#Whoever says that this boy is a monster is immensely wrong

[makshu]

OMFG THIS IS TO CUTE FOR ME TO HANDLE-

Y’ALL WHY DID I JUST REALIZE HE WAS GIVING THE GIFTS TO EACH OF THE STUDENTS????

THAT IS SO NICE.

I thought he was giving all of that to one person, but he actually was putting all of the stuff in each locker. 😭😭😭

I can’t with him. He is so sweet bro..

[chimchimsauce]

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games. 

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards. 

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable. 

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens. 

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded. 

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light. 

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility? 

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne. 

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse. 

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible. 

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes. 

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the  way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo​!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.  

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?” 

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

[toxictrannyfreak]

⭐ haven't seen any of your stuff yet but you're one of coolest people on my dash so I can't wait to see what you've been working on

Oh. My gosh, that’s some high praise, but I think some of the kids at my school would laugh you out of the house for calling me cool. I have like 1 friend, and that’s… complicated at the best of times. But I’m getting off track. Enjoy this slice of my WIP. Hope it lives up to your expectations

———

He was gone, decades back, to a planet he didn't remember, with a person whose face he couldn't see. The cliff they stood on was towering, too enormous to be accurate, and the stars above were impossibly bright, blaster bolts of sunlight forcing their way through the immense dark. He was young here, on this half-remembered world. The war still raged; he saw an encampment below, packed to bursting with clones and tanks. He looked at the woman next to him, fervently wishing that just this once, she might stay dead.

His Master, whoever she was, didn't move a muscle, and he almost deluded himself into thinking that she never would. Instead, she shifted her weight, and the corner of his brain that would always be a traitor knew she would speak.

"Isn't it beautiful, -----?" The name she said, that horrible, disgusting, vile name, was incomprehensible, as it always was. Just as dead as the boy next to her. She always said it. She could never say anything else because she had died with that name and that boy a decade and a half ago.

Though her face was forever lost, gone, taken from him, he could swear she smiled. He remembered how powerfully he hated her. She spoke anyway.

"Half these stars are dead, yet we still see them. Memorials in the sky, sharing their light still."

He could never understand her, understand any of it. He'd forgotten too much of her, killed too much of himself for that. All he had left were these fragments, incomprehensible and infuriating. He despised her. He hadn't always, or at least he hadn't in this memory, because he, the young, traitorous, monstrous, innocent child he could never remember, looked up at the stars, and questioned.

"But... if they're dead... how can we see things that don't exist anymore?"

She laughed, and it wasn't quite right because he couldn't remember how it had sounded. That part of her was gone, lost to time. She was a betrayer and a monster, and her laugh was not something he was allowed to know. When she spoke again, her voice was wrong, harsh, as if she was talking through a vocoder, and he knew it was ending.

"Light never dies, child. It will always exist. If it was there once, even for a second, someone will always be able to see it."

She turned back to him, but of course, she didn't, because she couldn't because she was dead. Her face was gone, and she was gone, and there was nothing. The world shifted in a blaze of fire and explosions and screams, and she was face-down on the ground of a different planet, blaster wounds carved into her flesh, and he was back in his body, back in the black uniform of the Inquisitorious, of the Empire that had killed her. The dream-memory-falsehood broke in front of him, shattering into war and pain and ghosts and torture, and Third Brother woke up.

———

Yeah… bout 300 words of my latest will-never-post WIP. Star Wars au, you could probably tell. I think the conversation is a bit on the nose but it’s ~thematically relevant~ and I can’t find a better way to put it. So yeah. Sorry it’s a little late, I was frantically editing it for two days to make it vaguely presentable.

[moonlightsbeams]

The Queen’s Court Chapter 1

The turtle creature awakes, horror filling his eyes. Flying out of the gramophone, he goes to the Guardian, who looks at the creature. “Wayzz, what’s wrong?”

“Master Fu, it’s Nooroo. I- he’s resurfaced, but.. He’s being used by a powerful negative energy, I fear that Paris is in immense danger if Nooroo’s new owner is left unchecked.”

The Guardian nods, and motions to Wayzz. The Guardian raises his hand to transform, but is struck down by crippling pain. 

With a shaking hand, he opens the gramophone, surveying his choices. He deftly selects the Ladybug and the Black Cat miraculous, but falters. “I cannot send them out alone, can I, Wayzz?”

Wayzz tilts his head. “I’m not sure I understand, Master.”

“While the Black Cat and Ladybug are strong, I cannot send them out against the Butterfly alone.”

“But who should aid them, master?”

Mater Fu examines his choices, and reaches for one last miraculous box. “The Bee is the perfect choice.”

------

Chloe Bourgeois knew she was perfect. Her daddy told her all the time, and all of Paris knew it too. She prided herself on always looking like it, and nothing, nothing stopped her from being perfect. 

So what the hell is she going to do?

She stares in distaste at the situation in front of her. A large garbage truck is rumbling by, trash stacked precariously out of it, and an elderly man in a hawaiin shirt trots next to it. She does not want to go anywhere near the truck but.. She doesn’t like his chances if that trash falls onto him. Her decision is forced into motion by the trash toppling out of the truck. 

Muttering “Ew, ew, ew, EW!” under her breath she darts close to the man, grabbing him by the nape of his shirt and quickly pulling him out of the way of the falling trash.

After thoroughly examining herself to make sure she’s still perfect, she turns to the old man, unsure on what to tell him.

Luckily for her, the man speaks up, bowing his head in gratitude. “Thank you so much for saving me, young lady. That trash would have severely injured me, and definitely would’ve humiliated me. You truly are courageous.”

Chloe pauses by the compliment, a genre of which she’s.. Unfamiliar with. She quickly preens, trying to hide her genuine pleasure. “Of course I am! I- I couldn’t just let it happen. I’m going to tell my daddy about how ridiculous these trash workers are!”

The older man nods, a thoughtful smile on his face. “A good use of your power, young lady.”

She snorts, unable to think of anything else to say. “Whatever, I need to get to school.”

She storms off, feeling slightly better than she was before.

School was uneventful, except for Marinette Dupain-Cheng thinking that she could steal Chloe’s spot behind her Adrikins! And then some new girl had the audacity to tell her off! She was going to have to put them in their place.

She sulks all the way back to the hotel, and throws herself down on her bed. “Ugh, could this day get ANY worse?”

She rolls over and is greeted by a red and black box that was definitely not there before. “What’s this? It looks old, so maybe it’s an expensive gift for me?”

She gently opens the box, and is immediately blinded by a large flash of yellow light. After it clears up, there’s a… giant bee in her room.

Chloe shrieks, throwing herself across the room. “WHAT??? BUG?? BIG BEE!!!”

“My queen, please calm down!” The bee reassures her. “My name is Pollen, I’m the kwami for the bee miraculous!”

“The bee WHAT!” Chloe screams, holding a pillow in front of her like a shield.

“The bee miraculous!” Pollen squeaks. “With it, you become a superhero, my queen!”

Chloe lowers the pillow, peeking out behind it. “A-a, superhero?”

Pollen nods. “Indeed, my queen! You will also fight along two other heros, with powers of their own! Your power is Venom, the power to immobilize anyone you want!”

“How do I turn into this superhero?”

“First, put the miraculous in your hair and say, ‘Pollen, buzz on!’ The detransformation is ‘Buzz Off!’” Pollen instructs, a reassuring smile on her face.

Chloe goes back to bed, picking up the red and black box. She pulls out a silver bee shaped comb. She tucks it into her hair. “Pollen, buzz on!” 

“My queen I still have to tell you-”

Chloe knew exactly what to do while transforming, after all, Adrikins forced her to watch far too many anime shows. After her beautiful and stunning transformations, she examines her suit. Her suit is a yellow base, with a few black stripes that dip in the middle. Her gloves end at her elbows, and are lined with black faux fur. Her mask covers her eyes, and is a yellow honeycomb pattern. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail, slightly curlier than it was before. She spins around, as translucent wings draped like a cape flutter behind you “This is…”

“AMAZING!!” Chloe squeals, admiring herself. “Pollen, I’m beautiful!” She looks around, noticing her disappearance. “Pollen?”

Before she can look for Pollen, her phone buzzes with an emergency alert. “Giant stone monster rampaging around Paris? That sounds like a job for a superhero!” 

She finally notices a top slung around her waist. “What does this do? OH NO IT’S SPINNING!” Chloe quickly figures out how to operate the top, and swings out of her window. “Look out, Paris, here I come!”

She lands on a building, examining the scene around her. “Yikes, the police have no idea what they’re doing, huh?”

Suddenly, a scream cuts through the air. Someone slams into Chloe, knocking her down. The person jumps up, and reaches a hand out to Chloe. “I’m so, so sorry! I- I just haven’t gotten a knack for the staff yet! I’m um, guessing, you’re one of the other superheroes?”

Chloe’s first instinct is to snap at the girl, insulting her on everything and anything. But, she shouldn’t act like herself, right? Secret identities are the most important thing about superheroes, right? So she takes the girl's hand and gives her a smile. “You’re fine! It took me way too long to figure out how to use my top. And yeah, I’m…” What’s my name? What had Pollen called me again? “My Queen”?

“Queen Bee. And you are?”

The girl blushes, tugging on one of her twin braids. “I have no idea. All I know is that some cat..bug..thing told me I was a superhero, and I turned into this leather… furry!”

Chloe snorts, and takes a moment to notice her costume. A leather bodysuit similar to her, except that the girl has glove fingers pointed like claws and kneehigh boots. The girl has a cute half cloak with a blue cat paw fastening the hood. And..

Chloe gasps. “Oh. My. Goodness. Do you have cat ears and a tail??” 

The girl blushes, her ears flattening in embarrassment. “Yeah.. I guess it’s ‘cause it’s the Cat Miraculous? It’s super embarrassing.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, chatonne,” Queen Bee teases. She’s not going to unleash the full Chloe treatment, but she can’t not tease her.. “It’s purr-fectly cute!”

The girl’s face reddens, but she groans at the pun. She opens her mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the roar of the monster. “We’d better take care of this, huh?”

Queen Bee nods, a determined smile spread across her face. “Let’s go!”

The two make their way over to a stadium, lading in front of what looks like a golem made of rocks, chasing...Kim?

“Chatonne!” yells Queen Bee. “Can you get Ki- the boy away from the monster?”

“On it!” she shouts back, expanding her pole to stop the monster from getting Kim. 

“Good work, chatonne!”

“Hey, Queen Bee, aren’t we supposed to have another..” As if summoned, a blonde boy in a red and black spotted bodysuit and a black cape draped off of one shoulder lands next to Queen Bee.

“Am..I late?” He asks, clearly nervous. Nervous of what? The monster..or her?

Chloe would chew him out, asking where he’s been.. But Queen Bee wouldn’t. Queen Bee simply rolls her eyes and smirks at him. “Haven’t missed much, bug boy. So, you’ve got anything up your sleeve?”

“Um..” The boy launches a...yo-yo.. At the stone monster. Seriously? A yo-yo? Was the cat miraculous the only one with a sensible weapon? As soon as the yoyo makes contact with the monster, it roars again and..

 “IT GROWS EVERY TIME YOU HIT IT?!?!?” The cat girl yells, staring in disbelief. “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT A MONSTER THAT GROWS IF YOU HIT IT??”

Queen Bee curses under her breath. Cat girl had a point. Her plan was just to beat it until the cops could apprehend it.. But where would they even put it anyway?

“Wait!” The bug boy calls. Cat girl and Queen Bee turn to him. “What was my power again.. Oh! Lucky Charm!” 

Queen Bee watches as the boy throws his yo-yo in the air and gets.. A wetsuit. “Planning on going swimming, bug boy?” she quips. The momentary confusion is disrupted by a giant stone fist swinging down. Chloe and the boy roll aside, narrowly missing being flattened. 

“Oh! I have a power too!” The cat girl yells. “Cataclysm!” The girl's hand is now encompassed with dark energy. 

Queen Bee dodges another fist. “What does it do?” she yells.

“Destroys anything I touch!”

“Seriously?” the boy groans. “You get to destroy anything and I get a wetsuit?”

“Where do you think the akuma is?” Cat girl shouts.

“The what?” Pollen did not mention anything called an akuma.

“The thing that turned whoever’s actually in there.. Into that!”

Huh. Maybe Chloe should’ve paid more attention to what Pollen was saying. 

“By the way, who are you two?” The boy yells. 

“I think introductions are necessary when we’re being attacked by a giant monster!” Queen Bee retorts.

“It’d be easier to call you something other than bee girl and cat girl!”

He has a point. “Call me Queen Bee, bug boy.”

“I’m Princess Kitten!” Comes a shout. Seems cat girl decided on a name.

“Well, if the two of you are going with a royalty theme, who am I to mess it up? Call me.. Sir Cocinelle!”

“Why? Are you some knight in spotted armor?”

He actually perks up at the remark. Oh no, Queen Bee can’t make fun of someone that wholesome. “I would be honored to be your trusted knight, my queen!”

Wait.. “Guys I have a plan!” She shouts. “Meet me at the top of the stadium!”

“Okay, but make it quick!” Princess Kitten yells back. “I have only 5 more minutes until I detransform!”

Yeah. Chloe should’ve really listened to Pollen. After some tricky jumps, the trio made it to the top. “So, I have some weird ‘ladybug vision’, and I think the akuma is in that fist,” Sir Cocinelle points at one of the fists.

“You’re probably right, Sir Cocinelle.” Queen Bee appraises, noticing the boost in his confidence. Is- is this kid okay? “Okay, so my power is Venom. I can freeze the monster. I was thinking, once I do that, Sir Coccinelle could pull him down with the yo-yo, and you could use that ‘ladybug vision’ to force open the fist while he’s down. Princess Kitten, can you ‘cataclysm’ the akuma and..” She notices the two staring at her. “What?”

Sir Coccinelle speaks up. “Nothing, it’s just, you’re really good at this. It’s like you’re a natural.”

Queen Bee flushes. “Oh. Um..My dadd- my dad works..in a leadership position. I guess I picked up some stuff. Does the plan not work or…”

Princes Kitten shakes her head. “I think you’re great! The plan! The plan is great!”

Queen Bee smiles at her, murmuring, “Thank you, Princess. I really appreciate it.” She turns to Sir Coccinelle. “Listen, I have no idea how your powers work, but I have a feeling that they’re the key to getting the akuma, and chattonne’s powers are the only way to destroy the akuma. Are we ready?”

Sir Coccinelle and Princess Kitten nod.

 “Let’s go!”

She signals for Sir Coccinelle to topple the monster, and quickly calls “Venom” to freeze him before he can get up. That new girl… Alexis, right? For some reason is still there, next to.. A fire hose! “Hey you! Toss bug boy the hose!”

Wide eyed, she tosses the hose to Sir Coccinelle, who looks at the hose, the wetsuit and the fist, cogs turning. He shoves the wetsuit in the fist, and begins filling it up. Cracking the fist open, he gets a purple rock, and pumps his fist in celebration. “Boo-ya!”

Queen Bee smiles, but the victory is short lived as the rock monster starts to stir. “SIR COCCINELLE GET THE ROCK TO PRINCESS KITTEN!” She screams. 

Sir Coccinelle nods, and lobs the rock at Princess Kitten, who catches it with her Cataclysm hand, turning the rock into a crumpled note.

 Sir Coccinelle throws the wetsuit in the air, with a cry of “Miraculous Sir Coccinelle!” ladybugs rush over the city, restoring all the damage, and turning the stone monster into.. Ivan? Huh. 

Princess Kitten turns to Queen Bee, wide eyed. “How’d you know that was going to work?”

“Yeah, Queenie,” Sir Coccinelle pipes up. “I didn’t really know how my powers would work, yet you did.”

“First off, bug boy, I’m your Queen, not ‘Queenie’, and since you mentioned ‘ladybug vision’, I figured that the wetsuit would actually come into use. Chatonne, you told me that you could destroy, so I used that to get rid ourselves of the akuma. All I really did was look at your powers and figure out how to use them in the situation.” She mutters, very much liking the attention. She holds out her hand in a fist. “You guys did really good. I’m proud to be a superhero with you two.”

Princess Kitten lightly bumps her fist into Queen Bee’s. “Give yourself more credit. Sure, Sir Coccinelle did some wacky thing with the wetsuit,  but it was you were the one who figured it out.”

Sir Coccinelle fist bumps the two of them. “Seriously, Queenie, you did great. Princess couldn't've gotten to the akuma without you guiding her. I think we make a great team.”

Queen Bee rolls her eyes, but smiles. “A team. I like that.”

Ally? Alexa? Rushes up to the three, a huge smile on her face, phone clutched in her hand. “OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS ARE ACTUAL SUPERHEROES!! CAN YOU TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT YOURSELVES??”

The three exchange awkward glances, until a beep from all three of them goes off. “I believe that’s our cue to go,” Queen Bee drawls. “ But If you must know, the dashing knight is Sir Coccinelle,” he offers a flourishing bow, “The beautiful lady is Princess Kitten,” she nods her head, “And I’m the regal Queen Bee.” She winks at the girl. “I’ll see you around, huh?” Queen Bee leaps off, leaving a blushing girl.

She sneaks back in through her window, crying “Buzz off!” The transformation disappears in a flash of yellow and black, and Pollen reappears. “That was amazing! I was like, woosh, and boosh! And…” Chloe falls on her bed giggling.

“My queen, I’m glad you enjoyed it! You did such a good job, you truly are meant for the Bee Miraculous!”

Chloe looks at Pollen, her eyes gleaming. “Really?”

Pollen claps her hands in delight. “Of course, my queen! Now can I tell you what you need to know?” “Oh. Yes, please.”

“So! Your partners hold the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous, which are the powers of creation and destruction…”

Chloe listens to Pollen, furiously memorizing everything, occasionally asking questions. “Wait.. so I can’t tell anyone? Not even Sabrina?”

“No, we can’t risk anyone finding out your identity and using your loved ones against you.”

“That makes sense..” Chloe notices Pollen flutter down. “Hey, are you okay?”

Pollen nods, “I’m sorry my queen, but I need to recharge.”

Chloe perks up. “Of course! What do you need? I have access to anything and everything I want.”

Pollen smiles appreciatively. “I would like some almonds, if it’s not too much trouble my queen.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I’ll get some sent up right now. I think I’ll get some chocolate covered ones for myself.”

Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, and.. “What? There’s more stone monsters?? Pollen, what’s going on?”

“My queen, did you purify the akuma?” Pollen chirps.“Was I supposed to do that?” Chloe asks, starting to panic.

“No, no! That was Sir Coccinelle’s job. You did everything right, my queen. We can figure this out in the morning, it’s getting late. Get some sleep, my queen. You did good.”

Chloe nods, trying to push away unease in her stomach. “Yeah… let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter 2

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

The sharing bed prompts I loveee that shit. What about “person A hogs all the covers and person B’s solution is to spoon them” and “does that feel good” with Rami as person B?

All right—I took some liberties with this prompt, and while it isn’t smut, it is fluffy and fun. Perhaps there needs to be a Part II, but for now, here you go : )

Y/N is the press tour director for Bohemian Rhapsody, so essentially, she is in charge of the boys. This is totally AU-ish, and this is also the first time I’ve written Joe and Gwil. Forgive me if it’s bad. 

* * * * *

Having been on the road with the boys for several weeks, I knew it was never anything that was going to make my life easier when they started being exhaustingly charming to me and only me.

“Cut the shit, boys. What do you want?”

Rami grinned, but I shook my head, “Nope—don’t try that either. What do you want?”

Rami’s smile faltered, and he sighed. He licked his lips, tucking his bottom one between his teeth, and I turned away, refusing to let any of his ticks affect me now.

Everyone on the tour could see the way we looked at each other, but I had a job to do. Rami was an actor, and this press tour was only going to be one small part of his life. But for me, this press tour’s success could send my name right to the top of the PR list, ensuring I’d never have to work three jobs to make ends meet again.

And no one, no one knew that.

This was Hollywood; people weren’t interested in the rags to riches story anymore. All that mattered was what your life looked like, so I made sure to consistently project a strong, confident woman with nothing to lose.

Except that right now, it sounded like I was going to be forced to make a very difficult decision: to keep up appearances by giving over to the boys’ demands, or to buckle, revealing how much the success of this tour really meant for me.

Joe stepped forward and popped onto the edge of the desk in my hotel room, crossing his legs and changing his voice to a high, nasally pitch.

“Well, ya see Mista Sheffield,” Joe said in his best Fran Fine impression, “as the nanny, it’s clear ya been makin’ these kids work way too hard. If they don’t get a break, it could be very bad for their health—and yours,” he added with a wink.

Sighing, I pushed back from my desk and looked at Joe, who re-crossed his legs and batted his eyes.

“I’ll consider your offer if you put on one of Nanny Fine’s skirts, Mazzello.”

“Uh, did you not see the pictures of us in drag? Only Rami’s got the stems to pull that look off.”

I flicked my eyes over to Rami and he smiled, although it was a shyer smile than usual. However, I didn’t look back at Joe. Rami was almost always the leader of their schemes, so I asked, for the third time, what exactly they wanted.

“Since our stop in the next city has been delayed, we thought we could have some time to . . . explore Italy.”

“And?”

“We want to rent a car—”

You started shaking your head no, but Rami pressed on.

“We want to rent a car and drive. We have plenty of time to get there—”

“And if something goes wrong? My god Rami—we are talking about an extra 48 hours, not a week!”

“Nothing will go wrong. You have my word.”

“Those are the most famous last words in every movie, television show, and novel produced in the last century!” I said, my voice rising as I stood up from the desk chair.

“We’ve already mapped it out and it only takes twelve hours longer than the train you have scheduled,” Rami spoke in a rush, moving to stand in front of me and to grasp my upper arms. “We have our cell phones. And . . .”

“And?” I prompted.

“And you’ll be with us,” Rami finished, his voice low and soothing as his eyes burned into mine.

I had to close my eyes to escape his spell because what he was saying was actually not as unreasonable of a request as I had been sure it was going to be. Backing away from Rami’s grip, I sat down on my bed with a plop.

“What does Gwil say?”

“It was his idea.”

“Oy vey,” I said, flopping back onto the bed.

The bed bounced as Joe landed beside me, perfectly propped up on his elbow.

“Soooo maaaa, what do ya say?”

“If—oof,” I said bouncing as Rami landed on my other side.

“If Joseph Mazzello agrees to never impersonate The Nanny again, we can take the car.”

The boys laugh and plant twin kisses on my cheeks and I give them both a hard shove away from me.

“But if anything, ANYTHING happens, I am holding you, Rami Malek, personally responsible,” I said as I stood up and glowered down at him.

“Ooo, Ram, man. That means she’s docking your pay.”

“Don’t care, Joey!” Rami cried as he exaggeratedly sniffed the air. “Can you smell that?”

“What . . . should I be smelling . . .”

“It’s the smell of FREEDOM!” Rami roared as he thumped Joe on the chest, hard enough to make him groan, then start giggling.

A small wrestling match ensued before I yelled at them to get out before they broke my bed.

“Go tell Gwil the good news,” I begged, making them freeze as Rami’s head poked out from under Joe’s stomach after Joe had pinned him with his entire torso.

They scrambled off the bed, each of them fixing their hair as they hurried out of the room to tell Gwilym the good news.

I sat down on my disheveled bedding and bowed my head, praying to whatever god that would listen for this minor detour to happen without a hitch.

The boys, as high-energy as they could be, had been giving their all at every event and had been working ungodly hours. If I could do this for them, they deserved to enjoy it.

* * * * *

God.

The master of the universe.

The almighty creator.

The powers that be.

The flying spaghetti monster.

It didn’t matter what the higher power I prayed to went by, whoever or whatever it was, hated me.

No.

It loathed me, and I became convinced that it got off on circumventing any possible happiness I could have in my life.

I fought back tears as I followed the boys through the sopping cow field, at least I assumed that’s what it was because it was nearly 2 in the morning and the only lights we had were our dying cellphones (which had no service, of course) and one tiny flashlight that had been jammed between the seat in the back of our too-small rental car.

It certainly smells like a cow field, I thought as my foot landed in something that felt suspiciously more squishy than sopping grass.

We were all damned lucky that we hadn’t had anything other than our pride hurt when a whopping pile of mud from the endless rain slid across the road pushing our car over an embankment and into a field. The car had refused to start, and we waited for over two hours for another vehicle to pass.

It was getting cold, so I finally said, “We can’t wait here all night.”

The boys all looked out the window and into the pouring rain.

“Look at the sign,” Gwil said pointing at something that was on the other side of the immense field. “Looks like a vacancy banner.”

“Like the boss said, we can’t wait here all night. It’s not like a cellphone tower is going to sprout up from all the rain,” Joe said.

“Pop the trunk,” I said, moving to open the door and step out into the rain.

Rami grabbed my arm and spoke in a voice that was heartbreakingly earnest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I know,” I said, shaking him off and opening the door.

Luckily, we had all packed light and our bags were easy to carry. Rami tried to take mine and I refused; the last thing I wanted to feel at this moment was like a damsel in distress.

The walk took well over an hour, but it was exactly as Gwil said: a vacancy sign, except that none of us could have predicted that it was a place that made the Bates Motel look like a St. Regis.

We paused despite the pouring rain and looked at each other.

Joe nudged Rami, who faltered, but then took the lead and opened the ratchety front door, a chunk of sopping old paint glopping down on his shoe as he stepped through the doorframe.

We all shuffled in behind him, and it was clear the lobby was not meant for gatherings of people. Gwil and I stood elbow to elbow, a dusty shelf of outdated brochures brushing against my arm.

Rami angled himself forward and rang the rusty bell.

It made a pitiful ding that matched its home.

Rami’s hair was plastered to his head and falling into his eyes. While we waited, he slicked it back and I noticed it was almost long enough to tuck behind his ears when it was wet.

Meanwhile, Joe hadn’t missed the way I watched Rami, even in this dire circumstance. He was one of the many who knew how we felt about each other and he also knew that had been a strong part of the reason for this trip. Rami had confessed to him that he believed if he could get me to forget about the bustle of the tour, even for a day or two, he’d have a shot at figuring out if I was interested in him.

Joe’s insistence that I was just wasn’t enough. Rami wanted to be sure before he made a move, especially if it could mean turning the great dynamic we had established between all of us into something forced and uncomfortable.

“Hit it again,” Gwil said, his normally patient self becoming agitated. He hated to be dirty, and I knew he was thinking about a hot shower.

Hell, I knew we were all thinking about a hot shower.

Rami reached for the bell again, but before he could press it, a very old man shuffled out to the desk, his hoary head not more than a foot taller than the desk itself. He was wrapped up tight in a robe and there were slippers on his feet.

He began speaking in Italian and the dialect was so strong that we all looked at each other in utter confusion.

“English?” Rami asked in a desperate plea.

The old man cocked his head, little wisps of white hair billowing with his movement.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Gwil muttered, his voice tired.

“Rami—”

He turned around and looked at me.

“The key hooks on the wall.”

Rami nodded, his mouth puckering as he thought.

“We need rooms for the night,” Rami said, pointing to the keys on the wall. “Uh, camera, per favore.”

The man nodded, “Si, si,” and took two keys off the wall.

He began speaking once more, but Rami pointed to the last key hanging on the wall, trying to get another room in case one of the rooms was too small for all three of the boys to share.

“No, no,” the man said waving the two keys from the wall in front of Rami’s face and speaking some more.

It was clear we were getting the last two rooms the man had.

“La moneta!” he barked when Rami held his hand out for the keys, and we all reached into our bags for whatever we had in Italian currency.

The old man gave us a total and Joe counted it out. After the man recounted the money, he handed the keys to Rami and pointed toward the darkest section of the motel.

Again, we all cast a glance at each other, but once we were back outside in the pouring rain, Rami took the lead and walked off toward the dark rooms.

He tried one key, then the other and reached blindly along the wall for a light switch after the door had creaked open. A single lamp flicked on, and we were greeted by the smallest room I had ever seen. There was an ancient television propped up on a stand, one chair, and one bed that looked to be no bigger than an extra-large twin.

Rami glanced at me, then hurried to the next door, shaking the key furiously in the lock to get the door to open.

It was the same room, right down to the extra-large twin bed.

Rami looked at Joe and Gwil and said, “I don’t suppose the three of us could—”

“Oh for pete’s sake, Rami. Come on,” you said tugging his jacket’s sleeve and hauling him back into the other room.

Joe and Gwil exchanged a look, and despite their exhaustion, smiles crept across their faces.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Rami turned around and locked the chain.

With a sigh, he started to apologize again, but I cut him off.

“Rami—no one could have predicted this would happen. I’m sure we will laugh about this . . . if we don’t get axe murdered in the night.”

“Did you ever see that episode of the Twilight Zone where—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare plant some freaky image in my mind before we have to try to fall asleep.”

Rami gave me a small smile before he finally dropped his soaked bag on to the floor.

“We may have to wring out all our clothes,” he said frowning with disgust at his wet luggage.

“First, I’m taking the hottest shower in history,” I said, marching into the bathroom, then proceeding to scream as I collided face to chest with a mostly naked Gwilym.

Rami and Joe both burst in from their doors, and then they started laughing.

“Your faces,” Joe squeaked out.

Gwil and I looked at each other and broke, laughing until we cried at the absurdity of the entire situation.

Ever the gentleman, Gwil offered the bath, and yes, it was an old clawfoot bathtub, not a shower, first.

“No—you go for it,” I said patting his shoulder and following a still chuckling Rami out of the door who was swiping at the tears that had leaked down his cheeks during his laughing fit.

I collapsed onto the uncomfortable, putrid yellow chair, a puff of laughter escaping in intermittent bursts as I remembered the feeling of my nose colliding with Gwil’s chest.

“Damnit,” I growled, leaning back in the chair.

“What is it?” Rami asked from the seat he had taken across from me on the edge of the bed.

“My shoe strings are so wet I can’t untie them and my shoes are too tight to kick off.”

“Let me try,” he said, moving to kneel in front of my shoe. “Wow—okay. That’s definitely cowshit.”

Laughter burbled up from my throat again as I stared at Rami’s fingers working my shit-covered laces, and he looked up at me, his nose crinkled, his hair a mess, and I laughed harder until he joined in.

“When you win an Oscar for Freddie, I’m going to remember this moment,” I said, smiling down at him as he freed my right foot.

“Shut up,” Rami said with a smile. “Never gonna happen.”

“Why are you so afraid to let yourself want it?”

“For the same reason you’re so afraid this tour will be a disaster,” Rami finished with a grunt as he freed my left foot and sat back on his butt, getting ready to work his own tennis shoes off.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rami wiped his fingers on the shins of his soaked pants and looked up.

“You’re not the only one who came from almost nothing, Y/N. We recognize our own kind in this world.”

“But—”

“My parents worked really hard to make sure we had opportunities, but that was about all we had.”

“I didn’t know.”

Rami and I looked at each other, and for the first time I realized what we had in common: an insatiable hunger, a need to prove ourselves.

I know it seems like it only happens in the movies, but as soon as I made that realization, it was like a jolt of electricity went through my body. I had never wanted to kiss someone more than I did in that moment, and just as I was about to drop to the floor and close the distance, Gwil knocked from inside the bathroom.

“Your turn, Y/N!” he called.

I shook my head and stood up, hurrying into the bathroom.

By the time we had all rotated through, Joe going last and informing us with a loud, “Yikes!” that the hot water was all gone, I was exhausted and settled under the minimal covers on the bed.

Rami had been sitting in the yellow chair for the past half an hour, trying to get his cellphone to work.

“We’ll use the phone at the front desk in the morning,” I mumbled sleepily. “Let’s get some rest before the rooster crows. Cuz I guarantee there’s one roaming around out there unless the axe murderer was in the mood for chicken.”

Rami’s laughter was soft as he rose up from the chair and walked over to the light switch.

“Should we leave it on?”

“Try it.”

Rami flicked the switch and the room was plunged into darkness, but after a few moments, it was clear that the light from the vacancy sign was going to shine right through the damn-near sheer curtain covering the window.

“I think we’re okay—you locked the door, right?”

Rami fumbled along the door and double checked.

“Yup.”

I listened as he made his way back to the bed and he shuffled some sort of item of clothing off. When his cold feet accidentally connected with mine, I knew it was his socks.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Can’t stand to sleep with socks on.”

“Me either,” I said to the wall I was facing.

Rami moved around in the bed, attempting to get comfortable and to keep an appropriate distance between our bodies, but when I moved, he gasped as all the covers moved with me.

“Sorry,” I groaned.

“I think this bed is clearly meant for one person.”

“Or two people as tiny as that old man.”

Rami chuckled, and then he sighed.

“There’s a solution . . . if you’re okay with it.”

“Lay it on me, Ram.”

Rami said nothing, but he rolled onto his side and pressed his body into my back. He adjusted his arms, eventually resting his left hand in the dip at my waist.

“At least I’m getting warmer now,” I said sleepily.

Rami took that as an invitation and snuggled in deeper, sliding his arm all the way over my waist so he could spoon me.

“I really am sorry for all of this,” Rami whispered into the back of my neck.

“I’m not,” I said, reaching for his hand and pulling it up between my breasts so I could clutch it to my chest.

Rami hummed contentedly, and we both drifted off to sleep.

[amphii-writes]

Haikyuu boys as songs on my spotify playlists P. 4, Shiratorizawa and Fukurodani

Warning: Songs could talk about sex, drugs, and violence. Reader discretion is advised.

ALSO: A small rant is at the end, i recommend you read it.

Akinori Konoha: Beef FloMix by Flo Milli

Due to Konoha-san’s very competitive personality, I chose a song that fits that perfectly. The song itself has BDE (big dick energy) and honestly, it slaps. I don’t exactly LOVE Konoha because I don’t 100% understand him! And with that, I tried my hardest to fit him!

Keiji Akaashi: Line Without A Hook by Ricky Montgomery

Anyways, what I would do for this soft dude to just hug me and pat my head and tell me I’m okay. Akaashi for sure tries his best not to stand out too much, often being Bokuto’s “wingman” and hyping him up. So, you can imagine how he actually feels. He’s a great player but then again, the ace is the player who scores the most amount of points.

Kotaro Bokuto: Dancing Queen by ABBA

Okay, you might be wondering: “Amphs, why did you chose this song of every other song?” And that’s a wonderful question, and my answer to that is this; Bokuto for sure is a party animal and likes cute upbeat songs, and whats funnier than imagine Bokuto sliding around his house (hardwood floors) in socks, boxers, and a dress shirt dancing to Dancing Queen. Adorable, 10/10.

Ushijima Wakatoshi: 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton

Wow, it’s low-key embarrassing to admit that I have Dolly Parton on my playlist but in my defense, everyone knows 9 to 5. I know its very fannon to see ushijima as a guy who’s very into farming even though hes not, and i agree its kinda annoying. But, you can’t tell me this man doesn’t give you “I-listen-to-willy’s-roadhouse-constantly-vibes” I love Ushi so much but,,, he reminds me of my grandpa.

Kenjiro Shirabu: Harness Your Hopes B-Side by Pavement

Shirabu is a very passive aggressive man, and this song is also passive aggressive- well just aggressive works tbh. The song itself sounds almost sarcastic with how bored and annoyed the singer sounds, mocking whoever’s listening: Thus, the Shirabu vibes it gives off.

Tsutomu Goshiki: Sweater Weather by The Neighborhood

This isn’t a sexuality head cannon for Goshiki-san, this is me saying he’s a soft bastard. Like I can imagine him listening to this song and imagine cuddling with someone in a beach house that has a fire-place in the winter, cuddling with them while both wearing the same over-sized sweater, his lover in the front of the sweater and him in the back. perfect cuddling session tbh.

Satori Tendou: SugarCrash! by ElyOtto

Wow, this song sounds so sweet and energetic but the lyrics are hella sad. The song talks about being one of the people who often brings people up but feeling alone and useless, just like Tendou-san did when he was younger. Tendou was bullied for his looks like Yamaguchi, but instead of fighting back he caved in and became what his bullies called him: a monster. But this time it was different, he embraced his difference and became one hell of a blocker.

Eita Semi: Killer Queen by Queen

Semi-san gets bitches, look at him: he probably has a fan club. The song is a classic, the entire arrangement of the song is art and Semi, our favorite musician boy probably critiques songs on the radio like the bastard he is (me too, tho. band has changed me into a different person when evaluating songs). Semi-san also gives me the “I-like-old-rock-esc-songs” and me too, me too.

Anyways, small rant but fannon haikyuu characters physically hurt me. like the immense sexualization of gay men pisses me off so much, like nothings wrong with being gay! But when you enforce harmful stereotypes it does exactly that: HARMS PEOPLE! Don’t get me started on how people take shy or “traditionally feminine” men (literally anyone with any sort of “feminine” trait) from haikyuu and just scream “oH lOoK hE’S a bOtToM!11!!1!” the more i see that shit the more I wanna punch cishets in the fucking stomach: especially fujioshis(?) ((i dunno if that’s how you spell it but then again they dont deserve me to even spell their name right)) gay people can’t live peacefully without this shit happening, and it happens to other minorities. Oh and if i see one more Holy Asahi I’m going to snap from sheer force of will.

i’m sorry, i just had to get that off my chest. it’s been bothering me for awhile and it doesn’t sit right with me.

[15dots]

Gemina: The Illuminae Files _02

Synopsis

Moving to a space station at the edge of the galaxy was always going to be the death of Hanna’s social life. Nobody said it might actually get her killed.

The saga that began with the breakout bestseller Illuminae continues on board the space station Heimdall. Hanna is the station captain’s pampered daughter, Nik the reluctant member of a notorious crime family. Little do they know that Kady Grant and the Hypatia are headed to Heimdall, carrying news of the Kerenza invasion. 

When an elite BeiTech team invades the station, Hanna and Nik are thrown together to defend their home. Soon, Hanna and Nik aren’t just fighting for their own survival. The fate of everyone on the Hypatia - and possibly in the known universe - is in their hands. 

But relax. They’ve totally got this.

They hope. 

Quotes:

“I cannot help but wonder if the thought of saving all those lives and hopes and dreams pales in comparison to the thought of seeing him again. I wonder.” 

“▆▆ me that felt weird. Like someone threw a rainbow at my head.” 

“Patience and Silence had one beautiful daughter and her name was Vengeance.” 

“It may comfort you to know that your death while astonishingly violent, will most likely be mercifully swift.” 

“And now, born from the ashes, she’s a warrior in bloodied black.”

Welcome back to the Illuminae Files where, after reading Gemina I am left to search for my pulse and heartbeat. 

You read that right folks, I am deceased. 

But before I tell you why, I would like to put a disclaimer that this review (or whatever this is) will have spoilers. So if you haven’t read the book or Illuminae, oh well, get ready for spoilers I guess. Do not fret however, I will warn you of upcoming spoilers. You’re welcome ;). 

Also, if you haven’t read my previous Illuminae post, go check that out first or after, whatever you decide. 

Alrighty, Gemina yes, one word. 

Deceased. 

Me. I’m deceased. 

I finished this book last night and let me tell you I almost threw this book across the room. Three times. It was near midnight and I almost screamed. Bottom line, I have thoughts. Many of them. 

So buckle up kiddos, this is gonna be a long one. 

Fair warning. This book might have slightly mature themes, like drug production and use (which is very pertinent to the plot-line, iykyk), sexual innuendos, sexual tension, an annoying sexual song about lollipops... yeah you get the gist. 

Let’s start by introducing Hanna and Nik. “Highness”, as Nik like to calls her, is a daddy’s girl. If she lived in our world she would probably be asking her daddykins for dresses and bags she doesn’t even need. However, she’s a black belt. So maybe don’t make fun of her... 

Nik, on the other hand, is the typical bad boy, tall, lean, with abs, tattoos up his arms, torso and neck. Served time in juvie where he obtained such abs. But he has dimples. Dimples. He’s also, like, really funny. Like what he says...

I’ll give you an example (He’s typing this by the way): 

“So you can me all to yourself. He says winking suggestively.” 

I like him- ahem, that speaks for itself, moving on. 

This story takes place on the Heimdall space station where the Hypatia need to pass through to the Core to inform them about the Kerenza attack. Everyone is getting ready for Terra Day, getting ready to party, to get drunk, high probably as well. Hanna waits for Nik to give her her dose of drugs for ‘party favours’. Her boyfriend, Jackson, waits for her at the Atrium which is where Terra day is being held. Nik is running late because of a ‘package’ arriving at the station. Hanna gets impatient, Jackson gets nervous, Nik just gets tired because that kid sure can smoke.

Then it all goes to crap when the station gets invaded by BeiTech Industries. Remember them? The jerks who invaded Kerenza to destroy the illegal mining operation and mass murdered hundreds of people? Yeah, it’s them again with Leanne Frobisher (SPOILER), Ezra’s mum by the way, their director. 24 of their ‘goons’ are there to clean up their mess and exterminate the Hypatia and the Heimdall with a drone fleet which will hopefully, for them, eradicate witnesses of the Kerenza attack. 

People die, cry, scream. The Atrium and Entertainment Center are the areas where they are trapped in which are guarded. Hanna and Nik, on the other hand, are trapped outside with the BeiTech baddies. It is up to them to save everyone.

Like the previous book, the story is told through a dossier of files and whatnot. Their main source of communication at the start is a programme called WhisperNET then they switch to palmpads (from my knowledge is quite similar to phones) because y’know the bad guys can track em’. I have one problem, one issue that I would like to address and discuss with the publishers or whoever is responsible for the layout of this book. 

Which fool decided it was a good idea to place black text onto a near black background? I couldn’t read crap. But I don’t know if that was on purpose...

Anyways, the invasion happens and Nik and Hanna are split up from each other. Nik has a cousin, Ella, who (like Kady) is a tech wizz and tries to help the pair with opening doors and being their eye in the sky. I mean, you need a character like that in a story such as this one. 

But BeiTech are not the only monsters. There’s another problem. One that is rather... disturbing. 

SPOILERS  (it’s more gross really).

Alright, remember how I said that drugs were very pertinent to the story. Well turns out you can have drugs made from organisms ‘colloquially’ known as ‘lickers’ and it rubs me the wrong way. I was uncomfortable to say the least. And seriously, while reading the Unipedia file and descriptions of the lanima, I swear I cannot see why that had to use the word “secrete’ or ‘secretion’ so many times. 

To make matters worse, they make their entrance by slithering out of dead cows’ bodies. Just imagine the Stranger Things demogorgons in Season One in their baby forms but longer and with four heads and sharp needle like teeth crawling out of a dead cow.  Again, was I uncomfortable? Yes, yes I was.  

You see, Nik’s crime family loves making drugs from within cows’ bodies. I mean, this is some Stranger Things crap right here.

You know what makes them even more terrifying? Before killing their prey, they secrete (ugh) this fog like substance out of their skin that makes them high. Yeah, you’re high before these slime-balls kill you. So really you wouldn’t know what hit you, until the kittens and rainbows turn into black and you’re just a brainless, soulless person. They suck your face off, basically. And not in that way, you nasties. 

It was thanks to these lanima that a page scared me. Yes, a page (pg 368). What the crap did they put in this book? 

What I really enjoyed was how Hanna and Nik’s relationship progressed throughout the story. Like Kady and Ezra, they were able to joke around while under immense pressure. And to be completely honest, Hanna and Nik had higher stakes this time around. 

When they were still bantering and tip toeing around each other, I was like, “ugh, just kiss already, goodness.” I was more relieved they kissed then surprised. Honestly, it was about time they did, I almost choked on the sexual tension. 

OH and AIDAN makes a comeback and let me tell you I was so happy. AIDAN follows the movement of the lanima and it describes it in such a creepy way that shivers went down my spine. 

I do not like those lanima slime balls. Periodt. 

During the last pages of the book though, I almost had a heart attack. Can this book just let me breath? Please. For just a second. Oh my word. Just one thing after the other slapped me in the face until I questioned my sanity. Like the ending? WHAT THE FLYING CRAP WAS THAT ABOUT?

I don’t want to spoil too much for those who haven’t read the book or haven’t got the guts to do so anyway but overall, this book was just a roller coaster of a ride. No complaints. Only that the publishers and authors do something about the black on black formatting. Please, we don’t want to be squinting at pages like we need glasses (my apologies to those reading with glasses, you know the problem first hand).

Anyway, it will be a while until I can finish this series as I don’t have the third book, Obsidio. I know, sad face. But alas, I will wait after Christmas (because sales, duh) to obtain the last piece of the puzzle and hopefully I can get a break from feeling like I’m dying. But I am really enjoying this series; one of the best ones I’ve read in a while!

So, until next time. I might do small book reviews here and there so that’s good at least. So stay tuned kiddos and Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Let me know how this book treated you. Or don’t. Depends on what you decide.

[matildainmotion]

The Monstrous Shame of Motherhood and the Quest for a Cure

I feel exhausted. Even-more-than-usual exhausted. Whoever knew that staying at home could be so incredibly tiring. We have our daily outings – mainly to the golf course, which is the nearest green we have. The other evening, when we had finally made it out the house, and the children were running ahead of me across the fitted-carpet grass, I had a thought: “Maybe it will be okay,” and instantly I wanted to cry. It wasn’t a thought only about the pandemic. It was about the lot: the pandemic, plus how to get an autism diagnosis for my son that supports him, plus my 78 year old mother staying well, plus my husband’s work and the theatre community surviving in a post-Covid world, plus managing to finish my book, plus both my children’s long term futures, plus the world’s long term future and climate change, plus racial inequality, plus economic inequality, plus gender inequality, plus, plus…..

In that moment I realised that a kind of deep worry is such a constant for me now that I have grown accustomed to it, so that it is like the planes that used to fly over our house in London – a noise so familiar that after a while I no longer hear it, and yet it is there, every few minutes, unnoticed, another monstrous metal groan. And when it stops - when the planes stay down, when the worries lift up - the sudden silence is startling, enough to make me cry. But – here’s the thing- thanks to the lockdown I have realised that it isn’t just worry to which I have grown accustomed in this way. There is something else, even more monstrous, which it has taken me a long time to name – and its name is shame.

I believe the shame comes from a thousand ‘shoulds,’ from the many things I feel I should be doing as a mother and am not.  Motherhood, along with the paraphernalia of nappies, wipes and purees, comes with a huge bundle of shoulds. The very first thing I did, nine years ago now, on discovering that I was pregnant, was to rush out to Waterstones and buy a book on what I should and shouldn’t eat during the next nine months– and that was only the beginning. The shoulds come from everywhere, a mountain of well-meant advice, not only from books, but from doctors, midwives, family members, partners, friends, other mothers, even complete strangers. I remember standing in a shop queue with my three-week-old son in a sling, when the woman behind me leant forward and touched one of his toes. “Where’s his socks?” she said, “He’ll catch his death of cold.” On the one hand I felt reasonably confident that carrying my son around sock-less was not going to endanger his life, on the other, as a brand new mother, I was nonetheless shaken by the idea that my son’s survival was up to me, and that many different people had many different ideas about how best I should fulfil my role of raising and protecting him. At times, even my instinct, that famous maternal inner guide, seemed like a mysterious thing that someone else had told me I should follow.

Mothers Who Make began, in part, as a response to all these shoulds. When I went along to the new mother and baby groups, that I also believed to be obligatory, I noticed a distressing pattern. All too often we were simply swapping ‘shoulds’ with each other and coming away feeling worse than when we arrived. No place or position was safe: I met mothers who felt they should be breastfeeding, mothers who felt the need to put a label saying ‘breastmilk’ on the bottle they fed their baby in public, as well as mothers who felt they should be weaning their baby and moving rapidly onto solids. I met mothers who felt bad about co-sleeping and mothers who felt bad about not doing so. In those early days of mothering - when you should be feeling overjoyed - there are even charts that tell you what should be happening when, how much your child should weigh, by when they should be making eye contact etc. It is not that these charts are entirely unhelpful or inaccurate, but they certainly encouraged my constant questioning: is my child okay? Am I okay? Am I doing this right? And if I thought I wasn’t, if I was not doing what I should, I felt ashamed.

I have felt many parallels between lockdown and early motherhood – the sudden cessation of all usual activity, the focus on ‘intensive care’ and care-taking, the washing, the sense of vulnerability, the way leaving the house seems like an epic adventure, the isolation and longing for connection. And, as in early motherhood, our diverse lives are again apparently aligned. We are all in the same situation: all the mothers in those baby groups had a new born / all the mothers I know now are in lockdown due to a pandemic. This makes comparison seem possible, even appropriate. There is a set of scales around again – I weigh our lives on it and find myself at fault.

Let me give you a small sample of some of the shoulds that fly low over my home, through my mind, like aeroplanes, a few of the many that I have collected over my nine years of mothering. I should get my children to bed earlier. I should give them less screen time, or it shouldn’t happen first thing in the morning, or I should manage the whole issue of screens in a better, different way. I should give them less choice about what they eat. I should make sure they eat more fresh foods and less sugar. I should make them help around the house more. I should hold the structure of the day better. I should make sure everyone stays at the table when we’re eating. I should take steps towards weaning my daughter. I should never resort to threats – to the ‘if you don’t stop x, you won’t get y’ pattern. And so on and so forth – you get the gist. And because I do not do these things - and I imagine a thousand other mothers who are doing them wonderfully - I feel ashamed. I realise as I write this that my ‘shoulds,’ as listed here, are nice, white, middle class ones- signs of privilege. Shame is a heavy word and it is associated with far darker things than letting your kids watch too much telly. I want to acknowledge that my issues are trifling compared to those many have to navigate, but shame, whatever the context, is still shame and it is powerful. As someone who was once anorexic, I know that shame can sit alongside privilege and that, where present, it undermines the ease of even the most comfortable life.

Back in Jan 2019 I wrote a blog about guilt. I now think I was muddling up some of my guilt and my shame. In general, I feel guilty about specific instances that have an immediate, present moment, ground-level reality: I shouted at my son when he blasted water over the bathroom with the shower head and that triggered one of his big, aggressive rages. If I feel guilty about something, I can say sorry about it, to the person or people I have wronged, and then it’s over. Shame, for me, is more like the ongoing aeroplanes, it is long term - a long haul flight. On the bad days, motherhood seems like a very lengthy exam, the end of it still twenty years away. My children are not the examiners – certainly not for now – they are the results. Depending on how the children turn out, I will pass or fail. There are external examiners, keeping track, making notes, of all the things I am doing or not doing. And who are they, these examiners? I think, somewhere in my psyche, there is an impressive panel of them, made up of everyone who has ever shared ‘a should’ with me, from the author of the book on what to eat during pregnancy, to the woman in the queue who wanted my son to be in socks, to the many other authors, friends and strangers who have offered me advice - they are all sitting there, scribbling on their notepads, shaking their heads. They are not bad people. Many of them are people for whom I have enormous respect, which makes it worse. I believe in their advice – seriously, I should be following it.

In my blog on guilt, I found my guilt a figure – made it into an image that helped me connect to the things that mattered to me, lying underneath the guilt. It turned out to be a Mary Poppins-like character, flying a kite. I think my shame has a very different form. There is the panel of judges, frowning from a distance, and then there is the shame herself, much closer in, and, like the sound of the low-flying planes, she’s monstrous.

My son’s latest obsession is the Beast Quest books (he has moved on from My Little Pony - woe betide you if you mention his former interest to him). There are over a hundred Beast Quest books, all with the same basic formula – boy meets monster. Giant birds, snakes, insects, spiders, bears, apes, hounds, trolls, ogres, dragons – you name your flavour of nightmarish monster, it will be there. I am glad to say there is a reasonable spread of gender representations across the monsters – sadly none of them are trans but there are some mothers. My ‘shame monster’ is definitely a mother. She is immense, stinking, gruesome and green. Her roar is the soundtrack of my days, to which I have grown accustomed. In some of the Beast Quest books the beasts are evil and must be destroyed, but in some they are good, set under an evil curse, from which they must be freed. I think my monstrous shame mother is one of these – good at heart but under pressure, after years of judgement, she has turned malevolent. And here is the irony: I believe her malevolent aspect has a more toxic impact on my children and our household, than any of the things such as screen time, sugar, late nights, unstructured days, which have driven her into this terrible state. Her constant growling makes me tense, fractious and very, very tired. I don’t think I can go on like this. So, what to do? How to release her from the curse? And who would she be without it?

Often the opposite of shame is presented as pride. But I think pride too is problematic – the panel of judges, external examiners, is still present in the dynamic, it’s just that they are giving out good marks instead of bad. So, if the shame-beast, when transformed, does not turn into the proud mother, who does she become?

As ever, when I am wrangling with a question in my mothering, I look to my making for answers. Throughout the lockdown I have been writing whenever I can. Always, when the children are having their screen time. Often, when I should be getting them dressed, or focussing on making us breakfast, or preparing them for bed. I don’t write because I should. I write because I want to do it, because it helps me give things meaning, because it brings me joy. I think back to that teary moment on the golf course, watching the children run ahead of me over the grass. What made the worry lift, the planes stop, the monster turn out good? Yes, I think it was a moment of joy. I think, when the gory green monster is not sweating with shame, she is lit up with joy.

So much, so often, is laid at the mother’s door. On the one hand we are ‘just’ being mums, with minimal status, doing an insignificant job, and on the other, we are accorded huge significance – everything can be traced back to us, to our care or the lack of it, our early influence. I do not wish to deny our responsibility as mothers, but I do not believe our shame helps us to shoulder it, or that we should shoulder it alone. When I started Mothers Who Make I wanted it to be a held peer-support space where women could share their challenges without shame, and celebrate, even cultivate, their joy. I wanted to create a group in which we did not find further fault, did not inadvertently end up undermining or judging one another, adding to the great big bundles of shoulds already carried. It is why it is still vital to me that we welcome every kind of mother – breastfeeding, bottle-feeding, those who keep their mothering and their making strictly separate, those who take their children to work – every kind. It is also the same impulse that lies behind our Matronage scheme. Rather than a panel of judges telling us whether or not we are worthy, I want to see whether we can hold each other up. We have been asking people to become our ‘Matron Saints’ by giving us the price of a coffee a month - £3. We need 300 of you to become self-sustaining. So far we have a fantastic 99! Once we reach 100, I am going to announce a new project in celebration– a way, I hope, to keep the same ethos of grassroots peer-support alive and kicking – kicking off the shoulds, turning them into wishes and dreams.

And in the meantime, whilst you are all rushing to bring us over the 100 Matron Saint mark, (go here to do so: www.motherswhomake.org) these are your questions for the month: as a mother and/ or as a maker what are the ‘shoulds’ and ‘should nots’ you carry around with you? Do your ‘shoulds’ turn into shame? And then- as an antidote to this -what brings you joy? In your mothering? In your making? As we slowly emerge out of this pandemic, can you do more of this? Can you create a more shameless world? Can you help make the monsters joyful?

[dangan-meme-palace]

Yandere DRV3 Boys

I fucked up the ask but I hope whoever requested this likes it :’)

The girls can be found right here

(Trigger Warnings for the following: Abuse (Emotional and Physical), Kidnapping, Manipulation, Suicide, Self Harm, Eating Disorders, Implied Murder, and Implied Torture)

Rantaro Amami

Probably fell in love with you when you asked him for help with something and thanked him for it by helping him with something he was struggling with

Wants to feel needed 24/7 so he just kinda

Does everything for you

All the time

Whether that means doing your homework, bringing you a lunch, buying you expensive gifts, or just being a shoulder to lean on

God help the people you vent about though

He's basically your personal problem solver so when people are the problem there's only one solution

Doesn't really mind you having friends because they make you happy and that's all he really wants

But again, god help the ones he deems unworthy

Definitely introduces you to his sisters

The amount of attention and devotion he gives to you probably worries his sisters though, and can lead to fights between him and them

They realize he's running himself ragged trying to take care of everything for you but he doesn't see that as a problem

In his mind you're helpless and need his help all the time and since he loves you why wouldn't he try to help :)

Who cares if he's tired, you take priority :))

You have to be careful about trying to get him to take breaks because if he knows what you're doing he'll get huffy

So you have to be like “awww maaaannn I'm super tired, will you cuddle with me for a while?" and hope for the best

Make sure you put in some effort too

He has it in his head that he needs to be doing everything for the both of you so

Make!! Sure!! He!! Rests!!

He'll overwork himself if you don't

He also makes a lot of decisions for you so if Y'all go to a restaurant he's ordering for the both of you

Overall a good boy who I would die for

Kokichi Ouma

Did somebody say mind games?

Probably fell in love with you when you exceeded his predictions multiple times

I imagine he's a lot like Izuru and Junko when it comes to being bored so when you came along his heart just !!!!

Finally, someone who didn't bore him to tears

And that's when things went from bad to worse

Gets really clingy shortly after his obsession starts

Always making excuses to be near you

He just doesn't wanna lose the only person who isn’t absolutely boring, okaaayyy~?

That being said you're not allowed to talk to other people period

He takes it as a personal offense tbh

Wants you to talk to him, pay attention to him and just never look away

Talking to you is something he enjoys immensely btw

Bonus points if you can see through his bullshit

Not gonna lie he's probably gonna threaten you a lot

Don't get him wrong he loves you dearly but

He wants to be the only one you think of

Would kidnap you given the chance

Probably tried to get DICE to kidnap you but since they thought it was a bit much for a “prank" they didn't do it

He screamed and yelled when they didn't 

They're terrified of him at this point but that doesn't matter because he has you!!

Have fun being locked in what used to be DICE HQ

He doesn't actually love you btw

It's just flat out obsession

Try your best to keep him entertained with you

If you don't he's gonna be sorely disappointed in you and you're gonna be horribly disfigured by the end of it

After all, what do you do with toys you don't like anymore?

: )

Kiibo

Probably didn't realize he fell in love until waaaaay later

All he knew was that you were really nice to him and caused him to overheat like a motherfucker

Poor Miu honestly

She's probably the one who told him about his feelings but we all know she gave him more questions than answers

Google: what is a smash and why do I want to do it????

Bless him

He just wants to impress you so he researches fucking everything he can about dating

Also if you like the more robotic aspects of him he asks Miu for hella upgrades

Would straight up do anything for you just so you would keep looking at him

Gets jealous a fair amount but he doesn't know what it is or why he feels it so he just acts pouty

That being said he's kinda indifferent towards your friends for the most part but he doesn't think they deserve you

He's done so much for you to keep looking at him and what have they done? Nothing, that's what.

You trying to leave him would be your downfall

Idk why you would but if you did that's when he fuckin snaps

He's tried so hard and you still won't look his way

Nuh-uh

His thinking does a 180 and now he expects you to do everything you can to make it up to him

If you don't he's gonna get real nasty with you

Not above blackmail and threats at this point

He acts like you owe him everything

Why couldn't you just love him for the jetpack??!?

Shuichi Saihara

S t a l k e r

Fell in love when you were consistently nice to him

Probably sees it as some sort of debt that he can never pay back

Like Rantaro he just wants to make you happy but unlike Rantaro he's doing it from the sidelines

Leaves nice notes in your locker, candy in your desk, and anything he can think to do to make you happy

Doesn't care if you know it's him

He just needs to pay you back for being such a kind person

If you find out it's him he's over the moon

Until you say you want him to stop

W hat???? Why????

He's near tears you fucking monster

When you explain it's just because you feel guilty that he's putting in all this effort he reassures you that it's fine

He would do anything for you after all

Now if you're not a cuntlord like me and you don't want him to keep doing this he's heartbroken

Takes it as a flat-out rejection

And that's when the emotional manipulation rears its ugly head

The worst part is he's not trying to manipulate you he's doing this because he feels like he needs to

And by this I mean he's eating and sleeping less and probably started cutting himself as a sick form of punishment for making you mad at him

You were just too kind to do it yourself so he has to do it

When you find out and tell him to stop again he's sobbing

He just doesn't know what you want him to do any more

You need to be real careful around him at that moment

Reject him and he will lose all faith in himself along with any confidence he ever had

Might kill himself not gonna lie

Choose to accept him and he's listening to everything you say like its gospel

If you want something done it gets done no matter what

Just… try not to abuse your power… he'll make himself sick trying to do everything for you

Overall he's a really big emo and I love him a lot; 10/10 would die for this man

Ryoma Hoshi

Another emo piece of shit

He's a lot like Shuichi except he doesn't stalk you

He just kinda stays at your side

Unless you tell him to go away; then he's stalking you

Fell for you for the same reason Shuichi did except you really had to give it your all

He sees you as his new reason to live and thinks that since you saved his life it's only fair that he spends it trying to make you happy

It's the least he can do

As a bonus, he would totally let you make a whole bunch of short jokes and would genuinely laugh at every one of them lmao

If you tell him to stop hanging around you he is crushed

Starts taking risks like no tomorrow

He smokes 2 packs a day and is right back where he started, if not worse, on the suicidal front

Doesn't even try to make it up to you because he doesn't believe he can

You were his second chance and he blew it

Now he's just stuck in this funk until he eventually just dies

He either kicks the bucket from health problems caused by smoking or doing something stupid like walking into traffic

All he wanted was to make you happy

Kaito “luminary of the stars" Momota

Fell for you when you both were talking about space and you managed to out-nerd him

Wholeheartedly believes he deserves you

Why wouldn't he? After all, he's a fucking astronaut

An astronaut

Who wouldn't want a cool guy like him?

Apparently, you, because when he started flirting with him you shut him down immediately.

Well shit

That's okay! He likes them feisty too!

Tries showing off but nothing's working

Okay, now he's pissed.

Great.

He still keeps trying but on the inside, he's starting to doubt himself

Why isn't THE Kaito Momota good enough for you

Truly snaps for the first time when he finds out you have a boyfriend

Why the Fuck would you pick some loser, who's not even an astronaut, over him: Kaito. Mother. Fucking. Momota.

He's done

Kidnaps you and tortures your boyfriend in front of you

He doesn't even care if you love him as long as your his, you can hate him all you want for all he cares

He might even hate you a little bit back tbh

You're nothing more than a trophy to him right now

Can somebody say yikes?

Gonta Gokuhara

Precious

Too good for this

I can totally see him kidnapping you and keeping you in a giant terrarium though

He would probably fall for you after you weren't afraid of him due to his stature. Also, if you say you like bugs (even just one bug like a butterfly or a ladybug)

After he started obsessing over you he also started killing his entire bug collection

Gonta only collects the prettiest of bugs after all

Why would he need all those ugly bugs when he has the prettiest thing he has ever laid eyes on locked away for his eyes only

Might realize it's wrong to keep you locked up but not before you lose hope of ever getting out and break

Actively tries to get you out of your cage now

Doesn't work though because you barely talk and don't move on your own

:’D

Korekiyo “I will rip out your nerves” Shinguji

Let's get this straight: He doesn't love you.

He's obsessed with you, yeah

But he doesn't love you

He wants to observe your beauty and nothing more

Actually won't kidnap you

Hurray!

He just intensively stalks you

Un-hurray!

It's gotten to the point where he can predict you with ease

He knows your schedule, your hangouts, your friends, and your mother's maiden name

Probably has tea with your mother on the weekends, just saying

He prioritizes watching you above everything, even food and hygiene 

He's getting a little thin… :( your mom is worried about her new friend :(

Doesn't matter because how could he miss you doing laundry!! So exciting!!

The big drawback with this man is that all he does is watch

If you're getting bullied, beat on, made fun of, abused; does not fucking matter

Kukukuku the faces you make while you're in agony are exquisite 

Overall he's not much of a problem unless you don't want to be watched 24/7

….

I still hate him tho

[livesoffcoco]

Oh man, since you've opened fic prompts, can I ask for something with Oda and Akutagawa? Like Oda getting curious about Dazai's apprentice (and probably figuring out by what he says as time goes on that he isn't getting the best treatment under Dazai's "wing") and running into him at some point and trying to help him after he's been roughed up by Dazai or something else (because Oda is Oda and he can't not help a kid who needs help). Your writing is amazing

  If you can’t tell I had a hard time writing Aku I’m sorry D:. And the handkerchief Odasaku gives him is like a token saying, “Don’t think you have to do this alone. Take this to stop the bleeding”. Hope you like it!

              OdaSakunosuke, while not brilliant like the two younger males he frequented Lupinwith, was not stupid. He had keen senses, often attributed to his ability tosee the future. However, it was more from his time as an assassin andpractically living on the streets before that. His mother did all she could,but making ends meet was hard with a growing boy to feed. He grew up fast orgrew dead even faster.

               ButOdasaku, as Dazai called him, had keener senses when it came to children.Perhaps it is because he never knew his father, but Odasaku loved children.That was why he took in those orphans a year or two back. He always toldhimself that if did not want to become writer, then he would want to become ateacher. Perhaps he could go back to school and become a social worker.

               Justanything to help children. They were weak little creatures that monsters likedto exploit. Monsters like those in the Port Mafia…Like those at its head.

               Thatwas for another day though. Yes. Odasaku was thinking about other things.

               As muchas he adored Dazai, the young man was fucked up in the head. There was just noway to be gentle about it. After all the years of abuse, and yes it was abuse,from Mori, Dazai would perhaps never act “normally” ever again. He sure as hellwould not be able to be a parent, at least not on the path he was headed.Hopefully Odasaku could help; he planned on helping.

               Itseemed as though Dazai was getting a trial run at “parenting” or being an “olderbrother”; and it really was not going well, at least not from what Odasaku washearing.

               Akutagawawas about a year younger than Dazai and a street rat to boot. From what Odasakuheard through the grapevine, Dazai had become intrigued by the younger male’simmense power. His ability was a combat one, unlike Dazai’s own. Though thatmade the tall red head wonder why Chuuya Nakahara did not take Akutagawa underhis wing. Odasaku had never seen Akutagawa in person, but he expected him to belarge and imposing, someone that Dazai would have trouble keeping up withphysically.

               Yetthat was proven completely wrong the first time Odasaku met Akutagawa.

               The lowestranked member in the Port Mafia was to clean up after an interrogation in thebowels of the Port Mafia warehouse. It was something Odasaku had done a dozentimes before so he was not even phased by it at this point. Hell, he had donehis own interrogating back when he was an assassin. Not that he would do itanymore, he just had the experience. He had a bag of some cleaning supplies anda broom in his hand as he walked down the water logged stones steps. In thebasement, everything was moist and damp. It did not help the piss and bloodsmell.

               Hecontinued down, the sun setting behind him and casting the entire room in anorange colored glow.

               Whilehe started, he suddenly stopped. It felt like his ability was about to go intoeffect, but it didn’t; though the dangerous aura in the room never vanished.Odasaku stayed stone still, quieter than he usually was. At first he could hearnothing, but on a second listen he heard a shuffle.

               Ascarefully as he could, considering whoever was in there with him was dangerous,Odasaku moved forwards.

               He wasshocked when he turned around one of the pillars and spotted someone curled ina ball at the base of one.

               Theyoung man was so tiny, Odasaku thought some kid got lost. However on furtherinspection, he realized this kid was what was giving off the dangerous vibes.He blinked, staring at him.

               He waspale, ghostly so. Black hair and a scowling face; all wrapped up in fancy blackclothing, Odasaku would have laughed at the kids appearance if it were not forthe obvious distress the young man was feeling, and if Odasaku was a differentperson in general.

               Odasaku’sfirst instinct was to kneel and help the young man. But something about himseemed far too prideful to accept help. Odasaku stayed silent, waiting for theyoung man to make the first move.

               It tookabout ten more minutes until he spoke. It was punctuated by a hard and wetsounding cough. “What the fuck do you want?” He looked up and Odasaku noticedthe split lip and black eye.

               He knewwho did that sort of injury.

               “DidDazai do that to you?” The kid jerked so hard it was like Odasaku slapped him.

               “Whatthe fuck do you want?” He repeated. “How do you know Dazai?”

               Ahh.Odasaku saw now.

               Thiswas Akutagawa. This was Dazai’s little pet experiment. The training Dazai doledout was harsh and borderline abusive.

               It wasabusive. He could never begin to excuse Dazai’s actions, but he could startmaking up for them an apologizing for them.

               He knewhe would not be able to get anywhere with Akutagawa word wise. Instead, theyoung man lowered his head again, giving Odasaku the perfect opening.

               Withhis head down, Akutagawa felt the handkerchief before he saw it. He looked up,taking in the soft fabric as the red head walked off.

[asseret-sarim]

The past, the present... The future.  -Part 7

Summary: In SHIELD you are known for your charisma and your irrational optimism. Specially taking in count the irreversible curse HYDRA condemned you with. Because of that, Director Fury has determinate that you are the best person to take care of Bucky’s mental state.

Chapter 7: The girl with the HYDRA scar

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Y/N: Your name

Warnings: Cursing... Nothing else that I can think of.

Word count: 2,431

A/N: Yesss!! It’s four in the morning but I managed to finish this!! Well, let’s see if you like it. As always, please let me know what you think and feel free to give me any feedback you want!

Previously: Part 1, Part 6

Previously:

I hear a contain sob that breaks my trance. My breathing is heavy and I can feel the intensity my face showcases after the flashback. Next to me Y/N won’t meet my eyes, rubbing a hand over her face. I feel guilty, she had no reason to hear that, she did not deserve to be haunted by my experiences. But then she does something surprising and squeezes next to me, pulling the blanket around us both.

“I think it worked.” she whispers, her voice still shaky, and I realize that I’m feeling much lighter now that I don’t have to bear that weight alone. “You should sleep now” I rest my head on her shoulder and the light feeling drags me into dream land while she gently runs a hand through my hair.

Before I completely drift off, I hear her mumbling something “So Aleksei had another victim” but I’m too far off now to understand anything.

Bucky’s POV:

I wake up to an unknown smell floating next to me. Before I open my eyes, I’m already conscious and fully alert, and my hand inches slowly towards the gun on my back pocket. The metal feels oddly warm after having absorbed my body heat throughout the night, but I grip it silently and in one swift move, press it against the temple of whoever was next to me, while I open my eyes.

Fear… Panic, is my greeting. The girl seems to be paralyzed. Damn, she’s not even breathing! Her skin is sick pale and her eyes are glittering. Oh, no… It’s…

“Y/N! I’m so sorry! I didn’t recognize you and you scared me! Fuck… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” I don’t know what to do with my body. I’m about to put the gun away, but the movement feels too relaxed; but I can’t keep pointing it at her either! I leave it on the table and raise my hands to prove that i’m not a threat, but Y/N seems to have entered the same trance she entered in the training room when I helped her with her boxing. Tears are about to escape her eyes and she hasn’t breathed for a solid minute. She backs away slowly through the sofa, until her back is pressed against the armrest. Fuck, how can I have messed up so badly? “Please, say something”

Silence.

I stand up and she flinches. I better go ask someone for help. I’m about to reach the door, mentally beating myself, when she calls my name. “Bucky”

“Yes?” I try to sound as gentle and soft as possible.

“S-sorry.”

The comment makes my blood boil and all I want to do right now is to punch myself. I store that away for later and focus on saying calm and reassuring “For what? I’m the one who put you at gunpoint for no reason.”

She shakes her head, color has partially comed bak to her face “I… freak out way too easily.” She smiles, and I can tell the immense effort she is putting into not diving headfirst into a panic attack. I smile and then head to the kitchen, to keep her on my sight while I’m out of hers, while FRIDAY asks for someone more capable than me to come and help her.

I’m surprised to see her again that night, waiting on the top common room where my vacant steps have taken me. For a second I hesitate, but she invites me in with a nod and hands me a steaming cup of Clint’s magical infusion. There is no sign of fear in her face or actions.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Of course not. One thing is what I’ve gone through, and a very different one what I’ve done. If I tell her, she will never look at me again, I don’t want to tell her… But I need to. After last night, my body is craving the relief talking to her brought, and before I can stop myself, she knows the story. The story of the “single” pregnant mother, with three kids, that died on a mysterious explosion on her workshop. HYDRA had some dirty business they didn’t like to take care of personally. Her two girls went to the Black Widow program, but I never heard about the boy. In some ways, I’m happy I never did.

“I’m monster” I say, as a shiver runs down my spine.

She is silent for a long time before saying “Barnes, I think if the ‘You’re not a monster’ speech actually helped you, I wouldn’t be sitting in here with you right now. But answer this: do you really think you are a monster?” she leaves it there, and that night I fall asleep on her shoulder again, the question floating aimlessly through my mind.

Two months later:

I think its needless to say that our night meetings quickly turned into a routine. Every night she was sitting there, with Clint’s infusion in her hands, and would wait in silence until I told her my nightmare. Never did she look at me with fear or disgust after hearing them and, with tedious patience, she started to erase my self-concept of monster, untangling masterfully my memories and exposing them as the portrait of a victim. After a while the amount of nightmares I had started to slim, but I kept waking up every night regardless, almost as if my body craved to be with her.

The Avengers were definitely surprised when I started joining them for meals more often, but after the first weeks everyone got used to it. Y/N had released me from my room.

“Good mornin’, Terminator” grunts Tony from behind the coffeemaker. He’s not human until his fourth cup of coffee, and even then he’s still not very human.

“Morning” I say while raiding the fridge for something sweet. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain on my left shoulder and back away shaking my metal arm. “Ouch.”

Tony looks at me with a raised eyebrow. He seems fully awake now, even though he’s still on his second cup. “What’s the matter? The metal arm’s giving you problems?”

“It seems to be overheating, it just burns sometimes.” I say, and head to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Has it happened before?”

“A few times” I mumble, the relief of cold water cooling the arm and making it gradually stop burning my shoulder.

“When was the last time you got it checked?” He asks, standing next to me.

“Checked? I don’t know… Never, maybe?”

“Don’t be an idiot, such refined technology needs to be checked from time to time. So let’s say the last time was your last…” he shuts himself up just before saying ‘brainwashing’. “Well in any case, too long ago. I have a few things to work on now, but if you come to my lab this afternoon, I’ll give it a look”

“Thanks…” I start, but he has already left the room. Tony has been really polite and nice to me, more that I could expect, but obviously he still blames me for the death of his parents. Well, so do I.

“Something wrong?” I raise my head to see Y/N looking at me from the door.

“No, don’t worry. How are you?” I ask, drying my arm with kitchen paper.

“Not bad. You?”

“Very well. I was going for a run with Steve later on.” A smile lights her face and the room seems ten times brighter. She’s so beautiful… For goodness sake Barnes, she’s sixteen! “Do you want to join in?”

“I’m gonna sit that one out, you guys would leave me behind in seconds. Doesn’t Sam want to join in?”

“He completely refused. He was mumbling something about ‘On your left’ earlier on”

“I wonder what that could mean” She laughs, but the playful smile on her lips says she knows exactly what that is about.

“Some kind of inside joke I’m missing?”

“Nah, just a long story. Anyways, when you come back we could order takeout and watch a movie if you want.”

“Sure, I would love to!”

Y/N’s POV:

I say goodbye to the delivery guy and close the door with my foot. Bucky and I like the same food, so I decided to order from our favorite takeaway. I leave the boxes on the living room’s table and go get some dishes and pop some popcorn in the microwave. I’m getting the drinks ready when Steve and Bucky enter the room, sweaty and laughing warmly.

“Y/N! You shouldn’t have bothered, I was going to get everything ready…” Bucky rushes to help as soon as he sees me.

“You’re not coming anywhere near me or the food that sweaty. Go take a shower, I had some free time.” I dismiss him, laughing.

I put all the food on the table and add a few extra pillows and three really thick blankets to the sofa before sinking on it and starting my Netflix profile. I hear Steve, Sam and Thor leaving for a reconnaissance mission and know there’s only Bucky and me on the tower right now. Clint and Scott are over with their families, and Nat has gone with Clint. Wanda and Vision are out on a date, and I don’t really want to know what Tony and Bruce are doing, but I can tell you, nothing good. Rhodey is off doing army stuff.

“I’m here” says Bucky as he sinks next to me on the sofa. He smells like shower and clean, his hair is still wet.

“Ok, so what should we watch?”

He points at one of the movies on my list. “What’s that one about?”

“You haven’t seen it!? It’s so great, you have to watch it right now!” I say, turning it on. Friday dims the lights and we attack the food while the first lines of the movie start to sound.

I’m not sure in what point of the movie have I lied down on the sofa and rested my head against Bucky’s lap, but now he’s running his fingers along my hair and softly untangling knots. the credits have been rolling for a solid minute, but neither one of us has moved. Why should we? Every time he finds a knot a shiver runs down my spine, so he massages my shoulders for a while before continuing his task. I hum the movie’s soundtrack and run my fingers in circles along his knees. I feel like this moment could extend forever, but It can’t and so, it doesn’t.

Barnes suddenly tenses and gets away from me. I sit up, wondering what could I have done wrong, and the doubt strikes me. What if he has remembered? I have told him nothing about me and HYDRA, or just me in general. He still thinks I’m just a sixteen year old with incredible fighting skills. What if he’d remembered how we initially meet? No please, I’ve worked so hard getting him to this point… If he remembered guilt would make him go back to how he used to be.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I think I heard the others arrive.” he says, and exits the room too fast for me to reply.

Bucky’s POV:

I splash cold water over my face. I nearly kissed her. If I had’t left, I don’t know where things would have gotten. I can’t be in love. Not with her. She’s sixteen and I’m… Well, a hundred. Actually, physical I’m somewhere on my late twenties, maybe thirties. It’s difficult to tell because of the amount of times HYDRA had me in and out of cryo. But that’s still way too old for her. Plus, It’s me. I’m dangerous, I can’t control my strength, I can’t control my metal arm, neither the enhancements HYDRA gave me. I’d hurt her.

Stay away from her, Barnes.

Stay away.

I head to Tony’s lab and knock on the door. I hear a few things falling out of place before a greasy Tony opens the door, wiping his hands on a towel that used to be white.

“Oh, Terminator. Come in.” He says, pointing at a crystal table that is surprisingly cleared up. He disappears between his machines and comes back cleaned up and with a white lab coat.

I sit on the glass table and I feel Friday scanning me. A few floating blue panels apear and Tony takes a look at them with his “I’m a genius” face on. He looks through them and types a series of codes I can’t keep track of until a detailed image of my arm appears in one of them, with my forearm blinking. He zooms in and nods. “Just what I thought. There’s been a short circuit between two of the cables that control the arm’s temperature. I’ve never seen such advanced technology, but…”

“You can fix it?”

“Of course I can! I’m Tony Stark! Just… You can feel with that arm, right?”

“Yes.”

“But since you don’t have veins or arteries on it, I can’t numb it with painkillers. How did HYDRA solve that?”

“Tony, I don’t think they solved that”

“You mean…” He winces “Ouch. Ok, but then how can I…”

“Just go ahead.”

“No painkillers?” I shake my head. And he grabs a light and smooth-looking knife  “OK, well… This may hurt.” He says, before inserting the knife in between two of the plaques.

I suppress a grunt and look away. My arm doesn’t have as much sensibility as the rest of my body, but it still has some and this is definitely not pleasing.

“Sorry.” mumbles Tony when he manages to detach the plaque and starts working on the internal wiring. “Think of something else. You are adapting very well, aren't you?” I nod, unable to speak “Y/N has helped you a lot, I think. Yeah, I know. She’s the nicest thing in the world, that kid. Don’t you dare hurt her” He says that half-joking and lets his breath out. “Done with this, let’s put the plaque back. Where was I… Oh, you and Y/N… But yes. You two make a good pair. Everyone thinks so. Well, all done in here. How are you feeling?”

My forearm stings lightly, but apart from that, I’m fine. “Thank you, Tony. But what were you saying? Why does everyone think we make such a good pair?”

“Well, you know… You get on well and the whole HYDRA and KGB thing that you both went through defen…” he looks up worried, like he was trying not to say something important. Too late.

“HYDRA? What do you mean, Tony? HYDRA and the KGB haven’t been together for decades…”

He nods silently, and suddenly all pieces click into place. Of course. She’s the girl with the HYDRA scar.

What have I done?

Y/N’s POV:

I leave the notebook on the table when I hear rapid footsteps approaching. Bucky busts through the door. His expression is twisted in a mix agony and guilt when he looks at me.

“What’s the matter?”

He looks at me in silence for too long. Eventually, he speaks. “You… You’re the girl with the HYDRA scar.”

It’s been long since anyone called me that, but there was a time when that name was all there was from me. It was my only name and identification. That was all I was.

The girl with the HYDRA scar.

It’s been a long time, but it hasn’t been enough.

Part 8 

Thank you to @beccaanne814-blog  @annadier  @lilasiannerd  @obsessivegeekynerd @drinkfantasy @graysonmalfoy  @scoobertdoobert2  @violentlyfarts  @queenllamamama13  @agentraven007 @brutalwerewolf  @isaxhorror @katundeadd  @chrixa @i-am-mina  @musichowler @panic-at-the-camisado @chipilerendi  thesalsafic @jennymagicalheart  @amrita31199  @crazyliraz  @psm2303  @s-eabasstian  @5secondsofonedirection222  @38leticia acidentally-in-hell @namastay-in-bed-2002  paulaamarieee  @ipaintmelodies brokennoon @laughandwrite @the-strandedgypsy @nessy-bearxb and all the amazing people that are with me on this adventure!!!

[itsworn]

Petty’s ’70 Superbird Is The Ultimate Mope & You Can Win It!

What people think they want and what they really want aren’t always one in the same. Everyone says they want the best, but history is chock full of class-of-the-field products that sank to the bottom of the barrel. After the passage of time bestows the gift of clarity upon the misguided masses, it’s then and only then that consumers finally appreciate what they missed out on. It happened with Betamax. It happened with Paul’s Boutique. And most outrageously of all, it happened with one of the most coveted muscle cars of all time, the Plymouth Superbird.

To this day, audio/video nerds praise the picture quality advantages of Betamax over its peers, lamenting the fact that a technically inferior product like VHS won the home video cassette war. Likewise, music executives considered the Beastie Boys’ second studio record, Paul’s Boutique, a commercial flop in 1989, but nearly three decades later it’s considered one of the most innovative hip-hop albums of all-time thanks to its multi-layered sampling and hypnotic beats. Most alarming of all, while Plymouth dealers in the ’70s had to deconstruct Superbirds back to their Road Runner roots to move them off the lot, today’s hot rodders dream of reconstructing Superbirds from ordinary B-Bodies. With online forums running amok with questions on how to build a Superbird clone, isn’t it about time someone showed everyone how it’s done?

We think so, but more importantly, so does Smithfield Foods. As luck would have it, there are some real-deal car guys calling the shots at Smithfield, and the company knows that having a NASCAR driver make a cameo in one of your commercials isn’t the most effective way to plug a product. That’s why Smithfield Foods teamed up with Petty’s Garage to build the ultimate giveaway car for one lucky race fan. “NASCAR fans eat a lot of pork, so the sport has always been a good fit for our brand. At the same time, we’re a pork company that’s in the same space as Goodyear and Sonoco, so we had to come up with a creative way to help fans enjoy the sport even more,” says Bob Weber of Smithfield Foods. “You can’t be a huckster. You have to engage with fans by giving them something they really want.”

Most race fans would unanimously agree that a Pro Touring rendition of a ’70 Plymouth Superbird tribute car is definitely something they really want. For practical purposes, Smithfield wanted to deviate from the script a bit instead of building a bone stock clone. “We can’t give away a real Superbird, because whoever won it wouldn’t be able to afford the tax on it. We decided to build a clone from a Road Runner instead,” Weber recounts. “Our goal was to build an all-around performance car that you can throw your wife the keys to, and have her drive it to Albertsons. For this build, we wanted to send the message of how to build a car the right way, not like on reality TV. It’s turned out so nice that I want to keep it for myself!”

While many of the cast of characters who built original Superbird race cars for Richard Petty have long since retired from NASCAR, many of them still work for The King at Petty’s Garage. Naturally, there’s no one better qualified to transform plain-Jane B-Bodies into Superbirds, and this is actually the second time Smithfield Foods has executed this brilliant strategy. “Last year, we had Petty’s Garage build a replica of The King’s Hemi Belvedere to commemorate the 50th anniversary of his unbelievable 1967 season. It was by far the most dominant performance of any driver in NASCAR history, with Richard Petty winning 27 races total, including 10-consecutive races during the summer,” says Weber.

Smithfield Foods and Petty’s Garage conspired to build the Superbird as a follow-up to the ’67 Hemi Belvedere giveaway car, but with a slight twist. While the Belvedere proved to be a bit rowdy by design—with a lumpity 650hp motor, lots of roll cage, and no carpet in sight—the Superbird’s intent is to encourage its new owner to rack up lots of miles on the street. “The Belvedere was a very successful car, but this time around we wanted to build something that looks like a race car, but can be driven comfortably on the street. You could kinda-sorta drive the Belvedere on the street, but the Superbird had to have a nostalgic look as well as modern drivability,” Russ Stellfox of Petty’s Garage explains.

Before giving the finished car away at the season-finale 2017 Monster Energy NASCAR Cup event of year at Homestead-Miami Speedway, plans call for showing it off on race weekends to whet people’s appetites.

That’s great news for fans, but it gave Smithfield Foods and Petty’s Garage an incredibly tight five-month window to finish the entire build. Undeterred by the immense challenge at hand, Petty’s Garage tracked down a solid 1970 Road Runner in December 2016. Although the ex-street racer appeared structurally sound by cruise night standards, a trip to the sandblaster revealed substantial sections of rotted-out sheetmetal. Over the next four weeks, the crew worked overtime replacing the floor plan, quarter-panels, rockers, trunk pan, and sections of the framerails with all-new AMD sheetmetal.

By the time late January 2017 rolled around, Petty’s Garage was elbow-deep transforming the ordinary B-Body into a modern winged warrior. Janak Repros provided all the fiberglass pieces necessary for the conversion, but building a Superbird is far more involved that slapping on a nosecone and wing, then calling it a day. “A Superbird conversion is not for the faint of heart. There is a lot of fabrication work involved with panel-bonding all the fiberglass pieces to the steel body, then getting everything to line up,” Doug Murph of Petty’s Garage recalls. “We spent 80-100 hours on the conversion process alone. It took three full days to modify the hood. If you expect to just bolt these parts on and go, you’re in for a big surprise.”

With the clock ticking down in late February, the “aero-fied” Road Runner made its way to the paint shop. While final prep work is incredibly important to the quality of any paint and body project, it’s particularly challenging when that body mixes in substantial chunks of fiberglass. Cutting, welding, and gentle nudges with a hammer aren’t an option. Instead, tweaking fiberglass panels for proper alignment involves many, many hours of cutting, filling, sanding, and waiting for resins to dry. After finishing up the prep work, the Superbird was sprayed with three coats of R-M Petty Blue paint. In total, final prep work and paint consumed another 200 to 250 hours.

As soon as the last coat of paint dried, it was off to final assembly. At this stage in the game, there was only one month to go until the mid-May deadline. Like the last four-tire pit stop before the white flag, the Petty’s Garage crew hunkered down in an impressive feat of masterfully orchestrated chaos. In went a 392ci Mopar Performance Gen III Hemi, a Silver Sport Transmissions A41 overdrive, and a rebuilt Chrysler 8.75-inch rearend. On the underside of the chassis, the front and rear suspension received a simple yet effective blend of stock and aftermarket components. Factory torsion bars and Super Stock leaf springs team up with QA1 double-adjustable shocks and sway bars for an excellent balance of ride quality, stance, and handling. Reigning in the propulsion potential of the 505hp Hemi are big Wilwood brakes with six-piston clamps up front and four-piston units out back. Sticking everything to the pavement are General Tire’s all-new G-Max AS-05 tires.

While one team tackled the major mechanical hardware, other crew members circumnavigated the melee, hopping in and out of the cabin to button up the interior. Like the suspension, it’s mostly stock but with some key aftermarket enhancements that provide a much more enjoyable user experience. Auto Meter gauges housed in a Classic Dash instrument panel report the vitals, while a Vintage Air A/C system, an Alpine stereo, and a thick layer of HushMat keep the cabin nice and comfy.

By the time you read this, the Smithfield Foods Superbird will be touring the NASCAR Monster Energy Series race calendar, filling fans with fantasies of flat-footing that big, bad Hemi down the backstraight at Daytona. Fortunately, that fantasy (minus Daytona) will come true for one lucky fan at the season-finale race at Homestead. Best of all, entering the contest is as easy as it is delicious. In an era when society advocates forcing flavorless goo down your throat in the name of healthiness, Smithfield is doing the exact opposite. Anyone who purchases three delicious Smithfield Foods pork products—you know, the good stuff red-blooded Americans eat anyway with their grits and fried okra—at any one of Albertsons family of 2,500 grocery stores and texts a pic of the receipt to Smithfield is automatically entered to win. As with last year’s Hemi Belvedere giveaway, there’s a good chance that The King himself will hand over the keys.

And that, friends, is how you build a Superbird. At best, dearly departed video recording gadgets and hip-hop albums from the ’80s may inspire geeky conversations between fellow nerds, silly talk that other normal people don’t care about. In contrast, thanks to its racing pedigree, scarcity, history, and far-reaching technological innovations, the Superbird fills peoples’ imaginations with dreams of building exact replicas of the original, perhaps more than any other car ever built. The misguided masses overlooked these magnificent machines the first time around, but the passage of time has given them the clarity to finally appreciate what they missed out on. Potentially righting this wrong is as easy as eating some thick-cut bacon!

Recommended Reading!

Want to read more about how Petty’s Garage built A Superbird tribute? Here’s where to click next!

Part 1: Saving the rusty Road Runner donor car with all new sheetmetal from AMD: Superbird Clone Build Part 1 Part 2: How to clone a Superbird from a Road Runner using pieces from Janak Repros: Clone Plymouth Superbird Part 3: How Petty’s Garage does picture-perfect paint on the Smithfield Superbird: Petty’s Garage Paint Part 4: Final build-out of the powertrain, suspension, brakes, exhaust, & chassis: King’s Superbird Finish

Precise numbers are hard to come by, but many historians speculate that the Superbird slipped through the wind tunnel with a 0.29 drag coefficient. That’s right on par with the best late-models of today.

Macini Racing motor mounts position the Gen III “Scat Pack” 392 Hemi crate engine at just the right spot inside the engine bay. The factory camshaft provides plenty of vacuum assist for the Wilwood master cylinder, enhancing the Superbird’s street manners.

Fiberglass bits like the fender scoops and rear wing uprights can attach in a variety of locations. To pinpoint exactly the spot where they should go, technicians hopped over to the Petty museum, were they took measurements of real Superbird race cars.

The Superbird’s signature rear wing looks outrageous by today’s standards, however, wind tunnel testing proves the design positions the wing above the turbulent air coming off the rear windshield to maximize downforce. Harnessing the power of the Hemi are one of the first sets of General Tire’s new G-Max AS-05 rubber to be released to the public.

Getting the angle of the flat factory hood to match up with the swoopy Superbird nose isn’t easy. It involves cutting off the front 25 percent of the stock hood, and bonding a fiberglass edge to it. This can’t be any hood. It must be the hood off of a ’70 Coronet, which is quite pricy on the used market.

Fast Facts

1970 Plymouth Superbird Smithfield Foods; Smithfield, VA

Engine Type: Chrysler “Scat Pack” Apache 392ci Gen III Hemi small-block Bore x stroke: 4.09 inch x 3.72 inch Compression ratio: 10.9:1 Block: stock cast iron with piston oil squiters and four-bolt main caps Oiling: stock Rotating assembly: stock cast-iron crankshaft, powdered metal connecting rods with floating wrist pins, hypereutectic cast pistons Cylinder heads: stock, cast aluminum A319 alloy Camshaft: stock hydraulic roller, .591-/.551-inch lift, 288/292 degrees advertised duration Valvetrain: stock, 2.13-inch intake and 1.65-inch exhaust valves Induction: stock, sequential port fuel injection Ignition: stock, dual coil-on-plug Exhaust: TTi 1.75-inch long-tube headers, collectors, H-pipe, and intermediate pipe; dual 2.5-inch MagnaFlow mufflers Cooling system: C&R radiator, Spal dual electric fans Output: 505 hp and 495 lb-ft

Drivetrain Transmission: Silver Sport Transmissions A41 overdrive, bellhousing, flexplate, and converter Rear axle: Chrysler 8.75-inch rearend with 3.73:1 gears

Chassis Front suspension: rebuilt stock with QA1 sway bar and double-adjustable shocks Rear suspension: rebuilt stock with Super Stock leaf springs and QA1 double-adjustable shocks Brakes: Wilwood 14-inch discs and four-piston calipers, front; 12.88-inch discs and four-piston calipers, rear

Wheels & Tires Wheels: five-spoke Magnum 500 billet aluminum replicas, 19×8 (front), 20×9.5 (rear) Tires: General Tire G-Max AS-05 225/40R19 (front), 275/40R20 (rear)

The post Petty’s ’70 Superbird Is The Ultimate Mope & You Can Win It! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[thegoddessandhercaptain-blog]

+losing-hand

- Some time into the angel’s future -

“So uh, remind me again why we’re here, Lady Palutena?”

A modern, human city was stretched out before Pit, with massive, grey towers that pierced the refreshingly blue sky; a stark contrast to the last time Pit world-hopped, and a welcome one at that.  Currently, no one was around him, but he could hear the overwhelming sounds of a lively, bustling metropolis through the walls of the alleyway Pit was in; life was another thing that had been more or less absence from his last trip, or at least, friendly life was.

“Well, according to my resources, this world has advanced its technology in strangely different ways, in comparison to the previous worlds we’ve visited.  And by that, I mean they decided to focus on something other than weapons.” She answered, telepathically, of course.

“Wait, really?”  Huh, Pit had been basically convinced at this point that everyone just liked shiny weapons; color him impressed!

“Quite the shocker, isn’t it?  So I thought it might be interesting to study this world for a bit; besides, I think you deserve a break after the last world we decided to poke our noses into.”

“Ugh, I think I’m going to need two break worlds after that mess: somehow they managed to make wastelands look pleasant!”

“Sorry Pit, that’s not likely,” that got a well-deserved groan out of Pit.  “seeing as how the best technology always seems to be on the most dangerous, apocalyptic worlds; which, according to my sources, is probably how this world’s going to go.”

“Huh?  But this place looks so nice!  How could anything like, well...that, happen to it?”

“I have a theory, but I can’t really prove it without more investigation; since I’m not entirely sure which version of this world we’re on.  So, for your mission, keep your eye on  their technological advancements and any signs of for anything that could cause world-scale destruction.”

“Pit, since this world doesn’t seem to possess any major, surface threats, you shouldn’t need your weapons unless something goes horribly wrong; I still think you should take your weapons, but I suggest keeping violence to a minimum.  Especially because, from what I can tell, this world seems to have a form of standard law enforcement in place.”

Oh boy, Pit knew where this was going.  “So that means if I attack someone, even if I have a decent reason, I could get arrested.”

“Well, there are some exceptions, such as if someone is attempting to hurt someone else; that’s fair game.  In general, however, that’s the case.”

“But you need to relax, Pit!  Other than those two objectives, you’re pretty much free to do whatever you want.  Here I’ll even-” the line went dead on her end for a moment, before - “change your clothes and give you some human money!  About six-thousand five-hundred yen, to be exact.  Oh, and I also hid your wings from mortal eyes, just in case.”

It took only a moment - and a bit of examination - to see she was right - in place of his chiton, a white, modest hoodie now covered him (with holes for the wings, thankfully), and his tights gone in favor of baggy blue jeans.  And, in checking one of the front pockets of his jacket, found the money she’d described.

“Is there anything you can’t do, Lady Palutena?”  He actually sort of meant that - was there anything she couldn’t do?

“...I think the better question is if there’s anything I shouldn’t do, but I digress.”

“You know the basic rules for places like these: try not to bring too much attention to yourself; ninety-nine percent of the population is definitely not a monster despite any evidence suggesting otherwise, and that we can’t talk to each other when anyone else is around - even if we’re connected.”

“I’ll leave you to your mission, Pit.  And don’t worry: I will pick you up, you just have to tell me this time!”

And that’s when she went quiet, probably going off to manage something else in Skyworld - leaving the angel, before he could even say goodbye, by himself.  Again.

Audibly sighing, Pit made his way out of the deserted alleyway, letting the sounds of the distant crowds guide him.  He knew the rules of places like these - if he and Lady Palutena were to openly talk to each other, people would think he was crazy, no would take him seriously, it’d be needlessly hard to get information and all that.  But there were times where he wanted to just...say something to Lady Palutena?  Regardless?  Like, ignore all those rules and just talk to her?  Sure, people would think he was insane (especially now, since his wings were hidden; that thought made him press his wings against his back, just in case), but you know what?  He kinda didn’t care!  He just wanted to be able to explore worlds and talk to his lady; was that too much to ask?  He thought it was fairly reson-

The angel was abruptly sucked out of his thoughts when he felt something bump into his shoulder, startled back into reality with a surprised squeal.  Reeling back with more energy than called for, Pit made a swift motion to grab his bow (which was hidden from mortal eyes, like the rest of his stuff) almost automatically; only to pause, drawing his hand down when he reexamined the situation.

He...had only bumped into a mortal.  It wasn’t anything freak out about and oh Gods he just nearly shot a mortal.

...That could have gotten messy fast.

Putting a hand to his chest and letting out a sigh of immense relief, Pit finally decided to check on whoever had collided (even that was a bit of an exaggeration) with, his initial, unwarranted panic giving way to slightly more warranted, friendly concern.

“Oh, heh, whoops!  Sorry ‘bout that!  Didn’t see you there; are you alright?”