#There were some VERY tiny details on this that may have been lost in the crunchening so I might gush over my own art in a reblog later

[merklins]

One! Two! THREE Leading Lights, all for you!

Below the read more is a copy flipped right-side-up for your viewing pleasure (:

[toto-the-cactus]

Another one for the bitches out there that love the stink man.

Couldn't help writing something soft and cute so hope yall like it.

Summary: Mortarion's approach to fatherhood.

Pairing: Mortarion x Reader (Female)

TW: None that I know

Part 1 - Part 2

Little and Precious

She was… so tiny… incredibly so.

Despite the reassurances from one of the midwives about the baby having been born larger than the average mortal newborn, Mortarion couldn’t help but look in wonder and a daze at the sleeping form of the little thing that had been growing within your body. The Primarch knew that he was ridiculously big in comparison, yet that didn’t calm the prevalent notion that she was just too small or too fragile, following almost obsessively the up and down of her chest while she let out unconscious whimpers and coos. Either because she was already feeling hungry or simply because of the looming presence of her father, it was hard to say.

She hadn’t even cried that much after the birth, instantly latching onto you to seek a comfort that not even him knew… but Mortarion had felt oddly relieved and happy at how easily the baby recognized you as her mother in those instances. To know that his child was loved. Although, a tiny part of him also felt envious. As if he was being left out of what was supposed to be his budding family too.

He had prepared the nursery obsessively to the smallest of details so it could be worthy of his daughter; from a precious crib, carved and painted with depictions of colorful flowers like the ones from your little garden, to walls and windows sealed or barricaded to stop the harsh outside of Barbarus to even come close to the newborn. You had told him that toys could wait until she was older but that some soft stuffed dolls could work for her to play or hug and so, he made sure to bring an entire vault of them.

The surrealism of the whole situation had yet to properly settle on his mind, even if the baby was already born and sleeping right in front of him, completely clueless to the storm her precious form caused to his mind.

It had been just a few weeks after you went into labor but the toll it took on your body was enough to leave you out of commission even longer which made the baby quite moody at the lack of her mother’s presence. Your poor tired and sore shape only being forcibly awakened to dutifully breastfeed the squirming newborn and soothing the air she may have inside her stomach which, considering how big your girl was, tired your arms very fast.

That’s when you had encouraged Mortarion to spend time with his daughter.

Considering his upbringing, the Pale King felt a bit unsure at the idea to attempt any paternal approach towards the precious bud that you have birthed. The possibility of having his only daughter hating him by the smallest mistake and not being able to fix it terrified him.

He wanted to be a better father than the one he has (had) and yet, he didn’t even know how one should act as a good parent in the first place. You were a natural as a mother, but Mortarion was completely lost here.

And now, looking at his daughter inside her crib only made the Primarch even more self-conscious as he had forgotten how terrifyingly small she was. She wouldn’t even fit on his palm so how could Mortarion ever dream of holding her to form any sort of bond.

This was a mistake. He should wait until you are here with him and…

The baby woke up; nose scrunched up and squirming incessantly as if she was fighting her blanket off while she let out some little sobs and whimpers.

Mortarion was completely left clueless at what he needed to do to sooth his daughter’s frustration. His huge figure just stayed put while his hands hovered close but uselessly as tears seemed to well up in the eyes of the newborn until she looked at him and, against anything that he may had expected, shook her little arms as in an clumsy attempt to reach him.

He frowned, unsure at any action to take but let instinct guide him mostly.

The Primarch bent closer to the crib and cupped his hands as if he was grabbing water, carefully holding and lifting his little girl, who was still wrapped on her purple blanket, with the grace of a terrified giant handling fine crystal… and something inside his chest constricted painfully when the small (oh so small) body of his daughter seemed to find comfort in the hands of her father.

All whimpers and whines quieted down slowly to meager sniffles and cooing, while her half-closed eyes stared at him in what he perceived as curiosity.

His daughter… his precious blooming flower… Mortarion felt something itchy behind his eyes.

Could she tell that he was her father? Did something as simple as holding her give her enough clues or was she just trying to seek any form of comfort like any mortal baby would do?

The Pale King felt the same constriction of his chest creep up to his throat, but it didn’t feel like one of his coughing fits.

A bit more confident now that nothing bad was happening, Mortarion brought his cupped hands closer which made the baby squirm more in surprise at the sudden movement, staring intently at his face with her fists balled up and kicking her tiny feet.

‘Will you feel afraid of my scarred and pale face, little one?’ he thought depressingly, a gentle thumb coming close to poke at her cheek and caress it with a devotion he only ever showed to his Dearest.

To his astonishment, the newborn opened her hands and reached for his thumb, holding him with all her might and looking at him while giggling. Could mortal babies do this when just weeks old?

His baby… she had looked at him with such excitement by something as simple as holding his thumb between her little hands.

And Mortarion knew at that very instant… yes… he’ll never be like his father because, by just having this tiny precious thing on his hands, made him want to give her the entire universe if she so much as asked for it.

This was true overwhelming love.

My man needs the love, honestly. Some hugs too

[invisible-storyteller]

Everybody wants some (Stiles)

(Also on AO3.)

"Dare," Erica grinned after a moment of suspense.

Lydia rolled her eyes, having anticipated Erica's answer ever since the beta had presented her suggestion of a "fun" game to a very tipsy, and very bored group of college students. It had been the fourth pack night in a row after everyone had finally arrived for their summer break and there were only so many movies they could watch, plus it was still better than Scott's suggestion of spin the bottle. 

Speak of the devil.

"Everyone has chosen dare so far," Scott noted with the faintest pout on his lips, clearly disapproving of the humiliating tasks distributed so far.

Erica smacked her lips, giving Scott a taunting smile. "Fine. I changed my mind. Truth."

"Can she do that?" Isaac questioned but Scott only shrugged, not caring about the rules as long as no one else was forced to drink spoiled milk from a bowl like a puppy again.

"Okay, so..." Allison leaned forward, a foreboding shadow casting over her face that Erica met head-on, "If you weren't with Boyd, who would you fuck out of everyone in this room?"

Erica raised a single eyebrow, visibly unimpressed. "Stiles, duh."

It was almost superhuman how quickly Stiles straightened up in an instant, his mind having wandered off to fantasies of a certain socially inept alpha who had excused himself from his own living room as soon as the pack had settled down to play, and now getting jolted back into reality.

"That's boring. Everyone knows you had a crush on Stiles." Malia piped up from where she rested her head in Kira's lap, the kitsune's fingers carding through the locks of her hair absent-mindedly. 

"You say that like you wouldn't fuck him if you had the chance."

"Of course, I would," Malia shrugged like it was no big deal.

Stiles, on the other hand, nearly choked on his tongue.

"That's not a surprise, either, you actually dated him." Lydia pointed out, and Stiles could only snap his eyes back and forth between the two girls, trying to frantically grasp just when he had lost track of the conversation.

"You don't have to sound so condescending," Stiles mumbled out eventually, his eyes finally pausing on Lydia.

"Oh, honey, you can't be this oblivious."

And Stiles totally wasn't imagining the knowing looks on his packmates' faces. 

"About what?" He asked (damn his curiosity), feeling the usual trepidation that came with the whole 'being in a pack with not-so-mythical creatures' schtick.

Erica only snickered as she cuddled into Boyd's side, mischief dancing behind her thick eyelashes and promising no good. "About how everyone wants to breed you in this pack."

Okay, Stiles definitely choked this time (and Scott may have been a bit too enthusiastic with his back slaps) or maybe he fell asleep and was having the weirdest sexy dream without actual sex happening. Although, Lydia's offended yet conceding glance to the side looked pretty real.

"Wha-at?" Stiles wheezed out very eloquently between two consecutive coughs, and got immediately startled by the fact that Mason was the one to answer.

"Everyone in this pack has been attracted to you at one point," Mason clarified as if it was the most common knowledge in the world. Corey's agreeing nod did not help lift the fog in Stiles's mind at all.

"What."

"Say, Lydia, did you ever think of fucking Stiles?" Erica asked, a sadistic grin spreading wider on her firey red lips.

"Of course," Lydia replied, honest and simple, even flicking her hair for extra effect.

"Since when?" Stiles asked, a little outraged. He had spent many years pining after Lydia, so the fact that she hadn't shared this crucial piece of information with him was a bit of a punch into his teenage self's heart. Oh, and there was that tiny detail that Lydia had a boyfriend.

"Remember when we were hiding in the school from a rogue Peter?"

Stiles nodded, eyes squinting in suspicion as he recalled that dreadful night.

"You remember punching Jackson?"

And just like that, Stiles's jaw hit the ground, funny animation movie sound effects and all that. His chest subconsciously puffed out when he heard Jackson scoff indignantly, and continued to stare at Lydia, feeling like he was seeing her in a completely new light. "Wait, you liked that?! That turned you on?"

"Of course," Lydia parrotted with incongruous disinterest, "Still wouldn't have dated you. But I do enjoy a good display of dominance."

This had to be an alternate universe. Or a hyper-realistic dream, Stiles deduced.

"Okay, that makes... wow, three people who thought about getting all up on this," Stiles said in a daze with a half-aborted gesture to his body. Admittedly, the number was impressive (since he had always assumed it to be zero) but, at the same time, it was far from being the entire pack as Erica and Mason had so confidently claimed.

As if reading his mind, Lydia's sweet voice filled the loft once again. 

"Hey, Ally, didn't you consider dating Stiles at one point?" Lydia addressed the other girl out of nowhere, making Stiles turn towards his long-time friend with a look teetering someplace between pure shock and utter horror.

"Yeah?" Allison's uncertain response launched her into a pensive moment, probably rummaging through her memories before frowning in mild amusement. "That was actually your fault I think."

"Wha-" Stiles opened his mouth to say something along the lines of 'what the fuck' but Lydia beat him to it.

"It was before prom," Lydia reminisced with an honest-to-God smile, "You were insufferable and tried to convince me to go with Stiles. I told you that if you think he's such a great catch, maybe you should be the one going with him."

Allison snapped her fingers as if the memory had been at once revealed to her as well. "Oh yeah. I remember thinking that he would be a gentleman in bed."

"Ugh..." Honestly, at this point, Stiles's brain was officially out of order. Dial-up error noise, no signal sign, all that jazz. He seriously didn't think the night could get any more absurd, but then again, this was his life, with the constant motto being 'fuck Stiles's sanity', so what was he expecting, really?

"I would feel so grossed out right now if I didn't have fantasies about Stiles, too," Isaac revealed nonchalantly, and to that, Stiles had to make a face. "What? I just wanted to see if I can shut you up."

"With your mouth," Erica added with a conspiring smirk. Stiles really hated her right now. She was the one responsible for this whole avalanche collapsing onto poor unsuspecting Stiles in the first place. 

"I had the same thought," Boyd added, apparently joining in on the 'let's wreck Stiles's world' plan, "Although I was planning to shut your mouth with something else."

Stiles's mouth decided at that moment that it was just going to assume a permanent open position, gaping like a fish out of water (cause that was exactly how he felt), which didn't help his case, in hindsight.

"Stiles does have an oral fixation," Malia chimed in, everyone else nodding along like that wasn't news at all.

"Seriously, guys? This- okay, Scotty, help me out here," Stiles pleaded, unsure of how to feel about everything that had been spoken so far, but still solid in the faith for his quasi-brother, "You did not have sexual fantasies about me, right? We're best friends. Brothers from another mother."

Stiles really wished Scott wouldn't have pulled the world's most apologetic and guilt-ridden grimace at that.

"Remember when we went to that pool party in eighth grade?"

Stiles didn't like where this was going, but yes, he could sort of remember. That day marked the first time Stiles had drunk alcohol - some cheap booze their classmate's brother had stashed somewhere in his room. It was also the summer Stiles's body had finally gained some definition so he wasn't too shy about forgoing a shirt.

"You asked me to put sunscreen on your back?" Scott continued with hunched shoulders like he could hide from his own words, and Stiles's eyes popped open in realization.

"Dude."

"That's why I had to go to the bathroom," Scott scratched the back of his neck with flaming cheeks, "Twice."

"Twice?" Liam echoed, and Stiles imagined wrapping his hands around that little pup's throat and just squeezing.

"Stiles's swim shorts were very tight when he got out of the pool," Scott answered sheepishly, and much like a volcano, the pack burst into loud cheers. Stiles was seemingly alone in his mortification, mourning the loss of his innocence and feeling oddly betrayed.

"Since we're being honest," Oh God, why was Jackson talking?, "I did have some dreams about Stilinski, and in my defence, I was still in the closet back then and it was a small locker room, okay? I'm not responsible for my thoughts after seeing what he's packing."

"I did think about making out with him when we were on a stakeout," Theo added, a bit too eager to be part of the pack in Stiles's opinion.

This was all too much. Probably a bigger conceptual change than the discovery of the supernatural's existence. Stiles couldn't help it, therefore, in the following silence where everyone awaited his final reaction with baited breaths, he realized there was only one thing left to do: laugh.

"Okay, wow," Stiles breathed out between bouts of laughter, almost doubling over himself as he clutched his sides, "Nice joke, guys. Really. Prank of the year. Picking on the single pringle in the pack. Did you rehearse this?"

There was something unsettling in the look his packmates shared.

Malia looked around then with a neutral expression and exclaimed. Loudly. "Raise your hand if you ever thought about kissing or fucking Stiles."

Everybody's hands, without exception (Stiles checked), shot up high into the air like they were pulled by strings (Mason might have had to nudge Liam in the side but he, too, raised his hand with eyes downcast in shame), and it was the most out-of-left-field reaction at that moment, but Stiles suddenly felt a glimmer of hope that maybe... no. That was and had always been wishful thinking. Even if, apparently, Stiles was the epitome of bonability in his peers' eyes.

Right on cue, a deep rumble came from the bottom of the stairs, startling absolutely no one besides Stiles who was still momentarily lost in adjusting his worldview.

"What is happening?"

It was truly fascinating how reluctant everybody seemed to answer now in the face of that gruff voice. Stiles, for the most part, could only swallow past the sound of his own rabbiting heartbeat.

"Just playing some stupid game," Jackson deflected as his hands, in comical synchrony with all others', dropped to his sides.

"What game?" Derek pried, arms crossing across his chest and making the muscles bulge threateningly, not that Stiles noticed. 

"It's called... 'Who's thought about kissing Stiles'?" Kira replied with a tamer version of the truth, although Stiles had no doubt that Derek had heard the original statement if his 'what brain-dead moron do you take me for' frown was any indication.

Nervous laughter bubbled out of Stiles, and he clapped his hands for lack of a better idea on how to diffuse the situation. The pack was engaging in some creepy version of a stare-down with their alpha, and from Isaac's uncomfortable squirming, it was evident that the others had felt the uncanny chill of Derek's look, too. Even Stiles had the uncomfortable impression of a noose tangling around his neck, awaiting (perhaps) a sentence or an order, and he was eerily reminded of the early days of knowing Derek. Things had been better in recent years so the current tension in the room was all the more puzzling, especially since the pack rarely acted so unassertive around their alpha.

"Well, at least we know one person who hasn't, right?" Stiles joked weakly in the silence, his smile short-lived against the strangely intense leer on Derek's face.

If anything, their alpha's features hardened at the words, his (thankfully still normal) eyes blazing with a heat that Stiles had never seen outside the throes of battle. It was doing some very ill-timed things to Stiles.

Unsurprisingly, Lydia was the first to stand up, the light shake of her head accompanied by a soft "Oh, Stiles" before she made the smart move and left, rousing everyone else into action. Derek kept glaring at the pack until they dribbled out one by one, some sending Stiles encouragement (like Erica with her thumbs up) but ultimately abandoning him in the loft with a displeased alpha to handle. Stiles gaped after his traitorous friends, arms stretched open in disbelief and no clue about anything that had gone down so far. If there was a way to say "???" out loud, Stiles would have done that right then and there.

"Wha- guys?" Stiles asked just as the metal door violently slid shut. It was thunderous in the otherwise empty loft.

He whipped around swiftly and poked his thumb in the direction of the exit because that felt like the next logical thing to do when a murderous-looking werewolf began to move towards him.

"I guess that means pack night's over so I'll just... Umm..."

Stiles could have sworn that he heard a growl before Derek's eyes bled into ominous red, and it was a testament to how fucked up Stiles's self-preservation instincts had become over the years that those weren't the wolfish features that had Stiles's brain melting into syrupy goo. No, that achievement could only be attributed to the sharp fangs poking out from behind Derek's pink lips, and Stiles was like 95% sure that "How would those feel buried in my skin?" was not a normal thought to have in this kind of situation. 

"Has any of them touched you?"

Stiles shook his head - you know, once he had enough blood there to comprehend the question - and his hands came up unwittingly to put some barrier between him and Derek. "Hold on, what? No! It wasn't that kind of game- oh well, some of your pups were certainly touching in ways that I tried really hard to ignore- hey, you should talk to them about that! You know, privacy, I'm sure you heard... about... that..."

Derek's eyebrows gradually sank lower during his rant while Stiles's mouth slightly opened to help regulate his breathing (and why was that so hard all of a sudden?). Something in Derek's look made Stiles itchy to speak, like he had to defend himself for some reason. "It's not like any of them would actually want to fuck me- Hey, what's with the looming, dude?"

Derek's eyes narrowed wordlessly onto Stiles's chest where the human's heart rate spiked from feeling the solid surface of the door hit his back. He hadn't noticed how fast Derek was crowding in on him, and something about that fact made Stiles think of one of those National Geographic documentaries. You know, where the gazelle gets mauled.

"Dude, if you want me to leave, just say so. You don't gotta go all Michael Myers on me-"

"Would you let them?" Derek slurred around his fangs, eyes meandering like he was trying to catalogue all of Stiles's (very straightforward and very communicative) reactions, "Would you let anyone in the pack fuck you?"

Stiles shook his head so fast, he almost felt dizzy afterwards.

Derek's eyes faded back to green then, and he withdrew his body heat that Stiles hadn't even taken note of up until that point. With the proximity confiscated, Stiles felt a tinge of disappointment as well as a buttload (hah) of confusion - the same emotions somehow getting reflected back at him in Derek's eyes before the werewolf sculpted his face into his usual neutral look. 

Stiles had never had a more life-changing lightbulb moment before (previous truth or dare game included), and he felt the urge to facepalm at himself.

"I mean, it depends..." Stiles trailed off, Derek's hostile yet curious eyebrows making a reappearance. "I, um..."

Instead of bothering with words, Stiles licked his bottom lip as a test and delighted when Derek's eyes followed the movement with failing restraint. With a sudden burst of confidence, he pushed away from the door and violated Derek's personal space as much as he could get away with without actual touching. 

"Raise your hand if you have a crush on Derek Hale.

Derek frowned, his eyebrows doing some weird high jumps when Stiles sneaked a hand up into the air and wiggled his fingers for emphasis. This time, when the werewolf's eyes caught his, they were consumed by darkness instead of alpha red but were no less promising. And when Derek grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, literally tripping Stiles into a kiss, that was something Stiles was for once expecting and welcomed with an eager moan. 

As it turned out, nobody wanted Stiles as much as Derek Hale did.

And out of all the reveals that day, that was the only one that truly mattered to Stiles.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller: Oliver's Eye Exam

Masterlist

tw: mind control, dehumanization

Just a side story that takes place in the future of Bookseller, around 1927. Mainly inspired by the fact that I find eye exams to be fascinating and they give me major ASMR.

Like most vampire-run establishments, the jewelry shop looked entirely ordinary from the outside, the windows dark with metal bars protecting the merchandise within. "Here we are, Oliver," said his master, gently pushing him along.

"A jewelry shop, sir?"

"Yes -- the owner, Mr. Eugene, makes lenses and glasses as well. There isn't much call for glasses for thralls, so it's a bit of a side business, but he's certainly reputable."

Oliver still couldn't help being a bit nervous as Alexander pulled the bell for the door -- not the door to the jewelry shop, but the nondescript one next to it. He always felt anxious when meeting a new vampire, no matter how much his master reassured him.

The door opened, and a short and stout vampire with a magnifier on a chain around his neck greeted them. "Ah, Lord Alexander! What can I do for you this fine evening? Another present for your husband?"

"Not tonight, no." Alexander put his hands on Oliver's shoulders, presenting him to the vampire. "My thrall here has been having trouble with his vision. I noticed the other day that he had difficulty reading the titles of books on higher shelves."

"Oh, he reads?" said Eugene, surprised.

"Avidly. It's an endearing trait that I did not wish to dampen." Alexander's grip on Oliver's shoulders tightened reassuringly. "I suspect the prescription on his glasses may be out of date, and they've acquired some scratches besides. Could you fit him for new ones?"

"Of course, of course!" Eugene waved Alexander and Oliver into the stairwell. "It's good to see a vampire so attentive to a thrall's needs. Too many vampires these days simply don't care about the craftsmanship that goes into a high quality thrall."

"I couldn't agree more."

The door at the top of the narrow stairwell opened up into a cluttered workshop. Bins of loose gems lay about on the workbenches as though they were trifles, sparkling in the light of a dim electric bulb. The tables were strewn with all manner of tools, both large and minuscule, some which looked too tiny to be operated by human-sized hands.

Eugene walked over to a chair crammed in the corner. "Have your thrall sit right down here. I'll fetch my kit and be with him shortly."

"Go on, Oliver, it's all right."

"Yes, sir." Oliver walked to the chair and sat down in a daze. Alexander had strengthened his aura to help him keep calm, and he could feel Eugene's aura as well, steady and firm.

"Here we are," said Eugene, pulling out a case. "He seems very well behaved. Will he require any additional enthrallment?"

"Not at all," said Alexander with a hint of pride, patting Oliver's head. "I enthralled him myself, and he's wonderfully obedient. Lily has also had a hand in molding his mind."

"Ah, yes, I wouldn't dream to doubt Miss Lily's work. A fine example of a vampire and a fine customer as well."

Eugene took Oliver by the chin, his touch feather light, and he gazed deeply into each of Oliver's eyes. His hands smelled of metal and dust, and Oliver couldn't help but get lost in the sea of hazel-brown. "Eyes are clear and bright. Very good. Let me take a closer look, now." He had pulled out a small magnifier to examine Oliver's eyes in more detail. "Hold still and try not to blink."

Oliver froze in place, eyes wide and unmoving, as the vampire looked into one eye and then the other. By now, his initial nerves had melted away with the gentleness of Eugene's demeanor, the praise of his nearby master, and the deep desire to do as he was told.

"Very, very good," said Eugene, putting the instrument away. "He certainly is as obedient as you say. Fine blood, too, I'd wager."

"Yes, he's my prized possession," said Alexander, his hand on Oliver's head once again.

"No doubt. I'll have to take special care with him, then. What is his name, by the way?"

"Oliver," said Alexander before Oliver could answer himself.

He tapped a card pasted to the opposite wall. It had rows of letters on it, large at the top and gradually becoming smaller. "Oliver, can you describe the symbols on the third row from the top?"

"They're letters, sir," he said with mild confusion.

"Oh yes, it slipped my mind that you could read. Read me each letter, then."

"D, L, N, sir."

"Good boy. Below that?"

"P, T, E, R, sir." The letters were becoming fuzzier.

"And below that?"

Oliver squinted. "I think that's an E, sir. And, um, a Z. An O?"

"That'll do." Eugene pushed aside some of his tools to make room on a nearby table, opening the case. It was filled with sample lenses attached to simple frames. Eugene took Oliver's glasses off his face without asking, and perched a different set on them. "Is this better or worse than your usual pair?"

The world was a blur, the letters on the chart a distant dream. "It's much worse, sir."

The test glasses were plucked off his head and replaced with another pair. "How about these?"

"Better, sir."

"And these?"

"I'm not sure, sir. Could I see the others again, please?"

"So polite." He chuckled. He kept putting more and more lenses on Oliver's face, asking him to compare, switching them back and forth, for what seemed like forever, making little notes as he did so. Finally, Oliver was in a pair that made the world seem so much clearer.

"Can you read the bottom line now?"

"It says O, F, L, C, T, G, sir."

"I think we have it, then. Very good." He pulled out a few more samples from his case, these all in slightly different metals and shapes, and turned to Alexander. "Which of these frames do you prefer for him? I can show you any you'd like."

Alexander glanced over the frames. "I favor these round, gold ones, but I'll allow Oliver to make the choice. Which do you like, Oliver?"

Oliver was still wearing the testing lenses, so he could clearly see the sample frames that Eugene put in front of him, all different colors and sizes. He wasn't sure what to pick. He'd always just picked the cheapest frames available, so he had never given much thought to what might look good on him. "I also like the round, gold ones, sir," he said sheepishly.

Eugene smiled. "Of course you do. You want to please your master, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," said Oliver eagerly.

"You can pick what you want, Oliver," said Alexander. "It doesn't have to be the ones I chose."

"Oh, now, why not let him please you? You're lucky to have a thrall so absolutely docile." Eugene took the test lenses off of Oliver and put the sample frames on him. The lenses were very much not Oliver's prescription, and he squinted to try and see anything. "Besides, it's a good choice for him. See?"

"Yes, you're right. I'll take it."

"Very good, very good. I just have to take a few more measurements." He removed the sample frames and the world blurred into indistinct colors. A fuzzy yellow line crossed Oliver's field of vision, and he realized it was a measuring tape.

"Between your eyes…" Eugene muttered as he took each measurement, writing down more notes. "From top to bottom… corner to corner… eye to ear… there." He replaced Oliver's glasses and smiled at him as he pat his head. "We're all finished." Eugene pulled a piece of penny candy from his pocket and handed it to Oliver, who unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. It tasted of butterscotch.

"All together, that'll cost you three dollars for the exam and the spectacles," said Eugene to Alexander.

Alexander pulled out his wallet and handed Eugene a few crisp bills. "When will they be ready?"

"Come back in oh, four days. I recommend bringing your thrall with you so that you can make sure they fit properly. I can make adjustments if needed."

"I'll see you on Thursday, then. Come along, Oliver."

Oliver stood from the chair, stiff from trying to stay perfectly still the entire time, allowing himself a big stretch. "Thank you for the eye exam, sir, and have a good night."

"You're very welcome," said Eugene with a smile. "You've been an excellent thrall, very well behaved."

Oliver beamed from the praise as Alexander took his hand and led him back down the stairs out into the cool night. The moon was bright overhead, and Oliver was pleased that he'd soon be able to see it more clearly. "Thank you for buying me new glasses, sir."

"Don't think anything of it, Oliver."

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder

[roscgcld]

NANAMI KENTO || one last time

note: suffer c:

afab y/n x nanami

trigger warning - mentions of death, blood, angst

"..I am...so tired..."

Nanami had never asked for much in life.

When he first got his offer to join the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, he thought it was quite the bragging right. It was by no means a small task - not only was he scouted, but he had seemingly bypassed all the other applicants (he did come to find out after that not many applied; the job wasn't for the faint-hearted).

The moment he arrived on campus he found himself fitting in perfectly. Yet, there has always been a nagging feeling that he didn't belong.

He wasn't from a prestigious family like Gojo Satoru.

He wasn't the all-powerful and charming Geto Suguru.

He wasn't here for 'a purpose bigger than himself' like Haibara Yu.

He did not have a valuable skill like Ierir Shoko.

It almost felt like he was a fraud - sure, he was good at his craft, and the pay was an added bonus, but he had never found his 'purpose'. If anything, the pride and 'sense of duty' that the others harp on about were far from reality. All he found at the end of a tiring day was the ever-growing list of names of his fallen friends and colleagues. A list that just doubled the longer he stayed a jujutsu sorcerer.

The day he threw in the towel was very sudden - he had been partnered up with a sweet girl from the Kyoto school; only to watch her brains be sprayed onto the wall of the temple where the Curse they were hunting called home. He had just handed in his last report, packed the small amount of things he had in his dorm, and left quietly in the night. He got on the first train out of Tokyo, put down the money for the first apartment he had viewed, and started his entire life from scratch.

Looking back now it was cowardly of him - to up and leave without any warning. But he thought that by putting some distance between himself and the college, he could run away from it all. That he can run from the pain and horrors that plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

Yet maybe it was just what he needed. Not long after arriving in Osaka, his new place of residence, he met you. You were a freshly graduated college student working in her family restaurant trying to save up to move out. He was a frequent customer because of your father's famous drip coffee, and it was between steaming cups of espresso and plates of baked goods that you two fell into a steady romance.

It took him a while, but Nanami somehow managed to awkwardly invite you to a nice walk by the park nearby, but the rest ended up being a blur of happiness and love.

During your time together, Nanami found himself finding the joys in life again; the smell of morning coffee and sleepy murmurs of greetings, the sight of you cooking breakfast in your pyjamas, the local vendors at the weekend market as you raved about some cute dinner idea you saw online. These mundane things had long lost meaning to Nanami, yet doing them with you seemed to breathe new life into them. And soon, his once dull and lonely life came to life in bright colours.

He finally felt normal. He wasn't some undercover sorcerer fighting an enemy bigger than himself. He was an everyday, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen with a family home, and a tiring, but normal, 9-5. He does not have to count the bodies that are left behind after a mission, the detailed reports to higher-ups who may never read them, or look into the eyes of the family of his friends to announce that their beloved child had died at the hands of an invisible enemy.

He was normal, another character in the background, and he has never been more content.

Yet, the thing about Curses and the jujutsu world is that once it's sunk its claws into you, it will never let you go.

While he was content with life, there has always been that little voice in the back of his head; the tiny whisper that seems to grow loud whenever he is being yelled at by his red-faced manager about his 'stupid mistakes' when his books don't balance perfectly, or when he has to help his drunken coworkers home after another long night of drinking with customers. That he was more than just this. That he was better than working his ass off in a tiny cubical; he is a First-Grade Sorcerer, for Heaven's sake.

He hit another realisation 2 years later - he had pulled a two-nighter at the office, and the numbers just didn't seem to balance on his customer sheet. He had finally left in the morning after finding out that one value that was typed in wrongly in cell 150 in Excel (he definitely tore the teary-eyed intern a new one for such a simple mistake), and had gotten bread from your family bakery as a treat for himself.

The baker there has been 'having issues with her shoulder' over the last few weeks - a Curse had decided to latch onto her stressed soul and was feeding off of her. Nanami would usually have a staring contest with the curse whenever he was at the checkout counter, who would stare back smugly at the sorcerer. Almost like it was saying, "You can't help her now".

Nanami wasn't sure what had possessed him, but he had decided to help that day. Maybe it was the stupid need to be a saviour, but he had a feeling it was because he missed the feeling of curse energy coursing through him.

He has always been an open man with you - you knew of his life before you, and while you found it noble, you were also worried about what he has done to his mental health. You had never had to word it before, as Nanami has reassured you that he was not keen on returning; but that day when he returned to your home and told you that he had gotten a phone call from Gojo Satoru about a new 'student', it was the first time you two had ever fought.

You were worried - you knew how much, despite how hard he tries to be strong, that he is just a young man who has only seen horrors his entire life. That being a sorcerer, while noble, brings nothing but pain and heartbreak. Yet you can tell that despite it all, no matter how content Nanami and you were, Nanami was meant to for great things. He was special, and it would be selfish for you to hold him back from the legacy that he can leave behind.

Nanami and you made a promise - that no matter what, he will return to you. That his safety comes first, and that a date night will be scheduled once he returns. It was all you asked for, and it was a promise that Nanami intended to keep.

"I knew I should have said I love you more.."

Everything hurts. That was all Nanami could think of as he walked down the silent halls of the station, trying to ignore the tingling numbness that was starting to take over his entire body as he tried to find that annoying Curse. He knew he should have killed Mahito when he first saw his annoying grin. "I hope I paid the bills before this..Y/N would forget if I didn't..."

He wished he hadn't pushed the wedding day back - Itadori Yuji had just been enrolled, and the Gojo had tasked him to be a hands-on tutor to the young man. You were so understanding as well; you argued that since you two just wanted a simple ceremony, moving it 2 months back wouldn't be an issue. You two had the rest of your lives together - you two don't need a ceremony to prove your love.

"I wished I could see you in your wedding dress."

He was tired, yet he knew he couldn't give up just yet. He pushed himself further as he tore through the wall of Curses that greeted him at the bottom of the stairs. The entire time he was thinking about the promise you two made - that once you two wed, you would finally take that move out to Kuantan. You two can buy a land by the ocean, and raise your family together in your little home, and finally do the small things you want.

Yet, he found himself hesitating - he didn't want to be a burden to you for the rest of your life. He wants you to be happy, to always shine brightly in all your beauty; for you to continue bringing colour to this dull world. He has been selfish when he chose to return to the world of jujutsu; he cannot further burden you with his life choices.

"Nanamin.."

Yuji, Nanami thought as he tried to turn to face the young man that he had now started to see as his own; only to be met with Yuji's horrified face staring right back. It was then he registered the cold fingers pressed against his back; and then, everything seemed so clear.

He can see your bright smile, how your eyes crinkle up at the sides as you stare at him as if he hung the stars and sun in the sky. He can just about see the background of your shared apartment - the light blue couch that you two bought as your housewarming gift, the potted plants that he had been caring for sitting by the balcony, where drying laundry fluttered in the wind. The quiet record playing in the background somewhere - a new one you two had just picked up last weekend to listen to as you two made fresh pasta together for date night.

He can't taint your happiness with the burden of all of his regrets.

Nanami was at peace - he knew that no matter what, Gojo would uphold his end of the deal. You were protected by the College and will be cared for as his next of kin. All his finances had you as his benefactor, and his lawyer has everything settled for a smooth handover.

The times you shared will never be enough for Nanami; he so desperately wishes that he can be there when you find your first white hair, or when he gets to hold your first child in the bright hospital room.

But he was at peace that he was the best man he could be for you, and prayed that you would forgive him one last time.

"Itadori...You can take it from here.."

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

‘just kill me and be done with it’

Based off an ask by @rochyu ‘where y/n was Aemonds wife (daemon and rhaenyra daughter) was attacked by some guards who had been sent to assassinate him. She was pregnant’ 

Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist  

Warnings: threat of noncon, murder, gore, blood

A/N: I got inspired and wrote this basically in two days, but I am not super happy with it oops. I changed the request a bit because it initially included noncon but I don’t really wanna write that, so changed it slightly, hope that’s ok requester!

It was an abnormally quiet evening in the Keep. You adored moments like these in such a busy environment, after all the hatred and war that had developed between your families. You sat in your usual large armchair, a dress laid in your lap that you were fixing various holes in, eyes squinting to focus on the tiny, fine detailing. 

A small laughter filled the air and you looked ahead to the two little people sat before the fire, the flames illuminating their silver-gold heads. You smile softly at Helaena’s twins, oh how you doted on the two innocent little souls. It was rare that you enjoyed moments like this on twin-watching duty as Helaena was very rarely out of the Keep. But all three of Alicent’s children had gone to retrieve their fourth sibling, Daeron, from Oldtown to join in the war, Alicent having gone with them. Leaving you in the safety of the servants and some of the Kingsguard to protect you.

You and Aemond had been married many years and at the time, it had been to mend the rift between the two sides of your family caused by Luke slicing Aemond’s eye on that fateful night at Driftmark. Back then, you had been used by your parents Rhaenyra and Daemon as a tool to bring the family closer together, as Viserys was alive then, it was paramount to keep up appearances. When you turned ten and seven, the wedding came and when Aemond had cloaked you to bring you under his protection that day, you felt afraid. You did not know what this Aemond was like.

But on that wedding night he insisted on treating you with great care and delicacy, taking every fear you had to heart and promising to fix whatever was broken. The memories of that night, even years later, were the most happy ones you had and all the days and months that came after sought to rival it. For such a man with a reputation even in the Keep, he was sensitive, delicate, caring and most of all loving to his Princess.

Even though you had yet to be blessed with children, it was not for lack of trying, but now as the years passed you began to believe it may be an issue that lies with you. And for this, you felt like you were not a worthy wife. A fact which Aemond denied endlessly. 

He seemed the only person in your life that attempted to lift your spirits, at such a tumultuous time like this. Your parents, of whom you would love unconditionally, were now on the other side of the war and had not attempted to contact you since waging the war for Rhaenyra’s throne. Daemon, on the other hand, would not be so forgiving. Even going as far to refuse the marriage at the time of your betrothal, he was doubly angered that you were married even now. For now, you belonged to the greens and he felt as if he had lost his daughter to them.

Despite Aemond only having left this morning, you felt the ache of loneliness in your heart and sighed out loud. But your quiet evening was interrupted when you jumped out of skin at the doors opening with a mighty slam. Your wide eyes met the door, the twins even looking over in shock. Two men, both the most different in stature, stood at the doorway. Your wide eyes noted their weapons, the larger, burly man carried a sword that you swore was almost the length of you and the other smaller, lanky man carried a dagger. 

You ushered the twins behind you as you stood to attention, swallowing heavily as your eyes met the slumped up body of a Kingsguard on the other side of the door. His body hung across the threshold, eyes wide and blood pooling beneath his body. And at the sight of this, you felt the hairs on your arms stand entirely on end. But the men approached slowly, the larger one with a smile wide on his face.

“There you are” the larger man said, twirling his large sword in his hand. The twins gripped at your dress, whimpering in fear, “We’ve been looking for you”

“Who are you, tell me at once” you ordered, trying to stabilise your voice to get the fear out of your tone. But it simply served to make the larger man laugh once more. The other’s eyes were on the children the entire time, like a vulture trying to sneak a peck at a corpse. 

“Who would have thought our dear Queen had such a sharp tongue”

Queen? You stood confused. And you wracked your brain for a moment. And then it hit. They thought you were Helaena with her twins. You shared the hair and the eyes and Helaena was indeed not here. But with fear deep set in your bones, you were rendered speechless and felt entirely powerless.

Whether it was Helaena or her children they sought to harm, you swore to her you would protect them. All these thoughts buzzing around your fearful mind, you sought to open the secret doorway you and Aemond would often use in the early days of your marriage, a door that could luckily be locked from the inside. 

Running with the twins to the corner of the room, you opened and shoved them inside, using your hurried words, “Dear ones, for the love of your mother, lock this door and do not open it, do you understand me?” you ask them, tears hot behind your eyes as you notice their frightened little faces, begging to cry, begging to be held.

“Please don’t leave us” Jahaera whined, reaching out. You looked behind you to see the two men approach, hastier this time.

“Lock this door and do not come out” 

You slam the door and feel a pang at your chest in relief as you hear them lock it from the inside almost instantly. Your chest heaved with fear and one single tear ran down your cheek as you turned, only to find the larger man had appeared so close to you. With a hand grasped at your throat, tightening more and more he slammed you against the stone wall. Your eyes widened at the force of it, hands coming to attempt to pry his large hand from your neck to no avail, mouth open to say something, but with no air to supply it.

He held you there, a grin on his face, “Sneaky whore”

Your fingers tried to wrap around his, wanting desperately for at least some air to pass into your lungs. The other man spoke,

“Can’t get this damned door open!” he shouted, kicking at it. You closed your eyes, hoping and praying the twins had escaped to another place in the secret doorways, so they didn’t have to hear all this. The man before you grunted in displeasure and without a second thought had released his hold on your throat to deliver a firm, back-handed slap to the face. 

A small yelp escaped you as you fall to the ground. The room span and your vision blurred, but holding your face you looked up to see his sheer perverse glare.

“If we cannot have his first son, we shall have his wife”

The words were supposed to be laced with fear, but at his sheer stupidity to mistake you for Helaena the only thing you could do was smirk and let out a weak laugh. Propping yourself up on an elbow, you spit out,

“Since you’ve fucked up our original plan, tell me this” he spat out, “Where is the Prince Aemond”

“You fools”

His expression instantly changed, and not one for a damaged ego you yelp out again as his hand clamps around your arm to drag you across the room. The familiar prick of fear hits your spine as you realise he’s thrown you to the bed, pinning one of your arms to the mattress below you. He only laughs loudly at your expression and your futile attempt to hit him with the other. But one of his large hands was big enough to capture both of your small ones and you writhed about, wanting to be free from underneath him.

The mention of his name had your face pale, and you begin to tear up with the realisation that he may well find you dead in the morning having been sullied and murdered by these two intruders. If such a thing were to happen, he would be heartbroken. And by the Gods, you would not like to see Aemond when he is driven by revenge and nothing else.  

“Where is the kinslayer, whore” he commands it this time by shouting in your face, you wince at his sudden volume before opening your eyes once more. The silence is palpable and you must know he isn’t a patient man. So you say nothing for a moment, until his hand is in the air, ready to hit you once more.

“Just kill me and be done with it” your words are heavy with hatred.

He merely chuckles and pushes you further up the bed, so your head is below the pillows. He pulls a dagger from his belt and holds it forcefully to your throat, and it is so sharp that you yelp as he leads the point from your chest to your neck as if cutting through butter, the blood spills from the empty cuts down your body and stains your dress.

“Oh we will kill you. But we’d like a bit of fun, first. Since you’re here all on your own, we can make you scream”

You gasped loudly as the man begins to rip your dress, tearing the skirt into a thousand tiny pieces. And you do go to cry out, but feel that familiar sharp pain against your throat and instead choose to stay quiet, attempting to instead use your legs to kick against him as much as you could. Even at this, he is too big to care of your tiny pleas and instead laughs loudly, so much so that his head rolls back.

“Fight all you like”

You screw your eyes shut. If this was actually happening, you did not want to see it.

He rips a sleeve off the dress, exposing your shoulder and he laughs sardonically, releasing your hands for a moment to pull up the skirts of your dress so they are over your hips. You whimper out, bracing yourself until your eyes snap open. That’s it, you thought. Aemond always kept his dagger under his pillow. And with the man above you so focussed on ripping apart your luckily many layers of dress, your hand wanders to the pillow. Silently praying he had not taken it with him.

As the man is about to rip apart your smallclothes, laughing to himself as he did so, your small hand clamps around the handle of the dagger Aemond had left behind and without a second thought, you plunge it to the hilt into his throat. For a moment, you wondered if you had done anything as he just stayed completely still. Pulling the dagger from him, blood spurts from the new wound and all over your dress, completely drenching you from the neck down in his blood.

If you weren’t so hellbent on getting him off you might have gagged at the thought of such a despicable man’s blood being all over you, but right now, you could not have cared less as you pushed his heavy, now lifeless form off you and onto the ground. Standing over him, his blood stained the floor and his eyes vacantly looked over to you, wide-eyed at the prospect of dying. There was a sick sense of pleasure to see such a horrible man die.

Clutching the dagger tightly in your hand still, you moan out in pain as the other, lanky man turned upon you, angered at the death of his friend. Before you could swipe the dagger, he pulled you into a headlock, his own dagger-wielding hand high and intent to push into you. Your hand went out to his arm, stopping his hand. And you knelt there in his tight headlock, hand shaking and pushing his own weapon away from your face. 

Eventually the lack of air began to affect your head and you felt light-headed, vision blurry and the strength put against his hand beginning to falter. Without really thinking, you took the dagger in your other hand and aimed it behind you, hearing a squelch as it was drawn into his stomach. Desperately, you twist it further into him, satisfied it has at least done something. 

Your suspicions are correct when his strength weakens around your neck and behind his hand and confident that he is beginning to falter, you pull the dagger from him and drive in again, and again, and again, until he is barely fighting back. 

His body falls away from you to the ground, but you barely look at him and slump back against the wall, looking ahead at the floor as if dissociated. Blood is dripping across every part of your body, down your neck, against your shoulders, down your legs and it has invaded every particle of your otherwise cream dress, the other parts of it are scattered about the end of the bed. Proof that he had tried to sully you.

And there you sat, hoping and praying that at least the twins were safe somewhere. Your breathing eventually evens out, but the hazy feeling doesn’t leave you and that feeling of searing danger is still there in your bones, even though the two men lay dead on the ground. Still and lifeless. 

You do not hear a member of the Kingsguard arrive and make their may over to you, their hurried speaking of concern all but muffled to you. It is only when they place a hand on your bare shoulder that you wail out, screaming for them to get their hands off you. The tears that were held back the entire time now spilling from your eyes, leaving clear trails against the blood on your neck and chest in fat lines. You felt completely powerless.

“Get away from me!” you screamed, not wanting the touch of anyone, you backed yourself up against the wall further, ordering for him to leave. For a moment, he watched, concerned and wide-eyed before obeying. 

As he left, the doors were left open and servants scurried about as well as Kingsguard, frantically searching for more intruders but finding none. But you simply sat there, staring ahead and letting the tears fall down your face silently. The truths of the last hour hitting you like a train. You could have died. The twins could have died. And Aemond…if he were here…

The thought of Aemond sent a new wave of tears down your face. Would he want you after this?...

The sun had long descended by now and the servants had attempted to approach you, even the female ones, but every single one was chased away by your outbursts, simply wanting to be left alone.

In the dead of night, perhaps even early the next morning, the Green family hastily returned. All three of Alicent’s children escaped the carriage as soon as it arrived. Aegon and Helaena afraid for the safety of their children and Aemond for the safety of his beloved wife. He could feel his heart beating furiously out of his chest and he had wanted to vomit the entire trip home once his mother received a raven on the trip. It was a letter addressed to her only, 

A son for a son.

Lock or no lock, the Queen will be a son short by morning.

Of course, the family had turned around straight away and hurriedly returned home, albeit several hours after the intrusion had actually taken place. The Keep looked as if it had been turned upside down and the worried voices of the three children and Alicent rang out in echoes, halfway between cries and shouting.

A Kingsguard collared Aemond in one hallway, leading him to the entrance of the room where you were still sitting, shaking. And once Aemond saw you at the other side of the room, his heart stilled in his chest with fear and despair. He could see the large, dark colours of blood that stuck to the ground as well as your body, though you were far from his grasp.

As if approaching a terrified animal, his steps were light and he swallowed heavily, crossing the room with such quietness. The bodies had not been taken away, for the fear of upsetting you within the room and Aemond observed them. His heart ached. They were larger men than you, much larger. And how you had been able to put up a fight with them at all was a surprise to everyone.

“Y/n?...” he said quietly, but you did not move. And if not for your laboured breathing and widened eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you were conscious.

He wanted so desperately to reach out and hold you, but the Kingsguard told him you were in a delicate condition and allowed nobody to touch you.

He was so close now, he could see every line of tears that you had made against the dark, crimson blood. His hand reached out to your wrist, barely touching it and you pulled back and screwed your eyes shut.

“No! Please…get away!...” you screamed, immediately shaking with fear, dagger in the other hand raised to strike if needed. 

Aemond held his hands in the air, heart shattering at his wife’s words. 

“Okay…okay…” he cooed soothingly, “...I’m going to stay here, okay?”

No response but a whimper came from you. His eyes raked over you and he felt the desire to clench his fists. Your dress was completely ruined and he noted that your smallclothes had been ripped and discarded to the ground. At this, rage began to boil inside of him.

“Y/n…it’s me…” he started, his voice low and calm, “...Aemond”

Your lids flinched slightly and he had some hope that he was getting through to you. You whimpered again, hand tightening around his dagger.

“I will not come any closer…until you want me to, okay?” he said, “can you open your eyes for me, my love?...”

You took a scattered breath in at the pet name, as if drawing you back to the surface from drowning, eyes opened and looked ahead at him. But mostly in shock and relief. Your mouth was open as if to say something, but you simply sat there, shivering in fright.

“It’s me, my love…your husband…”

Aemond sees the recognition in your eyes and you want to laugh with glee, but all you manage is a smile that is laced with relief but also fear. 

“A-Aemond…” you inhale a breath to let out a cry, “I’m sorry…”

He is on his knees, slowly inching towards you. “Shh..it’s okay…you are safe, okay?” 

You only give him a short and silent nod.

“Now…I’m going to need you to do something for me” he starts, inching a little closer, “...I’m going to need you to drop the dagger, okay?”

Your breath hitches, the fear slowly beginning to ebb away at the sight of your husband.

Your weapon-wielded hand reaches out to your side, watching Aemond the entire time and he seems to let a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding loose when the dagger lands with a rattle against the stone floor. He slowly reached out to take it from near you, placing it in its rightful place at his side now. 

“Now, the maesters need to come in to see y-”

“They didn’t do it” 

Your interruption stops Aemond in his tracks and he kneels to listen to you as you tearfully relay, finally, what had happened.

“They didn’t…” you say, hesitant to say the word, “...they didn’t manage to…”

You can see the relief on Aemond’s face as he understands what you mean, his eye closes, not tightly. 

“I had to keep them safe…” you say, referring to the twins.

Aemond nods, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Yes…yes, you did brilliantly, my love. The twins are safe…”

Almost too quickly, you are launching yourself into Aemond’s awaiting arms, head firmly against his chest. There are no more tears left in you, so you simply revel in his warm arms around you, hugging you tightly. He felt the hot tears prick at his eye at your sudden change of mood for the better and he himself sank into this feeling, not caring of the blood that was getting all over him.

“Aemond…I s-swear…they didn’t…” you looked up at him, your sobs making your voice waver, fearing your reputation if anything else.

He cradled your face with one large hand, wiping the tears away, “Shh…my love, I believe you…”

He stroked your hair lovingly and you seemed to calm down.

“The maesters would like to take a look at you…you do not have to do anything more than necessary-”

“No” you shook your head, knowing that the maesters would want to inspect intimately. But, you thought, it was best to quell any rumours right away, “I will…” you answer, voice still wavered but more sure now.

Aemond had been with you the entire time, holding your hand tightly as the maesters performed their examinations. Some were trivial and easy, others more intimate in the face of the near tragedy that had occurred. And while one maester began to clean the wound on your throat, the other approached Aemond, as your husband, to deliver his diagnosis.

“There is no trauma to her intimately, you will be happy to know” the maester began. Aemond nodded and looked over at you as the other cleaned your wounds and the blood from you. Of course, he had known that already. He believed the truth that you had told him.

“She will have some scars, but it will be difficult to tell how the experience has affected the baby for some time”

Aemond nodded, but hesitated at the word ‘baby’, a spark sent through him. Almost at the same time, you whipped your head up and looked toward the other maester in confusion.

“Baby…?” you ask quietly. The maester turns to you, nodding.

“Of course, Princess. When was the last you bled?”

Your eyes met the floor in thought, “But I bled two moons ag-oh” the realisation dawned on you. And your eyes met Aemond’s, but he was just as shocked as you.

“For certain?” you ask.

“Oh yes” the maester responded, as if it were obvious.

Rather uncharacteristically, Aemond rushed to you and pulled you into his arms, one hand stroking your hair while the other stroked your back. You melted into his embrace, for the first time in hours, feeling as if some luck had been bestowed onto you. Had the gods determined you a worthy wife? Finally.

“Oh my little fighter…” Aemond murmured into you. He shuts his eye forcefully to blink away a tear, with the knowledge he has now that he could very well have lost more than just his wife this night.

For the first time in hours, you cried with happiness, tightening your arms around your husband as the tears fell down your face.

But the fear lingered and you had remembered how fragile life itself had been in the last day, so when Aemond pulls away and sees your face, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears and leans down, “What is it, my love?”

You look up at him, the emotions fighting in your head, “Aemond…” your mouth is open trying to find the words, “I am happy…of course…but I am also afraid”

He cups your face lovingly, “I know my love…I know” 

As he brings you in for another embrace, he knows that no words right now can quell that fear you have after the traumatic experience you just went through. You felt vulnerable, like prey and Aemond promised himself he would do whatever it takes to make you feel safe. Even if it meant staying by your side for as long as you needed him. 

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 24

Despite the imminent peril something catches your eye, and the more you look at it, the more focused on it you become. Because your eyes do not deceive you...

...that is a fucking pirate ship. And, being a ship, it would follow that there are in fact people on it, perhaps - dare you hope to dream? - humans. You jump and wave your arms in an attempt to get the ship's attention, hoping that maybe they'll spot you and lend some much needed assistance.

The dolphin's fin comes closer and closer, snapping you back to the reality of your situation. You see its head crest out of the water, its long jaws open in a cruel giggle, and watch as its sinuous body leaps out for another deadly slam against your boat...

Thunder booms and seconds later the dolphin is hit straight in the cheek by a massive cannonball. Its shrill laughter rises in pitch to a wretched shriek, and then, in defiance of physics as you understand it, its body is sent not forward, but straight up into the sky by the blow, twisting and turning in the air until it disappears in a tiny glint of light hundreds of feet above your ship.

"Holy shit," you say as you watch the dolphin go blasting off into the sky like Team fucking Rocket. "It worked? It actually worked?!?" You leap up into the air and wave at the pirate ship. "Thank you! Thank you so much! Thank you!"

As if hearing your words, the ship moves towards your boat, giving you a better view of its stranger details. The main sail bears an emblem that looks like a cat's pawprint, the figurehead is a sort of half fish, half-panther creature, and the "stairs" to the upper level where the steering wheel sits are less stairs and more a sort of jagged ramp. You begin to wonder how eccentric the owner must be when he walks down to the main deck and looks you in the eye.

...

It's a tiger.

It's a fucking tiger.

As your ships come together, you find yourself staring at, well, a tiger wearing a pirate hat, a pirate coat, an eyepatch, and a hook on the tip of its tail. All of these would make it seem pretty silly if it weren't also a big fucking tiger, complete with sharp teeth and claws with which to rend your flesh. It levels a pant-shittingly terrifying glare at you before opening its mouth and releasing a bone-shaking roar from deep within its massive tiger lungs.

"He says he's Captain Peter," Calibani says as she sidles up next to you. "And that we have the privelge of being rescued by his ship, the Great Growl-Tiger."

You stop, blink, and stare at Calibani for a moment. "You can speak... tiger-ese?"

"Oh, no, I actually speak sea-lion," she says with a humble smile. "But they're very similar dialects." She roars out some... words? you don't understand at the tiger, who growls back in what could pass for a conversation if it weren't completely batshit to consider it such. "I thanked him on our behalf. He'd like to know if we need any further assistance - apparently it's been a long since he's seen a human out here."

At a loss, you consult your compass.

(Once again, you may submit questions/discussion topics for this next update based on the four directions of our poll. The more that are received, the more informative the interaction will be.)

[itsalwaysalmostchristmas]

Astarion: The Pale Elf?

BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD

I'm sure other people were confused when we met Dalyria and Petras in the Flophouse and saw how different the other spawn look to Astarion.

And it's not just his siblings, the other spawn that Cazador had locked up beneath the palace look the same.

black sclera, glowing red iris's with no pupil and shark like teeth seems to be the common traits of Cazador's spawn, all but Astarion. The only vampire that looks similar to Astarion is Cazador himself.

Of course, I'm not going to sit here and suggest something ridiculous like they're secretly related or Astarion has been a true vampire all along.

I feel there's a common theory that Astarion lost the disadvantages of being a vampire thanks to either the tadpole or the Astral Prism but I feel like the appearance traits of being a spawn also vanished when he was no longer under his master's control.

That still doesn't explain his white hair. Now, I know it's weird to focus in on such a tiny detail in a world where there a Dragonborns and Teiflings to worry about someone's hair colour but that's how roll bby.

Originally, I thought maybe his hair had turned white from either becoming a vampire spawn or through canities subita (better known as Marie Antoinette syndrome), but then obviously you see Cazador and the other spawn who all have different hair colours and shades.

It is still possible Astarion's hair could've changed due to stress but I believe Astarion's hair colour is it's natural colour. Do you know what elven race has white hair?

DROW

'But Astarion doesn't have blue/purple skin!' I hear you cry! And that is where DnD lore comes in! May I introduce:

SZARKAI AKA ALBINO DROW

Before going any further I need to address the fucked up thing about Szarkai. So, Szarkai are a super rate mutation and are more common in the Noble Houses, because of that they are seen as blessings from Lolth (Szarkai means 'ghost spider') upon the noble family that births one. Pretty much the Szarkai are held on a pedestal and believe to be Lolth's favourites which is really fucked up in a society of Dark Elves -.-

Real life racism aside, because of their pale skin; the Szarkai could very easily integrate with surface elves and just be seen as albino surface elves. Because of this the Szarkai are usually trained as spies and sent to the surface on deep-cover long-term assignments that furthered their house and/or for the benefit of Lolth.

Now my only evidence to Astarion possibly being a Szarkai isn't just the far he's pale and has white hair.

[Many drow thought of szarkai as a separate race, but they were genetically identical, possessing only the traits of albinism. Nevertheless, some had minor deformities, such as a lack of hair, small fangs, or gnarled and claw-like hands, suggesting the popular view had a slight basis in fact.]

SMALL FANGS

SMALL FANGS

SMALL FANGS

Okay, okay, I know the fangs and the red eyes are to show he's a vampire, very traditional vampire traits. However, we've seen that spawn don't look like that. So, my theory(nonsense) is that the tadpole/Astral Prism remove all features and traits of being a vampire spawn! He can walk in the sun, enter buildings without permission, and he reverts back to how he looked before turning into a spawn.

Obviously, stuff like the bite mark and the carvings remain because that actually part of him now and not part of the transformation of become a vampire spawn. The Astarion we see is the Astarion he was before Cazador found him.

I think it also makes sense with his character build. Being a charlatan sounds exactly like the Szarkai.

[Charlatan - You’re an expert in manipulation, prone to exaggeration and more than happy to profit from it. Bending the truth and turning allies against each other will lead to greater success down the road.]

[Szarkai agents might be engaged in simple gathering of information and passing what they learned back to the masters, or in learning the lay of the land and the makeup of local politics. Some might form sleeper cells with the goal of future sabotage or attack. Otherwise, they would be agents provocateur, discreetly manipulating surface-dwellers, turning would-be allies against the drow against one another instead, inflicting sabotage, and keeping communities small and vulnerable.]

They appear to get involved with local politics. And what did Astarion say he did when we ask him to tell us more about him in the beginning?

[Astarion: Oh, what's to tell? I'm a magistrate back in the city - it's all rather tedious.]

Plus at the Wither's Party we see that without the Astral Prism/tadpole Astarion looks the same, why? Because Cazador is dead. Sure he's still a spawn but he's not a Cazador's spawn. He's free. And there's nothing to suggest the his siblings and the other spawn didn't revert after losing exposure to being Cazador's spawn.

I think it would've been interesting to see Astarion interact with Minthara and other drow in the game with this premise. I'd also could've seen it as a reason as to where Cazador favoured Astarion so much. He already had the skills to manipulate and seduce trained into him from being a Szarkai. It would've also been interesting if Cazador had known the whole time, like imagine there's a scene where Astarion reveals to you he is Szarkai and it's a big moment for him because it's secret and it was beaten into him never to tell, then when we confront Cazador either through him himself or maybe through a journal in his office or from Goodey we could've found out that was why Cazador had targeted him that he had in fact set the Gur on him and he wanted the rarest gem to be part of his collection. To add an extra angst to it, it could be that Astarion's family ratted him out because remember in Drow society its a matriarchy where the men are treated like shit. Maybe Astarion didn't have as bad as a time because of his albinism but at the end of the day he's still male.

Anyways, that's my rambling over.

[penultimatefan02]

A Penultimate Pen Theory.

Recently, @pentition posted a very insightful and thoughtful analysis regarding Pen’s potential future as a core romance candidate in an upcoming game. This gave me food for thought about Pen's future direction and how his past relationship with the Sandrock builder could come into play, or whether he should find love with a playable character in an upcoming game.

When I think about Pen’s future, I’m limited by the few crumbs Pathea has offered us to theorize about his history and motivations. It’s not much but there are tidbits that I’ve clung to that put me in the camp of “team Pen.” There are also a few Discord posts by zede05 that I’ve added to the tiny pile of details.

Some history to note is that players who participated in the MTAS early access may have a different opinion of Pen than late-comers due to Pen’s romance being a Kickstarter goal and not originally developed. Also, his character art was greatly improved after he was introduced (I’m basing this on Discord comments as I did not participate or see prior iterations of Pen). These details may put EA players in the “Pen’s romance and physical characteristics were an afterthought” camp, which is valid.

Regardless of the romance aspect, it was Pen’s story that was greatly developed. He was such a BIG character for 2/3 of MTAS. No one makes a character that big with that many parallels, hints, and ambiguities unless they plan to utilize them in the future. Pen may become a big deal, and his arc may likely have a strong emotional impact on the player.

The one thing we know is that Pathea can and may change their mind about storylines and character development based on player response. Many discussions regarding Pen’s future romance potential are read and possibly considered in how they will approach his story arc and resolution. The more we talk about it on Reddit and Discord, the more chance we have of helping to shape Pen’s outcome. Based on zede05’s comments, nothing is set in stone.

Now, with that said, I think the original direction they may have decided on, and why Pen was not a marriage candidate is because he’s going to take the true role of the anti-hero, and his ending will be his end. Please forgive me for typing it out, it’s not meant as a jinx, and I truly don’t want it to happen. However, I do think there is a strong possibility that the writers may decide or have already decided that this resolution needs to happen to counterbalance his actions in MTAS (and in future game(s) if he continues the villain path a while longer).

I’ve been wrong many times before, but I see Pen as being the main hero of the series at a great cost to himself. Aadit gets to go home, but Pen doesn’t. Pen may even be the one to save Aadit so he can return home to Portia’s builder.

Pathea doesn’t think players will be disappointed by “how” Pen ends up, not “where” Pen ends up. Granted, there are translations involved and they didn’t know whether Aadit would be the Rogue Knight or not by Portia’s end, so it’s all speculation. However, if Pen sacrifices himself for the greater good near the series end, zede05 would be right that we wouldn’t be disappointed. If anything, we would all be greatly moved by it and the emotional impact and payoff would be huge. Pen ends his story as a true hero.

I’m not sure how many games they plan for the series, but I’ll play the odds that Pen will be recurring until the end. I believe someone at Pathea mentioned using Marvel’s film series as a guideline for its continuing characters (in reference to Aadit and Pen).

To bring the discussion back to romance, I think Sandrock’s builder was the first time Pen ever felt something akin to affection or love. At the end of the Paradise Lost quest, we know he’s quite familiar with sex, but then sex doesn’t require emotions. He was unsure of what friendship was, and he didn’t understand the feelings he was left with after his dates with the builder. Pen only knew he liked it and wanted to spend more time with them. He comes off as very emotionally stunted, which aligns with his more narcissistic traits.

One comment that stood out to me was in response to a question about Pen becoming romanceable again in the future, zede05 replied, “But Pen only loves himself and his form of justice. Haha.” So, if anything, Pen must grow and learn to have concern for others not just himself. I think the builder’s relationship with him in Sandrock set that into motion, but we won’t know the impact until he’s reintroduced later on. While I wouldn’t be surprised if Sandrock’s builder has a role in his future, I believe at the very least they helped build the foundation for his potential redemption arc.

I don’t think Pathea will let him be romanced again until something happens to counterbalance his past crimes. So, if he does do the big thing to save the day and lives, then maybe the next game could see him become a marriage candidate. Although, I really like @pentition's idea of Pen heading off to find the builder or having them ride off into the sunset, preferably on Merle’s back. I’m a big fan of full-circle storylines, so Pen dating a new character comes off to me as slicing the pie in half and chucking it in the bin.

Regardless of what is to happen in the My Time series, we know that Pen will probably play a big role in it. I do hope that whatever road Pathea has laid out for him will ultimately lead to his redemption and that we are all left feeling proud of him and satisfied with his story.

Gosh, this was hard to write. @pentition, thank you for sharing your thoughts, which in turn gave me a bit of courage to share mine. I hope I'm not a total Debbie Downer on this topic.

[thevillainswhore]

Anywhere Away With You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader; other pairings but I don’t want to spoil anything!

Word Count: Over 11.5k

Summary: Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

Warnings: Smut (‘daddy’ kink, finger-ing, mentions of oral, p in v, n-ipple play, derogatory names), flashbacks, angst, (Bucky is a warning here), emotional cheating? (I want to say this to cover all grounds)

A/N: unbeta’d, dividers by saradika

I’m sorry in advance for how long this piece is - I got an idea and literally ran with it, my head wouldn’t let me stop 🤣 hope you enjoy!

Romania - June 2019

The cool Romanian night air weaved through Bucky’s shoulder length hair as he walked the cobbled streets. He was glad he grew it out. A good change from his usual style. He felt free, more than he ever had before in his life and he was glad Steve pushed him to take this break before having to become the newly appointed CEO of his father’s company.

Peaceful. That’s how he would describe his time away. Traveling, sightseeing, learning new cultures. Bucky was extremely appreciative to have been able to experience the things he had and it was a journey he would never forget.

But seeing you, a total stranger on your own, dancing to your heart's content to a cheesy pop song across the road in a karaoke bar is an image that would be imprinted in his mind and heart forever. Your flowy silk red dress flawlessly wrapped around your curves and your gorgeous smile coated with crimson made Bucky feel like a teenage boy with a crush for the very first time.

So, it was by no means of his own when his feet walked themselves up to your carefree self, grabbed your hand to spin your body into his and dipped you, the words flowing out of his mouth as he introduced himself, “hello kisa, my name’s James and it would be my pleasure if I could dance with you tonight.”

He wasn’t sure why he gave you his real name, but it felt right in the moment and the feeling of being his authentic self out there had him divulging in all truths. In all honesty he didn’t know what had gotten into him, he wasn’t a seize the day kind of man, and definitely did not spontaneously introduce himself to strangers and ask to dance with them on the regular. But magic surrounded you that he was victim to and your ethereal glow called to him. It was a token he couldn’t pass up as his blue eyes pleaded with you to take a chance on him.

He wouldn’t have blamed you had you smacked him across his face and told him to get lost. Yet, he was pleasantly surprised at the full blown grin that split your face as you replied, “okay then James… show me what you’ve got.”

Not that he knew it then, but that moment had changed the course of his life forever. The six months he spent with you in Romania in your tiny little one bed apartment were some of the happiest moments he could remember. Details skip his mind when he tries to think of how you created an immeasurable connection in such little time.

He only remembers two parts of life: before you and after you.

It was a whirlwind romance. Had anyone known the story of the two of you, they’d have said you were crazy. Bucky didn’t see it like that though, you both may have been impulsive and reckless to trust a complete stranger, but there was an unknown force pulling the two of you together that made you click. As if you’d been waiting for each other all this time.

Even the small things mattered, like waking up with your head snuggled into his large chest. Your cute grumpy face from being woken up too early as he nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you. Cooking breakfast together and having food fights with the flour and eggs only to fall into the shower, where Bucky would tease at least two orgasms out of you with his thick fingers before fucking you against the screen door as you screamed his name.

It was bliss.

He learned that you were a journalist, who’s traveled across the world to write about your adventures from country to country. He learned that you had a best friend who encouraged you to expand your horizons and that’s the reason you were in Romania. He learned what you’re passionate about. Your hobbies, your fears, your dreams. He also got to learn that you’re a little freak in bed.

Not that he minded.

The serenity that those six months with you allowed him set the pathway for Bucky to truly find fulfillment in your presence and be the best version of himself when he was with you. It’s how he knew he was falling down the rabbit hole to deeper feelings. He dared to say he had already fallen in love with you.

And it was with that realisation that he created the downfall of the two of you. He knew you loved him, you’d told him so a month into your relationship and he wished he could’ve said it back every time. But he couldn’t comprehend the feeling of having something so precious in the palm of his hands. Didn’t want the responsibility of breaking your heart from his own foolishness in the long run. You never minded, always giving to never expect anything back in return.

You were too good for him. Too beautiful inside and out for him to be worthy of you.

That’s why he had to leave.

No note. No goodbye. Nothing. Just his rucksack packed with all his belongings on his shoulders as he took one last look at your sleeping form. Desperate to take in as much of you as he could before he deprived himself of your essence for the rest of his days to come.

New York - Present

“Helloo? Nat, is she okay? She's been like this for a while- oh! There you are sweetie, you zoned out on us again!” Wanda chuckles as your vision comes back into focus from your daydream.

You let out a weak laugh, “sorry Wands, my heads all over the place.”

It’s convincing enough, you think. The stress of upcoming events a good excuse to explain how far away your mind really is. Wanda is a great friend, truly so supportive and loving, but she doesn’t understand the ins and outs of your situation, hasn’t known you long enough to know the complexities that torment your memories.

Nat however does.

“Wanda, why don’t you go see how the caterers are getting on?”

Being the sweetheart she is, she agrees straight away, “yes! I can do that for you, I’ll be right back lovelies!” Natasha waits until she hears the door click shut and spins to set her eyes on you.

She chooses her words carefully. “You know sweets… you’ve been a little off-“

“I’m good, Romanoff”, you interrupt her firmly and then grimace in regret for snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault you were so fragile at the minute. Softening your tone, you try again, “I’m okay, I promise. Don’t worry about me, yeah? I’m good.”

Nat doesn’t look convinced, but you haven’t got the energy to go down that road and she knows it’s not the time to push you further. She can read you like an open book - one of the only people who can. Unaffordable to you right now though, not when you’ve got to paint the happy smile back onto your face to see through the night. It’s routine for you now.

Smoothing down your white sundress in the mirror, you ignore your best friend’s sympathetic gaze and turn around to walk out of the door.

Being away from home for so long has had its downfalls for Bucky. Although he needed these past couple of years to recharge and come back with a screwed on head to run his company as the CEO, he’s missed out on a lot. His best friend’s engagement being the main example.

He sees the love in Steve’s eyes. The pure happiness that radiates from his full being. It was hard to come back home and witness the dramatic change from the once bachelor, who was never interested in settling down, to hearing he had actually proposed to a woman. It stunned him, completely threw him for a loop, especially since Steve hadn’t mentioned anything over the phone while he had been away.

Nevertheless he was ecstatic for him, he knew what it felt like to completely fall head over heels for someone who makes life so much brighter. Someone who totally turns your world upside down in the most amazing way.

Too bad he lost that.

“Bucky, I can’t wait for you to meet her, honestly she’s so beautiful and kind and you’re gonna love her, I promise.” Steve blabbers on about his fiancé and Bucky can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy.

It should have been him engaged by now. It should have been him planning his wedding to the love of his life and annoying everyone else around him with his continuous declarations of love.

All he can do is hope Steve doesn’t notice his fake smile as he claps his hand onto his back and jokes, “well pal, you’re whipped now - can’t wait to see the woman who’s locked an old brute like you down.”

Luckily, Steve doesn’t notice the melancholy that takes over Bucky’s face, too absorbed into his own world of excitement to bother about anything else. He didn’t want anyone to see anyway, so he took in the guests and the decorations surrounding Steve’s beautiful garden of his home as they all waited for the woman who held Steve’s heart.

The click of your heels echoing through the hallways has the anxiety bubbling up further in your throat. Palms sweaty and knees wobbly. It wasn’t unusual to feel like this at big events you attended, but there was something in the air that had your nerves on edge, a sense of doom teasing you that there was something different about tonight.

Chatter and music from the party got louder the closer you got to the garden patio doors and your breaths were coming in faster. Nat caught up to you and spotted your struggle, coming to your aid and holding your arms.

“Hey, honey, breathe for me, there we go, deep breaths.”

You followed the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest to calm yourself down. Nerves were normal for you, yes, but you’d never felt like this abnormal before. Eventually, your breathing regulated and Nat bristles as you start laughing hysterically.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with me? I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Nat’s emerald eyes that hold so much sorrow for you bare deep into your soul. This was the woman who had been there for your worst moments, the times where you broke down in despair from heartbreak. Your best friend. She knew what was wrong, you knew that she knew what was wrong, but it was a promise made that stopped either of you from bringing up the elephant in the room. Your whole world would come crashing down and you were not ready for that outcome.

So with a heavy heart for you and a smile that was keeping you together, she murmured lightly, “c’mon you, we’ve got a show to run.”

Everyone turns around in unison to see the double doors from the decking open up to the guest of the hour walking through. Timid smile on her face as claps and whistles applaud her.

“There she is! Hi baby, come over here.”

Pride shines through Steve’s eyes as he holds his hand out for his fiancée to take hold of to help her step down the stairs. Cheers and wolf whistles from the crowd at the happy couple continue as Steve pulls her into his side and places a loving kiss on her forehead.

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to the commotion, lingering towards the back of all the guests as he looks into the general direction of where his best friend is. He can’t see Steve’s wife-to-be yet, but judging by the look on his face, he’s totally smitten with her, lovedrunk in his own little bubble of joy. Bad friend he may be, but Bucky just can’t stomach pretending to be happy for him whilst he’s stewing in his own misery of his fuckups.

Although, his quiet brooding doesn't last very long when he hears his name being called.

“Buck? Bucky, where are ya punk, you’ve gotta meet my girl! Hang on one second babe, I’ll find him, you’re gonna love him.”

Steve leaves his fiancée’s side in his quest to find his best friend, eager for the two most important people in his life to finally meet.

It takes everything in Bucky to not grimace when Steve spots him.

“There you are Buck, I’ve been looking all over for you! C’mon, I’ve gotta introduce the two of you.”

Reluctantly, Bucky follows his best friend as they approach a woman wearing a white sundress, back turned to them as she’s talking quietly to a redhead. The thrill on Steve’s face as they get closer increases tenfold as if it physically pained him to be away from his fiancée and as they stop just behind her, Steve places his hand on her waist and whispers loud enough into the curve of her neck for Bucky to hear.

“Baby, this is Bucky, my best friend and boss, who I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time.”

It’s almost like a scene from a movie, the way her hair fans out as she spins around, the skirt of her dress billowing in slow motion as her sweet perfume tickles his nose. But, he recognises that scent… recognises that candy like smell that’s buried deep into his mind-

The shatter of glass silences the whole party as all eyes dart to the scene of commotion. Bucky’s mouth gaping open and body stiff as stone when he finally sets his eyes on Steve’s bride to be.

You.

You are Steve’s fiancée.

“Jesus Buck, what’s a matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve’s chuckle laced with a hint of concern snaps you out of your reverie as he waves over cleaners to sort out the mess - shock leaving you almost paralysed as you take in the sight of the man, who still haunts your dreams, you haven’t seen since the night before he left all those years ago.

James hardly looks any different to how he did back in Romania. The long brunette hair - though now tied back into a bun - you used to run your nails through. His open blue shirt with a white vest underneath, reminding you of how you used to smooth your hands over his big, strong arms just to get a feel of him. And that gold chain resting against his chest donned with gold rings on his thick fingers that have your mind still going hazy with need.

“James, oh fuck James, yes, right there!”

“Yeah? You like that, kisa? You like how deep my cock feels in you?”

“Yes, baby yes! please, please don’t stop.”

“Then tell me, who’s fuckin’ you this good, hm?”

James gripped your throat and tightened his fingers to slightly cut off your oxygen, rendering you speechless with drool dripping down your chin.

“I fuckin’ said, tell me who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

“Y-you are, James!”

“Oh c’mon kisa, you know that’s not what I mean.” His chain swung back and forth above your face with each thrust he made. “I know you’re a cockdrunk little slut for me, but you’re not stupid. I’ll ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me who the fuck is makin’ you moan like a whore, then I promise I’ll stop right now and leave you begging.”

That booted your brain back into gear.

“D-daddy!”, you stuttered, all but forcing your lust drunk mind to say it so he didn’t stop, “Daddy’s fucking me so good!”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

His condescending words only brought you closer to the edge, the coldness from the rings adorning his fingers added to your pleasure as he stroked your clit in a figure of eight.

The bastard knew you had a thing for his jewelry.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt your climax approaching, legs trembling in the crevices of his arms as his cock repeatedly hit your g-spot.

James brought his lips to your ear and you could feel the salacious grin that split his face as he reveled in your filthy moans and whimpers. He knew you were close.

“I know you’re desperate to let go baby, so show Daddy how good he’s making that pretty pussy feel, Kisa.”

His final words had you screaming.

“Cum for me.”

A shiver racks through your body as you force the memory as far away as you can, eyes unwilling to lose contact with him as you cravingly soak in what you haven’t seen in so long. James’ stare is pathetically zoned in on you too, the rest of the party a blur in the background.

Reprimanding yourself for getting lost in his aura, you snap your head away from his direction, watching the cleaners sweep away the glass and mop up the spilled champagne, listening to Steve’s apologies for the inconvenience.

You look around to the rest of the guests and find all attention on your predicament, paranoia filling your mind that everyone knows the history between the two of you. Sneaking a peek at James and seeing his gaze still focused on you doesn’t help your situation in the slightest.

Luckily, Steve’s voice cuts through the tension he’s unaware exists as he turns back to you.

“As I was saying baby, this is Bucky. We’ve known each other since we were kids and he had to save my ass from all those back alley fights - now we work together. He may be my boss, but he’s still a punk.”

Guilt hits you like a truck as Steve talks about his best friend with so much fondness. The sickness that you’ve felt since the beginning of the day rising up your throat as you fight to stop the tears welling up. You couldn’t have known the two of them knew each other, Steve talking about a ‘Bucky’ you’d never met, having no alignment with your ‘James’. But the nagging feeling that this is all your fault drills into your brain.

Looking toward your fiancé and plastering what you hope is an honest smile on your face, you clear your throat and pray your voice doesn’t break, “oh yes, I remember you saying honey!”

Knowing you have to sell a lie, you turn to James and hope that your pleasantries don’t come across as fake as your smile, “Stevie here’s told me all about you. It’s really nice to finally meet you, Bucky.”

The tightening of his fist doesn’t go unnoticed by you at the mention of his apparent real name. It could also be your pretend act of not knowing each other, but he lost the privilege to know you the day he left you and you didn’t care for his discomfort right now.

“Stevie, I’m just gonna go sort out some last minute details with Natty and I’ll catch up with you later.” The excuse to high tail it out of this nightmare seems to go down well with your soon-to-be Husband as he hooks his arm around your waist and gives you a loving kiss as a farewell.

“Don’t be too long, babe. I’ll miss you.”

You’re not sure if the low growl you hear is a figment of your imagination or not, but you ignore it as you squeeze Steve’s hand and take off to find where Nat had run off to, keeping your head down to avoid any temptation of catching a last look at old strangers.

Spotting Nat laughing with Wanda and a handsome dark-skinned man, you dart into her direction and hook your arm with her to drag her away, “sorry guys, I just need to talk with Nat about- something. I’ll bring her right back!”

You don’t even give her a chance to end the conversation as you haul ass towards the side of the house, not missing a step as you feel yourself breaking.

“Hey! Babe-, Sweets, what’s going on?-“

“In a minute, Natasha.”

“Where are you takin-“

“In a minute.”

Natasha stays quiet as you round the corner to a hidden alcove, private enough for your mental breakdown to unleash.

You let go of her arm as you pace up and down the small path, muttering to yourself as you hold your head in your hands. Your best friend tries to be patient as you attempt to gather the strength to tell her what the hell just happened, but she’s too worried for you to stay silent.

“Honey, what the hell is going on?”

Standing stock still, you look up to the sky and release a shaky breath.

“It’s him, Nat.”

Not clueing in to what you mean, she asks, “what?”.

“He’s here.”

“Who?-“

“Him.”

Putting together what you mean by your words, her head whips into your direction and her eyes bulge out of her head.

“No-, honey no. Are you su-?”

“I’m not fucking stupid, Nat. Of course I’m sure! I just saw him.”

“I’m gonna let you off speaking to me like that this once.”

Defeated, you crouch down onto the ground and hold your hand over your mouth, muffled sobs spilling out for Nat to hear. She rushes to your side and brings you into her embrace, tilting your head to lean against her shoulder as she comforts you.

“Shit. Everything’s gonna be okay Sweets, I promise. We’ll figure something out.”

You’re not quite sure you believe her this time.

It had been a week since your episode at the engagement party. After Nat has assured you to not worry over anything yet (big fucking understatement), you got your act together and calmed yourself down - arriving back at the party with no tears in sight with Steve soon at your side, unknowing to your distress. The rest of the night went smoothly, chit chat with the guests and announcements of how happy everyone was for the two of you easing your anxiety to whether people had caught on or not.

And if you could feel eyes on you throughout the whole night? You told yourself you were imagining it.

Steve hadn’t sensed anything was wrong with you this week that had passed. A true blessing in disguise really. You had no idea how you could even begin to tell him that you knew ‘Bucky’. So your decision to keep it a secret was the best way to go about this, you concluded. You’re marrying Steve. Steve. And James was part of your past that you were not revisiting. That was that.

The ding of the elevator lets you know you’ve reached Steve’s floor at his work. Wanting to drop off some lunch for him since he told you he was working late tonight, you prepared his favourite meal and thought he’d appreciate you bringing it over. He always loved you surprising him at work, especially since he’d taken over command and had a lot on his plate while his boss had been away traveling.

You guess the clues had been in front of you all along.

Walking up to Steves’s office door, navigating your way through the eeriness of the darkness of the building, you knock. Concerned at the lack of answer, you try again, rapping your knuckles against the wood in your own signature style to let him know it’s you who’s knocking - yet to no avail, silence again.

You’re about to take your phone out of your bag to text your fiancé and ask where he is, when you feel a looming presence behind you, hairs on the back of your neck standing up in alarm.

“Steve’s not here.”

Seems like you can’t escape your past after all.

Whipping your head round to the deep gravelly voice you haven’t heard in so long, you see James. You’d recognise his voice anywhere. Eyes wide open and heart beating out of your chest as all you can do is stare into them steel blue eyes you used to get lost in all the time.

Home.

Shaking your head to stop the locked away thoughts from taking root at the forefront of your mind, you attempt to speak, to say something.

“Oh.”

‘Oh’? What the fuck is that?

Bucky speaks up again, “He stepped out for a last minute meeting with one of our partners.”

Taking a deep breath to cool your nerves, you attempt to speak again. This was your fiancés best friend, nothing more. You can do this.

“Um, okay, yeah that’s fine.”

Yeah, so much better.

You nod dumbly, head continuously bobbing up and down as you look anywhere but at him.

Turns out you can absolutely not ‘do this’ - the depths of his intense gaze zeroed in on you, shaking your confidence and leaving you making a quick exit to avoid the awkwardness.

“I’ll just- leave it on his desk, I guess. Could you tell him I stopped by? Thank you. Bye.”

Before you can even take your first step to leave, he interrupts you.

“So, you’re marrying him?”

Your surprise at his gall to bring up the elephant in the room has you reeling back, stopping you in your tracks. But the anger that stems from within at his audacity to even mention it soon takes over and allows your facade to entirely switch in a moment of braveness.

“We’re not doing this.”

“You’re breaking my heart, kisa.” Bucky’s whisper, just loud enough for you to hear through the abandoned top floor of his building, cracks away at another piece of your heart.

You swallow the lump in your throat but your voice still comes out trembling, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

The tight white dress shirt bulging over his large chest and black trousers fitted snug against his crotch didn’t do you any favours either - hands tucked into his pockets practically screaming at you to look at the veins of his forearms.

Fuck.

You take deep breaths and decide you need to get out of this dangerous situation, pushing yourself to walk by him, you’re startled as he holds out his arm to hold you still by your waist.

The shuddering sigh you let out is louder than you expect it to be. Glistening moonlight cascading over the two of you in the darkness of the office. You haven’t felt his touch in over three years and all you want to do is fall into his arms and never let him go. It had been too long since you felt the gentleness of his touch, the feel of his thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin underneath your shirt, transporting your mind back to lazy mornings tangled in the sheets.

“Bucky! Stop it, you're tickling me!”

The scrape of his teeth against your neck had you squirming in his grasp, the sweat from your morning escapades gathering between your bare skin.

“God, I fuckin’ love how sensitive you are for me baby girl.”

“I can’t go another round Bucky, you're insatiable.”

“You sure about that, kotehok? Because I know for a fact that your little pussy is pulsing for my big cock.”

You're a prisoner to watch as he grinds against you, kissing down towards your tits that you know he’s a sucker for. “Fuck.”

“I also know that if I were to suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, you’d be putty in my hands. A cute little mess pleading for me to fill you up.”

He always knew what he was doing, pushing you to your limits. But he knew you could handle it.

“That’s not fair baby, you know how bad that gets me.”

He ran his tongue over your stiff peaks as you keened, sucking each nipple before his plump lips trailed down your belly to stop above your mound, dying to eat your pussy like a man starved.

“And you know how crazy I am for you, so sit back and relax while I get a taste of you baby. You can take it, you’re my good girl.”

Shit.

You rip yourself away from his grasp and back away as he reaches out for you again.

“Kisa-“

“I said, don’t.”

The demand in your tone has Bucky pulling his arm back to his side and hanging his head.

Not bearing to look at him, you walk away, missing your old flame deflate at the consequence of his own mistakes.

The next couple of days go by fast for you, distracting yourself with last minute wedding plans to keep your mind focused. Not wandering. You hadn’t seen Steve much, only briefly in the mornings before he had to leave for work and hardly getting to see him later in the day due to him tying up loose ends before the wedding.

It was another relief in all honesty. Your emotions have been going haywire ever since you found out Bucky was back and you weren't sure how you could hold yourself around Steve.

Again, the wrongfulness of your actions has your gut churning. You hadn’t cheated. But it wasn’t exactly fair to keep your fiancé in the dark like this. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong - he’d been nothing but loyal to you and treated you like you deserved throughout your relationship. He had never abandoned you, never left you wondering what must be so wrong with you to not be good enough staying for. So, why was your mind so conflicted?

You’re torn out of your inner conflict when you feel a dent in the bed.

“Steve?”

“Yeah baby, it’s just me.”

His sweet tone and pure happiness to see you has that nauseating feeling coming back.

“I was able to get off work early today. Finished handing over everything to Bucky so he can get started with the company.”

Yeah, you didn’t think it could get much worse, the mention of him having bile rise in your throat. Deciding to torment yourself even further, you poke the bear.

“Oh good, good. How is everything? Been nice having him back?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea. I missed him so much while he was away. We were two peas in a pod, y’know? Always causing trouble together.”

Your eyes start to sting and you thank every god out there that it’s dark enough in the room for Steve not being able to see.

“He also mentioned you dropped by work the other night, sorry I missed you honey. One of our partners needed to speak about something to do with the increasing costs, but you don’t wanna hear about that, I’m just glad to be home with you now.”

It takes everything in you not to start crying. The fact that Bucky had mentioned you has your mind spiraling - something Steve notices when you don’t say anything.

“Honey? Everything okay?”

Hastily moving into his side and snuggling up to him, you think fast to try and eradicate the negative trail this could go down, hugging him tight and willing yourself to chill out.

“Yeah of course, sorry Stevie. Just been stressed lately and I’ve missed you, that’s all.”

With the way he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tighter into his body, he seems content enough with your reasoning. His hand smoothing down your side and hiking your leg over his waist, a move you had gotten so familiar with and now feels so foreign.

“Shit, I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much too, sweetheart. How about I make it up to you, hm?”

This you can do. You can take your mind away from your worries and indulge in everything Steve for one night.

So as he rolls over you to lay you fully onto your back and starts to kiss down your neck, you cup the back of his head to bring him closer and avoid closing your eyes to prevent anyone else sneaking in your thoughts, basking in his soft touch and eagerness to please.

You can do this for him.

The dinner party Steve had arranged a couple of weeks before the big day consisted of inviting close friends to celebrate and enjoy an evening together with good food and drinks to let loose.

Dread was all you could feel.

You hadn’t spoken to Bucky since he cornered you at the office and any events that you both were attending, you made sure to stay clear from him. The risk of bumping into him again too great to let down your guard.

However, that idea was out the window as soon as you found out you were seated next to him at the dinner table.

Pulling Steve aside to casually question the seating arrangements had set your nerves alight for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Steve, sweetie... H-how come you’re not sat next to Bucky? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

He sighs as everyone else takes their place at the table and puts his hands over your cheeks, thumb rubbing your pouty lips. “I thought it’d be a fun idea to seat people next to someone they don’t really talk to, y’know let everyone get to know each other more. It makes all the games I’ve planned more fun.”

Steve looks over your worried expression and continues to try and put you at ease. “I know Buck’s a bit grumpy and he doesn’t talk much, but will you try and talk to him tonight? It would mean the world to me if you two got along, honey. Besides, he’s probably just missing his time across the world, someone like you will bring him right out of his shell.”

You can say that again.

Not wanting to make this harder for Steve, you smile and nod to which he pecks your lips and thanks you profusely for the effort you're making.

You already know Bucky is sitting down, looking over to see his chestnut locks tucked behind his ears with a hair tie on his wrist next to his gold bracelet. So with a final pep talk to yourself to get you through this dinner, you drag yourself to your seat and carefully sit down as quietly as possible to not draw attention to yourself.

Impossible when you can literally feel his eyes burning a hole through the side of your head.

Natasha’s subtle tapping on the empty plate across the table has you looking up at her, a raised eyebrow code for the two of you to ask if you’re going to be okay. The small nod you send back her way placates her for the time being.

You wouldn’t believe yourself either.

The gulp of wine you chug down does little to settle you, already grabbing the bottle to pour yourself another glass when you feel the timber of a low chuckle close to your ear.

“You always did like wine a little too much.”

You choke on air at the unexpected inside joke, the dark-skinned man you’d come to learn as Sam in the seat on your other side, patting your back to help you through your coughing fit. Throwing him a look of thankfulness as your cheeks flush hot in embarrassment, you sit forward in your seat again and grit your teeth to stop yourself from smacking Bucky across the face.

“Nervous, baby?”

Keeping your eyes straight forward is a task, but you refuse to play Bucky’s games. His sudden bravado throws you off your duty of keeping cool.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your angry whisper only results in his growing amusement - that stupid smirk on his face you've seen many times in his moments of mischief.

Taking a look around the table, you see everyone in conversation with each other, unaware of yours and Bucky’s back and forth.

“Gotta get your attention somehow, baby girl, you ignored me the last time.”

You don’t give into his whims, his charm and sweet names threatening to derail your psyche when you’re not even halfway through the night. Instead you turn and start up a conversation with Sam, an old friend of Steve - and Bucky unfortunately -, to take your mind away from the arrogance your other way.

Little did you know this was just the start of it.

The next hour or so goes by more smoothly than the beginning of the night and you’re proud of yourself for managing to actually have some fun. That may very well be because you actively chose not to look in Bucky’s direction or give him a slither of your attention, but you’re still happy with yourself nonetheless.

Your newfound peace is disturbed when Wanda - the enthusiastic, innocent soul you have to remember you love - suggests an icebreaker game that has you, yet again, choking on air.

“Suck and blow! So, the rules are you have to pass this card to each other using only your mouth. If anyone drops it, they have to take a shot! Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!”

Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t catch a break.

The nervous look you send Steve literally begs him to raise concern, to say anything that will get you out of this nightmare. But being the perfect angel he is, he just sends a wink your way and shouts over the table “don’t worry sweetheart, I know you only have eyes for me.”

A sniper to the head would be more comfortable than this.

It’s burning torture as you watch the start of the game, the card beginning with Wanda as it’s sucked from her grasp by another friend of Steve’s. It goes down the line one by one and all you can do is sit and watch as it gets closer to Bucky.

You wish you could slow time down as Bucky sucks the card into his mouth, the turn of his head towards you signaling your turn in the game. If you react too slowly, everyone around you is going to get suspicious, react too quickly and you come across as too eager.

And those cerulean eyes that pin you down with a look you know all too well, don’t help your cause one bit.

Bracing yourself with a hand on the table and a hand on the back of your chair, your knuckles turn white as the death grip keeps you stable when you slowly lean forward. Your ears start to ring and the fact that Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you once makes your palms sweaty.

Pursing your lips, you close your eyes as you suction the card from his mouth and successfully take it in your grasp, applauding yourself internally at how smooth the transition went without you freaking out - too much.

Only for it all to come crashing down when a firm, calloused hand squeezes the meat of your thigh and has you releasing a gasp of air, eyes shooting open as the shock of the unexpected touch has the card leaving your mouth, fluttering downwards to land on the floor beside your feet.

The lack of distance between yours and Bucky’s open mouths has your head spinning, taking you back to those public rendezvous against a wall of a club bathroom and panting into each other's mouths as you scream praises to each other.

“Open that slutty mouth, now.”

James’ hand flew up to your jaw to pry your mouth open when you took too long to obey his orders. Leg hiked over his wait as he was two fingers deep in your cunt.

The wetness that landed on your tongue had you moaning louder when you realised that James had spat into your mouth, pussy fluttering around his thick fingers as his eyes darken.

“You want everyone to know how good Daddy’s fingers are making you feel, baby girl? Sure sounds like it.” His dirty grin only made more of your juices leak over him.

“Yes Daddy! Don’t wan’ you to stop, feels soo good.”

The slur in your voice had his cock harden against your leg, and you were sure you were going to pass out as he assured you. “Oh don’t worry, pretty baby. We’re about to see if you can take another one of Daddy’s fingers.”

And by the look on Bucky’s face, he knows all too well exactly what you’re thinking.

The boos and hollers of everyone else snap you back to reality, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat to blend in with the rest of them. Shouts of “loser” and chants of “shot” taking precedence over the wetness of your panties and the throbbing of your pussy that makes your thighs rub together.

You ignore Bucky’s stare, ignore everything else that threatens to consume you as you take the shot to forget about everything just for a short while. You can’t deal with it right now.

As the cheering dies down, you stand up and make your way to the bathroom, declaring that you’ll be right back after relieving yourself, which gains some laughter.

You’re too out of sight to see Bucky half assing an excuse to follow right after you. You also don’t see the look that crosses Steve’s face as he watches the two of you leave.

Bucky hears the telltale clicking off your heels, your announcement of heading to the bathroom a lie as he walks past it and up the stairs to find you leaning against the balcony railing on the roof, looking out at the stars. 

You know he’s there by the sound of the lock clicking shut, the defeat at avoiding this exact situation evident in your sigh. 

He gently walks to your side, almost afraid to scare you off like a baby deer and simply waits for you to start speaking.

“So, I guess this is where we talk.”

The laugh he lets out at your statement has you reluctantly smiling, unable not to love the crinkles that appear by his eyes. 

“I think it's overdue, don't you think?”

“I guess.” You pause as you try to think of what to say. “When did you get back home?”

“Not long ago, about 3 months. You?”

“Came home a couple of weeks after I knew you weren’t coming back.”

Heavy silence falls between the two of you. 

“Can I ask how you met Steve?”

You knew the question was coming, “Natasha introduced us.” You shrug and answer vaguely.

“Ah, the best friend. I remember you mentioning her.”

As you continue to stare out into the night, Bucky decides to carry on. “Do you remember when we used to climb up the stairs to rooftops like this back in Romania? We’d lay all those blankets down and I’d tell you all about the different constellations in the sky. You already knew all of them - always my smart baby girl - but you still let me go on about them because you loved hearing me talk about it.”

You can’t bare to think about the memories that come rushing in at his recollection. The ones that hold a special place in your heart - conversations of getting to know each other, the details of your life you were so willing to give up to him as he slow danced with you in the refrigerator light of your tiny kitchen. Too much for you to comprehend right now as you begin to go walk back inside. 

“Hey no-“ he reaches out to grab your arm to try and get you to listen to him. 

“Please don’t touch me”.  Tears race down your cheeks as you gather the strength to speak your mind. “You left. Do you know how long I waited for you to get in touch with me? How long I stayed in that apartment, thinking you’d be back?” You laugh, “silly me for thinking I was special enough for you to stay.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“What was it then, Bucky? Because I didn’t get one phone call from you. Not even a text message to tell me you were okay. You ghosted me - abandoned me and then I see you again after all these years.” 

Bitterness takes over Bucky as he blurts out, “yeah, I see you’re really hurt - marrying someone else.”

You’re speechless at his audacity, sputtering to fire back at him, “what does it even matter to you anyway? You didn’t even love me, Bucky!” 

“Stop calling me that!” He deflects.

You ignore him. “What is this? What are you doing? Trying to claim me back as some fucking prize or something?”

“N-no, no! Of course not!”

“Then what, Bucky?!”

He finally snaps and tells the truth. “I want you back!”

All you can do is blink at him as he struggles to find what he wants to say. 

“Do you know how miserable I’ve been without you? How long the days were without you beside me, kisa? I know I ran baby, i know I fucked up. But I was scared, I didn’t want you to look back in a couple of years and wonder what you’ve been doing, wasting time with someone like me. I know better now though, I know how I feel.”

He pauses and gulps. 

“I do. I love you.”

The three words you had been dying to hear, but ever so patiently waited for back then cut your heart into pieces. What you would have given to be on the receiving end of his love when it mattered. But you’ve got a fiancé to think about, a wedding not long away to seal your fate to a man who thinks the world of you and shows it.

“Yeah?” You gulp and turn to walk away, mumbling over your shoulder, “well it’s too late for that now, Bucky.”

You’d love to say that you had been channeling your energy into Steve and proving how much he meant to you ever since your rooftop meeting with Bucky. You wanted to solidify how good you had it already, how you didn’t need to reminisce on memories with someone who lost you when you were perfectly happy with Steve.

But he hadn’t been around a lot lately and you started to grow worried when you had hardly spoken to him when you had a wedding coming up. So to see him leaned over his desk, hair disheveled and tie loose had you a little stunned - never had you once seen Steve in this state.

You cautiously walk towards him and fiddle with your fingers not knowing how to approach him. You keep a small distance and prepare to soothe him. 

“Is everything okay Stevie?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

His blunt statement with his gruff voice has you growing nervous, he hasn’t ever spoken to you like this. “W-what? I don’t know what you mean-“

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Steve doesn’t stop there. It makes your stomach drop, in fact, to see him turn around and notice his bloodshot eyes that look like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep recently, preparing for things to change.

“How do you really know Bucky?”

Your blood runs cold. The thought of Steve knowing the past between you and his best friend has you starting to shake. 

“S-steve, what are you t-talking about? He’s your best friend-“

“Tell me the truth.” His sternness in the raise of his voice has you stop talking immediately. “Y’know I thought it was a little weird at our engagement party when he couldn’t take his eyes off you, like he already knew you, but I let it go, it was easily something I could pass off. Then I heard he bumped into you at work, no biggie either, I wasn’t concerned. At least not until I see for myself how skittish you were over some stupid game. The longing looks he sent your way when you weren’t looking. So I went into my camera feed at work and boy, was I surprised to hear what he had to say, never mind the way he touched you.”

The tears can’t help but escape and you know there’s no getting out of this now.   

“So I’ll repeat myself, honey. Tell me the truth.”

And you do. You tell him every last detail of how you first met James. The karaoke bar in Romania. The six months you spent together in your apartment. How you fell in love with him. You also spill all your regrets. How you didn’t know how to tell Steve. How you never expected to see James again, never mind see him again as your fiancés best friend. You pour your heart out to the man who’s done nothing but love you unconditionally and you plead how sorry you are for everything. 

You see him process all the information once you finish. How he internalises the history between his soon-to-be wife and best friend he’s known since childhood. You know it’s not looking good for you. 

“Have you cheated?”

You're a bit taken back by his question but nevertheless answer straight away. “No! God, no Stevie, I swear.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes. More than anything.” Again, you respond.

“Do you still love him?”

The pause in your response is enough of an answer for Steve and you fully expect him to call the wedding off, declare that he doesn’t want anything to do with you again. You wouldn’t blame him, you know all of this isn’t fair to him.

 

So the shock that runs through you when he takes both of your hands and kisses them multiple times is palpable, murmuring into them, “do you still love me?”

You do love Steve. You’re so grateful for everything he's done for you, for all the care and happiness he’s brought you. You don’t hesitate to answer him this time. 

“Of course I do.”

The smile that graces his face is award winning, the exact one that hooked you in when Natasha told you he was worth it - to give him a chance to make you whole again. 

“Okay. I can work with that.”

Everything hurts. Your dismissal of Bucky’s feelings, your ignorance to his attempts to just talk to you. He supposes it’s karma biting his ass for being so stupid. 

If he could go back in time and stay with you, in your one bedroom cosy little home away from his responsibilities as CEO and his fate of seeing you belong to someone else, he would - in a heartbeat. 

Bucky thinks back to your conversation on the roof, when he blurted out he loves you. He regrets telling you like that, but the desperation for you to be back in his arms, back where you were supposed to be was at an all time high. He was running out of options. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, because he really did, he just knew it shouldn’t have been said that way.

He should have grabbed you by your face and kissed you senseless back when you were together as he poured declarations of love into your soul. Looked into your eyes and whispered how lucky he was to have you as you lay underneath the Romanian stars. He was a fool. 

Steve was the deserving man, he thinks, watching him dance with his friends and blabber, even drunk, how in love with you he was. Bucky can’t help but clench his fists at the thought of Steve getting to hold you, kiss you, pleasure you. He’s never held resentment towards his best friend, but right now he was a jealous man. 

It drills home how bad of a friend he is to Steve though, Bucky may have had you first but he knows that doesn’t mean a thing when Steve was the one who picked up the pieces, unknowingly, of the ruins in your trust. Either way, it doesn’t deter the possessiveness and need Bucky feels over you. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like this at his best friend's bachelor party.

And speak of the devil, the drunken mess plops onto the seat next to Bucky with a dreamy look on his face. 

“Buck! James, why the hell aren’t you out there tearing up the floor with us?” There’s no slur in Steve’s words, but he does get very weird when he’s been drinking.

And Bucky doesn’t like the use of his first name coming out of someone else’s mouth other than yours. 

“Sorry Steve, just ain’t feeling it tonight, but don’t worry. I’ll be here watching you make a dick outta yourself.”

The bowl of laughter that bellows out of Steve has Bucky laughing for the first time in a while, the rivalry present in his mind disappearing to share a genuine moment with his best friend since childhood. It felt good.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I’m having a good time though, getting married to the woman of my dreams soon enough. What’s there not to be happy about, eh?”

That shuts down the ease found between the two of them. A grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky all he can offer in the souring of his mood.

Steve carries on, nonchalantly, as he swirls his drink. “It’s funny, y’know. Our taste in women. Who’d have thought that the woman id marry would be the one you were fucking whilst you were off on your travels.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Bucky’s head as he slowly turns his head in Steve’s direction, the lump in his throat hard to swallow - Steve knows. 

“Listen Steve, nothing happened-“

“Oh I know. Nothing’s happened while we’ve been together… doesn’t mean you don’t want to. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Don’t blame you to be honest.”

His collected composure throws Bucky off completely, the unease rattling him from the casual way he speaks of you. Bucky isn’t prepared for the dark tone that encases Steve as he goes on, however. 

“But just so you know, she’s marrying me. She chose me. You left her.” 

That pisses Bucky off. He knows all too well what he’s done, berated himself night and day for his mistake. He also knows you. You’re content with your situation - there’s no denying that. 

But, you could be happier. Bucky could be the reason you wake up every single day, loving life and looking forward to your future.

Not marrying someone out of regret.

He doesn’t say that though, let’s Steve have his moment and decides that if this is the end of their friendship, he’ll do it respectfully. 

So as Steve looks over to Bucky, daggers in his eyes for the man that got the girl first, he decides to leave him to himself and go home. Things hadn’t really been the same with Steve since Bucky had gotten back - a piece of his heart with you wherever you were. And then he saw you in your little white dress that reminded him of home and he knew his relationship with Steve couldn’t go back to what it was. 

“See ya round, pal.” 

He’ll miss Steve, truthfully. The little guy he protected from bullies twice the size of him. He knew they couldn’t come back from this though, in love with the same woman and unwilling to let her go. So he tips his head to his best friend, downs his drink and walks out the bar.

He wasn’t going to give up on you without a fight. 

Suffocating. 

The hairspray that clogged the air. Makeup scattered over the side tables. Your wedding dress that you could faintly hear your bridesmaids gush over. 

It was all white noise to you.

You loved this dress - adored it whenever you got to try it on at regular fittings. There may have been a twinge in your gut every time, but you always forced that feeling down. Aside from that, you appreciated how well the dress fit you and how stunning it makes you look.

All you wanted to do now was rip it off.

There was no more countdown to your wedding day. It’s happening today. Now. Whether you’re ready or not. 

Mind fogged over, you don’t hear Wanda’s fingers clicking in front of your face. “Sweetie, you there? You keep zoning out again.” 

It’s only a touch to the shoulder that brings you back out of your head, a perfectly manicured red nail seen from the corner of your eye to let you know it’s Natasha. 

“She’s just fine, our girl’s just busy thinking about how Steve’s going to rip this dress off later on.” The mixture of squeals of laughter and prudish whines from your bridal party have you grateful for Nat’s ability to deflect with ease.

“Why don’t we give the bride some space for a little bit, yeah? All you bitches are giving me a headache, never mind her.”

As you see the last flutter of a dress walk out the door from the reflection of the mirror, you turn to your best friend, the one person you don’t have to pretend with.

“How do I look, Natty?” The crack in your voice gives away your vulnerability, there’s no hiding with her anyway. 

“You know you look beautiful, babe.” A noncommittal hum from you is all she receives as you turn back around to continue looking over yourself.

She brings her face next to yours, giving you her most reassuring eyes and a hug that has fixed you multiple times. But you’re most grateful for the murmur in your ear for only you to hear. “I’m here for you, whatever you want to do, you know that right?” 

You do know that. Your maid of honour who would burn down the world to make your heart whole again. So you owe her the knowledge that you’re gonna be alright, that you’re okay with what’s gonna happen. 

“Maybe I should get married to you Romanoff, I think we’d make a killer couple.” The landing of your joke goes down well with her, the doom of your fate on the back burner for now.

And as she walks out the door to give you a couple of minutes to yourself, she throws a wink your way, speaking over her shoulder, “give me a time and place and I’ll be there, sweetheart.”

Why the hell did this church have to be so big? 

Trying to be stealthy and quiet in a church full of guests roaming around wasn't the easiest task Bucky had ever dealt with. A bridesmaid or a groomsman lurking around a corner had him almost shit himself a couple of times, but he had a plan set in motion and he wasn’t going to be easily deterred.  

The clock was ticking, and Bucky had to get to you, there was no time to waste.

Steve’s fault really because Bucky has full confidence you wouldn’t have picked somewhere like this to get married. A scenic forest setting or even a shotgun wedding much more your style - it gives him an extra push to find you. 

“You really doing this?” 

The voice of his old friend Sam stops Bucky in his tracks as he turns around and releases the door knob he was about to turn. It also doesn’t slip his mind that Sam is stationed outside of a specific door. No doubt another order of Steve. 

At least the search for you is over.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life, Sam.” And he hasn’t. Call him selfish, but he has to speak to you one last time to tell you how he feels. For you to see that he can’t let you go so easily. 

“And you love her?” Sam may be Steve’s friend as well as Bucky’s, however, the two of them have always gotten each other. Sam knew Bucky wouldn’t go to all this trouble for some random girl. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to answer his question. “More than you could ever know.” 

The crack in Sam’s steel armour, crossed arms and a wide stance becomes noticeable first by the subtle shake of his head. What he’s about to do isn’t great, but he also sees the longing in your eyes, the spark that brings you to life in the presence of Bucky. Steve doesn’t do that for you. 

“Shit.” Sam rubs a hand down his face and steps to the side. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes tops, that’s the best I can do.” And Bucky couldn’t be anymore grateful for his friend, a tip of his head to Sam to show his appreciation. 

“Five minutes is all I need.”

You’re sitting by the window when you hear the old wooden door creak open. Expecting Nat to check in with you for a final time before the big event, you don’t bother turning around.

“Don’t worry Nat, I’m good. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“You sure about that?”

Your reaction is similar to the first time you heard his deep tone after so long back at the office - head whipping round in shock to see James in a black suit with his hair pulled back. 

Why does he have to look so damn good? 

Standing up, you lift the skirt of your dress and stomp over to him. “Bucky? What the hell are you doing here?!”

He can’t even process your anger at seeing him before your wedding, stunned to silence at the beauty you radiate - you’re so beautiful it hurts.

“Holy shit, you look gorgeous.”

Affected by his response, shyness takes over you as you stutter - speechless in his presence yet again. 

“I had to see you, kisa.” The pet name reserved for you tugs at the ache already there in your heart. 

“James- Bucky, you can’t be here, I’m about to marry Steve.” 

“Don’t.”

You have an idea as to what he means, but you have to ask just to be sure, “don’t what?”

“Don’t marry him.” The way Bucky says it as if it’s so simple astounds you.

“You’ve gotta be kidd-“

He interrupts you before you can finish. “Please, just- hear me out for a second, please?” 

So you stay silent, a tiny piece of you wanting to hear what he has to say.

Bucky straightens the lapels of his jacket and prepares himself for the most important speech of his life. “In five years time, are you gonna look back and have no regrets? Can you tell me truthfully that if you marry Steve, you’re not gonna be wondering what else could’ve happened?”

Tremors start to rack through your body at his questions you don’t want to think about, too scared to really think about answers. Even so, Bucky carries on. 

“I know you love him, baby. But are you in love with him?”

You have to stop his rambling before he says something you can’t hear right now. “Buck-“

“Because I’m in love with you.” He interrupts you. “I’m so fuckin’ gone for you baby girl that I’m here begging you not to marry him.”

Tears threaten to ruin your makeup that took hours to perfect. 

“Runaway with me.”

It’s the last straw that breaks your resolve as you begin to sniffle.  

“We can go back to Romania and start over, or travel together, I don’t care as long as you’re with me.”

You finally speak, “you h-have a business to r-run, Bucky.”

“You think any of that matters to me when I can have you?”

He places his hands on your arms and rubs his palms up and down, giving you the comfort your body is screaming at you for but your mind battles against.  

“I know I left you before and I’m so fuckin’ sorry for breaking your heart. But I swear I’ll be better for you this time.”

Sliding his hands up to cup your cheeks, he leans forward and places a kiss on your cheek, so close to your mouth that you can feel his breath against your skin. Bucky puts his forehead against yours and whispers his last line that he prays will win you over. 

“I love you, kisa… take one more chance on me.”

“Ready, honey?”

As you stand at the double doors waiting to walk down the aisle, your mind races. Too overwhelmed to speak and only able to give Nat a firm nod in acceptance. 

“Let’s get this show on the road then.”

It’s hardly noticeable to you that the double doors open to reveal the altar, the aisle looking so much shorter than you hoped it to be.  

You couldn’t answer Bucky, head scrambled by his dump of love on you and his pleading for you to run away with him that you had to walk away from him. How could you just leave with the person who left you? 

But how could you live without him if you marry Steve?  

You don’t even realise you’re halfway down the aisle as you deathgrip Nat’s arm to the point of bruising - lack of expression on her face apart from a warm smile to not let anyone notice your spiraling. 

And then before you know it, you’re at the altar next to your fiancé and soon enough husband in just a couple of minutes.

The false bravado you showcase impresses yourself when you see no one is batting an eye at your downfall. You think you hear the priest begin the ceremony and go on with the usual spiel of vows and promises. Yet, It just feels like you’re underwater and you’re slowly sinking with no way to the surface. 

Somehow though, you manage to hear the subtle click of a side door towards the back, even through the jumbled mess of your mind. 

It’s like your mind actively seeks out the man who’s had a piece of your heart since you met him. James. The one who literally had you at ‘hello’. 

You remember how you felt as he caught you into a dip, the karaoke bar neon lights casting a luminescent glow over his features and those steel grey eyes breaking through your defenses.

Home.

So the cold panic that rushes over you as he sends one last tender smile your way, his crows feet sending your heart into overdrive, is instant. You don’t miss the single tear he lets escape and the bow of his head as he turns around and walks out of the church doors. 

No. 

Looking back towards Steve, you know he saw Bucky and the war going on inside your head by his forlorn expression. 

Steve. 

He deserves so much better than you. His kindness and patience with you proceeds anything you were worthy of. Them ocean blue eyes begging you not to go even after all he’s put up with. 

But they never were your blue. 

You drop his hands and back away, the rejection of his pleas hitting home as he knows what’s coming next. Sliding the sparkling engagement ring from your finger and placing it into his palm, you peck his cheek and whisper your apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

You hate having to do this to him. You hate that you can’t give up a crucial part of your past to be in the present with him. But he deserved someone that could love him with their entire being, not you who could only give the smallest offering. 

It was time to start being honest with yourself - starting with following your heart and going after who you really want. 

The grin on your face at your epiphany is unstoppable, as you kick off your shoes, rip off your veil and grab the skirts of your dress. 

Then, you run. 

You ignore the gasps of outrage from all the guests, you don’t see the smirk on Nat’s face and Wanda smacking Nat’s arm out of shock as you finally give in to your true desires. You just keep on running.  

The church doors burst open and you race down the steps to see Bucky ducking his head to get in his mustang and starting the smooth engine to drive off. 

Shit. 

“JAMES!” 

He doesn’t hear your cries over the rumble of his car, and you push yourself to run faster. You have to catch up to him. 

“JAMES WAIT!”

Just as Bucky puts his foot down to accelerate, he hears the passenger door to his mustang whip open and his head snaps over - only to see his beautiful angel sitting in the passenger seat staring nervously into his eyes. 

“No fuckin’ way.”

 

His breathlessness makes you giggle as you nod your head in excitement, the way his face lights up at the sight of you and that gorgeous smile on his face has your stomach fluttering. 

This is what love should feel like. 

“Fuck, you actually did it, baby.”

“Nervous were we?”

Bucky lets out a huff of breath at your jab and shakes his head with fondness, unable to believe he’s really got his girl back. 

Not wasting a minute more, he pulls you in by the back of your head and kisses you with wild abandon, his tongue teasing its way in to dance with yours. You’ve missed him more than you were willing to admit - pouring all of your yearning over the years into the kiss. He pulls back when you both run out of oxygen and stares into your eyes as if this is all a dream. Bucky has you laughing once more as he pinches the skin of his arm just to double check. 

“So, where are we going, kisa?” Bucky waits for your response as he shifts the mustang into gear, car moving forward as he gets ready to prove how much you truly mean to him.

You lean your head back on the head rest and close your eyes, mind clear for the first time in a long while as the tires turf up the gravel and speed off.

The upturn of your lips has the spark you thought was gone inside you reigniting. And you know now this is where you’re supposed to be. 

“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, James.”

A/N: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this one and there’s also potential for a second part should I feel there’s enough interest - I never learn 🤣

[stackofpossums]

Could I get a Hc for how the M6 would react to finding out Mc's past is worse than they thought? Like finding the shop is the point their life goes from awful to okay to eventually great. Before then? You can leave it as vague as you'd like.

(I have an Mc who was an executioner/pet similar but different from Muriels executioner/gladiator role being Their scars are from the person in charge and all their opponents were never given a chance. Another Mc who tried to live up to others expectations for him. Eventually forced to leave his home or die at 10 because his sister tried to murder him for a power he didn't even want. My third Mc who had abusive parents and learned from a passing by sparrow that they need to run away to save themselves.

What if before the shop Mc's life was actually horrible? So like to the point they never told anyone, not even Asra. Only telling stories about after they had moved to the shop to live with their aunt.)

I just finished a big assignment so Mc who has a dark past let's go:

Asra: He already knew MC past was dark and was kind of glad they didn't have to remember that when they lost their memories. Then they got their memory back. And oh. OH. He never knew it was this bad. At first, he's a little upset that MC never felt safe enough to confide in him. He quickly realizes, "No, it wasn't him." He's grateful MC chose to confide in him now, and he's going to do everything in his power to support them. He'll hold them and comfort them while they talk if MC is comfortable with that. The salamander has already lit the stove so he can brew some calming tea. Therapy has been scheduled. He is fully committed to helping MC heal as much as possible, mostly out of love, but there's a tiny part of him that feels guilty for not knowing sooner.

Julian: He thought he had it bad. He didn't know it could be this bad. He may be a doctor, but... for quite possibly the first time in his life, he knows he isn't qualified to fix this. He's gonna set MC up with the best mental health care. Until then, he's going to attempt to theraptize them himself. He encourages MC to talk not only about their past but also about how it made them feel, how they're feeling now, what challenges they are having, and anything and everything else they want to share. He's going to respond with hella words of affirmation, making sure MC knows how much he cares about them and that their safe now.

Nadia: Patiently listens to MC's story, no matter how gruesome the details are. She'll hold them tightly when it becomes too much for them to bear. There are no words to describe the hurt she feels for them to her very core. Afterward, she is setting them up with the best mental health support money can buy. Only the best therapists, medications, if MC wants to try them, or anything else. Anything MC thinks will help them is theirs. No expense is too great for her beloved MC. She's pretty venengeful, though. It'll be tough to convince her not to make the lives of anyone who's made MC suffer hell. She'll relent eventually, though, because she's knows if MC doesn't want that, it won't be helpful.

Muriel: Out everyone here, he understands it the most. It's a little hard for him to listen sometimes because he remembers times in his life where he felt just as hopeless as MC. He's here for MC, though, and makes it his mission to make sure MC NEVER feels that way again. He shares the techniques he's found for dealing with trauma, as well as helps MC find what works for them. He pushes them to keep going when he notices they are struggling. He comforts them when it's too much. He celebrates with them for every challenge they overcome, no matter how "small." It's the least he can do for them after everything they've done for him.

Portia: When MC first opens up about their past, their a bit afraid they're going to get squeezed to death by Portia's hugs. She's the other LI mostly likey to try to go after the people's who hurt her precious MC, she solves problems with fists flying. But that's okay. She's sneaky. She's going to make sure anyone who hurt MC wakes up to a fun surprise. Other than that, MC can always count on Portia for a listening ear. She will comfort MC through any story they need to tell and wants to help them find closure however she can.

Lucio: Oh. Oh no. No one gets to hurt his MC. No one. Who shall he defeat in battle for you? That won't help? Oh... well... what can he do? Lucio would do ANYTHING to make things better for MC. Just say the word. Hugs, he's here. No hugs? That's fine, too. He's here to listen. He knows a thing or two about unpleasant pasts. But you have each other now. MC has had his back despite everything he's done. It would be criminal not to do the same.

[charrfie]

Soooo this has been in the works for a while. Some fun and self indulgent and silly au that I actually got way too attached to!!! To the point I've actually got a whole outline of a story for it! Going to put it in under the cut :^]

-

For context: I haven't really decided if this is a completely parallel universe where kris and susie and everyone else has any input on the world. Or if its simply just a year or two early to main storyline stuff. Idk, still thinking, I'll figure it out eventually.

Story time now though! Just as they are in their actual canon story, arrfs is from space! An alien trying to integrate into the Lightner world. Despite pups best efforts over the years, she still manages to wind up without a friend. I'm still heavily workingshopping what exactly their Lightner life was like or how exactly they stumbled into the dark world, all I know is pup gets there somehow!

Once arrfs DOES reach the dark world, pup is absolute terrified. Not only is there no one to tell them what's going on or where they are, but there's also no one to face the unknown with her. Unsure what to make of the change of clothes and new surroundings, pup treks on until- just as she does in the actual deltarune canon- queen pops up out of nowhere to capture her!!! Arrfs instinctually turns into a little tiny worm as a way to hide and defend pupself and queen just accepts it, going "Oh shit lol they disappeared woah. Okay bye."

Skipping ahead a bit bc otherwise we'll be here all day (and also bc I mainly have the meat of this story planned out rather than anything prior)! Arrfs stumbles around cyber city lost and confused after a close run-in with some ambyu-lances. That is, until they find themself in an alleyway. And who else do they find there other than spamton g. spamton himself!!! Instantly picking up on the fact that pup is a Lightner, spamton attempts to lure her into buying one of his wares so that pup may learn to trust him. Which quickly goes south when he realizes that arrfs doesn't have a single cent to their name. He frowns, instead offering her a place to relax. A place to stop running from every Darkner that attempts to approach them. This lands arrfs in spamtons shop, of course! While it seems like a friendly offer, in reality it's mainly offered so that spam has more time to think up a deal. One that would really hook arrfs and ultimately benefit spamton himself.

But then it hits him. This Lighter is lost and confused with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. If he were to hire them with promise of a roof over their head and a place to stay (however low quality and surrounded by garbage it may be), they would not only be a much friendlier face to lure his customers in, but would also come to trust him. THAT'S how you hook a customer and make them into a returning one. That's his ticket into getting into the basement. And to his surprise... arrfs jumps on the idea! Pup's very desperate to get a controlled grip on this world, and most of all, really just to find a friend after all these years. Blissfully unaware of the real nature behind the deal, she seals it.

I'm still working on the exact details of how the rest of it plays out, all I know is that the two actually do wind up becoming genuine friends! Spamton initially was in it for himself, sure, but instead he finds himself so comfortable with the first genuine friendship he's had in years. He fufills his goal of enabling arrfs to be completely trusting of him, but he never figured he would be so trusting of them as well. Not to mention that with all of arrfs help, they've pulled together a bit more of a stable income. She's even encouraged him to create his own art that sells for a much higher price than his normal wares. He almost wants to delay getting his hands on want he wants down in the basement out of fear he may lose all the good he's found. Almost.

And that's what I've got so far! I think it's fun!

-

Extra design notes!!!

I know I stylized black and gray as blue on spamton btw but that was just the fit the blue theme on the rest of this. Arrfs' cloak is actually just that color blue!

Arrfs is surrounded by butterfly themes in the dark world! I figured that since their themes are mainly focused on grubs and caterpillars outside of the au just as a normal sona, butterflies would be a cool approach to show some kind of change! That's also the shape of their cloak- butterfly wings!

[officerrrfriendly]

More To The Story, Chapter Two.

Back to the old house.

chapter one

ThisCharmingGirl: So, what does all this mean? The Russian, the hand signs - why the fuck is his head shaved?!

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

ThisMustBeThePlace: See?! Something isn't right. I can't answer your question about the Russian but I can provide you some details on that hand sign. Its the signal for MkUltra- which may explain the shaved head.

"Okay, what the fuck..." you bite your lip anxiously, in an attempt to contain your hysteria, shaking your head before continuing to type.

ThisCharmingGirl is typing...

ThisCharmingGirl: MkUltra?? Like the mind control experiments- I'm freaking the fuck out. And dude-lady, whatever, how do you have access to all of this?

ThisCharmingGirl: sorry. guess I'm just kind of lost.

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

typing.....

ThisMustBeThePlace: Firstly, yes - like the mind control experiments run covertly by the CIA in 1953. Secondly, I understand you're panicked, but I'm just a geek who got a little too curious while in an online chatroom. Thirdly, I'm a dude- LOL. Lastly, you don't have to apologise...

Before you could type a response - two new messages appeared on the tiny computer screen.

ThisMustBeThePlace: This would be a whole lot easier to explain over the phone.

The last message was his phone number, along with a 'call me :)'

Sigh.

The dial tone of the landline begins to sound whilst you nervously twist the long wire around your index finger in anticipation. It rings not even four times before somebody answers.

"Hayes residence, Howie here- how can I help?" a deep, mature-sounding voice questioned.

“Oh..Hi! Are you-“ you began to speak,

ThisMustBeThePlace was a man...hm. Not what you were expecting but neither was the idea that Tammy's kid had been abducted by the CIA to experiment with mind control aft-

"That's for me! Sorry Uncle Howie, uhh hello? you still there?" a younger, but still cute voice calls out... he sounds out of breath.

You hear a grumble, assuming it's from the older man as he passes the phone to the person you were really supposed to be conversing with. You nearly forgot to answer, however luckily remembered as you asked, "Hi, yes- uhh, you're the guy I spoke to on AOL?"

His breath catches in his throat for a moment before he continued to speak, he doesn't really speak to girls that often - cut him some slack!!

"Indeed I am...you're charming- I mean uhh, you're ThisCharmingGirl, right?" he stutters, resisting the urge to facepalm himself so hard he knocks his brain out.

You chuckle, quietly- faintly.

He still hears it, and he wishes he could've recorded the sound. Because it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"And you're the geek who quite enjoys Talking Heads...ThisMustBeThePlace?" you question, glancing beside you at the kitchen counter right where you had brought the small, slightly crinkled missing poster to sit.

He chortles, not so quietly- and replies, "yeah, that's me." - and you think it's the cutest little laugh you've ever heard.

'I wonder what he looks like-' you began to ponder, but didn't allow the thought to live further as you remembered the aim of your call- the small, and endangered boy who sat smiling in his ghostbusters Halloween costume - on the missing poster.

"Shall we...get into the nitty gritty then?"

You had both seemingly talked for hours, and you decided to switch to the cordless phone in your dad's room - which was supposed to be used solely for business - but technically, this was business and very important business at that. You switched to the cordless phone so you could move back to your computer along with a notebook and pen. Finley... you had come to learn his name was - was exclusively the only reason why the notebook had jottings in it in the first place, he was the one providing you with the actual notes. He informed you about MKUltra, its history, its aim and why they had shaved Tommy's full head of chestnut brown, bowl-cut style hair, hypothetically…of course.

You sat in silence for a moment, pondering as you ran your hand that wasn't holding the cordless phone through your hair, something you'd often do when you're stressed.

"I just don't understand, Why him? Why Tommy out of all people, do these MKUltra coo-coo people have a criteria or something?" you broke the silence, with a rather reasonable inquiry.

"Well...I assume it's the same as when cult leaders scout for people to join their cult. They prey on people who are vulnerable, who have weaknesses, trauma..." Finley continued to ramble, it all made sense, in theory- what he was saying but you just couldn't wrap your head around the idea that all of that mind control shit could be happening in your town, Drellington? Really?

It got to around six thirty in the afternoon when you had finally decided to look at the time which was presented at the bottom right of the computer screen.

"Fuck!! Shit!!!" you winced, you were so, irrevocably and unconditionally fucked.

you were late for work, again.

Landon was going to have your head.

After your joyous discovery that you were late for work, for the FOURTH time this week, you quickly wrapped up your phone call with Finley and told him you'd drop him a message when you were home.

Your legs couldn't move fast enough on your rusted, desperately in need of oil- pushbike. You were sure you looked like a total fool as you rushed towards the fat wooden sign engraved with the words 'The Tipsy Tangle' which hung with pride from a lampost.

You were careless once you had reached the double doors of the bar, you dropped your bike and rushed inside. You could already feel Landon's irate gaze as it almost scorched onto the very back of your head.

"Sweeper, get your ass over here- NOW!!" she scolded, angrily calling for you with a vexed gesture of her hand motioning for you to 'come closer.'

You hesitantly began to approach the door of the backrooms, preparing for your untimely death. When suddenly, a voice sparked from behind you, and you didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. “Lord…you, young lady... are in for one hell of a verbal ass-whooping! She's been cursing your damn soul for the past hour and a half." Dean, a regular at the Tipsy Tangle, snorted- shaking his head before picking up his bottle of Heineken beer, raising it to you in a 'cheers' motion before taking a long swig.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning Dean- I couldn't already tell she was mega pissed with me before you said anything." you scowl, sarcasm rich in your tone, before you begin to make your way to the backroom where a very furious Landon awaited your arrival.

"hey, sweeper! are you gonna make me wait any longer than I have been for you?! get your ass back here, pronto!" she growls, fed up.

You practically sprint to the backroom after that.

You begin to apologise before you even enter the small, desolate room full of boxes and barrels of alcohol- an alcoholic's wet dream.

"Listen I know what you're going to say and I cannot apologise enough-"

"NO, you listen sweeper- every damn day of the week so far I have been staying here, making up for you being majorly late!! Working overtime, covering for your ass and quite frankly, it stops NOW," she continues to rant, her hands making quick-paced and angry motions, "it's time for you to C.Y.A, you know what that means sweeper?" she questions, however not giving you time to answer. "Cover. Your-own. Ass. That's what the hell it means, learn it and live by it! No apologies necessary. Now…i'm finally heading home to smoke some pot and sleep. Like I was supposed to do nearly two hours ago!!"

As she left the Tipsy Tangle she apparently took the rest of your words with her as well, she had never exploded at you like that before.

"C.Y.A, noted." you mumble, nodding your head, fatigued.

The rest of your shift played out as it usually did. It was a Thursday night- so you weren't too crowded, thank god.

Randy held a cigarette in his left hand covered with inked tattoos and took a long drag, before blowing out a lengthy trail of smoke. You spoke up, "You know, you should really quit that- your wife doesn't like it very much, Randito." you informed your grumpy boss, nodding towards his wife Cheryl, who was cleaning a table nearby, as you filled up a pint for Dean. Who yes, was still there, hours later.

"Y'know, I didn't hire yew’to be my marriage counsellor, Trevor. I hired you cus' I owed your Pops a favour n'I needed somebody else to help keep Dean-O-holic over here, in check." Randy retorted, disregarding your advice - his tone rich in humour as he nodded to dean who, plastered out of his mind, was singing along to Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love A Bad Name' whilst bopping his head to the beat of the song- anticipating his pint.

Fighting the urge to break into a fit of laughter, you purse your lips closed as you place the pint down in front of Dean- who when he spots the beverage, starts to sing along even more passionately before pausing to take a sip and dramatically sighing after doing so.

You, Dean and Randy burst into a mix of giggles and delighted chuckles. Whilst Randy's wife, Cheryl throws you an amused smile, shaking her head before disappearing into the back of the bar.

Once you had gotten home safe, you thought to quickly hop on AOL and check if Finley had messaged you at all whilst you were at work.

Only one message, you click 'Open.'

ThisMustBeThePlace: Important news!! Call soon, hope you got home okay from work :)

Despite the burning curiosity you had for the important news, you couldn't help but smile when you read the sweet message at the end of his message.

—————

end of chapter two!!

they talked on the phone, and were both nervous- cuties :))

IN SUMMARY,

landon’s mega pissed at you, preaches C.Y.A, finley’s cute AND smart, Deans an alcoholic, Randito’s a chain smoker, and you…are an excellent sweeprr and apparently make a damn good pint!!

@stveharringtn you have been so supportive throughout my whole time so far writing this fic!! thank u sm :))

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Viper continuation

For context: in previous sections Daxter's ottsel hearing and Jak's eco-assisted eyes picked up a deadly snake camouflaged near Damas’s throne. It didn't get there by itself. Having foiled the assassination attempt, Damas keeps the boys with him to help identify the would-be assassin. As it will turn out in a part I haven't written yet, there are two: one is an agent of Veger disguised as a monk who wants to destabilize the Spargan nation so Haven can control it. The other is an exiled Krimzon Guard who thinks Damas is too soft and who has been promised his old rank back if he kills him.

Obviously, this means tensions are about to be very high between Spargus and Haven. A note: the language I have Spargans using for ceremonies comes from some conlangers on reddit who have been expanding the Gerudo language from Breath of the Wild. I chose Gerudo because "Sabaa'geru" or "Evening People" sounded like something that over generations could become the word Spargus.

Check out their work HERE and HERE!

"Hey boss!" Daxter hopped out of the elevator and made straight for the pools of water. "Aaaaahhh. Sweet relief."

Damas stifled a chuckle at the boy's antics. He was better suited to the heat than he pretended, but he'd never begrudge Daxter the use of the water. By the time he'd looked away, Jak was already halfway to the dais with a spring in his step. Something rattled in his hand.

"I didn't expect to see you today, Jak," Damas greeted him, "What's that you've got?"

Jak held up an intricate band of bones, fangs and claws symmetrically spaced between tiny vertebra and polished until they shone. "It's done!"

Carefully, he passed it to Damas, watching him eagerly for his opinion. Damas turned the band necklace over in his hands, eyebrows raised.

"You have some skill, my boy! I'm impressed with the detail! How long did it take you?"

"Not too long. The fangs were the last piece I needed. See?" Jak leaned over his arm to point to the Dust Demon viper's fangs, forming a circle at the front that mimicked the emblem on the tower door.

"You can keep it, I have another one I'm working one." Jak clearly meant it, but the way he was looking at the necklace suggested he wasn't ready to part with it.

"It reminds me of the arm circlets my captains wear outside the city's walls, albeit bone rather than woven fabric." Damas stepped back up to his throne and set the jewelry down on its arm to admire it. He turned to look back down at Jak, who was clearly pleased by the comparison.

"Were you able to locate Thrax or the false monk?"

Jak's smile fell immediately into a scowl. "Lost Thrax in the Underport. Veger's guy? No idea. Sorry."

Damas jolted. "You chased him all the way into Haven?! Were you seen?"

In the water, Daxter opened one eye and called up, "They don't suspect nothin'. See, those ungrateful yakkows think they can just snap their fingers and Jak will come runnin', so they just figure we're there on one of their orders and start piling on the tasks."

He shut his eye again and yawned. "Boy are they in for a surprise if this turns into war."

"It may come to war," Damas acknowledged. He was devastatingly matter-of-fact about it, as if he was simply discussing the weather. He turned away from his throne, and the ring of tiny bones, to face Jak.

His gaze rested on him with an unbearable weight.

"Should that day come, you will no longer be able to simply run between cities as you please. I need to know where you stand, Jak."

Perhaps his own lack of hesitation should have concerned him. Made him feel guilty for abandoning friends and history so quickly.

It didn't. It made him feel braver than he'd ever felt.

Taking a breath for courage, Jak stepped up onto the dais and approached the king.

"If you asked it of me," Jak said quietly, meeting Damas’s eyes for as long as he could, "I would breach the walls myself. If you gave the order, I'd even lead the Infiltrators right into the Council Hall. As long as the few people who actually stood with us are given at least a chance to support Spargus, there is nothing binding me to Haven."

Damas looked at him with a bemused expression that wavered between stern and fond before a gentle pride won out. He laughed softly and shook his head.

"I don't think I've ever had a citizen quite as bold as you, young one." He rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, then smirked. "Very well, I accept your terms. Give me the names of these "friends", and they will be granted a chance for asylum."

The boy's smile was brief, but genuine and full of life. He stood a little straighter, trying to look as grown-up as possible.

"Then you have your answer," he replied.

"You'll stand with me? Even against the city your friends call home?" Damas pressed, just to be certain.

With a level of emotion unusual for him, Jak answered firmly, "I'd follow you into the underworld. You're-"

He cut himself off quickly, but his eyes finished the sentence for him.

You're the closest thing I have to a father-!

Blinking in a belated effort to hide those emotions, Jak let them push his impulse into action. Two deep breaths, one for courage, one for luck. Then he bowed, fist to his heart.

"Damas, where you go, I go. I will stand with you -- I swear on the Beacon -- even against the people who called themselves our friends. For our people."

Inside, he was shaking. This was a step he'd never taken. He'd never formally given his loyalty to anyone. If Damas didn't accept it-

Jak refused to think about that.

In an instant Damas’s entire posture softened. He placed both hands on Jak’s shoulders, and raised him back up.

"Do you understand what you're saying?" he asked in a hushed voice.

With a dry throat, Jak swallowed and nodded hard. He searched his mind frantically for the old Coastwatcher language Wastelanders still used for ceremonial purposes.

"A'neen Sabaa'geru vaqu."

We are Spargans.

"E'so Sabaa'geru vaqu, darro'ni," Damas answered gravely. You are of Spargus, my son.

It took him far less time to remember the old tongue.

He stepped back to scoop the band of snake vertebrae off his throne and looped it twice around Jak’s right arm before bringing their foreheads together for an instant.

"I will not forget this," he vowed. "I'm...proud of you, Jak."

Now we are one, son-of-my-heart, his spirit sang. What do I care if you have not earned your last amulet? Now and forever you are Spargan!

Jak's eyes glistened when Damas released him, but his crooked smile didn't budge. This was no childish impulse, he'd meant every word. And Damas would honor that pledge.

"Go, then," he said, returning the smile, "seek out your allies in Haven and tell me where they stand."

"We will." Jak squared his shoulders proudly.

"And," Damas added, raising a brow, "I will expect regular reports on your progress, Captain."

"Don't worry, I- Captain?!" Jak sputtered.

There was just a hint of mischief in Damas’s eyes as he gestured to the armband now covering Jak's bicep. "I am giving you the same authority to recruit citizens that I gave Sig. Use it wisely."

Scurrying up out of the water, Daxter rejoined Jak and smacked his leg repeatedly. He knew exactly who he was recruiting.

And who they weren't recruiting.

Jak stood straighter, stiffer, and Daxter felt him trembling just barely under his paw.

A captain? Him? No one listened to him, he was a glorified servant! What was Damas thinking, giving someone like him authority?

Don't screw this up, Jak. Don't screw this up, whatever you do.

He took a shaky breath. "I- I don't um. I don't know how to- to lead, or if anyone would listen to me but-" DON'T SCREW THIS UP!

"I'll-"

The words caught in his throat, then escaped past his teeth.

"I'll do my best to make you proud."

Damas grinned fiercely at him.

"You already do."

[brandwhorestarscream]

Tfe skyfire x starscream

I'm actually gonna draw from some previous source material we've made up here, and say that the bitties in question are the jettwins. They're not Skyfire's sparklings, but he's the one that steps up to raise them.

The seekers are all on the run and, if I'm being honest, have probably vacated the entire North American continent. GHOST isn't an international organization, after all, and flight makes travelling and escape so much easier than groundbound mecha like Tarantulas, for example. They've gone somewhere that's pretty much unreachable by humans: the highest point on the planet. Mt. Everest. The temperatures are nothing compared to deep space flight, and there's plenty of wind and solar energy for them to harness to get an energon synthesizer going.

They've been living on the dl for months and building up an actual base for themselves at the peak, when Starscream's newly rigged together scanners pick up a very peculiar signal under the melting ice caps of earth's poles. Looks like a cybertronian cache of sorts! They head out immediately, before anyone else can snipe the findings. Who knows what it could be? It could be incredibly useful, be it medical supplies or something that might be able to get them permanently off this Primus forsaken rock.

You know what happens here. They find Skyfire in cryosleep beneath the ice: with everything on this planet thawing, they were finally able to get an actual read on him despite being here for so long. Starscream is... god. There's so many emotions at once he doesn't even know what to call it. He's relieved, he's overjoyed, he's terrified, he's angry. They excavate him in a hurry and search for any equipment he may have lost at the time of the crash, but it's all beyond repair.

Skyfire is incredibly disoriented. He's so confused, he's so dizzy and his audials are ringing incessantly and why does Starscresm look so different? For him, it's only been a couple kliks since he got the warning that there was a critical failure in his systems and then he was falling. He blacked out, and now he's here. He's so sore though, and none of his systems are functioning properly, and Starscream is damn near hysterical that it's clear he's missed a lot. They get him back to their little camp, get him some energon, let him rest and decompress. The twins are handed off to Skywarp and Nova so the two reunited lovebirds can have a chance to talk. Starscream tells Skyfire the full story, not overwhelming him with details but all the main points. What happened after his disappearance, the whole mess with the war, earth's revolving circus of pitslag, GHOST, and finally... the bitties.

Skyfire doesn't even mind that they aren't his. Starscream suffered so much carrying them, having them forced on him, but is doing everything in his power to love and raise them properly. Sky's an overgrown lovesick puppy and adores Starscream for all that he is, and he falls in love with the twins the first moment he gets to hold them. They're so tiny compared to him, but so wiggly and curious. They're attempting to climb all over him, nomming on his fingers and poking at his face with their tiny baby hands, giggling and chirping as they clamber up on his head because Look How High!!!!! He passes the infant vibe check with ease and the sparklings are immediately smitten with them. Skyfire fondly remarks that they're beautiful, just like their carrier, and quietly mentions that... he knows it's been awhile, but if Starscream will still have him, he'd love to still be with him. Starscream just smiles and calls him an idiot: as if he'd let him get away!

Skyfire is such an incredible sire to his adopted sparklings. Literally the best they ever could have ended up with. Loves them like his own, so attentive and sweet and patient. He honestly coddles them even more than Starscream does, and has such a hard time telling them no 🤭 he hasn't built up an immunity to puppy dog eyes yet, so he's always sneaking them extra treats. He loves to hold them, they fit so perfectly in his arms, he's always volunteering to hold them for naptime rather than laying them down in their little crib. Starscream is happier than Skywarp and Nova have seen him in a long time, and the whole group of them are a perfect happy little family 💖

[therealslimshakespeare]

That’s the thing! How does Gale react to it? We know he has objections (ignoring which is a bad thing to do -thats obvious) but I always was under impression that he was fond of her and would welcome a lot more of her advances if it wasn’t for their situation (first army protocols and later on stalag). Her ignoring or dismissing his boundaries is not a good thing to do, but it’s clearly not as easy as it may seem. They end up in love, there must be something there to build upon (even if it’s not easy due to their respective traumas). If they are able to build rather happy life post war that speaks volumes on how well they must end up understanding one another (because we must remember that this is a generation which was denied proper therapeutic care and were expected to just move on from killing people on daily or being tortured to being stand up civilians, mothers and fathers. On top of pre existing traumas connected to often lacking parenting care). So my question is how does Maureen end up opening up to Gale about her past, both her traumas and her own wrongdoings and how does he take it? And how much she reveals (purposefully or not) to the rest of the crew?

Excellent points all and the questions posed here are totally on my list of things to be woven into fics because they’re essential for their story making any sense, ya know? So, love this.

First off. One hint we have in Gale’s POV (in First Night) is that from the first time he saw her in the nose of Our Baby, he adored her nose. Tiny detail, doesn’t mean he was in love, doesn’t mean he was asking for a hand in his lap. But as we will learn, Gingerale had a rather startling attraction to her right away.

Why was it startling? Because Gale Cleven hadn’t felt attracted to a woman since…well, couldn’t remember when.

Not strongly, at least. It had been sometime early in highschool when a dreaded presentment settled over him that he was odd, and that worsened into knowing he was outright queer by college.

No like really. He liked men. In that way.

And that wasn’t something he was going to pursue, not if he was gonna rise up in the world, make a better run of it than his daddy. But it was something to acknowledge and he had to finally. Then he moved on.

And then he met Bucky, and he almost wanted to think Bucky felt the same hot gut devotion he did, but Bucky was like that with everyone.

Including a new girl named Candy. Or Maureen, to be proper. She was a new girl among many new girls who came flooding in with the war on. And Gale got along with all of them just fine. Used to them all, used to the batting eyelashes or the pink cheeks, the slipped phone numbers and the not so subtle attempts to bump into him in a corridor. He was used to that.

Plenty of them were really capable. Shockingly so. Among them, Kendeigh.

What he wasn’t used to was being watched by a woman across the bar, being hunted down by her, laughed over his stringent lack of alcohol, have her buy him a Gingerale, call him by the same name in a voice that suggested nothing good, like she knew he wasn’t as good as he pretended anyway. He felt a hot gut longing for that.

If only they’d met before all this. Before he was her Major and she was feuding with the new Lady Colonel over being demoted to bombardier. She was ferocious in her own way, very good at getting a party going, could make anyone forget how many folks they’d lost in a practice crash last week. She was good to have around. He asked if she might get put as his bombardier when they shipped out.

There weren’t any objections. He almost wished there were, to knock some sense into him for wanting to keep her so near. It diluted all his half hearted protests to the contrary. But soon she wasn’t just a a friend, someone to help wrangle and occupy Bucky, she was also his deputy. As missions got worse and the stakes got higher, he needed someone like that. When Curt went down, she felt like the closest thing left. It was her and Benny, and it felt wrong to have both eggs in one basket, as it were, but he wanted them with him all the same.

That’s a brief, but rather long all the same, fly over of my vision for some this.

One other addition: Maureen has a gay brother. One of those Ivy League homosexuals who wasn’t at all out but lord knows he wasn’t in either. And she knew it. Liberal in many ways, she accepted it, easily, and didn’t think much of sniffing another out when she found one. Much to Gale’s horror and then relief. It’s a dangerous to admit to a woman he’s not sure he fully likes, even if he rather adores her. But what she does with that trust -it’s like watching a flower bloom.

She’s oddly touched by it. Almost rises to the occasion under it. And for Gale, it’s good to be known.

Having that aspect known, by the time he gets to the stalag, goes through what he’s been through, proceeds to go through more once there —Maureen already knowing some of the most intimate details about him, he can’t manage to fully push her away when he begins to spiral. Meanwhile she is on a learning curve about how on earth to help. Since all the selfish ways she used to extract his attention would only be harmful and -selfish. And she rises to that occasion. She does it for Brady, too. And might be the only one tangibly keeping those two men’s morale’s afloat.

You can imagine after all that, how utterly ingrained and intertwined they are by time of liberation.

Before then. Before Gale leaves her behind in the escape. She tells him she loves him. And I think she tells him more. Now she’s learned there is a more to her story.