic) caresses me a lot and I hug him back. Letter from Philippe to Élisabeth Lebas, May 16 1794

[Couthon] wore a white dressing-gown, and on his arm was a young bunny which he was feeding with clover. His son, an angelically beautiful boy of three or four, alternately stroked his father's hand and the pretty white animal. These innocent sourroundings and Couthon's great affability charmed me. […] Persuaded that Couthon was sincere I said to him: ”Monsieur Couthon, you who are all-powerful on the Committee of Public Safety, are you aware that the Revolutionary Tribunal daily condemns unfortunate men who are accused of the same crime as these magistrates? This very day, Monsieur Couthon, sixty-three prisoners are to be executed under this pretext.” This reflection produced an indescribable effect on Couthon: his face became distorted and assumed a tiger-like expression... He made a movement. The bunny was overturned and the child, weeping, rushed into his mother's arms. Extract from the memoirs of Maurice André Gaillard, cited in Romances of the French Revolution (1909) by G. Lenotre, volume 1, page 171-172

During the Constituent Assembly, at the time of the revision, I was one day with Buzot's wife, when her husband returned from the Assembly very late, bringing Pétion to dinner. It was the time when the court had them treated as factious, and painted them as intriguers, all occupied in stirring up and agitating. After the meal, Pétion, seated on a large ottoman, began to play with a young hunting dog with the abandonment of a child; they both let go and fell asleep together, snuggled on top of each other: four people conversing did not prevent Pétion from snoring. ”So here we have this rebel,” said Buzot, laughing; ”we were looked askance on leaving the room, and those who accuse us, very agitated for their party, imagine that we are to maneuver!” Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 167

I had crossed the yard and was going to my carriage while finishing a conversation with an old sans-culotte, certainly well paid to indoctrinate the dupes. A cute dog ​​pressed itself against my legs. “Is this poor animal yours? said my coachman to me, with an accent of sensibility very rare in his equals, and which struck me singularly. "No, I don't know it," I replied gravely, as if it were a person, and already thinking of something else entirely: ”Drop me off at the galleries of the Louvre.” I wanted to see a friend there to talk about the means of getting Roland out of Paris. But we had only gone twenty foot when the carriage stopped. "What is it?” I said to the coachman. ”Well! he left me like a fool, while I wanted to keep him for my little boy, who would have fun with it: Petit! Petit! come here!” I remembered the dog; I found it sweet and agreeable to have a good man, a sensible father, as my coachman at this hour. “Try to catch it, I shouted to him, put it in the carriage and I will guard it for you.” The good man, very happy, takes the dog, opens the door and gives me company. This poor animal seemed to feel that she was finding protection and asylum; I was well caressed, and I remembered this tale by Saadi, which depicts an old man, the last of men, repulsed by their passions, retired to a forest where he had made a dwelling. He animated his stay with a few animals which paid for his care with the affectionate testimonies of a gratitude to which he had confined himself, failing to find so much in his fellows. Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 81-82

Fréron often visited madame Duplessis country house at Bourg-la-Reine and every time he played with the bunnies there. Hence the nickname Bunny (Lapin) that was given to him by Lucile. Footnote in Correspondance inédite de Camille Desmoulins (1836) by Marcellin Matton. Matton was a friend of Lucile’s mother and sister, and it’s probably from them he acquired this anecdote.

Monsieur Duplessis, his cabinet, the fireplace, My sister and I know you must go to the countryside one day this week. Do you remember that you for more than fifteen days have promised to bring you with us there? You told me, that if I learned Zaire, you would give me whatever I wanted. I already know it almost by heart, papa, and I’m dying to see the little piglets. My sister joins me to ask of you this same favor, and to present you the respectable attachment with which we are, my dear papa, your very humble servants. Lucile and Adèle. Undated note from child Lucile Desmoulins, probably written sometime in the 1780’s.

We have gotten ducks, I went to see them. […] I ate gooseberries, and then I was alone in the pavilion, I picked a little hornbeam which I brought to Lolotte, then I I was dreaming in the grove. Lucile Desmoulins’ diary, June 28 1788

After dinner I went for a walk in the grove. I had fun breaking dead wood, then I found a snail. I examined it a little, I broke its shell, but having fallen onto my stomach it made me cry out loud, because this ugly beast was crawling on my stomach! I made a big hole and buried it. In two or three days I will go and see what has become of it. Lucile’s diary, June 30 1788

An hour after leaving you yesterday, citoyenne amie, I gave Horace his snake (couleuvre), which he saw again with tenderness, and they played together to fully reconnect. Letter from Panis to Annette Duplessis regarding Horace Desmoulins, dated March 1 1802. If anyone has a more logical translation, alternatively knows if snakes were optional pets in the 19th century, feel free to share! 

Georges Couthon at the Convention with a small dog, sketch by Dominique Vivant Denon from 1793.

Robespierre with a small dog, painting by Louis-Léopold Boilly from 1783.

[kthynes]

Can you do something with a possessive/ jealous chris and smut plss?!?

minutia

warnings: Mob!Steve x CEO!reader. SMUT! Filth. 18+ only - minors do not interact.

word count: 1.4k (my attempt at a drabble)

authors note: This might prelude to something more. There are indefinite plot bunnies hopping around.

SIN & SORROW ANTHOLOGY MASTERLIST

This has not been beta’d (nor is it my best work) so any mistakes are my own

Musical muse:

There was a time and place for everything. A niceness and neediness. A reverend taunt and a certifiable claim.

Somewhere around the corner of Bathurst and Saint Peters Creek, you were straddling Steve Rogers in the back seat of his newly armored Escalade, grappling in a moment that was hot and heavy, oblivious to the surrounding city dwellers. Your mouths were fiercely moving in tandem with the other, teeth slightly clashing upon contact. A routine kiss turned into a sloppy, breath baiting ordeal.

You wanted him close. He wanted you closer.

There’s grousing desperation as his hand roughly yanks and cards through your hair, undoing a tightly wound updo from its hold. You moan at the surface level friction that tenderly gyrates your clothed cunt against his tented crotch. Steve, while continuing to kiss you, slides his large calloused hands and grips your hips in place. Depravity and unhappiness shrouds the solitary confines.

“Does he know that you’re mine?” He finally postulates with a low growl, his tongue expertly flits into your mouth and swallows your misguided protests that never falls short.

“Steve.” You groan. There’s no way you could coddle the deadliest mob banger of Brooklyn.

He’s pissed. Annoyed. Ravenous of the fact that you wore an ass tight pencil skirt as opposed to your ugly gray ‘Erma suit’ that you carefully repurposed every day since ranking a powerful venture capitalist. You had no exact reason to dress pretty on a work day.

So why did you?

To test him, that’s why. Unknowingly, you showed up to a morning business meeting and culled a carny look from thee Tony Stark, a rivaling mob man who prowled the isles of New York City. He quietly greeted you with a groping gaze, only nodding when spoken to and then murmuring his final fallacy: I’d love to hear more about this over dinner. Just you and I, Milena.

Where his hand fell, grazing the underside of your thighs, there was an ineffectual blow and with close ties, word got out. Steve was belligerent. He coasted through the financial district on a Herculean conquest. He was ready to kill, Nico and Zavion reluctantly in tow. This isn’t the first time you’ve been subjected to his impulsive scrutiny and the laving fuck fest that ensued. Your hands try to distract him, rubbing up and down the front of his pristine white dress shirt that ripples when his chest muscles twitch.

“Does he or does he not?” Steve doesn’t let you gallon an ounce of pride, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“No.” You croon, kiss swollen lips agape and struggling to form a full sentence. He furrows his brows, slightly trailing a hand down your neck and then flexing a firm grasp on your windpipe. You sheepishly grin, ladling his torment and frustration with a farsighted look that tempers every shallow breath you took. “But I’m fair game, remember?”

In the upheaval of Steve’s underworld, you were a well kept secret for many inferable reasons. One being your pride, the other being his entitlement.

Yet to this day, no one in the seeded Harlem's and upper echelon knew about the tumultuous, lust warring relationship between you and Steve. How could they?

Your ode to his business was strictly merlot and sexual pleasure. For anyone else it was a cold shouldering afterthought. Except if you were Tony, you’d break even.

“I don’t play games, sweetness.” Steve ferociously grits in your face, swirling with unchecked anger. “No one gets to have you.”

“You don’t own me.”

“We’ll see about that.” He testifies, a free hand brazenly tears apart your sheer nylons and flimsy skirt in one go. You squeal at the searing sensation in proximity to his touch that ghosts over your glistening pussy.

“Fuck.” You sputter as the sound of his zipper-fly whirs through the disobedience. The feeling is resolute and all while stroking his leaky cock, Steve nudges his nose against yours, actively seeking your glossy eyes that now take in the heat of his actions, mildly aroused.

“See how hard you make me?” He grunts, greedily twisting his fist around his erection.

You bite back an obscene moan, shifting uncomfortably in your own wetness that smears his undercarriage, gaining very little traction in return.

“All because you’re mine,” Steve stills your movement and his, emboldening you with a crass look that runs a dangerous mile. His large paws force hold your thighs wide open, thumbs gently stroking the thin straining apex. “And only mine. You got that?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, nodding. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He makes quick work, leaving hot, open mouth kisses along the side of your neck, cupping his hands over to conspicuously knead your bare ass and lift you up against him. “Now how ‘bout you ride this cock like you’ve been meaning to.”

Your weeping hole gets breached by the tip, fed an incremental inch before he’s fully sheathed. Steve releases a stiff breath, looking down at the slobbery opening where your bodies met. He grimaces slightly, twitching to rut his hips like a depraved lover but stagnant on doing so.

“Here, let me.” You peck him on the lips and take charge, rowing a sensual grind that drives you both over the edge. "Is this OK?"

“Fuck, baby.” Steve mewls, meeting your paced thrusts with some self effacing control. His men stood low guard, unassuming of the sundry chase. “That’s it. Just like that.” He coaxes right in your ear and brings you close to the gates of heaven.

“Take what you need.” Your lower half grinds into him as you let out a loud, almost there moan.

“Steve.” Your face puckers, there’s a struggle and before you know it, you’re effortlessly flipped on your back and over the middle console. Steve pummels it home, intermittently snapping his hips into you, one foot propped and bent at the knee, crouching into your form that rudders a different kind of intimacy.

"I got you." He foretells, exuberating every facial expression you were keen on making. "I'm right here."

Your pert breasts bounce behind a structured button up and he’s careful enough to free them for his mouth to suckle on, licking and nibbling on each stiff peak as you start to come undone.

“Oh!” You vocalize, arching into his languid thrusts.

“You think he’d fuck you like this?” Steve antagonizes. Each shove demanded more than the last, proving a guttural point that you were, ultimately, his possession. “Hm?”

“I—” you puff, furling a stubborn orgasm that builds at the right stroke. “Right there, oh.”

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He comes in with the assist, a thumb draws tight circles around your clit. Steve immediately feels you clenching around him, a vice grip that impales his senses. “Jesus.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You quiver, trussing a leg over his shoulder and allowing him to penetrate you at a better soul tingling angle.

"Oh yeah?" He teases, grazing his teeth along the side of your leg.

"Yes, you fucker!" There you are, choking back on more than you could've possibly chewed. An absolute beseeched Aphrodite in will and way.

“Tell me who you belong to first.” Steve urges, pressing his balmy forehead against yours, forcing you to look at him.

“Steve-ah.” You growl.

“C’mon sweetness. I need to hear it.” He tuts, timing his pace and driving you buck crazy. “I need to know.”

“I…" You lose your train of thought, turning away slightly. "...belong to you.”

“Again.” He insolently cajoles, stamping kisses along your jaw and holding you to him.

“I belong to you.”

"You belong to me." He echoes.

"I'm yours."

"You're mine." His final submission has your soft channel violently convulsing, taking him there as well.

"Cum in me." You surrender and without missing a beat, he robustly stills, ass clenching while hot, thick coats of his cum chiaroscuro your womb, art in motion as you'd falcate. "Wow."

"Yeah, wow." He kisses your temple, inhaling you in as his.

A cacophony of breathing punctuates the air and fogs up the windows. Steve comes down, doting you with a kiss that is slow and tender. Your tired tongues overlap the other as soft sighs cascade from a rendering high. He’s laid on top of you, hands cradling your face while his flaccid cock is still buried in, possibly rosy for round two.

“Did that make you feel better?” You shimmy in a splay of half naked limbs, unable to escape the unescapable.

“Much.” Steve whispers, half lidded as his fingers carefully button up your blouse. “Just remember, this isn’t a final warning. It’s my way.”

Gun shots. A rally of them shatter from a far and shield you into darkness. Now, there's no way.

[heavenunderthemoon]

A fic request for Emily and daughter!! Where you are dating a guy and have not told her and she finds out when she comes to you and your boyfriend making out on the couch

“My mom would kill me if she found out I had a boy over. And then she’d resuscitate me, and then kill me again.” You said with a sigh, scrolling through the movie options on the flatscreen.

Harry gave a low chuckle, throwing another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

Harry. You thought dreamily.

You had known him since you were about twelve, a rather annoying boy in your physical education class. You recalled the various times in which the two of you were captains for your respective teams in that class, the rivalries and the fights that ensued. How long had it taken for the two of you to realize that the hatred stemmed from tiny little crushes on each other? Looking at him now, his curly hair overflowing into his eyes- something you adored because it meant you had an excuse to touch it, moving it out of his eyes- you couldn’t imagine hating him.

The two of you had only begun dating three months ago, your mother still didn’t know. You had planned on telling her the minute it became official, really, you had, but she had gone away on a case that night and you didn’t want to tell her over the phone. So then you postponed for when she would be back, staying up late until her flight landed, making her dinner, telling her that way. But, when she had come back you found the case had been a really difficult one and the wariness on your mother’s face, the pure exhaustion, had your lips sealed.

And it went on. Everytime you meant to tell her was just bad timing - and you needed good timing, because your mother really didn’t like Harry. Alright, that wasn’t fair. She didn’t even know Harry, she had never event met him, but you knew she wouldn’t like the idea of him. Your mother wanted you to like nice boys, prim and proper boys, smart boys who had crystal clean records and good intentions and Harry was a little far from the mark.

Harry wasn’t a horrible person, you knew that. He was misunderstood, incredibly so. His past wasn’t very kind to him, and he acted out frequently because of it. He likes to read and write and paint (he was rather good at it but he really only painted for you just to see the smile on your face when he did). He got detentions and was caught stealing (clothes for his little sister, and they let him off with a warning). He rode a motorcycle he found in the dump and fixed up himself, and he was a little rough around the edges appearance wise. But damn, was he good to you. He was caring, like the kind of caring where he always walked you home from school, no matter what. He offered you rides on his motorcycle (even bought a pretty helmet that had plastic bunny ears on the top bc you liked bunnies and he thought you would like it), but you refused. If your mother found out you rode a motorcycle you were sure she’d have a heart attack right then and there. And he was kind. Everytime Emily was away he called you to make sure everything was okay, talking as you walked through the house and double checked all the locks, and sometimes even read to you over the phone until you fell asleep. He wrote you poems and slipped them in your textbooks when he held them on the way to class, and he gave you flowers when you least expected them -no occasion, just because.

He was a boy, a boy you loved, and that was enough to make Emily go a little crazy and you knew that so you kept him away. You kept him a secret. Your little secret love, a piece of you, hidden away and locked up tight.

And that was why he was here, at your house on a Thursday evening. Your mother was off on a case, she had only been gone two days and when Harry had called you, asking how you were (he had been home for the past three days, his sister sick with the flu), you told him how much you missed him. Next thing you knew he was showing up on your doorstep with all your favorite snacks and the gesture had you flinging yourself into him, squeezing him tightly. It hadn’t mattered to you that Emily might get mad because how would she even know? She had been gone for two days, which meant she probably wouldn’t be back for at least another one. You and Harry could have this night.

So, despite the uneasiness in your stomach, you let him in.

“She wouldn’t kill me first? Or is she saving the best for last?” He asked thoughtfully, eyes turning to you. Oh you loved when he looked at you like that, a look thrown your way, a look filled with such...trust. Devotion. Love.

You sighed wistfully. “Me first. She’d be beside herself at the very thought that I hid something from her. She hates lying.”

He snorted. “A little rich coming from an FBI agent. Isn’t her job centered around lying?”

You rolled your eyes, throwing a popcorn at him. He was right. Your mother lied as a profession, bluffing that she had more information than she really did, or even lying that she was dead as the two of you foed to Paris. That hadn’t been very fun. She lied all the time. But that was to protect people. You were just protecting yourself.

“I just feel bad. I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you. I just don’t want you to feel her wrath. She’s a lot..you know? She means well she’s just protective.”

Harry didn’t know. He didn’t really get that parents should be protective because he didn’t really have any. Just a dead beat dad that drank himself into a stupor every night and was typically found passed out on the couch. He didn’t get that parents were supposed to love and nurture, and the fact that you had that seemed foreign, but he tried to understand, for you. And you knew that.

He nodded with a frown. “She doesn’t have to protect you from me, though. I would never hurt you. If you ever asked me to go, to leave, all you’d have to do is say the word and I’m gone. But I love you and you love me, our relationship doesn’t concern her.” He wasn’t snippy, just speaking softly, as if not to scare you away because he knew how much you loved Emily and he didn’t want to scare you away by speaking about her badly.

You smiled softly, taking his hand in his. The remote remained abandoned on the table that you had set it upon and he removed the popcorn bowl from his lap, setting it on the table as well, giving you his full attention. “It doesn’t but it also does. She’s my mom, she’s...I don’t know, it’s weird. I shouldn’t need her approval. I don’t. But I want it. I want her to know you, and not just surface level background checks, I want her to know the Harry that I know.”

He scoffed with a smirk. “Oh, you think you know me?” And a twinkle in his eyes showed you a twinge of fear, a fear that maybe you did. That you knew him better than anyone he had ever known. And it was the twinkle that made you nod.

“I do.” You responded confidently, and there was only silence in the room for a small moment. A moment where Harry’s heart was racing, and he was sure it was loud enough for you to hear it, and a moment where you were searching his eyes for an acceptance. Acceptance that he wouldn’t get scared away just because you knew him, knew every part of him, because you knew that it was something he tended to do. He tended to back away when he felt exposed and you were praying that he knew he didn’t have to do that with you.

Finally, he nodded, lips pursing. “Alright. Well then we’ll tell her when she gets back.”

“We?” You asked skeptically, because the thought of him and Emily in the same room had been something you had been trying to avoid for so long.

And he nodded once more. “We. Together. I’ll wear a suit and you can wear that pretty little black dress and I’ll come for dinner. I’ll knock on the door- not ring the bell because that’s a little prentious-“ you giggled and he smiled at the sound. “And I’ll bring her flowers, compliment her home,”

“Compliment her home?”

He gave you an incredulous look. “Well I can’t very well tell her that I’ve been here now can I? Besides, it’s what they do in books. I figure it’s how I’ll make a good impression. And I’ll tell her how very much I adore her daughter.” He set his chin, a blazing look in his eyes, the kind that made you think he might be invincible. One that made you think he could do anything and damn would you follow him to the depths of the earth as long as he had that look.

With newfound confidence, you grinned. “Oh? And just what, pray tell, do you adore about me?” And there was a certain impish tone in your voice that had him smirking mischievously.

He leaned closer, burning his hand up to caress your cheek. “Hmm, well, I love your eyes,” He wiped underneath them, his warm hands making delicious contact with your face. “The way I can literally see into your mind with them. You’re awful at hiding your emotions and just one look into those beautiful little orbs, I know everything I need to know.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer. “What else?”

“I love your lips.” And his finger was tracing the contours of your own, claiming his territory. “How you’re never afraid to speak your mind, those words of passion, or humor, or hatred tumbling from your plump lips, ones that I very much like to kiss.” And he bent down and pecked you, lingering just a moment longer to nibble on your bottom lip.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as you forced them back open. “Is that all?”

He had that god awful smirk on his face and you forced yourself to look away. “Everything about you, baby. Your wit, your determination, your compassion,” and with each word he was peppering your jaw with a kiss and finally you gave out, grabbing his face in yours and crashing your lips onto his. He was grinning into the kiss, savoring his victory but not for long. You wouldn’t let him win.

You flipped positions, pushing him slightly and straddling the boy. Your lips were ferocious against his, a mess of passion and intensity and his hand was going to your sides, sliding under your shirt and running upward. Everywhere he touched was set instantly on fire and you moaned into his lips.

And just as you were about to take it a step further, the door opened. You flew off the boy, landing onto your ass with a groan. Harry was springing upward, readjusting his hoodie and hair, though it was no use. Your hands had gone rampant through his curls and it would take an actual brush to fix it. Both of your lips were swollen from your previous activities, clothes a bit ruffled, and the look on Emily’s face made your heart stop.

She was looking at Harry, and then you, and then back to Harry with an unreadable expression on her face.

She was home. Home incredibly early, and her bag was discarded at her feet, dropped when she saw you and Harry.

No one was speaking, Harry was looking at you as for what to do, Emily was just staring and you...you were standing from your post on the floor, going to Harry’s side as if you protect him. “Mom, this is Harry-you’re home-“ You swallowed when her lips pursed. “He, um-we were- He’s my boyfriend.” And then a look you did recognize appeared on her face.

Fury.

“Harry, you can go home.”

Your mouth went dry. This was not how this was supposed to happen. Harry turned to you, eyes questioning if that was what y oh wanted, if you wanted him to leave and with a mournful smile you nodded, walking him to the door. He mouthed an “I love you” which you returned before shutting it.

“You had a boy over.”

“Mom-“

“A boyfriend, come to find. How long have you been seeing this boy?”

You winced. “Three months. But we were going to tell you, he was going to knock on the door-“ And you were beginning to ramble with panic as she cut you off.

“Three months? Three months of you sneaking around behind my back? And when I’m gone you do...that.” She was shaking her head in disbelief, hand going over her face.

“We weren’t sneaking I just...He came over tonight and that was an anomaly, we don’t do that-“

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to believe you? You want me to believe anything that comes out of your mouth when you’ve been lying to me for months?” You stayed silent, swallowing. “Go to your room. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

“Mom-“

“Go.”

You sighed, turning on your heel and walking off.

[qitwrites]

⬅ Previous || 19 || Next ➡

It isn’t unusual to see Uraraka in the gym. It isn’t unusual at all to see her going at it against a punching bag, striking it with ferocious jabs and strong kicks, well-paced and well-timed.  It isn’t unusual in the least to see her wearing sweatpants and a sports bra, hair pulled out of her face as she sweats it out alongside her classmates.

It is unusual to see her face scrunched up like she’s on the verge of tears though. It makes something in Midoriya’s gut clench unpleasantly.

‘Hi,’ Midoriya says, wiping away the sweat on his neck with the bottom of his tee shirt. Uraraka simply nods, but her eyes don’t leave the bag. She does a one-two combo move, the bag making a satisfying thump with every hit.

‘Are you ok?’ he ventures, crossing his hands over his chest. He keeps his eyes trained on her face, and his gut twists when he sees unshed tears brimming in her big, round eyes. Uraraka wipes at her face with the inside of her elbow before she goes back to the bag.

‘I’m fine,’ she bites out between clenched teeth, and Midoriya knows she’s not okay. He decides not to push it too much though, instead moving to stand behind the bag and hold it steady for her as she pummels it. He can feel the force of her punches through the material, and her face continues to twist and contort till there are tears running down her face.

‘Uraraka,’ Midoriya finally murmurs, voice low, ‘are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re crying, you’re not fine-‘

‘I said I’m fine! Leave me alone Deku, just- I’m fine.’

The last time Midoriya had a gut feeling like this, he’d left Iida alone after his brother got hurt and nearly lost him. The last time he’d let his guard down, Bakugou had been kidnapped from right under their noses. And the last time he hadn’t fought to understand, he hadn’t persisted in his efforts, he’d let go of Eri and allowed her to be in harm’s way, an act he would never, ever forgive himself for. So now, Midoriya has a bit of an issue letting go.

‘We don’t have to talk about it right now,’ Midoriya grunts as Uraraka kicks the bag hard enough to jostle him. ‘But you have to talk to someone. Please don’t bottle it in, you know it’ll only get worse.’

Uraraka stops punching then, chest heaving as her eyes find Midoriya’s, and they’re filled with a plethora of emotions- pain, anger, embarrassment, rage, and so much sadness. They look defeated.

‘I am fine!’ Uraraka growls, thumping both hands against the bag. ‘I am fine because I have no choice but to be fine! Because the moment I stop being fine, I will lose. So, all I can do is punch a bag, shed a tear or two in private, and move on with my life because this is a battle I cant lose.’

‘You don’t have to fight anything alone Uraraka, you have all of us.’ Midoriya gestures at the gym, littered with some of their classmates. It’s not packed to capacity, but there are people around, their good friends.

‘I do have to fight this alone though. And I certainly can’t fight this with you.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Please talk to me Uraraka, tell me more.’

‘There’s no point Deku. It won’t change a damn thing.’

‘But I want to understand anyway! Just humor me.’

Uraraka barks out a laugh before staggering away from the bag, her body angled towards Midoriya.

‘Fine, you wanna know so bad? Ok, let’s talk.’

She starts unwrapping her left hand. ‘Did you know that for every article or piece of news that goes up about my heroic deeds or my fighting, there are 8 others that talk about my measurements, which colors suit my skin tone, why I am in desperate need of losing weight, or something along those lines?’

Her right hand continues to methodically unwrap the tape with trembling fingers. ‘Every news channel I go to, no matter where, I have to read about how a female heroes’ love handles were showing while she was taking down a villain. Or how someone’s hair wasn’t perfect while they put their life on the line to do their job. And do it damn well.’

She finally finishes unwrapping one hand. ‘And did you know, that for every article written about your heroics, or Bakugou’s, or Iida’s, of which there are so many more than our female classmates’ by the way, there’s maybe 3 articles about things that don’t concern heroics? And they’re always respectful, not too invasive, somewhat curious.’

Uraraka moves to unwrap her other hand, but her fingers are shaking so bad, she can’t even find the end. Midoriya finally stumbles forward and pulls her right hand into his own, unwrapping it gently. He gives it a firm squeeze, urging her to go on.

‘I know the advice- stop listening to the tabloids, let it roll off your back, it’s not important, it’s not relevant. And I get that Midoriya, I do. I will continue to do my job. I will continue working towards being a hero. I will always do my best to save lives and defeat villains and keep everyone safe. I will.’

Her voice cracks, ‘But I also get tired, you know? I get tired of seeing people talk about me like I’m not even a person. I am so tired of seeing the female heroes objectified all the time. For them to be glorified for their looks alone and not their skills. We’re saving lives too, we’re not here to look pretty. We’re here to kick ass.’

Midoriya finishes unwrapping her hand but doesn’t let go, holding it lightly between his own. Uraraka stares at their hands and continues, ‘I want to be taken seriously. I work just as hard as you guys, and I want to be awarded that same respect but I’m not. And I don’t get to say Hey I’m tired today, if someone is disrespectful or puts me down because I’m a female hero I’ll let it slide because every time I do that, we take 3 steps back. I have to fight this fight all day, every day.’

Uraraka pulls her hand away and sinks down, resting her head on her bent knees. She slowly turns to look to the side, and she has a faraway look in her eyes.

‘I have been stared at since I was maybe 10 years old. And it’s not just me, it’s all girls. All women. We’re just stared at. Doesn’t matter what we wear, what we’re doing, where we’re going. I’m stared at. I could be in uniform, could be dressed to go to the mall or enjoy a day at the beach- I will be stared at. People, and men especially, look at me like I’m a piece of meat. I can feel it on the back of my neck, and yes, I can protect myself, but that fact that I even need to, why is that ok?’

Uraraka finally pauses, inhales deeply and a few more tears slip out.

‘I am tired, Deku. I am so tired. And I will continue to fight this battle, I will continue to stand up for Momo and Tsuyu and Mina and Hagakure and Jirou. For all the female heroes. For all women, everywhere. But I am tired of having to fight that battle in the first place. I’m just a little tired today. That’s all.’

Uraraka exhales deeply, and her entire body deflates. ‘I want to be able to walk out on the streets without my guard up because I’m a woman. I want to walk around wearing what I want and not have to worry about catcalls and judgement. I want to exist without the need to be perfect because when I’m not, it feels like I’m letting so many people down. I just want the freedom to exist as a human being, the same freedom so many take for granted. I want to talk about it, I want all of us to fight for it, I want to achieve it so someday, a little 10 year old girl can walk to her convenience store and not worry about the old geysers around the corner leering at her.’

Midoriya doesn’t move to interrupt her, not once. He listens, he absorbs, he aches. Because he knows- everything she says is true, and he can’t relate. He doesn’t face the same treatment. Granted, he faces his fair share of criticism, but his hero persona Deku does. And it’s usually for the way he fights, how reckless he can be, or sometimes how silly his bunny ears look. But never about his body. Never about his personal life. Never about his measurements, at least not in a sexual way.

And Midoriya has never been stared at, especially in a way that makes him feel small or hunted.

When Uraraka makes no move to continue, Midoriya sits on the floor, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap.

‘What can I do? How can I help, if at all?’

Uraraka mirrors his position, and for the first time since he spoke to her that day, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It’s a genuine one too, soft and barely there, but honest.

‘You’re a good guy,’ she says, smiling a bit wider. ‘You’re kind, you’ve never made me feel small or objectified or anything. And you don’t speak that way about other people. You speak in terms of strength, and you acknowledge everyone, regardless of gender or other parameters. You’re doing good.’

Uraraka looks to the side, and Midoriya follows her line-of-sight to see Bakugou doing crunches while Kirishima shouts encouragements at him.

‘In an ideal world, people would think more like Bakugou did during the sports festival.’ When Uraraka sees the expression on Midoriya’s face, she bursts out laughing.

‘I’m not saying we need more Kacchans around Deku, don’t worry,’ she reassures him, still giggling. ‘I’m saying he didn’t hold back; despite the backlash he was receiving. He did his best against me because he knew I was strong, and he took me seriously. We need more of that, of being taken seriously, of being on the same ground as all of you. That’s what we crave- being acknowledged as equals.’

‘Uraraka, what’s wrong?’ Iida says from somewhere behind Midoriya. Uraraka quickly rubs at her eyes, trying to get rid of the tear stains.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she murmurs, shooting Midoriya a look. ‘We were just talking about some stuff.’

Tsuyu sits down beside Uraraka and pulls her into her side. ‘You need anything?’

‘This is good,’ Uraraka says, leaning her weight into the frog hero. Tsuyu tightens her grip protectively, and the girls speak to one another in low voices.

‘She’s fine,’ Midoriya says to Iida as he stands up. ‘We were just talking about how differently we experience the world as male and female heroes.’

‘Ah,’ Iida says, voice subdued. He pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I’ve read the statistics, it’s honestly disheartening. The number of female heroes ostracized from the hero community for absurd reasons, the number of hate crimes committed against them, it’s outrageous.’

Midoriya doesn’t even realize he’s gone into one of his mumbling rants as he says, ‘Is there anything we can do, like right now? How can we make a difference in the position that we’re in? We are still quite a while away from being pros. We do have licenses though, and we are known in the community. We also have students from affluent families that could help make a difference. But tackling the media is always a delicate matter and-‘

‘Start by taking steps yourselves,’ Jirou says, placing a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. ‘Of course, all of what I’m about to say doesn’t really apply to you since you do it anyway but speak of us the way you speak about your male counterparts. Treat us with the same respect. Talk about us like we’re human beings with feelings. Just- it’s so systemic, all our biases and all our assumptions and how we treat and view women in society as a whole, so change will take time. We just have to take it one step at a time.’

Jirou takes her hand off Midoriya’s shoulder and shrugs, ‘We don’t want to be coddled, we don’t want special treatment, we don’t want any advantage or upper ground. We just want to level the playing field.’

‘In the meantime, when one of us is tired of fighting the system,’ Tsuyu says, getting Uraraka to her feet, ‘ice-cream and some queer-eye can’t hurt anyone, kero.’

That gets a smile out of Uraraka and Midoriya. The group slowly makes their way out the gym, nudging each other and cracking silly jokes. Jirou confirms that there’s 2 tubs of ice cream in the freezer, and Iida offers to make them popcorn even though he isn’t personally that fond of it. 

There’s an unpleasant clench in Midoriya’s gut, but that’s ok- identifying the problem is the very first step towards fixing it.

And when he looks around him, he thinks they have a pretty good shot at getting it right.

[weeb-writor]

No More Crying, Brat!

Heyo! So next part in the Aizawa series is out. If your just now seeing this don't worry it can act as a stand alone! Reader is as neutral as possible including gender. Hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aizawa Shouta x Reader

You and Aizawa lazy morning gets interrupted and end up babysitting Jun and then you end UA, where you meet the infamous Bakugou

Words: 1997

Part One  Part two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was your favorite thing, a sunday morning with the love of your life. It was the one day where neither you or Aizawa had work, well most times anyway. Phones tucked away and out of sight and the TV off. You laid in bed just resting and talking nearly all day.

“I want a bunny sho.” You said into his chest.

“I love you a lot but not possible. I know my cats seem nice but they are still cats and very ferocious predators.” He said playing with your night clothes.

“But they’re fat and lazy, I doubt they’d be able to catch the bunny.” You whined at him. He gave you a flick on your forehead obviously not happy with your words.

“Don't pick on my cats for something they can't help. You're the one always feeding them treats and extra food at meal time.” He said in a kind of pout. You giggled at his words moving to straddle him.

“Oh like you're any better. All you want to do with them is cuddle even though you know they need exercise. Don't blame me for your fat cats.” You said glaring into his eyes with a sort of playfulness.

“Oh kitty, your claws are showing. Do you wanna play, you want your exercise?” He said lowly to you. You of course had no objections but your plans were foiled as soon as they had begun by his phone, it was the one for emergencies he had to pick it up.

“You’ve reached, Aizawa Shouta, on his one day off. This better be good.” He sighed into the phone.

“Hey there, little brother!” You heard someone say as the phone was on speaker.

“Sigh, what do you want?” He said to the energetic boy.

“Awh is that anyway to treat your older brother who you love so much?” The man whined into the phone.

“When he interrupts what could have been such a great and peaceful, blissful even, morning yes it is.”

“Oh were you gonna finally put our present to good use?” He whispered.

“Good god, what do you want?”

“Oh right, I was the one to call you! What was it again…. Oh right! I need a favor.”

“You called my emergency phone, for a favor.” Aizawa deadpanned at the phone.

“Well yeah, I knew you wouldn't answer your regular phone and it is important. I need you to watch Jun for me at least for today. Sora will come pick him up tomorrow or sometime late within the night and take over from there.” He said the playfulness in his voice dying out.

“Yeah of course, what's going on?” Aizawa said, sensing his brother’s seriousness.

“You know his immune system is so weak, every time he gets sick he’s in the hospital for weeks. Me, my wife, Haru, and Maki are all showing early symptoms of the flu or something. We immediately sent him to our neighbors but we think it's best if he goes with a family member until we can recover.” He said seriously for once.

“Yeah of course and I’ll tell Sora I can take over if he gets overwhelmed. I'm on my way.” Aizawa said moving you to get ready.

“Oh when you get here Haru wants to wave by from the window, if that's alright.” Aizawa agreed before hanging up.

“So change of plans for our lazy Sunday, I'm really sorry.” He said quickly, throwing on casual clothes, you followed suit.

“No no, it's fine! Any Sunday spent with you is great.” You smiled at him.

“Okay we should get going, it’s a little bit of a drive.” You nodded as you fed the cats before going to get in your car.

“Pop quiz by the way, which brother was that?” He said as he pulled out to begin your journey. You thought about it for a second Jun and Maki were they only two blondes and stuck out so much in the dark haired family, so they were easy for you to remember, Their dad was the outgoing Shiori, right?

“Shiori, the 3rd eldest brother but 5th eldest in general.” You said pretty confident in your answer.

“Correct, I'll remember to give you a prize later.” He said with a smirk. You smiled at his words and that was that. The rest of the journey was quiet and quick and so you found yourself with Jun clinging to Aizawa as you stood in front of his house window. His family waved at him as he stared back with tears eyes.

“Okay Jun we should go now.” Aizawa said picking up the young boy and walking him to the car, locking him into the seat quickly and just like that you were on your way. You sat in the back with the 4 year old trying to keep him entertained on the kind of long drive.

“So kind of slipped my mind but I’m due back at the dorms in an hour…cause of the influx of villains and Eri” Aizawa said, glancing at you in the mirror.

“Oh it’s fine I did all the baby Aizawa’s at once. I can do one by himself.” You said bopping the boys nose as he played on your phone

“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I told Shiori I was gonna watch him and I meant it. I was thinking we could take him up there and spend our Sunday together.”

“And meet your friends? And coworkers? Your students too? Like the 3rd or 2nd most important things in your life? All at once?” You said to him with an unnerved smile.

“Don’t fret, you survived my family, a few heroes aren’t gonna kill you.” He chuckled at you.

“We gonna see hero’s?” Jun asked with little stars in his eyes. Aizawa looked at you obviously wanting to know if you wanted to or not.

“Yeah bud, lots of them.” You told him with a smile. He clapped with joy and you laughed through your nervousness. It didn't take much longer to arrive at the UA building and after getting clearance you all headed to the dorms. Jun was a little scared as he clung to Aizawa tightly.

“I'm surprised he is clinging to you like that, he was so outgoing when I was babysitting I wouldn't take him as one to be afraid of new people.” You said looking down at the boys.

“Usually he isn't such a shy thing but without H-A-R-U he is pretty scared, they are twins. Really I don't know how he's gonna survive without him.” Aizawa said as he stopped outside a set of doors marked 1A. He didn't even get to warn you or Jun of the chaos that awaited you cause the door flew open.

“Shouta! Finally!” Present Mic said letting out a sigh.

“Sensei!” He’s student sounded off behind the blonde.

“Hey, get out of the way. At least let them sit down before you annoy them with questions.” He scolded as he felt Jun disappear further behind his legs. The students and excited teachers did make way for you and let you sit down. Jun huddled in Aizawa arms, face tucked in between his arms.

“Aizawa Sensei, we didn't know you were married! And with a kid too! What's their quirk?” A blonde rushed out.

“I am not married, this is my love L/N, but this little guy is my nephew. You might be seeing him a lot over the next two weeks.” Aizawa said tiredly.

“Hello! Aizawa already said but I'm L/N, and this is Jun.” You said with a small wave. They all introduced themselves and everything was going swimmingly until Aizawa was called away to get Eri.

“Hey Mic, he knows you a little better than Y/n, would you mind taking him?” Aizawa said, handing the heavy 4 year old to his friend. Jun let out small sniffles as his uncle left his eyesight.

“Don't cry little Jun. He’ll be right back, until then wanna see some of our quirks!? They are super cool.” Midoriya said with a smile and so the kids took turns trying to get the boy to smile and his tears to stop. They had all failed so far as his cries got louder.

“Alright brat, stop all your whining! What on earth are you crying for? Cause your uncle left for a few seconds? Are you that much of a baby? You're like four and still crying like a baby, I thought you were a big boy.” Bakugou said to the boy and before you could interject Jun did.

“I am a big boy but I miss my brother! And my big sister! And mom and dad! Uncle sho said i can't see them ‘cus they sick.” He said, starting to cry louder.

“That’s it? So you would rather go see them and get sick. I bet that would make your brother and your sister feel like shitty people and make them sad too. That’s what you want? To make your brother sad and guilty?”

“No!” He cried out.

“Then suck it up, for a few days you get to hang around your uncle and his badass hero friends and students. All the while your family gets better and you can see them again. So stop crying, and i’ll show my quirk! It’s better than any of the Extras quirks you’ve already seen.” Bakugou said to the boy. Slowly but surely he did stop crying and left the comfort of Hizashi’s arms to hold bakugou's hand.

“You know when I walked in to see you yelling at Jun I almost killed you. But now I'm glad i didn't, how do you feel about earning some extra credit?” Aizawa said from behind you. That was the most eventful part of your day so far. The rest was spent with Aizawa and Eri really. Jun was stuck to Bakugou like glue, doing everything he did, not noticing his jealous uncle. As bedtime approached for him you weren't sure how to get him to go to bed, he was attached to bakugou at the hip. Well that was until you learned that the blonde who was angry, loud and a bit delinquent-ish was actually a good boy who went to sleep at 8:30 just like Jun and Eri.

“Alright brat, i'm going to bed so you can stop following me around like a chick now. I’ll see you again soon and you better not cry for nothing again.” He said ruffling Jun's hair before walking into his room. Jun walked over to you guys as you all said goodnight.

“I got permission from Nezu, you're both allowed to stay over night but sometime within the night Sora’s coming to get Jun.” Aizawa said with a yawn.

“Alright then I'm looking forward to some cuddles! To bad your fat cats here, they make good pillows.” You said teasing him, he gave you a light shove in response.

“Hey uncle sho?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Bak’go is a hero?”

“Basically.”

“I think he’s my fav’rit. He’s so cool.” He slurred, climbing unto Aizawa’s bed as soon as it came into view. Aizawa was silent as the boy fell asleep and only spoke out after he was dead asleep.

“I think I am going to kill him and like hell I'm gonna let him babysit with Sora.” Aizawa pouted under the covers.

“What a possessive uncle you are shouta, Also I think they all like me! Good to know the people most important to you like me!”

“Well if they didn't they could go hell cause you fall into the category that makes you number one in my life.

“What's that?”

“Family. At least you will be when I give you my last name.” He said as he swung an arm around you and Jun. You fell asleep with a smile on your face, his last name was starting to grow on you.

[khaotungsfirst]

The snow crunches softly beneath his feet as he walks through the courtyards of Cloud Recesses, into the forest and past the cold pond; now frozen over with a thin layer of ice. It is still early morning and the first sunlight of the day glitters on the fresh snow that has fallen just the night before. Lan Wangji reaches the clearing at the very outskirts of the Gusu Lan grounds which has been his refuge for the past few years whenever he needed a moment to himself.

He halts for a second, basking in the small amount of warmth he gets from the sunlight dancing through the tree branches that are heavy with snow. Everything here is silent and untouched.

Suddenly, a small rustling to his right catches his attention. Bichen is unsheathed in less than a second. The Back Mountain is a quiet area of the Gusu Lan estate. No one except Lan Wangji ever comes here. He is not even sure anyone besides him knows of this particular clearing. He has never encountered any of the Lan elders or disciples while he stayed here and, to be honest, over time he has come to think of it as his.

Now someone else seems to be sneaking around the Gusu Lan grounds. Lan Wangji would have noticed if anyone had followed him so whoever it is must be coming from the outside. How did they break through the protective shield?

All of his senses are immediately on high alert. The last war was only eight years ago and Lan Wangji still remembers with painful clarity the Wens‘ attack on Cloud Recesses and their slaughter of the Lan sect. If someone is going to attack Gusu Lan again, Lan Wangji will stop them right here and now.

He stands very still, waiting for another movement from the intruder. Then, a rustle once again, closer this time. Lan Wangji is about to make a move, his sword raised ready to strike, when a small bunny hops into the clearing, its pink nose sniffing the ground in a futile search for some fresh grass.

Surprised, Lan Wangji slowly lowers Bichen. Reluctant to let his guard down completely he listens for any other noises. But it’s quiet. 

The bunny, undisturbed by his presence, hops a few paces further, still looking for something to eat. Realizing that there is no one planning to attack Gusu Lan, Lan Wangji sheathes his sword and approaches the bunny with hesitant steps. He picks it up with gentle hands and holds it up to his face.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself? This is no place for a rabbit. It’s freezing,” he scolds the bunny. Its soft little paws are ice-cold. The animal doesn’t seem to care much, however. Instead, it looks back at him as if it wanted to ask him the same question. Fair.

He cradles it into his arm, holding it close to his body. It immediately starts nibbling on the sleeves of his robes. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind, though. He knows this bunny and its quirks well.

He never named his rabbits, afraid he might become too emotionally attached to them. But Xichen once said that it made no difference and that he clearly loves all of them dearly nonetheless. He’s right, of course.

The bunnies give him comfort when no one else is able to. They don’t try to cheer him up with words that mean nothing to him or impatiently wait for him to get over it eventually. They don’t have any expectations that he can’t fulfill. They’re just here. And although he’d never admit it to anyone, he has secretly given this particular rabbit the name Suibian. He couldn’t help it. With the reckless behavior it tends to demonstrate among its peers it reminded him too much of Wei Ying.

With a sigh he sits down on an old tree stump in the middle of the clearing and lets Suibian settle on his lap. It’s cold and the layers of robes only provide so much protection from the elements. But Lan Wangji has long since gotten used to it. He’s been feeling cold for years.

Suibian was born a few days after Wei Ying’s death. The child in him, the one that used to kneel in front of his mother’s room for hours, the one that still believes in miracles, likes to imagine that Suibian is actually Wei Ying reincarnated, cursed to live a life as a bunny for the rest of his days. A merciful fate considering all the things he has done in the name of justice. It’s silly, of course, but it has helped him deal with the enormous grief that has made itself a home in his heart.

Lan Wangji gives Suibian a few gentle strokes while allowing his thoughts to drift off to happier times. Before the war. Before the Sunshot Campaign. Back when he and Wei Ying were just starting to become closer and Lan Wangji didn’t know how to deal with these feelings he was quickly developing.

“I miss him, Suibian.”

It feels good to say it out loud. He never said it to anyone but sometimes the yearning within him is so vast that he suspects everybody can feel it radiating from him. Xichen of course knows. Uncle does as well even though he would prefer it not to be that way. Even Sizhui must sense the sadness in him even though he always tries to be strong for him.

Sizhui… he’s grown so much already. Lan Wangji has tried his best to raise him as if he were his own son. It wasn’t always easy considering the circumstances but he is proud of A-Yuan. He wishes Wei Ying could see how much he flourishes here at Gusu Lan. He might not have agreed with many of the rules and maybe thought the Lan sect too strict for a child to grow up in but even he would have to admit that Sizhui seems happy here. One day Lan Wangji will tell him who the Yiling Laozu really was and what he did to protect his real family. But not yet. He’s still too young.

“Ouch!” 

Lan Wangji flinches. Somehow, Suibian has managed to chew a hole in his sleeve and has now reached his arm. Despite himself, he smiles at the ferocious animal on his lap. It’s like it knows whenever he’s drowning in his own thoughts and does whatever it sees fit to get him out of it. Maybe it really is Wei Ying…

He gets up, still holding Suibian close to his chest, and starts making his way back to the main hall of Cloud Recesses.

“Let’s find you something that’s more appropriate for bunnies to eat, hm?”

cross-posted on ao3

[moonyswolfie]

Love story

So I had an idea, but then I started writing it and it divided in two parts (though they could be read as two completely separate fics as well). 

Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!reader

Summary: You and Remus have been best friends since first year, but over the years, your feelings for each other change. 

Warnings: none I think, just pure fluff

During your Hogwarts years, you befriended the infamous group known as the Marauders. You met on the train ride to the school and since then you have been inseparable, spending every free moment together.

You were sorted into Ravenclaw, while they all got Gryffindor so your schedules didn’t always match, and yet you made it work. They were your best friends and you loved them to bits, just as they did in return, but there was one you always viewed as much more than a friend: Remus Lupin, the boy who shared your love of books and chocolate, of knowledge and learning.

Your love story started just the same as many others. You were friends at first, and nothing more. You trusted each other and told each other everything, yet you had figured out his lycanthropy on your own in your second year. You wondered if you should confront him about it, but decided against it. You didn’t want to push him away, as you’ve noticed how ashamed he is of his scars.

That broke your heart. You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone and he shouldn’t be embarrassed of who he is or how he looks like, that you won’t run away the second you learn the truth. You kept quiet though, and let him come to you when he was ready to share.

Third year came around and you found yourself admiring how much Remus had changed over the summer. You started thinking about him more and more, until one day it downed on you. You had feelings for the young werewolf.

Your third year at Hogwarts was also when he finally opened up to you about his condition. He had been nervous to tell you and his voice shook as he spoke, but you never rushed him, instead waiting patiently for him to finish his speech before pulling him into the tightest hug he ever received. That was the day Remus Lupin knew he was in love with you. You spent your third year and the first term of your fourth tip-toeing around your feelings for each other, the both of you too shy to make the first move and the rest of the boys had had enough. They were going to get you and Remus together, one way or another.

It was also in fourth year that you found out about their desire to become Animagi to help out their best friend on full moons and their research on the subject.

“I want in.” you stated one evening in the library, startling them. They were so engrossed in the books they found that they didn’t hear you coming up behind them.

“Y/N, I don’t think -“ Sirius started, but you interrupted him mid-sentence.

“I want in. Now either we do this together, or I’ll find out how on my own. Either way, I’m doing it.” you said firmly.

“Y/N, it could be really dangerous. There are tons of risks, such as being stuck as an animal forever, or even getting stuck mid-transformation if something goes wrong.” Sirius tried again.

“You’re doing it.” you retorted. “You’re all doing it, consequences be damned. So why shouldn’t I?” you asked calmly.

“You’re right.” James replied, surprising Peter and Sirius. “Welcome to the club, Y/N.”

You spent the better part of the second term and the summer break perfecting your plan and finally, by the end of August, everything was ready. You met with the boys at James’ house on the last day of August and drank the potion together.

The first one to transform was James and the place he previously occupied was now taken by a beautiful and mighty stag who, a second later, stumbled and fell like a baby deer who attempted to stand on its legs for the first time.

You and Sirius burst out laughing at the sight, to which James just scoffed and turned his back to you.

Next was Sirius, and, after muttering the incantation, he got smaller and smaller until a black, shaggy dog took his place. He was really adorable and it certainly suited him. He’s always been loyal to a fault.

Peter followed and he turned into a rat, which took you all by surprise. He was very, very small and you had no idea how much help could he be against a werewolf. That’s when you started to get nervous. What if your animal form is going to be something small and useless?

The rest of the boys turned back to their human selves and looked at you. It was now or never.

“I bet she’ll turn into something cute, maybe a bunny?” Sirius snickered, addressing James.

“Or maybe a little bird that Remus can carry on his shoulder.” James replied.

“Or swallow whole.” added Peter.

That was it. You pointed the tip of your wand to your heart and focused.

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

All of a sudden, you were shrinking. Panic took over your now changing body until you stood on four legs, looking up at the shocked faces of the Marauders.

You looked down and noticed a pair of white, dog-like paws and you calmed down. You were not a bunny, nor a bird. You were capable of helping Remus when he transformed. You were thrilled.

You turned back to your human self, smirking at the boys when you faced them again.

“A bunny, huh?” you mocked Sirius’ previous words.

“Damn, Y/N. A She-Wolf?” James breathed out amazed.

Your expression changed from victorious to confused. A She-Wolf?

“I’m a wolf?” you asked, taken aback.

“And a really beautiful one at that. You’re the perfect match for Remus’ werewolf form!” Sirius added excitedly, his words making you smile.

The next full moon came on the first weekend of your fifth year at Hogwarts. Remus made his way towards the Shrieking Shack as usual, only to be greeted by you and the boys when he entered the small room. To say that he was surprised would be an understatement.

“What are you doing here? You need to leave! Y-You…I could hurt you! I-I couldn’t live with myself if I…” you stopped his ramblings with a hand on his cheek and signaled for him to wait.

Then, right before his eyes, his three best friends and the girl he was hopelessly in love with changed shape, transforming into…animals?

Remus had lots of questions, but there was no time left for them, as the moon was up in the sky and the pain shot through his entire body. It killed you to watch him transform because you couldn’t do anything to relieve even a bit of the excruciating pain he was currently feeling. You could only watch as his body changed shape. You could only watch as a majestic wolf took the place of his human self, taking in the lot of you with a low snarl. When he realized you were not a threat, he turned from ferocious to quite playful, which was a surprise for everyone.

That night was the first of many in which Remus Lupin didn’t feel like a monster. He felt loved instead, having his friends all there with him, so he would never have to spend another full moon alone ever again.

The next morning when you returned to the castle you went directly into the boys’ dormitory, ready to clean and patch up the few wounds that Remus inflicted on himself the night before. Neither of you said anything while you worked, but afterwards, when you got up to leave, he grabbed your wrist.

“Stay, please.” he whispered.

Having seen what you’ve done for him melted his heart completely. You risked your life – and safety – for him. He was deeply worried at first, when he saw you standing there, and especially when you refused to leave. He would never be able to live with himself if he ever hurt you, but you were not scared. You never were scared – not of him.

He decided that this was it, this was his chance – and he took it. He moved to the side, making enough room for you to lay down next to him and you gladly took him up on his offer, cuddling up against him and falling asleep almost instantly. When you woke up a few hours later, you were all tangled up in each other, which made you blush bright red. Remus, however, had a bright smile on his lips.

“Would you let me take you out on a date?” he asked sheepishly.

“I’d love that, Remus.” you responded with a smile of your own, leaning up to place a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Bloody finally.” you heard a sleepy James mutter.

“I thought you’d never ask.” continued Sirius from the bed next to Remus’.

“Oi, shut up, you two!” came the young werewolf’s reply, but there was no mistaking his red cheeks. You hid your face in the crook of his neck as the two troublemakers started laughing and shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips at their antics.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Heart of the Wild (Ch.1)

Notes: Here I am, with my favorite tropes and high-key copying the plot to my other fic, Wild Heart. Oh well, I had fun chilling and plotting it with my friend, @mha-girl674 while listening to Celtic Woodland music :3 This story is basically a little self-indulgent “re-write”, but Wild Heart is still up and it’s own fic <3

Pairings: Taishiro x reader, a little bit of Kirideku, and Miro x Tamaki next chapter

Setting: Hybrid Au in medieval times? Ig? Like they have villages and stuff. Idk, imagination :3

Warnings: Self Indulgent Spicy Plot with consensual and self smut thrown in around here and there. Characters are over the age of twenty.

Trigger Warnings: Heats, terrible parents (of the reader), and fear of non-consent, but there is no no-consensual touching, just chasing from an unknown character.

Hot breaths panted into the chilly air from within your chest. You couldn’t feel anything, other than the white heat burn within your feet and legs from the blistering cold. You’ve been running for who knows how long, heart screaming within your chest at the thrill of finally being free, and what a stupid decision that this was.

 It was in the middle of winter, and you’ve chosen now to escape. It was smart as well as stupid, for your parents, thinking that they had you metaphorically tied to a tight leash, would have never expect you to rush out into the cold dead of the winter night.

 They were wrong, but you were suffering. There was no food, lest hardly any shelter or warmth. Your scrap of a tattered cloak, barely weathered the unforgiving wind and snow. Yet, trudging on was the best bet, it was the only bet.  

 At least the cool weather flushed down your heat, but not the scent. Being within a tundra had scared you; not only that there were more ferocious, bigger hybrids that could smell you out, but as well as it was so open. Nowhere to hide, plenty to run, and you’ve practically already exhausted yourself, your natural cycle to breed didn’t help matters, either, for it drained energy, as well.

 Was this better than having your parents keep a constant watch over you? Planning to hand over you to who knows who, in exchange for some pretty fabrics and seeds? Granted that you’ve thought this through in what seemed to be a million times, but you didn’t know what laid outside of your little nomadic tribe.

 Gritting teeth, leaning against a boulder, you gasped as pain shot through your leg. You were use to traveling with your tribe, carrying things for miles, but not running in constant fear into the vast unknown, perhaps miles away from any place that was safe.

 A low whine had cut you out of your thoughts, your head swerving around as a musky scent had now reached you. A fox was staring at you intently, licking his bottom lip as his hands clenched the boulder just ten feet away. Your own rabbit ears folded back in fear, yet his scent had sent yours screaming. Of course, your stupid inner omega was processing the idea of settling down in the tundra raising fox kits, but you weren’t having it.

 It was tempting to just lay down and rest, but not get bent over by the first stranger that you saw, especially one so wild looking and probably was more feral than your clansmen. You bolted. He gave a short yip of frustrated shock, and he chased.  

 This is what you had been fearing for your whole life. If it wasn’t in the back burner of your mind, it was the hungry looks that your clansmen shot your way, the way your parents were only interested in you as a future bargaining chip, and of course, the prospect of getting used by a stranger, and bearing unwanted kits.

 It upset you, and undoubtedly made your resolve to choose your own mate, even greater, if you wanted one, at this point. You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was that in your fear, the scent had gotten closer, giving the fact that the arctic fox was practically nipping at your heels. You yipped in surprise as pain shot through your foot, after suddenly tripping over a branch, the ground closed in as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the impact of the fall hit your arms and side as you tumbled a little ways.

 It didn’t take you long to recuperate, as you scrambled backwards, fearing for the worst yet to come as your back had hit a solid trunk of a tree. Surprise had hit you, for the fox stopped dead in his tracks. Once a musky scent, was now flooded with dread as he stared onward behind you, and then back at you. As if making up his mind after a mental process, he growled in frustration as he let out one last angry yip, before running off.

 Relief had wafted to you, slightly, but you were left with more questions than answers. The tree of all things against your back, and the way the fox had fled in fear, motivated you to turn around. It was a forest, to your utter surprise and shock. Running in a blind panic, you weren’t aware of your surroundings, just the pure fear mixed in with your inner omegas snapping demands to breed, had made you rushed and unfocused.

 By the way the stretch of lush pines and firs, had the forest itself look so dark and intimidating. You had an inkling that the snow and cold, and possibly even sunlight, hadn’t reached within it’s mysterious depths, and it looked oddly inviting. You knew that the fox had fled for a reason, and that it was a stupid idea to even think of venturing inside, but you were out of options.  

  You didn’t want to freeze to death in the snow, after all. Steadying yourself up against the bare cedar you’ve bumped into, you took a step forward, wincing at the pain from your hurt ankle and sore legs. However, the lure of the possibility of safety, was more strong than your will to just lay down. Inching forward into the darkness, you let the trees within guide you. It was dark, at first, but of course, trees could only give only so much shade. Dim, was the more correct use of the word as you inched closer and deeper within the forest’s heart. Despite the atmosphere, the birds were singing to their heart’s content, as you could hear the sound of rushing water in the background somewhere.

 You jumped a little as your foot brushed up against something soft. Green, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the little patches of grass and clovers littered across it’s floor. It was cold, yes, but not as cold as it was outside the fortress of trees. In what had seemed eerie and intimidating at first, now had filled you with an odd sense of serenity and calmness. The area around it had an odd, yet highly welcomed earthy smell with a splash of something sweet in which had you relaxed and sated the crawling of your heat.

 Why did the fox fear this place? It had seemed so safe. The hairs of the back of your neck had stood up as you stilled. It had took you longer to realize, that the forest’s unique scent, didn’t belong to the forest at all. Eyes widening in realization, your hands gripped the tree that you were leaning up against. Fate, so far, was kind to you, and although you didn’t want to push your luck, you were hopeless and out of options. Was it a bear? Even then, they usually didn’t let their scents be covered in trees like this. It was baffling, as well as a mystery to you, and you wanted to find out.

 Yet, exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll onto your weary body as you could feel your remaining strength just physically drain from you. Tired, hungry, scared, and hurt through the array of emotions, your body had decided that you were going to rest, whether you liked it or not. As you collapsed onto the forest floor, a shout of surprise echoed as your world turned into black.

…………………

 “-tch. Annoyin’ bunnies an’ their heats.” A huff of annoyance broke out into the silence. Once dark, life had filtered through your senses once again as the scent earlier, was the strongest here. Crackling of fire, warmth, and the scent had awakened you as you cracked open your eyelids.

 A house, you couldn’t help but wonder in awe. The fireplace had created a warm atmosphere against the darkened room, lighting up a place of comfort and furs from non-hybrids. You yourself, were in a bed, bandages were wrapped around your hurt ankle and arms as warm blankets had covered you. What had caught your attention most in the lit room, was the tall figure of a man stirring something within a kettle, back turned against you. What had surprised you most definitely, were the orange and black appendages that were his ears and long, swishing tail.

 A tiger? You had wondered. They were rare, here, and more rare if they were orange, those being in the east, not the north. Oddly enough, fear didn’t prickle you, but your heat, just stirring awake with you, had. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have, already, not literally save you from the cold and bandaged your wounds.

 Not wanting to startle him, you rustled a bit, letting the bed creak a little to get his attention. An ear of his flicked as he then turned around, giving you the full view of your mysterious stranger. Curious amber eyes, soft blonde hair, he wasn’t big, but he wasn’t slim, having a hefty amount of a belly fat on him, due to the winter. Years of work had shown on his shoulders, creating muscle mass as well as around his arms and upper chest. Only what has been covering him, was a loose pair of pants. You had to furiously mentally beat your heat and thoughts down with a stick as he then spoke.

“Ya look like a mess.”

 And there it was, the trickle of slick leaked out of you as your face burned with embarrassment and shame and you then covered your face with a downy pillow. A huff of surprised laughter at your expense made you peep out and give the best glare that you could manage, yet the stranger just gave you a grin.

 “I must say, yer lil’ reaction’s a bit different from a lotta other beings bein’ near a tiger. Name’s Taishiro.” To your utmost surprise, he let out a please little purr as he then turned back to the kettle. You gave him your name.

 “So, why is a lil’ thing like yerself doin’ out in the middle of here?” He pondered, as if he already knew the answer, but for conversation’s sake, you enlightened him, watching his tail swish with annoyance at your parents, and ears flickering with interest as you explored the forest.

 “What about you?” You turned to ask. His back stiffened a little, as if caught with surprise at the notion.

 “Came from the east, lookin’ for a new start in life away from my parents. I knew that a lotta others would fear me, but I didn’t know that they’d avoid a whole forest ‘cause of me,” He then took a wooden bowl and ladle, dipping the curved spoon into the bubbling stew as he continued.

 “-granted, I made some friends, even adopted some younglin’s. Strangers just usually don’t come ‘round here.” He finished, pouring the delicious smelling broth into the bowl, tucking a wooden spoon in it as he turned around.

 It was an odd atmosphere, and you were pretty sure that you weren’t dreaming, but for your sake, you went along with it.

“Are you lonely?” You asked bluntly. He froze, and then gave an indigenous huff as he set the bowl down at the table closest to you. Ears flattened and tail swishing, at first you thought that you made him angry, but he avoided your curious stare as he looked rather nervous.

 “Ye’re pretty wordy for somebody who jus’ woke up. Ya must be starvin’, here. T’s not much, but I figured that ya might be hungry.” He changed the subject as he gestured towards the bowl. Telling him your gratitude, you gripped it, lifted a spoonful of the soup, and took a sip. To your surprise, the sweet taste of carrots had mixed in heavenly with the starchy potatoes, crisp lettuce, and the slight bitter bite of spinach.

 “It’s delicious.” You admitted truthfully, not missing the way his ears picked up at the compliment.

 “Thanks to the trees blockin’ the cold, ‘s not hard to grow yer own food. I might be a predator, but I can live without meat.” He rambled, There was so much to say, and many questions left unanswered, but you knew that you were on borrowed time, until your natural cycle would bite back with a vengeance, later. He must have known it, too.

 “The worried look on yer face is a dead giveaway, Hon. I never housed somebody in heat, before, but don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Ya can stay here fer a while, seein’ that a hurt ankle might take longer to heal. I ‘ave some friends that I can stay with.” He rambled, but you looked at him with pure confusion.

 “You’re giving up your home temporarily? For a stranger?” You asked, baffled. At this, his tail swished, as if a little shy.

 “Temporarily. I don’t know what yer plans are in the future, but the forest doesn’t belong to me, ya can hang around an’ have yer own place, within the depths. I couldn’t just leave somebody there, sufferin’ and the brink of death, anyways.” He murmured lowly, but you could hear it clearly. Warmth that wasn’t heat, clouded into your chest at such kindness from the stranger. He was a stranger, yes, but you felt as if you could trust him fully, giving that his actions of helping you and not asking for anything in return, had screamed volumes.

 “Thank you, for everything.” You blurted out, and the corner of his lip twitched upward at your honest gratitude.

“Not a problem, Sweetheart.”

…………………….

 He knew the dangers of housing a slick, hot-blooded omega rabbit, of all beings, had included. What he didn’t expect, was the general bluntness and forwardness of the little thing. Not as timid or shy, but generally open and forward with emotions. Being in the early stages of heat, right now the bunny was coherent, but he knew that it would only last for so long before the true, ugly nature of one’s natural heat cycle, took over.

 “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, Hon. I’m going to stay far away. It’s fer your safety. I might prowl around my area and scent everything, keepin’ unwanted guests, away, but I’m not gonna barge in on yer privacy or be too close to the house.” He told you, laying out a plan. You nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as you listened closely.

 “-believe it or not, I know somebody who could bring ya rations an’ talk with ya after yer heat spells. He’s a dwarf rabbit, an’ already mated to somebody who I see as a son of mine. Since he’s an omega, like yerself, he should be more immune to yer smell. Green hair an’ freckles, can’t miss’im.” Taishiro explained, and you listened with interest, seeing that you weren’t truly alone in your being as well as dynamic.

 “Sorry that we won’t talk, much, but I thought that I’d best introduce myself ‘fore ya wake up alone and scared.”

 “I’m not scared.” You admitted, and he huffed.

 “Now, ye’re not, but if ya woke up alone an’ in a stranger’s house, ya would be.” He argued, and you let him win, seeing that you were too caught up in emotions, and just wanted to process everything. Noticing your state, he gave out a chuckle.

 “Alright, I’ll see ya later, when yer heat’s over. Ya kinda intrigue me, a lil’ bit, so I’m hopin’ that ya might stay, a lil’ while longer after yer heat.” As soon as he admitted it, his ears flattened with embarrassment as he huffed out a sigh, the apples of his cheeks reddening as he swiftly turned around, opening the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

 You bit your bottom lip. For an apex predator who was lethal as well as dangerous, he was almost as soft as a kitten, and you hoped that, at the very least, the two of you could be friends.

………………

  You were weak, you huffed, panting out hot air as one of your hands gripped the pillow, harshly. Usually, you didn’t have a face, or a body in your images as you tried your best to sate the flash of hot emptiness. It has always been nothing but hot and drowsy images of the blurred shapes of your pillow and furs in the past, leaving you unsatisfied and on the brink of frustrated tears.

 This time, you had kindle to feed that ever demanding fire of yours, licking sharply at the heels of your feet as you were on the brink of the edge. Smooth muscle, soft fat, warm amber irises, and that twinge of a smile, had pinned your focus. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help it, nor could you think clearly of anything nor anybody else.

 He was so friendly and helpful to you, and here you were, ruining his bedding and furs with your slick, fingers deep within you, wrist hurting from the desperate climb, but no full relief avail. Your body couldn’t had waited, as soon as he left with that calming scent, a spike had hit you in where it had hurt, the empty ache shooting up in full demand.

 Where was this man? Your inner omega screamed, but you harshly shushed it, focusing on the edge, and how to clean the sheets, afterwords. In your blurred state, you knew that you had hardly knew him, but already, he was so far the perfect embodiment of what most beings had wanted in a partner. You admitted freely, that you were no different.

 Letting out a small squeak within the bitten pillow, harsh relief shot through you, as you clenched on your fingers desperately, your body trembling and tears pooling from the corners of your eyes at finally, finding a sudden rush of relief.

 You huffed, calming down from your euphoric high as you palmed your face against the pillow in which smelled exactly like him. You were in too deep, you couldn’t help but think, a little guilty for desecrating the hospitality by literally cumming onto his blankets with him in your mind.

……………………….

[psychewithwings]

I just read your party HCs and omg the Chrollo one 😍 anyway I was wondering if you could maybe do a one shot elaborating on that? Or just anything with Chrollo tbh I love the way you write him!

Baby you’re so sweeeeeet! Ah made my day! I would gladly elaborate....

The Fox and The Rabbit : NSFW 

(duh its Chrollo)

WARNING: D/s dynamic, dirrrrrty talk, collars, public sexual acts

The party was elaborate to say the least... The crystal chandeliers illuminated the glass mansion where the party was being held.

 The marble floors sparkled. You had never seen somewhere more beautiful and you felt a bit out of place. You stood in the ball room with your boyfriend, in a f/c dress. The lace rabbit mask that covered your face was tied around your head with a black satin ribbon. Chrollo Lucifer, had his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. You looked up at him, laughing softly at his fox mask, “I’m sorry,” you said giggling, “it’s just that I wouldn’t have thought you would pick woodland creatures.” Chrollo’s eyes were hidden behind his mask but you watched his lips quirk up into a playful smile. “Oh? And what’s so funny about that?” he asked the grip on your waist tightening. “I-it’s just that, I figured you’d have chosen something a bit more ferocious than a fox...” He moved you in front of him as a caterer passed carrying a tray of champagne. Chrollo’s fingers dug into your hips and he breathed his words against your neck. “The fox is ferocious, to the rabbit,” he said and nipped softly at the skin of your neck. Your breath hitched in your throat. Why was he always teasing you like this? His fingers found their way to the leather band that was wrapped around your neck. “And you’re wearing your collar, such a good girl you are...” he kissed your cheek carefully, letting his lips linger. Your knees were weak, and you could feel your panties getting wet already. You wished he’d given you more time before introducing you to the very well known “art traders” and “personal assistants” and such. 

You knew virtually nothing about this party, except that it was an annual masquerade ball and that Chrollo was a... colleague, of the host. But you were discovering that this was a party for the most elite criminals, in the world. You sipped nervously at the champagne you had snagged off of a tray. You looked around to see all  of the faces gazing back. It was both dazzling and unsettling to be watched through the eye holes of different faces, devils, dogs, cats, spider web like designs, and birds. You brushed your hand over your collar wondering if it was so obvious to the others. A rabbit, collared by a fox. The thought itself had you squeezing your thighs together. You downed your glass of champagne and grabbed another from a glinting silver tray. 

“Pardon me, it’s just that you are so incredibly beautiful, it would have been wrong for me to not say anything.” You turned to see Chrollo eyeing you through his fox. “May I?” he asked as he reached for your hand.You nodded slowly, the lace rabbit ears bobbing. He took your hand and lead you to the dance floor. You swigged the rest of that champagne and placed the glass on the closest surface to you, before making it to the dance floor. He clasped your lace gloved hand in his. “Closer,” he said tugging you into him. He held onto you tight and slowly began to dance you around the room. “I feel like everyone is watching us,” you said noticing the wandering eyes of the different creature faces. “They probably are, you’re a beautiful dancer,” he said. As you danced around, the bubbles began to go to your head and you giggled softly in delight. Chrollo held you close against his chest and you placed your head against his breast pocket. You drew little circles on his tuxedo with your fingers. “Hey,” you said looking up at him. He glanced down at you, waiting for you to state your desire. But you didn't say anything, just bit your lip and trailed your wandering hand lower. “Be careful, are you sure you want to start this game, bunny?” You laughed deviously and then said with your most sincere tone, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You couldn’t see him do it, but you were sure he raised an eyebrow at you. “Is that so?” You nodded assuredly then asked if you could take a break from dancing. Chrollo pulled out his pocket watch. It was 7:52pm, “dinner will be serves in 8 minutes but we can rest here.” He gestured to the chairs along the wall of the ball room. 

Chrollo was about to take his seat but before, he bowed to you and took your hand. “Thank you, for the dance,” he said and he pushed down the lace of your glove and planted a soft kiss to your wrist. He then sat in the chair and pulled you onto his lap. You straddled his legs with your own. “Move,” he commanded. “Move?” you asked softly worrying that even with the music someone might over hear your conversation. He situated you on his lap to where you could easily rub against his thigh. “Don't make me say it again,” he said and placed his hands on your hips. You began to slowly grind yourself against his thigh. “That’s my good girl, I want you nice and wet for me.” You let a soft sigh escape your lips before you could hold it back. “Please Chrollo, no more, you’re embarrassing me,” you begged. But he wasn't having it, he urged your hips to keep moving. You were positive that you had soaked your panties at this point and you were annoyed that he wasn’t playing fair. But you didn't expect him to, he never did... so you wouldn’t either. You pushed back against him so now with every movement of your hips, your ass would grind against his dick, which was getting harder with every movement you made. “I love what i can do to you,” you whispered to him. He was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that warned you were in trouble. You had pushed him too far. 

A tinkling of a small silver bell interrupted your game with Chrollo. Dinner was served. The guests filed out into the garden and sat at the appropriate tables with their name cards at each place setting. Chrollo moves to a seat where his current name is written, Samael. Your name card read, Lilith. He’s funny that Chrollo Lucifer and his little calling cards. You were surprised it had been so long and he hadn’t been figured out yet. 

Your seats were closer to the head of the table, which meant closer to the host. He pulled out your chair and you sat down, next to a woman who had on a badger’s mask. She nodded at you politely and you gave her a quick smile. The first course was brought out, a soup with a red broth and a single bone resting in the porcelain dish. You were about to ask Chrollo if it was safe to eat, seeing as it looked like watered down blood, when he whispered in your ear. “Give me your panties.” You looked at him, wide eyed, through your rabbit face. “Go on,” he encouraged, “I thought rabbit’s liked to fuck.” You looked back to the badger woman, who looked back at you... How were you going to manage this? “Do you read?” you heard someone ask Chrollo. You knew then you would be ignored if you didn’t do as he asked. You checked again and no one seemed to be paying much attention to you. You took a spoonful of soup and then somehow managed to pull your thong below your ass without anyone seeing. It was when you were pulling them down your thighs you were caught. The woman with the badger mask cleared her throat. You were glad your dress was long enough that she couldn't see your thong around your knees and you were lucky the table itself was large enough that she couldn't see your lap. But she was still wondering what you were fiddling with and why. “My garter slipped,” you said and then spooned more broth into your mouth. You would have to wait for the right moment... It came when the wine was being poured. and you were able to slip them off and hand them over without anymore mistakes. “They’re so wet... pathetic really, I’ve barely touched you,”he whispered against your cheek. Goosebumps broke out across your skin as his hand trailed up your thigh. “Samael, I’ve not met your rabbit before have I?” said the host. His mask was green, iridescent, reminiscent of a scarabs wings. “You haven’t, but she is very special to me and I thank you for letting me bring her,” Chrollo said his reply as one of his fingers slipped inside you. “Ah-And I thank you f-for allowing me to attend this wonderful p-party,” you said trying to cover your gasp. “You will have to pardon my sweet bunny girl, I’m afraid she is terribly shy...” His fingers curled inside you expertly.

 You reached for your wine glass and sipped with shaking hands. He added a second finger and the glass almost slipped from your hands.”Oh my!” you exclaimed trying your best to hold back your moan. “The wine is d-delicious,” you told the host. Trying again to best cover up your sounds of ecstasy. “My darling bunny, she’s trying her best to overcome her shyness,” Chrollo said, his fingers working faster against your walls. The waiters came to collect the first course dishes and you could feel yourself getting close. The waiter retrieved your dish, Chrollo’s finger pumping in and out of you going unnoticed. Anyone who saw would assume he was just comforting his shy girlfriend by caressing her leg. “Thank him for taking your dish,” he commanded. “Oh t-thank you!” you gasped. Although you were saying it more so to Chrollo than the waiter. Your breath hitched in your throat as a small crystal dish of sorbet was set in front of you, a pallet cleanser. You were so close, just on the edge of coming undone completely, at a dinner party, in front of all these people. “I think that Motzart’s Symphony no. 40 : Molto Allegro, is absolutely brilliant and symbolizes-” how was he having a conversation so in depth while simultaneously making you writhe around in your chair? You grabbed the sides of the chair, you couldn’t take it anymore, you were going to cum. As you tightened around his fingers that were furiously pressing into your G spot, you squealed in delight. Your orgasm washed over you like the ocean’s tide, and it pulled from your mouth words you wouldn’t be able to take back. “Holy shit, it’s so fucking good!” You said it louder than you had wanted to but you quickly picked up a spoon and shoved some sorbet into your mouth. “The sorbet! The sorbet, is so fucking good,” you added. Chrollo chuckled as he watched embarrassment take over your aura. “Look at yourself, playing the fool just so you can cum all over my fingers hmm?” he whispered to you and even though you had just cum, your thighs squeezed against his hand. “Why are you trying to close your legs? You know I’m no where near done with you yet...” You had only had soup, there were 3 more courses. How were you going to make it through dinner?

[if-found-return-to-gusu]

Happy Birthday to Me Pt. 5

And so my kingdom rejoiced, led in their jubilation by their handsome, kind,  and most humble king. 

There was a bit of dissension in the masses however when I rightfully proclaimed Lan Zhan, bringer of booze, to be the best. Because he was. 

“And what are we?” cried the malcontent, “He’s not the only one who paid for those.”

Jiang Cheng then thwapped me on the shoulder to punctuate his point. Not one to take a declaration of war lying down, I thwapped him right back. But before a true battle could commence, we were put in our place by the High Queen Shijie. She told us to set a better example for our niece and nephew and we were properly contrite. 

It would take more than a sound scolding to keep the smile off my face though. Especially with little A-Ling eyeing my shiny crown from his place on his father’s lap.  It was quite fun to watch his willpower slowly fading as his desire finally won out. 

He slid off of his father’s lap with a look of careful concentration very reminiscent of when he had been carrying the bunny earlier, and toddled over to me. 

“I wan be keng!” he burbled, making grabby hands at my crown after he managed to clamber onto my lap instead.

“What?” I gasped dramatically. “Why that simply can’t be allowed! Why if anyone who wanted could be king then everyone would be king! I’m afraid you’d have to fight me for it!”

Ooooh that little boy knows how to work a crowd. He stuck out his lower lip with just the perfect level of tremble. His eyes went wide and glistened with moisture. 

Soon a quiet but persistent whine started to emanate from the small child. 

The peacock looked hilariously resigned. Clearly this tactic was used quite often and I’m guessing with quite a lot of success.

Not being made of stone, I crumbled before him. Removing my plastic crown, I bowed humbly before the usurper and offered him his prize. 

“You have defeated me! I shall abdicate my kingdom to you. Hail to the new king! May he rule his subjects fairly!” I said with an appropriately warbling voice. 

Shijie watched this with an amused smile never leaving her lips. The transaction complete, she told her new king that he still needed to finish eating his food if he wanted to be a strong ruler. 

The crown sunk past his eyes when he nodded at her in agreement, but he looked more than satisfied. His goal having been accomplished he didn’t hesitate to further his betrayal by abandoning me again in favor of his golden father, who for his part looked entirely too proud of his little boy. 

I looked over the remains of my fallen kingdom to find that no one seemed to much care about the change in dynasty.  They were all too busy chattering to each other to pay me much mind. I started to pout a bit before something interesting perked my ear. Nie Huaisang voice drifted my way, positively calling for my attention with that conspiratorial tone that always promised a juicy bit of gossip. He was talking to MianMian, Gamby, and Qin Su who all seemed equally captivated.

Apparently Lan Zhan had IMPRESSIVELY long hair in his youth. Long and shiny. 

“Never got caught or a single split end! I swear! Gift from the GODS that hair!” he claimed. 

“Really? What made him cut it?” Gamby asked with mirth glittering in her lined eyes. 

“Some dickwad got gum caught in it so he just hocked it all off.”

The girls looked rightfully aghast at that information! How could you do that????? There’s ways to remove gum without a sword! What a shame!

I couldn’t complain too much though because it did seem that Lan Zhan was growing it out again. Certainly it had gotten much longer in recent months and with how meticulous Lan Zhan is in every part of his life I doubt he would let this slide were it not completely intentional. 

After it was clear that his audience was hooked, Nie Huaisang’s expression turned positively devious. 

“But I never told you about the valiant Lan Wangji’s heroic conquest over the vile beasts that once threatened to claim this humble one’s very life!”

“Huaisang…” Lan Zhan growled in warning. 

This only made SangSang’s shit eating grin grow wider and his audience to listen with even more rapt attention. 

“Oh how frightful!” Qin Su said, playing along dutifully. 

“What kind of beast?” MianMian asked, pretending to be playfully amazed. 

“Why it was a terrifying…”

“Huaisang.” Lan Zhan said, sounding even more dangerous now. 

“Ferocious!” SangSang said with ever increasing drama.

“Don’t you--”

“Porcupine!”

His audience gasped accordingly before we dissolved into giggles. 

Now in Lan Zhan’s defense they were both young and porcupines actually ARE pretty terrifying in person even if they’re rather adorable. Spiky butts aren’t exactly the best for cuddling. 

Apparently Nie Huaisang, in one of his rare steps into boldly daring to imitate his brother, had tried to pet a group of porcupines. When Lan Zhan stepped in to save him from his spiny doom, they decided that HE was the true enemy and chased him all around. 

So now porcupines are to Lan Zhan what dogs are to me. Absolutely no judgement here. It’s not even that bad of a story, but Nie Huaisang apparently loves to tell it because for some reason Lan Zhan is REALLY embarrassed by it. 

To help him save some face while everyone giggled at his frankly adorably mortified reactions, I decided to speak up. 

“So basically you were an idiot who wanted to try to pet a wild animal that would absolutely kick your ass and Lan Zhan got the short stick after very bravely saving your sorry hide?”

“Yup. Pretty much,” SangSang agreed with absolutely no shame. 

I rolled my eyes at him, but then turned to Lan Zhan who seemed not to be listening anymore. I chuckled a little at him for being silly and tried to pat his arm a bit to comfort him. He looked up at me and I managed to coax a little smile out of him in the end. Poor guy. 

It’s much more reasonable to be afraid of porcupines than of a chihuahua. 

And you’re much less likely to be faced with a porcupine in daily life. EVERYONE fucking has a dog. Uugh. Crazy ass people. 

After that there was a lot of eating and chattering and cheers to my health which caused more than one cheek to color a rosy red. I was starting to feel the edges of a buzz myself, though since I wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach and downing three bottles all at once I was doing much better with my liquor than when I’d accidentally got wasted in Lan Zhan’s apartment.

Ugh. How mortifying. 

Please don’t judge me for that time. I normally can drink forever without a problem. It was a fluke!

[life-observed]

The Crane Wife

Ten days after I called off my engagement I was supposed to go on a scientific expedition to study the whooping crane on the gulf coast of Texas. Surely, I will cancel this trip, I thought, as I shopped for nylon hiking pants that zipped off at the knee. Surely, a person who calls off a wedding is meant to be sitting sadly at home, reflecting on the enormity of what has transpired and not doing whatever it is I am about to be doing that requires a pair of plastic clogs with drainage holes. Surely, I thought, as I tried on a very large and floppy hat featuring a pull cord that fastened beneath my chin, it would be wrong to even be wearing a hat that looks like this when something in my life has gone so terribly wrong.

Ten days earlier I had cried and I had yelled and I had packed up my dog and driven away from the upstate New York house with two willow trees I had bought with my fiancé.

Ten days later and I didn’t want to do anything I was supposed to do.

*

I went to Texas to study the whooping crane because I was researching a novel. In my novel there were biologists doing field research about birds and I had no idea what field research actually looked like and so the scientists in my novel draft did things like shuffle around great stacks of papers and frown. The good people of the Earthwatch organization assured me I was welcome on the trip and would get to participate in “real science” during my time on the gulf. But as I waited to be picked up by my team in Corpus Christi, I was nervous—I imagined everyone else would be a scientist or a birder and have daunting binoculars.

The biologist running the trip rolled up in in a large white van with a boat hitch and the words BIOLOGICAL SCIENCES stenciled across the side. Jeff was forty-ish, and wore sunglasses and a backward baseball cap. He had a winter beard and a neon-green cast on his left arm. He’d broken his arm playing hockey with his sons a week before. The first thing Jeff said was, “We’ll head back to camp, but I hope you don’t mind we run by the liquor store first.” I felt more optimistic about my suitability for science.

*

Not long before I’d called off my engagement it was Christmas.

The woman who was supposed to be my mother-in-law was a wildly talented quilter and made stockings with Beatrix Potter characters on them for every family member. The previous Christmas she had asked me what character I wanted to be (my fiancé was Benjamin Bunny). I agonized over the decision. It felt important, like whichever character I chose would represent my role in this new family. I chose Squirrel Nutkin, a squirrel with a blazing red tail—an epic, adventuresome figure who ultimately loses his tail as the price for his daring and pride.

I arrived in Ohio that Christmas and looked to the banister to see where my squirrel had found his place. Instead, I found a mouse. A mouse in a pink dress and apron. A mouse holding a broom and dustpan, serious about sweeping. A mouse named Hunca Munca. The woman who was supposed to become my mother-in-law said, “I was going to do the squirrel but then I thought, that just isn’t CJ. This is CJ.”

What she was offering was so nice. She was so nice. I thanked her and felt ungrateful for having wanted a stocking, but not this stocking. Who was I to be choosy? To say that this nice thing she was offering wasn’t a thing I wanted?

When I looked at that mouse with her broom, I wondered which one of us was wrong about who I was.

*

The whooping crane is one of the oldest living bird species on earth. Our expedition was housed at an old fish camp on the Gulf Coast next to the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, where three hundred of the only six hundred whooping cranes left in the world spend their winters. Our trip was a data-collecting expedition to study behavior and gather data about the resources available to the cranes at Aransas.

The ladies bunkhouse was small and smelled woody and the rows of single beds were made up with quilts. Lindsay, the only other scientist, was a grad student in her early twenties from Wisconsin who loved birds so much that when she told you about them she made the shapes of their necks and beaks with her hands—a pantomime of bird life. Jan, another participant, was a retired geophysicist who had worked for oil companies and now taught high school chemistry. Jan was extremely fit and extremely tan and extremely competent. Jan was not a lifelong birder. She was a woman who had spent two years nursing her mother and her best friend through cancer. They had both recently died and she had lost herself in caring for them, she said. She wanted a week to be herself. Not a teacher or a mother or a wife. This trip was the thing she was giving herself after their passing.

At five o’clock there was a knock on the bunk door and a very old man walked in, followed by Jeff.

“Is it time for cocktail hour?” Warren asked.

Warren was an eighty-four-year-old bachelor from Minnesota. He could not do most of the physical activities required by the trip, but had been on ninety-five Earthwatch expeditions, including this one once before.Warren liked birds okay. What Warren really loved was cocktail hour.

When he came for cocktail hour that first night, his thin, silver hair was damp from the shower and he smelled of shampoo. He was wearing a fresh collared shirt and carrying a bottle of impossibly good scotch.

Jeff took in Warren and Jan and me. “This is a weird group,” Jeff said.

“I like it,” Lindsay said.

*

In the year leading up to calling off my wedding, I often cried or yelled or reasoned or pleaded with my fiancé to tell me that he loved me. To be nice to me. To notice things about how I was living.

One particular time, I had put on a favorite red dress for a wedding. I exploded from the bathroom to show him. He stared at his phone. I wanted him to tell me I looked nice, so I shimmied and squeezed his shoulders and said, “You look nice! Tell me I look nice!” He said, “I told you that you looked nice when you wore that dress last summer. It’s reasonable to assume I still think you look nice in it now.”

Another time he gave me a birthday card with a sticky note inside that said BIRTHDAY. After giving it to me, he explained that because he hadn’t written in it, the card was still in good condition. He took off the sticky and put the unblemished card into our filing cabinet.

I need you to know: I hated that I needed more than this from him. There is nothing more humiliating to me than my own desires. Nothing that makes me hate myself more than being burdensome and less than self-sufficient. I did not want to feel like the kind of nagging woman who might exist in a sit-com.

These were small things, and I told myself it was stupid to feel disappointed by them. I had arrived in my thirties believing that to need things from others made you weak. I think this is true for lots of people but I think it is especially true for women. When men desire things they are “passionate.” When they feel they have not received something they need they are “deprived,” or even “emasculated,” and given permission for all sorts of behavior. But when a woman needs she is needy. She is meant to contain within her own self everything necessary to be happy.

That I wanted someone to articulate that they loved me, that they saw me, was a personal failing and I tried to overcome it.

When I found out that he’d slept with our mutual friend a few weeks after we’d first started seeing each other, he told me we hadn’t officially been dating yet so I shouldn’t mind. I decided he was right. When I found out that he’d kissed another girl on New Year’s Eve months after that, he said that we hadn’t officially discussed monogamy yet, and so I shouldn’t mind. I decided he was right.

I asked to discuss monogamy and, in an effort to be the sort of cool girl who does not have so many inconvenient needs, I said that I didn’t need it. He said he thought we should be monogamous.

*

Here is what I learned once I began studying whooping cranes: only a small part of studying them has anything to do with the birds. Instead we counted berries. Counted crabs. Measured water salinity. Stood in the mud. Measured the speed of the wind.

It turns out, if you want to save a species, you don’t spend your time staring at the bird you want to save. You look at the things it relies on to live instead. You ask if there is enough to eat and drink. You ask if there is a safe place to sleep. Is there enough here to survive?

Wading through the muck of the Aransas Reserve I understood that every chance for food matters. Every pool of drinkable water matters. Every wolfberry dangling from a twig, in Texas, in January, matters. The difference between sustaining life and not having enough was that small.

If there were a kind of rehab for people ashamed to have needs, maybe this was it. You will go to the gulf. You will count every wolfberry. You will measure the depth of each puddle.

*

More than once I’d said to my fiancé, How am I supposed to know you love me if you’re never affectionate or say nice things or say that you love me.

He reminded me that he’d said “I love you” once or twice before. Why couldn’t I just know that he did in perpetuity?

I told him this was like us going on a hiking trip and him telling me he had water in his backpack but not ever giving it to me and then wondering why I was still thirsty.

He told me water wasn’t like love, and he was right.

There are worse things than not receiving love. There are sadder stories than this. There are species going extinct, and a planet warming. I told myself: who are you to complain, you with these frivolous extracurricular needs?

*

On the gulf, I lost myself in the work. I watched the cranes through binoculars and recorded their behavior patterns and I loved their long necks and splashes of red. The cranes looked elegant and ferocious as they contorted their bodies to preen themselves. From the outside, they did not look like a species fighting to survive.

In the mornings we made each other sandwiches and in the evenings we laughed and lent each other fresh socks. We gave each other space in the bathroom. Forgave each other for telling the same stories over and over again. We helped Warren when he had trouble walking. What I am saying is that we took care of each other. What I am saying is we took pleasure in doing so. It’s hard to confess, but the week after I called off my wedding, the week I spent dirty and tired on the gulf, I was happy.

On our way out of the reserve, we often saw wild pigs, black and pink bristly mothers and their young, scurrying through the scrub and rolling in the dust among the cacti. In the van each night, we made bets on how many wild pigs we might see on our drive home.

One night, halfway through the trip, I bet reasonably. We usually saw four, I hoped for five, but I bet three because I figured it was the most that could be expected.

Warren bet wildly, optimistically, too high.

“Twenty pigs,” Warren said. He rested his interlaced fingers on his soft chest.

We laughed and slapped the vinyl van seats at this boldness.

But the thing is, we saw twenty pigs on the drive home that night. And in the thick of our celebrations, I realized how sad it was that I’d bet so low. That I wouldn’t even let myself imagine receiving as much as I’d hoped for.

*

What I learned to do, in my relationship with my fiancé, was to survive on less. At what should have been the breaking point but wasn’t, I learned that he had cheated on me. The woman he’d been sleeping with was a friend of his I’d initially wanted to be friends with, too, but who did not seem to like me, and who he’d gaslit me into being jealous of, and then gaslit me into feeling crazy for being jealous of.

The full course of the gaslighting took a year, so by the time I truly found out what had happened, the infidelity was already a year in the past.

It was new news to me but old news to my fiancé.

Logically, he said, it doesn’t matter anymore.

It had happened a year ago. Why was I getting worked up over ancient history?

I did the mental gymnastics required.

I convinced myself that I was a logical woman who could consider this information about having been cheated on, about his not wearing a condom, and I could separate it from the current reality of our life together.

Why did I need to know that we’d been monogamous? Why did I need to have and discuss inconvenient feelings about this ancient history?

I would not be a woman who needed these things, I decided.

I would need less. And less.

I got very good at this.

*

“The Crane Wife” is a story from Japanese folklore. I found a copy in the reserve’s gift shop among the baseball caps and bumper stickers that said GIVE A WHOOP. In the story, there is a crane who tricks a man into thinking she is a woman so she can marry him. She loves him, but knows that he will not love her if she is a crane so she spends every night plucking out all of her feathers with her beak. She hopes that he will not see what she really is: a bird who must be cared for, a bird capable of flight, a creature, with creature needs. Every morning, the crane-wife is exhausted, but she is a woman again. To keep becoming a woman is so much self-erasing work. She never sleeps. She plucks out all her feathers, one by one.

*

One night on the gulf, we bought a sack of oysters off a passing fishing boat. We’d spent so long on the water that day I felt like I was still bobbing up and down in the current as I sat in my camp chair. We ate the oysters and drank. Jan took the shucking knife away from me because it kept slipping into my palm. Feral cats trolled the shucked shells and pleaded with us for scraps.

Jeff was playing with the sighting scope we used to watch the birds, and I asked, “What are you looking for in the middle of the night?” He gestured me over and when I looked through the sight the moon swam up close.

I think I was afraid that if I called off my wedding I was going to ruin myself. That doing it would disfigure the story of my life in some irredeemable way. I had experienced worse things than this, but none threatened my American understanding of a life as much as a called-off wedding did. What I understood on the other side of my decision, on the gulf, was that there was no such thing as ruining yourself. There are ways to be wounded and ways to survive those wounds, but no one can survive denying their own needs. To be a crane-wife is unsustainable.

I had never seen the moon so up-close before. What struck me most was how battered she looked. How textured and pocked by impacts. There was a whole story written on her face—her face, which from a distance looked perfect.

*

It’s easy to say that I left my fiancé because he cheated on me. It’s harder to explain the truth. The truth is that I didn’t leave him when I found out. Not even for one night.

I found out about the cheating before we got engaged and I still said yes when he proposed in the park on a day we were meant to be celebrating a job I’d just gotten that morning. Said yes even though I’d told him I was politically opposed to the diamonds he’d convinced me were necessary. Said yes even though he turned our proposal into a joke by making a Bachelor reference and giving me a rose. I am ashamed of all of this.

He hadn’t said one specific thing about me or us during the proposal, and on the long trail walk out of the park I felt robbed of the kind of special declaration I’d hoped a proposal would entail, and, in spite of hating myself for wanting this, hating myself more for fishing for it, I asked him, “Why do you love me? Why do you think we should get married? Really?”

He said he wanted to be with me because I wasn’t annoying or needy. Because I liked beer. Because I was low-maintenance.

I didn’t say anything. A little further down the road he added that he thought I’d make a good mother.

This wasn’t what I hoped he would say. But it was what was being offered. And who was I to want more?

I didn’t leave when he said that the woman he had cheated on me with had told him over the phone that she thought it was unfair that I didn’t want them to be friends anymore, and could they still?

I didn’t leave when he wanted to invite her to our wedding. Or when, after I said she could not come to our wedding, he got frustrated and asked what he was supposed to do when his mother and his friends asked why she wasn’t there.

Reader, I almost married him.

*

Even now I hear the words as shameful: Thirsty. Needy. The worst things a woman can be. Some days I still tell myself to take what is offered, because if it isn’t enough, it is I who wants too much. I am ashamed to be writing about this instead of writing about the whooping cranes, or literal famines, or any of the truer needs of the world.

But what I want to tell you is that I left my fiancé when it was almost too late. And I tell people the story of being cheated on because that story is simple. People know how it goes. But it’s harder to tell the story of how I convinced myself I didn’t need what was necessary to survive. How I convinced myself it was my lack of needs that made me worthy of love.

*

After cocktail hour one night, in the cabin’s kitchen, I told Lindsay about how I’d blown up my life the week before. I told her because I’d just received a voice mail saying I could get a partial refund for my high-necked wedding gown. The refund would be partial because they had already made the base of the dress but had not done any of the beadwork yet. They said the pieces of the dress could still be unstitched and used for something else. I had caught them just in time.

I told Lindsay because she was beautiful and kind and patient and loved good things like birds and I wondered what she would say back to me. What would every good person I knew say to me when I told them that the wedding to which they’d RSVP’d was off and that the life I’d been building for three years was going to be unstitched and repurposed?

Lindsay said it was brave not to do a thing just because everyone expected you to do it.

Jeff was sitting outside in front of the cabin with Warren as Lindsay and I talked, tilting the sighting scope so it pointed toward the moon. The screen door was open and I knew he’d heard me, but he never said anything about my confession.

What he did do was let me drive the boat.

The next day it was just him and me and Lindsay on the water. We were cruising fast and loud. “You drive,” Jeff shouted over the motor. Lindsay grinned and nodded. I had never driven a boat before. “What do I do?” I shouted. Jeff shrugged. I took the wheel. We cruised past small islands, families of pink roseate spoonbills, garbage tankers swarmed by seagulls, fields of grass and wolfberries, and I realized it was not that remarkable for a person to understand what another person needed.

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/07/16/the-crane-wife/

[yandere-romanticaa]

Tag, you're it.

♡Looking at me through your window,

Boy, you had your eye out for a little.

"I'll cut you up and make you dinner,

You've reached the end, you are the winner."♡

Juono had been watching his sweetheart for months now, and his patience grew thinner and thinner with each passing day. Therefore, he decided that today was finally the day when he will take his (y/n). He was watching her, and while sipping on his tea, he was plotting. How was he going to do it? Hmmm, there were so many different ways he could take her! Should he drug her? Confuse her? Toy with her mind? Juono suddenly smirked, knowing how he will do it. He was feeling unusually playful that day so he settled on a fun little game of tag. That way, he can have a little fun and he would be able to see the terrified expression on (y/n)'s face. How delightful~!

♡Rolling down your tinted window

Driving next to me real slow, he said:

"Let me take you for a joyride,

I've got some candy for you inside."♡

(y/n) was passing by the café in which Juono had occupied, and she noticed his hungry gaze. How could she not? His eyes felt like stone cold knives, just stabbing her back non stop. The sensation was all to familiar to her. Wherever she went, she never felt quite alone and she was suspecting for months now that she had a stalker. And when she looked at that strange man, all of those sensations and emotions came back to her. She recalled all of the mysterious voices she heard in her bedroom and all of the sensual touches all over her body. She shivered at the memory, and at that same moment Juono finished his tea, and he proceded to loudly slam his cup on the table. This lightly startled (y/n) and she looked at the porcelain cup, too nervous to look at the stranger. Something about this entire scenario just felt so wrong. The entire street was empty, all of the shops were closed early for some reason, and the only person who was in this café was the stranger in front of her. He got up on his feet and was slowly making his way towards the window. He now stood right in front of (y/n), and the only thing separating them was that small pane of glass. Juono still held the same smile on his face, and with each passing second (y/n) grew more and more uncomftrable. The man was odd, that's for sure. Suddenly, he turned his attention towards the door and started to make his way towards it. He was exiting the café, and with every footstep, (y/n)'s heartbeat increased. This!! All of this just feels wrong! She needs to get out of here-

"Are you alright my dear? You look troubled~."

His smooth voice occupied her mind now, but it was far from pleasant. She heard it somewhere before, she just knew it! And she had a good idea where she heard it...

The setting sun was creating shadows all around the duo, and Juono's seemed to be the scariest one of all. His mouth suddenly contorted in to a wicked, if not animalistic grin. He pulled a gun from his long green robe, and pointed it on (y/n)'s forehead. The cold metal was pressed tightly against her head as her eyes widened. Horrible salty tears were threatening to spill from her (e/c) eyes, and at that moment Juono just cursed his inability to see. Dear God, how badly did he wanted to see (y/n) right now! Her beautiful fearful face, boy did he wanted to see it! He knew that she was afraid, her petrified heartbeat gave it all away. He spoke yet again:

"Let's make a little deal. I'm feeling kinda bored, so you and I are going to play a fun game of tag~! If you win, I'll give you a sweet treat and some peace, but if I win... well..."

He trailed off completely and before she knew it, he pulled a hunting knife from his pocket.

"You'll see exactly what will happen WHEN I win~!!"

♡Running through the parking lot,

He chased me and he wouldn't stop,

Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it.

Grabbed my hand, pushed me down,

Took the words right out my mouth

Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it.♡

She ran ferociously, knowing that her entire life was on the line. She had no idea who this man was, but he was nothing but trouble. With each passing second, she found it more difficult to breathe. What would she give to stop, just for a second, but she couldn't. The raging footsteps behind her were a cruel reminder of that. Juono was having the time of his life though. He dreamt of this hunt for months, and he was finally going to capture his little bunny. He reveled in her pain, and seeing her so scared, so vulnerable like this, it gave Juono an amazing feeling. It was an odd mix pleasure and excitement, and he never wants to let go of it. He decided to cut the game short, and before she knew it, Juono grabbed (y/n) hand and pinned her to the ground.

"I caught you~!"

♡Can anybody hear me? I'm hidden underground.

Can anybody hear me? Am I talking to myself?

Saying, "Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it."

He's saying, "Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it."♡

No, no, no, no! God please no! How did he catch up to her?! How was he so fast??! Her only option now was to scream, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. She was screaming so hard that her mouth was becoming dry and it hurt. It hurt so god damn much... Out of breath, she stopped screaming for a split second and before she could continue, a gloved hand roughly covered her mouth. Juono forced two of his fingers down her throat, and he listened to his beloved choking. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe... And it was all so amazing. Dare he say beautiful... He sat on her vaist, just admiring all of the cute sounds she was making. Her whimpers, her cries, he loved them all! He could finally listen to them whenever he wanted!

♡Little bit of poison in me

I can taste your skin in my teeth.

"I love it when I hear you breathing,

I hope to God you're never leaving."♡

Juono took out a small bottle a forced the thick liquid down (y/n)'s throat. It was disgusting. The liquid was unbelievably bitter, and she figured that it was some sort of sleeping drug. Juono suddenly lowered himself down to (y/n)'s neck and he lightly nibbled on her sweet skin. She tasted so heavenly, Juono couldn't get enough! He started to laugh as he continued to bruise her delicate neck, all while saying all sorts of things to her.

"The sounds you make are so precious."

"Only I can hear them."

"You will NEVER leave me!"

♡Eenie meenie miny mo,

Catch a lady by her toes,

If she screams, don't let her go.

Eenie meenie miny mo,

Your mother said to pick the very best girl,

And I am.♡

Juono tightly held on to (y/n), as if she was going to evaporate into thin air if he let her go. With each of her attempts of screaming, his grip only became more and more suffocating. He listened to her heartbeat once again, absolutely adoring it. (y/n) really is the most perfect girl... She was perfect only for him though. No one else but HIM!

♡Running through the parking lot,

He chased me and he wouldn't stop.

Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it.

Grabbed my hand, pushed me down,

Took the words right out my mouth

Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it.

Running through the parking lot,

He chased me and he wouldn't stop.

Tag, you're it, tag, you're it

Grabbed my hand, pushed me down,

Take the words right out my mouth,

Tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it.♡

[clarasimone]

Iain Glen nailing Hamlet (1991)

In 1991, after winning the Evening Standard Film Award for Best Actor, Iain Glen gave his soulful all, not on the stage in London, no, not yet, though really he could have, but at the Old Vic in Bristol, donning the persona of the Dane, Hamlet. He won the Special Commendation Ian Charleson Award* for his performance and yet it appears we will never see but stills from this production as no video recording was made, not even by and for the company. The University of Bristol has the archives of the production: the playbook, the programme and black and white stills. The V&A archives have the administrative papers. In our day and age, this sad evanescent corporeal sate of affairs is unimaginable. The memory of the play, of this performance fading away? We rebel against the very thought. We brandish our cell phones and swear we shall unearth and pirate its memory, somehow, somewhere. Even if we have to hypnotize patrons or pull out the very hearts of those who saw Iain Glen on stage, those few, those happy few, to read into their very memory and pulsating membrane just how brilliant he was. Because he was, he was. That’s what they’ll all tell you... 

Below, those pics and testimonies....

*(The Charleson Awards were established in memory of Ian Charleson, who died at 40 from Aids while playing Hamlet at the National Theatre in 1989)

- Iain Glen is a rampaging prince, quixotic, technically sound, tense as a coiled spring, funny. ‘To be, or not to be’ results from throwing himself against the white walls, an air of trembling unpredictability is beautifully conveyed throughout. ‘Oh, what a rogue and peasants slave’ is blindingly powerful. My life is drawn in angrily modern post Gielgud Hamlets: David Warner, Nicol Williams, Visotsky, Jonathon Price. Iain Glen is equal to them. He keeps good company. THE OBSERVER, Michael Coveney

- Paul Unwin’s riveting production reminded me more strongly than any I have ever seen that the Danish Court is riddled with secrecy. Politics is a form of hide and seek: everyone stealthily watches everyone else. Iain Glen’s Hamlet is a melancholic in the clinical sense: his impeccable breeding and essential good nature keep in check what might be an approaching breakdown. His vitriolic humour acts as a safety valve for a nagging instability, his boyish charm is deployed to placate and deceive a hostile and watchful world. Glen brings out Hamlet’s fatal self absorption: the way he cannot help observing himself and putting a moral price tag on every action and failure. He is a doomed boy. And his chill but touching calm at the end is that of a man who has finally understood the secrets behind the closed doors. The Sunday Times, John Peter

- This is an excellent production of Hamlet from the Bristol Old Vic. The director Paul Unwin and his designer Bunnie Christie have set the play in turn of the century Europe. Elsinore is a palace of claustrophobically white walls and numerous doors. All this is handled with a light touch, without drawing attention away from the play. Our first encounter with Hamlet shows him bottled up with rage and grief. Glen gives a gripping performance. The self-dramatising side of the character is tapped to the full by this talented actor. The Spectator, Christopher Edwards

**************************************************************************************************

The following though is my favorite review/article because it situates Iain Glen’s creation is time, in the spectrum of all renowned Hamlets.

How will Cumberbatch, TV’s Sherlock, solve the great mystery of Hamlet? by Michael Coveney - Aug 17, 2015

In 1987, three years before he died, the critic and venerable Shakespearean JC Trewin published a book of personal experience and reminiscence: Five and Eighty Hamlets. I’m thinking of supplying a second volume, under my own name, called Six and Fifty Hamlets, for that will be my total once Benedict Cumberbatch has opened at the Barbican.

There’s a JC and MC overlap of about 15 years: Trewin was a big fan of Derek Jacobi’s logical and graceful prince in 1977 and ended with less enthusiastic remarks about “the probing intelligence” of Michael Pennington in 1980 (both Jacobi and Pennington were 37 when they played the role; Cumberbatch is 39) and emotional pitch and distraction of Roger Rees in 1984 (post-Nickleby, Rees was 40, but an electric eel and ever-youthful).

I started as a reviewer in 1972 with three Hamlets on the trot: the outrageous Charles Marowitz collage, which treats Hamlet as a creep and Ophelia as a demented tart, and makes exemplary, equally unattractive polar opposites of Laertes and Fortinbras; a noble, stately Keith Michell (with a frantic Polonius by Ron Moody) at the Bankside Globe, Sam Wanamaker’s early draft of the Shakespearean replica; and a 90-minute gymnastic exercise performed by a cast of eight in identical chain mail and black breeches at the Arts Theatre.

This gives an idea of how alterable and adaptable Hamlet has been, and continues to be. There are contestable readings between the Folios, any number of possible cuts, and there is no end of choice in emphasis. Trewin once wrote a programme note for a student production directed by Jonathan Miller in which he said that the first scene on the battlements (“Who’s there?”) was the most exciting in world drama; the scene was cut.

And as Steven Berkoff pointed out in his appropriately immodestly titled book I Am Hamlet (1989), Hamlet doesn’t exist in the way Macbeth, or Coriolanus, exists; when you play Hamlet, he becomes you, not the other way round. Hamlet, said Hazlitt, is as real as our own thoughts.

Which is why my three favourite Hamlets are all so different from each other, and attractive because of the personality of the actor who’s provided the mould for the Hamlet jelly: my first, pre-critical-days Hamlet, David Warner (1965) at the Royal Shakespeare Company, was a lank and indolently charismatic student in a long red scarf, exact contemporary of David Halliwell’s Malcolm Scrawdyke, and two years before students were literally revolting in Paris and London; then Alan Cumming (1993) with English Touring Theatre, notably quick, mercurial and very funny, with a detachable doublet and hose, black Lycra pants and bovver boots, definitely (then) the glass of fashion, a graceful gender-bender like Brett Anderson of indie band Suede; and, at last, Michael Sheen (2011) at the Young Vic, a vivid and overreaching fantasist in a psychiatric institution (“Denmark’s a prison”), where every actor “plays” his part.

These three actors – Warner, Cumming, Sheen – occupy what might be termed the radical, alternative tradition of Hamlets, whereas the authoritative, graceful nobility of Jacobi belongs to the Forbes Robertson/John Gielgud line of high-ranking top drawer ‘star’ turns, a dying species and last represented, sourly but magnificently, by Ralph Fiennes (1995) in the gilded popular palace of the Hackney Empire. Fiennes, like Cumberbatch, has the sort of voice you might expect a non-radical, traditional Hamlet to possess.

But if you listen to Gielgud on tape, you soon realise he wasn’t ‘old school’ at all. He must have been as modern, at the time, as Noel Coward. Gielgud is never ‘intoned’ or overtly posh, he’s quicksilver, supple, intellectually alert. I saw him deliver the “Oh what a rogue and peasant slave” soliloquy on the night the National left the Old Vic (February 28, 1976); he had played the role more than 500 times, and not for 37 years, but it was as fresh, brilliant and compelling as if he had been making it up on the spot.

Ben Kingsley, too, in 1975, was a fiercely intelligent Royal Shakespeare Company Hamlet, and I saw much of that physical and mental power in David Tennant’s, also for the RSC in 2008, with an added pinch of mischief and irony. There’s another tradition, too, of angry Hamlets: Nicol Williamson in 1969, a scowling, ferocious demon; Jonathan Pryce at the Royal Court in 1980, possessed by the ghost of his father and spewing his lines, too, before finding Yorick’s skull in a cabinet of bones, an ossuary of Osrics; and a sourpuss Christopher Ecclestone (2002), spiritually constipated, moody as a moose with a migraine, at the West Yorkshire Playhouse.

One Hamlet who had a little of all these different attributes – funny, quixotic, powerful, unhappy, clever and genuinely heroic – was Iain Glen (1991) at the Bristol Old Vic, and I can imagine Cumberbatch developing along similar lines. He, like so many modern Hamlets, is pushing 40 – as was Jude Law (2009), hoary-voiced in the West End – yet when Trevor Nunn cast Ben Whishaw (2004) straight from RADA, aged 23, petulant and precocious, at the Old Vic, he looked like a 16-year-old, and too young for what he was saying. It’s like the reverse of King Lear, where you have to be younger to play older with any truth or vigour.

Michael Billington’s top Hamlet remains Michael Redgrave, aged 50, in 1958, as he recounts in his brilliant new book, The 101 Greatest Plays (seven of the 101 are by Shakespeare); Hamlet, he says, more than any other play, alters according to time as well as place.

So, Yuri Lyubimov’s great Cold War Hamlet, the prince played by the dissident poet Vladimir Visotsky, was primarily about surveillance, the action played on either side of an endlessly moving hessian and woollen wall. And in Belgrade in 1980, shortly after the death of Tito, the play became a statement of anxiety about the succession.

There’s a mystery to Hamlet that not even Sherlock Holmes could solve, though Cumberbatch will no doubt try his darndest – even if he finds his Watson at the Barbican (Leo Bill is playing Horatio) more of a hindrance than a help; there are, after all, more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in his friend’s philosophy.

*************************************************************************************************

Oh! Did I say that we were never going to see Iain Glen in the skin of the great Dane? Tsk. How silly of me. Meet IG’s Hamlet in Tom Stoppard’s postmodern theatrical whimsy ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD, shot the year before the Bristol play.

Though almost surreal and most often funny as the film follows the Pulp Fiction-like misadventures of two forgettable Shakespearian characters, crossing paths with other more or less fortunate characters, their time with Hamlet makes us privy to the Dane as we never quite see him in the Bard’s play... but for one memorable scene,  in which Iain Glen absolutely nails it, emoting the famous “To be or not to be” which you see tortures his soul, brings tears to his eyes and contorts his mouth; the moment made all the more memorable by the fact that it is a silent scene. You never hear him utter the famous line, but you see the words leave his lips and feel them mark your soul.

I’m kinda telling myself that it’s 1991 and I’m sitting in the Old Vic, in Bristol, not London. Not yet.

[not-close-to-straight]

Push-Ups (Stony)

Idk guys... I had a thought, I wrote a thing and I can fully admit this is ridiculous. Also it’s gets the tiniest bit nekkid near the end. 

THERE’S MORE STONY ON MY MASTERLIST!

***********************

It started out as a joke. 

“I can definitely do more push ups than Steve.” Sam said casually-- oh so casually-- over cereal one morning. “His muscles just look pretty, there isn’t any real strength there.” 

“You can definitely do more push ups than Steve.” Bucky casually-- just so fucking casually-- agreed, studiously ignoring the way Steve was coughing milk out his nose and swearing about how badly Trix tasted coming up the wrong way. “Your shoulders can carry the weight of the world, Steve’s are only there to balance out them ridiculous tiddies.” 

“Oh Sam can 100%, no questions asked, without even breaking a sweat, do more push ups than Steve.” Clint had to raise his voice over the ruckus Steve was making in the background. “Sams arms are like ebony pillars, Steve’s look like the supple limbs of an Irish milk maid who spends the afternoons staring at her reflection in ye olde river in the back of ye olde pasture.” 

“I can definitely do more push ups than Steve.” Sam decided. 

It started out as a joke. 

Then Steve yelled, “SQUARE UP MOTHERFUCKER!” 

And in between shouts of “Language Cap!” and Bucky congratulating Clint on a truly terrible comparison between Steve and ye olde Irish maiden and Natasha walking into the kitchen, surveying the scene and deciding she didn’t have the patience before walking back out--

--Suddenly it wasn’t a joke.

*****************

“Here’s how we’ll do it.” Clint drew up a graph in the living room later that day. “A week straight, two sets of push ups, morning and night. In a test of sheer endurance, the All American Energizer bunny over there can go for days. So we break it up, make it fair. Whoever can do the most amount of push ups in the time allotted for five days straight wins the contest. Captain America vs. Not Captain America.”

“Lets go.” Steve said immediately. “Right now Sam, throw down.” 

“Okay first of all?” Sam’s look was nothing less than highly judgmental. “I dunno what Tony has been doing to you that makes you think you gotta prove your manhood so quickly--” Steve squawked in horror and Bucky fell off the back end of the couch laughing. “-- but calm the fuck down. Second of all, Clint’s very pretty chart--”

“-- it is pretty, isn’t it?” 

“--it’s very pretty. Clint’s very pretty chart clearly says we aren’t starting till tomorrow. So take ten to twenty percent off the top there, get some sleep, maybe talk to your boyfriend about your insecurities, and I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Hey!” Steve pointed a finger in Sam’s direction. “I do not have insecurities.” 

“Sure you don’t big guy.” Clint patted him on the shoulder. “Lots of men with no insecurities run around carrying big honkin’ shield and driving big flashy vehicles and wearing flashy uniforms. By the way you’ll notice I wear muted colors and drive a plain vehicle? There’s a reason for that.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve retorted. “No insecurities? Which is why your mouth never stops running and every time you grab your bow you stroke it a few times and compliment it on being so big?” 

“I-- um-- well--” Clint gaped at him. “I mean---” 

“That’s what I thought.” Steve stomped past, calling back, “Tomorrow morning, Sam! Get ready to get your ass handed to you!” 

Bucky, Sam and Clint stood in silence in the living room looking down at the chart for a few minutes before Clint said, “I-- I only talk to my bow sometimes. You gotta take care of the things that take care of you, right? And I mean, it’s a big bow. Seems right I should compliment that, right?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky scratched at his head. “Wish you weren’t so fuckin’ awkward bro.” 

********************

Day one, and Steve hit the gym mat like a maniac, blowing through nearly three hundred pushups in five minutes, then doing it again that night. 

Sam took it slower, clocking in at a not-unimpressive hundred pushups in five minutes, then just about eight that night. 

Day two and Steve did it again, with JARVIS recording to make sure he was doing every single one of the three hundred he bragged about. Sam’s were recorded too but he was still humming about at an entirely leisurely pace with his work out. 

Day three was the same, as was day four, and when day five broke Steve was laughing in Sam’s face over breakfast. “I am up to twenty five hundred push ups, Wing boy.” he said triumphantly. “Twenty five hundred. How are you feeling putzing around at seven hundred and twenty three?” 

“Feeling just fine, Cap.” Sam said easily, calmly, suspiciously calmly but Steve was too busy boo-ing him to notice. “You know what they say, slow and steady wins the race. I bet you won’t even get twenty five done today.” 

“No one has ever called Captain America slow and steady about anything.” Steve declared and Bucky didn’t skip a beat answering, “Which is why Tony’s been calling you the minute man, huh?” 

“I-- He--” Steve’s jaw dropped. “I’m not-- I’m not a minute man! Tony is always satisfied with my-- how would you even--” 

“Yikes.” Sam whistled low. “That is some tough stuff right there, Cap. Tough stuff indeed.” 

“Tony calls me a minute man because I’m always up and ready to answer the call!” Steve shouted. “Not because I’m up and done in sixty seconds!” 

Sam cackled his way out of the kitchen and down to the gym with Sam in tow. Clint slurped loudly at his milk and raised an eyebrow at Steve. “Wish you weren’t so fuckin’ awkward bro.” 

“Damnit.” Steve scowled. “I wish I wasn’t so fuckin’ awkward either.”

*****************

“Hey baby.” Tony peeked his head in the gym nearly an hour later, just as Steve was getting ready to start his round of push ups. “You got a minute?” 

“For you?” Steve gathered Tony close, smooshing a kiss onto his lips. “Sweetheart, I have hours. How are you?” 

“Been missing you a little bit.” Tony admitted, cuddling tighter against him. “And I got done with my project early so I thought maybe we could....?” his hands strayed lower than was strictly necessary on Steve’s butt. “Hm?” 

“I would love that.” Steve said honestly, and maybe a little ferociously, still stung from the guys’ minute man comment this morning. “But I’ve got to finish these push ups real quick first. Five minutes then I’ll take you up stairs.” 

“Can I stay and watch?” Tony wanted to know, all big brown eyes and soft hair wearing nothing but leggings he’d stolen from Natasha and a hoodie that was obviously Bruce’s and oh god he was beautiful and perfect and Steve couldn’t have said no if he even wanted to. 

“I won’t get in the way.” Tony promised and stepped back a little bit so Steve could start. “Jesus Christ babe, I love the way your shoulders look when you do that.” 

“Yeah?” Steve slowed down a little, emphasizing the pull of his muscles beneath the tight shirt. “You like that?” 

“So sexy.” Tony reached out to touch, flattening his palm between Steve’s shoulder blades. “You are ridiculously sexy.” 

“So are you.” Steve paused to give Tony a lop sided, love sick smile. “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

“I’m so lucky to have you.” Tony returned and when Steve straightened his arms, Tony took the chance to wiggle onto the floor and right beneath him, smiling up at him impishly. 

“Babe, I can’t do push ups with you beneath me.” Steve said patiently. “I need four more minutes, come on.” 

“Sure you can.” Tony wiggled a little, spread his legs and bent his knees so they hugged Steve’s waist. “I’m not in the way, you still can get down all the way, it’s fine. JARVIS, can Steve still complete a full push up with me in the way?” 

“Yes sit.” JARVIS intoned. “Each motion would still be considered a full, legal push up based on the parameters set by Hawkeye.” 

“See, babe?” Tony’s grin was nearly devilish. “Still legal. Come on. I’ll even help you count.” 

“Tony.” Steve sighed but lowered his body anyway, eyes widening in surprise when Tony only moaned as they lined up, knees spread just enough to let Steve settle in the vee of his thighs for a few seconds. 

Oh my. 

“Tony--” 

“One.” Tony said smugly. “Got another in you, Spangles?” 

“Two.” Steve retorted and this time he pressed a little tighter when he came down. “Am I squishing you?” 

“Not even a little bit.” Tony’s breath caught on three and on four he lifted his hips to meet Steve halfway, rubbing against him languidly until Steve’s eyes darkened in interest. “Mmmm, five.”

“Six.” 

“Seven.” Tony slid his fingers into Steve’s hair and captured in a slow, heated kiss. “Keep going, babe.” 

“Eight.” Steve sighed over another kiss, sucking at Tony’s tongue and dragging his teeth over a full bottom lip.

“Nine.” Tony hooked his ankle around Steve’s calf and yanked down on the next one, keeping them pinned together for a few seconds. 

“Ten.” A groan when Steve felt how hard Tony was, the thin leggings doing absolutely nothing to disguise anything. “Tony.” 

“There’s my minute man.” Tony said smugly on eleven when he closed his hand around Steve’s cock, stroking him through the work out shorts. “Have I ever told you how much I love how ready you always are? Makes me feel good knowing I turn you on so fast.” 

“I knew that was why you called me minute man.” Steve huffed and kissed Tony’s look of confusion away. 

Twelve was less of a push up and more of a slow grind, and thirteen was a one handed push up, Steve’s other hand firmly down the back of Tony’s thotty leggings and squeezing greedily at the world’s best ass. 

Fourteen had Tony shoving Steve’s shorts down his legs and they both cursed at fifteen when their cocks slid together and sixteen had Tony proudly pulling a half used bottle of lube from Bruce’s his hoodie because he had definitely completely planned to get his boy friend nekkid in the gym. 

Seventeen was the worlds longest push up, as Steve stayed draped over Tony’s body for a good few minutes, gasping and panting as Tony stroked them together and eighteen wasn’t so much a push up as it was a thrust and no one would have called the next several dozen movements legal push ups at all, so they stopped keeping count. 

 And Steve definitely didn’t get in his usual three hundred push ups, but Tony was giggling and soft and satisfied and Steve didn’t care about the push up contest anymore. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t won anyway, he could definitely enjoy Tony in his arms for a few more minutes. 

*********************

“The fuck do you mean I didn’t win!” Steve exploded. “I did two thousand, five hundred and eighteen push ups--” 

“--probably just two thousand, five hundred and seventeen if we’re being honest.” Tony cut in and Steve kissed him thoroughly before amending--

“--alright. Two thousand, five hundred and seventeen push ups. And there is no way Sam did more than that.” He maintained. “No fucking way.” 

“Okay, as you’ll see on my very pretty chart--” Clint pointed to his graph. “Cap, you did an impressive amount of push ups. And if you’d done your usual three hundred this morning and this afternoon, you probably would have won.” 

“Sam barely made eight hundred push ups.” Steve denied. “No way he beat me. He would have had to do two thousand push ups to beat me.” 

“Okay, but the contest was between Captain America and non Captain America.” Clint explained patiently. “And since technically anyone is non Captain America---” 

“I did two thousand push ups while you and Tony were busy in the bedroom doing that thing that makes you squeal like a stuck pig.” Bucky confirmed, then flexed his left arm. “Cyborgs for the win.” 

“I-- you-- what!?” Steve’s jaw about hit the floor. “Are you KIDDING ME! WHAT IN THE FUCK!” 

Then he swiveled around to stare at Tony, narrowing his eyes and scowling in only the way Captain America could. “Tony? Did they ask you to distract me today so they could win?” 

“Okay in my defense.” Tony held up both hands and Sam snorted a laugh. “In my defense, we’ve never actually fooled around in the gym, which is frankly ridiculous because you know seeing you sweaty gets me all randy. And I’ve asked and you’ve always told me now and-- and I just couldn’t pass up the chance to do it this time. If you’d told me yes before, this never would have happened. So if you really think about it, all of this is your fault.” 

“MY FAULT!” 

“Furthermore, I’d like to add that Bucky has very graciously allowed his name to be written as S-A-M for the purposes of this contest.” Sam butted in. “So if you look at Clint’s delightful chart, you will see that I, Sam, did in fact do more push ups than Captain America. Case closed, bet won, game set match, points to the Falcon.” 

“Which is only fair.” Clint added. “Seeing as how his arms are literal canons of goodness.” 

“Can confirm.” Bucky agreed. “Who wants to go for a run?” 

“Yeah, start running.” Steve had death in his eyes and Clint eeped and started backpedaling. “Because when I catch you --” 

All four were off like a shot, Sam screeching at the top of his lungs and Bucky dragging Clint along by his collar while Steve pounded after them. 

“Coast clear?” Natasha asked and Tony laughed at her. “I can’t believe you coerced Steve into gym sex just so Sam could win a bet.” 

“What do you mean you can’t believe it?” Tony rooted around in the freezer and pulled out a tub of his favorite ice cream, cracking the lid and handing Natasha spoon. “It was your idea.” 

“Hm.” Natasha took a big spoonful of the dessert. “I plead the fifth.”

*********************

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[northstarfan]

Mag7 AU: Dead Man Banging

So, @lazaefair​ and I did a thing.

Spinning out of this post, the fandom now has a Mag7/24 Hours To Live not-fic. (24 Hours to Live is currently on Netflix. It is... a lot of not great, but Ethan Hawke gets to be a shirtless, beaten-down human disaster with soulful eyes. That's plot bunny Viagra right there.)

Also, the name of this particular AU is by @hellolittleogre​, and it's just too perfect. Thank you, hon! <3

Third twist: Travis’s hallucinations of his wife and kid start getting intercut with hallucinations of Billy.

Fourth twist: The Company decides to test just how long Doc Helen's refined procedure works. They turn off the kill switch and just put Billy and Travis in a room together to see how long it takes before Travis just up and dies.

(None of them - Billy and Travis included - have put two and two together that love-related hormones have been fucking with the revivication cycle; Billy's just allowed on because the presence of his fuck buddy/partner keeps Travis more tractable.)

 Travis is ready to chew rocks and spit sand because he assumes Billy's been strong-armed into this. Billy shrugs and says he volunteered.

 Yes, Billy started fucking Travis after he found out Travis is technically dead. It’s against his better judgment; the association with necrophilia is unavoidable, and people in their line of work who have or develop anything that messes with their impulse control - like strong sexual fetishes - end up dead very fast. So he successfully ignores his attraction for a couple missions. 

And then after yet another narrow escape Goodnight spouts off something about how "You make me feel alive again" only phrased much more stupidly poetically while they're squashed together into a very small hiding place and he— Billy can feel the warmth of Goodnight's body seeping into his side, can hear and feel his chest moving as he breathes, can smell the tang of his sweat and blood, knows if he touched Goodnight's skin his hand would come away slick with that sweat. Absolutely nothing about him suggests that he'll be a corpse in half a day, everything about him says that he's alive. And his whisky-hoarse voice brushes so softly at Billy's ear...

 Travis has his own hesitancies about getting emotionally involved too - his wife and kid were killed by his old outfit, and his best friend was in on it. They made it look like a revenge killing, but it was really all about trying to keep Travis in the game when he was thinking about getting out of it for his family. (Had the opposite effect, hence the human disaster period.)

But in the end... fuck, what does he have to lose? (Or so he tells himself. He knows the answer.)

 Extra points if Billy is Travis’s first time with a guy.

 But it's Billy. Billy is his soulmate across the fandom multiverse, so their first time is surprisingly easy, for all that it's in some dank bolthole of a safe house and neither of them can ever forget the clock that's always ticking down. But Billy's plastered all along his front, intense, ferocious, dragging Goodnight with him into passionate pleasure with the same uncompromising focus he brings to his work, and hey wow, dead or not, apparently Goodnight is really into that.

 All tangled up in each other on a narrow mattress, nerves humming with the kind of contentment touch-starved Billy hasn't felt in a long time, and Travis hadn't figured he'd ever feel again. The bruises Billy's left on his biceps are almost as satisfying as his first tattoos. Even if no one ever gives the order to wake him up again, at least he had a choice in that much.

 After that day, and after a few more missions where he revives to Billy's voice and Billy's face, his hallucinations start coming on later and later in the cycle. He's winding down much later and more slowly. Until there's one mission where - of course you can't say anything with absolute, 100% scientific certainty - but that's the mission where it looks an awful lot like the only reason Travis dies at the end is because of the kill switch, not because of the drugs metabolizing.

 (I am 100% here for "Death itself is held at bay by true love" in this ridic wannabe-John Wick setting. XD)

 But regardless, that curiosity as to why the treatments are lasting longer is how he and Billy end up in a glass-fronted room, watching garbage TV on the overhead, shooting the shit, and playing cards to pass the time. Until the hallucinations start. The Boss wants to pull Billy out then; even unarmed, Travis is dangerous. Doc Helen wants to wait and see how it plays out. First round of brainfuckery ends with Travis' face hidden against Billy's shoulder, shuddering as he uses the familiarity of his partner's scent to try and ground himself in the here and now.

(The penny doesn’t drop for anyone even then; no one in the business is at all body-shy - can’t afford to have hang-ups in life-and-death situations - especially if they work with a partner.)

 Second round is quieter - Travis goes into a fugue and stares into space for a while, before he abruptly jolts out of it. Doesn't say a damn thing, just joins Billy on the cot and goes back to watching Blue Planet. He's a little wobbly, even seated. Billy's shoulder picks up the slack again.

 Billy is controlling himself to a degree even he rarely has to reach for; he desperately wants to curl around Goody and kiss him and touch him the way lovers touch each other, make Goody feel at least a little more protected. But he can’t do that, obviously. And then at the same time he still has to stay relaxed and comforting for Goody's sake, minimize the stress Goody might sense in him. Without going outside the bounds of platonic affection. While watching Goody die in front of him. More slowly than usual, sure, but he recognizes the same progression.

 He's seen his partner dead. He's never had to stand by and watch him take that last breath. Sometimes the hand-off to the doc - Helen - has been with minutes to spare, with Goodnight barely on his feet. Not this time. He's here for the duration. He doesn't know how many times Goodnight has been through this. He can be there for him this once. He'll hold it together, for Goody's sake.

Goody shudders against him, a quiet spasm. Billy squeezes his shoulder, resists the urge to stroke his face. 

"It's all right. Don't think about it."

 “Doubt it’s a walk in the park for you, either,” Goody mumbles quietly into Billy’s shoulder. “Just feels like passin’ out on my end, these days. But you’re gonna feel my heart stop.”

Billy contemplates him for a long moment, thinking all the things he can’t say, not in front of the cameras and mics, not in front of the blank stretch of two-way glass. 

He finally settles on a deliberate, exaggeratedly dismissive, “Eh. I’ll live.” 

Goody shakes against him again, but from laughter this time. “Jesus H. Christ, Rocks, that’s cold, even for you. Didn’t know you had it in you,” and Billy snickers with him. Neither of them mention the faint whistle in Goody’s voice or the fainter rattle in his lungs. 

"Son of a bitch," Goodnight mutters, lingering laughter twisting the curse into affection. "No wonder the fish don't like you."

Billy blinks. This is new. "What?"

"Something my father-in-law told me once. Explaining why I was so shit at fishing. Animals are drawn to the light of men's souls or some shit. And I don't have a soul, so I never could catch a fucking fish."

"Gee, thanks." Goodnight's fully resting against him now; Billy shrugs hard enough to jostle him in retaliation. "Asshole."

"Two of a kind..." He sits up with a jolt. His tired eyes are wide and confused as he glances around the room. "Shit. Shit. Rocks, what are you doing here?" He tries to stand and somehow manages it.

"Hey. Goodnight." Billy can see his partner's pulse hammering stubbornly away in his throat. "Hey. Sit back down. I'm supposed to stay with you, remember?"

"They're going to be home soon... you can't be here. Shit."

Billy almost asks, but the answer comes to him. The wife and kid. Goody never even says their names, but he's told Billy what happened to them. He's hallucinating a memory. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Goodnight that they're dead. But there's no point. He'll remember soon enough.

"You're right. I'm not here," he murmurs. "I'm your fucked up mind playing tricks on you. So just relax and wait until your family gets in, all right?"

 He’s expecting a repeat of the first round of hallucinations, braces himself against it. Instead, he gets an uncertain look and a long exhale, and then the line of Goody’s shoulders smooths out and he smiles all wry and lopsided at Billy. Billy ignores his heart flopping over in his chest and looks back up at him, steady and waiting. 

“Well,” Goody says, almost to himself, “I’ve had uglier hallucinations show up on my couch, I guess. And you...” he reaches out suddenly, rests the tips of his fingers on the side of Billy’s neck with a tiny caress that sends arousal quicksilvering through Billy’s veins, bright and shocking. Like he’s a fucking teenager again. He manages to keep his eyes open, but it’s a close call. “You feel near enough to real it almost don’t make a difference. Wish we could...”

His eyes are fucking gorgeous even under the shitty fluorescent lighting. Blue and vital. Billy holds himself ruthlessly still. “Could what?” 

(Have we stumbled on this fandom’s very first fuck or die scenario?)

 (I think we may have created a whole new one - fuck and die. On repeat. XD)

 "I wish we could have known each other out in the world, man," Goodnight sighs. "Before everything went to shit. When I could still stand the sound of my own fucking name. You ever seen the Keys?"

His hand is still on Billy's neck; he can feel his own pulse against Goody's fingers, the subtle electricity running between the two of them. 

"I never got that far south," he manages. He wants to take Goody out of this fucking room and let him have some kind of dignity. He wants to curl up around him and keep him safe while the clock ticks down. He doesn't want to think of how he's thrown his heart for dogs to tear, falling for this ghost of a man. They just... need to get through this.

"You should go. Fishing's shit, but... sunlight and sand and wide, blue ocean. You'd like it." He quiets for a time. "Kate and Adam aren't coming. I know that."

"All right, Goody." He squeezes Goodnight's wrist. The kill switch embedded in Goody's flesh is cold, even under a layer of skin. He commits the names of the dead to memory. "Sorry. Thought it'd be good for you to forget a while."

"I don't. Not really." Another span of quiet, longer this time. "How long's it been?"

"I don't know. Longer than a day, I guess. You're doing all right. I haven't had to carry your ass anywhere, at least." Billy grins when Goodnight snorts a laugh. "Tell The Boss to send you along with a suitcase next time, just in case." Because he's not leaving Goody behind again now that he knows, not ever.