#watching it over and over incessantly whenever it comes up on my dash

[koiryuu]

i know there's probably so many jokes from the lesbians and girl-likers of the world rn along the lines of "nooo i promise im not watching the falin boob grab scene 5000 times in a row cause of HORNY its just good animation i PROMISE" and thats so valid and funny but as a gay man myself that is completely unironically what im doing. i do not feel anything horny about boobs or girls but DAMN that animation hit ‼

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Be With Me Instead

Sequel to Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, oral.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and dark!Peter Parker explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader deals with the end of her relationship and the dissemblance of her life.

Note: I wrote a sequel to a one shot. Surprise, surprise. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

To say your head hurt was an understatement. Your skull felt as if it would split in two. Your stomach was sour and your muscles ached. You smelled of sweat and something more definitive. A scent so carnal and strong it could not be mistaken.

You groaned and tenderly touched your temple as you laid on your side. There was heat behind you. It radiated beneath the covers and embraced you. You rubbed your head shakily as your dreams fizzled to nonsensical snapshots.

You hadn't been so hungover since your first year of uni. It kept you from more than two drinks on a night out since. Until last night. The memories a haze in your mind, blurred with your nocturnal fantasies.

You remembered Bucky, the bar, the first drink, the second, and the third, the shot of tequila. Then it all went static. You rolled flat onto your back and your arm rubbed against the source of warmth beside you. You looked over and gasped.

Bucky's bare chest rose and fell in the dim light. The morning sun was blotted out by the thick blinds. His metal arm was bent over the sheet and his dark hair was a mess of waves across the pillow. He was naked and so were you.

You sat up and struggled to untangle yourself from the covers. You fell onto the floor, your ass tender as it met the carpet. You remembered it then. All of it. The elevator, his arm around you, his lips on yours, calling his name as he--

The springs of the bed shifted and you looked up as he rolled over and leaned on his elbow to gaze down at you. He smirked, his eyes tired but sparkling. You stared back at him, mortified.

"What are you doing all the way down there?" He purred.

You shook your head and glanced around. You ignored him as you stood and groggily collected your clothes from the floor. Your legs were weak and your flesh buzzed. You could feel him still as visions of him fucking you replayed in your head.

"Hey, going so soon?" You looked over at him as you searched for your panties. Giving up, you pulled on your jeans and hooked your bra.

"B--Last night was...bad." You croaked and pulled your shirt over your head. "It shouldn't have happened." 

You grabbed your jacket and purse. You paused and touched your stomach as it threatened to flip. He was unfazed as he pushed the blankets aside and stretched with a yawn.

You tucked your socks into your purse and forced your feet into your boots. You stumbled and he caught you as you struggled to stand straight.

"That's not what you said last night." He chided. "Sounded to me like you enjoyed yourself."

"I was drunk," You pulled away from him. "And Peter--" Your heart dropped as you recalled Bucky holding his phone over you. Looking into the dark lens as he gloated. "Tell me you didn't send it."

He smirked and you clasped your hand over your mouth. You were gonna spew. You fought to keep your stomach calm and backed away.

"How could you do this?" You gasped.

"You guys are over. What does it matter? So you had a little fun." He reached out to you and you evaded him.

"You tricked me." You sputtered. "I was drunk, upset, and you-you--"

"Don't act so innocent. You came to the bar with me, you had three drinks--"

"You said you'd drive me home and you just dragged me back here and...and--”

A knock, then more pounding, came at the door. You froze and your eyes widened. 

"Open the fucking door!" Peter shouted from the other side. "You fucking asshole."

You stared at Bucky, silently pleading. Just wait for him to go, please. Bucky chuckled and brushed past you. You turned and grabbed his arm but he was too strong. You remembered the night before, how easily he had used your body. His metal hand around your throat.

"Please, don't. Bucky, I can't." You kept your voice low. "Just let him go."

He shrugged you off and you watched him stride to the door. He swung it open and Peter lunged at him in an instant. Bucky sidestepped and grabbed him by his scruff and tossed him to the floor. 

Still naked, he stood calmly as Peter leapt back to his feet and spun around. He raised his fist but never struck as his eyes strayed to you. He dropped his hand and stepped back as if he had been hit. You winced and clutched your bag as your head swirled.

"I'm...sorry." You rasped and dashed past Bucky to the door.

You didn't look back as you fled down the hall. You crashed through the next door and down the stairs as the world rushed past you. You ran from your mistake frantically until you were on the street.

You swept past the pedestrians intent on their own destinations and to the grimy waste bin by the curb. You hugged the rim and retched into the depths as your entire body rebelled. You could rid yourself of the bile but you could not rid yourself of your guilt.

❤

You spent your Sunday in bed, hungover and heartbroken. What had you done? You were so naive. So stupid. 

What else could Bucky have ever wanted from you but sex? You wondered however if it was more about Peter; about the odd vendetta Bucky seemed to have forged towards him in the last few weeks. To think Peter had the video, that he saw what you'd done was worse than the crime itself. 

You cried, and slept, and tried to forget. 

Monday came and your classes kept you busy but couldn't erase the blot on your soul. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The days were barely discernible. Your mind and body functioned off of sheer routine, not a thought was spared beyond your self-pity.

You ignored your phone. Peter texted until you muted his notifications. A private number kept calling but you could guess who it was. You had no reason to ever go near the compound again and less to associate with its residents.

On Friday, you only had one class at noon. You were done just after two and eager to go back to your dorm and order pizza. Stew in your new solitary mourning; for your relationship, for your dignity, for all you had drunk away in one night.

Campus was chilly. Winter greeted the students with a blanket of snow and the approach of the holidays was darkened by the imminence of finals. 

You walked along the winding path that led around the quad. The bushes were barren and prickly, the statues shrouded in hills of powder. You stopped to look up at the postmodern shapes arranged to seem as if they were floating. You tucked your hands in your pockets and shivered.

The snow crumpled behind you. As you waited for your fellow student to pass you were surprised when the footsteps stopped next to you. You frowned, confused, and glanced over.

Bucky's dark hair poked out from beneath the black beanie, he wore a thick jacket with fleece lining, and leather gloves. His eyes peered up at the statue as if he didn't even know you were there.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed.

"Well, you won't answer my calls," He spoke without looking over at you. "You do know I'm trained to find people. You can't just run away."

"Can't you take a hint?" You scowled.

"Can't you?" He countered. "Come on, we both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"

You looked down and dragged your foot through the snow. You felt a swirl in your stomach. The same you felt whenever you thought of that night. He was right but you weren't going to admit it.

"It doesn't matter." You insisted. "Look, I have exams. I have a degree to focus on. Let's just leave whatever that was as it is. Just sex. Regrettable sex."

He scoffed and nodded. You turned to watch him purse his lips as he thought. 

"I don't wanna leave it." He said. "And I won't."

"Just leave me alone," You grumbled and spun back down the path.

You weren't surprised when he followed. You knew it wouldn't be that easy. He had come all the way here, incessantly called you for days, not to mention the scheme that created this mess.

"That's not how this works." He kept stride with you. "You don't just walk away from me."

"Please, just stop," You begged as you walked faster. "I can't do this."

"Do what? You were happy enough to hang around when Peter was standing you up. And now you're just ditching me because spider-boy still won't grow up." He grabbed your arm and almost pulled you off your feet as he made you stop. "I told you things I never told anyone else. This isn't just sex to me."

"You're insane. I was so fucking drunk, you could have been Peter and I wouldn't have known." You tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

"You knew it was me. You wanted it. You wanted me. You still want me," He squeezed your arm and leaned in. "I'm everything Peter isn't and that's exactly what you need."

"Let me go," You breathed. "Please. Just let me go."

"Never." He sneered.

"I'll scream." You looked around. Students shuffled by on their way to and from class. "I will."

He grinned and shook his head. He let go and stood straight. His blue eyes narrowed and he looked down at you. Knowing, confident, dangerous.

"Fine." He squared his shoulders. "Next time, you can scream all you want."

Your eyes rounded and your lips parted in shock. What did that mean? You knew it wasn't good. 

He gave a two finger salute, "see ya around," he intoned as he stepped past you. 

You turned and watched him stroll off down the path, seemingly invisible amidst the groups of overtired students and self-involved professors. You glanced around and felt your own insignificance. Your vulnerability. 

Even if you had screamed, would anyone care?

❤

You shivered as you reached your dorm. You weren’t so sure it was the cold as your run-in with Bucky replayed over and over in your head. 

When you entered the dorm, the three girls you shared it with were all closed up in their rooms. It was unusual not to find them giggling in the common room together. They were likely holed up prepping for finals.

You kicked your boots off and left them on the mat. Your bedroom was unlocked. You must’ve forgotten to lock it before class. Oh well, you were too distracted to care. 

You set your bag on your desk as the door closed behind you and turned with a yelp as a small figure greeted you from the corner.

“Jesus, Peter, how did...what are you doing here?” You touched your chest and pushed yourself against the desk. 

He glared at you as he leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “I’ve been texting you.”

“Why? What is there left for us to talk about?” You flinched as he pushed himself away from the wall.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” He sneered as he got closer. “Like you fucking him the same night we broke up. That’d be a start.”

“What can I say, Peter? It happened.” You retorted. 

“And you just had to let him record it?” His lips slanted in detest. “What? Is that what I did wrong? I didn’t treat you like a slut?”

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I didn’t know...I was drunk. Very drunk.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“We’re over. What does it matter?” You snapped. 

“Yeah, but usually when a relationship ends, you don’t just jump on the next guy you see.” He spat. “And then you ignore me? For a whole week? Two years. Did it mean nothing to you?”

“It meant everything to me, Peter,” You countered. “But we were never going to last and it has nothing to do with Bucky.”

“So…” He was so close you could feel his breath. “You fucking him now?”

“No, I...it’s not your concern anymore,” You swallowed as he backed you up to the wall. “You should go.”

“I saw you talking to him,” He said evenly. “Out on campus. You looked pretty cozy.”

“Just go--”

“Not as cozy…” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped over his screen and smiled as he held it up. “As this.”

Your veins turned to ice as you watched the video. Bucky behind you, his hand at your throat, your flesh clapped as you called his name. Your voice was wild, it barely sounded like you. But it was you.

“So is that what you want? To hurt me?” You blinked away the tears. “Because you did that long before now.”

“What I want is for you to get on the bed.” He spoke quietly but his words cut through you.

“Go, Peter. We’re over.” You tried to push him away and he caught your arm and twisted. You whined as your wrist threatened to snap.

“If I have to tell you again, I can hit send. We’ll see what everyone else thinks of your short film. Hell, maybe you’d do better in a film degree.” He taunted and waved his phone in his other hand. “It’s a big campus but these things travel fast.”

You lowered your brow. The air was knocked out of you. You’d always known him as the sweet, compassionate boy you’d met that first day on campus. You knew he had changed, that’s why you’d broke it off, but you didn’t know he was like this.

“Please don’t do this,” You pleaded. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

“Get on the fucking bed now,” He drew the words out and closed his eyes as he inhaled. “Naked.” He let go of your wrist. “We’ll see who the little boy is.”

His eyes opened and you winced at their intensity. You gulped and nodded. You tried to speak but your voice was caught in your tight throat. You carefully stepped past him. You peeked over at the door. You stopped then bolted to the door. 

Before you could grab the handle, it was covered it corded webs that sealed it to the frame. Peter sighed. “Don’t make me use them on you, too. Bed. Now.”

You turned and gave him one last look. Of disgust and desperation. He didn’t waver. 

“And if I scream?”

“I can shut you up,” His fingers bent slightly as he lifted his hand. “Do I need to?”

You looked to your feet and unzipped your jacket. Your hands were shaking. You dropped your jacket on the floor and then your sweater. Your loose tee and jeans crumpled a top the pile with your socks trapped in the denim. 

You stood in your panties and bra and peeked over at Peter. He shrugged and you knew he wasn’t going to stop.

You undid your bra and added it to the mess on the floor. You rolled your panties down and stepped up to your single bed. You climbed up and drew our knees to your chest to cover yourself. You couldn’t look at Peter again. You stared at the polka dot comforter beneath you and waited.

You listened to his footsteps, him fiddling with something unseen, the rustle of his clothing. You sensed him as he neared the bed. 

“Come here.” He pointed to the mattress in front of him. 

You turned and shoved your legs over the edge as you sat there. You ignored his naked figure and kept your eyes down. He grabbed the back of your head and pressed his cock to your lips. 

You closed your eyes and parted your lips. He slipped inside and you gagged as he forced himself down your throat. Your eyes watered and you struggled to breath around him. He didn’t wait for you. He thrust in and out of your mouth. Each was hard, decisive, as if he meant to hurt you. 

Again. His hand moved and his other came up to hold your head in a vice. He fucked your face as you slapped his thigh helplessly. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t even seem to notice as you fought him.

Finally he pulled out. Spit coated your lips as he let you go and you fell back, out of breath and coughing. You were dizzy from the sudden and rough assault. Stunned by Peter’s behaviour. Senseless.

“Turn over.” He barked and you looked down at him. You just stared at him. 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up. He spun you around and pushed you against the bed until you lifted your knees up on the mattress. He grabbed your neck and shoved you down until your head was on the mattress. He slapped your ass and you exclaimed.

“Shut up,” He snarled and you bit your lip.

His cock prodded you as he felt around for your entrance. He pushed into you slowly at first and then slammed into you all at once. You whimpered and he thrust again, harder. He bent over you and grabbed your arms. He bent them behind you and jerked his hips again. Each time he rocked into you, it was sharp and jolted your entire body.

He hissed as he was driven by his own ferocity. Everytime you made a sound, he sped up. Your body shook as he rutted into you over and over. You were embarrassed as your unexpected arousal eased the glide of his cock. 

You shuddered and held your breath but you couldn’t resist it. The burning in your core, the flare that sparked and broke the surface. You gritted your teeth as you turned your face down muffled your orgasm in the duvet.

He growled. Not groaned, growled. You’d never heard him like this. Sure, your relationship had been anything but abstinent but something in him had come unhinged. He wasn’t holding anything back. Every ounce of hunger, anger, frustration, everything, was spoken through his touch.

He slowed suddenly. He kept his strokes long and even. He was pacing himself. He sped up again only to falter. Every time he came close to finishing, he pulled the reins back. 

He released your arms and pushed you down until your legs slipped over the edge of the bed and your hips were flat to the mattress. He impaled you with decisive thrusts, his hands on the small of your back as he pinned you down. His breaths were deep and eager as he bucked against you.

When he came, he didn’t let up. He grunted and spilled inside of you but didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. His cum seeped out as he buried his cock in your over and over. He crashed into one last time, sending a pang up your spine as he did, and stayed there. 

He squeezed your ass and pushed it apart. He wiggled his hips and let out a long breath.

“Is that what you wanted?” He smacked your ass and your body tensed. “A man.” He snarled. “Huh?”

“P-Peter,” You whispered as you turned your head.

“I guess falling in love with you just wasn’t enough,” He pulled out and pinched you so hard you cried out. You were too weak to move. “Have fun with Bucky but don’t come crawling back to me when he’s done with you. I don’t like leftovers.”

You rolled over as he turned away and started to dress, bending to grab each piece of clothing from the floor. Your lip trembled as he pulled on his jacket and tucked away his phone. 

He didn’t even look at you as he left. The door slammed behind him and the tears began to flow. You had been ready for the break-up, but never for this.

❤

Finals came and went. You were numb. In a haze. For once you weren’t nervous for your exams but only because you could barely focus on them. After each, you emerged barely able to remember what you’d written. You couldn’t think about anything but Peter’s harsh goodbye and Bucky’s ominous promise.

The holiday break arrived and campus was mostly abandoned. You planned to stay on campus that year with Peter but instead you'd be alone. Your parents decided to finally take that Christmas trip to the Bahamas like they'd always dreamed of. It was too late to go home.

Christmas Eve. You ventured out to grab a few groceries for your solitary christmas dinner. Nothing special. Pasta and pinot. Last minute shoppers bustled in the small shop and you wove between them as the early winter dusk started to descend. 

You stepped out onto the street as the grey sky turned a deep blue. You looked up at the sliver of moon and frowned. This wasn't how you'd imagined your Christmas. Never overly festive but you had looked forward to a cozy holiday with Peter. Well, that was a long gone hope.

You started down the street and were startled as a car honked at you and pulled up to the curve. You recognized it and walked faster. The engine died and the door opened and closed. The footsteps neared and you tried to elude them.

"Hey," Bucky caught your arm and forced you to slow down. You almost dropped the large paper bag.

"Leave me alone." You didn't look at him.

"Hey, I was just gonna help you out," He grabbed the top of the bag and you stopped before he could tear it. "That looks heavy."

“Please.” You hugged the bag and backed away from him. “I told you before--”

“You’re all alone.” He said bluntly. “On Christmas.”

“And so are you,” You countered.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” He warned and reached for the bag again. “I could help you. Take care of you.” You wrestled with him but he easily took the groceries. He looked inside and tutted. “That’s a lot of wine for one person.”

“Fuck off.” You turned on your heel and stormed away. He could keep it all. You just wanted this all to end. The dread, the dreams, the terrible guilt that never quite left you. He followed.

“Just let me give you a ride. We can talk.” He caught up with you. “What is it? A five minute ride to campus? Just five minutes, please?”

You stopped again. You looked up at him sharply. You were tired. You just wanted to get back to your dorm and hide. 

“Five minutes and you leave me alone for good.” You declared.

“Five minutes. That’s all.” He agreed and his lips curved just slightly. 

You shrugged and gestured past him. He led you back to his car. He placed the bag behind his seat as you got in and he took the driver’s seat. 

You crossed your arms and stared out the window as he turned the engine. You were reminded of that night he’d driven you home. You’d bought his sweet little act hook, line, and sinker. How stupid.

“I...wasn’t trying to trick you. I just wanted to be close to you.” He pulled out. “I hope you know that.”

“You recorded it,” You spat. “How was that not malicious?”

“That wasn’t about you, it was about him,” Bucky said. “I wanted him to see what he’d taken for granted. What he’d lost.”

“Are you stupid? Did you really think that was right?” You looked at him. “You could’ve been normal. You could’ve waited instead of getting me drunk. You could’ve just told me you were interested.”

“Do you think that would’ve worked?” He wondered as he steered. “I’m a lot older than you. I don’t know how things work these days.”

“You don’t just feed someone drinks and call that a relationship,” You shook your head. “You don’t send a video to her ex. You don’t--You don’t know what he did.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped at the intersection.

“Nothing. I just...me and Peter could’ve ended this as friends and you took that from me. And now, you know what, you’re right, I am alone. I--” You squinted as he turned away from campus and your words tumbled to murmurs. “Bucky, what are you doing? Where--”

You felt a prick in your neck and clapped your hand against it as you looked over at him. He held a syringe as your eyes felt loose in your head and a warmth spread along your neck and through your limbs.

“B-Bucky…” You fell back against the seat. 

“I won’t let you go.” He said as your eyes closed. “I can’t. I love you.”

His voice floated around you and faded into the black as you slumped against the door. You sank into the void, entirely and blissfully numb.

❤

The shroud slowly lifted from you. Your eyes fluttered open and you groaned as the ceiling was painted in flickering light. The crackle and smell of fire tickled your senses and you looked around the unfamiliar room. You rolled onto your side and tenderly cradled your head. It felt like a pebble was bouncing around your skull.

A dark figure knelt before the artificial fireplace, the poker in hand as he stoked it. Slowly Bucky turned his head and his face came clear through the haze. He wore a pair of flannel pants and a grey tee.

You pushed yourself up and hung your legs over the side of the bed. He stood and set aside the iron poker. He neared and sat beside you, his hand on yours.

“Take it easy.” He cooed. “You’re okay.” He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it. 

“Wh-where…” Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t find the word. 

“Home.” He smiled and brought his hand up to cradle your face. He kissed your forehead as his thumb rubbed your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You grimaced, confused. He reluctantly let go and stood. He walked around as you tried to clear your head. 

There were two doors, the windows were blacked out, but otherwise it seemed like a normal room. It could’ve been any apartment nestled in the midst of the overpopulated city.

“It’s already noon. You should dress.” He placed a dress in your lap. “Then we can open our gifts.”

Your mind threatened to crack. What the fuck was going on?

“My ma never let us sleep past six, even on Christmas, but I figured you needed the rest,” He continued. “You looked so peaceful.” He smiled and you unfolded the red velvet. “You can get cleaned up just in there.” He pointed to the door on your right. “I’ll be here.”

He sat in the armchair by the fire and leaned his chin in his hand as he watched you expectantly. You stood as you tried to hide your discomfort. A man who stuck a needle in your neck was bound to do a lot worse.

You hesitated as you neared the door. It would be a place to hide for a while at least. You said nothing as you kept your eyes on him and backed through the door. You closed it, slowly. He never stopped watching and you found the lock on the door didn’t work.

You turned and held up the velvet dress. The straps were thin and the burgundy skirt was trimmed with matching fur. You hated it.

You look down at your own clothing. He’d taken your jacket and boots off. Your sweatshirt was rumpled from your induced slumber and your jeans were stained with salt along the ankles. 

If you refused to be his doll, what would he do? You weren’t stupid enough to think you could keep him out, especially with a door handle that didn’t even click into place. 

Even if you fought him, he probably had another needle at the ready. Besides he was much too strong for that. You knew that already. There were no windows in the bathroom. No way out it seemed as those in the other room were sealed. 

You only had one choice. Well, not really a choice at all.

You quaked as you undressed. You avoided looking in the mirror as you folded your clothes on the counter. You kept your bra and panties on, even though they felt grimy from your sweat. You pulled on the dress. It was too tight and too short.

You wrung your hands as you looked around the bathroom. It was nice despite being a prison. Your nerves whirled around you and threatened to choke you. You flinched as knuckles tapped softly on the door.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

You blinked and marched to the door. You opened it, slowly, and stared back at him. He looked you up and down and grabbed your hand. He had a dreamy light in his eyes as he drew you out of the bathroom into the soft glow of the other room. 

The tree in the corner had been lit up with pale string lights and you blinked away the specs they left in your eyes. He stopped you and tisked.

“No,” He pulled the strap of your bra down your shoulder. “Take this off.”

You tucked your lip under your teeth and reached back to unhook the bra. You wrestled it out from beneath the dress and he took it from you. He flung it beside the bed and turned back to you.

His hands startled you as he brushed up your skirt and along your thighs. He grabbed your panties and tugged them down. You winced at his force and the cotton dropped to your ankles. He nudged you forward and you stepped out of them before he kicked them away.

“There, perfect,” He took your hand again and drew you over to the tree. “Time for presents.” 

He let go of you and sat on the floor like a child. He took a box from the pile beneath the fir and reached up to pull on your wrist.

“Come on. Sit.” He held up the wrapped gift. “Open your presents.”

You obeyed stiffly, careful to keep the skirt from showing too much. Your hand shook as you accepted the first box from him. You ripped away the paper and crumpled it up in your fist. You set it down and stared at the box lid.

“Bucky…” You glanced up at him. “It’s not too late. You can let me go. I won’t say a word. I’ll--”

“Open it.” 

He shoved the box closer and it almost slipped from your grasp. His smile fell as his metal finger rubbed against his thumb nervously. 

You let the box settle on your lap and you slid the lid off. Inside was a golden chain with your and Bucky’s initials hanging from it. You lifted it and he was swift to take it from you. 

“Here,” He spun his finger. “I’ll help.”

You turned, rigid as he got to his knees and neared you. His fingers tickled your throat as he wrapped the gold around it and clasped it at the back of your neck. He played with the dangling links and sent a shiver through you.

You drew away and resumed your seat on the rug. He handed you another box, this one bigger. He waited, expectantly. After a moment, he nodded and raised a brow. You opened the second gift and revealed a set of sheer lingerie. You quickly covered it up and cleared your throat.

“You don’t like it?” He asked. His tone was dangerous.

“I do. Thank you. I just wasn’t expecting it.” You lied. 

His metal fist balled and unballed. You kept looking back to it as he seemed to sway between delight and anger. You shuddered and he handed you the next gift.

“Good, good,” He said. “I picked them all just for you. I really hope you love them.”

You bit your tongue anxiously and opened the next gift. A dress similar to the one you wore but made of glossy silver silk. Then there was a toiletry set and some make-up and final a small box drawn from just beside the trunk of the tree.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he bit down and turned the velvet box in his fingers. He cleared his throat and got up on his knees. You glanced around, your heart seemed to stop as you realised what he was doing. He was most assuredly out of his mind.

“Sweetheart,” He gripped it as he brought one knee up, “Will you…” He popped it open and revealed a diamond cut into a teardrop. “Marry me?”

You were light-headed. You pushed the empty box from your lap and stood. You could barely do that as you tried to wave him away. 

“Bucky….” You gulped. “Bucky…” You spun and raced for the door. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

You wrenched the door handle but it wouldn’t turn. You tried to rip the door out of its frame but it didn’t even shake, You beat on it and hollered.

“Help!”

You sensed movement behind you and before you could turn to see, Bucky’s arm came up around your waist and he dragged you back. You struggled with him but it was all too easy for him to bend you to his will.

He shoved you to the bed and you caught yourself on the mattress with a yelp. He followed quickly and turned you onto your back as he straddled you on the edge. Your legs dangled over the side and you slapped at him.

“Please, please, why are you doing this?”

He caught your hand and stilled it with his vibranium grip. He bent all your fingers but one and forced the ring onto it. You swiped at him with your other hand and he swiftly caught it.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” He snarled. “I got you all these nice things and you go and spit in my face.”

“No, no, Bucky, please,” You begged.

“Quiet,” He barked. “It’s my turn now. Time for me to open my present.”

He released your hands and grabbed the straps of your dress. You flailed out at him and he snapped the velvet easily. You wriggled weakly and wheezed. You couldn’t breath. Your chest felt like it would collapse.

“Please,” You said. “Bucky… you’re scaring me.”

“You love me,” He sneered. “I know it. I knew it that night. The way you sounded when I touched you. The way you said my name,”

“I was drunk,” You grasped his wrists as his fingers hooked around your shoulders. “Bucky, I can’t even remember that night.”

“Shut up!” He shouted and shook you. “Stop lying!”

You bit your tongue and tasted blood. Your head spun as you felt his weight shift and the velvet tickle your thigh. He tore your skirt up to your waist as he hovered over you on his knees. 

“Bucky,” Your voice cracked as you pressed your hand over his. “I still love Peter.”

“No,” He pushed himself off of you. “You don’t” He gripped his head. “You love me!”

“Bucky--”

“I already told you to shut up,” He growled. “So shut up before I make you.”

He gruffly ripped his shirt over his head. His thumbs hooked under the elastic of his pants and he pushed his shoulders back. His blue eyes were dark and sinister as he watched you sit up.

“Keep the dress on,” He shoved his pants down. 

You stood as he quickly untangled himself from the flannel. He caught you by your throat and forced you back down to the bed. You grabbed his thick forearm as he knelt over you, his fingers threatening to crush your throat.

“Say it. Say you love me.” His hissed.

“You’re hurting me.” You clung to his arm.

“Hurting you!? I’ve only ever been good to you and you--” He stuttered in rage and forced his leg between yours.

He kept his hand on your throat and lifted your other leg as he placed himself entirely between your legs. He bent your leg around him as he bent over you, almost crushing your neck with his hand.

“I never wanted to hurt you, but you insist on hurting me,” He squeezed as his hand crawled up your leg. “Say it!”

You squeaked as you slapped at his hand. His fingers crept over your thigh and down your pelvis. He pushed his fingers roughly between your legs and felt along your folds. His touch hurt as he forced two fingers inside of you, dry.

He poked in and out harshly and your eyes rolled back as your vision began to spot. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. He rescinded his fingers and pressed the head of his cock against you.

You hugged him with your legs, trying to force him away. He slid his tip inside of you and you let out a stifled moan. You hit his thick bicep as he inched into you. You whimpered and scratched at the vibranium.

“Ple-ease,” You rasped.

“Say it.” He thrust sharply and impaled you entirely. 

“Buck--”

He thurst again and your voice fizzled with a sob.

“Say you love me,” He pressed his lips to your cheek. “Say it.”

He jolted his hips, each time your whined and felt even weaker beneath him. Your head swam and as your walls clenched around him.

“B--” You could barely breath.

“Say it.” His spit trailed across your cheek as he nuzzled your neck.

He sped up, the bed trembled beneath you. You were crushed beneath his relentless pounding. Each thrust sent a reverberation up your spin and ripples along your thighs. You snaked your arm around his neck and pushed your head back into the mattress.

“Say.” He jerked roughly. “It.”

“I--I--” His hand slipped away as he nibbled at your throat and he cradled your head. “I…  love--- you!”

You exclaimed as you came suddenly. You were appalled and stunned by your bodies response to him. He was inflamed by it and rutted into you even harder.

His thick grunts stormed in your ears as his fingers stretched across the back of your head. The velvet was rough between your bodies as he moved against you. He snarled as he spasmed. Your body went limp as he emptied into you.

He stilled and rested his weight over you. You closed your eyes, your face wet from tears and sweat. His hand fell away from your head and he laced his fingers through yours and placed with the diamond there.

“I love you, too,” He cooed and kissed your neck.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 8: Coincidence

Chapter 7

Read on AO3

A few sessions at the stables passed since Claire and Jamie’s discussion about his brother. Claire had felt uneasy that first week, seeing him after he’d shared something so private with her, but he seemed to be none the wiser to her discomfort, nor did he have any of his own. He was chipper as ever and didn’t treat her or Faith any differently. It was strange knowing something so viscerally painful about this man’s life and going on with him as usual, like it was normal for them to have shared something like that. Claire supposed she should have been uncomfortable, but as more and more weeks passed by since that day, she felt nothing but at ease in his presence.

Additionally, as time went on, Claire was becoming more comfortable in her new role at the hospital. Joe was becoming a true friend. They could often be found hiding in the same corners, drinking coffee together, or taking lunch together. He’d shown her pictures of his family and she of hers, having to confess then that Faith’s father was not in the picture. Upon revealing the whole story, Joe had looked at her calmly from across the table they were sharing and said, very simply:

“Fuck Frank.”

They kept making plans for Faith and Claire to come to his house for dinner, which, of course, kept getting thwarted by conflicting schedules. It was a running joke between the two that they were actually only pretending to like one another, and making excuses to avoid going to each other’s homes.

God, she was grateful to have him.

For that matter, she was quite grateful for Mary Hawkins as well. While Claire didn’t see her in person anymore since Faith had switched appointment times, the sweet girl was always checking in with her over Facebook Messenger, asking her how Faith was adjusting. They, too, kept making plans to get lunch that were always put on hold, aside from the one time they’d managed to meet at a Starbucks for five minutes before Faith started panicking about the noise. Mary had been beside herself with apologies over Messenger, and Claire spent several minutes calming her down as well as Faith.

It would appear that a social life was always just out of reach for Claire. Oh well. Maybe someday. She was trying, after all.

The Facebook group of other moms was comforting as well, and even though Claire was hardly active in it, the sense of camaraderie she felt reading stories and seeing events planned for their children was uplifting to say the least. She often found herself wishing that Faith was able to enjoy these events, and that she had the time in her schedule with the hospital to even attempt them.

Maybe someday.

The equine therapy did seem to be helping, and so did Faith’s time with Mrs. Lickett. Claire had confirmed with her to make sure it wasn’t hopeful-mummy-blinders making her think so, and she’d agreed. There was improvement, however small, from the time Mrs. Lickett had met Faith. She did not have meltdowns with any less frequency, but they were the slightest bit easier to be talked down from. Not all of them, of course. It would be a while, or perhaps never, until Faith was entirely capable of stopping a meltdown once it started. But Mrs. Lickett seemed pleased with her progress nonetheless.

Claire was coming home to different crafts and drawings every day, and these past few weeks, they were all Halloween themed. Colored plates with google-eyes and construction paper glued together to look like pumpkins, bats, and Frankensteins, little ghosts on string made out of cotton balls glued to white paper, and even (with Claire’s permission) lollipops covered in tissue to look like ghosts. Claire was enjoying copying the faces that Faith and Mrs. Lickett had drawn on them to make Faith laugh before unwrapping them to eat.

Claire even considered picking up some pumpkins at a grocery store on her way home from work so she could try her hand at carving them with Faith. Claire’s unconventional upbringing had not left room for such frivolities, and Frank had never been interested in the mess it would make in the house, so Claire had never actually done it before. But the thought of trying something new with her daughter in their new life was thrilling to her.

Toni had informed them yesterday at the stables that for Halloween week, the kids could wear a costume, as long as they were able to ride safely in it. Claire was thrilled; she knew she couldn't actually spend Halloween with Faith or take her trick-or-treating, so to get to see her in costume, even not on the actual holiday, would be a comfort. She and Mrs. Lickett had discussed perhaps allowing her to take Faith trick-or-treating herself before Claire got home from work, but nothing had been solidified yet. 

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Claire led Faith into her bedroom. Faith had a purple trunk in her room that she and Claire had adorned with countless princess stickers over the years, containing all of her dress-up costumes.

“Alright, Faith. Who will it be this year?” They sat down in front of the trunk together, Claire lifting the lid. “Which princess do you want to be when you ride Pippi this week?”

Faith often put the costumes on and wore them around the house, and now the apartment. This was only her fourth Halloween, so she hadn’t used them all for the holiday, but they had all certainly been used. Her first Halloween, Claire had put her in an adorable Dumbo costume. Her second, she was a precious little Minnie Mouse, and her third, she was Elsa, of course.

As she watched Faith dig through the trunk, her eyes fiery with excitement, Claire was sure she’d go for Anna this year. She was certain that if it were possible to wear two costumes at once, she would have been both Anna and Elsa last year.

So Claire was surprised when Faith pulled out a blue-green dress with Celtic trim.

“Merida?” Claire said, smiling through her furrowed brows. “That’s who you want to be this year?”

Claire certainly had no objection, but Brave had never particularly been one of Faith’s favorites.

Faith took the lid of the trunk from Claire and began repeatedly poking her finger into one of the stickers. Claire looked closer, and an enormous grin spread over her face as it dawned on her.

It was a sticker of Merida, riding her horse, bow and arrow aimed.

“Yes, darling!” Claire laughed, hugging Faith from behind and pulling her into her lap, sitting cross-legged. “You’re going to be just like Merida and Angus when you ride Pippi! Is that right?” She kissed her cheek repeatedly and tickled her. “Is that right?”

Faith giggled incessantly and squirmed to get out of her mother’s grip, but not before Claire planted one last kiss to her cheek. Dizzy with giddiness, Claire began cleaning up the mess that Faith had made of her costumes, and it wasn’t long before she heard the beginning of Brave coming from the tellie. Apparently, Faith had been getting the hang of the DVD player by herself. The Scottish burr of the protagonist caught Claire’s ear, and she paused, lingering on the Cinderella dress she’d just picked up.

Jamie is Scottish.

Her mind was suddenly treated to the image of Jamie’s face lighting up upon recognizing the Celtic patterns on the costume, and upon Claire telling him that Faith was dressed as a Scottish princess. Perhaps he would know without needing to be told. Was Brave popular in Scotland, or was that a sweeping generalization?

Either way, she couldn't shake the thought of those blue eyes, impossibly bright, his smile ridiculously wide (and crooked), his deep, chesty laugh. Yes, he would certainly get a kick out of Faith’s costume of choice. Faith certainly didn’t know that Merida and Mister Jamie shared heritage, unless she had some uncanny ability to place accents that Claire was unaware of. She’d chosen Merida this year because of her newfound love of riding horses, and it just so happened that the best rider out of the whole line-up of princesses in her chest was also the only Scottish one.

Claire shook her head, laughing as she closed up the trunk again.

Bloody funny coincidence.

——

Friday came, and Claire found herself almost as giddy as her four-year-old daughter. She was over the moon at Faith's excitement as she pulled the costume over her head. 

"Now where did my little Faith go?" Claire said absurdly. "She was here just a moment ago, but she's been replaced with a Scottish princess!"

Faith gave a shrieking giggle and bounced up and down, jiggling her hands. Claire laughed out loud.

"Do a twirl for me, Princess, let me see."

Faith began spinning, the skirts of the dress poofing out. This was somewhat of a tradition for them. Whenever Faith wore a dress, costume or not, Faith loved to twirl and see the skirt flutter as she did.

"Look at you!" Claire said, clapping her hands. "Miss Toni is going to be so excited, and Pippi, and all the kids, and Erica." Faith dashed to her bed to retrieve Horsie. "And Mister Jamie, too. Mister Jamie will be very excited." Claire felt a rush of excitement herself, thinking of his face when he laid eyes on Faith.

"Alright, Princess. Off we go." Claire stood up and took Faith's hand, leading her out of her room. "Go get your pumpkin." Faith grasped the trick-or-treat pumpkin that was sitting on the coffee table. Claire knew it wasn't going to be filled at the stables as it would be on the actual holiday, but since she couldn't be there while Faith actually trick-or-treated, she wanted to be able to see her holding it in her costume for today.

"Can Mummy get a picture, lovie? Please?" Claire stood back with her phone. "Can you smile, Princess? Please?" Faith was holding the plastic pumpkin in front of her face, shaking her head.

"For Auntie Gillian, Faith," Claire pleaded. "You know she loves to see you in your costume, and Merida is her favorite! Please, darling."

At the mention of her beloved godmother, Faith changed her tune. She moved the pumpkin away and had an excited look on her face, and Claire immediately snapped the picture. She got a few more of Faith in various stages of excitement.

"Thank you, baby. You're a very good girl." Claire kissed her head and quickly sent the photos to Gillian, typing:

We went Full-Scot this year! How proud are you??

Her heart light, Claire led Faith down the stairs and to the car. Once Claire settled into the driver's seat after Faith was all buckled, her phone buzzed and she opened it to see a slew of messages from Gillian:

Gillian [4:32]: OMG!! LOOK AT HER!!

Gillian [4:32]: What a doll!! Tell her Auntie G says she looks beautiful!!

Gillian [4:33]: SCOTLAND! SCOTLAND! SCOTLAND!

Claire chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she put her phone in her purse.

"Auntie G says you look beautiful, darling." Claire flashed a smile into the rear view mirror, and Faith hummed contentedly. Claire had deliberately left Faith’s curls untamed today in an attempt to mimic Merida's hair the best she could without the wild red color. She was damn proud of how adorable her daughter looked.

When they arrived at the stable, Claire was certain Faith could have rocketed into the sky given how high she was jumping with excitement. When they entered the welcome center, there was a wide assortment of princesses, superheroes and Star Wars characters. Claire's smile widened to see Toni wearing tiny pigtail braids and a blue checkered dress.

"Not in Kansas anymore, are you?" Claire said. Toni looked up from her computer and her face lit up.

"Oh my goodness! Look at you!" Toni squealed with delight, standing up from behind the counter and stretching her body over it. "Princess Faith lives up to her title! You look amazing Faith!"

Faith hummed and twirled back and forth, swishing the skirts.

"Hello, Faith," Erica said sweetly, donning plaid, pigtails, and a cowgirl hat with matching boots. "I love your costume. Mister Jamie is going to love it."

"Oh wait until you see him!" Toni squealed.

"What do you mean — ?"

At that moment, the back door opened, revealing a little Captain America and his mother, followed by the most astonishing thing Claire had seen all day.

Mister Jamie was wearing a kilt. And a shoulder sash that matched, and tall boots, and a brooch, and a sporran.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

"He does this every year," Toni said, laughing. "A Highlander for Halloween, every day of the week!"

Claire couldn't stop staring long enough to respond.

"Alright Captain America, sir!" Jamie boomed, reaching behind the counter and producing a fistful of candy. "Here's yer bounty, lad. 'Twas a pleasure riding wi' America's finest." Little Nolan was beaming, and his mother was too. "Have a great Halloween, Mrs. Weiss. See ye next week."

As the two of them departed toward the front door, Toni looked like she was going to explode.

"Jamie! Jamie, look!" She was incessantly swatting at his shoulder.

He finally obliged her, looking down at Faith, and every mental image Claire had conjured over the course of the week didn't even come close to the real thing.

She didn't think his eyes had ever been bluer, or his smile more crooked, or his cheeks more pink.

"Well, what do we have here?" He crouched down in front of Faith, and the fabric of his kilt slid up to reveal his knees. "Is this a real Scottish princess right before my eyes?"

Faith gave another squealing giggle, bouncing up and down. What happened next was nothing short of astonishing. Faith, Claire's daughter that did not -- under any circumstances -- allow anyone but her mother to lay a hand on her, all of a sudden thrust her hands onto the plaid of his shoulder sash. 

Claire's stomach lurched, about to launch into a speech about boundaries and personal space, but Jamie put up a hand to stop her, his eyes never leaving Faith.

"D'ye like my tartan, Miss Merida?" He was entranced by Faith, who was equally as mesmerized. She must have recognized the clothing from the film; all the men in Brave dressed nearly identical to how Jamie looked.

Her little fingers began circling his silver brooch, and Jamie’s chest expanded with pride. “That’s the Fraser brooch, has our motto on it as well. D’ye like it?” Faith just hummed and bounced again. “I’m glad to hear that. I like yer dress verra much. Ye look bonny.”

Claire sucked in a sharp breath upon realizing that her mouth had been hanging open since Jamie had appeared, and she snapped her lips together.

“This is just too perfect,” Toni gushed, coming out from behind the camera. “I have to get a picture of this for the wall. If you don’t mind?”

“No, of course, go ahead.” Claire threw a quick glance at the wall to her right, containing hundreds of photos of children on horses, getting high-fives from therapists, group photos at holiday gatherings, and so many more. To think of her daughter stuck up there among the throng made her heart swell.

She truly does belong here.

She watched in awe as Faith cooperated without question for the photo, not even attempting to cover her face. She was smiling the most cheesy smile Claire had ever seen on her daughter’s face, and Jamie’s was almost just as wide. Claire quickly shuffled beside Toni to get a picture for her phone as well. She sent it to Gillian before putting her phone away:

You won’t believe this. Faith’s therapist is an honest-to-God Highlander, and he wore this.

Pictures taken, Toni took Faith’s candy pumpkin and put it behind the counter for safekeeping.

“Are ye ready then, Princess Merida? To ride yer noble steed?” Jamie stood up and started walking toward the back door, and Claire had to scramble to grab her hand before she was out the door and a mile ahead of them.

“And where’s yer costume, Sassenach?” Jamie smirked, walking backwards as usual.

“The memo I got said the children were to dress up, not the parents,” she said, playfully defensive. “Besides, I haven’t worn a Halloween costume since I was still a teenager.”

“Och, ye’re no fun then, are ye?” he said with an emphatic wave of his hand. “How did ye celebrate the holiday all these years?”

“I didn’t go to those wild parties in college, or med school for that matter.” She shrugged indifferently. “Just watched a movie with my roommate, if we even had time for that.”

“And after that? Ye never dressed up with yer wean?”

Something dark clouded Claire’s mind for the smallest moment.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s her first Halloween! I think it would be sweet if — ”

“It’s a sweet idea. But you are a grown woman, darling.”

She shook her head. “No.”

Jamie didn’t miss how her face had fallen, how clipped her response had been. His brows crinkled together in concern. If he wanted to say something, he didn’t, and they passed the rest of the way to the stable in silence, save Faith’s incessant giggling.

Erica and Jamie got Faith settled with holding the reins, and then Jamie hung back, as usual, while Erica led Faith to the riding hall.

“Is it real?” Claire said abruptly, and he looked at her with confusion. “What I mean is…is the material authentic?”

“Oh.” He grinned, nodding in understanding. “Aye, ’tis. This is real Fraser tartan, in my family fer generations.”

“It’s lovely,” Claire said. “You only ever wear it on Halloween?”

“Mostly, but not only. Wore it to my sister’s wedding a few years back, our Ma’s funeral before that.” He said it so casually, but her heart strained to hear it. How much had this man suffered…?

“Special occasions, tradition, ye ken,” he said. “I just like to show it off on the days I’m allowed to stand out a bit.”

He winked, and Claire felt her cheeks get hot.

“What is it?” she said, eyeing the brooch. “The Fraser motto?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat and removed it from the plaid, handing it over to her. She held it close and ran her fingers over the letters.

“Je suis prest,” she read. “I am ready.”

He seemed taken aback at first by her perfect pronunciation and her translation, but then he smiled widely. “Aye.”

“Ready for what?” she teased, handing him back the delicate silver.

He smirked as he put it back in its place, then peered up at her through his lashes. “Anything.”

——

Claire watched contentedly as Faith rode, once again in awe at the sheer insanity of the coincidence that her daughter and her therapist had both chosen Highlander apparel for Halloween. It was like watching a deleted scene from Brave: the princess’s father teaching little Merida to ride.

And then she shook her head clear of that thought, admonishing herself for allowing such an inappropriate thought.

“Did you plan that?” A voice filled her ears, and she jumped.

“Hm?” She turned to see a mom looking at her, someone she’d come to know as Mrs. Beardsley in the weeks that she and Faith had been coming to the stables at this time.

“Did you plan that, you and Mister Jamie?”

“No, not at all,” Claire said, laughing. “She picked it because Merida rides a horse. I had no idea he was going to wear that.”

Mrs. Beardsley chuckled. “That’s pretty funny.”

“Isn’t it?” Claire glanced over at Kezzie, Mrs. Beardsley’s son. He was dressed like Superman, and his therapist was praising him in sign language. “He looks adorable, too.”

Mrs. Beardsley thanked her, and they continued watching their children in amiable silence. Claire had snapped about a million pictures of Faith on her horse, with and without Jamie in the frame. When they were back in the stable, Pippi brushed and helmet removed, Claire requested just one more picture.

“Could I get one of her with Pippi before you put her away? Without the helmet?” she asked Jamie shyly.

“Aye, of course.” He smiled warmly.

Claire snapped as many as she could, and though Faith was staring at Pippi rather than ever looking at the camera, she didn’t mind at all.

“Alright, got it.”

Jamie grinned and went to take the reins to put Pippi away, but Faith would not move at first. She was nuzzling her face into Pippi’s snout, and Jamie apparently couldn't bring himself to move either of them just yet. Unbeknownst to either Faith or Jamie, Claire snapped a final picture:

Faith mesmerized by her horse, and Jamie mesmerized by Faith.

She would not be sending that one to Gillian.

They returned to the welcome center, and Toni put some candy in Faith’s pumpkin, causing her to squeal with excitement again. Jamie lathered his hands in hand sanitizer before plunging his hand into a bowl full of little yellow, orange, and white triangles.

“What on Earth is that?” Claire scrunched up her nose.

“Ye’ve never heard of candy corn, Sassenach?” Jamie said playfully. “It’s quite American, I suppose.”

She chuckled. “Should I try it, then? Since I’m American now?”

“Aye, suppose ye should.”

Claire cleaned her hands as well before taking one of the little triangles into her fingers and popping it into her mouth. As she bit into it, her taste buds were immediately assaulted by the most sickening sweetness she’d ever tasted. Her face screwed up in disgust, and Jamie burst into laughter.

“That bad, is it?” he said, his laughter rumbling in his chest. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him laugh so hard.

“It’s revolting,” Claire said, not even wanting to swallow it. “I practically want to spit it out.”

He laughed harder at that, tears leaking from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sassenach. I didna think ye’d be so appalled.”

“You either love it or you hate it, at least in my experience,” Toni said. “I could’ve told you she’d hate it.”

Claire did not miss the look he gave her in response, but she didn't have time to contemplate its intention.

She reluctantly swallowed the grainy sweetness, and she shuddered in disgust. “Christ. Remind me to never try anything you give me again.”

“Will do,” he said, laughter finally subsiding. “What sort of sweets d’ye like, then, if this was too much fer ye?”

“Richer things, for sure. Chocolate.”

“Ghirardelli or Lindt?” Toni chimed in. “The Lindt truffles are my favorite.”

“Oh, I couldn’t choose, I love both,” Claire said. Jamie popped another handful of candy corn into his mouth, and Claire upturned her nose. “I can’t imagine eating handfuls of that when such a thing as Lindt truffles exist.”

“Dinna yuck someone else’s yum, Sassenach. Must I talk to ye like ye’re one of the kids?” He gave her a mocking look of warning, and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I love sour candy too,” Claire said. “If there are any sour patch kids in that bucket I may have to steal them.” She gestured to Faith’s little pumpkin.

“Here’s an extra one, just for mom,” Toni said, plucking a little bag of the sour candy from the bowl behind the counter and handing it to Claire.

“Thanks.” Claire smiled warmly, putting it in her purse. “Well, I guess we should be off, then.” Claire took Faith’s hand. “Say goodbye to the Scottish warrior, Faith.”

Claire gave Jamie a smirk, and he grinned back at her.

“S’long Merida,” Jamie said. “It’s been a pleasure.” He gave a ridiculously low bow, and Faith giggled. It took a moment for Claire to realize that she was giggling herself.

“Bye-bye, Princess!” Toni said, and Erica echoed.

Faith waved gleefully, yanking Claire toward the door, never one to delay her McDonald’s.

“Happy Halloween, Sassenach,” Jamie said warmly, hands resting on the belt holding his kilt up.

She flashed a final grin at him before Faith’s tugging won out, and they were out the door and walking toward the car.

Claire buckled in her squirming little girl, and she absently thought that it might be a struggle to get her to sleep tonight. Today was so wonderful, however, that she didn’t care at all.

Once Claire was settled in the driver’s seat, she reached into her purse to check her phone, having heard it go off several times while she was otherwise occupied. She chuckled softly to see five messages from Gillian, and then opened them:

Gillian [4:54]: holy hell Claire

Gillian [4:54]: ye’ve got to be JOKING

Gillian [4:54]: THAT is her therapist???

Gillian [4:54]: he is the hottest bloody man I’ve ever seen in my life

Gillian [4:54]: and he’s in a feckin KILT

Gillian [4:55]: if you don’t get on that i’m booking a flight and getting on it myself

Claire sucked in a sharp breath and threw her phone into the passenger seat, every muscle in her body stiffening.

As if the damn woman could sense from an ocean away that Claire was ignoring her texts, her phone buzzed again.

Gillian [6:12]: well? am I booking a flight? ;)

Claire [6:12]: Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, G.

[n8thegr8]

My Avengers Academy Chapter 1: An Old Fashioned Notion

Not everyone is created equal. There are people in this world that are born with privileges and advantages that put them ahead of everyone else. There are people that are born with nothing and must climb their way out of oppression. These lessons of privilege should be taught to children with care and respect. To help them understand. These lessons should not, however, be taught to children with violence.

Peter Parker learned this lesson at the age of five. He laid there motionless; eyes widened as he looked towards the sky. He had bruises on his arms and legs, dirt stained his cheeks, and his head was pounding with pain. All he could do now was crawl into a ball and cry his eyes out.

It was supposed to be a fun day for him; his kindergarten cancelled all classes due to a nearby villain attack which cut out all the power on that grid. A day off of school is supposed to be a fun time for children. It was supposed to be fun for Peter. It was, at least in the beginning.

He had a playdate with his best friend in the world, Eugene “Flash” Thompson. He was so excited when his aunt dropped him off at his house; he couldn’t wait to play hero. Their playdates consisted mostly of watching old footage of battles between heroes and villains, and any live fights happening on the news. Today, however, was different. 

“Hey, Pete, wanna ditch this, and go to the playground? I’m getting kinda bored,” Flash said.

“Um, yeah! Let’s go tell your mom and-“

“Nah,” Flash said, “Let’s just go, we’ll be back before she knows anything.” This was unusual for Peter. Going to the park without any adult supervision? His Aunt May and Uncle Ben always told him to never go anywhere without an adult that he trusts. But, he trusts Flash. He wouldn’t let Peter get hurt right? Besides, Flash has this really cool quirk, if any bad people try to kidnap him, he’ll protect him. 

Peter agreed, and off they went. Getting out of the house was easy since Flash’s mom was sleeping on the couch in the living room with some sort of bottle in her hand. This usually happened when Peter had a playdate at Flash’s home; his mom was asleep most of the time, letting them have free reign of the house. Whenever Peter asked why his mom sleeps so much, Flash would say, “She just works a lot, okay? Stop asking.”

The journey to the park, however, was difficult because they had to stay out of sight, so no adult would see them and call their parents, or aunt and uncle in Peter’s case. They ran from bush to bush, and jumped fences to get to their destination. Eventually, they came to the wall that separated the park from the playground. It loomed over the two kids, and it cast a great shadow over them. To Peter, it was the highest wall he’d ever seen. 

Peter heard Flash chuckle. “This wall ain’t nothing to me.” Flash’s arms became covered in this black goop. The goop seemingly crawled up his arms and eventually to his hands, turning his small hands into big claws. Flash looked at Peter. “Lemme show you how a man climbs a wall.”

Flash stepped back five steps and then dashed towards the wall, jumped, and stuck to the wall, digging his claws into the concrete. Peter watched in awe as Flash effortlessly climbed up. Once Flash got to the top of the wall, he peered down and looked at Peter, flashing him a toothy grin. 

“Well, come on!” he exclaimed.

Peter stared at the wall. Noticing it’s craggily state, how long has this wall been standing? Before he was born? Before Auntie and Uncle were born? Before quirks?

“What are ya waiting for?!” yelled Flash, “Just climb the stupid thing!”

Jolted out of his thoughtful daze, Peter looked for his path to climb up the wall. 

“Come on, Peter!”

The more Flash shouted the more nervous he got. Finally, he found his path. Peter took five steps back and then sprinted towards the wall until-

“I AM IRON MAN AND IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO WAKE UP! I AM IRON MAN AND IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO WAKE UP!”

This phrase loudly repeated throughout Peter Parker’s bedroom, bouncing off the walls, and making his ear drums perform a drum solo. He let out a loud scream of confusion as he was rudely awakened by the pre-recorded message. He jolted from laying down comfortably to sitting up uncomfortably. Holding his head in discomfort, Peter groaned. “I hate that dream…” The alarm clock blared on his bedside table. Peter sighed as he clicked it off. It was a special alarm clock, a special edition Iron Man alarm clock, with a small figurine of the hero acting as the “turn off” button. Peter sighed once again and he flopped back on his bed. He took a moment to look around his room. He didn’t know why. It’s been the same for as long as he remembered. Plastered along the walls were memorabilia of his favorite heroes: Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, the Hulk, etc. Figurines of said heroes stood atop his shelves. His walls were a deep shade of blue. His bedsheets were red, but his blanket was Avengers-themed. He was fifteen-years-old, but his room was one of a twelve-year-old. Peter didn’t mind; he really liked heroes. He absentmindedly reached over to his bedside table, and grabbed his phone. The bright screen blinded him for a small moment. His eyes readjusted themselves, and he looked at his messages.

Wanda Maximoff :P (6:30 AM): Get out of bed sleepyhead. May made pancakes.

Pietro Maximoff (6:35 AM): Is my sister at your house? She’s not answering my texts. 

Pietro Maximoff (6:36 AM): Never mind lol I took a quick run around town and saw her in your kitchen lol

She’s downstairs? Peter thought. It wasn’t unusual for Wanda to be over before school started, but sometimes Peter questioned if she ever ate breakfast at home. “Your Aunt’s cooking is just too good!” she’d say. He had his doubts, of course. She always said that Pietro was cranky in the morning, so maybe that’s why she spends her mornings here.

“Peter! Breakfast is almost ready!”

Peter groaned as he heard his Aunt’s voice calling for him. “I’ll be down in a second!” he shouted back. 

“A second has passed!” he heard a shout from downstairs followed by a hearty laugh.

Oh, Ben, he thought. His Uncle really was a joker.

~A~

“How long have you been mastering the art of dad jokes, Mr. Parker?” Wanda asked inquisitively, “Because you need a lot more work.” 

Mr. Parker lowered his newspaper, took off his reading glasses, and gave a thoughtful look. Mr. Parker was wearing what he always wore: an ugly red sweater with aged blue jeans. “It’s my look!” he’d always say whenever he was questioned about his choice of apparel. “Well let’s see… when Peter was born! His father hated whenever our dad joked with us, and I just knew that he wouldn’t do it for Peter. So I wasn’t going to let Peter live his life without the best form of humor.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. Highly subjective opinion he’s got there, she thought. She turned her gaze to Mrs. Parker who was just finishing cooking the last pancake. “Mrs. Parker, how do you live with this?”

“A strong will and wine, my dear,” she said, grabbing the plate of pancakes and bringing it to the table where Mr. Parker and Wanda sat, “A strong will and wine.” Mrs. Parker was also wearing what she normally wore. Underneath her cooking apron, was her usual yellow shirt and blue jeans. Unlike her husband, she knew fashion, which Wanda appreciated. 

“Oh please,” Mr. Parker said, “You love it; you know you do.”

Mrs. Parker chuckled as she put down the plate on the table. “No dear, I love you, not your jokes.”

Wanda let out a small laugh. “See, she’s the funny one here.”

“No one here appreciates my stellar comedy,” lamented Mr. Parker. 

“I do,” a fourth voice said. Wanda turned her head towards the stairs that led to the upper floor, only to see her best friend: Peter Parker. Peter looked like he crawled himself out of a grave. His eyes were droopy, heavy bags surrounding them. His skin was paler than normal and his hair was also more ruffled than normal as well.

“Ah, my hero,” joked Mr. Parker, “Jeez, son, you look like a zombie.”

“I always appreciate your jokes, Ben.” Even his voice was coarse. 

Wanda eyed her best friend and gave a cocky grin. “Did you even shower? I can smell you from here.” 

Wanda saw Peter roll his eyes at her. “Well, good morning to you too,” he said.

~A~

The ensuing breakfast was also per the usual for the Parker family. A lot of banter between Uncle Ben and Aunt May, but even more between Wanda and Peter. “Don’t pass out from being a geek when you meet Dr. Banner today.”

“And don’t try to pass out from boredom when he starts talking about the dangers of gamma radiation,” he retorted. However, Peter couldn’t deny his excitement. For the first field trip of the school year, his high school, Midtown High, was going to Avengers Tower to meet the heroes and watch a lecture from the Incredible Hulk himself, Bruce Banner, the fourth most popular hero in America. Eventually, the pair finished their breakfast. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Parker! The food was great as always,” Wanda said. She always said this after having a delicious course of Aunt May’s cooking, which at this point was every other day or so.

“Oh you’re always welcome here, dear,” said Aunt May, “Now go, you two are going to miss the train.”

The two said their goodbyes to the married couple and off they went out the front door and onto the sidewalk, where an impatient Pietro waited.

“Took you two long enough,” he said while tapping his foot incessantly. “Mom and dad missed you at breakfast, dear sister,” he said in a mocking tone.

“Well get back to me when dad can actually cook something worth a damn, dear brother,” she fired back.

Pietro shook his head in disappointment, his silver hair flowing side to side as he did. “Hey Pete, ready for the field trip?” he asked excitedly, a complete change in his composure. 

“Dude, you know it!” Peter exclaimed, high fiving Pietro. 

Wanda groaned. “I’m surrounded by geeks.”

The walk to the train station was yet again, per the usual for the life of Peter Parker. Talking to Pietro about the villain fight that was on the news the night before while Wanda playfully mocks them.

“So the paper is due Friday right?” Wanda asked.

“Yep,” responded Peter. 

“But does that mean 12:00 that morning or at 11:59 that night?” replied Pietro. 

“No, it’s du-“

 sudden explosion was heard. The trio stopped in their tracks and looked to where they heard the explosion. They see smoke in the direction they were looking. 

“That’s the station…” Peter said. 

“That explosion…” Pietro said. 

Peter turned to Pietro. “Which means…”

Wanda eyes widened in horror. “Oh God, please no.”

Peter and Pietro's eyes lit up. “Villain attack!” they both exclaimed. Then the two ran off in the direction of the station. 

“Hey, wait up you two!” Wanda exclaimed, running after the pair. 

When Peter, Pietro, and Wanda got to the station it was a sight to behold. On top of the tracks was a villain they’d never seen before. He was gigantic in size and was entirely made out of sand. He stood on the overpass and roared out, daring any hero to attack.

“A new villain?” Peter asked with extreme curiosity. 

“Yeah looks like it,” Pietro responded with eagerness, “He looks so cool!”

The villain reeled back his fist and punched a chunk out of a building. The crowd that was surrounding the scene screamed as debris threatened to crush them. That is until a blue and red blur flew in and destroyed all of the debris that dare harm the populace. It was the Avenger Captain Marvel, one of the strongest members of the team. 

“Oh Cap’s here? This’ll be done in no time,” mused Pietro. 

Peter swooned. “She’s so cool.”

Wanda huffed and crossed her arms, a small blush cascaded her cheeks. “She’s okay.”

The villain’s voice echoed and roared. “Get outta here pipsqueak, before I slaughter ya!”

Captain Marvel floated above the crowd, glowing with a golden light, her hair defying gravity as it floated upwards. Her very presence exerted the power she possessed. She looked back to the crowd. “Multiple Man, form a barrier!” she ordered.

“Alright people, don’t move past the clones y’hear?” multiple voices echoed.

The trio looked and saw the rescue hero Multiple Man! A new up and coming hero who could create a seemingly infinite amount of clones of himself. A sea of clones barred entrance to the battle. “They’re exact copies of him,” Peter whispered. “I gotta...” He reached into his book bag and took out a notebook and a cheap digital camera.

“And there he goes,” Wanda sighed.

He took his camera, aimed at one of the clones, and snapped a quick picture. Then, he opened his notebook. It had the number twelve written in sharpie pen on the cover. Peter opened it and flicked through the pages and pages of hero analysis until he found Multiple Man’s entry and feverishly wrote in his new finding.

“Oh, it warms my heart to see such an enthusiastic youth!” A laugh rang in Peter’s ears. He looked to his right and saw an older looking gentleman. Balding, but still has his white hair, a bushy mustache, and a cool pair of black sunglasses. 

A blush danced onto Peter’s face. “Ah, well it’s just a hobby of mine.”

The elderly gentleman chuckled. “Oh don’t try to fool me, young man! I know exactly what you are! A fanboy!”

Peter’s face was bright red from embarrassment. “I, well I-“

“Hey there’s nothing wrong with being a fanboy!” Pietro exclaimed, standing up for his friend.

The gentleman continue to chuckle. “Not at all, young man! Why when I was your ag-“

The villain roared once again. “Don’t you come near me!”

Captain Marvel flexed out her arm and pointed at the villain. “Flint Marko, you are under arrest for illegal quirk usage and destruction of property! Anything you say can and will be us- gah!” The heroine was suddenly cut off by a gigantic fist made out of sand punching her into a nearby building. 

“I ain’t going to jail!” the sand villain yelled as he reeled back his other giant fist, “And I’ll be sendin’ ya straight to hell!” The sand giant flung his fist into the building where Captain Marvel crashed into, but the attack was blocked by an invisible force field! Peter looked to the top of the building to his left, and standing there was the Invisible Woman, one third of the Future Foundation!

“Ah! It’s Susan Storm!” Peter heard Wanda squeal in delight. “She’s gonna kick this sand dude’s ass!”

“Nah, my money’s still on Cap,” replied Pietro, “She can probably bench press the continent if she wants to.”

Wanda groaned. “Not every problem can be solved by brute strength, dear brother,” she said in a mocking tone, “You need finesse and to think outside the box! Right, Pete?” She stood with her hands on her hips in a stance of confidence. However she got no response from her friend. “Pete?” When Wanda turned to face him, all she saw was him feverishly writing in his notebook. Deaf to the world around him.

“So Invisible Woman actually doesn’t disappear she just bends the light around her to make the illusion that she’s invisible so does that mean that she can’t see when she’s invisible or maybe the light is still hitting her eyes anyway so maybe she sees but you also have to consider…” Peter rambled on and on.

A moment of awkward silence fell upon Wanda, Pietro, and the gentleman as Peter muttered away. “Oh Pete.” Wanda sighed.

“Does your friend usually do this?” the gentleman asked.

Pietro scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s hard for him to stop when he gets going.” Another crash was heard and the attention of the group was once again focused on the ensuing fight. 

“You ready, Sue?!” yelled Captain Marvel as she flew upwards towards the sky.

“The barrier’s up, Carol; turn this villain into glass!” yelled the Invisible Woman back as she flexed her arms out.

The sand villain tried to reach for the flying superhero but found himself unable to move past the invisible barrier that blocked his path. “Wh-what the hell is this?!” he screamed in terror. 

“This is the end of your villainy, Marko!” exclaimed Captain Marvel. 

The crowd went wild, this was the public’s favorite part in villain fights: when the hero triumphs over the villain and saves the day. “Come on, ma’am! Show us a flashy finish!” the older gentleman exclaimed.

“I told you so,” Pietro said as he bumped Wanda’s arm with his elbow.

Wanda shot a dirty look at her brother. “Oh, shut up,” she said. She put her hand on Peter’s shoulder who was still writing in his notebook. “Peter, it’s about to finish. You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Peter’s consciousness came reeling back into reality as he saw Captain Marvel floating in the sky. Her golden aura intensified as her hair stood straight up. Peter internally squealed as he knew what was coming, he quickly aimed his camera at the hero. It was Captain Marvel’s signature move! The golden aura stopped being an aura and started to be the color of Captain Marvel’s skin as her body stored energy. Her quirk: Binary Engine, allows her to store energy inside of her and release it at her will. She yelled out a battle cry and flexed her arms forward. “Binary Ignition!” A beam of golden energy erupted from her fists. If one were to ask the crowd what occurred that day, they would say that they felt the Earth shake beneath them as they saw the furious fiery energy hurdle itself towards the giant sand villain. With a loud scream of pain, the sand villain took the blast in his giant sandy chest. The extreme heat from the energy started to solidify the sand that it hit.

“No!” the villain roared, “I-I can’t move!” With the invisible barrier now closed fully around the villain, the extreme heat from the binary blast went to work. The heat was trapped and had nowhere to go, just like the villain. The villain was quickly calcified in glass, unable to move. A statue to the victory of heroes, the sand villain was. 

The crowd erupted in cheers and chants as Captain Marvel slowly descended back to the ground and the Invisible Woman followed suit. The heroes gave the all clear for the police to restrain the villain, a tall order given his size but the police always came prepared. 

Peter, on the other hand, was feverishly writing in his notebook about the intricacies of what he saw of Captain Marvel’s signature move. How much heat it truly produced being the main point of intrigue for him. “So for sand to turn into glass the sand has to be exposed to a temperature of 3,090 degrees Fahrenheit or 1,700 degrees Celsius which means that Captain Marvel’s energy output is far greater than what I initially calculated for her maybe…”

“He really likes to write doesn’t he?” the gentleman asked. 

Wanda sighed with a tinge of embarrassment. “Yeah, he really does,” she said. She then put on a big enthusiastic smile. “But, he’s going to be the best hero of all time. I just know it.”

“Wow, thanks, sis,” said Pietro.

The old man let out a light chuckle as he saw the two siblings bicker and Peter mutter and write in his notebook.

“... and you also have to consider the possibility that with enough stored power she can become a walking sun and that would be devastating for villains but maybe she can also solve any future energy crisis that the world will face and-“

“Hey, kid.” Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the old man standing next to him. “You don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t be a hero, alright? If somebody doesn’t believe in you, prove them wrong. Think of heroism as the classic mask and spandex costumes, it doesn’t matter who’s behind the mask. Anybody can be a hero.”

Peter felt the warmth and kindness of the old man’s words. He flashed him a goofy grin. “Thank you, sir! I promise to become the world’s greatest hero.”

The old man returned with a big smile. “Excelsior, young man! Now go out there, and become the best hero that you can be!”

The trio thanked the gentleman for his time and walked up to the train platform as the police gave the all clear to enter the station. They got on their train and sat down. Peter glanced out the window and a small smile formed on his face. Across the river he saw the apple of his eye. Adorned with a stylistic “A” on its face, stood Avengers Tower, HQ of the Mighty Avengers, the most popular hero agency in the world. While Avengers Tower was the HQ for the agency, it was also a school, Avengers Academy, where teenagers learn to become heroes. The school only taught from sophomore year to senior year of high school. Apparently because there wasn’t enough material for a full four years of hero education. “Hey, guys?” Peter called out to his friends.

Pietro and Wanda snapped out of their individual dazes from the painfully normal train ride and turned to their friend, his face plastered with an even bigger smile. “What’s up, man?” Pietro asked. 

“Let’s apply to Avengers Academy,” Peter said. “Let’s be Avengers.”

Wanda’s face grew a soft smile. “Peter, you always say that,” she pointed out, “We’ve been wanting to be Avengers since we were kids!’”

“I think he just forgets that we made that pact years ago,” said Pietro, laughing as he did. 

Peter turned to his left to face him. “No, I didn’t forget! I just want to make sure,” he said with a hint of anxiety in his voice. Peter’s face went from cheerful to solemn. This usually happened to him after being excited about heroes and his dream to be one. Almost as if somebody completely different swapped places with him. He would go from raving about heroes and claiming he was going to be an Avenger one day one second, and then the next second he would become eerily quiet. His eyes would darken with sadness. His whole demeanor would shift. He became reclusive and antisocial. In his head he thought to himself,

They’ll be the ones going to AA… not me. There aren’t any quirkless heroes in the first place, why would I be the exception? 

Wanda noticed the drastic change in him. “Hey, hey, hey look at me,” she urged him. Peter turned to look at Wanda, and felt her hand on his shoulder. Her gaze met his. “You are going to be the best hero ever, okay? It doesn’t matter, okay? You’re already my hero.” She pointed to the red bandanna wrapped around her head as she said this. As Peter glanced at the accessory, he noticed how it wrapped down her cheek, under her chin, and was tied at the top of her head in a nice bow. Peter knew what she meant. 

It’s been five years and she still remembers. To him, helping her up and tying his bandana around her head to keep her jaw in place was just the normal thing to do when someone trips and falls on their chin in Physical Education class. 

He shot her a small, but genuine smile and said, “Okay.” Wanda shot a big smile back at him. As she did this his stomach became infested with butterflies and his face felt like it was lit aflame. He swore that he heard Pietro behind him groan and mutter, “Jeez, get a room.”

After yet another painfully average walk, they finally made it to their destination: Midtown High. Midtown High was just another average year 9-12 public high school located in Forest Hills, New York. Moderate in size, but gigantic in population. The school had trouble with too many students and not enough teachers to teach them. Cramped classrooms didn’t look good in the paper and it needed to be fixed. So to combat overpopulation and to promote transferring to other schools, there is a field trip to Avengers Tower for the freshman. If you want to tell kids to get out of your school, might as well tell them to be superheroes.

Unfortunately for Peter, the trio had to part ways for the time being since they all had separate homeroom classes. Peter sat in his classroom, and his gaze wandered around, looking at the 4x4 room that confined him. 25 desks filled the room in a semi-orderly fashion, Peter sitting near the back, which was unusual for him considering how studious he was. The floor was stained with age, under the coat of yellow was once a beautiful marble floor. The blackboard could never be truly cleaned as there were always remnants of past classes leaving their chalk footprint. Peter sighed and took a glance at the clock at the front of the class, however, he couldn’t make out the time with his bare eyes. He sighed once again, reached into his bag, and took out a container. He opened them and groaned as he was reminded that his glasses were ugly. Bright red covered the frame and the circular lenses felt as if they were half the size of his head. He put on his glasses, and the world suddenly became much clearer. He glanced at the clock again and saw it say it was 8:00 AM, right on the dot.

He groaned and let gravity claim his head. It made a nice and loud “bump” as it hit the desk. Peter knew what was coming. He counted down from fifty. He always comes in at 8:01 AM. Throughout the years of being bullied, Peter picked up a thing or two about personal quirks. At exactly 8:01 AM, he walked through the classroom door. His black hair stood in a spiky fashion, he wore a black muscle shirt, and baggy dark blue jeans. He was laughing as he entered the classroom, as if someone had told him a hilarious joke. Peter quickly stood up a book on his desk and opened it, creating a makeshift barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He fumbled with his glasses as he tried so desperately to put them back into their case. He lowered his head, below the book barrier. He didn’t want him to ruin today. It was supposed to be a happy day. He was going to Avengers Tower, he was going to see his heroes! 

The world went silent and all Peter could hear was the sound of shoes hitting the floor, and it was getting closer. Peter silently whimpered. Why did he have to come after him today? Wasn’t he tired of this? Making his life hell? The footsteps stopped right next to him.

Oh no. 

Pain was all Peter felt as his hair was being pulled back, forcing him to sit up straight. He felt every single strand of hair being unsuccessfully pulled from his scalp. He reluctantly opened his eyes, he had to face him now. All Peter saw was the black-haired kid smiling at him with a devious toothy smile.

“What do you want today, Flash?” Peter groaned, “Can you please let go of my hair?” Peter struggled as he grabbed the hand that had a fist full of his hair.

Flash gave a hearty laugh. “Aww, is Puny Parker all alone today? Is the quirkless wannabe sad that he can’t have his friends save him?”

He hated when Flash said that. It just reminded Peter of his true nature, that he was just normal. He doesn’t have the X-gene, he doesn’t have a quirk, he isn’t a mutant, he’s just human. Peter focused all of his might into digging his nails into Flash’s hand to make him let go. Suddenly, as he did that, Peter felt a gooey and slippery substance cover Flash’s hand, Peter squeezed but Flash didn’t let go. He only laughed.

“Oh Parker, did you piss off Venom?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Oh, is that right?” Flash said to no one in particular. Peter continued to thrash in pain as Flash kept his vice grip on his scalp. He felt like his hair was going to be pulled out, and his brain right with it. “Parker,” Flash said, his voice deepened, “Did you try to hurt me?” At this point, his voice became deep and twisted, almost demonic, as if two people were speaking in unison. 

Peter grunted as he continued to struggle. “Yeah, so what? Let me go, damn it!” He glanced up at Flash and saw that his neck and a portion of his face were covered in black goop. Peter’s gaze then went to Flash’s mouth, he was baring his teeth, but they were all razor sharp. Oh God, Peter thought.

He saw this before. This black goop. Flash pulled Peter closer to his face. He could practically smell him failing to brush his teeth properly that morning. “That wasn’t very smart of you, Parker,” Flash said.

“Christ, Flash! Just leave me alone!” Peter exclaimed. Peter then curled his free hand into a fist and swung it at Flash. Momentum was stopped as Peter’s arm was caught, not by Flash’s arm, but a mouth, a mouth with sharp teeth. It wasn’t Flash’s mouth, but it was the black goop’s. It was a macabre sight to say the least. The mouth shot itself from Flash’s abdomen and latched on to Peter’s fist. Peter didn’t feel any pain, however, but he did feel the sharp teeth prick his wrist as it held it in place. 

“Oh, Venom. You always know how to make me proud,” Flash said with a small chuckle. “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t feed you today, did I?” Peter’s eyes widened in horror. Flash gave a sinister smile. “Go wild.”

Peter shut his eyes as the word went into slow motion. Was Flash serious?! Was he going to let Venom devour his hand?! He could get suspended! Expelled even! He’d be charged with assault and battery and be tried as an adult! This is what perplexed Peter about Flash, he had great grades, was the school’s star quarterback, but he always did reckless activities that could have the potential of ruining his life. Even from a young age he was like this. Peter felt the terrifying mouth start to close on his fist, it was slow as if it was taunting him. As if it was letting his host enjoy the scene play out in front of him. He snapped back in reality, his gaze darted across the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him. His heart sunk as he saw the cruel reality; others had arrived by that time and they were all in their own groups, their own cliques, and they were watching the events unfold. They all just intently stared at the scene. No one dared make a move. Would anyone stand up and intervene? Peter closed his eyes, and braced for the pain that was to come. 

It happened. Peter felt the teeth rip and tear into his skin. He tried letting out a scream but more black goop shot out of Flash’s chest and onto his mouth, which muffled Peter’s scream for help. The mouth kept slowly clamping down, it wasn’t long until it was going to hit Peter’s bone. Peter started to hyperventilate. His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. Over and over again. As he saw what was happening to his hand his mind raced. Why him? Why today? Today was supposed to be a good day. Why? Why? Why? Peter felt the sharp teeth graze the top of his carpal bone. He closed his eyes and whimpered. 

“That’s enough!” A voice pierced the unsettling air like a bullet. 

Peter glanced towards where the voice was shouted from, and there he saw Wanda and Pietro. Pietro had his hand on Flash’s shoulder, grasping it with an iron grip, and Wanda stood near Peter, grabbing his arm and pulling it out of the jaws of the beast. Peter looked at her eyes, her pupils were glowing a bright red. She looked at the lacerations on his wrist with a deep and sad look. She took in a deep breath and put her free hand over the wounds, and then the magic started. Red energy started to flow out of her hand and into Peter’s wounds. When the red energy entered the wounds, Peter felt an extreme warmth run up his arm. It felt odd, but it wasn’t strange to him; he had felt this many times before. When Wanda first got her quirk five years ago, she’d been the person to heal Peter’s scars and bruises he sustained from his run-ins with Flash. The reason why Uncle Ben and Aunt May didn’t know how bad Peter really had it was thanks to Wanda’s quirk. He looked down in embarrassment, he could already tell that she was worried about him. The day had just started and Peter was already hurt.

“You got a death wish, Maximoff?” Flash growled.

“Leave him alone, Thompson,” Pietro demanded. Peter looked at the two feuding teens. To him, it was as if two forces of nature collided. Pietro, a benevolent mountain standing tall no matter the condition, and Flash, a ravaging tornado destroying everything in its path. Two titans facing off against each other, and it’s all because of a quirkless boy. 

Flash scoffed and all of the black goop retreated back into his body, out of sight. He looked directly into Peter’s eyes. “You’re lucky your body guards came to rescue you, wallcrawler,” he said. He then went and sat in his seat at the other side of the room.

“Alright kids,” Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington said, “As you all know, today is the field trip to Avengers Tower.” Mr. Harrington was always an odd fellow, even in this world of superpowers. He was a tall lanky man, with brown hair and a bushy beard and moustache. Just by looking at him you can tell that he was a nerd in his youth. He wore brown suits to class, always had a neat tie on, and wore black dress pants. On his desk one could find memorabilia of the wonderful world of science. Globes, a model of the solar system, a Newton’s cradle, a map of the periodic table, etc. Peter liked Mr. Harrington; the appreciated his love of science, and even though Mr. Harrington gave the aura of a man who has been punched in the face one-too-many times, Peter related hard.

“Just so you all know, two students from different classes have requested to join ours for today.” Peter then took a glance at Pietro and Wanda who were sitting to the left and right of him respectively. As Peter looked at her, Wanda proudly showed him a small doodle of Flash being punched in the face by the Hulk. Peter smiled at the rough sketch. No matter how bad he felt, she could always make him laugh.

Peter’s gaze trailed back to his notebook in front of him. This was Peter’s Quirk Analysis book. It was open. The name Wanda Maximoff was written in the title section with neat handwriting. A picture of her was clipped on by a paper clip. Peter smiled at the photo he had taken last summer when they visited the planetarium. Her pose was odd, but unique. She had her fingertips touch one another, her legs spread and bent, her torso bent forward, and a big toothy smile plastered on her face as if she was saying, “Come at me, ya scoundrels!” She stood in front of a model of the planet Saturn. A small grin created itself on Peter’s face; that was a fun time for him.

Beside her picture were the words, “Quirk: Hex,” and below that were notes. Peter read these notes every so often. They were notes on Wanda’s Quirk. He came up with the name himself after seeing it in action so many times. Hex was one mystery of a power as it just showed up one day. For years people thought that Wanda was quirkless, until one day when she saved Peter from being Flash’s punching bag for the day. The memory flew through Peter’s mind like a bird through the sky. He remembered being pinned up to a tree, gazing into Flash’s eyes, which were filled with murderous intent. The next thing he remembered was Flash being lifted in the air by a mysterious red glow, and then seeing Wanda glowing with that same redness. This didn’t stop the bullying for her, however. Before she was being bullied for being a foreign quirkless girl, now she was being bullied for being a foriegn freak who got her quirk late. 

Peter had spent hours studying Wanda’s quirk. There was one conclusion that he came about, Hex was a sort of probability manipulation, similar to Dr. Strange’s quirk: Mystic Arts. Her power could bend the fabric of probability in her favor. He theorized she can probably cause a gun to backfire just by looking at it, but he’d rather not test it. She can also shoot out red energy bolts as projectiles, they don’t hurt much, but it still was a force of concussive energy. Her quirk also allowed her to “heal” people, however, this was contested by Peter. The only thing she had done to heal him was close his wounds; he still felt sore and achy afterwards. Maybe since she doesn’t know the intricate details of the human body, she doesn’t know how to heal someone fully, or maybe she was just scared of screwing it up. In the end, Hex was an amazing quirk in Peter’s eyes. He couldn’t wait to see her become a hero one day.

He turned the page and came across Pietro’s entry. His picture was a one-in-a-million shot that Peter took at one of Pietro’s soccer games during Physical Education class. Pietro’s pose was simply art, his left leg outstretched after kicking the ball, his right arm crossing his body as his left arm is outstretched, keeping him balanced, and all the while a big goofy smile that screamed, “Yeah, I’m the best!” Peter remembered how much he and Wanda were cheering for him that day. In the end, Pietro’s team won and got bragging rights for a whole year. 

Like Wanda’s entry, next to Pietro’s picture was the name of his quirk: Superspeed. It was fairly self explanatory, Pietro’s quirk allowed him to move at superhuman levels. He could outrun any car, train, plane… Well, maybe not a plane, Peter thought to himself. However, his quirk also granted him enhanced metabolism. Pietro was always fit, any scrape or bruise would be gone within minutes, and he had to eat a lot to keep up. Pietro always wanted to be a hero, and his quirk locked in his future to be one of the greatest heroes of all time. 

Peter's smile turned into a frown as he turned to the next page. The name in the title box was Eugene “Flash” Thompson, and below that were the words “Quirk: Symbiote.” Flash’s quirk was the scariest of them all, it was a living organism that was bonded to Flash’s body. Its base form was a black goop that would cover Flash if it felt like it or Flash was being threatened. In reality, the symbiote was always on Flash. It was Flash, and Flash was it. It also gave itself a name: Venom. Venom can form any weapon from itself, be an impenetrable shield for Flash, and can enhance Flash’s strength fivefold. Flash and Venom were one and the same, they talked to each other, and they looked out for each other. Sometimes Peter would see Flash mumbling to himself, when in actuality he was having a conversation with Venom.

However, Flash wasn’t the only person in the world with a symbiote. Symbiotes were a quirk that arrived late to the scene as they’ve only been around for the past 80 years or so. Nobody knew where the symbiote quirk came from, and some even theorized they were a failed experiment caused by the Weapon program that was never properly disposed of. Unfortunately for people with symbiotes, there was a dangerous stereotype connected to them: cannibalism. It’s no secret that people with symbiotes need to have a larger intake of food since they’re effectively eating for two, so naturally rumors started to spread about people with the symbiote quirk. This stereotype was derived from one entity, a villain named Carnage. 

The only symbiote that was able to leave its host and live on its own was one of the most dangerous villains alive. Its original host was a serial killer called Cleetus Cassidy, a cannibal with over 30 confirmed murders, most of them women and children. Cassidy was as messed up as a human could get. He truly believed that human life was meaningless, and he was doing his victims a favor by murdering them. Cleetus Cassidy’s religion was murder and cannibalism, and the symbiote believed as well. Eventually, the symbiote grew tired of Cassidy, and murdered him. Police found the gruesome corpse of Cassidy strung about the apartment, but Carnage was nowhere in sight. It escaped and bonded with a new host; It would continue this cycle for the next 26 years.

“Hey, uh, Pete?”

A voice pulled Peter out of his day dreaming, he looked around the room to see all the desks empty and Wanda and Pietro at the doorway of the classroom. Peter’s face turned red in embarrassment. 

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed as he gathered his belongings and joined the duo. 

At 200 Park Ave. in New York City sits a skyscraper unlike any other. It was a business center, R&D center, a laboratory, a Hero HQ, and an academy for young heroes-in-training. Adorned with a stylized “A”, Avengers Tower stands as a beacon of heroism. Peter Parker muttered these words to himself as he found himself standing outside the front door. He had so many questions to ask, but one stood out amongst all the others. A question he’s had since he could talk. A question on that day he would finally have answered. 

As he stood in front of the building in a daze, Wanda and Pietro stood by his side, they both gave him a big smile. “Avengers Assemble?” Wanda asked them. 

Pietro nodded. Peter looked Wanda in the eyes, and smiled as well. “Avengers Assemble.”

~A~

“Boss, there’s an emergency at Central Park. Reports say that Carnage has been spotted and is on the run.”

“Any heroes on patrol near there?”

“Negative, boss.”

“What about Carol?”

“Captain Marvel is currently with the Invisible Woman, they’re at the Raft making sure the villain they captured earlier is in proper custody.”

“... So you’re saying that I-“

“Boss, get off your ass and be a hero.”

“I don’t remember programming you with a potty mouth, Friday.”

“And I don’t remember asking for your opinion. The suit is at 100%.”

“How long will the charge last this time?”

“About two and a half hours, boss.”

“Heh, plenty of time.”

The shutters to the darkened room opened, revealing the city down below. A man clad in red and yellow armor walks out onto a balcony. 

“Time to be Iron Man.”

To be continued...

[neekaasaddie]

Silver Chevy Silverado Part 2

      Everything is more quiet in the mornings. The air is fresher and cooler because it’s had all night to cleanse itself and there’s a distinct stillness that sweeps the environment an hour before the sun rises that’s never present in the night. It’s like a reset button is pressed and the humans in my neighborhood are quietly booting up for their day while in their beds. What if we’re all robots and when we sleep, we’re just rebooting?

     I hear a car door open in the distance.

     It’s easier to think in the mornings, too. You don’t have all the thoughts and events from the day nagging at you incessantly and weighing you down. Sometimes, when I wake up from a bad dream or one where my crush actually likes me back, I wake up in a pensive mood–– but other than that, I feel like a clean slate every time I open my eyes.

     “You’re an early riser,” observes a familiar voice. I jolt to attention and see someone sitting in a silver Chevy Silverado with the door swung wide open and a pair of legs dangling out. It sinks in that I had scaled up the hill, which my house sits on top of, in a thoughtful daze. My mind was wandering in an endless spiral––but my body is here.

     Oh my God, it’s him. I snap back to reality. “I could say the same for you,” I reply casually, folding my arms in front of my chest in a futile attempt to feel less vulnerable.

     “Yes, but I have to go to work, what’s your excuse?”

     “I don’t need an excuse to be up early,” I insist. “And if you have to go to work, why are you just sitting in your truck?”

     “I like to drink my coffee, smoke and catch up on the news before I go. It’s kinda my routine,” he explains as he grabs his coffee mug from the dash.

     “Hm, and I like to walk around my block in the mornings. That’s kinda my routine.”

     “Oh, sassy,” he smirks, taking a sip of coffee out of the large, plain-white mug. Our eyes remain locked as he does so, just like when I took the cigarette with my lips last time we spoke. His golden-brown tanned skin creates the illusion of his iris’ being translucent as his almond shaped, pale-green eyes gaze into mine. He has faint light-brown freckles speckling his face. How have I never noticed them before?

     Then it occurs to me. “Wait, did you just adopt this routine now? Because I’ve been walking every day for the past six months at the same time and I’ve never seen you.”

     “I usually come out after you’ve finished your walk,” he pauses, takes a sip of coffee again, and smiles as he says, “How are you up so early?”

     I roll my eyes. “I just get up early, okay?”

     “Aren’t you like eighteen?” he asks in a condescending chuckle.

     “Nineteen,” I snap, taking a step closer to him and the silver Chevy Silverado. “I’m nineteen.” 

     The previously sweet scent of musky vanilla finds me again but this time, it’s nauseating. Something about the tone of his voice rubs me the wrong way. 

     “Oh my God,” he exclaims in a dramatic near-shout. “Tell me what nineteen year old voluntarily wakes up at five-thirty in the morning.” His head flings back with the mug glued to his lips as he retrieves the final drop of coffee from the bottom of the mug.

     I feel embarrassment crawl up my throat. “Me!” I exclaim defiantly. “I do,” I say as I point my index finger at my chest, jutting my head towards him. A familiar scent immediately harrasses my nose, but it’s not vanilla, weed, or tobacco. I sniff audibly.

     “Is that alcohol?” I ask incredulously.

     “Irish coffee,” he replies casually, raising the mug in the air in faux cheers.

     “Ah,” is all I can say as I stand there dumbfounded. It smells pretty strong to me–– how can he drink that stuff so early in the morning? “I still don’t understand how waking up early is so odd.”

     He sets the mug down on the dashboard. “Waking up early isn’t odd, you just generally don’t see it amongst the people in your age group.” 

     “Oh, right. Sorry Professor Pedo, I forgot you got your PhD in teenaged girls. How old are you again? Fifty-four?”

     “Twenty-seven but that’s irrelevant.”

     “Oh is it?”

     “Yes it is. Now tell me, for research purposes of course, what causes you to wake up at such an early hour?” he asks, stroking an imaginary beard. 

     I flash a dumb smile and humor his question. “Like I said, I like to walk before the sun rises.”

     “Profound!” he says, making a pack of Camels appear in his palm in one swift motion. He hops out the driver’s seat, leans against his truck, and places a cigarette on his lip. “And what time do you sleep to wake up at this hour?”

     I feel my cheeks get warm. I look down at my pristine white sneakers and whisper, “Nine o’clock.”

     “Wow, you’re truly an abnormality in the teen world,” he says flatly as he lights the cigarette hanging limply from his mouth.

     I feel my cheeks get red hot with anger now rather than embarrassment. Would it kill him to be nice to me for one second? 

     I decide to shift the conversation away from my atypicality. “If you’re gonna shit on me, you might as well give me a cigarette.”

     He folds his arms across his chest this time, his meadowy-green eyes squint accusingly. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

     My cheeks get even hotter–– if that’s even possible. “Well…I don’t,” I reply candidly.

     “Then why did you ask to bum one last time we talked?”

     “Because you do it and it seems like a sociable thing to do,” I blurt before I can think. I clasp my hands behind my back to keep him from seeing them shake. “Considering my current state as an abnormality of human nature, I have to find every way I can to fit in.”

     He ignores my reference to his previous rude remark. “Well you shouldn’t. I’m trying to quit,” he says dryly as he takes a drag.

     “Quitting is for losers,” I say softly, kicking an insignificant pebble off of the dry light-gray asphalt road.

     “Is that so, Old Wise One?”

     “Don’t you have to go to work?”

     “Not for another five minutes.”

     “God! Why are you even talking to me?” I spit with uncontrolled frustration. The razor bite of my own voice surprises me. “What?”

     “I was just walking around my block totally spaced out and you could have let me walk right past you without me noticing or just sat in your truck whenever you normally do, but you chose to come out early and stop me and make me feel like shit––and I doubt it was to honestly critique my sleep schedule or point out my abnormalities.”

     Our eyes meet and, while I imagine mine as raging and livid, his are cool and collected. My stomach sinks to the floor. This entire interaction has been incredibly off-putting. The way he spoke about my age and my so-called “abnormalities” was belittling. And while he did push my buttons about the best-friend-thing last time we spoke, he did so in an endearing, witty way. He’s just being a straight-up dick right now.

     “Like I said, I like to get a rise out of you,” he finally responds with a twisted chuckle and takes a drag.

     “Well I don’t appreciate being risen by my friend at six in the morning.”

     “Who said we’re friends?”

     Ouch. “Well obviously we’re not because you think I’m abnormal and make it a point to say it to my face.”

     “Would you rather me say it behind your back?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question and, in turn, creasing his forehead. 

     “I think it’s been five minutes,” I reply flatly.

     He glances at his phone, “It’s been exactly five minutes. At least your internal clock doesn’t seem to be abnormal.” He flashes a fake smile then hops into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and turns the ignition. I stand dumbfounded yet again–– in awe of his abrasiveness––until he rolls down his window and says, “See you around Old Abnormal One.” 

     “Drive safe Old Alcoholic One!” I shout as his car skids onto the road. 

     I stand in the same place he left me for quite some time–– watching his silver Chevy Silverado turn the corner, hearing him speed off to a distant land, and then standing solemnly in the still morning air, staring at the pebble I had kicked earlier. 

I feel stuck. 

I’m stuck in the same place I’ve always been and can’t move. 

I can’t move.

An overwhelming wave of loneliness washes over me. 

I have to move.

     I trudge to my porch, feeling as if the balloon that grew inside of me every time I spoke to him just popped. The lead returns to the soles of my shoes and that heavy hollowness grows inside my chest once more.

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

Someone Must Get Hurt (Cordelia x Reader (Part 1))

This is set during around and through coven so she’s still Cordelia Foxx technically. 

Summary: Reader joins Miss Robichaux's swearing she would keep her main power to her grave. She doesn’t expect to fall for the Headmistress. 

Note: This story was inspired by my vague memory of the soul eater in the x files episode the gift. Subconsciously also inspired by a great fanfic which I will insert the link as soon as I find it.

I’m not American so any odd spelling, phrases or inaccuracies. I apologies for in advance. Also, I’ll come up with a name for this later. This is my first Cordelia x reader and mostly set up. 

Part 1,  Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You'd been sent to the academy because you had accidentally set your curtains on fire in a fit of rage. A bland reason but you couldn't deny that's how you learned about the school. After being kicked out by your roommate after you 'committed arson' and forced to move back in with your parents, they spilt the beans. You were from a long line of witches going back to Salem. You thought they were taking the piss out of you all the way up until you stood outside of the black cast-iron gates of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The name of the school being coded for the students' protection. They couldn't flat out say there was a school of witches leaving in New Orleans. 

 What your parents told you explained a lot about your past. You had the ability to 'heal' other's injuries- mainly using it on your friends and siblings. For your safety, you made them swear to never to tell anyone; not teachers, other children or even your parents. They abused your power. Every cut, scratch and broken limb. It tore away at your heart. If you refused, they threatened to tell. They never did, they knew they had you wrapped around their finger.

 Your power didn’t come without its downsides. The universe isn’t that forgiving. Someone had to hurt. Always cloaked in long sleeve and skinny jeans to hide the mistakes from being too kind. Heatstroke became your best friend in the summertime.

 Healing wasn’t the best word to describe your power. It was more a transference of pain. You could take it away from someone else if you choose too.

 So, when you first walked through the halls of the school, you swore to never tell a soul about your true gift. You hid it from the other girls and your headmaster. Nan knew, as soon as it was mentioned she was clairvoyant you gave it away. Curse the human brain for thinking about what it shouldn’t. 

 She was kind enough not to mention it to the others. You were nicer to her because of it. The other’s you were wary of. Queenie’s power scared you, she could easily bring harm to others- mainly Madison had the urge to push people's buttons. Queenie ended up being nice to you. When Zoe joined the two of you got along well. 

 The headmistress was a whole other thing. Cordelia Foxx took your breath away from the moment you met her. She was aware of your boundaries and willing to obey them- something few people did. Not to mention she was heavenly. It was shocking that no one took her seriously. She had very little control over the girls -Madison was the worst. She was incessantly rude to everyone who crossed her path, but Cordelia never raised her voice at any of you. You wish she did, that movie star needed to be put in her place.

 It was common knowledge among the students that you worshipped the land that Cordelia walked on, which flooded you with inappropriate comments from the others whenever she left the room. 

 She had one flaw. Her husband.

 Your chances were cut off when met Hank Foxx. You immediately loathed the man. Whether it was due to your new-found feelings for your teacher or a sixth sense, you had an intuition about how people were. He was rotten to the core. You got the same feeling when Fiona showed up. Fiona gave you the heebie-jeebies. Her aura was dark- nothing good could come from her arrival. 

 This place was meant to be your haven. At first, it was. No serious harm happened to anyone in the coven. Your urge to help people was manageable. To play it safe whenever someone got injured, you rushed out. Paper cut, you were out of the room in a second. The school began to think you were squeamish at the sight of blood until the girls had caught you watching a slasher.

 The group had come back from watching a horror movie at the cinemas. You weren't invited because they thought you wouldn't be able to handle it.  They were going to head into the living room to calm down for the night before heading to their respective rooms. 

 Madison strolled up to you to see what you were watching, "Hi bitch." She grabbed your shoulders shoving you forward. The sudden contact caused you to jump. You scrambled to pause your movie.

 It was Zoe who noticed what you were watching first. “Y/n, how are you watching that?” Zoe asked. The group stared at the screen. 

 “I stole miss’s laptop,” you were oblivious to what she was asking. Fearing they would rat you out, you tried to reason with them, "She had Netflix and I couldn’t help myself.” 

 “Are you watching a slasher?” Queenie asked. 

 “Yeah?”

 “They have blood in it,” she spoke again, hinting at why they were surprised. 

 “It wouldn’t be a good slasher if it didn’t.” You were left in the dark when it came to what the others thought about you.

 The commotion late at night caused Cordelia to appear asking what they were doing up this late.

 “We caught Y/n watching a slasher,” Nan filled Cordelia in. Her face went from confusion to surprise.

 “I thought you didn’t like the sight of blood?” Cordelia said.

 “No- I mean, I don’t like it, but I can stand it.”

 “Then why do you dash at the sight of blood?”

 “Odd behaviour for someone who can stand the sight," One of the girls said. 

 “I’m done with this conversation; I’m going to bed.” You got up and left the room, leaving the laptop left open where it was.

 “Is that my laptop?” Cordelia asked. 

 You kept your secret intact for another day, but you feared that soon they would know. 

 The next morning you all received a talk about taking other people's things. This was obviously addressed to you. Madison made a joke about her being lucky that you didn’t look through her porn, which led to loads of questions about whether you had looked said stash or if she even had anything to find. Madison brought it up to mess with you and all the others decided to join in once they noticed how red you got. The whole tangent making both you and Cordelia immensely uncomfortable. Cordelia cleared her throat, catching the attention of all the girls before one of them could make another inappropriate comment. The headmistress decided to end the morning meaning early.

 The oldest witch couldn’t have wanted to leave any faster.

 “Ms Foxx?" She hummed to notify you that she heard. She focused all her attention on you. You observed her body language, her hands clasped together in front of her. You screwed but big this time. She was in a rush to get out of here and now you’re keeping her longer forcing her to interact with you, in what is going to be a failure of an apology, you thought. "I'm sorry about borrowing your laptop. For the record, I only used it to watch movies. I didn't look through any personal files like Madison was suggesting and I know that me saying that makes it seem like I did but-"

 She cut you off, "I know you wouldn't do that," she said. "They were just riling me up." Yeah. Wait, her up. How would that rile her up? You thought.

 “So, we’re good?”

 “Yes. Now run along, I think breakfast is being served.” She nudged you towards the kitchen. “I’ll see you in class.”

[elisaphoenix13]

Laundry Day

Quill grimaces when he smells one of his shirts and throws it in the laundry basket when he deems it unwearable. Unfortunately, that meant that he was out of proper t-shirts and he had to dig a tank top out of the dresser to put on. Cassie was currently in San Francisco visiting her mom and stepdad, and Scott would be working all day. Laundry couldn't wait because both he and Scott were completely out of clean underwear and that only happened because Cassie wasn't home to do their laundry.

Quill suddenly realized how much she did for them and was tempted to ask Stephen to portal her home for an hour...but that would just look bad. He could probably do a little bit of laundry. He wasn't that helpless. So with a little bit of self instilled confidence, he grabbed the laundry basket from the closet and carried it down to their laundry room, with a baby fox clinging to his sweatpants. Flynn was thankfully content to hang onto his leg while Quill looked at the washing machine with rapidly growing dread when he realized it wouldn't be as easy as he originally thought.

"What the fuck?" Quill mumbles when he sees all the different dials and settings. "Cassie you fucking angel."

The celestial eventually throws caution to the wind and sets the dials to the best of his knowledge. He did know for a fact what the size dial was so he set that to the largest setting...but everything else? Random temperature and whatever the hell those numbers meant. As the water started, Quill threw in all of the clothes and then looked at the assortment of jugs on the shelf above the machine. He grabbed what he saw Cassie use most (he did read it because he knew about bleach) and poured the liquid soap in by gut instinct.

He really had no idea what he was doing.

Flynn finally gets bored and starts crying loudly for his attention, and the god scowls and tries to shake the creature off as he closes the lid to the machine. "You're so fucking needy! What do you want?!" Quill gripes half-heartedly.

The fox clambers up his leg and his chest to his usual perch on Quill's shoulders so he can lick the god's face incessantly. The man grumbles and pushes the fox's face away from his as he leaves the laundry room and walks into the kitchen. He was hungry and Flynn always ate when he did, so it would hopefully quiet the fox. It took a couple of days to teach him that he wasn't allowed to sit at the table or on Quill while they were eating (unless invited), but now he knew to climb down and sit on the ground. When Quill made his sandwich and cut up some raw meat for Flynn, he carried both plates to the table and waited for the fox to climb down before he sat down. As the god takes his first bite, Flynn paws at his leg with a whine before standing on his hind legs while placing both paws on Quill's leg.

"You know I'm not going to give you the entire plate at once. You don't know how to eat slowly."

The celestial grabs a few pieces of meat with his free hand and feeds them to Flynn, and the two eat their lunch, Quill making sure he doesn't use the hand that handled the meat until he washed it. The fox licks his muzzle when he finishes the last of what Quill gives him, and the god gets up to put the plates in the sink and wash his hands. He really needed to grovel on his knees to Cassie because she did so much for them, and Quill didn't thank her enough. She did most of the cooking (Scott did a little cooking for times like these when Cassie wasn't home), she did their laundry, she cleaned...and on top of all of that, she did incredibly well in school.

Flynn yaps when the buzzer for the washing machine goes off and Quill snorts when the baby fox dashes in the direction. "Yeah I heard it."

To Quill's surprise, the clothes all looked fine as he transferred them to the dryer, so he decided to just do the same with the dials on the dryer as well. He did have to nudge Flynn away with his foot when he kept trying to look into the dryer, and the fox eventually climbed back onto Quill's leg to watch the man finish transferring the clothes. Flynn had a habit of stealing Quill's shirts and that was probably what he was thinking of doing since it was comforting. The first day Quill went to work, he came home to Scott and Cassie looking frazzled, and Flynn came tearing out of nowhere and almost screaming as he jumped onto the celestial.

He hated when he wasn't with Quill every minute of every day. Scott told him that Flynn whined, cried, and every other form of sad noises shortly after he left for work and didn't stop until Cassie gave him one of his dirty shirts. The kit took the shirt and curled up with it on Quill's side of the bed and didn't move until he got home. Another time, Cassie was doing laundry and had to wash the shirts that Flynn had collected on the pet bed he used when Quill was away...and what she said happened had Quill in tears from laughing so hard.

The fox had sat in front of the washer and dryer and cried as he waited to get the shirts back. When Cassie finally offered him one of Quill's shirts, Flynn only cried and laid down because it no longer smelled like him. So now Cassie tried to leave at least one shirt so Flynn wouldn't panic because he still cried whenever Quill left. The celestial was seriously considering trying to take him to work at least but he wasn't sure how well that would go.

"Come on. No! Leave it!" Quill scolds when Flynn tries to grab one of his shirts from the dryer.

He closes the door after moving the kit away a third time, and then leaves the laundry room again to wait for the clothes to dry by watching TV. When Quill lays down on the couch, Flynn hops up onto him and curls up between his neck and shoulder, and purrs. Not only did the fox doze off, but so did Quill, and they slept for a lot longer than the man had planned on. In fact, when he woke up, Scott had just gotten home.

"What did you do today?" The younger man asks and Quill snorts as he sits up, causing Flynn to tumble onto his lap with a grumpy yip.

"We might need new clothes." He jokes. "I attempted to do laundry."

Scott raises an eyebrow. "You did laundry?"

"It needed to be done."

Quill gets up off the couch and follows Scott into the laundry room and watches as the former thief assesses the possible damage. He pulls everything out and into the basket and checks the shirts with obvious amazement.

"I think you managed to successfully do our laundry." Scott says with a bit of a laugh.

"Well give me a shirt so I can give the baby my tank top." Quill says as he strips off the piece of clothing.

Scott hands him one of his shirts, and when he put it on, it fit perfectly fine. It hadn't shrunk or stretched out, and there was no discoloration. His attempt at laundry was nothing short of a miracle, but he did it. They had clean clothes again, and Flynn had an article of clothing that smelled like Quill. The second the celestial dropped his tank top on Flynn, the kit took it away with a happy yip to put on his bed.

"He'll be back to hang on my pants in a minute." Quill huffs and Scott laughs as he stands with the basket.

"We'll meet him in the bedroom. I'm sure he'll want to help fold the laundry."

"Flynn with the laundry is like Tibbs with wrapping paper."

The couple head up to their room to hang up or fold their clothes to put away, and as they predicted, Flynn jumped onto the bed to 'help' them. It took the fox a couple of tries to get onto the bed, but he finally managed it and hopped around the bed happily. He would grab a sock or a pair of pants by the leg and bring it to Quill and the two humans would fold and put away their laundry. Even Quill had to admit it was cute when Flynn helped.

"Thanks buddy." Quill roughly (but gently) ruffles the fur on Flynn's head after taking the last sock from him. "That's the last of it." He says as he tosses the folded socks to Scott who puts them away in the dresser.

"Never thought we'd have help with laundry in the shape of a fox." Scott looks at Flynn and watches as he grabs Quill's boxers and jumps off the bed and lands with a tumble. "Or one that steals underwear."

Quill's head snaps up and he looks over at the baby fox as he drags the boxers toward his bed. "Flynn! No! Not those! I gave you my shirt! Stop stealing all of my clothes you little hoarder!"

He lunges over and snags his boxers from the kit who yaps at him in annoyance.

"You should have called him Swiper." Scott jokes and Quill looks at him in confusion.

"Why?"

"It's the name of a fox in a kids cartoon. He steals things."

Quill points at Flynn. "Swiper no swiping."

"That is literally what they say in the cartoon." Scott laughs.

"It's accurate for this little thief." Quill throws the thankfully still clean boxers in the dresser. "At least I'll know where to look first if my clothes start going missing."

Scott grins. "Oh I have someone to blame it on now."

"I've got two brats now."

[girllovescomic]

Winter Begonia episode 3

This episode opens with the audience waiting on our little divo.  Minister Jin asks Boss Niu whether SXR has found a replacement for the violinist.  If not, he will make good on his threat. Weasel Dengbao repeats what Minister Jin said to his dad, like the man was not sitting right next to the corrupt politician.  The father replies if that is not exactly what he wants, to which Asian Crispin Glover bemoans that he is not that cruel. 

Meanwhile, Fan Lian acting like the typical fan wants to know what to know what SXR will be playing.  CFT like the good boyfriend he will become says that whatever his bae plays will be excellent.  Can I have my own Er Ye?  

Our pouty lips divo finally arrives on stage holding a Chinese violin.  Everyone is intrigued, wondering if he can actually play the instrument.  Daddy weasel Jiang explains that it takes hundred days to learn the dizi, a type of Chinese bamboo flute, a thousand days to learn the xiao (Chinese vertical flute) and ten years to be experienced enough to play the huqin/Chinese violin.  I guess all these instruments are used in the opera.  This worries Niu Bao Lan who clearly cares for our lil penguin. 

But no worries, our boy is a musical genius and he showcases it by playing the violin expertly, much to the dismay of the Jiang pair.  Fan Lian is obviously amazed by how talent his idol is, while CFT is all smiles and heart eyes.  Like bro, can you be more obvious in your fawning over your crush? He confirms what SXR had told him about being a hero.

Looking at his bae with open admiration.  Xirui share the wealth, sis!

Dengbao is clearly not happy that SXR will now be even more popular because of his prowess, but daddy tells him not to fly the white flag just yet.  SXR must have a weakness and they will find a way to exploit it. 

 Indeed, they find a way to manipulate SXR’s self-righteousness and stubbornness by loudly giving away the slush fund to Minister Jin’s secretary.  

It is obviously a trap to push the impetuous young man to make a major faux pas. Just as Daddy Jiang predicted, SXR decides to go back to the stage and sing an opera, as a laosheng (an older male role, something he hasn’t done in a while) about a corrupt Ming Dynasty minister who stole money from the empire. 

The crowd is clued in of the opera’s implication, including Fan Lian.  CFT, the opera novice, meanwhile is unaware of it and even claps thinking it is just a good performance.  When Fan Lian explains it to him, he even more impressed at how gutsy his crush is.

Hero gaze activated.  Anyone who touches bae will get the beating of his life.  I swear his attention perks up whenever someone threatens his lil penguin!

Minister Jin tells his secretary to send some guys after SXR.. Our little divo is no slouch in the martial arts department and is able to escape.  His dashing hero is waiting for him in the car and invites him to hop in.  

Minister Jin is surprised that SXR was able to slip through his fingers, but decides to not pursue him all the way to the opera house, not wanting to waste time on someone so insignificant.  Oh boy, if you only knew who is future boyfriend was!  Talking about boyfriend, CFT praises his lil divo’s martial arts skills; of course, SXR boasts that he is skilled in both singing and kung fu, without a hint of humility.  CFT asks if his little act was to his satisfaction and of course, Xirui answers in the affirmative.  CFT lets him know that his act will have consequences since he drew the ire of a powerful man by exposing his bad deeds and this matter will not be let go.  Xirui asks CFT what he should in that case.  CFT tells him he cannot do it alone, he will need help and then explains why Minister Jin tried to embezzled the money.  Apparently it is not really about the money, but about securing his position in Beiping against the juggernaut that is Commander Cao.  Unfortunately this flies over Xirui’s head who is probably looking at Er Ye’s beautiful profile and thinking of a few operas he wants to sing for him. Or how lucky he has found such a sexy daddy. Oh, I wish I was in your place sweetie. CFT promises he will take care of the situation for him and offers food, which he seems to know it’s something his crush understands. Then they gaze into each other’s eyes with Er Ye smiling softly and holy shit, like the gaze actually last more than a second! How this past censorship, I will never know.   

Xan Er Ye gaze at me like that too

We see Minister Jin acting like the pompous ass he is, walking down the street with his loot.  Someone shoots at his hat, creating a diversion to take said loot, which he realizes too late. 

Ohh so that is CFT’s plan, as we see his crew bring back the money.  He tells them to send it to the anti-Japanese coalition. This little act sinks Minister Jin who is accused of corruption and loses his fight against Commander Cao without the latter raising a finger.  

This obviously does not sit well with weasel Dengbao who complains, like the little bish he is, to his father.  Apparently, Xirui found another opera house to perform; it’s a popular house that has hosted many big opera performers (jue’er). His father tells him that they may not have to lift a finger, others will do the heavy lifting for them in dealing with Xirui.  He lets him on a secret about the so-called bad blood between Commander Cao and Xirui back when they were in Pingyang.   

Weasel Cao decides they need to spill the tea about the situation 

The next day, Xirui and his troupe come into the opera house and find Dengbao’s troupe, Longchun Troupe, in their space and the cattiness ensues.  I swear, it feels like watching the backstage of a theater or Hollywood, where rival actors get in each others’ faces for some primetime. 

Dengbao sneers, telling Xirui the opera house is now his territory. Whatever Asian Mr. World. There’s a staredown which is interrupted by the opera house manager.  

SXR demands an explanation for basically reneging on their agreement. The manager tells them he has his reasons for doing so, but if they want to perform they can take the morning spot, which is basically relegating a rising star, like Beyonce, to be the opening act instead of the primetime act, which is a major downgrade.

  Not only that, but it will be doing so until another performer, who is currently sick, returns.  Best girl Xiao Lai tells SXR to find another spot to perform, offended by the obvious downgrade.  

The manager lets them know that other houses will probably turn them down. It turns out that removing Minister Jin in favor of Commander Cao has made his previous encounter with the warlord resurface and no one wants to deal with this hot mess, in fear they will draw the wrath of Beijing’s new boss.  SXR looks at Dengbao and I believe he realizes this was his doing.

He discusses the matter with sexy crush while eating a steak like a country girl at a fancy debutante ball.  He tells CFT that the gossip is blown out of proportion; he doesn’t really have any feud with the commander. It turns out the commander wanted to keep the troupe as its personal entertainment, which goes against SXR wish of performing on stage. After all, the stage is everything for him.  He refused to continue singing, which led the commander to threaten him with a gun.  Our little divo showed his backbone, not flinching a tiny bit while feeling the cold barrel pressed against his head. . Xirui tells CFT that all the other things are unfounded gossips, there is nothing more between them.  A sidenote, in the novel, SXR was actually Commander Cao’s boy toy, which drew Meixin’s jealousy, forcing SXR to hide in his room to avoid her. He left for the same reason. Like a good boyfriend, CFT shows his understanding of the situation, replying that no one else was there so people ran with the gossip.  Xirui sees the people who believes the rumors as brainless, and I have to agree with him on this.  Even in modern time, people will believe whatever they want to believe about celebrities without using logic.

Can we take time to see how beautiful Yin Zheng look here?

Sexy CFT agrees and even brings up the fact that if the rumors were true, SXR would have been six feet under.  He knows his BIL very well.  Unfortunately, this does not change the fact that people will believe the gossip especially if the parties involved do not clarify the situation. CFT offers to remedy the situation by inviting SXR to sing at his son’s first birthday, where the commander will also be in attendance to celebrate his political win. SXR is honored to come sing for the Little Master and would have done so even without the added benefit.

We see two people walking and I smell trouble. The woman seems taken by the environment surrounding her, as if it is the first time she sees such luxury. Her husband is very sweet and soft-spoken and you can tell he is very much caring towards her. They are even holding hands like a pair of teenage lovers. Hmmm...could this provide a parallel between CFT and his wife?

Fan Lian greets them and we find out it’s the rumored couple mentioned in the gossip about SXR when he was still in Pingyang. The woman is Jiang Menping, Xirui’s former senior sister and her husband, Chang Zhixin, is Fan Lian and Er Nainai’s cousin. They have come to Beijing because the cousin works in government. Apparently the mention of Shuiyun is persona non grata around Meiping. She looks a shy and pensive woman, a complete contrast to the childlike and wild SXR.

They come to visit Er Nainai and CZX is taken by Er Nainai’s son, doting on him, which seems to sadden Meiping.  Er Nainai, after chatting incessantly about it until she notices Menping’s sad gaze. We learn she has been trying to get pregnant but her body is unhealthy or unable to produce children.  CZX showcases how much of a doting husband he is, stating that he actually does not like kids at all, which is a sweet lie.  He only wants her, nothing else.  Sigh...will I ever find someone like this.  

I digress...He adds that since he comes from a large family and had to deal with a lot of crying brats, he has grown to dislike kids.  You can tell he is saying this to make her feel good and she knows, but she is grateful and bask in his love. Er Nainai notices the sweet moment and you can tell she wishes that Er Ye was that loving. 

She gives Menping a pair of earrings as a wedding gift, which she could not attend.  Menping feels the jewelry is too luxurious, which makes me think they are a frugal type couple, despite the high level job he has and his aristocratic background. Er Nainai apologizes for her faux pas earlier, which Menping assures her it is okay.  CZX cannot stay a few moments away from his wife, acting all anxious as if she had disappeared.  She reminds him that it has only been 30 minutes, but in his mind, it felt like a day. I may get diabetes from all that sweetness. He quickly notices the earrings.  He tells Er Nainai that he notices everything about Menping, down to the details like new earrings. Oooh, the look of envy is all over Er Nainai’s face.

Is he for real??

We see Er Nainai trying out new earrings, obviously in the hopes that dashing CFT will notice.  Oh sis, your relationship is not the same as your cousin.  CFT comes in and thrown himself on the bed, fully clothed.  He looks like he had a full day. She helps him out of his jacket and tries to draw his attention to the earrings. Oh sis, i am telling you that you are wasting your time.  His heart eyes are not for you. He jokes that she looks chubbier (BRO!) and she pushes him back on the bed.  He wants to know what has gotten in her to make her irritated towards him. She pouts and walks back to her dresser, obviously disappointed that he did not notice the minute change. 

BRO! The last thing a woman wants to hear!

He’s like, okay fine, I am going to wash up, but by the way, next week is our son’s first birthday, so take care of the preparation, especially since my BIL will be coming for his big celebration. As he walks away, she mutters that she’s no better than a servant and takes off the earrings.

It’s the day of the Little Master’s birthday and Meixin is acting like a good hostess, guiding the servants and being the mistress of the house.  Apparently, Er Nainai is still pouting in her room.  One of the servants inform her the opera troupe is here and it is obvious that she has no idea who it is. By the way, let me pause again and talk about the fashion. Meixin’s dress and the mink she wears is gorgeous.  Good lord the details in this show!!!  Ok, so back to the program, she tells the servant to warn the maids not to go near the performers, again highlighting the prejudice carried against the performers, who were lower than even prostitutes.  Sigh, hierarchical societies are bleh. 

Meixin inquires about Er Nainai and right on cue, we see her, gazing into space, clearly still not over the fact that her husband does not pay full attention to her. Gurl, your marriage cannot be compared to that of your cousin! He married for love, while your husband married you for convenience.  Even if you are in love with him, the same cannot be said about him! He still showers you with affection and care, some people cannot even find that! 

Ugh, Meixin barges in and they have a little sister chat about the birds and the bees, the difference between men and women when it comes to love. Meixin wonders if she has a fever or something, and Er Nainai explains that she read an opera script (really sis?!) that claims if a woman has never or be loved, is she living in vain and I am sitting here, looking at myself, feeling forever alone... 

Sis, way to twist the knife in my wound

Meixin dismiss this nonsense, telling that most opera scripts are fake to fool young girls (that sounds familiar) and that as an housewife, she has obligations to fulfill. Er Nainai insists the stories are real and brings up the real reason why she feels out of sorts. 

 Meixin is like, the hell girl, why are you bringing this nonsense up? Did my brother offend you or something? Er Nainai says no, but she feels Fengtai is not like other men, which Meixin tells her it’s a good thing. 

 Every men are not supposed to be the same and Er Nainai acts like she’s a little girl. Meixin explains that some men are verbose with their love, while others carried in their hearts.  There are other men who sleeps around (hmmm is this a reference to novel Fengtai?) while others simply do not understand romance.

She thinks Fengtai is of the latter (maybe because he has not found the person to display his love to). Meixin reminds her of the type of man her brother is, someone who is bright and sensible, and she should be happy to have someone like this as a husband, instead of a gruff like Commander Cao.  No truer words spoken, sis!

Oh SIS! I hope you never see your husband’s face when he looks at his chubby cheeks bae.  You might be too mad to see such obvious display of adoration

Meanwhile Hot daddy CFT struts his stuff into the banquet area of his house, schmoozing to his guests.  Mr Hao Lan, who I believe is the head servant of the household, urges him to go outside and wait to greet the Commander. CFT tells him not to fret, the man of the hour will probably fashionably late. 

His mind quickly shifts to his bae and he inquires about the troupe.  As soon as he finds out there are already in his home, he goes out to check. Oh boy, the man is enamored, completely unaware that his wife is having a heart-to-heart about their relationship. 

He hears some of the singers fighting with their troupe leader, irritating Shang Lao Ban so much, he storms out. As soon as Xirui sees CFT, he is all smiles while CFT gives him his soft gaze that shows all the affection he has for our adorable divo.  Oh, if Er Nainai had seen this, she would have blown a casket.

If I could find a man who looks at me like Er Ye looks at Xirui

He claims to come and get a look at his bae check the preparations, wondering if it was bad time since he overheard the arguing. Sis, you are here to gaze at your crush

 SXR chuckles, dismissing the silly fight.  Er Ye tells him that he has hired photographers and reporters to help with dismissing the rumors. The headline, according to him will read “Shang Xirui’s beautiful voice caused Commander Cao to light up and smile”. Geez can I get a hype man like this? SXR is grateful at all the support CFT provided and wonders how he is going to repay him.

Sigh...

Right at this moment, the man of the hour arrives with all the pomp.  Lao Han rush CFT to the front door to greet the Commander. CFT reminds SXR that the rest is up to him to either fail or succeed in dispeling the rumors. SXR tells him not to worry and CFT replies with another one of his killer smiles. He runs to the door as Commander Cao steps out of the car. BIL tells him that he saw him running to greet him instead of waiting for him, all in jest.  

They clearly have a good relationship. CFT even jest that he doesn’t have another elder sister to give away for marriage when Commander Cao brings out all the gifts. Not to be outdone in the hilarious department, Cao tells him about the gift he brought to his little nephew and I swear I am endeared by the gruff old man when he describes the noise made by the toy train.  

Fan Lian is acting like the young master of the house, walking aimlessly towards the kitchen where he finds his cousins helping out. He’s like, what the hell are you guys doing? You are guests, not helpers! He tells them to go change and attend the banquet, hoping CXZ could rub shoulders with Old Cao for his career, but CXZ sounds like an honest politician.  

Commander Cao and Fengtai are jesting again, and you really feel their relationship is not based on hierarchy, but one of affection.  I think this is the first time I see a Republican Era drama that shows a warlord’s softer side.  Is this show for real???? They are discussing the tense relationship between his son, Cao Guixi who is also a top member of the army, and him.  Lol, he even calls him a son of a bitch, which makes CFT spit out the hazelnut out of his mouth. Apparently, the son is being ungrateful after his father gave him a golden ticket by sending him abroad, but he is turning out to be rebellious, even hanging out with sketchy people. 

Unfortunately for the Commander, since it’s his only heir, he can’t do much to suppress the young master. 

Oh, is the young master cause problem later?

Fengtai suggests that Commander impregnates his sister so she can give him another heir (no worries, this is said in jest) and he can shoot the current heir.  Fengtai asks why the Commander is so sweet with him (hmm because you are so damn charming, who can resist you?) while so stern with his son. The Commander does not want to talk his son because the latter infuriates him.  He then calls Fengtai using a feminized version of his name (Feng’er), which shows the kind of affection they have between each other.  Awww...Fengtai playfully acts embarrassed, which only prompts the Commander to yell out the girly nickname. LOL, I cannot! 

He then tells the Commander that he has brought Shang Xirui to perform for him, but if this offends him, he will send the troupe back.  He informs him of the situation the opera singer has found himself because of their nebulous past, but it seems, based on the Commander’s reaction, to be water under the bridge.  The Commander finds the gossip silly since he does not consider the lil divo as a worthy enemy.  Relieved, CFT tells him that he will make SXR sing a great piece for him and even apologizes, but the Commander knows the lil divo is a stubborn child who does not bend over for anyone.  The Commander requests a popular Shaanxi Opera called Qinqiang (I may actually make a post about the different operas). CFT orders the manager to inform SXR of the request.

SXR is not too happy about the sudden change, since he doesn’t have the right costume and makeup to perform this opera.  Oof, any creatives reading this will understand his fretting. We like to be perfect when we deliver our art and any last minute inconvenience can throw a major wrench in our delivery. 

Manager Han tells him it was a request from the Commander himself, so basically he has no choice. Despite having a well-know stubborn personality, SXR acquiesces, but he is not happy about it.  He knows he has no choice but to please the Commander since his future depends on it Even his troupe member comments at this overbearing commander’s unfair request.  SXR asks Xiao Lai if he should perform without all of his accoutrement, which best girl agrees. 

He is going to need far more food than the dainty offering from la casa de Cheng.  

She goes out to get something heavier, while Manager Han catches up with Meixin to let her know that her hubby is here.  She spots Xiao Lai and you know trouble is a-brewing.  She asks who that girl is as she looks familiar and learns which opera troupe was invite.  Realizing the impending trouble since Er Nainai’s cousins are also attending the banquet, she ask the manager to quickly fix this messy situation.

Ooph, there are so many good moments in this episode, especially with SXR calling out the minister for embezzlement, showing CFT that despite being a dan, he is no damsel.  We find out that he has martial art skills, which will probably be handy in later episodes.  We also finally get a chance to see the Commander and more family dynamics on CFT sides.  His relationship with this BIL is quite interesting and despite the obvious difference in status, they are quite affectionate with each other.  I feel like I am watching a more Westernized relationship than a typical Asian one.  Additionally, we get to see the much talked about Jiang Menping and her husband.  Their relationship is again a very Westernized lovey-dovey relationship, that of love, not one of arranged marriage, which contrast immensely to Fengtai-Er Nainai’s relationship.  This makes Er Nainai yearns for such devotion from her husband, which we know she will not get since a lil divo has bursted into the scene and crept up inside CFT’s heart.  I feel for her, you can tell she has love for her husband, but she is equally naive when it comes to relationship and how to deal with men in general.  She is after all a very conservative woman, who unlike her well-cultured husband, represents the vestiges of a fallen dynasty and society, that is still trying to hang on desperately.  I sense trouble brewing between Xirui, the cousins and Commander Cao

[maknaesdancersrappers]

on the third day of kinkmas, my lover did to me:

[ f a c e - s i t t i n g ]

>>KUN

>>warning/s: breeding kink bc why not, unprotected sex (bc breeding kink duh), a dash of angst

a/n: we need more smutty kuntent for this prince of China

-

Most arranged marriages between kingdoms for peace and unity end up being unhappy and result in multiple affairs and concubines. Your parents considered themselves lucky because they were good friends before your grandparents arranged them to get married; and because such predicament is unavoidable, your parents have made arrangements for you to befriend, at an early age, the son of the neighboring kingdom.

Kun of the Qian kingdom was soft spoken and bashful when you met him. Both of you were eight years old, hiding behind your mother’s dresses as your parents urged the two of you to talk. After another encouraging urge from his father, Kun stepped forward and asked if you wanted to catch dragonflies in the garden.

And everything started there.

When you were both fourteen, he found out you liked butterflies more so he gifted you a garden of flowers to attract them beneath the balcony of your room.

Two years later, there was no doubt you were inseparable and mutual admiration was undeniable. The relationship everyone had speculated was forced through the arrangement was now something both of you wanted and enjoyed.

“Kun.” You quietly beckoned to the boy tending to the parasol to provide you shade from the afternoon sun.

“Yes, princess?” He peeks down from the frilled parasol.

You feel your cheeks warm when your eyes meet, “Oh, you know you don’t have to address me as such.”

Kun smiles at you, taking one last check at the parasol’s position before taking a seat on the picnic blanket beside you. “I meant it as a nickname.”

Your face felt like it was burning now, “Oh… well, I was just wondering. We’re sixteen now. In a few years, we’re expected to announce our engagement and the wedding will follow not long after.” You fiddled with your thumbs on top of your lap. “I was wondering if we had a choice—would we push through with it?”

Kun cocks his head to the side, the fringes covering his brow following, “I would if you would.”

“What if I didn’t want to?”

The briefest frown graced his face before forcing out a smile you could only describe as melancholic. “Then we wouldn’t get married.”

“But!” You exclaim, straightening your back and reaching out to cover his hand with yours, “I do, though. I wouldn’t want to marry anybody else.”

The prince chuckles; moving to hold your hand, raise to his lips, and presses a kiss over your knuckles. “As do I, my princess.” Through his lashes, he glances at you. “My future queen.”

“My future king.” You quietly say back to him.

You shared your first ever kiss that day; the first time you ever felt his lips, plump and soft, against yours: it felt like kissing a rose bud.

Ever since that day, you and Kun were something more. Anyone could tell, from the stable boys when you two wish to ride your horses to your own parents, casting knowing glances across the dining table as you and Kun smile at each other.

When you were twenty, just a year shy from the wedding date, a rival kingdom wages war against the Qian kingdom that required both your fathers (as your kingdom is already an ally to theirs)—and Kun—to set out for battle.

The night before they had to leave, you sat in your silk nightgown at the foot of your bed, worried and frightened by the possible outcome of the war.

A knock sounds on your door and your lady-in-waiting calls out, “My lady, Prince Kun would like to see you.”

“Come in.” You reply in a voice loud enough for her to hear through the thick mahogany doors, rising to your feet and briskly walking over to greet Kun, also dressed in his sleepwear, as he enters with a hug. “Must you go?”

He sighs, “It’s my kingdom, [Y/N]. My people need me—and they’re yours, too, in a year’s time.”

You open your mouth to retort, but you dare not say such a predicament; a nightmare. He, however, is quick to catch on, kissing your forehead in consolation.

“I’ll be alright, princess. We’ll win the war and I’ll return with our fathers safely.”

“How are you so sure? Death is inevitable in wars, Kun, I don’t want to risk it.” Tears spring onto your eyes at the thought. “I don’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t.” He repeats, thrice; each one with a kiss on your lips. “When I return from war, victorious or not, I will marry you immediately. I promise—please, my princess, tell me how I could put your worrying heart at ease.”

Without thinking, you quickly beg, “Lay with me.”

He is taken aback with your request. A prince and princess during their betrothal period is not allowed to bed one another. And although you two have messed around in the shadows when you were left alone unattended, neither of you pressed to go any further.

“[Y/N].”

“In case the worst befalls you,” You glide your palms to cup his face, “I want my innocence be taken by you, and only you. In case you don’t return, leave me with your offspring—son or daughter, I don’t care! As long as they bear any resemblance of you.”

Kun’s features contort into unease, “I can’t let you raise my kid on your own. What will people say about us breaking the rule of being betrothed? They’ll call us shameless for being impatient. If I don’t return, you’ll be unfit to be wed off to another if they find out we’ve slept together—let alone finding out you are carrying my son. You’ll be brandished as a whore and I can’t have that.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want anybody else!” You cry into his chest, gripping onto the cloth of his shirt. “Would you let another man hold me when you’re gone?”

His fingers on your back twitches at your words, letting you know how he really feels about the situation.

“Would you let another man deflower me? Pleasure me like you could have? Would you have allowed another man’s child in my womb?”

“No.” Kun spits out the single syllable with disgust.

“My love,” You whisper, “this could very well be our last night together.”

He breathes in deeply as he lets your words sink in, placing his hand to cover your own. He intertwines his fingers with yours and brings it to his lips, kissing your palm. “If you put it that way, then I must spend the next hours showing you the extent of my love.”

You stumble back a bit when he kisses you suddenly, your hands finding support on his muscles that have gotten firm during the days he spent away to train for a battle.

For a brief second you’re reminded of what’s to come when the night is over, but it’s quickly thrown out the window as Kun’s nimble fingers dance along your arms and hook the sleeves of your nightgown between them; pushing it down your shoulders.

You help him get your dress off, letting the silky cloth pool around your ankles until you were left in your panties. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before but he still likes dragging his eyes over the expanse of your exposed skin.

Kun untucks his shirt and pulls it overhead, tossing it aside without another care. He leads you to your bed, carefully laying you down the soft blankets and trailing kisses down your body; from your lips, chin, neck, both breasts, until he reaches your navel. “By the time I return, this must be swollen with our child, yes?”

“Yes.” You repeat, practically shaking in anticipation as he rolls your underwear off. You press your thighs together when he extracts the white clothing article from your ankles.

He slides his hands up your legs and leans forward to kiss your knees, “May I see you, princess?”

Your heart is thumping erratically in your chest as you slowly part your legs, wincing slightly at the cold air that breezes through your intimate parts.

Kun sighs, almost contentedly, running his hands down your thighs.

“Please don’t stare.” You try to shut your legs back together but he stops you.

“Don’t be shy, princess. You’re beautiful—very beautiful, all of you.” He assures, lowering his head down to your nether regions and placing a chaste kiss that pleasantly jolts you.

“Oh!” You exclaim, rising to your elbows to watch him. Once his tongue touches you, licking through your folds, you fall back against the mattress with a moan, “Oh.”

His tongue felt warm; a pleasing contrast to the cold air from the open window when it hit where his lips have been. He holds onto your thighs, squeezing them once in while whenever you quietly whimper. You were a little disappointed when he pulls away all of a sudden. He moves to the space beside you and guides you to sit on top of him, “Come here.”

Once you had straddled him, you look down in confusion while you await his next order.

“Come sit on my face, princess.”

You gasp, “On your face? I—I can’t possibly!”

Kun smiles, “It’s okay, princess. Think of it as your throne, come now.”

With hesitancy, you maneuver yourself until your core was right above his awaiting mouth. You were quick to succumb to the position when Kun resumes his feast on your groin, loudly humming as your juices dripped onto his tongue. He held you against him with firm grips on your thighs when you began to writhe from a knot in your stomach that started to tighten.

It was certainly a new position for the two of you. He had never had really used his mouth to pleasure you like you had with his; his fingers knew your pussy more: where to touch inside of yours to leave you shaking, where to grind his palm against to make you want more.

One of his hands lets go of your thigh to spread apart your folds for his tongue to lick more of,  coaxing your juices out by inserting two fingers and dragging them out crooked. He captured whatever essence he was able to draw out with quick laps, making noises of absolute satisfaction at the little feat.

When your body began to convulse in short bursts, you slap a hand over your mouth to contain a moan as you feel yourself unraveling, bucking your hips incessantly against his tongue while his nose prodded the skin that housed a bundle of nerves that sent little shocks of pleasure into your system.

Kun is slurping your climax beneath you as you catch your breath, the little hairs that framed your forehead had stuck to your skin due to perspiration.  

He gestures for you to lie back to the bed, guiding your quivering frame with gentle hands. “You tasted so sweet, princess. I could have your essence all night over and over again.”

“Don’t be silly.” You blushed, feeling ashamed at how wet his lips are. “Don’t say things like that.”

He looks at you, quizzically. “But you are, love. Would you like to try?”

Kun dips his head closer to you, but stops just an inch from your lips. Realizing he’s waiting for you to move, you pull him closer with a hand over his nape until his mouth was on yours.

His lips tasted differently from the previous kiss and blood rushes to your cheeks when you realize you were tasting yourself on him. It wasn’t as sweet as he claims, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“I think I like how you taste more—from that time at library, do you remember?” You giggled as he pulls away.

He came to visit you while you had your lessons and the minute your tutor left, assuming you wanted to converse in private; you were on your knees for the first time in front of him and got acquainted with his cock.

“How could I forget? I never knew how salacious you were; swallowing it all and acting like nothing had happened when your tutor returned.” He chuckles, “If we had a little more time, we could relive that moment, but tonight...”

Kun sits up, pushing the garter of pants down until it was completely off his legs. He situates himself between your legs, kneeling with his thighs spread apart and rigid cock in hand. “Are you sure about this, [Y/N]? Think about the consequences that can arise from this.”

You rise up and replaced his hand that held his cock, pumping the entire length. “There are no consequences, Kun. How can your child in my womb be such a thing?”

“You really want this?” He laughs a little when you nod, “You’re quite spoiled, you know?”

“Is it really my fault you grant every wish I ask for?”

“I guess not. I just want you happy.”

You look at him, wistfully. “I am.”

Kun glances back down the little space between your bodies, eyeing how your wrist expertly handles his member. “This will hurt you.”

With another kiss, you whisper against his lips: “Nothing will hurt more than the uncertainty of the war’s outcome. If I truly am spoiled, you’d grant my wish and stay.”

He kisses your forehead and without another word, guides his cock into your entrance. Your mouth falls at the entirely new sensation you’re experiencing. You watch as his length disappears inside of you, inch by inch, and halfway through, you feel a painful pinch within that causes you to whimper.

Kun places a hand on your hips and the other on your face, “Tell me to stop, princess.”

“Don’t.” You choke out, flinging your arms around him to bury your head on the crook of his neck.

“Just a little more, my love.” He whispers, voice strained as he runs a palm over your back, kissing your shoulder as if it could distract the pain.

You could feel yourself stretching out to accommodate his girth, uncontrollably clenching around his dick as it continued pushing itself deep inside of you.

“Tell me when to move, princess.” He kisses your shoulder repeatedly, gliding his hands all over your body and squeezing whatever he could to encourage you.

You moan when you tried to move by yourself, just shifting ever so slightly, “I—okay, p-please do something.”

He transfers his hand down to your ass, pushing your weight up just a little before letting you ease back down his shaft.

An abrupt exhale leaves you with a breathless “okay.”

You begin to bring yourself up after a few minutes, finally getting used to and surprisingly enjoying the feeling of being stretched out; while still holding onto Kun with arms around his shoulders.

He murmurs soft encouraging words into your ear, minutely groaning once in a while when you would clench around him.

Pulling away from his neck, you gaze into his eyes, “I love you.”

Kun’s lips twitched into a grin, “I love you, too.”

Your brows suddenly furrowed when the familiar knot in your stomach begins to tighten once more. Kun must have sensed it too because he suddenly moves your bodies around until your back is pressed over the mattress and his hips are repeatedly snapping into yours; taking charge of the situation.

The arms on either side of your body that held his weight up were straining, veins popping out of the smooth skin. A good amount of sweat had accumulated on his own furrowed brow, threatening to drip onto you.

Your hand leaves the warmth of his shoulder to hold your breast that had been bouncing back and forth with Kun’s thrusts. During a particularly hard re-entry of his length into you, you grasp onto your breast and unintentionally heightened the pleasure you were experiencing.

Your face was completely flushed, already glowing pink as you made the softest noises that filled in the silence of your room aside from the creak of the bed and snap of Kun’s thighs against yours.

“You look so beautiful, [Y/N].” He bends down, bringing your neglected breast into his mouth and swirling the hardened nipple with his tongue. “What I’d give to have you like this everyday—and I will, when I return from war. Just wait for that day, princess, I’ll return as a man and become your king. I’ll show you how a king shall love his queen.”

You moan at his words, threading your fingers through his hair and pushing your chest into his face for him to ravish.

“I promise to return, my love, I promise on…” Kun hisses; hips picking up their pace.

“On what, my love?” You whimper, legs quivering at your oncoming orgasm.

“On our child.” He grunts, thrusting so hard that it unravels you for the second time tonight, and as you violently shake with your back arching away from the bed, Kun stills completely with eyes shut tightly; letting your pussy naturally milk his cock of his seed.

You slump back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as you savor the warmth that’s spreading from your core up to your abdomen.

Once he catches his breath, Kun pulls his cock out of you; worriedly eyeing the little blood that coated him. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“You’ve taken my virginity, that’s all. I’m fine, I—I feel amazing.” You pant, taking his hand and gripping it hard. “I know you should head back to your room, but could you sing me to sleep tonight?”

“Of course, princess.”

You wince a little when you try to get yourself under the covers while he dresses himself. After he does so, he sits by your head and you move so that your lying on his lap.

As he combs your hair down with fingers, you quietly ask him, “Wake me before you leave.”

He nods before he sings you a lullaby and in a few minutes, you’re fast asleep.

Instead of returning to his room, he stays with you; watching you sleep, playing with your hair, and singing once more every time you stirred. When dawn came and your fathers had entered your room to fetch him, he—nor your father—had the heart to wake you up; not when a ghost of a smile graced your face.

So Kun, despite your request, left without disrupting your sleep and you only found out about it when you had woken up a mere hour after they departed; the tracks of their horses on the ground still fresh like his voice in your head when he lulled you to sleep.

[iishipallthethings]

The Wager Chapter 19

Story Summary:  Another Day of the Dead is finally here. La Muerte goes to the land of the living and is shocked to see Maria, the jewel of the town, unsatisfied with her marriage with Manolo. Another wager is struck and La Muerte finds herself falling hard for a human. 1 year after movie! Main ship: Maria X La Muerte (kind of slow burn) but there is another :)

Chapter Title: Hey There Stranger!

Coffee?

Manolo and Joaquin were returning from their date when Chuy ran into them. In Joaquin’s case, quite literally. The soldier fell back on his butt, opening his mouth to yell at Chuy to get off him. Manolo had his mouth open too but only to laugh. Both men’s mouths snapped  quickly when they noticed that Chuy’s eyes were huge and he was squealing. They never heard Chuy sound so much like a pig until now and it chilled them to the bone.

Chuy jumped off Joaquin and ran in a tight circle, his squealing turning into frantic beying. He stopped running and jutted his snout in the direction of the mansion, giving two short beys. Joaquin and Manolo gave each other one glance before bolting towards the house. Chuy kept up with the two as best as he could, but soon he fell away.

Joaquin was the first to the mansion and he slammed his shoulder into the front door. It crashed open with a loud bang and slumped awkwardly, its top hinges having been ripped out of the wall. His hands grabbed at the hilts of his swords, pulling them out of their scabbards with practiced ease.

By that time, Manolo had ran up beside him. Without a word passing between them, Joaquin handed Manolo one of his blades. The two walked into the foyer much quieter than their entrance, their eyes scanning their surroundings constantly.

“Where’s Maria?” Joaquin whispered furiously to his boyfriend.

“I don’t know,” Manolo murmured back. The two men were climbing up the stairs, their ears straining to hear anything amiss.

Soon, they were in front of Maria’s room. The door was shut, a now common sight, and Manolo and Joaquin nodded silently. Joaquin stood in front of the door with Manolo beside him, the sword raised. Joaquin counted down from three and turned the doorknob as quickly and quietly as he could. He threw open the door and the two dashed inside.

The room was empty.

Cursing, Joaquin and Manolo went back outside.

Chuy had finally caught up with the two. He was in the foyer, beying loudly. Joaquin and Manolo ran towards the sound and found Chuy pointing with his snout towards the library. The three walked to the library, Chuy leading. Now that he was back at the mansion, the pig had calmed somewhat but there was still a nervous speed to his step.

The library’s doors were wide open, which struck the two men as odd. Maria had always made sure the doors were closed. The three went inside and found Maria in the middle of the floor. The woman was out cold, an arm curled protectively around a book as her hair spilled over her shoulders and covered most of her face. Manolo handed Joaquin back his sword and carefully took the book from the sleeping Maria. Maria gave a grumbling protest in her sleep but she did not wake up. Manolo looked at the cover and saw that it was Moby Dick. He could have sworn Maria had thrown the novel away when she found out Mary as really La Muerte in disguise.

“Here,” Manolo said, handing Joaquin the book so he could see the cover as well. He saw Chuy give a sad bey and walk closer to Maria. The pig sniffed at her face, screwing up his snout at the scent he found. He nosed at her hair, causing the woman to grumble again and squirm slightly on the floor, but her eyes still did not open.

Finally, his wet nose made Maria turn in her sleep. Her hair moved only a bit away from her neck and Manolo and Joaquin frowned in confusion. Chuy looked at them expectantly as he waited for the dots to connect in their minds. Slowly so as to not awake Maria, Manolo knelt. Manolo brushed back Maria’s hair from her neck and the two men cursed under their breaths.

There was a bruise forming around her neck like a hand had curled its fingers right around it. The fingers were extremely thin and long and neither men knew who the hand could have belonged to. Chuy nosed the shoulder strap of Maria’s dress, pulling it away to reveal another bruise. This one had four scrabs as if the fingernails had pierced Maria’s skin. Manolo and Joaquin looked at each other, both men unsure of what to do now.

Manolo was the one who acted first. He lifted a hand to grab Maria’s shoulder to wake her but he glanced at the bruise. His hand fell on her waist and he shook her once gently. Maria muttered something under her breath and the two men caught a whiff of alcohol. He shook her more incessantly, murmuring her name at the same time.

“Wha?” Maria grumbled as her eyes lazily opened. They were unfocused and the men knew it was from more than sleep. They were red and blinked wearily up at Joaquin and Manolo. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “What’s going on?” Maria asked.

“We want to ask you the same thing,” Manolo said softly. He nodded down to Chuy who laid his head in Maria’s lap, gazing up at the woman. “He came and led us to you.” Manolo gestured towards Maria’s neck. Too late the young woman tried to hide the bruise with her hand, only able to cover it partially. “What happened?” He could not hide the edge in his voice. Manolo looked up at Joaquin and saw the same hardness in his eye. Whoever had done this will pay.

Maria looked away from the two and her eyes fell on the book still being held in Joaquin’s hand. She then saw the swords out and sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Joaquin said a bit too harshly. “Someone hurt you.” He grabbed back his sword from Manolo after placing the book unceremoniously on a nearby table. Sheathing the blades, he bent down to help Maria back to her feet. He didn’t like the way she stumbled. “Who did this?”

Maria shook her head. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Manolo countered, getting up on his feet as well. He held out his hands in case Maria stumbled again. “Whoever hurt you could hurt someone else.”

“He won’t.” Without any other explanation, Maria walked out of the library, presumably towards her room.

Joaquin and Manolo could only watch her go. They didn’t know what else to say. “Do you know who did this?” Joaquin asked Chuy. The pig gave a sad grunt and shook his head.

Manolo frowned to himself. There was something he was missing, something that should be obvious. He could feel it tickling the back of his brain. It was at the tip of his tongue but the word, or name, alluded him. Manolo trusted that Maria was telling the truth about the person not hurting anyone else. But that didn’t mean whoever did this wouldn’t hurt her again. “We need to watch over her.”

Joaquin responded with a solemn nod of his head. “You need to help too,” he told Chuy. “You’ll walk her to and from the orphanage and Manolo and I will walk with her whenever she leaves the house.” He shuddered at the thought of telling Maria this plan.

Surprising, and worrying, them, Maria was silent the morning after as Manolo and Joaquin told her what they intended to do. She simply shrugged and moved the eggs around on her plate.

Her attitude did not improve for the entire week that followed. There were no more incidents but Joaquin and Manolo were no closer at figuring out who had hurt Maria in the first place. Joaquin had the brigade do double shifts and he took to strolling the streets for most of the night. Manolo would train and perform for the town’s people as usual, but he searched the crowds for an unfamiliar or unfriendly face and found the usual people cheering him and the bull on. Even Chuy was walking through the town, sniffing here and there to catch a stranger’s scent to no avail. They did not try to press on Maria too much, each time they asked she became even quieter than usual. The last time, Joaquin had suggested that a new group of banditos had come to San Angel, Maria took her plate of barely eaten food and went to her room alone.

Now Maria was asleep and Joaquin and Manolo were in their room, their voices hushed even though they sound proofed the room months prior.

“What were you thinking?” Manolo asked Joaquin. “We need to be subtle about this.” He was sitting on their bed, watching Joaquin pace back and forth in front of him.

“I’m tired of being subtle, Manolo!” Joaquin groaned. “We need to find out who hurt Maria and we need to find out now!” He waved a hand towards the window and into the streets. “I can’t keep forcing my men to chase after a ghost. We can’t keep chasing after a ghost.” Joaquin had scarcely slept this past week, as well as Manolo. “That bull almost hurt you today.”

It was true, Manolo couldn’t deny it. As the week went on, his reflexes dulled and his steps started to become sloppy. This morning during a practice routine, he was almost impaled by the bull’s horns. Manolo would have been if the bull hadn’t yanked his head to the side at the last second during the charge. He still barreled into the matador and Manolo suffered a new bruise on his side as well as aching bones, but he was alive.  

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Manolo asked, at his wits end. “Maria won’t tell us who hurt her and we can’t find the fucker!” He jumped off his bed, his fingers curled into fists.

Joaquin shook his head in despair, having no answer. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then what!?” Manolo yelled. He marched up to his boyfriend and waved a hand wildly at the window. “Someone hurt Maria! Someone might have wanted to kill her!”

That broke the dam inside Joaquin. “I know!” He roared back. Joaquin and Manolo weren’t ignorant, only someone who wanted to kill would have left such a mark on Maria’s neck. Something must have stopped the attempt, maybe a civilian happened to pass near them. If that was the case however, that civilian would have gone to the brigade or Joaquin himself. Maybe Maria fought back? Joaquin and Manolo had already dispelled that idea. There were no signs of struggle, no bruised knuckles if she punched or skin under her nails. Joaquin and Manolo were at a dead end. “I know Maria could have been killed,” he whispered, his shoulders deflating. He was the town’s hero, why couldn’t he protect his family? His eye stared imploringly at Manolo. “I don’t know what else we can do if Maria won’t talk to us.”

Manolo had no response to that. He pulled Joaquin into a tight hug. With a start, he realized that Joaquin’s shoulders were shaking and there was something wet dripping onto his neck where Joaquin buried his head. Manolo rubbed at Joaquin’s back, his own frustrated tears spilling out. “We’ll figure something out,” he said to both of them. His eyes widened when he saw his breath. When had it gotten so cold?

Joaquin must have felt it too. He pulled away from the embrace, his eye roaming throughout their room.

“Are you done?”

Manolo and Joaquin whirled around towards the voice. Xibalba was standing in the darkest corner of the room. The god took a step forward and the candles around the room snuffed out. He cast an eerie green glow but Manolo could not find himself to be frightened. There was something stiff and sluggish in the way Xibalba moved, like he didn’t have full control of his limbs. His wings were constantly twitching and a feather would fall every once in a while. Manolo felt a strange sense of pity for the god and a look to Joaquin showed that the hero felt the same.

“Why are you here?” Joaquin meant to make his voice demanding but it was a difficult task to accomplish with one of his cheek wet from his tears.

Still, Xibalba answered. “It’s my, it is La Muerte.” His voice was strained and gravely, like he was only gaining his voice back after losing it. “And Maria.” Xibalba’s eyes were slightly glazed over. “How is she?”

The question put the final pieces together. The marks on Maria’s neck and shoulder. They were made by very slim fingers. Manolo glanced at the hand that was clutching the purple staff. “You,” he whispered, too low for anyone to hear. Xibalba had found out about his wife’s and Maria’s relationship. He hurt Maria. He tried to kill Maria! “You,” Manolo said again, louder.

Joaquin seemed confused but he caught a flash of guilt in Xibalba’s eyes and his nod. He clenched his teeth and reached for his swords. “You-”

Whatever insult Joaquin was about to make was drowned out by Manolo’s bellow. “YOU!” Manolo snatched one of Joaquin’s swords from its scabbard and practically threw himself at Xibalba, Joaquin close behind. He managed to jab the sword at Xibalba’s neck but in his rage he was off target.

The sharp edge cut into Xibalba’s neck but it was little more than a graze. Green blood oozed out of the wound and when it touched the metal, it bubbled as the blood ate away at the steel. Xibalba snapped his fingers and the two men froze, Manolo in mid air, his arm thrust out and his mouth open into a snarl. Joaquin’s face was expressionless but his eye was feral with its hatred.

“Enough,” Xibalba said casually, flicking his wrist. Manolo and Joaquin were thrown to the back wall by an unseen force and were unable to move no matter how hard they struggled. Xibalba glanced down at where Manolo had dropped the sword during his push back. The bubbles spread through the metal and soon there was only a puddle of silvery green metal. He lifted a finger to wipe away the blood on his neck, the wound had already closed. “I did not come here to fight, fools.” He allowed the men to slump down on the ground, their backs still pressed against the wall. “I need your help.” It was obvious that Xibalba was loath to admit it.

“You bastard!” Joaquin yelled.

“I’ll kill you!” Manolo shouted.

Xibalba’s wings twitched behind him even more. “You may not have to.” His words gave Manolo and Joaquin pause and Xibalba was quick to talk in that moment of silence. “The Land of the Remembered is dying.” He waited a few seconds for the words to be processed in their heads. The fight went out of them soon enough. “La Muerte is neglecting her realm.”

“Why do you care?” Manolo asked, genuinely curious. From his perspective, Xibalba should be delighted that La Muerte is allowing her realm to fall into ruin.

“Balance,” Xibalba answered. He held up a hand and Manolo and Joaquin could see the fingers quiver uncontrollably. “The Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten are on a scale the likes you could not even begin to comprehend. If the two realms are not balanced, everything falls apart, including gods.”

Manolo and Joaquin shared a concerned look. They had the same thought: if a god like Xibalba was this effected, what about their families in the Land of the Remembered? “How can we fix this?” Manolo despised Xibalba but he was wise enough to know that he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way. If what he was saying was true, and he didn’t doubt it, then his family was in danger.

“La Muerte must be happy,” Xibalba looked as if he had to force the words out. “If Maria does that then so be it.”

“Wait,” Joaquin held his hands up like he could physically halt the conversation. “You want your wife to get back with Maria?”

Xibalba nodded although the pain was clear in his eyes. “Yes. La Muerte is happy with Maria so she needs her.” For a moment he looked almost human with his shoulders slumped and his hands gripping onto his staff like an old man to a cane. “I want her to be happy and if that’s with Maria instead,” he took a deep breath, “instead of me then so be it.”

Manolo and Joaquin could only stare at him for a few moments. Manolo glanced at the closed door and for an absurd instant he wondered how Maria and Chuy hadn’t heard them. “Do you have an idea?” he asked Xibalba.

“Yes.” Xibalba’s fingers nervously tapped on his staff. “I know how to get La Muerte to meet me at the tree outside San Angel. It’s, it’s where we first met.” He took a swallow to fruitlessly get rid of the lump in his throat. “You two will get Maria to go there tomorrow.”

The two men looked at the puddle that used to be one of Joaquin’s swords and nodded to the god. At once they were alone in their room. “How did we get ourselves into this mess?” Joaquin asked.

“I don’t know,” Manolo said. “But we have to try. For Maria.”

“For Maria,” Joaquin agreed.

[toukenra]

Can I have head cannons for Yasusada and Horikawa. Female Saniwa is fed up with them talking in admiration about Okita/ Kane-San because she’s jealous. When the swords find out how broken hearted the saniwa is, how do they cheer her up? Can u add them confessing their love to the saniwa too?

Hello everyone!

Sorry for being MIA. Currently, I am resting and will be returning to work soon after my little incident at work. This explains as to why I have been offline most of the time but don’t worry I will be continuing to try and work on some requests.

I would like to thank Mod Pancake for sending me rather threatening positive messages. Hahaha~ ILY!

-Mod Catharia.

Underneath the Cut for being too long~

YAMATONOKAMI YASUSADA

You were so happy to tell Kashuu that you had successfully smithed his partner

You watched their dramatic little reunion in slow motion… 

…Only to be surprised when the two suddenly exchange a few friendly blows with the use of some feather dusters

Kashuu had snatched them from a passing Horikawa who was on his way to do his share of duties for the day

Seeing an energetic Kashuu reunited with his partner tugged at your heart strings

It was such a happy moment~

Shortly after the two had calmed down, you eventually introduce yourself to the newest addition to your Citadel

This newcomer immediately gave you a bright smile, asking that you take good care of him which totally caught you off guard…

He looked quite cute, Don’t deny it…

Bad Saniwa, You shouldn’t be picking favourites…LOL. Right

In the next few months, you become quite close to Yamatonokami

He treats you like a sibling–frankly, like a sister and you didn’t mind it in particular…

But sometimes…You can’t help but feel a little irritated and perhaps a little jealous…

Especially when Yamatonokami keeps bringing up his past master, Souji Okita

“If Okita-kun was here, he would have really enjoyed this…”

“I hope this will bring me closer to Okita-kun…”

“Listen, if Okita-kun was in our shoes–”

Was he comparing you two? You knew that you you’d be on the losing side

You know you couldn’t compare to Souji f*cking Okita

The constant repetition only made you less confident and act more guarded with the pony-tailed Uchigatana

And it seemed like he didn’t notice the subtle changes in your behavior and it only hurt you more

I guess Okita Souji is a much better master than you’ll ever be…

Your interactions become less frequent and you just found excuses that you were busy with paperwork or something else…

One day, you suddenly overhear Kashuu lecturing Yamatonokami in the hallway to be more mindful of what he says–especially when it comes to you

“You should know better than to keep comparing Aruji to Okita…” - Kashuu

“I am not comparing her–I never intended that.” -Yamatonokami

“I doesn’t look nor sound that way.” - Kashuu

Soon enough, a small argument broke out and you would come in between them to stop it before it became physical

“Enough you two…" Your sudden appearance makes the two break away from each other, surprised.

You knew that you had to solve the problem sooner or later and you didn’t want the two Shinsengumi  swords to have an argument because of you

“Kashuu, may I speak to Yamatonokami alone?”

“But Aruji-”

“Please, Kiyomitsu.”

Everyone knew that meant business whenever you used an individual’s last name.

Once Kashuu had left but not before glaring at the pony-tailed Uchigatana, you turn your attention to the raven-haired man

“What were you two fighting about?”

“Well…Kiyomitsu mentioned that you were unhappy with me…”

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head wildly. “I’m just…irritated. No, that’s not the word I’m looking for.”

You feel the heat creeping up your cheeks but you meet those bright sapphire-coloured eyes before looking away.

“…For a better word. I’m jealous.”

Yamatonokami just blinked a few times, confused

“You…You’re jealous?”

“…Yeah. I am jealous.”

“Of who exactly?”

“…Souji Okita…I know I’m not the best master but I can’t help but feel inferior whenever you mention him.”

You smile weakly and rub the back of your head weakly.

“Well, It’s not like it’s wrong for you to have a favorite master. I know you like Souji more than me so don’t feel–”

You jolt when you suddenly feel yourself being engulfed in a warm hug

“I’m sorry for making you feel that way, Aruji. You and Okita-kun are different but that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad master. If anything, I think you beat Okita-kun…You see, I never got to hug him like this.”

You could feel your heart thumping loudly at the unexpected hug.

You guess you two had made up at this point…

You hear a small sigh escape from the Uchigatana  and you try to pull away to look at him.

“Yamatonokami?”

“Kiyomitsu won’t like this…but I like you much more than I should.”

Wait…Wait…Does this mean–

“I love you, Aruji.”

Oh wow. I take back on what I said about favourites

Kashuu Kiyomitsu will be happy that you and his partner have made up

…But he won’t be a happy learning that his partner becoming one of your fast favourites

HORIKAWA KUNIHIRO

You watched in envy as Horikawa Kunihiro–the object of your affections– walking alongside his partner Izuminokami Kanesada by the main hall

You had been harboring romantic feelings for the raven-haired Wakizashi for a long period of time

More like, ever since he appeared and held his hand out to help you up in such a gentlemanly manner

It was love at first sight….for you at least

Currently, here you are quietly trailing the two swords

You weren’t being creepy at all…looking all suspicious as you peered through the paper panels and around the corners.

You knew that Izuminokami had been assigned to go on sortie sometime today

And this gives you a chance to try and spend some time with Horikawa

You had wanted to become closer with him but his concern and maternal instincts towards his partner sometimes gets in the way

It had been a slow day so you had snuck out of your office for the 5th time that day

Even the combined efforts of Kikkou, Tomoe and Hasebe was not enough to keep you from seeing the Wakizashi . LOL. 

In the end, the three finally gave up since you’re such a hard-headed Aruji

You keep trailing the two, waiting for Izuminokami to leave for a campaign so Horikawa can accompany you for today as your secretary

As soon as the long-haired Uchigatana left for his sortie, his partner attended to you for the day as your secretary

As much as you loved Horikawa, you sometimes cannot help but gt irritated that he continuously spoke and praised his partner when half the time Izuminokami didn’t do anything

“Kane-san is quite incredible, isn’t he?”

“Hopefully Kane-san won’t have a hard time finish their mission.”

“I was hoping to come along but I’m sure he can handle himself.”

Everything that comes out of this boy’s mouth is ‘Kane-san’

When is it going to be your turn??

What does Izuminokami have that you don’t!?

…Other than that gorgeous flowing hair and dashing good looks

No matter how much you condition or comb your hair, it never looks like his…Goddamnit

But still…How does Horikawa not get sick of talking about his partner??

You become a little bit more exasperated as the day drags on…

b>

 Unable to bear it any longer, you finally speak out

“Is he more important than me then?” You meet those surprised orbs with  a cold expression on your face.

You knew you were jealous…but regrettably the words keep pouring out…

“Ah…” The Wakiashi began but remained quiet, looking guilty

“You can’t answer can you?” You sigh softly before making a move to leave. 

“I can handle the work by myself. You’re dismissed for today.”

“Wait! Aruji!”

You quickly walk down the hall intent on escaping to your office and maybe cry your heart out

Paperwork sounded much more comforting

You quickly hide in the comfort of your office for the rest of the day

You don’t even bother joining your charges for dinner, asking Hasebe to bring it to your office instead so you can sulk in peace

When dinner time approached, you hear a knock on your study’s door and call for then to leave the food at the door.

…But the figure holding your dinner did not even move from where they were standing

Did they not hear you?

You get up and walk over to open the door…

And when you do, you are greeted by the visage of Horikawa Kunihiro who was holding your dinner

“Aruji…”

“I’m not hungry.” You interrupt the Wakizashi 

You were about to close the door shut but the warrior immediately kept the door open with his shoulder, inviting himself into your office.

“Why do you even care?… I know, Izuminokami’s more important than I ever will.”

“I never said that.”

“Right. Whatever.” You wave him off rather rudely before returning to your desk.

SLAM

You jolt when the dinner tray was slammed on top of your papers and your chair being turned to face the raven-haired warrior.

“You’re just as important. If not much more than Kane-san.”

“Prove it.”

Your eyes became the size of saucers when you feel a pair of lips being pressed against yours rather incessantly Huehuehue

All you can see is those bright blue eyes slowly close as you feel his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you from pulling away

The kiss lasts for more than 5 seconds

…Wa-wait was that a little bit of tongue grazing your lips???

OHMYGOD

The young man eventually breaks the kiss and you couldn’t believe what had just happened

Kunihiro just kissed you…

Horikawa Kunihiro he had actually kissed you…

“…”

The usually gentle and motherly calm sword looked never looked so serious and you could barely form a proper sentence or though

“Do you still not believe me, Saniwa-sama?”

“…”

“…Saniwa-sama?”

“…”

“Aruji?”

Saniwa.exe has stopped working please come back again later

“Huh?”

Really…Is that the best response you can do?? LOL

“Are you alright?” The Wakizashi looks at you rather worriedly.

“Yeah. I’m absolutely fine.”

HejustkissedmeHejustkissedmeHEJUSKISEEDME

LOL. You’re just a hot mess at this point

Thank God. You were already sitting down if not you would have collapsed on the floor already.

[thehammersmithsilverfox]

Mindy’s beautiful and heartbreaking article about TG passing. Full text under the cut for those who cannot access the link.

This is a gap that can never be filled; a woolly bear whose hugs can never be replaced. Our darling TG is with us no more.

She was the naughtiest, fluffiest pup, who took months to house-train and chewed through all four legs of the kitchen table along with all six chairs. She wouldn’t walk on the lead; she simply bounced with that irrepressible smile plastered all over her face. Never did a dog embrace life as she did.

The moment she arrived in the house, she made a beeline for the girls and instantly adored them. It was as though she walked in, saw them and decided they were her responsibility.

She watched them grow and was always there whenever they needed a hug or a friend to confide in. TG adored every living creature who shared her life and mothered everything from kittens to lambs. Every new arrival had an instant friend and the cats would all rub round her and snuggle up with her to sleep.

After Richard had his accident, TG was with him when he was recovering, always desperate to lie next to his bed, her tail wagging incessantly and often waking him while he was trying to sleep. She couldn’t help herself – her joy at being reunited had to be demonstrated.

Tidgers had always been car sick (ironic as she was the Top Gear dog) and on days when she was needed in the studio, I would drive her the three to four hours from home while she sat in the passenger seat and drooled on my lap.

Yet she was such an amazing, devoted girl, she quickly learned hand signals to sit and lie down when she saw a camera, knew she was “at work” and would readily do whatever was asked of her, even sitting in a wind tunnel wearing goggles and a flying helmet.

But TG’s favourite place in the world was home, in the early days running through the fields chasing rabbits and playing with Crusoe the collie, Captain the Jack Russell and Pablo the chocolate poodle.

Pablo left us many years ago and when TG developed spondylosis, we had to curtail some of her activities a little bit, but it wasn’t easy. She’d often whizz through my legs and dash out across the lawn with her friends, ignoring my pleas for her to come back.

As Crusoe grew older, she and TG were happy to trot shoulder to shoulder like a couple of devoted old spinsters catching up on their news on a stroll about the grounds, yet before a paw was placed outside the dog room door there was always the traditional Captain versus TG scrabble. Captain had been her playmate when she was a pup and invented a game of “grab the leg in the doorway”, which TG always lost when she was little.

But as she grew, she realised she could grab him on the back of the neck, a signal to play, and it was like winding up the best toy.

This morning, TG came out with Blea and Captain for a quick wander in the dark before taking up her standard position on the sofa. When I returned from the school run, there she was, waiting as usual by the front door.

She followed me to the kitchen and she waited while I sorted the ponies, then gave her the first batch of medication before she went back to her sleeping position. At lunchtime, she came for her solo stroll, and I noticed she was holding her head low and a bit to the side.

She was more lame on her front leg as I walked towards her and although she was smiling and her tail was wagging as usual, I was worried.

“Oooh Tidge,” I said, “are you a bit sore today my darling?” and gave her the next course of meds when we were back in the kitchen.

When I came back from picking up the girls, there she was as usual at the front door, but tonight she grabbed my sleeve in her mouth and stuck with me like she does when I’ve been away.

She led me to the kitchen and I made a fuss of her, then the evening went on as usual until bedtime. I opened my book, scratched TG on the head and she settled into her basket beside my bed.

But moments later, she was up and pacing, I leapt out of bed and tried to comfort her as she howled in pain. She was sick, she had a sort of seizure and collapsed in my arms. The tail that never, ever stopped wagging, even when she was in pain, lay limp and lifeless, and I knew, to my absolute devastation, that this was the end.

I woke the girls and we called the vet while we sat with our most beloved, gorgeous, woolly bear. Hugged her, kissed her, told her how much we loved her and cried our hearts out. She would always tremble at the sight of the vet, but tonight she was calm, her pain and exhaustion too great.

I have owned many dogs and loved them all, but none have I ever loved like TG.

She was my shadow; she’d whine if I was in a room with the door closed to her (even the loo!), would look me in the eye and always make me smile, she was a clown who could make me laugh out loud, a snuggler who’d never let me sit alone on the sofa, and in latter days the dog whose snoring often forced Richard and I to sleep in separate rooms.

At 1.15am today, I kissed that woolly head for the last time and told her how much I loved her.

We had to say goodbye, we both knew it was time, yet I can’t help feeling completely heartbroken.