#again it's obviously not purposeful but... what signifiers were you even going off??

[beaft]

i try not to give a shit when people get my pronouns wrong or whatever because a) there's not much i can do about it, b) most of the time it is not done out of malice, and c) stressing about how well i am "passing" is the surest road to madness. that said it does kind of suck that every time i go out feeling vaguely secure in my presentation, i will without fail encounter someone who misgenders me with their whole chest

[janus-cadet]

Tarot Project - N°33

This is yet another tarot card- strangely, the first I drew for the MCU. Obviously, it was motivated by the ending of the last show I saw, which did not left me indifferent.

(it broke me and I'll never be the same again)

So here is Loki, burdened with glorious purposes, as The Magician.

(If you haven't see the season yet and are avoiding spoilers, don't look for the explanation under the cut!)

For starters, the Magician is said to be the conduit that converts energy into matter. He represents worldly experience and knowledge ; he has seen it all, experience it all, and acts at the gateway between spiritual and material realms- just like would be a God trapped in the roots of Yggdrasil, all seeing, all creating. He is the root of the whole tarot- having access to the symbols of each suits : Wands, Swords, Cups, Pentacles. The Magician has unlimited potential, is manifestation at its best : who else to embody that, than the God of Stories, the most powerful being in the universe? Timely was right- truly a magician.

But that's not all. Let's start with the meaning of the card, upright.

As the master manifestor, the Magician brings you -you, person living in any timelines ever- the ressources and energy you need to make your own choice. He's giving you a chance. Like him, you might be facing changes, new ideas that challenge who you were: it's now time to act on them. The skills (maybe time magic ?) and knowledges (perhaps your brand new sciency PhD) you have gathered along your life path have led you where you are now. You must have a clear vision of the goal you are trying to achieve. It is not enough to be motivated by ego, money, status or fame, by a throne. When you are clear about your "what", your "why"... your "who"... you will be able to take actions. You are powerful, you are a creative being: you can reach, now, your highest potential. Focus on the ONE thing that will truly motivate you. Be active. Be a tree.

Reversed, the card can indicate that are still uncertain. You know that you have to take action, but are uncertain of the course it must take. You are afraid of what you might loose, what path you need to choose; be patient, be attentive- the solution will manifest itself in time, when you'll be ready to accept it. If you are already acting on your goal, the Magician Reversed can be a sign that you are struggling to see progress and success (perhaps because of some annoying Avengers who refuse to accept your perfectly reasonnable demands ; perhaps you can't make yourself kill that one person to save the rest.) Maybe you are not clear on your desired outcome; maybe your effort are misdirected, unfocused. You may be lacking conviction. Perhaps the goal you're going after is not the one you actually need, or even want. Are you sure you want that throne ? Are you aware of the price coming with any glorious purpose ?

At its worst, the Magician Reversed signifies manipulation and trickery. You may be masterful at manifesting, but you are lost, and you may only do it for personal gain and at the expense of others. Does it feels off? Maybe. It might means you were made to work for the highest good, before you find yourself lost. Remember your "why", remember your "who". You have many skills, talents, capabilities, but your real potential is not being maximized. You have to ask yourself- what needs to change for you to reach your full potential? What do you crave the most? You can't lie to yourself: you have to be honest, as painful as it might be. You have to be ready to do what it takes to reach your most important goal.

If, in the end, it matters most to see your friends having a shot at life, at happiness, than it matters to not be alone- then, you know what you have to do.

With that, I conclude my explanation. Only one more card, and I'll be done with the Major Arcana!

(Just like Marvel is done with Loki a h)

I hope you liked it. You, yes, you who is still reading! Thank you for that.

[vickyvicarious]

Do you think Jonathan's week of silence has to do with his mental state like it did back in June? We know that Seward is silent because you cannot exactly carry your desktop computer to Bulgaria, and Mina is busy having to keep her mind in total secrecy to write updates about anything, but Jonathan is free to write, but doesn't.

...It now also occurs to me that Jonathan must be keeping his journal always on his person, for Mina-Dracula to not take it and read it. Just like in the Castle.

Yes and no. I mean, on the one hand, yeah he's definitely in a rough space right now and I think him refusing to write certain things definitely reflects that. He has to ensure there is a record of anything significant, but he can't bring himself to be the one to write it - I'm talking 11 October here. He made sure Jack wrote it down, which lets us know what happened, but we can only work off Jonathan's silence in not writing it himself (as well as his silence when asked to promise) to decide exactly how he feels about it. It's obvious he's upset but there's not the blatant "and I did not answer her" that we might've seen when reading his own account.* Since he's not alone like he was in the castle, he can afford to outsource the most agonizing events to others and know they will still be preserved. He didn't write Mina's account of the assault on 3 October either, or his own experience when he was kept asleep for that matter. Instead he left that to Jack's record and picked up with what they did afterwards.

But he has written since those moments, after all, when there was something to report. The week-long silence comes after those entries. I think this can still be compared pretty easily to his long silences in the castle... because, along with reflecting his despair, they also reflected long stretches where the situation didn't really change. Sure, it was just as awful. Jonathan and Dracula were still having storytime just about every night. Dracula was still doing his creepy touching. But I genuinely don't believe anything new happened, just stuff that was continuing established patterns. Since Jonathan wasn't getting any new information, he didn't feel the same need to put it in the record. Part of that was certainly that he would feel even more disheartened having to write "mentally & emotionally tormented again today. felt like a rat in a cage again today. chicken for dinner and the count took my arm to lead me in and I felt such intense revulsion I nearly yanked myself away but his grip was just on the edge of not painful and I know what his grip can become so I made myself smile at him instead. again." and so on, day after day. Part of it was certainly that he didn't have the hope/strength to write. Part of it was even likely him trying to preserve room in his likely limited diary space. But also... I think it's just that as soon as Jonathan writes for a purpose, he doesn't put in entries that don't further that purpose.

His purpose in the castle was to document what the fuck was going on with the Count, and also to record his own attempts at escape. When Dracula didn't display any new behaviors and Jonathan himself saw no new avenues to try and risk anything... we gets days and days of silence.

Right now... I think I said this in the tags of a post a few days ago. Jonathan's heart and head are entirely focused on Mina and Dracula right now. In opposing ways, obviously, love vs. hatred, desire to protect vs. desire to destroy, and so on and so forth. But he's focused on them. His purpose for writing is to record what is going on with the hunt for Dracula so that Mina can read it. He will also write about her condition, but I'd say that's almost a lesser priority because his decision on what to do if she turns is made so her continuing to slowly turn doesn't signify anything new for him in a sense. And of course, she'd know it through experience (and he would be there by her side throughout it) whereas the Dracula hunt stuff is what has been kept from her and thus will interest her to know once she can be told things again. But regardless, if Jonathan isn't writing then I think we can assume it is because, just like in the castle, the situation hasn't changed. Dracula is still on the ship. Mina is still sleeping a lot. The men have put their plan into place and currently nothing about it has changed, so there's no need for an update.

As soon as something changes, we'll start hearing from him again. Or at least, he will ensure we hear from someone; he will once again deputize Jack to write it for him if the changes are something he doesn't feel like he can bring himself to talk about.

*(Speaking of, this feels like it goes along with "She is calling to me." He will always answer her call - except that time. Except when she isn't asking him to join her but to kill her. Then he just sits silently.)

.

As for your thought about Jonathan always keeping his journal on him again.... OUCH, okay. I don't think that Mina has reached the point of being puppeteered in such a way, but they have certainly passed the point of 'if she sees/hears it even accidentally then he'll know too' so that would be reason enough. I also cannot make up my mind whether Jonathan would be the last person to consider such a thing, because he loves Mina so much and wants to deny that Dracula could so fully control her like that... or whether he would be the first person to think of it because he knows the Count so well. Either way, the comparison is fantastic angst.

[erodasfishtacos]

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

please consider donating to my kofi - my work is FREE and it is a great way to show support!

enjoy!

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning. 

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing. 

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job,  ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing  a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

-

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office. 

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention. 

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe. 

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play. 

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

--

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square. 

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code. 

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles. 

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms. 

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob. 

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads. 

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

 “He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.” 

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”  

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

-

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

-

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

 Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him. 

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

--

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor. 

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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[glowingbadger]

A student! reader (over 18 obviously) who has an awkward crush on Seteth who may reciprocate? This ask is like on the verge of the DONT section in your rules so feel free to ignore if it is too uncomfy xD

I actually got a couple asks in the wake of that post I made about teasing Seteth in the Academy uniform, so I'm glad you guys are vibing with me on that lol~

That said, I will say that a literal teacher/student thing is ehhhhh for me, BUT I think I have a way to make this work for all of us :3

Jeez, the number of times I've written Seteth fucking someone on his desk-

CW: former student, degradation, spanking, me being a Seteth simp

Seteth (FE3H) x FEM Reader - Garreg Mach Uniform

NSFW 18+

Sometimes it seems that your austere lover is even more busy in the post-war scramble for stabilization than he had been during wartime. Seteth had already been known for an almost worryingly dedicated work-ethic when you'd met him during your time as a student at the Officers Academy. Now, many years and sociopolitical shifts and one nervous love-confession later, it only seemed that more rested on on his shoulders than ever. Perhaps that's why, when you discover your old uniform while cleaning up your quarters one day, an irresistible idea forms in your mind.

Seteth's eyes drift, then refocus. He blinks away the exhaustion threatening to break him from his duties, then sighs as he runs a hand through emerald hair. The Chapel bells had signified the end of administrative hours some time ago, but he can't allow himself to become lax. There's still much to be done. It's days like this that make him think with a wry smile that his brothers would scoff at the way he's chosen to live his life, having traded fangs for bureaucracy.

His office door is propped open as usual, but he hears a knock that shakes him from his thoughts.

"Come in-" he glances up at you, and his brows furrow deeply. You can't help a playful smile at the sight of Seteth's face already tinted pink. With as much innocence as you can affect, you step into his office to show off your attire. Your old uniform still fits- more or less -but you've made some careful adjustments. The jacket and white blouse underneath are only buttoned as high as would be strictly necessary to be seen in public, exposing a daring view of your chest. Thigh-high stockings hug your legs, then lead up to perhaps the most scandalous aspect of this ensemble. You've rolled up the hem of your skirt until it flutters about your hips so short that when you're not careful, a glimpse of your backside is clearly visible. This latter point, Seteth clearly notices as you twirl for him, saying,

"Look what I found, love," He's already on his feet approaching you, and you smile up at him as sweetly as you can, "sure brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Without a word, Seteth tugs you away from the office door and shuts it firmly behind you.

"Did you parade yourself all the way here from your quarters looking like this?!" he demands, and you hear the click of the door locking behind you.

"Well I don't see how else I could have gotten here, so..." you reply flippantly.

"Goddess above," he says with an exasperated sigh. His thumb and forefinger worry at the bridge of his nose as he turns back towards his desk, "To think that anyone could have seen you-!"

You roll your eyes with a grin and follow him. You take his hands in yours, drawing them away from him and opening up his closed posture.

"Come on, I just thought you might like it," you say as you draw closer to him. Seteth sighs again and looks you up and down.

"Whether or not I like it is immaterial, my love."

"But you do like it," you prod him further, your grin widening.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His lips tighten for a moment, then he manages to say,

"It is... flattering."

Releasing his hands, your own travel up the front of his torso, enjoying the dips and swells of his muscled body beneath those conservative robes. You feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, and you say,

"Have I ever told you that I had a hell of a crush on you even back in my student days?"

Seteth speaks your name with a hint of a warning his his voice. You press your body to his as your touch travels up the strong contour of his neck to tease along the line of his beard.

"It's true. I've always wanted you, Seteth," you go on, "Every single time you scolded or lectured me, part of me was... incredibly turned on. Sometimes, it was simply too much to bear," you curl a lock of his hair around your fingertips. You can see his ironclad will beginning to fracture. "Sometimes, I'd return to my room and pleasure myself, all while dreaming of you disciplining me."

Then, his lips are on yours, his kiss so hard and impassioned that for a moment, you're breathless. Your smug posturing falters immediately. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth as one hand wraps around you while the other grabs onto the plump swell of your ass beneath the flimsy coverage of your skirt. Seteth pulls you firmly against his strong body, and you can feel his cock throbbing against you. Then, as suddenly as he'd initiated it, he breaks your kiss- but before you can speak, his hand holds at your chin and forces you to meet his fierce gaze.

"So, you came here in this shameful attire with the express purpose of provoking me," his voice is a husky whisper, the mere sound of it nearly enough to make your knees buckle, "Very well then- you will have your scolding."

He manhandles you into position, rougher and more forceful with you than he's ever been. Before long, you're bent over his desk beneath him, and he stares down at you with a heat that paradoxically makes you shiver. Then, he raises a hand, and brings down his palm across your ass. You whimper and arch up from the hardwood, but he only says coldly,

"Straighten your legs."

You do your best to obey, holding your backside upright for him as though presenting him with your body. Despite your efforts, his hand descends once more, the wonderful sting of his strike warming your skin.

"Spread them wider." he commands, and once again you obey without question. You hear the familiar rustle of his belt and outer robes coming undone, and you glance back over your shoulder.

"Eyes forward, Miss Y/N." he says, his tone now balancing on a dangerous edge. You whine in protest, but follow his instructions and merely await your punishment. He gives a low hum and says, "I see you are capable of some measure of discipline, at least."

You feel the stiff head of his cock pushing between your folds, but before you can prepare yourself in the slightest, Seteth drives into your waiting cunt. Immediately, your eyes roll back and you gasp out his name. He holds you by your hips, pulling you back against him until your ass presses flush against his pelvis. He's nestled deep inside of you, his powerful manhood stretching you to your limit- and for the moment, he simply remains as such. The tip of his cock is nudging hard against your womb, sending blended pain and pleasure radiating through your nerves. It's all you can do to keep yourself positioned properly for him.

"To think that you would flaunt your body about the Monastery in such attire," Seteth snarls behind you, his cock throbbing against your inner walls, "You're every bit as hopeless as you were as a student." Once again, he spanks you, and you have to imagine by now that his abuse has begun to mark your tender skin.

You're already panting aloud for him when finally, his hips begin to move. His pace is immediately firm and punishing, his cock pistoning in and out of you, stimulating your every aching sweet spot and sending a painful jolt up your spine with each thrust. Your lips hang parted as you gasp for breath, your eyes dazed and unfocused in your bliss. A sudden rush seizes your body, and you feel your pussy clench around the massive intrusion of Seteth's cock.

"Cumming already?" he says with clear derision in his voice, though he never eases his pace as his bucks into you, "Perhaps you were even aroused by showing yourself in public in this shameful state."

"Nuh- no...!" you whimper softly, "It was... it's only for you-!"

Smack! His palm strikes your bouncing flesh once more. You're still riding the wave of your climax- or perhaps you're cumming a second time already. It's impossible to tell.

"Yet you were already soaked by the time I bent you over," Seteth goes on as he pounds into you, "One can't help but think that perhaps my troublesome student quite enjoys behaving like a wanton whore."

You can't manage to reply anymore. Your head is spinning and your body aches. Seteth's full length drives into you to its base again and again, and you can't even begin to say how many times you've cum before he begins to falter. His hips snap towards you haltingly, his body shudders, and his balls feel large and heavy as they slap against you with each thrust. It seems even his immense self-control can't stand up to this lewd punishment session for much longer. As your hands uselessly try to find purchase on the surface of his desk, Seteth leans over you, his hands now on your waist, pinning you down beneath him. His member throbs from base to tip, and with an animalistic groan, he says,

"I expect you... to take full responsibility-!"

With this, you feel the heat of his release pouring out at your core. His length twitches with every shot of cum that he spills into you, and his hands grip you so tight you can feel his nails digging along your skin. Seteth moans out your name, and you're distantly grateful that no one else stays in the offices as late as he does- you've both certainly made enough noise to have caused a scene by now.

At long, long last, his member pulses with the final throes of his orgasm. Seteth's grip on you loosens, and his office is quiet save for soft panting as you both struggle to collect yourselves. He pulls his length from you in one motion, and already, you can feel his thick seed dripping along your lower lips.

"You will head to my chambers," Seteth says, then clears his throat as he struggles to regain his usual composed dignity, "And if you don't want anyone to see this dripping out of you, you'll go quickly."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder," you manage to mumble, slowly pushing yourself up from the desk. Seteth actually laughs at this. Even now, his laugh is a rare treat that makes your heart skip like nothing else.

"I am tempted to say yours, given your intentional provocation," he says, bending over to place a soft kiss to your lips, "but I acknowledge that my own weakened restraint is partially to blame. To that end," he adds, his smile once more gentle and fond, "I am feeling rather rejuvenated. I'll be done with my work before long, and I do hope to see you in my quarters then."

[childrenofthenightt]

heart of gold (chapter four)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: allen being a weirdo as usual, fluff, angst and friendship :’)

words: 4.3k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: folks!! this took a lot longer to write for a number of different reasons but hey!! it’s here now :) not much to say in this one cause i don’t wanna spoil, but if anyone has any theories, feedback or suggestions please let me know! hope you enjoy <333

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist

playlist

------

“Dear angel, I hope you are faring well. This note, unlike the rest, is rather short. I felt I should be quick, and frank, too. If you happen to find yourself at the Bennett manor for the upcoming ball, I will be present as well. Perhaps, if fate allows it, we may meet, finally. I will be wearing a silver gown, with chiffon detailing. Look for me, and I will do the same. Forever yours, stranger.”

Stunned silence fills the elegant dressing room as Robert reads the short letter over once more, his fingers tracing the letters as though the action would reveal a devastating brand of trickery. For all intents and purposes, however, the letter seemed to be perfectly earnest; a fact that Bonzo, sitting next to him with a cigarette dangling from his lips, enjoyed reminding him of.

“Robert, she wants to meet with you. You want to meet with her. We must go to the ball. I’ll even help you pick out a suit,” he drawls, lazily throwing his head back against the plush cushioned chair as he gazes over at Robert. “I am convinced this is the longest you’ve gone without talking, to be quite honest.”

The blond sat unmoving, eyes never straying from the slip of paper clenched in his hands. He hasn’t spoken a word since reading it, and his eyes roam over each line as though he was unable to fully take in the words that flow across the page. Slowly, the man's eyes raise from the letter, meeting Bonzo’s as shock swims in the cerulean pools.

“Bonzo.”

“Ah, he speaks!”

“She wants to…”

“Meet you? Yes, she does,” Bonzo finishes the man’s sentence with a hearty chuckle, and his arm raises to pat Robert on the arm. The chestnut-haired man continues, shaking his head at the blond’s nervous antics. “We need to find you a suit; an expensive one, at that. The Bennett’s are just short of nobility after all. We might have to cut your hair, too.”

“What? Why would we do that?” The blond’s hands fly towards the tips of his golden ringlets almost unconsciously, and he cards long fingers through them. Uncertainty is painted upon his handsome face, and Bonzo smirks, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

“Just because you’re an actor, Robert, does not mean you need to look like one. Long hair signifies that you’re loose. Easy, if you will. Even if it does have a kernel of truth to it…”

“And you’re definitely sought after, are you not, Bonzo? Quite suave, if memory serves.”

Bonzo huffs out a laugh, and gazes over at Robert, as he blows a gauzy cloud of smoke into the air. A smirk graces his features as his lips twitch in an attempt to hide it, and he shoves Robert’s arm amicably. “All in due time, my friend. All in due time.”

“I’m sure.”

“Regardless of how I am faring in that particular department, we were talking about you, were we not?” Bonzo replies, locking eyes with Robert, earnest now, as he searches the man’s face. Seemingly not finding what he was looking for, his dark brows furrow. “Why are you so nervous in the first place? Women almost flock to you, yet you’re quivering at the possibility of meeting this one.”

Robert sighs, shifting uncomfortably under Bonzo’s penetrating gaze. He was as nervous as he is, because this woman… it’s as if she had known him all his life. She was charming, and intelligent, talking of wonderful novels and intricate poems. To Robert, whenever he read a letter she had written, he could almost hear her twinkling laughter, and see her smile that sparkled in his mind. Her soul was utterly beautiful, and it seemed to have entwined with his. Robert can only hope, however, that she feels the same.

“I… I do not know what she looks like, or how she is in person. That’s all,” Unable to let those thoughts linger in the tense air of the dressing room, Robert comes up with the best excuse he could muster under the circumstances. “I do think it is a cause for concern, is it not?”

“Well, Plant,” Stilling the shaking of one hand with the other, Robert returns Bonzo’s stare, until the moustachioed man smirks once more. He had obviously seen through the ruse, and it was only a matter of time before Robert became the laughing stock of the entire theatre. The two are locked still in a staring match, without a single movement from either. Oddly enough, though, Bonzo looks away first. The smirk still dangling from his lips proves that the conversation will be continued eventually. “I wish you luck, then. Truly, I do hope it goes well tonight.”

“Thank you, Bonzo. I appreciate your support. Truly I do.”

“I’m sure. Now,” Bonzo stands with a huff, stretching an arm out towards Robert. The blond takes it and raises from the comfortable chaise, and the two friends saunter out of the room, laughter following them. “How about we get ready for the ball? You must look put-together, and oftentimes, you’re not exactly the picture of elegance…”  Bonzo’s voice trickles out past the crack left in the door, and Robert’s squawk of offense rings across the empty room.

-----

Florence steps in front of the floor-length mirror that decorates her room, and she feels beautiful, for what may very well be the first time in years. In the beginning, Allen had showered her with compliments, and made her feel truly loved. His words soured, eventually, and she bore the brunt of his treatment ever since. Finally, though, she was doing something for herself. To make herself happy. If you ask anyone that truly knows her, they would point out that Florence was altruistic, almost to the point of self-effacement. She had lived much of her adult life playing an impossible role. Tonight, she meets her beloved actor.

Appearing suddenly behind her in the mirror, almost like a mirage, Emma takes in the way her friend is fiddling with the dress they had picked out together. It was a beautiful silver that gleamed in the dusky moonlight, with accents of soft chiffon that could only add to the ethereal quality. Dressed in her own gown, a canary yellow that made her eyes gleam like gemstones, Emma dares a smile of her own.

“Florence, you look lovely. Are you excited?”

“Oh!” Florence turns, dress swaying with the motion, as she finally notices Emma standing behind her. A fair blush rises on her freckled cheeks, and a carefree giggle leaves her cherry-red lips. “You look wonderful, Emma! James will not be able to tear his eyes away, I reckon. As for your question, I’m… incredibly nervous. I will be honest with you.”

“Nervous? Florence, this could be an incredible night. It will work out.” says Emma, purposefully not touching on the first half of Florence’s sentence. She didn’t want to think about James at the moment, or she would get distracted.

“I can’t help my nerves, because… what if this is all for nothing? What if he isn’t nearly as kind as he seems, and I am trapped once more? Emma, I do not know if I could bear it.”

“Ever the pessimist,” Emma sighs, a smile growing on her tanned cheeks. She grasps the other woman’s arm, thumb rubbing circles into covered skin, bringing Florence much-needed comfort. As soon as she lets the arm fall, Florence begins to pace around the room. Emma sighs and moves closer in an attempt to still the woman’s frayed nerves.  “Luckily for us, I am quite the optimist. Florence, he cares for you, and that is plain to see. You proposed that he wouldn't be quite what you imagined, but what if he’s more? In addition, if he is treating you unkindly at any point, you have the right to leave.”

“I… suppose you are right, Emma.”

“As always,” Emma scoffs jokingly, as she saunters closer. Her hand brushes a tendril of hair, which had fallen in Florence’s face in the midst of her panic, back into the sleek bun of golden brown. “Now, as much as I hate to subject you to this, Allen is waiting in the main hall. He needs you for the grand entrance, after all.”

“Oh, goody.”

“Ah, some sarcasm to start off the night.”

The women chuckle softly as they make last-minute adjustments in the clear surface of the mirror. Satisfied, they lock eyes, and arm in arm, they walk out the door and down the winding staircase to the main floor. Allen is leaning against a carved column, and, detecting the disruption, he scoffs and pushes to stand straight.

“Finally. I thought you would never be finished. Come, Florence,” Allen, seemingly for the first time, notices his wife’s companion, and the sneer that was almost permanently etched onto his face appears yet again. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Weston.”

“Likewise, Mr, Bennett.”

A tense silence permeates the room, until Allen clears his throat rather impolitely, and whisks Florence away with a final smrk drowning derision, and they’re gone. In the stillness of the room, Emma whispers, “Good luck, Florence.”

The woman reckons that she’ll need it.

-------

As Florence steps into the ballroom, her mouth falls open, a gasp tumbling past her lips. Flowers of every shape and tint decorate the gold-gilded walls, and lanterns pour faint yellow light across the room. The magnificent chandelier, crystals twinkling like stars, casts faint shadows across the faces of the guests, who promenade across the dance floor, mingling and laughing. Sets of double doors lead out onto a beautiful, moonlit balcony, the glow of bright starlight filtering in through the windows.

Stopping at the entrance, arm in arm with Allen and Emma at her side, she marvels as she takes in the sights. The ballroom, of course, was always as elegant and luxurious without the celebrations taking place, yet it seemed that Allen had wanted to go the extra mile. For what he lacked in kindness, Florence thinks, he makes up for in his apparent prowess regarding interior design. A quiet laugh flutters involuntarily past her lips, and Allen looks down at her, confusion drawing his dark eyebrows together.

“Florence, dear, what is it now?”

Caught, she shakes her head, a pliant smile gracing her features. Apparently satisfied, Allen looks back to the crowd that had gathered to celebrate him, propelling her forward with a hand that sits dangerously low on her lower back. Disgust souring her expression for a split second, she recovers, and plasters on that ever-present smile that feels like a lie.

“Welcome all. I am truly grateful that we could all gather, to celebrate…” Allen’s words seem to simply evaporate before they could reach Florence’s ear, as the woman’s gaze roams around the ballroom, searching for a head of perfect golden curls. Unable to spot the man she’s been writing to for the better part of a month, she sighs quietly, holding onto the sliver of hope that he had really come. Wrenched out of her thoughts by the hand at her back slipping perilously lower, she registers how Allen coaxes her to move, and she steps forward, staring at the scowl full of irritation on his lips. Locking eyes with Emma, who had moved further into the crowd, she is greeted by a comforting smile, and Florence nods her head in gratitude.

Allen, his hold firm, almost bruising on her arm, leads her around the room. She greets guests, many immersed in the same secret lifestyle as Allen, and Florence knows that she will forget their names completely come morning. Their smiles always seem to be too wide, and their eyes hold an intense look that Florence has spent years trying to decipher. She’s used to her role by now, pasting on a beaming grin that almost hurts the longer she holds it, and curtsying at every man they greet. Oftentimes they are ‘dear’ friends of Allen’s, no doubt just as sycophantic as her husband.

An hour or so passes, though it feels like an eternity to Florence, as Allen pulls her off to an unoccupied corner of the room. His hand slithers to land at her shoulder in what was possibly meant to be a loving gesture, though it sends chills down her back. Tilting her head up with a thick finger, Allen leans closer to her, his hot breath fanning across her face.

“I must go speak to a very important friend of mine. Roam around the ball, if you wish, but Florence, dear?”

“Y-yes, dear?”

“One wrong move, and this night could be ruined. Do try and be careful. I do hope you haven’t forgotten our previous conversation.”

With the thinly veiled threat hanging heavy in the air, he is gone, navy waistcoat fluttering behind him. Florence, shoulders falling from their tensed position around her ears, gazes out at the sea of faces, amusement and glee etched onto their features as they twirl around the room. The atmosphere is suffocating, and the woman glances back at the festivities, shaking her head solemnly as she slips out of the ornate French doors. Safe under the soft, starry cover of moonlight, Florence allows herself a deep, almost world-weary sigh, as her eyes sweep across the immaculately-tended gardens that decorate the back of the manor.

She’d lost Emma around the time Allen had paraded her around like a prize, and, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen James for quite some time, as well. He and John had busied themselves with serving beverages and appetizers on shining silver trays, but it seemed as though James had slipped away. She hopes Emma and James are together, finally working out the feelings they so clearly have for each other.

The clipped sound of footsteps against the cobbled floor of the balcony brings Florence out of her thoughts, and with another heavy sigh, she addresses the intruder, face still turned upwards to gaze at the glowing crescent moon.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that I am simply not in the mood to—” The sentence trails off, words dying in her throat as she finally turns around. Familiar golden curls sway in the light evening breeze, and cerulean eyes send ice water pooling in her veins. The slight smirk that sits elegantly on thin lips seems to waver slightly, as though the man was nervous, though he seems to recover quickly. He takes a step closer, and Florence can smell the soft, irresistible scent of sandalwood.

“I’m… It’s… It’s you.”

“Astute observation, love. You did tell me to look for a certain silver gown, did you not?” The smirk that her actor is sporting only serves to set every nerve on fire, and Florence sputters, all semblance of confidence leaving her, already lacking as it was. Her indignant expression only serves to make the man chuckle and shake his head fondly, silken ringlets swaying with the movement. His hair is much, much longer than what was thought to be socially appropriate, yet the man does not seem to care. He looks comfortable, rather easy-going, and his relaxed smile sends her stomach aflutter.

“It seems you take instruction well. That is certainly good to know.” Florence recovers enough to reply, her smile growing as she takes in the amused look on the tanned, handsome face of the man in front of her. Somehow, he was even more attractive, almost magnetic, to her the closer she looked.

“One of my many talents, I assure you,” Robert chuckles, eyes gleaming like jewels in the dim evening light. The stars were reflected in those deep blue depths, and if Florence stepped any closer, she swore that she would drown. “That is a lovely gown you’re wearing. The colour, especially, is remarkable. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you, inside.”

“You… noticed me?”

“You act as if that is difficult to do. If I’m honest, I was waiting for the right moment to steal you away. When you stepped out, I knew it was my only chance.”

“I-I must say,” Florence starts, chancing a look up at him through her eyelashes. She, hesitance clear on her face, steps closer to him, finally, and the beaming grin that lights up his face is the reward. “I’m glad you took that chance, then.”

The music that filtered, muffled as it was, through the doors seemed to swell and grow louder. Robert’s hand raises, ghosting his knuckles across her cheek as though he were afraid of breaking her, and he smiles, charming as ever.

“May I have this dance, love?”

Florence can only nod, as her hands slip into his, the friction caused by the warm, calloused feel of his palm somehow exhilarating to the young woman. He pulls her closer, placing his free hand on her hip. He was tall, much taller than Florence, and he gazes down at her as they sway together. Being here, in the arms of this stranger that she swears she had known her entire life, she feels content.

Hopeful.

Robert, subtle control in the way he leads Florence through the dance, is graceful in his movements, and perfectly respectful. His hand never strays from its place on her hip, and with a light squeeze to the hand in his, he spins her around, perfect synchronicity in their movements.

Florence’s eyes lock on something behind the man, then, and her lips turn up in a subtle smile. From her place on the balcony, Florence could see the staircase in the grand hall, just out of view of the ballroom. Through the window, hidden behind a carefully-carved pillar, she spots Emma and James, locked in a dance of their own. Emma’s hand, resting on James’ shoulder, rises to trail across the man’s cheek. Traces of the bruising that had marred the man’s face still remain, and Emma’s face contorts in a look of sadness at the sight. James shakes his head, lips moving with no sound to follow, and Emma gazes earnestly back at him. Slowly lowering her head onto James’ shoulder, they continue to rock back and forth. A beautiful private moment, for sure.

“What is it, love?”

“It was nothing. You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?”

“This is but a perk of being an actor, I’m afraid,” says Robert, twirling her around once more. Moonbeams dance around them as the light fall wind whistles in harmony with the music. “You know, I must say that I was quite surprised, that a single performance of mine endeared you enough to send me a note. Was it truly that enjoyable?”

“You are a wonderful actor, but that smart mouth of yours might get you into trouble.” Florence replies, a giggle marking the end of her sentence. Her eyes light up in bliss as blue meets muddy hazel, and they are alone, everyone inside fading into the background; simply an array of colours in a painting.

“My smart mouth? You are not exactly innocent in that respect. Speaking of… your letters. They were incredibly poetic. I enjoyed each one, I will admit.”

“A childhood dream of mine, if you can believe it, was to be a poet, or perhaps an author.”

“I would read every volume.”

The blush that blooms on Florence’s freckled cheeks makes Robert smile, and the laugh that tumbles from his lips makes Florence wish she could simply stop time, and live in that moment forever.

“You know what they say, love.” The confusion clear on the woman’s face brings a satisfied smile to Robert’s face, which Florence frowns at. She had never enjoyed not knowing, and the man had taken full advantage of that.

“And what, pray tell, do they say?”

“The shortest poem is a name. May I have yours?”

“I-I don’t simply give my name out to strangers. Perhaps if I knew your name, however…” The smirk that plays across Florence’s rosy lips makes Robert laugh, and unconsciously, he pulls the woman even closer. The music continues, ebbing and flowing, and the couple continue their dance, both physically and verbally.

“Hm, you are very cunning.”

“One of my many talents, I assure you.”

“And witty, too. It’s quite refreshing,” Robert squeezes the woman’s hip lightly, playfully, and she smiles up at him innocently. As beautiful as she was, which, in Robert’s opinion, could not be overstated, the actor detected a hint of sadness that hung around the woman like a shroud. He could see the way her smile never lasted for as long as he’d like, and how her eyes seemed to dim, a faraway look replacing the gleeful expression he had put there. Despite this, she seemed to have an inner strength that often remained under lock and key. She had shown a glimpse tonight, and he longed for another. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts clouding his mind, Robert continues, smiling easily. “My name, love, is Robert. Robert Plant.”

“Robert…” Florence repeats, almost testing the name out on her tongue. “It suits you.”

“Now that we are no longer strangers, may I put a name to that beautiful face?”

“O-okay, I suppose it’s only fair. My name is Florence… Bennett.” The moment of hesitation was long enough that confusion paints Robert’s features, until recognition, and not long after, shock, wipes it away.

“Bennett, as in…”

“Yes.”

The couple had stilled, now, though Robert’s hand still warmed the skin of her hip through the gown. Florence, gaze firmly on the ground, refuses to look at Robert, whose mouth opens and closes, stunned.

“Robert, I-I’m sure this has changed everything, and… maybe it is better if we leave this here. I—”

“Florence, it’s—”

“I should go.” As soon as the words leave Florence’s mouth, she disentangles herself from Robert, and moves to re-enter the ballroom. Almost to the door, she feels a warm hand settle on her wrist. It’s soft; the hold. She could easily slip out of it, if she had wanted to. But she hadn’t.

“What—Where are you going?” Florence is still facing away from him, but she didn’t pull away, and Robert counts this as a good sign. He takes a step closer, the hold on Florence’s hand never wavering, and she winces when she hears the tap of his pointed shoes drawing closer.

“This is not fair to you… I hurt everything I touch, it seems, and… I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, Robert. Please understand.”

“I don’t care.”

“Robert, I’m serious.”

“And you believe I’m not?”

“I will break your heart. Don’t do this to yourself… I’m not worth it. Please.”

Robert scoffs, then, and Florence doesn't have to look at him to see the determined line of his lips. She doesn't have to look at him to see how he is shaking his head almost bitterly. His thumb traces over the fine bones of her wrist like a feather, and as much as she wished with all her heart that it hadn’t, it brought her comfort.

“Break my heart, then. It would be worth the pain, being close to you. You, Florence, are worth everything. Anyone that says otherwise is delusional.”

At this, Florence turns around abruptly, and the storm swirling in her dark eyes is clear to see. A droplet of salty water trickles down her red cheeks, flushed with conviction, and she struts closer to Robert.

“You don’t know what Allen Bennett is like, and you do not deserve to. I will beg, if I must. Please, don’t do this.”

“Love, you will not sway me on this. I feel a genuine, special connection to you, and this month of writing to you has been… truly perfect. I am not giving up on you… on us, because I could get hurt.”

Florence knows that if he insists once more, she could not stop him. She wants Robert, and everything that comes with him; of course she does. She would be irrational not to. But she knows how Allen is. How possessive he is, even as he revels in the arms of another. Robert is an amalgamation of everything that is good in the world, it seems to her then, with a heart of gold to drive the point further. She could not forgive herself if anything changed that.

“Robert…”

The man in question slips into her space, a long finger lifting her chin to face him. A traitorous tear trickles down her cheeks, and Robert wipes it away with a thumb, looking into Florence’s eyes all the while. Enraptured with each other, they press closer, and Florence can feel Robert’s breath fan over her face. His hand caresses her cheek lightly, and her eyes flit down to his lips. Their noses touch, and then, as if divine intervention, the door opens. John steps onto the balcony, smirking into his hand as he watches the couple spring apart.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt. Florence, your… husband is looking for you.”

“T-thank you, John. I will be right in.”

John nods, and disappears back into the ballroom, with a private smile directed at the woman. Looking back at Robert, Florence takes in the hint of a flush on his own face, and knows that she must look the same. Tentatively taking his hand in hers, she interlocks their fingers in a loose hold, in case they are forced apart once again. That is as close as she’s willing to get in such a public area, now that she knows Allen is on the prowl, but Robert smiles at her all the same.

“When can I see you again, Florence?”

“Allen is… I believe he is out often, this coming week. I will write to you.”

Robert nods, and squeezes the hand resting in his, a smile playing about his lips. He pulls away, then, and moves to the door, when a hand curls around his once more.

“Robert?”

“Yes, love?”

“Be careful.”

With that, she slips around him, opening the door and stepping through. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral, dances around him as she passes.

------

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Do Your Worst

A/N: This is literally 8,640 words of self indulgent smut. Just want the Winter Soldier to beat the shit outta me, ya know? As far as tagging I just tagged whoever liked the post I made about finishing this chapter, if I missed you or you want added/removed just let me know!❤️

Warnings: Violence, bloodplay if you squint, knifeplay if you squint, choking, hitting, degredation, rough sex, violent sex, name calling, I think that's all of them??

Summary: Your purpose is to fight, to be used as a weapon. During a training session at the Red Room facility, you come face to face with the ominous man they call "The Weapon." Unexpected tension is developed during your match, that is later unleashed when you learn what the Winter Soldier's true mission is... To train you to be a weapon just like him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

  You kneel on all fours, your own blood and sweat dripping onto the floor in front of you. You don't even know where all the blood is coming from at this point. This fight has been going on for who knows how long. Your muscles scream and you feel your bones are begging you to surrender. You take in a deep shuddering breath when you see your opponent's large black boots shuffle out of your peripheral vision. You jump to your feet with all the coordination of a drunken grizzly. You glance quickly at the other girls watching your match, all of their faces blank while they observe you getting your ass handed to you. They sit in a sea of grey uniforms, everyone's hair all braided back the same way. The room you're in is set up like a small gymnasium, seats set up in rows on the sides with a large sparring area in the center. The design makes it easy for everyone in the room to see every detail of your pathetic attempt to fight off your enemy.

  This is your first fight with the man they call "The Weapon" and he's kicking your ass. In your many years at the Red Room training facility, you've fought plenty of men and women here, beating most of them rather quickly. You were sent here very young after your incredible ability to heal rapidly was discovered. Basically, you're really good at taking a beating, making you nearly impossible to best in combat. You don't remember your life before your time here, not even your own parents. Your purpose is to fight, so that's all you remember doing. That's what brings you here, fighting the Winter Soldier.

 You look back to him to see he's already coming at you again. A blur of black and silver, the only distinguishable feature are his furious blue eyes that peak out above a black mouth covering. You scan his body, looking for any sign of weakness, willing there to be one with every cell in your body. His stance is too wide, he's stalking towards you now as if he's almost frustrated. Your body reacts to the opening before your mind tells it to. Once he's about two feet from you, you launch forward into a somersault. Your torso lands between his legs, you quickly let your legs fly up, hooking the backs of your knees around the tops of his thighs. Using every ounce of strength you have left you push your torso off the ground to bring him slamming down with a thunderous thump.

  You press your hips into his, then you throw your torso forward so you can straddle him. His left hand comes up to grasp your throat and your chest seizes up with fear. Your hands fly to his wrist, gripping the cold metal as if it will somehow get him to release. This is why they call him "The Weapon". His left arm is made entirely of metal, built exactly like a regular human arm, but it possesses superhuman strength and dexterity. The metal plates pinch the skin of your throat, causing you to panic slightly. No, you can't fucking panic, that's what they're watching for.

  Your right hand flies to your thigh, quickly unclipping your knife from it's holster. He's too focused on squeezing the life out of you to notice your actions. Just as you start to see white stars dance in your vision you bring the knife to his throat. His grip on you loosens slightly, anger dancing in his piercing eyes. You see his right hand move to grab the knife, but you bring your foot up to trap his wrist under your boot, thankful for your flexibility. You press the blade against his throat.

  "Yield." You choke out.

  His eyes go wild, pieces of unkempt brown hair falling over his forehead and shoulders, adding to his feral appearance. His metal hand tightens around your throat again, he's challenging you. You sneer at him then apply more pressure with your knife, seeing his skin split slightly, a small trickle of blood seeps out onto your blade. Unfortunately, he seems completely unbothered by the action. There's no victory from this position, you have to find another way. You hike your right foot up then plant it on his chest, earning a deep grunt from him. You throw your body over his, freeing yourself from his grip, keeping your knife on his throat the whole time.

  You quickly throw your legs over his shoulders so you can straddle his chest this time, your feet hook into his armpits as your knees cage his head. You flip your knife in your hand to bring the point down against his jugular. His hands fly to your thighs as you use them to grip the sides of his throat. His fingers dig into your skin, the pain of his fingertips bruising you only fuels you now. You feel his flesh hand leave your thigh, you read him like a book and beat him to his next move. Your free hand flies back and rips his own knife away from it's home on his thigh. You bring the knife up and throw it into the wall across from you, it sinks into the wood with a satisfying sound.

  With a roar he uses his metal arm to push off the mat, flipping you both over so your back is pressed against the ground. He has your right leg hooked over his shoulder, metal hand around your throat again. You have somehow managed to keep your knife against his throat, holding onto it like it's your lifeline. You try to move your left leg to kick, then realize he's got you pinned. His hips are pressing harshly between your legs, in another context the position would look positively erotic. You hate yourself for the way the heat spreads through your body when he presses into you further. He only makes it worse by bringing his right arm up to yank your braids from the roots. You let out a cry, cursing yourself for how wantan the noise sounds. You look into his eyes, letting your knife push into his throat further.

  You're both trembling with rage, furious with each other for not yielding. There's blood slowly pulsing out of his throat while your vision goes blurry, but neither of you are willing to admit defeat. A drop of blood falls from the handle of your knife to land on your lips. His eyes snap to your mouth, suddenly transfixed. That's it. That's the weakness you've been waiting for. You lick your lips slowly, welcoming the metallic taste. His eyebrows pinch together and he lets out a trembling breath, his eyes snap back to yours then and you feel something pulse against your center.

  "Horny bastard." You whisper, so quiet only he can hear it.

  His eyebrows furrow and his eyes light up with blind rage. His metal hand squeezes around your throat with malice, causing you to gasp and sputter. This is your window, don't fuck it up. His torso presses against the leg he has hooked on his shoulder, bringing the top of your thigh flush against your chest.

  Perfect.

  You bring your other leg up, plant your foot on the ground and kick off. With him practically laying on top of you, he isn't well grounded enough to fight off the leverage you have. You use the leg on his shoulder to twist his torso so that his back is pressed against the mat once again. You quickly scramble up his body and twist yourself rapidly, then throw your legs over his shoulders to trap his head between your thighs again. The back of his head is pressed hard against your core, you ignore the friction and the proximity of his mouth to your inner thighs. He's the horny bastard, not you. You suck air into your lungs, desperate for the oxygen to fill you again. Your legs are pressed against his torso, pinning him against the ground. If he rolls he'll only smother himself against the ground, and in the position he can't gain enough leverage to lift you off the ground.

  You sit up, letting your thighs squeeze his throat even more, his silvery eyes are strained as he looks up at you. His hands are gripping at your thighs again, you feel his metal fingertips break your skin, but you pay no mind. You just bring your knife up to his face, in one swift movement you cut off his mask, exposing a pair of full lips and a sharp jaw line. You're shocked by how handsome he is, but you quickly shove the thought out of your mind. This is no time for any sort of admiration. You flip you knife around then bring the tip up to the soft spot under his chin, letting it puncture the skin slightly.

  "Yield." You repeat harshly, voice hoarse from all the choking.

  He glares at you with hate and disdain, obviously desperate to end your life. That's the one thing he can't do though. During these spars you are given one rule, you are not to kill your opponent. You can beat them within an inch of their life, but you cannot take it.

  His flesh hand loosens on your thigh, and then he gives you three harsh pats. Signifying that he has admitted defeat. Neither of you moves an inch, eyes still locked. You're trapped by adrenaline and the carnal need to survive, both full of feral bloodlust. Your body will not release his until an instructor tells you to do so. You're both locked in place by each other, bodies trembling, covered in each other's and your own blood and sweat. His face settles back into his usual blank stare, but his eyes are clouded slightly, lips still quivering. For a moment he looks like he did when his blood trickled from his throat to your mouth, he looks starved, desperate, animalistic.

  Sickening attraction shoots through your veins. Images of his hard body working against yours fill your mind, you can't help but wonder how brutal he would be in the bedroom. His body is designed to destroy others, you're filled with a dark and shameful desire to let him destroy your body however he pleases. It's just the adrenaline, that's the only reason your core pulses when you see that look in his eyes. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

  "Release." A woman's harsh voice echoes behind you.

  Slowly, like two machines being turned off, your bodies loosen their holds on each other. He slides out from between your thighs, using his hands to push you off like you're some hideous garment he can't wait to rid himself of. You slowly stand up, every part of your body crying out in pain as you do. You place your knife back in its holster. Despite the burn in your shoulders, you bring your hands back to hold each other behind your back, then turn stiffly to face your instructor.

  She's a terrifying old woman, muscular and rigid. She keeps her silver hair in an immaculate bun. Her wrinkled face always pulled taught in a harsh grimace. She always looks like she's ready to sentence someone to death, which for all you know, might be true. She sits in her chair with one long leg crossed over the other, she's seated at a solitary stool that's placed in front of the rows of other girls. You don't know her name, and you never will. You have been instructed to refer to her as "Madame Widow".

  "Ready for assessment, Madame Widow." You say, trying to keep your damaged voice as monotone as possible.

  "And you, Soldier?" She asks your opponent pointedly.

  He's standing beside you, a rigid mountain imposing fear on every young woman in the room. Every young woman except you, that is. You got him to yield. You push the pride deep down, it's not an emotion you're permitted to feel.

  "Ready for assessment." He states. He doesn't need to refer to her as Madame Widow, since he's not a pupil of hers. He's simply a weapon used to make you and every girl here a formidable opponent for any enemy.

  "Soldier, you were strong at the beginning." She starts, you feel his energy shift at her words. Shoulders drawing up as he takes a deep, tense breath.

  "You had me convinced it would be a quick and easy victory. You had an opportunity to strangle her within the first thirty seconds but you missed it. This gave her all the information she needed about your fighting style." She glances down at her notepad, her stiletto shaped nails thrum against the paper.

  "Then of course, you had her pinned, but you were… distracted." Her voice is dripping condescension.

  Your heart falls to the floor, she knew. Of course she knew, it's her job to know. You quickly settle yourself. She will see it as a victory on your part, a weakness is a weakness. You have even been taught that as a woman, when you face a male opponent, their greatest weakness will always be their physical desire for you. You had harnessed that in the fight and used it to acquire a victory.

  "Your distraction cost you the match, Soldier. Naturally, she spotted your desire for her immediately and used it to gain the leverage she needed to get you to admit defeat." She says, her tone cold and calculating.

 You hear the metal plates of his arm scrape together and assume his balling up his hand into a fist. You don't dare look over, you're not allowed to look away from your instructor when she's addressing you. You want to see him though, you want to see the blood painting his thick neck where your knife pierced his skin, you want to see him ripping you apart with his eyes in all of their animalistic rage. The thought makes your chest burn with a dreadful desire, a desire that you know you have to kill.

  "You." She says harshly. She angles her head back slightly so she can look down her nose at you.

  "At the start, your fighting was pitiful. You were flustered, panicked, and emotional. You must never show that to an opponent, no matter how outmatched you may be." She chastises you, disgust evident in her voice.

  "However, despite your haphazard style, you were terribly clever. Even when you were losing consciousness you kept your wits about you. You used leverage instead of strength to make your opponent submit more than once. Your ability to manipulate his desire for you was exemplary, and should be incorporated into your sparring more often." She closes her notepad with a harsh snap, straightens her jacket as she stands up with impeccable posture then strides to the front of the room.

  "You two, clean yourselves at the medical station, the rest of you are dismissed." She says curtly, then exits the room, letting the heavy wooden door slam behind her. The girls all move hastily with their heads down, gathering their belongings silently, one by one ducking out of the room not daring to look at you or the Soldier beside you.

  You turn slowly to limp towards the medical station at the other side of the room. It's required that you tend to any wounds inflicted upon you by yourself. It's supposed to teach you to be self-sufficient in the field, since most of your missions will be done as solo operations.

  Once all the girls are gone, you place your hands on either side of the sink then slowly lift your hand to turn the faucet on, but before you can reach it your wrist is seized by a harsh metal grasp. Before you can react, he's got you twisted around, back pressed into the wall beside the sink. He bars you against the wall with his mechanical arm, he presses his mechanical forearm into your chest and you can't help but let out a whimper. He lets out a ragged breath through his nose, you look up into his eyes and your blood freezes. His eyes are an inferno of pure fury. His dark brows are pinched together, his upper lip is pulled up slightly exposing teeth smeared with blood. He has the appearance of a wolf that just got caught tearing out the throat of his prey.

  "You listen to me." He snarls, his voice trembling.

  You can't stop yourself from glancing down at his neck, desperate to see where you wounded him. You're always so morbidly curious about the damage you inflict on others, you hate yourself for it, but you can't get enough of making others bleed. He snaps you out of your trance by practically growling at you.

  "You pathetic bitch. You're too thirsty for blood to even pay attention to the danger you're in." He spits, bringing his knife up to your throat with his other hand. You let your head fall back, without the prying eyes of your instructor and the other girls you can welcome the sharp metal against your skin. You let the veil slip while you revel in the sharp kiss against the soft skin of your throat. That familiar taboo longing fills your chest. You can only guess that he shares your same twisted desires. After the way he reacted to you tasting his blood, you're relatively confident he does.

  You look up at him through your lashes, letting your mouth twist into a teasing smirk.

  "Do it, I fucking want it." You spit the words at him, challenging him with your lewd implications.

  He glares at you with furious eyes, then he lets a shaking breath fall from his lips.

  "You're disgusting." He says with venom. Almost as soon as he's insulted you, he's released you. He turns and stalks towards the exit of the door, broad shoulders swaying in a menacing way as he does. Your hand slides up to feel where his knife had been pressed against your throat, already missing the exhilarating sting. Longing takes over your body and you try to shake it off, identifying it as a weakness immediately. He can want you, because you can use that against him. If you want him though, you're weak and vulnerable.

  You shake your head and rip your hand away from your throat. You have to kill these feelings, you are not allowed to have such a weakness. There's no room for it, it will only cost you dearly in the end. You spin slowly to face the medical station once again, placing your hands back on the sides of the sink. You're shaking like a damn leaf.

  A timid glance at your reflection shows that you're much more beat up than you thought. Your lip is split and caked in blood, your left cheekbone has an angry welt growing on it, and your neck looks like it's been through a meat grinder. Deep purple bruises are already blooming over the skin, the places where his fingers dug in have small patches of blood peaking through the skin. Your heart flutters at the way he's marked you, but it's short lived. The feeling is stuffed deep down inside you, forced to join any other weaknesses he might bring out of you.

  "Fuckin' hell." You huff to yourself.

  None of your wounds are big enough for any bandages, so you'll have to just clean them and let them be. Your overused muscles are producing most of the pain, you'll just have to stretch and rest well tonight. Thanks to your freakish ability to heal, you'll be back to normal by morning. You turn the cold water on so you can give your face an icey splash. The sensation clears your mind slightly and you realize just how much trouble you're in.

  The Winter Soldier is only here temporarily, his mission is to train you and the other girls here then leave. In the few weeks that he's been here you've only seen him for brief moments, stalking around the facility like a ghost. He's an assassin, a weapon, nothing more. He's especially not supposed to be such a source of desire for somebody like you. You have a job to do, and it in no way includes wanting him to fuck your brains out. You blame it on the adrenaline, on natural physical responses. Any woman would be aroused by a man like that pressing himself between their legs. You're not any woman though, you're supposed to be a cold blooded assassin, you're supposed to be a vengeful weapon. You are not meant to have weaknesses like normal women. Your weaknesses aren't those of a normal woman though. Yours are much more sinister...

That Night

  You toss around on your small bed, desperate for sleep that won't come. You skipped dinner and went straight to your room, wanting to avoid everyone, especially him. The longer the day has gone on, the more the soldier is creeping under your skin. The longer you have to reflect on your encounter, the longer the desire you felt wraps its skeletal fingers around your heart. Of all of the fights you've had, you've never been so evenly matched. Yes, you technically beat him, but you hate how close he got to beating you. You don't really have wit like the other girls, or a distracting amount of beauty, but you can fight. You have been the best in hand to hand combat for years and you absolutely hate that somebody came close to taking that title. You haven't lost a fight since you were a child.

  You try to find comfort in the fact that he is a genetically engineered super soldier with a hunk of metal for an arm. You can't beat yourself up for having to fight as hard as you did, you could even find a little pride in it if you wanted to. The thing that you can't seem to escape is the heat that pools between your legs when you think about his metal hand around your throat, the sharp taste of his blood, the way he crushed your chest when he pushed you against the wall. He could have killed you so easily, he had his knife right there. With one swift flick of his powerful wrist he could have slit your throat and left you to die. The thought is positively exhilarating in the most horrible way. Your body erupts in goosebumps as you remember the way his rigid form trembled with rage. Your thighs press together when you think about him hovering above you, drenched in sweat as he bled into your mouth.

  You're not going to fucking sleep. You huff and throw your blankets off, angrily turning on your light. Your pathetic little room has no comforting elements, it just looks like a shitty hotel room. No decorations, just one generic landscape painting on the wall. Your only furniture is your bed, your night stand, and a small rickety dresser for your uniforms. All of it is a plain dark wood, the walls a bland grey much like your blankets and everything else in your life. The style of the room is intentionally designed to look like a hotel room, it's a psychological thing. The intent is to take away any feeling of a home, you're supposed to live on the move, never settle, and never feel safe.

  You quickly change out of your night clothes and throw on a clean uniform, a tight grey shirt with matching cargo pants. A glance at your watch tells you it's a little after midnight. You snatch your knife off the table and examine the blade. The metal is the same black as the handle, it's lines are sleek and deadly. Your eye is caught by a small amount of blood that remains on the edge of the blade. You wipe it on your pants, ignoring the irritating shiver that goes down your spine at the thought of making him bleed. You shove the knife into its holster then turn to check yourself in the pitiful mirror above your dresser.

  Your body has already begun to recover, your bruises fading as if they're weeks old. Your busted lip is hardly noticeable and your muscles are no longer screaming. There's no longer a welt on your cheek and you look like you've had at least ten hours of restful sleep. As much as you detest your healing abilities for ruining any chance you've ever had at living a normal life, it is incredibly convenient. You had been ripped from your family because of it, never even given a chance to develop a bond to know or miss the individuals that gave you life. You suppose it's easier like this though. If you had known them, you'd be susceptible to the pain of living without them. Instead you're filled with rage towards those who stole you from them. You can't afford to feel the weight of mourning, you don't have time for it. Instead you're propelled forward by anger and hatred, mostly for yourself, but also for those that have forced you to live your life as a tool for their own purposes here at this God forsaken Red Room facility.

  You tear yourself from the destructive train of thought as you turn to stalk out of your room. You close your door silently so you don't disturb the other girls on your hall. You chew the inside of your lip as you move down the halls of the barracks. The awful lighting casts a sickening yellow glow on the slate colored walls lined with plain white doors. You finally reach a large steel door at the end of the hall on the right. It has a poorly painted red mark on the door in the shape of a knife. You slide into the room quietly and let your shoulders drop once you're inside and hear the door close behind you. Of course it's empty at this hour, meaning you can release all of your rage without any judgement.

  The knife room, set up much like an indoor shooting range. Every assassin here is trained in close hand to hand combat, making knife handling an essential skill. You stomp into one of the stalls, desperate to relieve your frustrations. You roll your shoulders back and draw in a shaking breath. You wind your arm back and throw the knife at the human shaped target across from you, imagining it's that bastard the Winter Soldier. The handle of the knife pings off the it's thigh then clatters onto the ground, the sight fills you with burning self hatred. You let out a frustrated groan then take off to pick up your knife. You hear something shift in the corner and immediately dive for your knife, quickly returning to your feet to turn towards the noise.

  "You're too angry." Says a cold, deep voice.

  The owner of the voice steps out of the dark corner he's been hiding in. Of course it's him.

  You roll your eyes then walk back to your station.

  "I wonder why that is." You say, you try to still your racing heart as you hear his heavy footsteps moving towards you.

  "It makes you sloppy." You whip your head to face him where he's now stood behind you. His massive arms are crossed over each other, and you notice that he's wearing the same thing he wore at the fight. A strappy leather vest with heavy black pants to match and thick leather boots to tie it all together. Without his black mask to cover his mouth, his handsome features are on display. Except his beauty is shrouded by a scowl that makes his feature dark and menacing. Over all, he looks terrifying. His eyes are nearly the same cold silver as his arm. Your chest burns as his frozen gaze pierces through you, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let a huff out through your nose.

  "I didn't ask." You say, trying your best to sound disinterested.

  In one beautiful, fluid motion he pulls his knife out and sends it flying at the target. The knife lands right in the throat of the man shaped target, the sound of the impact echoes gently off the walls.

  "My mission is to improve your skills, so I don't need you to ask. I'm telling you something, so you should listen." He says, sauntering over to retrieve his weapon. His tone is that of an overworked teacher that's been reprimanding his student for making the same mistake over and over.

  "Your mission is to improve everyone's skills, so I don't understand why you're-"

  "Are you really that stupid?" He cuts you off, visibly irritated by your statement. He comes to stand directly across from you, not even a foot apart, much too close for your liking.

  "I would have killed every one of those girls within the first five seconds of a match. There's a reason you were fighting me and not them. You have a weapon that none of them have, you are a weapon. My mission is to improve your skills. Your mutation makes you unique, it makes you valuable, they have asked me to train you." He says it slowly, like he's talking to someone hard of hearing. His patronization makes your blood boil and your fists clench.

  "There are plenty of girls here that could have held their own in that fight. Yeah, I can take a beating more than any of them, but they can all fight like hell no different than me." You say, your voice sharp.

  "You really are stupid, aren't you?" He sneers down at you.

  "You just said it yourself, you can take a beating. Yes, your fighting skills are questionable at best, but you can out fight anyone if you can exhaust them." He explains it like you're a stupid child, which only makes your rage burn hotter.

  "Is that what happened with you?" You ask, poking at his defeat earlier.

  He chuckles, his voice low and dark.

  "Oh no." He says, moving even closer to you. You can feel his hot breath on your cheeks, the sensation makes your head swim.

  "You just found a weakness, well done by the way. Except in doing so, you exposed your own weakness." His voice is absolutely sinful by the end of his sentence. You're so distracted by his seductive tone that you don't even notice his right arm reach up behind you, he grabs your hair by the roots and cranks your neck back, exposing your throat to him.

  Normally, you would fight back, but you don't want to, you can't. You let out a pathetic little noise, making him let out another deep chuckle.

  "You're pitiful." He says it almost affectionately, the gravely tone of his voice makes your legs turn to jelly.

 "I could kill you right now, but you're not even afraid, you're probably getting wet thinking about my knife against your throat." He's growling again, like he did after the fight. You hate how right he is, your core is igniting with heat. You don't even want to think about how you must be absolutely soaking your underwear.

  "What about you soldier, I think I remember you gettin' all hot and bothered when you finally got me underneath you." You tease, his advances give you the confidence to bring your hand up to ghost your fingers along the inside of his thigh.

  He laughs in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up as his lips twist into a wolfish grin.

  "Where the hell did they find you?" He says it like he's thinking out loud.

  All you can do is moan pitifully when he tightens his grip on your hair, you look up at him and let your hands fly to his chest. His eyes have that animalistic look to them, like he wants to literally rip you to shreds. Your walls flutter at the idea and you take in a sharp breath, so desperate for him to drop the teasing act and just have his way with you.

  "So fuckin' needy." He says as he lets his eyes flicker to your parted lips.

  You let your own eyes drop to his throat, your mouth waters at the site of the large red line that your knife created. You did that, you marked him. The thought makes your stomach flip, darkness fills your chest and spurs on your twisted desires. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight, an action that he obviously catches.

  "I knew it." He sighs out, his metal hand slides around to spank you harshly, his eyes still burning into yours. You moan against your will and let your nails dig into his vest. The impact of the metal makes your skin sting in a delightful way, and you only want more, so much more.

  "You're a blood thirsty slut." He punctuates his words with another harsh swat, "-and you can take a hit." His voice is starting to sound shakey, like he's holding something back.

  "Beg for me." He gives you another harsh swat.

  You seal your lips. You can't beg for him, this isn't supposed to happen. You refuse to let this asshole create any weakness within you. This has to be a test, if he's truly supposed to train you, this has to be some sick experiment to see if you're as depraved as he thinks you are. He can't win, you didn't give him a victory earlier and you sure as hell won't give him one now. You rip your eyes away from him and glare at the floor, you take a trembling breath and force yourself to deny him.

  "No." Your voice is a pathetic whisper, small and meek.

  "Wrong answer bitch." He snaps with a menacing tone. He forces your body back, walking you into the wall behind you. He presses your body against it then moves his right thigh to spread your legs so you're straddling his thick, muscular leg. His right hand is still holding fast to your hair, but his left is starting to slowly trail up your side. He lets it trace over your breast before ghosting over your collar bone. Your eyes lock with his as soon as his cold metal fingers snake around your throat. Your breath completely stops, your body frozen under his ravenous gaze. You instantly buckle under the weight of your desire for him to destroy you. The dam finally breaks and you drown in the waves of lust, all it takes is one firm squeeze from his inhuman appendage and you're a goner.

  "Fuck- please, please fucking use me." You gasp as he tightens his grip on your throat, you grind down against his thigh again, desperate for any form of friction against your aching center.

  "You've got a filthy little mouth on you." He says, finally releasing your hair.

  "Let's give it something to do." He brings his middle finger up to your lips as he relaxes his hold on your throat, you open your mouth instantly to welcome his thick finger inside.

  "Suck, darlin'." His eyebrows furrow slightly when you slide your tongue over the pad of his finger, sucking him further into your mouth. This can't be happening, you can't let yourself be this weak.

  He quickly pulls his hand out then cups your cheek, placing his thumb under your chin so he can angle your face up towards him.

  "Will you be a good girl for me?" He asks, raising his eyebrows in a challenging way, the question makes you shiver and your mind is flooded with images of him defiling you. Ok, maybe you can be this weak.

  You nod slowly, you feel adrenaline pump through your veins. Your heart is thundering in your chest and your cunt is absolutely aching with need.

  "Use your words." He says harshly, "-you know what I want to hear."

  "Yes sir." You breathe out as he slides his cold metal hand around your throat again. You sigh at the sensation and let your eyes flutter shut.

  "Now, what do you need." He asks, sliding his thumb over your pulse.

  "I need you to use me." You let your voice drop to a raspy tone as you repeat your request from moments ago, you open your eyes to see an almost disturbing look in his.

  His fingers tighten around your throat and he pulls you closer to him until his lips brush against yours, the feeling makes your chest burn.

  "Get on your back, you should be good at that." He huffs against your lips then rips himself away from you. He pulls you off of the wall by your throat and pushes you back into the middle of the room. You drop to your knees like it's second nature, you reach out to run your hands up his strong thighs and you steal a glance at the massive bulge in his pants.

  "You don't fucking listen." He growls, he hikes his large right leg up and plants his boot in the middle of your chest, he sneers down at you while he kicks you back with force. You catch yourself on your elbows and look up at him helplessly. He sinks down to his knees so he's somewhat straddling you, but mostly caging you with his body. He grabs your jaw with his right hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

  "When I tell you to do something, you do that thing exactly or I will make you sorry you didn't fucking listen." He spits the words at you, eyes ablaze with fury.

  "What if that's what I want?" You ask, testing the waters for how much patience he has for your attitude.

  His grip tightens on your jaw, inevitably leaving bruises now.

  "You want me to hurt you?" He glares down at you while he talks, he looks angry enough to snap your neck, but the lust raging in his eyes reveals his true desires.

  "Do your worst." You fire back at him.

  Then he's on you, lunging at you like a wild beast. He's pushing you into the ground by your throat, he wedges himself between your legs, pressing his hard length into your center.

  "Sweetheart, my worst would kill you." He groans into your ear. His words pull another moan out of you, your hands claw at his back when he grinds down against you rather roughly.

  "Hands and knees, now." He says then pushes off of you to kneel between your legs. A flame of defiance ignites inside you, it spreads and burns all of your common sense.

  "Fucking make me." You say, the idea of him forcing you to your hands and knees sends a rush of exhilaration through you. Your moment of thrilling defiance is cut short by the feeling of the back of his right hand cracking across your face. Your head jerks to the side as his hand connects with your jaw. You let out an indignant cry, too shocked to do anything else. As soon as he's smacked you, his hand is latched back onto your jaw, he jerks your face towards him, forcing you to scramble to your knees while your hands cling to his wrist.

  "You think you're cute, don't you?" You can feel him shaking with rage as he holds you in place. The sharp pain from his knuckles hitting your face makes your cunt clench, you have to be absolutely dripping at this point. Your entire core is throbbing, desperate to be filled by him.

  "Answer me." He barks.

  "I think -oh shit." You're cut short by the feeling of him running two metal fingers rubbing your clit through your pants. Your body responds instantly to his rough touch, hips bucking against his hand.

  "What do you think?" He teases, pulling his fingers aware from where you need them most.

  "I think you're doing too much talking, not enough fucking." You snap.

  That does it, that pushes his last button. It all happens far too quickly for you to even process everything he does. You feel a sharp pain under your arms, then feel your back hit the hard cement wall. He rips your pants down your legs, bringing himself to his knees so he can rip each of your feet out of the pant legs. You're completely exposed to him now, the cold air hits your pussy and you shiver at the pleasant shock. You glance down at him as he slowly slides the knuckles of his right hand up the inside of your right leg. His cold eyes follow his hand's movement all the way up to where you're desperate for him.

  He uses his knuckles to tease your clit, earning a hiss from you. The sound seems to snap him out of his lustful trance, his body shoots up to loom over you. He glares down at you as his hands move to undo his belt. Your mouth waters at the sight, eager to finally see him exposed.

  "I'm gonna fuck you." He breathes, pulling his belt from the loops of his pants.

  "I'm gonna fuck you like the whore you are, and it's gonna hurt. You're gonna keep that fucking mouth shut, you're gonna take it like a good girl, and you're not going to cum until I say so, do you understand?" He unbuttons his pants, pulls his zipper down, then he pulls out his painfully hard cock. His tip is already dripping with precum, you reach out to touch him, wanting to feel all that girth in your hand. To say he's well endowed would be an understatement, the soldier is fucking massive.

  He snatches your wrist and throws it to the side.

  "Do. You. Understand?" He says, his voice is strained and impatient.

  "Yes sir, I understand." You say weakly, even you're growing tired of the teasing. You're so fucking desperate at this point you don't even have the energy to quip back at him. You're completely pliant now, nothing but putty in his rough and capable hands.

  "Good girl. Now jump." He grabs you by the backs of your thighs, you oblige eagerly. You wrap your arms around his neck and jump off of the floor. He presses you against the wall, he uses his metal hand to hold you around your waist, the other to brace himself against the wall. You help him by wrapping your legs around his hips, pressing your dripping folds against his solid cock, trapping his length between your hot bodies.

  "Fuck." He breathes, letting his head fall to your shoulder.

  "Please, let me put it in." You beg, then press your lips into the side of his head.

  "Since you asked so nicely." He huffs against your neck, his voice has lost most of its rough edge, he sounds much less stable now and much more desperate.

  You reach down between your bodies and grab his length by the base, giving him one long stroke before sliding his tip along your folds, gathering your slick as you line him up at your entrance. He doesn't give you a single second to do anything else before he snaps his hips up, shoving himself into you. He was definitely right about it hurting, you bite into his leather clad shoulder to muffle your cry. He presses himself into you and you feel tears prick your eyes as he stretches you painfully. He brings his head away from your neck to rest his forehead against your own. Your eyes lock with suffocating intensity and your cunt immediately clenches around his cock, now completely inside of you. He hisses at the sensation, then he presses his lips against yours with bruising force.

  You moan into the kiss, letting your fingers dig through his messy brown hair. He presses his tongue against your lips and you open wide for him. The way he's kissing only makes you want more of him, your chest fills with the shameful desire to be used by him. The way he moves against you is flawless, he's rough and precise, like he's already known your body for years. He bites your bottom lip then slowly pulls his hips back just to thrust himself back inside you.

  "Shit!" You sob against his mouth, pulling his hair a little as the broken sound leaves your throat. He's stretching you out and filling you up, he's absolutely ruining you. The sharp pain of his cock opening you up is something you only want more of.

  "You've got such a tight little cunt." He sighs pulling back again then sliding in at a torturous pace.

  "Tell me again, what do you need?" He asks, voice catching when your walls flutter around him.

  "I need you to use me, hurt me, fuck me. Please- shit- please fucking ruin me." Your voice is broken and full of lust, you look him dead in the eyes while you confess your needs to him. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as you beg. He's barely even started, and you're already a moaning mess for him.

 With a growl and a wild look in his eyes he pulls out slowly one last time, then he starts ramming into you suddenly and relentlessly. Your jaw drops and you grab onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck completely, your head falls back against the wall and a moan rips out of your throat.

  "You fucking whore, you're dripping. You like it when I hurt you? Does that make this pussy wet?" He says with a mocking tone.

  "Yes sir." You cry, your thighs squeeze his hips, his words stoke a familiar flame inside you.

  If at all possible, he snaps his hips into you even harder, the obscene sounds of his skin meeting yours fill the room, you can even hear how soaked you are as he pumps in and out of you.

  "I knew this is what you wanted." He huffs, he presses a sloppy kiss against your lips.

  "As soon as you licked my blood off of your lips, I knew you were a nasty little pain slut." He ends his sentence with a harsh moan.

  Your back is being rubbed raw by the concrete of the wall, your cunt is being split open by his brutal pace, but you welcome all the pain. You fucking love it, it makes everything so much more thrilling. His thrusts halt for just a brief moment, just long enough for him to pull you off of the wall with a growl. He falls back onto the ground, landing so you're straddling him, your hands plant on either side of his head, knees aching from the impact. He throws his arms around your waist then he starts snapping his hips up, drilling himself into your pussy. The new angle allows him to rut into you so hard that the head of his dick pounds into your cervix with every brutal thrust. You sob into his shoulder, your arms give out and you collapse against his chest. You can feel his cock so fucking deep, this new position is more incredible than anything you've ever felt. You're fully sobbing now, hands gripping at him wherever they can't find purchase. You moan out broken sentences, begging for more and more of his addicting thrusts.

  "How's that feel, bitch?" He says with a ragged voice. He brings his metal hand down against your ass, smacking it so hard you're certain he breaks the skin. It only makes you clench around him even tighter, the exhilarating sensation pushes more years from your eyes as you all but scream out.

  "Good girl, fuckin' take it." He groans.

  His words make your abs seize up, you feel your legs start to shake and your cunt start tighten, electricity settles in your lower belly and your walls start to flutter.

  He smacks your ass again, so fucking hard.

  "I didn't say you could cum yet." He sinks his teeth into your neck with a harsh groan. The sting only brings you closer to the edge.

  "Please sir, please I'm so fucking close. Let me cum on your cock. Please please please." You sound absolutely pathetic, you feel drool drip out of your open mouth as he drills into you mercilessly.

  "Look at you, you're such a fuckin' mess." He gives you a particularly rough thrust, absolutely nailing your cervix much harder than he has been. The delicious sting makes your entire body tremble.

  "Please let me cum sir, I'll be a good girl I swear please just let me cum. I wanna be so fuckin' good for you, I'll do anything." You beg like you're pleading for your life, your body is so painfully close to release, but you don't dare reach down to play with your clit, you know better.

  "Tell me what you need, sweetheart." He moans against your neck. The gentle nature of the name he's just moaned contrasts harshly with the previous degrading terms, it strokes your ego in a delicious way.

  "My clit, please, please rub my clit." Your voice is completely shredded, thankfully, he seems to finally give you what you want.

  His flesh hand shoots down between your bodies, finding your clit immediately. The contact sends electric shocks through your cunt and down your legs. You bite onto his shoulder again to quiet your screaming.

  "No." He growls, his free hand snatches you by your roots and rips your mouth from his shoulder, the sharp pain makes you cry out from the back of your throat.

  "I better fuckin' hear it when you cum- fuck- do it now, be a good girl like you promised and let me feel you cum." That's all it takes, his fingers working at your clit as his rough voice grants you permission. You tremble violently against him as you finally let your orgasm rip through you. White hot pleasure shreds every nerve in your body. An inhuman scream leaves your throat as your walls contract around his dick. He just keeps fucking you through it, not stopping his destructive pace for even a second.

  "Cum inside me." You moan out against the side of his head while your nails dig into his shoulders. His hips stutter slightly and he lets out a high pitched moan that only makes your walls squeeze tighter.

  "Yeah? You want me to come inside your slutty little cunt?" He asks, voice laced with a desperate edge that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

  "Please, I want you to ruin this cunt, I want you to ruin me." You beg, and he finally fucking breaks.

  With a deep, ragged moan he buries himself inside you, stilling as he spills his load deep within your walls. You gasp as you feel his thick cock pulse inside you, painting your insides white with his hot cum.

  "Fucking shit- good girl, such a good girl." He chants against your neck, nipping the skin between moans. You're both panting heavily, hands clinging to each other without any desire to let go. You lift your head slightly to gaze down at him. He stares up at you with lust blown pupils, the silvery blue of his irises nearly overtaken by the dark centers. Neither of you say a word, you just lay there and drink each other in. Whatever you've unlocked with each other tonight isn't something you could even begin to talk about. Your bodies twitch against each other, both of you riding out your aftershocks, coming down from your frantic highs. You let your forehead drop to meet his as a dopey smile spreads across your face.

  His flesh hand comes up to cradle your face gently, the tenderness of it makes you jump slightly. He takes a deep breath in before uttering his next words with a deep, warning voice.

  "Do you still want me to do my worst?"

@b-o-n-e-daddy @can-i-sin-right-now @confused-racoon @lostsoul23 @buckysbbygirl @perksofbeingabookworm @peace-love-hobbitness @buckyshenley16 @brownlee-22 @deardiarylovegale @upsettispagettii @supernaturalbaesduh @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @blowing-mikey @littlegasps

[mc-critical]

[2/2] i was reading one of your posts about dilruba & something about it made me wish dilruba had more screen time because she’s the only princesses who was extremely dutiful towards her mother & brother but also managed to achieve her own happiness through her marriage. also, one more thing which i wish was done with her character... so like we all know how safiye sultan practically worships hurrem, w/ always remembering her, showing her ring off etc. the way she talks about hurrem is very exaggerated, “hurrem sultan was head to toe power.” which is true but at the same time, the show really didn’t show her full & complete power like it was historically and we all know 2 seasons of hurrem went in being immature & not really regal or completely power [& she was still constantly overshadowed by the sultanas of blood]. however, hurrem was still almost like a goddess type figure in mc:k and despite safiye’s strained relations w/ nurbanu, she still praised her a lot. basically, the two figures of the sow & the ring holders from the first show are remember in the second show. but what about mihrimah? she was a vital figure in history & in mustafa’s downfall & in the last season of the show even though she didn’t receive the ring to signify her as a part of the sow. what i wished for is dilruba idolising mihrimah, aspiring to be a protector of her brother like she was & exaggerating her power like safiye did w/ hurrem. this way, mihrimah could also be remember. also, dilruba’s character was more of what i had imagined for mihrimah. i didn’t imagine her to love rustem like dilruba loved davut but i expected mihrimah to be more powerful & dutiful towards her mother [more compared to dilruba but ofc also not to the extent of wanting to kill kids who were part of the dynasty]. anyhow, dilruba could’ve really taken mihrimah as her idol imo as her, halime & davut were a parallel of mihrimah, hurrem & rustem. sorry for the long post! but this is something i wish mc:k had done. [worth nothing that rustem & davut were also similar villanish type guys who’s only redeeming qualities could be their toxic love for their sultanas & their loyalties towards hurrem & halime, though rustem did waver in his loyalty whilst halime sold davut like the dog he is lol]

Dilruba's character development was truly very condensed in these 9 episodes, so there was never going to be enough of her, from whichever angle you look at it. I kinda cut the writers slack, because I know the ratings played a considerable part in MCK's script and they had a lot to do and a lot to rush (whereas in MC they could practically do whatever they wanted, because their ratings were perfect, I guess that's why they had so many concubine arcs hehe), but I love Dilruba and I would've loved more screentime with her. The time we spent with her could feel so minimal to the point we get the impression that we got to know little Dilruba a bit more than the older Dilruba. (the opposite case of little Mihrimah, who was almost a completely different character with a different thematic set-up, her childish love for Bali Bey aside. The older Mihrimah went on a completely different path as a character.) This isn't a bad thing, per say, because little Dilruba had already set the foundation of the character as a whole and we didn't need much more context for her actions than what we already got, but this little amount of screentime could limit her role to a simple, a bit flanderized antagonist to Kösem, which is honestly a trend for all of Kösem's antagonists in S01.

{Safiye's cult for Hürrem is one of the most interesting things about her as a character, but it is over exaggerated for the reasons you mentioned just as it simply isn't real. Safiye has never met Hürrem in person and even if MCK didn't call back to that, Mihrimah actually played an important part in establishing that cult in her training of Safiye. Safiye knows of this powerful S04 Hürrem who makes everyone tremble before her and considers "survival of the fittest". (MCK Safiye shares the exact same philosophy) What she worships in Hürrem is rather a picture she has formed in her head, the figure from Mihrimah's stories. This aspect of Safiye's character is used to form her own path in the evolution of power in the SOW, so we could see symbolically how much of what Hürrem represents has she moulded to her own agenda, it's indeed not presented as the actual truth. It also brings the question and perspective of what fragment of Hürrem Mihrihah herself sets as an example for herself and others, knowing that she does not completely idealize her own mother in the show. She was perfectly able to call out Hürrem's own flaws as much as she could openly take Hürrem's judgement.}

That worshipping of Hürrem in MCK truly sounded far too ideal and almost god-like, but in reality, not so many people in the show actually practice it. The only person who actively does, is Safiye, a main antagonist. Ahmet only mentions Hürrem when he gave her crown to Kösem. The references to the MC characters and especially the SOW in MCK is fascinating because you can see how you get only the accomplishments of people you've only heard narratives on, but never their actual stories, their actual struggles. People who were actually around the worshipped people and knew them personally obviously have a clearer understanding of who they truly were, like how Safiye called Nurbanu the most beautiful but also the cruelest sultana she's ever known, which makes perfect sense, knowing their rivalry and enmity. Nurbanu is inspired by Hürrem, but still stood against her with all her might. The people who have heard only basic facts of the more unrealistically idealized sides of those they worship praise merely the symbols of these people, what they were known to represent. Ahmet wants to be as accomplished as Süleiman, but we, as audience, know of Süleiman's detrimental flaws as a person and a padişah and we see that, he isn't exactly a person to be praised, let alone worshipped. It's interesting how the SOW call each other back in different ways, but it's all the more interesting that neither Kösem, nor Turhan call back to their predecessors. Is it because they've known each other closer than any of the worship? Is it simply because their characters have a different purpose? Is it because the theme of letting go of the past reached its fullest peak? I definetly can't say for sure.

That said, MC Mihrimah isn't from the SOW in the show both symbolically and arc-wise, but having a character that is not from the SOW (Dilruba) worship another character from the other show that also isn't from the SOW (Mihrimah) would be intriguing, judging by their similarities. However, these exact similarities prevent me from assessing this idea entirely, because I don't think it would do the show many favors. It could add even more depth to Dilruba: her willingness to protect Mustafa at all costs would be even more understandable then, knowing how the person she worships did the exact same thing in her eyes - it would turn not into a necessity, but into an ideal to live by, something that not only she has to do, but considers as honorable to do and loves it. But Dilruba is close enough to Mihrimah along with the traits and conceptual differences that set both of them apart - having the parralel be "addressed" in-universe through a direct worship would remind the audience even more that Dilruba is similar to Mihrimah and that may prevent endearment to her character. There are people that consider MCK so similar to MC already, that would be the last nail of the coffin. It may have been a risky move because of the ratings? Safiye worships Hürrem, but Safiye has a different narrative role than Hürrem and a more distinct personality, while Dilruba is a more obvious and open parallel. Not to the point of repetition, of course, but it's still close enough for a possible worship for Mihrimah in the show itself to be a dealbreaker for some. I wouldn't mind such a thing for Dilruba at all, but I can see why it possibly wasn't the case.

I'm satisfied with what we got with MC Mihrimah, but I can understand why you would want more power and agency from her. She could be very clueless sometimes which contrasted with her moments of perceptiveness. That was a solid character flaw of hers, but it could be very annoying. But then again, I also get why Mihrimah was the way she was, because MC put the personal motives of a character before any kind of power (or a character wants power for personal motives). Dilruba was perhaps way more ruthless, because MCK itself was more ruthless and it built on the MC themes. Power was already for the sake of power, the time period was more ruthless, everything was happening instantly and there wasn't a place to breathe. While with Mihrimah we got a deeper exploration where we saw more vulnerable sides, Dilruba had both her screentime and this ruthlessness stopping her from developing more and letting her be who she is. I guess both characters had their reasons to be who they were thematically, but writing improvements could still be made, of course.

[hood-ex]

Can you please tell me what you think about Dick’s characterisation and the roll he plays in the Titans tv series? I have complaints but I want the opinion of someone who knows the comics well (I’ve only read some of the series).

Oh maaan. Where to begin. My thoughts are gonna be all over the place because it’s been sooo long since I’ve watched Titans. I’m kinda dredging it up in my mind as best as I can. So sorry if this isn’t all that cohesive. 

First, I think it needs to be pointed out that Titans purposely has a darker tone to it, the timeline of events is all fucky, and the characters being different ages from their comic selves also changes things. Now what this means for Dick is that we’re thrown into his secrets and trauma from the get-go, making him have a more cold, closed-off demeanor. Of course, we know that’s because of his unresolved shit with Bruce, the fallout with the OG Titans, and his guilt over what happened to Jericho. Plus, y’know, the general trauma that comes with watching your parents die and dealing with all the terrible shit that goes on in Gotham night after night. 

I think most people were shocked to see Dick be this dark person, but he’s dark because the show throws us into the middle of Dick’s trauma that he hasn’t worked past yet. So it’s not surprising that people may have been expecting Dick Grayson from Wolfman’s New Teen Titan’s run, and instead, got the traumatized Dick Grayson from Devin Grayson’s Blockbuster run. It may make Dick seem OOC, but it’s really not far off base from how he acts during a very dark period of his life in comics. 

The super aggressive fighting... ehhh. I can kinda understand it since his dark thoughts are reflected in how he fights. Still, Dick generally doesn’t do more damage than necessary in the comics. 

In S1, Dick is kinda flighty. He’s not totally on board with being Rachel’s guardian or staying with Rachel, Kory, and Gar. Again, not super surprising to me since Dick has been trained not to blindly trust people. I also think he doesn’t want to get hurt again after what happened with the OG Titans. 

The way the show shits on Dick’s relationships with the Titans is super sad to see. In the show, I think it’s made clear that Dick is scared of being abandoned by the Titans. In comics, Dick needs his friends. They’re his family. And tbh? The way the Titans (Hank, Dawn, and Donna) treat Dick in the show is uhhh bad. Shit like Dawn telling Dick to “be Batman” which is something Dick struggles with in comics, or shit like not being at all concerned when Dick runs into the room with a gun, very obviously having some kind of mental breakdown, and none of them running after him when he runs off to find Jason. Yeah, I don’t fuck with that. 

Now Dick does have quite the guilt complex in comics, so I’m not surprised that Jericho’s death has taken such a toll on his mental health, especially since Dick feels responsible for his death. 

Dick being passively suicidal? Purposely getting himself arrested because of his guilt? That’s based on canon. It aligns with one of the darkest times in Dick’s life in the comics which was during the Blockbuster fiasco. 

But alright. So that’s some of the dark shit about Dick. Now lemme say a few things about the lighter bits of his character in the show. 

In comics, Dick is a safety net for many people, and in turn, the Titans are his safety net. I think Titans does portray that if in a bit of a fucked up way. Dick has no responsibility to Rachel and Gar, and he ends up becoming their guardian anyways. Him giving up the car he loves to get a minivan to drive everyone around in shows a certain level of acceptance on his part. Like yeah, the minivan is way more convenient and practical for all of them, but minivans are known to be family cars, so it signifies a desire for a more stable life with a family. 

That kinda leads into Dick’s role as leader and guardian since Dick and Kory take these teens in when they don’t have to. Dick eventually not only gives them and Jason a home, he starts to train them because they need to learn to control/protect themselves. And while the family vibes are good and all, Dick’s baggage keeps him from being open with the others, and in turn, Rachel keeps her secret about her powers acting up from Dick because she can tell he’s dealing with a lot or what have you. 

Even though Dick’s intentions are good, his own issues puts distance between him and the others. Rachel and Gar have their own shit to deal with, and they need support. They can’t get the support they really need from Dick because of Dick’s own issues, which is why we see Rachel later calling Kory instead of going to Dick. 

In comics, Dick is definitely the leader, but he’s not necessarily a guardian to any of the Titans. That’s because most of the Titans are his age or are only a few years younger than him. They’re on more of an even playing field whereas Dick in the show can’t just dump his baggage on the teens he’s a guardian to, y’know? So there’s not as good of a balance between all of them in the show as there is in the comics. 

Dick is heavily relied upon in the comics, and I think that’s true for the show as well. He’s also a lynchpin in the show who connects the OG Titans with the new Titans. Him having his shit together is kinda paramount into making the two groups gel, and in the comics, Dick plays that part very well. Sadly, he doesn’t have his shit together in the show, so everything around him starts to fall apart. This kinda happens to him in the comics as well after Joey’s death and the dickkory wedding disaster. Dick is just strung out from everything, and he decides to leave the Titans. 

All in all, I don’t think Dick’s characterization in Titans is too far off base. I just think that starting the show off with him being weighed down by his issues is kind of throwing people off since it portrays Dick with certain thoughts and behaviors that are typically reserved for the dark, traumatic events in his life. It kind of only captures one side of him. I would say there are other aspects of his character that aren’t displayed in the show, so who he is in the show isn’t 100% of who Dick Grayson is. It’s only a part of him. 

[myobsessionraven]

Right where you left me

Arcade (chapter 7)

An: i usually avoid writing these but its my BIRTHDAY today so hehe.

*these are Beastboy's thoughts and the 'him' is a reference to Damian*

Narrator's P.O.V (Point Of View)

He laid on the green comforter baffled as all of his thoughts jogged around his memories; the joy and the grief, all of it. The times he found happiness in the least all because he grew from the worst; the bliss of waking up to the happy chattering, pointless question of his friends and blazing alarms. The times he remained content.

Today was not one of those days; not one of the days he found a way to avoid, to distract himself from the memories he kept reminiscing on, kept going back to even after all the rejection. The times where his mind wandered off to the same question

'If it was supposed to be their fairy tail then why did she let him in ?' He always gave himself the same answer yet it never nourished his broken heart, bloomed his wilted thoughts. He needed to realise that two made a whole, filling up a half with daydreams of desire could never achieve a pair of one.

It was so hard on his mind and his body, his heart and his soul trying to realise she has someone in her heart who isn't him and possibly never was.

He hated this feeling of envy to someone he didn't know; he needed to take accountability of his thoughts and control his toxicity towards a person he never took a chance to meet. He kept looking back on the past finding solace in times when he was the only prince in her life even when he knew that time was a delusion he created.

5 years ago...

He looked at his four acquaintance as excitement rattled through his body and flowed through his veins. It was hard to believe someone had accepted him after all the torture and the pain he had to endure in his life. He had found himself a fraternity. It was all finally coming to a fresh beginning, a new page.

A new chapter was unfolding in front of his eyes in a book filled with angst. It  seemed to him as if all the grief had led to this very moment-led to this tower with two cool dudes and two beautiful ladies. It never helped that both the woman of the house were nose bleedingly gorgeous and breathtakingly perfect, it very well might have been his hormones speaking up for him but he didn't care he was happy to be there, happy to be there with them- all of them.

He found each acquaintance of the house unique and attractive in specific ways yet one was more intriguing than the rest; more mysterious, a puzzle he couldn't put together supported by her eccentric behaviour. Her name was Raven. He was indecisive about his opinions towards her at first, he had days he wished to crack her up along with her fickle behaviour towards people there were  days where he wanted to give up and accept defeat let triumph shove a tongue in his face as he sulked in a disaster of his thoughts.

Yet he continued on, let that special something draw him towards her, tie their souls together with an invisible thread thereby he continued his observation and obsession with her.

Told her jokes took any chance he had to spend time with her until they became friends with misunderstandings ever so often trying to break their iron grip but it never mattered when he knew they would always find the sunlight behind those grey clouds; it never mattered when he knew they would find it together.

4 years ago...

It was intimate the small gestures he made towards her or anyone yet it never felt that way. Not to him. It was always natural with his behaviour of expressing his feelings through his hugs and touch rather than words.

Like the lingering moment beneath their wandering gaze towards the gleaming stars tinkling in the dark night. They were setttled in a comforting silence- a rare occasion with his mouth that never seemed to shut up. Yet none of them had to speak anything both dazzled by the beauty of the stars that lit up the black sky.

Living in the tall tower isolated from the town had its perks and one of them had to be the view; the experience of sunrise in the dawn, sunset and the stars in the night sky.

He let his brain drift in a thoughtless wreck just lying on the concrete beneath him with his forearm as pillow.

He suddenly felt a feather light weight ponder down on his shoulder he looked up a bit crooked from his state towards the long map of the roof only to be met with tufts of lavender hair lying on his shoulder as the owner swept away in a peaceful slumber.

He let a smile grace his lips as he continued to enjoy the view until Raven wasn't the only one sleeping peacefully on the top of the roof.

3 years ago...

He laid on the bed, white sheets spread through it's surface as grimacingly intoxicating scent of medicine hit his nose like a donation to his million dollar headache. He tried to find some comfort in the the growing pain only to be met with a harsh tug of a hand.

"Ouch rae that hurt" he complained

"Not my fault you stole robin's bike once again and drove it so recklessly around the town" he wasn't expecting a reply yet her witty remark was no surprise to him too.

"I thought your doctors magic was supposed to heal my head completely" he whined out his voice showcasing the true depth of his pain.

Like most of his painful quarrels this was again unheard by her tone deaf ears as she occupied herself with his head and let her eyes reply to the remark shooting a harsh glare his way before she spoke her feelings out in words too.

"I can't completely heal you Beastboy you know that, now stop whining like a child we both wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for you not wearing a helmet"

"I couldn't have rae it would ruin my handsome looks- he added a dramatic sigh for good measures before starting from where he left off-besides no one like helmets if they did they would be called heaven-mates " he cracked up on his own joke for a second forgetting about the world as tiny droplets of tears fell from his eyes his mouth cracking up with his echoing laughter.

"_"

"_"

" the self control I have over my hand right now to not hit you over the head is just as strong as the displeasure of every girl after seeing you "

"Hey I'm handsome and you know it" eyebrows wiggle

"Never mind I'm hitting you on the head"

2 years ago...

He thought she was cute. It didn't help that he had started possessing a minuscule crush on her over the course of the years he spent with her. He adored everything she did, he noticed her presence before herself. He found her stunning even after a fight with the green gooey monster that haunted their town. He adored it all the arguments and the moments, the hugs and the swats it was always a bonus of being with her; a combination of the evil and the pure, a combination of the yin and the yang.

Though none of these things altogether could build up to the one thing, that one action,the one feeling his body adopted when she blushed. Yes it was raven's blush that he reckoned the most spectacular. He'd only seen her blush one time in the 3 years they spent together, it didn't help the blush that adored her puffy cheeks was not reciprocation to one of his corny pickup lines but this time he hoped to make the above statement true.

"Hey rae"

No reply

He would continue anyways he was used to her methods of disrupting his profound confidence.

"I was blinded by your beauty,

I will need your number and name for insurance purposes" he said a cheesy grid that settled on his face but it fell as quickly as it stood as his met her obviously annoyed expression with the compliment of an eye roll. Well he could always give it another shot he decided.

"Don't get scared if a fat guy with a white beard kidnaps you tonight,

I told Santa what I wanted"

"That was an original" was her sarcastic remark

Hey what if he stole it from a guy on tik tok it was the feelings and effort that mattered... right? He heard the red alarm blaze once again signifying their call of duty. It was alright he would bring himself enrapture in the fact she responded... for now.

1 year ago...

They were fighting again all because of him. A stranger who managed to ruin their-his life to it's full extent or at least that's what he wished to believe, that's what gave him a break from those dreadful nights, that's what made him consume the food without having the urge to pile it out above all that's what made him stop blaming himself. He knew it was never late enough to step back and let the harsh realisation hit him; slap him with all its worth. But with at what cost? It would be hard upon him, it would crack him up and he was not ready for that. Yet he knew all along in his mind that he could live without her love but never without her. So he'll just protect her from afar hope for the best anything to prevent him from losing her, anything to see her presence each day leave this argument behind them stay up at nights to make sure she was safe that's all after all he could do with breaking her happiness.

——————————————————

[sanstropfremir]

ok alright alright alright kingdom episode two

kinda disappointed that they only showed half the stages, but that's just an editing thing to draw out the content so you can air for longer, i'm not super surprised about that. i would have liked to evaluate them all at the same time, but at least this gives me time to go more in depth for all of them since they're full stages this time and I wrote 3000 words for last episode when they only had 100 secs. so this format will probably keep me sane for longer, i think. 

solid stages all round for them, none had especially glaring flaws on the whole. i'm not gonna do a full ranking for this episode since we haven't seen them all, but i will say that btob’s was my favourite from this set and both ikon’s and tbz’s stages were about equal; they both had things i liked and disliked in equal measure so i'm tentatively giving them the same ranking. full opinions and analysis on each stage below the cut, plus another section of general notes because hey what the fuck did you do to that stage mnet???

and for anyone that’s wondering yes i do have the qualifications. also seriously grab a drink or something because this is LONG.

some general notes

and here i thought this section wouldn't be as big as it was last time because mnet was going to get their shit together about the stage design, but noooooooooooo they had to go and make it worse! thanks mnet i hate it! remember how i said you shot yourself in the foot last time? well ya fuckin kneecapped yourself AND all your idols with this one ya dumb fuckin idiots. alright folks welcome back to stage design 101, my recurring segment where i explain the different types of stage layouts and their effectiveness for kpop idol survival shows, i guess.

ok so last week i covered the basics on theatre in the round and traverse staging, which i’ll link here if there’s anyone new or just wants a refresher. i mentioned that its likely that mnet will switch to an in the round style staging because it offers a lot more freedom for camera movement and also for directional blocking. well, i was wrong. so i'm gonna give you a quick rundown of prosceniums. a proscenium, proscenium arch, or just prosc, is an architectural feature that sits around the front ‘opening’ of the stage that delineates the stage from the audience. if you've ever been in or seen any pictures of old european style theatres it can be quite ornately decorated with scrolling, but it's almost always there in most western theatres. it basically provides your ‘wings,’ which are where you exit off into to get offstage, they provide cover from the audience sitelines. pretty much any theatre where the audience is directly opposing the stage across the 180 degree line is a proscenium stage, even if it doesn't physically have the arch. hell, movie theatres are prosc stages. now, there's a secondary architectural feature/device called a false proscenium, where you set a second, smaller archway inside the first prosc, usually done for a specific effect. think of it like a literal framing device; it's often used to visually signify that ‘this is a play, we are telling a story, please be aware that this is a play thank you.’ but sometimes, it can be a semi-permanent structure that’s set in place to narrow the prosc opening. we had this at my university, there was a false prosc set just inside the actual prosc because the stage had a hilariously big prosc opening for a university that never had casts larger than 24 people. so they set false prosc in to make the stage slightly narrower and to widen the wings, because it doesn't matter what size theatre you're in, you always need more wingspace. makes sense? ok, now here’s a very quick drawing of what i'm pretty sure the kingdom stage looks like:

before you get lost: stage directions are oriented to a person standing on the stage, hence SL and SR being reversed. a quick tip for remembering which way is upstage and which is downstage: if you go too far downstage you fall down (most stages are raised between 2-4’ from the floor, so if you step off the end you will actually fall.) the arrows on here signify the entrances i observed during the performances, which is not necessary in this explanation but i just thought it was interesting to note. still not entirely sure what the surrounding architecture is but it appears that the stage is a raised platform inside a room, and not actually built as part of the building. the ‘house’ is just a technical term for where the audience is, and in this case it's where it looks like most of the film crew and the producers/staff are. there’s pretty clearly a platform upstage centre, and i think there may be some others but i don't care about those right now. what i want to talk about is this dumbass false prosc they set IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE. now i suspect that they did this to solve some problems that they could have had that i don't know about, since i don't know who the stage designer was and what the actual limitations of the space are. but basically they've built two stages and stacked them on top of each other to create one very deep stage, and then separated it off with a false prosc in order to control the size of the space a little better, and possibly to add some visual interest. this stage is functional for its purpose, absolutely, and i think, if mnet actually gave a shit about point of view and camerawork, it could produce some really interesting performances. however, because this stage is so deep, it kind of has the same properties as the traverse stage from before, but just with some big led screens in the middle for reasons. you extra have to pay attention to the directionality because you have all the staff and cameras concentrated in one specific cardinal point, so you have to get creative if you want to crossover between the two sides frequently. again, this is not necessarily bad; restrictions often produce some of the most creative decisions.  but! we have not seen a lot of consideration for camera and sightlines and audience pov, hence why i think this setup is dumb: it’s not facilitating the best performances it could.

ok now to the actual performances

btob

this is my favourite of the group because it's very clean lined and utilizes a few simple devices to pretty good effect. i realize these reviews are making me sound like i only like simple performances but i promise this is not at all true i'm just very critical and very picky. let’s start with the costumes, because why not. 

costumes

i like these very much, i love modernized traditional clothing in all forms, and these are very well tailored and well coordinated. they do the bulk of the work establishing the theme for the performance, along with the costumes on the backup dancers. personally i would have liked them to be a bit more colourful, à la the teal detailing that was on minhyuk’s final look. i'm getting a bit tired of the whole trend of having groups only wear all dark or all white, or maybe sometimes red if they're feeling spicy. obviously uniform colour is the easiest way to tie a group together visually, but on a show like this i think the groups would actually benefit more from looking distinct from each other internally rather than establishing the group as whole.

i liked that minhyuk had a costume change but i didn't really care for how it was how it was broken down. this is a very personal quibble because i literally have spent years prepping quickchanges but the method it broke down wasn’t the most visually compatible with the garment and felt kinda clunky. please ignore this anecdote it's just me being picky.

set

i loved the forest! a very excellent way to divide the stage area and obscure the weird stage lines/architecture that mnet has made. plus the snow, flowers, and fog? makes a really sharp and immediately indicative atmosphere, a very good use of visual shorthand to establish place.

i didnt love the screens, they reminded me a bit too much of rolling whiteboards from grade school, but they are thematically relevant. also, i feel like we didnt actually get to see about half the choreo for them? fuckin mnet and idiocy again. fun use of rear projection with the dancers’ shadows, and also good use of them to direct traffic, if you will. 

personally i think that the sheet gimmick from tbz’s performance would have been a better fit here instead of the screens, especially since the fabric motif was already established at the very beginning of the performance. plus you can do some really fun shadow work with a stretch fabric screen. 

personally i think there could have been a little bit more integration between the forest area and the screen area, or they could have done the whole thing in the forest space, but that would require a bit more consideration of camera and choreo maneuverability

sound

really liked this arrangement, obviously the song is iconic but they added a more traditional instrument sound. has good structure for the loose narrative that they had and they were well to label this as ‘theatre’ version because this did follow very closely to a traditional musical theatre sound and style

lighting

no complaints. the overall theme for this episode is apparently blue and red? again with them i like their dedication to a limited colour palette and i especially like the blossoms at the climax

staging

there was pretty clear camera choreo and a minimum of nausea inducing moves. i think some of the effectiveness of the staging got chopped by the editing but that’s not really btob’s fault.

i was just saying i wanted them to give minhyuk some time to shine, i was not expecting to get it so soon! this is a very smart choreo that proves you can be interesting without doing a lot of tricking. minhyuk obviously did a lot of practice and work with that sword, his movements are very fluid and he knows how to handle it. and it looks like its either a blunted proper blade or a correctly weighted replica. a lot of the times when sword choreo looks fake it's because the person either hasn't had enough practice or the weapon is not weighted/weighted incorrectly. only complaints are that you would never hold your fingers/palm that close and un-anchored over the edge of the blade, which is just a safety thing. also you would never scrape your blade on the ground like that, nor toss the thing like dead fish but that's a respect thing with a live blade and this is clearly done for dramatic effect so i’ll forgive it. please ignore this anecdote also it’s just my third dan getting uppity.

ikon

costume/set

smart thematically to go with the sort of miscellaneous 30s-40s (western) aesthetic because it's the fastest way to make it look like you built a theme with mnet’s weird pseudo art deco nonsense they've inexplicably got going on in the set dec. however, they should have stuck the theme all the way through, it would have been more visually cohesive and more interesting. we expect more hiphop/electronic sounding songs to come with these kinds of 4th gen costumes, it would have been anachronistic in a fun way to have them do that second half in 40s style suits. here’s a performance from sdc3 that uses that kind of anachronistic play (this was a combo stage with two ballroom dancers and it has a 20s aesthetic but close enough.) also here’s another routine from sdc3 that does a similar effect on a much more abstract scale, and also it’s a fucking incredible performance and it got slept on by the captains. also yes i know these are incredibly experienced career dancers but they way they construct narrative within their routines and their stage presence is SO GOOD. 

do not speak to me about the backup dancers costumes, holy shit i hate them. i hate them so much. how do you manage to hit too shapeless AND too fitted in the same fell swoop? i'm so mad at these. i'm neutral on bodycon dresses on the best of days but these were absolutely the wrong choice for this stage. generally kpop has abysmal costuming for female backup dancers on the whole but this is just like.....especially lazy. the point of the costume are to help give an indication of where and when you set your performance. they started off with a vaguely 40s theme and then jumped abruptly modern. why? also skirts like that are the literal worst choice for dancing in, hello?? the men’s looks are just sloppy, when you have a garment that big you want it to serve a purpose within the choreo, whereas with this it's just hiding the dancers’ movements.

as for ikon themselves, see everything ive said about black on black on black styling in the previous two reviews. 

the actual set is minimal and that's tragic. i mentioned mnet’s weird art deco theme and it was smart of them to try and play off that with a lack of stuff. definitely a mismatch of stuff pulled from yg’s prop storage, but they made it work as well as they could. no other meaningful comments i’m just kinda sad about it.

sound

the arrangement is fine, no complaints from me. they keyed up the old hollywood style musical theatre sound in the beginning which i really liked. i didn't mind the song/tone switch, i think they pulled it off.

staging

same as btob they learned more towards a theatrical style, which is smart for this particular format of show. i think this was the smartest staging of these three, and also i think the only ones to not get the crew in shot.

despite seemingly leaning into a more old hollywood style the narrative was a bit too loose for my taste. i'm not sure what i would have done to make it clearer at this moment since they had so little to work with, but i did get by on my previous knowledge of the songs. that shouldn’t be the only indication of narrative though! all elements need to support it!!

also like btob they had a pretty intentional point of direction and there weren't a crazy amount of spins. they also used the camera cuts the most effectively that i've seen so far. the first half is actually all in one take!!! incredible!!! thank you!!!! this is how you do it!!

the lighter flick gimmick was well pulled off and a good example of how to use a couple of simple tricks to good effect.

ikon as a whole has really great stage chemistry with each other, and they're extremely cohesive performers. this is a really strong physical performance from them, the dance was very solid and clean. good use of levels without verging into acrobatics. this might be the best group choreo i've seen so far, but we’re not very far so that's not a very high bar to clear.

it's a shame they had the budget of 1 banana.

tbz

i liked this stage better than their intro stage, but i still think they have a long way to go and they're still over ambitious. personally i find stages based on specific pop culture properties to be kind of twee and ineffectual, because it requires a specific knowledge of that pop culture property to work. sometimes the specificity can help with a narrative but you're at risk of alienating a larger portion of your audience out of sheer non-knowledge than anything else. 

costumes

again, interesting garments physically, but not much clarity of relation to the theme other than the colour. also the backup dancers???? another case of backup dancers being from an entirely different stage, what is up with those coats/dresses? looked more like they belonged in either sweeney todd or a vampire movie. 

hands in front of the camera again, but these were used much more effectively.  i'm not the biggest fan of mixing metals and i’m partial to silver on the whole so i didn't love the jewelry, but at least it was vague and stereotypical enough to denote ‘fire magic’ even if it does rely on a derivative middle eastern shorthand.

set

the stage set itself is fine, although definitely feels a bit haphazard to me. doric columns and frozen rocks and whatever that cover for the pyrotechnics was at the front, combined with the candles and the chaise lounge? like ikon, it felt a bit like they were pulling out of the props/set storage. not that all these things do not work together, it's just that you need a thread to tie them together, and this didn't have that for me.

sound

it's a crime they have a song called ‘no air’ and its not a jordin sparks cover. just saying.

i didnt really like this arrangement, again like their intro stage it didn't have a strong structure that suited the narrative, because they were pretty clearly trying a narrative on this one. also were most of the adlibs playback? they were singing live but there were so few shots of anyone specific singing. 

lighting

probably the weakest of the three. the projection design was a bit too tacky for me, and although i appreciated the small amount of variety in colour, it felt way too concert-lighting for me.

staging

the editing on this stage is wack and did no one any good. the hands leading/pov was a really smart device and they should have stuck out the one takes like ikon did, it would have made the whole stage feel a bit more cohesive. a lot better directional camerawork from them this time around, well done. again with the hands in front of the camera gimmick which i actually preferred this time, since they were a part of the narrative. the stretch/silhouette fabric i think they pulled off quite well, even if it didn't really fit thematically with the piece. i actually worked on a show a very long time ago that used this exact same effect with dancers and also rear shadow projection, and it requires a lot of rehearsal and trust to pull off well, so props to them. i think it was the wrong choice because there isn't an established motif for the fabric, so it kind of appears out of nowhere for one specific visual moment and then disappears, and i think that time could have been better served for something else narratively relevant.

again, these 4th gen groups are overly focussed on gimmicks as a way to make up for the lack of experience. personally i think this will be detrimental in the long run, and a reliance on gimmicks means that you don't trust your performers. tbz have the manpower to be doing some pretty cool collective dance work and i dont think its being trained or utilized correctly. they are suffering from a lack of cohesive stage presence right now and that can be fixed with training and time.

this might be because the group sizes are so different between these three but this choreo is very directionless. mnet is also providing to be absolute garbage at editing and i feel like i can't see the choreo at all.

this is a thing i've noticed with kpop camerawork in general, there’s very little regard for actually viewing the choreo as a singular work. and for some reason the camera always needs to be moving???? people do actually want to see what’s happening on the stage. the choreographer can only see from one spot, so from that spot is how they are intending it to look. you wouldn't need to upload full cams of every music stage if you just filmed the choreo properly in the first place. if you watch the two sdc3 clips i linked you can see a clear difference in maintaining the integrity of the choreo, even though both shows use several cameras and a lot of cuts.  obviously for kpop you want the money shots of idols’ faces but i definitely think there’s a healthier middle ground than what we have now.

ill wait for full subs but i want to know where in the fuck in sk you can rent a tank thas clearly been custom made for underwater photography, because that’s extremely cool even if it was absolutely unnecessary to the actual stage itself. i can think of several ways off the top of my head that would have achieved that same freezing effect without any of that wasted time and effort.

mnet decided to drop full cams while i was writing this and despite watching those my opinions are the same.

in conclusion, some more general thoughts:

i think ikon and btob got it right by leaning more into the theatrical than the cinematic, if that makes sense. i might be talking up my own ass here but these are theatre performances, and they should be treated as such. trying to do things that you can do on film isn't going to do you any favours in the long run, and it makes it harder to make a cohesive performance. i’m harping a lot about narrative but it is so important to performance. although it is not technically necessary, when doing big theatrical performance stages like this it does help with clarity of intent and general success. humans have brains structured around storytelling, it is literally the way our history has been passed down for tens of thousands of years. the atlantic published an article recently on narrative and memory, and it's a really excellent read for maybe after you've taken a break from this behemoth, oh dear god. 

tldr: the stages were good but disappointing in their own ways. mnet continues to sabotage via weird stage design decisions and bad editing. see you next week! (or in my ask box if you have questions)

[sondepoch]

Part 2

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

There were only two weeks left in the RAD student exchange program when Diavolo asked you to be his paramour. Thirteen days, when Barbatos had helped you move your things into Purgatory Hall.

By the time there were ten days remaining, the demon brothers—with the exception of Lucifer, who was still hesitant to be openly by your side in front of Diavolo—had thrown you a huge party (in Purgatory Hall, much to Luke's horror) and by the seven-day mark, you had taken the last of your final exams.

But these past four days have been beyond slow going without Diavolo by your side to make the time pass by.

You frown, memories of the demon flitting through your mind.

You never even had the chance to speak to him about your decision.

The man had walked into your room, mouth open and about to start a conversation, when he saw how bare the walls and dresser were. It took him less than a second to realize that you'd already prepared to leave, that you were abandoning him and his palace and his paramour situation behind.

Diavolo left the room before you could even open your mouth.

You sigh, a noise soft enough to have been carried away by the gentle breeze flowing through the courtyard, but Simeon hears it nonetheless.

"What's wrong, little lamb?" He asks, putting down the feathered pen he's using to write his report. Barbatos informed you that you're excused of yours, but the other exchange students still have to complete this final assignment before you all return to your respective realms.

"Nothing, Simeon." You glance away, not wanting to distract the angel. "You should continue working on your report."

The angel chuckles and moves his papers aside. "I have three more days before I leave. I'm sure I'll be able to find time to complete this later, so tell me what's on your mind, hm?"

You glance hesitantly at the angel. He already knows the full story: you'd spent nearly an hour in his arms as he consoled you while you cried over the stupidity of a paramour and how unfair the whole situation was. Simeon had agreed with you wholeheartedly back then, and hadn't pressed you for more details. But it's obvious he's aware of the lingering doubts in the back of your mind. No question, he knows that your strained relationship—your lack of a relationship, rather—with Diavolo is the cause of your distress. But it can't hurt to tell him the deeper truth, right?

"It's just..." You let your voice trail off. "I don't see how I can ever be as happy as I was with Diavolo with anyone else. I...it...it scares me, to think of what kind of life I'll be leading when I return to the human realm."

"I see," Simeon murmurs, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"And it's not just that," You continue. "What do I do when I go back? I've missed out on an entire year of life with my friends, and I know that when I return, it'll be like nothing happened because of all the protective magic spells and stuff, but what do I do with these memories? Do I keep them? Do I forget them? Are my memories...are they meaningless now?"

"Hey." Simeon interrupts your rambling, a light frown present on his face for the first time. He places his hands on your shoulders in a delicate but firm grip and forces you to look at him. "Your memories of your time here are not meaningless. Never say that, little lamb. Never."

He pulls you in for a comforting hug, arms wrapping tight around you to protect you from your own thoughts. You relax in his arms. His embrace is almost as reassuring as a certain redhead demon lord, and it's easy to close your eyes and forget the difficulties that have been plaguing your mind.

"I'm sorry," You mumble. "I didn't mean it like that. None of you are meaningless to me, Simeon. I just..."

"You're worried." Simeon finishes your sentence. "You're worried about the future, and about how you're ever going to be this happy again."

You nod your head.

It hurts to hear it out loud, but Simeon has the truth of it.

Being in the Devildom has brought so much color into your life. Beyond constant near-death experiences with various demons trying to eat you and the boring studies you had to work on, meeting the angels and demons has shown you a new world altogether: one of magic, chaos, and thrill.

How will going back to the human world, to your humble little abode and your quiet little friends, ever compare to the experiences you've gone through here?

"My sweet little lamb," Simeon smiles. "Let me guarantee your happiness."

You raise an eyebrow at the angel. If those words came from any other man, you'd be running the other direction right now. But you trust Simeon, so you'll humor whatever idea is in his head.

But with his next words, it becomes apparent that the supposed 'little' idea in his head is bigger than you could have ever imagined; and just as effective, too.

"Let me take you to the Celestial Realm," He whispers into your ear. His eager emerald eyes never leave yours as he clasps your smaller hands in his own. "Let me take you to Michael. And when you return to the human realm, you'll return with an angel's blessing. Michael's Blessing. The blessing of eternal happiness."

***

Satan is growing concerned.

That's what the blonde claims, anyway.

"Goodness, Lucifer!" He exclaims at breakfast upon seeing Lucifer's furrowed brows. "I haven't seen you half this wrathful since that prank Mammon pulled four thousand years ago when he dyed your wings pink with the—"

"Quiet, Satan," Lucifer seethes. He's not in the mood for any of his brother's antics, not when this much rage is consuming him.

"I'm just saying," Satan murmurs, leaning back as he stabs into his breakfast with his fork. "The last time you were this angry, your wrath gave birth to me, and the last thing I want is another brother."

Lucifer scowls, pushing his chair back as he stands up and gets ready to leave for the day. His brothers love to taunt him, evidenced by Asmodeus joining in on the teasing with some remark about how scowls this intense would cause wrinkles, and the demon walked out of the breakfast hall to the sound of Mammon's laughter and Levi's LOLOLing.

On any other day, he'd reprimand his siblings and put them in their place.

But today, he's saving his wrath for a special someone.

He speed walks across the RAD campus, long legs taking him to his destination with more purpose and stride than he's ever carried before.

"Barbatos," He growls when the butler opens the door to Diavolo's castle.

"Lucifer," The demon greets plainly, a familiar, ever-knowing smile locked onto his face. The sight of such a smug look almost makes Lucifer lose control of himself before he stops, remembering the reason why he came here in the first place.

I'm here for Diavolo, he tells himself. Not to fight the godforsaken butler.

"How is Diavolo faring?" Lucifer asks, removing his coat. He begins walking to the prince's office, only to be stopped by Barbatos.

"Worse than usual, this morning. My lord has yet to leave his bedchambers, so unless you'd like to do his paperwork for him, I'd recommend you go there."

The future lord of the Devildom is moping around in bed at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday? Lucifer shakes his head. At this rate, he's never going to get better.

The demon knocks once at Diavolo's door, more to signify his presence than to actually ask for entry. He'd stopped doing that by the third day of MC's leave, when Diavolo had fallen too deep into despair to even respond to the ebony-haired demon's calls.

"Diavolo?" He murmurs, opening the door. He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice.

But the sight that greets him is strange, to say the least.

Pillows are thrown across the room, lamps shattered against the wall, the bedpost broken clean of the bed, the entire room privy to Diavolo's raw frustration at the situation before him. But all of that is akin to what the demon lord's room has been like on previous days.

This morning, though, in the center of it all stands a woman.

Lucifer stares at her for a moment, utterly confused as to who she is. He vaguely recognizes her, but from where?

"His wife," Barbatos clarifies from behind him. "Or future wife. She's been staying nearby ever since the proposal, and she stopped by to visit my lord last night. Upon learning of his...condition, she deduced that coming up here and consummating the marriage early might ease the prince of his current state."

"Well, it obviously didn't work." Lucifer crosses his arms in agitation, referring to the fact that she's fully clothed and clearly hasn't been touched since entering Diavolo's room. He gestures to the door in a motion for the she-demon to leave.

As she quietly walks out, though, Lucifer can't help but be relieved.

Lucifer knows how loyal his friend is, but the sight of a woman in his room still concerned him, upon first glance. If Diavolo had given her an heir, his whole situation with MC would truly be unsalvageable, the girl too human to think of his acts as anything other than infidelity.

The moment the door shuts, the tension in the room dissipates.

"Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles as he makes his way through the room, crossing his arms when he sees the unmoving stare of what had once been his proud friend.

"What." The sound comes out hoarse, more a word blurted than a real response, and Lucifer bends down to the eye level of his friend, who has still yet to even get out of bed.

Diavolo looks pitiful. Truly. Worse than each of the days before, but carrying the weight of them all the same. The demon's red locks seem darker, not as vibrant nor as soft as they normally look, instead having taken on the same cold, dead look as Diavolo's eyes.

And as Lucifer stares into the empty eyes of the man who was now deprived of his lover, words fail him.

He doesn't know what to say, where to begin, how to comfort this miserable demon.

The only person in all the realms who can do that is you, and the only way you would be returning is if Diavolo literally sacrifices millennia of Devildom tradition to wed you and make you his paramour in one—you, a woman who can't even yield him a biological heir.

Lucifer sighs, running a hand through his friend's hair.

"Go back to sleep," He advises, forgetting the reason why he had come here in the first place.

Slumber is the only peace he can see for his beloved friend.

***

Luke would be furious.

And tiny as the little angel is, you really don't want to ruin the remaining three days of your stay in the Devildom by yapping on about you being a bad influence on Simeon, which is why the two of you have to be overly secretive about sneaking out of Purgatory Hall.

"I think I'll retire early tonight," You say, standing up in the common room, reciting the line according to the plan you and Simeon had gone over in the evening. Perhaps you two were overthinking things, though, because neither Solomon nor Luke really reacts—both boys busying themselves with the completion of their own student exchange reports.

You cast the dark-skinned angel a glance as you walk out and make your way to your bedroom. A small part of you feels nervous. You've barely learned about the Celestial Realm, except for in your Angel Studies class. What if I embarrass myself in front of Michael? You wonder, beginning to pace. What if I embarrass Simeon?

"Little lamb?" Simeon calls, opening your door. He flashes you a warm smile when he sees you. "Wonderful, you're here. Are you ready to go?"

You give him a hesitant nod, and it takes less than a minute for him to open the window and the two of you to climb out.

"I love standing on the roof like this," Simeon informs you with a smile. He opens his arms up and spreads them, as if hugging the sky itself. "When I do this, I can feel every little breeze dancing through the night. Try it, little lamb, and close your eyes."

Wordlessly, you obey and shut your eyes, bringing your arms out. At first, it doesn't feel like much. In fact, all you can register is the light burn in your arms as you hold them for longer than you're used to—but then, you feel it.

It's quiet.

Subtle.

But it's there.

Your lips part as your bare arms begin to feel the breeze. The air moves gently, quietly, almost not at all. But the movement is there, and it fills your body up until it feels like you're flying higher and higher.

You let out a light laugh, about to open your eyes when Simeon's voice carries into your ears.

"Shh, little lamb," He murmurs. "Don't open your eyes."

And you're not sure if it's in that precise moment or a little later when you can feel the weightlessness of your own body, but you eventually realize that you're flying, soaring up, up, and up.

It's so much different from what you've experienced with demons.

No, in Diavolo's arms, flying was about the thrill of the ride: the wind fighting against your face as you cut through air where you didn't belong, every fiber of your being laughing and crying with joy as Diavolo flew you round and round.

But with Simeon, it's different.

It shouldn't even count as flying.

It's like gravity is pushing you away, urging you further and further into the sky like a balloon, except that you're not going to pop, and you're you.

And eventually, after the sensation becomes too much for you to bear in the darkness, you open your eyes.

You gasp.

"Tsk tsk." Simeon frowns, but his eyes are smiling. "What did I say about keeping your eyes closed?"

You don't bother humoring his question with a response, eyes glued to the sight beneath you. It's like another sky altogether, every single light in the Devildom a star on a black ground darker than night itself, truly a sight to behold. And when you finally pull your gaze high enough to look at Simeon, you realize that he is the real sight to behold.

"Y-your wings!" You exclaim, jaw slackened in pure awe of how divine the man looks. In his true form, Simeon looks even more stunning, his body radiating a soft glow as his snowy white wings spread out—two massive fliers majestic as they are untainted.

"Why would you ever ask me to close my eyes?" You ask, not understanding why the angel wouldn't want you to see such beautiful sights. Both the angel in front and the ground beneath you are more beautiful than anything you've laid your eyes upon in your entire life.

"I wanted you to see the Devildom lit up like this on the way down," Simeon chuckles. "Though I suppose it's only fair that you get to see it now."

You smile at the boy, before the new realization hits you—that you're flying on your own. Initially, you'd assumed that Simeon was the one pulling you up, lifting you into the sky by some invisible thread of divinity. But he's nearly three feet away from you as he continues to rise up, barely flapping his wings, so... "How am I flying?"

"The Blessing of an Angel," Simeon says with a grin. "You can collect blessings, little lamb. Each angel's blessing will manifest in a different form. My blessing is to bring people closer to their nature as an angel, and quite literally enables you to travel to the Celestial Realm. With wings."

With a single flap of his wings, Simeon brings his body behind yours, and you feel a hand begin to trace the outline of your back. Or at least, what feels like your back. You shudder as Simeon's fingers graze over a tender softness behind your body but on it all the same, and you just know that they're your wings. A single glance backward is enough to confirm it, the delicate whites nowhere near as majestic as Simeon's own figure but still stunning in their own right.

"Thank you," You murmur, following Simeon's lead as he instructs you on the ways of flight, teaching you how to use the new body parts. And then, before you know it, the two of you aren't just levitating upward but are truly flying, soaring through the skies straight into the heart of the Celestial Realm: an angel and a human, united in your journey above.

Not an hour later, you would repeat your gratitude to the archangel Michael as he offers you holy water to drink and rests his hand on your forehead, solemnly hearing out your request for his divine blessing.

And as you later crawl into bed, it strikes you just how much Simeon has managed to change in the short span of a few hours: you'd crawled out of your window as a mere heartbroken human. But returning, you carry Simeon's Blessing and Michael's Blessing: the blessing of holy flight and the blessing of eternal happiness.

And though nothing has truly happened with Diavolo to warrant such confident presumptions, you can't help but notice a quiet truth, before you finally give in to the temptations of Hypnos.

Indeed, your heart feels lighter.

***

Lucifer had saved you for last.

Simeon and Luke hadn't really needed much 'escorting,' given that all they had to do was spread their wings and fly to return to the Celestial Realm.

They'd been the first to depart.

Solomon had been the next one to go, bidding Asmodeus farewell in a suspicious promise to 'see each other soon' that concerned Lucifer, but he'd let it slide in lieu of getting rid of the shady sorcerer.

But that leaves you: the final exchange student.

And the time has finally come for you to go home.

He looks down at you, your face hesitant as your eyes widen in—what is the look on your face? Sadness? Fear? Anger? A mix of all things above?

"MC," He begins, the words feeling stiff as they come off his tongue. "I know that toward the end, things took a turn for the worse...but I truly did value your friendship in this year."

"And I, Lucifer." The demon relaxes when he sees you open your arms with a sheepish grin, eyes almost as shy and hesitant as the day he'd first met you. Lucifer doesn't waste a second in embracing you, pouring out of his arms all the feelings his pride would not permit him to vocalize.

I'm sorry, he tries to tell you. I'm sorry that things ended this way between you and Diavolo, especially when I know how happy you two were together. I'm sorry that I've had to take his side in this, and I'm sorry you were ever hurt.

And by the way you hug him back, squeezing his abdomen, it feels like you're telling him: I know.

"Is Diavolo not coming?" He hears you ask, tone wistful as you unbury your head from his chest.

Lucifer shakes his head softly, remembering how his friend had been even more unresponsive than usual this morning when asked if he would come to see you off.

"Mammon says he'll come visit," Lucifer remarks gently, trying to distract you. "Asmodeus and Beel, too. All of us will make time to visit you, in the end. You've been wonderful to have...we all feel that way."

Lucifer stresses that one word, trying to emphasize that he was speaking for the collective. For Diavolo. Even if the demon lord wouldn't be here to bid you farewell, Lucifer wants you to know that you've been precious to each and every one of them.

"Thank you, Luci." He hears you giggle, and for once, he doesn't even chastise you for using the nickname. "But it's time for me to go, isn't it?"

The demon sighs.

"It is."

"I'll miss you. All of you," You say, also emphasizing the word. The sentence means more than it seems. It's a quiet plea for Lucifer to tell Diavolo that, at the very least, your heart hasn't moved on.

"I'll be sure to let everyone know," The demon says, giving you just as cryptic a smile before wrapping you in a hug. He makes sure your eyes are closed as he turns into his demon form, summoning his powers to send you back.

At the back of his mind, he suspects that it won't be the last time he sees you. But no matter what instincts lie pooled in his gut, he can't shake the devastating sense of emptiness once you've vanished from his arms and vanished from the Devildom, returned to the human world.

It's where you belong, he tries to reason with himself. A human, among humans.

But deep inside, he knows the truth. And as much as he tries to deny it, his subconscious knows.

You belong with Diavolo.

***

The mark of the paramour is gone.

You remember, as Michael the Archangel had given you his blessing, that there'd been a searing pain in your stomach. Excruciating. Truly unlike anything you'd ever experienced before, though it was short enough.

Somehow, you've managed to pass weeks by without registering the lack of two black characters tainting your (s/c) abdomen, but as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you notice its absence.

Is this the 'eternal happiness' that Michael gave me? You scowl. In truth, you've yet to feel the effects of any revolutionary happiness. If anything, things have been worse than usual, these past few weeks.

"Damn it," You mutter, turning the lamp off. You don't want to see yourself in the mirror for a second longer.

You'd forced yourself out of bed to see the mark—to see the reminder that you once belonged to Diavolo, and he to you. You wanted to remember your time in the Devildom. You wanted proof that it was all real.

It doesn't matter that the characters on your stomach had proclaimed you a false lover, whatever that means. It was a connection to Diavolo. A contract, he had called it.

But even that little salvation has been stripped from you.

You choke back a sob, staring at your shriveled form. How long has it been since you left the Devildom?

Three weeks, says the calendar.

But without Simeon to cheer you up or the demon brothers to keep your mind occupied, it's felt like eons. Even your human friends have stopped visiting you, utterly unaware of the truth.

When you were surrounded by light and love and happiness, it was easy to tell yourself than you were healing from everything with Diavolo. But, looking back, you realize that you'd never been healing at all. No, even on the night you flew up to heaven with Simeon, you'd clung to the hope in your heart that Michael's Blessing of eternal happiness would somehow thrust you back into the arms of Diavolo.

But now I have no one to distract me, you think, staring at your hollowed cheeks. You haven't been eating as much, and it's showing. And I can't keep lying to myself that I'll ever end up with Diavolo.

You stare at your reflection, body seeming even more ghostly in the pale illumination of the moonlight as it streams in through your window.

You look dead.

And maybe, in some way, you are.

Can you ever love another as you loved Diavolo? It's impossible, you think, memories of your time with him beginning to stream through your mind.

Diavolo is a man unlike any other. Truly one of a kind, you think, remembering the very first time you'd expressed feelings for each other.

It was a Saturday when you first kissed him.

In fact, it had been Saturday the second time you kissed him as well, and probably the third and the fourth and the fifth times, until weeks later when two of you finally went public about your relationship.

But, in the beginning, Diavolo only saw you on Saturdays.

The man was committed to his plan of uniting the three realms, and he made every effort to make his precious exchange students feel welcome in the RAD. As far as you knew, he scheduled Solomon on Mondays, Simeon on Tuesdays, and Luke on Thursdays with the exceptional Friday—but you were the only one he saw over the weekend.

"Thank you for the tea, my lord." You smiled pleasantly at the man in front of you, wondering how someone so refined and gentle could possibly be a demon.

"Ah, how often must I say it? Drop the formalities, MC. Call me Diavolo!" He exclaimed with his usual ear-to-ear grin. It was a smile that always sent butterflies to your stomach, and you never failed to appreciate the little crinkle in his eye as he smiled at you from across the table.

"Of course, D-Diavolo." The name felt familiar on your tongue—you'd referred to him as such countless times in the presence of the demon brothers—but calling the future demon lord of the Devildom by his first name felt strangely personal as the two of you sat in his private garden, surrounded by flowers and sunshine, not even Barbatos present to intrude on your weekly meetings.

Well, they were called meetings. Diavolo treated them more as an opportunity for two old friends to catch up.

"So, how is school work going?" He asked, feigning interest in your performance at the academy. You knew it was just a ruse, though. Soon enough he would begin humoring his actual interests, asking questions about how you were liking your time in the House of Lamentation, what the family dynamic was like and, of course, there was always the one question he never failed to ask: whether any of you had managed to get a picture of Lucifer's sleeping face yet (and if so, to please forward the image to him).

The two of you eventually got caught up in the questions game, and soon enough, you had taken up his invitation to ask him things as well. It almost felt like the two of you were playing 20 Questions, and you told Diavolo as much.

"20 Questions? A human game? You must tell me how to play, MC." Diavolo's grin was expectant, and you quickly filled him in on the rules. Of course, as soon as he learned them, he decided that he wanted to play with you.

"You have to be truthful in this game?" Diavolo confirmed, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "And you cannot refuse a question, no matter what?"

"Nope!" You exclaimed cheerily in response. By then, the anxiety you felt at being in front of not only the strongest man in the Devildom but clearly the hottest one had faded, and you were almost teasing in your responses. "Of course, you can always back out if you're afraid of playing, Diavolo."

You batted your eyes innocently at the demon lord, trying to corner him into playing. Your plan worked like a charm.

"As if!" Diavolo exclaimed dramatically, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. He smiled confidently as he began the game. "I'll start. MC, how many objects did you help Mammon steal from my castle at the last feast?"

You felt your cheeks flush, not realizing that Diavolo had known about your assistance in Mammon's most recent attempts at thievery. The almost arrogant smirk on the man's face brought a response out of your mouth swiftly as you tried to put him back into his place.

"Three, but Lucifer made him put everything back. My turn: how did you know I helped Mammon steal from your castle?"

"Why, it was the first time he'd been successful in stealing anything from here. And there was only one thing that had changed," Diavolo winked. "You. And now, I'll go. What does the student body think of me, and the student council?"

The questions continued on like that, flirtatious undertones appearing every now and then, until the afternoon sun had gracefully rolled over Diavolo's castle into a sunset in the far west.

At the back of your mind, and probably his, too, you knew that you had long passed the concluding mark of twenty in this questions game, but you were too eager to value this rare, extra time with Diavolo to mention such a thing.

And it was then, right when the sun had dipped low enough to kiss the horizon and seemingly light up the ground and every petal in the garden, that Diavolo asked the question that would completely change the remainder of your stay in the Devildom.

"MC, if I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?"

For the first time in perhaps hours, you were silent. Your brain went blank at the prospect of laying your lips on the man you'd fantasized about, and you felt almost dumb as you stared at Diavolo.

After your flustered silence stretched into an awkward one, Diavolo apologized.

"I'm sorry, MC." He stood up, not meeting your eyes. "That was inappropriate of me. Very well, I'll see you next week for our—"

"Wait!" The prospect of losing your chance to kiss this stunning man spurred you into action. "I...I would! Kiss you, I mean. I would kiss you, if you asked."

Your cheeks were aflame, hotter than the setting sun itself as it outlined your body in a perfect silhouette that emphasized all your curves. You felt awkward as you stood in front of Diavolo, barely noticing the smirk spread across his face as he retook his seat, eyes fixated straight on you as you stood in front of him.

"I believe it's your turn to ask a question, then."

"Would..." You swallowed. "Would you do the same for me?"

The words felt stupid as they left your mouth. Stupid and childish and ridiculous. You should have said something better. Something flirtatious. Maybe something sexy? You cursed, hating how flustered the demon was making you feel, but his eventual answer reassured you.

"Yes," He hummed. "I absolutely would kiss you if you asked me to."

Your eyes widened at the answer, and you met his eyes for the first time since he asked you his embarrassing question.

"Do you like me?"

The sentence came out surprisingly clear, words of genuine curiosity and surprise as you asked your question. Diavolo, of course, was still a tease.

"Not your turn, darling," He said, using the playful nickname that would eventually become his most favorite term of endearment for you. "But I suppose I'd like to ask that. Do you like me, MC?"

Oh. Great.

If your cheeks were on fire before, now they were the molten lava-ridden depths of hell itself, burning hotter than anything you'd ever felt before. Diavolo smiled smugly as he placed a single finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. Only then did you realize just how much larger he was than you��truly a demon, taller than any human had a right to be and more muscular all the same.

His figure enveloped yours as he pulled you closer to him, bringing your face just inches away from his own.

"Because I like you, MC."

And with those words, the last of your restraint vanished, and you leaned forward to capture his lips with your own.

The man responded in full, using his strong arms to ease you into his lap, settling his hands on your waist as he pressed your body into his while the two of you made out. It was a hot collide of tongue and lip and passion as the two of you released all the tension that had built up through the intermittent teasing remarks of your questions game. By the time you were both moderately settled down, the sun had set, revealing the stars above you two.

"A-ah," Diavolo stuttered, suddenly leaning back. "I'm sorry, MC. I don't know what came over me."

You didn't leave your position on his lap, though. Whatever hesitance that had been previously holding you back vanished once you knew Diavolo felt the same way about you.

"Don't be," You laughed, laying a kiss against his oh-so-defined jaw.

"You're bold," He chuckled, bringing up a hand to play with your hair.

"And you're bolder," You swiftly responded, still not having forgotten that Diavolo was the one who had initiated this all in the first place. You stopped at the corner of the demon's jaw, nibbling at the skin.

"A human and a demon have no place together," Diavolo murmured, chuckling as you ignored his words. "Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom."

But the moment he had finished his sentence, you'd silenced him with a trail of kisses that ended on his lips, whatever weak protest he had dying then and there as the two of you continued to indulge in each other.

Looking back, you should have taken his words as a sign.

A warning.

You stare at yourself, wondering numbly what Diavolo would think if he could see you now.

I need to move on, you tell yourself. Come on.

For the first time since your return, you force your hands to tend to yourself. Your needs. You take a shower, brush your teeth, force a meal into your queasy stomach, and even dress yourself up in one of your favorite outfits.

Yep, you approach this situation Asmodeus-style: by forcing love onto yourself.

And honestly, by the time you're all dolled up, you feel a little bit better. The ache in your heart hasn't faded, but at least you're no longer worn down by oily hair or ugly sweatpants that are two sizes too big for you.

You decide to go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Get ready to return to your life as a normal human, with the moon as your witness.

And when you step out into the night, you really do feel the stinging bite of the cold as it coils around you in the wind, completely different from the last time you were out bare in the night with Simeon.

But you force yourself to take one step forward, and then another, until you're walking. You need this. As you stroll down the streets, gazing mindlessly at the flickering street lamps above you, you remember a little nursery rhyme your mother had taught you: A clear mind and a clear heart, you'll soon be able to make a fresh start.

Will this walk give you the clear mind you seek? A small smile flits onto your face at the thought, and you close your eyes in a quiet attempt to meditate some of the fears in your mind away.

And only then, when you're trying to forget all the events of the Devildom and get back in touch with your human roots, do you remember another thing your mother had taught you: Never walk the streets alone at night.

"Hey there, cutie. Whatcha doin' out so late at night?"

You stiffen, realizing that you've grown far too used to being under the demon brothers' protection at the Devildom. Back there, someone had always been watching over you, from close or from afar.

But you're on your own here.

And it seems that you'd forgotten that.

"I'm going home," You respond stiffly, not even turning around as you continue walking forward. You increase your pace.

"You don't wanna stay and chat with me?" The voice asks, creepy as it is intimidating.

"Leave me alone."

Perhaps you should have gone with a more polite way to decline the presence of whatever man is behind you, because the moment the hostile words leave your mouth, you find that he's moved faster than you can process, practically shoving your face into a wall as he grips your two hands behind your back.

"You're feisty, aren'tcha?" The voice laughs, and you feel a hardness press against your back. No! You want to shout, knowing all-too-well what this man is about to do. You can smell the liquor on his breath, disgusting and heavy. You begin squirming and resisting even more, opening your mouth to scream only to be met with the feeling of metal on your stomach. "Scream an' I'll cut your li'l belly open."

Diavolo! You shout in your head, wanting him, needing him to come to your protection. You feel tears begin to run down your cheek as the man grips your thighs, hands slowly sliding closer and closer to where you'd only permitted Diavolo to go, when his weight is ripped off your body altogether.

You hear the sound of screaming, punching, kicking, and you can't bring yourself to turn around. "D-Dia—"

"Shh," Your savior cooes, at your side in an instant. And you know it's awful, but when you recognize the sound of Lucifer's voice instead of your lover's, that only makes you cry harder as you sob into the demon's chest, choking out "thank you for saving me" over and over again.

Lucifer consoles you awkwardly, petting your hair until your tears have ceased.

"MC, I need you to come with me."

You nod your head, standing up and expecting Lucifer to lead you back to your apartment. But just as when he sent you off to the human realm, he simply wraps his arms around you, and you feel the familiar wave of magic wash over your senses as you cross back into what can only be the Devildom.

"W-why did you bring me back?" You ask, when you realize where you are. You stand up, wanting to run out of the room, out of these bedchambers where you've spent so many nights and mornings with your lover.

Suddenly, all memories of what had just happened with the man in the alley dissipate, and the little progress you've made in trying to move on from Diavolo completely fades.

"Fix him," Lucifer says, voice flat. He nudges you forward, and you don't need to turn around to know that he's already used his magic to leave the room.

Carefully, you approach the pile of blankets that you're so used to being buried under, only to find your half of the bed empty.

And the other half filled.

Your eyes widen as your gaze takes in the sight of Diavolo.

He's sleeping, thank goodness. You can't imagine that he would ever want you to see him in such an utterly disheveled state: his hair is unkempt, knotted and tangled when you bring a shaky hand to run through the neglected locks. Dark circles have appeared under his eyes, and it's easy to understand why—even Diavolo's current state of sleep looks restless and miserable. A thin sheen of sweat lies over his forehead and his chest, making you wonder whether the man has been even remotely aware of his health, and perhaps worst of all, the expression on his face as he sleeps is utterly distressed.

Remembering how you'd looked when you stood in front of your mirror not one hour ago in the human realm, you feel tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

He looks just as awful as you did.

Your heart breaks, shattering when you realize that these past few weeks have taken their toll on him as much as they have on you. It takes all your strength to choke back a sob as you stare at what was once a proud and happy prince, now reduced to what can only be considered the very personification of misery.

You stare at Diavolo, Lucifer's words flashing through your mind.

Fix him, he had said.

But is such a thing even possible anymore? Your eyes glance over your lover—or should you call him ex-lover?—and out of respect to the memory of the man you loved, you look away.

The Diavolo on this bed is nothing of the demon you remember. He's in pain, in misery.

He's shattered to the core, more broken than even you.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

Word count: 6.9k

Notes: Uh so there's definitely going to be a part 3 to this xD this part ended up being longer than planned sooo yeah >.> honestly, this whole part 2 was mostly setting up for the big conclusion in part 3 which is why there wasnt as much 1-on-1 action between MC and Diavolo (i really tried with that flashback T^T) but fear not :D All our thirst for daddy dia will be quenched in part 3!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/03/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[miralia]

Speculation on the Historical Influences on the Kyoshi Warriors of Avatar

(Disclaimer: I know there are multiple influences. This is just something I found that I thought was really interesting. And we’re not going to get into how ATLA appropriated, appreciated, and cherry-picked Asian cultures. This is just a fun thing I found out. It might just be a coincidence. If you wanted an essay on “how terrible Bryke is”, go under the “anti bryke” tag and laugh at the toxicity. This is about history.)

I don’t know if this has been done already, but I was really excited when I found out, so I had to share!

So, I’m not quite sure how I found this out, but I think I was both off-and-on researching premodern combat weapons of different cultures (link here if you want to spend a few hours ogling swords and daggers) and trying to figure out what kinds of cultural things influenced the Kyoshi Warriors. I figured out (at least I’m pretty sure I did, sword experts feel free to correct me) that they do, in fact, wield the Japanese katana (I don’t know which period. Not trying to lump anything together, just thought it was best to refer to it as a collective for fear of being wrong). This was kind of odd to me, as the Earth Kingdom appeared to have *mainly* Tang and Qing dynasty influences. So I decided to dig a little deeper on this subject.

(SECOND Disclaimer: People more well-versed in the different parts of Asian culture I will be referencing can tell me I’m wrong in the comments and I’ll edit this. I really and truly am not trying to be offensive or say my opinion is correct blindly, but at the same time, I did do my research and that has to count for something.)

Introduction

I’m an ATLA nut, as well as an Asian women’s dress nut. I’ve made connections between real clothing and ATLA clothing before, but then realized that other people had already done it, and done it much better. 

But I haven’t seen anyone really talk about the inspiration behind the Kyoshi Warriors yet, besides a few mentions, so here I am with my two cents!

The First Thing (Swords)

The first thing I noticed that started me on this quest was realizing that the Kyoshi Warriors wield katanas (also called nihonto), as opposed to a Chinese weapon that would be more fitting for their position in the Earth kingdom (like we see with Jet’s hook swords). 

For clarification, I figured this out by using still frames of Suki from the show, then measuring the rough length of her sword to her height, approximating the length to see if it would be correct (it was). Then I watched the video of the Kyoshi Warriors’ fight with Team Azula, which is (if I’m not mistaken) the only time we actually see them use their swords as well as their fans. 

In a few frames, we can see Suki’s sword has the characteristic tsuka ito (cord wrap) around the hilt of her sword, a gold-colored habaki (blade collar), as well as a golden kashira (butt cap/pommel), paired with a golden fuchi (a band at the end of the handle before the tsuba (guard)) to make a fuchigashira. From what I can gather, these are usually intricately decorated, but we can blame early 2000s animation for exempting that detail.

But anyway, the presence of the katana got me thinking. What other Japanese influences are displayed in the Kyoshi Warriors?

(Actually, scratch that. The first thing that got me clued in to the presence of Japanese influence was the red and white makeup that the Warriors wear. It seemed similar to that of the geisha, but I disregarded this as it wasn’t similar enough to warrant real research on my part. Just google ‘geisha makeup’ and you’ll see what I mean.)

And the answer was: a good few. Something Mina Le (a fashion youtuber) already touched on in her video on Avatar. But the question is, what exactly influenced them?

So, back to katanas. Once I figured out that they wielded katanas, it was a simple conclusion that they drew inspiration from the samurai of feudal Japan.

War Fans (Tessen)

Another similarity that ties them into samurai are their characteristic fans.

I actually learned about the art of Japanese war fans (tessenjutsu) before I even watched Avatar. The fans called tessen are made out of iron, but the other types of war fans, gunsen and gunbai, don’t seem to fit the bill for what the Kyoshi Warriors use them for. So, instead of being made of iron, their fans are made out of a golden metal, probably to fit their gold-and-green aesthetic.

An illustration of a warrior using a tessen.

The way they use these tessen to fight is debatably accurate. I have never studied tessenjutsu, nor do I really trust modern videos of tessenjutsu, so I have no basis. But it is said that wielders would use one to attack and one to parry, and that does seem to be somewhat what they do? Not sure if their forms or usage or that one time that one girl threw both her fans at Azula like some sort of razor-sharp Frisbee is accurate. Tessenjutsu practitioners, feel free to correct me!

But all this talk about fans and swords isn’t coming to the real core of my speculation. There is one crucial fact: samurai are men. But the Kyoshi Warriors are girls. Were there any female samurai?

The Onna-Bugeisha

Yes, there were! They were called onna-bugeisha, literally meaning “female martial artist.” You can read more about the onna-bugeisha on their Wikipedia page.

Let’s start with the similarities between the Kyoshi Warriors and the onna-bugeisha. 

Clothing/Armor

The first, and most obvious, is their clothing. The onna-bugeisha appear to wear both the traditional kimono or large, loose pants in illustrations. This really does seem to differ a lot based on source material, and I’m not knowledgeable enough to really affirmatively say why. But they do appear wearing the pants when riding horses, and the kimono when they’re standing or looking super regal in the illustrations.

Empress Jingū, a mythological example of onna-bugeisha. She became empress after her husband, the fourteenth emperor Chūai, was slain in battle. She is said to have led an expedition to Korea around 200 AD, and was the first woman on a Japanese banknote. This illustration is probably not accurate, as it was made by a European man, but it does illustrate one of the earliest known cases of onna-bugeisha in Japanese culture.

Hangaku Gozen, a famous general of the Genpei War (allied with the Taira clan).

The Kyoshi Warriors!

Bryke/the animators chose the dress route for making the Kyoshi Warriors, dressing them in split-front dresses colored in shades of green, with a dark green layered underdress under a lighter green overdress crossed left over right at the collar (like many, many different kinds of traditional Asian women’s dress). The coloration appears to be more to signify “Earth Kingdom” than to be historically accurate to the onna-bugeisha, something that was probably a good idea. Remember, this was made to be a kids’ adventure show, and they had already established the color-coding based on country. 

The sleeves are voluminous, which is definitely a characteristic of the onna-bugeisha. They are cinched at the wrists with dark cuffs, which isn’t a characteristic of all the different illustrations/photographs, but is certainly present in some. These cuffs are paired with two-toned gloves, which are always a good idea in any kind of weapon battle, but aren’t present in many, if any, photographs, but at least in some illustrations.

Partially covering the dresses is the thing that most tipped me off: the armor. It seems to be of black plating, which bears a striking resemblance to the plating/ridging on the onna-bugeisha’s armor. The chestplate itself bears a really, really close resemblance (if it isn’t an exact copy) to the chestplates of the onna-bugeisha, though the color isn’t the striking red that seems to appear a lot of the time. The rectangular shoulder/upper arm plating that is present in nearly all depictions is severely lacking, however, though this seems to be a choice to make the Warriors seem less bulky and more dynamic. Plus, it would be easier to animate. (They do have slimmer shoulder plates that attach, though.)

But the (for lack of a better word) skirt plates of the armor remain really, really similar to the onna-bugeishas’ armor. It really just looks like a scaled-down, black instead of red version. And I think that’s super cool, and one of the best pieces of evidence that backs my theory.

Topping off the “Kyoshi look” are gold-and-green headpieces that are different depending on the warrior, and a hairstyle that differs depending on the warrior. I’ll probably go more in-depth about the headpieces and hairstyles on a different post, but the gist is that yes, the presence of headpieces is historically accurate, at least in some photos/illustrations (which appears to be the norm. Can I ever get something concrete here?). 

Examples of onna-bugeisha wearing headpieces.

All of them wore helmets (obviously), but some seem to have some sort of decorative aspect (again, tell me if I’m wrong and the pieces have a meaning or purpose). 

Edit: One commenter, @atla-headcanons​, said that their Japanese grandmother once said that warriors’ headdresses were status symbols, as well as ways to tell allies from enemies. This would be supported by the fact that Suki, as the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, would have a headpiece similar to Kyoshi’s, and the rest of the Warriors would have different ones. I was unable to fact-check this at the time (may return to it later), but it seems likely, and it would be really cool if it was intentional on the characters’ designs!

Avatar Kyoshi 

The second thing that made me speculate whether the Kyoshi Warriors were connected to the onna-bugeisha was actually Kyoshi herself.

We all know about badass Avatar Kyoshi. She’s amazing. A definite certified badass. But there might actually have been a real-world counterpart to her. Nakano Takeko, a famous onna-bugeisha of the Aizu Domain who fought and died in the Boshin War, could have been possible inspiration for her.

Statue of Nakano Takeko. I don’t trust that the pictures on Pinterest are actually her.

Not only is Nakano a certified badass, taking down five to six men with her naginata in the Battle of Aizu, she also taught women and children to fight with the naginata for a time. Sound familiar? It might just be a coincidence, but I’m sticking to my theory here. You can read more about her here, but I’ll give a rundown of the highlights that make her a Kyoshi-Level Badass™:

- Taught naginata to the lord of Niwase’s wife

- Taught naginata to women and children in Aizuwakamatsu castle

An onna-bugeisha wielding a naginata. They’re pretty awesome!

-  Worked in defense of the shōgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu

- Fought in the Battle of Aizu using a Japanese weapon (naginata) against a white weapon (guns)

- Created and headed an ad-hoc group of female warriors in the Battle of Aizu, retroactively called the Jōshitai (Girls’ Army). She did this without permission, as the senior Aizu retainers didn’t want them to fight and wouldn’t let them fight as an official part of the domain’s army

- When she was taken down by a rifle shot to her chest, she asked her sister Yūko to behead her so that the enemy couldn’t take it as a trophy. Her sister employed the help of Ueno Yoshisaburō, and did as she was asked

- With the reforms of the Meiji Era (samurai class abolished, western-style army established), Nakano Takeko was one of the last samurai in history.

Conclusion

That concludes my essay! Remember, this is all speculation. If you have your own take, please tell me! I love hearing all the cultural influences in Avatar.

Now, if Bryke meant to make the Kyoshi Warriors to be inspired by the onna-bugeisha, then there is something more that I would have liked to see. It would have been really cool to see them use naginata in the show, as it was actually originally a weapon for females to use, its length compensating for the smaller body size and comparatively lesser brute strength of women warriors.

(Also, I just want Suki utterly destroying Sokka with a naginata in that episode where she kicks his butt to prove a point. Hey, I’m a simple girl with simple tastes.) 

Sources:

Basically all Wikipedia. I’m sorry I couldn’t reference, like, ebooks on this subject. But I did look at the reference lists for the Wikipedia articles I used, and they all seemed to be credible ones. So, don’t come at me, please! I did the best I could!

I really appreciate whoever read this far. It takes stamina! 

Thanks for reading!

[tobi-momo]

PROTECTOR {PART 3}

PART 3 of PROTECTOR

MASTERLIST

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PREVIOUS

Word Count: 2253

Synopsis: You had a happy life. Completely and utterly perfect. Atleast that’s how you acted. You may have had a hard childhood, but no one else needs to know that. You may be getting stalked by your insane ex-bestfriend, but it’s okay. It’ll all work itself out. Right?

Warnings: Injury, cursing, mean parents :(

BAKUGOU CAREFULLY sets you on his back and tells his mom that he’s leaving to take you home. He has your phone in his hand, surprised you don’t have a lock on it, but thinks nothing of it. He opens up your maps, finding your address. It was surprisingly close. Just a few blocks away. He starts walking, cautiously carrying you on his back. He checks every once in a while to see if you are about to fall off, or is visibly in pain.

You eventually start to wake up and find yourself on his back. Out of surprise, you shriek. You wrap your arms around him, although that’s not what you meant to do. You meant to push off of him, but you guess your body had other plans. You cling to him, linking your arms and legs together. He lets his arms rest for a little bit while you hang onto him, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny? I thought I was gonna fall!” You lie, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment while hitting him lightly on the back a couple times, and you lean close enough to see a light smirk on his face.

“You did not almost fall, although that would’ve been pretty funny. Besides how would you fall if you’re clinging onto me so hard, huh?” Your face drops in guilt, loosening your grip. Once he feels you doing this, he puts his arms under your knees, and carries you back to your house. “You better not faint on me like that again. Your mom was blowing up your phone so I had to hurry and get you home.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put all of this on you, just forget any of it happened tomorrow. And just a question, but I was wondering about my shirt….you know,” you paused, “...it’s kind of, not on me...so…” Your cheeks turn a nice shade of pink asking the question, a little embarrassed to ask. 

“Huh? Oh, the electricity burned a hole through your shirt.”

“Uh, did you, you know, uh…”

“No, the fuck? I’m not a fuckin’ creep! I just gave the hoodie to my mom and she took care of it.”

“Oh, okay,” you let out an awkward chuckle, reassuring yourself that he didn’t see anything you didn’t want him to, “sorry I asked, I was just curious.”

“Tch, yeah. Whatever. Is this it?” You look to the side to see your living room lights on, with your parents sitting on the couch, waiting for you to come home. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” You unwrap your arms around his neck, and he drops his arms from your legs and you hop off his back, stumbling and trying to find your balance. Bakugou turns around and grabs your arms, helping you find your balance.

He looks back up at you, raising his arms to see if you can balance on your own. Once you take a couple steps on your own, he turns around and opens the gate for you, telling you to tug on his arm if you lose balance. You loosely hold onto his shirt while he walks you up to the front door, knocking three times.

The door opens wide with your mother at the door, panicking, and dragging you inside. 

“Thank you so much for taking her home. Bakugou, right?” Bakugou lets you out of his grasp to go into your house, backing up. He gives you your phone back, then answers your mothers question.

“Mm,” he nods, looking away.

“Well, I appreciate you doing this for her, she has a tendency to drag people into her dramatic spurs.” She lets out a forced chuckle as she hands you to your father, who sets you down on the couch. You ignore what they say about you, with intents of explaining yourself to him later.

“It was no problem.” He lifts his hand, signifying a wave, and walks down the steps back to the gate. “Bye.”

He walks away as the door closes, your mother then turning to look at you, and you could tell what was going to happen. You were surprised your dad didn’t do anything, but then you realized that it was because Bakugou hadn’t left yet. Once he leaves you stand up, heading to your room. Your parents stop you in your tracks, you already knowing what’s going to happen. 

“Listen I just need to sleep. I have school tomorrow and I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You are not going to bed until you tell us what the hell that was.” You turned around to see your stern dad with crossed arms and your mom back on the couch.

“It was nothing, guys, he just walked me home. We live really close so I visited his house for like, an hour. Why are you so worried about it?”

“It’s past dark out. You should be asleep by now. You’ve been spending way too much time-”

“I haven’t been doing anything, okay? I’m going to bed.” Your mother looks back, offended while your dad scoffs. 

“Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“Your attitude. You’re being rude. Now give me your phone.”

“You realize I need this, right? You can’t just take it.”

“No, you don’t need it, and yes I can, now give it.” Your dad extends his arm out as you pull your phone out from your pocket, and quickly turn off the power so they don’t go through it.

You drop your phone into your fathers hand, then turning around and heading to your room. Your mom quickly raises her voice in an annoying, singy-songy tone that you hate.

“Goodnight~ I love you~!” With you not giving a return, she says it again, louder this time, just annoying you even more. You give an irritated reply, but keep walking. You can basically feel the vein in your head popping out as you walk up the stairs to your room. You plop on your bed, exhausted, almost forgetting that your torso was completely busted, but suddenly remembering by the sting that instantly hit you. You also forgot that you weren’t even wearing your own clothes. How come they didn’t notice? 

You fall asleep pretty fast after that, you just had to change into something more comfortable and brush your teeth and try not to cry from the pain. Every time you reassure yourself that it doesn’t hurt, the pain suddenly gets worse. You can’t get painkillers, your parents will ask you what’s wrong, and then you’d have to start a whole conversation about it. You didn’t want to go through that agony, so you put a smile on your face, and dealt with the pain.  

Even though your injury causes you to remain stiff in your bed, you try to relax your muscles and control your breathing, trying to concentrate on going to sleep. You were very tired, but at this point, didn’t expect it to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to the sound of your alarm getting louder and louder, you not noticing it until five minutes after it went off. You purposely wake up before everyone, to try and avoid the chaos of your family. You get ready for the day, your usual routine, only a little slower with your stomach wounded, nagging at you. You steal a bottle of painkillers in a cabinet in your bathroom and put it in your school bag as carefully as you can without anybody hearing the pills rattle. This was a hard task, but you pulled it off almost effortlessly.

You close your front door, glad you only had an interaction with your mother once, as she just said good morning and have a good day. Once you close your front door, you put your key in your bag, taking the piece of bread you grabbed just before you left and placing in your mouth. Your hair is still a bit of a mess, although brushed thoroughly, you look up to see a blond figure standing lazily at your gate with his hands in his pockets and bag tossed carelessly over the shoulder.

“Bakugou-kun!” You smile and take a bite of your bread while skipping towards the gate, opening it. 

“Jesus christ. What was taking so long?” He still doesn’t look at you, but starts walking by your side.

“What do you mean? I got up early today…” You frown in disappointment, almost a sort of pout. 

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? I texted you saying I was gonna walk you to school.” You look away from the soft features of his face to look at the ground. This caught his attention. 

Oh.

“Oi, what the hell. Talk to me. I don’t like it when people ignore me.” You look back up again with a smile (faked, again) and chuckle, pausing before finally replying. He is looking at you with a side eye, trying not to give away that he is, in fact, looking your way.

“My parents took my phone, sorry.” You shrug and put your hands ups in an ‘it’s out of my control’ type way. 

“What do you mean they took your phone away? Did you get in trouble?” Bakugou lifts an eyebrow and turns his head towards you, while you turn from smiling to him to staring at the ground.

“Eh, yeah, a little bit. It’s fine though it happens all the time.” With this response Bakugou’s eyes furrow and you look up at him, catching his gaze. Although you would’ve thought it would be a soft gaze, this one just looked like he was half mad half sorry for you. You didn’t care all that much, though. It was almost as if he was trying to look and find a lie. As if he were trying to find a slip in your code.

You throw a smile his way and chuckle a little bit, trying to distract him from trying to figure you all out, but he quickly responds with, “Why do you do that? The fake smile stuff? It’s annoying. I don’t know why you’re smiling when you obviously aren’t happy.”

This surprised you. Did you really think he was going along with it? Did you think you were fooling him? Your eyes widen with your mouth agape, in order to respond, but almost nothing comes out other than stutters. 

“I’m not faking anything,” you say in your defense although that was quickly shut down when you felt his hand tap your stomach. You groan in pain, gritting your teeth while putting your left hand to cover your stomach and your right to grab Bakugou’s arm. He stops walking for just a second for you to catch your breath, but then takes your arms, picking them up and setting them by your side once you are completely vertical.

“Yeah. Sure you are.  Now keep walking. I don’t want to be late.”

You turn your head sharply towards him, with a shocked expression on your face, you see him smirk a little. 

“‘I don’t wanna be late’? YOU LITERALLY HIT ME WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” You shove him to the side, almost in the road and his expression softens, giving you a sense of comfort, of protection. You didn’t know why, but it was nice having Bakugou be your friend. 

Was he your friend? 

Your eyes widen at the thought, a shocked look on your face, you try not to come to a complete stop at this question. 

Why did it matter? It’s not like he likes you anyways, you were jus-

“Oi.”

Distracted, you continue staring at the cement sidewalk beneath you as you walk, sudden insecurities and self-doubts coming to mind.

Out of nowhere you hear tiny bells ring and a tug- no- a sharp jerk at your arm. You were confused as hell and had no idea what just happened. Now all of a sudden you are almost on the road, right in front of Bakugou, with his hand gripping your arm and your chests almost touching. You look up at his irked expression, you could feel the vein on his head about to burst. 

“I told you to get out of the way. Why the hell didn’t you listen, dumbass!” Bakugou looks frustrated at you, like he was forced to do this. 

Was he?

You turn around to see a couple little kids on their tiny bikes, them zooming on the sidewalks, going on and off the road. They were all ringing these bells on their handles, as if it was their intention to wake everyone in the neighbourhood up.

“Huh?” 

“Are you dense? I told you multiple times to get out of the way, fucking listen to me next time, idiot!” He rips his hand away from you, pushing you back to your original spot on the pavement. 

“Oh. Sorry.” You understood why he was mad at you, and you weren’t upset about it, you were just a little frustrated with yourself not being able to identify the problem sooner. Your eyes waver around the sidewalk, awkwardly trying to find a place to rest.

Bakugou puts his hands back into his pockets, ‘tch’-ing as he walks at a faster pace. When his leg movements move out of sync with yours, you look up to see him walking a bit faster, as if to make you chase him. 

“What are you doing?”

“I said I didn’t want to be late, remember?”

TAGLIST [OPEN]: @jazzylove​, @bakug0ush0e​, @nataliahaslosthershit​

send an ask^

[just-mirko]

BINARY  

BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 4

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: HAWKS BEING A SUS BITCH 2.0 #peghawks2020 

WC: 2k 

(A/N: This is unedited! Please message me if you spot any annoying mistakes! I will probably have the edited version up in a day or two!)

__

 “Then with that I leave you, my students, sleep well!”

 He left for the doors and closed them behind him, effectively leaving 15 teenage criminals in a room together.

Hah.

__

            After principal Nezu left, the crowd dispersed. Many chose to scout out their dorms instead of interacting. Each person was a loaded gun. Aimed at their enemies or themselves did not matter, we were all afraid for when the first bullet would strike.

             That being said, most seemed overall relaxed. Students would try to start conversation and socialize, which was apparent by the mumble of voice within the school’s halls that returned from before Nezu gave his brief speech.

             I was turning towards the dorm hallway with my bags in hand. The gentle tap of my shoes along the hardwood floors could be heard in crisp, purposeful taps. Right as I walked through the threshold of the door connecting the dorm corridor and the main hall, I heard footsteps growing louder behind me.

             I kept walking forward and kept a close eye at the plaques on each room’s door that signified who was housed where.

             The footsteps continued getting closer until in my peripheral vision I could see a lock of white hair swaying.

             “You again?” I asked, feigning annoyance. Of course, her presence wasn’t exactly unwanted but it was unneeded.

             “Mmmhmm” Mirko hummed while gazing down at me.

             The image of her and Hawks pushed itself into the forefront of my mind, leaving residues of anger wherever it bounced in my brain.

             “So… you and Hawks?” I looking at the hallway door when I said it. I slowed my walking down to almost a complete stop before turning towards her.

             “Are you guys dati-“ I made the mistake of looking into her piercing red eyes and caught a glare, making me stop my sentence.

             I held my breath for a second, thinking I angered her in some way, but to my surprise she let out a laugh.

             “You got so scared! Look at you! You’re just a bottom little bunny” She relaxed and leaned her arm down to rest on my shoulder. The height difference was so obvious when she was standing this close.

             “C’mon (Y/N), lighten up, combat training is going to be a breeze! I bet the view from the floor will be nice.”

             Did she just- never mind.

             “Oh as if.” I rolled my eyes and started walking again towards my door that came into view. She followed me and watched as struggled with the door.

             The doorknob was plain and silver, with a  small black pad above it. I was more than confused.

             “Were we supposed to get a key or something?”

             I continued jamming the doorknob and pressing at the black pad in frustration. It was getting late, and being locked out of my room wasn’t on my list of things I can emotionally handle.

             One of Mirko’s hands came to rest at about my elbow from behind me. Delicately moving her hands up towards me wrist, she paused, before gently holding the back my hand, her nails ghosting against my palm.

             My heart was racing, none of her arm’s subtle movements went unnoticed. I feared that with how close she was, with her right behind me, and this, whatever this is, she could hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

             She guided my hand towards the black pad and brought my left pointer finger down on the sensor.

             With a small green light and a click, the door swung open. She kept her grasp on my hand for what felt like a moment too long yet still too short before stepping back and turning towards the door across from me room.

             “The doors are locked via fingerprint,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smirk.

             “Tell me if you have any more troubles (y/n), I’m right next door.” She seemed way too pleased with herself when she walked back into her room, not sparing a glance over towards me, standing in the door frame of my room when her’s closed.

             That night I laid awake staring at the ceiling, just as I had done last night. Though the only difference was last night I was contemplating to even go here, now I was contemplating how I would even survive here.

             The dorms were nice and decently sized for the whole ‘underground secret society’ thing. A bathroom with all the basics including a deep bathtub, a queen bed, a mini fridge, and coffee machine. What set t apart from average was two things. Color changing lights that were set under the bed and desk, giving everything a vibrant glow (A/N no reason for the lights they just look cool :))

               The last special thing in the room was a giant black desk, obviously set up for a giant desktop and even more hardware, but the surface with unscratched, unused, and empty. It sat in the corner of the room alone, unlike the other areas that had lamps, colored lights, or fake plants; the desk had nothing.

             I would still have to grow accustomed to the new and pristine room. It smelled clean. Like fresh disinfectant and fake lavender that is just slightly off from the real thing. I could not say I missed the cans of soda on the floor and random sticky notes everywhere.

             The old apartment was crammed with miscellaneous objects. All the things I was too attached to throw out, but not too attached to leave all together, I guess.

             I rolled over, suddenly very aware of my awakens. I checked my clock. A large sigh eased from my lungs. It was only 11pm. That meant I was not losing too much sleep on my first day. I could only imagine how screwed I would be if those led screen lights were showing 3am or any other blatantly early time.

              I guess since I was awake, it would not hurt to get a snack or something. From my recollection, I remember seeing a café like area in the common room, though I was too preoccupied to look at it for too long. They might have a granola bar or some snack I could eat. I was really craving chocolate milk right now.

             I was in the slightly delirious sleepy stage of consciousness. The point where I had no filter to what I said, and no self-preservation. In said state, I threw on some slippers, grabbed my phone and grudgingly walked out to the hallway.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I whispered to myself in a singsong voice. The walk to the end of the hallway seemed to only last a split second before I was there, at the door to the common room.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I reached towards the doorknob, shivering once the chilled metal touched my fingers. Right as I was about to pull the door with my weak and tired muscles, I heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

             I opened it slowly, and peering in through the crack in the door. Though dark, and his back was towards me, I could recognize the distinct frame of Hawks. The dirty bastard. Why he be actin lik- my thoughts were interrupted by two sharp clicks. On the floor he sat a suitcase and opened it up. It was the same one that had the red unidentified fluff in it. More fuzz was on it than before, apparent as it stood out among the black fabric casing.

             He moved in front of the suit case and blocked my view, but I could watch as he crouched down an opened it up. Suddenly, a flurry of red came spiraling out and circling around hawks. He stood up and the shapes were revealed to be feathers, each one different than the next. The continued to storm around like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane surrounded. Feather by feather they collected by his shoulders, forming broad wings that’s wingspan was around 10 ft.

             He ruffled the wings around, spreading them out and even doing a test flap, which sent a gust of air in all directions. While he was… adjusting them? Stretching them?

             This had to have been his quirk. And it was an amazing one at that. This was my rival? How was I supposed to beat that?

             “Woah” I silently whispered. His wings twitched at the sound, and it appeared all the feathers stood up straight. He quickly turned around, his wings taking on a defensive position and each feather spiking outward like tiny knives. I quickly hid behind the door, hoping he didn’t see me, though he definitely heard me.

             My heart pounded in my chest, and I held my breath, knowing now that whatever his quirk was, it enhanced his hearing.

             I slightly turned my head to my ear was pressed up against the wall and I could hear anything he did. I cringed at the slight scratch of one of my earrings against wooden door and paused again.

             Through the polished wood and all the space between us, I  made out his footsteps beginning again as he walked away from the door. The breath I held in my lungs released shakily. My eyes darted across the hallway, which suddenly seemed so much longer. The expanse of parallel lines from the crown molding and the wallpaper and everything made me feel like caving in.

             I had barely dodged that encounter, and I know it would not have been good if he found me snooping. I was not my intention, but it did give me a slight advantage. I knew his quirk.

             I knew his quirk.

             Unlike someone’s fake name or hacker alias, quirks were something you can change. They stuck with you the rest of your life, one of very few constants we could have. And because quirks, especially unique ones like Hawks’, were specific to each person they not only would let me find his real identity quickly, but also gain information on his past, something most people in this life tried to forget.

             I had no intention of using this information maliciously, it was more or less self-defense. If he was out for me, its only fair that I get to build a shield. I was just evening the playing fields.

             My brain was vacant of all prior need for choccy milk, now, all I wanted was answers, though for now those would have to wait. My smartphone said it was almost midnight, and I already started things at this academy on the wrong foot, I don’t want that to repeat with my teachers.

             I guess it was foolish of me to believe I was always one step ahead of everyone. I was untouchable, invisible, I had power. I forgot that people don’t get into this school on daddy’s money or luck, they’re here for a reason.

             But at that time I didn’t care, of course I didn’t, I just narrowly avoided my current rival, and walked away unnoticed. Untouchable.    

             I went to sleep quickly. I woke up early. I slept well. The next day started good. I made coffee and pondered over the empty desk once more. I was ignorant.

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Operation Sweet Surprise (1/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: roadkill and animal skulls

Description: It’s Bo and Vincent’s Birthday and you’re determined to make it special. You can’t do it alone, however. So you enlist the help of the youngest Sinclair.

The alarm on your bedside table went off at precisely 7 AM. Your eyes shot open and you couldn’t contain the smile that immediately took over your whole face. You were quick to shut off the alarm, glancing at the calendar to confirm you were correct. Today was the day. September 18th. More than likely, neither twin remembered the date so that made it all the easier for you to get away with your master plan. You’d been planning your little scheme for weeks now and it was all about to pay off. Operation Sweet Surprise was in full swing.

Yesterday, you were meticulous in your preparations, making extra sure you had your game plan mapped out completely. You had taken stock of what ingredients the Sinclairs already had. They didn’t have a lot, but they had some of the basics: flour, white sugar, butter, and eggs. The flour and sugar had been sitting there mostly untouched for years and were a little expired, but they would have to do. You couldn’t afford to buy everything new and you had to prioritize. Luckily, you’d had a little money from doing jobs Bo gave you around town. They were only small tasks here and there and he’d only give you a few dollars out of what they’d gotten from visitors, but it was enough for your purposes. You found an old cookbook with fairly simple recipes for both desserts that didn’t call for anything too fancy. Everything you needed was well within your ability to procure.

After that, all you had left to do was appeal to the youngest Sinclair to ask for a huge favor and hope he’d indulge you. Luckily, he had. That’s why he was your favorite by far.

You made your way to Lester’s cabin on foot. It wasn’t too far outside of town, but it was still a bit of a long walk. Obviously, you couldn’t ask Bo or Vincent to take you or you’d spoil the surprise and that was non-negotiable. Thankfully, the sun was on its way down, so it wasn’t miserably hot outside, making for a rather peaceful mini-hike.

Once Lester’s cabin came into your line of sight, you eagerly jogged up to the front door. You knocked, announcing yourself so he wouldn’t be alarmed as to who was knocking on his door right before nightfall. The door swung open to reveal Lester, toothy grin and all.

“Y/N! What can I do ya for? What’re ya doin’ out and ‘bout so late? ‘Specially all the way out here?”  

“I came to see you! I have a huge favor I need to ask and you’re the only one who can help me!” You said, buttering him up so he’d say yes.

“Alright then, lay it on me.” he said, matching your enthusiasm.

“I’m planning on baking a birthday cake and pie for your brothers and I need you to take me into town so I can get the rest of the ingredients.” You said hopefully “I just need a ride, that’s it! I swear! And maybe, if you could let me borrow your kitchen that’d be incredible too! If it’s not too much trouble! I promise to clean up everything when I’m done!”

“Wow! That’s awful nice of ya!” Lester said supportively. His grin faltered for a moment, though, “Ya sure ya want it to be me that takes ya?”

“Pretty please, Lester! I’ll do anything! You’re my only hope!” you said dramatically as you clasped your hands together with the best pout you could muster through your giggles, begging him to help you.

“Well, I don’t suppose I can leave a damsel in distress. Sure, I’ll give ya a ride!” he said happily, “When did ya need to go?”

“Tomorrow morning! I’ll meet you where the road’s washed out at seven-thirty sharp.”

“Square deal, I’ll be there.” He said reaching out his hand to seal the deal. You dodged the hand and practically rammed your body into his, squeezing him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Lester! I’d be lost without you!” you said as you released him, smile beaming.

“N-no, problem. Anything for you…a-and Bo and Vinny, of course. They’re my brothers after all.” Lester stuttered out, still red from your hug.

“Thanks again! Okay! I’ll get out of your hair! I’ll bring all the pots and pans and other ingredients with me tomorrow! You’re the best, Lester!” you said as you began to jog back towards Ambrose.

“Hey, wait! It’s gettin’ dark out! I’ll give ya a ride back, if ya like!” Lester called out as he closed the door behind him, following you.  

“You don’t have to do that. I couldn’t abuse your kindness any further.” You said only half-joking, “It’s okay, it’s not that far a walk.”

“Guess it’s not out of my way then.” Lester said matter-of-factly as he opened the passenger side door of his truck. You glanced between the long walk ahead and back to Lester’s hopeful expression.

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm about it…” you said playfully as you walked up to Lester’s truck. He helped you up and closed the door behind you. You two got lost in conversation as you drove into the night toward Ambrose. By the time you arrived back, the ride didn’t seem nearly long enough.  

You hopped out of bed and were quick to change into an outfit you wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Baking had a propensity to get messy so you were prepared to let the flour fall as it may. You pulled out a duffle bag you’d take from the storage house a few days ago and slung it over your shoulder. Last night, after the twins finally went to sleep, you loaded the bag up with everything you would need to make their birthday treats.

It was incredibly important everything go perfectly. It was a very special day whether the Sinclair Twins cared about it or not. It was their birthday and you were determined to make them feel special, damn it. All of the Sinclair brothers had spent far too many years being ignored and undervalued. Continuing that tradition simply wouldn’t do.  

Over the last few weeks, you’d managed to weasel the information you wanted out of them, little by little. They told you that birthdays weren’t ever a huge ordeal for them. At most, their parents would buy them a cake and that would be it. The cake was always a vanilla cake with white frosting, which also happened to be Vincent’s favorite. Something you were sure Bo was bitter about. You tried multiple times to subtly badger Bo into telling you what he would have wanted if he had gotten a choice, but he always said he didn’t like sweets and shut you down. With a little more time, you noticed the one food Bo would consistently linger on - whether in an old coupon clipping or in reruns on TV - was apple pie. You noticed that each time, without fail, when Bo’s eyes would land on a picture of old-fashioned apple pie, he’d stare just a bit longer before moving on. Sometimes you even caught the smallest sigh escape his lips as he moved on after a glimpse of the dessert. That was all you needed. Once you had your answers, everything came together.

You quietly poked your head out of your room. Both Bo and Vincent’s doors were wide open, signifying both of them were up and about. You made your way down the stairs, listening for any signs of life in the house. It was silent so far, though that only meant Bo wasn’t there. Vincent could be lurking right behind you and you’d be none the wiser, the stealthy bastard. You paused at the bottom of the stairs to scan for movement. Nothing. You made a beeline for the front door and made your way down the porch and along the gravel road. Vincent was most likely working in the House of Wax. Bo was probably in the gas station. You just hoped he was too preoccupied to notice you. If he saw you trying to sneak by with a giant duffle bag, he might get the wrong idea. Thankfully, when you neared the gas station, you could hear his music blaring, meaning he was working in the back or downstairs. A shiver ran down your spine and you tried not to think about what he was getting up to. You picked up the pace toward the edge of town.

             All the tension in your shoulders and the back of your mind disappeared when you laid eyes on Lester’s truck, waiting just like he promised. He was leaning up against the front, vigorously rubbing at something in his hand with an old, ratty cloth. You couldn’t help but find the scene endearing, his tongue poking out in careful concentration. You whistled to get his attention and his head shot up at your sound. His classic, goofy grin overtook his features. Whether he meant it or not, Lester wore his heart on his sleeve, and you treasured that.

You smiled back as you could practically see an imaginary tail wagging behind him at your arrival, his big brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. Always so keen to be around you, Lester never made you feel like a burden. He was the first to make you feel like Ambrose was your home, invested himself in talking to you and sharing with you. He welcomed you with open arms and proved himself to be quite reliable. It was always a welcome relief to be around someone who so honestly wanted to be around you. Not that you didn’t enjoy Bo or Vincent’s company, but they could be rather closed off and many times you were left not knowing how to feel or how they felt about you. That was never a question with Lester. You rather liked that about him.

“Thanks again for helping me out, Lester!” You said as you carefully made your way across the water. Lester wrapped up his cloth and tossed it to the driver seat before reaching out a hand to help you across the rest of the way over. As you made it to the other side, you dropped the bag at your feet, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Wasn’t any trouble,” Lester said, “Let me get that for ya.” He leaned down and hefted your bag over his shoulder and carried it toward the truck. He placed it on the floor of the passenger side before turning back to face you, “I tried to clean the truck up as best as I could, but uh, it’s still a bit rough. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re giving me a free ride. I’ve got no room to complain. Besides, I love your truck. It’s got style.” You said encouragingly. You noticed Lester rub the back of his neck as he looked down and smiled to himself. He did that every time he got a compliment. His truck might have been unconventional and certainly fragrant to say the least, but like he said; with time, even you got used to the smell. Now, it was just another part of him that you accepted like anything else. You two hopped in the truck and took off down the road toward town.

“Oh! Get a look at this!” Lester suddenly piped up as he scooped up his cloth from beside him “I found it by the road this mornin’! It was a raccoon ‘fore it started rottin’.” He held out a gory animal skull for you to admire.

“H-how about that?” you said looking the skull over. This wasn’t really in your area of expertise, but Lester seemed excited about it, so of course you listened closely.

“Yeah, pretty neat, right? Chased away some buzzards peckin’ at it ‘fore they messed it up. I have ‘bout five different skulls at home - kinda like this one - but this one’s nice and put together, ya see?” He was ecstatically pointing out the features of the skull as he went on, “The others I got are in bits and pieces. So, I reckon I can clean it up nice and set it on the dash next to…uh…sorry. I’m ramblin’ again. Ya don’t wanna hear this…” he trailed off as the joy in his voice turned apologetic.

“Hey, don’t apologize. I like to hear about the things you like.” You said energetically, trying to hype him up again, “If it matters to you, it matters to me. And I think it’ll look great on your dash. You’ll have to show me the rest of your collection sometime!”

“Really?” Lester asked lighting up again.

“Course I would! Why not?” you asked.

“No one ever wanted to hear ‘bout this sort of stuff, is all.” He said forcing his gaze to the road, “Usually just tell me to hush up.”

“They said that to you?”

“Yeah…I get it, though. Bothers some folks.” Lester said as he tried to shake off the shame in his voice, “I used to collect little bones and rocks when I was a kid. I’d clean ‘em up and show ‘em to everyone. I showed ‘em to my folks. And that foster family I had. And kids at school – some teachers too - but uh…I guess it ain’t too interestin’. They were too busy is all. And I don’t ever wanna bother no one.”

“Well, I think it’s cool.” You said resolutely. You were absolutely fuming inside. You knew Lester was neglected by his parents, but the fact that no one after them ever tried to engage with his interests was upsetting. Your heart broke thinking about little Lester trying so hard to make friends only to be ignored; not just by other kids, but by adults and educators who should have been on his side. He was just a kid trying to share what he loved and they told him to shut up. Well, you weren’t going to do that, “I definitely couldn’t have told you what animal that used to be. I wouldn’t know that from an opossum or a fox. How can you tell the difference?”

“They key is in the ridges on top. This one’s nice and smooth, see? It’s definitely a raccoon!” Lester explained excitedly. He was delighted as you continued asking more questions about the trinkets in his car and where he’d picked them up. Lester told story after story; and the childlike joy all over his face was reason enough for you to keep asking for more all the way up until you realized you had made it to the grocery store.