#Also I love that I almost always refuse to flesh out any details of their post-canon situation in fic

[hrodvitnon]

SIGNALIS Big Teef Fic Preview!

Did anybody want a fic with the Big Teef? No? Well, too bad, you're getting one anyway. Have a taste!

---

"Hey, when were you going to tell me you have fangs?"

Elster pauses, having just gotten engrossed in a scene of tense questioning.  "Excuse me?"

Ariane sits beside her at the table, lays down the Replika overview, leans her elbows on it and rests her chin on folded hands, giving the Replika a look that to any Gestalt would be similar to a parent wanting to know why their kids didn't do what was asked of them – or rather, like she's taken on the role of detective in the midst of questioning.  Elster lifts her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

Ariane elaborates as if telling an anecdote from her Rotfront years.  "I looked through the Replika overview again to see if there was anything I could pick up to help you out, or do something for you, when... in the corner of my little eye, I spy... a schematic.  A schematic, El Bell.  Of retractable canine teeth.  Which you are in possession of, and neglected to inform me."

Elster closes her eyes, knowing where this is going.

"Ariane."

"Now, I don't ask the time of day from a clock..."

"Liebchen."

"But I'm not shy about how hot I am for nibbles and love bites..."

"Light of my life."

"And you didn't think to tell me?  When were you going to tell me?"

"Settle down, dramatic.  They're for self-defense, not for sexy time.  Besides, it's not even unique to LSTRs – all Replikas have them."

Ariane blinks in surprise.  "Wait, seriously?  Even Eules?"  Having such teeth makes sense for a Storch or Star, but an Eule?

"Absolutely.  I once heard that a secretary unit back at headquarters almost bit the fingers off an untrained Storch who got too ugly with her.  Not sure how it ended, but I like to think Frau Beißer got off with a warning and the Storch never lived it down.  Self-defense, like I said.  With combat units it's a last resort in case one runs out of ammunition or doesn't have a melee weapon ready."

Ariane's eyes widen.  Eules always looked so delicate to her with how lightly they carried themselves, but it seems even those domestic units are made of sterner stuff than expected.  Her eyes lower to Elster's mouth.  Elster gives her a knowing look.

"No."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You have that 'in the interest of science' look on your face."

"I just want to see them for myself!  There's nothing wrong with that!  Show me, please?  It's not like I'll ever see them in a combat situation, unless we get picked up by aliens or something."

Elster stares.  Ariane stares back, pleading and doe-eyed, just seconds away from deploying the dreaded pouty bottom lip.  Elster gives in, of course.  She can never really refuse humoring her love, so she teasingly grouses like it's such a chore.

"Ach, fine."

Ariane tries not to drum her fingers happily while Elster pops the mandibles in her jaw, mouth opening.  Nothing out of the ordinary, just 28 white teeth – go figure Replikas aren't manufactured with wisdom teeth – and then Elster curls her lips back wolfishly, her canines extending with an audible click.

There is, of course, the knee-jerk flicker of saucy fascination since Ariane does so love when Elster bites her, but in the moment it's also tempered by actual scientific curiosity.  Elster's lengthened teeth are only sharp at the very tips, as Ariane knows from experience, so while they probably can pierce through flesh or biomechanical components they must be intended for crushing and tearing, clamping down and keeping a steady grip thanks to powerful jaws.

A rather specific detail from the Replika overview comes to mind: the LSTR unit has a bite force of 1250 PSI at minimum.  Ariane's heard of certain Vinetan animals having a comparable bite, capable of piercing through the skulls of their prey.  The knowledge of this results in a revelatory daydream of hostile alien forces intercepting their little ship and abducting Ariane, causing Elster to crush an extraterrestrial skull or spine between her teeth as she goes in a rampaging rescue...

"Ari," Elster drawls.  The extended fangs seem to mess with her speech, an added lisp causing her accent to border on nonsensical.  "Ye hab dat look."

Ariane shakes her head.  "I wasn't thinking of anything sexy this time, honest!"

"Uh-huh.  Cad I pud dese away now?  Iz hahd to talk."

[a-flickering-soul]

got any book recs?

mm! always and forever!

Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan was a very interesting read if you like dark fairytales. Inspired loosely by "Snow White and Rose Red", which is a fairly underrepresented tale as they go and she has an interesting take on it. About the life of a poor, abused girl who manufactures her own fairy tale without considering the consequences. Also, men in bearskins, sympathetic witchcraft, and the agonies of motherhood. I can't tell if I would thoroughly recommend it or not, but it was incredibly interesting and the author has a very compelling way with words-- I can't place exactly what compels me so much about it, but there's a certain bloodiness I find appealing. Please mind the trigger warnings for this book-- would be happy to give a list if DMed or asked. I could describe it as a lighter, more spatially-complex partner read to Otessa Moshfegh's Lapvona. Great to read on a cold winter's night.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi is delightful. It's like Bluebeard but if Bluebeard was a beautiful and insane Asian woman. A man realizes his wife is not who she says she is and works to unravel the past she refuses to let him ask about. If you grew up on fairytales this is for you because the patterns, motifs, cycles, and superstitions shown will scratch your brain like no other. It's written in an incredibly lush sort of style that just blankets your brain the same way humidity does on a hot summer night. The twist is predictable but no less satisfying and horrifying for what it is. I found this to be exactly the kind of book I hoped it'd be. To me, a hot and sticky summer evening kind of read, when everything feels so beautiful you feel like you're hallucinating.

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (and related books) by Mackenzi Lee is my current favorite YA light read. It's a silly romp through Victorian England following the aristocratic Montague siblings and their various escapades all over Europe as they chase their respective dreams. Monty is clearly my favorite (I love a short idiot bisexual guy) but I think the author does a great job of fleshing out each of the trilogy's protagonists despite the fact that Monty is also very clearly her favorite as well. It deploys magical realism with a pleasingly light hand, has an endearing sense of humor, and has a lot of heart. It's not that deep and doesn't need to be. It's just exactly what you want all YA of that type to be. Perfect for a beach read.

In the House in the Dark of the Woods by Laird Hunt is insane. It's another fairytale-styled novel (I've been on a bit of a kick lately) but the narrative is insanely dense and the semi-whimsical narrative voice is an absolutely bonkers contrast to how convoluted and dark the plot is. It's set in colonial America and focuses on a housewife trying to break her own day-to-day dullness by venturing into the woods surrounding her husband's house. I read this a bit ago and there are many images and motifs that still live rent free in my head. If this book was a color it'd be a deep green so rich and dark it'd be almost black. It is so dense and chewy and has so many tantalizing little details and edges of other stories that you keep wanting to pull on, but the main narrative is so convoluted and tense that you have no other choice but to stay on the path. A good fall book in front of a fire.

[maybeimamuppet]

"For the record this is self-destructive/ For the record I'm aware of that" w rejanis

send me a song lyric and a ship and i’ll write something based off it!!

tw for self harm/scars

mentioned outing/general homophobia

-

“I need a second before we go in, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you inside,” Janis says just before she and Damian enter the doors for Spring Fling.

“Ew,” Damian eloquently responds before he shoves her off in that direction and goes parading through the double doors. Janis rolls her eyes and clunks her way down the hallway towards the ladies’ room.

It’s kind of weird, being somewhere she’s been so many times before this late at night. She can hear the music from the gym thumping all the way down the hall, and all the lights but one are out. Almost like she’s in another dimension.

The one constant in every dimension is Regina George.

Janis is reminded of this as the blonde steps out from the stall furthest away from her and struts up to the mirror. She’s still unfairly gorgeous even in that spinal halo.

Janis tries not to let her shoulders tense as she pointedly refuses to acknowledge Regina’s presence. She touches up her dark lipstick, combs through the ends of her straightened hair.

“Janis,” Regina says, sounding almost surprised. Janis sags against the sink a little. Shit.

“Hey.”

Regina pulls a tube of glittery lip gloss out of her purse. She puts the tube in between her lips to unscrew it and swipes it on that way. She’s put her lip gloss on like that since they were in sixth grade. It’s almost comforting to know that some little details of her former best friend are still in there. It’s muffled around the tube when she says, “You look nice.”

Janis blinks in shock. Did-did Regina George just compliment her?

“Seriously?”

“I just said so, don’t be thirsty,” Regina tuts. So Plastic Regina is still there too.

“No, I mean- thanks, I guess,” Janis says. “But after everything you’ve done you’re just gonna say that like… nothing ever happened?”

“Yeah,” Regina shrugs. Well, as best she can with the halo. “Look, I know I have to change. I know I’ve been a bitch-”

“You can say that again.”

“But how am I supposed to start?” Regina says softly. “Unless it’s with you. I’m also, like, off my face right now, so I don’t really have a filter and now felt like a good time.”

Janis blinks at the pink-tiled wall behind her. Someone has brilliantly sharpied ur fuckin gay across it. And in a strange way, it makes Janis smile.

Because she is fuckin’ gay, and she’s proud of it now. And all it took was… the worst experience of her entire life, and the girl in front of her.

“You never cared,” Regina continues softly, knocking Janis out of her trance and back to the gross bathroom they’re in. “About anything I did to you.”

“What?” Janis says, unable to contain a dark laugh. “You seriously think I didn’t care? Did you miss the part where I tried to kill myself and was out of school for a year?”

“…You what?” Regina asks.

Janis shakes her head and undoes the buttons on the cuff of her navy blue sleeve. As she rolls it up she sighs, “Unbelievable.”

Regina reaches out a tender, immaculately manicured finger to run over the white, raised scar tissue permanently etched into Janis’ flesh. Space dyke. Cut as deep as the words did.

“That’s why you were in art therapy,” Regina says. Janis looks at her in confusion when she notices her voice is thick with emotion and sees tears rolling slowly down her face. “And I made fun of you for it.”

“Yeah,” Janis agrees softly. She feels like she’s dunked her head in a bucket of ice. Regina George is touching her scars. Janis hasn’t even let Damian touch them.

“I loved you too,” Regina says suddenly. “I-I panicked when you told me you liked me. You were so brave, and I’ve always been… such a coward. And I took all of it out on you. And you never deserved any of it. I’ve always loved you. And-and I still do.”

“I have too,” Janis says softly. Regina looks at her, icy blue eyes reddened by tears and probably a significant amount of painkillers. “Do you have any idea how fucking irritating it is to still be in love with the girl who ruined your life?”

“No,” Regina says. “But I know how much it hurts to hurt the one you love.”

“Then why did you keep doing this?”

“I couldn’t stop,” Regina says. “I got… hooked.”

“For the record, that’s self destructive.”

“For the record, I’m aware of that, thank you very much,” Regina huffs. “You’re a fucking boss, Janis Sarkisian.”

“You’re high,” Janis scoffs.

“Hohoooo, yeah,” Regina agrees with a goofy huffed laugh. “But I’m serious, too. You’re a fucking phoenix. You rose above everything I ever did to you, and now look at you.”

Janis does, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She can’t really see in the weird lighting, but she… likes what she sees looking back. She hasn’t felt that in a long time. Since the before time. “Phoenix.”

“And I wish I wasn’t the one that set you on fire, but I’m glad it made you who you are now,” Regina continues. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Janis says. “For everything Cady and I did this year. I know Cady’s been eating herself up about it, too.”

“Does that girl ever sleep?” Regina chuckles.

“I don’t think so,” Janis laughs back. “But hey, first apologies for both of us are done. Makes letting her apologize easier.”

“True,” Regina says softly. “Can we be okay?”

Janis is quiet. She’s hit with wave after wave of memories and feels like she might drown. She looks in front of her and sees a life preserver.

She surges forward and kisses her. Regina gasps, but carefully maneuvers the halo to a good place to kiss her back.

“I think we can be okay. If we work on it,” Janis gasps when they break apart.

“For the record, this is self destructive,” Regina teases.

“For the record, I’m aware of that.”

But I don’t think it is.

[hephaestuscrew]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wolf 359 (Radio) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Doug Eiffel & Hera & Isabel Lovelace & Renée Minkowski Characters: Doug Eiffel Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Introspection, Character Study, Eiffel has lost his memories but he's still a man of many fears Summary:

A short while after the Hephaestus crew return to Earth, Doug Eiffel tries to work out which of his fears are new and which aren’t.

[parkerlyn]

I love ur characters and world building sm! I really want to try out doing a fantasy story but I'm not sure where to start. Do you have any tips?

Hi! Oh, where to begin haha. I think first of all I'll caveat that I'm no expert and that there's no one-strategy-fits-all. But I can at least give what my experience was at the high-level when starting The Nameless!

I would say the first thing for me is thinking about broad strokes - i.e. theme and tone for the story. Are you writing epic high fantasy? Low fantasy? Urban fantasy? Alternate history? Are there huge, overarching themes you want to write about? Is it a serious, more "mature" adventure or something more whimsical and relaxed (though not to say you can't explore serious themes in those sorts of stories too!) What is the scale of conflict you want to write? Do you want to write a happy ending? A tragedy?

Predictably because I refuse to shut up, this turned into a novel so more under the cut:

Asking these questions doesn't mean you have to have a ten-point bulleted plan for each one, but at least helps to steer you in the direction you want to go. Keeping high level, then, I can say for The Nameless I went into worldbuilding in regards to culture first. In my case, there's a major theme I've always wanted to explore that's [spoilers]. So I knew I wanted to incorporate that and it's been a crucial driving point for the plot. Then I took a lot of inspiration from D&D and fey-related tropes and stories, which led to the thought of how a culture might shift if fey/sheevra deals were a lot more prevalent and well-known vs more mysterious and less-encountered. The world formed after that thought, and I'd definitely recommend looking at some world-building questionnaires or guides out there, even for topics that probably aren't going to be relevant within your writing.

It will almost definitely never be mentioned in the game, but someone asking me about how farmland and agriculture worked in a significantly barren world led to me thinking more about the food culture of each of the four cities, or travel between them i.e. the Crossings vs the river entrances, and more about weather and trade. A lot of random questions here on tumblr have also helped nail down other details! I've also been lucky enough to have a close friend and my SO absolutely pick apart my story and ask random questions which made me think, so don't be afraid to talk through things out loud even when you don't have everything completely fleshed out.

Again - not that I'm expecting to go into a biosphere breakdown or trade laws of each city ever in game, but it did really help to make it more real in my head. More...lived in. And that helps with finding your characters and their motivations too. Obviously having the major goals or alignment of a character are vital for determining who they are at their core. But being asked "What's [character's] favorite meal or drink" or "What is their favorite time of day? memory? person?" or "What does their room look like" really helps to make them come alive for me, at least. I love the grand adventure of fantasy stories, but I love the small moments and details equally and in my opinion they're just as - if not even more - important.

Along that line I will say take notes!!! Write shorts that are smack dab in the middle of the story!!! Jot them down in your phone!! Write them on the back of a receipt!! Even if it's incoherent later (RIP 🤝 ajfdksalj), anything can help jog a memory or an idea, and like any craft, writing takes practice. Re: apps available, I use Scrivener more now to combine both writing and note-taking and it's the easiest for me to switch/sync between my main devices (aside from my base game folder in Visual Studio Code that's synced to my Dropbox, but I can't open that on mobile). But there are lots of wonderful free alternatives like Obsidian and Evernote (Evernote is free on a limited amount of devices, then goes into paid plans), and many more!

There's also another piece of advice I've heard which is to know how your story is going to end before you get too far. I waffle a little on recommending this one because I think half the fun is the journey to get there, and sometimes the end takes a bit to form. I do know how The Nameless is ultimately going to end, but there are still pieces missing in the middle and definitely more I want to finesse. So I'd say at least start with an idea of what sort of ending you want like in those initial questions - this will really help with your direction and determining a goal for the characters - and iron out the details as you go.

General advice outside of writing tools is to not expect or hold yourself to perfection and to not compare too much to other peers. This is so hard to do sometimes because I do want things to come out well written the first time around. But there's no way I'd write something without reading through it again, and that's what editing is for! That's what everyone has to go through! Take advice and do writing practices based on what you like from other author's writings who inspire you, but at the end of the day, your voice is your own.

Lastly the most important piece of advice I have is - at the core of everything - to write the story you want to tell. Write for you. This is also something I think can be hard to hold onto, especially if you do put a WIP out into the black hole of the internet and update it like an IF game.

Yes, if you're trying to make a living off writing or wanting to build a community around a story, the unfortunate reality of it is that that particular "success" criteria can sometimes depend on who likes it or who promotes it or how/how often you promote it, etc, if you're going purely based on interaction or follower counts or what have you. But honestly, there's always going to be someone who likes and even loves your story, and someone who can't stand your story or just can't get through it. And that's perfectly fine! But I mention this because if you try to write the story you think others want, then it'll impact your writing - whether it's not your voice anymore, or less lively or less enjoyable.

Don't get me wrong, there are absolutely times when I want to yell and groan and rip my hair out over something that doesn't sound right in The Nameless, and there's always going to be lows and highs in any pursuit. But at the end of the day, it's worth it because I know this is the story I want to write and share, and I hope it comes across how much I genuinely love this world and its characters.

Anyway! That's my long ramble for the day (and sorry this took so long to respond to). Again, this should definitely not be word of law, but just my experiences so far with writing. I hope it helps and good luck with your story! I'm sure it'll be amazing. 💖

[electricbluebutterflies]

new fears

Marc/Layla, possibly post-finale / possibly missing-scene / idk where this actually fits but it’s in that area somewhere and maybe a little canon-divergent / maybe not. PG13-ish (there are Implications) and also on ao3.

Prompt - “I almost lost you” kiss (thank you @apple-grass-and-smiles)

They need to talk.

Objectively, Layla thinks, they need to do a lot of things. They need to put at least two countries between them and what just happened – she refuses to think about the situation in any more detailed terms than that right now, she very temporarily had wings and she may less-temporarily have a goddess in her head and that’s something she’ll logistically handle in like a week and it’s kind of a lot for a woman whose policy on supernatural events has previously veered toward hell-no-and-fuck-you – and they need to have their usual post-adventure panic in a questionable motel room and she needs to get this energy out of her system and then, she thinks, then they need to talk.

To her great surprise, given the chaos of it all, they actually manage to do all of those things. She takes lead more than she usually would, and her mind and body are separate enough that she’s not sure how she manages to talk her way through it all, but… somehow it works, somehow they achieve appropriate distance before processing, and everything else falls into place.

It feels strange to have been so powerful, to still have residual energy in her veins after… that. Shock, she thinks, still too early to know how she even feels about the experience that goes against everything she thought she knew. What happened to her – what happened, such detached words even now and likely for weeks yet – does not line up with the horror stories her husband has told her on the rare times he’s even tried to explain. Does this become another gap between them? She felt divine warmth, like everything she’d ever done had led up to that ascension, not-

It all hits her at once and she doesn’t want this yet, and her mind can’t distract her enough but her body will do. Collision of bodies, desperation made flesh, she hates that she’s capable of this but at the same time there is something about almost dying – about the newfound fear that something bad could happen, the relief the past few years have given her of knowing it couldn’t but that is over now and she will find new fears when it all sinks in but right now she has not, right now-

Layla has done everything she can to stay soft, to not cause pain nor feel any more than she already has, and it is that fear that pulls her closer to her lover, fear that makes her take bitey kisses. What if this ends in tragedy? What if-

“I’m not losing you,” she breathes. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“Layla-“

“I thought you were dead. Maybe something worse.” She keeps taking kisses, keeps trying to push back sadness, keeps trying to refocus her emotions and fails. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this if you’re not-“

“Layla-“

“I am not getting widowed in my thirties.” That’s still a possibility, she’s pretty sure – papers haven’t been filed, probably never will be, she’s not sure what their relationship even looks like going forward but she’d liked the legal tethering and-

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She laughs and it’s one of the darkest things she’s ever felt, and if she were able to focus for five goddamn seconds she’d turn this into the fight it deserves to be. Isn’t that always the problem? Years ago there had been a certain appeal there, how Marc saw her as… maybe not fragile, even in anger she won’t insult him that much, but at least worthy of protection she didn’t always actually need. It’s gotten annoying since, and considering what he almost tried to do to her, considering-

She deserves to be loved, she deserves more than she’s gotten recently, she is well aware of that, but she won’t be blamed for anyone else’s sacrifice. That’s where she draws the line, she decides. That’s where she will make herself very, very clear when she’s ready.

“I don’t know how,” she breathes, and this is the point where her emotions break, where she can limit the crying but not stop it from happening. “I don’t know how to think about it. At least… paperwork I could understand, I know I’d still hear about whatever shit you got into, we know too many of the same people, I know-“

“What did I do that I don’t remember?”

“You think I’m mad at you?” she laughs, and the fucking nerve of him right now, this is why she loves him, these moments she can’t imagine ever having with anyone else. “You are not the problem. Neither is… anything else in your head.” She takes a deep breath, tries to steady herself, fails. “I am not losing you. I love you more than that.”

He gives her a look like that doesn’t clarify a damn thing and fine, but even when things were going directions she didn’t want she was sure of this, maybe she’s the only person alive who’d ever put up with him and he knows, and this is why they’re unbreakable, this is-

“It’s over. Is that what you want?”

Layla answers with an eye-roll, doubt already creeping in. Over. Like hell it is. She knows there’s no way anything will ever be that simple for them. At best, this is temporary calm.

But that’s a problem for later, for days weeks months ahead, not right now. Not here, somewhere safe-enough, neither of them wounded – that’s an option now, that’ll be how she finally develops anxiety, the fact that maybe bad things can happen to him now – and everything is alright, everything will be alright, everything-

“What I want is for you to stay,” she says, shifting her position to get her hand over his heart. “What I want is for you to remember what we are, how much better we are together, and… stay,” she repeats. “All I’m asking. All of you. Stay.”

She doesn’t expect a promise in return, and she doesn’t get one, and it’s fine. The kisses are enough, the continued maneuvering is enough, the affirmations without words that she is still everything are enough. And maybe she’ll get used to this – we-almost-died sex could be hotter if both of them almost die, maybe – and maybe it’ll be fine.

“Stay,” she says as bodies collide. All she’ll ever ask for.

[bestialchorus]

“The Invisible String” (Falling for Donna Beneviento)- Chapter 1

Donna quietly gasps as your fingers lightly brush against each other. The head of the house immediately jerks her hand away in response, acting as if the minimal contact had burned her flesh. Despite her reaction, she doesn’t completely pull away, instead her hand freezes in midair as she mentally processes what to do next, her fingers ever so slightly shaking. You watch the scene from the corner of your eye, feigning ignorance as you pick up the brush you were originally reaching for. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass her by drawing attention to her sudden jitteriness. You take no offence as you’re well aware of how her anxiety can manifest in different ways. You instead begin painting the face of one of Donna’s latest creations, giving it your own touch of life, avoiding her gaze.

To call the air between you both as heavy would be an understatement. For Donna was quieter than usual, if that’s even possible, while thoughts plague your mind. Thoughts filled with unspoken words that prick at your tongue, wishing to be set free. You sit in silence as all

that can be heard throughout the Beneviento home is an old grandfather clock ticking away down the hall. You couldn’t help but be grateful for the ancient clock as its presence always helped anchor you to reality, an issue that proved to be difficult whenever you were near the shrouded woman.

The tension you currently feel is nothing new.  For months it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, quietly peeking through now and again. You always felt it in the woman’s presence but chose to never vocalize it, naively hoping it would go away….but it never did.

For months you desperately tried to repress how the puppeteer made you feel, only to fail miserably. Every moment with Donna threatened to take your breath away, from the passing glances, accidental touches, and restless dreams you had no control over…but how you craved them. The longer you spent within the Beneviento home, the more you tried to sever any hope of the woman returning your affections. For to hope was to dream and dreams didn’t last long within reality’s grasp, not when you were a common painter and she, a woman with status and power.

For some reason, the tension in the air feels stronger than usual or perhaps it was simply all in your head. Perhaps you’re finally being punished for your naivete as your affections now threaten to flood your system. Your heart begins to pump faster as you imagine finally confessing to the woman in black. To think, a brush of fingers would be the final straw.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This all-started months ago when a shadowy member of house Beneviento had informed you had been summoned. You couldn’t help but feel anxiety bubble in the pit of your stomach as you automatically assumed the worst. All you knew about Mistress Beneviento were the rampant rumours that swirled around why she chose to conceal her identity at all costs; some say she was born with a monstrous appearance, others believe the flesh off her face had completely melted off in a horrific accident, while someone else had personally told you she was probably a cursed body with no head at all. You had never been one for rumours, but you felt nervous all the same, what could the head of a house want with a simple artist like yourself? Surely, she could afford a painter of well-known status if she wanted a portrait done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The pathway towards House Beneviento would only fuel the stories of horror and enigma attached to the mysterious family. Isolated on a wintery cliff, overlooking a grand waterfall, you feel every inch of your being telling you to go back the closer you get to the eerie house. Despite the status of the Beneviento name, you see no sign of life surrounding it; no groundskeepers or servants to be spoken of.

The heavy wooden door closes behind you with a loud creak. Your confusion only grows as no help comes to announce your arrival, the space is seemingly empty. Despite the home’s quiet nature, you can’t help but find it surprisingly “cozy” as deep rich wood surrounds you. Lights create a warm glow throughout the space, contrasting with the harsh winter winds you hear rattle against the windows.  

A voice suddenly speaks from the top of the stairs, making you jump back. You jerk your head towards the sound as your gaze falls on none other than the mistress of the house, Donna Beneviento. Off first glance, she is as mysterious as all the rumours suggested, covered from head to toe in a long dark dress and veil, showing no skin except for her hands. Despite the image, you don’t find her as unnerving as you originally thought you would. Sure, there was definitely something about her that was almost otherworldly but so far, not in a threatening way.

“Welcome to my home, Lady Y/N.” She greets in a low and soft voice.

You hold a hand over your heart as you wait for it to relax, she’s truly given you a fright but you’re more concerned of how she was able to appear without making her presence known. Surely you would have heard her steps against the wood, right? You shake your head of the thought as you try answer as politely as you can, having no experience interacting with anyone from the four families.

“Of course, Mistress Beneviento. It’s no trouble at all, how ah…can I be of assistance?”

The woman takes a pause before answering, almost frozen in place. You feel a bit awkward under her “gaze”, wondering if she’s silently judging you from under her veil. Finally, she extends a hand towards the hallway to her right, no rush in her movement as she answers.

“Perhaps it is better if I showed you.”

You follow her upstairs, and she leads you to a room filled with porcelain dolls, each dressed to reflect a unique personality. Upon closer inspection, you take in how much love was put into them; from ornate detailing to masterful craftmanship. Out of every scenario you could have imagined you’d find within House Beneviento, this could never have been one of them.

Donna’s voice comes out almost in a whisper.

“I could use your help bringing more to life…I’m aware of the skill you possess.”

Most would find her phrasing a bit bizarre, but you picked up on the vulnerability in her voice, highlighting just how much these dolls clearly meant to her. You turn towards her and notice how she softly runs a thumb over her other hand, you assume it to be a self-soothing technique. The gesture makes you notice how nice her hands are in shape, delicate yet slender and her nails perfectly painted.

From that day on you became Donna Beneviento’s artistic assistant, helping her paint, build and touch-up her “children”.  Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as you worked side by side in her large workshop. You honestly enjoyed the work but quickly found yourself enjoying her presence even more.

The image of the eerie woman quickly sheds away the more you get to know her. Ultimately what lies under the veil is a timid woman who preferred not to draw attention to herself. From what you can pick up, it seems all Donna wants is to live comfortably in her home while pursuing her passions. She enjoys needlework and keeping countless journals. She has little issue working well within the night whenever she started a new project of any kind. She is a far cry from the stereotypes attached to her status and rumoured state. The head of House Beneviento was instead an artistic soul who was gentle in mannerisms as she was with you.

Donna would openly concern herself with your health, showing worry whenever you got little sleep, little did she know she was often the reason for it. Her gentle voice and stunning hands would plague your mind deep within the night, refusing to let you rest. You quickly changed the subject whenever she brought up the dark circles under your eyes, embarrassed they’re from imaging how her touch would feel against your skin.

The head of the house was also unsurprisingly a great listener. You first take notice of this once your favourite tea appears one day in her kitchen, remembering you had told her about it a few weeks ago. Soon after, desserts begin to appear in her fridge once she found out you had a sweet tooth. Eventually the woman would presence you with high quality brushes you always wished you could try out. Going forward you always tried to be mindful of discussing anything she could end up buying you, not wanting to take advantage of her generosity.

You remember the day you worked in silence as you processed the woman’s “gifts” as she never directly gave them to you but simply waited for you to notice their presence. Deep down you always wished they meant something more, but you quickly shook the thought away. You instead decided it must be because you’re working on her dolls. You’re just a worker to her and nothing more.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” She asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask, Mistress? Are my strokes off?” You eye the small doll in your hand.

She lightly shakes her head, “no, your work is impeccable as always. It’s just..you’re normally more talkative.”

She almost sounds embarrassed when she answers, as if it was silly to point out the observation in the first place.

“Oh, right. I just thought I’d give you a break from my usual ramblings.”

You answer lightly while flashing her a smile, trying to hide the reason for your silence. A pregnant pause follows, and you wonder if you answered too casually, you quickly try to rectify your mistake by apologizing but her voice interrupts you.

“…..I like your voice.” She says quiet enough to be a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat at the confession and at first you feel you MUST have misheard her, that is until you notice her doing her usual self-soothing technique.

Your curiosity for what laid under Donna Beneviento’s veil would quickly disappear as you found yourself slowly falling for the soul of the woman beneath it all.

Months after that interaction, you find that very same woman slowly moving her shaky hand back to yours, gently covering it, making your heart stop.

[trothplighted]

Jo's shift from "Grindelwald was pure evil/ he led Albus on" to "Grindelwald was complex/ he loved Albus too" perhaps became necessary as she fleshed out details for the films. The former cheapens Albus' emotional conflict, and gives far less dramatic material to work with when building up to the epic Grindeldore duel. "Wising up and getting over your shitty ex" might make for an ok story climax elsewhere, but for the HP franchise the guiding thesis will always be "Only love can save the world"

Her stance on Gellert as a person has DEFINITELY shifted over the years.

I’m not a fan of Jo the person, and I say that because I’m inclined to actively disregard her stated intents and interpretations due to how frustrating and problematic and bigoted I find her (aside from the usual suspects of racism-fatphobia-transphobia, her treatment of disabled people and abuse survivors and her focus on Empathy really infuriate me) but I will acknowledge that in post-DH interviews she did say at least once that her view of Gellert was that he was using Albus rather than loving him reciprocally, only to walk that back with the FB films.

The major reasons I don’t take that statement as gospel are (1. it’s not in the books, at no point does anyone suggest or consider that it was a one-sided relationship and neither Aberforth nor Albus ever portray it that way + Gellert refuses to desecrate Albus’s grave (2. “the one canonically gay relationship I wrote into the books is actually a poor self-loathing queer being manipulated by a sociopath” is a bad look, especially after what she did to Wolfstar, and while I don’t doubt that Jo’s homophobia was really showing itself in the 2000s I don’t see any reason why I have to be nice to it by giving it pride of place in my headcanons

so honestly, since it was never stated at any point in the canon how Gellert felt about Albus? I don’t feel the need to say “oh yeah according to the author this is how she interpreted it” - not only has her interpretation clearly changed over the years, but even as she was writing DH she softened and shifted.

the FB films are even softer than the finished product in book 7 - she’s gone back to writing Albus as he is in PS through GoF, rather than Albus as he was in the last three books, and we have very clear onscreen evidence that Gellert is capable of love and affection for Albus. I think you’re right that it’s about the Power of Love, but I also wonder if she’s just being indecisive. Tolkien famously never made up his mind about anything, which makes analyzing his works difficult but is just a consequence of workshopping the same stories for decades, and now that Jo’s been doing just that for almost 30 years I wonder if we’re seeing the first stirrings of her self-retcon phase.

[burndownyourparade]

Dabi x Reader - Crossed My Heart

This literally had zero direction. It’s my first reader insert piece and it has nothing to do with the Olivia Rodrigo song, the lyric was mainly used as a loose prompt inspiration. It’s also been a long as heck time since I’ve sat down and really written anything so oof. But, I do plan on writing some more drabbles here and there. I’ve got Dabi/Touya brain rot bad. So expect a lot of him.

You used me as an alibi. I crossed my heart as you crossed the line.

pairing: dabi x reader (gender not specified)

length: 2k words

genre: angst, fluff if you squint real hard

warnings: mentions of death, the burning at sekoto peak. nothing detailed.

You’d been there. You had watched him go up in flames. The beautiful bright blue dancing across your eyes and you knew you’d never see him again. He’d be lost to you forever, but you promised.

And you were willing to do anything for him. Even if it meant breaking your own heart. 

So when you’d sit up at Sekoto Peak every year after his disappearancedeath you’d curse his name. Curse him for leaving you behind, for not coming back to you. Not even a single sign of if he was okay.. If he was still out there. 

When you’d seen this new villain on the news, just a few years ago, you had an inkling. A thought that maybe it had been him. He talked big about getting back at his father. Dishing back out everything he’d had to endure as a child. And at age 15 when you encouraged him, you never thought it would come to this. 

So today, when you sat up at Sekoto Peak, ten years after the incident, the spiteful, “Fuck you, Touya.” That left your lips didn’t go unheard. 

In all honesty he’d planned on coming clean. He had planned on coming back to you. After all, you were the only person who really meant anything to him. But then he got way too involved with Stain’s cause and the league, there was no way he was going to risk putting you in any danger. If that meant having to write you off, then so be it. 

Eventually you’d find out that Dabi was Touya, eventually you’d know that he was still alive after all these years. No more doubt would cloud your mind, but he had a feeling you’d come to hate him for waiting so goddamn long. 

It was when he’d heard his name, the anger dripping from your sweet voice that had him moving his feet towards you. He wasn’t planning to reveal himself, but he needed to at least try redeeming himself before even thinking of continuing his plan to bring down Endeavor. None of it would have meant anything if he couldn’t come back to you. If he wasn’t going to be able to run away with you like the two of you had planned.

“You have to promise you won’t tell anyone about this.” Touya held your hands in his, begging you. He was tired and run down. Bandages wrapped around his arms from his most recent burns. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. But he was going to fake his death. He was going to run away. 

You stared at him, wide eyed and reluctantly nodded your head to his plea. “Will I see you again?” The fear was evident in your voice and if that quiver didn’t give you away, then the way that your hands shook in his would. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision, but you could still see him. You could see his messy white hair fall into his bright blue eyes. You could see the bruise that was forming under the left eye, no doubt a result of training. And you wondered if this was his only solution. If this was really the only way that he’d be able to outrun this.

He could practically feel the pain reverberating off of you, it bounced off of him too. He didn’t want to leave you. But he had no other choice. He was trapped and all he wanted was to make something of himself. To prove to his father and everyone around him that he wasn’t worthless, he wasn’t a lost cause. He could do it, too. He was powerful just like Shoto. 

Touya was torn, he knew that this hurt you… Leaving you hurt him too, even if you couldn’t see it. Even if he was acting selfishly. “Of course.” He nodded, snow white hair moving wildly with the frantic nodding of his head. “I’ll come back for you and we’ll run away.” He promised, you could see the makings of a plan in his head. The way that his eyes moved when he was deep in thought, “We can start a life together. Build a house and adopt all the cats and dogs you want!” His hands moved to your shoulders, shaking you lightly with excitement before pulling you into him. His arms wrapping around you tightly.

He never cried in front of you, but today was different. He didn’t know when he’d see you after today, but he did know he refused to break his promise to you. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“I love you, Touya.” You murmured into his shirt, breathing him in. If this was the last time in a while, then you were going to make the most of it. You tilted your head, looking up at him. Sadness washing over you and feeling your own tears begin to slip. You leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and felt the way his lips turned upwards in a soft smile. An almost dreamy looking flashing across his face. 

“I love you too, (y/n)... I’ll come back for you, I swear.” His hands shifted again, this time to cup your cheeks and bring your lips to his. This kiss was soft and sweet, not unlike ones you’ve shared before but there was a sense of urgency to this one. Almost like he had been trying to convey every single thing he felt for you in this brief moment. He didn’t want to pull away, but when he did he felt your hands tighten around the fabric of his shirt. Just barely hearing your whisper begging him not to go, but he shook his head, gently moving your hands to take a step back from you.

“Please don’t watch…” Touya asked, giving you a gentle shove away from him. “Once you see my flames run… Run and tell someone about the fire and then go home. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.”

You bit your lip and nodded your head, running a safe distance away into the trees. Waiting to watch his flames burn around him. You stuck around a little longer than he’d asked you to, only to make sure that he was safe… That he was still okay. But you couldn’t make out anything other than the heat and Touya’s screams. 

At fifteen your heart shouldn’t have shattered that hard.

He didn’t know how you’d react to this. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was doing. Dabi had never planned on this. He was merely moving on pure emotion now. On things he thought he had forgotten, but when it came to you he was always weak. The only reason his resolve had even broken in the first place was because of how angry you sounded. The villain hated the thought of him becoming nothing to you. Ironic, when he was practically nothing to everyone else.

You stood in the same place where you both had parted ten years ago and he was quietly standing just a few feet behind you. He was uncertain of if he should reach out to you or just turn and run, was this even a good idea? But his feet wouldn’t stop and then his mouth started moving and before he knew it, he was speaking. 

“This Touya guy must have really fucked up, huh?” He cringed, ten years and this was the first thing he was saying to you? Ideally, in his head, whatever he’d dreamt up in his spare time was grandiose plans of sweeping you off your feet. He’d be done with the league, ready to pack up and start brand new. He’d have taken down Endeavor’s credibility and shattered Enji’s entire world. Yeah, that son of his who wasn’t going to amount to anything? He was something now. He was his greatest nightmare and deepest failure. And the consequences of his actions were coming back to bite him in the ass. Then, he’d be there for you. In the night he’d have found you, confessed his deepest feelings and that nothing had changed. Then you’d run away like he promised.

Your fists clenched at your sides, you recognized that voice, of course you did. How wouldn’t you when his promise haunted your dreams every night? His voice was a little deeper, raspier, richer. And for a moment, you hesitated in turning to face him, but when you did you couldn’t stop the way that your heart picked up pace. It was him, in the flesh, Touya was here. But he wasn’t Touya anymore… Not on the outside.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking asshole.” You played along with him. Both of you knew this was just a game, testing the waters to see if anything had really changed. “Promised he’d come back for me, but never showed up.” There was a smile on your face now, a sad one and Dabi felt his heart clench in his chest when he saw it. “Waited ten years for him.” You pressed, watching his reactions.

He deflated, he didn’t have an excuse. He could have come to you sooner and he knew that his whole keeping you safe excuse was bullshit. Dabi was just afraid. He was afraid of what you’d think when you saw him again. Dabi wasn’t Touya. He didn’t look like the boy you’d fallen in love with before. Smooth, pale skin was now rough and charred, the white hair with tufts of red now dyed black and coarse from the years of mistreatment. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say.

“You could have come to me.” Your voice was soft and he knew that you were hurt. “Why didn’t you come back for me?” The way that your voice cracked made his heart break. He prided himself on being hard, on not allowing himself to feel petty emotions anymore, but unbeknownst to his comrades; you’d always be the only exception.

He was honest with you, “I was afraid.” And it was the first time in ten years that he’d been vulnerable, he was almost ready to run off with you. Dabi was ready to give up on his revenge plot against Endeavor, he just wanted to run away with you. To be just (y/n) and Touya.

“Of what?” You asked, nearly breathless and unbelieving. There was nothing he had to worry about. It didn’t matter who he was now or what he was doing. He would always be Touya to you. A boy who suffered more than he should have. The boy that you were ready to drop everything and run off with. The only boy you had ever loved and would ever love.

“I’m not the same.” He looked at you, uncertain. He still hadn’t gotten any closer to you and his hands twitched with anticipation. It had been so long since he’s held you. Dabi wanted to close the distance, to pull you into him and feel whole again.

“You’re still you.” You countered, shaking your head. You weren’t about to give the villain any room for excuses. He was still him and that’s all he’d ever be to you. You knew that he knew that. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, this time Dabi took a step closer to you. Carefully watching your movements, gauging on if he could move any closer. When there wasn’t any move on your part to shift away from him he took another step. And another.. Another, another, until he was wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. His lips gently touch the crown of your head, inhaling your scent. “Run away with me.”

You returned his touch almost immediately, arms wrapping around his thin middle. Melting into him and letting out a sob of relief, you were home again. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[absynthe--minded]

This is going to be a long questions, but I feel you are the right person to ask this too... How late in the many rewriting of the Silmarillion material does the rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim appear? The reason I ask is that I have been wondering how that plot line, which is objectively a) pure fire b) a very clean "stand alone" narrative, did not in time evolve to receive a more similar treatment to the three "great stories" (CoH, B&L, tFoG), and my best hypothesis is that iirc in general the Sons of Feanor become the characters we know relatively late in the process, being more straight up villains before. Or maybe you have some different thoughts about this...

oh this is a great question and I am somehow the right person to ask this to because I have an answer for you, but it’s not quite the one you’re expecting, I think. this story is stupid old, and also, it’s pure fire, exactly like you said. this is a LONG post but I’m trying to be brief.

Maedhros’s rescue is inherently tied into the story of and the development of the Oath of Fëanor, which in its earliest appearance wasn’t actually connected to Fëanor at all. Maedhros has basically always been a captive, and always been important, but Fingon’s part in the tale is what’s newer. In The Book of Lost Tales vol. I, Christopher says that the earliest iteration of what would become the Oath was sworn voluntarily by Maedhros and his brothers after Fëanor’s death - he led an assault against Angband, and was captured, and his torture and torment were because he refused to give up the secrets of Noldorin jewelcrafting. It’s never explicitly said he escaped or was rescued or freed, but he gets free somehow, because once he rejoins the others they all collectively swear an "oath of hatred, for ever against all, Gods or Elves or Men, who should hold the Silmarils” and then the seven of them and their host withdraw from the rest of the Noldor and live in Dor-lómin.

Christopher mentions in his commentary that Fingon plays no part in any of this and that there’s no mention of Maedhros being maimed but he finds it interesting that the story still has quite a lot of its core elements in place despite that - the Oath, withdrawing from the Noldorin people at large, capture and freedom - and I’m inclined to agree with him. I also want to point out that these earliest versions of the stories place a much greater emphasis on the Silmarils as objects, and jewelcrafting as a skill to be coveted and stolen, where I think later versions focus more on Finwë’s death with the Silmarils as a sort of proxy for Fëanor’s grief. I also feel like the Oath makes way more sense as a response to trauma in the “sworn out of anger and the desire for vengeance towards Morgoth for years of torture” version - if I were tortured over a bunch of rocks I’d sure as hell be mad at the guy who did that.

In The Lays of Beleriand, which is the next volume chronologically and the next phase of Tolkien’s writing, we get mention of “Maidros whom Morgoth maimed and tortured” wielding his sword in his left hand, and later (I think in version VI of the Lay of Leithian) we also get a verse telling of the swearing of the Oath on Túna (here called Tun) by Fëanor and his sons. All the key pieces are already in place, even “Be he friend or foe” (though what follows after is in verse and paraphrased). Fingon is here! We’re told he freed Maedhros, and that Maedhros was hanging from Thangorodrim in a cruel shackle, but we don’t see how or hear any of the key details. Though, this is an introduction to the world designed to set the stage for Beren and Lúthien, so I don’t actually mind too much. Too much. (I’ve talked before in my own meta about the connections and thematic parallels between the Thangorodrim rescue and B&L, so I think it’s interesting that JRRT explicitly mentions it in this context). Fingon is also then immediately said to have fallen in battle with his “white banners and his lords”. because this is the Silmarillion, did you expect happiness here?

By the time we hit The Shaping of Middle-Earth, we start to see things really come together. In what Chris calls “the earliest Silmarillion,” Fingon (here called Finweg, hilariously) resolves to heal the feud, goes off to find Maedhros, and finds him but can’t release him because he’s trapped by an “enchanted bond”. Maedhros begs to be slain, Thorondor shows up, Fingon cuts off his hand, Thorondor takes them back to Mithrim, we know the story from here on out. The Quenta is much the same, though he’s still called Finweg, and here we get the first mention of the bow and Maedhros begging to be shot with it. After Fingon gets to Maedhros, we get another “please kill me”, the hand is cut off, and off to Mithrim we go. Here’s also the first mention in prose that I could find of Maedhros being more deadly with his left hand than his right.

The Lost Road doesn’t have anything new, and then we get 6-9 talking about the history of LotR’s drafts; anything after that is what Chris refers to as “The Later Silmarillion”, which has basically everything you’d expect.

The thing I find most interesting personally is how complete this narrative element was basically right from the start, after the early installment weirdness of the Lost Tales - it’s a lot like the Great Tales in that respect, where the core of the story doesn’t shift much at all. Fingon’s prominence and characterization, and the details surrounding his rescue, get more and more pronounced with time. Fingon and Maedhros being tied together by some form of friendship is new, I’m fairly certain that Fingon being the person Maedhros asks after at Losgar is new, and by the 50s and the Grey Annals in The War of the Jewels we get “and their love was renewed” and mentions of the green stone as a gift to Fingon. From a Russingon perspective it’s a bit like the inverse of Túrin and Beleg - those two start out extremely textually gay and get more and more subdued with time, where Fingon and Maedhros get fleshed out more and more as they go on.

As to your theory about how the Fëanorians got more developed over time, I think there’s a lot of truth to it. I don’t think that they were ever solely villainous - even in the Lays they’ve got some ambiguity - but all of the elvish characters began to develop their individual identities more and more over time, and the intricacies of the family drama really flourish in Morgoth’s Ring as opposed to Shaping (though, in a moment that made me laugh, Tolkien talks about there being “little love” between the two camps of Noldor in Mithrim in that book, and I have to imagine them glaring at one another across the lake). But I think that the rescue did evolve, it just didn’t ever become its own Great Tale, and my best guess there is that it’s just too interconnected, almost? Like, in order to understand (in the latest versions of the story that coincidentally have the most emotional impact) what’s going on, you have to care about the characters’ ties to one another, and you have to know about Valinorean family drama and Fëanor vs. Fingolfin and the Silmarils and all of that stuff.

despite the length I absolutely loved talking about this, holy shit, I’d wanted an excuse to go digging in HoME on this subject and boy do I have it now.

[fourfucksake]

let it snow

request: Can you do something with Chris sleeping with a friend? Maybe she comes and stays over and it snowed to hard for her to leave. They watch a movie and drink a little and it leads to rough sex on the couch?

pairing: chris evans x fem!black!reader

warnings: language, smut

word count: 2k

p.s i’m sorry for being inactive! i’m fine, just lazy

Visiting Chris right before Christmas was a tradition that we both shared for a long time. A few years ago, we met while filming a movie together, and our friendship blossomed very quickly. Being casted for that movie was my first role ever; back then, the show-biz, “the” Hollywood was truly one big puzzle that I had to solve on my own. The role I had wasn’t big nor significant, but it meant everything to me. The memories from those filming days were so close to my heart. Not to mention the friendship I built with Chris Evans that was also very dear to myself.

In that movie, I played the girl Chris slept with several times and at the end she finally got him to solve a mystery which led to a plot twist. Despite this description, the role wasn’t really that big, and I only had like three scenes where my character was somehow important. As imagined, all the sex talks we had as our characters were the start of me developing crush on him. Yes, I adored him as a fan for years but after that once scene where we almost kissed (and had to reshoot it way too many times) made me go crazy over him. It was downright embarrassing that literally no man that I have ever slept with made me as turned on as Chris did by almost kissing me.

“Chris!” I yelled while greeting him, giving his body a warm hug. His huge arms wrapped around me always gave me the snuggest feeling inside, I loved the smallest touch of his affection on myself. A loud laugh left my lips as he picked me up, completely erasing the distance between us. I gave him a small peck on a cheek before my feet were back again on the ground. “No Dodger?” I asked out of curiosity after not being able to spot one of my favourite creatures. “Nope, not today. He is with Scott, I left him there since I only came to this house for a couple of days before going back to my brother’s. Didn’t want to move him around like that, you know?” He explained as he rested his shoulder on the doorframe while I undressed from the heavy winter clothing. I hanged my big, fluffy coat and took my boots off before we entered his big living room.

Our “Christmas Dinner” was filled with laughs and banter. I almost forgot how amusing Chris really was, he always did everything to make the other person laugh out loud. Being with him was always great fun and however horrible that sounds I was ecstatic when the snowfall outside transformed into an apocalypse. Of course, I pretended that I really need to head back home, and nothing will stop me, but Chris refused to let me leave in this weather. After twenty minutes of going back and forth in argument, I gave up. He seemed pleased which was a relief because I would’ve hated feeling like I’m not wanted.

Chris made us both a cup of hot chocolate as we continued to talk. We made a promise regarding Christmas gift, swearing on each other’s lives that they will only be unwrapped on an actual Christmas Day. Still, I had a feeling he will open his as soon as I leave through that door. My eyes rolled as he deliberated about how his gift was surely better than mine, Tired of his annoying whimpers, I picked a TV remote and started looking through films on Disney+. “This will shut you up for like an hour or, at least I hope so,” I said with a silly face and showed him the middle finger as he laughed in response.

Focusing on the TV screen, I tried not to think about different, erotic scenarios of the both of us. His presence near me was enough to make my thoughts livid. His hand was placed on my knee, which I could not stop thinking about, no matter how hard I tried to. If Chris knew what my dirty thoughts were including him in, he would most likely show me where the door is. Or, possibly, throw me out of the window. I couldn't help but stress in his presence. It was simply not possible not to. When I thought I could control myself around him, he would start stroking my thigh, driving my consciousness crazy. He could sense that I was nervous, or at least I thought that he could, because he looked at me with his bug puppy eyes. He said nothing, just stared in the bluntest way possible. I returned the stare, unable to form words that would make any sense.

Gazing into my eyes, he positioned his hand on my cheek. Involuntarily, a familiar shiver ran through my entire body. Ugh, he was perfect, and I hated him for it. I just knew I was not the only girl to feel this way about him. You didn’t have to know him to lust over his self. I opened my lips as he began to approach me, getting closer to my face with every millisecond. Our lips finally joined in a passionate kiss. My hand quickly rested on top of his, caressing the skin on his fingers which were placed on my face. My hormones were screaming and in a spare of the moment, (and inflow of confidence) I moved onto his laps and sat on them straddling. I took over the situation with dominance, but Chris quickly took it back when he put his hands on my ass and lifted me up to lay myself on my back on the couch.

“I wanted to do this for so long, you have no idea,” He whispered right into my lips as his hand slipped under the fabric of my sweatshirt. A long, drawn-out moan escaped my mouth as his lips found their way to the skin on my neck. I was panting hard with my mouth open. One of my hands landed between the locks of his hair that I pulled on. I cursed softly under my breath as his fingers tightened on my hip and then moved to my breasts that were still covered by the fabric of my top and lace bra.

“So damn beautiful.”  His words sounded like a tune to my ears. Now, I could confirm that no compliments sounded better than those formed by Mr. Chris Evans himself. His fingers sneaked into my private part once again as they slipped under my leggings. I consciously and willingly let them do so. I was already excited, maybe even more than I wanted to admit. Rarely has a man managed to bring me to this state by not doing anything special, but Chris definitely did.

My mind was full of thoughts concerning what we were doing in this very moment. Has he already done this with some other naive aspiring actress? Am I just another name on his long list waiting to be crossed out? My morals and standards, and more importantly, my substantial self-respect were all screaming at me right about now. Unfortunately, my thirst and excitement won the arguments inside my head. “Chris, p-please,” I whispered and desperately pulled the hair at the top of his head. “F-Fuck me,” My lips finally formed a dreadful plea for more.

Chris didn't wait any longer, as if I gave him an order that he had to obey. He quickly deprived my body of all of its clothing, his hungry gaze followed my flesh this whole time. He was discovering every inch of my skin for the first time, concentrating on it as if he wanted to remember every single detail. I did not want to do any worse than him, therefore my hands also started a fight with his clothes, aggressively removing them from his body.

“Condom, I need-“ He mumbled inexplicably, the second part of his sentence was most certainly inaudible but at least I understood what he started looking for from its first part. I watched him out as his fingers grabbed the fabric of his pants. He reached out to the pocket, grabbing a silver wrapper between his two fingers, and I stared at it with a rather surprised look. He was prepared for this and I let him. He knew or at least he wanted this to happen. And I let him. Stupid girl.

My eyes followed him precisely as he returned to me. His knees settled on the couch and I opened my own wide for him to view. I licked my two fingers slowly before directing them to my pussy, slowly caressing and massaging it. Chris was watching me this whole time and his gaze was getting more and more hungry which undoubtedly stimulated all my senses.

Our eyes reconnected and we both smiled at each other at the same time. I licked my lips as I watched the rubber material slide smoothly over his swollen cock. He got closer to me and hit my entrance with his dick several times which was met with a loud moan escaping my lips. I was seconds away from begging him to push inside of me, but my needs were met with his sudden actions. Satisfied was an understatement as I felt his impressive length penetrating my inside.

From the first thrust, his hips moved quickly, with force. I felt him whole, from his core to his round tip. I felt his body pressing onto mine as his balls slapped my flesh with each movement. I tilted my head back and gasped like a wounded animal. My hand blindly travelled to his muscular torso, digging my long nails into his skin. He hissed in response, but his movements became faster, only adding extra pleasure to my private part. I felt my insides pulsing in response to his dick slamming onto me.  

Chris grabbed my leg under the calf and placed my heel on his shoulder. I took advantage of this placement and stretched my leg at the knee as I placed it as comfortably as possible on his shoulder. My hand rested on my boob, which I squeezed, and his eyes rested on the new image in front of him. We didn't exchange a single word, but we both gave each other the right glances that boldly approved of every move on our part.

Feeling ecstatic to say the least, I enjoyed every moment. I needed this. I needed to forget about the world, cool my abusive emotions and relish this quick experience. He gave me precisely what I craved. Moreover, I was confident he adored it just as much, which I saw from the droplets of sweat running down his forehead and from his plump lips producing multiple curse words as his body moved within me. His chest rose quickly and fell rapidly with each hard thrust. I rolled my eyes in pleasure, unable to help myself. I was so close to the orgasm that the man of my dreams was driving me to.

Feeling his warmth inside of me made me toes curl. This was so fucking good. I could confidently say that he too enjoyed himself, which the droplets of sweat running down his forehead and a bunch of swear words escaping his plump lips indicated. His chest rose and fell quickly with each hard thrust. Unable to help themselves, my eyes rolled in great pleasure. My breathing was rapid and unsteady as he drove me to a needed orgasm. I couldn’t feel his cum inside of me but his moans and pleads ensured me of his sweet release.

We looked at each other’s eyes when our breathing finally normalized from all that we have done right on that poor couch. Thankfully, I sensed no strange atmosphere in the air that could foreshadow the end of our friendship. Everything seemed so normal, so platonic and I felt an unimaginable sense of relief. “Round two?” He scanned my face with a smirk placed on his lips and flames in his eyes. I smiled in response because no words were needed to answer his question. My legs wrapped around his hips once again, his posture bent down in order to link our lips in a kiss, indicating a fresh start to our next game.

[ibijau]

A Little Help pt3 / On AO3

A third secret meeting between Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen

Nie Huaisang barely made it out of the Unclean Realm this time. In truth, he would have preferred not to leave at all. Distance hadn’t been such an obstacle thus far after all. Lan Xichen, after some hesitation, had agreed to send the score for Cleansing to Nie Huaisang, along with detailed written instruction on how to play it.

Nie Huaisang had taken it as another proof that Lan Xichen could be impossibly naive for a man this clever. It would have been so easy to sell the score of that song to interested party. Certainly, Su Minshan would have paid a real fortune to get his hands on that. Not that Nie Huaisang would ever have traded with someone as slimy as Su She, but he could have, and Lan Xichen shouldn’t have trusted him so easily.

Then again, they’d had no other choice. Nie Mingjue had barely accepted the excuse his brother had given for leaving without permission last time, and Nie Huaisang hadn’t been sure he could have gotten away with it again. He had hated admitting that to Lan Xichen, but Lan Xichen had been very kind in his reply, reminding him that this was only the result of a deep imbalance, that Nie Mingjue loved him and trusted him. And Lan Xichen was right of course, but lately it was a little too easy to forget that.

Lately, Nie Huaisang had become scared of his brother, the way he’d once become scared of their father.

For the past two months, Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen had only communicated through letters and hidden messages, taking ever increasing precautions not to be discovered. Nie Mingjue would have had a fit if he’d learned his brother was conspiring against him, and Lan Xichen remained worried his brother would be harmed if he was discovered to have gone against the Lans’ council of elders. But there was only so far their plan could go without meeting in person again, and Nie Huaisang was forced to eventually agree to meet again, at that same spot as before.

As before, Lan Xichen was waiting for him, wearing a robe of blue so dark it almost looked black. The colour suited him well, better in fact than the usual white of his sect which washed him out. Not that Nie Huaisang had time to spare on such frivolities, not this time.

After the briefest of greetings, Lan Xichen asked to hear the progress he’d made regarding Cleansing, and Nie Huaisang was only too happy to oblige. Time, more than on their previous meetings, was of the essence.

Nervous as he was, Nie Huaisang did his best to play the song appropriately. He paid attention to each note, infusing them with what little spiritual energy he could offer at every key moment, making sure to play at exactly the right speed. It was strenuous work to play that song, but the thought of his brother’s health had pushed him to put more effort into this than he ever had in anything. 

By the time he finished playing the song, Nie Huaisang felt a little weak, and his head was spinning. Thankfully Lan Xichen was sitting right next to him, and Nie Huaisang was able to lean against his side to rest a moment.

“You did very well,” Lan Xichen said, briefly wrapping one arm around Nie Huaisang’s shoulders before quickly removing it, afraid perhaps to act improperly, even when there was no one to see them. “I think you only need a little more practice and you’ll be ready to play it.”

“How soon?” Nie Huaisang asked, pulling away from the other man. “A week? Two? I’ll practice until my fingers bleed, and you can fight off your elders, and…”

Lan Xichen frowned. “Huaisang, it’s not that simple.”

“But I don’t know if I have more time. We need to act soon!” Nie Huaisang urged, grasping Lan Xichen’s hand. “Da-ge is… he’s been like this too long, and he’s really not getting better on his own. I think he’s even getting worse.”

It had been Lan Xichen’s theory that without the corrupted song played to him so regularly, Nie Mingjue might start recovering on his own, without the need for more Lan songs. Nie Huaisang had thought that was more likely than himself ever mastering a complex piece of magic in a matter of mere weeks.

Hope was a bitch.

“I’ve heard he’s become… quite aggressive toward small sects that are taking the Jins’ side,” Lan Xichen cautiously said.

Nie Huaisang miserably nodded, prompting Lan Xichen to gently squeeze his hand.

It had always been Nie Mingjue’s problem that he saw things in black and white, good or bad. That mentality used to be balanced out by his conviction that most people were honest, with only a few bad apples here and there.

Nie Mingjue didn’t believe that anymore.

“You have to do something,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have to make a statement, to let everyone know that da-ge isn’t crazy, that the Jins really did attack him! Otherwise he’ll just end up all alone, like…”

“Like the Wens?”

“More like Wei Wuxian,” Nie Huaisang whispered. He felt Lan Xichen shudder at his side, but refused to look at the other man and glared instead of the guqin before them. “Er-ge, you have to do something, you have to help, you have to!”

“They still have Wangji,” Lan Xichen replied. “I don’t dare… It would be so easy for the council to order his death. Not only that, but they could make the whole world applaud. Just one sentence from them, and even your brother would rejoice at Wangji’s execution. You as well, perhaps.”

"What could he have done to…" 

"I trust you with almost anything, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen quietly said, taking both of the other man’s hands in his, his expression painfully earnest. “But this is not something I can tell you. Even telling you that Wangji's actions put such a threat on his life is too much, but it was the only way to show you I’m not… indifferent to the situation. I just don’t have a choice. You seek to save your brother, and I have to protect mine.”

A fair point, and yet Nie Huaisang grimaced. He simply couldn’t imagine what Lan Wangji, always a stickler for rules, could have done to deserve death. But with Lan Xichen holding his hands like that, it was impossible to ignore the wild beatings of his heart, as if he were truly terrified on his brother’s behalf. If Lan Xichen said that Lan Wangji was in such danger, it had to be true.

“What if… what if you sent him somewhere safe?” Nie Huaisang suggested. “I don’t know the situation, but if he just left, maybe…”

Lan Xichen’s hold on his hands tightened.

“Wangji is not currently in a state of health where it would be wise for him to wander the world or hide in wilderness,” Lan Xichen explained. “Not to mention…”

He hesitated, staring at Nie Huaisang as if searching for something on his face. “It is not just about Wangji,” Lan Xichen confessed. “He’s declared himself the protector of a young orphan he found somewhere. The council of elders has agreed to let this child reside safely within the Cloud Recesses, but only as long as Wangji behaves.”

That certainly complicated things, but it also made sense. It explained why Lan Wangji, in spite of having done some horrible deed that went against his sect’s morals, would remain with them. It could also have been the mere fact that Lan Wangji was definitely the sort of person who believed in rules even when they had negative consequences for himself… but few men kept that sort of belief when the consequences in question were their own death. While if there was a child…

“If your brother could be offered a safe house of sorts where to hide with that child until everything is under control again, would he accept?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“Perhaps, if I explained to him why I need him to disappear for a while,” Lan Xichen replied, a small crease forming on his brow. “But I’m not sure there’s anyone who would accept to hide him at the moment. Not when I’m almost certain the elders might reveal…”

“Er-ge, let me make you a promise,” Nie Huaisang said, gently squeezing the other man’s hands. “Because you see, I own a house a little way out of Qinghe. My father bought it for my mother when they married, for when she needed to retire somewhere quiet, and when she died it went to me. It’s abandoned now, and in disrepair. It’s also quite isolated. So here is my promise: if you trust me enough to send Wangji there with that child of his, I won’t reveal he’s there, no matter what I learn about him. Whether he killed someone, or consorted with demons… even if he ate human flesh, even if he used evil ways to improve his cultivation… no matter what terrible people he associated with, or how inhumane his deeds… as long as he is inside my mother’s house, I will not tell a soul where he is, for your sake.”

And for his own sake as well, Nie Huaisang thought, knowing his brother and him desperately needed an ally, someone the cultivation world would not dismissed as biased against the Jin or touched by madness.

That little declaration had exactly the effect Nie Huaisang hoped for. Lan Xichen froze, his grasp on Nie Huaisang’s hands nearly painful. His face, so pale a moment before, took on a warmer hue visible even in this dark night, while his eyes shone as if he might cry. Before he could shed any tears, Lan Xichen let go of Nie Huaisang's hand so he could pull him into a crushing hug. 

Nie Huaisang only hesitated only a moment before returning that hug. It was just a ploy to get Lan Xichen to finally act, nothing more, but he hadn't been hugged in so long, and it felt good to be held that way. 

"Huaisang, I am so grateful that you would offer this," Lan Xichen whispered, sounding as if he might really start crying. "But I can't accept. It's too dangerous. If your brother found out, in his current state…" 

Nie Huaisang pulled back, not quite breaking the hug, but enough to bring his hands to Lan Xichen's face, cupping his cheeks the way he'd seen some particularly besotted lovers do. 

"You help me with my brother, I help you with yours," Nie Huaisang said with more earnestness than he'd planned. "We're in this together, so please trust me as much as I trust you." 

Lan Xichen could only stare at him with an expression of such open affection that Nie Huaisang almost felt guilty for using it against him. 

Guilt, surely, was the only reason he felt almost dizzy while held so closely, and gazed at with such tenderness, the explanation for his heart beating too fast. 

Nie Huaisang felt guilty, but it was all to protect his brother. And it was also to protect his brother that he impulsively pressed his lips to Lan Xichen's. 

If that didn't convince him to do what was right… 

But it did the trick, just as planned. When they stopped kissing, too breathless to go on, Lan Xichen looked as if he would have gathered every star in the sky, should Nie Huaisang have asked for them. 

"I will talk to Wangji," Lan Xichen promised. "I will convince him… I doubt he'll put up much resistance. He doesn't like that they're using little A-Yuan against him, and he'll like it even less when he find they're using him against me." 

Nie Huaisang agreed, and gave a detailed explanation on how to find his mother's house, and described where he'd hidden some money there, in case if emergency. Nie Huaisang doubted that he would be able to go greet Lan Wangji for fear of attracting attention, but he could provide some help even from a distance. 

"I am for ever in your debt, Huaisang," Lan Xichen said, stealing a quick kiss. "I swear I will repay it. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth about Jin Guangyao, I will force my sect to stand with da-ge. Just hold on a little longer." 

"I trust you," Nie Huaisang replied, stealing a kiss as well. "And until da-ge can see again you are truly his friend, I'll keep practising your song. We're going to save him!" 

"We are," Lan Xichen agreed. 

He looked so happy as he said that, as if it truly mattered to him to help Nie Mingjue, and that in turn made Nie Huaisang’s heart race in his chest. He might forgive Lan Xichen for having sided a while with the wrong sworn brother, he thought. Lan Xichen was doing his best to correct his mistake after all, the way a true friend would do. 

In fact, Nie Huaisang might have already more than half forgiven him.

Still, just to make sure Lan Xichen remembered he had much to gain by doing the right thing, Nie Huaisang kissed him again. Just for safety, he told himself. And the next kiss was to distract Lan Xichen so he wouldn't ask too many questions about Nie Mingjue's current state. 

For the last kiss they shared, Nie Huaisang had no excuses. He had just felt unbearably scared as they both prepared to head home, and he'd wanted a last moment of warmth and tenderness before returning to the coldness and isolation of the Unclean Realm. 

It might not have been his smartest decision to have lost time with that. Dawn was starting to colour the sky when Nie Huaisang finally reached home. Not that it mattered much, he told himself. The secret passage he used to get out was well out of the way. It also wouldn't surprise anyone if he slept later than strictly reasonable once he made it to his room. Or else if he was spotted inside the Unclean Realm, he'd just say he'd wanted to do a bit of bird-watching and got up early. That always worked. 

What he didn't have was an easy explanation being discovered outside the Unclean Realm by his brother, just as he was about to enter that secret passage. 

"I swear it’s not what you think," Nie Huaisang cried out, but the expression on his brother’s face only darkened.

This time, Nie Huaisang was in trouble.

[octania]

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader / Obi Akitaru x Reader ( S/O’s birthday)

Words count: 2.4 k

Warnings: NONE , Just that you may fall hard for this two guys 😂 

Short descriptions: What would Obi and Benimaru do for your birthday to surprise you like no other.

________________________________________________________

Obi Akitaru

Obi is a hyped mess when it comes to your birthday. To be perfectly precise, he starts his adrenaline planning a whole week before. He gathers all the information, that he had carefully stored in his mind due time, about what you enjoy the most, what are your hobbies and preferences. He writes the most important things down in the beginning of, what he calls, your birthday week. The list goes from the little things like your favorite color, favorite food, flowers, books, places, all the way to your dreams and plans for the future. He takes every single thing on that paper seriously and marks them as highly important and also as a guide to your perfect surprise.

Everyone knows that the birthday week planning is starting, they learned it the hard way last year. Don’t be fooled, he did not bother no one by asking for help, actually he tried to do everything by himself, but you can imagine how dealing with a mile long list of your wishes can be more then overwhelming. Hinawa actually found the poor guy sleeping in the garden when he was putting up the lights to decorate it for your romantic dinner that would take place after the party that he also organized single-handedly. His head resting on the white fence, body all covered in wires that had small light bulbs on it, hair messy with traces of flower-shaped- confetti he sprinkled on the grass from the main entrance of the garden, all the way to a nicely decorated table for two where you would have your romantic meal. When Hinawa got closer, he noticed that on the wires of the lights there was something else, some pieces of paper hanging from it. He leaned, peaking, trying to read what was on it. Turned out your man Obi wrote down all the things you made him feel for you, all the things he adored about you and all the things he thinks you made better for him. After that, all the members of the squad insisted they help him next time, and with a charming smile he always has, he agreed and thanked them.

Obi is defiantly a “surprise party” kind of guy. He adores the stunned expression on your face, almost melting like ice in the sun when he sees your cheeks firing up and corners of your lips curled in a shy smile when you walk in the room  themed with your favorite things, full of your friends holding gifts and welcoming you with a cheerful singing of the traditional Happy birthday song. Looking around you and seeing how detailed and crafty the room is decorated with the things you adore, a combination that you could not find even on web sites, makes you glare with pride on your boyfriend, who wants nothing more than your happiness and satisfaction with things he had done for you.

 He would be beside you every moment of the party, making sure you are having the most unforgettable time of your life, being a queen of this event, and your king has you wrapped around his muscular arm at all times. Even when you tell him quietly that he did not have to go through all this trouble for you, he would spin you by the hand, landing you between his arms and on his firm chest, lifting you up by gripping your legs, making you to wrap them around his waist, then he kisses your collarbone, closing his eyes and resting his head under your chin, whispering to you – “How can you say that? I love you (Y/N), and of course I will celebrate the day you were born, because in that moment the other half of me came to this world. I would celebrate every day as this one, because I managed to find you, my soul mate.” 

You would stand frozen, staring at a mountain of boxes of all sizes, wrapped in colorful paper with bows on the top. How many gifts do you think is possible to buy in one week? More than you could count….. Obi takes nothing by chance, and after roaming in every store that he thought contained something you would find amusing, nice, cute, he will get it. He got even the things that reminded him of you, and the things that were reminding him on your intern jokes or situations you two were in together and they were dear to him. The only thing he refused to buy is a big teddy bear. Once you have told him that hugging him  reminded you of hugging those enormous plushy bears and when he leaves you will put his shirt on one of them so you can hug it while he is gone so you don’t miss him, he vowed that the day will never come. But not because he was jealous on the toy, it is because he never wanted to allow you to be lonely and missing him. Buying that bear would mean he admits the day when you will be alone with that stuffed material would come, and there is no way he will let that happen. You sleep right on top of him, while he embraces your whole body with his strong arms, pulling you close so he can hear your every heart beat, making sure you feel his too, letting you know you will never again be alone, you two are one soul in two bodies.

You should bear in mind that the party is not over when the guests leave. Obi would kiss your hand, closing the door after the last person, leaning over you and locking you between his wall of flesh and the door. “I have one more surprise for you, babe.”- his whispers would sink deep into your core, making you shiver when he rest his hands on your waist, squeezing it lightly, massaging it in slow circular motions, while he nibbles on your earlobe. Suddenly, he would pick you up by surprise, carrying you while whispering sweet nothings along your neck, opening the door of his room. Well..not only his anymore. The single person bed is now replaced with a king sized one, and a new and wider wardrobe is placed next to the older and smaller one. You heart race as you see the scented candles illuminating the room with their dim glow. Blue and white orchids are spread out along the bed, and some around it. You turn, looking at him. His face red, smiling but he can’t hide how nervous he really is. He stutters the first few words, but then clears his throat and finishes his question with a tone filled with dedication. “ Move in with me (Y/N). I can’t stand going away from you in the morning any more..I can’t stand calling this house a home any longer, because it is a lie. Until we are living under the same roof,  nothing will feel like home to me. So, please (Y/N), will you stay with me?”

Benimaru Shinmon

You thought Beni looked gloomy before when he took his usual stroll along the streets of Asakusa, but you have seen nothing until he realized a big day is coming up, and he had absolutely no idea how to make it special. Well, at least nothing seemed good enough to him. He had no experience in this area. Sure, he cared for Asakusa, he admired and respected Konro, he liked the twins, but nothing got so deep in that mans chest as you did. So, the same usual treatment when it came to birthdays, to give them something nice and congratulate them, have a nice dinner and go to bed after, was out of the question. 

You were his first girlfriend. He had chances, that is more than obvious, but no one caught his eyes except you, and for the first time, he felt a deep and sincere obligation, or better yet, desire, to show you how much you fascinate him and how differently he sees you from all the rest. In the end, he wanted to express his love for you. Given the fact he was a man of few words, literal meaning of showing is what was left. Telling you how much he cared did not seem special enough, he believed in actions. You can’t just tell a woman that you love her, stupid, you got to prove it.

  Konro, like he had some sort of tracker device installed in him to detect Benimaru’s worries, found out what has been troubling the young captain fast enough. He found it almost adorable, but there is no way he would say that in front of Waka. So, he carefully tried to give him a few advices as always, not being pushy, just helpful. But this time, something unusual happened. Normally, Beni would either listen and say nothing after Konro’s advice, or he would straight up get up and leave, showing how uninterested he is in the matter. But not this time, no. This time, he asked questions. Pointing out his concerns and specifically what he wants to achieve. Konro was puzzled, shocked to say at least. Realizing how deep Benimaru’s emotions are for you, he could not help but smile, messing the young man’s hair like he was a little boy, giving the advice that Benimaru found so useless and cringey at first, his eyebrows narrowed and his face became one big expression of dissatisfaction. “Present her the ways of your heart.” – Seriously Konro? That is all you can give me?

At first, Benimaru had no idea what that meant, but soon enough he realized the meaning when his endless walks took him to the right place. By accident, he stumbled upon a meadow covered with tall grass dancing in a light breeze. He gazed upon the peaceful place, admiring the view he didn’t even notice at first because of how deep he was in his thoughts. Turning around, he noticed a couple of more things that left even him breathless, and now he knew exactly what he wants to do.

 The tender touch of his fingers woke you up. His mismatched eyes glowing with a smooth red light as he gazed upon your sleeping face. Gently caressing your cheeks, he planted a kiss on your forehead, picking you up from the bed without a word, carrying you outside. The clouds were light blue, it was still dark, but it was almost morning. Confused and still half asleep, you murmured some questions about what was he doing and where is he taking you, but he said no word, he just took one of the brigade's matoi, standing on the pole with you still in his arms, and you two took off when he used his Second Generation ability, controlling the flames of other ignited matoi and direct them to a certain place. You held tight, watching the sleeping homes of Asakusa beneath you.

 A golden glow on the tender grass, wind filled with soft petals of sakura flowers, and a view of mighty mountains made you believe Benimaru took you to heaven itself. You could not find the words fast enough when he started walking to the end of the meadow. You realized you were close to the cliff, when he knelt, placing you on the ground, while he was still standing. “Beni?”- you asked, but no answer, he just turned, continuing to approach the cliff dangerously close. Too close. He jumped. 

Your heart sank deep as a hysterical scream escaped your lips. You were paralyzed, could not move or breathe as you watched him disappear. But before your heart stopped from this shock, a raging flame arouse from the depths of the abyss, rising like two wings of the phoenix, painting the already stunningly colored morning sunrise with the art of his flames. Benimaru’s body appeared seconds later, as he was again standing on his matoi, traveling through air, leaving the shapes made of fire behind him. First it reminded you on fireworks, endless explosions of breathtaking colors spreading on the sky’s canvas, but this was different. The more you stared at the flames, the more sense they made. They had shapes. Shapes of people, of houses, they were even words you could now clearly read. His fiery creations appeared faster, almost like they were moving, having a life of their own. Tears started falling down your cheeks as you finally realized what you were looking at. He was telling you a story. A story of how you two first met, how you two fell in love, and how much you mean to him.

You sobbed while Benimaru continued to paint his tale in the rosy clouds, giving them the golden edges with his fire, looking like an angel surrounded with such glow that was out of this world.  He found a perfect way to express his feeling, his determination for you. There were no words or gifts on this world that could be measured with this. When the last string of fire disappeared from the face of the sky, letting the orange sun to take over and illuminate the scene, he landed right in front of you. He knelt , bowing like you were a queen and he was your loyal general, placing his face in your hands that were resting on your legs. He inhaled deeply, collecting the scent of his one true love before he spoke in a calm voice filled with emotion. “Before you (Y/N), my canvas was empty..Now, there are more colors on it that I even knew existed…I hope you understand what I am trying to say..”- he clenched the material of your night gown in his hands, lifting his head to meet your watery gaze. He brushed his cheek against your, leaving the vibrations of his next words on your skin. “Your existence, is a reason for mine.”- he pressed his warm lips on yours, wiping your tears with his fingers. “Happy birthday, (Y/N)… and know this day is the most important one for me.”

[jamie-leah]

War of Wolves (21)

Season 1

Episode 21 - Kill Them All

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word Count: 2160

Warnings: Violence, death, injury, hospitals, swearing

A/N: Well Lovelies this is the penultimate episode. There is only 1 more after this. I feel this part is a little rushed, but the season can't last forever. Enjoy Lovelies and see you on the last one!

<---Previous Episode Next Episode--->

WoW Masterlist. Series Masterlist. Oneshot Masterlist

BUCKY’S POV

All the plans had been made. They had touched down last night and had made it to one of Bucky’s smaller estates.

The plan was to storm the castle. Noah had provided detailed plans of the place and more of Darren’s and Bucky’s men touched down a few hours ago.

The only thing now was timing. Bucky was waiting on a call from Noah to tell them when the best time to strike was. The waiting was killing him.

Agonising hours passed until Bucky got a call from Noah, “tonight. Strike tonight. Harry is gone on business and he’s taken a bunch of men. This is the best you’ll get numbers wise”.

Bucky shakes his head, looking at Steve, “I want Harry there, I can’t let him get away-“.

Steve cuts him off, “if we have a good chance to get her now, take it Buck. We’ll get Harry another time”.

Bucky stares at his friend a little longer before talking to Noah again, “okay. We’ll be there tonight, as soon as its dark. I’ll keep you posted”.

After Bucky hung up that call, he was nonstop, making sure everyone knew what they were doing and where they had to be.

It was pitch black outside when Bucky and his men arrived at the imposing stone structure. It took Bucky no time at all to disable the men posted outside.

Then once everyone was in place at entrance points around the building, he gave the signal. Everyone breached the castle together, Bucky, Steve, and Sam taking the front door.

They enter to find men already taken out and Noah waiting by a set of double wooden doors and knights armour.

Some men came down the stairs, but Bucky left them to Steve and Sam as he strides over to Noah. His only mission was finding you.

Noah guides him over to a knight’s armour and the door behind it. Bucky barely hears Noah over the chaos in the background, “go, I’ll cover the entrance”.

Bucky pats him on the shoulder briefly before stepping over the threshold. The gunfire and shouting sounds muted between the stone walls.

Bucky moves quickly, but quietly, ears straining, and eyes peeled for even a glimpse of you. It had only been a week, but it was the longest of his life. He might as well have gone without breathing for that long.

Urgency danced along every nerve ending and heightened his senses. Something was compelling him to go deeper, further. He could feel you here, somewhere.

As Bucky kept creeping along, he could see what looked like a few cells down the end of the hall. His gut clenched not only at the thought of you being in there for a week but as if he just knew you were there.

Bucky jogs past all the doors in the corridor until he’s standing in front of the cells. They were dark but he could make out a lump on a cot in the first cell.

He strides up to the door and uses his metal arm to rip the lock that was in place, letting the door swing open. He makes his way over quickly but pulls up short at just how small and fragile you look, worse than when he first saw you from the streets.

He almost hesitates to touch you for fear of breaking you. He gently pulls the thin blanket from you and hears you murmur. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the knowledge you were still alive.

As he gets closer, he whispers, “Y/N, doll, it’s me, it’s Bucky”.

He hears you murmur again, “go away”.

Hurt blossoms in his chest at your words but they soon die when he hears you again, “I know it’s not you, you’re in my head. Please go away, it hurts too much to see that it’s not you”.

Bucky gently pulls on your shoulder until you twist. Anger spikes at seeing how hollow you look but he smiles at you softly as he watches you taking him in. He waits, noticing how you linger on his eyes before saying, “Bucky?”.

“Yeah, doll”.

A ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it changes just as Bucky feels a blow to the head. It doesn’t knock him out though as he rolls with the impact further into the cell. He sees stars as he hears you scream from your cot.

He shakes his head to clear his vision in time to see a blonde guy punch you in the face, knocking you out cold. Red is all he sees, fury and rage propelling him to tackle the guy to the ground.

They hit the stone ground hard, rolling with fists flying. Bucky barely even registers the blows as he finally stops the momentum. He grabs the guy by the shirt with his flesh hand and uses his metal hand to keep punching.

Bucky keeps going until he hears bone crunching, until all he can see is the dark red covering his face, until the man stops moving.

Bucky pushes the guy away as he gets up to go to you. He notices how impossibly still you are and the trickle of blood coming from your nose. Bucky lays two fingers on your throat softly. He can feel a pulse but its faint.

He wastes no more time, scooping you up into his arms, holding you close to his body as he practically runs down the hall, urgency nipping at his heels.

As Bucky gets closer to the double doors back to the main foyer, he doesn’t hear anymore gunfire. The battle obviously won.

Noah is still standing by the door, his eyes looking like saucers when they fall onto you.

Steve and Sam hide their emotions better, as Steve says, “some surrendered, what do you want us to-“.

“Kill them”, Bucky doesn’t even stop his stride to the door.

“Buck-“, Sam this time.

Bucky turns to look at the men standing around him. His men. He looks at all of them before saying, “Kill. Them. All. I will not give that order again, are we clear?”.

Bucky doesn’t wait to hear their answers. The sound of gunshots was answer enough.

*2 Days Later*

Bucky had just hung up the phone when Steve walks into the hospital room, “who was that?”.

Bucky scrapes a hand down his face as he sits in the chair next to you again, “it was the doc back home, said he would have a look over Y/N’s medical notes and see if it was safe enough for her to fly back. I want her home when she wakes up”.

Bucky sighs before looking over at Steve, “any sign?”.

Steve shakes his head, “nothing, both of them are in the wind”.

Bucky resists the urge to break things in the hospital. He watches your face, peaceful in the afternoon light to calm down instead. All he could feel was one failure after another for you. The car crashing, letting you get taken, not finding you for a week, and now letting Harry and Isaac disappear.

“It’s not your fault Buck”, Steve says, somehow always reading the thoughts in his head.

Bucky replies, still looking at you, “tell that to her when she wakes up”.

“I won’t have to because she will tell you the exact same thing”, Steve says firmly.

“What am I meant to say to her Steve? That I let that fucker get away? Me? The man that swore to protect her?”, Bucky scoffs.

Steve shuffles until he can look Bucky in the eyes, “you haven’t failed her Bucky. You’re human-“

“Well, I can’t afford to be!”, Bucky roars.

Bucky clenches his fist, biting his tongue until he continues between clenched teeth, “I have too many people counting on me. We may have won the battle this time Steve, but it’s far from over. This is a war and I fully intend to win at any cost. This is a war and I want them all dead. Every last single one of them”.

The silence stretched. Steve didn’t disagree, especially since they went after Peggy and the kids. Bucky sighs again, as if he was being crushed under the weight of everything he insisted he would carry himself, “go home Steve”.

“I’ll head back to the hotel-“.

“No. Home. Go home Steve. Go and see your wife and your kids. Take some time, because it won’t get any easier from here. Not only will we have Harry and Isaac to deal with, but we took a hit. People will be talking, and we need to get a hold of that shit. I don’t want anyone thinking they can take us. I’m still the White fucking Wolf and I need everyone to remember why. So, go home Steve. I’ll be back soon with Y/N”.

Bucky registers Steve’s shoes against the floor, and the click of the door opening. It was a few minutes of silence before Steve murmurs, “you are the White Wolf…but you’re also Bucky Barnes, my best friend, Sam’s best friend. You’re godfather to my children and practically a brother to Peggy. And Y/N? She might as well already be your wife. What I’m saying Punk is, don’t lose sight of who you really are in the midst of this war”.

He lets the words sink in before Bucky hears the click of the door closing. Bucky goes back to studying your face. His eyes tracing the bruises changing colour over your sharp angles. The rise and fall of your chest.

He lets a tear fall as he lays his head lightly on your stomach, hugging you like a lost child would their teddy. This was the first time he ever felt, he ever wished that he was anyone other than a mob boss.

YOUR POV

You come back slowly. To the sound of beeping and the feel of a soft, slightly ridged bed beneath you.

You keep your eyes closed, trying to get a sense with your body if someone is in the room.

When it feels safe enough you open your eyes slowly, not having a choice against the lights in the room. Your eyes water and you let the tears travel down your cheeks as you try not to move.

A quick scan of the room shows there is no one around and the longer you look around the faster memory comes back. You don’t want to believe your eyes. You don’t want to believe that you’re in the med wing of your home, with the thought of Bucky somewhere within. You didn’t want to believe it for fear that you will wake up back in the cell or in that room with Isaac.

But the longer you lay there, staring at every piece of the room, focusing on your breathing the more you realised this isn’t a dream or a hallucination.

You sit up, muscles protesting the movement. It takes you longer to swing your legs out of bed and even longer to stand on your feet.

The first time you try, you crumple like a fawn on new legs, the bed the only thing stopping you from hitting the floor.

Your chest heaving, you try again, standing in one place a little longer before feeling your legs buckle again. You repeat the process a few times, until your shaky legs are strong enough to carry you.

That is when you decide to take everything out. The machines start beeping and you know your time is limited now, people will crowd the room within minutes, but you have to find Bucky first. You have to know this is real.

You hold onto the bed for as long as possible as you let your legs remember how to walk on their own. When you run out of bed you grab a hold of the door, letting it swing out as you follow the wall with your hands.

The halls are empty, and you couldn’t be more grateful as you start to take easier steps closer and closer to Bucky’s office.

As the office comes within sight you hear the door open and he steps out, looking one way and then the other, his eyes landing on you. He was holding a phone to his ear but the moment he sees you he hangs up.

You take him in, both in disbelief at either ends of the hall staring. Your lips part, “Bucky?”.

He strides towards you at the sound of his name, purpose filling every step. He doesn’t hesitate as he reaches you. His hands gentle against your skin as he sweeps you up bridal style. The smell of him fills your nose as you bring your hands up to cup his face.

You stare at him for the longest time, focusing on his eyes and you finally accept that its him as your eyes well up, “Bucky”.

WoW Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh @scuzmunkie @loving-life-my-way @pequenaguaxinim @paranoid-borderline-insane @lilsonbucky @somanyfandomsblog @broco8 @inquisitor-selvala @mad-red @k-n-e @rinkashirikitateku @duhh-danielly @boundtomyfate @kalesrebellion @booktease21 @whatinthyworld @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @asapkyndall @yaszx @amoredashley @aveatquevale- @putinovertime @melimelbean @valsworldofcreativity @lokilokilokilokilokilokilo-blog1 @vesper852 @littlenerdgirl16 @wiccanmetallicrose @aya-fay

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 21/?

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Note: Y/N - Your name

Hello! I'm back! Time for drama!

Idk if this is coming out at the right time, I deadass forgot what day it is and ughughughyh

Warnings: Swearing, Discussion of Mental Illness (undiagnosed), Injury Description, Taunting, Attempted Gaslighting, Attempted Manipulation, Kidnapping, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd (I've missed saying that<3)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20) (Part 21)

Jason was stumbling over his words after telling Y/N that days were blurring together. When a decently loud crash was heard from the lower level of the Wayne Manor. Jason perked up, getting up and trying to stop Y/N from following him down the stairs.

Which was too late. When they turned to go down the hallway, they were both whacked off the back of their heads. Knocking the two of them out almost instantly. Y/N took a few seconds to catch up to Jason in being out, catching a glimpse of the fight going on down the hall. She thought it was Stephanie trying her best to fight off her attacker. But soon enough her vision blurred and blacked.

She fumbled herself awake in the room. She couldn't even take away anything from the room, it was just sawing and turning colours in front of her. She didn't notice anything in the room, the lights were blinding, she didn't even know if it was lighting.

"You're awake," she said.

And then it clicked. That was Aria's voice.

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

Days before the kidnapping of the Waynes.

Aria sat in her office. Clutching the book her twin gave her for Christmas. It was a journal, with details talking about the schedules of the Waynes. If only Y/N had known that the journal she lovingly gave her sister would end up the way it would.

She had doodles, floor plans, schedules. Everything. She wrote it all down from extensive stalking of the Waynes. She was not going to fail at kidnapping the Waynes. She was going to do it, get the ransom from Bruce, and possibly meet heroes. She was going to fight everyone to death who tried to rescue them.

She knew the morning after a Wayne Gala that the entire family would be off-guard. She knew they owned weapons from the fact of the attacks from September. So she had to catch them fully off-guard to pull off their plan.

She looked at her mask. She knew her sister had seen the mask, the cloak. She was still considering off-handedly that she should revamp it all, make it so her sister couldn't call her out. Maybe add a voice changer? She really didn't know.

If it came down to it, if she had the time, she would do it. If not, she would just hope that her sister didn't recognise anything. Crazy? Yes, she was. The brightest lightbulb in the box? Not a chance.

She went over her plans again, adding them to the massive board she already had of the Waynes. The red lines linking all of them, the paparazzi photos. She didn't realise she was that crazy. She didn't realise that she was that much of a cliche.

She thought this was normal. She thought this obsession was okay. She looked at the photos on the wall and the red lines thinking that this was perfect.

She didn't think her sister would even be bad at her for this. She thought her sister would understand, she would get it. She would forgive her and move on. She would understand her need to get close and with the vigilantes and the heroes. She would understand the need to befriend the villains and crooks.

She would. Aria swore she would.

She heard of the Wayne Gala occurring in a few days. She would prepare her weapons when she found out. Shine her scythe. Polish her guns. Polish her daggers. Clean her cloak. Only touch her mask with gloves on. Hour barely appeared in the sight of the vigilantes. They knew she was planning something.

She hoped that fact would make them come for her further.

"Ma'am?" one of her goblins asked.

"Yes. What do you want."

"Lexcorp is hiring," they shook.

"And? Relevance."

"Alter ego, ma'am."

"Noted."

"Ma'am?"

"Get... out!" she screeched.

"Yes ma'am," they said as they hurriedly closed her door.

Yelling was normal for the army she led. She would yell at them at any moment. For no reason.

She thought this was normal, too. She didn't realise people didn't yell at each other for no reason. She was raised to be yelled at. Y/N and Aria were always yelled at.

Y/N used the yelling to turn herself for the better. She thought of it as good parenting that she wouldn't replicate, ever, but she understood it.

Aria had a god complex. She only felt like she was worth it for 30 minutes of the day. And those 30 minutes were thrown into her work as Hour. She refused to work unless she was feeling her best, but if she was planning on kidnapping the Waynes, she'd have to learn to fake it.

Fake it all, fake nothing, fake everything. She was going to do what she wanted, maybe she'd extend those few and fatal 30 minutes of power into hours, into days. She didn't want to feel like this anymore.

She thought about how she was going to kidnap her own sister, her own flesh and blood, and possibly hurt her.

She pushed those thoughts away.

She refused to acknowledge the pain she was going to cause. She hoped there was none.

Y/N would understand, right?

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

Aria groaned, getting up in her childhood room, the one she shared with Y/N. She blinked and tried to cling to her sleep, but to no avail. She was visiting their parents.

She looked over to Y/N's side. Her favourite colour painted the walls she had, all the woods matched. It looked far less messy than Aria's side. She figured it was because she was mentally ill, but not Y/N. But then she thought she wasn't mentally ill, and that Y/N was. Aria couldn't be mentally ill, she was doing the right thing.

The thought still pained her. In a few days, she'd be putting out a ransom for her sister in the news. She'd be threatening her life. She'd be putting her under stress and their parents under stress. If she was caught-

No, she thought. No chance.

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

Present-day.

"Aria?" Y/N questioned, basically in disbelief.

"Shut up!" Aria boomed back at her, "You," she said, lifting up Y/N's head with her long claws. "You are my prized possession."

"Prized," she echoed back.

"Don't worry, love," she said. Y/N winced, she knew her sister called her that. She didn't want to think this was her sister. "You will be just fine. If your parents pay up, that is."

"My parents don't-"

"Did I say you could speak?!"

She shut up. Fuck, she thought. Fuck this. Fuck you. I know that's you, Aria. If you can hear me, I hope you rot.

She didn't even know if that was how she felt. Her brain was spinning, like someone put her on a merry-go-round and left her there, to pick up the pieces. She didn't know how to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. She didn't want this to be her sister, her flesh and blood, the person she shared a womb, a room, parents, cousins, aunts, uncles- she didn't want it to be true!

"Maybe you want to know why I'm doing this," Aria asked the air while pulling Y/N's head up again. "Well, love.

"This is what happens when you date a rich man.

"This is what happens when you flip off the press.

"This is what happens when you find yourself wrapped up in the mess known as the Justice League Association, do you know who they are?

"Of course you don't. They're Batman, The Flash, Green Arrow, Superman, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, Black Canary, Aquaman and more.

"And their proteges, oh my God! Their proteges! You have Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, Spoiler, Orphan.

"And then Kid Flash and Impulse.

"Arrowette and Speedy.

"Superboy, Supergirl.

"Miss Martian.

"Wondergirl and Artemis.

"Aqualad.

"These people, my dear. These people are my nemeses. And I want them gone!" she maniacally laughed, "Dead! All of them!"

"You're... You're Insane!"

"So be it!" she yelled back, striking Y/N's face with her claws. The blood running down her cheek along with her tears. "If I'm insane, then at least I get paid!"

She laughed and left the room.

And there Y/N was, alone in a room where she couldn't even make out details, with blood running down her face. While she was aware that her attacker may even be her little sister. She was terrified. Petrified. Scared.

She wondered where the Waynes were, maybe they were all together? So that she could use them for ransom, maybe she couldn't use Y/N for ransom, so she was left alone in the room.

She wanted to know if they were all safe. Jason and she had only been dating for 6 months, but she did care- love- every member of the Wayne family so much. And she knew that most of the kids struggled with mental illnesses.

She knew them being alone would be detrimental to their mental health.

She also knew that she had no way, no way, of getting to any of them.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day Two / Part One | Hades

Hey lovelies this isn't completely done (this chapter, I mean) but this was a good spot to post it because it's been a while and I'm proud of this part. The next part will be about the same length (I'm guessing) and will be the long awaited bathtub scene! enjoy, and sorry for how ramble-y this chapter is. It's on purpose LOL!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: PTSD in action on both parts, self-loathing

Word count: 2.7k

Previous | Next

Master List

Maybe saying yes is the wrong answer. It certainly goes against the protocol his commander explicitly told him to follow.

Stay inside, Barnes. Keep the curtains closed, limit the amount of lights on inside the house. Don’t let her out of your sight— not even for a second.

It was all basic, day one things that any rookie would know. Bucky is a lot of things but he isn’t a rookie— he’s been around the block his fair share of times and then some. Still, the last thing his commander had told him rings through his ears as he crosses the threshold of the Wilson’s family residence and feels the sun, warm and steady on his face— and on his one, good arm— for the first time in twenty-four hours.

Be a ghost, Barnes, or you might just become one; you understand me?

Bucky had answered yes, again— obviously. Maybe that’s just a thing he does; saying yes when he doesn’t know what else to say. Saying yes when he should be saying anything but.

But what?

But it’s not like it really matters— there was no other choice that time. He’s a soldier, he was given his orders, and— whether he likes it or not— Bucky always follows his orders.

The door creaks shut behind him, a little loud for his liking but the sound of the willow trees snapping in the yard are enough to drown it out for the most part— Well, Bucky always follows most of his orders.

That was also before everything went straight to hell, though— before no one thought to tell him that he's not dealing with a victim; he’s dealing with a survivor. Fucking military— he should have known they’d leave the important details out. They’ve been shoddy since the forties, always squirreling away information from the little guys. Eighty years later, one hundred and six years old, and he’s still a little guy. No closer to gaining an invite to the big kid table than he was at twenty-six when he still had two good arms. If anything he’s further away now, begging for scraps when there was once a point in his life where he at least had a seat somewhere.

With someone.

Nothing’s changed— nothing will change and he doesn’t expect it to— but this time there’s a difference.

There’s a big one.

It’s the canyon between grief and watching your family get slaughtered in front of you; the insurmountable jump from longing for those you’ve lost and having them ripped away from you so violently that you can’t function. Can’t sleep. Wake up scared. Jump away from every touch, every noise, like every shattered vase is out to personally kill you—

Why the fuck wouldn’t they tell him that the girl he’s supposed to be protecting has PTSD? He may be old— the term may be different now— in his day they used to call it shellshock— but it’s yet another thing that hasn’t changed. Nothing ever changes; not really— not for him.

Soldier.

Scientist.

Same fucking difference— the signs are still the same and she has all of them.

He would know— he should have known from the moment he walked through the door— they should have told him!

He saw the pictures. Saw the scarlet circles and lifeless eyes and blood. Fuck, there was so much blood and that was just a grainy photpgraph from a junky projector! He couldn’t smell it— couldn’t taste it— through the pictures but he has an imagination— well, what’s left of one at least. He can’t say he didn’t leave most of his creativity in those hills of Austria— gods only know he left most of everything else there— but even if he had left all of it he wouldn’t have to dig far for a memory of his own. They don’t tell you as a soldier that fresh blood smells like rotting honey— that it lingers in your clothes and hair and on your goddamn lips for hours.

Soldier.

Shooter.

Fucking psychopath with a gun and one arm and snow still shoved so far down his throat that he can’t breathe—

No, if they don’t bother telling their soldiers then there’s no way anyone thought to tell the cherry pie angel. They probably thought it would ruin her sweetness. They probably didn’t even think to tell her at all. Bucky definitely didn’t. He should have. If he had, maybe he would have been able to catch her before the flies ate through her wings completely. Maybe if he had just done his damn job instead of being sucked in by the sticky marmalade of her laughter then he would have seen the way she was melting right in front of his face. July in Brooklyn does that to a person.

It brings the flies to the cherry pie.

The flies to the rotting honey.

The flies to too fucking late— he had twenty-four hours and instead of doing something he just let her sink. Some guard dog he is.

Bucky watches as she gingerly sits on the edge of the white swing, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. She lifts her feet as soon as she’s down, toes hanging a good few inches off the ground as they curl around the thick bayou air, clenching and unclenching rhythmically. They never touch the bamboo mat and her eyes never lift from the shoreline— not even when he takes a couple measured steps towards her. It’s unnerving, to say the very least.

“We can’t stay out here too long.” Bucky isn’t used to speaking this quietly but it feels like if he doesn’t level his voice to match the whispering of the wind across the bulrushes then he’ll be hurting her more than he already has.

Her answer isn’t any louder than his— the only reason he even hears it at all is because he refuses to look away from her. He only hears her because his eyes are already on her lips, willing her to stop sinking her teeth into the soft flesh. Please, please, please stop—

“I just need a few minutes.”

Her eyes are wide and rimmed with red, toes continuing to work against the breeze with the same automatic movements. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. He doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to work the feeling back into them— or maybe like she doesn’t know that she’s doing it at all. Hell, if the way her eyes have glassed over means anything then he would wager that there’s a good chance she doesn’t even fully know she’s outside. Yeah, that’s shellshock alright. Clench. Unclench. Clench. He doesn’t realize he’s copying her movements until his jaw aches.

Unclench.

“I know, doll. I—” He finally tears his gaze from her rigid figure— from her bruised lips— looking as well to the horizon. Maybe she’s on to something; maybe the waves will tell him how to help her— “I know.”

Can they tell him how to help himself? He shuffles forward again, stopping at the edge of the swing, gaze sweeping from the water to the barriers of the premise. Who is he kidding— of course they can’t. This isn’t about his salvation anymore. Those days have more than come and gone. Now it’s about hers— it’s about an assignment and keeping ten toes and ten fingers connected to two legs and two arms. Right now is about an order and Bucky Barnes can certainly follow orders— maybe that’s all he can do.

He gives the shaking girl who— despite everything— is swathed so prettily in the shade of the porch another once over.

Maybe but maybe not too.

Maybe he can’t follow orders at all.

Maybe he can’t afford to think about it for too long.

Because if he can’t follow orders then what can he do?

Bucky is still staring at her when she speaks again but her sudden words still make him jump nonetheless. “There’s room.” Her voice falters for a moment, lips hanging open and eyes faraway, before she continues. “If you want to sit, I mean. There’s room.”

He shouldn’t— he knows he shouldn’t, sitting isn’t a part of his orders— but he does. He couldn’t say no to her if he wanted to.

“Thanks.”

He definitely doesn’t want to say no to her.

“Sure.” Her voice is barely a hum— barely there at all— and he can’t choose whether to look at her lips or her fingers, which are now following suit.

Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.

It’s an impossible decision— much like the ones from his days as a soldier— but it demands a choice from him nonetheless— unlike the ones from his days as a pawn. Her nails drag over the wood, snagging every so often, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Clench. Can she even feel him next to her? Back in the day— before that day— he used to watch his comrades do the same thing. He used to do the same thing. Sometimes he still does. He knows exactly what he would want someone to do for him.

He makes the choice for an impossible decision, wrapping his hand around hers until their fingers are laced together. “You can talk to me, if you want.”

It seems to work, if only marginally, because she stiffens for a moment, fingers flexing around his. Bucky can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, the way she grips his hand so unsure of herself. Is she unsure of herself, though, or is she still lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, drowning in her rotten honey thoughts?

Her hand stills— an answer in itself— before her voice, slowed as though stopped by lips that have been glued shut, sounds. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?”

It’s not what he’s expecting but what else is new— neither was she and yet he’s here, listening to the moments they’re allowed to be outside— all of zero moments, that is— tick away as her toes clench and unclench.

Tick, tick, tick— what would his commander say.

“Yes.”

Steve used to ask him the same thing, Bucky adds silently, but only when they got older.

He supplies, “I think maybe that’s a part of being human.”

Tick, tick, tick— his commander wouldn’t say anything, he would just put Bucky on probation.

Still, he doesn’t rush her— he can’t. He won’t. She just told him she’s drowning; he’s not going to be the ocean to her frenzied attempts to stay afloat. He’ll just hold her hand, and keep looking over her shoulder, and then over his own, and when the time comes he’ll tell her they have to go, because that’s what she’s expecting. He would know— there have been times he’s wanted someone to do the same for him.

Tick, tick, tick— this is worth probation.

“I don’t think I like being human.” She hums back.

No, Bucky wants to say— no, I don’t either, doll.

Being human sucks and he’s not very good at it. He would know, he’s been a lot of things— been compared to a lot of things. Robot. Popsicle. Dog— yeah, he’s a real jack of all trades and so far human isn’t near the top of his ‘favourites’ list. Maybe that’s because if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be any of the other things either— maybe if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be so easily turned into a monster.

Tick, tick, tick— maybe.

Tick, tick, tick— have his thoughts always been so disorganized?

Tick, tick, tick— maybe it’s the shellshock.

Bucky doesn’t say any of that, of course.

What he does say is— “What would you like to be instead?” —as if he can make everything all better himself.

He can try, at least. He’s been compared to a slave too. Being hers doesn’t sound all that bad.

Thunder rolls over head and it sounds more like a grandfather clock— or the impatient tapping of his commander’s fingers— than anything Bucky’s ever heard. Still, he waits to move. Tick, tick, tick. He waits for a lot of things.

Bucky waits for the sky to turn grey— for the first droplets to mix with the salty bay air and blow against his neck and face.

It’s familiar, the sticky, salty rain, and he isn’t expecting it.

He isn’t expecting Delacroix to remind him so much of his own home in Brooklyn.

He isn’t expecting the way that sitting next to this soft creature feels so much like sitting on the docks with Steve the summer before his enlistment. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning— Steve had said it at one hundred but he may as well have said it then, at eighteen, too. Because little did Bucky know, Steve had always felt a little bit like he was drowning and now Bucky, at one hundred and six, always feels a little bit like a bad friend.

Like a bad brother.

Like a bad dog— he should have scented it out all those years ago but instead he just waited.

Tick, tick, tick— all he does is wait.

Bucky waits for her to squeeze his hand once more— for her tiny fingers to alert him that she’s ready to move.

Maybe if Bucky had waited until Steve had told him that he was ready all those years ago then Steve would have waited for Bucky to be ready too. Because as he sits here, his skin turning swampy in the sticky, salty rain he realizes that no, he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers to leave him behind.

He wasn’t ready to face the world alone.

He wasn’t even ready to face Brooklyn alone. Sometimes he still waits at the deli for him and orders the hero sandwich because even though he doesn’t like the absurd amount of pickles, Steve always had. Maybe if he eats enough— and waits long enough— then Steve will come back.

Tick, tick, tick— for a man who isn’t patient, Bucky Barnes sure does do a lot of waiting.

Bucky waits for her answer— because that’s what matters most. Not Steve’s wishes, not his commander’s impatient tapping, not even his own nostalgia that’s starting to make him, too, feel like he’s drowning. He used to love swimming in the Atlantic but when he licks his lips and tastes salt he’s sure it would take a miracle to get him to go in again. It would take a hundred years— or maybe just eighteen— and a push from a man who left Bucky almost as fast as Bucky had left him.

“I want to be a god—” she says it so suddenly that he jolts, eyes scanning their surroundings before realizing it’s just her determined, honey hollow voice sounding from next to him— “I want to be god— or invincible— or anyone but me, I think. I just don’t want to be me anymore. So yeah, I want to be a god.”

She still sounds so far away. Like she’s underwater— like Steve that time he wanted to see if Bucky could hear him scream from under the surf. He couldn’t but he told Steve he could. It doesn’t matter anymore— not right now. Only she does and her airy confession.

It makes Bucky’s heart clench and, as a reflex, so does his hand.

He releases the pressure accordingly— in his hand, not his heart— unclench— and as he does she adds— “and I want to take a bath.”

In that moment, despite his worry for her, he’s ecstatic she isn’t looking at him because if she had been then she would have seen the way his jaw drops. It takes him a moment to answer— a moment to pull himself out of the gutter his frozen-robot-dog brain drags him to— but he settles on one thought in surprisingly record time.

He can’t make her a god but he can sure as hell watch her back if she wants to take a bath.

He can’t make it all better but he can do that no problem.

So of course he stands, squeezing her hand one last time before saying, “okay, doll.”

Maybe Bucky is following orders after all. Maybe it’s a matter of choosing which— whose— orders to follow.

____________

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