#I cannot fucking breathe I had to make this the second I saw the post

[minarisplaything]

Blackpink in Your Area (p1) ft. Jennie Kim

Pairing: Jennie Kim x Male!Reader Rating: Explicit / Mature Wordcount: 1.6k Summary: After her latest performance you find yourself sneaking backstage with your girlfriend.

AN: some context, this was made...god around the time of their first world tour? so writing wise it might not follow the same rhythm of my current stuff. but it's a personal fave i've had privately that i figure fuck it i might as well post it now. if you want to read a TWICE converted version of this chapter with Nayeon you can find it on my AFF profile but this is the OG never published version. Enjoy!

"Where are we going?"

"Ssh. Just come on!"

The accented voice leaves little room for argument as the owner's hand pulls you down another corridor. It seems with every turn you get further and further lost — which is likely the point. However, Jennie seems to know exactly where she is going, a small comfort at least. She pulls you down another tight passage then stops, pressing you against the cold wall. Instinctively you hold your breath before realizing you have no reason to — or at least you hope you don't.

"Jennie, you're acting like we're running from the cops," you speak, your voice a hushed whisper despite your previous reasoning.

"They might as well be the police," she responds, glancing back the way you came.

After another moment, she must be pleased that there is no one following you and turns to face you, a mischievous grin on her features. Without a word, she cups your face with her hands, bringing your lips down to meet hers in a slow, greedy kiss. Whatever concerns or confusion you had previously begin to fade away as your hands find their way around her. It has been so long since you had a moment together that you had forgotten how easy it was to melt into her embrace.

She pulls back, her nose brushing against yours. "If anyone saw us," even with your eyes closed, you can hear the relief and satisfaction in her voice. The kiss had the same effect on you. "This would be over and my career would be on the line," she places a kiss to your jaw as she speaks.

It is a bittersweet truth. What you have is masked in darkness and secrecy; not even the other members of her group know about you. If it were ever revealed to the public, not only would the fans and paparazzi eat you alive, dating is strictly against her company's rules. You always said that you would end things with her before you ever let that happen to her.

You feel her palm running over your cheek, your distressed thoughts likely showing on your face as your brow furrows. "Don't think about that now," she presses another kiss to your lips, then another and another; giving you plenty of time to notice just how soft and irresistible her lips are. By the fourth kiss, you are eagerly kissing her back, your hands sliding from her waist up her back, pulling her closer than you already were.

This time around your embrace is needier, hungrier; as if every second you were living on borrowed time. You feel her hands move from your cheek up into your hair, fingers running through and gripping at the short strands. Her teeth dig into your bottom lip, tugging on it while she peers up at you with those killer eyes of hers. The sight alone is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"I need you," she says when she lets go, "Right here. Now."

As she speaks, one hand slides down from your hair, running over your chest and rubbing over your slacks. Her palm encourages the bulge that is growing there and you cannot deny that your arousal doesn't just come from her but the fact that at any moment you could be discovered. It is exhilarating in its own way. Adrenaline and lust are a dangerous concoction on any night but here with Jennie, it seems especially so.

You agree without a word, only giving a small nod of your head before you are spinning her around so her ass is jutting out to you while her hands splay against the opposite wall. She is still dressed in her stage outfit from the earlier performance, which doesn't help to subdue your eager hands in the least. She is stunning in every way, yet when she is on stage she still somehow seems to magnify that. Seeing the outfit just brings back memories of watching her earlier that night.

"Need some help there?" A teasing voice breaks you from your momentary recollection. Jennie is glancing over her shoulder at you, brunette hair partially masking her features. She has a vixen side to her and truth be told, you are used to her taking control and being in charge, but you also know that you cannot let this opportunity she is giving you go to waste.

In return, you offer her a smirk of your own, "Merely admiring the view." Though given your time and place, this is hardly the moment for appreciation.

You push her plaid skirt up, your hand dipping between her thighs. "You've soaked right through your training shorts, baby," you try to keep the arousal out of your voice, but the husky facade cracks just a bit. Jennie moans in response; the notion turns you on just as much as it does her clearly. "Just how long were you thinking about this?"

At first, it is a rhetorical question, but as your wrist snaps back and forth, fingers getting her off over her clothing, you find yourself eagerly waiting for an answer. Jennie does not give any; her breath comes out in quick hiccups. She leans further into the wall, her hips pressing out closer to you in obvious need. "Were you thinking about it during your performance?"

"Y-Yes..." she manages, her own hand reaching back to grip your wrist, refusing to let you stop. "When I saw you in the crowd — oh god."

You can tell she is going further and further down the rabbit hole. Her New Zealand accent becomes more pronounced the more aroused she gets. An astute observation you have made over your time together. It is not the only sign either; she is biting down on her plump bottom lip and her thighs are clenching deliciously around your hand.

Satisfied with her answer, you lean over her, your breath hot against the shell of her ear. "Baby, we don't have much time."

The idol takes a moment before she nods in response, her grip loosening on your hand. Your fingers deftly move from between her thighs to her waistband, pulling down her spanks to expose her to the night air. You make quick work of your pants buckle, or at least you try to. Your own eagerness causes your hands to fumble with it for a second before finally getting it undone and unzipped.

"Oh fuck..." Jennie moans loudly as you slide your length into her, and it is the most heavenly sound in existence. In any other time, you might've clasped one hand on her mouth to muffle the moans lest you be discovered, but in this moment, caution is thrown to the wind.

You can feel your cock swelling even further once you are inside her; the walls of her pussy clamping down on you. It takes you one thrust, then another before you are in to the hilt, a deep groan rumbling from your chest past your lips as you take a moment to revel in the sensation. That moment is all you allow yourself, however. Comparing it to the earlier kiss that had been the slow and eager first embrace; what comes next is pure hunger and lust.

Your hands grip her waist tighter as you pull out of her, hips snapping forward to meet hers. Another delicious moan reaches your ears as she lets her head fall back. Each thrust is harder and faster than the last, desperate to be with her and to have her coming undone in pleasure. Of course, to do that, you have to hold yourself together as well, and that is no easy task. "God, you feel so good."

The sound of skin slapping together begins to fill the space you have tucked into, mixing with the heavy breaths and moans that fill the air. You lean over her, one hand moving to turn her face towards you as your lips meet in a sloppy embrace. "I love seeing you like this. I want to make you feel this good all the time."

Jennie only moans in response, her mouth hanging open as she takes every inch of you. Your free hand moves from her waist to her chest; fondling her breast through her top. You have enough sense not to be so aggressive that you pop a button, but it is a tall task. The last thing you need is questions from the costume department.

"Fuck, right there," her hand reaches back, grabbing at your ass to force your cock back to hitting the same spot. Jennie is so used to being in control that you are almost tempted to deny her request. And maybe in a different time and place, you would have teased her for a bit before giving in. Now, however, you do not even have control over yourself, let alone strength to tease her. All you can do is what she asks of you. Hips move frantically to fulfill her desire, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Her nails dig into your skin, and you can feel your own release coming as well. "I — I'm close!" you grunt in warning.

"Hold on, baby. Hold on, I'm almost there... almost...!" she goes quiet; her body tightening as her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her eyes shut tight as her orgasm runs through her. Fingers dig into the back of your neck as she comes, and it is just might've been the most beautiful thing you have witnessed since her last one. Jennie has never been the loudest when she comes undone, yet it is still enough for you to reach your breaking point.

"JENNIE?!"

Suddenly, a voice cries out, causing you to physically jump back, your cock springing free of Jennie's pussy, cum shooting in the air. When you look in the direction of the out crying voice, you are both aroused and horrified.

There stands Jennie's group-mate and best friend, Jisoo, her face coated in your cum.

"...Oh fuck..."

[stargirlrchive]

folklore: invisible string ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ folklore masterlist

summary: jake sully x female!reader, no use of y/n, fluffy goodness, so sweet TW!! eluded to death due to child birth

word count: 1,828

sempul (n) - father ; sa’nok (n) - mother

‘ite (n) - daughter ; ‘itan (n) - son

tanhì (n) - star ; tsuk/tsmuk (n) - brother

atokirina (n) - woodsprites ; seeds of the sacred tree

comments: cannot believe we are done w/ the series! this is so sweet, my pookie <3 (reader) is so happy so fucking deserved like my bae went through hell and back LMAOOO thank you so so much for the support y’all have given the folklore series, it really does mean the world to me. i will be posting few a drabbles for the story, just some things i wanted added  but was never able to make fit correctly (i have 3 little idea so far, so folklore isn't really over haha) okok bye mwahhh ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

previous ✩

It took so much time to get the children to trust you and Jake again, not that you blamed them. You did keep such a big part of your life locked away, and it was hard to believe that you had really mated. It was more so hard for them to trust Jake again, because despite your persistence in trying to ease the tension they couldn’t believe it. They couldn’t believe their father was capable of doing that.

However things changed many months down the line when Neteyam found you near the coastline, paler than normal and burning in fever. “Sa’nok! Are you okay?”

“Mhm!”

You felt bile quickly rising up your throat, trying to force its way out of your mouth. You took deep breaths to try and still the rapid beating of your heart. You had chills wracking your body and you were dizzy as you stumbled slightly towards your eldest son. “Take me to Ronal?”

Neteyam’s mind was racing, brain trying to come up with what illness was causing all your symptoms but his brain was coming up blank. He led you quickly to Ronal, not caring who he bumped into as he noticed how hard it was for you to focus, “Ms.Ronal-Ma’Sa’nok is unwell.”

Neteyam was nibbling on his lip nervously, helping you lay down as Ronal tsk’ed quietly.

You were a dull blue, body sticky with cold sweat and Ronal had a feeling. She already knew the second Neteyam brought you in. Ronal laughed quietly, shaking her head in amusement as she began her evaluation. Poking lightly at your palms and stomach, pushing down with gentle fingers to your abdomen and she was unsurprised to find that your stomach felt hard. The tiniest of bumps protruding from your belly as you laid flat on the floor, “Neteyam, bring your father.”

Neteyam was up quickly, running through the sea of Metkayina Na’vi as he looked for his father. After what felt like hours, Neteyam found Jake. He was past the reef, training Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk to do who knows what. “Sir! Ma’ is sick!”

Jake willed his Ilu to move quickly through the water, worry pumping through his veins as he saw his oldest son so distraught. “What do you mean, ‘itan?”

“She-we were by the shore and she just got really sick. I took her to the Tsahik and Ms.Ronal asked me to get you. I-I don’t know anything else.”

Jake rode his Ilu as close to the shore as he could, sprinting out of the water to make it to you as fast as possible. His heart pumping so fast he heard it beating in his ears, ignoring the Na’vi greeting him. He felt sick, hundreds of possibilities swirling through his mind and they were all negative. Things had just started to look up and though uncommon for Na’vi’s to pass away from illness at such a young age he couldn't help but doubt in the Great Mother. Everything he touched burnt out, fizzled and turned to ash. The thought of something terrible happening to you was far too much for him to accept.

He bursted through Ronal’s mauri, causing the Tsahik to jump slightly at the unexpected commotion. Her eyes squinted at him in annoyance, “You scared me!”

Jake ignored her, “What’s wrong with her?”

His hands balled into fist, nerves wracking his whole body as he saw how hard it was for you to keep your eyes open. “Nothing is wrong with her-she is pregnant.”

Jake’s mouth fell slack, eyes blinking rapidly as he froze before Ronal. “Wha-are you sure?”

Ronal’s eyes rolled, standing up as her own babe began to whine not far behind them. She picked up the small girl up and began rocking her as she made her way outside of the mauri. “Of course I am sure. She most likely did not eat today and the heat exhausted her.”

Jake was watching you and tears welled his eyes, a watery laugh left his throat as he sank down beside you. “I have left her something to eat, and some remedies to help with the nausea.”

- pandora, awa’tula, 2173 -

You groaned uncomfortably, thump after thump pressing against your stomach as you sat cross legged on the mauri floor. Trying to weave a bracelet despite the discomfort in your stomach. Jake was trying hard not to laugh, you were so stubborn and refused to let him assist you.

He cradled Ney’la in his arms, the three year old girl babbling happily as she pulled at his hair. Tuk was pressed tightly beside you, making a necklace for her youngest sister. She was so happy to no longer be the baby of the family. “Sa’nok, are you okay?”

You forced a smile as the twelve year old pressed a hand to your swollen bump, trying to comfort you as best she could. “Yes sweet girl, tanhì just keeps kicking tonight.”

A quiet laugh left Jake’s throat and your eyes narrowed in on him, glaring softly and it instantly shut him up. “Tuk, take Ney’la outside with your siblings.”

As soon as Tuk stepped outside of the mauri with your youngest you grumbled at Jake, “Do not come near me.”

He crawled his way to you, biting back a smile, “Why not?”

“I am in this predicament because of you.” Your words held no bite, and Jake cooed softly, “But you look so pretty when you're carrying my babies.”

Your cheeks burned, your tail betraying you as it thumped excitedly. “Shut up.”

“Gonna fill you up with more.”

You whined his name, “Stop!”

He laughed, pulling the unfinished bracelet from your hand. He maneuvered you around so your back pressed to his chest, hands laying flat against your swollen belly. Rubbing gently against your skin, your whole body melted against his. Jake nibbled right below your ear, and your eyes fluttered shut, “I think I have to if we don’t get a boy. Can’t be outnumbered.”

Your tail curled around his leg, ears fluttering happily. “You are a menace.”

Jake laughed so hard your whole body shook, a small smile fighting its way onto your face. After a few moments of silence Jake placed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hands continuing their movements on your stomach and the constant kicking finally stopped. “Seems like all tanhì wanted was my attention.”

“Apparently so.”

Seconds later your mauri was filled with loud chatter, all five of your children rushing in, chasing after Ney’la. She instantly ran into your arms, giggling wildly as she tried to escape them. “Ma!”

“Sa’nok she is already trying to ride an Ilu.”

Neteyam was beaming down at you, proud of his youngest sister. “Is she now?”

Your finger dug into the small girl's stomach, loud laughs leaving her mouth as she tried to squirm away from you. When she finally did, she ran straight into Lo’ak’s arm. “Tsuk!”

They all settled besides you and Jake, chatting about their day as Tuk played happily with Ney’la. Kiri picked up your unfinished bracelet, following the pattern you created all while she pretended to ignore the conversation her brothers were having.

A small content sigh left your mouth, it was in the smallest of moments when you felt happiest. Just you, your children and your mate, spending hours in each other's presence, talking about anything and everything. Happy tears rushed to your eyes as it hit how all your deepest desires became true. Everything your heart yearned for was finally yours. You sent Eywa a small prayer, thanking her for the life you lived.

Jake traced small shapes into your stomach, whispering quietly by your ear, “Thank you.”

Your face turned to him, looking up and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He was feeling everything you were too. You pressed a small kiss to his cheek, nuzzling your face against his softly.

The three older kids caught the small moment, sharing a knowing look between one another, small smiles on their faces. “You two are being gross.”

“Lo’ak!”

A laugh rippled through your mouth as Kiri smacked him on the head. “Sorry-sorry.”

But the laughs didn't stop, Jake finding your own so infectious it caused some of his own. Soon you were all laughing so hard, stomach hurting from how happy you all were.

Ney’la was looking around confused, it was evident in her face as her brows pinched together. “Lo’ak funny?”

You motioned for her and the small girl ran into your arms again, nuzzling into your chest as you patted her hair, “Yes ‘ite. Lo’ak is so funny.”

Jake’s arms wrapped around the both of you, rocking you slightly and sleep began to find the small girl. Her fingers found their way to your ear, rubbing the pointest part as her eyes drooped low.

Tuk made her way to the three of you, smiling shyly up at you. “What is it ‘ite?”

“Wanna hear a story. Of you and Sempul.”

Your ears fluttered softly, “What story?”

She contemplated for a few seconds, thinking of what she wanted to know. Her eyes lit up before she spoke, ‘When you met!“

Jake groaned, that was so embarrassing for him. “Well, your Ma’Neytiri had dragged me into the forest. It was late and-” You laughed quietly, “I was never allowed out past eclipse but Neytiri convinced me to go. This was back when the clan still lived in Home Tree.”

You pulled Tuk into your arms, her head resting on your shoulder. “Then she wandered off and I was left alone, I think she thought I was following behind her because she never left me to fend for myself.”

A sad smile littered your features, memories of your dearest friend warming your heart, “Anyway I see this really tall Na’vi, with sky-people clothes and I just began to panic.”

Jake grumbled quietly, “You tried to kill me.”

You shushed him, “All I remember was I had him pinned to the floor and I had Zewlay’s knife pressed to his throat.”

All the kids laughed quietly, a small smile littered your features as you recalled the memory. “Then, hundreds of Atokirina surrounded the two of us and I knew that was a sign from Eywa that your Sempul had a greater purpose.”

Jake pressed a tiny kiss to your shoulder, moving to scoop Ney’la into his arms. “Then your Sa’nok found us, she saw all the woodsprite and we made the decision to take him back to Home Tree and present him to Mo’at, the rest well-you know.”

There was a small moment of comfortable silence before the normally loud chatter encompassed your mauri once again. Your hand traced small shapes on your own belly, utter happiness nestled into your chest. Memories flooded your mind, stories all blending together, tied by some golden invisible string that brought Jake to you.

fin ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

All I Have Is Yours

Chapter Two

Rated Explicit | Warnings: rough sex (past), semi-dubcon, norton is trying tm

tagging: @tfamidoingwithmylife

Ao3

Chapter One

A New Year's wedding is what your family is talking about currently, not that you are paying much attention to it. In the moment, as they talk about all the ceremonial stuff in the other room, the living room, Norton held all of your actual attention.

It was rocky this past month learning one another, him trying not to scare you with his mood swings but the voice sometimes gets too loud. When he sees you gazing upon him with love in your eyes when you say sweet words, or how you try to include him into this foreign lifestyle. He more than once heard the voice telling him to shut you up.

The words you say with a gentle smile or wide full smile. Everything you say replays in his head when alone.

“You look dashing, Norton.” Fixing his tie and brushing it down.

“Do you like it? I wasn’t sure if you liked sweets.” A mess from trying to bake a variety of cakes with your maid.

“Oh, and if you look there you see the lake! It gets frozen pretty quick in the winter and people ice skate on it.” You smile with endless cheer.

The madness it drives him into! The inner struggle you created within him and Norton found himself at one point losing the battle. Two weeks into the marriage, when you were explaining your father's assets, finances, and estate. Norton was one of the very few miners that could read, granted it was not on your level but he could at least read his father's journal and the posts on board for work.

The voice was too loud that day, you were— Are— too beautiful that day. God, he wishes he could blame anything but himself but in the end, he should have left the second he felt the pain in his chest and whispers becoming twisted. The voice, this darkness within him, made him believe and realize how much he wanted to fuck you like a whore. Of course, it is because this is going to be the ultimate way to get back your father, to ruin the dead fool’s sweet precious brat.

One second he turns to you, the next, you are under him on the desk.

You lay there staring up at him with wide eyes then covering your face with your hands.

“Please, be gentle.” Trembling as he crawls on the bed then up your body, “Norton.” He hates how scared you sounded on that day when the wind was howling outside and the house was warm but he felt cold. The chanting of take the brat, make them squeal, break them, Norton! Echoing in his head over and over. Norton’s hands shook, his breathing was heavy as if he had run a mile, and his body tense. There will be no point of return for both of you.

He never laid with anyone before nor have you. The moment was not as ideal as you wanted, he was rough and it hurt a lot. The moment made Norton feel like a monster as he saw you crying in pain.

That is why right now, in the smoking room, door locking, the former prospector is doing everything possible to make this experience enjoyable: for both of you.

You took initiative, you stopped him from meeting the family, you locked the door, you got on your knees, and took him into your mouth.

Norton is a mess, the sort of mess to be fighting to keep quiet while also saying how fucking hot you look like this. He didn't cum, no, he knew it would be too soon.

“Stay like that for me.” His voice rough and unfiltered desire, “God.” Slicking his hair back as he takes in the view of you partly dressed and flustered. Your makeup is ruined, he grins at the way you cannot hold his gaze. “What inspired this, my treasure?”

“...” You shrugged.

“Sit.” Standing up and moving around to stand behind you, “Legs over the armrests.” You do so. Norton wants you completely exposed.

There you are in nothing but your smalls completely on display for his eyes only. You kissed him back eagerly, his lips kissing your lips then your forehead as he kneels in front of you.

“You don't have to.” Shy.

“I do. I want to.” Assertive, yet gentle.

Slipping off your underwear, he can see how wet you are. A hint of pride in his smirk as he barely touched you, of course, the man before you blew him was grinding his leg between yours. Touching everywhere, marking every place he could reach, whispering in your ear how naughty of a thing you are.

“Ah—!” Sensitive as all Norton did was trace the outer lip of your cunt. “Hmm!” Cover your mouth with both hands.

Next time he is going to tie your hands behind your back. For now, he thinks it is cute how though married to you, you keep your voice down because family is nearby. A part of him wants it to be clearly announced how well fucked you are daily. Because you are his and just one taste of you is not enough.

Your legs squeezing and locked behind his head, your heads pulling forward as Norton, the hum of approval he makes has you telling him not to stop. He devours you like you are his last meal, one he does not care how messy his face and hair are after this. There will be pride in knowing how his disheveled appearance happened.

“Oh, there, please!” His fingers assist and find something that has you seeing stars. “Ah, Norton, Norton, my love!”

This time is a lot better, when his eyes land on your face it is not contorted in pain but the bliss you deserved and are owed the first time. He was apologetic after, he did anything and everything he could to try to fix his mistake. Even when you told him you understood, giving him mercy where he felt he needed penance.

“One more for me, (Name).”

One more, one more became two more and you struggled to keep your voice down.

When he finally sank his cock into your heat, Norton did not move immediately. He waited with you writhing under him begging him to move. “Sh, sh, I've got you.” Kissing you sharing the taste of one another as you both explored each other's mouth.

“I need you, Norton!” Whining, “Please, please.” This torturous to have him properly only to have stopped. His hands soothing you, his sweet nothing making your pussy squeeze around him.

“You like that idea?” Teasing you when he told you his promise to fuck you in every spot in the room. “I am willing to bet you thought this a lot.” He groans as helps you grind against him. Barely any relief but it is something! “Go on, say it.” The position switched to him sitting and you on his lap, naked while he still had his pants and shoes on.

“Norton.” You can barely think! The laugh, dark and rich, you could feel it against your chest. “A… A lot.” Everyone has fantasies!

“Heh, you got it bad for me.” As if he is any better with you chipping at his walls with your damn genuine love for him.

“I love you.” Moaning too loud when you finally, God finally, can move properly. The growl from your husband hits in a way unexpected. Your hands on his shoulders as you ride him— Not that greatly but Norton makes up for it by guiding you.

Over and over, the bliss is shared and found, you kiss him over and over, and Norton marks you shamelessly.

“Inside,” Panting, “Need.”

“Damnit.” You are too good for him.

When you cum, he cums with you. Romantic and not intentional, it is far more amazing than last time. Seeing you drunk from his cock is… Inspiring.

“The pool table.”

You hum softly not paying attention until you are caught by surprise to be lifted in his arms then pinned down on the table he said. “Norton?”

“I promised to take you on every piece of furniture here, my doting love.”

Neither of you heard the knock from the maid who smiles hearing two. Though now the butler is going to have to distract your family longer…

[deancasbigbang]

Title: work song

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden

Artist: tallula03

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Length: 70000

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Murder Husbands, Revenge, Canon-Typical Violence, Break Up and Make Up, Mutual Pining, Getting Back Together, Criminal!Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Two years ago, Dean Winchester's life came crashing to a halt when his boyfriend, Castiel Novak, died in a tragic accident. After painstakingly putting his life back together, Dean goes on a vacation with his best friend, where he sees a face he never thought he would see again. Now reunited, Castiel tells Dean the truth about his past and the reason for his disappearance. However, all is not well--Dean cannot move past Cas' betrayal and lies, and the ghosts from Cas' past refuse to remain there. With danger looming, Dean and Cas start on a mission of revenge and justice, but they're badly outnumbered. With the hurt of the past colliding with the fragile promise of the future, Dean and Castiel need to learn how to create a new path--or else risk being lost forever.

Excerpt: Dean settles on the edge of the couch, ready to jump away at a moment’s notice. The surrealness of the situation — him, talking to Castiel two years after he thought Cas died, furious instead of joyful, wanting nothing more than to flee from Cas as fast as he can — would flatten him if he thought about it for longer than two seconds.  So he just doesn’t think about it. He sits and he waits.  Cas takes a long time to get to the point, twisting his fingers around each other, so abruptly that Dean winces at the sharp pop of his knuckles. Cas stares at a stain on the carpet like the secrets to the universe are written in its oblong edges.  By the time Cas finally speaks, Dean is ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. He’s ready for Cas to yell at him, to call him pathetic. He just wants Cas to say something, but he’s completely unprepared for what Cas does eventually say.  “You are…” Cas’ throat bobs as he says, with an inflection that sounds like something soft and small dying, “were… one of the most important things in my life. The most important thing in my life.”  Cas sounds so sincere. Dean could almost believe him.  “I never would have left if I had the choice. Those two years I spent with you… They were the happiest of my life.”  Cas takes a deep breath, fortifying himself. Dean does the same, rebuilding his wall that had started to crack at the first sign of Cas’ vulnerability. He’s imagining everything from Cas actually admitting that he’s just shit at breaking up with someone and couldn’t figure out a different way to end the relationship, to Cas saying that he had to flee due to problems with the IRS. “When I said you were in danger… Dean, I wasn’t lying. When I first met you, I had been on the run for over a year. I knew that staying with you was only tempting fate — bringing danger right to your doorstep — but I couldn’t help myself. You were so…” Castiel swallows. His hands are clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are bleeding white. “And for two years, I thought it might be all right. I thought… I thought maybe I was allowed to have you. But then I saw someone from my past, and I knew that if they had managed to find me, they could threaten you. They could hurt you.”  “Hurt me? Cas, I don’t—”  He doesn’t know what to expect, but he still couldn’t have prepared himself for what Cas says next.  “Dean, I was a member of the Archangel crime organization until it was taken over by Lucifer Morningstar. I was on the run because he put a bounty on my head, and I know you might not believe this, but the reason I left was to protect you.”  Fucking what?

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[therunawaykind]

When You Love Somebody

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None? honestly, I can't remember I wrote this back in May

A/N: Long time no see! I finally have time to post something for you all again! I'm pretty sure this stemmed from a prompt @writing-house-of-m gave me months ago that I for the life of me cannot remember anymore. This very much could be a disaster and mess of writing but nonetheless, enjoy!

| MASTERLIST | DISCORD | GET NOTIFIED OF MY STORIES |

*Please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

At the start, people were very much against the idea of you pursuing and starting this long-distance relationship…of course, it's completely understandable why the people you knew would be hesitant about something like this. The one consolation you had for this whole experience was that you had met your now girlfriend's twin brother whilst he was on exchange at the college you were currently studying at. You had gotten friendly with the twin who you now knew as Pietro due to being one of the many people in charge of giving information to any exchange or new students. As well as giving campus tours and any queries these students may have regarding the college and accommodation.  

It was on a random afternoon when Pietro was hanging out in your apartment when he got the notification of a Facetime call coming through, being respectable you offered to leave the room whilst he talked to whoever it was for his own privacy worried in case it was his anyone from his family or a significant other. He quickly turned down and dismissed your offer stating that it was only his younger sister. Sitting at the other end of the sofa scrolling on your phone in an attempt to give him at least some privacy whilst they talked….you quickly realised he had all the privacy he wanted and needed as they both started conversing in their native tongue.

Chuckling to yourself as you threw your phone onto the coffee table to start looking through the cupboards to search for what you could make for dinner. As you started taking out the pots and pans the mention of your name made your head shoot up subsequently hitting your head off of the open cupboard, muttering a quiet “fuck” under your breath. You take a deep breath and rub the back of your head as you hear Pietro call out to you “Hey Y/N c’mere a sec I wanna introduce you to Wanda…annndd she also kinda wants to say hi since she saw you in the background.” Your eyes went wide as you realised Wanda Pietro’s younger sister had just seen you go through that whole predicament. 

Sheepishly making your way over behind Pietro to introduce yourself, you waved slowly as you started to furrow your eyebrows “Hey Piet… I thought you said that your sister was younger.” You chuckled slightly at the gasp that left Wanda’s mouth as she started cursing and muttering at Pietro in their native language again as Pietro fell back laughing on the sofa. Glancing between Pietro and Wanda seeing her eyebrow arch as she silently tells him to share the truth, between laboured breaths he starts to sit up saying “Technically technically she is my younger sister-” smirking as you hear Wanda clear her throat “However she is my twin sister I am just 12 minutes older.” You nod your head slowly and let out a quiet “Oh okay cool.” Clearing your throat as you scratch the side of your neck nervously “Hey Wanda can… can I ask you something.” As Wanda turns her attention towards you she grins and rests her chin on her hand “Sure what’s up?” 

“Did you..did you uhh see everything that happened back there a few minutes ago?” 

The second Wanda starts to smirk you know the answer as she slowly nods her head “Oh yeah Y/N I saw everything.”  You purse your lips and nod your head as you start rambling “Cool cool cool cool.” 

Pietro suddenly snaps out of whatever daze he was in “Huh? What, what happened Y/N/N what happened what did I miss that happened to you?” You smirk and pat him on the shoulder “Nothing Piet don’t worry about it. I better get back to making dinner but Wanda it was nice meeting you and hopefully, we can talk again at some stage.” Giving her a lil two-finger salute in goodbye as you spin around on your heels to go continue making dinner. 

What you missed was Pietro smirking to himself and Wanda as he wiggles his eyebrows and she swiftly tells him to shut it. 

It was from that moment on you and Wanda started contacting and talking to each other…Wanda boldly asked Pietro if he could get your number for her, you naively thinking it was innocent and Wanda just wanted to be friendly, not realising it would lead you both to now. 

Packing your suitcases with Pietro for another one of your visits to Sokovia, granted you had been able to pack by yourself to go to Sokovia before. But Pietro warned you this time around you would need his help. The reason being it's winter in Sokovia and you’d severely underestimate just how cold it is during that time and under pack hugely and he really couldn’t handle dealing with the wrath of his sister. Wanda had come to visit you from time to time overall it was just easier for you to visit her on the regular with your college and work schedule being so flexible. 

As the aeroplane started to descend to the runaway you looked out the window and saw just how much snow Sokovia was covered in an amazed “woah” came from your mouth. As you manoeuvred your way through baggage claim and the airport. Whilst you have witnessed and experienced snow back home..this was unlike anything else you’ve ever seen, stepping outside and taking a deep breath in as your eyes scan the exit of the airport taking in all the hustle and bustle whilst also attempting to catch a glimpse of your brunette covered in a beanie and bundled in layers.

Rocking back and forth on your heels as you look around the parking lot you smirk to yourself when you see the beanie-covered head coming your way with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat. Exhaling the breath you were holding and smiling to yourself as your breath clouded the cold air in front of you, slowly approaching the grinning brune- redhead? You wrap your free arm around your torso in an attempt to keep in the little warmth you have as you state “You changed the colour of your hair.” 

“Wow no hi, hello, how’s my lovely girlfriend doing? But yes I did, I did I wanted it to be a surprise. You- you don’t hate it do you?” Wanda brings her hands up to the hair that’s cascading down her shoulders touching and playing with it insecurely. “No no! God no! I like it. It’s just the last time we talked…well you were brunette so I was expecting a brunette to come pick me up.” Wanda lets out a sarcastic laugh as she shoves you and notices your teeth start to chatter “Yeah, yeah alright come on before you turn to ice.” Sighing to yourself in relief as you sat into Wanda’s car feeling the warmth inside heating you up, placing your head back against the headrest as you shut your eyes making sure to catch up on all the things you both missed out on as you prepared for the journey to Wanda’s house. 

After a few hours of getting settled into Wanda and her family's home, you assumed the feeling of cold would’ve disappeared by now however that wasn’t the case. You were sitting on the floor in front of their fire with a fluffy blanket wrapped around you with your warmest clothes on trying to get warm. Wanda was lying across the sofa relaxing whilst her parents were sitting together on a separate sofa relaxing as if this was an ordinary day and….actually functioning as normal human beings. Wanda propped herself up on the couch leaning her hand against her temple as she stared at you despairingly as she sighed “Y/N/N honey come up here will you please and lemme try help and get you warm?” As you turned around to face Wanda the only way she could describe the expression you had on your face was pure stubbornness that you couldn’t succeed in getting yourself warm. She smirked to herself and her parents as she glanced at them quickly whilst she was reaching for yet another blanket at the bottom of the sofa to drape it over both you and her. 

The dip in the cushions of the sofa made her look up at you and grin lovingly as she threw the ends of the blanket over her feet haphazardly whilst opening her arms wide for you to lie into. Trying to stop a smile from spreading across your face pretending you hate the idea of being cuddled up with Wanda on the sofa, you sigh heavily as you start getting yourself comfortable in front of her as she fixes the blanket that was already wrapped around you and pulling up the other she threw haphazardly by her feet making sure everything was tucked in tight around the both of you so you would get as much heat as physically possible. 

Wanda leans forward and whispers in your ear “Also honey don’t pretend that you hate this I know you love being cuddled up next to me, besides we need to get you warmed up we can’t be having you this cold for the duration of your stay.” 

You sigh lightly “I know, I know I just didn’t wanna seem… I dunno weak or whatever I suppose in front of your parents for not even being capable of getting myself warm.” 

She purses her lips as she places her hand on your head “Honey I can assure you they don’t think you’re weak or whatever. This type of weather is new to you, your body is getting accustomed to this. I can assure you they just don’t want you getting sick or affecting you badly…so if it takes you cuddling up next to their daughter under some blankets, they don’t care. All that matters is that you get warm and you know….they do say body heat is the most effective way to keep warm.” 

You chuckle slightly as you mumble “I could think of a more fun way of using body heat to get and stay warm.” Wanda gasps slightly as she shoves you forward before grabbing the back of your shirt so you don’t fall off the sofa, “I was making reference to emperor penguins and how they huddle together in the cold….you had to go and suggest that I was insinuating it another way.” Wanda smirks and winks at you as she sees your head turn slightly to look back at her. You shake your head in disbelief and mouth “Oh my God, unbelievable.” 

Getting comfortable on the sofa again Wanda slips her arm underneath your shirt draping it across your stomach, flinching slightly at the warmth coming from Wanda it’s only then that you realise she’s been wearing a t-shirt the whole time as you run your hand up her forearm to hold her hand. “You’re always so nice and warm, how are you always so nice and warm?” 

Wanda chuckles slightly at the comment as she mumbles “Well honey you might not have noticed but whenever I am with you…you’re always cold so I can only assume that carries over to when I’m not with you as well. But it works, that makes us a good combination you cool me down in the summer with how cold your body is and in the winter I get to warm you up. We’re a perfect team.” She grins down at you after stating that, rubbing her thumbs across your stomach and kissing the top of your head. You both divert your attention to the television screen and bask in the comfort and happiness of being with your partner and her parents.

[lvlyghost]

Call of Duty Headcanons: Vol I✨

How they’d react to their civilian s/o getting hurt

Pairings: John Price x Fem!Civilian!Reader

Tw: mentions of blood, angst(?, knife wound, price is sad. Laswell makes an appearance. Brief mention of Ghost bc 🥰. There’s probably more but I’m bad at this🧍🏻‍♀️

A/N: Heyyyy. So this is my first time writing something and posting it 👉🏻👈🏻 please bear with me and consider english is not my first language 🥹 corrections are appreciated ✨���🏻I’ll be posting the rest in the upcoming days💕🌼 Enjoy!

Vol II✨ Vol III✨ Vol IV✨

The moment he had stepped in he knew something was wrong. The living room in complete darkness safe from the dim light coming from the lamp in your room. Door ajar.

He almost trembled at the utter sound of nothing.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the dead of the night, making his way to the bedroom you too shared.

Pushing the door open with more strength than he intended to, he saw you laying on the beige carpet, now stained with a deep red color tracing a path towards your body. As if someone had cut themselves by accident and left traces of blood behind.

“No, no, no, no, no.” His face contorted in pain.

Price had seen a fair amount of atrocities in his line of work. Bullet wounds, soldiers losing their limbs due to grenades. Lost brothers in every mission some of them dying on his watch. In his arms.

He crouched down, the absolute gruesome scene imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life. It wasn’t looking good yet he forced himself to breathe caressing your left cheek, trying to feel you. But your once warm body had gone pale and cold. His heart aches, like having his own soul being torn apart.

“Come on now, love. I’m here now.” John raked his eyes through your body until he found the wound. A few centimeters above your belly button. He froze for a second too long. A knife wound. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. It was inhumane. The amount of blood coming out from you. He placed one of his big hands to try to stop you from bleeding out. He had done it more times than he can remember. But never you. Just not you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were good. Too good to be true. Too good for him. You were supposed to be safe from any bloody harm. He swore a silent oath that he’d look after his girl, he’d protect you even if it meant risking his own meaningless life. Tears began to prickle in the corner of his eyes. Jaw tightening. He has to be strong. But how? You’re his life force and now… why, why… why you.

“John.”

More blood comes spluttering from your mouth as you try to speak, say something to him. Tell him to not worry, that you’d be fine. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Your eyes were starting to close, your body losing life.

“Shh, love. Save your energy. Just… just, don’t close your eyes… keep ‘em on me okay? I’m getting you out of here now.

“Remember that trip to Florida we said we’d take when I got back? 1 hotel south beach?” A slow hum came from your red stained lips. “I got the tickets yesterday night. But I need you to be strong, eh?” He swallowed, hard. He was choking with his own emotions. There was a fire burning in his throat. She nodded, even through her watery eyes, even through the fear, she dared to believe. She believed that he would save her. And that was enough.

He’d call Laswell right away. Whatever this is, it wasn’t a random attack. His Captain instincts were screaming at him. John felt the presence of the person he trusted the most aside from Ghost, coming to stand by him. His eyes never once left your fragile body on the hospital bed. Looking vulnerable, small. Yet a fighter.

That’s my girl.

Price dreaded that if he left your side for a second you’d slip through his fingers. You’d be gone someplace he simply cannot follow.

“Made some calls.” Kate told him. John didn’t look at her, at first, he simply nodded ever so slightly. “We have reasons to believe this was a warning. A way to to get to you. To get your attention.”

“Well they bloody have it now, Kate.” He said, through gritted teeth. Clenching and unclenching his hands, finally turning his gaze to her. “Call my fucking team.”

[emma-m-black]

Soul Mate Magic - Chapter Nine

Rupert Giles x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

A new magical transfer comes to Sunnydale High, and ends up discovering a magical connection with our favorite Watcher.

OC is 19+ (Not a Minor), Age Gap, Slow Burn-ish (with a little preview thrown in there during the Bandy Candy Episode).

This will be a multi chapter story I don't know how spicy it will get yet, but I'll rate it Mature just to be safe.

Author Master List

Read: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight,

p.s. So I just finished writing and editing Chapter 13 & 14 and I love them so much, I cannot wait to post them! It is taking everything in me to not just go on a posting spree just to get there lol.

Chapter Nine:

It was only three days into the holiday break, and Rose felt as though she were teetering on the brink of madness. The book Anya had instructed her to fetch lay on the hardwood desk in the corner of Rose’s dimly lit bedroom. Its ominous presence seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a constant reminder of the unsettling information the ex-demon had relayed.

Rose had hardly slept over the past two nights. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Giles and the strange bond between their magic danced in her mind, blending into a whirlpool of anxiety and confusion. She grappled with the disconcerting thought: was she obsessing over Giles because of a supernatural compulsion, or was she merely succumbing to her own paranoia? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making sleep elusive. The bond she feared might be pulling them together seemed to mock her indecision, and the more she pondered, the more elusive clarity became.

She knew she couldn’t decipher the cryptic text on her own. Giles was essential to understanding whether Anya’s claims had any validity. Fortunately, the holiday season provided her with a perfect escape. Her Aunt Selena’s endless stream of Christmas parties offered the perfect cover. With the constant social bustle, Rose could slip away without raising suspicion. The demand for her aunt’s fortune-telling services was at its peak, leaving Rose with an opportunity to sneak out unnoticed. Regardless, she hadn’t seen her Aunt in the past few weeks. Rose couldn’t remember when she last saw her Aunt, between her classes and homework and Selena being gone to the shop.

Now, sitting in her car, Rose’s gaze was fixed on the imposing complex where Giles lived. The book rested on the passenger seat, its cover a silent testament to the weight of her dilemma. She had no means to call him and inquire whether her visit would be welcome. What if he had gone out? What if he had company? The nagging doubts began to erode her resolve. Her mind raced with the possibilities of making a fool of herself, and she began to second-guess her decision. Was this venture a colossal mistake?

A sharp knock on the car window jolted her from her thoughts. “FUCK!” Rose gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She clutched the steering wheel with white-knuckled desperation, her breath hitching as adrenaline surged through her veins. Slowly, she turned her head, half-expecting to see an intimidating stranger—but instead, Giles’s familiar face appeared outside the glass.

The sight of him, dressed in a dark grey hoodie and sweatpants, struck Rose as unexpectedly mundane. He must have been out for a run. The ordinary appearance of Giles contrasted sharply with the extraordinary nature of their predicament, adding a surreal quality to the moment.

Giles took a step back, allowing her the space to open the door and exit the vehicle. Rose gathered herself, gripping the book tightly as she approached him.

“Rose?” Giles’s voice was tinged with surprise and curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice betraying her nervousness. “I didn’t know how to reach you, but I was hoping we could talk.”

“About what?” Giles inquired, a note of concern in his tone.

“About what’s happening with us—our magic. I might have a book that can help, but I can’t read it to verify what I’ve been told.” Rose extended the book toward him. Giles took it, examining the cover with a thoughtful frown.

“Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the building. “I’ll make tea.”

“Any chance you have some really strong coffee?” Rose asked, her voice tinged with fatigue. “I haven’t… I haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights. I’m basically running on extreme guilt and caffeine.”

Giles’s smile was tinged with sadness as he nodded, leading her into the complex. The tension between them was palpable, and every step toward his front door felt like traversing a tightrope of unspoken emotions. As Giles unlocked the door and ushered her inside, Rose’s heart raced with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Once inside, Giles quietly closed the door behind them, the soft click resonating in the otherwise silent house. He set the book down on his desk with a deliberate slowness, his hands lingering on the leather cover for a moment longer than necessary. Without meeting Rose’s eyes, he turned toward the kitchen, leaving her standing in the living area, awkward and exposed.

Rose wrapped her arms around herself as though to shield against the chill of uncertainty that settled between them. She watched him move, each step a quiet echo, and felt the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. Her heart beat faster, the distance between them suddenly feeling like a chasm.

“It was in my aunt’s shop,” she began, her voice trembling as if the words themselves were fragile. “By chance, someone pointed it out to me and read a passage, but I can’t confirm what she told me. I was hoping you could help translate.”

Giles busied himself with the coffeemaker, his back to her as he grabbed the canteen of coffee grounds. Rose’s focus stayed locked on him. She found herself drawn to the broad set of his shoulders, the way his hands moved—steady and capable, even when his mind must be reeling. There was a comfort in the familiar sight of him, but that same comfort was now tinged with a dangerous, electric charge.

“I’m not well-versed in Old Croatian,” he said, his tone more measured than his earlier actions, “but I do have many volumes that can aid in translation.”

Rose nodded, though he couldn’t see her, her thoughts racing faster than she could gather them. “She… she said something about a magical bond. Something ancient. I didn’t really understand at first, but then she showed me the text.” She hesitated, her throat tightening. “She said we might be magical soul mates.”

At those words, Giles’s hands stilled. The coffeemaker whirred softly, but everything else in the room seemed to freeze. Slowly, he turned, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. His face was a mixture of shock and something else—something deeper that Rose couldn’t quite name. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before he caught himself, quickly refocusing on her eyes.

“It’s… not what it sounds like,” she added quickly, her cheeks flushing. “But it means our magic is connected. And if we—if we fully connect…” She swallowed hard. “Things could get dangerous.”

Giles inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he crossed the room toward her. He stopped just short of touching her, their proximity enough to make her pulse race but far enough to keep the tension taut. His hand hovered near hers, almost as if he wanted to reach out but held back at the last second.

“How dangerous?” he asked quietly, his concern palpable, his voice lower than usual.

“Anya said… if we connect and then get separated, it could—” Her voice faltered. His closeness was overwhelming, the warmth of him drawing her in. “It could kill us.”

The air between them grew thicker, charged with the weight of what they weren’t saying. Her gaze dropped to his hand, so close to hers that she could almost feel the heat radiating from his skin. If she just shifted slightly, her fingers could graze his. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous.

They stood like that, unmoving, the tension coiling tighter with every second. Rose’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she watched as Giles’s hand twitched, his fingers curling ever so slightly toward her. It was nothing more than a whisper of movement, but it sent a thrill through her, the kind that left her breathless.

“But it can’t be true,” she forced herself to say, her voice quieter now. “That’s why I need your help to verify what this book says.”

Giles nodded, though the intensity in his eyes hadn’t lessened. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but then he closed it again, rubbing the back of his neck instead. It was an old, familiar gesture of his, one that made Rose ache with the knowledge of how well she knew him—too well, perhaps.

“What did she mean by ‘connect’?” Giles asked, his voice a rasp, and this time when he spoke, he didn’t move away. If anything, he seemed to lean in just the tiniest bit, enough to make Rose’s breath catch.

She felt a blush creep up her neck. “I think you know what I mean, Rupert.” The sound of his name on her lips sent a spark through the air between them, something raw and unspoken hanging in the space left by her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, the words barely audible as he turned away, breaking the moment. His hand brushed her arm lightly as he moved past her, a fleeting touch that burned like fire. Rose flinched, but not from pain—something else entirely, something that made her long for more. She bit her lip, her body still humming from the contact.

“It could always be worse, I suppose,” Rose added, her voice shaking, “The last pair she met, were burned at the stake.”

Giles gave a strained chuckle, his attempt at humor doing little to break the tension that pulsed between them. “Perhaps I should have made the coffee stronger,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, his voice tight. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“No rush, take your time,” Rose replied, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her voice wavered, betraying the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

“Cream is in the fridge and sugar on the counter, cups—”

“I know where the cups are,” Rose interrupted, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. The laughter felt hollow, more a release of nervous energy than genuine amusement.

Giles gave her a brief, uncertain look before he turned to head upstairs. The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving Rose alone in the quiet, the tension between them lingering like the weight of unspoken fears. The stillness was thick, oppressive, and Rose exhaled slowly, trying to steady her shaking hands.

The scent of brewing coffee filled the room, offering a small comfort against the rising tide of her thoughts. She clung to the mundane task of preparing her drink, but her mind was elsewhere—spiraling with dread. What if they found proof? What if the bond was as dangerous as Anya suggested? Her chest tightened as panic took hold, her breath catching in her throat.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for a mug. She poured the dark liquid with more force than intended, the coffee splashing onto the counter. She cursed under her breath, quickly wiping it away. The bitterness of the coffee matched the turmoil roiling inside her, and as she took a sip, the flavor did little to settle her nerves.

The quiet of Giles’s home surrounded her, normally a refuge, but now it felt alien, as though it belonged to a different life. The warmth of old leather and books, once comforting, felt distant. She tried to focus on the simple task of drinking her coffee, but every second seemed to stretch into an eternity as her anxiety churned.

Footsteps creaked down the stairs, drawing her attention. Giles returned, now dressed in casual jeans and a dark grey sweater, his arms laden with books. The tension etched into his features mirrored her own.

“Sorry about the wait,” he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before. “I brought a few texts that might help with the translation.”

Rose offered a tight-lipped smile. “It’s all good.”

He set the books down on the coffee table and gestured toward the couch. “Shall we begin?”

Nodding, Rose followed him. She settled into the cushions, feeling the awkwardness close in around them again like a fog. Giles handed her a thick, ancient-looking book, and as their hands brushed during the exchange, an unexpected spark shot through her, making her heart skip. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending to focus on the text, but the warmth of his fingers lingered.

“So… who was it that told you about this book?” Giles asked, breaking the silence as he sat beside her.

“An ex-demon,” Rose replied after a pause, glancing up to meet his gaze, their proximity unsettling in a way that made her hyper-aware of every slight movement.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh? Hang around with a lot of those, do you?”

The teasing lilt in his voice caught her off guard, and despite everything, a small, genuine smile formed on her lips. “More than you might think,” she said, feeling the faintest ease in the tension. But her heart beat faster when his knee bumped against hers—casual, unintentional, but enough to send a wave of heat through her. She shifted slightly but stayed where she was.

Giles chuckled softly, and for the first time that day, the air between them felt a little lighter. They turned their attention back to the text, falling into a rhythm as they worked through the material, side by side but lost in their own thoughts.

At one point, Rose reached for the notebook at the same time as Giles did. Their fingers brushed once again, and this time, the touch felt heavier, more deliberate. They both withdrew quickly, Giles mumbling an awkward apology under his breath, and Rose nodding, her throat suddenly dry.

Hours passed unnoticed; the room growing dim as the daylight outside faded. The coffee pot, once full of warmth and promise, sat cold and empty on the counter. The scent of the coffee had long since dissipated, leaving behind only the quiet of their study.

Rose found herself glancing at Giles from time to time, watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration. His glasses slipped down his nose as he read, and he absently pushed them back into place with a familiar gesture. There was a calmness about him now that hadn’t been there before, as if the act of working through the problem together had given him focus.

She, too, had relaxed into the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. Despite the weight of the ancient book in her lap, her mind began to wander, slipping from the details of the text to the man beside her. There was something almost intimate about this—sitting here, the silence between them more comfortable than it had any right to be. It was as though the very air between them had shifted, no longer fraught with fear, but something else entirely—something unspoken, yet palpable.

Eventually, Giles closed the book in his hands with a soft thud. His eyes, tired but contemplative, met Rose’s. “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything quite so…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Depressing,” Rose finished for him, her smile more resigned this time.

“I was going to say disheartening, but yes, depressing fits,” he replied with a sigh, leaning back against the couch and removing his glasses. As he did, his arm brushed hers—whether by accident or on purpose, Rose wasn’t sure—but the brief contact sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t seem to notice, though, too absorbed in the weight of their situation.

Rose let out a frustrated breath, slapping her book shut. “I don’t understand. If this bond is some kind of magical match, why does it come at such a steep price? Why is it all or nothing?” Her voice was rising, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Magic isn’t supposed to work like this. There’s always balance.”

“It does seem rather strange,” Giles agreed quietly. He set his glasses on the table and leaned forward, his hands clasped as he stared at the books in front of them. “Perhaps this is the price we pay to wield such powerful magic.”

Rose shook her head, chewing on her lip. “But… what does ‘apart’ mean? How far is too far? There’s no clarity. It feels like something you’d say to scare children into behaving.”

Giles’s eyes darkened with thought. “You did mention that a pair had been burned at the stake.”

“Yeah, but that could have been just because they had magic?” Rose’s voice was filled with disbelief. “We need more information.”

“Unless…” Giles hesitated, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Unless it’s not a bond. But a curse.”

The word hit Rose like a slap, cold and sharp. A curse. Her heart began to pound. If it was a curse, it could be broken. But the thought brought little comfort. A curse carried its own dangers, its own consequences. Rose’s breath quickened, and she met Giles’s eyes, searching for answers, for reassurance.

Giles reached out, placing his hand over hers on the closed book. His touch was gentle, but the warmth of his palm against her skin sent a jolt through her, grounding her in the moment. For a brief second, she couldn’t think—only feel. His thumb brushed her knuckles as if by accident, but the sensation lingered, igniting something she hadn’t anticipated.

His gaze was steady, but there was sadness there, a resignation that mirrored her own. Giles didn’t pull his hand away, his skin resting lightly on hers, as though he was offering her silent comfort—both of them grasping at the same fragile thread of hope.

“We’ll figure this out,” Giles said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. His hand remained on hers for a moment longer, a tether keeping them connected in the uncertainty that surrounded them. The world around them seemed to narrow, shrinking down to just the two of them and the warmth where their hands touched.

Rose’s breath hitched. She could feel the tension crackling in the space between them, something unspoken but potent swirling in the air. The exhaustion and fear that had weighed on her began to fade, replaced by an electric awareness of him—of the way his thumb brushed against her skin, the way his breathing seemed to have slowed.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, time stilled. Giles was closer than she realized, their faces only inches apart. The weight of everything they hadn’t said—everything they hadn’t dared acknowledge—hung heavy in the silence. His eyes flicked down to her lips for just a heartbeat, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt herself lean in, just a fraction, pulled toward him by something she couldn’t control.

Giles’s gaze darkened, his hand shifting ever so slightly as though he might close the remaining distance between them. Rose could almost feel the ghost of his breath on her skin, the tantalizing thought of his lips just a breath away—

And then the knock came.

The sound shattered the fragile moment, sending them both flinching apart as though waking from a dream. Giles pulled his hand back, clearing his throat, while Rose sat frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. The spell between them was broken, but the lingering heat of it remained, burning under her skin.

Chapter Ten

[citadelofswords]

shoka and shadow meeting

riley sent me this prompt before the finale aired and now i have brainworms. forgive the formatting i'm posting from mobile but i can't stop thinking about this.

HEAVY EPISODE 20 SPOILERS UNDER CUT

it's two weeks later when the door opens in the engine again and shadow crashes back onto the train. “alphonse," he snarls, and trish jerks around to stare at him. “i saw everyone else. i did not see alphonse. where was he?"

“he stayed back on the caboose with shoka," trish says. “the previous conductor… she tried to separate it from the train. people were going to die."

“hmph," shadow says, and folds his arms. “magnanimous of him."

it is at that moment that the door to the engine— the actual door, not one of the doors off the train— slams open, bearing three people with them. jason todd enters first, holding a black haired girl in a cat hoodie by the scruff of her neck. roxas trails behind, face white. tear tracks are carved down the dirt on his face.

jason glances at shadow. “oh good, you're here," he says. “we're gonna need you in a second. shoka— you wanna tell trish what you just told me?"

shadow stares at shoka. there's something about her he can't put his finger on, something off and wrong about the way she's carrying herself. not quite like it's an act. but close to that.

there's blood under her fingernails.

“i," shoka says, and swallows, eyes darting to the side. “we were helping the kids. and i turned around and. he was." she looks down. “simon snuck up on us. he."

“where's al?" trish asks. her voice sounds so, so small.

“i turned around. and simon was there. he was standing over." shadow’s blood goes cold and for a moment, just for a moment, he wishes shigeo had been a little more ruthless.

and then his eyes narrow.

“bullshit," he says, and trish and jason both snap up to look at him. “bullshit. you're lying. alphonse is strong enough to have taken that child with only one hand. he wouldn't have been caught off guard by something as idiotic as that. tell us the truth."

“shadow?” trish asks, and he stalks forward to grab the cat-girl by the collar of her hoodie. she's not making eye contact with anyone in the car.

“where is alphonse,” he says. "do not think you can lie to me again.”

“i’m not lying,” shoka snaps back. "simon killed him. he's gone." trish chokes behind shadow, and roxas looks at her and then crosses the room. shadow cannot look at trish right now, because if he does he will make a mistake.

“then where the fuck were you?!" shadow snarls. “why weren't you there? why didn't you help him? why didn't you stop simon?"

he lets go of her with a shove, letting her sprawl to the floor. she winces as she hits the ground. “you need to learn how to lie better," he growls. "and now you need to run, and pray that i do not see you again.”

“yeah, shoka," jason says darkly. “that's probably for the best." he's not looking at shadow, but trish; shadow can hear hitched breathing behind him and does not turn around.

shoka slowly stands. she throws shadow a dark look, one with venom behind her mask of grief, and says, “fine. i’ll go. see you around, trish."

“don't talk to her right now." roxas says, vitriol in his voice, and shoka turns on her heel and leaves the car.

“she's lying," shadow says. “i could see it in her eyes. this is not wishful thinking." now that shoka is gone he can turn to trish, who's letting roxas hug her. shadow pushes him aside and grabs trish’s face in his hands. “look at me. hey. look at me, trish. she's lying.”

“she could be lying about simon being the one to kill him," jason points out. “and he could still be dead."

“not fucking helping," shadow says. "trish, you have to trust al. he's alright. he's stronger than that, and he's definitely stronger than her. he's fine.”

trish swallows, and nods, and swipes the tears away from her eyes with her hand. “good girl," shadow says approvingly. “i'm going back home again. but you're doing great. i’ll be thinking about you."

“thank you, shadow," trish says quietly.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find - chapter 13

an Elvis Presley fanfic AU

Warnings: the typical universe warnings apply for this chapter, special emphasis on dated views both held and aspersions cast, by various characters

Summary: picking up from where we left off, this particular one is a bro chapter, -as I like to call the ones sans Rosey- though perhaps the underlying homoeroticism and money talk dampens the broship a bit ;)

Love note from a nutty author: thank y’all so much for all the feedback, love, screaming and prompts, it means the world to me that we’ve gotten as far as we have with this story and I cannot wait to continue on, sharing it with y’all has been such a bright spot of my year. Here’s to hoping this chapter isn’t too boring or grammatically offensive. Apologies to Steve Binder for me always making him a twink, it’s a cross some have to bear

“Captain Presley!” Calhoun’s panted greeting and the boy’s flailing limbs collided with Elvis the minute he stepped on deck, “I was trying t’stay awake last night t’tell ya but I fell asleep and then Mr Schilling wouldn’t tell m’where ya where when I done woke up this’mornin an’ I was tryin to find Miss Beaumont, -and he weren’t no help with that either, and just had to find ya…“

“Breathe my boy, try takin a breath, that it!” Elvis huffed good naturedly, patting his scrawny back as the kid gripped his fine clothes and babbled a mile a minute, “You found me now, and I’ll listen but ya gotta hold it for a lil longer, got a real powerful man comin aboard any second now.”

Cal bit his lip in frustration with the one front tooth left him, “But I gotta tell ya what I saw-“

“-And I wanna hear it, more than anythin’, but in a minute.” Elvis insisted with firm gentleness, spinning the boy around and tucking him under his arm as he walked them both towards the head of the gang plank. “Jerrah!“ he greeted his friend who looked like he was about to be sick by the sight of the approaching dandified official, “Who ya watchin? Oh why, if it ain’t the cute lil fucker with the crush on me.” he mimed surprise at the sight of the approaching visitor just for the satisfaction of seeing Jerry Schilling turn a shade greener, “Mr Bundle, wasn’t it?”

“Binder -as you know damn well.” Jerry seethed, “And if we aren’t all locked up for your obscenity by breakfast then it’ll be due to the intervention of a loving god.”

“Goodnessme.” Elvis clucked his tongue, “Mind yourself in front of the boy.”

“I should be telling you that.” Jerry shot back. “Only the pleasure of delivering a fate that’s real painful for both of us would give that man the energy and bravery to show his face after last night.”

“Since you’re so peckish, why don’t ya take Cal down below, allow me to handle this.”

“I don’t trust ya to handle that fancy man in any way shape or form that would be beneficial.” Jerry belligerently stuck a cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, “I had to tuck him into a carriage like a helpless child he was so wobbly after you were finished with him. Reckon I’ll mind my post, thanks very much.”

“Goin down with boat, hmm, Jerrah?” Elvis snickered.

“Besides,” Jerry ignored him, “that fat fuck of yours is down below givin instructions to clear the boat out and won’t elaborate when he said he’d imprison me for obstructin federal orders when I told him I only take orders from you.”

“The hell?” Elvis muttered in bewilderment.

“So, you don’t know what he’s up to either? Damn him. How’s Miss Beaumont?” Jerry turned with Elvis to face their oncoming guests, calculating that brevity would force his friend to be honest.

Elvis could feel Calhoun’s hopeful, upturned face waiting for his reply. He tightened his hug on Cal’s shoulders and murmured a tersely comforting “Well enough, she’ll be at breakfast.” out the side of his mouth while turning to greet Mr Binder as that fellow gingerly stepped off the ramp and onto his polished deck.

Gray suit, gray waistcoat, blue tie. Elvis' little lesson had not gone unheeded. The pretty official’s eyes were near azure with the new touch of dyed silk.

“My dear Mr. Binder!” Captain Presley greeted with obnoxious familiarity, “This is an unexpected treat!”

Binder looked at the hand offered in a handshake like it might bite him before thrusting forth his pallid one and squeezing the Captain’s hand so tightly the rings bit into his fingers and bruised. It made Elvis grin wider.

“To what do we owe this visit?” Elvis queried, taking stock of the multiple federal soldiers arranged behind Binder like personal Pretorians, stiff and ready to guard the government’s dutiful clerk from a second defilement. “Ya here for business or pleasure?”

Mr. Binder’s hitherto stoic face flushed crimson as the Captain’s rankling pleasantries angered him enough he found his tongue, “Business, Captain P-Presley, b-business -of course, what else.”

“Oh I dunno, didn’t wanna presume,” Elvis raised two placating hands in surrender, causing his bracelet round his wrist to jangle against his time piece, “gotta whole lotta ‘else’ aboard.”

“I-I’m here to tell you, Captain Presley,” Binder’s tone grew firmer after managing to at last say his name without a stutter, “that the government has requisitioned your boat -for a brief period, not long, just a brief period to transport troops upriver to the territories.”

“And it just had to be my boat?” Elvis glowered, his amusement fast fading.

“Yes, yes your boat is required and, and your skill recommends you as perfect for the handling of…handling of -your skills as a captain I mean, of course! -handling of men…troops, government property.” he brought his clutched order up to his face and examined the paper frantically before quoting: “-Captaining government assets up the treacherous waterway to St Paul.”

He rallied at the end after consulting his orders, managing to find a vocabulary that did not provoke double entendres, lowering the paper and looking at the Captain with federal expectancy.

Elvis mourned Binder’s success only briefly before allowing himself to absorb the reality of a trip up north under government orders, all protest against it resulting in a even worse demand. Or prison. Jerry gave a snicker beside him at their ill luck, the self inflicted karma of Elvis’ fucking with this dainty fellow.

“I am ever at my country’s service, Mr Binder.” Captain Presley replied with grave decorum before remembering the importance of keeping so easily flummoxed an ally on his side, “-and at yours.” he added in a tone he had not heard himself use in a coons age.

His tongue felt sour from how easy it had been to slip back into it, even sober. How effective it yet remained on the man before him who’s professional reply died on his lips with that personal addition.

Mr Binder’s betraying flush lasted one single, damning moment before a genuine scowl of derision replaced the fawnish wince of before. Mr. Schilling feared this had gone too far at last, a death blow was about to be struck to his incorrigible friend’s long streak of bridge burning immunity. Jerry often wondered if Elvis perhaps wanted to burn the whole operation to the riverbed floor, so as to be done with the carnival shit. Handing that job to someone else would make him blameless. No one was better positioned than Mr Binder to damn them so expertly.

“And I came to aid you, Captain.” Mr. Binder continued with admirable indifference to his momentary slip.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve a question for you.” Mr. Binder nodded, looking once at Mr. Schilling and then the boy Calhoun who was watching these proceedings with fascinated bewilderment.

“Ah now, I’ve never known a question that was helpful, Mr. Bi-“

“Don’t.” Jerry begged, slapping Elvis’ hand from its intended journey to Binder’s flinching shoulder. “Just don’t, for once in your life.”

“I’ve been sent by President Grant’s Administration to clean up the laws and commerce of the Mississippi River, Captain Presley,” Mr. Binder stated his well worn script of the evening prior, “and you best believe I intend to do so. But I’d rather not lock up its most able captains when I think the corruption I seek is ashore. Do you understand me, sir? Or do you only speak in the lustful language of the depraved? Your…purser led me to believe you were a -deeper- sort of man.”

Mr. Schilling’s cough was grating and deafening enough to make Cal jump in surprise. “There was mention of aid and a question, Mr Binder?” he redirected with effortless, homespun charm.

“Yes, I suppose there was.” Binder flicked his clear blue eyes over to the second mate, “Do you men not want to partner with me or do you actually enjoy slowly declining into outdated, useless finery?”

“Beg pardon?”

“What I’m trying to understand, Mr. Schilling is why after agreeing to the boat race one of you would put in an offer, tantamount to a request, to be used by the United States army, thus disqualifying you from such a race for nigh on half a month's time? Do you really hate the idea of making money so much you’d wreck your own ticket? Or am I right in judging that neither of you knew about this development until now?

Mr. Schilling and Captain Presley exchanged a look that was a non verbal communication of a resounding “told ya so” on Jerry’s part in regards to the basic command structure aboard.

“I am correct?” Binder prodded, a prim sort of authority having bloomed in him when left in peace from fiddling fingers and dancing blue eyes, “Right, then, the next question is, who actually owns this ship?

“It’s a boat, sir.” Elvis corrected gently.

More silence followed and Cal craned his neck near backwards to observe the Captain’s silent seething from the vantage point of under his jaw. It seemed to him that conversations between important men involved a great deal of glaring and not much talk. If Rosey had been there she would have taken note of the thumping vein in his neck, giving away how very much Elvis appreciated Colonel Parker wrecking his first, profitable, basic chance for autonomy.

“It was mentioned to me,” Mr. Binder went on, “-in the early morning as I had not bothered with sleep and the light was on and a fellow felt free to approach my desk- that Colonel Parker left the gala last night and departed straight away to the telegraph office, and thence to the railway office, before coming back to his lodgings aboard. Does any of this interest you, Captain Presley? I’ll repeat, who owns this boat? And why would they rather it act as a human cattle car than make a profit by submitting to a constitutionally elected committee?”

“That would be one Colonel Parker, of telegraph and railway office fame.” Jerry made a brave decision and smiled placidly, even as Elvis gave him a look that would strike most men dead. “Very fond of the old method, that one, you know, the dancing, singing, gambling, carnival style method that the railway is gonna make obsolete in a couple years.”

“I own this damn boat.” Captain Presley growled over Cal’s head and the boy felt his shoulder nearly crushed under his clenching hand.

“Not according to Mr. Moore, ya don’t, been goin through all those papers like ya asked….” Jerry kept smiling the smile of someone who enjoys a victory at all costs, and Elvis smiled the teeth-clenched smile of one who’d rather seethe than cry over a betrayal.

“How bout we take this somewhere, more private.” Elvis offered to Mr. Binder with admirable decorum for a man in such dire need of breakfast.

“Yes.” Mr. Binder was hesitant to leave the pure, open air of the deck and the federal guardians of his purity for an enclosed office and Captain Presley’s wiles, “Some discretion might not be amiss.” he conceded.

“Excellent, be so good as ta follow me, and you, Schilling,” Elvis pushed a firm hand against his mate’s chest, “will stay above with Cal and see to it that no more unloading happens until I can sort this little miscommunication out, hmm?”

“Yes, Boss.” Jerry donned his now quite common look of sullen mutiny but he took Cal under his arm nonetheless, watching with stubborn hope as the two men descended the stairs to the Captain’s practically unused office.

“What was it that you so badly wanted to tell the Captain about, boy?” Jerry asked Calhoun after a split second’s decision to make business that wasn’t his business his business. He had a strange presentiment that all business aboard would soon be everyone’s business with the way things were devolving so rapidly.

“Colonel Parker pointed a gun at me.” Cal shrugged with aggrieved pride at having been put off so long.

“Now that weren’t very patient of him.”Jerry remarked, “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do nothin!” Cal remonstrated viciously.

“What’d he do, then? -No, no you ain’t taken the piano anywhere, not nothin else is goin off here till the Captain comes back up!” Jerry broke off to yell at a few movers who were beginning to haul out the dining halls' more entertaining furniture, “Go get, move your asses back, nothin comes out till he says. Now, you were sayin, Calhoun?”

“I was goin into Miss Beaumont’s office for my lesson-“

“-that’s really Rosetta’s office, boy.”

“-yes, right, well, it’s got the safe in it, and it was empty ‘cept for the Colonel and he was busy diggin’ through it and pullin things out,” Cal explained, “and they were things I’d seen the passengers give Miss Beaumont and she done locked them up and had them slip things-“

“-deposit slips.”

“-yeah, depot slips, and he was takin the jewels out and he spooked real bad when I came in.”

“Why’d he point a gun at ya?” Jerry gnawed on his cigar placidly much to Cal’s irritation.

“He told me not to say nothin bout what I’d seen. And I asked him why not.” Cal shrugged as if this were explanation enough.

“Then what?”

“I done told ya, he pulled a gun on me!”

“Jus’ like that. You didn’t say nothin smart back or nothin?”

“Well I-“

“C’mon now, what’d you say?” Jerry fancied himself a decent detective when it came to children, the trick of it he figured, was never to outgrow one’s own childish logic.

“Well I may have told him that Miss Beaumont had killed over less.” Calhoun smiled the smile of the crooked and the besotted and Jerry offered up a prayer for him that his teeth would grow back in at a rapid pace.

“Yeah, that’ll be what done it.” Jerry leaned back against the bulkhead and looked out at the slate gray sky where it met the muddy river and imagined going northward under these conditions.

“Stick next to me or ya might get tossed over to the gators, not be the first to go that way.”

“There ain’t any gators this far north!”

“You wanna test that, boy?”

“No! No sir!”

“You done told anyone else about this?” Jerry inquired in the way of those making conversation for lack of a better pastime.

“Rosetta, rights before you hauled me up here.”

“Oh, that’s excellent.” Jerry observed, “She’ll have told most the boat but now in her righteous fury, and there won’t be no way that fucker won’t hear it somehow or other.”

“What fucker?” Cal inquired placidly.

“Elvis.” Jerry replied as if the words were synonymous.

Elvis felt himself in about as foreign a space as Mr Binder, so little used was his office and entirely stocked with his father’s materials, not his own. It was sobering, that recollection of his father’s plight and he ushered Mr. Binder into the cramped space with the gravity befitting his station. He flicked open the blinds and let the now overcast sky make a dent into the gloom and settled himself behind the desk.

“How can I help you, Mr. Binder?” he asked placidly.

Mr. Binder took time to seat himself and flick out his coattails, adjust his cravat and scan the office before folding his hands in his lap and replying with tepid politeness, “I spent a rather sleepless night last night.”

Elvis' arms tensed on the chair rests and his fingers began to stipple on the desk top uncontrollably. He himself had done a great deal of thinking about how far he’d go for a pardon, for Rosey’s pardon, and he had comforted himself that his promises and vows to God might be easily upheld if he had so antagonized Binder against him as to turn away the fellow’s desire as well. Mr Binder, to Elvis inward alarm, did not seem particularly antagonized. “I spend quite a few of those myself.” he ventured. “I like to spend them reading.”

“As do I.” Mr. Bidner smiled and it was a pleasant, sparkly sort of smile Elvis suspected only made a show when the fellow didn’t intend for it to, the thought of books had brought it out, “Usually Milton or Shakespeare, the Brontës.”

“Mm.” Elvis smiled encouragingly.

“Last night,” Mr Binder continued in this way, “ I was kept enthralled by twelve years of case files on one Elvis Aaron Presley.”

Elvis knew his face had gone white, he knew the tell tale signs of that cold cheeked response, but he kept his mouth firm, his eyes glinting, his body painfully still.

Binder went on, “I’ve had my officers taking a look into things regarding this whole operation, not just yours but the whole of it up and down the river. Shocking amount of corruption, mostly from authorities ashore I found, though of course there’s the gambling and the prostitution and the murders, all charged to various accounts -and through it all, yours was a shockingly thick stack of case notes. And then it just…ends.” he had no lilt of glee or triumph in his voice, they could have been critiquing the latest Dumas’ publication, so placid was his narrative, “Just a single line of aquittal, stamped with a Judge’s seal and every heinous crime they don’t even let people talk about gets swept under the rug and you get yourself a nice little river boat and a life -of sorts. If you call this living.” and there was the old, now familiar derision Elvis was hearing more and more in the voices of the younger set.

“So what?” Elvis asked, his voice lowly ominous as he allowed himself to swivel back and forth in the desk chair, childishly unconcerned, “You gonna arrest me now, ya pant wetting pansy?”

That barb had the intended effect, Mr. Binder’s face flushed red and what bit of dominance he had secured in the room fluttered precariously in the heat blast of Elvis’ scorn. The poor man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and undid the meticulously pressed thing with careless haste, pressing it to his sweating eyes. Elvis thought the room rather chilly. He may have commented to that affect.

“We have an opportunity here, Captain Presley,” Mr Binder rallied, but took care to address himself to the floor, and the foot of Vernon’s desk, “a very brief window of opportunity where we can pass the buck to certain officials currently being investigated and culled in preparation for President Grant’s termination and the reign of the ever so scrupulous Mr. Hayes. He’ll get the nomination, don’t even argue the point sir, he’ll get it. What that gives us, is both a tiny window in which to entirely reinvent the Mississippi River into something modern and respectable -a river upon which families and merchants may traverse without impunity- and toss the crimes, such as you yourself engaged in with bribery, back to the officials themselves, instead of the poor, innocent captain’s from whom the bribes were extracted. Do you get me?”

“You wanna keep your captains while locking up a bunch of senators and congressmen and judges?” Elvis summarized patiently.

“Yes, yes I do!”

“That’s real cute, sir.”

“Oh for God’s sake man! It’s already happening!” Binder cried through a face aflame, “Three in Arkansas and two in Mississippi last month! General Grant has taken stock of his presidency and found that it’ll be recalled as a trash fire of corruption and back room deals. He’d rather his deputies' sins not have the last word so he is cleaning house, monumentally, and it’s effecting the juries. They hear about the corruption in other states, they hear of action being taken and actual resignations occurring -they’re voting with the common people caught in the middle. It’s dismantling reconstruction faster than policies and trust me, men like your idiotic partner know their time has come. Middle men are going down to hell with their crooked beautocrats and that’s the way it should be.”

“Mr Bidner, I think you’ll find that -this dirty money you so abhor, it’s what’s made these illustrious captains you wish to save.” Elvis observed him closely, “And I’ve personal stakes here, I do gamble, I do have women aboard who make their living on the passengers, I do have a record such as would prevent me from being offered any common job -but most importantly, my father is in a Memphis jail cell, and has lingered there for months, no bail.”

“I’m sorry to hear that and-“

“Mr Binder!” Elvis insisted on being heard, “You can play the reformer all you want, but if this backfires, it’s goin to be me and my dependents gettin scorched. There’s not a single city councilor or judge in Memphis who I trust worth a damn, and I’m tellin you in confidence, I’m telling you that I’m about to send a pile of gold down to them in exchange for my father, and I’ve sent piles and piles before this to keep them happy. Now is that something you can just…write off when you accuse these men?”

“Yes.” Binder smiled and Elvis wanted to smack the man, “Yes I can, Captain, if it’s just gold that we are talking, I can. Such are the last days of the Grant Administration.”

“My darlin man,” Elvis leant forward over the desk, “you’ve no idea what you’re up against.”

“I think I do.” Mr. Binder’s pretty brows were drawn in a stern line and he too leaned forward, “All I’m asking, is that you don’t fight me on it, that you let me sort this out, that you do not come to the defense of your partner when and if he is implicated, that you warn me here and now if there is more to be found than a money trail. Is that so very hard?”

“You want me to betray a man I owe everythin, to, and then ask me to trust ya?” Elvis laughed.

“I ask you acknowledge the way of the future, sir, and I ask you to see that a man who has made a living taking homes from the impoverished, providing blackmail for politicians and who saw a skilled tart in yourself and took advantage to build this fucking carnival has been long overdo in reaping what he is about to sow.” Mr. Binder’s voice had steadily rose throughout this tirade and Elvis was surprised to find instead of shrill it became rather impressive, “And trust me, I’ve got my damn sickle out, and I’m going to harvest this operation you’ve got going here, and you can either have your pretty neck snapped for past crimes and your Purser’s neck, too, or you can aid me in this. Those are you options, sir. I don’t like threats, Captain Presley,” he sniffled briefly as he smoothed himself back into decorous moderation, “they don’t inspire loyalty. But I’ve brought a gift of sorts, a goodwill token, if you will. To show you I mean business, and that my business is not to your detriment.”

Elvis slowly extended his hand over the desktop to grasp the offered documents. In the pale, overcast light of the office window he could read that one was a telegraphed but nonetheless officially stamped and signed pardon for one Miss Savannah Beaumont of Belle Meade plantation.

He looked up at Binder, incredulous that the man had accomplished this in less than twelve hours. Testing the pansy as to whether he had any grit in him had paid off. Here was his girl’s pardon and the offer of immunity,

which, as this miracle shimmering with barely dried ink, seemed more substantive than a few moments before.

“And the other, Captain.” Mr Binder prodded.

Elvis flicked the page over and found a rather rumpled and aged one, a case report, stamped by the warden of the prison of Golddust Tennessee, stating the particulars of his arrest for crimes of lust and perversion. He’d never actually read the damn thing, had only heard the court harrang with its usual, elevated language. The document in hand read like a rather sordid novella in which his name appeared with nauseating frequency. He made it halfway down the report when he decided that was quite enough for the outdoor at hand and flicked up a inquiring eye to Mr. Binder.

“Is this one a threat or a gift?” he snarked, swallowing down the sick he felt over revisiting the trip home and the thought that here sat a man in regards to whom Jerry’s cautions would have been best heeded.

“A gift.” Binder assured, as if the damning paper was a pineapple or yo-yo, “What I am keeping behind is your pardon, less salacious for certain but a shockingly terse document with no explanation or hint of a jury. I’m sending men down to Memphis, as we speak, Captain, to go through the papers of your Partner, and for your sake I’m hoping that they find evidence to damn those judges besides that pardon. But trust me, if they don’t, it’ll do. I’ll use it. Unless, of course, you can provide me some aid.”

“I’ve said before,” Elvis made sure to smirk in that sad but winsome way that most found anything but aggravating, “I’ve assured you, Mr Bidner, I am ever at your service.”

“Right then. I’ve three things to ask.”

“Ask them.”

“Firstly, promise on whatever you hold dear that when you return from this…troop maneuver,” Mr Binder made a face at having to mention the odious interruption, “that you will sign on with the Waterways Commitre -don’t worry about your partner objecting, I intended for him to be securely out of influence by the time you make it back down to Memphis.”

“Alright.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well…swear on something!”

Elvis hesitated, thumbing at the pardon and weighing the chances of all this backfiring terribly. It seemed a better cause to die in, at least. He’d been missing something of that nature for awhile now. “I swear on my mama's grave.”

Mr. Binder took a great, steadying breath that served to make his victory rather unimpressive. Elvis clutched the miraculous pardon to assure himself that the wee fucker before him actually had some serious governmental authority. “Excellent, oh that’s very good, yes, yes alright.” Binder mopped at his eyes again and went on, “The second requirement is quite simple, it’s that you are to make no intimation to Colonel Parker of any such investigation having commenced.”

“Naturally.” Elvis agreed dryly, propping his boot on the desk and getting comfortable, grinning at the thought that Rosey would have really enjoyed being privy to this conversation.

“Parker has already stated he does not intend to make the trip north-“

“-Now hold up -how the hell did he know about this trip before me?”

“He arranged it, Captain, quite plain to see.” Binder sniffed, “I’ve the telegraph logs back home to prove it, if you wish -“

“Sweet Jesus he…” Elvis trailed off, loathe to appear any weaker before Binder by giving away just how little he knew about what went on under his very nose. They were both thinking it, he could tell by the contemplative pity in Binder’s bright blue eyes and the next requirement confirmed it:

“Mr. Moore agrees there been a great deal of uh -embezzling might be the best word for it- going on aboard, every payment you’ve made for the ship-

“-it’s a boat-“

“-has been allocated elsewhere, and is in such a tangle as to confuse anyone looking at it facevalue. You’re about to be out a great deal of money, what with unloading the prostitutes and entertainers-“

“-what now?” Elvis balked.

“The army won’t allow your gambling men, your whores or your band to remain on a government vessel -which the Proud Marie now is until you are released from this commission.”

Elvis bit his nails and wagged his boot atop the desk, grinning venomously at the barer of this new bout of fuckery. “Course.” he gritted out. “Wouldn’t want a buncha bored soldiers to have a way to pass the time while getting shipped up to have their asses handed to them by the natives.”

“I don’t make the rules.” Mr Binder simpered and Elvis wanted to smack the man, see if he’d be into that, too. “But I do suspect you’ll be paying wages for all your offloaded dependents and so, we come back round to the books and the depleted money and I’m saying that something drastic needs to occur so that the Waterways Committee has some security.”

“You want the boat?”

“Oh I wouldn’t be so cruel.” Mr Binder tutted, “I’d like a contract drawn up, signed by yourself and myself and Mr. Moore, perhaps Mr. Cash’s mark would add weight, and the details of it are benevolent -I’ve left it with a fellow to give Mr, Moore, it’s already drawn up- but it would ensure that stupendous half percent that is currently flowing from Parker’s pockets to the gaming tables will, eventually, be the Committee's share.”

“You think you’re real slick, don’t ya. Gonna offer me a deal no better than the last? How bout 40 percent.”

“How about,” Mr Binder put his finger to his pretty little lips and pretended to ponder, “I get you a new boat as this one is, god bless her, hardly staying above water. And uh, 30 percent, with a clause in there for a pension.”

“Who’s pension?” Elvis puzzled.

“You’re wife’s, Captain.” Mr. Binder huffed impatiently, “that extra ten will go to her, in case anything should befall you. Prison or the Colonel, you see I make provisions for innocents, just as you do.”

“I don’t have a wife, Mr. Binder.”

“No? Well, I suggest you make one, speedily, before that contract gets signed, in fact.”

“Make a wife?”

“If God managed it out of a rib, surely Elvis Presley can out of a Purser?” Mr. Binder was growing a bit giddy in his success and Elvis had to close his eyes and recall the fellow’s tear stained humiliation last night in order to press on.

“This is gonna serve what purpose?”

“Mr. Moore suggested that as things are, it’s all a muddle, and trying to untangle your affairs from Parker’s -including who owns the boat- would be hopeless. If taken to trial, the jury would vote for the wife. Parker hasn’t got one, but you, you would have one by then wouldn't you?” Binder seemed to have some second sense that this morning had been hellish and that pressing the point before breakfast was an easy way to make the Captain break.

“You’re suggesting I enter and pervert a sacred institution in order to save some money?” Elvis bit out.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you bent such a thing to your will, would it?” Binder sniffed then flinched as Elvis rose to his feet with uncanny speed and charged him, fists clenched, “And think, sir,” he aimed for respect as Elvis stood there ready to inflict pain, “Miss Beaumont would not only be provided for, she would also make certain that the half allocated to her would support your dependents. Say you were arrested, say the malaria catches up to you, say you get shot for being a bastard,” Mr Binder smiled almost fondly at that, “she and your dependents would have your money. If you can’t trust her, if what I thought I saw between you last night was not all theater, or perhaps one of your mulatto women will do.”

“You’ve been talking with Jerry and Moore, haven’t you?” Elvis muttered, fists slowly uncurling.

“Ah, yes.” Mr Binder had the goodness to look abashed, but that was more likely brought on by the ominous way Elvis was still standing over him, barely pacified, “And Sister Rosetta, that’s your uh, uh”

“Quartermaster.”

“Yes, her!” Binder agreed, “It would seem there is a benevolent mutiny aboard, Captain. And if your conscience smites you for turning in Parker to his just desserts, I suggest you tell it to consider the well being of your crew?”

“And the well being of your pockets.” Elvis pointed out.

“My goal, Captain, is to do so excellent a job in the position afforded me on this godforsaken river that when President Grant’s dismal excuse for a term runs out and the great reshuffling begins, -no fault will be found with me. Or those under me. And not for one single minute will the Bureaucrats think to relieve me of my post and return me east to the shadow of my father and the arms of a wife I cannot stand. Do you hear me now? And I’m offering you a chance to not get culled with the chaff.”

“Has anyone else’s boat been requisitioned, Mr. Binder?” Elvis asked, quietly and in a tone Binder could not decipher.

“Well, no one else asked to be used.” he laughed at last, “But I’m sure someone else’s will be as yours alone is not sufficiently large.”

“Then may I ask you a favor of my own, Mr. Binder?” Elvis ventured from beneath fluttering lashes.

“Uh, yes, of course, if it’s in my power.”

“Mmm, sounds like just about anythin is in your power, sir.” Elvis intoned alluringly, slinking to a crouch beside the arm of Binder’s chair, much to that official's shivering foreboding, “Is there any way you could manage to purloin Captain Jones’ boat as well?” he asked, voice going soft and high, sounding about as young and harmless as a child.

“What are you up to?” Binder asked, warily taking in the elegant hands clasped atop his chair arm and the alluring v of the Captain’s squat and the calculated harmlessness that the man, well past thirty, was swathing himself in, to an alarmingly successful effect.

“I-I just thought…” Elvis trailed off as if bashful of his thoughts.

“What did you think?” Binder demanded with outraged morality, about to flee from the scene of his second, imminent ruination and this terrifying, forever morphing creature squatted before him. “What did you think, Captain?”

“Well, t-t-there’s no need for all that, sir,” Captain Presley’s soulful eyes looked wounded and his cherubic lips, highlighted by the no doubt calculated slant of those damned sideburns, wobbled in hurt, “I-I just thought maybe Jones an’ me could have a lil race up the river while we’re at it, just a teaser of sorts.” He confessed, bashfully looking down at his hands and shrugging his shoulders in the manner of the forever falsely accused.

“God damn you to hell, Presley.” Binder seethed through his own mirth as Elvis’ shoulders began to shake up and down in something besides pantomimed hurt. Eventually both men were laughing, the act abandoned, one perhaps more uproariously than the other, but there was humor found at last. Captain Presley also rose to his feet, by some merciful intervention of a loving God looking out for Mr. Binder’s soul.

“You know.” Binder huffed when some sobriety had been regained, “The whole world isn’t full of dogs and bitches, there’s no need for this whole…whatever it is, you do.”

“Don’t you ever just do something for the fun of it, Binder?”

“Yes, occasionally,” Binder rejoined, “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Elvis got a fond look of reminiscence which suggested it had been awhile, “I race riverboats and charge the extra coal to the colonel’s account.”

“I’ll see to it that Captain Jones’ coal is charged similarly.” Binder smirked and Elvis felt the first taste of genuine like for this man, “Although Parker’s assets may be frozen due to imprisonment by that time.” he quipped, “Best to transfer the rest of the funds to a Mrs. Presley lest they take the brunt of such expenditures.”

“I’m hearin you.” the mirth had gone right out of the Captain's voice, “Can I not just sign it to my father?”

“What? With him in prison, too? Be sensible, Captain. It’s either a wife or child. Wait -have you got a child?”

“No.” Elvis could finally say that with certainty thanks to Rosey’s report. Maddy’s son was not his.

“Shocking.” Binder teased and Elvis might have been in the mood to laugh were he not contemplating marrying a woman who he thought was a different woman twelve hours before. “Invite me to the wedding won’t you? I was thinking this evening would be best, I’ll even ensure the Colonel is on the noon train down to Memphis so as not to meddle.”

“I ain’t gonna make this a church weddin.” Elvis insisted.

“Well, alright, easier in court anyway.” Binder shrugged, watching Presley’s sullen demeanor curiously, “I had thought such a thing was already imminent between you two-“

“Is that all, Mr. Binder?” Captain Presley cut in.

“Until this evening and the contract, yes, I suppose so.” Binder rose, sensing his blatant dismissal, “I’ll arrange the Colonel’s ticket and uh, meet you at the courthouse, yes?”

“I’ll send word if that particular endeavor is on.” Elvis parlayed.

“Oh it had better be, sir.” Binder reiterated, earnestly. “Or you and she will be wiped clean of funds, and my efforts for that pardon will be as nothing.”

“I’m hearin you, Mr. Binder.” it was a wonder that so ominous a voice, like an earthquake or the rush of an elemental force, could have affected brainless innocence so capably a few moments ago. Binder’s brain and other organs were confused by the change, but that was becoming a familiar feeling when in Captain Presley’s presence.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Mr. Binder muttered, at a loss as to how to conclude one of the most eventful interviews of his life when his opponent (or was it ally?) had his back to him, staring out the window with soulless eyes.

Binder let himself out.

Captain Presley followed shortly after, his steamrolling gait bound for the mess hall and a long overdue breakfast.

“Captain!” Calhoun waylaid him right in front of the mess hall doors, right where he could smell the scent of bacon and eggs and his sought after sanity.

“Lemme guess, you wanna complain ‘bout the Colonel ta me.” he slurred exhaustedly while dragging the boy along from where he hung on his jacket sleeve.

“Matter o fact, ye-“

“Take a number, boy.” he sighed, pushing open the doors to the mess and vowing to eat something before he heard another word spoken in English or otherwise about his benevolent partner.

I’ve made the following one time taglist for those of you who used to like and comment and enjoy this work on my previous, deactivated blog. I thought I’d alert y’all that this project is still ongoing, I’m still ticking and there’s new chapters if you have any interest. Cheers and all the love 💋 ~Marina/@aconflagrationofmyown

@tacozebra051

@notstefaniepresley

@tyne18

@horror-movieshoes

@lillypink

@blurredcolour

@bisexualwatson

@j-v-9-2

@pearlparty

@crash-and-cure

@dkayfixates

@woundmetender

@captainthisamerica

@eliseinmemphis

@lindszepplin

@foreverdolly

@ab4eva

@jelliedonut

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@lookingforrainbows

@vintageworld

@robinismywife

@from-memphis-with-love

@steph-speaks

@avengen

@butlersxbirdy

@ash-omalley

@eliseinmemphis

@stylespresleyhearted

@missmaywemeetagain

@prompted-wordsmith

@whositmcwhatsit

@snowf86

@vinnvered

@butlervol6

@artlover8992

@coolgirl462

@cigaretess

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Fanfiction Writing Asks! 4, 6, 7, 8, 24, 39, 42, 61 for "Save a horse, ride a cowboy", 63 for "Eden revives in the first kiss of love", 65 for "You are the ghost behind my eyes", 67 for "Learned to walk alone".

4. How do you choose which fics to write?

Usually, it's whichever characters or storyline is speaking louder in my head with actual complete sentences that I can then write down. Anymore, I pull up multiple WIPs at once and sometimes even bounce around between them if that's how they want to play. Otherwise, the one getting written on is usually the one with the louder characters/story.

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

From the untitled multi-ship Pride collabfic with @scottxlogan. I haven't finished my part yet, but this was the last bit I wrote last night before going to bed:

“Great! Then it’s all settled,” Tony crowed and hip-bumped both Bucky and Steve on either side of him. “Hey…Maguna, you and Laura come over here for a second,” he called out to the two little girls, who just barely heard him over the music they were still swaying and bouncing to.

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

From Too weird to live, too rare to die, a Justin Hammer/Loki canon divergent fic for @kleenexwoman

“Everyone thinks that?” Loki hummed low, his thoughts as veiled as his irises. 

“No, hey...no no no.  Loki, no.  No one thinks that at all.  I was...I was just fuckin’ with you,” Justin backpedaled.  Out of instinct, he reached out, intending to pat Loki’s hand or something, just to calm and comfort him, but with his back to the door, his hands were just out of reach.  So Justin’s hand fell onto Loki’s knee.  Loki’s very bare knee as the trickster-prince had chosen, like Justin, to wear shorts on the almost five hour trek across the desert. 

He was about to pull over.  If Loki was still having some sort of crisis of friendship over his dumb quip, Justin would totally pull over to focus on fixing shit with his mission partner so they didn’t go pear-shaped from their goal. 

Then Loki’s hand fell on top of Justin’s. 

“You’re fine.  And I know you were just fucking with me,” he replied, letting Justin off the hook.  “I am well aware of where I stand with the Avengers now, and as such they consider me one of them.  Oh dear, you really will need to get used to me, won’t you?” 

It took a moment for Loki’s words to really wrap around Justin’s mind.  First off, he was intensely focused on the road and keeping all possibility of crashing Tony’s pretty baby into a sign post or something.  Second...well, second...

Loki’s hand is really warm.  Like yeah, it’s super cool to the touch, too, but it’s warm.  Or maybe I’m warm and he’s cool, but my stupid inconvenient attraction is making me warm, and I canNOT wreck this car holy fuck this mission is so important and are we even making good time?

Justin cleared his throat and shifted a little in the driver’s seat, hoping he didn’t look too much like he was fidgeting and nervous.  His hand remained sandwiched between Loki’s thigh and his hand for three, four, five breaths longer before he felt the road breeze blow across it and realized that Loki had moved his hand away.  When he glanced over, hoping that the guy wasn’t pissed at him – for what, he had no idea, but Justin had gotten so used to his day to day world being filled with people pissed off at him that he was always more surprised when they weren’t – but what he saw, namely Loki with his arms stretched up and his hands tucked behind his head like he was Tuggle Carpenter in Where the Boys Are, and yeah, Justin could be TV Thompson if asked just right. 

Wait, did I lose the metaphor somewhere along the way?

Another burst of nervous chuckles tumbled out of Justin while he clutched the wheel again.  They’d just made it out of Barstow without even noticing the city itself, though Justin had managed to keep to the proper speed limit. 

“Once again, Loki, you’re right.  I do need to get used to you.  I kinda need to do that with everyone.  Been running on first impressions and rumors and hearsay cuz I didn’t think any of you wanted me in your space,” he conceded, stepping on the gas a little more to push back up to highway limits. 

“You hide from everyone first because you don’t expect them to take to you.  To want you around,” Loki surmised. 

“You do that when you first joined up?  Though as I understand it, you were pretty banged up at first.” 

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

From The House in the Mist, a Scogan Lovecraftian horror fic, spoiler:

Logan really just wants to set fire to all those weird fucking mushrooms - eyes? They have eyes?

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

Usually I don't choose a POV for most fics as the thoughts will bounce back and forth between characters, but like in the Justin/Loki fic I mentioned above, while it's that all seeing eye sort of POV, there's a lot of Justin's inner thoughts and dialogue, and that's just because he's the one pushing those thoughts out louder right now. So yeah, it's whomever is the loudest who gets their POV emphasized and when.

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

I was about to say Too weird to live, too rare to die because I'm hammering the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas references a little hard in certain areas (and I mean, how is it not utterly self-indulgent? I'm writing Justin/Loki ffs, and given that the only other person on the planet right now that ships them is @kleenexwoman not to mention that the relationship tag on AO3 only has my two fics in it so far), but the more I thought about it, I think my most self-indulgent WIP is Hemipheres, a Frostiron fic that is a huge fix-it for so many things. Or will be even further into it I get. And it's also self-indulgent because I'm taking my time with it, which has naturally gotten me a comment about abandoning the fic. *eyeroll*

42. What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

Of titles that I actually came up with (and not just borrowed song lyrics or lines of poetry), there's two:

Never Piss Off a Telepath; Or How Logan Opened His Mouth and Said a Stupid Thing

and

The Deflowering of Ferret Face (my one and only M*A*S*H fanfic)

61. In Save a horse, ride a cowboy, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

A toss-up between Scene 3, where Loki (on Steve's request) rescues a stranded Bucky and Tony at an inopportune moment, and Scene +1 where Bucky and Tony finally get their uninterrupted time together.

63. What was the hardest part of writing Eden revives in the first kiss of love?

There wasn't really much that was hard to write in this one. I think I'd decided before I even started that Emma was going to have replaced Charles in helping Scott to run the school and that she'd be one of the first reveals (after trans Kit Pryde). No, this one was pretty smooth sailing from the start.

65. If you wrote a sequel to You are the ghost behind my eyes, what would happen in it?

I don't know. This would be a weird one to do a sequel to given that two of the main players are dead. Well, one of them was already dead and a ghost. But maybe the sequel would be Tony getting Steve to Valhalla where Loki and Nat are waiting for them, so it'd be a really self-indulgent fic of just one big sweet reunion between those four and maybe them gossiping on what everyone else is doing if they ever 'visit'. LOL

67. If a fic was titled "Learned to walk alone", what would this story be about/how would you write it?

This feels like a Frostiron fic with parallel views of Tony's early life and Loki's early life and where (while they obviously had some people in their lives helping them - Tony had Edwin and Ana Jarvis, and Loki had Frigga) they both had to learn to be self-reliant because the people they should've been able to lean on, to learn from, to have as guides (Howard, Maria, Odin, Thor, etc) were never there for them. But how that path they'd chosen to be self-reliant led them to each other where they could both rest, relax and trust and rely on each other.

Thanks for the asks!

Fanfiction Writing Asks.

[mini-yoongers]

The Morning After

Pairing: Choi San x AMAB pov Genre: Slice of life/smut W/C: 1,117 Stuff: Sub-top San, established couple (cute), non-idol au, anal, kitchen sex, tbh this is borderline vanilla, I'm not like other fanfic writers I'm sorry y/n i literally cannot write in second person this is just what I do, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

If you enjoyed this, I made an AO3 account ok???>>> Arikuusou

Nothing posted yet, but I'm working on it I promise! Will be primarily Ateez fics.

San was always most beautiful the morning after a hard fuck. Watching him walk out of the bedroom all loose bones and floppy hair, a layer of lust beneath the sleepiness in his eyes... God, he was a vision, a seraph, the closest thing to a perfect man if there ever was one.

But he didn't like it when I called him perfect, so I tried to avoid it.

"Morning, sunshine." I smiled at him from where I sat at the kitchen island. He didn't respond in words, but stepped over to drape himself over me.

A signature San hug, hot and enveloping, lingering much longer than one would expect. That had taken me time to get used to in the beginning.

He kissed my neck and then moved away to pour himself a coffee. When he sat across from me, he quirked a brow, realizing I had been watching his every move. "What?"

I shrugged, a little coy. "Just thinking about last night."

He smirked and took his first sip of coffee. "Yeah that was..."

Exceptional. One of our best nights so far. Sometimes it was hard to remember we'd only been together 8 months when it felt like this was always our life, always would be.

"I'm thinking we shouldn't leave the apartment today," I said.

"Pretty windy out there," San agreed with a sly look on his face.

I at least let him get through half his drink before I got up and kissed him, the taste of morning mint and coffee bean filling my mouth. His skin was impossibly smooth, his hair thick and shiny as it tickled my cheek, and I wondered how I got so lucky to have caught this man's eye and heart.

I reached down and found him already rock-hard beneath his boxer briefs, which sent blood rushing between my own legs.

I stroked his cock over the fabric a few times and he abruptly started kissing me hard, biting my lips.

"Ah, ah," I backed away, gently pressing my palm to his chest. "Not too eager now. Have you forgotten all the good lessons you learned last night."

His eyes clouded further. "No, I haven't forgotten."

"Of course not. You're such a good boy. Kneel for me."

No hesitation. He slid from the stool and to the floor, looking up at me for his next instruction.

It killed me the way San loved this; made me somehow horny and sad at the same time. His whole life, he'd always had to perform, always had to be the big man, tough and strong, giving orders. He'd taken his father's company over shortly before I met him, and I saw the toll it took.

But here, with me, he could escape all that. He could just rest, follow my instructions, and not think, not decide.

"Now get my cock out and put your mouth on it."

He was so eager, but trying to hide it.

I sighed as his wet lips enveloped me. He starts gentle but quickly ramps up, sucking my head and all the spots he knows will make me needy fast.

"Fuck," I breathe, amazed as always at him. "Good boy. I'm going to need you to fuck me this morning, Sannie."

"Of course," he exhaled.

I reached over the counter and snatched up a bottle of coconut oil. "Give me your hand."

He offered his palm and I poured the oil on it, not worried about the mess we were starting to make. I leaned back against the island as he took my cock in his mouth again, reaching around to spread my cheeks.

I was still sensitive and turned-on from the night before and moaned loudly when he slipped the first finger in. He smirked up at me and me down at him.

"Get that smile off your face," I breathed as he began easily opening me up. His fingers were so different from his cock, quick and bony and rutted. I almost chided him to slow down but it felt too good and I was way too horny. Some dom I was.

But he would keep going until I told him to stop, so finally I took his wrist and pulled his fingers out of me. He kissed the front of my stomach and hips, and I took his chin in my hand.

"How's your cock feeling, baby boy?"

"So horny," he whispered.

"You want me to put it inside me?"

"Please."

"Beg."

"Please, please, put my cock inside you."

"Are you going to stay still like a good little boy?"

"Yes, I promise."

The way his voice became so soft and desperate, his pure willingness to do everything I asked. My cock was dripping and my insides were screaming for him. I couldn't play around any longer and I pushed him against the counter, looking down at his desperate member. I slathered him with more oil, watching his stomach tighten as I coated him, stroking gratuitously.

His breath caught when I finally turned around and sheathed his cock in my ass. I was rushing, a little, but the burn faded as soon as I tugged his hand around to touch me.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hips jerking an uncontrolled movement.

There was no suppressing the little cry I made, the hitch of breath at him pushing deeper.

I rocked back until I could feel his balls pressing against mine, and then fucked him with all the needy desperation we were both feeling this morning. Mostly, he stayed still like a good boy while I used his cock, moaning loud enough that anyone in the hallway of the building could hear. The noises San made, all suppressed and high and full of release, had my belly swirling.

Already my orgasm was coiling, and I lamented for a moment until I remembered we had the whole day ahead of us. I focused on feeling every inch of his smooth cock inside me again and again. My perfect, smooth San, so hard yet so gentle. I cried out and came all over the clean white kitchen floor. As I clenched and throbbed around him, San could no longer hold still. I felt his nails dig into my skin as he gripped my hips, going stiff and silent in ecstasy as he spilled what little was left from last night deep inside me.

Exhausted, I leaned back against him and he held me. His cock popped out of me with a delicious, wet sound.

"Fuck," I breathed.

"Yeah," San said. "I love you."

"Yeah? Even though I made your coffee go cold?"

He nuzzled into my neck, kissing every bit of skin he could get too. "Definitely." He sighed deeply, a sated sigh, a blissful sigh. "That was a great morning fuck. Perfect."

[watchoutforthefanfics]

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part four) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: innuendos, lots of talk of sex (it's Richie), vague mention of one night stands, low self-worth, a little angst, loneliness, imposter syndrome, cursing, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: This series has a chokehold on me. I cannot stop writing it, seriously. I also cannot stop listening to BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish, so we're counting that as inspiration. Enjoy :))]]

It was a few days later (and Eddie's message was still bouncing around his head, even though they'd kept talking the whole time and moved on from it). Richie can't remember exactly what he'd said in response, but it was something pathetically embarrassing. Like maybe 'okay'.

He really didn't even have the guts to go back and check. (For reference, all he'd actually said was interesting. Can't tell if that's worse.)

Richie was supposed to stream today, but Bev wanted him on her stream. (Something about doing men's clothes). So, he changed plans. Posted on social media that he was, which probably meant both of their audiences would be watching. And while that was a little nerve-wracking, Richie was a natural on stream -it was kinda the place he felt the most like himself. Which was a little sad, he didn't think about it too much.

Anyway, it was about an hour before the stream and he was debating.

Beverly was busying herself with fabrics, holding them up against him from a distance.

Tell, or not to tell, tell, or not to tell, tell-

"Stop thinking so hard, you're going to hurt yourself."

Richie blinked, clearing his throat, and straightening his posture. Her eyes slinked along him for a second, curiously. It was only a matter of time before she figured him out (he was shockingly easy to read). She opened her mouth to say something-

Ding.

He grabbed his phone so fast that Bev no doubt saw it, and he didn't even think about that at all. He was really so fucked. Eddie had a strangely strong hold on him. He was always a dumbass (he'd been called clingy a lot) when it involved feelings though, so maybe it was normal for him.

e.kaspbrak

You're on Bev's today?

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah she's gonna make some men's shit

and I'm a fucking model ✨️💅

e.kaspbrak

That's how you know she's low on options.

Richie laughed.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

u called me handsome eds

u made me this way

e.kaspbrak

You are handsome dickweed.

Your personality is the problem.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

awe spaghetti thinks I'm handsome 🤭🤭🤭

e.kaspbrak

You already knew that??

Or did you run out of memory in your brain? That would make a lot of sense too.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

i think you're a cutie patootie too eds 😘

e.kaspbrak

You're such a dick trashmouth.

"Whose that?"

Richie blinked again, the smile dropping from his face, "What?"

Bev was mindlessly folding and stacking fabric, really impressive that she could do that without even looking actually, "Who are you texting?"

"I'm just watching videos," he offered -weakly.

"Right," she laughed, stepping closer, "-without audio?"

He instantly reacted, more casually, "Bevvy, you might think I'm a dumbass, which to be fair I am, but I can read."

"Richie," she leveled, blue eyes staring.

He weighed his options.

"Okay, okay," he threw his hands up, "-it's Eddie."

"Eddie?" She questioned, now completely facing him.

"Like um," Richie rolled his lips through his teeth, hissing out a breath, "-like the one in my chat?"

"Oh, Eddie," she stressed out, "-you know I did notice a change in your streams, actually. How did you find him?"

"Don't judge me, but-" he spoke, a little hesitantly, "-internet stalking."

"No, I get that," Bev relayed, before clarifying, "-and you just... messaged him?"

"No, I accidentally liked a post and he messaged me."

She laughed a little, "That checks out, actually."

"Yeah," Richie added, "-I'm a dumb motherfucker."

"Only sometimes," she added, flawlessly, before moving closer -curious, "-is he cute?"

"Oh, so cute," he spoke, near instantly, through a rushed breath (he had been kinda holding this in), "-He's got these cute fucking freckles, and works on cars-"

"Is he gay?"

She followed up, a little concerned. Richie had been there before, so she was completely founded.

"Yeah," he pursed his lips for a moment, "-and he told me his type was tall idiots. Which I think was him hitting on me-"

"No thinking," she laughed for a moment, "-that's a definite. Let me guess, he's a tiny brunette?"

Richie grinned a little, a shit-eating grin probably, "Maybe."

"Let me see your texts," she held out her phone, and it should be said, he didn't even hesitate. He really trusted his friends.

She snatched it up, unflinchingly. Typing in the passcode (which she of course knew), she seemed a little surprised to see that it was already open.

"Oh, he texted you," she sat just beside him, reading, "-'Gotta go, boss sucks ass, but I'll see you at the stream.' What do you want to say?"

"'See you spaghetti' with a heart, an obnoxious amount of hearts actually," he watched over her shoulder, "-commit to no capitals, and use the letter u, not the word."

"Sir yes sir," she laughed, typing it out and then, carefully scrolling up, "-shit, you guys talk a lot."

"Yeah," he laughed a little, "-it's like he's not getting sick of me."

Bev turned to him then, carefully scanning over his face, "We don't get sick of you either, Richie. You know that, right?"

"Well, I don't-" he started, before resetting himself, "-I... hold back sometimes because I think I'm too much."

"Richie-"

"But I don't," he spoke, a little carefully, "-with Eddie, I don't."

She pursed her lips, eyes shooting back to the texts and then back to him, "For the record, you don't have to hold back from me, but-"

Richie waited.

"-I'm happy you have that. Really."

With a breath, she read through the texts. Only commenting a few times ("He was definitely flirting with you, Rich." or "It is strangely kind of cute how he insults you, I kind of get it."), the time flew by. Before he could blink, it was time for the stream to start.

She was setting everything up for a moment, her desk was a standing one, so Richie was kind of awkwardly in the background. He really, at his core, was lanky limbs and awkward posture, even more so standing. Hence why he only had sitting streams.

Bev told him when she started the stream, and then promptly asked, "Should I move my camera up? Can you guys see Richie?"

Chat was still basically dead, but some people did answer her.

"'Tragically yes'," she read out, laughing, "-Oh hey, Eddie! I've seen you in Richie's streams how are you?"

"Hi, spaghetti!" He grinned (big enough that it was kind of embarrassing), waving.

eddie.kaspbrak: I'm doing okay thank you

bevs.boa: 🍝🍝🍝

the_fashionista27: whose eddie

trashy.tozier: @/the_fashionista27 a regular on trashmouth streams

dizknees: EDDIEEEE

trashy.tozier: 🍝🍝🍝

elite.girl07: bev what are we doing today

skirt-nopants: why are there spaghetti emojis in chat

beverly_supremacy34: BEVVYYYY

stan.the.man: why is he here

tozier_babeyyy: 🍝🍝🍝

benny.boy: so excited for today's stream !!!

"We are doing men's clothes today," she chimed, happily, before walking back to where Richie stood (where she was drastically shorter) and splaying out her hands, "-hence our visitor."

He threw out some jazz hands, awkwardly. He always felt a little out of place on other people's streams, he usually toned himself down, especially for Bev's.

eddie.kaspbrak donated $5: since when are you tall

Beverly laughed, reading that one out. Turning toward Richie, she beckoned him to answer.

"Since I was 16, Eds," he clarified, exaggeratively brushing off his shoulders, and purposely lowering his voice, "-not to brag, but I am 6'1."

dizknees: no he has a good point

bev-hiiiii: I have never actually seen him stand

trashy.tozier: you're 6'1 ?!

the.losers.are.better: I thought he was lying

"Guys, come on," he laughed, speaking defensively, "-have a little faith in me. I'm not that fucking shitty."

stan.the.man donated $10: yes he is don't let him lie to you

Richie laughed again, "Fuck you, Stanley."

"Okay, okay," Bev motioned, "-let's focus chat. What kind of shirt do we want to make today?"

They decided pretty quickly on a button-up, mostly because Richie's wardrobe consisted of that and graphic tees. Bev wanted him to wear it, and he would definitely wear a button-up.

She always did want to test the waters with him though, bring him out of his fashion boundaries. His comfort zone really.

Skimming through the fabrics, she picked up two. She let Richie touch them all (he'd rather die than where a shirt that was scratchy on his skin), and she settled on two that he'd approved of. A white one with light blue vertical stripes, and a yellow one with tiny little stars in a pattern. Richie, naturally, liked the yellow more but either way he'd be happy to have a shirt made by Bev.

"Wait," she paused, debating, "-chat, what if we made him a plain one? And I could style a sweater over the top? Ooh, or a vest-"

"Totally down for that, Bevvy, really, I love it-" he interrupted, "-but we live in California. Layers mean sweat, and I'm a sweaty man-"

big.bill donated $5: how do we beep beep him here

"I guess just use chat," Bev hummed, laughing a little.

smell-ya-later: beep beep

stan.the.man: beep beep

eddie.kaspbrak: shut the fuck up richard

bevs.boa: beep beep

trashy.tozier: sweaty rep say that king 🤴

elite.girl07: beep beep (I have no idea what we're doing)

dizknees: beep 📣 beep 📣

pantmeup88: dunno you but beep beep ig

the_fashionista27: beep beep

the._.voices: beep beep

b*tchy-richie: beep beep

beverly_supremacy34: just realized that's trashmouth

mike.me.up: beep beep

Richie raised his hands in surrender, pretending to zip his lips closed. Bev promptly zipped them back open with a smile, patting his chest, "It's not fun if you're not talking, Rich."

She then spun around pointing at the camera, making a motion like she was watching them, "I'll fight you guys next time, watch out."

Chat responded with a slew of emojis.

"Alright, anyway," she pulled up the two fabrics -showing them to the camera, "-chat, these are our options."

Bev walked back to Richie's side, holding up the blue against his chest, "A," then the yellow, "-or B? Mods?"

The poll was finishing up, when the notification popped up.

eddie.kaspbrak donated $5: don't listen to those fuckers it's yellow

"Is blue even winning, Eds?" Richie laughed, something fluttering in his chest. He thoroughly debated changing his entire wardrobe to yellow-

dizknees: period say that 🍝

trashy.tozier: no he's right

trashmouth-for-me: YELLOWWW

bevs.boa: you guys don't understand art it's blue

girlie-pops: I'm late what are we arguing about

pickle-pickle7: no fr it's yellow

your._.mom: guys come on be real it's yellow

beverly_supremacy34: HOW IS BLUE WINNING

dizknees: yellow stans UNITE 😤😤😤

baby-baby67: yellow yellow yellow

butterfly_spawn: first stream what's up

bevs.boa: @/butterflyspawn hiiiii welcome <33

babey_gurl745: obvi yellow

urgencyforwhat: listen to me when I say this BLUE

burt-n-ernie.loverz: blue it matches his eyes

stan.the.man: eddie's right

smell-ya-later: poll is rigged bevvy

benny.boy: I think he looks good in both

"Thanks, Benny," Richie hummed, batting his lashes, and blowing a strangely wet kiss toward the camera.

Bev pursed her lips, eyeing the poll, "It's going to crazy fucking close, guys."

eddie.kaspbrak: can I pay for more votes

Bev and Richie laughed at that. Well, Richie might have giggled, actually. Why was every embarrassing thing he did on public record?

trashy.tozier: where's the gay shit guy saying that is gay shit

trashmouth-for-me: @/trashy.tozier no real

gay.shit.guy: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 GAY SHIT MENTIONED 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

bevs.boa: are y'all seeing what I'm seeing 👀

butterfly_spawn: I hope yellow wins

beverly_supremacy34: @/bevs.boa no no I see it

battle.bus547: yellow deserves it

girlie-pops: bev do both

burly._.bears89: will you guys play minecraft soon

trashy.tozier: richie tozier gay? more at 11

bet_on_it: @/trashy.tozier trashmouth is gay?

trashy.tozier: @/bet_on_it are you serious?

trashmouth-for-me: yellow yellow yellow

"Alright," Bev laughed, clapping her hands once, "-I think I'm just going to do both. Alright, Rich, get ready for some measuring!"

The rest of the day was pretty quick, Bev told him it would take a few days if not a week for her to get one done, at least a few more streams. Two meant a longer wait and Richie was alright with it. He couldn't fucking imagine making something himself, so he would wait without complaint. Not that he'd complain anyway.

He waltzed up the stairs of his apartment, fingers dancing along the rails. The metal chime echoed around the room as he did so, and he paused -waiting to see if anyone was in the stairwell.

Richie wasn't entirely sure he knew any of his neighbors, or even if he wanted to. Who knew their neighbors these days? He only really saw familiar people in the lobby, and surprisingly, he didn't really talk to them. Well, maybe not surprisingly, if you really knew him he wasn't super comfortable with strangers. When he was nervous, not uncomfortable, he started fucking talking.

It was different.

Slowly, when there was no reaction, Richie made it up the stairs. And then, his phone started blaring.

"Shit," he nearly dropped it, before quickly answering, "-Hello?"

"Richie," it was Mike, he realized (in all his haste, he hadn't really even checked the caller ID apparently), "-hey. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"What? No," he mended, quickly -regaining his composure and walking through his floor (lowering his voice appropriately) "-I'm just getting home from Bev's, what's up, Mikey?"

"I wanted to," he paused a second, "-I wanted to talk to you about Eddie."

Richie faltered, slowly putting the key into the lock, "What about Eds?"

"You're not-" Mike started, before seeming to reiterate, "-You're not fucking with him, are you?"

He opened his door, sliding off his shoes and tossing a bag he brought onto the counter -moving to lock the door behind himself, "Fucking with him?"

Mike clarified, "Like joking? About being... being interested in him, friend or otherwise?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's not you, Rich," he quickly added, "-Eddie's just been through some shit. He's an old friend and deserves a lot better than what the world has given him."

Right, 'so good to see you happy man ❤️'.

"How do you know him?" Richie asked before he could stop it -throwing himself onto the couch.

"You remember how me and Ben lived in the same shitty smalltown?"

Ben and Mike were old friends, used to volunteer at the library over the summer together. (At least, he's pretty sure that's how that happened.) They hadn't stayed in contact, but then Bev found Ben and recruited him, and they were reunited. Even still, Richie doesn't know the luck of that happening but it did.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Well, Eddie lived there too," Mike clarified, "-He visited the library a lot, it was one of the only places he was allowed to go-"

"Allowed?" Richie questioned, once again his mouth was uncontrollable.

"His mom, she..." Mike fell silent, settling on something, "-Eddie should tell you about that. It's not my place."

"Oh-kay," Richie replied, a little confused, fidgeting with a button on his shirt, "-Mikey, what is this about?"

There was a pause.

"Look," Mike refocused, voice steady (in the scary loyal kinda way Richie's only heard a few times), "-all I'm asking is if you're genuine. With Eddie."

"You do shit like this for me?" He joked, a little flatly, "-Or do you pick favorites?"

"I am," Mike answered simply, "-I already have."

He talked to Eddie? Something in Richie wanted to ask about it, poke and prod until he couldn't anymore. Just like he always did. What did he say about me? What did he say about m-

"So?" Mike questioned.

Richie pursed his lips for a second.

"Of course, I'm fucking genuine," he started fidgeting with the buttons more intently like he could avoid what he was saying (make it a little less real), "-I think Eddie is the shit. Probably the coolest person I know, no offense, and I-"

The words halted in his throat, almost like he wasn't ready to say them. He powered through anyway.

"-I really like him. It's fucking embarrassing how much I like him."

"Like-like?" Mike asked, completely serious.

"Are you seriously fucking saying that right now?" Richie laughed, pulling his fingers away from the button, "-You sound like we're under the bleachers gossiping about the hunky football captain or some shit. Do you think he'll ask me to the dance, Mikey? Do ya think so-"

Mike laughed, "How else am I supposed to say it?"

"I dunno," he added, brushing a hand through his curls, "-How about... Are you into him? Do you think he's hot as shit? Have you planned your future marriage ceremony in your head-"

"Have you?"

Richie's lips pressed into a firm line (he'd really only gotten to the engagement part -god he was so fucked up), "No."

"Right," Mike laughed -uncertain, "-Look, Richie, I think it's great you like him, and I'm willing to bet he's into you too-"

Why? What did he say? He likes me? How do you-

"-But be careful," he continued, "-I don't want you or Eddie hurt in the long run. It would be really shitty to half to divide my time like I have divorced parents."

"I'd obviously have custody of you," Richie instinctively responded.

"I don't know," Mike countered, "-Eddie has a lot of fight in him. He'd drag you through hell in court."

"Fair point," he relented, maybe smiling a little.

"Well, that's all I wanted to ask," Mike sighed out, "-Plus, I stream in like an hour, so I gotta go. But take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," he quietly responded.

It felt a little like it echoed along his walls, even though the room wasn't as empty as the stairwell. (It felt a little like it was, in the ways that mattered). Richie dropped his phone on his chest and stared up at the ceiling -silent.

He should probably tell Stan all of this is happening, huh? And Steve, when he sees him next. (Should be in about a month.) He basically had a list for the guy when he gets to his next appointment, filled with thoughts and events-

Ding.

Richie peeked at his phone.

e.kaspbrak

Did Mike talk to you?

He pursed his lips a second, fingers stagnant against the keyboard.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah u?

e.kaspbrak

Obviously, I just asked you dipshit.

Richie smiled.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

u r a funny guy eds

u should steal my job u could do it

e.kaspbrak

You're good at your job.

And fuck that, I want to watch your streams.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

u like my streams ???

e.kaspbrak

I'm subscribed to you, moron.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

well yeah

I thought u just wanted to shit on me

or maybe see my pretty face 😉

e.kaspbrak

You're lucky I'm far away from you.

Richie pursed his lips together, typing before he could stop.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

no

no I'm not eds

He watched the message for a few seconds, eyeing the bubbles typing away and then disappearing. Like he was writing and rewriting everything, like he wasn't sure what to say. Richie wasn't sure what he would say if the tables were flipped.

So instead of assuming (despite his stomach twisting with anxiety), he patiently waited. (If you could count his foot bouncing so fast it was shaking his coffee table patient).

e.kaspbrak

I'm genuine.

You have to fucking know that at this point.

He thought for a second, smoothing the words over his skin.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

so am I

e.kaspbrak

That's not answering my question trashmouth.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

I didn't know

e.kaspbrak

Really?

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah

u r kinda a dick to me tbf

e.kaspbrak

That's just how I am.

Sometimes I'm a dick to people I care about, it happens.

Richie smiled again then, quietly absorbing the words. Eddie was such an interesting person, and Richie (un)surprisingly could not wait to know all the little Eddie-isms.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

I care about u too spaghetti

There was a pause again, and Richie felt a little heavy for a second. Waiting.

e.kaspbrak

Mike told me about your parents.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

mikey told me about ur mom

vaguely

e.kaspbrak

Vaguely too.

Do you want to talk about it?

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

do u eds?

e.kaspbrak

Eventually.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah me too

I wanna tell u eventually

e.kaspbrak

Richie?

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

yeah spaghetti?

e.kaspbrak

I like when you talk, even if it's the stupidest shit I've ever heard.

Richie laughed then, quietly, and something smoothed off his shoulders. The heaviness felt lighter. Just like it always did with Eddie somehow. His mind was quieter, calmer. He doesn't know how he does it, but he does.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

I think that's the first time I've ever heard that from anybody eds

e.kaspbrak

Well, people are dumb as fuck.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

u r not wrong

but thank u

means a lot from u

e.kaspbrak

What does that mean?

Richie paused, carefully, thinking over a response. It felt different this time, this conversation, he wasn't sure why. It just felt a little monumental, like they were crossing something, a milestone (as Steve, his therapist said).

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

u r pretty cool too eds

even if u call me dipshit a lot

I still think u r pretty cool

e.kaspbrak

You are a dipshit.

But thank you.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

ahh good ole mean spaghetti

believe me nice eds is cute

but there's something special about grumpy lil eddie :)

e.kaspbrak

Ew.

Richie frowned. Did he say something?

e.kaspbrak

You called me Eddie.

Don't do that again.

He laughed out loud, something swirling around in his chest. It felt weird for a second, it had barely been a month knowing him, and even less texting him, but it felt right. Like they were meant to slot together. Like destiny (which was cliché as fuck).

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

sir yes sir 🫡

e.kaspbrak

You're such a dick.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

that's my name don't wear it out babey~

He smiled for a moment, dropping his phone onto his chest with a breath. And in that moment, his apartment felt a little less empty. Richie wasn't sure how to feel about that at all, but it felt good for now.

e.kaspbrak

Shithead.

Yeah, he thought to himself, I think it's pretty good.

[namorslutfanfiction]

Hi hi 👋🏾!!

I hope you are doing a little better than yesterday and to keep you mind off other things, I present SparkNotes: BPWF - First Reactions !!

- The siren attack in the beginning of the movie has me in a chokehold! I cannot wait to watch it again and get goosebumps

- The first time I saw Namor on screen, I moaned and the lady next to me turned to look at me like “ are you okay??”🤣.

- I was also with my younger cousins so I really had to behave lol.

- Namor’s facial expressions and body language emphasize my idea that he is super possessive, which had me squirming in my seat and thinking unholy thoughts

-What makes me love Namor even more is that he is so RUTHLESS! His all or nothing attitude and the sweet baby eyes 🥹🥹 left me wanting to “fuck around and find out” 😉😉

- When he came out of the water, lookin perfect and shit, Dive In by Trey Songz started playing in my head! The second time, my brain switched to Wet by Chris Brown lol

- Namor’s back and muscles….BABY!!! CHOKE ME AND FUCK ME ON THE THRONE!!! There is no other way to describe how I felt when he was holding his seashell

In summary, Tenoch is hot, my underwear was soaked, and I embarrassed myself lol

( I hope this wasn’t too much 🤭)

The siren attack was elite tbh. And the way my heart was racing when he first came on screen. I was ruined immediately. Like I was already excited by all the positive reviews and everyone thirsting. But when I fully witnessed it myself. I literally lost my breath.

Oh Namor is possessive and jealous for sure. He has trauma and would be so afraid of losing his lover. I think my most accurate portrayal of him was the Namor making a deal with Reader fic.

Like the way I had her just bodily throw her and callously threaten to kill her and lie to her parents about it. Yandere!Namor is canon namor. Even the whole nashuri ship is just Yandere!Namor because he straight up kills her mom.

WHEN HE CAME OUT OF THE WATER THE FIRST TIME AND THEN PUSHED HIS HAIR BACK I THINK I CAME BECAUSE HOW DOES A MAN LOOK THAT GOOD DOING THAT LITTLE MERMAID TYPE SHIT AND HIS ACCENT FUUUUUUCCCK,

OH i have a thing for muscular but kind of thick men. like not the crazy mountains but like solid men with thighs and back and arms but would be kind of soft when they aren't in post gym pump. and Namor gave me all of that. WHEN I SAW HIS BACK IN THE TRAILER I WAS LIKE OH NO MY WEAKNESS I WANT TO COVER IT IN SCRATCHES. tenoch is the ideal in terms of my preference for male physique. Not too crazy fit but also takes care of himself. not ashamed to eat tacos and drink but keeps himself lean by dancing.

The way I am so down bad for this man and everything he does is unhealthy at best, and downright psychotic at worst.

he's so beautiful i want to cry.

[sergeantneko]

Hi there! I'm Neko, and I found your post as a reblog from a friend of mine. I've played all of the 3D zelda games, and I write fanfics for the series. I'll answer these as best I can!

1: I've never really thought about it, but if I were to do so, I would put Skyward Sword in Spring, Breath Of The Wild in Autumn, Ocarina of Time in Summer, and Twilight Princess in winter.

2: Assuming you mean 2D as pixelated. I haven't played any of the 2D retro titles (pretty much any of the pixelated ones), however I have played all of the 3D top-down ones. I'm gonna pick one of those, if that's okay? Defo either Link Between Worlds or Spirit Tracks.

3: Skyward Sword! She's SO FRICKIN' CUTE.

4: That's a really hard one. Of the ones I've played, I'd say Phantom Hourglass.

5: I cannot justify picking just one soundtrack, so I'll pick out a few of my favourites instead. Colgera's battle theme (ToTK), Ganon's battle theme (OoT, That 23/16 time signature is insane and I love it), Yuga Ganon battle theme (ALBW, same reason, song is set to 7/8 time signature and it's just as insane), Tarrey Town theme (BoTW), Tal Tal Heights (Link's Awakening Remake), and so many more that elude me.

6: Nope! Bring it on, I love a challenge!

7: There are too many to list, but there is one that I love that others don't. That being the Water Temple from Ocarina of Time. Most people hate it because it's confusing, but I saw it as an experience. And that experience was fucking good, for me anyway.

8: Spirit Tracks for sure. The music, the story, I love it. The controls are not fun, and using the flute was fun if flawed, but everything else makes that tolerable.

9: Hmmmm... I'm gonna go with Tingle on this one.

10: The hookshot! It can get you to many places, and it has been a staple in traditional zelda games! So fun shooting it out and then zipping to the place it sticks.

11: That ones a toss up. I love all of his incarnations. I think Wind Waker is top due to him actually having some sort of humanity. He just wanted what was best for his people, and I can understand his plight. However, the way he went abouy it was wrong.

12: Ocarina of Time. It was the first Zelda game I ever played. And I was enthralled the entire time. Since then, I have managed to play every 3D Zelda game up to now, and it's my favourite franchise.

13: Breath of The Wild. The character designs and lore is incredible. Not much more to say there, really. Nintendo did an amazing job with this entry, and the one after it too.

14: Master Sword. No question.

15: Gerudo Desert, specifically the one from Breath of The Wild.

16: I don't really have one, they're all great.

17: Twilight Princess. It's my favourite in the series for a reason, and atmosphere is a big factor.

18: Again, Twilight Princess. Quite the dark game, especially in contrast to other entries.

19: Same as above, for the same reasons.

20: Same as above.

21: Skyward Sword! The painterly style is fucking awesome. If you're further away from an object, the shader makes the object look watercolored. They improved that effect in the HD remaster on switch, and it's beautiful.

22: I don't really have a favourite. They're all good!

23: Spiritual Stones please.

24: Either Ocarina of Time or Twilight Princess for items.

25: Midna.

26: Spirit Tracks.

27: Breath of The Wild. Mainly cause it pertains to being a breath of fresh air for the series as a whole with it being open world, and the whole place being mostly wilderness at this point.

28: Skyward Sword, up to a point.

29: Hookshot!

30: Ocarina of Time title theme.

31: City In The Sky from Twilight Princess. The entire dungeon is the "I am confusion" gif.

32: Breath of the Wild.

33: Mix of both. It wouldn't be a Zelda game without either.

34: Hmmm... That's a tough one. I think overall I might have had the most trouble with the second Ganon battle that takes place within Hyrule Castle in Echoes of Wisdom.

35: I didn't really have much issue with any of them except for Demise in Skyward Sword. Took me a little while to learn his patterns.

36: that one's between Twilight Princess and Skyward Sword. Both cinematic games, and both incredible in their own way.

37: I have no idea. If I had to give an answer, the Likelike's are weird.

38: The Dead Hand, as well as the ReDeads and Gibdos from Ocarina of Time. Both EXTREMELY creepy.

39: Echoes of Wisdom.

40: Tingle.

41: I have three. Song of Storms, Serenade of Water, and Requiem of Spirit.

42: The Couple's Mask.

43: Goron Mask.

44: The Anju and Kafei quest.

45: Tarrey Town.

46: Skyward Sword HD

47: Each game fulfills something different for me, and so I can't say that any one game is the most fulfilling for me.

48: I love the one incorporated in Breath of The Wild and Tears of The Kingdom. Amazing shading style that blends Cel shading with semi-realistic graphics.

49: Fairy.

50: Modern Hylian Shield, BoTW and ToTK style.

Hope this gives a little bit of insight into my views on the series!

🌟 TLOZ asks 🌟

1. Is there a Zelda game(s) that you associate with each season or time of year?

2. Favourite 2D title?

3. Favourite incarnation of Zelda?

4. Least favourite entry in the series?

5. Favourite LOZ soundtrack?

6. Is there a Zelda game that intimidates you/looks too hard?

7. Favourite dungeons?

8. Most underrated Zelda game?

9. Least favourite character in the series?

10. Favourite item?

11. Favourite Ganon characterization?

12. Which Zelda game has the most sentimental value to you?

13. What Zelda game, in your opinion, has the best character design?

14. Master Sword, the Four Sword, Great Fairy's Sword, the Koholint Sword, or the Biggoron Sword?

15. Favourite location within Hyrule?

16. Favourite location outside of/parallel to Hyrule (Termina, Lorule, Holodrum, Subrosia, the Dark World, Labrynna, the Great Sea, etc)?

17. Most atmospheric game?

18. Which Zelda game feels most mature to you?

19. Which Zelda game has the darkest story to you?

20. Favourite 3D title?

21. Prettiest Zelda game?

22. Favourite incarnation of Link?

23. The Pendants of Virtue, the Spiritual Stones, or the Goddess Pearls?

24. Game with most impressive/useful lineup of items?

25. Favourite companion (Midna, Ezlo, Navi, etc)?

26. Favourite handheld title?

27. Game with the best title (Breath of the Wild, Twilight Princess, Link's Awakening, etc)?

28. Most wholesome Zelda game?

29. Favourite item to use (aside from the sword & shield)?

30. Favourite title theme from a Zelda game?

31. Hardest dungeon played?

32. Game with the best map design?

33. Do you prefer puzzles or combat?

34. Game with the hardest boss?

35. Game with the hardest final boss?

36. Which game had the most engaging story, in your opinion?

37. Least favourite enemy?

38. Creepiest enemy?

39. Which Zelda game, in your opinion, had the most satisfying ending?

40. Most out-of-place thing in the series?

41. Favourite ocarina song?

42. Favourite non-transformation mask from Majora's Mask?

43. Favourite transformation mask from Majora's Mask?

44. Hardest sidequest in the series?

45. Best sidequest in the series?

46. Favourite remake/remaster (Ocarina of Time 3D, The Wind Waker HD, Link's Awakening for the Switch)?

47. Most fulfilling Zelda game?

48. Favourite graphical style within the games (cel-shading, realistic, 16-bit, etc)?

49. Favourite thing to keep in a bottle?

50. Favourite shield?

[lamentingwclf]

It took a while for any correspondence to reach him, mainly because it could only be gathered at allied posts. No one wanted to run the risk of delivering mail in the field when it could mean certain death, so it was only when Bucky could be tracked and his squad checked in that he got letters. The first had been June, which he expected to be the worst of it. She'd written the day he left about how much of a selfish prick he'd been and that she hoped he'd rot in hell.

Rebecca's had been next, ever the peace keeper, she must have either suspected what June had written, or had gotten the truth out of her herself because her words were filled with understanding and apologies.

Steve's radio silence hit harder than he anticipated, not knowing yet that his friend had not only managed to slip through the cracks and enlist, but because he was undergoing basic training himself to ready himself for the Super Soldier Serum. Bucky chalked it up to misplaced and uncontrolled jealousy. Bucky was living his dream, and he didn't have it in his heart to hate him for it. He knew Steve would come around, and when he did, Bucky would be waiting.

But Gwen's letter hit him somewhere outside of Essex, not too deep into the warzone yet, still slowly making their way and picking up stragglers as they went. He was sitting on a broken rock wall next to Dum Dum Dugan when a courier called, "Sergeant Barnes, letter for you." He'd opened it without a second thought until he saw how hard the words were pressed into the page, and his companion leaned in to him to see for himself.

"That looks serious."

"I hope not." It was said lightly, his eyes scanning the page and picking up key words to tell him just how wrong he'd been.

"A girlfriend?"

"Mind your business." Bucky shoved him away with his elbow, much to the other's delighted laugh, then pushed off the wall to head back towards the inn they'd taken over for the night. He needed a desk, and somewhere quiet to focus on how to handle this. He knew it was coming, he just didn't know how severe it would be, nor did he realize just how much it would hurt that she still seemed blind to him.

So she knew the real truth of his reputation, that he would only spend one night with a girl and move on. He didn't risk attachments for a reason, and it had caused quite a bit of strife between friends back home. They all had running bets on which girl would be the one to finally snag and tame Bucky Barnes? Which girl would make an honest man out of him? It was all so superficial. They all thought he was some - what was the word Gwen had used? - Casanova, when in reality, he was just desperate for someone to see him for what he was, and touch him gently. When the answer to their question was the girl sitting beside them, judging them because she had a ring on her finger, who had wanted fuck all to do with him until he he stood before her, heart in his hand, and begged.

He covered his face with his hands, genuinely embarrassed about it all, and tired in a way that settled deep in his bones. They'd been marching for days trying to reach Paris. They'd set out from London, working their way to Canterbury to take a boat to Dunkirk. He knew this fatigue was causing his thoughts to turn defensive, and in turn, offensive. So he breathed, forced his entire body to relax starting with his jaw, to his neck, and down his shoulders. Only then did he pick up his pen, and write.

If you cannot tell what I want from you, then I have done a poor job expressing myself. And though you wound me in continually using the things I've done to survive against me, I'm willing to admit that I maybe did not handle leaving in the best way. But what did you want me to do? I told you that I wanted to leave on my own terms. We've sat and watched soldiers leave over and over again over the last few years, and I did not want to have those goodbyes. I didn't want to have to deal with my mother not even showing up, or my best friend's silence that I can do what he can't. I didn't want to see Rebecca cry, or June close off. And I sure as hell didn't want to just hug you and pretend we were just friends. The fact you are upset over it tells me you had some grandiose plan to say goodbye and it's not real. I choose to leave in a way that was real for me. Where I could pretend my mom and Steve were happy. Where my last memory of my sisters is them laughing at something stupid I'd done or said. Where I could pretend, even for just one night, you were mine. So yeah, I deprived you, but you'll have to forgive me if I cannot find it in my heart to regret it. I'm not going to tell you what to do, or what to believe, because at some point you're going to have to grow up and start making these decisions for yourself. I'm not making up your mind for you, neither should your parents, or Harry. Only you can decide. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you will set yourself free. If you truly think your words mean nothing then don't bother. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself or go out of your way to do something that does not benefit you. I don't want empty words and promises. But I did not lie to you about the things that matter. Yours

Decidedly, he follows her in her petty wake by not signing his name under the guise that she would know who it is from when it reaches her. His tiredness does not subside as he walks to the post office to mail the letter. Does not smile at the girl behind the counter when she tires to flirt or ask what's wrong. He's tiredness only manifests into a living, breathing, thing that is sitting on his shoulders as he walks out and is met with the sound of gunfire and screaming as soldiers begin running past him. As Dugan slams his rifle into his hands and starts tugging at his jacket.

Slumber comes surprisingly quick and easy despite the wave ahead. Maybe it was exhaustion from all the moments she'd faced tonight, maybe it was from her first experience like this with a man, or maybe it was the warmth and security Bucky provided her as he held her in his arms while she drifted. Whatever it was, all pains of hurt and fear were gone and instead...just blissful rest.

The gentle brush of her cheek rustles the woman just the faintest bit, though it wasn't a shudder of bother. It was comfort and it was if that touch forced her into a deeper sleep. Because she didn't hear the rustling in the kitchen. She didn't hear the door open nor close- or the man leaving her apartment.

A low groan is given as Gwen's eyes flutter awake, just as the sun began shining on the city. She looks up at the clock on her nightstand, brows immediately creasing when she saw it read 6:30. "Shoot. Bucky, I'm sorry- hey it's 6:30. You should get in the bath. I'll start on breakfast then start on your uniform. Let me." Gwen rolls over, shock coming to her features when she doesn't find Bucky asleep next to her, and quickly she sits up. "Bucky?" she calls out, quickly slipping out of her bed and into her robe.

"Bucky?" Gwen calls again, waiting for his response as she heads into her washing room- more confusion coming to her face when she no longer sees his jacket. She can't help the blood that comes to her cheek nor the way her heart picks up speed. "Bucky?"

The woman hurries to the kitchen and living area, her heart sinking just slightly when he was nowhere to be found, but slowly Gwen takes a breath and heads back for her room. He'd likely gotten up before her, or couldn't sleep, and decided to head home. Give his time to his sisters and mother before heading for the station. It was understandable- and hell it was what she wanted him to do.

And so she disregarded it, feet padding to her bathroom to bathe, put on her better dresses. Makeup is applied, her tamer red lip, and finally her hair is curled and heels are put on.

7:20. Just enough time to hurry to the station and say goodbye.

Hurriedly Gwen rushes to the kitchen to grab a piece of bread, and it's only after she's quickly taken a bite does she see it. The folded piece of white paper sitting on the countertop. Immediately she halts, her chest tightening. But slowly she opens it and reads.

He doesn't have to tell her what he's done. Gwen knows that man like the back of her hand, and he does not have to tell her that he won't give her the goodbye she'd been rehearsing for a month. He does not want the hug. He does not the letter she had tucked in her purse for him to read on the ship.

He wants none of it.

Tears fill brown eyes and slowly her hat is taken from her head and placed next to the letter. She bites her lip. Hurt and betrayal washing through her. Shame and misuse. His letter...it means nothing. Her mind swirls with anger. James Buchannan Barnes had a reputation. Loving on then breaking women's hearts in a single night...just as he'd done to hers.

A moment is taken to process, her hands gripping the countertop as she squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears slipping out. One breath is taken. Two.

"Goodness," Gwen finally whispers before smoothing the skirt of her dress, grabbing her hat and letter. Her hat goes to the hat rack. Letter in the garbage- along with the undershirt from the night before. It's taken out and placed in the washroom. The bread is sealed and she goes to the bedroom. And while she's numb, images of what they'd done in this bed playing over and over again in her head, she makes the bed. Crease free. She goes to the washroom again and begins washing Bucky's undershirt, along with her robe still wet from the rain. They're placed to dry, books are grabbed, and she heads out. She goes to the library, trying to force herself to read and study. She meets a friend for lunch. She goes to find Steve- who is gone. Then goes home. To her parents home. Because she cannot bear to lay in the bed in her apartment any longer.

It's then and only then does the gravity of what had happened wash through her. It's then when regret sets in. Because their night together was no longer just theirs. She was too loud...word got out. Apparently her neighbor had seen Bucky leave as well.

She will not "whore herself out". She's ashamed. She's disgraced herself, her fiancé, and their families. She's risked their reputation. She's risked everything. She's sorry. It will never be spoken of again. It cannot be and no longer can be a lone woman living in Brooklyn.

It's the third day after Bucky leaves- the third time she has not found Steve Rogers in his apartment- does she finally scream. Hands go to her hair as she falls to the ground next to Steve's bed, and she screams until she can no longer. Screams in hurt, in betrayal, in frustration, in sorrow, in loneliness, in guilt, in goddamn rage. Once it ends Gwen scrambles to her fight, hands digging through Steve's art corner until she can finally find a piece of paper, envelope, and pencil that is pressed hard into the paper.

For more than a decade, I have known what you do. The pieces of you that accepts the lust that comes your way. The piece of you that thrives off of it. I have watched you break hearts for so long, and in my blind adoration, I have criticized these women. I've told myself that they should know better. That they are wasting their time. It is only now does my heart ache for every woman who has come into your crosshairs. You are a bastard. You are a goddamn liar. You've lied to me over and over again. I cannot tell what it is that you want from me, but I cannot help but feel that you have finally got a piece of it. You tell me I'm not yours. You tell me that you want nothing to do with me. You tell me you love me. You tell me you will fight for me. What should I do with this information? Tell me that, because I have nothing.

I love you. There is no deceit behind those words nor is it the kind of love you showed me a few days prior. I have loved you since I was seven years old. You and Steve. You boys became my world, and you became my protector. I have spoken nothing but the truth to you, and you know this. You have always known my devotion to you and yet you take the innocence I have given you, which is not the cruelest part. You deprived me of a goodbye to my protector. Instead I'm left here with nothing but stained hands and fear that my last images of you will be waking up without you. You have hurt me more than anyone can. You had the power. You knew that. You did it anyways. I will remain the foolish one, because while you cannot hold your promises, I will hold mine. I will continue to love and care for your family and Steve. I will continue to pray for your safe return. I will continue to write you, even when my words mean nothing. I will do things because that is who I am. You say I am blind, and that may be so, but I was pure. I am kind. I am so desperate to find the good in this world, in this life, in you. I hope you reached London safely. I hope you are safe heading across Europe. I hope you find some beauty in the ashes and ruins. I hope at least once a day you smile. I hope you are stay smart. Sincer You know who this is from

[checkurselfb4umachuwreckurself]

childrens’ jokes are.. an inspiration