#and it's a flat fact that he did not create this conversation

[draxula]

is there a missus? | b. barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!thunderbolt!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nothing major. minor mentions of violence. not so secret secret wife. possible thunderbolts spoilers.

summary: bucky isn't coming clean about something. no matter how many times he's poked and prodded, he won't admit to his wrong doings.

author’s note: first fic in years. thunderbolts has done something to me. something short and sweet to kick it off.

Secrets would never make friends. 

They would only create division. Discontent amongst the already wound tight group, leaving room for far too much speculation. While they had slowly come to accept each other, it was still an uphill battle even on good days.

Knives, for the most part, were kept sheathed. Guns were kept holstered. Communication kept this misfit band afloat. Secrets would only bring it down.

And Bucky Barnes? He definitely had a secret.

Yelena, as she would later claim, was the first to notice. It was the soft upturn of his lips. A type of softness that looked out of place on his usual annoyed expression. The crinkling around his eyes as he stared down at his phone. A soft, breathless chuckle that doesn’t sound like it should come from him.

Jokes about his age danced on the tip of her tongue. It was low hanging fruit. It was far too easy to poke jabs about how he might need to get a better prescription to see the text. Or, if he wanted, she could help make his text bubbles bigger. Those jokes would be better directed at someone with a confused expression. 

John notices it a few days after her. This time that soft gaze of his isn’t directed at his phone but instead at you. Bob sits in between your feet, head tilted back into your hands as you work on detangling his hair. Self-care, as you preached to the rest of the Thunderbolts, was important. Something Bob was deprived of.

If looks could kill, John assumed that Bob would have been flat out on the floor. He should have been with the way Bucky was glaring.

His brows are pinched together, frown evident across his features. This time, there’s a quick downturn of his lips, quietly chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jealousy. An emotion John was surprised Bucky could even feel - let alone directing said emotion towards someone like Bob out of all people.

Now that he thought about it, the two of you have never been completely clear on the past. You came with Bucky. It was almost like a packaged deal, the two of you for the cost of one. Something or other about how to the two of you had been partner in the past. Whatever it was, John hadn’t been particularly listening to it. None of that felt very important at the time. Especially given the fact he hadn’t felt his little group would last any longer than a day.

The Void, and the subsequent voiding of New York, had been a far pressing matter.

Now, as John sits here, equating that expression on Bucky’s face to a man so bitterly jealous of the affection another man is getting, he can’t ignore the alarms sounding in his head.

-

Bucky could feel the stares from across the room. At first, he doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to indulge them in whatever it is they have to pester him with today. As long as the city wasn’t on fire or flooding or both, he didn’t necessarily care in initiating conversation.

“Barnes.”

He groans, finally looking up. “Walker.”

It’s a relatively small exchange of works. Bucky knew he couldn’t look that busy with his phone in his hand. Even he knew his relaxed expression would do little convey that there was some pressing matter he needed to attend to. Nor did he think he could get away with claiming it was Valentina out of all people.

There was no way such a soft expression would be reversed for that woman. Besides, the way he was lazily thumbing through his texts conveyed it was someone he enjoyed talking to. When had he ever been thrilled to talk to Valentina.

“Who ya talkin’ to?” It’s a juvenile question. One that Bucky doesn’t even want to dignify with an answer of any kind. It would only add fuel to the fire he suspected was already burning. While they joked about how old he was, their conversations weren’t exactly falling on deaf ears.

“Your mom.” Comes Yelena’s response from across the room. A small chuckle from Ava’s direction follows shortly after. 

“No no - she wouldn’t talk to him. She would have better standards than this rough around the edges Jesus look.” John, for once, does well not to let it get too under his skin. There were far more pressing questions to be asked. A simple ‘your mom’ joke wouldn’t derail him from his quest of truth.

John, after a second or two of thinking, can only conclude that it must be you on the other end. Those stupid little looks were reserved for both you and his phone when you weren’t in the same room.

“You two are married, aren’t you?”

Bucky rolls his shoulders back in a shrug, tossing his phone to the side. As hard as he tries to appear as he doesn’t care, it’s a poor attempt. “I think something as big as that would be hard to hide, don’t you think?”

“Yes because an ex-assassin would have such a hard time hiding something so important.” Ava calls. From first look, it hadn’t looked like she was listening in on the conversation from behind her magazine. Yet as her eyes flicker above the pages, there’s obviously a look of amusement and intrigue. “Let alone the ex-assassin.”

“If that was my wife, everyone would know. No one would keep me quiet.” It’s Alexei’s voice this time. He slouches father down into the couch, lazily tilting his head to get a better view of the T.V. His hands jerk up into the air, waving them around as he speaks. “What kind of man keeps his wife a secret?”

“Alexei - you don’t get a say in the matter.”

“‘Lena, what I say is the truth. He should be proud.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Stop taking the attention off of Bucky and his secret wife.” John continues. “Where is she anyway?”

“The grocery store.”

“So you know her each and every move?” 

“You just asked me where she was. Did you not hear her before she left? She’s getting food for all of us.”

"Oh yeah? You sure she's not out for just you."

“Besides you don’t keep up with the rest of us like that.” Yelena corrects. “Alexei was missing for days before you noticed. How did you not notice that?”

“To be fair, none of us really noticed it. The peace and quiet was almost too good to be true.”

“Ava - do not help him. He needs to tell the truth.”

Bucky huffs, rubbing his temples. Theses conversations were getting more and more exhausting by the minute. “There is no truth to tell. You guy are all making something out of nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, why are you getting so defensive over it?” 

Defensive wasn’t the word he would have used. Protective maybe. Secretive perhaps. But never ever defensive. That would insinuate that he wasn’t proud of his life decisions. That he wasn’t proud of you. Defensive would make him come off as insecure and unsure. Two things he would never ever feel about you.

“Look - you better text her if there’s anything you want. I’m not going back out for anything any of you forgot.” And that, for now, is enough to halt the conversation.

-

The secret was becoming harder and hard to keep. It was beginning to bubble over more and more with each passing day. His glances were becoming a little too longing. The way you laughed at his jokes was a little too sweet. The two of you stole glances at each other’s lips a little too often.

Things eventually were going to come to a head. Unsurprisingly, one bad mission was all it needed. One time of him limping back into the tower was all it took for things to come undone.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. One that was supposed to be finished within a day. Maybe two at the maximum. By the time he, Yelena and John returned, you have been festering just long enough in your own anxiety to forget any safe guards put around your relationship. And that came out in the way you said his name.

“James Barnes.” His government name, missing only his middle initial. He considered himself lucky for that. At the same time it was a government name no one else was allowed to use.

He didn’t want anyone else muttering his name. No one else could compare to the way you said it so breathlessly. Even as you marched over, hands placed firmly on your hips, you still managed to say his name so perfectly. So much so, he forgets where he is for the time being. As well as those standing to his side.

“What?”

“Don’t you dare ‘what’ me. Look at you.”

He flexes his fingers a few times, trying to find his words. What could he say to get you to drop the topic. Was there anything? He knew how you could be. Insisting on worrying about each and every little mishap. Despite being s supersoldier, you never failed to drive home the point that each day could be his very last. He wouldn’t dare to leave you alone like that, would he?

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself. A small attempt to cool you off has ruined months and months of guarding a very personal secret. One he didn’t want broadcasted on every news station and outlet.

Somewhere a few steps ahead of him, he hears a loud sputter. John has stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face you. Even with all his bruises and blood crusted to both his nose and lips, it’s easy to see the shift in his expression. It first goes from shock to realization then to joy.

“I knew it!”

“You have got to be kidding me. You were right.” Yelena can barely bring herself to sit down, sliding down the nearest wall onto her bum.

“You owe me and Bob ten bucks.”

“When did Bob get in on it?”

Bucky can feel his head throb. The yelling going on all around him does little to help. To know the team was now placing bets on his love life caused his skin to crawl. What would be next? Were they going to start taking bets on who would die first?

At the same time, he can’t find it in him to particularly care all that much. He’s too busy trying to come to terms with your anger. Now that you’re closer to him, he can definitely make out all the creases to your expression. Anger. Disappointment. Concern. He wasn’t sure which one won out against all the others.

“How long?” Yelena asks.

“How long for what?” Bucky retorts.

If he had it his way, he would continue deflecting until the day he died. Even as you move to sit him down on the closest couch, with your hands already frantically working to strip him of what bloody clothing you can, he would continue to deny it.

“You called her honey.”

“I’m delirious.” He continues. “It’s the bloodloss.”

He was as stubborn as they came. With a huff, you cut your eyes at him, grimacing at both the sight and feel of blood beneath your fingertips. “Can this conversation not wait? You two look like you’ve had better days. Bucky is claiming he’s lost that much blood. Bob looks like he might puke - please sit down dear, maybe away from them.”

“How long has it been?”

“A while.” You reply, squatting down in front of Bucky to get a better look at his torso. The largest gash is enough to cause your stomach to churn. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a wound. It was more so the fact of who the said wound was on.

“How long is a while?”

“Two years?”

“Actually it’ll be three in a few weeks.”

“Right…I forgot. I’ve been having to keep up with them.”

Three years. He couldn’t believe it. Three years of marriage kept so tightly guarded that the rest of the group had begun to think they were making it all up. That they had to be hallucinating there was something going on between the two of you. The gas lighting coming from Bucky needed to be studied - should be studied. His nonchalant nature he brushed everything off with was almost… Concerning.

“You lied to us.”

Bucky shakes he head from side to side, denying the accusations that are thrown his way. As much as he wants to argue back, to claim that he has never once lied to them, he’s far too busy thinking about your fingertips against his skin. He would rather the two of you be in your rooms, conveniently placed across the hall from each other. In the dead of night, room swaps were made, sneaking into each other’s beds like love sick teenagers.

“I’ve never really be very good at keeping secrets.” You say, motioning for Bucky to lift his arms. As he does so, you twist him this way and that way, searching for any wounds that might be hidden in the curves of his body. Satisfied when you find none, you allow him to relax.

“It was bound to come out at some point.”

Secrets weren’t ever going to last very long in this tower anyway. The close proximity you all lived together would make things like that difficult. High stress situations were bound to cause things to come to a head - whether you liked it or not.

“Now that that’s out of the way - why aren’t you wearing a ring? Are you ashamed?”

Bucky can only sigh. There were far worse things than his secrets being exposed.

[iceman-soup]

ghost x soap

Of course it's fucking raining now that Soap and Ghost finally on leave. Sure, it's not unusual Scottish weather (they're staying in Johnny's small flat in Glasgow), and it's not like they were gonna do much today anyway, but still. It has them waking up in an already lazy mood, Simon shuffling to cuddle into his boyfriend closer and groaning.

The bed is too comfy and warm to get up, and Si doesn't want to move away from Soap's sleepy embrace. They're both conscious, quietly making incoherent noises of complaint at that fact back and forth at each other. Eventually, Johnny presses his lips to Ghost's forehead and rolls them over, sitting up on Simon's stomach to look out the window like a curious rabbit, then leaning down and littering his unmasked face with pecked kisses.

Simon laughs, running his hands through Soap's mohawk. Raindrops patter against the window as he flips them over again, hugging Soap tight then sitting up opposite him, pulling on a pair of comfy military-issued socks and one of his hoodies. The Sergeant sits up too, also pulling on one of Si's hoodies, and much fluffier socks with little skull prints all over them that Gaz had bought him as a gag gift which he ended up adoring.

"Mornin', love," Soap smiles, voice deep and groggy as he leans forward to rest his head on Ghost's chest, who hums in response and nuzzles his cheek against his hair. After a couple moments just sitting like that, the two reluctantly flop out of bed, padding their way over to the tiny kitchen before realising they barely have a scrap of food in the flat, only just having a few general ingredients and a small selection of tea and coffee.

Simon groans again, scanning the fridge as if something new is about to spawn in, before turning around, picking his boyfriend up and setting him on a counter, then passing him flour, eggs, milk and some oil, and getting out a frying pan for the stove.

"What're we making?" the shorter man asks, swinging his legs and playfully kicking Ghost whenever he gets in range.

"Secret," is the only reply he gets, but it's quickly obvious by the way Si mixes some flour, milk and two eggs together, creating a thin batter which he splashes into the pan, just about remembering to put oil in first so as to not completely fuck it all up. Then Chef Riley takes charge, and suddenly Johnny is being bossed around, ordered to get plates and get cutlery and cut up a lemon and put some caster sugar in a small bowl and set it out all pretty on the tiny dining table. In his own home, he complains lightheartedly.

The first pancake served is happily accepted by the Scot along with a quick kiss. The shit weather had only gotten worse, but that meant a perfect background noise for them to eat (although it did make conversation a little difficult). Once the batter is all used up, Ghost puts Soap on washing up duty, whilst he dries and puts everything away. And then it's essential to curl up on the sofa together, wrapped in one of Johnny's blankets, watching a randomly-selected war film and criticising even the slightest inaccuracies to make each other laugh.

[ryanisasleep]

HELLO HELLO I AM…. SEMI ALIVE

would like to req a silly ghost fic w/ male reader :3 just some fluff hcs as they retire from the task force and go about their daily lives (CUDDLING SESSION AAAAA)🥺🥺🥺

also hope ur having a good day ^^

Little things

Retired Ghost x Retired male reader

Tw: none just mentions of scars and injuries

After servicing the SAS for around 30 years it was finally time to retire and enjoy the time spent by the people you always protected. The Task Force 141, created by Price, was now led by Gaz and Soap after Ghost and you decided to retired as well following the old man, or rather father of the TF, that retired to spend time with Nik. After 2 years, you and Ghost reached the age of 55 and it was now time to put away the guns. You and him still wanted to be in the frenetic life of constant alert but after an incident that left you with having to walk with a cane (you were not fully disabled, you just needed support, not always, your knee sometimes gave painful troubles. The problem, most of the time, was solved by wearing a medical device, a knee brace) and him to manifest phantom pains with constant migranes, the time to give up was finally here. After being discharged with honor and with badges of recognition, saying goodbye to Johnny and Kyle and making sure that these two would be able to lead the future of the task force, you two left the army forever.

Before leaving, a decision was made. During dull times when there was nothing to do, you and Simon discussed possible houses and flats to live in after retirement, these conversation started way before the deadline and sometimes it would end up with the two of you not having emitted the final verdict. You always wanted to visit Manchester and maybe live in it too as Simon always described it a an "ok" city. Eventually, an apartament was found and it was quiet cozy too. It had a wall window (not fully glass) that was facing the west giving the possibility to gaze at the setting sun, it had an elevator too as you needed it. It took some time to get adjusted. It was a sort of challenge itself to buy the furnitures as you and Simon had different tastes that were difficult to mix together and the fact that it was a struggle to arrange everything, but eventually your new house was done and was full of memories too.

The small table and the walls around the TV were full with photos of vacations as well as after missions times with your friends: the time in Las Almas, with Alejandro and Rudy, then there were Farah and Alex with Nikolai too. Other photos showed vacation trips with the whole 141 and your outer friends too. In the more intimate and more secured side, the medals acchieved over time by you and Simon stood neat and clean, in the studio, in their cases showing the best of the best.

You two helped eachother with everything: Simon helped to install the cupboards? You wasted no time to fix a leaking sink, you went to buy groceries, he helped around the house.

You two where 50 and still in great physical form despite your respective pains, you were accepted to work as a personal guard to assist the CEO of a very advanced High-tech company that helped in the reaserch in many fields…..it did pay very well….while Simon, who liked more quiet places was hired as an intelligence specialist where his tactical skills were put to use, formuling plans or mapping the perimeters, when squads of police or other special forces had to get their hands dirty. At the end of the day, when you both were home, you two got to spend the evenings on the couch watching some football or play matches in Call of Duty making some people rage quit since they couldn’t compete with veterans.

Sleeping was a challenge though, Simon had chronic pains over his whole body and sometimes the treatmens where not really effective, he ended up waking up in the middle of the night with pains in his legs or arms (trust me they are unbearable. I say this as someone who sometimes has their legs and foot-fingers blocked for the amount of pain) that makes him become restless. Lucky for him you are there as you try and sooth everything with massagess. To say thank you, he lets you sleep on his torso and wraps you around his arms if they don’t hurt and you do the same gifting him a small and content smile. If you are the one waking up with knee pains, he makes sure to try and make it lessen by applaying some pain relief oiment.

Mornings are spent lazily if none of you have to work, usually you wake up with him being the big spoon while he had his head on your pillow, other times he wakes up with you on top of him with your arms sprawled on the bed. He rolls around, waking you up in the process, and giving you light kisses on your forehead and temples while caressing your exposed tummy, warm light usually fills the room finding it’s way to your exposed torsos filled with scars of all types, symbols of your endurance and courage.

White hair did began to appear on your scalp and Simon noticed it while washing your hair in the bathtub.

‘’Pup, you have some white hair here and there…’’ he spoke as he massaged your scalp and cheek bones.

You looked yourself in the dull reflection of the soapy water and that was true.

‘’Ah-…sigh’’

‘’Don’t worry about it, they look good on you’’ he smiled.

‘’Don’t joke about it, since you have some on your eyebrows too, look at the base!’’

And so days were spent like this. You two were finally taking back the time ripped away from your work duty, callused hands traced the necks of one-another and scarred faces expressed the most sincere of feelings repressed by the ruthless requirements of the war world. Sometimes, the little things done with the heart, each day…are the ones that matter the most.

-The end

[amorchai]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 150 notes.

pairing(s): walter ‘keys’ mckey x reader

words: 824

warnings/tags: friends to lovers.

walter mckey was caring to say in the least. from before you were dating him, he still did little things that would make your heart swish and beat rapidly. whenever you went somewhere, he held the chair out for you. if your leg was bouncing he would rest a reassuring hand on your knee to tell you it’s okay. if you were off sick he would be at your door with numerous items to help.

it only got more affectionate when you started going out, the entire first date went even better than you had expected. you could feel your heart hammering in your chest the entire night and you were overwhelming warm by how flustered you were.

his cute smile and the softness beneath his eyes that hid behind the reflect of his glasses, you could simply get lost in him for the rest of your life and not mind. every time there was an opportunity for a gesture, walter was rushing to do so.

the moment you answered the door you were met with a nervous walter holding flowers and through the entire night he held every door open for you, held your hand, and kept the conversation going, light and fun.

you never knew you could have this much fun on a date until tonight, and it only meant you wished it would last. he was such boyfriend material, and after your crush on him for months at work dealing with your aching heart and butterflies whenever he spoke to you or did something nice, it was overwhelming that he felt the same way.

after a nice dinner at a japanese restaurant, he held your hand the entire way out the restaurant, holding the door open for you once again and asking if you’d like to take a walk. you never wanted the night to end, and it seemed like he didn’t either, so you agreed.

the streets were busy and walter’s hand never faltered from yours the entire time, fingers squeezed together while his thumb delicately grazes over the back of your hand. you felt tingly and dizzy at the thought that bystanders will merely think you’re a couple, something you’d been pining for a while now.

you got to know each other better, learning about his music taste and in-depth opinions on movies, his other hobbies apart from video game creating and you felt like you could easily get used to this. you and him together.

you were so flustered within every compliment walter paid you, fuzzy mind almost making you miss the fact you didn’t wear a jacket tonight, and it was a chilly fall evening around the city. goosebumps were invading the edge of your skin and your teeth fought the urge to chitter.

“would you like an ice cream?” you’re both stopped in front of a small desserts place and walter cuts into your thoughts, you turn to him and break your reverie with a small nod and smile, “that would be nice.”

he stares at you for a moment, really stares, as if he’s taking in every detail across your face with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. using the hand that isn’t holding yours, his pointer finger gently drags over your cheek and he hisses at the temperature before moving laying his palm flat.

“you’re freezing! are you cold?” walter asks and you giggle airly while leaning into the warm touch of his hand, squeezing his hold on yours, “a little.”

“a little? your cheek feels like ice, you could get sick- here!” he rushes his words, frantic while moving away from you — much to your disappointment — only to tug his jacket off. you can feel your knees grow weak but you hold your hand up, “no, it’s okay! i have a cardigan on, i’ll be fine i don’t want you to get cold.”

walter only shrugs your comment off while swinging the jacket around so it sits across your shoulders and he adjusts it at the front so your covered by it, entirely engulfed by the warmth it brings and the scent of him across the collar.

instantly you feel better.

“how does a hot chocolate sound instead?” walter offers, one hand resting on your lower back to push you into his body while your gaze follows his other, pointing towards a little café across the road. you’re surprised it’s even opened.

you turn to face him, looking up at his curious face before leaning up to gently settle a kiss to his cheek, and then briefly by the corner of his mouth. a small ‘thank you’ for how caring he has been tonight, and he settles kisses against your palm while you cross the road to get hot drinks instead.

you’re already warm from the feeling of his jacket and scent around you, and his palm in yours. but you don’t say anything, the moment too pure and walter too adorating.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[cintiri]

Just a list of random SVSSS headcanons I've had bouncing around for a while

- Liu Qingge's first crush was on Yue Qingyuan. When they were young, he would follow YQY around like a lost puppy. YQY never noticed. Shen Jiu absolutely did, and it did NOT help their relationship.

- Original!Luo Binghe's harem often functioned more as Sha Hualings harem. She's slept with most of the harem more often than he has. While NYY is the first wife and technically in charge of the harem, she mostly focuses on the logistical side, and SHL deals with more of the people side.

- Original!Luo Binghe dresses more like Shen Qingqiu than Bingmei does. He straightens his hair, wears makeup, and has more elaborate robes. He does not realize he is doing this, he is subconsciously him mimicking Shen Qingqiu, because his idea of what a powerful person is supposed to look like is fundamentally shaped by Shen Qingqiu.

- Bingge and Mobei Jun in PIDW 100% fucked at least once.

- Su Xiyan acted as a sort of guardian/shield for a lot of the girls at Huan Hua Palace against the combination of OPMs abuse and shitty education, and after she died, a lot of them were suddenly stuck with all the fucked up shit SXY had been protecting them from. This is part of the reason the Huan Hua Girls are the way that they are, as Luo Binghe's generation is the first generation without the protections of SXY or a similar mentor. They are all either desperate for help or genuinely so sheltered that they don't even know anything is wrong.

-Tianlang Jun had an ill advised fling with Linguang Jun at some point, likely a mutual rebound. TLJ calls LGJ Linlin because of this, and LGJ fucking hates it and was so glad when the cultivators dropped a mountain on his least favorite situationship.

-Airplane actually loves cooking. He's not god tier at it like LBH, though. But he decided to project cooking onto LBH because he liked it, and knew information about how it worked that he could provide to LBH. Unfortunately, he did not have the money to cook often before his death, and was very busy with An Ding after his death. However, he does sometimes break out the cookbook, and because of this, Mobei Jun is the only person in PIDW who has ever had ice cream. Or a popsicle.

-Airplane realized quickly that he made a mistake in giving Mobei a popsicle, as his internal body temperature is not cold enough to melt it, so he started just fucking crunching away at it and ate half the stick before Airplane got him to stop.

-Of all the four arts, Shen Jiu was the worst at painting. He could memorize weiqi strategies, play music beautifully and filled with emotion, and had excellent calligraphy, but while his painting was technically perfect, it always seemed to lack something. It drove him crazy, how he could never create the soul that his teachers were looking for. Everything just always seemed flat on his canvas.

-Conversely, Shen Yuan was an excellent painter, especially at painting from life. Monsters and people were his specialities, and he always seemed to make them feel alive. There is one (1) hall master that has been correctly believing he cannot be the real SQQ for the past 20 years because of this fact. Shen Yuan's worst art is Weiqi, which annoys the shit out of him, almost as much as Shen Jiu's painting deficiencies annoyed him. "I'm the strategy peak lord! I'm supposed to be good at this!! What gives, system?"

- Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, and Yue Qingyuan have an annual "meeting of the overworked bastards", as Shang Qinghua puts it. Mu Qingfang set it up, initially trying to make it a monthly thing where they all have a nice, relaxing mental health day, but all three of them are so insanely busy that it usually only ends up happening once a year at best. Mostly what they do at these meetings is eat snacks, get drunk, and cry.

- Liu Qingge has about 5 meals he always eats on constant rotation, and will get irritated if he has to eat anything else. This is one of the reasons he hates banquets so much. It's an unholy combination of gym bro chicken and rice protein macros and autism safe foods. (Am I projecting? Yes. Yes I am.)

-Mu Qingfang knows about Shang Qinghua's connection to Mobei Jun, but only tangentially. He's pretty sure Mobei Jun is married to Shang Qinghua for some kind of trading deal, which he is rather appreciative of as he receives a lot of rare plants from the northern desert, and cooling storage talismans from Shang Qinghua. Mu Qingfang minds his own damn business, so nobody knew that he knew until SQH was called out for being a traitor, at which point MQF went "oh, shit" and pretended he had known nothing.

-Because of said internal cooling talisman, An Ding Peak has A/C. When SQQ found out, he almost cried and damn near begged for them. Well, in the way SQQ can bring himself to beg, that is. "You! Hack! Author! Trapping me in this shitty world with this shitty heat, and keeping all the AC to yourself and not even sharing!!" *Rapid fan smacks*

[shepscapades]

giggling kickimg my feet

I'm sorry I just love these two in your artstyle and in your au (dbhc docsuma save me, save me dbhc docsuma,,,)

Also I'm such a big fan of body language in your comics so--

uh

closed position! It's a sign of anger, discomfort and overall it can be seen as creating a barrier which well happens here, Xisuma was leaving when Doc stopped him, X doesn't want to talk to him but he still pretends like it's completely fine, the "Sure! What's up?" is bolder than his previous talking because it's clearly forced here, he really doesn't want to stay here any longer but on the other hand he also doesn't want to upset Doc (trying to please everyone huh)

it shows in how his speech is constructed here, he wants the conversation to end as fast as possible, he's not hesitant he just flatly anwers everything as if he didn't care about the outcome or about Doc's concerns, just dismissing him, shoving him away , trying to hide his nervousness from Doc but well.. failing as we can see in the next pages

Doc starts feeling uncomfortable and unsure, he's overwhelmed by the flat response because he knows Xisuma never talks like that, he knows him, he knows X would at least reconsider what he's saying

Xisuma's response really worries Doc here (love the visual of a shadow behind the speech bubble indicating that it's in fact supposed to be a bit worrying as a response) Doc is certain now that something isn't right, he talks about his concerns and once again rubs his neck which shows he's really uncomfortable right now.

Xisuma's tail stills and his speech bubbles become loose and foggy, as if he just started wondering about something, as if he started slowly coming back to his senses because of Doc's reaction, he's busy and doesn't want to talk with Doc but still he doesn't want to upset his friend and it's exactly what he just did. X becomes unsure he's unsure of himself 'what am I doing?' (also just a quick thought, I love his shoes, like what even are they)

it continues on the next page, his speech bubbles still loose and foggy, he's rubbing the back of his neck - he's unsure, he shouldn't act like that, he maybe even feels a bit bad about himself: how could he just dismiss Doc and his concerns like that? He's not himself and he knows it, his fins also drop which indicates his unsureness even more, he's afraid of himself (also his style of speech changes, he's not speaking flatly like before but actually hesitates a bit before saying anything)

Xisuma's concerns disappear instantly as if something took over him the moment he started getting close to thinking something isn't right (Evil X heheheheh <3) it's visible in his eyes (they deifinetely weren't pink before, it's kinda cool it's the only time we see them in this comic tho) speech bubbles: the lines are bolder as if they were forcing his thoughts to stay in them, to not wander around, to not overthink anything, to not think about anything else in contrast to the loose foggy speech bubbles. Also colour of the text changed, from Xisuma's normal toned purplish pink to very saturated pink, which could be a sign of control (this control doesn't last very long because in the next page it changes back to a bit more toned purplish pink but still a bit bolder than the one from the loose bubbles from before

the concerning thing is that X isn't as nervous as he was at the start, now he doesn't dismiss Doc with ending all of his statements with "." but with "!" (+the tail swishing) as if he was more cheerful now, as if he forgot about anything that just happened. Doc is ofc concerned about that (his eye glowing yellow, him standing in a closed position in the last panel, still unsure and unconvinced. Worried about his friend too, he knows something isn't right,,,

aye uh, I just wrote this in one sitting, sorry if this is nonsense but dbhc docsuma is doing things to my brain

I could ramble about this even more but I think it would lose sense after some time so tee hee

I could talk about manipulation and it's victims so much more but uhhh too much writing already, also love body language with all my heart so this is a treat for me

MAYYYY THIS BREAKDOWN IS INSANENNEEEEE I’m gonna clear up some of the emotions that are being traded here (like, I think X’s standoffishness might be more of a restless kind of thing than anger or annoyance) when I make the explanation/breakdown post, but MAN I just wanted to post this so I can thank u for your insanity and let you know it goes SUPER seen and I’m kicking my feet like a crazy person (there are a LOT of really really good theory posts and asks that I can’t/don’t want to answer yet so this is also me saying I read/see everything please know this) but i hated to let this sit in my ask box HEHE

It’s SOOO gratifying to see someone pick through all of the details :D and i can’t wait to explain everything in more detail!!! >:D

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Switch!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child, Coryo is a bit selfish and too ambitious, Crassus decides to try and be a better husband/father, allusion to science experiments on a district person

Part 6:

Things have subtly changed between Crassus and you since he came home a couple of nights ago asking about your day. He wasn't overly affectionate with you, but he did inquire about your day once he got home. He's even been coming home a good 15 minutes before dinner’s served, which is nice.

It's currently dinner time, so you and your family are gathered around the dining room table. The food the cook made is exquisite and the conversation is light. Or at least it's light until Coriolanus decides to start bragging about his day interning in Dr. Gaul's lab.

“Dr. Gaul let me do another experiment today since my last one was so successful.” Coriolanus announced to everyone gathered around the table. With a smug smile, the young platinum blonde went on to brag, “And she says that I have the potential to become a very successful Gamemaker.”

“Son, shouldn't you be focusing on your internship and graduating first before daydreaming about your future career?” Crassus asks, his tone cold, flat, and judgemental, while gracefully cutting his steak.

“I have a natural aptitude for gamemaking and the science that goes hand in hand with it according to Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus retorted while spearing some asparagus with his fork. “In fact Dr. Gaul lets me conduct my own experiments without her overseeing me because she believes that I have the potential to be great; she trusts me to conduct the experiments successfully on my own.”

Hearing that Dr. Gaul sees great potential in Coryo sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. That frizzy haired mad scientist always frightened you. If she sees something in your lover that’d make him a great and successful Gamemaker then you're a bit concerned. To do that sort of stuff, well, you can't even imagine how black and rotten of a soul a person must possess. In fact, you're afraid that t Dr. Gaul might be trying to groom and mold Coryo into something evil- like her.

Grandma'am just nods at her grandson, a thin shaky, but polite, smile on her face, as she reaches for her drink. She wants to seem supportive of her grandson, but she truly knows nothing about the games- other than what she sees on tv. So she clearly doesn't have a clue about how science experiments benefit gamemaking.

And Crassus, well, he's shaking his head and rolling his icy eyes at his firstborn. He doesn't approve of his ventures with science and gamemaking. He'd prefer him to follow his path, to enlist in the peacekeepers as an officer since he'll be earning his degree in the double majors of Military Strategies and Political Science. Crassus feels that his son would be more successful in the military then in science and the media- and gamemaking to General Snow is nothing more than creating a circus for a TV show. A TV show that airs a district punishment where 24 district children fight to the death, but still it's a TV show…

"And the lab rat that I experimented with earlier.." Coryo says as he begins to tell his family about what he did to the so-called ‘lab rat’. He isn't very descriptive, but you can imagine what happened just from the hints that's falling out of his mouth; you can tell that it is a bloody horrible act.

You shudder, dropping your fork- causing it to clatter against the plate. Just hearing the innuendos and poetic words about blood and gore flow from Coriolanus' mouth as he speaks about the lab rat that wicked witch Dr. Gaul has him experimenting on makes you sick. Yes, he's not going in depth with details since everyone's eating dinner, but he's saying enough to make your stomach churn and your blood run cold.

General Crassus Snow had seen the horrors of war during the Rebellion; the Dark Days, so hearing his son's bloody, but sugar coated explanation of what ungodly things he's done to the ‘lab rat’ Dr. Gaul assigned to him didn't bother the military man. But, being a keen observer, Crassus noticed that both his mother and wife were bothered by Coriolanus' low key bragging about his gory and gruesome scientific deeds. So, he decided to intervene on behalf of the women in his life, both young and old.

Crassus pointed his fork at his son, cutting his icy eyes sternly at the pretentious boy across from him, and said, “Coriolanus, son, this isn't an appropriate dinner time talk.”

“I'm not stating graphic details, all I'm doing is-” The young blonde with baby blue eyes attempted to defend his boasting, only to be calmly and coldly interrupted by his father's deep and domineering tone ordering, “Shut up, Coriolanus. I told you, your experiments on your ‘lab rat’ isn't proper talk for a steak dinner.”

Coriolanus obeyed Crassus, but the sour look on his face proves that he wasn't thrilled to be put in his place. That he felt insulted that his father, the great war hero of Panem, wouldn't let him brag about his deeds as Dr. Gaul’s prodigy.

You're grateful to Crassus for getting Coriolanus to stop talking about his internship with Capitol City's resident mad scientist. You're positive that Grandma'am’s relieved that Crassus put an end to Coriolanus' bloody, but poetic scientific innuendos as well.

After dinner everyone goes their own way. You go to the parlor to play gin rummy with Grandma'am while Crassus goes to his study to work on some paperwork he brought home from work. And Coriolanus claimed that he was going to his room to work on a class assignment.

But Coriolanus didn't go to his room to work on his studies. Instead he went to the nursery to spend some father-son bonding time with Cassian. And since he didn't want to be disturbed he didn't announce his plans to anyone.

So, Crassus, believing that the nursery was empty except for Cassian, decided to go check on the baby before diving head first into his paperwork. But when the head of the Snow family approaches he notices that the nursery's door's cracked open; that the light's on. He swears he hears the low baritone of his firstborn wafting from the baby's room.

Curiously, Crassus approaches the door with the movements of a velociraptor. Reaching the door, he spies thru the crack that Coriolanus is standing right above Cassian's crib. Crassus knows that his firstborn wouldn't harm his newborn son, but he can't figure out what he's doing in the nursery. The middle-aged man knows how his oldest son is; that he's cold and manipulative- also a hit with the ladies, so he doesn't understand why he's showing an interest in the baby.

Crassus, despite what Coriolanus may believe, knows more about his son's actions and personality that the boy thinks. Crassus knows that his son has a cold, manipulative, nature that's easily hidden by charm. He also knows that his son desperately craves attention, validation, praise, and affection- much like his mother did. God, Crassus remembers that his first wife seemed to want validation on her beautiful face, which she powdered every chance she got. Coriolanus was a weakling in Crassus' eyes, but he was a weakling that didn't have a loving bone in his body.

So why is Coriolanus bothering a sleeping Cassian for?

And the answer to that question was revealed when Crassus saw Coriolanus scoop up Cassian, only to cradle him in his arms while cooing, "Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?"

Crassus’ icy eyes widened and his earlier suspicions from the day his son was born, when he heard Coriolanus call Y/N mommy hit him full force. Hearing Coriolanus tell Cassian that ‘Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?’ made him start to feel that his oldest son, who he knows had a bit of a reputation with the popular girls at the Academy (including the Dovecote girl that caught the ‘flu’ during the 10th Annual Hunger Games and became a temperamental mess with yellow snake like eyes and rainbow scales littering areas of her skin like a bad case of plaque psoriasis), had targeted and seduced his wife when he wasn't around. Crassus knew that in the early era of his marriage to you that he was rarely home due to being a workaholic; he wouldn't put it past his son (who's his spitting image) to corrupt you with charming lies and batting his long lashes while giving you sweet doe eyes.

Crassus knows how his first wife snagged him; he wouldn't put it past his son to use those tactics while seducing the ladies- including you.

But the general doesn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. Although Coriolanus' murmurs are a clear reason to believe that you had an affair with him, Crassus wants to observe his firstborn's actions and collect evidence before he does anything rash, like confronting him and demanding a DNA test. Being a military man, he wants to have a proper ‘recon’ done and a ‘battle plan’ in place before confronting his weak heir about commiting stepcest with you.

Crassus, after seeing Coriolanus in the nursery, returns to his study to finish up his paperwork. But the cogs in his mind won't stop turning, he can't stop thinking about what he saw and overheard in the nursery. So, he decides to join you and Grandma'am in the parlor room.

“Who's winning?” Crassus asks, coming up to you while you're sitting at the card table, waiting for Grandma'am to make a move.

“I am.” You reply with a smile, looking at your husband as he takes a seat in the empty chair next to you.

Grandma'am turns to her son, who's sitting between you and her at the card table that seats four, and tells him in a blunt, but motherly tone, “Crassus, you'll have to wait until this game's over to join. We've just started a new hand and I'm not folding so you can play.”

Crassus nods, accepting that he won't be joining the game anytime soon.

And then, right as Grandma'am discards a card after drawing one, the loud cry of your son's heard echoing all the way from the nursery on the other side of the penthouse.

Crassus knows that Coriolanus, despite cradling the baby, didn't change Cassian, because if he did the baby wouldn't be crying his lungs out. Oh, isn't Coriolanus so great when it comes to newborn care? Holds a baby, but won't change it. Hell, Crassus will even tell you about how he's changed a few dirty diapers in his youth- not many, but a few whenever he was in his son's nursery and felt/smelled a heavy or wet diaper while holding him.

Hell, if what Crassus overheard Coriolanus say is true (and he hopes it's not because he'd hate to think that you'd cheat on him with his own son) then his heir isn't that great of a father.

But who’s he to judge? Crassus' son’s quite popular with the ladies and might've seduced you. What kind of fathering produces something like that?

“Crassus, can you take my hand? I need to go check on Cassian.” You ask your husband, holding your cards out to him.

Taking the cards from your outstretched hand, causing his fingertips to lightly brush against yours, he assures you, “Go ahead, petal. I'll be fine taking your place against mother in the card game.”

“Thank you.” You tell your husband, a hint of a smile on your lips, before taking off to tend to your baby.

Crassus looks over his hand, concluding that you have descent cards. Not enough to call gin rummy, but they have some potential.

He goes to draw from the deck, only to be bombarded by his mother patting his hand and telling him in that knowing way all mothers have, “I see you're showing a fondness to your wife, Crassus.” She lets his hand go, enabling him to draw his card, while smiling, “Petal’s a lovely pet name for Y/N; very befitting of a Snow wife.”

“Mhm.” Crassus hums, placing his card with the others in his hand.

While he muses over what card to discard, his mother gives him the sage advice of, “Well, I'm glad to see that things are better between the two of you. But, just remember that you should always kiss her good morning and goodnight even if you've had a little tiff. Can't ever let hard feelings or feelings of disinterest take root and fester in a marriage, especially one as fragile as yours.”

“Thank you, mother. I'll be sure to remember that.” Crassus tells Grandma'am while discarding a card he deems useless.

But maybe he shouldn't have discarded that one since his mother snatched it up from the pile and used it to declare gin rummy.

And later that night when you and your husband go to bed, he put his mother's advice to good use. He takes you by surprise when after telling you goodnight he commands in a deep tone, “Come here.”, while sitting up in bed.

You had just laid down and turned your back to him, which you do every night. You didn't feel like getting up, so you countered his request with, “We already said goodnight, Crassus, so go to sleep.”

But Crassus couldn't go to sleep. No, not without kissing you goodnight. If what his mother said was true and goodnight along with good morning kisses kept a marriage from fracturing then he needed to give you one. Lord knows that he never kissed his first wife goodnight or was overly affectionate with her, but Demeter seemed just fine with a transactional intimacy in their marriage. But you're not Demeter, you're you and Crassus has discovered that to put a smile on your face; to keep you happy and from crying that he needs to approach you with interest and intimacy.

Well, he decides that if you're not going to go to him then he'll just have to go to you.

So, Crassus leans over your body, his large frame engulfing yours, And tilts your chin with his large hand, turning your head towards his. And without warning, he brings his face close to yours and presses his lush, pillowy soft lips against yours for a kiss. A kiss that took you aback and lit a spark inside of you.

This kiss was unlike the others that you shared with your husband. Usually they felt mechanical and robotic, something that's done before or during the deed of fucking, but this kiss was fueled by a feeling of some sort. What’s fueling your husband's sudden kiss, you didn't know, but you did know that his kisses had the ability to harbor more than the cold impersonal touch you've grown accustomed to from him. In fact, his lush lips had the ability to inspire heart-rending stirrings.

Without even thinking much of it, your lips chased after his, wanting- no craving more of his kiss, as he began to pull away.

The action made your husband realize that you're touch starved; sent a small pang of guilt in his chest. Crassus couldn't help, but think that maybe that's another reason why you're sad and crying alone in the corner while he's at work. Because the little intimacy that there was between the two of you died once you grew too big in your pregnancy.

“We’ve got 5 more weeks until we can fuck again, so just let me know when the doctor clears you and I'll make up all the lost intimacy to you, okay?” Crassus tells you, his deep tone holding a slight warmness in it that you're not used to hearing, as he caresses your jawline with his thumb.

“Okay.” You tell your husband, already knowing that once your clear bill of health comes in you'll be stuck being his fleshlight- it's just a duty that comes with being Mrs. Y/N Snow.

But now that the surprise kiss is over and Crassus is just staring at you with something unreadable in his icy eyes, caressing your jawline with slow strokes of his thumb, you feel small and vulnerable. Perhaps even foolish in a way; you can't help but feel like you're being toyed with by your bored middle-aged husband because you know deep down in your heart that he doesn't give a shit about you. Hell, he's probably just playing with you to see how fast it'll take to make you melt under his touch before he decides to pull the rug out from under you and use your receptive feelings as a zinger to keep you in line with.

Only the gods know that your husband's a cold, stern, indifferent man that doesn't have a heart. Why would he show you an ounce of affection, if he didn't mean to turn it around into something cruel and uncaring in the end that would just keep you under his thumb?

Feeling a bit overwhelmed and self conscious, your melancholy creeps up on you and tears tickle the back of your eyes. Not wanting to experience a baby blues crying jag during bedtime, you push your husband's hand away from your face and quickly bury your face into your pillow.

Your rejecting touch burnt Crassus' hand worse than any fiery flames could. He couldn't fathom why you reacted the way that you did. Did he do something wrong? He thought that tonight was a good night between the two of you. He asked you about your day once he got home, spent some time with you and the baby, made Coriolanus shut up when his lab rat talk was bothering you at dinner, and had some light banter with you while playing cards with you and his mother. To him, the night went well and there was no reason for you to reject him after his goodnight kiss.

Maybe you're just tired from taking care of the baby all day?

Yes, that has to be it.

Because if it's not, well…Crassus doesn't want to think about that.

The following day Coriolanus was still a bit butthurt over his family not caring about his remarkable scientific breakthroughs and success. He's still salty about his father, the war hero General Crassus Snow, shutting down his talk about the experiments he performed on the lab rat Dr. Gaul assigned him. How dare his father, whose success and grandeur he's been told he has the potential to surpass, make him shut up about his brilliance in the scientific field that accompanies the role of gamemaker- whether that be an assistant or the head gamemaker itself.

The platinum blonde with the halo of curls felt that you at least should've wanted to hear about his natural aptitude for scientific endeavors and gamemaking. But no, you let his father, your damn husband, order him to stop all talk about his efforts with the lab rat. If you ask him, you've turned into a selfish bitch that's either crying or with the baby all the time. Goddamnit, you don't want to do anything (like suck his cock) anymore.

It's bullshit how nobody seems to appreciate his efforts, his intelligence, and his potential for greatness. What the hell kind of family does he have?

Well, he's sure that Tigris would appreciate it, but she's so kindhearted and gentle that he's afraid she'd faint at the reference to blood let alone any other innuendos to his experiments with the lab rat from 12. So, he'll refrain from telling her anything about it when he visits her next at her boutique/above shop condo.

And talk about his personal lab rat, she was doing exceptionally well. She responded to the after experiment tests and check ups with efficiency and skill that most lab rats struggle to possess right away after operations. Oh, yes, the reconditioning of the blank canvas that's the mind of lab rat 12 is going perfectly. In fact, Dr. Gaul says that Coriolanus has a natural talent and skill at molding and creating useless things into something new and functional.

After spending some time deep in the depths of the Citadel, where Dr. Gaul's lab is, doing only the gods know what to the little girl he's now dissociated himself into believing is a lab rat from District 12 instead of a living, breathing human being, Coriolanus found himself in the library at the University. He didn't have any classes today, but he was at the library studying. Coriolanus, despite having the best marks in all of his classes, wanted to remain the A+ student that he is; which is why he's cramming for his upcoming finals.

Finals that will determine if he keeps his spot as the valedictorian or not.

And while his nose is buried in a book for his sociology class Livia Cardew spots him. She's in the library to study for her own finals. She's a finance major, being that her mother owns and operates the largest bank in all of the Capitol let alone Panem, so truly none of her classes will be in the same scope as Coriolanus' considering that he's a double major in Military Strategies and Political Science.

Okay, that's a lie. She shares one class with him. An elective course: Communications. Although he sits in the front and is a total professor's pet and she sits in the middle of the lecture hall, they still share the class. Livia's impressed by his natural wit and way with words, how he delivers speeches in the class with such grace. He's so perfect in the craft of communication that he could very well teach the class; show the professor a thing or two.

Livia's not bad at public speaking, but she's not as poised as Coriolanus. She's a typical Capitolite gossip girl and will ramble on and get off topic during a speech if it's not an assigned prewritten one. If it's a speaking exercise where she has to come up with something on demand, well, she's doomed if the speech has to last more than 3 or 4 minutes. She's a proper young lady of Capitol City, Panem, but a snobby elitist all the same; sad to say gossiping is a main part of that.

But seeing Coriolanus sitting alone at a table on the second floor of the library feels like the opportune moment to grab his attention. Yes, Livia has been teasing Coriolanus for years (she was a straight up terror to him in their later Academy years) but she knew that her role in life, other then taking over her mother's bank since her brother was a useless drunk and her father’s been on a permanent vacation in 1 at a ski lodge since she was 10, was to bag herself a wealthy and successful husband. And who better than Coriolanus Snow, the heir to the esteemed Snow family, to raise her station in high society?

So, the dirty blonde walks over to Coriolanus' table with a mission in mind: snatch him up in her claws.

Setting her bag down on the table near the scattering of notes, Livia takes a seat next to Coriolanus all the while asking, “May I sit with you, Coriolanus?”

The young man with light blonde curls raised his head up to look at the dirty blonde who'd just plopped down in the seat next to him. Honestly, he hated her; she grated on his nerves. But Coriolanus knew that demanding that she leave him alone would be bad manners; would make him look rude and ungentlemanly. He couldn't afford Livia, one of the biggest gossiping bitches in his social circle, to spread the word around that he's an ill-mannered oaf.

No, that would ruin all of his future plans of greatness and grandeur.

Nodding, he gives the dirty blonde girl a fake smile. “Of course you may, Livia.” Coriolanus politely says before going back to his studies.

Livia digs her books and notes out of her large designer bag while asking, “What class are you studying for?”

“Sociology of Deviant Behavior. Dr. Gaul, my mentor, teaches it.” Is the answer Coriolanus gives the girl that he hates, who's opening up a book for one of her finance classes.

“I'm a finance major, so I've never taken that class. What's it about?”

Flipping his page in his book, Coriolanus answers Livia with, “Essentially Dr. Gaul teaches about the forms of social deviance, theories on them and the societal responses to them.”

“Oh, so it's about criminal and social control.” Livia concludes, pretending to show an interest in the blonde boy's class in order to reel him in. What? She'll be graduating University soon, she needs to start thinking about finding a potential husband; who better than the Snow heir?

Hearing Livia take an interest in his sociology class strokes Coriolanus' bruised ego. Oh, maybe, just maybe she'd like to hear about his work with his lab rat?

“Dr. Gaul assigned me a lab rat, some wretch of a thing from district 12 that was caught roaming around in the woods, to perform experiments on for her sociology class.” Coriolanus tells Livia as an opening to see if she'd like to hear more about his experiments with the lab rat.

“What kind of experiments can a sociology class on deviancy consist of?” Livia asks, not because she cares but because she wants Coriolanus to think that she does. She wants to woo him and what better way to do that then to appeal to his mind and his accomplishments with his mentor.

“Behavioral correction experiments that focus on reprogramming the mind.” Explains Coriolanus while adding to the notes he has scattered on the table. Apparently he read something in his textbook that he forgot to write down previously.

“Are those kinds of experiments hard to do?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus nods, “usually they are, but Dr. Gaul says I'm a gifted prodigy of hers.” Lifting his head from the book his nose was buried in and turning to capture Livia's attention, he brags, “All of my experiments have been done successfully without any oversight by my mentor; she even told me that I have the potential to be a greater man than my father.”

Hearing that peeked Livia's interest. If Dr. Gaul thought that Coriolanus had the potential to surpass his war hero father then he'd surely be a worthy catch. Smiling, she urges, “Please, tell me all about your successful experiments.”

“Of course, Livia. I'd be delighted to.” Coriolanus grinned like the Cheshire cat before going on to tell Livia all about the expe on his ‘lab rat’, using the exact same language and poetic innuendos he used the previous night with his family.

And when Livia showed an interest in Coriolanus' achievements and accomplishments scientifically, well, it made him feel powerful. It also made it feel like the only one that cares is the girl that bullied him while growing up, the girl whose hyena laugh he can't stand, the very girl he hates.

But by spending time in the library with the snobby, shallow girl he hates, Coriolanus is able to brag about his experiments without being shunned or shamed. Which led to Coriolanus asking Livia out to lunch; of course she accepted his offer.

A lunch offer that would be the beginning of something and the end of something all at the same time.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress @nayveetbhh @someonefromwutheringheights

[haythams-blade]

A Rushed Wedding, and a good cover.

Summary: The Templar Grand Master Haytham Kenway and his partner find themselves rushing into a wedding due to a baby and to save Jennifer Kenway. But they mange to find a moment for themselves.

Rating: +18 there’s a heated moment but no direct smut.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy

A/N: I accidentally deleted the edited version of this story, so I did my best trying to edit this at 2am lol ❤️😂

The dawn kissed the Kenway estate with hesitant fingers of light, painting the ornate windows and the heavy, ancient stones in hues of rose and gold.

Inside, a different kind of tension hummed – the frantic, hushed energy of a wedding day. Servants glided through hallways bearing steaming water and crisp linens, while distant murmurings of arriving guests filtered through thick walls.

Footsteps, impossibly light and silent, registered only to the finely tuned senses of someone living a life on the edge. Haytham Kenway, Templar Grand Master, moved with the practiced stealth of a phantom. He hadn't used the door the conventional way, preferring the less conspicuous route through a connecting study and a clever, hidden panel that the staff of the Kenway manor didn’t even know had existed. He paused in the archway, just outside her immediate line of sight in the mirror, and simply watched.

Today, he was marrying (Y/N). An event that had been brought drastically forward, a fact he didn't mind in the slightest. But it also stood as cover to retrieve his older sister Jenny, who had been held as a concubine overseas. Their “honeymoon” would be a cover for them to get Jenny without anyone being tipped off. Plus when the returned with a baby no would question it.

He remained unseen in the doorway of their shared chambers, the polished wood cool against his back. (Y/N), still oblivious to his presence, stood before a gilded mirror, her back to him.

She stood before the large, ornate mirror, bathed in the soft, diffused light of the morning sun filtering through tall windows. She was utterly, unselfconsciously bare naked besides undergarments and her jewelry. Her hair, already partially styled by fluttering maids dismissed for a moment of ‘private contemplation,’ cascaded in rich waves down her back.

The room was a symphony of bridal preparation – scattered silks, delicate lace, jewel boxes open to reveal dazzling pieces intended to adorn a bride.

But she wasn't looking at the jewels or the gown hanging nearby. Her gaze was fixed on her reflection, specifically on the gentle, undeniable swell of her abdomen. She laid a hand flat against her bare skin, feeling the subtle firmness beneath. A small, tender smile touched her lips, a private moment of wonder in the eye of a public storm. This tiny life, growing within her, was the unexpected accelerant that had propelled her and Haytham towards this day, this grand, elaborate ceremony they both, secretly, found tiresome.

His eyes traced the curves of her body. Not the body that he knew from their shared nights, though he loved that body too. This body was subtly, and gloriously changed. The gentle swell of her belly was undeniable now, a beautiful, eloquent curve that spoke of the life they had created together instead. She continued to run a hand over it, a small, private gesture Haytham had seen her make more often lately. There was a hint of wonder in her eyes, a quiet conversation happening between her and the life held within her.

He watched her movements – graceful yet marked by a new, careful slowness. She admired her reflection, not with vanity, but with a quiet acceptance of the profound transformation taking place. She wasn't trying to hide it from herself, only from the world outside this room, the world that included her well-meaning but potentially gossipy maids.

His stern features softened, an unbidden tenderness entering his gaze. He found a profound beauty in her contemplation of their child, a future taking shape within her. It was a different kind of power than he was used to, quiet and fertile, and it stirred a fierce protectiveness within him.

The chaotic energy of the wedding preparations, the forced smiles and diplomatic niceties he’d already had to endure downstairs, faded from his mind. Here, in this quiet and safe space, was his reality, his future. He saw the soft curve of her figure, the way her skin began to stretch over the unmistakable roundness of her belly. It wasn't just attractive; it was breathtaking. It was life, tangible and precious, growing within the woman who had somehow navigated the intricate, dangerous landscape of his world and found a place untouched by ambition or the Templar order, purely built on mutual respect, understanding, and a love that had caught him entirely off guard. She looked exquisite, vulnerable, and utterly captivating.

He could have announced himself, but this stolen moment felt sacred. He wanted to saver it for himself, he was a selfish man after all.

But the moment of soft reverence shattered as (Y/N) sighed, reaching for the instrument of her current misery: a tightly-laced corset. Designed to cinch, to flatten, to hide, it was the antithesis of her current state. Nearby, the wedding gown hung like a promise of white and lace, a masterpiece of silk and satin designed to drape and flow, hopefully concealing the burgeoning bump. Beside it lay the true instrument of deception: a formidable, structured corset.

Haytham’s gaze settled on the corset with a familiar, almost paternalistic disapproval. He knew Rheanerya detested them. They were a necessary evil of fashion, restricting and uncomfortable. And now, this one was a cruel irony, a garment meant to flatten and conceal the very thing he celebrated.

She wrestled with the stiff whalebone and restrictive fabric, her brow furrowing in frustration.

"Oh, you poor thing. Please forgive me, little one," she murmured, panting slightly with the effort, "Mother has to make you disappear for a few hours. I promise we'll get rid of this dreadful thing as soon as possible."

The corset seemed to mock her, stiff and unyielding against her growing softness. Shame, fleeting but sharp, pricked at her. Needing help but unable to ask her maids – they knew only that the wedding had been moved up suddenly, the reason a closely guarded secret between her, Haytham, and a trusted few – she felt a surge of helplessness. The tightness of the stays, the restrictive nature of the garment, felt like a betrayal of the natural, beautiful changes happening within her.

A slow smile curled at the corner of his lips. This was his cue. He could resist no longer.

A warm, strong presence materialised behind her. (Y/N) startled, then relaxed instantly as Haytham's familiar scent enveloped her. He bent his head, pressing a kiss just below her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. His arms wrapped around her, strong yet gentle, his hands coming to rest, large and protective, directly over the slight swell beneath her shift.

"Struggling, my love?"

Haytham's voice was a low murmur against her ear, laced with amusement and affection. He felt her shiver, a delicate tremor of surprise and pleasure.

She leaned back into his embrace, a feeling of profound relief washing over her. The tension of the morning, the frustration with the corset, the forced gaiety looming ahead – it all dissipated in the circle of his arms. For a few precious seconds, the impending ceremony, the hidden child, the dangerous mission ahead – it all faded away. There was just them, a fragile bubble of peace amidst the storm. His thumbs stroked slow, comforting circles on her stomach, a silent acknowledgement of the life they were creating.

"Haytham," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion, "You shouldn't be here.”

Her voice was murmured, but the pleased warmth in her voice was evident.

“It’s hardly good luck for you to see your bride before the ceremony, especially not… like this.” She glanced down at her bare state, a hint of mock scandal in her tone.

"Perhaps not, But you are not yet ‘dressed’, are you?” He tightened his hold slightly, pulling her closer and whispering in her ear, “And besides, I wasn't visiting my bride. I was merely stopping by to check on the welfare of my child."

His words sent a warm wave through her. He stalked his way around to her front and kneeled in front of her bump. He lowered his head slightly, to her bump and pressed his lips firmly to the stretched skin tautly over her belly. It was a kiss of profound reverence, a silent promise spoken to the life within. He lingered there, his forehead resting gently over the curve, his breath warm against her skin.

A wave of profound emotion washed over him, a mixture of love, awe, and protectiveness that was almost overwhelming.

"Hello, little one," he murmured, his voice muffled against her. "Father's here. Apparently causing trouble, as usual."

(Y/N)’s hand covered his much larger one, pressing it closer to her belly. A tender smile played on her lips.

He straightened slowly, his eyes meeting hers. The teasing was gone, replaced by an intense, focused gaze that always made her heart pound. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

"And now, for the mother of my child." he whispered.

He lowered his head and passionately kissed her. He felt the slight swelling of her stomach under his touch, the quiet miracle they shared, and the fierce wave of possessiveness and tenderness unlike anything he had ever known continued to washed over him.

"You look... radiant, my dear."

Haytham’s gaze was drinking in her features, the soft flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her dark eyes.

She felt a blush warm her cheeks.

"Radiant and unable to conquer a tyranny of whalebone and lace," she muttered, glancing down at the offending garment.

He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated against her back.

"A temporary inconvenience."

His grip tightened slightly, pulling her closer. The quiet intimacy of the moment was a stark contrast to the world waiting outside their door. Here, there was only the two of them. The air crackled with unspoken emotion, with the weight of their shared secret and the dangerous path they were about to embark on under the guise of marital bliss.

The quiet peace began to fray at the edges, pulled taut by a different kind of tension. His kisses became less tender, more demanding. Her hands reached up, finding the strong column of his neck, pulling him closer. The scent of his skin, the slight hint of bay rum and something uniquely Haytham, filled her senses. This was solid ground in a world of shifting alliances and necessary lies. The kiss deepened, urgent and heated, a claiming, a reassurance, a desperate clinging to the reality of them before they plunged back into the performance.

Their lips met, a spark igniting into a consuming flame. The world narrowed to the two of them, the rapid beating of their hearts, the soft sounds of their shared breath. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of relief, of fierce, protective love. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotion, before the quiet intimacy ignited.

Haytham’s lips devoured hers, hands tracing the line of her spine, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers grasped him as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

The urgent need to be closer, to forget everything else, threatened to consume them. But the faint sounds of the house below, the knowledge of watchful eyes and waiting guests, was a cold splash of reality. Haytham reluctantly broke the kiss, forehead resting against hers, both breathing heavily. Getting caught in here in their scandalous position, before the ceremony, would not be ideal. He didn’t need any more headaches or controversies.

His hands, still on her waist/belly, became anchors, grounding the intensity of the moment in the tangible proof of their bond. She arched into him, wanting more, needing more, the need overriding sense for a dangerous few seconds.

Then, a distant cough from the hallway, and the distinct sound of a footsteps outside the door, shattered the fragile spell.

Haytham drew back, a ragged breath escaping his lips. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, were dark with unspent passion, but the controlled veneer was already returning.

"We must," he said, his voice low and regretful, "stop."

His bride nodded, though every instinct screamed at her to drag him back into the kiss. He had pulled away just enough to look down at her, his eyes dark with desire and affection.

The maids were nearby, the guests waiting downstairs, the entire charade waiting to begin. Discovery, especially the reason for the early marriage, could be catastrophic for their plans.

He let go of her reluctantly, he picked up the corset, examining it with a wry expression.

"Ah, yes. The instrument of torture."

"This is you’re fault, entirely Grand Master. If not for a certain gentleman's... persistence... I wouldn't be wrestling with this beast to hide the rather obvious consequences!" she said, recovering her breath and some of her usual sass.

She gestured to her belly.

"Didn't have this problem before they came along."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face.

"My fault and Persistence? My dear (Y/N), unless my memory fails me, certain key components of this particular situation required the active participation of two individuals. I recall your participation being... quite enthusiastic. Unless I'm mistaken, my love, it takes two to make a babe." he countered, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She swatted playfully at his arm. "Details, details. The end result is you got me into this condition that requires me to wear that." She shuddered dramatically at the corset.

Haytham couldn’t contain the smugness on his face.

"Let me remind you, that you knew the risks of inviting a wolf into the fold."

"This wolf brought a rather persistent cub with him, apparently," she shot back, smiling fully now.

He stepped behind her again, taking the corset in his hands.

"Very well, my Empress of Blame. Let me aid in your predicament."

He was surprisingly adept, his strong fingers navigating the laces with a precision born of a lifetime spent manipulating complex systems, albeit usually political or mechanical ones. He worked quickly, efficiently, but with a lingering touch that made the necessary discomfort almost bearable. He pulled the laces taut, not too tight, allowing just enough give to accommodate the new life within, but enough to create the illusion of a trimmer figure beneath the future gown.

As he finished, tying the laces with a neat bow, he rested his hands on her waist, his intense gaze meeting hers in the mirror. The reflection showed a man known for his formidable presence, his ruthless efficiency, his absolute control – entirely undone by the woman before him, by the quiet miracle nestled between them.

Once he double checked if the corset was securely fastened, he stepped back, smoothing his hands over her shoulders, feeling the subtle change in her posture, the slight restriction imposed by the garment. He wasn’t truly happy about her wearing it, but he understood the need for discretion, for controlling when and how they revealed their news.

"There," he said, his voice pitched low for her ears alone, "A necessary camouflage for now. Freedom awaits."

He stepped toward her again, releasing her reluctantly. He placed a hand on her stomach again, feeling the gentle curve beneath his palm one last time. He lowered his voice, speaking not to (Y/N), but to the tiny life within. His expression softened completely. He looked down at her bump, a playful yet deeply heartfelt look in his eyes.

"Look at you," he addressed the unseen child, his voice low and amused. "Couldn't wait, could you? Had to rush everything along. Look at this whole elaborate affair you've orchestrated."

He shook his head mock-seriously, "Truly. A master manipulator already."

She laughed, a melodic sound that filled the room, "They get it from their father," she said, placing her own hand over his much larger one.

He chuckled softly. “I suppose I can hardly complain. It seems you have excellent taste in timing little one.”

She looked to face him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re going to spoil our child rotten, aren’t you?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said confidently, his gaze meeting hers, his heart overflowing with love for both her and their unborn child.

“Now, I suppose I should leave you to your final preparations. I wouldn’t want to truly risk bringing bad luck upon us.”

She covered his hands with her own, squeezing gently. "Soon."

He kissed her again, a lingering, possessive kiss that promised a future beyond restrictive garments and forced smiles.

"Soon. For our child. For Jenny."

The mention of his half-sister, held captive and facing an unbearable fate, added another layer of grim determination to their shared purpose. This wedding, this charade, was the key to her rescue.

As he stepped back, straightening his already impeccable attire, the Grand Master facade clicking back into place. "I must rejoin the guests. The wolves are gathering."

"Don't linger too long among them," she advised, her tone shifting back to the practical.

"And Haytham?"

He paused by the hidden panel, his hand already on the latch. "Yes?"

She sniffed lightly, wrinkling her nose, “You know, I can taste, and can smell the rum off your breath, Haytham.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Rum? My dear bride, whatever are you talking about?”

She just smiled knowingly.

“Perhaps you could take it easy on the celebratory drinks for a few hours? At least until after the vows are exchanged.”

He chuckled, knowing she was right, knowing he had been indulging in a little pre-wedding fortification.

"A fortification for the trials ahead, my dear. A wedding is a demanding campaign but for you, I shall abstain. For a few hours, at least.” He kissed her again, a quick, chaste kiss this time, a promise of more to come.

He gave her a slight, impudent grin, entirely unlike the stern expression he usually wore. He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway to look back at her one last time, standing there in her corset, her hair still unbound, her eyes shining with love and anticipation. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“(Y/N),” he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Haytham,” she replied, her voice equally tender.

“Now go. Before I forget all about the wedding and decide we should simply stay here, together, all day.”

He grinned, a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Tempting as that is… I think we have a world waiting to see us become husband and wife. And a little one eager to join us. I imagine Jenny may wished to be released as well.”

With a final, lingering look, he slipped back through the panel, disappearing as silently as he had arrived. He left her then, stepping back into the bustling corridors of the manor, the sounds of wedding preparations flooding back in. But the quiet intimacy of their stolen moment lingered with him, a warm ember glowing in his chest, a reminder of the profound love that was the true heart of this momentous day. He couldn't wait to make her his wife, officially and irrevocably, wether in front of the world or not. And he couldn't wait to start their family, to build their future, together. Later, when the celebrations were done, and the world was quiet, he would return to her, and then, he would truly claim his bride.

She stood alone once again in the center of the room, the corset a tight embrace around her middle, a physical reminder of the secrets she carried. She touched her belly one last time, a small smile returning. They were doing this. For the little being growing inside her, for Jenny across the seas. This wedding, this performance, was only the first step.

She pulled the heavy wedding gown from its hanger, the rustle of silk and lace filling the room. It was time to face the guests, to play the bride, to become the distraction while Haytham, her husband-to-be, her partner in life and crime, prepared for the real mission. Their journey had only just begun.

[tobiasdrake]

On the topic of fact-checking, being an argumentative fact-checker is actually what radicalized me against the police, fun fact.

It's no secret by now that I grew up very conservative. My family voted for Bush both times and still to this day defends the Iraq War for "bringing democracy and stability to the Middle East". That's how deep red my roots are.

So I grew up basically worshipping and glamorizing the police. They were our superheroes. The warriors of peace and justice defending us from the scary evildoers of society. As an effeminate white boy with undiagnosed gender stuff and a chip on his shoulder about needing to come up with a way to prove his masculinity to himself, I actually wanted to become a cop.

So there I was, a twenty-something white boy who thought capitalism was neato and that racism was over, watching social movements spring up against policing.

And I made it my personal mission to throw myself into these conversations to exonerate the police and explain why they really did nothing wrong. Absorbing every scrap of information every time a controversial police killing hit the news so I'd be armed for verbal battle in the culture war around police.

A set of conversations that, in practice, went something like this.

"No see because if you actually read the article and don't just skim the headline, you'll notice that... He was running away and wasn't a threat to anyone... I mean. Okay, that one's a murder."

"But if you look at this one, then... body cam footage shows that they lied about him having a weapon. That. That's a murder."

"This one was lying flat on his stomach... and then they shot him seventeen times. I don't... I don't know why they did that."

"THIS one... is a murder. And that's a murder. ...they shot him when he was sitting at the dinner table?"

In the course of looking for material to defend cops, what actually ended up happening was I wound up educating myself about police brutality. That's when I made the jump to "Maybe it's a training issue. The police kill a lot of people for no good reason. But. You know. They serve an important role too. You know? We have to have police. We shouldn't have police like this, but... we have to have police."

What broke me was the Supreme Court decision that police have no legal responsibility to protect people. That their job is not to safeguard the wellbeing of citizens. I lost my mind, screaming, "THEN WHAT IS THE FUCKING JOB!?!? THEY MURDER AND THEY STEAL AND THEY LIE, AND WHAT IS IT FOR!?!? WHAT IS THE JOB!?!?"

And that's when I realized that they're just a mafia. A white supremacist militia group cloaked in an illusion of legitimacy, used to create a false sense of security for middle-class white people like my family. So nobody will question it when they deploy military-style against the underclass and "unsavory" minority groups.

An institution that can't be reformed because "reform" implies that there is some nugget of good, some intrinsic value to the organization that's simply been lost by the decay and corruption. But the actual job the institution exists to perform is to fund the state through writing traffic tickets, uphold capitalist interests, and shoot poor (mainly non-white) people for sport.

So.

Y'know.

Fucking abolish the police.

[astridthevalkyrie]

not ship in ck has good writing or good development because the writers are not good with romance or plot consistency - they’re only good at making references to the old movies and the win of the show goes to the ones making the fight choreographies.

but let’s be honest robby/tory happened because they needed a way to go back to sam/miguel without creating a love triangle or drama. the writers wanted the legacy kids dating, got it, then changed their minds about it and needed an easy way out. and tory was right there.

the way samrobby was handled was very unfair considering is canon robby was in love with sam. & sam had genuine feelings for robby. it wasn’t a tory and miguel situation because sam wasn’t using robby as a rebound. they were build on a mutual friendship and interest (miyagi-do) first. the relationship between sam and robby was way different than the one between tory and miguel. and should’ve not been treated as if it was.

but as I said, the writers backed out and needed a reason to further the rivalry’s.

tory/robby S3 arc was a very odd because their only interactions were tory trying to blame the school fight on sam and her privilege “for walking out of it” and while robby did call her out for hurting sam - the writers never gave a damn about sam and her issues & would actually prop tory up when it came to trashing sam. but most of their S3 arc was just her using robby’s hate for the larusso’s to her gain. and i genuinely couldn’t even imagine robby being ok w tory after what she did to sam/larussos in s3.

the writers also never allowed sam and robby to have closure. sam was still emailing robby during juvie that summer but the narrative never brings it up. they wanted you to believe she never cared and was only after miguel’s wellbeing. even when you see sam clearly heartbroken and hurt over what happened with robby, the writers just never allow her that moment. the fact they never got to sit down and talk it out and that robby thought sam never liked him is crazy work. a good writer would’ve given them that closure.

in the start of s4, it was pretty evident robby was still in love with sam. & even in the skating rank where he was trying to be mean you can still tell he was hurt by having to shut her down. the prom fight scene has more levity to sam & robby that it did for tory and miguel who didn’t even talk. robby was shocked to find out that sam was just as heartbroken by him and it wasn’t some one way situation. they even had miguel react to their moment. but i guess since tory & robby kissed now that’s over? the fact they were harboring feelings for miguel & sam respectfully is forgotten by the narrative? the writers seem to think a big fight is the end of it all lol it’s funny because tanner himself says he did not like robby on S4 because he thinks he wasn’t acting like himself.

then came S5 and i guess the established couples is all that matters? i do think it’s very unfortunate how the writers fumbled what sam and robby’s relationships could’ve been even as a non-romantic dynamic because mary and tanner arguelly had the most natural chemistry and the fact they didn’t get to have legitimate scenes until S6 Part II feels like the writers just didn’t want any of their potential dynamic to overshadow the “couples” they wanted endgame.

robby vs sam fight at the all valley plus them having a conversation about their relationship should’ve happen and i will forever die on this hill.

yeah that first thing you said right there. not a single canon ship in ck is good. they all have potential but they also all fall flat. and i love samrobby! i just think their relationship and every other relationship with the teens suffers from boy meets girl so boy and girl must like each other because they are boy and girl.

i haaaaaate the narrative that sam was using robby as a rebound. nothing about their relationship suggests that! she pursues him (which is also why it's refreshing compared to the other ships), clearly likes spending time with him, works well with him, cares about him. it's not tory and miguel, where miguel was talking about sam in the same scene he and tory kiss. and sure, i can accept that sam had lingering feelings for miguel that she didn't realize until she saw him again, but that doesn't make her feelings for robby any less real. UGH. anyways.

it's so ooc for robby to be friends with tory. even more ooc of him to be with her. and like i said about keenry before too, robby doesn't get anything out of the relationship, aside maybe from being understood by someone who also comes from a low income home? and it's not enough for me.

it's also crazy that sam is suspended for the school fight at all. the only thing you can say against her there is that she should have tried to leave the school instead of engaging with tory but that's more on the teachers because how the hell did the teacher allow her to leave that classroom 😭 but yeah they never really talk about how unfair it is that she was suspended and i think it's because the show accepts that sam shares the blame for the school fight as canon. which, i'm sorry. she doesn't. tory telling robby about how sam got off scot free and has him wrapped around her finger......yeah okay cobra kai. realistically not even tory should actually believe sam got to "go back to normal."

there's so much they should've talked about during season 4 or after. how sam did not use him as a rebound. how sam had already known about the medal of honor before robby confessed. what robby went through in juvie. what sam went through in school after the fight. her writing him emails and going to his skateboard park every day. him defending her twice while he's actively mad at her. THE YOU BROKE MY HEART TOO LINE ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

and yeah after prom samrobby and toriguel are nonexistent they may as well have never happened. i'm also a firm believer of no gender divisions and sam should've fought robby during the all valley thank you. but at least they get that little conversation in season 5 lmfao. toriguel never speaks to each other again after season 3. which is insane. INSANE! quick note ck writers, people of the opposite gender should not become irrelevant to you just because you're not dating them!

[lundenloves]

“ 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 “

⤷ this was written in around 40 minutes flat. i love you all, thank you for being here to support my ramblings.

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His first deployment. Nothing short of devastating, a ruinous experience not meant for the likes of an eighteen year old. Shoved between a divergence of broken and bruised ageing men that forced a squint from younger eyes. The smell of drink and gunpowder mixed, sat shoulder to shoulder with bloodied uniforms and pairing eyes that sunk to the floor as if by force. “How is it?” A splutter of conversation was hosted through cigarette ends, two older men sat adjacent from one another in the truck. Simon paid an ear.

“The same.” He answered, sitting back and leaving a weighted sigh. “Bad.”

The thump of an impatient fist against his thigh was one Simon had sidewardly eyed, painfully aware of his own crisp green camo. Against its purpose, it did little to blend him in. Each pocket was still with tact stitching, sleeves unworn by others’ demise and his teenage build was a patent sign of his rank. “Lost a dozen or so.”

Unscarred hands white knuckled a rifle, jaw tightening through the ins and outs of that sole conversation beside him. The truck battered against divots in the sand they drove through, his stomach churning with each time pressure had been applied to the breaks. “Bravo?”

“Bravo.” Spare ash from their smoking had tumbled over Simon’s boot, his eyes pointedly watching the grey flake and disappear. “Lost their sniper, stupid sods.” A brief pause for what was assumed to be an inhale, desert now surrounding every side of the four by four, not one clue was to be had of their exact location. “Y’wouldn’t put a young lad on his own up on ninety-two would you? Fuck sake.”

Young eyes reverted toward his gun, heavy and worn with scratched handwriting across the barrel. The day was a fleet. Two lives had been lost that morning, two men to his left on that last drive. Two neat bullets placed into chests that pried the last drop of life they had clasped so desperately to on that desert floor.

Simon watched them die from his dugout. A pit in the sand created by waves of wind, the seniors beside him wrapped a sole knuckle on his helmet in empathy. “Don’t let it stick with you, son.” Seven words that had shaped a military mindset from the beginning.

His eye twitched from the loss of life, watching the last breath leave a soul before going limp. The youthful silence was noted by the men alongside him, apparent trauma was something that hadn’t slipped yet only turned into a weapon the older he grew.

Trauma was key.

Trauma was valued.

Because what was a soldier without trauma? How could bullets take another life without the aid of anger. Not only had two men lost theirs, Simon had also taken his first. A fumbled mess at best, the worst way to go without dignity at the wrath of an eighteen year old child. His ungloved hands fingered at the trigger, equivalent to flooring a pedal in a car his knuckles turned white with the grip and his eyes involuntarily squeezed shut.

His arms had dropped to his sides after the fact, blood spats across his face from a point blank effort that had left a traumatic scene. His kill wasn’t nearly as neat and kind, though heavy and messy. The weight stuck with him, taking five paces backward to the colleague behind him who was only a year older at the time. “It’ll get better.”

And those three words paired with the prior seven had merged to find a mantra. Somewhere hidden between desolation and adrenaline had he finally understood the Who Dares Wins motto of the SAS, nevermind the surface level of Be The Best — an army effort that ironically felt below of his own expectation of himself. Who Dares Wins felt right. It felt deeper and solid, something that resonated and rumbled within his chest.

But for years, Be The Best was the phrase he aimed to please. His first deployment was a testament to that, eyes wide and glassed on the ride back to base that was missing two men save for their dogtags and guns. His hands shook uncontrollably as did his leg that trembled without conscious effort, he felt sick to the stomach and the blood on his uniform now felt like the rest of his life.

He noticed how no one spoke.

How hands aggressively rubbed at faces and boots were kicked up on the two ghost seats adjacent. The quiet wasn’t necessarily due to respect of fallen men but fatigue. Sleep never came for weeks and the start of a nightmarish routine had only just begun, this was living hell but it felt right.

It felt deserved.

The red water that had pooled by his feet that night in the shower wasn’t something he could ever wash off and anxiety had peaked.

By his first deployment, every corner he looked around was now subject to threat. Every fast movement was met with panic and his eyes had went longer without blinking. Hand pats on the shoulder were now cause for fright and the deafening blasts of machine guns made home in his house. Hell, they’d taken a room.

He became completely closed.

No one got in.

No one got out.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbars @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @hayleybarnesx @reignthereigner

MY FUCKING TAGS BROKE

[alexthebordercollie]

I made this for an Encanto secret santa. Glad my kid enjoyed their gift ^.^ you can read the attached short story below the cut.

︵‿୨ - February 14 1912 - ୧‿︵

The hike up the steep mountainside was more exhausting in the rain. Slogging through the thick sticky mud that grew deeper the higher Bruno climbed. The closer he got to the source of the storm. Bruno spotted Pepa’s ruffled yellow dress peaking out against the murky landscape. The winds whipping the bright fabric about like a flag. Contrasted against the murky shadow the clouds coated across the lush greenery. Washing out all color save for that bright yellow dress. Soggy and miserable as it looked.

 “Can I sit?” Bruno carefully approached the small splash of sorry color sitting alone in the sea of sullen browns, greys, and blues. He pointed innocently to the patch of muddy ground next to his sister.

Pepa looked up at Bruno with the fattest pout. The rain blended with the tears that streamed down flushed red cheeks. Indistinguishable from each other. Green eyes narrowed before looking away. Pepa scooted an inch to the side to make space on her little patch of mud. Bruno sat down beside her. The ground squelching unpleasantly through his trousers. The wind blew Bruno’s hood about but he didn’t bother trying to keep it on his head. There wasn’t much point. He was already soaked clear through to the bone and had been for a while. From up here, the two siblings could watch the wild tears stream down the mountainside and into town. Occasionally a stray neighbor would step outside to brave the storm. They looked like ants. Scurrying wildly about the empty streets to dodge the rain.

“Julieta’s talking to Mamá right now.” Bruno stated awkwardly. Unsure how to make conversation. He knew Pepa didn’t want to talk, but Bruno figured she might feel better if they did. 

He didn’t have much reasoning behind the conjecture. After all, he was the one who caused this storm. Him and his big mouth. His bad luck. Bruno had a habit of making most things worse. He knew Pepa was upset but in her moment of stunned silence, he made the rookie mistake of trying to lighten the mood with a joke. He was stupid. He knew that, but then again… things couldn’t get much worse than they were now. He still wanted to help. Even if he wasn’t very good at it.

“Good for her.” Pepa huffed.

“Mamá’s pretty mad.” Bruno observed. He pulled his poncho over his lap and watched the water collect before wringing it out tightly in his grip. Not that it mattered. He’d stretch it back out again to watch another puddle form.

“Mamá’s always mad.” Pepa spat back in frustration.

“That’s not true.” Bruno countered meekly. Wringing more water out of his poncho. “She’s never mad at Julieta.” 

“At us Bruno!” Pepa snapped. Furrowing her brow in frustration at her brother. 

Bruno said another stupid thing. Of course he did. “Correcto, porque somos los jodidos.” He replied simply. Not sad or resentful. Just a statement of fact. One he knew Pepa was just as self-aware of as he was.

They both knew they were the problem children. Pepa because her emotions always got the better of her and Bruno? Well… what wasn’t wrong with Bruno? He couldn’t exactly explain what the problem was. He couldn’t answer that question if he tried. He just knew he was wrong. Everything he did or said. He was strange. Stupid. Bad luck…

“Ajá.” Pepa sighed in resignation. 

Bruno was just stating the obvious again.

Bruno tucked quietly under his poncho. Wrapping it tight over his knees and resting his chin on the flat surface the tent created. His rat Lupita squirmed up to his collar to poke her head out. The little doe sensed the tension in the air as the deafening silence settled between the two siblings. The storm was loud and raging around them, despite Pepa’s still silence.

“Estoy bien mija.” Bruno soothed to his furry little friend. Petting her sopping wet fur between the ears. He liked talking to his rats like this. When he talked to them he could pretend to be a grown-up. That was always nice. He somehow had a feeling he would never get to be a grown-up for real. He couldn’t explain why. It was just a feeling.

“Puaj, puf, puf, puf, puf, puf!” Pepa suddenly shrieked. Scrambling back away from Bruno. The thick mud staining the little yellow dress that stuck out against the storm. Smothering that little spark of color. “You brought one of your rats?!”

“It’s just Lupita.” Bruno defended. Plucking the small doe from his shoulder and cupping her protectively in his hands. “She’s nice. She was worried about you and wanted to come make sure you were ok.” 

“It’s all soggy and smelly!” Pepa whined. She shuttering and squirming as she leaned as far from Bruno as she could without getting up.

“But she’s so nice.” Bruno protested. Holding up the dripping little doe to show his sister. Showing off Lupita’s bright beady eyes. 

“Ay!” Pepa shrieked as Bruno shoved the rat into her face. Flailing and trying to shove it away. Lupita began to panic and squirm in Bruno’s hands. Attempting to flee Pepa’s shrieking. A bolt of lightning zapped the ground next to Bruno and made him jump. Barely dodging a very painful strike.

“Just hold the rat!” Bruno demanded irritably. 

“I’m not holding that thing!” Pepa yelled back over the howling winds. “It’s gonna bite me!”

Bruno huffed and puffed up his cheeks. He filled his lungs with air and gathered his courage before grabbing Pepa by her arm and forcing Lupita into her hands. “Ahí, ves?” Bruno challenged. Pepa kept squirming but Bruno held her hands clasped over Lupita. The frightened little doe curled up and shook in their hands. “She’s not gonna bite. Just hold her, you’ll feel better.” He insisted.

Pepa anxiously sucked in her lips. Her shoulders bunched up around her neck. Slowly she opened one eye and looked down. She gradually relaxed as she looked at the caged little creature in their hands. Trembling and sweet. Not an ounce of malice in Lupita’s tiny body.

“Feeling better?” Bruno asked softly. Watching Pepa slowly unwind. Bruno’s chest swelled with a sense of pride. He loved his rats. Knew just how sweet they were. How good they felt to hold. Bruno slowly loosened his grip on the girls and guided Pepa’s hands till she was holding Lupita comfortably. The little wet rat continued to shake for a bit before finally looking up at Pepa with wide pleading eyes.

Pepa sniffled and the wind gradually slowed around them. “She’s warm.”  She muttered softly.

“And soft.” Bruno chirped with pride.

Pepa nodded slowly before her puffy red cheeks began to swell. Her eyes welled up as she stared back down at Lupita. Broken wailing sobs escaped her, rattling her delicate frame.

Bruno’s heart lurched up into his throat. Panic setting in with the fresh wave of icy cold downpour that soaked him to the bone. “Oh, oh no, Pepa, don’t cry, I didn’t mean to…” Bruno rushed to try and hold his sister but couldn’t find an opening through the cracks of lighting and harsh winds.

“He said he dumped me 'cause I’m crazy.” Pepa sobbed.

“You’re not crazy!” Bruno scolded sternly. Shouting over the rain. 

Angry tears continued to pour over Pepa’s flushed face. She sucked in a few sharp wheezing breaths before choking out her words. “I feel crazy.” She hugged Lupita to her chest and sobbed into her sopping wet pelt. “No matter how hard I try… It always rains…” 

Pepa’s words dug into Bruno’s chest like a knife. They struck at something, at feelings he didn’t know how to put words yet. He knew Pepa wasn’t the crazy one. She didn’t deserve to feel like that.

“You’re not crazy.” Bruno mumbled as the howling winds died down again. The rain falling straight down like a bucket dumped onto the mountainside. Weighing Pepa’s hair and clothes down like lead. Bruno pulled Pepa close and hugged her. Resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re just a kid.” He told her. “It’s okay to be sad. It’s not your fault.”

Pepa sobbed into her brother’s neck. For a while, it was all she could do. Just sniffle and grieve. Exhausted and sad and broken. “I tried so hard.” She whimpered.

“I know you did.” Bruno replied softly. 

“I was going to be the best novia ever.” Pepa grieved. “We were going to get married someday.”

Bruno winced and tilted his head. “Well… I mean, I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.” He replied.

Pepa shoved him back with one hand. Lupita still perched in the other. “You knew he was going to dump me this whole time and you didn’t say anything?” 

“Oh, no,” Bruno held up his hands in submission. Shrinking back before he risked getting zapped. “I didn’t know what was going to happen I just, like, your baby, in the future, I knew they weren’t his.” Bruno told her. “I don’t know who you’re supposed to marry but I saw your daughter once in a vision.” 

Pepa grew quiet and hugged Lupita again. The tired stressed little rat looked like she was growing impatient with being squished but made no effort to escape her grip. “Could you uhm…” Pepa looked away and tugged at her limp braid with one hand. “Could you see who my husband is? Maybe then I won’t have to waste my time…” 

Bruno quickly shook his head. He immediately knew how that would go. A deep pit in his gut told him if he tried to it would only make life harder for his sister. “I don’t think that’s a good idea Pepa. What if I jinx it? What if I see you with someone terrible and ugly and then you're stuck with him?” Bruno challenged.

Pepa sighed. Her shoulders sagging. “I guess you’re right…” She conceded. She turned away to stare aimlessly back down the muddy slope at the town. Petting Lupita in her lap. “Mamá says real women don’t get their heart broken over stupid little boys.” She pouted softly. 

Mamá was always telling them what it meant to be a grown-up. All the things they had to do and be. None of it sounded very fun. Most of it sounded impossible to Bruno. He wasn’t sure he would ever be a real man. He didn’t know how to be, and seeing the future didn’t make the answers any clearer.

Bruno curled up and hugged his knees. Staring down at the town again. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He admitted. Manhood was already hard enough to wrap his head around. He couldn’t begin to figure out being a woman. “I’m pretty sure Mamá thinks I’m a stupid little boy.” He chuckled awkwardly and quacked out of the side of his mouth. “So I guess you better not let me break your heart.” He teased. Turning to look back at his sister. “Then we’ll both be in trouble and I won’t even be able to help cause you’ll be too mad at me.”

Pepa let out a little snort that turned into a laugh. One laugh turned into two, before devolving into more tears again. Her genuine smile a brief flash of light that was quickly snuffed out by a fresh wave of pain. “Dios mío, duele tanto.” She wept. Overwhelmed by a pain Bruno had yet to know.

“Lo siento.” Bruno replied softly. “I don’t know how to make it better.” He looked down at his feet and hugged his knees. His hair clinging to his face and forming thick black curtains over his eyes. He could just see his toes soaking into the mud between the clumps of black. The gentle sound of his sister’s cries just barely audible over the fat lazy raindrops plopping against the ground.

Bruno’s eyes scanned over the mud. Counting the raindrops. Eventually, his gaze landed on a long sturdy branch with a fork at the end. He perked up and squinted at the stick for a moment. A thought occurring to him. Pepa looked up at him curiously as Bruno got up to pick up the stick. He didn’t mind Pepa’s stares. She’d understand in just a moment. Bruno scurried about the slippery hillside and surrounding woods looking for the right sort of branches. It took some searching but he found another similarly forked branch and broke a bit off the end to make them the same length. More sticks, some large fronds that had been knocked from the towering wax palms by the storm.

“What are you doing?” Pepa narrowed her eyes at Bruno skeptically as he approached with his bundle of waterlogged kindling.

“Helping.” Bruno replied simply. 

Bruno dug a couple of holes in the mud on either side of Pepa and wedged his forked branches into them. Drilling them down into the ground and caking the base in mud till it was enough to hold them upright. Another branch draped between the two pillars. Its ends woven into the forks. Once he did so he laid a few other branches he’d stripped of any straggly bits diagonally from the ground to the top branch. He layered palm fronds over the frame he’d created till he’d built a decently solid little lean-to. The walls of packed leaves caught the rain as it fell and offered Pepa a small shelter.

Bruno could feel Pepa’s eyes burning holes into him as he came to sit back down beside her under the palm fronds. “En serio?” She chuckled softly.

Bruno shrugged. “What? I made a shelter. Now you won’t get rained on.” 

Pepa laughed again. A bit more genuine this time. “And? We’re both drenched. What does it matter? We’re still wet.”

“Sí.” Bruno replied simply. “But now we’re a little less wet.” He reasoned. Hugging his knees and listening to the rain hit the leaves and slide off. “I figure that’s still better.”

“Sí, creo que sí.” Pepa replied softly. She flopped sideways, resting her head on Bruno’s shoulder. Lupita looked up at Bruno pleadingly from her perch in Pepa’s hands. Pepa didn’t really know how to hold a rat right but Lupita was doing her best to be patient. Bruno was considering taking his rat back when the next words out of Pepa’s mouth took him by surprise and disrupted his thoughts.

“Gracias Bruno.” Pepa sighed. Closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the rain.

“De nada.” Bruno assured her. Resting his cheek on top of her head.

More Encanto short stories here-

To love for today - Chapter 1 - alexBDcollie - Encanto (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

[ryanisasleep]

𝐂𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

After servicing the SAS for around 30 years it was finally time to retire and enjoy the time spent by the people you always protected. The Task Force 141, created by Price, was now led by Gaz and Soap after you and Ghost decided to retire as well following the old man, or rather “father”, that retired to spend time with Nik. After 2 years, you and Ghost reached the age of 55 and it was now time to put the guns away.

You and him still wanted to be in the frenetic life of constant alertness and the adrenaline rushing through your veins but after an incident that left you having to walk with a cane (you were not fully disabled, you just needed support, not always, your knee sometimes gave painful troubles. The problem, most of the time, was solved by wearing a medical device, a knee brace) and him to manifest phantom pains with constant migraines, the time to give up was finally here. After being discharged with honor and with badges of recognition, saying goodbye to Johnny and Kyle and making sure that these two would be able to lead the future of the task force, you two left the SAS forever.

Before leaving, a decision was made. During dull times when there was nothing to do, you and Simon discussed possible houses and flats to live in after retirement, these conversations started way before the deadline and sometimes it would end up with the two of you not having emitted the final verdict. You always wanted to visit Manchester and maybe live in it too as Simon always described it as an "ok" city. Eventually, an apartment was found and it was quite cozy too. It had a wall window (not fully glass) that was facing the west giving the possibility to gaze at the setting sun, it had an elevator too as you needed it. It took some time to get adjusted. It was a sort of challenge itself to buy the furniture as you and Simon had different tastes that were difficult to mix together and the fact that it was a struggle to arrange everything, but eventually your new house was done and was full of memories too.

The small table and the walls around the TV were full with photos of vacations as well as after missions times with your friends: the time in Las Almas, with Alejandro and Rudy, then there were Farah and Alex with Nikolai too. Other photos showed vacation trips with the whole 141 and your outer friends too. In the more intimate and more secured side, the medals achieved over time by you and Simon stood neat and clean, in the studio, in their cases showing the best of the best.

You two where 50 and still in great physical form despite your respective pains, you were accepted to work as a personal guard to assist the CEO of a very advanced High-tech company that helped in the reaserch in many fields…..it did pay very well….while Simon, who liked more quiet places was hired as an intelligence specialist where his tactical skills were put to use, formuling plans or mapping the perimeters, when squads of police or other special forces had to get their hands dirty. At the end of the day, when you both were home, you two got to spend the evenings on the couch watching some football or play matches in Call of Duty making some people rage quit since they couldn’t compete with veterans.

Sleeping was a challenge though, Simon had chronic pains over his whole body and sometimes the treatments were not really effective, he ended up waking up in the middle of the night with pains in his legs or arms (trust me they are unbearable. I say this as someone who sometimes has their legs and foot-fingers blocked for the amount of pain) that makes him become restless. Lucky for him you are there as you try and stop everything with a massage. To say thank you, he lets you sleep on his torso and wraps you around his arms if they don’t hurt and you do the same, giving him a small and content smile. If you are the one waking up with knee pains, he makes sure to try and make it lessen by applying some pain relief ointment.

Mornings are spent lazily if none of you have to work, usually you wake up with him being the big spoon while he had his head on your pillow, other times he wakes up with you on top of him with your arms sprawled on the bed. He rolls around, waking you up in the process, and giving you light kisses on your forehead and temples while caressing your exposed tummy, warm light usually fills the room finding its way to your exposed torsos filled with scars of all types, symbols of your endurance and courage.

As time passed white hair did begin to appear on your scalp and Simon noticed it while washing your hair in the bathtub.

‘’Pup, you have some white hair here and there…’’ he spoke as he massaged your scalp and cheek bones.

‘’Ah-…sigh’’

‘’Don’t worry about it, they look good on you’’ he smiled.

‘’Don’t joke about it, since you have some on your eyebrows too!’’

And so days were spent like this. You two were finally taking back the time ripped away from your work duty, callused hands traced the necks of one-another and scarred faces expressed the most sincere of feelings repressed by the ruthless requirements of the war world. Sometimes, the little things done with the heart, each day…are the ones that matter the most.

[ominoose]

Any chance I could request a little Jake x reader where reader is Marc's wife? She knows of Steven and Jake (and has met Steven), but Jake is all new to her. NSFW would be so slay 💅

Even if you DONT do this request, please know I read everything you post and I love you sm

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut

WC: 1.5k

A/N: Anon you are so sweet 💞 You said a little but my fingers started acting on their own... Came out more as a mini character study but they shag I swear. Its just heartfelt. 😩

Your sudden scream echoed against against the muggy tiles of the bathroom, cutting through the quiet flat so suddenly that before Marc could even finish being startled Jake had already forced himself to the front, feet thudding against the floor before the bathroom door is flung open.

The site of you stood over the window with water dripping down your skin stops him in his tracks.

Marc was smitten with you from the moment he met you, that much was obvious to both Jake and Steven alike. The body's heart raced, their palms began sweating and their eyes always trailed after you no matter where you were in the room. It did come as a surprise when Marc impulsively asked you out, an action uncharacteristic of a man so usually closed off and wary of letting people in.

The bigger surprise came when you so openly accepted their DID. Steven had been complaining about how little he was getting to front since Marc's relationship with you began, going as far as to argue on behalf of their mysterious third alter since even he must be getting less chance to sneak about. Jake didn't get involved.

When Marc finally opened up to you and introduced Steven, and, without hesitation, you insisted you would love every part of him, including any other man living in his body, it was Steven's turn to fall head over heels. Jake still didn't get involved.

Even when Marc and Steven jointly proposed to you, even when you said yes and the three of you vowed to stand side by side through eternity and beyond, in sickness and in health, Jake made his own vow not to get involved.

Just because the other two knew about his existence didn't mean he had to be actively involved. Just because you were married and gave Marc and Steven their hard earned happily ever after didn't mean he had to get involved, that wasn't what he was made to do. He was there when shit hit the fan, when Marc's knuckles went from bruised to bloody, when they needed to bite and clamp their jaws shut over the throat of a threat. When danger reared its head as quick as a belt.

Jake was not made to see the most beautiful women the world could create, with steam curling around her body, water droplets cascading down her skin where he'd learned to expect blood.

The bathroom door slamming against the wall got your attention as the form of your tense, rigid husband filled the door frame.

"Sorry babe, there was a spider. I already let it out the window, didn't mean to startle you." The sympathetic smile you gave him should've been enough to ease him, earn a sigh or a 'Phew' if it was Steven fronting. Not now. The man in front of you stood as if he'd been born into this stance, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed and sharp, jaw set. The man in front of you wasn't either of the men you stood at the aisle with. That left only one other person it could be.

"Jake?" The name was one foreign to your lips, spoken the way people said the names of ancient, mythological figures, of someone they'd heard while curled in bed, covers pulled up to their nose. As if saying the name out loud would invoke something.

It did.

Finally the man reacted, eyes flying up to meet your stare, wary as a beaten dog. Jake knew you were aware of him, knew Marc and Steven vaguely mentioned the fact he existed, but having you say his name was something more. He wasn't a rare, passing conversation topic now, the local cryptid haunting your home. Jake was made real, grounded in the present and not simply the flashes of violence and horror marring the body. Now he was the deer caught in the headlights, frozen at being seen.

With a hesitant step forward you reach for him, placing your hand gently on his shoulder. To you, it was to ground him, connect with him, show him you were open to him. Briefly you wondered if your fingers would slip through him like smoke.

To Jake, it was the first time someone had touched him without the sting of violence, and yet your touch still stung, still set his body on fire, his heart racing. To Jake, now given a moment in time to want, it was all he'd wanted.

His lips were on you before your back hit the wall, ravenous and desperately molding himself against you, breathing you in. When your arms went around his neck, wrapping him up in you, it was a miracle Jake stayed standing. Rough, calloused hands ran over you, fingers pressing against every inch of your skin, every pore. Hands that had only been present to be stained with blood were now being coated in you and he couldn't get enough.

The first chance you had to catch your breath was when you were being lifted without warning, pined between the wall and the panting picture of desperation in front of you. For a brief second your mind managed to catch up with you, 'Was this ok? Would Marc and Steven be ok with this?', but before any answer could've possibly came to you his tongue had laid claim to your mouth.

A key difference between Jake and Marc and Steven was Jake's world was fast, one where you had to give all or be reduced to nothing. Take what you can and take it now, because all you have to your name is a handful of time and the need to survive. That heady desperation defined Jake in all aspects, a fact he was carving into your mouth as his tongue tangled with your own while his hands all but ripped his trousers off.

This was the second and final time you were given the mercy of a breath, because when his mouth left yours, his cock had plunged inside of you. A strangled grunt gets caught in his throat as he holds you in place against the wall, head burrowing into the crook of your neck and taking the chance to bite at you, mark you, leave proof that he was here, that it was Jake Lockley that had pried those gorgeous moans from you.

His thrusts were as imposing and hard as the rest of him, wasting no time at setting a brutal pace, cock never fully leaving you as the sound of skin slapping skin and your gasping cries filled the bathroom. It was raw and primal, his hands like claws as he squeezed you as close to him as he could, bottoming out thrust after thrust, fucking you the only way he knew a man could.

The angle had his pubic bone grinding against your clit, creating an accidental rhythm while he slammed into you over and over and over. There was no let up, all you could do was dig your nails into his shoulders, wrapping your legs around him as he held you there and had his way with you, not even able to arch against his vice like grip on you.

Pleasure was being pulled from you so suddenly, so rapidly, it was already overstimulating, but Jake Lockley didn't work in half measures. It was all or nothing, fast and furious, there was never time for him to stop and catch his breath before, and he wouldn't make a habit of it now. Your clit was throbbing violently, walls clenching sporadically as he panted over you, both of you heading towards joint ruin with open legs.

When said ruin came, it was complete and utterly so. Your orgasm was quick but completely overwhelming, legs twitching and trying to clamp shut around him as he fucked you through it, rutting against your abused clit with no remorse. Jake's own ruin was quick to follow though, and it came over him with a roar as he barely managed to suppress the loud, rumbling moan clawing out of his throat. He was panting like an animal as he spasmed inside of you, his pace becoming frantic and stuttering as his body fought to keep moving. His moment couldn't end.

Despite his efforts, end it did, with his dick softening as he was left panting, staring down at your neck with a gaping mouth. He'd left his mark on you, bruises were scattered across your skin, crescent moons denting into the flesh of your hips, carved by his fingers. Was this it? Was this all he'd get from the world, this fleeting moment with you? It was more than he'd wished for, but now that he'd finally been allowed to want, he wanted more. He wanted you.

A soft hand on his jaw brought his gaze to you and the breaths he'd just fought back into his lungs left him. Your eyes were soft, slowly tracing over his face, savouring a moment to just look at him, the face of a man without the shadows that obscured it. The face of Jake Lockley.

He was too entranced to react as you leaned closer to him and placed a gentle, delicate kiss to his parted lips. After what he'd just done to you, the pleasure he'd ripped from you, after you'd let him all but claw his way between your legs, now you were opening your heart for him to claw his way into as well.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Jake." Now, for the first time, Jake was truly involved, body and soul.

[angelofthenight]

What Doesn’t Kill Me Pt.3

(Yandere!Alex DeLarge x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Yandere, Dark themes, Ladstat, Swearing/Language, Unhealthy/Abusive relationship, Physical abuse/Violence, Sadism, Blood, Paranoia, Objectification, A v brief suicidal thought, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Controlling behavior, Intimidation/Coercive control/Power imbalance, Emotional/Mental trauma, Spying, Gangs, Murder, A parallel if you can catch it, Alex is his own warning, You are responsible for your own content consumption

Word Count: 3.6k

Table of Contents

~

You and Alex sat shoulder to shoulder on your couch as you ate dinner on the short coffee table, a movie called ‘Lolita’ playing on your television. Alex’s thigh that was pressed flat against yours did nothing to ease the nervousness that stirred like a whirlpool in your stomach. Though your head was gradually succeeding in telling you that you had nothing to worry about. Unless he had cameras in your apartment, Alex had no way of knowing of your-

“What did that malchick want?”

He asked the question so casually that you almost didn’t register the words over the tone. “What?” You didn’t mean to play dumb but you just didn’t want to answer too quickly, plus you wanted to be sure who exactly he was referring to.

“The one that was at your door.” He responded simply as he continued to eat and watch the movie with his elbows resting on his knees. Despite the fear that gripped around you over the fact he knew you had a visitor, you tried to brush the conversation away as quickly as possible. “He was just trying to sell me something.” You grumbled with the shake of your head, trying to appear as if you didn’t care about the interaction at all.

Alex swallowed his bite of food. “And why would he go to you?” He asked, as if he was looking for a reason to get worked up. “Alex, he went to everybody’s door.” You rationalized the lie, your grip on your fork weakening yet tightening. Said boy chuckled cheekily as he leaned back into the cushions of your couch like you just told him a good joke. You felt his stare on the back of your head like a hot laser, the pressure and tension of the situation humidifying around you to create sweat.

“That’s quite funny you say that. Because I precisely recall sitting downstairs myself and when he strolled in, he went straight to the front desk and he asked the lobbyman what floor your door number was on.”

Your wide gaze was strongly glued to your half-eaten plate while your features began to shake terribly. Your heart was eaten by a pulsation and you felt as if the room was closing in on you; a nasty mixture of terror and panic suffocating you. You wanted to throw up, you wanted some air, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream till your uvula burned just to let it all out. Why did God seem to despise you so much for this to happen? Did the universe just not want you to get out of this prison of endless pain and fright, thus slamming the door closed right in your face when you were so close to slipping through the opening to escape it?

Alex’s evil grin tried its best not to turn bitter and tight. The thought of another man at your door, and the thought of another man inside your living room, made him livid on the inside. His mind fogged with the brimming of a dazed insanity as he fought the urge to destroy your living room like a savage gorilla just because of that visualization. His possessiveness was sensitive, similar to a child throwing a tantrum if someone merely touched their teddy bear.

He spoke with a mocking yet tempered tone. “So are you trying to tell me he was selling pol? Is that it? He was just trying to spat with you-” “He has a girlfriend, Alex.” You interrupted while glancing at him over your shoulder, trying to shut down any jealousy before he got too heated in the head. Blood had spilled out the corner of your mouth too many times because of that possessive jealousy of his.

But that did not give comfort to Alex’s angry greed at all. “You think that’d stop a man’s primal instinct when they clap glazzes on you and your horrorshow groodies?”

Your brows slightly furrowed down at your plate as your quivering lips pursed together, tears that you tried your best to resist finally began to sting your corneas. Alex never wasted a chance to install it in your brain that every man had no other interest than to fuck you when they looked at you. It wasn’t just degrading or objectifying, it was dehumanizing.

It sounded like he was waiting for you to say something yet you didn’t know what he wanted you to say. You never felt like you could win against Alex. Even if your IQ was higher than his, you still felt like he was smarter than you in every way. Or maybe it was just that domineering and overbearing attitude he had towards everyone around him. You’ve seen up close how successfully he intimidates both his parents and his friends, no one daring to stand up to him. But no one knew his force quite like you. No one was as intimidated by him as you. Not just because you were the weakest link or of his commanding and bold aura, but because of the techniques he used to cow you into submission.

You just wanted to lower yourself to the floor, curl up tightly into a ball, tuck your head into your knees, and rot away. That’s all you wanted to do; fantasizing that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Allow me to ask you again, my darling. What did that prestoopnick want?” He put emphasis on each word like they were laced in venom.

It was too late, your first lie failed and that was your one and only shot. No matter your fake answer now, he wouldn’t believe it because he had already caught you lying. And if you had to lie about what Patrick wanted, Alex knew for sure it was something he wouldn’t like at all.

Alex rolled his icy blue eyes and huffed out a sigh, slapping his hands on his knees to push himself up to a stand. “Well then! If you won’t tell me then I’ll go ask that gent myself!”

Your eyes sprung wide open, a breath sharply inhaling up through your nose to burn your lungs. He was only able to take three steps before you had thrown yourself onto your knees to his feet and clutched onto the fabric of his pants. “Alex, no, PLEASE!” You wailed hoarsely as if he was leaving you alone with a poltergeist. You couldn’t let that poor boy be subjected to such pitiless inhumanity just because he associated with you out of the kindness of his heart. The thought of it was equally as painful as anything Alex could throw at you.

You whimpered out pleas as you pawed at his legs with tight embracing arms, burying your face in the back of his knees and undoubtedly dampening the fabric with tears. You knew you looked pathetic, most definitely stroking his superiority complex, but Alex murdered your dignity long ago. You were more than willing to beg.

He took a turn to look down at you. Surprisingly softly, his hand leaned down to allow his fingers to trace your jawline. His unreadable gaze stared back into your leaking eyes that held a begging look. He smiled, and for a moment you had a hopeful belief that he would grant mercy and maybe instead take it out on you. But that naive, childish hope was shattered like an ornament the second you noticed that malicious glint in his orbs.

And before you could feel your fear warn you about what was to come, Alex had snatched your throat, receiving your sharp wheeze as he engulfed it in his big hand. He compressed tightly to force you up and off your knees, slowly as to enjoy the sweet sounds of your choking gasps. He slammed you against the wall by your throat and held you there, his strong grip never once faltering. Your hands swung upwards, switching back and forth between trying to pry his grasp off to allow a desperate breath for air and clutching onto his sleeve and forearm for support and something to hold onto through the dizzying pain.

Numb fear filled your bloodshot eyes to the brim and his reaction was a toothy smile. He leaned his sinister expression close to the side of your face that was paling close to a bluish tint. “Such a bad girl for lying to me.” He husked in your ear which would’ve sent shivers spiraling down your bones if you weren’t so distracted by the lack of oxygen to your brain and the spots that began to form in your vision. You heard his voice ring in your ears yet you didn’t understand what he said, but you just knew it was something dark and chilling.

He suddenly removed his face from your cheek to look directly into your dilating pupils to show a kittenish smirk and bright eyes, but his squeeze remained unforgivably tight on your windpipe. He said in a mockingly innocent and forgiving tone, “But all relationships go through a bit of a rough patch, don’t they? We’ll push through this just like we always do. Any bastard that tries to skvat you from me just doesn’t viddy what we’ve got, my love.”

Your overwhelming wheezing, deep gasps became more turbulently desperate as a red substance began to rim your eyeballs. That was when Alex decided it was time to release you, gently letting go of your neck. A powerful gasp of air shot down your esophagus before his hold on you weakened enough to allow you to fall. However, when you fell, you fell right into his kick to your stomach. You landed on your side on the floor with a pair of pained whimpers and grunts, blood smearing around your gums and teeth.

Alex didn’t stay a second longer after the kick to torment you as he instantly continued on his way. “Love hurts, sweetheart!” He called out over his shoulder once he grabbed his cane that he left leaning on the wall beside your door and rested it on his shoulder blade. He escorted himself out like he was just going to run an errand.

You were left to tremble on your floor with one arm hugging your assaulted stomach and your free hand softly touching your burning throat. You moaned from the awful pain for a while, dealing with the difficulty and pain with breathing and swallowing. Your head was aching and you felt sick. When you finally managed to get a steady breath you used it to retch out the blood in your mouth while still laying on your side, creating a crimson splatter mark on the floor. The foul tasting blood still dripped down from the corner of your lips.

As your tired eyes grew lachrymose, a wet sniffle was heard from your petrified form. More followed. And more. And more. And more until one inhale with your frowning mouth triggered an agonized sob to escape from your burning throat. Hot tears finally streamed down your face, so hot you felt like they were leaving burn streak marks.

Gut-wrenching sobs filled the dead silent room and your face flushed pink from the intensity of your breakdown. Your tears poured out of your eyes like there were faucets linked to them as you weakly pushed yourself up. Anguished sobs and snivels still continued with full energy. You got yourself to stand, though with a hunch from the pounding pain in your gut, and walked yourself towards your bedroom with a shake to each step while leaning against the wall for support.

You finally reached the side of your bed, yet when you put one hand on it your knees buckled. You crumbled to the floor and into the corner that was in between your nightstand and bed. More sobs escaped you as you cradled into that corner like a child scared of the monsters in the closet. Eventually your cheeks became so wet from tears someone wouldn’t be able to tell what were new trails.

Your quaking hands reached up to grip onto the roots of your hair as your lips quivered over the faint hyperventilation. You released a manic, miserable yell as you began to slam your head against the floorboards. You couldn’t live like this anymore, you couldn’t bear another day of being Alex’s little doll to play with as he pleased. How could he claim to love you and adore you more than Beethoven when he did such awful things to you?

You contemplated if the fall from the height your window was at in the building was high enough to kill you. Yet you were more scared of more pain. You contemplated plotting out Alex’s murder. But you knew you didn’t have it in you to do it. Even if someone put a gun in your hands, saying you could either put the bullet through your head or his, you’d probably drop the gun. Alex had shaped you into a coward. Your old self would’ve been disgusted and furious at you for becoming this.

You didn’t sleep at all. All night long you lived in the haunting fear that he was going to come back to punish you for the attempt to break free from him; every minute was spent thinking it was going to be any second now. Any second now. Any second now…

Your red puffy eyes shot open from the clanking sound of your mail slot that squeaked throughout your flat, your daily newspaper sliding through. The daylight that peeked through your shades caused you to squint back, your hand moving up to touch your head from the way it ached due to your lengthy mental breakdown that had lasted for the majority of the night. It also probably ached from the position you woke up in, not even realizing that you fell asleep while anticipating Alex’s chilling return.

But he never came back. Which was… strange… for Alex.

You fearfully and fidgetly did your best to go about your day, at least your day inside. You were far too beyond frightened to leave the building, having a deep rooted fear of coming home to Alex hiding somewhere. And the thought of going out in public nearly made you sick because of the anxious agitation that clung around you like heavy chains.

But Alex never came back.

It would’ve been amazingly nice to have a full day off from Alex… if you had a notice. The whole day you kept the front door in your peripheral vision just because of the overwhelming fear that he would come back at literally any second. So after you contained his cold dinner to put in the fridge and you tucked yourself into your sheets, you had realized you wasted the entire rare day of Alex’s absence by being maddeningly paranoid.

Even in the morning you were very off-putted by the fact Alex still hadn’t come back, not even in the night which were his most active hours. You stirred your coffee in your kitchen as you stared off into space, debating if you should call off work today… again. You knew they just had to have been thinking about firing you due to how many times you called off, Alex of course being the reason. You believed the only reason why you were still employed was because your motherly and sisterly coworkers vouched for you endless times and also rationalized your excuses.

You jumped at the sound of your mail slot, the sound of your morning newspaper hitting the floor following. You swallowed and placed your hot mug down to walk to your front door. Crouching down, you picked up the thick roll and opened it up as you walked back to your kitchen. The first three pages were nothing interesting, just articles of oil and advertisements for wall painters and city politics.

The fourth page, however, caught your attention so intensely it halted your leg movements. Because there, right before your eyes, printed in black ink were the words about the arrest of a young man named Alexander Delarge. Your widened eyes stared at the printed name for some time, your mouth hung agape and your heartbeat nearly silenced.

This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t… It was too good to be true. Your psychosis was playing a cruel, hallucinated joke on you to mock you and your childish hope.

But you finally dragged your disbelieved pupils across the sentences to see the key statements, only those sticking out to you as the words blended together in a blur. It was as if the two statements stood out in a yellow highlight, “------murder charge—----sentenced to 14 years in State Jail.”

Something dripped on the thin paper you held in your tight hands. Another drop followed. The liquefied form of absolute pure joy slipped out the corners of your eyes as a genuine smile stretched across your face. A breathy laugh escaped your throat. As you cried tears of joy and your smile embiggened, heavy laughter bellowed out of you. You reread the words over and over again while you elatedly laughed like a madman.

You were so happy about Alex’s arrest that your attention didn’t focus on the sickening guilt you owned for the murder of Patrick. But… he did say he really wanted to help you, and coincidentally his death was the greatest help of all. It practically served as a sacrifice for your freedom. Maybe two wrongs did make a right.

Though his death was still caused by your interaction from his selfless concern for your safety. But that was something that could eat you alive tomorrow. Today was yours. So what did you want to do first?

You put on a very specific record. The record Alex claimed was yours and his song, which made you grow to despise the song with every fiber of your being, the lyrics feeling so mocking to you and your predicament that you wanted nothing more than to shove your palms over your ears when it played. Yet now… you found it to be a beautiful melody.

So as Cilla Black’s “You’re My World” played from your record player, you danced as if you were head over heels in love. You spun and leapt around your flat, flailing your arms around and mouthing the words dramatically. You danced to your fridge and swung it open like you were in a stage play, snatching the contained and untouched dinner for Alex last night and gracefully chucked it into the garbage.

“You're my world, you are my night and day~”

You grabbed the two cartons of milk and poured the two white liquids down your kitchen sink drain, still mouthing the song words overjoyously.

“You're my world, you're every prayer I pray~”

Light on your feet, you danced back into your living room in the direction of the framed photo of you and Alex that he put up himself on your wall. It was a picture from Alex’s birthday when he went to your restaurant for the free Birthday Special lunch during your shift. Your manager thought it was adorable thus took a picture of the two of you as you sat with him in the booth. Alex was facing the camera with a big smile and was leaning backwards so that you could rest your chin on his shoulder. He had a hand on the side of your face and was pushing it closer to him so that his and yours cheeks were squishing together. You were forcing a smile yet your eyes remained miserable.

Since it was just such a cute photo, your manager framed it on the Birthday wall at the restaurant and gave you a copy. Alex already had so many pictures of the two of you in his bedroom and didn’t really have any room left for another so he mounted it on your living room wall. You always hated looking at that photo, ironically the pose and position in the photo made it look like Alex was resting your decapitated head on his shoulder.

But now you were dancing towards the frame, pointing at it with a foxy expression like you were trying to seduce a real person. You reached the photograph and dragged your hands sensually down the wall on both sides of the frame as you still dramatically mouthed the sung words of Cilla Black.

“If our love~ ceases to be~”

You caressed the side of his face with the back of your hand before you tapped on his nose with your finger. Then you had grabbed the frame off its nails and spun on your feet once while you wore an overdramatic lovestruck expression. You ballroom danced with it around your living room.

“Then it’s the end of my world~”

You halted your dancing to mimic the singing belt as you put on mocking bedroom eyes towards the Alex in the photo. You leaned forward to kiss his face comically.

“End of my world~”

Your expression then switched to a badly acted and overdramatic face of sorrowful sadness during your lip sync of the song turning sad, the back of your hand on your forehead as you swung your head back like a damsel in distress.

“End of my world~”

Your head snapped back down, a small smile beginning to grow. Then you had chucked the picture frame to the floor with all your strength, glass shards sliding from the impact.

“For~ me~”

[imposterzoe]

ANGST: "Don't start now. You're just as much at fault as I am." H/C: "Are we going to be okay?" FLUFF: "I didn't know you were so good with kids." SMUT: "Show me how you like it."

hard mode: pairing you've never written before >:3

You really added "hard mode" like you didn't give me 4 prompts at once -.-

Also I'm stealing your pairing (note from after this was finished - what in the unholy fuck did I just write):

The day Sister Pete's 5 year old nephew came to work with her was an interesting one. Glynn flat out offered to lock the prison down for the day to keep him safe but she turned him down. Told him not to make a fuss in case it caused tension between her and the prisoners.

"It'll be fine, Leo." she assured him. "I'll only meet with non-violent offenders and have Tobias take him to the kids visiting room if something important comes up. Okay?"

"Fine," he said after a minute. "But I'm keeping SORT on stand-by."

"Fine by me."

By lunch, she knew for a fact Leo had worried for nothing. While there were no major breakthroughs, the patients she met with seemed to come to life to play with her nephew, who really was too young to fully grasp what a prison was, let alone that he was in one.

All he knew was that people kept coming in and asking to about his coloring and if they could play with the action figures he brought or read him a story. Hia aunt's warm smile kept him relaxed even when the man at the computer asked to take him to the room with all the toys while his aunt had a "very boring, adult conversation."

The smile was his reassurance. Which is why the only time he felt uncomfortable was when the really tall man with the white hat came in. His smile looked fake and his aunt's had disappeared completely.

"And who's this?" The man asked with a voice so stressed even the boy could pick up on it. He quicky stood and ran to hide behind Peter Marie.

"My nephew," she answered, reaching back to touch his hair. "Sorry, he hasn't been this shy all day."

"It's fine."

"Tobias, would you mind taking him to Father Mukada's office? Ray offered to be the one to get him lunch."

"Sure thing," Beecher said, wanting to get away from the tension in the room as much as the kid did. They left without a backward glance and the air in the room got twice as heavy.

"I didn't know you were so good with kids." she joked weakly, gesturing for Kareem to sit as she walked behind her desk.

They sat and silence reigned.

She felt uncomfortable in her skin a way she hadn't since Keller tried to seduce her. It was a lot more intense this time. Maybe because Kareem wasn't trying to manipulate her. Because he was going through the moral struggle she was. Because she knew exactly where his feelings were coming from.

She was a shrink for christssake. She knew what transference was. Just like she knew it was no coincidence that as soon she'd gotten Kareem to open up about his father, this started happening. Not that she'd explained this to him yet since the last time she tried, he kissed her.

"If it's okay with you, Saïd," she started slowly, "I'd like to talk about our last session."

His frown deepened as he slunk down in the chair.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "I was unaware I was 'Saïd' now. That's all."

She winced. She didn't like hurting him, truly she didn't. But creating distance was not only vital to Kareem's rehabilitation but necessary for her to stay focused. Reverse transference was a thing and she didn't need to develop feelings for another patient.

Forcing herself to ignore the look on his face, she pushed on. "I was trying to tell you about Transference. Do you remember?"

"When a patient's feelings is redirected toward their therapist. Like my intense hatred for my father becoming love for you because you comforted me," he mumbled. When she stared at him, he shrugged. "I looked it up."

"That's good," she encouraged without thinking. He lit up instantly before sinking again.

"That's not what's happening here, Sister. As wrong as it is, as much as I try to resist," he seized her hand. "I love you. Truly. And I know you feel the same way."

"No, Saïd-"

"You kissed me back."

She had. Briefly. Then she shoved him away and had him dragged back to Em City.

She ripped her hand away. "Don't start now. You're just as much at fault as I am."

"I didn't say anything to the contrary." He stood with that dancer-like grace that robbed her of motion. She could only watch as he floated to her side of the desk. She couldn't move but he could move her, grabbing her hands and pulling her up.

"How long's it been, Sister?" he whispered. "Since you were with a man you loved?"

She shook her head. He didn't need to know how long it'd been since she lost her husband. Her wonderful husband who was definitely frowning at her from Heaven right now.

"This is wrong," she tried, even as she leaned closer to him. "In both our religions."

He grinned smugly. "Well we can finally figure which of our beliefs is correct. Because if you show me how you like it, I promise you will see God."

She couldn't help but laugh as he released one of her hands to cup her face.

"I love you, Peter Marie."

"Kareem-"

"Pete!"

They leapt away from one another, turning to see a shellshocked Mukada in the doorway. His hands were on the shoulders of her nephew who, thankfully, was focused on an Etch-a-Sketch he boosted from the visiting room.

Somehow finding the strength to have project her voice, she said, "Ray make him put that back."

He stared blankly for a few more seconds before slowly leaving the room.

Kareem went for her again when the door shut but she shut him down quickly.

"This appointment is over. Go to back to Em City."

He frowned like before but obediently headed toward the door when she pointed. He paused with his hand on the handle. "Are we going to be okay?"

Unlikely. "We will be, Kareem. Once you let me help you."

He seemed pacified by that and quickly left.

Not a second too soon as her knees gave out just as the door shut.