#tumblr is the place where I watch people and wish I could put a metal spike through my own head

[neverendingford]

.

[mochalate]

[3] precipice ; porco galliard (1/2)

pairing: porco galliard/f!reader  chapter word count: 24.6 k  chapter content/warnings: secret meetings in the dark, crushing on your bf/gf, porco's scandalous sexual history, some angsting about marcel, girls' night out  chapter summary: The most precious secrets are the ones that are the hardest to keep. a/n: this is overdue, isn't it? 🤭🤭posting as two parts because I learned tumblr has a post length limit!! As always, please let me know what you think, I love hearing from my fellow galliard girlies. <3 Read on AO3? || See Series Masterlist? [<-Chapter 2][Chapter 3 (2/2)->]

chapter 3: Wine and Moonshine

The walls in the basement are whitewashed and plain.

Above, in this part of Liberio that comes alive at night, the cobblestone shines dully in lamplight that spills through the windows of the establishments lining the streets. Men whose faces are flushed from the drinks they’ve spent the last of the week’s wages on stumble along; past the ones who pull their hats low over their face as they alight from horse-drawn carriages.

They’re all going to the same places— in character, if not in extravagance.

People who haven’t ever set foot in this dimly lit neighbourhood often think these men are looking for a fairytale with the women they visit. And perhaps they are; but they still know what happens when the clock strikes midnight. They’re counting on it, in fact. Not one of them is willing to take the grime back to the lives they live under the sun.

(Never mind the ones who can’t leave.)

But that’s above.

Below, in the basement, is a woman who prefers the moon (like most people who are doing things they shouldn’t be); and a man who doesn’t really care either way.

Someone has made an attempt to make it look like an office; but the single folding chair, uneven table, bare floor, and the shelf that’s empty save for a single newspaper give the impression of a stage set— an approximation, rather than a real space. The only item of any character is the heavy, locked iron cabinet that’s pushed against the back wall.

The room’s two occupants have nothing interesting to look at, except each other.

Evie makes a mental note to have some books put on the shelves.

Theo Bauer shuffles nervously in the light of the single, bare bulb. The concrete under his shoes is scuffed and unfinished. “Do you think Thomas will be here soon?”

“Like you have somewhere to be.” Evie scoffs. “Shut up.”

She agitatedly picks at the flaking paint on her folding chair, peeling back small strips of grey. They fall from her red-tipped fingers; and Evie watches them fluttering to the ground, somewhere between ashes and snow. With the chill metal beneath pressing against the sides of her palms, she's reminded of another life; of an ornate-handled fire iron, and of coaxing flames out of glowing embers.

In that life, Evie had been Evelyn.

In that life, she'd scrubbed floors and washed clothes until her nails cracked and her fingers bled. Dust banished from furniture, only to turn into a cough in her own lungs. Bannisters polished to a shine that rivalled the mirrors; and mirrors polished to the point she found herself indulging a little more each time, in her fantasy of walking through them. She wished for a world where everything was the opposite of what it was.

Evie remembers Evelyn crying herself to sleep every night. Covers pulled up over her head, forcing herself to stay silent, not able to breathe because her nose was blocked up; and clearing it meant breathing in or breathing out, meant noise, meant the other maids hearing. And then everything would be even more complicated. In those moments, Evelyn had wished for a friend. Someone who was stronger than her, who could tell her it would be alright in a way that she could believe it. Someone like Evie.

And that was the problem, all that wishing. Nothing ever came from just wishing, because fairytales aren’t real.

Theo looks hurt. “You’re in a bad mood.”

“Do you think we’re friends, Bauer? Is that where you find the courage to speak to me like that?”

He grins impishly. “No, I just have nothing to lose.”

Evie glares at him. Theo Bauer was dangerous. Perhaps not in the way Thomas was— prone to bouts of unpredictable violence— but dangerous all the same. He had a way of rolling with the punches, and a mischievous air that invited you to try it with him. You wanted to trust him, and you wouldn’t realise until it was far too late that you never could come up with a reason why.

Evie coolly flicks out a piece of rolled-up paint from under her crimson nail. “Perhaps. But you’re not getting out of working for me. I know you don’t have the courage to end your own life, and I won’t do it for you.”

Theo was dangerous, but he didn’t know it. And Evie wouldn’t be the one to tell him. Every action of his was a reaction, innocent— almost childlike— in his lack of thought. Who else would dare shoot at Thomas, Eldian or otherwise?

It’s a shame, she thinks, that Theo couldn’t have put that charm of his to better use. The castles he could have built.

Theo gapes. “Now why would I want to do that?” There’s no mockery in his voice. He’s genuinely shocked.

Evie doesn’t answer. She only thinks that Evelyn was wrong to wish for a friend like her. No, that wasn’t quite right. Evelyn wasn’t wrong for wanting Evie, but she could never have convinced her that it would be alright, not in the way Theo could have. It would have been a lie.

Evie prefers truths.

There were three truths that separated Evie from Evelyn, and this was one of them— there was a way things would be for you, and no amount of wishing would change that or make it ‘alright’.

(So she’d changed who she was.)

The second was that everyone and everything had a price.

(The price for becoming Evie had been a few nights with the master, a handful of coins for rat poison, and ten kilograms of gold for the coroner.)

And the third, that people are selfish, without exception. They’re selfish in different ways, and sometimes it would complement your own selfishness in a way that fools you into thinking neither of you are.

(But that was a wish and nothing more.)

Theo, for instance, was the most selfish man Evie had ever seen.

Thomas may have been a piece of shit, but at least he knew it. Theo Bauer, on the other hand, was selfish like a child. Pure, and untempered.

There’s a high pitched, echoing creak as the flimsy metal door at the top of the concrete stairs swings open. A man steps onto the small landing. Evie watches him as comes down, confident and sure-footed despite the narrow steps and lack of railing.

“Where’s the money?” he asks, as soon as he’s downstairs. His voice echoes in he sparse space.

Evie draws out a stack of notes from inside her coat. “Not even going to tell me hello, Thomas?” She tosses it at him.

Thomas catches it with a single hand. “I’m not really in the mood for pleasantries. On account of the agony from the hole in my shoulder.” He sends a murderous look at Theo, as he begins to count the money.

Theo laughs nervously.

Thomas is a large man, broad-shouldered and tall. He’s dressed in a suit that he fills out well, and has his dark hair neatly combed back. Theo looks lankier and scruffier than usual, standing next to him. His sleeves fall slightly back as he thumbs through the notes, and the glint of an expensive-looking watch peeks out. The sliver of metal is dazzlingy golden even under the drab light.

He looks satisfied, and nods to himself as he tucks the money away. “I’ve got three more names for you,” he says as he takes a brown envelope out of his breast pocket.

Evie nods at Theo. His muscles are tense— he’s ready to bolt at a moment's notice, as he cautiously accepts the envelope from Thomas and hands it to Evie.

She doesn’t open it immediately. “Are these worth my time?”

“You’re running an extortion racket,” Thomas scoffs. “Anything is worth your time. Take what you get.”

“Watch your tone when you’re in my building,” Evie snaps.

“Or what?” Thomas asks, eyes darkening. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Evelyn.”

“It’s Evie,” she growls, the heat of anger blossoming in her chest.

Theo is watching the exchange like it’s a tennis match. “Come on, you two. We’re all friends here,” he ventures, with a nervous smile.

There’s silence as Thomas coolly regards him. “No, we’re not.” He turns on his heel, and makes his way back up the stairs, hand raised in a nonchalant wave. “I’ll be back next week.”

Evie’s eyes follow him as he leaves. Her pulse is still quick, her breaths fast and shallow. Evelyn. Would the girl ever die? Sometimes, Evie feels like it had all been a dream to begin with; a dream Evelyn is having with the covers pulled over her head, closed eyelids bathed in filtered moonlight.

The jam tastes sweeter than usual. It’s chill on your tongue, against the comforting warmth of fresh toast. You lean against the kitchenette and chew slowly; savouring the strawberry flavour.

You’ve got time.

A cool, early morning breeze blows through the open window next to you. It tickles the skin near your temples, where your hair is still damp from washing your face.

You don’t think anyone else on this floor has gotten up yet. The common room is deserted— no one’s jostling for the coffee pot, or frantically hopping themselves into their stockings. The misty morning sky is almost white, a blanket over the still-sleeping world. Traces of last night’s card games lie scattered across the table.

You weren’t there, of course. You were with him.

Galliard.

You cup your hands around your coffee mug, and inhale the aroma, feeling the steam wash over your face as you smile softly.

Galliard, with his kisses that were somehow blunt and careful at the same time; just like he was. With his golden-brown eyes; so gentle and sincere, the rest of the world had stopped mattering. You believed in that moment, that one day you would sit under the elm with him too— in a place where the shadows dancing across his face weren’t cast through the gaps in the blinds.

You press your fingers to your lips, and shiver as you remember every inch of his body pressed up against yours. How he covered your lips with his, again and again, increasingly desperate each time. It had been all you could do to breathe in the seconds between; but you would have let him do it for as long as he liked.

There wasn’t anything you would have denied him. Not then.

The thought makes your face warm to the tips of your ears.

You take a hasty sip of your drink, brows furrowed.

What is he doing right now? Is he thinking about you too?

The thought of having to wait for the sun to go down, when it’s hardly made its way up into the sky, makes your chest ache. But the idea of looking the other way if you saw him before, when your heart is this close to bursting, leaves you nauseous.

Fondness surges in your chest, and sours with nowhere to go. The hours to the evening stretch out endlessly before you. There’s a painful tightness in your throat as you drink, and you rub at your suddenly damp eyes.

(Is this what it meant to be lovesick?)

Despite what people seem to think about him, Porco doesn’t really break the rules.

He listens to his CO. He never stays out past curfew. His uniform is always spotless, his hair well within regulations. He doesn’t punch Marleyan soldiers in the face, no matter how much he wants to; not even when they start up with their ridiculously one-sided sparring matches.

And, despite what people think, it isn't something that’s ever been particularly hard for him. Yes, his life is mired in unfairness, a ridiculous amount of it, but he isn’t consumed by righteous anger. He— like every Eldian child— has been raised on the idea of consequences, and the bountiful amount of them that would be his reward for any momentary thrill or satisfaction. It only made sense to follow the rules.

Nothing about leaving you in that clinic had made any sense.

He’d stood at the threshold of the outside door, willing himself to step across the line, to follow the rules into a world where he wasn’t supposed to be by your side. Trying to tell himself that it would make sense in time; that he would be able to forget the way you looked at him with those pleading, hopeful eyes. That he could be happy with just the memory of your voice calling his name.

He’d stood there, and realised he couldn’t walk away a second time.

And then, he had brazenly broken the rules.

Tonight, he’s going to break them again.

But right now, it’s mid-afternoon. This far into the year, the days aren’t quite as warm; and the breeze that gently billows the curtains in Zeke’s room is pleasantly cool. There’s a map rolled out across the table, its corners weighed down with plates and teacups. Zeke leans back comfortably in his chair as he speaks. It could have been a chat among friends, if it weren’t for the confidential intelligence reports strewn in front of them.

Pieck points at the southern coast. “Tell the brass to increase naval patrols near Karifa. And not just around the port. The whole peninsula is vulnerable.”

“They’re more interested in watching Fort Helena,” Zeke replies. He takes a sip of his tea. “They still have their feathers ruffled from the last conflict.”

Pieck thoughtfully taps her chin. “Right. It could turn into a two-front situation.”

Porco’s not quite sure why Zeke invites anyone other than her to these briefings. It’s always her who has the smart things to say. As far as he’s concerned, he just wants someone to point him at the thing that needed destroying.

He’s finding it particularly difficult to sit in his seat today.

His thoughts keep turning to you, waiting for him; and it feels wrong to not be doing everything he can to go to you. It feels even worse to consider not thinking of you— to pretend he doesn’t care about you feels shameful.

So all he can do is sit there, resenting the way the sunlight reflects off the honeyed brown of his tea, and wishing he could share it with you.

“They still aren’t paying any attention to Paradis?” Reiner’s brows are knit. “It’s been over two years since—”

“It’s not a priority,” Zeke says curtly, not looking up from what he’s reading.

Porco holds back a snort. For all his bravado, Zeke was perpetually touchy about the island devils. Being cut to ribbons could do that to you, he supposed. He glances at Pieck, who doesn’t offer comment, and only gives Reiner a pointed look before examining another report. Reiner looks nervous. He always is, when Paradis comes up.

The tiny island on the map in front of Porco looks innocuous. It’s so small, it’s dwarfed by even a single one of Marley’s provinces.

He should loathe it, have the same dark look on his face as the other three, even if he’s the only shifter who’s never stepped foot on it. It’s why people hate Eldians. It’s where Marcel died.

But he has memories of it too. They’re not his, they belong to that woman— Ymir— but they’re so vivid, they feel like his own. Sometimes he even catches a faint thought at the back of his mind, a longing to go home.

It makes him worry about how many of his thoughts are really his.

Fucking Reiner, he thinks. Turning Marcel’s titan into a traitor.

He glares at Reiner, who blinks in surprise at the sudden aggression, and raises an eyebrow at him.

Porco ignores this, and waves one of the typewritten pages he's holding. “This says they’re expecting a hot conflict in the South within seven months. We’re supposed to be back in the Mid-East by then.”

“No need to worry about that,” Zeke says.

Everyone waits for him to elaborate.

Zeke smiles pleasantly. As if they really are just having a chat, and not discussing bloody warfare. “Ah, sorry. That really is a secret, but trust me, there won’t be too much going on at the same time.”

“You mean we’ll attack them first?” Porco says. “But then the Southern Alliance—”

“No,” Zeke says, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it.” The curtains behind him sway gently.

Porco feels uneasy. He’s not sure why. He’s long since had every survival instinct beaten out of him, with bombs and gunfire. He’s died and come back to life a dozen times over on the battlefield. War doesn’t scare him. Not anymore, not since he was twelve years old.

So why does he feel this dread in his stomach?

He doesn’t figure it out until much later, when he’s counting the minutes until he can see you again, and listening to Colt talking about Falco over dinner.

“He’s trying to hide it,” Colt says mournfully as he spoons potatoes into his mouth. They’re always on the menu. “But he was excited. Excited. About being sent to war.”

Outside, the sun is starting to set.

It’s a Saturday evening, and the energy in the hall is cheerful; excited for the coming day off, even if subdued from the exhaustion of the week. The long rows of wooden tables are almost completely occupied, but Colt gives off enough of a melancholy air that people to avoid the seats next to him and Porco.

“We were excited too, the first time,” Porco says, nonchalantly. “Don’t you remember? I didn’t even have a fucking titan, and I thought I was about to go blow enemy soldiers’ heads off left and right. Let him have this. He’ll understand soon.”

Colt chuckles half-heartedly. “Right, you thought you had such good aim. Pieck had to come save us after you gave away our position.”

Porco’s face warms in embarrassment. “No need to go down memory lane, Grice.”

Nevermind the dent to his adolescent ego from being saved by a girl (even if said girl was a hulking, four metre tall monster); the reminder that he was nothing on the battlefield without a titan had been far worse.

It had been less than a month after Marcel and the others left for Paradis, and Porco had desperately wanted to have something to show when they came back. He’d wanted to prove to them all that he wasn’t useless— that he was better than Reiner Braun. The best he did was surviving the shelling, and remembering to rub fresh dirt on his face to hide the tear tracks tattooed in the grime.

Even then, Porco recalls, Colt had had nothing but his baby brother on his mind.

There had been a photograph folded into his breast pocket, severely faded in the creases. It was of Colt, holding a fluffy haired little boy in his lap. He’d looked at it whenever he could; one hand pressing his helmet to his head, one clutching the picture, lips pursed so they wouldn’t quiver at every explosion. This is what he was here for, he told everyone who would listen. So this little boy didn’t ever have to be.

“I don't care what happens to me,” Colt says, aimlessly pushing his food around on his plate. “I mean, within reason. But if anything happened to Falco out there, I couldn't bear it.”

And that’s when he figures it out. Porco isn’t scared of war— he’s not capable of that anymore— he’s scared of losing you to it.

He thinks of the delicate shape of your body under his touch; of your soft voice, and how gently you speak, even when you’re trying to be firm. It seems absurd to picture you in the midst of violence. And yet you’d been there, impossibly kind and sweet, knee deep in his blood.

Porco knows you saved him that night. You told him it was Claire who stopped him from bleeding out; but Porco knows you were the one who held his hand through the night, the only one who shed tears for him.

You’d made him feel human, and it had made him want to live.

He knows now, that from the moment he'd opened his eyes in that tent and found you in a fitful sleep at his bedside, he was always going to spend the rest of his ten years paying you back.

“I understand,” Porco tells Colt, honestly.

Colt smiles gratefully at him. “I should get going. I have kitchen clean-up duty today.”

An idea strikes him. “Really? Could you do something for me then?”

When you tell Claire you can take care of the locking up by yourself from now on, she’s only a little conflicted.

“Are you really sure?” she asks again, pausing in the middle of touching up her makeup in the little mirror above the sink.

“It’s not a problem,” you assure her as you tidy up your desk. “You’ve got a longer commute now, after all.”

The clinic is lit up in the muted gold of dusk. The last rays of sun are shining in through the open windows. Claire’s face glows in a rectangle of light, cast through the half-closed blinds. Her lipstick is bright and red.

(It’s her usual colour, but everything has felt more today. Sugar is sweeter, and the reds are almost scarlet.)

“Too long,” she says, frowning. “We’re looking at new apartments. Something halfway between here and the Public Security office.” She sighs and looks at you in the mirror. “I miss walking back to the women’s quarters with you. The train is so boring.”

There’s something about the wistful way she says it, with that familiar scrunch in her eyebrows and pout on her lips, that makes you want to tell her; tell her about Galliard the way she tells you about Eric— because now you understand why she’s always looking for a reason to.

“I miss it too,” you say. “Did you find anything nice yet?”

Claire worries at some flyaway hairs on the crown of her head, illuminated in the direct light. “We’re actually going to see this one place near Gardenia Square today.”

“Gardenia Square!” you exclaim.

It’s one of the more expensive neighbourhoods in Liberio, built around a trendy shopping and business district near the port. You didn’t think it was somewhere that would be affordable on government salaries.

“It sounds too good to be true!” Claire closes her eyes, and holds up her hands, fingers crossed in an odd sort of prayer. “They did say near, not in. I just hope it’s not too close to the red light district.” Then she opens her eyes with a frown. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it would just hurt the resale value.”

“How do you go up from a nice apartment in Gardenia Square?” you ask, amused. “Sorry, near.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “A seafront villa in Odiha.”

Claire begins to powder her face. Even in the plain blue dress she has on, it’s so easy to imagine her walking along a sunny promenade; maybe stopping at a fashionable café to get a cupcake in a pastel wrapper. Perhaps some tea in a dainty cup.

You watch as she gathers her things into her purse. Galliard’s name stays on the tip of your tongue all the while.

“Good luck with the apartment, Claire,” you tell her, as she heads out the door. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“Thanks, honey. Get home safe.”

You hear the click of her heels going down the wooden floor outside, and the sound of the door opening and closing.

And then, you only have the ticking of the clock and the rustling elm outside for company.

You sit yourself on the edge of one of the beds for only a handful of seconds, watching the long, thin shadows cast by its legs, fidgeting all the while; before the silence becomes unbearable and the anticipation you’ve been pushing down all day swells up to fill it.

The sink needs cleaning, you decide, getting back on your feet.

You hum to yourself as you wipe down the steel basin, noticing the pleasant hints of lemon in the cleaning spray more than the sting of alcohol. It’s not nearly dirty enough to occupy you for long, so you’re soon rinsing it off.

You regard yourself in the mirror as you dry your hands. The day is evident in your slightly wrinkled blouse with its creases accentuated by shadows; and in your lipstick, slightly faded in the middle.

(Really, you looked far worse yesterday, after spending hours confused and worrying; and Galliard certainly hadn’t seemed to mind.)

There’s not much you can do about the blouse. You settle for touching up your makeup as best as you can. You’re fully aware of the rapidly setting sun behind you— already half-hidden behind the high compound walls— and how your efforts will soon be unnoticeable.

(But you still do it; because when you imagine him thinking you’re pretty, your heart flutters and you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.)

Claire closed the blinds for you before she left; and now you walk over and adjust them slightly, letting a little more light shine through. Bands patterned with the silhouettes of elm leaves print themselves across the plain walls; adorning them like wallpaper.

You hook a finger over one of the slats and pull it down to peek outside. There’s no one there, of course; but you still feel a prick of nervousness.

(You hope he comes soon. It’s lonely.)

The silence is getting to you, you think. You’re not quite sure what you could possibly clean next, so you try to distract yourself by counting the sounds.

The clock ticks steadily, echoing faintly. A drop of water falls from the faucet, and hits the steel below with a plink. Wind blows through the elm.

The hinges on the front door creak.

You hold your breath, listening closely as footsteps come up the hallway— they’re blunt and heavy, not the sharp, quick clicks of Claire’s heels.

(He came.)

The knob turns, and the door swings open slowly.

(Just like he promised.)

Galliard pokes his head in cautiously. He runs his eyes across the room to confirm that you’re alone. And then, he greets you with a grin, face softly shadowed in the fading light. He couldn’t have looked better in a painting.

You close the distance to the door with rapid steps, almost running. Just before you crash into him, you’re worried— for a split second— that you’re about to knock him off his feet; but he easily catches you, and lifts you off your feet to spin you around as you squeal.

(He came back to me.)

You kiss his lips, not breaking away even when he lets you down, staying risen on your toes.

“Woah,” he says, when you finally part. He pulls you in a little closer, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb. “Did you miss me that much?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed, and very aware of his touch. You have to hide your face in his jacket. “I did,” you say, voice muffled. He smells like soap.

Galliard laughs again. The sound vibrates in his chest. “You really don’t believe in playing hard to get.”

“I don’t.”

Sometimes, it feels like you’ve spent half your life being timid and unsure; wishing there was a book you could check the back of for the right answers, to make those elusive good choices. Maybe that book would tell you that it’s unbecoming to be so forward. Maybe it’s true. You don’t know.

(You’re scared to admit it, but you don’t care either.)

What you do know is that kissing him makes your toes curl in your socks, and has your heart feeling far too big for your chest. How could anyone think it’s not right, when he kisses you back like that, so unhesitant?

He gives you a squeeze. “I brought you something,” he says.

You take a step back, so you can look at him. “You did?”

The adoration on his face makes your heart skip a beat. Oh, how could anyone be this handsome, this perfect?

“Close your eyes,” he says.

You don’t hesitate to do what he asks, and hold out your hands expectantly. There’s a pause, and then you feel him shift, taking something out of his pocket. There’s a small weight in your palms.

You crack open your eyes. In the dim light, it’s hard to read the wrapper on the thing in your hands, even though the letters are in a thick block-print. “Chocolate? You brought me chocolate!”

It’s just a plain old bar of it, the kind you could buy at any store; but it feels like the best gift anyone’s ever gotten you. He’d thought of you. He’d thought about seeing you again, and he’d wanted to make you happy when he did. It’s just a plain old bar of chocolate, but it feels enormous, carrying the weight of this thing, this precious secret between you.

You wordlessly begin to unwrap it, not trusting yourself to speak.

Now he’s the one who looks embarrassed. “I know it isn’t all that special.” He self consciously rubs the back of his head. “I swear I’ll get you better things, I just need a little time—”

You cut him off by pressing a piece of chocolate to his mouth. “I love it, thank you. Do you want to share with me?”

He stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. Your fingers brush his lips as you place it on his tongue. When you try to move your hand back, he grips your wrist for a moment— just long enough to kiss your fingertips. You giggle at the mischievous glint in his eyes, even though the action sends a shiver down your spine.

You hold his gaze— warm, soft— as you break off a piece for yourself. It’s only when you bite down that you notice what’s wrong.

“Bitter!”

Galliard looks distressed, and scrapes his own tongue across his teeth, trying to get the taste out.

You hold the wrapper up into the light. “Galliard, this is cooking chocolate. There's no sugar in it!”

You look at him.

He looks at you.

Then you burst out laughing.

“I— I'm sorry.” He sounds flustered. “I should have read the label closer—”

You reach up to cup his cheek. “I'll make something with it. We can eat it together.”

“I'd… like that.” His voice is a little raspy. Then he looks up at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, like he’s collecting himself. “Hey, could you… use my name?”

Before you can open your mouth, a gust of wind blows outside, making the branches on the tree rustle. You’re struck with the irrational thought that it sounds like they’re whispering. Gossiping amongst themselves about you and him.

You instinctively glance over your shoulder to check the window, even though you know no one can see in.

He sees how nervous you are. “Here, come with me.”

It’s scary, being led to the window. But he has your hand in his, and that reassuring warmth makes you a little braver. He sits right below the sill, on the bare wooden floor. He pats the space beside him.

When you join him, he puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you against his chest. “Is this okay?”

It’s more than okay. Even though the window is right above you, you feel shielded. Safe. The elm leaves aren’t whispering about you anymore. They’re friends there to tell you if anyone dares intrude; warning you with the shadows they cast on the floor, where your legs are stretched out next to his.

“Yes. Thank you—” You take a breath. “— Porco.”

You hear him exhale, but you’re too shy to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on your hands in your lap. Your fingertips tingle. All you can focus on is his arm across your shoulder, so firm and strong.

Porco softly says your name. Then he takes your chin, tilting your face up to his. There’s a pause. Both of you hold your breath.

And then, he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed. It isn’t intense like last night— it’s gentle, and soft; as if he’s asking you for permission every time. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. Your hands find the back of his head, fingers combing through his hair.

You lose track of the minutes going by. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is him, finally next to you. Tears prick at the back of your eyelids as you smile against his lips. You’ve been waiting for so long.

Porco pulls away first. His eyes are still closed, head leaned against the wall. Your breath comes in soft pants, and you can’t help but think that it suits him to have his hair like that, all dishevelled; instead of in its usual severe, neat style.

(The wind blows again, but this time, you’re not afraid. No one can see. There’s no one else in this world below the window, except you and him.)

“Sort of feels like we’re in the trenches, doesn’t it?” you say playfully, resting your shoulder on the wall.

Porco’s eyes snap open. “Don’t say that.”

Your heartbeat quickens, worried you said something wrong. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trivialise—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t apologise. It’s not that. I just— I don’t want to think about you being anywhere near there.” He looks down, and puts his hand over yours. “I want you to be safe.”

I want you to be safe too, you want to tell him.

But you know he can’t do that for you, and you won’t cause him the pain of having to say no, so you don’t say anything at all; and only curl closer into his side. You feel him kiss the top of your head.

“We didn’t get to talk last night,” he says, after a brief silence. “About how we’re going to see each other. Are you here every evening?”

You nod a yes. “Except Thursday and Sunday. I have an evening shift at the hospital on Sundays.”

“You won’t be here tomorrow?” He sounds disappointed.

“I usually leave after lunch.”

You think he hears the sadness in your voice. “That’s okay,” he says soothingly, “I’ll figure out a way to see you tomorrow, I promise. How was your day?”

“Good. It wasn’t very busy.” You play with the hem of his jacket. “It was a little boring, actually. I wish I had something interesting to tell you.”

“I’d listen to you reading out the protocol handbook,” he says. He sounds like he means it. “Do you stay here all day?”

“Mostly. It’s not so bad when the kids are around, I can see them training from the window. And sometimes they sit under the tree during their breaks. They’re in the mountains with their sergeant, you know.”

You don’t have to look at his face to picture his sneer. “That ass who didn’t care when Grice’s brother fainted in the heat?”

“Him. But I’ve been making sure they know how to take care of themselves. They’ll be fine.”

“Thanks. For looking out for them.”

You want to tell him you see Julie’s eyes in each of theirs. But you hesitate— her memory feels far too important to be mentioned in passing. “How was your day?”

“Zeke had us come to him for a briefing. There’s trouble everywhere, apparently.”

You swallow. “Are we going back out there soon?”

The memory of him choking on his own blood still haunts you. It feels like a lifetime ago. He may be whole and healthy now; but it’s barely been a week. You don’t want to see him like that ever again. You couldn’t bear it. Even if you know he could survive it, and worse— you couldn’t bear it.

“You can’t worry about that, babe,” he sighs. “You won’t ever have any peace. You don’t ever have to be scared out there, okay? I won’t let anyone get through to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Let’s not talk about this.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You don’t tell him it’s not you you’re worried about.

There’s another comfortable silence, broken when the building settles. You’re used to it, and barely notice, but Porco shifts his weight onto his free hand to look up at the ceiling.

“What’s upstairs?” he asks, eyes wary. “I’ve never been up there.”

The small distance he’s inadvertently put between your bodies bothers you immensely; and you don’t feel at peace until you move closer. “Nothing except some old medical files no one cares about.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Someone from admin came by and needed me to unlock the door for him, a few months ago. I think I have the only key. It looks like it used to be another floor of the clinic,” you say, recalling the dismantled bed-frames pushed against the walls. “We could go there, but it’s just really dusty now.”

Porco hums thoughtfully. “Some other time. I don’t want to get up yet.” He takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve been wanting to hold you like this all day.”

You giggle. “I told my roommate I had to organise some files, and that I’d be later than usual. How long can you stay?”

He scoffs. “Reiner wouldn’t notice even if I went missing. He’s an idiot. When we were with Zeke today—”

You stifle a laugh, and lay your head on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat while he tells you about the rest of his day, and exactly why Reiner Braun is an irredeemable idiot.

He feels so solid; so real. The rest of the day feels like a dream, vague and fading at the edges. Maybe that’s why you haven’t been worried about right answers and good choices with him, you think as you play with the zipper on his jacket.

Dreams don’t have to make sense like that. They just need to make you happy.

(All your life, you’ve been told that there are right answers, right choices. Especially when it came to the boundary between Eldians and Marleyans. What are the rules when you’re both on the same side of that line?)

By the next afternoon, Porco decides it would be better if he didn’t take a shotgun to his head.

There’s only two things stopping him.

One— that there were only so many times he could do that before someone either got suspicious, or deemed him unfit for duty; and then asked him to go ahead and put that other foot into his grave.

And, more importantly, two— the sight of it would probably make you cry.

He’s lying in his bed, arms crossed under his head and staring at the ceiling, where the paint is peeling at the corners; trying to think of another way to see you at the hospital— one that didn’t involve blowing his own skull off, but he’s a shifter and simple cuts and bruises just won’t do— when Colt knocks on his door and asks him if he has any plans.

(Sort of did, but they’re cancelled, he thinks. Cleaning up would have been a bitch.)

“You want to take me on a date or something?”

“Very funny,” Colt says, frowning at him. “Where’s Reiner?”

Porco sits up on his elbows. “Hell if I know. Why?”

“The kids are back from their final assessment. I thought he’d want to see Gabi. Are you coming?”

“You want me to?”

“Sure I do,” Colt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re good with them. They’ll like it if you’re there.”

Porco remembers his final assessment. Two days of crawling through mud, and running uphill; rain soaking through his shoes and threatening to meld his socks into his skin. The food had been cold and tasteless, spooned out straight from the can— there was no lighting a fire in that deluge. He can still remember the slimy beans going down his throat. It had been years before he could eat them again.

He’d developed the worst fever of his life, and damn near fainted when he’d dragged himself over that last finish line.

(He’s fairly certain his sergeant would have just left him there if he had— for the bears to find.)

He also remembers everyone being taken to the nurse after coming back. The woman at the time had been close to retirement, and had really needed a refresher course on finding veins. Or maybe better glasses.

Porco thinks of the half-dozen bruises he’d had blooming across his upper arm; and then of you, towelling off Falco’s face on that summer day.

These kids didn’t know how good they had it.

Colt— good old, reliable Colt— looks expectantly at him. Porco can’t believe his luck.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'll come.”

Colt has a way of showing up exactly where he’s needed, even if it isn’t necessarily the best place for him to be. Porco figures out this pattern when they’re both fourteen years old, and hidden behind a mountain of sandbags destined for the trenches.

A few years later, when he's taller, Porco will see Gabi and Falco sitting in the same spot— yes, the same, it's always the same, nothing changes no matter how much he fights— and he'll be struck with the thought that the stacked up sandbags don't look quite as high as a mountain anymore.

(And then he'll remember he never grew quite as tall as Colt, and be annoyed about it.)

But that's later, in a time where he understands what Colt was clumsily trying to tell him.

Right now, he's kneeling on the sandy soil, dabbing at the fresh gash on Colt's forehead— Porco thinks he might just be the only soldier he knows who can get himself injured before even a single bullet has been fired.

The coppery scent of his blood cuts through the dry eastern air. Porco swears he can taste the salt of it on his tongue— or maybe that's from the sweat beading across his upper lip, evaporating as fast as it forms.

It’s hot. And getting hotter, as the sun inches upwards. He was irritated enough, with the way his uniform is sticking to his back and how each breath feels like he’s baking his lungs, before Colt decided to play at being a hero.

“Hell, Grice. Did you want to die before the enemy even finished lacing their boots? There’s easier ways to do that.”

Colt winces. “It was three on one. I couldn’t just leave.”

“It’s not like they would have killed him. They were all Marleyan. You, on the other hand—”

“It was three on one,” Colt repeats, a little more subdued. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Fair,” Porco snorts. “Listen to you.”

Colt snatches the handkerchief away, and presses it against the wound himself. Red blooms through the white. “Don't you have anywhere to be?” he asks, exasperated. “You’d think they’d find something for you to do.”

Marley is stretched thin. The Cart has been in the South, near Karifa, for months now; and the Beast has been sent overseas to the colonised territories. With the War Hammer set on being a drain on public finances, and the rest on the Paradis mission, there are no titans left to guard the border in the East.

Porco doesn’t know why anyone bothers fighting over this piece of land, barren and burnt from decades of warfare. In the distance, he can see the silhouettes of the tree stumps on the pitted and scarred terrain. They look like they’ve been speared into the landscape, charred so black it’s as if they didn’t once grow lush and green— as if they had always been born from an act of violence.

“Not until the trucks get here.” Porco settles down next to Colt, shoulders bumping. “You still dizzy?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry I bled on your handkerchief.”

Porco raises an eyebrow. “Why’re you sorry about that? It’s just a rag.”

Colt looks shocked. “But it’s all lacey. I thought it was…” He blushes and looks away. “... your girlfriend’s or something.”

Porco doesn’t know why he’s acting all embarrassed, but the suddenly awkward air has his face warming too. “I don’t have… one of those,” he mumbles.

“This is yours?”

“No!” Porco frustratedly runs a hand down his face. “A girl gave it to me, but she isn’t my girlfriend. Helos, she’s trying though.”

Colt unfolds the fine cotton and holds it up, arms outstretched. It’s good quality, and the (now bloodied) lace around the edges is delicately handwoven. “I think you’re the only guy I know who would sound irritated about a girl liking you.”

“Emma doesn’t like me,” Porco says, rolling his eyes. “She didn’t give a shit about me until Marcel got the Jaw last year. What she likes is the idea of marrying me in two years and getting benefits when I die.”

There was no way out of the internment zone. Everyone knew that. There weren’t even any pipe dreams to indulge in. No, becoming an honorary Marleyan, or a part of their families, and being able to look over the wire fences instead of through them— that was as good as it got. It made sense for Emma to plan ahead a little.

Porco knows he’s receiving Marcel’s share of attention too. Despite his best efforts, he’s the consolation prize, and it makes him bitter enough to see Emma’s true intentions. Her and the other half dozen girls vying for his attention.

(It’s the reason he wears his yellow candidate armband rather than the red one being Marcel’s brother grants him.)

He draws aimless patterns in the dirt with his index finger. “I told her I wasn’t interested, but she gave that to me anyway at the station.”

“And you kept it.”

“Fucking good thing I did too, isn’t it?” Porco grumbles. “Or you would have bled all over your uniform. Being reprimanded for that is the last thing you need. What is with you being in the wrong place all the time?”

“All the time?” Colt repeats, offended.

“All the fucking time. Like when that PSA officer thought you were one of those kids he was chasing down for stealing. They got away because he stopped to question you. You almost got arrested.”

“That was months ago!” Colt protests.

“How about last week when you took that lieutenant’s wife down to his office while he was in the middle of cheating on her?” Porco snaps his fingers. “Hang on, I heard some of the Marleyan soldiers talking about her getting this real big divorce settlement. So it’s the wrong place for you, but it’s the right place for everyone else. You’re a walking good luck charm, Grice!” He laughs hard at his own joke.

Colt does not look impressed. “Shut up, Galliard.”

Porco wipes away a tear. “You were good luck for that kid they were beating up too. Let him escape. Man, he looked like a snitch. They’re so fucked.”

With the army being spread out, even the Marleyan troops who usually sat back and let the Eldians eat bullets for them had started needing to pull their weight. Somewhere in between getting off the train at the end of the line, and being told they’d have to spend the night digging trenches, they’d started having uncomfortable thoughts about their mortality.

And then, like good little Marleyan boys, they’d decided to deal with that discomfort through casual violence— even if it was against one of their own.

Colt should have just ignored it, when he found those three older soldiers kicking one of the newer recruits around behind the warehouses. But Porco has known him for four years now, and they’ve been something approaching friends for the last one, so it doesn’t surprise him that he didn’t.

“Won’t you get in trouble too?” Colt asks worriedly. “I think you broke that tall one’s glasses when you punched him.”

Porco curls and uncurls his fist. His knuckles are cut up, from where they hit the thin wire frames. “Bastard had it coming after kicking you in the head.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Colt says sarcastically. He blushes again when Porco gives him an odd look. “Forget it. I just remembered it from one of Falco’s storybooks.”

“He still likes fairytales?” Porco is amused. “Good for him.”

Colt’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Porco holds his hands up defensively. “It’s not an insult, Grice. Good for him, still being able to enjoy that idealistic crap.”

“You’re one to talk,” Colt scoffs. “You still want to be a Warrior.” His eyes widen immediately after he says it. “Fuck. Galliard—”

“The fuck does that mean?” Porco asks furiously. “You want to be a Warrior too.”

Colt licks his lips, choosing his words carefully. “It’s different.”

“How’s it different? Are you saying you don’t think I’m good enough—”

Colt looks at the sky and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like a ‘not this again’, but he holds up a hand before Porco can tell him to say it to his face. “No, I don’t think you’re not good enough. We passed the same tests. It’s different, because Marcel is already a Warrior. You’re not getting anything out of it.”

“I’m going to prove myself, and get the honour of—”

“There you go again, honour,” He looks frustrated. “What’s so honourable about trading your life in and getting thirteen years back like it’s spare change?”

“That’s—”

“There’s no honour in any of this.” Colt leans closer with every word. “Haven’t you ever thought about how they don’t let orphans join the program? Isn’t that weird? Why do they bother asking for applications and having parents sign waivers, when they could just pluck some kids nobody cares about out of a state orphanage?”

“Colt—”

He barrels on. “It’s because they need a family to threaten, to control whoever has the titan. Because they don’t trust you to not turn on them.”

Porco only watches as the other boy leans back against the sandbags, throwing his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“I bet your brother was happy you didn’t get a titan.”

It's always been like that with him, now that Porco thinks about it.

Whenever Falco is involved, Colt Grice (trained soldier) dissolves— as immediately and as softly as powdered sugar in warm milk— into Colt Grice (big brother). Sometimes this manifests in a flash of anger across his face; like that day at the eastern border. Mostly it’s in dopey smiles, like when he’s telling Porco how Falco aced all his tests that term.

Today, it’s in the nervous energy in his hands. It’s almost imperceptible— the soldier is still fighting to maintain discipline— but Porco knows it when he sees it.

They're in the clinic. Colt is in the chair next to him; sitting ramrod-straight. He's always sitting like that. Porco has often joked that it's like he thinks Magath will turn up at his dinner table and reprimand him for slouching.

(Porco used to sit on chairs the wrong way around, just to make a point, but he's grown out of that.)

The smell of antiseptic stings his nose as you open the bottle again, and tip a few drops onto a cotton ball. He watches you help Falco roll his sleeve up his forearm.

It feels strange to see you in the day; where there's no shadows to shroud the both of you, no darkness to hide behind. The sunlight threatens to lay the secret bare, each time he shares a fleeting glance with you across the room.

(Somehow, those moments feel far more illicit than the kisses in the dark.)

You instruct Falco to make a fist, and wipe the skin near the crook of his elbow. He and the other three are sporting their new armbands. The yellow fabric is bright and distractingly clean compared to their dirt stained uniforms.

Porco can see the family resemblance— he’s seen Colt cautiously eyeing Marleyans with knives the same way Falco’s looking at the needles laid out on the table. It’s there in that nervous smile, and that faint— yet distinct— rise in pitch on the last syllable when he insists he’s alright.

He glances to his side, and sees Colt half raise his hand at the wrist— as if he wants to reach out to Falco— but he settles for drumming his fingers across his thighs. He doesn’t need to worry, Porco thinks. You’ll take care of Falco.

The younger Grice tears his eyes away from the needles when you pick one up, but Porco keeps looking at your hands as you assemble the syringe. There’s something elegant in the way your fingers move; and all he can think about is how they looked when you were fiddling with the hem of his jacket last night, and how nice it felt to hold your hand.

“Woah, Zofia!” Gabi suddenly exclaims, from near the glass slides on the counter. “Your blood’s weird!”

Zofia is panicked. “W-what?”

“Yeah, look. Three of your spots did the lumpy thing.”

She elbows Gabi aside to frantically inspect them herself. “Well, none of Udo’s did anything. That's weirder!”

Udo peeks over their heads. “You guys are so dumb. That's just how the test works. Zofia is AB-positive and I'm O-negative. And it’s called coagulation.”

Gabi simultaneously looks impressed with him, and like she wants to shove him. Colt abruptly stands up to cross the room and get between them, before she can decide which to go with.

(Porco has a vivid vision of her picking the latter, and accidentally getting Colt instead. It seemed like something that could happen to him. He’ll tell you all about Colt’s stupendously bad luck later, he decides.)

You glance over your shoulder at them with an amused smile as you straighten up. “That’s right, Udo.”

“It’s done?” Falco asks, shocked, looking at the now crimson tube in your hands. “I didn’t feel anything!”

“I’m very good at this,” you tell him with a wink.

(Porco can't argue with that.)

The comment makes Falco blush and drop his eyes down to his lap, and the others are distracted by Udo explaining how blood typing worked; so no one notices when your eyes meet Porco's across the room once again. His breath hitches. You give him that shy smile of yours— the one that's just for him— and all he wants is to take your hand and run away where no one else can see.

The spell is broken when Gabi calls out to you, and asks when you think their dog tags will be issued.

“Oh— I don't know, actually.” You look startled, just for a second, before composing yourself. “They don't take very long to make, though. I suppose it depends on your sergeant handing these records in.”

Porco scowls at the mention of Laurent, who had left not thirty minutes ago, after repeatedly warning you to be ‘careful, with all these devils in one place’.

“I'd stay,” he’d said, lip curled in disgust, “but I've been exposed to nothing but Eldian stench for two days, I don't need any more.”

That’s the best you can come up with? Porco remembers thinking. That I smell? At least insult my mother, you bastard.

“Mine took about a week,” Colt offers helpfully. “What about you, Galliard?”

“A week sounds right,” he replies nonchalantly.

Porco doesn't wear his dog tags anymore— if he died, people would know. But when Marley had extended him the honour of becoming a Warrior, they'd done the equivalent of hanging a dog collar around his neck anyway. There had been a lot of pretty, poetic words about the Jaw being returned and his dedication to the country; but what they’d done was drape a eulogy around his neck, and call it a privilege.

And if someone were to flip over that death sentence resting on his throat, they would probably see the words no commitments scratched into the back.

(At least, that’s what people thought.)

Porco’s not a bad looking guy; and there’s enough people looking to have a fun time with one of the admired, coveted Warriors that he’s never had trouble finding someone to warm his bed.

Well, it’s never his bed.

It’s usually theirs. Occasionally, it’s one in the rooms above the bar he frequents. One time, it had been in the men’s bathroom.

(That one was unexpectedly fun.)

It’s just sex.

No one expects anything more from him. There aren't any more Emmas chasing after him, not after almost a decade of turning them all down.

Porco doesn’t have complaints about these arrangements— it feels damn good, and it’s great for his ego when someone tells him that they like what he’s doing to them. When it’s over, maybe they lie next to him for a bit, and then they get up and leave, or ask him to leave. It never bothers him. Why would it?

No commitments, as advertised.

(What was there to commit to, with a man who already had a date of death stamped across his file?)

It’s not what he wants with you.

Porco isn’t scared of you leaving. He knows you won’t. But he needs to do this right— take it slow, and make sure you want it too. You deserve better than he can ever give you, but he can at least make sure your first time with him is something special; and isn’t just him fucking you on the floor where you work.

It’s difficult, because you seem to trust him so much; and close your eyes if he asks you to, without hesitation.

It’s difficult, because when you say his name or smile at him all shy, it goes straight to his heart; and when you look at him from under your lashes, breathless after a kiss, it goes straight to his dick.

It’s difficult, because he isn’t sure what special looks like.

It’s difficult, because every moment with you feels special anyway.

He’s greedy, he thinks. He wants to have as many of those moments as he can.

So when Gabi starts bragging about coming first in all the foot races save for one (Porco idly wonders which one of them managed to beat her), and the clinic visit is drawing to a close, the words are coming out of his mouth before he's even finished thinking them through.

“Hey,” he says, slinging an arm over Colt’s shoulder. “It sounds like you guys all did great. That deserves a treat.”

“A treat?” all of them— including Colt— chorus.

Behind them, he sees you pause filling out paperwork at your desk, and look up curiously.

“How does ice cream sound?”

Their eyes light up, but Porco's not done yet.

“Ice cream at the park downtown. Let's take those new armbands out for a spin.”

There's a few seconds where the children make an admirable effort to stay calm, be the newly minted soldiers they are; but then Gabi lets out a squeal like a tea kettle— in both tone and character— and then the rest of them, already practically vibrating in place, can't hold back either.

“Don't make a ruckus!” Colt casts a disapproving look at them. “You're bothering the nurse.”

“Oh, I like it when it's lively,” you say good-naturedly. “I hope you all have fun.”

(Now or never.)

“Do you want to come with us?”

In the corner of his vision, he can see Colt raise an eyebrow at him. But he can’t think about that right now. Not when you’re looking straight at him like that, with your eyes wide in shock.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, his brain finally catching up with his tongue. Porco thinks the world should have fallen silent for this. It should have left space for the question to echo, because what he'd just asked you is, will you take a risk for me?

(As it was, the world did not fall silent; and in fact offered him Udo blowing a raspberry at Gabi in the background.)

It feels like minutes before you answer; even though he can see the seconds ticking away on the clock behind you.

“The park… near the hospital?” you ask slowly, carefully; mouth oddly flat.

It's a stretch. The hospital is three blocks away. “Yes,” he says, anyway. “I never thanked you for— for everything.” He forces his voice to stay steady.

You look back down at your papers, and start adding your signature to the bottom of the sheets. “I do have a shift there this afternoon. Alright. Give me ten minutes.”

(Yes, I will, you answer him.)

Porco’s glad he’s still got his arm slung over Colt’s shoulder, because it’s the only thing reminding him he’s not alone with you in here; even if you’re all he can look at.

please like/reblog/reply on this part too if you enjoyed!! you can find the second half of the chapter here 💖

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Porcelain Doll

A/N: My first Steve story on Tumblr! And I think my first every Mafia AU for Steve ever... lets hope this goes well. Enjoy! Pairing: Mafia!Steve x F!Reader Word count: 2,909 Warnings: Mentions of weapons, swearing, angst.

(I don’t know the owner of this Gif, but it’s not mine. Just wanted to mention that.)

Being weaved within the world of mafia was a choice that you had willingly made.

When you said 'I do' you vowed to be with Steve til death do you part. Literally. Divorces were not only unheard of within the culture of bosses, it was a death wish. No secret could be leaked by an unhappy wife.

Granted, you had never dreamed of leaving Steve. The perfect man, who was stubborn at times, but you could always break past those barriers of ignorance he occasionally put up. In fact, you could bulldoze right through.

And you were the only one that could. Not Bucky, Sam, or Nat could compare to your ability to have that man breaking down every little secret he had stored in that mind of his. At the snap of your finger with him, your wish was his command.

You only had one duty to do, other than be faithful and loving to your husband: you had to oblige by mafia rules that were set for you. They weren't too overwhelming, it was a very limited amount. But it was enough so Steve could watch you like a vulture, if he wanted to.

And technically speaking, you could play his puppet whenever he pleased, and you wouldn't have the option to say no. He never enforced such power, always honoring your freedom and independence. But right now, he didn't have a choice.

"Babe, I need you to do this." He begged from behind his large wood desk, his study lit by antique lamps which cascaded their light onto polished mahogany surfaces.

"Steve, I will not be in another man's arms." You stated, fighting right back. Your arms over your chest, bottom lip easing out of it's hold with a pout.

"Sweetheart, you have to do this!" He elaborated, on the verge of defeat, his face now looking at the floor as his blue eyes scanned over his two feet, contemplating his next move.

"Do I have to though? Why not Nat, or- or someone else!" You threw your hands up in frustration. "I mean, seriously Steven, you cannot be for real right now-"

"Enough!" He rose his voice, the lion's roar booming through the room and ricocheting on the books and stained glass right into your chest. "You will be doing this. And you do not have an option." He emphasized, slamming his fist down. You flinched at the 'thump' that came as a result of the impact. He took a deep breath settling down, his gaze still facing downwards.

He took a few more breaths, moving his head up to meet your face. His eyes filled with a black void of heartlessness and atrocious intentions transitioned into a wave of calming blue, his pupils frantically searching your face as he realized he had scared you beyond your wildest thoughts. "Baby I-" He began but you stopped him soon after.

"I- I will do it." You choked out, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes filling with warm tears that began to fall gracefully down your cheeks, smudging your perfectly done makeup. You took a deep breath yourself, sniffling just a bit, before turning around and walking out of the study, arms now crossed tighter across your chest, and your feet setting off small pitter patters as you hurried yourself across of the rustic hardwood flooring.

Closing the grand doors behind you, Steve let out a sigh and a huff, turning around "Damn it!" He yelled, taking his large fist to the wall. He never intended to hurt you in any capacity, just like he never intended to punch that now crumbling hole in the plaster wall behind his desk, but mistakes happen. Only this was a grave mistake on his part.

You were rushing to your shared bedroom, quiet sobs leaving your mouth. Covering your face as best you could to try and prevent anyone from knowing, your ran up the glass stairs and to the second floor. "Y/N/N?" You heard Bucky's voice coo. You chose to ignore him and moved even faster than before to your room, where you locked the door. Crashing on the Egyptian cotton sheets, which swallowed you in great warmth and comfort, you sobbed into one of your sleeves, choosing not to subject your pillow to such a burden.

"What the fuck did you do?" Bucky marched into Steve's office, uninvited but not giving a thought to it. Looking behind where his boss and best friend sat, head in his hand, was the very hole in the wall Steve had just caused. “You idiot!” He scoffed, walking over and leaning over his desk. “Why was Y/N just running down the hall sobbing?” Steve took a heavy sigh, not looking up.

“I fucked up, big time.” Steve explained. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“So you told her?” He asked and Steve nodded. “How did you do it?” “How do you think, Buck?” Steve fired back.

“Judging by your crying wife and the whole in the wall, you fought.” “Yes, I fought.” He clarified, “I yelled at her. She fought back saying she didn’t wanna do it, I lost my patience.” “You stupid Punk.” Bucky laughed a bit, Steve looking up with a confused look, “You thought she would react any differently?”

��Well, maybe more cooperatively-” Steve began, but was interrupted.

“You’re asking your wife to go and flirt with your rival in a sleazy little dress that’s basically lingerie with a few pieces of fabric connecting it.” He sighed, “You’re asking the woman who loves you, who would literally die for you to go out with another man, and you expect her to be on board? If she reacted positively I would be more concerned.” “Well I didn’t think she would react positively, per se.” Steve rebutted, “Maybe just a little more willingly.” “You still don’t know a damn thing about women.” Bucky sighed, “You have the most loyal, loving, beautiful wife probably sobbing in bed right now because you scared the shit out of her. And you’re gonna sit here and just act like a fool?” He asked, “Why don’t you go apologize? That would be a good place to start.” “I probably should.” Steve leaned back in his chair, getting up and marching out.

He powered through your spacious and modern penthouse, making haste knowing the time was ticking. Approaching your bedroom door he took a deep breath, standing outside and giving it a soft knock. “Baby?” He cooed outside, leaning into the door to hear you soft sobs, “Doll?” He twisted the knob on the door, noticing it was locked. He sighed with annoyance. “Baby, c’mon now let me in.” “No.” You responded, holding your pillow in your lap like a child.

“Baby doll,” He softly said, “C’mon now, I just wanna apologize.”

“I said no.” You repeated again, this time more aggravation in your voice. He took a sigh.

“If you don’t willingly open this door up, I’ll open it up for you.” He warned. You huffed, still firm on your decision. “Fine.” He murmured, running back downstairs and into one of the side rooms, where he went in one of the drawers, picking up a key. Running right back, and up stairs, he placed the small metal object in the key hole, turning it and letting himself in.

You groaned, sitting back on the back of the bed, rolling your eyes. “Fuck you.” You spat out at him. He scoffed.

“C’mon babe, we both know you don’t mean that.” “Please,” You scoffed right back, “If I didn’t mean it then why did I say it?”

“Baby doll,” He sighed, smirking at you, “I love you. And I came here to apologize.” You pouted at him, keeping a straight face.

“Do you mean it?” You questioned, raising one of your eyebrows, looking at him. He nodded. “How do I know?” Your husband walked over to you, laying in bed on his side. You scooted further over to yours, trying to expand the space between you two.

“Baby,” He said softly, his words sounding like music to your ears, but you refused to look at him, “Sweetheart.” He said again, you still refused to move. He took your chin, softly in his large, warm hand. Moving your head to face his, he bent down and kissed you softly. Fireworks of tenderness exploded in your chest, as you hummed out of instinct. He smile lightly into the kiss.

“Because I love you, more than anything in this world.”

“Fine.” You reluctantly sighed, “I forgive you.” You stated, swallowing roughly. “I’m sorry I fought back, I should have gone with the plan.” “No, I understand why you did.” He nodded, “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you and let you see that side of me. You don’t deserve anything near that.” You nodded, leaning your head onto his shoulder. He tenderly kissed the top of your head, taking your smaller hand in his.

“How do you feel?” Bucky asked with a heavy sigh of disapproval as you looked in the mirror at this tiny black fabric that was a disgrace of a dress.

“Exposed, slutty, sleazy, whore-ish, should I continue?” You turned back to he and Steve, your husband clearly enjoying the view, taking his bottom lip in his mouth, “Hey!” You snapped at him, to which he escaped his trance, “Eyes on mine, not my ass.”

“C’mon now.” Bucky got up, sighing again in frustration. “We gotta go.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and walking out feeling beyond embarrassed for this apparel. A lot of mafia wives wore similar outfits to the one you had on, borderline stripper. You preferred classy and elegant, this was far from your cup of tea.

Getting out of the solid black car, you took a final deep breath, stepping out to begin playing your loose persona. Black pumps pattered on the ground as your walked into the mansion, your red lipstick curling up into a nice smile as you began greeting people.

The women were green with envy, their eyes filled with both red flames of jealousy and blue waves of fear. The men acted like dogs and pigs, looking you up and down like the cheap piece of meat you were acting out. You hated it, you truly did. Everything about the ordeal was already wrenching enough.

You were greeted by one of the server’s and a glass of much needed champagne. You wanted to down it, let the pain simmer away, but you slowly sipped as a proper lady would. Ironic with the outfit.

Looking around at the large ball room of people chatting, you finally found your target. His ridiculously untamed black hair, barely shaved face lined with wrinkles and harsh eyes were enough to let you know that was Brock Rumlow.

You walked over to him, a small smile on your face despite the pure growl underneath it. Making sure to jut your hips out a bit more, you immediately caught his attention.

“Well, well, well,” His voice echoed to you, as you kindly smiled now across from him, his suit not fitted well you noticed. “If it isn’t Mrs. Rogers.” “Please, Mr. Rumlow.” You played your character, “No formalities needed, Y/N, is just fine.”

“Hm,” He hummed with brief thought, “I thought the Rogers’ clan always took great pride in the name.” “Well,” You sighed, taking a sip of your drink, “Some things change.” “Oh?” He asked, “Like what?”

“Loyalty, trust, one’s pleasure.” You smirked, he clearly caught on. Fast.

“Pleasure, you say?” He inquired.

“You heard me right.” You sighed.

“So why’d you come to me?” He asked again, trying to act dumbfounded.

“You know why, Mr. Rumlow.” You stated. He hummed and nodded once.

“Follow me.”

He guided you through the winding whirlwinds of people, up one of the various grand staircases. Down the darkly lit hallway and into one of the bedrooms.

You didn’t want to jinx yourself, but so far this was too easy. Granted, it was Brock Rumlow. He was a loose cannon, the opposite of Steve. Steve ran a tight ship, the organization was established with concrete and stone foundations. Rumlow was some sticks put together. He left paper trails and greasy fingerprint all over his business, leaving Steve a laundry list of reasons to get rid of his rival.

His hands grabbed your hips, and as much as you wanted to pull away, you had to let him have you, if even for the next minute. You pretended to be okay, but no enjoyment was very much visible. He didn’t seem to notice. His hands reached down along your curves, moving and grabbing your ass. You could feel his breath reach your face, his lips inches away from yours.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were about to engage in a kiss with a man you despised, the next you were held at gunpoint in a headlock by the very same man. You opened you eyes calmly, looking around to see a dozen of Steve’s men from all angles, guns pointed at Rumlow’s head. The cool point of the weapon was on the side of your head, your hands tightly at your sides. “Let her go, Rumlow.” Steve walked in, staring at him. “If you wanna make it out alive, let her go.”

He harshly laughed, “Oh please,” He stated, “It’s not like I’d want to make it out alive by your dirty hands anyways.” “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one stealing other peoples property.” He barked, “So stop touching mine.” You remained calm, keeping your breath steady just like Steve had always told you to do.

The room fell silent. You could feel Rumlow’s fingers move on the gun ever so slightly, prompting you to know he was cocking it. With one easy move, you took your left elbow, smashing it into his chin behind you. He fell back with a groan, gun being thrown which you managed to catch with ease, like Nat had taught you. Cocking it yourself, you pointed it at the man now on the ground.

Looking back, Steve stood in partial awe and confusion at the site. You with the very gun you were threatened with now pointed at your attacker. “Take ‘em.” Steve stated, as numerous men went and grabbed him up, tying him with duct tape as he wailed for help. You walked over to Steve as he walked over to you, his fingertips tracing your jawline, “Are you alright?” He asked, face turning to concern. You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He grabbed your waist, giving you a deep kiss, using one of his hands to run it through your once perfectly done hair.

“Where did you learn that?” He muttered, you lightly laughed.

“Nat.” You smirked into his ear.

“Doll you could’ve hurt yourself-” “Steve.” You insisted, placing one of your hands on his chest, “I’m not a porcelain doll. I married into mafia, I can’t be.” He sighed, looking away only for a brief moment of thought before turning back to you.

“I know you’re not.” He muttered, “I’m just worried.” You nodded.

“I know.” You caressed his cheek with your hand, “You always are.” You both lightly laughed, smiling at each other and lost in each other’s passion for one another despite little to no conversation taking place.

“Uh, hey boss.” Sam walked in somewhat awkwardly, knocking on the door. Steve turned around, hands still placed on your hips as your attention was now on Sam as well, “We might wanna go, like, now, so no one suspects anything.” “Yeah, right.” Steve dropped his hands from you, grabbing one of yours to lead you out one of the secret back doors and into one of the cars. You squeezed in next to Steve, him placing a hand on your thigh lovingly.

“So, when do I get a raise?” You gazed out the window at the various cars passing by.

“Your raise?” Steve scoffed, “What raise?” You sighed heavily.

“I did most of that job for you.” You rolled your eyes. “Got the target, took his weapon, got him on the ground.”

“Doll, it wasn’t that easy-” “It seemed that easy.” He sarcastically laughed.

“You’re insatiable sometimes.” He rolled his eyes.

“Using big words now, are we?” You turned to him, “I could use a bigger pay too.” “Fine.” He gave in, “What do you want.”

“A long weekend, just you and me, no work, in Napa Valley.” He gave you a confused look, “You heard me.” “Doll that’s a little much don’t you think-” “Four days.” “Sweetheart-” “Five.” “Honey I can’t-” “Six.”

“There’s not even that many wineries, I-” “One week.” “Fine!” He huffed, “One fucking week in Napa, no work no nothing. Excluding emergencies, where I will make it up to you somehow. Good enough?”

“Nat and Bucky need to be there too.” You retorted, “Staying at a different house, keep in mind.” “Babe, where will they stay?” “Steven, you have three houses out there, figure it out.” You scoffed.

“Fine. But that’s it.” He began, “This is your reward for your hard work.”

“Hard work? I would describe it more as flawless.” He eyed you, shooting a glare. “I love you.” You kindly smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Now when we get home you’re gonna plan that trip, right?” “What do you mean I-” “Well, it’s not like it’ll plan itself.”

[theamberwriter]

Bouncing Baby [4]: Sick Day

Read the Series! [1] [2] [3]

Pairing: Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,613

A/N: Wow, hi guys! It's been a minute! I hope that you all like this next part! I'm so excited it's finally done after all this time. Hopefully you all still want to read it! This was a lot of fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!! Also, I hate editing on Tumblr Mobile, lol

~

You knew as soon as you woke up that morning, there was no way you were going to work. Your head was packed, your ears were stuffy and ringing, and your throat felt like sandpaper. You could barely open your eyes to shut off your alarm. You coughed, nearly puking as phlegm came up with it. You spit in the trash can next to your bed.

"Shota," you whined rolling over, and accidentally smacking him in the face with your hand. He grunted.

"You're not going to work today, are you?" he muttered, eyes still close. 

"Are you crazy?" You coughed and spit in the can again. "You know my quirk copies my physical state on other people. If I try to heal anyone, they'll all leave the office feeling like this."

"I figured as much, that's why I asked." 

Shota grabbed you, pulling your back to his front. You were worried about him getting sick. But you didn't protest the cuddles. They made you feel a lot better. You wished the two of you could lay there all day.

"I'll take Kohaku to work with me," Shota said as the third alarm rang. Reluctantly he sat up, placing his feet on the floor.

You rolled to face him, mostly asleep. Your head swam. "You don't have to. She's a handful."

"She'll be fine, nothing I can't handle."

"But your class - after everything that's happened...They still have so much left to learn. That's why I've been keeping her with me."

"Exactly, if they can't handle a child after this - there's no hope for them," your husband chuckled. You wanted to protest more. But your mind was getting dragged down into slumber.

You didn't hear them leave. Only waking to an empty house. For the first time in years, you were alone. No husband, no baby - it was unbearably quiet. But it was nice and serene. If only you didn't have a cold.

You glanced at the clock on the stove. Shota was three hours into work. You wondered how he and his class were faring. Little did you know, Kohaku would soon give them a run for their money.

Nobody had really questioned when Shota Aizawa walked through the halls with a baby that morning. A bag in his wife's favorite color was hung from his shoulder, and a black haired baby who was the spitting image of him on his hip. She was fast asleep against his shoulder. 

By that time in the school year, everybody knew he was married to one of the school's nurses and that the baby was theirs. The secret he'd been trying to keep, leaking out after only two weeks. All due to an incident where she phased through the walls, giving everyone a fright. 

It had been a regular occurrence after that that he'd watch the child in the classroom. Giving his wife a break to focus on her duties. So his class didn't much question the child either. Even though it'd been four months since they saw her last. The baby had grown much in that time.

Shota put his sleeping daughter in her playpen, then stood in front of his class. On his way to work, he'd thought of something fun. Something to give him a story to tell his sick wife to cheer her up when he got home. Maybe he'd even send her a video while the chaos ensued.

"Your morning classes will proceed as usual," he said. "However, your training later today will be different than normal."

Shota didn't answer any of his students questions. They would all just have to wait and see.

Their classes went by, lunch came and went. So far, Kohaku had been tame. He only had to erase her quirk a few times. Which she grew irritated at quickly. But she calmed down after All Might sat with her for an hour.

Kahaku napped after his visit. Shota right alongside her. He was glad she decided to sleep during the lunch period. He knew she was at her worst after nap time. But he wasn't concerned about it today. Today, her unruliness wasn't his problem. In fact, it worked great with his plan. It wouldn't have been as fun if she fell asleep in the middle of it.

Shota escorted his class to their training facilities once they all had changed. Kohaku was just beginning to wake up due to all the noise. She was still slumped against her father's shoulder. 

"Mr. Aizawa, what are we doing today?" Iida asked. "Is it some sort of special training?"

Shota smirked to himself. "Something like that. Today - you'll be taking care of my daughter."

There was a loud, collective WHAT?!

"We're not damn babysitters!" Bakugo growled.

"Don't curse around the girl, Bakugo!" Iida scolded.

Uraraka stepped forward. "She's only a baby, it shouldn't be too hard. Right?"

"Kohaku is very special. And not just to me and her mom. Kohaku is a year and seven months. However, as you may know, she already has her quirk," Aizawa explained. There were murmurs of oh yeah and shit, that's right. "My daughter can change the material her entire body structure is made of. Most likely to an atomic level. But, since she's only a baby, what she becomes and what she decides to do are totally unpredictable. 

"Your task is to watch her until the end of the day. I won't be erasing her quirk. Time out will only be called if Kohaku falls asleep or needs her diaper changed. If she's still in the facility at the end of the day, you've successfully completed the exercise. But if she gets out, even once, then I'm going to make you sit through sex education classes with Midnight for a week."

There was a collective shutter, aside from Mineta. He was way too into it. Nose bleed and all. Everyone else one could see them sifting through worst case scenarios. Shota knew Nemuri would be only too excited to show his class the ropes if BDSM. Quite literally.

Shota moved Kohaku's hair from her eyes. Checking if she'd gone back to sleep. But Kohaku leaned up, yawning as she rubbed her face. She grinned up at her father, then turned to look at everyone else. She leaned shyly back against his shoulder. There were a few aawwwws.

"You're playing shy now?" Shota chuckled. "You know them. They're going to play with you today. Would you like that? - I've brought a bag of her toys with us. Everybody take one. The first person she goes to gets to sit out a day of lessons if the class manages to fail. If the class succeeds, that person gets extra credit towards any class they're currently lacking in."

His whole class clambered for the bag. Pulling out cute little bunnies, and plastic rings, and soft books that crinkled when they moved. Bakugo was unlucky enough to get a teether that looked like a bowl of ramen that she'd recently chewed on. He turned white when her spit coated his hand. He seemed about ready to destroy it.

"I would like to note," Shota added. "That if any of the toys are ruined by a student, it's an automatic failure for the entire group."

Everybody turned to Bakugo. He glared them down, snapping an insult. Shota sat on the floor, and a few people followed. He put Kohaku on his knee, turning her towards the class. She seemed mesmerized by her selection of toys. 

"Do we have any questions before we start?" 

Iida's hand shot into the air. "Mr. Aizawa, could you please tell us what materials your daughter can turn herself into?"

Aizawa nodded. "I was wondering if any of you were going to ask. Lucky Iida did, so that you all can be warned. - So far, Kohaku has done four things. One, she can become a rubber-like substance. If she falls or jumps off something, she'll bounce. After each subsequent one, she will become faster indefinitely until she hits something she can't bounce off of.

"Two, she can become heavy metal. When this happens, Kohaku can't be picked up or knocked over. This is often how she pushes over her playpen. However, the metal is soft and scratches easily. Which means that, when she deactivates, she'll have cuts in her skin. Third, she can turn her skin into a diamond material. Unlike with the metal, she can't be hurt in this state. But she is light and can be moved. Finally, Kohaku has figured out how to make her matter permeable. You all have met Mirio, of the Big Three. It seems to be similar to his quirk.

"She may be a child. But children are unpredictable, and Kohaku is particularly rambunctious once she warms up to you. If you all can handle villains, I see no reason why you should have any trouble with my daughter. Does anyone else have anything to ask?"

When the class remained silent, Shota nodded. He bounced Kohaku on his knee for a moment while he spoke to her.

“Okay, Kohaku,” Shota started. “Which toy would you like to play with?”

He stood her on her feet, making sure she was balanced. She sucked on her thumb as she slowly started to wobble towards the class. Some began to shake rattles at her or crinkle books. A few started making the noise to call cats. Shota rolled his eyes, you couldn’t pspspspspsss at a baby.

Finally, she wandered over to Todoroki. He’d been sitting quietly, watching her. His eyes grew wide as she crawled in his lap, reaching for the rabbit in his hand. Todoroki froze as she pulled herself up to stand on his thigh. She held the rabbit closely, while gripping on to his shoulder for balance. Shota made sure to get a photo on his phone of Todoroki’s terrified face.

“Are you okay, Todoroki?” Asui asked. 

The corners of his mouth pulled down as he lifted up Kohaku and held her in front of him. She gurgled happily, jingling the chime in the rabbit.

“You scared of a stupid baby, Half and Half?” Bakugo snapped. He came over and took Kohaku from Todoroki’s hands, causing her to lose her grip on the rabbit. For once, Shota was glad when Kohaku started to cry. This was the beginning of the end.

Kohaku quickly turned herself into heavy metal. Bakugo cursed, trying to keep a grip on her. But she ultimately slammed to the ground. Kohaku gurgled happily, though Bakugo glared. She’d narrowly missed crushing his foot.

Shota watched on, laughing to himself, as Kohaku began to phrase through the large training terrain in the middle of the room. Students followed, leaping up into them. Trying to figure out where she might be in the structure. 

“There!” Kirishima called from the other side. 

Everyone followed, disappearing quickly, and Shota went to get a higher vantage point. Kirishima dove for Kohaku, but she went right through his fingers. He looked at his hands in disbelief, then watched as she teetered away. A few people tried to grab her, but she went through all of them.

“Oh, c’mon!” Kaminari whined. “She’s going to get out!”

“She’s not a dog, sweetie,” Ashido said, rolling her eyes.

“She’s still heading for the wall! Which means -” Kaminari paled, so did Ashido when she remembered what Kohaku’s escape meant.

“Todoroki,” Asui asked. “Where’s that rabbit you had?!”

Todoroki glanced over his shoulder. “I put it back in the bag.”

“That’s okay, I think I can replicate it.” Yaoyorozu flicked quickly through her book, then focused. Not long after a semi-perfect replication of Kohaku’s rabbit sat in her hands. She shook it, and the chime inside jingled. Kohaku stopped in her tracks, one hand held up to the wall. 

Kohaku searched for the sound, sputtering happily as she found the rabbit. She waddled over to Yaoyarozu , hands extending as far as her little arms could reach. Yaoyarozu picked her up, jingling the rabbit again. Kohaku seemed happy as long as made noise.

"That was way too close!" groaned Uraraka, slumping to the ground.

"I guess we gotta keep her entertained," Kirishima noted. "But how? Yaoyarozu can't keep making toys."

Aoyama butted in then, radiating sparkles. He grinned at Kohaku. "Allow moi to try. Prepare to be amazed, mon petit!"

However, Kohaku wasn't the least bit impressed by his belly laser. Even when he tried to make it flashy, like fireworks. Shota knew that'd never work on her. He chuckled at the display, taking a picture.

"She's just as mean as Mr. Aizawa," Aoyama whined. He curled into a ball, tears slipping out. The whole class groaned. 

Uraraka was next to try. She held out her arms, which Kohaku reluctantly went into. It took Yaoyarozu giving Kohaku the rabbit to hold.

"You wanna go for a ride?!" Uraraka grinned then activated her quirk. It was a moment before Kohaku could process what was happening. But when she realized she was floating high above the others she began to cry.

"Uraraka! Put her down!!" Ojiro yelled.

Uraraka panicked, flailing for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!"

When Uraraka released her, Kohaku fell right into Shoji's arms. Which she did not like very much. Kohaku wailed loudly, clearly not a fan of the multi-limbed hero. Mineta panicked and began trying to juggle some of his balls.

Ashido marched over, swiftly taking Kohaku. "Gimme her, you guys don't know anything about babies! It's okay, sweetie, Auntie Mina is here to save you from these idiots."

She sat down, Kohaku in her lap. Then started making faces at her. Kohaku's crying eased, and there was a moment of relief as she began to giggle. Though even that was short lived. Ashido decided to take Kohaku on a surf around the room. Only to have her goop splash and melt down Kohaku's newly made rabbit. That led to another bout of crying.

"And who were you just calling idiots?" Kaminari asked snidely.

Ashido whined. "Shut up, Denki! It was an accident! Here! - Tsu, you take her!"

"Me?" she asked, pointing to herself. But Kohaku was already in her arms. The two stared at each other. "You can definitely tell she's Mr. Aizawa's daughter."

Kohaku laughed as Asui's tongue hung out of her mouth. She reached for it, tugging, and catching poor Asui off guard. Kohaku stretched and pulled her tongue, gurgling in glee.

"Do you want me to take her, Tsu?" Midoriya offered. Kohaku has been playing with her tongue for five minutes at that point. Anyone could tell how uncomfortable she was.

Asui nodded. "Thanks."

"C'mere, little Kohaku," he cooed, trying to pull Kohaku off. She didn't want to let go. No matter how much he tugged and pulled. Asui even tried to retract her tongue.

Aizawa snapped a picture of the tongue of war.

Finally, Kohaku let go. But so did Midoriya. Everyone watched in horror as the baby went flying.

"What the hell, Deku, you dunce?!" Bakugo growled. 

Kohaku smooshed against the wall, then sprang back, careening towards the floor. She began to laugh and sprang off the floor as Sero and Kaminari hit heads trying to catch her.

"That's right!" Iida announced. "Mr. Aizawa said she can turn into rubber and bounce. - But she'll get exponentially faster. We have to catch her before she becomes too fast to see." 

"We better do it soon, look!" The sleeve of Hagakure's uniform pointed up at the training terrain. Kohaku was bouncing off one level then the other. Shota dodged expertly as she passed him, she was nothing but a blur.

A few went to catch her, but she even escaped Iida's swiftness. Soon there was nothing but ominous bouncing and maniacal giggles echoing. No baby in sight.

"We're too late," Tokoyami shouted. "It's going to be impossible to catch her now."

Jiro kneeled. "Not impossible. Hanta, when I signal -" 

Sero nodded, readying to shoot. Jiro plugged into the floor hearing every place she hit. The floor, the wall, the terrain, the ceiling…

"There!" she shouted, pointing to a space in the air.

Sero shot tape. To everyone's surprise, it wrapped around something. Kohaku appeared, pulling him with her velocity before she sprang back and hit him. Knocking them both to the floor. Kohaku cooed happily from her spot on Sero's chest. He gave a weak smile and a thumbs-up, trying to get the wind back in him. 

Kirishima went and picked her up. He grinned at her. But she seemed unsure of his pointed teeth. "That's an awesome power you got, little dude! Mine's not half as cool." 

He hardened himself up and Kohaku was instantly mesmerised. She turned herself into diamond. Clinking her hands against his hard skin, sputtering out happy gurgles. 

"Really? That's all it took?" Hagakure wondered.

Something strange began to happen the longer Kirishima played with Kohaku. She began to deform her skin. Eventually, it writhed and wriggled. Her whole body trembled. She took partial form once, twice - three times. Kirishima stared in awe as she settled on her final form.

"Oh wow!" He held Kohaku up to face his teacher. "Hey! Mr. Aizawa, look! She has a new ability!"

For the first time in over an hour, Shota joined his students. They all crowded around to what happened. In Kirishima's arms sat a baby that looked to be made of rock. Her skin was hard and rough, even crunchy! It had ridges, similar to Kirishima's when he hardened all the way up. Shota snapped a picture of the pair. 

Kohaku laughed, reaching for her father. Shota was surprised to find she was very dense. Not impossible to hold like the metal baby. But she felt like a small boulder. Very weighty and sturdy.

"Look at you," Shota chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I'm very proud of you, Kohaku."

Kohaku went back to normal. Shota wrinkled his nose as soon as she did. He held her slightly away from him. Apparently all that effort to change made her soil her diaper. He wasn't the only one that smelled it. A few others were covering their noses. Some even gagging.

"I'm going to change her. I'll be back in a few minutes." Shota took her to a side room with the diaper bag. He decided it was time to give his wife a call.

"Hey," she croaked as the line crackled to life.

"You sound worse than this morning," he noted grimly. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

[Name] coughed. "Of course. I've had three glasses of water today. Plus I've been downing cough drops like candy."

"Drink more. I'll pick you cold medicine on my way home from work."

"I can go get it, you have Kohaku -"

Shota rolled his eyes. "I can handle her all on my own."

"Has she been good today?"

He grinned to himself. "Exceptional. I'm changing her now, so I thought I would call and check in on my lovely wife."

"I can't wait for you guys to get home," [Name] admitted. "It's unnerving how quiet it is. And I haven't been away from Kohaku this long before. I keep thinking I hear her crying."

"You need some rest." Shota frowned. "I'll call you again before we leave. We love you."

[Name] sighed in defeat, much too tired to argue. "I love you both, too. I'll talk to you later."

Shota hung up and finished changing Kohaku. He washed his hands, then took her back to the gym. "Are you ready to continue play time?"

All of his students had a new heir of determination. They'd seen what she could do now. Shota didn't know if they'd come up with a plan, or we're just being over confident.

"You have just over an hour until the end of the day," he announced. "So let's make this interesting."

"Wait - didn't Mina destroy one of her toys?" Midoriya asked. The class paled in realization. "Shouldn't we be out?"

Shota shook his head. "The toy Ashido melted down was made by Yaoyarozu. It wasn't one I brought with us. So you all haven't failed - for now. At the moment, only Todoroki and Kirishima are safe -"

"Why is shitty hair safe?!" Bakugo blazed.

"He helped her realize a new ability. I think that's a feat that deserves to be rewarded."

Kirishima grinned. "Awesome! Thanks, Mr. Aizawa!"

"Which leads me to the next part." This whole, honestly, couldn't have gone any better. This was better than he'd originally planned. "I want to see if anyone else can help Kohaku develop her quirk. As long as she isn't hurt, you can try to encourage her any way you see fit. The offer from earlier still stands. Anyone who succeeds is given extra credit, if you win. And gets to skip Midnight's, most likely elicit, sex education class, should you fail. - Your time begins now."

Shota put Kohaku down. She immediately went to Kirishima and rocked up. He hardened up himself as he picked her up.

"Maybe it isn't manly, but you're just so adorable," he said and gave her a little squeeze. 

"Oi, shitty hair!" Bakugo raged, marching over. "How is anyone else supposed to get a chance if you don't put the brat down?!"

"Insult my daughter again, Bakugo," Shota warned, eyes glowing. "And you'll wish Nemuri's class was the worst thing in your future."

Bakugo huffed. "Yeah, whatever."

"So…." Kirishima chuckled awkwardly. "Who wants to go first?"

"I'll give it a go!" Sato stepped forward, downing a thing of sugar. Kohaku was unimpressed as he powered up and flexed some. He gave up pretty quickly.

"It's okay, you tried your best," Ashido encouraged as he passed her. 

Kaminari stepped up next, flashing electricity in the palm of his hand. Kohaku seemed to enjoy the show, but there was no sense that she was trying to change. 

"Oh, c'mon," Kaminari groaned. "Don't you want to be an electric baby?"

"So she can fry herself and be as dumb as you?" Jiro teased. "I think not."

"Alright then, you give it a go!" Kaminari slunk away dejectedly.

Jiro and Kohaku exchanged a long glance. Then she extended her earphone jacks towards her. However Jiro retracted them immediately as Kohaku reached for them.

"Sorry, Kohaku," she said and jerked thumb behind her. "But you're not doing to me what you did to Tsu."

"You all aren't doing it properly," Iida scolded, stepping forward. "Allow me to demonstrate. Kirishima, put her down."

Kirishima did as he was asked. Kohaku was not very pleased. She went back to normal as she eyed Iida.

"Look here, little one," Iida instructed. He showed off his leg engines, revving them for show. Kohaku tilted her head. 

Iida took a sprint around the room. Then came to a stop in front of her again. Kohaku laughed at that, reaching her arms out. 

Iida shook his head. "Now you try."

Kohaku pouted. Kirishima laughed. "She wants you to pick her. Maybe if you took her on a run with you?"

Iida glanced between his classmate and the baby. Finally, he sighed and picked her up. He tucked her to his chest with one arm, then took off into a sprint. Shota had a feeling her hair was going to be a big knotted mess afterwards.

Kohaku looked slightly green as they came to a stop. Iida put her down, then gave her a small lecture on how his engines work. How she could incorporate them. But, honestly, she was a baby. So of course the whole thing was lost to her.

"You do know that's not how children work, right?" Uraraka asked.

Ashido crouched in front of her, conjuring a whole hand of grey mush. "How about you become a slime baby for Auntie Mina?"

"You sound stupid," Bakugo snapped. "Stop calling yourself that."

Ashido threw the slime at him. "Why don't you shut up?! Nobody asked you!"

It took a few people to cool him down. The sound as his hands began to pop got Kohaku's attention. She crawled right past Ashdio, who was still trying to coax out a slime baby. Kohaku sat staring up at Bakugo, watching as his hands crackled.

"What're you looking at?" he snapped, glaring at her. 

Kohaku stood as the popping stopped, and pulled one of his hands into her own. She looked closely at his palm and then flipped his hand over. She seemed dissatisfied. Kohaku made a soft pa, pa, papa, pa.

Bakugo frowned. "What are you doing?" 

"I think she wants you to use your quirk again," Sero pointed out. Kohaku continued to make the soft pa, papa, pa, pa, paap.

Bakugo sighed. But he did crouch to her height. "I need my hand back to make them pop."

Kohaku seemed to understand and immediately let go. Bakugo took a step away and lit his hands up for her. Kohaku squeezed in glee. She threw her hands up, making louder pa, papa, pa, pa!! She began running around again. Kohaku ran back through the terrain.

"Oh, way to go, Bakugo!" Mineta groaned. "You scared her. Now she's going to get out!"

"Shut it, extra," Bakugo snapped. "I didn't scare her."

"Not with his quirk, anyway," Kaminari snickered quietly. Bakugo turned to him, blazing.

Everyone went back up and over. Kohaku was nowhere in sight.

"Oh no, we lost her!" Ashido exclaimed. "I am not sitting through Miss. Midnight's class with you people!"

"She's not lost!" Midoriya exclaimed. "Look, over there!"

He pointed down by the far wall. Sure enough, Kohaku looked ready to go through it. 

"We won't reach her in time," Todoroki said.

Midoriya launched off. "I got her."

Unfortunately he went right through. Smacking face first into the wall.

"Idiot, Deku!" Bakugo took off after. "I'm not going to fail babysitting because of you!"

He landed, popping his hands again. Kohaku turned to him. She crawled over Midoriya, going to sit and watch the show.

"Wow, Bakugo is surprisingly good with kids," Ashido said, faintly.

Everyone dropped down to sit by Kohaku. There wasn't much time left. They just had to keep her entertained for a little while longer.

"Hey, Todoroki! Why don't you make some snow?!" Hagakure cheered.

Kaminari looked incredibly confused. "What?"

"Do you really think that will work?" Kirishima asked.

Hagakure nodded, even though no one could see it. "Sure, nobody can resist playing in the snow!"

Todoroki touched his hand to the floor. It iced up. Then a large flow started, not quite freezing all the way. Bakugo was not pleased as it crashed over him, dousing his flames. Kohaku's head popped out of the snow. She giggled happily as she looked around.

"What the hell, Half and Half?!" Bakugo yelled, melting the slush around him.

Kohaku crawled through the snow. She started taking chunks in her hand and compressing them. Everyone was a little confused when it congealed into ice. Until Kohaku started to tremble again. She stretched and jellied and shook. Then, finally, took form. This time, she looked to be made of ice. 

Shota snapped another picture. "Maybe we should let her see quirks in use more often."

"Aw, man, that's not fair!" Mineta whined.

"I mean, of course Todoroki would be good at this. He's good at everything." Hagakure shrugged. 

For the first time, Kohaku seemed to notice her. Just a uniform with no body seeming to be attached. Kohaku wandered over to her. She put her hands on where Hagakure's face should be. She was definitely surprised there was something there.

The disturbed look on Kohaku's face faded quickly. She patted Hagakure's face a few more times. Then began to shake again. She flickered a few times.

"This is amazing," Uraraka said in awe. "How do you think she's catching on to quirks so fast?"

"Observation, I suppose," Iida noted. "Look!"

Finally, Kohaku managed to flicker all the way out. Just a t-shirt and pants. She giggled to herself. Hagakure picked her up and hugged her tightly.

"I feel so flattered," she cried.

Bakugo grumbled. "She probably would've picked up my quirk, if you extras hadn't distracted her! Then she'd a real power!"

"No offense, Bakugo. But the last thing Mr. Aizawa and nurse [Name] need is another one of you," Kaminari said.

Bakugo was ready to argue again. A few people scrambled to cool him down. Shota admired the scene as they fought. Kohaku was coming along quite well. Better than he'd expected. He and [Name] had been afraid to let Kohaku around people while using their quirks. But he was starting to see how it's be beneficial to her.

Sure, there were things she'd figured out on her own. But she was very smart for her age. And her abilities with her quirk, the control, the range - it would make her something of a prodigy. He would have just to make sure to lead her down a good path. But not feel like she was being forced to do anything she didn't want to.

Shota wondered if any of the other hero courses would mind the exercise. That way Kohaku could be exposed to more, so she could learn. He'd have to have his wife take her to sit with the class beforehand. So she knew them. Then he'd take on the day of exercise. Just in case her quirk needed erasing.

"Enough of this," Iida yelled, finally. "We've nearly completed the exercise. Just a few more minutes, then you can argue about this outside."

Bakugo huffed. Kohaku became visible again and wriggled out of Hagakure's grasp. She went back to Bakugo. Pa, pa, pa!

"Yeah, pa," he groaned. He lit his hands up. But everyone nearly ran as Kohaku became an inferno. The flames were wild. Blazing and licking at people. She tottered from side to side. Melting the snow Todoroki had created.

As she tried to run off, fire still uncontrollable, Shota thought it was time to step in. He leapt down and joined his students.

"That's enough, Kohaku," he scolded. His eyes glowed and his hair flowed around him. Her flames were immediately doused. She tried to flick them back on a few times. But nothing worked. She wailed as she realized she couldn't do it anymore. "If you can't use your quirk responsibly, then you aren't going to use it at all."

Shota picked Kohaku up. She must've been getting tired from using her quirk, and playing so much the last few hours. She was getting cranky. But Shota knew she'd zonk in the car seat on the way home.

"We're calling it early, Kohaku is tired," Shota said. He wanted to add and so am I, to the end of it but refrained. "I'm proud of how each and every one of you did today. Surprisingly, you all passed. Congratulations. You're better with children than I thought."

"So - no Midnight?!" Ashdio asked excitedly.

Shota shook his head. "No, you saved yourselves. Barely."

"Uh, should someone take Deku to Recovery Girl?" Asui asked, leaning over his slumped form by the wall. "I think he knocked himself out earlier."

"Asui, you and Uraraka take Midoriya to the nurse's office while I finish up here."

Uraraka went and lightened up Midoriya, then her and Asui made their way out the door. 

"Todoroki, Kirishima, Hagakure, Bakugo - you all get extra credit. If you don't need, or want it, you're more than welcome to give it to someone else. Just let me know who."

"I know exactly what I'm using mine for!" Hagakure cheered.

"C'mon, man," Kaminari groaned, tugging at Bakugo's sleeve. "I know you have perfect grades! Give me your credit!"

Bakugo glared. "Get off me!" 

Kirishima awkwardly went up to his teacher. He grinned shyly. "Hey, Mr. Aizawa, if you ever want a babysitter, I'd be more than happy to watch Kohaku. Whenever you need."

"I'm sure she'd like that. I'll keep that in mind," Shota noted. And he would. Kohaku really seemed to like him, and he and his wife hadn't gone on a date in ages.

"Mr. Aizawa, is that all for today's exercise?" Iida asked. "Are we free to go?"

"Yes. But first - I just wanted to say thanks to all of you," Shota started. "You all did well handling her. There doesn't seem to be a scratch on her. She's learned a lot, but still has a long way to go. I know she'll keep today with her, even when she's older." Shota checked the time. They really had made it to the end of the day without an incident. "You're all free to go."

"Hey, Mr. Aizawa," Ashido started as the group left the facility. "Why did you bring Kohaku today?"

"Because even nurses have sick days." 

Kohaku slept on the way home, and while in the store. Shota couldn't wait to get home and tell his wife about his day. The one he'd planned all for her. He was sure she'd cry laughing so hard. It was all worth it if he could cheer her up, even a little bit.

The house was dark and quiet when they got in. He didn't bother flicking on any lights. Just in case it woke up Kohaku. Instead just setting down his things and going to look for his wife. She was curled up in their bed asleep in a mountain of tissues, some DVD rolling credits on her laptop. Shota laughed to himself. 

He moved everything and laid Kohaku down next to her mother. His stories would have to wait. For the time being, it was family nap time. That was truly the perfect ending to the day.

~

Taglist

@spiderwinchester @sinclairsamess  @dudesorriso @burningdragonfarmpainter @just-a-generic-username

 @lucinda-barnes-black @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy @heathers-inner-thoughts @cherraybomb @give-a-rookie-a-cookie @babayaga67 @asaucecoveredsomething @izzythefanfreak @blazelover132 @jacobsmemesibling @theravencawsatmidnight  

[ladyyatexel]

I Went On A Manga Binge

So you don't have to

For those of you who have wisely avoided the shreds of it I've left around the blog thus-far, I had some weird notion to go re-experience Yu-Gi-Oh uuuuuh a week ago? We'll go with that. Time is meaningless.

I'd been able to read a good portion of the early manga at the end of highschool, and somewhere in my stacks and stacks of paper is fanart from this dark time, so you know I cared. I also still own a Dark Magician action figure somehow, so. I'd also watched a large portion of the anime with my brother because it had been laced with some kind of crack and we couldn't look away? I remember when we both were just like shit, wait, don't change the channel, I can't stop looking at it. And the next thing we knew we were waiting for new episodes and I was doing research on the Japanese original because I was that kid.

Anyway, unnecessary backstory out of the way, here are some... let's call them Observations and Consequences of having read somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 chapters (and growing) of a manga primarily hinged on card games from a spectrum of sources ranging from boringly lawful to sketchy as fuck.

Surprise actual character that develops in typical shounen fashion being Jounouchi. My limited experiences with the 4Kids dub and only early manga had not painted him in a particularly good light. I don't know if episodes were being aired out of order or if I had just missed the ones that established that he was making shit up as he was going along, but Wow I liked him a lot more going through the manga than I ever did watching the (dubbed, heavily edited and censored and thrown into a slurry machine) anime. I'd managed to come out with the impression that he was just as reasonably experienced with the game as Yugi back in the day. Wild.

I'm now reading every single comic-style post on Tumblr backwards.

Striking inverse to first point, wow, I don't like Seto Kaiba. Though he gets points for his general philosophy of the future, and the line I read in my sketchy online combo of scans and scanlations in which he said, "If God is in your way, you run him down," was Metal As Fuck. I somewhat shame-facedly admit to enjoying him a lot more as an Abridged Series character. (I watched Abridged as it came out back in the day! The experience of watching the anime with my brother had been so fresh that I got all the in jokes about the way things were edited and dubbed, it was great. Series remains influential part of my life to this day, which is hella weird.)

I almost understand how Duel Monsters works now. I don't want this.

That said, wow a lot of the decisions made in the anime made everything a lot more ridiculous than the admittedly already ridiculous original. I got the distinct feeling in the manga that the Duelist Kingdom stuff we were seeing was designed to be used and exploited in ways that don't make sense in an actual cardgame just played on a table like a normal person and this was part of testing everyone to think higher, differently. Maybe this is obvious to everyone already, I don't know. I had always liked that it was very, 'Not so fast, I'm going to blow up the moon to change the tides,' but I'm not really sure the anime gave enough explanation that this was an extra layer added to things for that event? You can see people actively getting used to it in the books, and people who aren't considering the real or 3D nature of it getting owned, but my memory of anime version is everyone just like, 'oh, shucks, fuck me, I forgot to consider the phase of the moon before i played this card, can't believe I forgot.' No one calls Yugi on any of this stuff because it's valid play in that situation. Plus Yami Yugi had mad trickster energy in the beginning and it suited him to think of ways to do things inside these little simulation boxes the way it suited him to set perverts on fire. I imagine the real card game trying to emulate this element as something that would be to its detriment, but I neither know nor particular care haha

Ryou Bakura.

Really, though. I think he became kind of casualty of 'wow, we have a lot of characters who really aren't able to do anything in this story anymore,' despite the fact that his whole inner life could have been as interesting as Yugi's. I always like thinking about the possibilities of stories in which main character falls into magical world and is given magical item and told they're the hero and then they find out they've been the bad guy the whole time. The first several volumes of manga were about the quiet weirdo kid that no one talked to who was always blacking out and turning into a fucked up version of himsef because he was so attached to his ancient Egyptian jewelry, so like, Bakura could have much the same shit going on. I want to know what's happening with him so much. He clearly doesn't love being possessed, but he's also so drawn to the ring. Despite it having stabbed him at least twice and him knowing it's a danger to him and his friends, he keeps being pulled back into it. You see so much more of him being like, 'Oooh, a creepy thing, I love that! :D' in the manga than ever in the anime, which I'm all about. Also more blood. I'm very about that as well. Though my memory of the anime also made it look very much like normal regular daily Bakura was just a weird facade in places before he ever would have been. I think that was it trying to compensate for what people didn't see from the Toei anime, but okay whatever, that I love everything about this guy is not news, I don't need to talk about Bakura excessively here, I'm pretty sure that's gonna show up on my blog by itself

On a related note though, damn, more of these people need to talk to each other. Can we have some existential crisis support clubs or something. Can we get like some apologies or something? "I respect you as a duelist." "Cool, but you literally built a tower designed to specifically assassinate me and my friends? You were supposed to get Better after I retaliated by putting you in a coma, but you kinda didn't." "Why would the coma have made it better" "I just told you it didn't" ---- "Sorry I went along with the plan of your evil parasite stabbing you, misled you, and then also jumped in and took up some real estate in your head too." "I understand, I also have an evil thing inside me that does things while I'm blacked out." "...no, I was conscious for all of that." "Oh." "..." "..." "..." "Do you like Ouija Boards?" "sure okay" ETC. Like damn we are reading shounen manga because no one is talking extensively about their feelings here and I'm tapping my foot angrily.

Holy shit there are so many mythologies happening at once. The ancient family guarding the Egyptian Pharaoh has a surname that's a Mesopotamian goddess. None of the god cards make any Egyptian sense except Ra, and just like. Baaarrrrely. Somewhere either Evil Ring Bakura or Mar/lik makes a reference to cremation and spirits being taken to heaven with smoke which several things, but definitely not Ancient Egyptian. Marik/Malik meanwhile is clearly trying to head Arabic, along with Rishid, but then, hey, our sister is just Isis. Goddess McGoddess. Sometimes they're the same goddess! Her name could be Isis Isis or Ishtar Ishtar. Meanwhile, all the obviously 'occult because Christians think it is freaky' stuff. ~ancient egyptian pentagrams~~~This isn't a complaint, I guess so much as a 'Wow, I can kind of see the cultural spot the author was coming from and where he was aiming' kind of thing.

Wonder where things would have gone if the card games had not been latched onto the way they were.

Managed to forget how gross the pre-cardgames stuff was on the sexual harassment front. I'm glad there was a sort of explanation of everyone drifting away from being dick heads and that that decision was made. It got way more comfortable to read after no one was bringing Yugi p*rn on VHS.

Yugi looks better with a nose, glad we got that upgrade.

Interesting to watch the series style shift as it goes away from being horror to being over the top cardgames and friendship (with blood!). The first picture of Mokuba is fucking Jarring. Also noticed that the nicer a character is, the less their teeth are defined.

Glad manga did not go as completely off the fucking the rails about Marik's face. I never got as far as seeing him back in the day because college occurred, but I remember seeing pictures and stuff and being like, "what in the Fuck happened to that dude, I think the house style has collapsed in on itself"

Things the author Really Likes: motorcycles, belts, SHOES, holy shit the shoes. These are some of the most lovingly rendered sneakers I've ever seen. All the detail on his characters goes straight to their feet and then it's stretched upward until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold in 3000 years of trauma and bake face down in a crumb coat of scattered mythology. Remove when you roll two zeros.

Where the fuck am I going to put the extremely large omnibus volumes of this comic I purchased in order to balance out how much I would be reading for free on the internet. I should have grasped that a three in one edition would be Thick and yet somehow I was still :O when it arrived. Have I strategically purchased volumes that contain my favorite parts, maybe, what's it to you will i eventually get the whole thing because incomplete book series gnaw on my soul? yes

Wish the transition from "I've murdered several people in delightfully karmic ways" to "all you need is friendship in your heart and cards in your hand" Yami Yugi/Pharaoh had been discussed more/transitioned better. Buddy, where did you get this approved for television high horse? Please go back to strangling people with yo-yos or at least tell me why you stopped.

I still can't tell anything that looks like a big robotic monster apart from any other big robotic monster. My dude, I can't tell cars apart, all these monsters look the same.

Yami Yugi fascinated me way more in highschool? Maybe because it was still super early and the anime was like 'we need to torture you about his origins WeEkLy. Now I'm just like 'wait hold on, can we go back to Bakura and Marik for a minute, there's some extreme unpacking to do here?' Those two are paying so much more in baggage fees here my guy wow

Violently uninterested in any of the spinoff media

[joshslater]

Breeder

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon. (Repost without the photo from another tumblr post)

I can’t remember the last time I came that much. Pump after pump of cum up his ass, and as I pulled out, one final squirt between his butt cheeks just to make more of an impression. I looked at his tight, pink T-shirt, his tight, leaking asshole, his smooth, slim legs, and his white calf-high Nike socks. “Fuck, I needed this so badly,” I exhaled and threw myself down on the bed next to him. It was my fault he was almost fully dressed, just barely out of his shorts. When we entered his apartment my juices were almost spilling over. We just kicked off our shoes and I started to grope him while we quickly moved to his bedroom. It had been such a stressful couple of weeks with tons of extra hours. Every day I felt drained of all energy the moment I stepped back into my apartment and hadn’t even had the energy to masturbate since… I don’t even remember. A month? More?

“I could tell,” he said, turning his head sideways looking at me. He was cute, even now that post ejaculation clarity had set in. My eyes had landed on him almost immediately once inside the bar. The radiant blue adidas baseball cap that we wore backward on top of his dirty blonde, shaggy hair and boyish face pulled me in. He was thin, so for him to have such tight clothes he probably shopped in the kids’ section. Just what I was looking for. A tiny twink I could just manhandle and drive hard. Kind of made me feel bad now for how one-sided that fuck must have been.

“I’m… It’s just with everything I haven’t been around much lately.” “Hey, don’t worry about it. We got plenty of time, if you want.”

He was still wearing the backward baseball cap as he lied on his front, looking at me with intense eyes. He wasn’t cute. He was gorgeous. Had I spent more time looking at his face than his butt walking to his place and his back being here I would have noticed earlier, but my dick had made all the decisions up until now. God, he must still be leaking cum into his bed given the size of the load I dumped in him. I wanted to tell him, to help him clean up.

He was biting his lip, still piercing me with his look. “Have you ever played puppy?” That came as a surprise. I’ve never understood that kink, and not just because I always top. I know some tops enjoy barking orders to a pup, or even dress up as an alpha dog, but it’s never been a thing I’ve understood nor at all considered.

“Can’t say that I have.” “Wanna try?”

He propped himself up on his arms, knuckles under his chin, elbows into the mattress. He was back to looking sweet and cute. I felt like I kind of owed him, but it’s not like I was doing him a favor either. Worst case it was nothing interesting and I could check another thing off the list.

“Sure, why not.” “Yass. I’ll get the things.”

He jumped out of bed and hurried out of the bedroom. If it wasn’t for the age check at the bar I wouldn’t have guessed him to be over 17. I assume he has a lot of creams in his bathroom and a strict diet. But then I would never miss a day at the gym. Different things are important to different people. “Take off your clothes” he shouts from another room somewhere. I slowly got up, and couldn’t help to look at the wet spot on the bed sheet where his ass had been.

I took off my jeans, my socks, my watch, and my shirt. I was just about to step out of my jockstrap when came back into the bedroom. “Keep that on for now.” I did as he said. This was his scene to direct. “Put these on.” He handed me a pair of leather wrist cuffs. Up until now it wasn’t clear who would play what role, though I had kind of assumed I would play the dog. Was I the dog? Would he also be a dog? I was kind of liking the uncertainty. The leather cuffs were high quality, and about as easy to secure as you could hope for when doing it on yourself. “And these,” he said as he gave me a pair of thigh straps, also leather. They were easy to secure, though I had no idea where this was going. He was rummaging in one of the drawers for something, and finally found a bottle of what I assumed to be lube. He proceeded to squeeze out a generous amount on the butt plug part of a tail plug. I’ve never seen one in person before. The plug part wasn’t that big, but the tail was huge.

“Now, get on all four.” I dropped down onto the floor. I was actually a bit anxious about this. I’m not an anal virgin, but I haven’t done a lot. I don’t even own a dildo myself. He walked behind me and I braced for impact, but he put the plug on a table and picked up something else. He crouched next to me and attached the wrist cuff with the thigh strap using a short chain with two metal clasps. Then he did the same on the other side. I wasn’t really sure what the purpose of the chains was. It would make moving around a bit awkward, but not stopping me from standing up or anything. He then positioned himself behind me and stuck a lubed finger up my ass and begun to wiggle it. “Not used to this, I feel.” He was damn right, but I was determined to take it like a man. He removed his finger and picked up the butt plug

I could feel him press the plug gently against my asshole, probing it lightly, only to then make a surprise, hard push and shove it all in at once. As soon as the sphincter grabbed it and pushed it into place I knew something was wrong. A shudder went like a wave through the body, and I yelped like a hurt puppy, surprising myself. I tried to cover my mouth as a reflex, but my armed yanked my leg, tripped myself despite already being on all four, and face planted on the carpet. “What the fuck!” I wanted to say, but what came out was an inarticulate “Whaaaff”. Getting real scared now I got up on all four again and frantically struggled to stand up, but somehow the body wouldn’t comply. It was like I couldn’t really grasp how to do it. I realized I was whimpering when he began to stroke me, petting my head like the back of a dog. “There, there. Calm down. There is nothing you can do about it now.”

He stood up and stepped away, while I was trying to figure out what was going on. I took a  step forward using my right arm and leg. That worked. I took another step with my left arm and leg. My mind was a whirlwind like I couldn’t focus on anything. I wanted to stand up, but how could you stand up if you are already standing? I let out an “Aooo” of frustration. He was back by my side again with something in his hands. What was his name? Did he ever even tell me his name? “Here, this should make you calmer” He stroked the back of my head a few times, and as much as I hated it, it was soothing. I then felt something cold. He was putting a chain around my neck, and then clasped a leash to it. I don’t know why, but suddenly the noise in my head went silent.

“Good boy!” He stroked my head again. “Let’s go to the door and clean up your mess. Heel!” We started walking out of his bedroom and down his short hallway toward the door.  My shoes laid randomly dropped on the floor, and a third shoe. It was one of his. A bright blue Nike air max shoe. The other one was neatly placed next to a row of other shoes. “Did you do that?” he asked and pointed at his shoe. “Bad puppy! Get it.” I raced ahead and bit into the heel of the shoe. It was still warm and smelled of his foot. It wasn’t that cheesy smell of reused socks or the sour note of workout sweat, but a light, earthy smell of everyday feet. Almost a bit like hay. “You like that?” I realized I was breathing in heavily with my nose in his sneaker, biting the ankle collar. I froze. I felt shame. Like I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

“Haha, it’s OK,” he said, and ruffled my hair. He proceeded to grab the other two shoes while I placed his sneaker on the floor and tried to dig my face into the opening. I didn’t get very far, but I manage to lick the inside bottom of the shoe. As it turned moist it released more fragrance. I could imagine him out on the streets, sweating during a hot day. Perhaps dashing to catch a ride. It wasn’t a pungent smell, but it was virile. It was the smell of someone with stamina. Then he stole it from me. “Hey, we have more cleanup to do.” I whined as he placed his shoe next to his other one.

Then he dropped on all four too and displayed his ass for me. “You left a mess here.” He didn’t have to say more as I attacked his butt cheeks with my tongue to clean them from my drying cum. It didn’t take many licks to clean him up around the butt hole. I then proceeded to lick the butt and to try to get my tongue as far up his ass as I could. While the taste was all mine, I kept breathing in his scent. It wasn’t at all as rewarding as the shoe. He was clean, had a citrus and cedar tree cologne, and hadn’t sweated much during our brief sex. I wished I would have worked him up harder. I know I could have made him exhausted from pleasure if I wanted to. He must have been squeezing now because my cum just kept coming out of him.

Abruptly he got up, mid lick. “Aw, you’re so hungry. Puppy needs food,” he said and walked into his small kitchen. I followed as fast I could. He opened the fridge and pulled out a few Tupperware containers, and dumped the contents into a dog bowl. He placed it on the floor. Brown rice, salmon, and broccoli. “There. Eat it all up. Puppy must stay strong for daddy.” I dove headfirst into the bowl and started to munch down the bowl of fridge-cold diet food. I realized I was starving and somehow this bland mush felt really satisfying. I started at a ferocious pace, but as I got down to the last quarter I was beginning to feel full. While grateful for the food, how could daddy know how much I could eat. Daddy? What was this nonsense? He’s a fuck I don’t even know the name of I picked up at a bar to breed. I was the top dog here, the alpha. This had to stop. I should stand up, take my stuff, and go. But I couldn’t stand up. I was already standing up. In frustration I howled.

He came back into the kitchen. I hadn’t even noticed him gone. He was wearing shorts again, but a different kind. Grey sweatpant shorts. He quickly sat himself down on the floor next to me, with crossed legs. He grabbed me and gently but firmly tipped me over so my head fell into his lap. “Puppy having a bad dream?” he asked. He didn’t sound mocking or sarcastic. His hand was stroking me on the side. I whimpered into his sweatpants. I could smell him again, the scent of a viril young man. I borrowed my head into his crouch and breathed heavily. I could smell his dick. Citrus, cedar, and precum. I began to lick the cotton fabric. “Good boy. Good boy.” I did nothing to his dick, but I could feel mine swelling in the jockstrap.

He gently pushed me away from him, got up, and filled another bowl with tap water. He placed it next to the first bowl. Then he held out one hand in front of me. I had to get up on all four from my lying position to see what was in it. Two white pills, one small and round and one larger and longer.  "Here, take these. They will make you stronger and better.“ I sniffed but all I got was his scent. I licked up both pills in one go and plunged my head into the water bowl to get some water to swallow them with.

He got down on the floor with me again, and started to remove the wrist cuffs and thigh straps, all while stroking me on my back. "I don’t think we need these anymore,” he said. I had no idea what he meant. I was just happy he was touching me. My dick was happy too.

“Come, let’s make you ready for the night,” he said, got up and left the kitchen. I got up on all four and did my best to catch up with him. He walked to his bathroom and opened the door. I rushed to get in before him. “Hey, hey,” he lovingly scolded me. He turned on the light and revealed a large bathroom. Shower, bathtub, washing machine, lots of bottles of shampoo and jars with creams, and a large dog cage. “Sit,” he commanded.

I immediately sat down, pushing the tail plug in a bit. I felt a wave, like a shudder going from the ass through the body. He was looking through the large cupboard. “Ah,” he said and pulled out a small jar. He put on a disposable latex glove, and kneeled in front of my. “Let’s take care of that for you,” he said and freed my dick and balls from the jockstrap. He then dipped a few fingers in the jar and begun to massage some ointment all over my dick and balls. I didn’t recognize the faint smell. I could feel my private parts getting warmer, but if that was the salve or just him rubbing me I couldn’t tell. Then he put everything back into the jockstrap. “Let’s marinate that for a while and tomorrow you will last hours.” I didn’t understand him.

Then he went to the cage and opened it. I could see that the floor of the cage was filled with clothes. T-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, trunks, socks. It all looked like gym clothes, or at last lazy day attire. “Come here, get in your cage.” There was a small part of me that wanted to hesitate, so I didn’t run in but deliberately walked. I could feel my dick and balls heating up as they fully erect rubbed within my jockstrap. As I got close and closer to the cage I could smell it. It somehow made me excited and I sped up my stride the last few steps into the cage. It was just filled with different scents of him. Not citrus or cedar, but him. Socks he had been running in. A T-shirt he had slept in. A pair of sweatpants that had been through a lot. I just kept moving my head all around the cage. In indecision I just laid down and started to wiggle and rub against everything.

He closed and latched the cage door. “Good night, puppy. Dream about fucking me.” He didn’t need to tell me that.

[bulkyphrase]

What if...Tony won in Siberia?: a fic rec list

Do you like angst? Do you like hurt without comfort? Do you ever watch Captain America: Civil War and think "I wish this was way sadder?" Then I have got some stories for you! They all look at what would have happened if Steve and/or Bucky had been killed in the final Siberia fight.

Notes and warnings:

Everything is Team Cap-friendly, so long as your definition of "friendly" includes hurting the fictional characters you love.

Major character death and/or graphic violence warnings for everything.

Tony's depiction in these varies from being a sympathetic character who made a tragic mistake to an out-and-out villain.

I lied in the intro - some of these do have a bit of comfort and healing. They're all still very sad, though.

The list is in chronological order from oldest to newest.

I just got you back by MadamPoptart (Mature, 3166 words)

Summary: “Listen to me. That wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You can’t blame yourself for something that you had no control over.” Steve whispered softly bringing his hands up to cup Bucky’s face “You are worth so much more than this. I hate what they did to you. I hate what they made you do and Buck I wish it was me instead of you. You never deserved this.”

Only the Good Die Old by smithsonianstucky (Explicit, 2567 words)

Summary: Bucky and Steve are quite literally with each other til the end of the line.

(A self indulgent piece from a person who loves to suffer. Based off events in CA:CW)

Everything else is below the cut

If the final fight ended differently… by TheCasualAuthor (General, 817 words)

Summary: Bucky blinks groggily, and quickly gains sense of his whereabouts. He must have passed out for a moment, where he’s lying on the ground. Grunts of pain and exhaustion. The sound of flesh fists hitting metal, and metal fists hitting flesh, ringing off the walls. Steve and the younger Stark fighting. Fighting over Bucky.

STARK SUCCEEDS by foulrescent (General, 1752 words) tumblr: @foulrescent

Summary: The strongest Captain and all of his might, couldn’t put Bucky together again.

And The Seconds Tick Down by Tatsumaki_sama (General, 2666 words)

Summary: AU of Civil War. How the world ended in twenty steps when Steve died.

If I Could Start Again by GloriousBlackout (Teen, 4137 words)

Summary: When the worst case scenario occurs in Siberia, Tony struggles to deal with the consequences of his actions as he comes to learn more about the Winter Soldier's past

Promise Me Forever by Mrgoodbar (Teen, 1785 words) tumblr: @mrgoodbar11213

Summary: Tony fired the repulsor.

“NO!” Steve bellowed.

OR

What would have happened if Bucky died...

The End of the Line by TetrodotoxinB (Not Rated, 2293 words)

Note: I think this is the saddest one.

Summary: The fight in Siberia ends much differently. This is the aftermath.

I guess he's Steve's Pepper by ratkingkelly (Not Rated, 552 words)

Summary: Tony realises some stuff. Oh, I don't know, like how nothing on this earth would give him greater pain than to strip Steve of Bucky Barnes.

Unknown death by csulliven (Teen, 667 words) tumblr: @csulliven

Summary: Captain America disappeared after he went to Siberia. Only four people know what happened to him and only two know the full story.

Purpose by Pixelfun20 (Teen, 16802 words)

Summary: Tony Stark wins the fight in Siberia completely by accident.

Steve Rogers does not resist his arrest as he is taken to the Raft.

Sam Wilson, T'Challa, and Pepper Potts pick up the pieces.

devil's backbone (i just wanna take him home) by bittlebarnes (Mature, 880 words) tumblr: @bittlebarnes

Summary: They lay low, the four of them. When Wanda dyes her hair, she and Natasha can pass for sisters. Steve grows out his hair. Sam sits with him in some dingey motel bathroom with an eight dollar box of hair dye and a broken watch. Steve somehow looks even sadder as a brunette. Sam sticks to hats and dollar store pair of reading glasses. They're enough.

Or

An alternate ending to Civil War.

Try again by Llixale (Explicit, 80702 words)

Summary: If Civil Wars had gone differently

A Different Path by grayscay (General, 5729 words)

Summary: The fight in Siberia turns out very differently.

How long will it take the other Avengers to realize that Tony is the one to blame?

you left me no choice but to stay here forever by OverlyCheerfulRat (Teen, 698 words)

Note: Wait, no, maybe this is the saddest one, actually.

Summary: The least he can do is visit them.

An AU taking place after Civil War- it's not enough to just make superhumans register, they must be contained.

Fixing a Burned Bridge by LucyMayWrites (Teen, 20537 words) tumblr: @lucymaywrites

Note: This one is a little different because no one is killed, but it still fits with the rest. A work in progress.

Summary: What if Tony had come out on top after Siberia? What if Bucky hadn't stopped him from hitting down Steve? What if the Government took Steve and Bucky to the raft prison and began to experiment on Steve for "medical research"? What happens when Tony realizes what he has done and decides that he has to fix his mistake?

[janghoefett]

Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 4

BOBA FETT X PRINCESS F!READER

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ NO MINORS Pairing: F/M Chapter word count: 1.9k

Warnings: f*ngering, oral (m receiving), lots o’ kissing, sneaking around… that’s it?

Okay I know I look like a clown for making a new post, but I realized I had set my Tumblr to a weird setting so nothing was showing up in the tags!!! Trying this again. I know. Hope you enjoy, and thank you to those who have already read!

SERIES MASTERLIST

—————————-

Perhaps Boba had been reckless.

Many people lean on a vice, be it drugs, alcohol… but Boba had no interest in either of those. No, for Boba it was sex. And he should have known better than to sleep with his asset.

Boba was accustomed to quick encounters; women who charged a fee, perhaps other hunters who passed in the night. It was a faceless release. He could imagine whoever, whatever he wanted — if he imagined anything at all. And though Boba Fett never forgot a face, he certainly didn’t carry any of the memories with him.

Boba Fett had no one.

But the girl who smiled at him so sweetly as she placed her life in his hands, who laid the workings of her heart bare, whose little fingers he could still feel intwined in his own… well, for her, Boba knows he is capable of doing terrifying things. And perhaps it was his instinct to get rid of those feelings the only way he knew how: by burying them inside of her.

A bounty hunter had made love to you in the darkness and returned you home as if nothing had happened. If it weren’t for the lingering feeling between your legs and the faint trace of a love bite on your breast the next morning, you would have believed it was a dream.

A week had gone by.

Boba made himself scarce and you rarely had a moment alone together after that night. There was no sign of him the next morning and no sign of where he slept either; you wondered if sleep was a luxury he ever allowed himself.

Jamie started coming by more frequently. Your time together was enjoyable and you found yourself growing closer to your old friend.

But you could hear Boba’s spurs pacing in the other room.

Tss, tss, tss, tss…

With every step you are reminded of him. You wished it was his hand on your thigh, you wished you were resting easy in his lap. You didn’t need Jamie’s drunken anecdotes, you needed Boba’s pensive mind and frank speech.

At least when this was over and he was gone forever, you’d be left with a perfect memory only the two of you would share.

———————————————

It was your engagement party. Or, some kind of party… the families insisted on fanfare to promote “good spirits” and to let Arcada know that things were on the mend. Frankly, you didn’t have the energy for it. You didn’t want to be there, you didn’t want to make small talk, you didn’t want to pretend that anything was alright.

But Boba was there. And you could be at ease knowing he was by your side.

The bounty hunter stands much like the way he did on the day you first met, ominous, completely still except for the way his head tilts to lock you in view. He nods once in acknowledgement.

“Fett,” you manage to choke out.

“Princess.”

Your heart stutters at the cold greeting, but still you both stand in painful silence as roaring chatter fills the air.

You watch Jamie schmooze his way through the crowd as an entourage of girls and scummy guys hang on his every step. Both his parents and your own are seated at a table in deep conversation. Friends, relatives, and those who pretend to be of any importance to you come to give their well wishes and congratulations.

But you weren’t the main attraction, thankfully. There was food and booze and plenty of debauchery to be had at this party for a fake marriage.

You’d take Jamie to bed like he always wanted and you’d let him fuck you to his heart’s content. And you’d enjoy it. You had danced the dance for years together, had many close calls and drunken nights— nights you thought were induced by genuine lust and passion. But you were bored and sad, and stars, you didn’t know what sex could be until he came.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Boba observes, snapping you out of a trance.

You say nothing. There’s so much you want to say, so much you wish you could confide in him.

Boba was like a fucking anesthetic. He knew how to cut you open like a surgeon, and you’d let him. You’d pour your guts out to him like the lost girl that you are and his clear mind and sharp words would put you back together again.

But tonight you just don’t have the words. Your chin wobbles and your breath comes out ragged.

“Mesh’la,” he sighs, so quietly, it’s as if the word reaches through the air and caresses your skin.

It’s a private word, one that leaves him surprisingly vulnerable to you, one that was a stark reminder from that night.

“Can we— can we get out of here?” you ask.

“As you wish.”

———————————————————

You ended up in a closet.

Boba shoots out the door’s control panel, and the moment his helmet comes off you are breathing each other in, pressing tentative kisses against each other’s lips. It’s heady and desperate but you cling to Boba as if your life depends on it. His strong arms prop you up on a table and he’s all over you, lips working eagerly against your skin, as his helmet rests at your side.

“You want me to touch you?” he rasps darkly.

“Uh huh.”

You lift your skirt up and Boba uses his hands to lift your legs up and back, grinding himself against you.

“I’m going to need you to be quiet for me, princess,” he breathes in your ear. “Think you can?”

You nod eagerly, accepting another open-mouthed kiss from the bounty hunter. His fingers rub you soothingly, moving your underwear to the side, before slipping two digits inside of your wet cunt.

Your exhale raggedly. Boba grunts involuntarily; he wasn’t being pleasured, no, but the feeling of your tightness on his fingers alone was enough to make his cock twitch.

“Has the prince ever done this to you, little one?”

“N-no…”

Boba curses under his breath, curling his thick fingers into you.  You whimper quietly. “That’s it, mesh’la. Tell me what you like.”

You reach instinctively for the bulge in his pants, barely ghosting your fingertips against the metal codpiece in silent want. Boba’s hands leave you only for a moment to free himself, using the moment to pull your panties down and off in a swift motion. His hand comes back to work with a vengeance.

Boba’s fingers provide that pure, unadulterated pleasure that can only make you feel good; it was the kind that came without the tinge of pain like the prick of his thick cock, it was like velvet was coursing through your veins as he chased your high.

Boba’s motions become more intense, more hurried. His thumb comes to your clit and you clench around his fingers, snapping your thighs closed against his hips.

“Oh shit!” you gasp.

Boba stops his motions and, slowly, places a finger against your lips. “Quiet, princess,” he chides you darkly.

Boba’s fingers continue their work, establishing a new rhythm. Your hips can’t help but move against his hand in search of your release and still your hands work at his cock. He growls quietly; it’s a strangled sound, one that you can feel in his body by the way he tenses.

“Please, Boba…” you whine.

His skin burns hot and smells of musky soap, and you press your cheek firmly against his neck, nuzzling into grind of his stubble.

“Let go, little one,” Boba grumbles. “I’ve got you.”

It’s sex. Just sex.

That’s what you tell yourself when Boba’s hand fists your hair so he can see your face as you come on his fingers.

Just sex. Nothing more.

That’s what you tell yourself when he uses his lips to stifle your broken cry of pleasure, letting you sob into his mouth.

Boba removes his fingers and strokes you softly, allowing you to come down from your high. “Did so well, mesh’la…” he whispers against your lips.

“Please fuck me,” you breathe.

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Mmhm,” you whine, bucking your hips against his.

“You’re gonna have to let me fuck you later then, sweet girl,” he smirks. “Can’t now.”

Your legs stay wrapped around his waist as Boba leans forward to kiss your mouth greedily, lewdly, grinding his hard center against yours. Your cunt flutters around nothing, weeping to be filled by something bigger than his fingers, when suddenly he breaks off from your lips.

Boba holds your jaw gently and searches your face. You’re underneath him, panting and exposed, when Boba decides to place his helmet back on. He comes to the side of the table and continues to stroke you, using one hand to rub you gently as the other pets the side of your head.

The bounty hunter was doting on you.

Boba’s dark eyes are hungry, depraved, but a sly smile finally plays across his lips. The sight below him is enough to clear his mind of everything until his thoughts are only of you. Your skin is dewy and heated, your eyes are closed and the smallest sounds of pleasure escape your lips. Boba fumbles for the toggle on the side of his helmet and turns his audio receptors up, increasing the internal volume to the maximum setting — his cock throbs at the result. He can hear every shaky breath, every whispered plea and exertion as if your lips were at his ear.

Your hand jerks his cock lazily from this new angle. It’s heavy and thick; to aid your hand, you eagerly turn your head to bring your watering mouth down on him. You lick up the shaft and nestle your lips around the tip, sucking mindlessly, when Boba suddenly pulls your head back.

“Careful, princess,” he huffs. “Or do you want to walk outside with my cum on your face?”

You laugh softly and bite your lip, your cheeks practically aflame as you blink up at the faceless bounty hunter through your lashes. “Who says I won’t swallow?” you reply.

His reaction would have been well-disguised if his cock hadn’t twitched in your hand in response.

Boba pulls you upright and angles himself between your legs that hang over the edge, pulling your waist flush against his stomach. “I’m too old for games, mesh’la,” he says gruffly, holding your chin. “When can I see you?”

“Tonight,” you pant. “My place.”

Boba nods slowly, tracing your jaw with the back of his finger. “Alright,” he agrees. “Tonight.”

Your hand comes to his side, to the place where his armor leaves him soft and exposed, and your hand runs lightly down the length of his torso. His breathing quells and you can feel the visor looking you over. His rough hands adjust your messed hair and his thumbs wipe the faint traces of sweat and tears from your face, admiring your disheveled state.

The rest of the party is a blur. You don’t dare turn around to look at Boba who trails you like your shadow, slinking behind you like a hunter stalking its prey.

It was going to be a long night.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 21: You, again- Max Phillips

Day 21: You, again - Max Phillips 

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader 

Warning: Cursing 18 + 

A/N: This story was requested by @phoenixhalliwell​ who is one of my favorite people I talk to on Tumblr. She writes some fantastic Triple Frontier stuff so check it out! Also, this is my first time writing for Max Phillips so I hope you enjoy! 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist 

Day 20: Hello - Poe Dameron 

Monday 

“Ugh!” you shout kicking towards the copier. 

“You know if you break it you gotta buy it, sweetheart,” you jump half a foot in the air before turning around gasping at the smirking face of Max Phillips, your boss. 

“FUCK! You scared the shit out of me! I didn’t even hear you come up behind me!” 

“Oh, no are you ok pumpkin?” Oh how much you hated the pet names. 

You roll your eyes before turning back to the infuriating machine, “I’m fine,” you grind your teeth doing your best to ignore him. It was only too much of a wish for him to leave you alone. 

He leans against the copier and smirks at you, “So I was wondering about dinne-” 

“Listen here Mr. Phillips, I am not interested in anything you are offering. So if you could kindly fuck off that would be great, thank you.” 

He pouts, before crossing his arms over his chest, “you know I could fire you for talking to me like th-” 

You cut him off again grabbing your finished copies and facing him, “But you won’t because then you would lose your best salesman and the company would plummet.” You walk away tightly holding your papers to your chest and returning to your desk. Leaving a gaping Max Phillips behind. 

Tuesday

You bob your head along to the music playing from the small speaker at your desk. Fully concentrating on finishing the proposal for Friday when you feel the presence of someone standing behind you. 

You slowly turn in your chair and see Max Phillips creeping over your shoulder at your computer. 

“AHH!” you scream, “You fucking asshole why do you insist on sneaking up on me!” 

He raises his hands in mock surrender, before lowering them. His signature smirk gracing his lips, “I’m not sneaking up on you sweet-cheeks, can I help it if you’re not observant of your surroundings?” 

You scoff rolling away from him. He leans down closer and you can feel his breath against your neck. “I brought you something,” he says quietly. Placing a small white box on your desk. 

You stop typing momentarily before you hesitantly reach for the box. Fully expecting something to jump out at you. You place the lid of the box aside and look puzzled at a new pair of purple earbuds. Yours had broken last week when stupid Evan wasn’t looking where he was going and crushed yours. 

“Purple’s my favorite color...how did yo-” You look around but he’s gone. No trace of Max at all. You tentatively plug them into the small speaker still half expecting them to blow up and when they don’t you place them in your ears. These were a lot nicer than your last ones. Interesting.

Wednesday 

Lunchtime. The one time a day you can escape the freezing office and get some peace. You had made it a habit over the past few months since Max’s arrival to eat in your car with the heat on so you can finally escape the chill. 

You look in the fridge for your lunchbox but it’s gone. You take out every single bag from the fridge before replacing them. Some fucker took your lunch! You stalk like a cheetah throughout the cubicles before you land upon Tim. Who is greedily eating up your Philly cheesesteak leftovers from the night before as he watches cartoons on youtube. 

“Are you fucking serious?!” you shout startling him, “You took my lunch! Why don’t you just eat your own!?” 

“Oh shit, hmm I can explain...oh fuck… I was just so hungry and it was just there. Your not mad right?” he stutters. 

You can feel your blood pressure rise and reach around him to grab your lunchbox, smacking him upside the head with it before storming out. When you reach your car you note the time and scream knowing you don’t have enough time to go get something. Your head hits the steering wheel and you scream again. 

Suddenly a knock sounds from your passenger window and you jump. Looking up into the slightly concerned eyes of your boss. You put a hand to your chest before putting down the window on the right, “I swear to god I think you are trying to murder me by scaring me to death!” 

“Unlock the door,” he tells you and at this point, you can’t think of a good reason not to. 

You click the button and the door unlocks. Max gets in with a loud rustling sound, closing the door behind him. “For the record cupcake, if I wanted to murder you, you would know. No, I saw you in the fridge hunting for food and decided to be a nice boss for once and bring you lunch, you like empanadas right?” 

You look at him like he’s grown an extra head before nodding, “Yes…? They’re my favorite food...how did yo-”

He hands you the container and tucks into the other one himself. Neither of you saying anything. When the clock strikes 11:25 you clean up the small mess you made and lock eyes with Max. His food sits half-eaten in the box and he’s just staring at you. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers but it’s so low your not sure you heard him right.

“What?” you ask.

“I said you’re a mess, here,” he hands you a napkin and you wipe your face. 

“Thank you...for everything,” you tell him smiling softly. 

“Can’t have my best employee starve to death can I?” he takes the containers from your hands before getting out of the car. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. Curious. 

Thursday 

Thirsty Thursday with your old college buddies tonight you decide to dress up for work. Wearing a deep blood red halter dress that stops just above your knees, a black cardigan, and black kitten heels. You can’t help but admire your reflection in the metal walls of the elevator. 

All-day you’d received compliments and it felt damn good but someone was surprisingly absent. The only trace of him you had seen all day was a still-warm guava and cheese empanada on your desk with a note. 

You look ravishing, kitten.

You blush before tucking the note safely into your clutch. When the day finally ends you confidently stalk past his office and you’re disappointed to see it dark. Its occupant already long gone for the day. You shrug, oh well. At least today you didn’t get the shit scared out of you again. 

At the club, your friends are well on their way to being drunk and you take two shots to try to catch up. “LET’S DANCE!” they cheer pulling you toward the lights of the dance-floor. 

You bump, grind, and groove to the music and the liquor flows freely until you find yourself more relaxed than you had been all week. “SHOTS!” your friend shouts heading back over to the table but you’re lost in the rhythm of the music and shout back that you’re staying. 

It only takes a moment before hands snake around your waist and pulls you flush with someone’s back. You gasp when you feel the freezing cold hands pull you tight, and someone’s breath in your ear. “Hi baby,” he whispers in your ear and you melt. Turning around in his arms. 

“You, again. What have I told you about scaring me?” you scoff but don’t move away, taking a step closer. 

He moves his hands up and pushes your hair behind your ears, his hands running down your neck and holding you. His thumbs lazily caressing your cheeks, “it’s not my fault your unobservant of your surroundings doll. But, also I like to keep you on your toes. Always waiting for me to show up. I know you missed me today. I saw you saunter that sweet body past my office before you left...you wanted me to see you.” 

Your cheeks heat and you let out a small puff of air...ah fuck it. 

Closing the distance between you and kissing him softly. You bring your hands up and mess up his perfect hair before he opens to you. He tastes like peppermint and a slight coppery tang and you feel consumed by him. Despite how cold he is you are burning alive. All your senses heightened and you lose yourself in him. The crowded club is gone until it’s only you and him. 

When you finally break to breathe he pulls you close and traces his hands slowly over your curves. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he whispers in your ear, “but every time I got close enough...you would scream and curse at me. Kind of ruined the mood…” 

You laugh and hug him tightly before kissing him again, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Oh fuck yes,” he pulls you towards the door, out of the club, and towards a new tomorrow. 

Day 22: Distorted Sounds 

Taglist: @josepedropascal​ 

If you want to be added to my tag list let me know! 

[anjuschiffer]

Following the Unknown

Okay, so sometime ago, I wrote something up about another soulmate au that was inspired from a dream I had (and for some reason I can’t find it in my archives...f* you Tumblr! And if anyone remembers what I’m talking about, think you can send me a link? Cuz I can’t find it QQ).

So the AU concept went something like this:

Some people know they have soulmates because they can hear their soulmate’s voice. If you’re lucky enough, you can actually see them, or rather their silhouette in the form of a swarm of leaves, that trail away once your soulmate stops talking to you. These leaves fly off and sometimes if you chase them, lead you to your soulmate. However, if they go on, that means that your soulmate isn’t close. Some people have feathers as guides, however, those who have seen these feathers and followed them are guaranteed to see their soulmates...but only at the brink of death. People dread to have feathers guide them to their soulmate, despite their gold color. 

The only con of this soulmate bond is that only those with the bond can see the glowing white leaves, no one else can see the leaves but those with that type of bond. 

And I haven’t touched the au until I was listening to Into the Unknown...

With that explanation out of the way, I hope you enjoy it!

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Song: Into the Unknown by Idina Menzel | Daminette Soulmate Au

Context: Damian is 17 years old, never once telling anyone he had a soulmate bond. Mari is 16, her soulmate bond appearing that very year, something she always wanted, but hated that it was at the worst time to receive a bond. After all, defeating Hawkmoth was her top priority.

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Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak​ @damianette-is-life​

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AO3

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Damian stirred in his bed, a whisper ringing in his ears. Attempting to block them out, Damian wrapped his pillow over his head, his knuckles turning white as he did so.

Damian threw the pillow to the side, wincing at the voice that echoed within his head. Struggling to get up, Damian quickly drew out his sketchbook, flipping to the back of it. There, a meticulously set of dates were written and organized, a tip of a quill meeting the page, Damian writing down a new date.

Ever since his 16th birthday, he had been having these effects, a voice whispered to him. 

It was soft, soothing, but annoying all at the same time. 

Hello. It would whisper. Can you hear me?

I can hear you but I won't.

Of course he was able to. It bothered him to the ends of the Earth, causing him to become distracted at school and during patrols.

He regretted ever answering back to them after they kept trying to contact them for four solid months.

With that single response, he had been able to hear the voice clearer, causing the noise to grow stronger, something that Damian hated. 

Because of it, his grades slowly slipped, but Damian had managed to keep them up. Patrol, however, was another story. 

He kept getting a scolding from his father and brother, causing his mood to sour even more. 

He already had a pretty shitty sleep schedule and the noise just made it worse. 

He would awaken at random times during the middle of the night, ranging from one in the morning to four. He rarely got them at five and six, but nonetheless had them then as well. 

Ignore your whispers which I wish would go away

Damian got back to bed, hoping to fall back to sleep as he heard the noise stay with him. Damian didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he did, nonetheless when the noise had whispered to him. 

Sorry.

And the voice remained quiet for the remainder of the night.

------

“-and only one in every three million have this type of soulmate bond.” Damian paused the video, writing something down in his notepad, circling the new piece of information.

The Wind Bond.

A bond that those who had it describe it to be like a wind itself.

It caused you to hear the voice of your soulmate, ever so softly heard like a midsummer breeze. 

The soulmate’s voice would only grow stronger if they were close by.

Those who had a romantic version of the bond would also see their soulmate’s silhouette in the form of leaves, scattering into the air if you managed to see it. 

However, only the people with the bond were able to see and hear their soulmate.

It was also because of this that people called it the Wind Bond; many only faintly heard the voice of their soulmate and almost never got to ingrain the silhouette of their soulmate, causing them to lose all hope in ever seeing their soulmate.

It was hard to catch, hard to believe, just like the wind.

As Damian tapped in pencil against the table, the noise returned, Damian dropping his pencil to cradle his head.

You're not a voice, you're just a ringing in my ear.

With shaky hands, Damian reached for the headphones laying on his desk.

Damian paired them to his phone and put music to drown the noise, his shoulders relaxing when he could no longer hear it.

I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls.

Damian looked at what he had written, huffing at the paper. 

Why would he ever believe in this?

Soulmates?

Damian ripped the paper and tossed them into his metal trash can. Seeing that all of the pieces were inside, Damian opened his desk drawer, rummaging through it until his hand found a small rectangular-like item. 

Flicking the lighter, Damian took the final piece of his ‘research’ and lit it on fire, tossing it in with the rest, watching as smoke rose from the can.

Soulmates…

Why would he ever think he had one?

Even if he did have one, he shouldn’t care.

They were unnecessary, a hindrance to him…

At least his mother and grandfather told him. 

As he watched the last ember die, Damian went back to studying, the ringing fading from his mind.

------

Damian’s eyes widened as his eyes caught the thing behind him. 

He had just gotten past the manor’s gates when he heard someone call out to him.

Turning, Damian found a girl made of softly glowing bluebell leaves.

He watched as they soon scattered into the air, Damian taking a step forward before going into a sprint.

He had the Wind Bond. And the romantic type at that.

Romance…

Love…

Chasing…

Damian quickly came to a stop, watching as the leaves finally left his view.

I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you

Damian didn’t know for how long he was standing at where he was, but when he was done accepting what had happened to him, he let out a long deep sigh.

A soulmate, huh?

He would just have to try his best to ignore it.

------

Damian dug his nails into his hands, the noise coming back inside his head, and at the worst possible time.

What do you want? 

He was busy trying to concentrate on the math problem in front of him, the clock ticking as his professor reminded the class of the time constraint.

“There’s ten minutes left!”

Are you here to distract me so I make a big mistake?

No

Damian wanted to scoff at the answer, racking everything he learned to solve the integration before him. It was the only thing left, but for some reason he just couldn’t seem to figure it out.

Just breath.

He did.

Recheck your fourth to last step. That’s where-

“Five minutes!”

Damian quickly rescanned his work for the twentieth time, finally noticing where he had gone wrong. Reworking that step, Damian began to internally grin as he confidently finished the rest, smiling when he placed his pencil down and the professor called time.

Damian hated to admit it, but was glad to be able to hear her voice clearly this time around.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, Damian quickly walking out to get to it.

Thank you. 

------

“-I simply did what I had to do!” Damian yelled, a snarl present on his face.

“You endangered the civilians inside the building!” Dick yelled, throwing a glare at Bruce. “And you allowed him to-”

“It was necessary for the mission.” Bruce simply stated, walking out the cave, leaving Dick with his feelings.

“I thought you had changed B!” Dick yelled, grabbing his coat. “Seems like you haven’t.”

Damian watched as Dick left, wanting to call him back, but knew that he shouldn’t. Instead, he went off to his own room, heading straight to the shower to get rid of the sweat that made his shirt cling to his body as if it were a second skin.

As he stood under the steaming hot water, Damian pondered to himself.

While he always held his father in high regards, Damian struggled to follow his standards, finding himself to lean more towards Dick’s. Who was right? Who did he have to follow? To please? Who’s standard should he even begin to follow?

Neither.

But he had to.

But don’t you already have your own set?

He did.

Then follow it.

Damian pursed his lips, turning off the water.

Why should he follow his own instead of one laid out before him?

Because if you try to meet the standards someone placed for you, you’re going to burn out quicker. You will start to lose yourself. Believe me. I’ve been there and hated it. Every. Second. 

Damian kept wondering about the words the voice told him, catching the resentment behind them. 

Despite having lived under the same roof as his father and older brother for seven years, Damian could still measure the tension between themselves. The air was suffocating, made his breathing heavy and felt off.

Or are you someone out there who's a little bit like me?

They did mention having to choose a decision and regretting it.

They had been through it…

Was it when he told them to take the ring from the other person she was fighting with?

If so, were they once like him? Did they once have these unwanted thoughts? Thoughts of fleeing?

Who knows deep down I'm not where I'm meant to be?

Damian shook his head, throwing himself onto his bed, Titus laying beside him. 

As he laid in bed, Damian closed his eyes, replaying the day he stopped chasing the bluebell leaves.

Damian found himself reaching towards the ceiling, grabbing one of the leaves. He watched as the bluebell turned red before it slipped out of his hand.

Damian quickly chased after it, stopping as he reached the edge of the manor’s garden, watching as the red leaf turned bluebell once more and disappeared into the distance.

His hand reached out in an attempt to grab it again, despite knowing it was futile. 

Don't you know there's part of me that longs to go 

Into the unknown

------

Are you out there?

“-you alright Bugaboo?” Ladybug blinked as she registered what Chat had said, finally facing him after scanning their surroundings. “Is there something-”

“You didn’t hear that?” 

“Hear what?” Chat asked, tilting his head, his ear twitching in anticipation.

Marinette looked to her side once again, wondering what the hell was happening to her.

Migraine? No, definitely not. 

“Do you really-” Ladybug was about to ask, only to get interrupted by Chat.

“Seems like you can do it with a day off.” Chat said with a grin, twirling his baton. “You know, maybe a date at-”

Marinette zoned out Chat’s voice, wondering what was going on. She swore she had heard someone call out to her, a smooth voice that sent chills down her spine. But despite that, she felt curiosity behind that whisper.

“-and who knows? We might find out that we’re actually-”

“Soulmate.”

“You mean soulmates.” Chat tried to correct, watching as Ladybug’s face pale. “Bugaboo. What-”

“My soulmate bond.” She whispered, feeling a lump in her throat. “I got my soulmate b-”

“Does that mean-!”

“No.” Ladybug said, sternly looking at Chat. “We’re not soulmates.”

“How are yo-”

“When I asked if you heard that, you said no.” 

“And what does that-”

“My soulmate bond has to do with hearing each other’s voices. Our thoughts.” Ladybug watched as Chat’s smile dropped, his eyes turning dull. “You’re not my- Chaton!” Marinette yelled out as Chat ran away from her, using his baton to launch himself to who knows where.

Sighing, Marinette called off her transformation, Tikki flying up to Marinette’s cheek. “Why now? Why now of all times?”

“I wish I had the answer to that Marinette, but even we have no knowledge on how soulmate bonds are assigned and given. If we did-”

“I always wanted a soulmate bond.” Marinette confessed, Tikki giving her a small smile. “But to think I would get one right now, with Hawkmoth-”

“It’s going to be alright Marinette.” Tikki assured, snuggling closer. “It’s going to be alright, you’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right Tikki. I really hope you are right.” Marinette said, embracing Tikki in her own way.

------

Do you know me?

Or rather do you remember me?

Marinette had not heard back from her soulmate in a solid month, wondering what was going on. 

Was it just a fluke?

“I don’t think so.” Tikki said, munching on a cookie. “While we may not know everything about soulmate bonding, we do know some basic principles. Using those, I’m pretty sure you have a soulmate bond. It’s just taking a while to settle into your life. Well, lives.”

Marinette sighed, placing her head on her desk, attempting to reconnect with her soulmate for the umpteenth time.

Months continued to pass, Marinette now dealing with a tantrum-throwing Chat and an unresponsive soulmate.

Yes, the soulmate bonding was supposed to be the least of her worries, but how can Marinette ignore the fact that she hadn’t heard from them in three months?

In attempts to push it to the back of her mind, Marinette focused on retrieving the cat miraculous from Chat. 

Another month passed when a miracle occured. 

Marinette was sick and tired of playing cat and mouse with Chat, promising herself to try this one last time before she officially gave up on taking back the cat miraculous. 

They were once more fighting an appearance changing akuma, the akuma changing the appearance of any person they touched, Marinette doing everything in her power to avoid being touched. What should she do? She didn’t want to be a useless fish nor-

Take it when he gets hit by his opponent. 

Marinette stiffed at those words, feeling as if he knew then from experience himself. 

Marinette didn’t get a response, but stuck with their advice, watching for her opportunity to rise. 

An hour later, there it was. 

As she flung him out of harm’s way, she slipped the ring off of him, her eyes closed as she renounced his ownership of the ring and of Plagg. 

A single tear slipped as he heard him scream at her. As he begged her to reconsider. 

Ladybug simply ignored the growing guilt in her chest, but knew it was for the best. 

With a final tug at her yo-yo, Ladybug took down the akuma and prepared herself to be the hero Paris truly needed. 

Back at home, Marinette hugged her pillow, crying her heart out as she started to doubt her decision from earlier that day.

Sorry.

———

A month had passed since that day, Marinette slumping into her bed as she de transformed. Plagg and Tikki quickly checked on their Guardian before going off to replenish their own energy. 

With a heavy sigh, Marinette threw her arm over her forehead, feeling the tension in it. 

Hawkmoth was still out there, searching for her, using all her allies against her. All but two. 

Rena Rouge has the first out. 

Then Carapace. 

Lady Guêpe was forced to resign. 

Then Chat Noir. 

Ryuuko and Viperion remained, but at what cost?

But she couldn’t keep burdening them with her duties, with her life. 

The trio were the only ones to protect Paris, although it was majorly Lady Chat in the scene.

Announcing to Paris that Chat was no longer going to aid with the defeat of Hawkmoth ended up turning for the worst, half of Paris wondering why Ladybug would ever do such a thing. 

Why would she ever let Chat go when she needed him the most?

She ignored them, knowing it was for the greater good. She knew that what she did was necessary. 

She wasn’t going to allow Chat to continue to corrupt Plagg, even Viperion and Ryuuko agreed with her. 

And yes, she did always meet up with them...in their slightly hidden civilian forms. 

While the previous guardian told her the importance of keeping their identities, Marinette’s morality began to waver. 

If they wanted any chance of defeating Hawkmoth, they needed more trust with each other. 

Yes, they can potentially leak out each other’s identities if akumatized, but she was willing to risk it. 

So with Ryuuko and Viperion’s help, Ladybug sought a way to take down the enemy, once and for all. 

Marinette’s thoughts soon became muddled, equations blurring into her mind. 

She sat there, cradling her mind as math flooded her head, a concerned Tikki rushing to her. 

They are rushing it. 

They had to use substitution there, not the answer they got in the first part. 

What do you want?

Are you here to distract me?

No.

Just breath.

Recheck your fourth to last step. That’s where-

The voice faded, becoming a soothing hum. Mari felt as her shoulders relaxed, only then noticing she had then square and tense. 

She decided to sit up, eyeing her sketchbook. 

When was the last time she opened it? 

Just as she turned to a clean page, Marinette started to sketch, writing the word red at the side. 

That’s when she heard her soulmate say something she thought they were never going to say to her. 

Thank you. 

Giddiness filled her imagination, Marinette got to designing, Plagg and Tikki smiling as they watched her emerge herself into her work. 

———

Marinette placed a final pin into her alterations when her head began to angrily hum.

Who’s standard should I follow?

Marinette wondered what was going on with her soulmate that made them question and doubt the morality standards around them. But if she went off experience…

Neither. 

But I have to choose a side.

Don’t you have your own set of morals? Principles?

I do.

Then follow them.

Why can’t I just choose one of the ones laid before me?

Because if you keep trying to choose one of them, you’re going to burn out. You’re going to lose yourself.  And you’ll hate it. Every. Second. That passes.

Marinette began to panic when she didn’t hear anything said back, looking at Tikki for some type of explanation. 

Tikki simply looked at her with sad eyes while Plagg purred against Marinette’s cheek, Marinette deflating upon not getting an answer to her situation. 

———

Can you feel me?

The voice asked, Damian debating on whether to answer it. 

Because, no. He couldn’t feel them, but certainly did feel their emotions 

He had been for the past half year. 

And he knew that whoever they were, they were either a hero or vigilante. 

He was able to clearly feel their emotions and hear their thoughts when they finally defeated someone called Hawkmoth. 

He had tried to ask them who it was, but they never responded, quickly changing the subject. 

Mostly about their upcoming schedule. 

Something about having to make a dress for some event they were invited to. 

He remembers telling them about him being in the same boat, having to get his measurements taken for a new suit for the gala. 

Can you show me?

Their bond only allowed them to hear each other.

And our silhouettes. They added. 

“Master Damian, there you are.” Alfred spoke, Damian looking over at his grandfather (not that he would ever say it out loud). 

“Is this about the gala? I presume Father wants me to do something for him.”

“More like remind you of how-“

“I won’t let some random harlots try to seduce me.” Damian stated firmly, picking up Alfred the cat. “They can try, but I will not waver.” 

Alfred let a smile out, giving a few words for thought before leaving. 

Damian sighed, going back to his conversation. Or at least attempted. 

He tried to say something to his soulmate, but never got a response…

Not even as he tried to talk to her for the next few weeks.

———

Marinette stood by the punch bowl, watching as everyone around her talked like old time friends, chatting away into the night. 

She rubbed her hands against her bare arms, wondering why someone like her was even at the Wayne Gala. 

Oh right. She was personally invited because of her other identity: M. 

M - the mysterious designer that had taken the fashion world upside down with their presence and style. 

Marinette sighed, taking her glass of champagne and walking towards the balcony, not a single set of eyes following her crystal embedded red dress that stood out like a sore thumb.

Leaning against the stone railing, Marinette huffed, twirling the glass between her fingers, watching as the champagne sizzled as it swirled. 

Finding herself bored, Marinette hummed to herself, wishing she was still able to talk to her soulmate.

Ever since that night a few weeks ago, she hadn’t been able to contact them, even Tikki growing worried as to why it was happening.

Marinette missed talking to them, even if their relationship did start on the wrong foot.

She missed them...dearly.

As Marinette continued to hum to herself, something caught her attention; a single emerald glowing leaf flew into her line of sight, her breath hitching. 

It continued to fly away, into the hall in which the gala was taking place. 

Where are you going? Don't leave me alone

Without a second thought, Marinette quickly followed it, not caring about the stares she was gathering as she pushed her way through the crowds. 

She stumbled a bit as she saw the butterfly take a corner, almost losing it in the process. 

How do I follow you

Into the unknown

Marinette quickly called out Kaalki, giving out an order to bring Mullo to her. 

As soon as she had made it out into the open, Mullo quickly joined Marinette into the chase, multiplying to help with the search. 

Marinette’s heart beat louder and stronger as she watched the butterfly begin to pulse brighter than ever before, a smile growing unbeknownst to Mari. 

The joy died done when the butterfly stopped going, hovering in the middle of the garden which Mari found herself at. 

Finally having a moment to breath, Marinette looked around herself, hedges and rows of flora surrounded her, shades of camellias encircling her. In the distance, she noticed some blue salvias, the tips peeking from under bushes.

Why was she brought here?

Here of all places?

Her thoughts were broken when she heard a pair of shoes click their way towards her, Marinette watching as the shadowed figure became another person. 

When their eyes met, a group of leaves burst around them, the soft bluebell mingled with the emerald ones, dancing around each other. 

“So you’re my soulmate.” He started, Marinette wondering how he wasn’t breaking a sweat in the layers of formal attire. She also couldn’t help but notice that his suit had kevlar integrated. 

“I must be if the leaves guided us to one another.” Marinette responded, wondering what to do next. 

The two looked at each other, wondering who was going to take the next step when the man broke into a smile. 

“Damian. My name's Damian Wayne.”

“Marinette.” She followed. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m glad I found you, Damian.”

She really was. 

She was happy to have followed the wind bond into the unknown. 

Epilogue/Bonus:

Dick watched as Damian ran through the crowds in the gala. 

“Damian! Where-“

“Somewhere!” Damian yelled, peaking Dick’s curiosity. 

Dick waited until he saw him leave the hall before tailing him, having to pick up the pace when he almost lost sight of the boy a few times. 

Dick wondered where exactly Damian was running off to, worry growing stronger when they had left the manor and were running into the garden. 

He quickly tumbled into a hedge when he watched Damian slow down, following his gaze. 

There, a few meters away, was a small stature girl with the most captivating red dress. The off-shoulder dress perfected fitted the girl’s small frame, Dick watching with the utmost glee as he saw Damian approach the girl. 

Just as the two were three feet apart, Dick watched as a kaleidoscope of butterflies burst around them, leaving Dick starstruck. 

He’d always heard of the wind bond, some of his friends telling him they had it. But this was the first time he’s ever seen it, let alone seen actual soulmates-

Soulmates…

HIS BROTHER HAD A SOULMATE AND NEVER TOLD HIM?!

Filled with hurt, Dick curled into a ball and stayed there in shock. 

“Grayson. How long do you plan on staying there?” 

Dick raised his head, watching how Damian attempted to keep a smile in check while his soulmate was wrapped around his arm. “Come on, the gala’s about to end. I need to make an announcement as it does.”

It took a quick second for Dick to figure out what he had meant by that. 

“Damian! Don’t you dare-“

“Watch me.” Damian said with a grin, watching as the girl looked at Dick in confusion as Damian led her back inside. 

Dick, however, didn't make it in time to warn their father, watching as Damian announced to the world about his soulmate… right as his own father was going to propose to Selina on live. 

“That idiot.” Dick muttered, a smile still on his face as he watched Damian glow alongside his newfound love.

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Robin!

AKA: @dcbbw​

The People of Valtoria vs The King of Cordonia (Riam)

A/N: Robin, you are not only one of my favorite writers but have become an amazing, supportive friend over the last year or so that we've known one another. And I believe that friendship transcends beyond Tumblr. Youve been a virtual shoulder to cry on when I needed one and someone who made me laugh so hard while chatting once that I ... well, I won't embarrass myself here 😆 You're just truly a remarkable person with a compassionate, giving heart. I'm blessed to know you and blessed as hell to call you a friend #mycommonlawcitywife

A/N2: I wrote Riam for you. It will be no where near as good as yours and I hope I didn't mess them up too badly. Trust me, I'm nervous.

The following characters belong to Pixelberry with the exception of the term "Riam" and some references in the story which belong to @dcbbw . You can find her masterlist for them here. 

Thanks @burnsoslow for beta reading!!!!

__________________________

With assistance from Gladys and Mara, Riley stepped up onto her Hoveround scooter. The cart jolted side to side from the added load as she shifted into place. Her heavily pregnant stomach narrowly fit between the seat and handlebars. 

The motorized vehicle was a gift from Liam, who felt that at this point in her pregnancy, it was much safer and more comfortable for her to get around if she didn't have to walk. It was also easier to track her movements with the GPS hidden underneath.

For her protection, and knowing she wasn't the best driver, he had the machine’s speed reduced from its factory setting of 13 mph to a more leisurely four mph. 

The following morning, at her insistence, Drake arrived -- toolbox in hand -- to remove the GPS and increase the speed to 20. 

With a groan from the Queen, the two staff members lowered her carefully into the seat and backed away while she arranged her footing and large belly.

Riley turned her head and arched a brow, giving the majordomo a moment to figure out on her own what was missing.

Gladys' eyes flitted between her boss and the guard. 

Like a lightbulb switching on, it finally dawned on her.

The snack wagon.

She shuffled to Riley's side of the bed. The head stewardess retrieved the wagon that was already stuffed with everything needed for the Queen's busy morning: barbeque potato chips, mini chocolate bars, Tupperware bowls filled with teriyaki meatballs, ham and cheese sliders, garlic chicken spring rolls, and leftover spaghetti and meatballs topped with melted mozzarella and a dash of parmesan. 

Cook was still reheating the garlic bread and putting the finishing touches on the devil's food cake.

After running several minutes behind due to a last-minute potty break and to catch her favorite American reality show about friends living in Washington, D.C., Riley squeezed the handles to power forward. 

Followed closely by Mara on the lookout, and Gladys, who was lugging the snack wagon, she took the elevator down to the first floor.

There was a crowd assembled in the throne room to witness this highly anticipated and rather unusual royal court case.

Gladys opened the door, announced the Queen's entrance, and stepped aside to allow Riley to roll in.

The guests stood in reverence, much to her delight.

It hadn't gone unnoticed by Liam, sitting at a lone table with a piece of paper that said Reserved for the Guilty Party taped to it, that his wife's mode of transportation was quite a bit faster than it should be. 

Liam tilted his head and furrowed his brows before moving to the edge of the seat. He wasn't entirely sure how she did it, but judging by the rapid blinking and shifty movements coming from Drake, he was sure he'd found his culprit.

Liam sensed a disaster happening before he could stop it. 

While driving toward the dais, his wife's eye caught a glimpse of Annabelle Parsons standing in the opposite corner of the room.

Miss Parsons’ breasts were practically heaving from her gray low-cut backless dress that had a slit up to her hip. A white lacy garter could be seen encircled around one slender thigh, and there were unquestionably no panties worn.

The two women locked eyes.

Riley licked her lips as the object of her affection trailed a tantalizing finger over the swell of her bosom, her taut nipples peaking through the gray silk attire.

Liam jumped from his seat with a shout just as her scooter's front wheels plunged into the first step of the dais, bringing her to a hard, abrupt stop.

The crowd's eyes, which included the staff, members of the nobility, and curious Valtorian citizens alike, widened in concern for their pregnant queen and the twin heirs.

"Love!" Liam ran up beside her and laid one hand on Riley's stomach, the other stroking through her hair. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm just fine, no thanks to you. It's this damn defective scooter you bought me. You could have killed me, Liam. I always knew you would try to get rid of me one day. I just thought you'd at least wait until your children were born."

Liam stiffened; his voice slightly raised. "How is this my fault? You were gawking at Miss Parsons, and I know you had Drake adjust the speed."

"I wouldn't need to adjust the speed if someone hadn't bought me a broken metal deathtrap on three wheels!"

"That ... That doesn't even make sense," he countered.

She lowered her eyes to him with a glower. "You don't make sense."

Liam shook his head and wrapped his firm hands around her arm. "Come on, my love. Let me help you up and to your chair."

He lifted her to a standing position, steadying her movements, and slowly led her to the BarcaLounger on the dais. 

Once Riley was reclined and had altered the chair to a comfort setting she preferred, Gladys set up a tray of the meals and treats from the snack wagon and placed it on a table beside her. 

Liam watched with curiosity as she prodded a meatball with a fork and brought it to her mouth. "I'm worried about you. Are you sure everything's okay?"

Enjoying the delicious flavor burst from the teriyaki sauce and the juiciest pork and beef combination she'd ever had, Riley waved him away. "Liam, I'm trying to sue you. If you think sucking up to the judge before I've had a chance to find you guilty will help your case ... you're mistaken. This judge will not be swayed by the defendant; now go to your table before I hold you in contempt."

"You haven't even heard the case yet; how can I already be guilty?"

"I haven't heard the case because YOU WON"T SIT DOWN!"

He leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Riley melted into it and felt all those butterflies she usually had when the love of her life kissed and caressed her.

"I love you, my queen."

She bit into a barbeque chip while shaking the mustard bottle to squirt on a ham and cheese slider. "I know," she replied coolly, but there was so much love radiating behind her big brown eyes hidden by a flock of hair. "Now, stop breathing all over my food with your germs and return to your table."

Liam stepped away and took his place. The crowd went quiet, eager to get the proceedings underway.

Cook finally arrived a few minutes later with a basketful of hot garlic bread and a slice of Riley's favorite cake. The Queen was now ready to begin.

As she twisted a forkful of spaghetti noodles and slurped them up, she motioned for Gladys to call the case into session.

With a loud clear of her throat, Gladys began, "Ladies and Gentlemen! The case of the People of Valtoria versus The King of Cordonia is now in session. Please give your complete attention to the honorable Queen of Cordonia and ... grand ruler of all of Valtoria."

Riley brushed away bread crumbs from her chest and glanced up to Gladys, giving her an approving smile for using the proper title she proposed beforehand. "Thank you, Gladys."

Riley tilted her chin at Liam. "Now, King Liam, we are here today because you owe me over $280,000, plus interest, penalties, taxes, processing, restitution, travel expenses, court and collection fees for back rent at Valtoria. How do you wish to plead?"

The King sat forward and sighed in vexation. "This is ridiculous. You know full well the Crown financially supports this duchy and manor."

"And in turn, I have had to support your mooching ass with it. So ... what is your plea?" she enunciated.

Liam crossed his arms and drew in a deep breath. "I suppose, not guilty."

The Queen narrowed her eyes in a glower. "You wouldn't dare."

A smatter of whispers and gasps broke out among the audience.

Riley reached over to her tray and picked up a wooden mallet before banging it several times on the sounding board that set next to the bowl of spring rolls on her tray. "That's enough! You all will not turn my court into a circus," she admonished. 

Hushes circulated through the crowd.

Liam raised his hand to draw her attention and spoke up. "Can I say something?"

Riley contemplated his question, then replied, "Overruled."

"It's about our children," he continued.

She flashed a glance to Mara, who pursed her lips and simply nodded in approval. The Queen looked back to her husband. "Okay, I'll allow it this once. But make it quick so we can get to your sentencing."

"I was just going to remind you that we have a doctor appointment that we need to leave for in 10 minutes."

Dammit, he was right; she had forgotten all about the appointment, and Liam hadn't shaved her legs since the prior visit two weeks ago. Riley lifted the lower part of her dress, her legs still reclined, and peered down at the thick stubble that had grown. She huffed. Liam. That man had one damn job to do.

Riley twirled the gavel in one hand and a fork with the other, contemplating how to proceed with the time crunch.

She cut through a piece of her cake and took a bite, closing her eyes to savor its chocolaty flavor. After dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she looked out to Liam, drumming his fingers on the table. "I've made my decision. Would the defendant rise?"

Liam glanced at his watch and sighed. He pushed himself from the table and rose to his feet before placing his hands in his pockets.

"Due to the critical nature of this case, and the fact that the judge and offender had an important prior engagement scheduled, I have no choice but to issue a continuance. But I would like to remind the prisoner that he is not to flee the country without express written consent from this court." She slammed the gavel down. "Court dismissed until further notice."

As the attendees flocked out of the throne room to return to their homes or positions within the estate, Mara stood at the door with a crystal bowl collecting court donations to fund the Queen's prosecution. 

It received $747 and a coupon for half off at Mei Wah Sing.

Liam rounded the defendant's table and made his way to the Queen, whose legs were flailing in a struggle to get out of her lounger. 

He wrapped his arms around his wife and lifted her to a standing position, helping her straighten out her dress.

"Are you ready, love? I think we can still make it there on time if we hurry." His hand rubbed soothing circles over her aching back.

Riley leaned in for a kiss, relaxing into his special touch that always made the aches and pains disappear. Her eyes fell on the scooter at the bottom of the steps and lit up. "Oh, I know a way to get there faster."

Liam followed her gaze then shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not! No way! Not after what happened earlier."

Riley dismissed him and tottered down the steps to her scooter.

“Riley!”

“Riley!”

“Riley!”

He hung his head with a heavy sigh as she exited. “Right behind you, my Queen.”

Permanent tags:

@burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​ @jessiembruno​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @texaskitten30​ @drakesensworld​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog​ @mskaneko​ @loveellamae​ @queenjilian​ @sirbeepsalot​ @pedudley​ @caroldxnvxrs​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @desireepow-1986​ @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @blueaster-blog1​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ ​  @hopelessromanticmonie​ @charlotteg234​ @twinkleallnight​ @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries​ @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty​

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 1/13)

Hello guys! So I made a Fundywastaken fic... but 36 Questions. I hope you guys like it! (This occurs in the Dream SMP and involve the characters, not the people). I’ll be uploading this on ao3 too for those who want to read it there (tumblr deletes my posts if I add external links so I can’t put the link here rip).

(Also in this AU Dream and Fundy got married at some point during Schlatt’s administration and George didn’t object because dammit George)

HEAR ME OUT

~~~~~

“Dream, we should watch treasure planet, ba― Babe.”

“WHAT.”

~~~~~

“Dream, you have been the most fantastic partner to watch treasure planet with… heh… I’ve known you for so long now, I can’t imagine a life without you. I love you. We've gone through our own tragedies. But, would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man on earth? Dream, will you marry me?”

“You were my favorite person ever to watch a movie with. Yes. Yes, I will marry you!”

“YEAHHHHHHH! WOOOOOOOOOO!”

~~~~~

“Oh, can you say that again?”

“About the wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my― but Dream we’ve been over this.”

“Yes.”

“What? Do you like hearing my voice that much?”

“I just want to hear your plans again. I want to hear about the big wedding you’ve planned out.”

“No.”

“A lot of guests?”

“This is Insane. Okay, fine. It’s gonna be a big wedding and it’s… wait for it… Treasure Planet-themed oooooh. Cool, right?”

“It sounds perfect, star.”

“I don’t know about the guests though. Can’t really confirm that.”

“Hm. What? What about the guests?”

“Well, funny story, babe…”

~~~~~

“Dream!”

“Oh, uh, hello!”

“Pogtopia has a meeting, remember?”

“Sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“Just... you wouldn’t understand, Funds.”

“What are you doing? Dream… are you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Why?”

“I’m just ―  he promised me something. Something neither Wilbur nor Pogtopia can give me. I’m sorry.”

“Okay… but you still love me, right?”

“…of course.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll always love you, Fundy.”

~~~~~

“Really?” Dream shivered in his green sweater, the rain pelting mercilessly against his white porcelain mask as he wandered aimlessly through the desert. He held back a frustrated groan. Seriously, a rain storm in the middle of a desert right when nighttime threatened to engulf the world in darkness? He gritted his teeth, seething as he forced himself to move forward. Nature be damned he wasn’t going to turn back. It seems Lady Luck had abandoned him at this crucial moment. Not that he could blame her. He’s pushed everyone away. His friends. His husband. 

Dream sighed, peering down at the compass in his hands. The arrow pointed forward, leading him towards his husband… the husband he left… the husband he said he didn’t care for.

“Where are you, Fundy?” Dream trudged through the wet sand, each step heavier than the last. If you had asked him two weeks ago what he’d be doing in the future, it certainly wouldn’t have involved anything to do with traversing through some dead and horrible land. Dream couldn’t believe it. Of all places, why did Fundy have to choose the badlands? He held back the string of curses rising in his throat, exhaustion seeping into his aching bones. He’d been walking for an entire day now, lost in a foreign land that had no mercy for people like him. He couldn’t tell if that rock on the ground was the same rock he’d just passed a couple seconds ago. He groaned, running a hand through his unkempt and dirty hair. Maybe this was his punishment, to wander the desert for all of eternity, searching for a husband who may or may not even be there.

He nearly toppled over, the ground threatening to give way beneath his feet. He scowled, pushing himself as clumps of sand stuck to every part of him. “Oh, I’m gonna die out here…” He began to sing underneath his breath, glancing at the desolate and darkening landscape, his heart on his sleeve. A part of him wished Fundy would appear at any moment, a glimpse of his orange tail around the corner… anything that would give him a hint to his husband’s whereabouts. He shouldn’t have left Fundy that night. He shouldn’t have left. He bit back his sorrow, it wasn’t his time to cry.

“Come on. Give me a sign, star. Just… Anything, please.” His eyes narrowed, hoping to see beyond the neverending veil of rain that engulfed the world. Why did it have to rain at such a time?

The previous days have been… difficult. He’d done many acts that he couldn't say he was proud of… but he would never take them back. He did what he had to. He just didn’t expect to lose his husband in the process. One moment Fundy was by his side, his head nuzzled into his neck as they sat near the warmth of a fireplace, and the next his husband was gone. Fundy had left his ring on their bed, but he didn’t leave a note. No. Dream had to force it out of the newcomer’s mouth to even get a hint of where his husband had run off to.

“What…?” He paused, the distant flutter of a familiar piece of clothing catching his attention. He began to run, the outline of a small cabin coming into view as he stumbled his way towards… a clothesline? He took a shaky breath, reaching out to pluck the hat off the clothespin it hang onto. It was soaking wet, a bundle of black and orange cloth… but he would recognize it anywhere. Fundy loved his hat as much as Dream loved his mask. His attention turned towards the debilitated cabin. Did Fundy live there?

“Please. Please. Please.” Don’t let this be a fluke. He headed towards the cabin, yelping as his leg got caught on sand. He lands against the door with a loud thud, the house trembling violently at the sudden impact. He gripped at its edges. His head pressed against the thin wooden surface. 

Worry settled in his gut… maybe Fundy wasn’t here. Maybe… He stilled. The muffled sound of shoes scuffing against the floor ringing through his ears. “Fundy? Star? I… I know you’re there, Fundy. Just… please let me in, star.”

He was met with silence. His heart ached with regret. He wouldn’t delude himself. This was his fault. But… they could still work it out! It couldn’t be over, could it? His fingers dug into the wood, splinters breaking through his skin. Dream couldn’t care less. He wanted his husband to open the door. He wanted to hold him in a tight embrace and apologize, beg for him to come home. At the very least, he wanted to see Fundy’s face for one last time. 

“Okay. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re not my husband, my Fundy.” He lets out a sigh.

“Whoever you are…” He swallowed down the bitter and nauseous taste of sadness in his throat, his shoulders shook with unshed tears. He forced himself to continue, a sliver of hope that Fundy would pity him enough to hear him out.

“You share a lot in common with my husband... Funds.” The nickname felt damningly foreign against his tongue, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time. Maybe he hadn’t. He pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now.

“You have the same hat...” He heard a strained gasp through the door, and his heart began to flutter. He holds the hat to his chest, caressing the cold, soaked cloth with calloused hands. Fundy would want it back, right?

“So either he sold it or maybe you stole it.” Fundy would never, Dream knew that. It was one of the few traits they shared. Fundy hated when Dream washed his hat for him, and Dream hated when Fundy cleaned his mask for him.

“And didn't change the tags...” His fingers reached into the hat, feeling the small patch of paper crudely taped onto its surface. He didn’t need to look to know that ‘F.S.” was written on the parchment.

“So I feel like I know you, like we've met before.” He closed his eyes, the distant memory of warm lights danced across his vision. He recalled the warm hand tucked into his own, the gold-flecked brown eyes that stared up at him with a light that could rival the brightest of stars.

“I walked like 27 hours…” It had been a day at most, a mere second in the life of an admin… but it felt like a lifetime. Dream had wandered through the land, sick and delirious with the idea that he might have been too late, that his husband had gone to a place he would never find.

“…to get to this place. If you were him…” He leaned against the door, wondering if Fundy was doing the same. He couldn’t feel the other’s warmth, blocked by the door and the chill of the rain that clung to his very being. He’d never felt this cold before.

“You'd open up the door.” He raised a hand, his knuckles knocking against the wooden barrier. He held his breath… but the door didn't budge. He sniffed, combing a hand through his hair. He deserved this. He knows he does. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I know you're there. I know you're listening.” A murmur of noise reached his ears, the chime of metal creaking before falling into silence. He hoped Fundy didn’t lock the door on him. Fundy was there, just beyond the door. He was listening. That had to mean something, right?

“You deserve to get to know…” Who did his husband deserve to know? Dream was many things, and he doubted that Fundy would wish to meet any one of them. He was a tyrant. A monster. A liar. A player. A traitor. A shitty husband. He was…

“The person you're trying your damnedest to let go. I know you care.” Fundy must still have some love for him, right? He would have told him to leave if he didn’t, right? Dream held onto that. They could fix this. Fix them. Dream was willing to try… if- if Fundy was. He’d take it all back if it meant having his husband.

“Whoever you are…” Fundy… please. Warm rolls of liquid dripped past his cheeks, a contrast to the rain that cruelly poured down onto his shivering form. He could feel the approaching cold of night in the air, his fingers trembling at the shift of temperature.

“You have a thousand reasons not to trust whoever I am.” Fundy had no reason to, and Dream knew that. Their love was insane, a story of confusion and impossibilities. They were enemies. They were supposed to be enemies. Fundy should hate him and Dream should be indifferent to the fox’s very existence.

“For whatever it's worth…” A sob seeps past his lips, his throat burning with a scream he dared not escape. His hand lets go of the door, resting on top of the porcelain mask he had worn for so long. In one move, he took it off.

“I also have no clue as to who I actually am.” The wind slapped at his cheeks. He can’t recall the last time he’s taken off his mask.

“But I know, this is the first time in my life…” He wore it on their date. He wore it to their wedding. Did Fundy even know what he looked like? Did he care?

“That I am sure.” Did Dream want him to? Did he want Fundy to see him? To see beyond the mask? See the man behind the smile?

“I walked like 27 hours, replaced two boots during a storm.” He would walk another mile if Fundy asked him to. He really would.

“And I won't leave ‘til you open up the door.” He had to see him, even if it was just one final glimpse. A final farewell to a love story doomed from the beginning.

“I hear you there. I hear you listening.” Fundy.

“You deserve to get to know the person you're trying your damnedest to let go.” If you can hear me…

“Hear me out.” Know…

“Hear me out.” That I love you…

“Hear me out.” So, please…

“Let me in.” Oh…

“Let me in.” Please…

“Let me in.” Forgive

“Let me in.” Me…

“Funds, there are zombies everywhere, they’re going to eat me alive…”

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

next

[patrick-hockstutter]

Modern!Bowers Gang:

Patrick:

Really into cinematography and photography of the unsettling

Never captions his Instagram posts

Goes live on Instagram a lot, even though people really wished he wouldn’t

Makes art out of dead animals or animal bones he finds

Think Banksy, but with roadkill

He’ll take some (somehow) tasteful photos of them, post them, then leave the scene there for some unexpecting bystander to find

Has a nosering (fight me)

Never uses incognito mode

If someone happens to stumble upon his search history, he’s not paying their therapy bill

He likes reading smut more than he likes watching porn

A ps4 guy

Loves spooky games like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Until Dawn and Death Stranding

He’s not really into school, but he surprisingly reads a lot when he’s alone in his room

Only about things he likes though

Abnormal psych, criminal psych, and sometimes some zoology (u kno y)

Watches serial killer documentaries like he’s paid to

Listens to grunge, nu metal, and 80s alt

Won’t admit it, but sometimes listens to Joji

He’s not super into emo music, but he’s the only one who will listen to it with Victor (he fckn vibes to Brand New)

Ironically uses a Zune

Has an Android but lowkey wishes he had an iPhone

Doesn’t have a computer, just jailbreaks/hacks the school issued laptop

Has a black line tattooed around some of his fingers, one of his wrists, and the shell of his ear

Has a foot tattoo

Has a fucking Juul

Watches LeafyIsHere on YouTube (tell me I’m wrong)

Spends too much time on Reddit

Wears flannels, skinny jeans, and Vans (a beanie if he’s cold)

Mostly cycles through the same three or four outfits

Wears the same pair of Vans every single day

Victor:

Big into aromatherapy

He uses lavender soaps and has an essential oil diffuser in his room

Uses incognito mode to watch Vampire Diaries

A Nintendo ass b i t c h

He has the gray Switch Lite

He brings his Switch with him everywhere (yes he’s that guy)

But what else are you gonna do when you wanna ignore Patrick?

Watches conspiracy theories about ghosts, cryptids, and aliens

Also big into podcasts (mostly true crime and conspiracy ones)

He listens to them on his headphones while he takes walks or draws

Posts his drawings on Tumblr

Does art streams on Twitch when he gets really bored

Has an eyebrow piercing (but it’s a small stud one, not a ring)

Has little tattoos on his hands

Wears bomber jackets, skinny jeans, joggers, army jackets, converse, and combat boots

The boy has style okay

Had an emo phase but still listens to the music (especially Tiny Moving Parts)

The emo phase was pretty short because Henry made fun of him so much

He just fucking liked MCR and Taking Back Sunday a lot, okay?

And Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens, but he doesn’t readily admit that

Now mostly listens to new wave, synth pop, and lofi hiphop

His favorite bands are Drab Majesty and Choir Boy (look up their new album btw)

Has a black iPhone and a space gray MacBook Pro

Uses Apple Music

Vapes, but only fruity flavors

Watches BoJack Horseman

Doesn’t really eat fast food but never passes up an M&M McFlurry

Paints his (and Patrick’s) nails black

One time Patrick caught him doing a facemask, so Patrick put one on and started chasing him around screaming as a joke

Cue: hmm… this feels kinda good tho

So now Victor and Patrick have secret mini spa days

Drives a Subaru

Belch:

Makes Spotify playlists like he’s paid to

He’s just really good at putting songs together

He tried to get into music theory, but he wasn’t one for actually making his own songs

Really into metal (obvi) but also likes some classic rock and punk stuff

Has records hung up side by side all around his room where the wall meets the ceiling

Still buys CDs

His Instagram feed is full of vintage cars and custom import cars

Fast and Furious is his favorite movie series

His favorite shows are Sons of Anarchy and The Walking Dead

But he also loves early 2000s comedies

Has a mini projector to watch movies on his room wall

Wears band tees, flannels, jean jackets, Carhartt stuff, d a d  h a t s

Really wants a tattoo but always gets nervous

Uses incognito mode to watch porn and buy some of his band tees from Hot Topic

Only one in the gang that uses Facebook (Mama Huggins made him so he could keep in contact with family)

Follows a few meme pages but also some cooking ones so he can send his mom any cool recipes he finds

Victor lowkey makes fun of him for actually using the Facebook page

Invests money in really good headphones and car speakers

Has a black iPhone

It’s always at 20% battery cause it’s always connected to his headphones, Bluetooth speaker, or car stereo

Him and Victor FaceTime when they’re bored

Sometimes they won’t even say much, they just like the over the phone company

Doesn’t smoke, but sometimes hits Vic’s vape

A social vaper if you will

Watches Idubbbz and Filthy Frank on YouTube

His favorite fast food place is Wendy’s

Not really into video games but fucking slays at Guitar Hero

And when Rock Band came out nobody saw him for like two weeks

Has a black Hydroflask with band stickers on it

Henry:

He plays a lot of Xbox

Mostly Halo, COD, Destiny, any first-person shooter really

Baits people on Xbox Live cause he thinks it’s hilarious

He’s also a fucking cyberbully but we all expected that

Has Victor’s old iPhone

Never fucking charges it

He’ll text you back in 3-5 business days (if at all)

And if you try to call him he’ll block your number

Plays iMessage games like cup pong and 8 ball with Belch

The only social media he uses is Snapchat and Tinder to look at girls

In one of his Tinder photos he’s holding a fish (srrynotsrry)

Doesn’t really listen to too much music

He doesn’t dislike music, just usually prefers to do things in silence

His mind is chaotic enough, he doesn’t need background noise

But he will listen to Cigarettes After Sex and TV Girl on a really low volume when he goes to sleep

Uses incognito mode to pick and choose random soft or angsty songs that he likes to put into a bedtime playlist

Otherwise just listens to whatever Belch listens to

Has a tattoo on his wrist

Takes a lot of drives into the countryside/national forests/mountains with Belch

Takes a lot of scenery photos, but never posts them anywhere or shows anyone except Victor

Still smokes cigarettes (he thinks vaping is douchey)

Watches South Park and American Dad

If he’s willing to spend money to go see a movie, he’s going to an IMAX theater

Sometimes he likes 3D, but most of the time it just hurts his eyes after a while

Longboards everywhere

Needs prescription glasses but refuses to wear them

They’re mostly for reading, which he doesn’t do anyway

But he does listen to audiobooks sometimes

Likes Frappuccinos but will kill you before you find out

He orders them through Uber Eats under a fake name so nobody will find out

BONUS: all four!

Victor still has his childhood GameCube that they play Mario Party, Mario Kart, and Melee on

Henry is banned from playing Mario Party after breaking a controller while beating Patrick with it

Patrick only ever picks Waluigi in Mario Kart and everyone is sick of it

When they play Rock Band Patrick is on bass, Henry plays guitar, Belch absolutely slays the drums, and Vicky boy sings his lil heart out

One night a week they order a shit ton of Dominos and make a drinking game out of watching Vine compilations

Victor does everyone’s birth charts

They collectively made a fake Tinder account on Patrick’s phone and catfish guys with it

They all try to one up each other doing vape tricks yikes

They buy bags of chips and candy from Costco and lounge around eating them on weekends

They’re banned from the city metro busses because Belch’s car was in the shop for a week and that week was hell for every bus driver in the city

[spookidema]

Never Trust a Stranger

Day 2 of Spooki Month

Vampire!Park Seonghwa

Genre: Angst

Summary: You don't know how you were convinced to be at this club on Halloween but you wanted to be anywhere but here. Rumors of things that go bump in the night get more frequent during this time of year, and you wanted nothing more than not to be the dinner of a creature of the night, but we don't always get what we want.

Author Note: Welcome to post number 2 also known as Day 2 of Spooki Month. This one also was suposed to be posted yesterday but Tumblr deleted the writing in the draft. Hope you enjoy and again watch out for more coming up. Also the look Seonghwa is wearing is the outfit he wore on Weekly Idol. The episode where Yeosang exposed him, San, and Wooyoung.

Tag: @alwayschoosechocolate​

You wanted nothing to do with the club you are currently in. Most people could tell by the way you stood at the bar instead of dancing with the group of old college friends, that convinced you to join them clubbing. Tell by the way you swirled the drink in your hand with disinterest. Clubs were never really your scene. You were more of a 'wine at home with a good movie' kind of person than a 'sweaty nightclub during October' kind of person.

"Come on, (Y/N)," Jisoo, one of your old college friends, begged. "Come dance with us."

"Jisoo, I'm fine here watching," you said smiling at the slightly drunk girl. "Go have fun."

"But you have been sitting here alone since we got here," Jisoo continued to beg." Who knows the next time we will all be together again."

"We have all night, Jisoo," you waved dismissively. "Go have fun, bud. Who knows? You might find someone to take home."

Jisoo rolled her eyes playfully before sauntering away back to the crowd in the middle of the dance floor.

Turning back to your drink at the bar, you were just about to take a sip of your drink as someone slipped beside you. You looked over to the person. It was a tall male. His black hair was swept back and to the side. He wore a simple white tshirt, black leather jacket, and black jeans with a simple silver necklace and a single hooped earring. His features were sharp and slightly intimidating. Just for a split second, you swore that his eyes flashed a crimson color but it could been a trick of the light.

"I wouldn't drink that if I was you," he said. His voice was velvety and deep. "Huh," all you said as you stared at him."

"Your drink," he continued slowly." I wouldn't drink it if I were you. I just saw someone put something in it while you were talking to your friend."

"Damn it," you growled pushing the drink away from you." Fucking hell, what's wrong with people?"

"They wanted an easy target, I'm guessing," the man shrugged leaning on the bar. "Taking a distracted woman and wait the 30 minutes just to try and swoop in to be the savior of the day to take advantage of the poor girl as they tried to 'help'."

"Sounds like you're familiar with this type of situation," you said with a raised eyebrow. "Play hero often?"

"Considering I have to keep the people of my club safe," he said with a smirk.

"Your club," interest laced your voice." You own this place?"

"My brother and I own this place," he replied." We barely come to this floor of this club."

"Well then," you nodded." Can I get the name of the mystery owner of this fine establishment?"

"Park Seonghwa," Seonghwa answered," can I have the name of the beautiful woman who I saved?"

"(Y/N)," you answered as well.

"Nice to meet you," Seonghwa said waving to the bartender.

AS the bartender approached, you started to feel like someone/someones was staring at you. You looked around and you saw seven pairs of eyes on you from the upstairs balcony. The shortest one was giving you a smirk making you tense up as Seonghwa tapped the side of your arm. When you looked toward Seonghwa, Seonghwa's eyes glowed slightly and you stared for a second before the glow died and the tension melted off.

"I had the bartender make you one of me and my brother's favorite drinks," Seonghwa said his eyes brown." It's really good."

"Oh really," you said looking into the glass he slid your way ." My momma always said never to take drinks from handsome strangers."

"Smart woman," he chuckled as his voice slipped slightly more velvety."Drink it." Without another word you drank the drink. It was fruit with a slight metallic taste. It lacked the usual alcohol taste, but never the last it was good.

"There you go,"Seonghwa smiled slightly."Now tell me about yourself."

And that you did.

You told him about how you a 22 year old AB- art major who lived with three cats and two cacti. How you were not really a people person never the less a club person. How you don't really talk to many people have from a couple of boys you worked with and a couple of their roommates. How you rarely speak to your family due to them not caring for the major you chose.

As you spilled your guts, time seemed to pass quickly.

Your friends would tap you every once in a while to tell you that they were leaving one by one with people that peaked their interest and you nodded to them to acknowledge them but you really didn't take your eyes off Seonghwa.

Once you finished, Seonghwa stared at you for a moment. You head spinning slightly making you sway on your feet for a second.

"You wanna get out of here," he asked tilting his head back slightly.

"And where would we go," you questioned raising one of your eyebrows.

"I have a couple of places in mind. You want to invite me to your apartment," he smirked and for some reason your body started to go into 'fight or flight' mode and running was what you wanted to do.

"I should really get home," you declined with a forced smile pushing from the bar.

"Let me walk you then," Seonghwa insisted as he paid for your tab from your earlier drinks."You were drinking and its late."

"No, that’s fine," you said glancing back to balcony again seeing the seven pairs of eyes still staring down at you."I don't live far. Thanks though."

"I don't like being refused,(Y/N)," his face set straight as you go to walk away,"Let me walk you home. Call it even for earlier."

"No,Seonghwa," you said glaring slightly."Look. Thanks for the save and the drink and conversation, but my answer is no. No, you can not walk me home."

AS you walked away, you could feel his eyes follow you and he seemed pissed.

Making your way home under the October harvest moon, you couldn't help to feel like Seonghwa's rage was following making you feel paranoid. You were looking behind you every now and then. Your apartment building was just in sights when you were pulled into an alleyway.A hand covered your month as you were slammed into the side of one of the buildings. Red glowing stared down at you.

"Tsk,tsk,(Y/N). You should have just let me take you home and we could have done this in the comforts of your home and not in a dirty alley."

Seonghwa. He followed you.

"You could have died in your warm home, but you had to be difficult," he shook his head sneering causing a sharp pearly tooth to be exposed." I hate it when my food doesn't listen."

'Vampire,' you thought gasping behind his hand. You tried to push him away. "Stop moving," he glowed out making your arms to drop involuntary to your sides and your body to go slack slightly."Much better. You know when you said you blood type was AB-, I almost drained you right there in the club. I love AB-. So so rare but so so sweet."

The chills of terror spread across your body. Ice filled your veins as Seonghwa licked his lips taking his hand away from your mouth to cradle your jaw tilting it to the side. Seonghwa chuckled lowly as he leaned into your neck breathing in deeply.

"This is going to hurt a lot," he said scraping one of his fangs down your neck."Do not scream."

Then he sank his teeth into your neck.

It felt like knives or needles were digging their way into every inch of your body draining you of all your blood. Felt like the heat of the sun was injected straight in your bloodstream. You wished you could scream but somehow Seonghwa made it where you couldn't. Your body completely went slack causing Seonghwa to hold your form. You were becoming weak as time passed. Spots swimming in you vision.

As Seonghwa unlatched himself from you neck, he let you fall onto the ground. You laid on the ground soundless your vision darkening as he knelt down brushing hair from your face.

"Shame to leave you dying in this alley,(Y/N)," he said smoothing down your hair."Alone without anyone knowing til its too late. Goodbye,(Y/N)."

He sunk into the darkness disappearing. You let out a string of wimpier as you were finally able to make sounds. You started saying your goodbyes in the darkness as your vision left you.

Muffled footsteps enter your ears as you faded.

"Hyung, she's dying," one voice said. "Help her."

"We have you, ....,"another voice said. "We won't let you die."

[lovemesomesurveys]

How are you doing today? It’s only 1:56AM, but so far I’ve just ate a bowl of ramen and watched a couple YouTube videos. What was the best thing that happened to you today? My ramen was quite delicious, ha. Which cell phone network are you on? Verizon. Do you like the smell of cinnamon? Yesss. What was the last book you've read? I just finished, “The Secret She Kept” by Elle Gray and I’ve started, “Autumn’s Strike” by Mary Stone.

Are you hungry right now? No, I just finished eating. What was the last thing you've had to drink? Water. How often do you visit this website? I’m on Tumblr all the time. Do you like frogs? No. Are you afraid of dying? Yes. Do you like bananas? I love bananas.    Do you like the show American Dad? Meh. It has its moments, but overall I’ll pass. I don’t ever watch it by my own choosing, I just catch it here and there because my family watches it.  What TV show do you miss the most that's no longer on TV? Gilmore Girls, Degrassi, and True Blood come to mind first. Are you currently fighting with someone right now? No. Is your life full of drama? No. I have other stressful things I’m dealing with, but not of the drama variety. How long can you hold your breath underwater *shrug* Where's the last place you've been to out of state? When I went to Arizona to visit my grandparents about 6 years ago. Have you ever been kissed in the rain? No. What letter does your last name start with. -- What are you listening to right now? I’m watching Gilmore Girls. Have you ever had a pet that died? Yes. Would you rather use a trackpad or a mouse? Trackpad. Do you consider yourself politically intelligent? No, not at all. Have you ever done any volunteer work? Yeah, I’ve done a lot with Girl Scouts, school clubs, and class assignments. Do you like the Beatles? I like some songs. Is it night time where you're at right now? Yeah, it’s 2:08AM. Do you like steak? Nope. Do you eat healthy? No, I definitely don’t. How often do you work out? I don’t. What was the best gift you've ever received? I couldn’t possibly choose. Have you ever participated in a spelling bee? Nope. If you could have one wish right now, what would it be? Good health. Do you owe anyone an apology right now? I kind of do. Are you the jealous type of person? I can be, but it’s not something I feel much. Or at least haven’t felt in a long time. I feel envy more. Have you ever tried doing yoga? Nah. Do you like getting massages? I’ve never gotten one. Would you rather be too hot or too cold? Cold. Are you good at telling jokes? No, I’m pretty much the worst. I don’t tell many jokes. When was the last time you've attended a sleepover? Several years ago. Tell me one of your pet peeves. Eating sounds. Do you wear glasses? I do. Do you like to keep your nails painted? I haven’t painted my nails for the past few years. Have you ever had a pedicure? Nope.  What is your favorite smell? I have several favorites. Do you like the TV show Full House? I do. Would you rather listen to country music or rap music? I like both. Are you a Duck Dynasty fan? Nope. Have you graduated high school yet? Uh, yeah, back in 2008.  What kind of person were you in middle school? Quiet, shy, awkward. Nothing has changed. Do you have any major regrets in your life? I have a few. :/ Do you like pixie sticks? Eh. I did as a kid, but I don’t have much interest in them the older I get. Do you like French toast? Mmm, yes. Are you a fast typer? I am. Are you good at doing math in your head? Nope. Or at all. Have you ever played with Silly Putty? Yeah. Do you take in a lot of caffeine daily? I do. I love my caffeine. Do you like watching Football? Nope. Or an sport. What language do you wish you could speak? Spanish. Do you know a lot about history? No, I wouldn’t say that. If we could travel back in time, where would you travel to? Can I travel back to childhood? Would you ever consider joining the military? No. I couldn’t anyway, I’m physically disabled. Are you a cigarette smoker? No. Have you ever done something you didn't want to just to look cool? That’s kind of how it was when I used to drink and smoke. I wasn’t a big drinker or smoker, only did so socially, but still. I also did so on my own accord, I’m not blaming anyone, and I’m not going to say I hated all of it because I did have good times, but there was a big part of me that did so because I felt I had to. My friends liked to do it and I wanted to partake with them and not sit out on the sidelines by myself. It’s just that truth be told I think I would have rarely drank at all if it weren’t for that and likely would have never smoked. It had its fun moments, but I didn’t feel the need to partake all the time like they did. Do you like zombie movies? Nah. Have you seen The Hunger Games? Yep, all of ‘em. Do you have a favorite piece of clothing? All my graphic tees, t-shirt dresses, leggings, and lounge shorts. All my comfy clothes, basically. Do you own any Uggs? Nope. Are you wearing any rings on your fingers? No. Name a TV show that you absolutely can't stand. Most sitcoms today. Do you have any unusual talents? No. Or any kind of talent. Do you look like your age? *shrug* I’ve been told I look younger. Do you feel confident in a bathing suit? Nooo. Do you do a lot of online shopping? I do. Do you like the Harry Potter films? Yeah. Do you judge people based on their sexual orientation? No. I care about who a person is, their personality, and whether we vibe. Have you ever been told you had an accent? No. Have you ever ridden an elephant? Nope. Are you allergic to pollen? I do have seasonal allergies. Have you ever eaten sushi? Ew, yes. Not a fan. If so, do you like it? Nope. Are you a fan of anime? No. Would you rather play Xbox or Playstation? Playstation. Are you a big fan of seafood? I don’t like seafood at all. What kind of food are you craving right now? I’m good right now. Are you currently in a relationship? No. If not, are you happy being single? Yeah, it’s for the best. Do you like to go fishing? No. Are you a fast runner? I used to be. I don’t have the energy or strength anymore for that.

Have you ever worked at a fast food place? Nope. What's on your mind right now? Now I’m thinking about food cause of some of the previous questions. Are you texting anyone as you're taking this survey? No. Have you ever had a nasty rumor spread about you? No. Have you ever sent someone sexual pictures of yourself? No. Do you like who you are on the inside or the outside more? Neither. :/ Are you good at drawing? No, I have no artistic abilities. Do you know how to dance? Nope. What's your favorite reality TV show? Catfish, Teen Mom OG, Teen Mom 2, The Voice... Do you think Kim Kardashian deserves to be famous? I don’t care. Are you excited for Christmas this year? I’m always excited for Christmas. Do you celebrate Halloween? I mean, I put up some decor, watch scary movies, and partake in treats. I stopped dressing up and carving pumpkins a few years ago. Have you ever had a concussion? No. Do you pretend to be someone you're not? No. I certainly wouldn’t pretend to be... *gestures vaguely* this. Do you listen to heavy metal music? No. Were you sad when Michael Jackson died? I was just surprised. Do you have more upper or lower body strength? I barely have any strength anymore it feels like, but I used to have really great upper body strength. Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No, and never want to be. Do you like hot tubs? No. Do you know anyone who is battling cancer? No. Have you ever donated money to a charity? Yes. Do you get bored easily? More so nowadays. I didn’t used to. Have you ever peed your pants in public? Maybe as a little kid. Are you afraid of roller coasters? Yes, except for the Cars and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coasters at Disneyland. Are you good at doing tongue twisters? Not really. What was the last movie you've seen in theatres? Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. Have you ever been to a drive-in movie? Yeah, a few times but it’s been a long time. I’ve been wanting to go to one, though. Are you good at doing fractions? Meh. I’m alright. Me and math don’t get along, but I could do some things somewhat. What is your favorite holiday? Christmas and Halloween. Do you prefer Apple or Android? Apple. Would you rather have a tablet or a computer? Computer. Do you like things that are touch screen? Yeah. What age did you have your first kiss at? 16. Do you regret losing your virginity to whoever you lost it to? I’m still a virgin. Do you have a good relationship with your mother? Yes. Do you like the color lime green? Sure. What are your plans for tomorrow? I don’t have any. Would you rather wear jeans or yoga pants? Yoga pants. Do you like your clothes to be baggy and comfortable or tight and revealing Baggy and comfy. Do you wish you could change something about your hair? Yeah, it’s really not a good look right now. I pretty much chopped it off a couple months ago for reasons and it’s in that awkward phase as it grows out. I want it to be longer and dyed red again because currently it’s all natural and I don’t like it. Have you ever gotten a makeover? Yeah. Do you get mad easily? No. but I get frustrated and irritable easily. Have you ever punched someone in the face? No. Do you think the minions from Despicable Me are cute? Ehh. Did you have a Gameboy as a child? I did. Would you rather have chocolate or gummy worms? Chocolate. I’m not a gummy fan. What are your favorite pizza toppings? Extra cheese, garlic, green onions, spinach, cilantro, crushed meatballs, and pesto. Have you ever auditioned for a talent competition? No. I don’t have any talent. Do you make good sandwiches? I think theyr’e better from a deli or when my mom makes them haha but sure. Would you rather get high or get drunk? High. Have you ever failed a drug test? Nope. Do you like the Silent Hill movies? I actually haven’t seen them. What is one thing you need to work on to make yourself a better person? I have a few things I need to work on.

[loveisnotadagger]

Love Is Healing - Chapter Two

I forgot to put this in the first chapter, but originally this was supposed to just be a response to a prompt on an imagines site on Tumblr, but then it sort of veered away from it, so it no longer is what it was. :)

Also: I don't own Loki or any of the characters you recognize from the Marvel franchise. I'm just writing for fun.

Author's note/warning: there are brief mentions of torture in this chapter (dealing with Loki's time with Thanos.)

---

Loki being distracted by Thor's presence now, Arianna was able to sneak onto the balcony to try and get to the Tesseract. She needed to find out how to deactivate the thing, as it was what was allowing the Chitauri to come through from their world and into hers.

Down below the city was being destroyed by Loki's army. There were creatures on robot-looking things and there was also a demonic worm that seemed to be made of metal. What even was that?

She wasn't sure any of the Avengers could actually fight these things and win. She heard and saw the explosions taking place on the streets below and knew if she was going to save anything, that she had to do it now.

Thor and Loki were fighting on the balcony, but neither of them was paying attention to her. She was able to get past them fairly easily. Thor had slammed Loki against one of the windows. He wouldn't let Loki go without a fight. He actually seemed to be talking the other, crazier, Asgardian down – something Tony had tried and failed at doing.

Maybe Thor being his brother and all would mean something to Loki. Maybe Thor could make Loki see that all this destruction wouldn't end in his rule.

Arianna now stood a few feet from the Tesseract. She was so close, yet she couldn't touch it. There was a forcefield around the blue cube and unless she could get through that she couldn't get to the Tesseract to close whatever portal it had created to bring Loki's army to Earth.

Arianna placed her hand against the forcefield and was relieved when it didn't hurt her. This type of magic – or whatever one called it – wasn't defensive.

She closed her eyes and visualized a large blue dome surrounding the Tesseract and then she felt the familiar tingle in her fingertips that came from channeling her ability through her hands. If anyone were watching, they would see a bright golden glow coming from her hands. That was how her ability manifested.

She was now imagining a hole forming in the forcefield protecting the Tesseract. She didn't need a big opening, just something wide enough for her to squeeze through.

She'd almost made it when her wrist was grabbed.

"Now, tell me . . . How does a Midgardian such as yourself know how to do that?"

Images flashed through her mind – just another part of her ability. Her mind, her energy, was merging with the one who had grabbed her.

'You don't know pain . . . if you fail, you will wish for something as sweet as pain.'

She was seeing through someone else's eyes and what she saw was a barren wasteland. She had hurt herself somehow. Her back was killing her. There were chains and whips. Sometimes she was suspended in mid-air. Sometimes she was tied down. Sometimes she was chained to a rock, facedown. There were lashes and beatings and fire.

There was Thanos . . . someone named Thanos.

Pain ripped through her as lashes from a whip connected with her back. There were brief but welcome pieces of oblivion that she was sure were bouts of unconsciousness. Then came fire – everywhere. It seemed to race through her veins.

Had she died and gone to hell?

The vision ended when the physical contact ended, when her wrist was no longer being held.

She turned to the person who'd been touching her and saw Loki – a much different Loki than she'd seen earlier. He was looking at her with wide, almost vulnerable eyes. She'd been seeing Loki's memories, and what horrible memories they were.

"What happened to you?" she whispered, not really caring that she was talking to the man who had so terrified her.

She wished she hadn't spoken, though, when his eyes hardened again. She almost couldn't blame him. She had seen into his mind and had gone through what were probably his deepest and darkest memories.

This man had been tortured for only God knew how long. No wonder he was insane. ----------

As Loki stared at the Midgardian girl, he wondered exactly what she was. Midgardians didn't know magic, not like this.

She had been able to pry into his mind. He could do that when he concentrated hard enough. The ones who had tortured him had been able to do that as well, but they hadn't seen so much as they had torn into his mind. They had torn and manipulated and replaced his jealousy and bitterness with all out resentment and rage.

This human girl had shaken his resolve for a moment, but he was himself again now and he couldn't allow her to get her hands on the Tesseract.

He looked back to where he had been fighting Thor just moments before. Loki had stabbed him, not to kill him but to get away from him. Thor was nowhere to be found now. He was probably on the streets, helping the other so-called heroes.

A surge of energy pulsed from the Tesseract, a signal meant to release more soldiers, more Chitauri.

The girl in front of him gasped and looked up. Loki glanced up as well and almost choked on his own breath. There were thousands of the Chitauri in the sky. Midgard had no chance of winning.

The girl looked at him then, anger in her eyes, and turned from him. She stepped through the hole she'd made in the forcefield and headed straight for the Tesseract.

Loki was almost tempted to let her try her hand at stopping all of this because he was fairly certain she didn't know how. It might even destroy her if she touched it, what with all the energy emanating from him. However, she was clearly gifted in what Midgardians considered magic, so she might just figure it out, might survive touching it.

Maybe he should just shove her off the balcony. It would solve this whole problem. Or he could just put her under his control. Where was his staff? He could definitely use someone like her on his side. ---------- Arianna finally reached the Tesseract, got her hands on it. The only reason she'd reached it was because Loki was trying to figure out what exactly to do with her.

Loki had been right when he'd asked about her magic because in a way what she could do was magic. She could manipulate energy to a certain extent. All things were made of energy, and manipulating that was what made it possible for her to heal people.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. At first Arianna thought she was causing it, that the Tesseract was responding to her trying to shut it down, but then she remembered she had Thor on her side.

She looked up and saw several of the Chitauri fall from their place in the sky, dead. Thor had that part covered, at least.

Loki grabbed her again, and again she was pulled into his memories, his thoughts.

Loki was worried. If he failed to take over Midgard for Thanos, there would be more pain in store for him. No . . . If Thanos didn't get the Tesseract, Loki didn't even want to know what would happen.

"Let go!" Arianna screamed at Loki.

He didn't listen. He actually yanked her away from the Tesseract and pulled her out of the forcefield, which caused a slight shock to go through her.

"Let me go!"

"Really?" he asked and held her slightly over the edge of the balcony as if he were going to drop her.

"No! No, no, no!"

She grabbed onto his leather-clad arms and silently promised herself that if she went over, he would too. The fall might not kill him, but it would slow him down a bit.

She was able to see all the destruction below and she could feel from Loki that he hadn't wanted 'this' exactly. He'd needed the Chitauri more as back up in case the humans rebelled. He hadn't wanted what was to be his world destroyed.

"Help stop this, Loki," she said, knowing those four words could very well be enough for him to actually let her topple over the edge.

Instead, it made him jerk her forward.

"How dare you use my name! You need to remember your place. I am a god, you pathetic girl."

He shoved her away from him but not over the edge of the balcony. Her knees hit the cement and she caught herself, scratching the palm of her hands as she landed.

The relief of not being thrown off the balcony was short-lived, however, because the problem still remained: she was stuck there with a raving lunatic.

What she didn't know was that Natasha and Bruce had been fighting their way to Stark Tower. Natasha got there first, but Bruce was close behind and he had his game face on; he was the Hulk now, which could have been a whole other problem, but Bruce seemed to have control of the green beast that sometimes came forward. He at least seemed to know who the bad guy was.

Natasha helped Arianna off her knees and the Hulk shoved Loki through one of the windows of the penthouse. At least Loki wasn't near her anymore.

"The Tesseract," Natasha exclaimed. "Can you shut it down?"

"I think so. Keep Loki away from me."

"I think Bruce has the covered."

It was easy getting to the Tesseract since a hole was already in the forcefield. Her hand trembled as she touched the cube and instincts took over.

Energy meshed with energy and, as Arianna had thought before, it was good for her. The things she could do with that much energy, all the people she could help . . .

But no . . . she wasn't there to take in the Tesseract's energy. She was there to stop it. She just needed to find the off switch.

She focused all her energy on the complexity that was the cube's raw power, but there seemed to be no hole for her mind the slip into, none that was for stopping the portal in the sky.

She did find out that there was a key, though, and she needed it right away.

"Tash, look for Loki's staff. That's the key to cutting this thing off."

She broke her connection with the cube and stepped out of the forcefield. Someone grabbed her wrist and, looking down, she saw the science guy who had helped set up the Tesseract in the first place. She was pretty sure his name was Dr. Selvig. He had a small cut on his head, and he didn't seem to want to hurt her, so she lifted her free hand and lightly touched his head with her fingertips. The cut closed up before her eyes.

"The staff can change you. Be careful."

She nodded once and he let go. ---------- Natasha ended up being the one to actually shut down the Tesseract. She'd found out that a nuke had been released to take out the enemy – SHIELD's decision – and that Tony had basically flown himself into the portal to make sure the bomb didn't go off in the streets of Manhattan. Arianna refused to close the portal without Tony coming back out first, so when Steve had called for them to close it Natasha had been the one to do it.

Thankfully, Tony actually made it back out. Everyone was now in what had been Tony Stark's penthouse. Now it was just a mess of a room, the whole place having been torn apart.

Bruce had long since changed back to his normal form. Clint had his bow and arrow fixed on Loki, though Arianna had no clue what an arrow would do to Loki. Would it even penetrate his skin? Thor was there with his hammer. Steve was there glaring. Tony was hurt but still standing. Natasha had Loki's staff held tightly in her hands.

Arianna didn't like the staff. More precisely, she didn't like the blue stone at the end of it. The stone made her feel weird, made her feel anxious. It made her feel like everything she was afraid of was hovering in the shadows to get her.

"Can we get rid of that thing? It's freaking me out."

"Second that," Clint said.

"We'll put it away until SHIELD gets here," Tony said.

"And what about the Tesseract?" Steve asked.

"I will take it to Asgard when Loki and I return," Thor said.

Loki couldn't speak or do much of anything, really, because Thor had put handcuffs on him and had put some form of muzzle on him.

"Before we get moving, may I heal you guys?"

"Tony's the worst. I think his ribs are bruised," Natasha said.

Tony was still in his suit, so that had to come off, but then she was able to heal him just fine. Well . . . after he got over the fact that she had to touch him to heal him, he was fine. She did feel some residual fear coming off of him, but considering what he'd been through she considered that to be normal.

The rest of them had bruises also, but Tony's had been the worst. Steve healed fast, as did Bruce, and Natasha and Clint hadn't taken any severe blows. Thor seemed to be completely fine.

She would save her energy for the civilians that would need healing. She knew there would be many.

"How is it you know magic?" Thor asked, unknowingly mirroring Loki's earlier question.

"I don't know exactly how it happened," Arianna admitted. "I just woke up one day years ago and was able to do it."

She looked at Loki and then back at Thor. "Is that muzzle thing really necessary?"

"It's what all Asgardian prisoners wear until they get to Odin."

"Yes, well, we're not in Asgard right now. Unless it's physically harmful for him to have the freedom to speak, could you please take it off? I understand the restraints, but the muzzle is a bit much. He's not an animal."

Everyone looked at Arianna as if she were crazy for standing up for Loki, but they didn't know what she knew. Having seen only seconds of what he'd been through, she knew being restrained was probably driving him crazy even if he wasn't showing it.

Loki lowered his eyes when she looked at him again. Thor didn't move from his spot. She guessed that meant he wasn't going to free Loki's mouth.

"Fine," she said. "I'll do it myself."

"Aries," Natasha said. "What're you doing?"

Arianna ignored her friend and began walking toward Loki, who was standing ram-rod straight and looking at her warily. It struck her then that because she knew 'magic' Loki might be more afraid of her than any of the others in the room – except for maybe Bruce and Thor.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said as she brought her hand to the metal contraption covering his mouth.

A click sounded through the air as she sent enough energy into the muzzle to unlock it, and she gently pulled it from his face. Bruises were already forming where the thing had lined his mouth. Arianna would have healed him, but she was scared to actually touch him. She didn't want to be pulled into his thoughts again.

A bright light filled the room then and it took a few seconds for Arianna to be able to see clearly again. Out on the balcony was a woman with long golden hair. She was wearing a floor-length light green gown.

"Mother," Thor said, stepping forward.

Loki tensed beside Arianna and she realized that this was Loki's mother too.

"Thor. Loki. My sons."

Arianna wondered if this woman was here to help or harm. If she was Thor and Loki's mother, then she was obviously Asgardian as well, which meant she was strong and resilient even if she did seem soft-spoken and friendly.

"Thor, I'm here to take you home. Loki is to stay here."

The woman looked at Loki now, sympathy all over her face.

"You are to face the same punishment Thor did not so many months ago. You are to remain here, mortal, without any powers. You can come back home once you learn your lesson."

Loki had to stay on Earth? Powerless and human? He would age and die if he didn't 'learn his lesson?'

"If I may," Arianna said, stepping forward. "Have you considered he may have had a reason for doing what he did?"

"Yes, of course," the woman said. "Be that as it may . . . his deeds cannot go unpunished."

"Agreed. I just thought it bore mentioning."

The woman shared a kind smile with Arianna.

"What is your name?"

"Arianna."

"Arianna." The smile was still on her face. "Beautiful name. Can I assume that since you were so quick to defend my son that no harm will come to him under your care?"

"What?" both Arianna and Natasha said.

"This man who stands before me . . . he is a darkened version of my son. You, however, have the ability to heal people . . ."

"Oh. Physically, yes."

It occurred to her that this woman must have been keeping watch over her or something because she hadn't been there to see Arianna heal anyone.

"There are some things I cannot heal."

Arianna didn't want to say what those things were, what she'd seen in Loki's memories. There weren't words to describe it even if she'd wanted to. It wasn't her secret to share, anyway. She wouldn't bring it up unless she had to.

"Loki is undeniably clever. I think he'll be himself in no time." This time she sent Loki a smile. "Now, I suggest everyone vacate the room if you want your vision intact."

Needless to say, the Avengers – minus Thor – got through the rubble blocking the exit in record time.