#or at least they’d only fight about minor stuff

[diltonsstrangescience]

I was thinking about Dilton’s insane garage laboratory again, and I got an idea for a comic. I would draw it, but I draw so slowly that it would take forever to finish a 6+ page comic, and I have too many other ideas to work on. So all you get is a written summary:

— Dilton’s dad hears from the other parents (or the newspaper) that multiple cars have been broken into or stolen in the past few weeks, and he decides the family needs to keep their car safely in the garage instead of the driveway, at least until the perpetrator is caught.

— He informs Dilton that this means Dilt needs to clear all his science stuff out of the garage to make room for the car.

— “You want me to dismantle my lab? Dad, please, don’t do this to me! Anything else!”

— “This isn’t a punishment, it’s just how things have to be for the foreseeable future. Your lab was our garage first, and we need a garage more than we need a lab right now.”

— “But how can you expect me to transport all of my equipment within the day? Where can I possibly store it all? How can I continue my experiments under these conditions?”

— “Why don’t you ask those friends of yours for help? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to lend a hand. That boy Moose, especially, should be useful in carrying your computers around.”

— So Dilton asks the gang for help, and they agree to help him clear out his lab, as well as each taking a portion of his science stuff to look after (there wasn’t enough space in Dilton’s room for all of it). They also agree to keep Dilton’s experiments going themselves, in small ways like taking notes on observations, or adding three drops of such and such to this concoction each day… etc. They’re all excited, thinking it’s going to be fun to try their hand at mad science for a while.

— Next comes a series of little Disasters caused by Dilton’s science in the hands of his inexperienced friends over the next few days.

— One of his friends ends up drinking some sort of potion (or multiple), either on accident or on purpose, and there’s some kind of weird effect—I’m not sure what yet, but almost definitely a minor transformation of some sort, on the same level as turning green or growing a tail or only talking in parrot squawks. This causes humorous problems in their life. (Jug wouldn’t drink unknown potions on purpose, because he has common sense, but Archie has none, so it would make more sense for him to do it intentionally.)

— One of his friends has to look after some animal test subjects, like mice in cages or something, but it turns out the animals have been made superintelligent, and they break out and start sabotaging the character with clever plots. The character fights back, mostly unsuccessfully, and things descend into Tom & Jerry territory. (I think this would be funny with Jug, especially since Hot Dog could be there too, animal vs animals.)

— One of his friends (maybe Betty?) has to look after a robot, and all seems cool and fine until it malfunctions (not her fault) and turns evil or chaotic and starts destroying things. (Its glowing eyes turn from green to red, so it’s clear that it’s evil now. This was an intentional design choice on Dilton’s part, as a warning sign in case of malfunction, and because it looks cool.)

— Veronica is given something she doesn’t need to observe or use, just store somewhere and not mess with. But at a fancy party, she tries to show off to her rich friends that she’s smart as well as beautiful and wealthy by showing off ”””her””” cool new invention, and she turns it on. She immediately loses control of it, whatever it does, and it causes a Disaster. This one’s working correctly, but Veronica doesn’t understand how it works or how it turns off, so it’s still causing a problem. (Hmm… maybe a weather-creating machine? Imagine a blizzard packed into a ballroom.)

— (Midge and Moose also helped Dilton, so I need to think of two more disasters. Or maybe, since they’re closer friends to Dilton, they know a thing or two about science and following instructions, so they don’t do anything they’re not supposed to, and they happen not to meet with any malfunction-type accidents. Everything goes fine with them.)

— The comic ends with Dilton’s dad reading in the newspaper that the crook who was breaking into and stealing all these cars has been caught and put in jail. He says to Dilton that this means their car is safe (because problems are very simple in this world), and so Dilton can have the garage back for his lab. (Let’s say it’s been like a week since the start of the comic.) Dilton is excited, and says he’ll go find his friends right away and tell them, and get his science stuff back. He rushes out the front door, only to find all his friends running up his sidewalk together, all carrying the science stuff he gave them and begging him to please take it all back! (Dilton is surprised, because he had no clue about all their problems, but everybody else looks like a wreck from their individual ordeals. This is all in stark contrast to how excited they seemed in the beginning to take on the science.)

— The end! That last scene was the punchline and final panel.

[underforeversgrace]

never cared for the stars

title: never cared for the stars

words: 1,111

complete

Story summary: Phantom vs. the Box Ghost - those are barely fights, y'know? Besides, Phantom never let's humans get hurt. But Phantom didn't see Dash there.

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

AO3

He’d never really much been one for the stars. Space was just a bunch of science and math, everything up there was so far away it would take several of his lifetimes to even get to one, he knew that much.

Despite that, he found himself grateful for the stars that night. They were so beautiful, glittering above him, even as his body felt like ice.

“Dash, damn it, talk to me!” Phantom called above him, pressing his hand against the wounds.

It was nice, being around his hero. He finally got to talk to him, though his thoughts slipped through his fingers like fine sand. He hoped Phantom wouldn’t be too sad. It was Dash’s own fault.

He’d gotten too close, like he always did, to a ghost fight. It was just Box Ghost, after all. Who was afraid of li’l old Boxy anymore? People even asked him to help them move sometimes.

Dash wondered if anyone would ask Boxy that ever again.

Because Dash knew he was dying.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Phantom panicked, again summoning ice to his hands to try to staunch the bleeding, to no avail. Dash couldn’t feel Phantom’s ice as it pressed to bare skin.

There was no cell service this far into the park. Paulina, the only other human there, would have to run and get into range and get signal. Dash knew it was too little, too late for him. Even Phantom’s flying wouldn’t be fast enough, he sleepily realized, as blood seeped into his clothes, making them stick to his skin like old glue. 

Dash wasn’t sure where Phantom and the Box Ghost had come from before he’d finally forced the Box Ghost to the ground. Dash and Paulina had heard it, had come to investigate, had come to watch their hero, even if it was against so minor an enemy.

He didn’t think Phantom had even known they were there, they’d been behind him in the woods. Actually, he was positive Phantom didn’t know.

Phantom wouldn’t have dodged if he’d known there were humans so close behind him. The teenage ghost had repeatedly jumped in front of projectiles so many times. He always took the blast rather than risking human casualty.

“Will you be alright?” Dash found himself wondering, though he immediately began to cough, and he felt something trickle down his face from the corner of his mouth. It didn’t feel like saliva, though. At least not just saliva.

If he could move his arm, he knew it’d wipe away red. But he was so cold, he could feel the ice curling into his fingers, in his very veins. His limbs were heavy and frozen.

Still, he was sure Phantom hadn’t known they were there. He’d dodged the box the other ghost had shot at him.

Dash wondered what was in the box. It had landed at his feet.

And then it had been Dash flying, though he couldn’t phase through the tree he slammed against, not like the ghosts could.

“I can’t understand you, Dash.” Phantom said, continuing to hold pressure to the wounds - both the medium sized ones from whatever had ended up being shrapnel in that box and the large one from where a thick branch had impaled him through the stomach, running him all the way through. Dash had remembered too late you weren’t supposed to jostle or try to remove stuff like that. Or was that just for stabbing? Did it apply to being ran through?

Dash was going to be Phantom’s first ever casualty. He hoped Phantom would be okay. He knew about Obsessions - who didn’t in this town? Phantom’s obsession was protection, everyone knew it. What happened when a ghost fails to fulfill their Obsession? Would they fade?

Dash saw a circle of light briefly hover around his hero’s waist and worry warmed him for just the smallest moment before the ice that was spreading inside him smothered it, too. There was no saving Dash, but Dash couldn’t die knowing he’d killed his hero, too.

“Not your fault.” Dash managed to force out.

Phantom just looked at Dash with a pained expression, his face contorted in regret, fear, and confusion. Dash tried to say it again, but he couldn’t. His lips were too cold to move.

This was a nice time to learn to appreciate the beauty of the stars, wasn’t it? When it was all there was to look at?

At least there was no pain, but Dash had never felt any, he hadn’t felt anything but the increasing cold crawling through his veins as he bled out since the explosion. 

He really was curious what had been going on before Phantom and the Box Ghost had arrived, that apparently had allowed Boxy access to a boxed bomb. Was it a bomb? Was it just random stuff that somehow combined enough to produce an explosion?

Those thoughts began to fade, too. There wasn’t even sand left to run his fingers through, there was just nothingness. Space, maybe. Somewhere that was dark and cold and spelled death. But also pretty. So very pretty.

“No!” Phantom cried out, turning a hand intangible and thrusting it into Dash’s chest as his heart stopped. “Oh Ancients, what am I doing?”

Hm. That wasn’t a very comforting sentence to hear from someone who was literally holding your heart, was it? Dash felt like he should be unconscious by now, though, if he had been able to feel his heart stop, if he was able to feel the erratic, irregular squeezes Phantom was doing with his literal heart, trying to force life back into Dash. Maybe that conspiracy theorist Wes was actually onto something with the whole liminal thing. Amity Parkers were more durable because they were no longer entirely human.

Seems they were still human enough to die, though.

“No, no, no.” Phantom said as the blue lights reappeared, circling him once more.

It was almost a harsh feeling as Phantom withdrew from manually massaging his heart, just barely clearing Dash’s skin before the rings ran across his body.

Without the forced pumping of his heart, he finally felt ice creeping into his eyes, into his brain. Maybe if the cold hadn’t quickly gained total control of Dash’s mind, he would’ve had a reaction when he saw Danny Fenton replace Danny Phantom, gasping for air as he clutched his own chest in panic. But the cold was there and it was absolute as blackness bled into his vision.

His last view was of the stars. He’d never been much one for the stars. But the stars were very pretty tonight and he was so cold.

[twilightknight17]

Last night on P3R: middle-school SEES, struggling with my social calendar, the Abyss of Time, questionable movie choices, and oh god we finished Sunset and now I’m hitting sad stuff in everything else I’m playing/watching too.

I’m still in Tartarus from last time, so I can knock out a few more floors before we go home. I’ve been introduced to a new thing, though, and it’s a Big Hand!

I kind of love how goofy the hands are. They do a little dance and sometimes it syncs up with the music. ^_^

After that, it’s time for the next gatekeeper floor! And it’s--

...oh. Oh god. Is this it? I’m not ready for this. I’ve got Mitsuru with me, but oh man. Not the Table.

……

...false alarm. This is a Terminal Table, not a Crying Table. We’re safe for a little longer.

That wasn’t so bad.

Also, I got a weapon for Shinji as a quest reward, and it’s a crossing sign from in front of a school. It’s so silly.

I rolled through the next set of floors pretty quick, but I don’t think anyone’s quite prepared to take on another gatekeeper. Everyone is pretty drained in terms of SP. So we’re gonna head home for the night, and go learn some more nonsense from school tomorrow.

...all right, actually an acceptable discussion related to the book we’re reading. But hey, sometimes your soulmate can be your rival! Seven years from now, two rival soulmates are gonna be climbing through a cognitive space station!

This is not a fair discussion when Minato’s soulmate still isn’t here for another month and a half.

Anyway, Mitsuru is very worried about Shinji. He wants to extend his leave of absence from school again even though he’s come back to the dorm. So I guess he’s been absent for two years now? She really wants him to re-enroll, though. She, Akihiko, and Shinji were the only three members of SEES originally, back when the three of them were in middle school.

Apparently they could barely handle the first floor of the tower, which… They were children, so I’m not surprised. No adult supervision, either, and Mitsuru only had minor navi powers. I’m surprised none of them got killed. At least Ken has all of us who’ve already learned to fight to keep him safe.

They promised that they’d all graduate high school together, which explains why Mitsuru is so invested. She clearly cares about both of them a lot.

You can hand over the extension form here, but there’s also the option to hold onto them and go find Shinji to talk again. So… I guess you can literally just end the events there if you choose to not take the form back and go pry.

...there’s nothing we can do?

And any miracles I can make will come too late. If only my sister was here… It’s just a cruel twist of fate that which twin survives the car accident determines whether Shinji can live ten years later.

He says he’s happy to spend time with me, though.

This isn’t fair, you can’t hit me like this after the fic Jade and I finished and the end of MGS4 and the fic my other friend is writing AND--

God. And he doesn’t want to tell anyone.

At least Junpei is happy. He really, really likes Chidori. But he’s willing to go at her pace on everything.

Good for you, my guy.

Let’s go upstairs and check on Ken. He’s banging something around in his room, so probably good to make sure that he hasn’t dropped a box on his head or something.

He’s fine, but he does ask me to come in, because he wants to ask for a favor. Turns out, he’s got a pet hamster!

...you’re gonna be fine, Ken. But okay. What’s the little guy’s name?

……amazing. Yes, I will take care of Hamburger, but I’m also not gonna let anything happen to you. Everyone here is going to take care of you. You’ve noticed, right?

Because you’re the youngest and you’re our collective baby brother/kid. No one wants you to get hurt, and it’s unnerving how you talk like you don’t matter, and like you’re not planning to make it through all this alive.

Maybe school will be less depressing. It’s a good day to go to art club. Apparently Keisuke’s dad is very enthusiastic about him studying art abroad! And he says he’s going to go! But then he immediately says he’s not excited about it, so… Keisuke, seriously. What do you want to do?

Ah, well, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.

And then a box falls on Minato’s head, and everything goes dark.

Keisuke gets Mina to the nurse’s office, and after he wakes up, checks him over. Apparently Minato has dodged a concussion. He blames himself, because apparently he’s the one who put the box on the shelf. He’s not used to cleaning, because the maid does all of that at home.

Right. Sure. Careless at cleaning because of the maid. Cool.

He really seems to like the idea of being a doctor, and he’s afraid that if he goes to become an artist, that’s it, he can never be a doctor.

So… sounds like you made a decision, dude.

Keisuke. What. Do. You. Want. For fuck’s sake.

Anyway. So people have been talking about the culture festival all week. There’s gonna be a haunted house. There’s gonna be fried food. The archery club was gonna do a maid cafe, which I know because Yukari was so mad she was gonna have to wear a maid dress.

But, a typhoon is rolling in, so the festival is canceled, and isn’t gonna be rescheduled despite Mitsuru’s efforts. And after school on Friday, we head straight home, because the wind is starting to really kick up.

But… there’s still one person wandering around Port Island Station.

He’s not worried about the oncoming storm. He wants to talk, specifically about Chidori. He asked if she was okay. If we were taking care of her. If she was being a problem.

...no, you dumb asshole.

He also wants to bitch at me again about how we want to stop the Dark Hour.

Apathy? Maybe if you’d caught me six months ago. I have people I like now, and a reason to care. Meanwhile, you’re sitting there talking about how I don’t understand the ‘true value’ of my powers. What value is that? Wandering around at midnight killing people, like you do?

Minato is drenched by the time we get back to the dorm, because the downpour has kicked in and the typhoon has properly arrived. Everyone is a little cranky about missing the festival (except Yukari), and Minato’s got chills and fatigue from getting soaked, so he opts to go to bed early because he’s not feeling well.

…uh. Hi? Is the elevator about to crash?

Igor says that he hasn’t called me in my dreams in a while, and wants to open up some more special fusions for me to do. Which is great and all, but like… I am trying to sleep because I am sick. Can we do this any other time?

I see. Well, that’s… vague? Are you talking about like… the other Full Moon Shadows? The Clockwork God? Do you know what’s about to happen and won’t tell me? Although I guess you can’t help it, considering who made you.

Even if he wasn’t always like that.

Well, let’s get a good night’s sleep and see how we feel in the morni--

Minato. Mina. Darling. It’s MONDAY. You slept for TWO DAYS?

So, according to Q, Minato was feeling well enough that the team went to Tartarus last night. And Igor left the Velvet Room at some point, making it unstable enough to crash the elevator into the Abyss of Time. Apparently it’s not just the Abyss that no one remembers. They don’t seem to remember the instigating trip to Tartarus either.

Weird. But understandable I guess.

Anyway I missed two days of possibly playing my MMO all day. You could have at least showed me my teammates checking on me!

I guess I’ll spend my vacation hanging out with Shinji. Senpaiiii, teach me to cook!

...senpai is mean. XD

But apparently I’m a menace in the kitchen, so maybe I deserve it.

Let’s go to the movies, too!

Yes, we’re seeing this. It’s a movie about cute animals!

…….oh fuck me this is Watership Down isn’t it

Shinjiro-senpai I’m so sorry.

He sounds like he’s about to cry. X’’’’D

I thought it was a nice movie!!!!

Well, now someone has wandered into Tartarus again, so let’s head back, and check in with the Velvet Room about those new fusions. I’m not a high enough level for them yet, but it can’t hurt to look.

...why does it get its own fire attack. Why does it inflict charm.

WHY IS ITS LEVEL UP ITEM ITS HEAD. WHAT HEAD.

God.

After buying everyone new weapons and fusing some more personas, we’re probably going to be in Tartarus for a while. Because, well…

I’m broke.

So next time, yeah, we’re gonna save people, but also, time to look for so much money.

[i-eat-worlds]

Alex and Friends Part Two

More of the story that nobody asked for! Alex punches firsts and asks questions later. cw: cursing, violence, blood, misunderstandings, minor medical stuff “She's gone again,” Eric announced. He was starting to get nervous. What was supposed to be a simple retrieval had gone south very quickly. The point of this had been to get her out before an attack, but they’d been a couple hours too late. Alexis had collapsed, and was currently bleeding out in a hallway.

Eric had become a sort of living heart monitor while Joseph dressed her wound. Eric’s best guess had been that a bullet had grazed her hip. It was bleeding quite a lot though, and it had been for far too long. To make matters worse, she appeared to be borderline hypothermic. Her clothing and her hair were soaked, and she smelled like dirty river. They needed to staunch her bleeding, and get her warmed up before she entered the blood loss-hypothermia death spiral. “Done,” Joseph said, finishing off his bandaging. Alex hadn’t stirred the whole time he’d be bandaging her wound, and he hadn’t been exactly gentle about it. He’d known Eric long enough that he was starting to get worried just about now. Eric started to stand. “Her pulse is getting thready. Let’s get her to the van.”

Joseph scooped her up into bridal carry as Eric talked to Avia, telling her that they were coming. Quickly, they rushed down the stairs. Time was of the essence if they were going to save her.

*** Alex knew that she’d been moved. Even with her brain a million miles away from her body, she could tell. It’d been happening recently, whenever somebody touched her too much. Or at all, really. The only time she could stand physical contact was during a fight. She kind of was glad she wasn’t conscious. Whoever she’d let capture her were people she wasn’t really dying to meet, and this time, her brain had run far enough to escape the pain. Normally it pierced into her brain like shards of broken glass, but today’s void was thankfully pain free.

It was also, surprisingly, warm. Alex had expected it to be cold. The Vltava wasn’t renowned for its warmth, nor for its cleanliness. It suddenly dawned on her that her graze was going to be infected. Almost surely. And it was going to be even harder to nd supplies to treat it with, considering her current captivity. Maybe her captors would give her supplies to treat it with. That required hope, though, which she found scarce at the moment. Alex wasn’t good at hope.

The void was pierced by a distant, faraway voice. “I think she’s waking up.”

The words sent Alex’s heart rate through the ceiling. Were they watching her? Creeps. She made an attempt to pull her eyes open. Nothing happened for what seemed like forever but was probably only a few seconds, but then her eyelids parted to reveal a red-light bathed ceiling. Red light, meant to preserve night vision. Alex had never struggled with that. It looked empty, but then the second man’s face from the hallway entered her vision. At least, Alex thought it was the man from the hallway. Her vision was very blurry from the brightness of the lights.

Ultimately, it wouldn’t have mattered if Santa Claus had appeared over her head, the end result would have been the same. She instinctively reached out to punch the blurry man in the face.

Pulling herself to sitting, Alex freed her hands and let them go straight for his throat. She felt a sting in her arms and side as she moved, but it didn’t stop her. They’d taken her combat knife, but that would only prolong their lives, not save them.

Alex felt whatever gurney they’d had her lying on wiggle as she pushed off it. She took a quick note of surroundings-what appeared to be the back of a van fitted with surveillance equipment, and a rather impressive medical suite. Three other people were already pushing themselves into action. It occurred to her that this was a fight she probably wouldn’t win. She didn’t need to win. She needed to escape.

Alex pivoted, having stunned the man enough that she could make for doors. She darted over the gurney. Before she could escape, a hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. Her stomach caught on the edge of the gurney, and her mouth popped open as the wind was knocked out of her. The impact left her reeling, and that was just enough time for eight hands to seize her, dragging her back onto the gurney. She lay there, panting, willing her lungs to catch air, as the man from the hallway started to speak. “I need you to calm down, Shevchenko. You’re going to injure yourself.” He spoke in a voice that had far too much worry in it. More importantly, however, he’d called her by her name. That was a very, very bad sign.

Alex bucked and fought against her captors. So many hands clamped down hard on her ankles and wrists, holding her arms and thighs. Only one hip was pinned down, her injured one left untouched for some reason. Even then it was too much. “Get fucking off me!” She yelled, trying to wiggle herself free. “I can’t do that until I know you’ll let us help.” He said calmly, his hands still pressed against her shoulders. “We’re INSUPA, we’re your friends.” At first, Alex thought that the INSUPA mention was a lie to get her to calm down. But, when he readjusted his grip on her shoulders, his sleeve moved up just enough to reveal something that made her reconsider. It was a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was a stylized olive branch, with an anatomically correct drawing of a heart placed over it. A long time ago, Alex had nearly gotten one of those, before other life events superseded. The unocial INSUPA medical branch logo. “I’m not part of INSUPA. I didn’t call their help line. Why are you here?”

“Albatross, Shevchenko. We’ve been briefed.” The man said, “A supervillain got wind of you, we were sent in to evacuate. My boss was going to meet you in your apartment to chat, but you collapsed.” “Next time, lead with that.” Alex said as she relaxed, exhaustion flooding her veins. The hands released her, and she fell limp. She reminded herself to have a strong word with her handler about the next time they send someone for her.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Escaflowne voice meme

Introduce yourself! When did you first watch Escaflowne? What brought you into the fold? I first watched Escaflowne about four years ago. I was introduced to the anime after coming across an AMV of scenes from the anime set to Battlefield by Blind Guardian, and I liked the animation style so much I decided to give it a watch. I loved it and it has been my favourite anime ever since

Who is your favorite character and why? Was it love at first sight? Has any of their qualities or quirks swayed you on characters in other series? I always liked Hitomi, I liked the depiction of her as a young person with anxiety and found it very easy to sympathise with her. I think she’s a very good example of a teenage girl protagonist who comes across as believable and genuine without being annoying, and I love that there are consequences for her immense power, and her fears and anxiety are treated in a genuine and sympathetic way. I like that she makes mistakes and doesn’t always do the right thing but still tries to be honest and brave.

Which side are you on? What do you think happens Post-Hitomi when she leaves? Who do you think will be the next opposing power? Van’s and Fanelia’s. I find Folken interesting and he has some sympathetic goals, but even he comes to realise you cannot liberate people at the point of a bayonet. You’re only creating more war and suffering. Post-Hitomi leaving? I hope she finds happiness. I wouldn’t be surprised if she returns to Gaia when she is older and more confident in her ability to control her anxiety and powers, but in any case I think her and Van will always have some kind of link even if they remain separated. Basram seemed very aggressive during the back part of the war. Either them or a revanchist Zaibach seem the most likely threat to Gaia’s peace.

Least favorite plot point? Was there something you think should have changed? What do you think would have made it better. Other than plot points that get brought up and then abandoned for time I think having Dilandau removed from most of the back half of the plot was a mistake. I think the parallel between him and Van is great, Van who almost has to force himself to fight and takes little pleasure in it slowly becoming more violent and aggressive as Dilandau who lives for war and brutality begins to unravel and lose the will to fight after Van massacres the dragonslayers in a fit of rage. I would have pushed that fight back and kept Dilandau as an antagonist for most of the plot, keeping the Celena stuff for the last few episodes. I don’t think Naria and Eriya manage to be as interesting as Dilandau.

OTP? What kind of art and fiction would you like to see? What are some head canons you have for them? What is you NoTP I’ve always had a soft spot for Van and Hitomi, they’re both quite stubborn about it and both too anxious to admit their feelings because of how much they like the other person and are scared of destroying their friendship. I see Van and Hitomi as very outdoorsy and gentle, I think they’d be quite a sweet couple. I’m quite fond of Van/Dilandau as well because of the parallels between the two, generally in post canon. They’d be the opposite, very passionate and fiery. Very intense and you wouldn’t want to be around them, whether they’re getting on that day or not. I haven’t seen any pairings that have made me uncomfortable so far, but I don’t think I’m an easily squicked person.

What would you like to see in a figurative remake/sequel? Would you include more minor characters? Would you want a whole new story that could be a stand alone? Mostly just the story expanded to the original 39/40-episode plan. I’m more curious about how that additional time would have been used than about alternate stories in the same universe or other characters. I think one of Escaflowne’s strengths are the characters, even minor ones feel like real people, it’s clear a lot of time and thought went into them. I worry that would get muddled if the cast got much bigger.

Movie, Series, Game, or Manga preference? What are things you did/didn’t like of each? I’m only familiar with the series and the movie, and of those I much prefer the series. The movie is visually beautiful and the music is great (even though Kanno decides to rip off Prokofiev’s battle on the ice at one point for some bizarre reason.) But Escaflowne’s plot was already struggling to fit into a 26 episode anime, trying to cut it into a single film was just madness. I still quite like Hitomi, who seems more depressed than anxious here, but she seems to have much less of an impact on the plot. Most of the other character changes are for the worse in my opinion (with poor Folken getting the full Denethor treatment.) Dilandau is still very fun though, and I love every scene he’s in!

Do your favorite impression! Bonus points if you can do a conversation with a scene cut in! If I could do I’d probably go for Dilandau. Might try it at some point if I can find my decent microphone.

What do you think about the idea of a re-dub? What are your feelings about the current cast selection for Van (and others if more are introduced)? I first watched the English subbed version, so that’s the version I’m most attached to rather than any English dub voices, and I think all the original Japanese voice actors did a great job. I think I first watched the film dubbed and I quite liked that but I don’t really have strong feelings on a re-dub, other than it might get more people into escaflowne and be good for the fandom!

Recite your top five characters by name. Hitomi, Van, Folken, Dilandau and Millerna

[essskel]

I think my point was not as 'fare' to Roche and Ves's character, since they were created in the second game. I was trying to make an argument on how Cdpr's writing is dogshit, so I should show the other example, but in the game where they make their original appearance. Sorry for disturbing you again, english isn't my native language, so it's really hard for me to articulate my thoughts properly. I put more brainpower into sounding smart. But anyways, back to the point.

In tw2, there's one thing that absolutely fucking destroyed my brain with how stupid it is. And that thing - is the genocide of vrans. The devs really said: "The elves are oppressed and all, but we kinda made them too good, we need to make the situation more grey. Hm...UH YES, let's make them guilty of genocide!! They're actually as bad as humans! See, player!! Don't feel too bad for them!"....why, Cdpr, WHY?! Sapkowski shouldn't have sold his books to these morons...

So yeah, I really-really doubt, that Cdpr wanted us to perceive Roche and Ves as some kind of metaphor.

Okay, I hear you, and I'm never going to come on here and defend CDPR's writing as a whole. They treat women like hell, they've tried to equate genocidal military forces with minority freedom fighters (your example with the elves), they've been explicitly racist with the way they framed the Ofieri people in hearts of stone, there's antisemitic tropes used in the added vampire lore from blood and wine, and on and on, sometimes stuff just literally doesn't make sense, I could go on forever.

They're a corporation, they selling a pop culture franchise product, of course it's a mess when it comes to social commentary sometimes.

But there is still a team of professional writers behind it. They're aware of concepts like archetypal characters, mirroring between two story lines or people, theme, metaphor, tone, and social commentary.

continued with sources below:

You mentioned the Bloody Baron in an earlier ask, I agreed with you, I also can't stand his quest. I think it's badly written, it reads way too much as a centrist stance on domestic abuse and that's useless, he'll never be a sympathetic character to me. And yet here's an interview with Paweł Sasko who wrote the quest:

The roots of Family Matters can be traced back to Sasko’s childhood, growing up in a poor village in the Polish mountains. “I saw families destroyed by alcoholism and violence,” he says. “I saw parents fighting with each other and beating their kids, but they were also in love and loyal to their family.”

“The Baron was created as a parallel to Geralt,” says Sasko. “They’re two fathers who have lost their loved ones; two men with blood on their hands; they both have personality issues; they’d do anything for their families.” (Link to full article)

The whole interview is really interesting, I still think it's a bad quest, I think Sasko failed to write the nuanced story that he set out to tell, but regardless, he was trying to tell a story. He considered real life examples, he attempted to created a character parallels, he approached social issues, cultural links, he DID want us to view this character as a metaphor for something, something from his own community and childhood - and I really doubt that he was the only writer at the studio who at least tried for similar depth, or that the Baron was the only side character who was written with similar considerations in mind.

Here's story director Marcin Blacha on the writing choices in the witcher games:

“We want to talk about serious problems, about complex situations, about things that, sometimes, make the player uncomfortable. Choices must then be crafted in such a way that they do not simplify the world, but instead, have the player think and interpret it.” (Source)

Again with this emphasis on more complex levels of storytelling and the inclusion of heavy themes. When they write a character who does something super racist like a militarized hate crime, it's safe to assume that yeah, they're probably trying to address or at least touch on racism here, or misogyny, or nationalism, or something kinder like the difficulties of fatherhood. Maybe you disagree with the way I interpret a certain character or story line - good! normal! - but the writers still intend for us to interpret, to discover our own real word links, to challenge our own views.

Here's a link to a (way too long) presentation by two quest and level designers from CDPR about how they approach narrative and tone in a video game -> If you jump to minute 32, they discuss how even something as benign as choosing where to place food items was done with a narrative in mind, with the intention of enhancing setting, atmosphere, relatability, ect.

There's also a great interview with CDPR writer Karolina Stachyra who talks about how she got hired, why she loves the witcher, how some scenes (specifically in hearts of stone) pay homage to classic polish literature, and she also says: "We make sure to establish [the characters in TW3] as real people, so they are not just there to advance the plot." (source)

I'll stop cause this is getting long, but there's also this interesting interview with writers from TW2.

What I'm trying to say here is, yes, CDPR has a lot of bad writing going on, I'll never defend that, but there is a still a clear attempt at genuine storytelling - a process of narrative, framing, metaphor, ect. I fully expect you or anyone else to disagree with my personal opinions of what a character may stand for, but do you really believe that these characters therefore were meant to stand for nothing? I'm sorry that there's a language barrier here, I hope I'm addressing the core of your ask, but this the best response I can give you right now.

disclaimer: really don't want to excuse any of CDPR's failings either. I'm not saying: aw, but at least they tried, that's better than nothing! And actually, in a lot of cases, the intent makes things worse. When they do something like approach the harsh realities of misogyny in military settings through Ves' character but then just write more misogynistic shit by having her enthusiastically jump into a sexy cutscene with geralt.....yeah now you guys made it WORSE???

[elrondsscribe]

Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet are both opinionated af and I just want them to have a podcast or YT channel where they get to be judgy abt media or smth together

[twilight-orchid]

How The Demon Brothers React After Fighting With Their SO

tw: some angst with resolution at the end, mentions of past arguments, insecurity.

Lucifer:

This man is petty as hell.

He doesn’t do the silent treatment, but he acts like you aren’t dating.

If you need to work on something together, you’re a co-worker.

At RAD you’re a classmate.

Around the house you’re just a housemate.

His poker face is immaculate and it will not crack when you’re around.

If someone didn’t know what was happening, they’d probably think you two barely knew each other.

However, you won’t notice, but as soon as you look the other way his eyes are on you.

He’s used to arguing with his brothers and is no stranger to explosive fights that end with he and the other person not being on speaking terms.

But you’re different.

He tries to go on with business as usual, but he can’t think about anything other than how much he misses you.

Yet, he lets it continue because he just can’t put his pride aside and apologize.

If you decide to sleep in your old room it’ll both hurt his feelings and royally piss him off.

He thinks you’re being childish and will be pretty rude about it, but that’s because internally his blood just ran cold.

It adds a degree of seriousness to the argument that he’s uncomfortable with.

Yes he’s mad, but he can’t lose you.

If you still sleep in his bed, he makes sure to scoot over to the very edge so he doesn’t cuddle you in his sleep.

In fact, the first night after the argument he’d probably put a pillow between you just to really punctuate the fact that he’s still upset.

I’d say it could go 4 days to a week tops without you making up.

After a point though, he just can’t function until the issue is resolved. He can’t sleep, he’s falling behind on his work, and he’s just generally not doing well.

You get called to his office one night and find him at his desk surrounded by piles of paper, disheveled and exhausted.

“MC, come sit down. I’d like to talk this through. Please.”

Mammon:

He’s so dramatic.

You dare defy him? The Great Mammon can’t believe this tiny fragile human would have the audacity.

The theatrics are just a front though.

His ‘The Great Mammon’ act is a mask for his insecurity, one he hasn’t had to use with you in awhile.

Even as the words leave his mouth he regrets them.

He’s going to be very uncomfortable with everything until the argument is resolved, but most of all himself.

He’s learned not to take his brothers too seriously when they toss insults his way, but words have a way of morphing to belief over time.

Internally he is going to be super hard on himself. 

Regardless of if the fight was his fault or not, he’s going to kick himself constantly for making yet another mistake.

He’s over the argument pretty fast. The anger quickly melts into anxiety.

Are you going to leave him? Do you hate him? Did he hurt your feelings? 

That being said, he doesn’t know if you’re still mad and he doesn’t know how to ask. 

As a defense mechanism, he defaults to how he treated you when you first arrived in the devildom.

Calls you human, disregards you, stuff like that.

If you decide to sleep in another room, before midnight expect him to be knocking on the door.

“Oi, MC. You awake? I just - I can’t - *sigh* Can we talk about this?”

If you sleep in his bed, he makes a point of sleeping with his back to you.

Less because he’s actually mad and more because he doesn’t want his image of you as he drifts to sleep to be a look of anger.

Though as soon as he passes out he’ll roll over and tuck you into his arms on instinct.

I’d say any after effects of an argument with Mammon would be resolved in a day, maybe two tops.

Leviathan:

Arguing activates his trolling the forums mode.

Goes back to calling you a normie and contradicts everything you say.

He’s less mad about the argument and more using the bitterness to cope with how upset he is.

He feels like a break up is less of an if and more of a when.

Why would someone as amazing as you settle for weird otaku like him?

Honestly doesn’t understand why you’re with him in the first place, so when there’s a serious argument he assumes its over.

Tbh don’t know how you and Levi would sleep together being that I doubt two could fit in a tub, but any deviation to your routine sends him into a panic.

It’s his reality check that the situation is serious and he needs to fix it NOW.

He’d have trouble apologizing in person. He can’t think of what to say, he stumbles over his words, and he feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

Instead, expect a long ass text message.

He says how sorry he is, how much he misses and loves you, and legit begs you to forgive him.

If you sleep with him like normal, he’ll probably try to make up after laying there for awhile. His mind is going a million miles an hour and there’s no way he can sleep.

Still really has trouble verbalizing how he feels, so give the poor boy a break and take over the conversation.

He hasn’t had a serious relationship before and he doesn’t know what he should do to make it better.

So the after effects will last however long it takes him to read several mangas, watch some anime, and play a few games to see how the characters get over arguments in the story.

Satan:

Satan makes sure not to fight with you over minor issues.

He’s worked tirelessly to tame his wrath and he refuses to feed into it over a minor issue.

Thus, if you fight with Satan it’s a major argument and it’s explosive.

The aftermath isn’t much better.

He doesn’t want to risk blowing up again, so he’s frighteningly calm.

He’s an absolute master of the silent treatment.

He won’t say a word to you until he’s certain he’s calmed down enough.

For the first few days he’ll straight up leave a room if you enter.

For a good while the only way you can expect to communicate with him is through his body language and the expression in his eyes.

Satan’s biggest fear is losing control and lashing out at you. 

He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you and he can’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him. 

He’s a whirlwind of emotions, so he isolates himself until he can figure out how to deal with it.

Not just from you, but from everyone else too. 

Satan will not share a bed with you for at least the first night.

If he got worked up enough to actually fight, it’s gonna take him time to simmer down.

And he’d rather not risk doing or saying something he regrets in the meantime.

Once he’s ready, he’ll approach you when he’s completely calmed down and has thoroughly analyzed the situation.

He’s considered both of your sides, tried to pinpoint what caused the disagreement to turn into a fight, and made a plan of action to prevent it from happening again.

“MC? I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what happened. Would you please talk it through with me?”

He won’t apologize for the argument if he feels like he was right, but he will apologize for letting the disagreement escalate into a fight.

Satan could go weeks without making up if necessary, but he tries to resolve it within a couple of days.

Asmodeus:

Wants to give you the silent treatment, but is physically incapable.

He can’t stand to have you ignore him.

He’s the type to go back to normal then suddenly remembers you guys had a fight.

“Wait, no! I’m not talking to you! I’m mad at you!”

His biggest downfall is that he’s so stubborn.

If he thinks he was right, he will die on that hill.

There are arguments with his brothers that happened a thousand years ago and he could still tell you exactly why he was right.

But with you, he realizes that doesn’t matter too him nearly as much as it usually does.

If it means going back to normal, he’ll forget who’s right or wrong.

If you sleep in another room, he’s beyond offended.

“What?! Well fine! I don’t want you in my bed anyway!”

Laying in bed alone is a different story though.

He can’t sleep. All he can think about is you. Your face when you sleep next to him, your smell, the feeling of his arms around you.

He 100% cries.

Finally goes and knocks on your door with wet, glossy eyes.

“MC? Can we talk about this? I can’t get my beauty sleep and my tears are wiping off all of my skin care lotion!”

Will throw himself into your arms before you can answer.

If you sleep next to him still, he rolls over and watches you sleep.

It puts him at peace and he decides seeing your sweet, resting face every morning is worth more to him than the argument.

He’ll initiate the conversation the next morning.

I think Asmo could make it a few days if it was a really serious argument, but he will not function well until you make up.

Beelzebub:

Wants to make up immediately.

He doesn’t like to argue, even less so with you.

Whether he was right or wrong, he blames himself. He’ll take all the blame in the world if it makes you happy.

He’ll go make you your favorite food and bring it to you.

If he thinks you don’t want to talk to him, he’ll leave it outside your door and text you to let you know it’s there.

He’s honestly devastated if you decide to sleep in another room.

You guys migrate to your old room when you want privacy from Belphie, but you almost never sleep separately.

Seeing you grab your pillows and march out of the room nearly stops his heart.

He goes completely numb and silent as he just stares at the space you had just occupied.

Like Levi, he thinks this means the relationship is over and he genuinely does not know what to do with himself.

He can’t even bring himself to eat, he just wants to lie there, lost and trying to grapple with his emotions. 

He’s another one who will absolutely cry, but unlike Asmo he will make sure no one knows it.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’s very nervous about it.

He doesn’t know if it’s okay to touch you, what he can or can’t say, stuff like that.

He just lays there stiff as a board not even able to close his eyes.

Honestly the fight would probably have to be resolved before bed. His anxiety just can’t take it.

I don’t think he’d initiate the apology. Not because he doesn’t want to make up but because his confidence is rock bottom in these situations.

He catastophizes and honestly thinks you hate him.

If you don’t initiate the apology soon, Belphie will. He can feel what his twin won’t say, and he knows Beel won’t approach you about it for fear of making it worse.

Belphie will lock you two in a room if that’s what it takes for you to make up.

Belphegor:

The embodiment of if looks could kill.

He won’t talk to you, won’t look at you, basically pretends you aren’t there.

If he must interact with you he’ll roll his eyes and sigh the whole time.

Tries to sleep through any interaction so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

He feels almost betrayed by the fight.

He thought the relationship was stronger than to have such a huge divide, so he’s really insecure about it.

After the first day, the anger has melted away to guilt.

He ‘s not guilty that you fought, but he is guilty about how he treated you after.

Guilt and self-blame have become unwelcome friends at this point. Guilt over Lilith, over his plans to destroy the human world, everything.

But more than anything else, the guilt for the fact that he attacked you weighs on him every day.

He moved past it quickly after, essentially pretending he hadn’t killed you, but that’s because he just couldn’t confront what he’d done. 

He feels like the luckiest demon alive that you forgave him, let alone  opened you heart enough to love him, and now it’s all in tatters.

Another thing to regret.

If you decide to sleep separately, it’ll hit him like a bag of bricks.

“You - what? Where are you going?” 

It’ll take him a second to process what you were doing, but then he’ll roll over and let you leave.

“Fine. Don’t let the door hit you.”

No one will see him for awhile. 

Belphie sleeps all the time anyway, but he just can’t make himself get out of bed.

If you don’t approach him to apologize, Beel will tell you that he’s been nauseous and randomly emotional which must mean his twin is coping very badly. 

Will beg you to go make Belphie happy again. 

If you sleep in his bed still, the argument will be resolved by morning.

He can’t keep himself from embracing you in his sleep, and it’s hard to say you’re mad at someone when you wake up in their loving arms.

It’s hard to pinpoint how long it could last with Belphie. If you don’t apologize first, he won’t let himself be conscious long enough to approach you.

This is both my first hc post as well as my first obey me post so I’m sorry if le boys are ooc. I just got this idea and couldn’t stop thinking about it so here we are.  Especially Belphie, he was hard to me for some reason. Let me know if you guys agree or disagree and if you want to send a request or ask, my box is open! 

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[bbgem329]

If Only You Were Mine… Chapter Ten

Pairings—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary

You’ve been in love with Bucky Barnes since the moment you laid eyes on him. That was five years ago, when your older sister brought him home for a Sunday lunch and introduced him as her boyfriend.

Warnings

Minors DNI. 18+. Language. Protective!Bucky. Fluff!!! Lil bit of angst. Mentions of pregnancy. Medical stuff?

Notes!

I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to update. I worked all weekend and week, things were a little hectic to say the least and I struggled to find the time. I’m hoping to have another chapter up by Sunday!

Series Masterlist

—————

Bucky leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and cerulean eyes narrowed critically as he watched the doctor and two female nurses scurry about the room, setting up various medical machinery.

The past three weeks, the doctor had visited alone. He didn’t like that two new, unfamiliar faces were suddenly welcomed into the Manor.

Bucky understood that the poor stumpy man needed the extra hands. Towing about all that equipment for an in-home ultrasound and the extensive testing that needed to be done, definitely wasn’t a walk in the park. But they’d been so careful about monitoring who came in and out—keeping the place locked down until their safety was certain or at the very least, until they gained more knowledge on the Y/L/N’s game plan.

For now, the main goal was to keep the news of your pregnancy from leaking and spreading to unwanted ears.

Your family didn’t need another reason to want you dead. Bucky knew well enough that if they found out you were carrying his child—something Carly had, no doubt, wanted and expected to do, they’d stop at nothing to put an end to you before the life growing inside you even had the chance to be born.

The notion terrified him like no other. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you—neither you nor the baby, especially now when you were finally just within his reach.

You and this baby were what kept him hanging on—Gave him the energy to resist and the courage to continue this fight.

The one and only reason he dragged his sorry ass out of bed each morning, ready to tackle each and every new day. Working effortlessly to get the jump on your conniving parents and sadistic sister so he could keep you both safe and out of harm's way.

“Bucky.” You cooed, voice soft and serene. His head snapped in your direction, eyes softening when they landed on you snuggled contently in his childhood bed. “Come sit.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, kicking off the wall, and appearing at your side in a few short strides.

You offered him an encouraging, kind smile, nodding your head pointedly to the wood chair pushed up beside the head of the bed. Hesitantly, he perched himself at the very edge of the uncomfortable seat, stiff as a board as his eyes trailed back to the two nurses.

Bucky had barely noticed he’d started gnawing on his bitten, raw cuticles, skepticism and nerves rising rapidly in his tight chest. Too distracted by the nurse with the jet black hair. He didn’t like the way she was glancing every so often at the two of you—studying you curiously, almost dubiously.

What was her name again?

What if she was working for them? Sent to report back to them?

“Buck.” You chuckled, dragging him abruptly from his thoughts. Again, his gaze snapped back to you, this time a heavy blush coating the apples of his cheeks. “What’s gotten into you?” You whispered, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you carefully drew his hand away from his mouth, and intertwined it with your own. “You look like you’re about to bite that nurse's head off.”

Maybe he was going a little crazy.

Ultimately trapped and confined within the walls of this creaky Manor for the past four weeks as they blindly waited for your family to make their next unpredictable move.

To say he was on edge would be an understatement. He’d always struggled to trust before, but now it seemed to be heightened by tenfold.

He had to think logically, rationally here. Him and his father had double—triple checked these two nurses' resumes and had a full blown background check run on both of them just last week.

They were legit and clean.

He was just being paranoid.

“I’m sorry, sweets.” Bucky mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m just-” He sighed softly, scrubbing his hand frustratingly down his face, partly to hide the obvious heat in his cheeks. “I’m being paranoid. I don’t like new people coming in, especially not around you.”

“I knew you would be,” You admitted with a sly smirk and slight shrug of your shoulders, “That’s why I asked you to join me.”

There were no words to describe just how happy Bucky was when you invited him to sit in on your next appointment with the doctor. Even more so when he learned they would be doing an ultrasound.

Since your small discussion three weeks ago, he was essentially, allowing you to come to him.

If you requested his presence he was there, sat by your bedside, the very second you’d asked him to be. Whatever you need, he was eager and ready to help–whether it be a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, a borrowed sweatshirt or t-shirt to rest in, fresh ginger tea in your Christmas mug, a recommendation for a book, or opinion on a photo you were editing.

It wasn’t too often, but when you did, Bucky swore his entire being lit up like the fucking forth of July. On those specific days, Sam and Steve ended up teasing him over the new found pep in his step or the unfaltering grin he’d have after visiting with you.

Even a second spent with you, brightened his entire day.

“Thank you.” Bucky cleared his throat, shifting to rest more comfortably in his seat, “For letting me be here.” He brushed his thumb along the smooth skin of your knuckles, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his plush lips, “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

You shot him that gorgeous smile, flashing your pearly white teeth—one that sent shivers dancing up his spine and butterflies swarming pleasantly throughout his naval.

He wishes you knew just how gorgeous you looked at this very moment.

Locks tossed up in a big messy bun, a few tendrils spilling out the sides to perfectly frame your face. Your pretty face was fresh of any and all makeup, complexion clear and sporting a healthy natural flush, and for a second he wondered if this what they meant when they said pregnant women glow.

It couldn’t just be the way the sunlight was glistening across your skin from where it trickled in through the partially cracked curtains.

You looked just as beautiful in the dark too.

His blue eyes flickered down, jittery over the way his red Henley hung loosely off your frame, showcasing both your shoulders and the curve of your collarbones. The handprints on your neck had faded significantly, you couldn’t tell unless you took a closer look and the divots from Carly’s nails had almost healed completely. Now that you were twelve weeks into your pregnancy, the morning sickness had subsided substantially and you no longer looked sickly pale.

There were small changes to your body too. Ones that weren’t easily caught unless you paid direct attention, but Bucky noticed immediately.

Your breast had grown a little heavier, something he noted when you’d complained about how sore and sensitive they were to touch. Your hips were a little wider, he had discerned when he’d helped you from the bed to use the restroom a few days ago. And his favorite was the slight roundness that had swelled along your lower abdomen.

Seeing the little bump, knowing that his baby was growing steadily and safely within your womb, sent excitement and pride ricocheting through his entire body and his heart beat skyrocketing in his chest.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to hold you—snuggle up beside you or plop you in his lap and run his hands along your swelling abdomen. But he had boundaries he needed to uphold and respect. He wouldn’t dare touch you without your permission or ask out of the fear of blatant rejection.

He’d wait for you to come to him. When you were ready and comfortable, he’d be there.

“Alright, Y/N.” The Dr. Allen spoke up, snapping on a pair of gloves, “Let’s get started. How are you feeling today?” He inquired, making his way around the other side of the bed with a kind smile. “You look much better today.”

“I feel good—great even.” You replied, mirroring his smile with a little shrug of your shoulders, “A little restless and ready to be back on my feet.” You bit your lip softly, sparing Bucky a quick glance and he offered you an encouraging nod, thumb rubbing circles along the back of your hand. “The morning sickness has been better. I haven’t actually vomited for what? Three days now. Still feel a little woozy here and there, but the ginger tea and candies help.”

“That’s what we like to hear.” Allen beamed, motioning for you to lift her shirt. Once you complied, revealing the tiny bump in your belly, he pushed gently along the expanse of your abdomen, “If everything looks good today and your blood pressure is regulated, we just might be able to conclude bed rest.”

“Finally.” You signed, a content grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you relaxed into the mattress with a few steady breaths and let the doctor do his thing. “That would be amazing. A damn Christmas miracle if you ask me.”

Bucky watched carefully and quietly as the examination continued. The nurse with the dark hair—Lily as he came to find out when she introduced herself to you, took your vitals. Just as they had hoped your blood pressure had decreased significantly and was back in the normal range. Dr. Allen examined the skin along your neck and ribs, declaring the marks and light bruising would vanish completely within the next week or two.

“Before we discuss concluding bed rest,” Allen smiled, dragging the portable ultrasound over from the corner of the room, “Why don’t we take a look at your baby?” He sat on the edge of the bed, squirting a bit of the gel on your bare belly, you winced and shivered slightly at the cool temperature earning a small chuckle from Bucky. “You’re at twelve weeks now, so the baby should be around the size of a plum–near 2.1 inches long and weighing about .49 ounces.” You shot Bucky a big grin and he lifted your hand to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. “All the important organs are developed, the baby's focus now is to just keep growing.”

Bucky found himself nodding, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His cerulean eyes flashing from the black monitor screen, to the probe on your slightly swollen abdomen, to your seemingly eager expression as an unexplainable sentiment grew within him. He couldn’t explain how he was feeling—excitement to see his unborn baby for the very first time, hopeful for a new life, one that he could help shape and raise better than he was, anxious that they might find something wrong, fear because he had no fucking clue what to do with a baby, and protective because this new life now relied on him to keep them safe.

Dr. Allen wiggled the probe a little lower, angling it down more. “Ah. There we are.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped back up to the monitor, and his heart nearly burst from his chest.

Because there they were.

His baby.

Their baby.

“Wow.” You whispered, hand involuntarily tightening around his own. There were tears building in the corner of your eyes, You sniffled a little, shooting him a wobbly, watery smile before your gaze flickered back to the tiny fluttering baby on the screen.

“Here, we have the head… There is a nose and ears… An arm here and there.” Allen spoke softly, index finger hovering over the monitor as he scanned and pointed out each part of the baby that could be seen. “Ten toes… Ten fingers.”

Bucky couldn’t believe he could actually see them. He’d figured it would be nothing but a little blob, not a whole ass tiny baby. Then again, you were further along in your pregnancy than one normally was when they had their first ultrasound.

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed as they traced the outline of each and every limb. His smile grew with every time the baby moved–a flutter of their left arm, a little kick with their right foot, a bend of the knee, a bob of the head.

That was his baby wiggling about in there, and he briefly wondered if you could feel them moving from within.

“Almost forgot.” Dr. Allen flicked a switch on the monitor and a fast but steady heartbeat sounded throughout the room.

“Oh my God.” Bucky breathed out, lips parted slightly in surprise. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat?”

“Uh huh.” Allen replied with a grin, “It sounds great—strong.”

Bucky scrubbed his hands down his face, head bowed as his shoulders began to shake, and tears welled up in his eyes. “Oh my God.” He repeated with a watery smile. “That’s—that’s… Wow.” Nothing could stop the tears that spilled down his flushed cheeks, silent sobs wracking through his body as an overload of emotion washed through him.

It was overwhelming really—how real it had now become. The realization that he was going to be a father, hitting him square in the chest, enough to nearly knock the wind right out of him. It was one thing to hear you're pregnant with his baby and to see you start to grow, but it was something else entirely to see that child for the first time and hear their heartbeat.

This was real.

He was going to be a dad.

You were going to be a mom.

“That’s our baby, Buck.” You whispered, scooching closer to the edge of the bed, reaching your free hand out to soothingly comb your fingers through the tousled locks at the nape of his neck. “Our baby.” You declared surely, when he lifted his head to meet your teary eyes, chest tightening as he choked back another sob.

“Thank you, sweets.” He managed out, kissing each individual knuckle along your hand that he held within his own. He wiped furiously at the tears coating his cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed over the reaction seeing the baby had provoked, especially in front of three pairs of unfamiliar eyes. “Thank you so much for this.”

“Of course, Buck.” You offered him a radiant smile, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “Wouldn’t want anyone else by my side for this. Thanks for being here with me.”

And God, he hopes you mean it.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to be here, like this for the rest of his days. By your side through it all—no matter what, thick and thin.

—————

Bucky slumped back in his chair, scrubbing a hand down his face. He knew he should go to bed—rest his brain and his body, give himself a much needed break.

Ever since that dreadful night, he’d been working remotely from home. Fortunately, his father had been gracious enough by allowing him access to his quiet office so that he could focus more.

After the appointment, you’d wanted to go for a walk around the yard since you were relieved of bed rest and were given the all clear to be back on your feet. Of course, he accompanied you when you asked, never one to pass up on an opportunity to spend more time with you. It was the best time he’s had since everything turned to shit and was more than worth the work he’d missed. He had nearly forgotten just how much he loved the sound of your laugh or listening to you talking aimlessly about everything and nothing at all. It had gone so well that you’d ended up inviting him to eat supper with you too, another opportunity he wouldn’t dare miss.

As to make up for his time away, he wanted to clock just a few more hours of work—finish signing a few documents so he could send them to the office with Steve tomorrow morning, review more offers from other companies, and prepare for his early virtual meeting with the heads of each department.

It wasn’t long though before his mind drifted, his work long forgotten on a neatly stacked pile on the corner of his desk.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about you and his baby. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much nor cried tears of joy. You always seemed to bring about emotions and feelings he wasn’t even aware he was capable of feeling. All day, hope and happiness had been blooming rapidly throughout his chest. And he was beyond determined to keep it that way.

He was determined to keep you.

Halfway throughout his assignments, he’d found himself scrolling through houses just outside the city. It was a far-fetched idea at the moment, he had no clue if you would ever take him back, but he was hopeful that his effort and time would win you over and your love would eventually prevail.

His ma always told him that if something is meant to be, it would be. And you belonged with him, he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

The houses he’d briefly looked at were big and homey. With many extra rooms to fill up with more children, because you’d told him you wanted to have a big family someday so that your children wouldn’t be as lonely as you were growing up, gorgeous up to date kitchens where you could cook as much as you’d like and plenty of room for storage, wrap around porches, where one of those swings could be hung up to watch the sunrise as you drank your morning coffee, big backyards for a big dog to run rampant and free. He’d made sure each house's location wasn’t too far out of the city limits but far enough to be considered the private suburbs because he’d have to commute to work and most of your clients lived in the city too.

From there he found himself, planning to set up new bank accounts for the baby. One for leisure, one for inheritance, and one for college. Taking the time to map out exactly how much money he wanted placed in the accounts when he set them up and how much he wanted added each month from here on out.

He wanted his baby set for life.

Then he found himself doing a bit of online shopping. Purchasing any recommended parenting and pregnancy books he’d come across in an online article. He ordered you one of those fancy pregnancy pillows because now that your bump was growing, he didn’t want to risk you rolling on your front or back in your sleep, placing a rush on it so it would arrive tomorrow. He’d started a little shopping list of the necessary baby things and furniture for a nursery but ultimately wanted you to pick out exactly what you liked. He’d nearly bought a few clothing items—a cute pair of white booties, a few ‘daddy’s girl’ pjs, and a pink swaddle but decided against it because the gender would remain unknown until your twenty fourth week of pregnancy.

Although he was sure it would be a baby girl. Something in his gut told him so.

But perhaps he was just biased from desperately wanting a daughter. Someone to spoil and coddle. One that looked just like you. Bucky had heard plenty about the significance in relationships between a father and his daughter, and had seen it with his very own eyes between his sisters and their father.

And he yearned for something exactly like that.

He wanted you to tease him about having her wrapped around his little finger. To be scolded over being overly protective over her. To tell her she couldn’t date until she was thirty. To dress her up in the cutest little tutus, learn to do her hair, have tea parties, take her to dance lessons, or play dress up with her. Snuggle her and sooth her when she is sad, hear him call her daddy with the sweetest little voice, teach her how to drive, or walk her down the aisle.

He supposed he’d be fine with whatever, as long as they were healthy and happy. Down the line he’d want a son but for some reason, right now he was stuck on the idea of this perfect, little baby girl.

Bucky was pulled abruptly from his thoughts by the sound of the office door creaking slowly open. He lifted his gaze from his laptop screen to find you slipping quietly through the door and closing it gently behind you.

“Y/N?” He stole a glance at the time before pushing back his chair and rising from his seat. “What are you doing up? It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“I-” There was a subtle blush coating the apples of your cheeks as you trekked hesitantly across the room, a bashful smile tugging at the corner of your plush lips. “I couldn’t sleep.” You admitted, shoulders slumping and hands tugging nervously on the edge of Bucky’s t-shirt that barely reached the top of your thighs. You glanced away, gnawing on your bottom lip, “I had a nightmare. I… I went to your room but you weren’t there. I don’t want to bother you-”

“Hey.” Bucky strode swiftly across the room, one hand finding purchase on your shoulder and the other gently cupping your cheek. “You are never a bother.” He bent slightly, eyes gazing intently into your own, “Ever. You hear me? Whatever you need, I’m here.” He brushed his thumb tenderly across your flushed skin, slipping up to tuck a stand of hair behind your ear, “Whenever and wherever, I’ll be there.”

You relaxed slightly, leaning further into his touch as your eyes fluttered shut. A content sigh spilled from your lips, when he loosened his hold and allowed you to slump softly into his embrace.

“What do you need?” He whispered softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. He wrapped his arms around your waist, ignoring the way his heartbeat sped up in his chest as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and buried your face in the crook of his neck. It felt like it had been so long since he held you like this and was given the chance to comfort you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just…” You lifted your head, a stuttered breath leaving your bitten lips. “I just feel her hands around my throat sometimes or the weight on my chest…” Your voice was so low and quiet, he’d have missed what you said if your lips weren’t pressed to the skin just below his ear. “It felt like I was going through it all over again… And—and there was nothing I could do.” You shuddered at the thought, sinking further into the warmth of his embrace, hands gripping tightly at the back of his sweatshirt. “I had no way to stop it—to stop her.”

“Shh,” Bucky shushed you softly, hands rubbing comfortingly along the length of your back. “You’re safe.” He breathed out, lips pressed to your temple. “She can’t get to you here. I won’t ever let anything happen to you again.” He swayed you slightly in his embrace, pulling you the tiniest bit tighter against his chest. “I swear on my life I’m always going to protect you. You and our baby. I’ll die before I let anything happen to either of you.” He bit his lip, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry I let her get to you. I should’ve known—should’ve been there.”

“It’s not your fault.” You mumbled, pulling away just enough so you could look at him. “I mean it, Bucky. None of us knew that she was capable of that.” You took a deep breath, mustering a tiny smile. “It’s over and done with, nothing we can do now. You’re right I’m safe here, just a silly little nightmare.”

“It’s not silly.” Bucky said softly, combing his fingers through the ends of your tousled hair. “It was scary and it happened. It’s going to stick with you and I just want you to know I’m here for you. Is there anything I can do to help—to make it better?”

“Will you…” You licked your lips, cheeks flaming bright red as you avoided his curious, expectant gaze. “Will you maybe sit with me until I fall asleep?”

Bucky’s heart soared in his chest, he bit down on his bottom lip to suppress a grin. He couldn’t help it when you looked so shy and sweet—cheeks painted pink, a slight furrow in your brows, a pout on your lips, and big doe eyes flickering anxiously around the room as you resisted looking at him.

“Of course.” He spoke up, arms slipping from around your waist to intertwine your hand with his. “I’d be honored to.”

You giggled, a bashful smile split across her bitten, chapped lips. “Okay.”

He flashed you a sincere smile, guiding you toward the door and out of the office. His old bedroom was a few doors down, just across the hall. The walk was quiet, the two of your sharing a few shy glances and soft smiles.

Once inside the dimly lit room, he closed the door quietly behind him and helped you back into bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin before sinking down in the uncomfortable wooden chair just beside the bed. Moments later your hand was creeping out from beneath the sheets and grasping his.

“Bucky?” You spoke up, rolling on your right side to face him.

“Y/N.” He replied, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Nat mentioned something about a safe house when she’d brought me more tea before bed.”

Bucky shifted in his chair, scrubbing his free hand down his face as he breathed out a loud sigh. “Yeah, sweets. Now that you’re off bed rest, it might be best for you to go with my ma and sisters to a house we have upstate. It’s in a secluded, unknown location.” He lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back of it, “Your family wouldn’t ever find you there.”

“Would you go?” You inquired, voice timid and soft, pretty eyes big and wondering.

“I can’t.” He huffed out with a shake of his head and a small frown. “I gotta stay here and help figure out things with your parents. We have legal action against them, contracts have been broken but they won’t stop until they’re put away for good.”

“Then I’ll stay too.” You declared, confidently.

“Sweets-”

“No.” You interjected, tone final and sentiments stoic. One he knew all too well not to argue with. There was nothing he could do to stop you and if he was being honest he wanted you close to him too. “It’s my fight too. I’m staying here with you. I’ll feel much better staying in the loop and safer near you.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He whispered, scooching forward to the edge of the chair, lifting his free hand to brush his fingers soothingly along your scalp. “You need sleep.”

When you didn’t protest against his ministrations but relaxed further into the bed, eye fluttering shut, and a look of pure contentment across your serene face, he didn’t cease his movement, elongating his touch so his fingers combed from the top of your head to the ends of your hair.

“Goodnight, Buck.” You yawned, a tiny smile spread across your lips. “Thank you for being here.”

“Goodnight, sweets.” He breathed out, a permanent smile residing on his face as his cerulean eyes remained solely on your face. “Anything for you.”

It wasn’t long until your breathing evened out and you succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep. Bucky stayed by your side, hand held within his own, and fingers running through your hair until he, himself, started to nod off. Only then, had he reluctantly left your side after pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” He whispered softly, brushing the back of his index finger down your rosy cheek. “Sleep good, sweets.”

With that he dragged himself from the room, heavy steps carrying him to the guest room a few doors down. He couldn’t help but yearn for the day you allowed him to sleep beside you. To be able to hold you in his arms, close to his chest instead of returning to an empty, cold bed.

Bucky stripped himself of his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his black briefs before throwing himself lazily across the bed.

It wasn’t long until he, too, fell asleep, dreaming of better days with a big house, lots of babies, porch swings, a big fluffy dog, and you.

—————

Tag list

@scxrletrecsmarvel @cjand10 @sarahrstephan @ladifreakingda @vicmc624 @hazeljean2 @capmanranger @gitasor @intothesoul @silentkiller2374 @justsebstan @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @mini-kunoichi @jessyballet @coffeebooksandfandom @sergntbarnes @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @stumbleonmywords @whore-for-bucky

@one-shot-plus-size @hawsx3 @justifymyfeelings @fanfictionjunkie1112 @im-here-sometimes @meisspookycrayon @littlebunbun876 @themorningsunshine @arcanebabe @winterwhore @austynparksandpizza @babebr @white-wolf1940

[finniestoncrane]

hiii!!!! could i perhaps request a ficlet of a goth!fem!villian reader x capullo riddler in a hate fucking scenario lol

i also wanna say i really love and enjoy ur blog/writings, theyre very well written and i love how u try to be as inclusive as possible <3333

BTGG

Capullo!Riddler x Goth!Female!Reader, word count: 1.5k not me, a shitty half ass goth who hates this man just self-projecting all over this ;-; ty so much omg you're so sweet 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: teasing, sprinkle of misogyny, rough sex, pain

As a prefix to the story, here is the mood board that kept me going. I just really enjoy seeing this bastard get beat down, it's my kink.

Braced against the wall on either side of the room, you faced each other. Edward Nygma, or The Riddler, as you refused to call him, was seething. Teeth gritted, spit frothing behind them and spilling out onto his bleeding lip as he panted. You made a move towards him, and he brought his arms up in front of him, fists tense and ready to lash out.

“That’s enough! If you hit me again, I won’t be able to hold back this time. I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” You waited on the response, but he was silent, still. “Exactly. You’ll do nothing. Because you know deep down you can’t beat me.” You leaned back against the wall, thudding your body on the brick as you picked at your cape, looking at the tears on it. Your black, leather-look dress was already marred by scrapes and burns, and now this asshole had torn your cape. “You’ve ripped my cape, idiot.”

“I’m the idiot? I’m not the one crying over a cheap bit of fabric. I mean did you pull that out of your closet?”

You had. In fact, your entire outfit had come from your own clothes. You didn’t have the money to make yourself look good, to develop any kind of super villain persona yet. That was why you had turned to crime in the first place. So for now, you were wearing your own clothes, which meant you had developed a bit of a gothic persona. Dark, pale, buckles and harnesses. Tottering around in platform boots, buckles worn and scratched all the way up them. At least it didn’t matter when you ripped your tights, it suited the look. And you fit into Gotham’s aesthetic very well.

“So what if I did? It’s better than that sickly lime-green shit you’re constantly in.”

“Wow, so mean.” He was irritatingly sarcastic in everything he said. “You done?”

“You started it.”

He copied you in a mocking tone, sticking his tongue out when he was finished.

“Wow, really mature. I hope you know you’re paying for this.”

“Ok, I’ll give you the money now.” He reached into his pocket and tossed a few coins onto the floor in front of you. “That should more than cover it.”

“Edward, you really don’t want to cross me any more than you already have.”

“Why, because you’ll make me regret it?” He sneered at you, and you could feel the heat prickling on your skin at the rage you felt for him. He was so smug, so self-absorbed and self-assured. What you wouldn’t give to knock him down a peg.

“I think we both know there’s no way you could beat me in a fight.”

“I could, but I’m more gentlemanly than that.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh. Derogatory intentions behind it ignored by Edward, who faked a frown before glaring at you.

“I swear, I will have you and end you.”

“I wonder what the others would think of that?”

“They’d be so grateful, I imagine.”

“Hmm, I think you’re just worried I’m better than you, that I’m going to take your spot. What is it you bring to Gotham’s criminal underworld anyway?”

“What do I bring!? You know exactly what The Riddler brings! What do you bring!? I’ll tell you exactly what you bring. Stupid tits squeezed into a dress that’s too small for you. You’re literally only here because you’re nice to look at.”

Ignoring the way your heart skipped when he said you were ‘nice to look at’, you shot back at him.

“You’re lying, I have way more merit than you.”

“Mhm, that’s why we all talk about you then, make fun of you? Makes sense.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah. We do. Know what we call you?”

You didn’t have a name yet. Your crimes weren’t noticeable among the backdrop of constant ongoings in Gotham, so the media hadn’t settled on one yet, and it was embarrassing to give yourself one. You raised your eyebrows at Edward.

“You’re just the big titty goth girlfriend. That’s all you are to us. Some pathetic stereotype with tits attached.”

“I’m more than your stupid little fantasy, Ed.”

“Woah, woah, baby.” He raised his hands up, laughing to himself, staring you up and down with a smirk. “Who said you were my fantasy?”

A burst of malignant confidence spread through you, desperate to see the smug grin wiped from his pathetic face.

“Oh ok. So if I asked you to fuck me right now, you wouldn’t?”

“No, I would. But only to show you how easy you would be to take, baby.”

“Very confident for a man who just got his ass handed to him in a fight.”

“You literally wouldn’t come close to satisfying me. I’ve seen what you’re working with, and it’s not impressive.”

“Lotta talk, huh? I think you’re afraid of how much you’ll like it, baby.”

“Stop calling me baby.”

“Make me.”

You rushed him, crashing his body into the wall behind him with your arm under his throat, the other gripping onto the lapels of his shirt.

“Do it then! Show me how good you are, Ed. Don’t disappoint me though, or I’ll kill you when we’re finished, like some pathetic male bug who gets his head chewed off after mating.”

“Is this how you usually flirt?”

Your lips were on his before he could let out his snorting laughter, adrenaline pushing you into a situation you had never desired or even thought about outside of a nightmare. But there was something satisfying about the anger behind the kiss, passion obviously lingering dangerously close to anger a lot of the time, and with your teeth clashing together, biting down hard on his swollen and bloodied lip, it felt violent enough to satisfy the urge you felt to knock him around.

And Ed was kissing you back, just as hard as you kissed him. And his hands, which he had torn the gloves from with his teeth, were taking the opportunity to grab at every inch of you, squeezing hard as they found their way under your dress and over to your hips and ass. One of them found its way round to your front where he reached into your underwear, fingers pressing against and then into your folds. He was kissing your neck, and you could feel him grinning against you, letting out a growling laugh in delight at what he felt.

“You’re wet already you total slut. I knew you were into me.”

“I’m not into you,” you breathed against his touch, “this is residue arousal from punching you.”

He laughed again, gripping your hair close to the scalp, pulling your head back, licking up your neck before biting into the side of it, sucking at the skin and causing the skin to prickle under the pressure. When his teeth dug deeply, you pushed against him. Obviously not suspecting it, he fell backwards completely, landing with a cringe and growling up at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

You fell to the ground, landing on top of him, winding him slightly, but not enough to save yourself from his hands, his grasps, as he flung his arms around you, turning you onto your back and straddling you. With that same smug grin, he watched you writhe below him, one hand holding your wrists above your head as he undid the buttons and zip on his pants, the small patch of red hair you could see an indicator of his lack of underwear, which suited him, you mused. He noticed your eyes, bulging at the sight of him, the very base of his cock visible above the zip, the tempting glimpse causing you to bite your lip.

“Nervous?”

You looked into his eyes, trying to suppress the truth of your nerves. So you gave him his own signature smirks back. He grabbed your pants, a small tearing noise as he pulled at them hard.

“Don’t be. I might be kind enough to be gentle.” He unsheathed his cock fully, grasping it with his fist and pressing it to your entrance.

“Hurry up and fuck me then, Ed.”

He thrust into you, up to the hilt on his first attempt, a loud squeal emanating from you which only served to draw him further into you, clumsily shuffling against the floor as he scrabbled up, pumping his hips against you hard and fast.

“Ed…oh Ed?”

“What, you gonna tell me you love me?”

“No…I…mmm…I hate you.”

He held you closer as he rutted into you, the feeling of him inside of you dangerously addictive. You dug your finger nails into his back, the other hand running through his hair as he panted into your ear.

“God…I hate you…so much….hng…”

And you really hated him too, but you could get used to not hating this.

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.��

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

[dodo-begone]

Could you Not?

Pairing: Techno x Reader

Request: yooo remember a while ago when we were talking abt Techno hiding you from the yandere boys?? that would be hella neat to see ngl —

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: yandere, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, panic attack at end

A/n: yan!minors are mentioned, that’s why there’s a yandere warning.

The day was predestined to be great; a day full of sunshine and peace. So many potatoes would be tilled, the dog army would grow exponentially and other calming hobbies.

Now let’s be honest, that isn’t the reality of things at all. Nothing is ever nice and simple. Life always needs to throw a curveball at people; keeping them on their feet, on edge for their entire existence. Techno was no exception from this rule. His life had been plagued by tragedy and hardships. It made him calloused and desensitized towards the world and whatever challenges it had to throw at him. Though nothing could have really prepared him for what came next. Well he actually did, in a way. Similar in reasoning yet very different in the reaction and how the problem was presented to him.

Puffy stood at his door, struggling to hold someone the size of her. They were thrashing around, screeching to be released from their confines. She looked exhausted and beyond worried. There were few words to describe her state. Sadness painted her face like clouds painted the sky; it was evident with every feature of her face, every movement of her brow and reddening eyes. Pants escaped her lips and the struggling wasn’t helping her catch the escaping breaths.

The person Puffy was holding wasn’t any better. They looked malnourished, dirty, panicked, stressed. Those were just the obvious and quick observations. There were probably so many other hidden issues with this person. Honestly, Techno didn’t want to deal with them or Puffy. He was absolutely done dealing with people.

He’d have to get over it though, as Puffy asked him to care for this mystery person. She pleaded so much, saying that if they couldn’t stay with him, they’d be in terrible danger. Techno was her only option in protecting this person. There were some horrible people looking for the person in her arms and she couldn’t protect them on her own. Honestly he was only half listening. He really didn’t want to hear about another person’s sob story and how they so desperately needed his help. How they just couldn’t make it without his help. Occasionally Techno nodded or gave a “mhm” to indicate he was listening. Because that’s the polite thing to do, even if you aren’t listening. It shows you are listening and seems polite. Though he should’ve paid a bit more attention because the next thing he knew a fucking child was getting shoved into his arms.

They were so tiny that they could qualify as a child. So frail, too skinny, hair matted and looked too pale for their natural complexion. Horrified couldn’t even describe how he felt; he did not want to be holding this person, they looked so fragile and could be hurt so easily. Plus they were screaming and crying, still fighting to get out your captor’s grip, which was currently him. Distressed and crying people weren’t the most pleasant to be around especially when you’re a seven foot tall, socially awkward piglin hybrid.

Techno tried to return them to Puffy’s possession. She refused, pushing them further into his hold. She kept insisting that he let them stay with him, at least for a little bit. There was little time to prepare a place for them to stay and they needed the constant protection and some care. Techno kept arguing with Puffy, saying that he really didn’t want, need or have the time to care for them.

It wasn’t long when Puffy finally ended the argument with one phrase; “you still owe me an IOU.”

_______________________________________________

“So is this it,” Techno reluctantly asked, gently bouncing the slumbering stranger. It was and wasn’t surprising how worn out they ended up after the argument. Half-way through the arguing and accommodations, they finally calmed and soon fell asleep. Though they were violently shivering; this conversation couldn’t keep going like this. They both looked at them and looked back at each other.

“Yes. Please,” Puffy whispered, gently putting her hand onto their arm. “Please take care of them for now. You don’t have to care for them long. I just-i just need some time to set them up a place and some help. There were few options to go with and you were the best one.”

Silence settled over them once again. Techno sighed, building his resolve to care for another kid. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Puffy awarded Techno with one of the most relieved smiles he had ever encountered. She was visibly relaxed, not holding herself up like a puppet who’s tense strings were being tugged. “Now get going Puffy,” Techno ushered. “I can take it from here.”

With that, Puffy started her trek back home, through the unforgiving tundra. As Techno watched her walk away, he wondered how she managed it. How she could carry someone the size of herself for god-knows how long.

He couldn’t ponder long. The person in his arms was still out in the harsh cold and definitely not dressed or prepared for weather like this. A very vulnerable position. With that, he opened the door with his foot and brought the two of you inside.

There weren’t many places to lay someone down. The floor was an option, but it was probably super cold. Techno wasn’t too sure, but he also didn’t want to risk it at the moment. Scanning around reveals a small issue; Techno’s reading chair is the only place to sit that isn’t the damn floor. Crackling fire brought his attention to the welcoming presence of the hearth. So either the floor with the fireplace or the chair which was a decent distance from the fireplace. Was it really a question at that point?

Walking over to the fireplace, Techno tried to disturb the person as little as possible. He started to slowly place them onto the ground. They wouldn’t really notice if they were as exhausted as they looked. When they touched the ground, they stirred and groaned at the change in temperature. Swiftly Techno place them on the floor and held his hands up; a way of saying “okay i’m not touching it so it shouldn’t break now- don’t break”. After a few moments of stillness, Techno deemed himself to be in the “all clear”. With that, he walked off to a different part of the house. He had to start setting up a room for his new guest. And get them food and proper clothing-

A ruckus from the living quarters disturbed him. Oh god what was going on now? Without much thought, he ran to the noise. When he arrived, he frantically looked around. He was looking for anything, but more specifically a danger. But it was much the opposite.

There, at his front door, trying to get out like their life depended on it, was that stranger. Well, it wasn’t a stranger. He couldn’t keep forgetting that. It was ______. Though it was hard to do that; they looked so different. Panic seemed to just possess them; their eyes were wide and bloodshot and their face was even paler than he remembered them in their pale state. Which was an odd statement but it was oddly true. He hadn’t thought that you could get any paler, yet here you are proving him wrong.

You two were in a stare off- trying to figure out what to do. It would be somewhat hilarious if the situation wasn’t so serious; a person trying desperately to get out of someone’s house in some of the most comical positions while a seven foot piglin just awkwardly stared from the other side of the room. The semi-trance was broken by you. Tears started to fall down your face, body started to violently shake, and then you started to try and destroy the door with your body.

Techno was holding you in a heartbeat. Once again, you were dangling and struggling to get out of his grasp. Last time it wasn’t his grasp you were trying to escape, but it was all the same in the end. Your crying soon reverted back to sobbing and screams. Flinching, Techno contemplated just dropping you. Yet he couldn’t; you were trying to escape and that wasn’t a good idea.

Carrying you around the house was a challenge; you were swinging what little weight you could and it was working. He barely got to the other end of the room before he got fed up with your little tantrum. Without a second thought, he just dropped you like a bag of potatoes. The moment you hit the ground, you scrambled to get as far away as possible. That leads you to a corner. You kept an eye of him yet curled up so much. He couldn’t tell if it was because you were cold or scared.

“Please let me go back.”

That catches Techno off guard. It was obviously you voice; he wasn’t talking and you were the only other thing that could talk here. Yet it didn’t sound like you. Your voice was now so gravely, scratchy and heavy. Like you hadn’t properly talked in a while. Though your crying definitely wasn’t helping. Even taking that into consideration, you sound way worse than someone who is just crying and occasionally screaming.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, staring at you. Waiting for you to answer or proof that he was actually imagining stuff. It could’ve easily been a voice though-

“I said please let me go back,” you sniffled, turning to look at him more. Your eyes held such sadness, besides the tears. The yearning in them hurt. It was obvious you were missing something.

“Go back where,” Techno prodded. He tried his best to make it gentle so you wouldn’t close up again. So he slowly sat on the ground with you, scooting towards you as a pace you could easily stop.

“Back to my friends, obviously,” you stated, keeping a steady and guarded eye on Techno. “I want to go back home. Back to Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo an-and Purpled.” Suddenly you started to cry much harder. So hard it was practically impossible to speak. Only hiccups and gasps left your lips.

“Let me go, I won’t bother you again.” You kept repeating that phrase. Even rephrasing it, but it was muffled. Well not muffled, but extremely hard to hear through your crying. Techno let you keep saying that in hopes you tire of it, yet it seemed to have the opposite effect. You only started to say it more clearly, louder, and more assertively. It was obvious you were bound and determined to go back to wherever the hell you were before.

“Hey kid,” Techno does his best to stop your babbling. The pleads had just digressed to nonsense, so it was more accurate to call that mess babbling. “I can’t do that.”

His answer wasn’t well received. It only made you sadder and madder; you even deployed the puppy dog eyes. You really wanted this.

“It’s not safe with them,” he reiterated. “You look sickly too. Did you not care for yourself with them?”

Silence consumed you; maybe now you were finally thinking more clearly.

A meek “no” left your lips. Realization seemed to hit you, at least somewhat. It was a step forward, and Techno was taking it wholeheartedly. Anything was progress and he just wanted this over. Some of the voices whispered that they wanted you to get better, but he ignored them.

“Then it’s settled. You’re staying here.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

for the prompt thing: NMJ letting NHS pick his clothes. Whether it's for a special event (conference? Wedding?) or just regular clothes is up to you.

ao3

It started, he supposed, because of the Nie sect elders.

They didn’t especially like the fact that Nie Huaisang was Nie Mingjue’s heir, nor the fact that he made clear that he wouldn’t take any other, not even when Nie Huaisang continued to prove generally useless in just about every respect. They didn’t like that he couldn’t train the saber the way the others in the sect did, that he was born with poorer muscles and less wind and that no amount of effort would change that, not that he would bother with putting in that effort. They might have accepted Nie Huaisang being weak if he had been scholarly, they could have accepted him being clever if only he’d used it for useful purposes, but instead he was as lazy as a slug, a salted fish that did nothing all day and let others raise him.

It didn’t matter, as far as Nie Mingjue was concerned. His brother was his father’s son, and thus entitled to the birthright to which he had been born every bit as much as Nie Mingjue was.

Nie Mingjue would fight to the death and beyond to preserve that birthright for him.

He’d fought with the elders time and time again about it. They wanted him to adopt some cousin into the main line so that he could be the preferred heir, Nie Mingjue refused absolutely. They wanted him to at least take someone in to start training them up to run a sect, Nie Mingjue redirected them towards learning how to be a good second in command. They pushed him to marry and have children, such that someone else could be named regent while they grew older, citing as an example Lan Qiren and his nephews – Nie Mingjue laughed in their faces.

His power over his sect was not total, or else he’d be able to shut them up directly, but it was enough.

Enough to protect Nie Huaisang this much, at least.

Not that it stopped them from trying, although they’d figured out that they needed to come to it indirectly.

So when the elders started pushing for Nie Mingjue to give Nie Huaisang some duties, insisting that it was customary for the heir to assist the sect leader and hinting that they would try to make something of it if he didn’t, Nie Mingjue knew what they were about. They were expecting Nie Mingjue to think the request was minor and miniscule, a reasonable place to give in and compromise with him; they were expecting him to agree and to assign a task that any normal person could do, and for Nie Huaisang to fail it, and therefore give them an even more solid basis to make something of it.

So instead, Nie Mingjue set his mind to coming up with a task that Nie Huaisang would not fail.

It ended up being clothing.

“You want me to what?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“Pick my clothing,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly. He’d never been good at asking for things for himself and he hated to do it now, especially where he didn’t actually need the help, but Nie Huaisang’s wellbeing always came before anything, much less something as unimportant as Nie Mingjue’s own comfort and desire not to come across as awkward. “Hairstyle, accessories, the whole lot – you know how tricky these little things can be. If I go to visit a poor subsidiary sect, I can’t be dressed too fancy or else I’ll be rubbing it in their faces; if I go to visit the Jin sect, I have to be dressed up to the nines to avoid looking like a poor relation come begging, only I also have to make sure it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard…”

Nie Huaisang chuckled.

“Anyway, it’s a waste of far too much effort, not to mention my valuable time,” Nie Mingjue concluded, which was even true, in his opinion – although in the normal course of things it wouldn’t be a burden he’d bother removing from his shoulders. “You know most of the other sects by now, either in person or by reputation – you’ve certainly heard enough gossip – so I’ve decided that you can handle picking what the right outfit is for a given situation.”

Nie Huaisang picked at his sleeve. “Does that mean I can buy new outfits?”

Nie Mingjue had expected that question.

“Yes, within reason,” he said, and saw his younger brother’s eyes light up. It would be worth the strain on his personal funds to ensure that Nie Huaisang was interested in the task, and therefore more likely to succeed in it. “Don’t go crazy, all right? I have to wear this stuff.”

“Don’t worry, da-ge! I’ll take care of you!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, but it ended up working out all right: Nie Huaisang was able to keep his more elaborate flourishes restrained to his own clothing, and Nie Mingjue was impeccably dressed for each and every social event. Even the quality of his clothing went up several degrees, becoming subtly more comfortable while retaining his usual style, looking not terribly different (to his eyes) from before yet also gaining him appreciative looks from his peers.

In the end, even the elders had to begrudgingly admit that Nie Huaisang had done a good job.

Even if it was just clothing.

Nie Mingjue didn’t care.

It might not be much of a victory, but it was Nie Huaisang’s – and that’s what mattered.

[spinningintheshadows]

baby’s first christmas || topper thornton

Warnings and stuff: teen pregnancy/parenthood, not canon — Rafe is Worlds Best Godfather™️, cute uncle John B, some swearing.

Pierce hummed as she curled her legs underneath her on the plush sofa, a cup of tea in her hands as she heard Topper walk into the room with a bundle of pink blanket in his arms, looking down at the six week old he carried like there wasn’t another person on the planet. Pierce knew his mother would be home soon, not that it mattered because Mrs. Thornton had come to enjoy the girl's presence in her house. Sure, Pierce was a Pogue through and through, but she was also the mother of her granddaughter, albeit still a minor herself.

Topper and Pierce hadn’t even been together for the first four months of her pregnancy. A pregnancy that shouldn’t have happened in the first place because even though they were drunk, Pierce had been on birth control, taking it religiously every day since her father had put her on it at thirteen, and she’d made sure he used a condom. Of course, because he was a kook and she was a Pogue, when she discovered she was pregnant she assumed he wouldn’t want anything to do with it. She assumed she’d just be another stereotypical teenage pregnancy and would have to drop out of school and work three jobs to survive. Her father and brother had been pissed when she found out, accusing her of being irresponsible but her father softened when she was able to bring him not one, but three blister packs of her birth control to show him that she hadn’t missed a pill. Long story short Ivy Sloane Thornton was not supposed to happen but she did.

If Pierce thought her dad and brother were pissed, then Topper went completely mad. He’d cussed, yelled, called her names. He’d offered to pay for her to get rid of it, because they were only sixteen. She’d straight up told him she wasn’t going to do that because if their child has outsmarted a condom and birth control pills, then they deserved a fighting chance. He said he wanted nothing to do with it, but when she returned from the mainland with ultrasound photos, he did a complete 180. As soon as his eyes landed on the small blob in the middle of the ultrasound his heart softened. It wasn’t going to be easy — they’d be seventeen when the baby was born and they lived on an island that expected them to hate each other, but that was his child she was carrying and the least he could do was be her friend.

Topper, on the other hand, could vividly remember telling his parents they were going to be grandparents.

His dad was home for once, which was rare and only happened maybe twice a year. This, of course, meant there was a family dinner to be had. What better time to tell his parents he was disappointing them even more, right? He waited, though, until they’d almost finished the meal before he spoke.

“I need to tell you guys something.” His voice was shaking already. “And you’re not going to be happy with me”

“Failing another class, Topper? We’ve talked about this. How do you expect to get into college if you can’t pass high school!” His dad was already starting, making Topper fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“No. I have all As and Bs, thank you.” Topper said. “I uh, I got a girl pregnant. Not any girl, a girl I really like but due to this stupid Pogues vs Kook bullshit I can’t even be with so I’m going to have to help raise my child as friends. And before you even say a word, Mom, she’s not getting an abortion. We both agree that since we used two forms of birth control and it still happened, our child deserves a fighting chance.”

“So you’re going to throw away your life for a pogue?” His father sneered. “You should have known better than to sleep with trash, Topper.” That pissed Topper off, honestly.

“Pierce Routledge is the farthest thing from trash.” Topper's hand collided with the table. “If anyone here is trash, it’s you Dad. You think I don’t know you have a whole other family on the mainland? You think I don’t know about your girlfriend and three other kids? Do my siblings even know about me? I’m sure they don’t because you don’t want them to. I’m the disappointment, I know.”

“The Routledge twins are actually very responsible, polite kids. I’ve only met them a handful of times, but Ward Cameron tells me the boy, I can’t remember his name, hasn’t missed a day of work in the year he’s worked for him and Pierce is always extremely polite when I’m at the club.” It was the first thing Topper’s mom had said the whole evening. They had a strained relationship at best but her talking nice about the girl carrying his baby gave him hope. “I assume she’s due after your birthday, Top. Being a parent isn’t easy, but if you’re sure you want to be involved, I can’t stop you and I will support your decision.”

So Topper put in the effort to be Pierce’s friend. He held her hair back when she was dealing with morning sickness. He didn’t miss a single appointment, always in awe that the heartbeat he heard was his baby’s. It wasn’t until Pierce was 18 weeks along that he finally came clean about his feelings. They were at his house, cuddled up on his bed while a thunderstorm raged outside. His hand tracing patterns in the little bump that was just really starting to show on the girl.

“Can I tell you something?” He asked, his blue eyes meeting her green ones.

“Of course you can, Top. We’re friends right?” She told him with a smile. “We’ve got a whole different kind of connection than most friends do.”

“Yeah, friends. What if I wanted to be more, though?” He said. “I mean, I like you Pierce. I’ve liked you long before we hooked up. It’s just, this stupid class war on this fucking island. But, I don’t care about that.”

“I’m glad the feelings are mutual.” She laughed. “I don’t press, Topper, but I’ve had the biggest crush on you since middle school. Never thought any of this would happen.” His lips met hers quickly, softly even. The kiss grew deeper as it continued, and Pierce wasted no time in fumbling with the tie on his sweatpants.

“I’m sorry but I have approximately ten million hormones going through my body and my sex drive is turned up to like two hundred right now” she mumbled against his lips.

“Well luckily for you, I can handle that.” He told her.

At twenty six weeks pregnant, Pierce and Topper went to her father and asked for permission for her to move into his house. She already spent most of her time there, and Topper’s mother had assured Big John that his daughter would be safe there. They wanted to get started on the nursery for their daughter, and knew the château wasn’t going to be big enough for another human, so with his permission, Topper and John B helped Pierce move her stuff into the house on the Figure Eight. Topper invited John B to help him paint the nursery and build the furniture for the room, which pleased Pierce endlessly, as she sat on the back deck in a lawn chair with Sarah and Kie going through baby names and writing down ones she liked.

“Okay so, admittedly Topper and I both have weird names.” She told the girls. “Pierce Adeline and Topper Gordon.”

“Oh my god. Topper’s middle name is Gordon?” Sarah tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure there’s a reason he’s named what he is.”

“There is.” The girls hadn’t heard Topper and John B step out of the house. “Gordon is my mom’s grandfather’s name. I was born on what would have been his 80th birthday. I don’t know why they named me Topper, but I do know why my middle name is that.”

“And you” John B pointed at his sister. “Refused to show the ultrasound lady what you were when our parents found out, but the doctor was like 80% sure we were identical so they assumed you were a boy. You were supposed to be Pierce Andrew, but unfortunately you came out a girl. Mom really liked Pierce though, and since Dad chose my name, they kept it and changed your middle name.”

“Why are we discussing names anyway?” Topper asked, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Coming up with names for baby Thornton?”

“Who said she’s getting your last name? Maybe we’re hyphenating. Thornton-Routledge.” She said. He frowned. “I’m kidding, baby. She’s a Thornton.”

It wasn’t until that night when she was sitting on the couch, watching a movie with her feet up that he came in with her notebook of names that she had asked him to look through. He held it out her sheepishly. Taking it, she noticed two names circled on the list then scrawled in his messy handwriting at the top “Ivy Slone Thornton?”

“Did you come up with this on your own?” She asked.

“As much as I wanna say yes, I can’t. I asked my mom which sounded better. Sloane Ivy or Ivy Sloane.” He told her. “I just think it’s simple, it’s sweet, and it fits our girl.”

“I think you’re right. Ivy Sloane Thornton has a name.”

It was early November when Ivy Thornton decided to make her first appearance two and a half weeks early. Pierce’s water had broken right after dinner the night before but it was still a waiting game. Fourteen hours of screaming, crying, swearing and possibly breaking a couple of Topper’s fingers later, their seven and half pound baby girl was placed on her chest, resulting in tears from both of her parents. As much as she looked like her, Pierce hoped that she kept the blue eyes that matched her father’s. Topper just wanted her to stay that small forever.

Now, six weeks later, they’re in the living room, surrounded by people making last minute deliveries and hanging last minute decorations for the annual Thornton Christmas party. A pitiful wail from the baby in her boyfriend's arms brought Pierce out of her thoughts. She stood up, making grabby hands for the baby as she kissed his cheek.

“Sorry baby, I don’t think you have the goods she’s looking for. You can have her back as soon as she’s done.” She told him. “Why don’t you go shower while I feed her, then you can get her ready. God knows you’re going to put a ridiculous bow on her head”

“She doesn’t have hair, Pierce, let me put bows on our daughter. She looks cute.” He said.

“Mhm. What time is everyone supposed to start arriving?” She asked.

“About six thirty. Mom wants the annual Christmas photo in front of the tree before though.” He said.

This year, instead of just being kook exclusive, the Thornton Christmas party had included invites to the Routledge family and Topper’s three younger siblings — Alex, Leah, and Kyla, who Topper’s mom had met when she reached out to the now ex-girlfriend of his father. The pair had bonded over the fact that Topper’s dad was a piece of shit, and it allowed Topper to finally get to know his siblings.

Pierce was exhausted by the time the party was in full swing. Ivy had been taken by Rafe the moment he came into the building and he’d spent the better part of an hour sitting in a recliner talking to her like she understood a word he was saying. Rafe Cameron had a tough persona, but the moment he came to the hospital to meet Ivy and Topper had introduced her to him as his goddaughter, he melted for the little girl. Once John B and her father arrived, there was a moment of playful bickering between her brother and the oldest Cameron sibling before John B took the baby and spent 20 minutes cooing over her with Sarah.

“Kiss me if I’m right, but I think our daughter might be the star of this party” hands found their way around her waist and a chin was placed on her shoulder.

“I’m too tired to turn around.” She said. “I owe you?”

“Deal. I think if I don’t keep moving I’m gonna fall asleep right here.” He mumbled. “And there’s so many people and lights and sounds that Ivy is living her best life and wide awake.”

“Hopefully that means she’ll let us sleep tonight.” She half joked, finally turning around to bring their lips together.

“A Christmas miracle.” He said. “Merry Christmas, baby. I love you.” She crinkled her nose at him as he said it.

“Merry Christmas, Top.” She whispered. “Thank you for giving me the greatest gift this year. I love you.”

Taglist: @k-k0129 @teelagurl558 @maybankforlife

[rainhadaenerys]

Daenerys endgame speculation - born to make the world anew

For Daenerys Month 2021 - Day 6: Endgame Speculation

People usually criticize the "break the wheel" quote from the show, and with good reason, since they never explained what that meant, and it was ultimately just added to the show to sound cool and later to vilify show!Dany and her revolutionary beliefs. But there are a few things in the books that make me wonder if Dany could get at least some kind of revolutionary beliefs or desire to make changes in Westeros once she arrives there.

First, let’s look at this quote by Tyrion:

Tyrion did not dispute him. The most insidious thing about bondage was how easy it was to grow accustomed to it. The life of most slaves was not all that different from the life of a serving man at Casterly Rock, it seemed to him. True, some slaveowners and their overseers were brutal and cruel, but the same was true of some Westerosi lords and their stewards and bailiffs. Most of the Yunkai'i treated their chattels decently enough, so long as they did their jobs and caused no trouble … and this old man in his rusted collar, with his fierce loyalty to Lord Wobblecheeks, his owner, was not at all atypical. – Tyrion XI ADWD

Here we have Tyrion talking about how similar the situations are between slavery and the Westerosi feudal system. And it’s not just with Tyrion that we can observe this. We have people being forced into the Night's Watch for minor crimes, and forced to serve for life. We have Arya in Harrenhall. She can’t leave Harrenhall if she wants. She is beaten and has to work tirelessly. Is that all that different from slavery?

And we can see in several other POVs in ASOIAF how little the lives of the smallfolk mean to many lords:

Only that was Winterfell, a world away, and now everything was changed. This was the first time they had supped with the men since arriving in King's Landing. Arya hated it. She hated the sounds of their voices now, the way they laughed, the stories they told. They'd been her friends, she'd felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They'd let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found Mycah. Jeyne Poole had told Arya that he'd cut him up in so many pieces that they'd given him back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig they'd slaughtered. And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father. - Arya II AGOT

In Westeros, kings, queens and lords do as they please with peasants, because it’s within their rights. Because they can. Even Ned, who certainly didn’t approve of this, didn’t raise his voice against this injustice. Because Joffrey was a prince, and Mycah was just a butcher’s boy.

I see a lot of discussion about how, in the grand scheme of things, ASOIAF is about the fight of the living against the dead, and politics don’t matter (though maybe I’m oversimplifying this argument). But I do think that the politics matter. It’s true that the Others represent a threat that is above petty conflicts and strifes for power and wealth. But they also represent something else, as GRRM said:

People say I was influenced by Robert Frost’s poem, and of course I was, I mean... Fire is love, fire is passion, fire is sexual ardor and all of these things. Ice is betrayal, ice is revenge, ice is… you know, that kind of cold inhumanity and all that stuff is being played out in the books.

The cold is inhumanity. It’s not just necessary to rise above petty conflicts and defeat the ice monsters. It’s also necessary to defeat the human monsters. Monsters are not just the Others, but people like Tywin Lannister, Roose Bolton and Walder Frey. And these monsters enable the actions of other human monsters like Gregor Clegane, Ramsey Bolton, Tickler and Polliver. And it’s not enough to have a good lord, because there’s no guarantee that his son will be good as well. The problem is systemic. ASOIAF spends a lot of time exploring how awful Westerosi feudal system is. Given the time spent on this, it would make sense if, at the end of the story, there were political changes in Westeros, something that will give us hope that Westeros is changing for the better, that the cold of inhumanity is starting to be defeated.

But what does Dany has to do with all of this? Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that GRRM compares the feudal system to slavery, the very thing that Dany is fighting against. In my opinion, this is a direct link to Dany. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that when Dany sees the situation of the smallfolk of Westeros, she’ll be moved to do something, just like she was moved by the suffering of the slaves. This could be one indication that Dany could survive to enact change.

Another point that makes me believe this is just how similar Dany’s arc is to her ancestor, Aegon the Unlikely. This is what’s said about Egg in TWOIAF:

Though beloved by the smallfolk, King Aegon made many enemies amongst the lords of the realm, whose powers he wished to curtail. He enacted numerous reforms and granted rights and protections to the commons that they had never known before, but each of these measures provoked fierce opposition and sometimes open defiance amongst the lords. The most outspoken of his foes went so far as to denounce Aegon V as a "bloodyhanded tyrant intent on depriving us of our gods-given rights and liberties."

It was well-known that the resistance against him taxed Aegon's patience—especially as the compromises a king must make to rule well often left his greatest hopes receding further and further into the future. As one defiance followed another, His Grace found himself forced to bow to the recalcitrant lords more often than he wished. A student of history and lover of books, Aegon V was oft heard to say that had he only had dragons, as the first Aegon had, he could have remade the realm anew, with peace and prosperity and justice for all. - TWOIAF

To me Egg’s arc seems very similar to Dany’s. She tries to make changes and end slavery, but is forced to compromise for the sake of peace. She starts getting more and more unsatisfied with said peace, because peace meant allowing many injustices to continue: meant accepting that slavery would continue outside Meereen, peace meant giving indemnity to slavers. She sees that she’s completely unable to make her reforms through compromise, and decides for a path of “fire and blood”. Because of this, it’s often said that Dany is going down a “dark path”. But what good is peace if thousands of people will continue to be enslaved, killed, mutilated, raped and treated like property? This arc, in my opinion, is supposed to make Dany reflect on how both war and compromise have good sides and bad sides, how none is ideal. Thanks to her experience, Dany will never be trapped by compromises that force her to give up on her reforms, but I also think she will find a middle ground between compromise and force. I think that in the end, Dany’s experiences with trying to make reforms are what’s necessary to “remaking the realm anew”, as Egg wanted to do but never could.

We also have Queen Alysanne’s wish for her daughter Daenerys to be queen, and later she was in favor of Rhaenys, but neither of them would become queen. At least to me, it doesn't make sense for GRRM to call attention to both of these cases, only to have Dany die and never address the idea of a woman ruling Westeros in the future (I guess a woman could end up ruling one of the regions of Westeros, but I don't think that's the same as a woman ruling all of Westeros and sitting on the Iron Throne, which was what was always emphasized in the books). That could be a change Dany could bring as well, changing the precedent against women.

Lastly, we have Benerro’s words:

Haldon nodded. "Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" - Tyrion VI ADWD

First, it's interesting to note that the wording here is similar to Aegon V talking about "remaking the realm anew". And while it’s true that this could just refer to Dany’s crusade against slavery, I tend to think that if refers to Daenerys endgame, because her story is all about learning how to rule while trying to change the status quo. ASOIAF constantly brings attention to all these injustices, and all of them seem to be connected to Dany. Tyrion compares the smallfolk to slaves, Egg’s attempts at reforms are very similar to Dany’s story, and Queen Alysanne wanted her daughter Daenerys to inherit. Maybe the bitter part of the ending is that none of these issues will be addressed, and nothing will change, and the sweet part is that humanity survived. But with all of this set up, it would make sense for Dany to survive to remake the world and for these issues to be addressed.