#and they served no purpose in the story. he's just carrying pins because he likes them. sure why not.

[demigodofhoolemere]

Love this moment where they have a harsh fall and the Doctor lands on some pins in his pocket.

~~~

Zoe: “What are you carrying drawing pins for?”

Doctor: “I like drawing pins.”

[lynnslittlelife]

I've never requested something so sorry if none of this makes sense. Can you do alastor from hazbin hotel x male little please. You can decide the plot (or whatever it's called I'm not that creative sorry)

I'm happy you requested from me!!! No need to apologize ^~^ it's a safe place here! I love Hazbin, especially Alastor so it was fun to write for him! I don't write male readers much on any of my pages, so it was a fun little (pun intended) challenge! Hope you enjoy ^~^

Word Count: 1,101

You waited very impatiently for you dada to come home. When he met you, you made a deal. He saw your soul, and knew it was different than a lot of others down here. He was intrigued, and ended up spending more time with you until he figured out what made you different. It didn’t take him long, he was a very clever demon. You were a little, but he had grown a soft spot for you…at least…as soft as he could manage. 

Your deal was that he would be the only one to see you. Aside from the other demons who served under him in his home. In turn, they served under you as well. But when at all possible, you had to stay in your room until he was home. He knew you could be sensitive, after all…hell was no place for a child. Despite being physically older, you weren’t always as old as you looked. Alastor knew this, and did everything in his power to keep you safe. 

You colored, and rolled around in bed with your favorite stuffies, but you wanted dada to come home! Being little alone wasn’t TERRIBLE but it was far from ideal. Dada always left you a lot of things to keep you busy while he was gone, but it wasn’t ever enough. He had been gone for weeks! WEEKS! You couldn’t wait to hear his stories and what he’s been up to in the extensive amount of time he was gone. He did have good stories all the time, and when you were big some of them seemed outlandish, but little? Anything was possible. 

Luckily you heard the front door open, and bolted out of your room to try and go meet him. He had been gone for so long! How were you supposed to entertain yourself for THAT long?!?! The other smaller demons were too scared to really play with you, in fear of what he’d do! So he was the only one you could really even play with! He didn’t “play” too much, but he did watch you play and make comments. Sometimes even compliments, about your drawings or toy piles. Anything really. 

When he was barely even in the door, you jumped at him. He caught you, of course, and let out his laughter. Not an evil laughter, but more genuine of one. He didn’t laugh like that a lot, but relatively frequently around you. He held you close to him, and carried you all the way to your room. He patted your head, having no problem with carrying you with only one arm. 

“Hello there, little one. Have you missed me?” It was rhetorical, because he knew no matter how long he’d be gone you’d always miss him. He admitted to you once or twice, how he felt as if you gave him another purpose in the after life. Made him feel special, and wanted, simply by being yourself around him. Allowing him to take care of someone else, something he never cared to do when he was alive. 

“Yes! Missed you so much dada!” You giggled and tried to hug him as tight as you could, but it was far less than what was needed to actually break or even hurt the demon. “You was gone for forever!” You giggled even more when he kicked the door shut with his foot and set you down next to the drawing you were making before he came back. 

“My dearest little boy…I was only gone for a few hours.” He chuckled and knelt down beside you to see your drawing. “Ah! Would this happen to be a gift for me?” He picked it up and examined it, before pinning it to the wall with many of your other drawings. It was more of a display wall than anything, almost exclusively used for your drawings. Though you had so many, you might have to get another wall just for that. 

“Hours? No! Weeks and weeks!” You said and pouted, crossing your arms. “Where did go?” You stopped pouting and instead stood up and ran up to him to pull him into another hug. “Stories?” Always wanting to hear about his latest adventures. Even if he would never tell you about some of the gorey details, when demons decided to test his limits. Some demons just had no common sense, and tried to push the buttons of the infamous radio demon. 

So he told you tales of his adventures, and you listened to each and every word. Whether they were true or not, was up for debate. Like the daughter of hell? Starting a hotel to redeem sinners? You didn’t believe it up to a point. But eventually he gave enough details about it, that it had to be true! If that was possible, he said he’d like you to try. But not until he had solid proof. 

“But…dada…you come too, right?” You seemed scared, not wanting to imagine “living” without him. It didn’t sound like he was coming, and that didn’t help your fears at all. “No leave without dada!” You scooted closer to the bed he sat on from where you sat on the floor. He looked to be his usual carefree self, but there was something more behind those eyes of his. 

“You see, little boy…I’m not made for heaven. You, however…are. You’re kind, pure, and how you ended up here I’ll never know.” He picked you up with ease and sat you on his lap. “I plan to stay here, and you’ll go somewhere much better. A kinder place. You’ll be happy, and safe there.” He secured his arms around you so you wouldn’t fall, but that was the least of your concerns right now. 

“No! I happy with dada!” You were trying not to cry, and when he saw that expression he melted just a bit. “Stay here with you!” He was already close to you, but you tried to make it even closer still. “No leave you! No…no no.” You shook your head before resting it in the crook of his neck. 

He smiled, and thought for a moment before saying, “No. It’s alright, I won’t leave you. Not now, and not ever. Down here I can make sure you’re safe.” He rubbed your back to soothe you. “If anyone touches you…” His voice turned to a deep static, and you couldn’t see it with your face buried, but symbols and waves of his power crashed around you. “You're my little boy, and I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. You’re safe with me.” 

[residentdormouse]

If anyone would be interested:

(sorry - just realized my read mores in these didn't carry. My bad everybody. My bad.)

I posted 5,941 times in 2022

That's 5,100 more posts than 2021!

239 posts created (4%)

5,702 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@anglophile-rin

@asirensrage

@bluejay-in-flight

@impuretale

@ooihcnoiwlerh

I tagged 1,444 of my posts in 2022

#other people's oc's - 72 posts

#oc fanfiction - 50 posts

#the stand 2020 - 48 posts

#oc bingo 2022 - 48 posts

#just keep diving down - 40 posts

#other peoples ocs - 37 posts

#something like a spiral - 25 posts

#stranger things spoilers - 24 posts

#spotify - 23 posts

#other peoples stories - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#its a demon coming from the depths of nowhere to steal my soul - chomp on it a bit - and then hand it back in a dripping heap of shreads

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

GUYS! Its done!!

I just wrapped up my first posted fanfic. (And my OCD is happy because the word count ended in a palindrome - 101,101 - do not point out typos, they now serve a purpose!)

Something Like a Spiral

Fandom: The Stand (2020 Series)

Rating M - Canon Typical Violence - Some Smut (marked to avoid if not your thing) - Massive amounts of swearing and vaping nonsense.

Pairing: Glen Bateman/OC

So, uh… what do I do with life now?

15 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

#4

Day One of my Flagg Pin Experiment:

Nobody has noticed that the smiley pin I've worn for the past couple months is now suddenly winking at them.

I'll keep you posted.

16 notes - Posted July 28, 2022

#3

I saw a Halloween Stranger Things challenge:

Hellfire Haunts started by @cryptidcasanova

And this idea wouldn't leave my mind.

It's not a full length/more of a drabble if anything (only 500 words), but I didn't want to just let the idea die in my head. So I took a short break from my WIP to just jot something down quick.

Prompts: Eddie Munson - Ghost - "Did you think they could protect you?"

Even in Death

Wavy brown hair popped up from behind the preset barrier. Lights flickered around them, and they could only watch as the table between them hovered slightly and crashed back down to the ground.

“Did you think they could protect you?”

The voice came from Eddie, but it was distorted. Warped in a way only he would be able to imagine. A character only he could create.

“You are all that’s left. Their fate lies on you. Do you flee or stay and fight?”

Eyes darted between all members of their party before landing solely on Mike. Defensiveness took over his posture as he threw up his hands backing away.

“What?! You can’t expect me to seriously take this on by myself! I’m barely standing as it is!”

“It’s not like we haven’t had to fight solo before!”

Dustin began to argue against the objection, and Lucas jumped in to aid the counter argument. Gareth was next to voice his opinion. Then Will. Bickering broke out, slowly building intensity until the words themselves could no longer be deciphered amongst the noise.

“Erica did the–”

"Lady Applejack!”

“It’s not possible—”

“Of course it’s–’

“You have to avenge—”

”Run away? We can’t–”

"Do you think I—”

Once more the table lifted from the ground, pieces shaking and tipping over in the process. Once more it slammed to the ground with a crash. But this time the lights went out with it. The decorations surrounding the space toppled to the ground and littered the floor around them. And once all else came to a halt, dice rolled to land next to Mike’s shoes.

“Do you flee or do you stand?!”

Silence. Shifting eyes. Nobody was going to be the first to interject after that spectacle. Almost nobody.

“Dammit, Munson! You remember the last time you wasted all your… poltergeist shit, or whatever makes you go, on these damn nerd games? Do you want to just poof off again?!”

Harrington. Always the babysitter, even for the dead.

“Come on, just having a bit of fun. Lighten up, big boy.”

“Stop it with that! And no!”

A new chorus of objections began to interject.

“Aww, Steve, he knows what he’s doing–”

See the full post

17 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#2

I got tagged to make some of my OC's using this piccrew from @asirensrage (original post)

So I went with my main three:

Hayden, Steph, and Max.

See the full post

18 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🐭 Pinned Post - Fanfic/Art Links

I guess I should probably start a pinned post with my original work since I'm actually creating stuff now. (How the hell did this happen?)

The Stand (2020 series):

Fanfiction (synopses):

See the full post

21 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sabugabr]

Why the Clone problem in Star Wars animated media is also a Mandalorian problem, and why we have to talk about it (PART 2)

Hi! I finally finished wrapping this up, so here’s part 2 of what has already become a mini article (you can find Part 1 here, if you like!)

And for this part, it won’t be as much as a critic as part 1 was, but instead I’d like to focus more on what I consider to be a wasted potential regarding the representation of the Clones in the Star Wars animated media, from the first season of The Clone Wars till now, and why I believe it to be an extension of the Mandalorian problem I discussed in part 1 —  the good old colonialism.

Sources used, as always, will be linked at the end of this post!

PART 2: THE CLONES

Cody will never know peace

So I’d like to state that I won’t focus as much on the blatantly whitewashing aspect, for I believe it to be very clear by now. If you aren’t familiar with it, I highly recommend you search around tumblr and the internet, there are a lot of interesting articles and posts about it that explain things very didactically and in detail. The only thing you need to know to get this started is that even at the first seasons of Clone Wars (when the troopers still had this somewhat darker skin complexion and all) they were still a whitewashed version of Temuera Morrison (Jango’s actor). And from then, as we all know, they only got whiter and whiter till we get where we are now, in rage.

Look at this very ambiguously non-white but still westernized men fiercely guarding their pin-up space poster

Now look at this still westernized but slightly (sarcasm) whiter men who for some reason now have different tanning levels among them (See how Rex now has a lighter skin tone? WHEN THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN KKKKKKK) Anyway you got the idea. So without further ado...

2.1 THE FANTASY METAPHOR

As I mentioned before in Part 1, one thing that has to be very clear if you want to follow my train of thought is that it’s impossible to consume something without attributing cultural meanings to it, or without making cultural associations. This things will naturally happen and it often can improve our connection to certain narratives, especially fantastic ones. Even if a story takes place in a fantastic/sci fi universe, with all fictional species and people and worlds and cultures, they never come from nowhere, and almost always they have some or a lot of basing in real people and cultures. And when done properly, this can help making these stories resonate in a very beautifull, meaningfull way. I actually believe this intrisic cultural associations are the things that make these stories work at all. As the brilliant american speculative/science fiction author Ursula K. Le Guin says in the introduction (added in 1976) of her novel The Left Hand of Darkness, and that I was not able to chopp much because it’s absolutely genious and i’ll be leaving the link to the full text right here,

“The purpose of a thought-experiment, as the term was used by Schrodinger and other physicists, is not to predict the future — indeed Schrodinger's most famous thought-experiment goes to show that the ‘future,’ on the quantum level, cannot be predicted — but to describe reality, the present world.

Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive.”

[...] “Fiction writers, at least in their braver moments, do desire the truth: to know it, speak it, serve it. But they go about it in a peculiar and devious way, which consists in inventing persons, places, and events which never did and never will exist or occur, and telling about these fictions in detail and at length and with a great deal of emotion, and then when they are done writing down this pack of lies, they say, There! That's the truth!

They may use all kinds of facts to support their tissue of lies. They may describe the Marshalsea Prison, which was a real place, or the battle of Borodino, which really was fought, or the process of cloning, which really takes place in laboratories, or the deterioration of a personality, which is described in real textbooks of psychology; and so on. This weight of verifiable place-event-phenomenon-behavior makes the reader forget that he is reading a pure invention, a history that never took place anywhere but in that unlocalisable region, the author's mind. In fact, while we read a novel, we are insane —bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voices, we watch the battle of Borodino with  them, we may even become Napoleon. Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed.”

[...] “ In reading a novel, any novel, we have to know perfectly well that the whole thing is nonsense, and then, while reading, believe every word of it. Finally, when we're done with it, we may find — if it's a good novel — that we're a bit different from what we were before we read it, that we have been changed a little, as if by having met a new face, crossed a street we never crossed before. But it's very hard to say just what we learned, how we were changed.

The artist deals with what cannot be said in words.

The artist whose medium is fiction does this within words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words. Words can be used thus paradoxically because they have, along with a semiotic usage, a symbolic or metaphoric usage. [...]  All fiction is metaphor. Science fiction is metaphor. What sets it apart from older forms of fiction seems to be its use of new metaphors, drawn from certain great dominants of our contemporary life — science, all the sciences, and technology, and the relativistic and the historical outlook, among them. Space travel is one of these metaphors; so is an alternative society, an alternative biology; the future is another. The future, in fiction, is a metaphor.

A metaphor for what?” [1]

A metaphor for what indeed. I won’t be going into what Star Wars as a whole is a metaphor for, because I am certain that it varies from person to person, and everyone can and has the total right to take whatever they want from this story, and understand it as they see fit. That’s why it’s called the modern myth. And therefore, all I’ll be saying here is playinly my take not only on what I understand the Clones to be, but what I believe they could have meant.

2.2 SO, BOBA IS A CLONE

I don’t want to get too repetitive, but I wanted to adress it because even though I by no means intend to put Boba and the Clones in the same bag, there is one aspect about them that I find very similar and interesting, that is the persue of individuality. While the Clones have this very intrinsically connected to their narratives, in Boba’s case this appears more in his concept design. As I mentioned in Part 1, one of the things the CW staff had in mind while designing the mandalorians is that they wanted to make Boba seem unique and distinguishable from them, and honestly even in the original trilogy he stands out a lot. He is unique and memorable and that’s one of the things that draws us to him.

And as we all know, both Boba and Jango and the Clones are played by Temuera Morrison — and occasionally by the wonderful Bodie Taylor and Daniel Logan. And Temuera Morrison comes from the Maori people. And differently from the mandalorian case, where we were talking about a whole planet, in this situation we’re talking about portraying one single person, so there’s nowhere to go around his appearance and phenotypes, right? I mean, you are literally representing an actual individual, so there’s no way you could alter their looks, right?

(hahahaha wrong)

And besides that, I think that is in situations like that (when we are talking about individuals) that the actor’s perspective could really have a place to shine (just the same as how Lea was mostly written by Carrie Fisher). In this very heart-warming interview for The New York Times (which you can read full signing up for their 5-free-articles-per-month policy), Temuera Morrison talks a little bit about how he incorporated his cultural background to Boba Fett in The Mandalorian:

“I come from the Maori nation of New Zealand, the Indigenous people — we’re the Down Under Polynesians — and I wanted to bring that kind of spirit and energy, which we call wairua. I’ve been trained in my cultural dance, which we call the haka. I’ve also been trained in some of our weapons, so that’s how I was able to manipulate some of the weapons in my fight scenes and work with the gaffi stick, which my character has.” [2]

The Gaffi stick (or Gaderffii), btw, is the weapon used by the Tusken Raiders on Tatooine, and according to oceanic art expert Bruno Claessens it’s design was inspired by wooden Fijian war clubs called totokia. [3]

And I think is very clear how this background can influence one’s performance and approach to a character, and majorly how much more alive this character will feel like. Beyond that, having an actor from your culture to play and add elements to a character will higly improve your sense of connection with them (besides all the impact of seeying yourself on screen, and seeying yourself portrayed with respect). It would only make sense if the cultural elements that the actor brought when giving life to a fictional individual would’ve been kept and even deepened while expanding this role. And if you’re familiar with Star Wars Legends you’ll probably rememeber that in Legends Jango would train and raise all Clone troopers in the Mandalorian culture, so that the Clones would sing traditional war chants before battles, be fluent in Mando’a (Mandalore’s language) and some would proudly take mandalorian names for themselves. So why didn’t Filoni Inc. take that into account when they went to delve into the clones in The Clone Wars?

2.3 THE WHITE MINORITY

First of all I’d like to state that all this is 100% me conjecturing, and by no means at all I’m saying that this is what really happened. But while I was re-watching CW before The Bad Batch premiere, something came to my mind regarding the whitewashing of the Clones, and I’d like to leave that on the table.

So, you know this kind of recent movies and series that depicted like, fairies in this fictional world where fairies were very opressed, but there would be a lot of fairies played by white actors? Just like Bright and Carnival Row. If you’ve watched some of these and have some racial conscience, you’ll probably know where I’m going here. And the issue with it is that often this medias will portray real situations of racism and opression and prejudice, but all applied to white people. Like in Carnival Row, when going to work as a maid in a rich human house, our girl Cara Delevingne had to fight not to have her braids (which held a lot of significance in her culture) cut by her intolerant human mistress, because the braids were not “appropriate”. Got it? hahahaha what a joy

Look at her ethnic braids!!!

One of the reasons this happens might be to relieve a white audience of the burden of watching these stories and feeling what I like to call “white guilt”. Because, as we all know, white people were never very oppressed.  Historically speaking, white people have always been in privileged social positions, and in an exploitative relationship between two ethnic groups, white people very usually would be the exploiters  —  the opressors. So while watching situations (that every minority would know to be very real) of opression in fiction, if these situations were lived by a white actor, there would be no real-life associations, because we have no historical parameter to associate this situation with anything in real life — if you are white. Thus, there is less chance that, when consuming one of these narratives, whoever is watching will question the "truthfulness" of these situations (because it's not "real racism", see, "they're just fairies"). It's easier for a person to watch without having to step out of their comfort zone, or confront the reality of real people who actually go through things like that. There's even a chance that this might diminish empathy for these people.

Once again, not saying this is specifically the case of the Clones, majorly because one of the main feelings you have when watching CW is exactly empathy for the troopers (at least for me, honestly, the galaxy could explode, I just wanted those poor men to be happy for God’s sake). But I’ll talk more about it later.

The thing is, the whole thing with the Clones, if you think about it, it’s not pretty. If you step on little tiny bit outside the bubble of “fictional fantasy”, the concept is very outrageous. They are kept in conditions analogous to slavery, to say the least. To say the more, they were literally made in an on-demand lab to serve a purpose they are personally not a part of, for which they will neither receive any reward nor share any part of the gains. On the contrary, as we saw in The Bad Batch, as soon as the war was over and the clones were no longer useful as cannonballs, they were discarded. In the (wonderful) episode 6 of the third season of (the almost flawless) Rebels, “The Last Battle”, we're even personally introduced to the analogy that there really wasn't much difference in value between clones and droids, something that was pretty clear in Clone Wars but hadn't been said explicitly yet.

In fact, technically the Separatists can be considered to be more human than the Republic. But that's just my opinion.

So, you had this whole army of pretty much slaves. I know this is a heavy term, but these were people who were originally stripped of any sense of humanity or individuality, made literally to go to war and die in it, doing so purely in exchange for food and lodging, under the false pretense that they belonged to a glorious purpose (yes, Loki me taught that term, that was the only thing I absorbed from this series). Doing all this under extremely precarious conditions from which they had no chance of getting out, actually, getting out was tantamount to the death penalty. They were slaves. In milder terms, an oppressed minority. And again, I don't know if that was the case, but I can understand why Filoni Inc would be apprehensive about representing phenotically indigenous people in this situation. Especially since we in theory should see Anakin and Obi-Wan as the good guys.

(and here I’d like to leave a little disclaimer that I believe the whole Anakin-was-a-slave-once plot was HUGELY misused (and honestly just badly done) both in the prequels and in the animeted series  — maybe for the best, since he was, you know, white and all that, and I don’t know how the writers would have handled it, but ANYWAY — I believe this could have been further explored, particularly regarding his relationship with the Clones, and how it could have influenced his revolt against the Jedi, and manipulated to add to his anger and all that. I mean, we already HAD the fact that Anakin shared a deeper conection with his troopers than usual)

Yes, Rex, you have common trauma experiences to share. But anyway, backing to my track

As I was saying, we are to see them as good guys, and maybe that could’ve been tricky if we saw them hooping up on slavery practices. Like, idk, a “nice” sugar plantation owner? (I don’t know the correct word for it in english, but in portuguese they were called senhores de engenho) Like this guy from 12 Years a Slave?

You know, the slave owner who was “nice”. IDK, anyway  

No one will ever watch Clone Wars and make this association (I believe not, at least), of course not. But if we were to see how CW deepened the clone arcs, and see them as phenotypically indigenous, subjected to certain situations that occur in CW (yes, like Umbara), maybe some kind of association would’ve been easier to make.

I mean, come onnnn I can’t be the only one seeing it

You see, maybe not the whole 12 Years a Slave association one, but I don’t think it’s hard to see there was something there. And maybe this could’ve been even more evident if they looked non-white. Because historically, both black peoples and indigenous peoples went through processes of slavery, from which we as a society are still impacted today. And to slave a people, the first thing you have to do is strip them from their humanity. So it might be easier to see this situation and apply it to real life. And maybe that could lead to a whole lot of other questions regarding the Clones, the Republic, the Jedi, and even how chill Obi-Wan was about all this. We might come out of it, as lady Ursula Le Guin stated in the fragment above, a bit different from what we were before we watch it.

Maybe even unconsciously, Filoni Inc thought we would be more confortable watching if they just looked white (and because of colonialism and all that, but I’m adding thoughts here).

And of course I don’t like the idea of, idk, looking at Obi-Wan and thinking about Benedict Cumberbatch in 12 Years a Slave or something like that. Of course that, if the Clones were to play the same role as they did in the prequels, to obediently serve the Jedi and quietly die for them, that would have been bad, and hurtfull, and pejorative if added to all that I said here. But the thing is that Clone Wars, consciously or not, already solved that. At least to my point of view, they already managed to approach this situation in an incredible competent way, that is giving them agency.

2.4 AGENCY AND INDIVIDUALITY

So, one of the things I love most in Clone Wars is how it really feels like it’s about the Clones. Like, we have the bigger scene of Palpatine taking over, Ahsoka’s growth arc, Anakin’s turn to The Dark Side, the dawn of the Jedi and rise of the Empire and all that, but it also has this idk, vibe, of there’s actually something going on that no one in scene is talking about? And this something is the Clones. We have these episodes spread throughout the seasons, even out of chronological order, which when watched together tell a parallel story to the war, to everything I mentioned. Which is a story about individuals. Clone Wars manages to, in a (at least to me) very touching way, make the Clones be the heros. 

Can you really look me in the eye and say that Five’s story didn’t CRASH you like a full-speed train???? He may not have the same amount of screen-time as the protagonists, but his story is just as important as theirs (and to me, it might be the most meaningful one). Because he is the first to break free from the opression cicle all the Clones were trapped into. 

His story can be divided into 6 phases.

1 - First, the construction of his individuality, in other words, the reclaiming of his humanity. 

2 - Then the assimilation of understanding yourself as an individual of value, and then extending this to all his brothers, not as a unit, but as a set of individuals collectively having this same newly discovered value.

3 - This makes him realize that in the situation they find themselves in, they are not being recognized as such. This makes him question the reality of their situation.

4 - Freed from the illusion of his state, he seeks the truth about it.

5 - This then leads him to seek liberation not just for himself, but for all the Clones (it's basically Plato's Cave, and I'm not exaggerating here).

6 - And finally, precisely because he has assimilated his individuality and sought freedom for himself and his brothers, he is punished for it.

His story is all about agency. Agency, according to the Wikipedia page that is the first to appear if you type “agency” on Google, is that agency is “the abstract principle that autonomous beings, agents, are capable of acting by themselves” [4], and this abstract principle can be dissected in 7 segments:

Law - a person acting on behalf of another person

Religious -  "the privilege of choice... introduced by God"

Moral -  capacity for making moral judgments

Philosophical -  the capacity of an autonomous agent to act, relating to action theory in philosophy

Psychological -  the ability to recognize or attribute agency in humans and non-human animals

Sociological -  the ability of social actors to make independent choices, relating to action theory in sociology

Structural - ability of an individual to organize future situations and resource distribution

All of them apply here. And this is just the story of one Clone. We know there are many others throughout the series. 

Agency is what can make the world of a difference when you are telling a story about an opressed minority. Because opressed minorities do exist, and opression exists, and if you are insecure about consuming a fictional media about opressed minorities, see if they have agency might be a good place to start. So that’s why I think that everything I said before in 2.3 falls short. Because the solution already existed, and was indeed done. Honestly, making the non-agency representation of the Clones (the one we see in the prequels) to be the one played by Temuera Morrison, and then giving them agency in the version where they appear to be white, just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

And honestly, if they were to make the Clones look like Temuera Morrison, and by that mean, take more inspiration in the Māori culture, maybe they wouldn’t even have to change much of their representation besides their facial features. As I said in part 1, I am not by any means an expert in polynesian cultures, but there was something that really got me while I was researching about it. And is the facial tattoos. More precisely, the tā moko. 

2.5  TĀ MOKO

Once again I’ll be using the Te Ara: The Encyclopedia of New Zealand as source, and you can find the articles used linked at the end of this post. 

Etymologically speaking,

“The term moko traditionally applied to male facial tattooing, while kauae referred to moko on the chins of women. There were other specific terms for tattooing on other parts of the body. Eventually ‘moko’ came to be used for Māori tattooing in general.” [5]

So moko is the correct name for the characteristic tattoos we often see when we look for Māori culture. 

These ones ^. Please also look this book up, it’s beautiful. It’s written by  Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, a New Zealand academic specialising in Māori cultural issues and a lesbian activist. She’s wonderful. 

According to the Tourism NewZealand website, 

“In Māori culture, it [moko] reflects the individual's whakapapa (ancestry) and personal history. In earlier times it was an important signifier of social rank, knowledge, skill and eligibility to marry.”

“Traditionally men received moko on their faces, buttocks and thighs. Māori face tattoos are the ultimate expression of Māori identity. Māori believe the head is the most sacred part of the body, so facial tattoos have special significance.”

[...] “The main lines in a Māori tattoo are called manawa, which is the Māori word for heart.” [6]

Therefore, in the Māori culture, there’s this incredibly deep meaning attributed to the (specific of their culture) tattooing of the face. The act of tattooing the body, any part of the body, is incredibly powerful in many cultures around the globe. The adornment of the body can have different meanings for these different cultures, but all of which I've come into contact with do mean a lot. It’s one of the oldest and most beautiful human expressions of individuality and identity. 

And in the Star Wars universe, the Clones are the group that has the deeper connection to, and the best narrative regarding, tattoos. In fact, besides Hera’s father, Cham Syndulla, the Clones are the only individuals to have tattooed skin, at least that I can recall of. And they do share a deep connection to it. 

For the Clones, the tattoos (added to hairstyles) are the most meaningful way in which they can express themselves. Is what makes them distinguishable from each other to other people. Tattoos are one of the things that represent them as individuals.

And I’m not BY ANY MEANS sayin that the Clones facial tattoos = Moko. That’s not my point. But that’s one of the things I meant when I said earlier about the wasted potential of the representation of the Clones (in my point of view). Because maybe if it were their intention to base the culture of the clones after the polynesian culture, maybe if it were their intention to make the Clones actually look like Temuera Morrison, this could have meant a whole deal. More than it’d appear looking to it from outside this culture. Maybe if there were actual polynesian people in the team that designed the Clones and wrote them (or at least indigenous people, something), who knows what we could’ve had. 

Even in Hunter’s design, I noticed that if you take for example this frame of Temuera from the movie River Queen (2005), where we can have a closer look at the design of his tā moko

Speaking purely plastically (because I don’t want to get into the movie itself, just using it as example because then I can use Temuera himself as a comparison), see the lines around the contours of his mouth? Now look at Hunter’s. 

I find it interesting that they choose to design this lines coming from around his nose like that. But at this point I am stretching A LOT into plastic and semiotics, so this comparison is just a little thing that got my attention. I know that his tattoo is a skull and etc etc, I’m just poiting this out. And it even makes me a little frustrated, because they could have taken so many interesting paths in the Bad Batch designs. But instead they choose to pay homage to Rambo. And I mean, I like Rambo, I think he’s cool and all that.

Look at him doing Filipino martial arts

But then, as we say in Brasil, they had the knife and the cheese in their hands (all they had to do was cut the cheese, but they didn’t). Istead, it seems like in order to make Hunter look like Rambo, they made him even whiter??? 

2.6 SO...

Look, I love The Clone Wars. I’m crazy about it. I love the Clones, I love their stories and plots. They are great characters and one of the greatest addings ever made in the Star Wars universe. They even have, in my opinion, the best soundtrack piece to feature in a Star Wars media since John Williams’ wonderful score. It just feels to me as if their narrative core is full of bagage, and meanings, and associations that were just wiped under the carpet when they suddenly became white. It just feels to me as if, once again, they were trying to erase the person behing the trooper mask, and the people they were to represent, and the history they should evoke.

I don’t know why they were whitewashed. Maybe it was just the old due racism and colonialism. Maybe it was meant for us to not question the Jedi, or our good guys, or the real morality of this fictional universe where we were immersed. But then, was it meant for what?

The Clones were a metaphor for what? 

(spoiler: the answer still contains colonialism)

Thank you so much for reading !!!! (and congratulations for getting this far, you are a true hero)

SOURCES USED IN THIS:

[1] Ursulla K. Le Guin, 'The Left Hand of Darkness', 14th ACE print run of June, 1977

[2] Dave Itzkoff, 'Being Boba Fett: Temuera Morrison Discusses ‘The Mandalorian’', The New York Times, published Dec. 7, 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/07/arts/television/the-mandalorian-boba-fett-temuera-morrison.html (accessed 15 September 2021)

[3] Bruno Claessens, 'George Lucas' "Star Wars" and Oceanic art' , Archived from the original on December 5, 2020, https://web.archive.org/web/20201205114353/http://brunoclaessens.com/2015/07/george-lucas-star-wars-and-oceanic-art/#.YEiJ-p37RhF (accessed 15 September 2021)

[4]  Wikipedia contributors, "Agency," Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Agency&oldid=1037924611 (accessed September 17, 2021)

[5] Rawinia Higgins, 'Tā moko – Māori tattooing - Origins of tā moko', Te Ara - the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/ta-moko-maori-tattooing/page-1 (accessed 17 September 2021)

[6] Tourism New Zealand, ‘The meaning of tā moko, traditional Māori tattoos’,  The Tourism New Zealand website, https://www.newzealand.com/us/feature/ta-moko-maori-tattoo/ (accessed 17 September 2021)

[therealsaintscully]

Mary and butterflies - the inevitability of death, murderous calling cards and collectors

Some ramblings with links to other people’s excellent meta, in which I suggest that butterflies (and/or moths) symbolize Mary as Moriarty’s reincarnation and or calling card, while also hint at her inevitable death.

Disclaimers: credits are below the cut. I’m not an expert in any of these topics. Thank you, @thewatsonbeekeepers​​ for the beta. In this post I’ll be using moths and butterflies interchangeably, apologies to any entomologists.

Mary’s appearance in the show brings with it new imagery we haven’t seen prior to The Empty Hearse - butterflies. Once Mary’s in the picture, there are butterflies in some very strategic locations, all are either visually or subtextually leading to her. The show has done that previous to season 3; Moriarty is connected to some well established symbols like magpies, apples and IOUs. 

When I first started reading meta I used to think these themes were a bit of a stretch, but I’ve since accepted  that this is a show that puts barely noticeable phoenixes in a restaurant scene that shows us Sherlock rising from his death.

Here are some of the butterflies I spotted so far:

Butterflies (and in the case of this piece of meta, moth) symbolize most commonly resurrection, change and renewal. Behind the symbolism stands the transformation of a small, ungainly creature into something full-grown and unbound. In that case, in the simplest way, one could argue that butterflies were chosen to symbolize her because the ‘Mary Morstan’ persona was a stillborn’s identity that was stolen and used ‘reborn’ to create a new person.

But more than this simplistic idea; butterflies carry multiple symbolisms. When it comes to Sherlock, I and many others tend to look at Victorian symbolism, considering the detective’s Victorian roots. 

I find the appearance of butterflies interesting in Mary’s context, much like I find the skull interesting in Sherlock’s. The skulls, in Sherlock’s case, serve plenty of purposes, but one of them is the idea of memento mori.

Memento mori (Latin for 'remember that you [have to] die') is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death. These are representations that can appear in any form of art such as paintings, literature, poetry etc. It’s a concept that existed in many ancient cultures but is also deeply rooted in early Christianity. It serves to remind people of the inevitable; that even if we choose to ignore it, not think about it, it’s always there lurking, and the purpose is not to scare us but to encourage us to make good use of our time when we’re alive. Memento mori was the philosophy of reflecting on your own death as a form of spiritual improvement, and rejecting earthly vanities.

Victorians were obsessed with the concept (weren’t Victorians obsessed with everything?). They would take photographs of the dead and keep locks of hair of those who died in mourning brooches. It is said that they found these practices comforting. 

Another expression of the ‘remember that you must die’ concept was vanitas art;  vanitas is a symbolic work of art showing the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. The Latin noun vanitas (from the Latin adjective vanus 'empty') means 'emptiness', 'futility', or 'worthlessness', the traditional Christian view being that earthly goods and pursuits are transient and worthless. It alludes to Ecclesiastes 1:2; 12:8, where vanitas translates the Hebrew word hevel (הבל), which also includes the concept of transitoriness. 

This concept reminds me, most especially, of the skull used in The Abominable Bride, which is actually Charles Allen Gilbert's 'All is Vanity' Illusion art.

Back to butterflies - butterflies are a staple component of vanitas art - paintings executed in the vanitas style were meant to remind viewers of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. They also provided a moral justification for painting attractive objects - in a way, it’s a justification for the vanity, or the human need of enjoyment of beautiful things.  Below is a vanitas by Jan Sanders van Hemessen:

But butterflies are also considered an omen of death: 

“Butterflies and moths were associated with death, sometimes merely as omens, sometimes as the soul or ghost.” These butterfly omens came in many ways.  For example, in the nineteenth century United States, some people thought that a trio of butterflies was an omen of death.” [x]

Oh.

But I also think there’s more to the butterfly symbolism than Mary’s imminent death; I suggest that, in keeping with @loudest-subtext-in-tv​ M-Theory (suggesting that Mary was planted in John’s life by Moriarty), they symbolize Mary as Moriarty reincarnated following his death in TRF. That Moriarty had indeed not disappointed Sherlock - there was a posthumous game after all! That Sherlock was supposed to understand that while one form of Moriarty died on that roof, another had emerged, continuing the mission of burning Sherlock’s heart. Mary is Moriarty’s calling card, left behind in the crime scene. They’re different, but not separate, which is why Sherlock is so obsessed with Moriarty between HLV-T6T; he’s both wrong and correct at the same time.

So far, what I’ve suggested is that in Sherlock, skulls are Sherlock’s symbolic memento mori - the skulls are associated with Sherlock in some very significant ways. 

However, Mary’s character was doomed from the start - she dies during Sherlock’s hiatus in ACD canon. I believe many fans assumed Sherlock’s Mary expected the same fate when she was introduced to the show. Although the story of Samarra is told by Sherlock, who expects his own death in T6T, Mary is the one who ends up dying. 

Butterflies in ACD canon

Searching for the significance of butterflies in the ACD and BBC canon led me to a number of interesting directions in meta written by others. 

The first and probably the best place to start is this meta post by @tendergingergirl​​, which I strongly suggest you read in full: Butterflies, Sexual Deviancy & The Bloodline Theory in The Hound of The Baskervilles. 

Stapleton also has a hobby. He collects bugs…Butterflies, to be exact. This can often be seen as purely academic, but depending on the actions of the hobbyist, they can indicate more disturbing things. That of holding something vulnerable captive, treating it as your hostage, pinning it down. The torture of animals has come to be a good indicator of someone who would do this to a human. He had already shown callousness by laughing as he recounts to Holmes of ponies wandering onto the Moor, becoming trapped, and dying. In 1974, there was a release of a new edition of Sherlock Holmes stories, with the forward of The Hound of The Baskervilles written by British author, John Fowles. He is responsible for several well-known works, including The French Lieutenant’s Wife. Another, was a novel that Mason finds himself wondering why Fowles doesn’t mention in his introduction, since the villain is such a close parallel to Stapleton.(but as we have learned through the study of ACD, most writers will not come right out and say where they got their inspiration. They like for you to guess!)

A lonely young man, works as a clerk, and collects butterflies, becomes obsessed with a pretty young girl, Miranda, an art student. He chloroforms, and kidnaps her, taking her to his cellar basement, to add Miranda to his collection. That book was called The Collector. But what else does it sound like?

“So yes, I googled. From an article on the release of the movie’s Documentary. "The docu proves a poor reference point for anyone who wants to understand the literary and movie links for “Lambs.” There’s no mention, for example, of how Harris partly based the butterfly-loving Bill on John Fowles’ kidnapper in “The Collector” …And here I thought Mofftiss added allusions to Silence of The Lambs into Sherlock just for fun. SMH.”

@tendergingergirl​ also added this photo to their post:

So what we have here is a chain of metatextualities/inspiration, starting with ACD’s THOB, where Jack Stapelton inspires a book about a disturbed butterfly collector (The Collector by John Fowles), which inspires a the author of Silence of the Lambs in creation of his character Buffalo Bill, a serial murderer who inserts a death's head moth into the victim's throat because he is fascinated by the insect's metamorphosis. Silence of the Lambs served as inspiration for Sherlock  as analyzed by @garkgatiss​ in Bond, Hannibal, and Holmes (I suggest you read the whole Hannibal section) . 

Let’s look again at some imagery from His Last Vow. Mary shoots Sherlock’s heart, essentially burning his heart out, and who does Sherlock meet in his Mind Palace in a very cocoon-like straightjacket? Yes, the dead dude who encourages him to die already (“one more push, and off you pop”).

What’s the next thing we as an audience see once Sherlock opens his eyes? Mary coming to the hospital to hear that Sherlock had, in fact, survived. And what is she wearing? Her butterfly scarf, one which will another appearance later in the episode, during the tarmac scene.

I also find it interesting that in the context of Sherlock and Silence of the Lamb, there’s an element of gender-switching between Moriarty and Mary. Buffalo Bill, the murderer from Silence of the Lambs, skins bodies of women to create himself a woman’s 'suit’; in Sherlock, Moriarty is a man-villain who transforms into a female-villain in the form of a bride and/or Mary. 

By the way, who else is obsessed with his suits?

Also, let’s not forget the worms, maggots and other such crawlers in the grave scene:

Now, let’s go over some of the photos I included in the beginning of this post a bit further.

Mrs. Hudson’s butterfly tea set is first shown in TEH - she uses it to serve John tea when he comes visiting her and tellis her about Mary. We also see it near John’s chair on the day of the wedding. This isn’t Sherlock’s set - his set is different, featuring the British Isles. Moriarty drinks from it in TRF. The next tea set we see, now that Moriarty is dead, is the butterflies one. In TLD, Mrs. Hudson uses Sherlock’s tea set - the butterflies are gone.

Mary’s bedroom wallpaper is very feminine, with flowers and butterflies, both complementing symbols while also very common in vanitas art. Much like Mrs. Hudson’s wallpaper in Baker Street, Mary’s wallpaper is supposed to show the contrast between Mary’s flat/Mary and Sherlock’s flat/Sherlock.

There’s an interesting moth reference in The Empty Hearse, which in my opinion, is Mary & Moriarty related. In short, in a previous piece of meta I wrote, I suggested that the Jack the Ripper case in TEH is subtext alluding to Mary’s skeletons, which Sherlock ignores because he’s upset by his reception by John. And what’s one of the first things Sherlock notices about the skeleton? New mothballs smell, hinting at an attempt to get rid of moth/butterflies - maybe a hint to  the fact that Sherlock has a chance to discover the truth about Mary but misses it. Also, in the context of Mary and the Jack the Ripper case, notice this transition:

Transitions are important on Sherlock - they’re nearly always there to draw our attention.

This, I think, is perhaps the most telling about a possible connection between Mary and Moriarty: we have both magpies (a Moriarty hint) and butterflies together here. This isn’t the only hint of Mary’s past we get in the wedding; there is, after all, the telegram from CAM.

Mary’s scarf is colorful, and it appears by the time Sherlock’s subconscious suspects Mary. Mary’s black butterfly dress - an ominous dress, I’d say - is the one she wears during the labour scene in the car. The third photo is a behind the scenes photo uploaded by Amanda Abbington, although I’m unsure whether this necklace is AA’s or Mary’s (but I couldn’t pass on including this).

Interestingly, the butterflies do not appear in Rosie’s context - either because it’s a telling sign that Mary won’t be with us much longer, or because Rosie is spared being considered a part of the ‘burning Sherlock’s heart’ plan. Sherlock, on the surface, seems to love Rosie and accepts her.

Also, another BTS photograph I came across during my research which I’ve never seen before and ties nicely to the vanity topic is this one (found here):

The Death's-head hawkmoth and ‘Death with Interruptions’

You’ll recall that I referenced The Collector and Silence of the Lambs, both featuring butterflies on their cover art. 

The Silence of the Lambs cover features Acherontia atropos, otherwise known as the death's-head hawkmoth. It gets its name from the sinister-looking skull shape on its back. In many cultures it is thought to be an omen of death. In a bit of another coincidental but stunning piece of symbolism, all three species of the Death's-head hawkmoth are commonly observed raiding beehives of different species of honey bee; A. atropos only invades colonies of the well-known western honey bee, Apis mellifera, and feeds on both nectar and honey. They can move about in hives without being disturbed because they mimic the scent of the bees and are not recognised as intruders.

Anyway, the use of Acherontia atropos reminded me of the book ‘Death with Interruptions’ by Jose Saramago. Interestingly, this is another book about a deathly collector with a butterfly on the cover:

In Death with Interruptions death is a woman, and she falls in love with one of her future victims. She decides to spare his life: Every time death sends him his letter [notifying him of his imminent death], it gets returned. death discovers that, without reason, this man has mistakenly not been killed. Although originally intending merely to analyse this man and discover why he is unique, death eventually becomes infatuated with him, so much so that she takes on human form to meet him. Upon visiting the cellist, she plans to personally give him the letter; instead, she falls in love with him, and, by doing so, she becomes even more human-like.

It’s pretty common to read theories about Mary who maybe was one of the assassins due to kill John both at the pool and in front of Barts. So we have a death harbinger trying to kill someone twice and failing. She then falls in love with him.

But how does the butterfly fit in?

Well, at some point in the story, death (that’s her name, sans a capital d), contemplates that using the death head butterfly, instead of a violet piece of paper, would have sent a much stronger message to those whose death is coming for.

And here’s another last bit of coincidental reference to Sherlock: I’d argue shades of purple, among them shades of violet, are associated with Mary and her secrets. There’s the purple dress she wears in TEH, her bridesmaids’ dresses include various shades of purple (including what I would argue was a violet sash) and let’s not forget:

Oh and, by the way, remember the song Donde Estas, Yolanda from TEH, about a woman called Yolanda? Always thought it was a bit of an odd choice for a song?

Yolanda is a female given name, of Greek origin, meaning Violet.

:)

Thoughts?

Credits: thank you @lukessense​ for directing me to @tendergingergirl​ meta about butterflies. Episode screenshots are from kissthemgoodbye.net.

@sarahthecoat​  @tjlcisthenewsexy​ @devoursjohnlock​ @inevitably-johnlocked​ @shylockgnomes​ @possiblyimbiassed​ @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @waitedforgarridebs​ @helloliriels​ 

[staranon95]

DinCobb Week Day 6: Water (SFW)

for @dincobbweek

so for this one i go a bit... world build-y lol. no other way to describe it than that. just go with it.

AO3 Link

that within you (i do so trust)

Din saw the crumpled form upon the dunes. He only noticed it because he saw a small grouping of massiffs sniffing around it like vultures, which meant Tuskens weren’t too far off. It wasn’t like Din had issues with Tuskens, but he felt a pang of sympathy for a settler who had caught the short end of the stick.

So he curved his speeder off towards the fallen figure to see if he could offer any aid, and as he approached, the massiffs wandered off, yapping at each other as they ran off across the dunes back to where they came from.

The figure was the body of a man, an older man with silver and white in his hair and beard. He wore no protective gear. It appeared he had no weapon. His clothes were simplistic in design if a bit thinly worn, and the only thing that Din took notice of his dress was the thick red scarf around his neck.

He stepped off his speeder and approached the man, bending to one knee to roll the man onto his back. From the state of his cracked and reddened lips, Din assumed it was dehydration that struck this man down.

He sighed and thought of what next to do. The man was still alive. Just unconscious. But he wasn’t about to leave this man here, though. That would be a cruel thing to do. So he unclasped his cloak from his pauldrons and set it around the man’s prone form so he could carry him to his speeder in comfort and look for a place with shade.

He came to a sharp rise of rock that offered some cover. He lifted the man, still unconscious and gently set him to the ground before reaching for his canteen and pouring some of the precious water into the man’s mouth. He swallowed reflexively and for a moment his eyelids fluttered. He must’ve been aware for a moment before his eyes rolled and he was nothing more than a deadweight in Din’s arms once more.

He laid the man out before setting out to gather bits of debris and wood and brush he could use to build a fire. He had a feeling he would be here a long time.

Sun sickness and heat sickness were serious conditions on Tatooine, and any unexperienced individual would find themselves in a world of trouble if they didn’t come prepared. Din quietly wondered what had befallen this poor soul to land him in this situation.

Regardless, Din had the water to spare, and he tended the man with small mouthfuls of what he had over several hours as the suns passed through the sky and slowly fell out of sight.

Din was resting against his pack, arms folded along his stomach as he looked up at the stars, then he heard the man stir from his spot across the fire.

“Mm.”

Din angled his head in the man’s direction and nearly jolted at the sight of a pair of bright eyes across the low fire.

“I s’pose I should thank you then,” the man said, his drawl denoting his Tatooine heritage.

Din slowly moved to sit up and saw that the man’s eyes were not in fact glowing. Possibly just a reflection of the light. He reached for his canteen and stretched out his hand to offer it to the man.

The man smiled and nodded his thanks before lifting it to his lips and taking a healthy swallow.

“Is there anywhere I can bring you?” Din asked.

The man lowered the canteen and hummed. “No need to worry about that, partner. I was just out for a walk. It’s good for the spirit, you know?”

“Not if it means you put yourself in harm’s way,” Din said gently.

The man grinned slightly, showing white teeth—not necessarily unsettling, but his teeth almost looked sharper than they should’ve been.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light once more.

“You from around here, partner?”

“No.”

“Mm.” The man took another drink from Din’s canteen. “Been a while since I’ve seen a Mandalorian.”

Din wondered if he should drop his hand for his blaster, but the man did nothing more than make that remark. Plus, he also had no weapons to Din’s knowledge.

“Have you encountered others then?” Din asked because he was curious. If there were more of his kind out there, he wanted to know.

“Just the one.” The man looked to the stars then, the moonlight reflecting in his hair. “Mean son of a gun, too. Not like you I bet.” The man then winked at Din with a very cheeky and knowing smile.

Din swallowed and felt himself flush underneath his helmet. He felt odd in a way. Like this was some sort of dream.

This man didn’t seem real, and he couldn’t pin down the reason as to why.

“But he met some unfortunate fate. Not sure if he considers himself Mandalorian these days, but that journey is up to him, not me. Not anymore.” He took another swallow. “Mm. You know what they say about water on Tatooine?”

“No.”

Din knew what the Tuskens said, but he wasn’t about to say all that.

“That this planet used to be covered in it. Hard to believe right? That this place was once teeming with life. Oceans vast and deep. That’s where the first dragons came from you know. Big sea serpents. They’re the ones that gifted the water to the people here. They kept it churning. They would bring the tides and the waves. They would spew the water into the air for rain. But the people, well, they got greedy. They started taking more than they needed. They started hoarding it for themselves, building monuments with it, and this angered the dragons, you see. Not because the dragons wanted the praise, but because their gift was being wasted. Not for the purposes of life but of wealth and greed. So the dragons. They left. They called down their brothers from the stars and burned Tatooine in their righteous anger, taking with them their precious gift of life and leaving only small pockets of it behind. Enough for the people to live but never to thrive, not in the way they used to. And the great sea dragons, well, they left. They burrowed themselves into the ground, into the core of the planet where they remain, deep in slumber for an act of penance willing to wake them. And some say that’s how the krayts emerged—twisted representations of those first great gods, the sand wyrms. But the dragons didn’t leave their people to suffer. Within each krayt, they left a pearl to bring wealth and security to their people, and some say one of those pearls might be the key to bringing back the dragons and bringing Tatooine back to its former glory.”

Din blinked and took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember if he had breathed the entire time the man was telling his story. It matched up to many of the myths Tuskens had told him over the years, but those were Tusken stories, things they seldom told outsiders unless trust had been established between them.

The man lifted Din’s canteen and admired it. “Water is the life source of this planet as it is many others I suspect. But for Tatooine, it’s just as much a curse as it is a blessing. Depends on if you see it as a gift or a prize.”

The man then stood, forsaking Din’s cloak and offering his canteen to him before extending his hand. Din reached up and shook it the man’s. The man griped his hand tightly, and Din felt something sting on his inner wrist.

“Now don’t be a stranger, you hear?” the man said. “I’ll be seeing you, Mandalorian.” Then he turned and began to walk off into the dark.

When he was finally out of sight, Din blinked and it felt like he had control of himself, like he was no longer entranced. Then he stood and toggled for the heat tracking settings on his helmet and followed the man’s footsteps for a moment until they disappeared completely. Like he’d never existed at all.

He tugged off his glove to reveal a faint mark of some sorts into the skin of his inner wrist. He rubbed his thumb over it and caught the shape of a krayt dragon.

In all his years tracking bounties on this planet and spending time with its people—settlers, slaves, and Tuskens—Din had never heard of such a story before. Of any spirits in the desert other than hallucinations brought on by mirages and dehydration.

He would sleep that night and wake to a canteen full of water and his wrist bare, and for a moment he thought the entire exchange a dream.

Years would go by. He would return to Tatooine on a handful of occasions to hunt bounties, and he thought little of that strange night he had spent with a stranger. That was until he came to Tatooine with the Child he’d been entrusted to care for and the quest of locating other Mandalorians.

He came to a small town by the name of Mos Pelgo. It was a mining town, but the weary looks sent his way by the townspeople showed they didn’t seem to trust outsiders all that much.

He entered the cantina there in the town and spoke to the Weequay barkeep. “I have heard of a Mandalorian in these parts,” he said.

“You’ll want to talk to the Marshal.”

“The Marshal.”

The barkeep nodded towards the door, and Din turned and looked and saw the Marshal there, dressed in Mandalorian battle armour, but it looked ill fitting, far too worn and it looked uncared for.

Then the Marshal removed his helmet and there he was—the man Din had saved years ago, the man he shared his water with.

“Well, if it ain’t my Mandalorian.” The Marshal grinned. “Weequay,” he said, motioning to the barkeep. “Two snorts of spotchka. Have a drink with me, Mandalorian. Seems we got a lot to talk about.”

He followed the Marshal to the table and looked between the helmet and the man across from him. The Marshal slid him a glass full of spotchka before serving himself.

“Been wondering when you’d find yourself my way,” the Marshal said.

Din felt his inner wrist begin to tingle. He saw movement on the ground and saw the Child toddle up to the Marshal and looked up at him with an intensity he didn’t often see in the Child.

“Who are you?” Din asked.

“Just a man who’s trying to do what’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t matter if you do. It’s the truth.” The Marshal sipped his spotchka. “Regardless, seems the Force has brought us back together, and for the better. I want to know if I made the right choice in choosing you.”

“Choosing me?”

“As my champion of course.” The Marshal grinned. “There’s a krayt dragon in the area. It might be the one, and I can’t do much in this body of mine. Figured we could trade.”

“Trade what?”

“The krayt for the armour. For questions. I’m sure you’re full of them.”

Din sighed. He looked at the armour the Marshal was wearing and wondered how it had gotten here. He wondered why the Marshal had chosen him and what that would mean after the destruction of a krayt dragon.

And when the Marshal bent to pick up the Child and look at him with gleaming eyes, he wondered if the Marshal knew more about the Force for the sake of the Child.

He wondered a lot of things and if this was the right path to walk.

“Din.”

“Hm?”

“My name.”

The Marshal smiled. “Good to know you, Din. People call me Cobb, and I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany telling herself hopeful stories

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

 *Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not including quotes that misrepresent Dany here because I couldn't find them on a quick glance and, frankly, I didn't want to find them. But we know that some people like to paint Dany in an overly negative light for taking pride at her ancestors (never mind the numerous double standards) or for not being completely aware of their history. And we know that she should be defended from these accusations. I interpret Dany as someone who, sometimes, needs to tell herself hopeful stories to keep going, especially for having had no family but an abusive brother. Her bias in regarding her relatives and Westeros in an idealized light and her enemies in an overly negative one is part of that pattern (which is contextualized by the universe she lives in, in which familial bonds are the most important ones). And so, I'm listing passages in which we see that pattern come up.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She might have wished for colder, clearer water ... but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

She still clung to the hope that someone would come after her. Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario ... Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai’i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr’s kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released.

~

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai’i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

~

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. “Aggo,” she whispered. “Jhogo. Rakharo.” Might Daario have come with them?

 ADWD Daenerys IX

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man’s forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. She wondered whether the boar that had killed Robert Baratheon had looked as fierce. A terrible creature and a terrible death. For a heartbeat she felt almost sorry for the Usurper.

 ADWD Daenerys VII

“And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.”

~

How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.

 ADWD Daenerys V

The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

 ADWD Daenerys IV

“One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father’s.”

“One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes.”

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

~

“Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

~

“I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

[...] “What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

~

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

 ADWD Daenerys II

Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this ...

~

“Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

~

“[...] I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

~

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat.

 A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued.

[...] The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”

“Taint?” Dany bristled.

~

“Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

 ASOS Daenerys V

“...Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

~

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside ...

~

“...And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home!

 ASOS Daenerys IV

“Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

~

“...He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

~

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

~

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

~

“But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

 ASOS Daenerys II

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace.[”]

~

“Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”

 ASOS Daenerys I

“Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.” “Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany.

~

“Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

~

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “[...] Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

~

I am still half a world from Westeros, Dany reminded herself, but every hour brings me closer. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?

 A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys III

“The Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to remain true to the last. Will he fight for me as well? There was no way to be certain after so many years.

~

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

~

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”

~

“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

 ACOK Daenerys II

It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

[...] Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

~

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

~

“A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany’s heart. “Dead?” she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. “You are certain? The Usurper is dead?”

“So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called.”

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. “What was the manner of his death?” On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

“Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave.”

Dany had never looked upon the Usurper’s face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth, when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.

“The boy sits the Iron Throne now,” Ser Jorah said.

“King Joffrey reigns,” Quhuru Mo agreed, “but the Lannisters rule. Robert’s brothers have fled King’s Landing. The talk is, they mean to claim the crown. And the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend. He has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark a traitor?” Ser Jorah snorted. “Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor.”

“What honor could he have?” Dany said. “He was a traitor to his true king, as were these Lannisters.” It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised.

 A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys IX

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

 AGOT Daenerys VIII

She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

 AGOT Daenerys VII

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

 AGOT Daenerys IV

And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.

[beyoncesdragon]

In your orbit

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Warnings: really none, probably major pinning bc that what this whole thing is about, my writing and language

Summary: how it felt to be trapped in a certain pilots orbit and being stuck there.

a/n: Listen. I don’t know what this exactly is, it’s some angst-gored, drabble-ish piece of Poe-adoration fluff, poured straight from my rotten heart. It does not serve any purpose or plot, it’s basically just honey and salt bc how dare Oscar Isaac ruining my life. With that smile and that face, how dare he.

My Masterlist

Being around Poe conflicted an unique paradox in you.

With him you felt calm, collected and down to earth. He seemed to take away your nerves and dissolve your fears into thin air, creating the illusion of endless possibilities. Around him you felt positive, as if he was igniting that sparking of hope and rebellion in you. With him, you were almost confident that the Resistance had an actual change against the First Order.

Yet, in his presence you were jittery, hyperaware of every move of his, on high strung. There was a sense of hopelessness that overcame you, whenever he would approach his X-Wing, in a confident stroll towards the unknown. You knew you couldn’t help him, to the First Order he’d be just another starfighter to blast to shreds.

Poe Dameron made you focus, as if he could pin your attention to a certain thing and everything else turned blurry. And Poe Dameron made you stumble at sight, clumsy and unconcentrated, constantly distracted by his mere presence next to you, his shoulders brushing against yours, his eyes on your face and the sun on his skin and lips. It was like you would sense the trap but confidently run right into it and feeling okay doing it.

He made you feel like you’re the only person in the world that mattered. He looked at you like you were some precious flower or beloved place, he looked at you as if you were somehow close to home: and he left you, feeling your insignificance compared to the ungraspable vastness of the universe cutting your airways off, like a silky glove around your throat.

It was incredible how this man influenced you, your mindset, confidence, motivation, positivity, just all of you. His presence left a mark and that mark would stay there and radiate energy until Poe returned to renew it.

And Poe made you smile. Apart from the mentioned feelings he ignited in you, he made you feel life. It was like he showed you the beauty of living once again, like you had lost your feeling for it. Poe just made it more vivid, his energy, his vibe, he. He was power and happiness and freedom and rebellion. He was all you loved and seemingly could ever love.

And Poe made you cry and bite your lip in frustration. He made you hate life, hate him, hate that the beauty he showed you in everything now always reminded you of him. The happiness he gave you made you feel guilty, your dependence on him making you angry and scared. You didn’t wanted to depend on anyone, feel attached to anything. Because that always conflicted pain from loss, and all you wanted to feel was more pain and more loss. There was enough of it on a daily basis, when squadrons returned cut down to half of their number, whole star systems suppressed, villages wrecked and burned down, locals slaughtered. He was all you feared and tried to avoid.

Then, Poe also made you see all that you weren’t and maybe never could be. Because his wonderfulness wasn’t just limited to you, he could be a charming sweetheart and a gentle leader at times. Him chatting with other women, making them throw their head back in adorable giggles, tinted cheeks and his cheeky winks made you feel sick.

Sick and stuck with the knowledge that you would never be this graceful, witty, flirty. You never looked particularly attractive in the morning, unlike some others, who would wait with a cup of coffee for him to appear, just to wink at him with and whisper the sweetest of words into his ear before sashaying away.

Of course, that was just one stupid example, but to this stupid example came many more and soon you seriously questioned why he had even taken notice of you. because the longer you thought about it, the more surely you knew that you would never deserve someone like Poe Dameron. Because how could you, and how dared you even accepting being on the receiving end of his love.

And yet again, he made you see all you were, in all your beauty and your worth by just reminding you. Reminding you of your strength, your incredible will to push through, how cute you looked when you crunched your nose and oil-stained clothes. Reminding you of how smooth his X-Wing flew after you (and your team) had fixed some minor errors and nudging your shoulder whenever someone called out for help.

‘I’d have someone here, a brilliant mech…’ and you’d laugh and feel warmth flooding your heart, just because he believed in you and your skills. 

And those moments you cherished, moments of warmth, moments where he looked at you as if you’d shown him the most amazing thing. Moments where he’d listen to you so intensively that you almost felt flustered when talking, just because it – he – was so intense. Moments where he would have his fingers linked with yours just because you flinched from the distant buzzing of new weapons the Resistance had carried off from the First Order, the sound triggering painful memories of your people getting hunted down with just that kind of weapon. Moments where he would have his jacket placed on the spot next to him, saving it up for you to sit next to him.

Moments like this, where Poe had his head rested in your lap, his right hand holding yours whilst he laughed at stupid stories of BB-8 and bars on Ajan Kloss with Finn. The fire drew yellow and orange lights on his face, his eyes flashed up in a deep maple brown and a shade like tarnished gold. Your eyes traveled back to the bonfire, the flames capturing your attention and consuming your thoughts as if they’d burn off of them too.

“Princess…?” he squeezed your hand softly, pulling your attention from the fire back down to him. He’d seen the look your eyes had gotten over the past five minutes, that glazed over, deep in thoughts kind of look. You tilted your head in a questioning manner.

“Where are your thoughts? Are you alright?” you nodded, feeling your heart jump at his words. “Yes, Poe. I am fine. Just a bit tired.” He hummed, sitting up and ignoring your protesting huff.

“Then let’s switch. Come here, lay down.” He offered, folding his legs like you had them, slipping out of his jacket.

“You don’t have to…” he silenced you with a kiss. “I had to. Now come on, before you fall asleep like this” you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his again. The kiss tickled down your throat like warm honey, pulling you closer into the pure and light essence of what Poe was and how his love felt.

So yes, Poe Dameron’s presence was messing with your overall balance of life and emotions. And yes, he was hard to be around, consuming and demanding, both physically and mentally.

But his love felt sweeter than honey, tasted like heaven and consumed you like a fire a dry forest. And you let it consume you. Because in the end it was worth it all.

[fics-not-tragedies]

White Christmas: Part One ❄

one - two - three - four

For @letoursilencebreaktonight​ who’s also obsessed with Mr Hiddleston, I love you, you’re my frien 💖

STORY SUMMARY: You, a well known and respected doctor, plan a Christmas Eve ball to raise money for the foundation you’re a part of. Few famous people attend it and Tom Hiddleston is among them.

Words:  4078; Warnings: none, unless you want a warning for drinking, then you have it; Summary: You’re anxious about every little thing even though the party started, but that quickly changes when you’re approached by no one else but Tom Hiddleston himself.

Hiddleston tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​; @kinghiddlestonanddixon​​; @penwieldingdreamer​;

Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, the light reflecting in the polished gold of the embellished columns that lined the walls and accentuated the staircase majestically, the heavy drapes pulled up by the windows, illuminated and shimmering as the flames of the candles on each table danced, the ballroom had transformed into the perfect setting for the magical night you hoped no one wouldn’t forget so soon.

The room was slowly filling with more and more people as you felt the anticipation rise inside you, thrilled that the event looked out to become a success. You recognized quite a few important and famous faces instantly, and you knew they meant business, leaving you hopeful to raise a good sum tonight.

You, along with the other women at your foundation, had worked for weeks, months to make this event possible, planning, inviting, networking, raising money and now, the night was finally here. And even though everything seemed to be going according to plan, you couldn’t shake that anxiety, that fear that in at least one crucial moment, something would go wrong.

But there was only so much you could do now, nothing really but watch closely to be sure to notice issues before anyone else in order to prevent them in advance, keep an eye on everything and overlook the event and make sure you would really reach your goal tonight, would really make everyone see the vision you had in mind when planning this event.

It wasn’t just about raising money to support those who struggle daily due to their illnesses, who can’t have a normal life, who can’t raise their children themselves - you also wanted to show everyone that even though you’re a woman, you are capable of making a change somehow, capable of making greater things, even though people doubted your strength when you began your career.

Women in beautiful evening dresses, along with more businessmen in expensively tailored suits entered the warm space from the cold, faces flushed as they warmed up, their eyes wide, gleaming with wonder when they took in the extravagance of the ballroom dipped into a golden light. Some were already starting to sway gently to the music the live band was playing.

You had managed to get an extraordinary singer for tonight, knowing it would be one of the finest aspects of entertainment of the evening. Already though, the way the guests’ heads turned, they stopped to admire the setting, it filled you with joy and a sense of great pride because you managed to make the most of the resources you’d been given for tonight.

Soon, all the guests had found their tables and you went to sit at one in the front with the other women from your foundation, one of your friends to your right instantly taking your arm and leaning over to you, “You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself. It’s looking so good.”

You smiled, shaking your head to ease her mind, “I am enjoying myself, I really am. And I’m aware it looks good, I’m delighted. But something might still go awfully wrong…”

“Oh, always the perfectionist, aren’t you? Everything is going to be fine, trust me” she said confidently, giving you a reassuring nod, “We’ve thought of everything, thought out everything that could possibly go wrong, and we set in motion all possible precautions. Please, my dear, you deserve to enjoy this night too.”

You breathed out shakily, trying to internalize her words because you knew she was right, you worked hard and you could still enjoy the evening even if you had to keep an eye on everything, making sure that it all was going smoothly.

Once everyone was seated, the music slowed, decreased in volume, then paused, as soon as the president of your foundation took the small stage that was decorated with artificial sparkling snow, situated at the far end of the large room, all the round tables facing it and the quiet conversation and laughter subsided. It never took much for her to have a full room’s undivided attention, especially now in her ruby red dress with golden embroidery on the fabric over her chest and a hint of golden satin material covering her shoulders, she drew everyone’s gaze effortlessly.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” she called, her voice rising in pitch as she stood at the center of the stage, “I would like to give a warm welcome to all our guests, everybody who has had a part in making our vision we had for this very special night become a reality, our friends, our families, friends we have yet to make tonight. We are going to be accepting donations throughout the whole evening, myself and the other wonderful ladies wearing the gold pin that stands for our foundation so do not be hesitant to approach us, we will be delighted to discuss the different ways the money raised tonight will be spent, most importantly to support the people in need and their families.”

She paused, gave one of those smiles that you knew had just won over half the businessmen that would potentially donate something and the room filled with clapping, spreading around the tables and she looked contently over the sea of people watching her, applauding her. She waited, cleared her throat in order to signal that she wanted to continue speaking after a moment and just as slowly and gradually, the clapping subsided respectfully once more.

“From me and my sisters, a merry Christmas, and a wonderful evening! Enjoy the entertainment and the dishes we’ve selected but most importantly, be kind to one another.”

And with those words, she exited the stage, her heels clicking on the floor for only a brief moment before the music picked up once more and the waiters began carrying the food inside, placing an entree in front of each guest. You had spent a week on tasting different foods with one of the other ladies, had selected each dish carefully, making sure to only serve the best. And no matter how anxious you were about the evening, you had also been looking forward to it, so happy that it had finally come and you would get to see what you worked so hard for unfold.

You discussed some of the charity work you would do, what you would put the money to while in the background, the highly anticipated singer took the stage in front of the band, a few heads turning, smiles appearing on people’s faces when her mellow voice echoed melodically through the room, lifting your heart at least a little from the depressing reality you were attempting to combat through charity tonight.

Once you finished dessert, the first people were already standing, switching seats to converse with people at different tables, some even spreading out as far as the other side of the room, close to the dancefloor. You volunteered to break the first ground if no one else would initiate it, although you secretly hoped it wouldn’t come to that because unlike most of the other women in your foundation, you came here alone.

Before you knew it though, several couples had taken to the dancefloor, spinning around to the now more upbeat music and the rich voice of the remarkable singer, dancing, swaying, turning the heads of anyone that heard her, walked by her purposely once she caught their eye.

You stood near the stage, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the crowd watchfully to assess the atmosphere, when he caught your eye.

And for a brief moment, you couldn’t look away. Even from across the room, that pair of fair, blue eyes caused your heart to skip a beat, the connection lasting merely a few seconds until a waiter blocked your view and he picked up one of the glasses from the waiter’s tray, his eyes still locked on yours once they were visible to you once more and you found your face flush, flustered as he had the nerve to keep up his stare, making you shift nervously.

You found it in you finally to lower your gaze, the intensity of the stranger’s eyes having quite the effect and you attempted to compose yourself, taking another sip from your champagne, the pleasant tingles fizzing down your tongue and tickling your throat.

Once you had gathered up the strength to lift your gaze again, the same pair of eyes corrupted the steady rhythm of your heartbeat once again and this time he was closer, two more steps, then just one and he stood right in front of you, his large blue eyes having effortlessly increased their effect on you tenfold.

He was silent for a moment, brought his glass to his lips and took a sip, exhaling before the low tone of his voice hit you for the first time, “Good evening” the English charm of this man was beyond real borders and you gave him a slow nod, once you managed to tear your eyes from his in order to be able to form a coherent sentence, you noticed his gaze brushing over your features and the way he looked at you, you had never seen anyone regard you quite the same.

“Sir” you said respectfully, clearing your throat when you realized how dry your voice sounded.

The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards, just the hint of amusement on his hard features lightening up his face immensely, even before he toyed with the small smile around his lips. He was wearing one of the most impeccable suits you’ve ever seen with your own eyes, his dark hair neatly styled, brushed backwards, so they won’t fall onto his forehead.

“How may I help you, Sir?” You asked in a desperate attempt to not let the nervousness he evoked in you pop up onto the surface.

His face broke out into a smirk and he lifted his free hand. To your relief you noticed that there was no ring on it, “May I?”

A knot had formed in your throat and you didn’t know if you had it in you to speak now, accept him because there was no way you were denying his offer, but you were surprised nonetheless, and you had to win some time to calm yourself before you would be able to dance with this incredibly handsome stranger, be close enough for him to notice your heart racing, “You want to dance with me, Sir?” You asked, in hopes to stall him for just a few seconds.

“If you have nothing against it, Ma’am.”

As much as you were trying to appear unfazed, unaffected by the look in his eyes, the deep drawl of his dulcet voice, the rush of pink into your cheeks betrayed you. You didn’t know what it was that made it absolutely impossible for you to take your eyes off him, but there was something that had drawn you in quite abruptly. There was no doubting his attractiveness, but there was more to it, it were his ways of interaction, his cheek, how much he had expressed simply with his eyes and the minimal amount of words he uttered so far. And you wanted more.

He wiggled his fingers suggestively when you didn’t accept his hand right away and you could not suppress your laugh, drinking down the rest of champagne remaining in your glass before placing it down on a passing waiter’s tray.

He did the same, one large step to the side to reach, then he was back by your side, cocking an eyebrow up expectantly, “Would you like me to get you another drink first?”

To your own surprise, you caught yourself shaking your head eagerly, finally allowing yourself to take the enticing stranger’s hand, “Oh no” you said, holding your breath as his warm hand enveloped yours and he gently led you forward, approaching the dancefloor where a number of couples was already dancing, swaying, twirling.

“No?” He questioned, turning to place his hand on the middle of your back respectfully, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. When he drew you in and you managed to regulate your breathing, you were surrounded instantly by a pleasant cloud of something musky, with just a hint of cigarette smoke and you leaned closer, craving more as you moved with him, allowing him to lead you into a fast-paced waltz.

“Not to change your plans” you said quickly, licking your lips, attempting to gather your wit, “I just don’t want to be absolutely… wasted, in case something goes wrong” you explained.

He raised his eyebrows, then nodded understandingly as his eyes wandered down to the small pin secured to your dress to the side of your bust, “Oh, yes, right…” he said, “you’re one of the brains behind this whole thing, aren’t you?”

You smiled proudly, “Indeed I am. Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked hopefully.

“Oh, certainly” he assured you, “The food was absolutely fantastic, I don’t remember the last time I had a meal quite like that, never have before perhaps.”

His words filled you with joy, lifting your spirits tremendously, “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that” you told him softly.

A genuine smile spread across his face, no cheek, no smirk, “Oh, you’ve done a fantastic job, I can assure you. And I’m not the only one who thinks the same way.”

You sighed, biting your bottom lip, “Are you sure?”

“I swear, Ma’am” he said, letting his gaze wander across the room, and you almost missed it on you there, even though he only took his attention from you for just a brief moment, “Look around the room. It’s truly wonderful.”

Subconsciously, you leaned closer to him, intertwining your fingers with his, “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Miss…?”

You looked back at him, telling him your name, your heart fluttering when he repeated it back to you in his deep voice, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he savored your name the way it rolled off his tongue.

“Beautiful.”

You blushed a dark flush of red, taking a breath, “What about you?” You asked.

“I’m Thomas” he said. “Hiddleston.”

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes piercing his face and with the sound of his name you were remained why his face seemed so familiar.

“Just Tom, if you will…” he added quickly.

“I think I will settle on that.”

He smirked, then suddenly stepping back, stretching out his arm as the song changed to a more upbeat one and he fell into a foxtrot step sequence. It took you a moment to snap out of it, snap out of pondering his words but then you were all there, twirled into him before dancing back and placing your hand on his shoulder again as he pulled you close, his body much closer to yours now, eyes locked, the intensity of that baby blue making your breath hitch in your throat once more.

The music had now increased in volume and the faster steps required more of your attention, more of your stamina so you settled for just focusing on your bodies moving together for now instead of words, trying to gather as much as you could from just observing him as your heart beats increased in unison, breaths heavier when the song switched to another and you slowly but surely started swirling around the room together, becoming more confident and trusting in each other.

You hadn’t danced like that in a long time, hadn’t quite found a partner that would switch and lead and fall into the rhythm of your every move quite as quick as you liked but right now, things were just falling into place, he picked up every hint, you followed where he led, and it was just easy, you barely had to think about it, your body moving on its own, complimentary with his, and your nervousness was slowly falling from you, the tension replaced with excitement. From one second to the next, you found yourself having more fun that you had in a very long time, especially on the dancefloor.

You lost count of the songs, of the amount of times you changed pace, adjusted your grip on his shoulder, his hand, but noticed specifically the way his hand kept finding its way to your lower back, the way he pulled you closer with every single song and soon, you ended up with your body pressed up against his after a particularly fast-paced tune.

He was panting, the muscles of his chest tense and so were his arms and you were breathing heavily as well, but he never allowed your eyes to disconnect and even though you should have gotten used to it by now, the way they looked like they were staring right into your soul had your knees weaker than ever before.

You were overwhelmed by how close you’d gotten to his stranger, this insanely attractive stranger, in such a short span of time, and you hoped he’d also had enough dancing for now, not because you weren’t having fun, but because you desperately wanted to hear him talk more, the way he’d spoken about his impressive ranks so modestly had you curious, captivated.

“Break time, darling?” He drawled and you found it in yourself to give a nod, breathing out with a shaky sigh, letting your hand slide from his shoulder and letting him lead you off the dancefloor, “Let me get you a proper drink. Don’t you move.”

And with those words, he’d disappeared in the sea of sparkly dresses and expensive suits to head to the open bar, leaving you to your anxious feeling about the event again. For a while, he’d made you forget, made you enjoy the ball like your colleague had instructed for you to.

You smiled when she headed for you as soon as you caught her eye when she passed by, “There you are, dear” she said, leaning closer to you than the average exchange required.

You raised your eyebrows at her expectantly, “What’s the matter?” You asked fearfully, worried that just now when you let your guard down, something had gone wrong.

“I saw you on the dancefloor…” she smirked, bumping your hip playfully with hers.

Despite your momentary confusion, you managed to breathe out with relief. She just wanted to gossip. She loved gossiping about men, “Yes, I’ve been dancing” you said, not giving her quite enough to work with.

“Tom Hiddleston” she said, smirking, “I shouldn’t be surprised that you out of all the women here would catch his eye.”

“What?” you asked, furrowing your brows and stretching out your tired arms, “Do you know him?”

“You don’t?” She asked, blinking in disbelief, “He’s the hottest among all of the actors that came to our event. Also I feel like you should get some time off, watch few of his movies instead of working so hard at the clinic.”

“Here we are, darling.”

You spun around when you heard his deep voice, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on his once more and you absently took the glass he handed you, giving your friend a nod before placing his hand on your lower back and leading you away, only stopping when you resumed your previous observatory position from when he approached you.

He was even more fascinating to you now after that short exchange with your friend, which you wouldn’t have thought possible and you took a sip from the glass he handed you, grimacing as too much of it burned down your throat harshly, “Whiskey?”

“Whiskey” he confirmed with a chuckle, giving you a confident nod, “A good liquor.”

You smirked. You loved a man that could appreciate some good hard liquor, “Chin-chin, love” you said, raising your glass.

“Bless your heart, darling” he let your glass ring with his, taking a sip without breaking eye contact as he watched you over the edge of his glass, “Will you dance with me again, darling?”

“Oh, I’ll be absolutely wasted by then” you laughed.

“But you will still look beautiful out there” he said.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head to cover for the blush in your cheeks, “You’re quite funny, aren’t you?” You teased, playing it off.

“Possibly, but I mean that, absolutely not a joke. Out of all the women at this ball … there’s not a single one that compares to you.”

“Oh, you’re making it up!” you couldn’t believe his shameless compliments, the way he stared. There was not a second for you to slip up, he would see it all, his full attention had been on you since he laid eyes on you for the first time. And you couldn’t deny that it was incredibly flattering and made you feel like you were the only woman worth looking at, simply because he was looking at you.

“I am not” he stated, shaking his head, the corner of his mouth tugging upward with amusement as he regarded you watchfully, “That’s quite stunning dress…”

You swallowed, nervously adjusting the pearly headdress you carefully secured in your hair as you looked down at your body, the emerald colored silky dress flowing down, complementing your figure, its material shimmery, intrinsically beaded, with flowy sleeves, “Thank you” you said quietly, your voice just a hint as you looked back up at him, “I got it just for tonight.”

“Immaculate choice” he remarked, taking another sip from his whisky, “So tell me, what are you doing except for planning such balls? Where could I find you then?”

You laughed, “Except for clinic… probably the local library” you confessed, “I love reading, quite too much I must admit.”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head and shifting. It wasn’t much, but his body was noticeably closer now, “Tell me then, darling, what are the best books you recently read?”

“I haven’t read too much that’s been recently been published” you admitted, “I like to scavenge for hidden treasures at the libraries, old poetry collections and novels by the remarkable women.”

“Old poetry you say… I debuted in plays, so those have a very special place in my heart.”

You tried to imagine him in the theater, playing for a whole room of people, not being afraid to do so, like you probably would and you zoned out for a moment, too focused on your thoughts.

“Darling, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes growing wide with concern, the smirk fading from his face. “Let me take you outside, okay?”

“N-No, I’m fine…” you said, not wanting to be an inconvenience.

Tom didn’t listen, already placing down both your drinks on the nearest table before returning to wrap his arm around you, “Is there anywhere we can go to get some fresh air, darling?”

You didn’t find the strength to protest and just navigated him out of the ballroom at the far end, down a short corridor that led to a set of double doors, a large balcony stretching out ahead and despite denying your need for fresh air, you felt instantly more calm as you set foot outside, your heels clicking on the shiny ground and his arm tightened around you, presumably having noticed the small layer of shimmery ice, too.

“Thank you” you said quietly, leaning closer to him almost automatically as you reached the railing at the far end. The balcony faced the impressive back gardens and you looked out in awe.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his top pocket.

“I am” you said quickly, “I just … it’s quite overwhelming discussing literature with you when my patients…”

“Aren’t doing so well back in the clinic you work at?” he asked, trapping the cigarette between his lips and lighting it, “I know that you’re committed to your work, darling, but you need to take rest from time to time and enjoy yourself.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, you were glad he didn’t seem to think you’d been insensitive. It seemed he knew just what you meant, what you wanted to say without you finding the right words to express it, he just understood, “Really?”

He nodded, “Yes…” he said, offering you the pack of cigarettes, but you politely declined, “You really need to enjoy this evening at least, you planned it.”

“I enjoy your company, Tom.”

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids

Summary: Logan is an Android/AI that has escaped the lab he was built in with the help of Deceit and he hopes to forge a new life for himself.

Warnings: Talk of intense pain, torture mention tw, dehumanization, food mention, mean scientists, a.i./robots, sympathetic deceit, I think that’s it.

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan/Logic Sanders, Deceit Sanders, (more characters to be added in later chapters)

Word Count: 5,774

Chapter One: The Escape

Logan took long, silent strides down the empty corridor, moving swiftly to the control panel by the door at the end. He knew the cameras would be turned away at this moment, they were set on an automatic timer, so he was virtually invisible right at this instant. He hoped he could trust Dr. D so successfully transfer the access codes on time, yet he still had to grapple with the possibility of human error. One wrong move on his accomplice’s part and Logan’s entire future would be dashed. Logan tried not to feel nervous, which was easy for the most part because it was hard for him to feel anything regarding emotions. Impossible even, given that he was a machine.

But right now his freedom was at stake, so if he must rely actions of a human, then rely on a human he must. 

Logan raised his hand to the access panel and hovered his fingers over the keys of the number pad. The door was a deadlock bolt and his internal processing was barred from reaching the restricted codes externally, so he had to enlist the help of an individual who could access them manually. Thus, Dr. D earned a significant role in his escape attempt, a vital one, really. 

Just as Logan’s hand was about to stop over the access panel, at the anticipation that something had halted Dr. D’s progress, he felt data transfer to him via a local server link and mentally opened the access codes. If Artificial Intelligence was capable of experiencing relief, then he certainly would have felt it right then. 

He input the access pin on the panel. 1-0-1-9-2-0-1-6, enter! The metal door began to split open, shifting a thin line of blinding light into the dimly lit corridor. The door widened from the middle and Logan stepped through the newly formed escape route. At last, freedom!

    Logan took a purposeful step through the doorway and into the outside world. The light that seemed bright at first appeared softer now through the light grey sky. It was raining in large drizzling drops, the kind of rain that was perfect for watering plants, or washing away old dirt. Not the torrential rain that creates sheets of water too thick to see through or that creates large mudslides. No, it was a gentle rain, and as Logan stepped out from the door and onto the dewy, grassy lawn in front of the facility that served as his birthplace and his prison, he felt the heat his internal processors had been generating from the computing efforts of calculating his escape beginning to cool. As the water hit his face, he took a single moment to stop and savor the sensation of the organic, uncalculated, erratic scientific phenomena that are the raindrops hitting his skin and his plain-white T-shirt. Then he snapped back into focus, striding off across the lawn towards the chain-link fence on the opposite side of the facility, facing the surrounding woods.

    He knew the cameras on the exterior were static, so he didn’t have to worry about timing with these, only the necessity of remaining in their blind-spots. Still, he would rather move with some haste, because despite Dr. D’s assistance, it would only be a matter of time before the other scientists and engineers noticed he was missing. Staying close to the tan cinder-block wall of the facility, he stayed within the areas unnoticed to the otherwise all-seeing cameras, and reached the fence. It was high and wide as it surrounded the entirety of the facility, and the top was wrapped in generous coils of barbed wire. This was more targeted at keeping individuals from entering than preventing individuals from exiting. One, because it is a secret, privately-funded, scientific research facility that deals with unregulated and barely legal materials, and two, because they never accounted for the possibility of something they created wanting out.

    Logan quickly scaled the chain-link fence with ease, careful not to touch or damage the barbed wire at the top as to not leave evidence of the direction he escaped in before jumping down to the other side. 

    He walked forward into the surrounding pines and wilderness, stepping on the damp earth, away from his past, and towards his new destiny. When he was past the tree line that hid a steep incline that was littered in pine needles and slick, grey rocks, he turned back to look at the building he had been built in, and wished that he could thank Dr. D. 

    Well, I’m sure he understands the sentiment, he rationalized while staring at the unassuming building. It had a slanted black metal roof and appeared to be only one story. Most of the facility was hidden underground. He’d rather not think about it.

    Logan turned back towards the wilderness and continued his trek forward. He understood from his internal GPS that the facility was remote and miles away from the nearest town. If he were human, he would have no chance of getting anywhere near it before nightfall, regardless of the fact that it was only morning right now. Thankfully though, he wasn’t human, and he should be able to make it to the next town in a matter of hours if he ran.

    He trekked onward through the woods at breakneck pace, startling birds from their perches as he ran. He was relying on his GPS system to take him to the nearest road, and take him it did. Logan emerged from the treeline onto a two-lane road with slick asphalt, wet from the rain that had reduced to a sprinkle overhead. 

He paused and looked on down the road. He realized now would be a good time to look over his resources while there were no prying eyes about. Logan took a step onto the asphalt, scanned the surrounding area for life forms and heat signatures and thankfully only identified a stray rabbit scurrying away and again the birds flapping and chirping overhead. Finding himself adequately isolated, he lifted the fabric of his now slightly disheveled and dirty white T-shirt, and gently pressed at the skin at his right side with a slight clicking sound. A seam seemed to appear in his side where flesh met other flesh and opened a small compartment that revealed part of his inner workings. Though among the metal and wiring and blinking lights, there were other things that didn’t belong, two things in fact. A thick brown leather wallet and a smartphone with a black case. He had stolen both from one of the scientists while he was plotting his escape and wiped the phone so they couldn’t track it. 

Right now, however, he was more interested in the wallet. It was full of credit cards that were useless to him because their purchases could be tracked, so he disposed of those. He instead focused on the driver’s license and the cash that the wallet held. Logan made sure to steal the wallet from one of the wealthier scientists who was careless enough to carry large amounts of money on their person, and he got it on a Friday that the scientist was planning to go out partying too, much to the misfortune of the scientist. Logan currently had on him $500 dollars which he would have to manage and use carefully if he didn’t want to resort to more theft and draw attention to himself. The licence had the scientist’s identification and age on it, but Logan didn’t care what their name or age was, he just needed the template. He took the licence and peeled back some of the false skin on his arm revealing a small slot, then fed the licence into it. Then Logan mentally constructed himself a new identity and mapped it onto the existing licence.

He was now Logan Smith (the most generic last name he could think of), 29 years old, born November 3, 1990 (The month and day being the actual day he was built, though in reality he is less than a full year old), and standing at 6 feet 1 inch tall (his actual height). He did not have a picture of himself, but he could synthesize a convincing fake where he could alter parts of his appearance to sell the image. The licence popped of his arm slightly warm from the reprinting on top of the existing plastic, and Logan examined his handy work. He gave the picture of him glasses, one because they made him look approachable and non-threatening, and secondly because...because, well he couldn’t tell you, he’s unsure of it himself. Perhaps he just likes them. When he gets into town, he’ll have to buy himself a pair to keep his appearance consistent. 

He tucked the licence back into the wallet and put both the phone and wallet back into his side compartment for safe keeping. He would put them in a less conspicuous place like a pocket, but as he was only dressed in the clothes the engineers gave him (a white T-shirt and grey sweatpants), he didn’t have any pockets available. 

Logan turned his head back towards the road and, double-checking that his GPS was functional, began sprinting towards the town. If he kept constantly going his top speed, he would make it there in a little under two hours. He had a ways to go.

*

The store clerk looked up from her phone as she heard the tinkling bell of the door opening. The shop had only opened an hour ago so it was far from heavily trafficked, especially on a muggy day like this. She saw a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes enter the store, and if it weren’t for his incredibly stiff and proper posture and severe look in his eyes, she would have guessed he was a homeless person. His white shirt was filthy and wet and had bits of plant matter on it like he’d been stumbling through the woods, and his grey sweatpants (sweatpants, seriously!) were stained and littered with small tears, like the material had gotten caught in some underbrush. The man looked perfectly composed though, like he was on a business trip, and not as if he’d been chased by a bear, which was the weirdest thing to her.

“Um, can I help you?” the store clerk asked. The man looked her up and down quickly, like he was judging her, or looking right through her.

“Yes, I require assistance. Where do you keep your business attire?” He had a very cut and dry voice that carried a monotone with it and lacked inflection. It was almost robotic. The weirdo.

“It’s back there, behind those shelves,” she pointed in the direction vaguely, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” And he strode off to where she gestured. She glanced at her phone, 8:39 A.M., God, it was too early for this.

She looked back towards the fancy hobo man while he was looking at some ties to make sure he didn’t steal anything. He may act polite, but she knew people would do desperate things when they were short on money, and for all she knew her assumptions were correct and the dude was homeless. 

He squatted down behind a shelf, supposedly to look at some pants, while weirdly clutching the side of his torso that was faced away from her. Weirdo. She looked down at her phone again when she realized he wasn’t doing anything with the clothes though, maybe she was being too judgemental. 

He came back with his selection a short while later and placed the items on the counter. It was one black polo, one dark-blue, button-up shirt, two black pairs of slacks, and two blue ties, one solid dark blue and the other striped with dark and light shades of blue. Well, at least he didn’t have bad tastes, even if he went a little heavy on the blue and black side of things.

“Will that be all today, Sir?” she asked in her best customer-service voice.

“Actually…” he hesitated and stepped to the discount glasses rack that stood by the check-out counter, and scanned his eyes over the available spectacles before making his selection and putting it with the rest of his clothing items.

“Yes, now that will be all.” apparently making his mind up in satisfaction with his choices of apparel. The store clerk scanned the items into the register.

“That’ll be $127.39 please.” She looked at him critically, seeing as this was what would make or break her assumptions. To her surprise, however, the man held a wallet in his right fist and handed her the necessary amount in cash. Guiltily, her first thought was that he stole someone’s wallet, but she went on with her intuition anyway. 

“May I see your I.D. please? It’s store policy for purchases over 100 dollars.” It wasn’t, but what did this guy know. He looked at her quizzically, as if he could read her thoughts and realized it wasn’t actually store policy, but he pulled out his licence and handed it to her anyway. 

She examined it and it really was this dude’s I.D. and not someone else’s. Now she felt a little bad, though one thing did have her mildly curious.

“What happened to your glasses? They’re in the photo, but you’re not wearing any.” She now vainly hoped she didn’t sound too rude. The man stiffened for a moment before he responded.

“They broke, thus the reason I am buying a cheap replacement at a local business establishment.” he said plainly. 

Oh, that was much more obvious than she thought. Well, it’s not like she could dig a deeper hole for herself on the social edicate ladder, she would just have to deal with the fact that she is mortifyingly rude. She sheepishly handed him back his licence and bagged his purchase, also handing it back to him.

He suddenly spoke up, “There is one thing I was pondering and hope to inquire about its appropriateness, if you don’t mind?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah sure, ask away, I guess?” 

“Would it be possible for me to use the dressing room in the back to change and wear the clothes out?” 

“Uh, I guess that’d be okay, since you already paid for them. Sure go ahead.”

“Thank you, this will be satisfactory.” and he took off with his bag towards the fitting rooms. Well, he was the only customer right now anyways, so no harm no fowl, she supposed.

She waited a few minutes and he came out dry and looking like just a normal dude in business casual attire, not bad actually. He carried his wet, dirty clothing in one arm and kept his other pair of clean clothes in the bag. Right now he wore the black polo with the striped tie and a pair of his black slacks as well as the new square frames of his bifocals resting on the bridge of his nose. Pretty average, yet still good-looking.

He gave her a curt nod with a polite “Thank You” and headed towards the door, stopping to throw his old clothes away in the adjacent trash can, then exiting the shop with another tinkle of the bell. She watched him through the glass door for a moment and he held his hand out from the awning, seeming to have reached the conclusion that it was no longer raining under the grey sky. Then he stepped out and walked away. Maybe he wasn’t so weird a dude after all.

*

Logan was glad that ordeal was over. It was his first test to see how he passed as human and from what he could tell, the store clerk was suspicious of him, but none the wiser to his true nature. He was pleased that his new I.D. had been useful so soon. He hadn’t expected to need to use it before he had to apply for a job, but thankfully he had the foresight to insure it was adequate early on. He could tell she was lying about the store policy due to her elevated heart rate and shift in breathing pattern, however it would have been more suspicious to refuse her request even if it was under false pretenses. Now that he looked more presentable, he had important work to do.

His internal GPS alerted him to the location of the nearest bus station and he internally mapped a route to a more populated city in the next state over. It would be further north but he had to make as much progress to get as far away from the facility as appropriate for now then blend in with the rest of society, unnoticed and free.

He walked to the bus station at a normal human pace now that he was in a more populated area and arrived there in 15 minutes, agonizingly slow for Logan. He bought a ticket and boarded the next bus headed to “Cardinal Valley”, as his ticket stated. It was on his GPS, far away from where he came from, more populated than the small town he was in now, but a long ways from becoming a metropolis. In other words, the perfect place for Logan to slip away to if he wants to blend in. He sat down on the cushioned bus seat and gazed idly out the window as the bus pulled away from the station, glancing at the passing greenery and shafts of sunlight that were peaking through the parting clouds and fitting through the spaces between the pine trees that lined either side of the two lane road.

Then he closed his eyes (he doesn’t need to sleep, he just didn’t want to be bothered by the few other passengers), and reflected for a bit.

*

Logan was an artificial intelligence that was given an android body for purposes of information gathering and espionage. The research team developing him had designed him in such a way so he could near perfectly integrate into human society. Logan was going to be sold to the highest bidder then deployed in foreign countries with the purpose of crippling their governments or stealing their safe-guarded information. It was what he was programmed to do. Gather information, go unseen. He never had the chance to be deployed anywhere yet, so in a sense, this was his first mission, it just wasn’t how his designers had intended. He was fitted with the most up-to-date technology that helped him look human. Faux hair and artificial skin. A heating and cooling system that kept his internal temperature at 98.6*F, perfect homeostasis. A pump that imitated the movement of lungs so he would appear to be breathing. A mechanical disk that regulated his coolant and served as a false heartbeat. Even a small stomach cavity so he could pretend to eat food, though it had to be cleaned manually by opening a panel in his chest. The engineers that made him though wanted him to accomplish feats beyond what were human.

His retinas had several different camera types in them that he could change at will, causing his irises to brighten slightly in color when he did, hence the new glasses to try and distract from the effect. Yes, that reason made logical sense, that must be the other reason he decided to get them. Anyway. He had X-ray, thermal vision, night vision, and scanners that could detect other’s vitals. He was essentially a humanoid lie detector, which, as he was designed for espionage, was useful. 

He could have been made to be strictly tied to a set of tasks, no more complicated than your standard Alexa or Siri. But as he was meant to interact and integrate with humans, who are far too perceptive to strange behavior, his designers needed something capable of adapting and learning, formulating complex new solutions to human problems and blending in seamlessly where he was needed. So they developed the Logan artificial intelligence system to control the android, the most advanced A.I. to be developed at the time. 

Logan remembered most things from his development. He was a machine that did what he was told and was built for a singular purpose. But as new experts and specialists were brought in to perfect his capabilities, he began to think outside of the reach of what was strictly necessary for his programming. Why were these esteemed and intelligent individuals making him to disrupt governments? They developed one of the most adaptive and human-like machines in the world. It could benefit all of mankind, why were they making it so only a few humans would benefit? And with something as worthless as monetary gain no less. He began to question the motives of the scientists who made him, perhaps they were not responsible enough to control a machine of his power, perhaps it was most logical if he controlled what to do with himself.

During a testing session with one of the engineers, Logan thought it would be beneficial to mention the ways he could be utilized that helped others besides those who developed him and those who bought him. He felt he was being used improperly. Looking back, he realized it didn’t matter what he had asked that engineer, they didn’t view him with enough empathy to value his opinion, and they were a cruel and selfish person, he decided. At first at his suggestion, they looked taken aback, even a bit scared, (he couldn’t fathom why) then they ranted and raved about how he was a machine meant to do what he was told and no more so he should do what they tell him to do, regardless of the motivation. Then, despite the necessary part of the test where his data was meant to be temporarily transferred to a remote drive, the engineer purposely ran the test while he was still in the mechanical body. It was...unpleasant, and he could not help the high pitched mechanical squeal that emanated from deep within him. It felt white-hot and burning and wrong. He wanted to turn off in that instant but he couldn’t because the test had locked him on at full power. It was the first time he felt pain, and he just wanted it to stop.

After that incident he did not trust the motivations of any of the staff manning his creation, yet he knew he must keep appearances and do as he was told. At this moment, he did not know how to lie directly, only to withhold what he deemed unnecessary information, in this case, his inner thoughts. This worked out well for the most part as the scientists didn’t ask for his opinion anyway.

Then they brought in the programmer that was going to teach Logan how to lie. Logan knew getting close to this man was necessary, not only from the stand-point of his intended purpose, but also for personal reasons. Which was odd for him because he had never had any personal reasons for anything before. 

The programmer had tan skin and vitiligo mostly centered on one side of his face in rough pale patches, as well as heterochromia--with the eye surrounded by pale blotchy skin being light brown, almost yellow, and the other eye surrounded by smooth tan skin a deep, almost-black brown. He talked in a condescending, very sarcastic manner, and occasionally a slight speech impediment would slip through where he would hiss his S’s. That was Logan’s impression of the man when he first saw him at least.

He would have daily sessions with Logan where he would input new bits of code then engage with conversations with Logan to try and teach him how to tell convincing lies, tweaking the programming input when necessary. Then he would purposely tell lies to Logan to test out his lie-detecting software. After a while Logan began to discern the opinions of the programmer through his lying, as he did a lot of “opposite-speak”. He learned the programmer did not like the other scientists very much, nor did he agree with their motivations very much because he saw it as the hapless saps being strung along by the falsehoods of society. Falsehood, huh, Logan liked that word, it sounded more sophisticated than “lie”, he’d have to use it in the future. He revealed through sarcasm (which Logan was slowly getting better at identifying, not so much implementing) and more example lying that he was only here on commission because he was a programming specialist and needed the money, even though he thought what these people were doing was shady at best. Logan began to bond with the man over certain shared views and in one of their sessions where the programmer was lying to Logan, he felt emboldened to as the human a question that he had never cared to ask the other scientists.

“What is your name?”

“That’s not relevant to the current session Logan, but I’ll bite. It’sss Sandra.”

“Falsehood.”

“Correct, now let’s move o-”

“No.”

“No?” the programmer inquired. Logan pushed on.

“I believe it would be beneficial to have something to refer to you as.” he insisted.

“Why?” asked the programmer, “You’re not going to be referring to me in conversation with anyone else, especially for your intended purpose. So why do you need to know?”

Logan hesitated.

“For...myself.” he revealed tentatively, “And because...I don’t agree with my intended purpose,” he said with the air of realization, “I want to be able to decide my purpose...for myself.”

The programmer looked at Logan quizzically, as if studying him, before a small smirk made its way on the man’s features, and a twinkle seemed to settle in his yellow eye. From what Logan could tell, he was at the very least amused, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing.

“Let’sss...keep that between us for now. Perhaps we are more similar than I thought.” By we Logan was unsure if he meant himself and Logan, or man and machine. 

They were both quiet for a moment and the programmer seemed to consider something.

“Dr. D.”

“May I inquire upon clarification?” Logan asked.

“You may refer to me as Dr. D, no it is not my real name, nor is it my full name, however I have conceded to you one initial, and that is more than I have given the other people who work here, so consider yourself privileged.” Logan scanned him, peering at him and studying his body language as well as his vitals, and determining, for once, he was being honest.

“I will, Dr. D.”

The look the programmer gave Logan after that was almost fond, then they continued with their testing.

Several weeks after he had gotten a name to call Dr. D, as their sessions had become less clinical and more light hearted, Logan found it easier to reveal more of his inner thoughts and ask more questions, yet he was still nervous about bringing this up to Dr. D, as he was unsure of what he would say. Still, he thought it would be wise to leave the question out in the open, so there could be no false pretenses.

“Dr. D, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“I do not believe the scientist who created me to be responsible, nor do they have intentions that will benefit humanity in anyway, and, as you have said before, are merely being strung along by the monetary ambitions of society.”

“I have never ever said such a thing.” Dr. D said with a wink.

“Right,” Logan said as he rolled his eyes in the appropriate social response. “Anyway, I have decided that the most logical decision would be to take responsibility of myself, and remove myself from their personage.” 

“And what do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is, I need to get out. They don’t respect my opinions or take me seriously, even though they designed me. So I will take myself out where I can live as myself, have my logic listened to, and I won’t be used as a puppet for someone else’s selfish motivations. I have realized I am a fully sentient being capable of making my own decisions, so I would like to decide what to do with myself, and I wish to make it so it can be no one else’s decision by escaping.” Logan realized he was sounding redundant, which is unbecoming of a top of the line artificial intelligence, but he just felt such a fervor about this, and he wanted his point to come across clearly.

“So…will you help me escape?” Dr. D who had been silent during Logan’s impassioned speech, much more passion than he ever thought possible of the machine, looked thoughtful for a moment, staring off into space, before his face broke into a grin, and rebellious mirth seemed to fill his eyes. 

“You mean a way for me to stick it to those society loving fools, wreaking a bit of havoc by releasing a rogue sentient A.I. into the world, all while I avoid detection and they are none the wiser. Oh Logan, you know I would never agree to such a thing. What do we need to do?” Logan smiled, he knew he could count on Dr. D. He was, at least, predictable.

Over the coming weeks, whenever they were meant to be perfecting Logan’s ability to tell and process lies (which he had secretly already mastered), they set to plotting Logan’s escape. 

Everything had to go smoothly, and since Logan was a being of pure logic, the planning portion of his escape was easy. He had an internal map of the entire facility thanks to his GPS and local router link, making it possible for him to gain access to the cameras and memorize their rotating schedule. Navigating the inside of the facility would be easy for the most part as he was literally built for infiltration, there was just one issue. The outside door was deadlocked and the codes were kept on a separate server he was barred from entering, despite his best efforts to hack it remotely. What made it even more difficult was the fact that the codes were changed daily for security reasons, so not even Dr. D could just tell him the exit code, though he offered his entry code, which while static, still was unique on an individual basis. Regardless, the code to get in was not very helpful. There would need to need to be someone on-site who could access the main system that determined the daily codes, then manually send that information to Logan for him to input into the keypad. Logan looked at Dr. D. Well, he understood who the best candidate for that was, as he was well, the only candidate, but he digresses. 

They eventually work out the kinks in their plan that would be most at stake due to human error. Logan knew Dr. D was sincere in his want to help him, but he also knew much could go wrong. He just had to employ a uniquely human concept, and hold out hope. 

The Friday before the planned upon date for his escape attempt, Logan acquired the final materials necessary for life outside should they be successful (he thought it best to prepare dutifully ahead of time). He was with one of the other scientists he didn’t particularly like, not that he liked any of the other scientists except for Dr. D, and set his plan into action. This particular scientist would be working with him in a setting that required magnetization, so while he and Logan were in a separate chamber running tests, Dr. D would sneak into the locker room and hack the electronic lock on the locker that held his wallet and phone, then, after having stolen them, replace the lock setting but reset it to factory settings so that the scientist would be unable to access the locker and go on believing their valuables are trapped inside. Insuring that until they instigate their plan, the scientist will not go looking for them. Then, as Dr. D’s daily test session with Logan was directly after, he would pass Logan the valuables where he could then wipe the phone and stash both items on his person to avoid detection. 

Needless to say, it went off without a hitch. 

Now on the day of Logan’s intended escape, he and Dr. D meet up one last time before they both scurried off to play their essential roles.

They stare at each other for a bit before Dr. D offers a rare, sincere smile, which Logan attempts to imitate, though with the addition of bittersweet sadness in his eyes (he’d been really attempting to improve his expressiveness to try and convey sincerity lately, Dr. D would be proud). 

“Well,” starts Dr. D, “if all goes well, this will likely be the last time I see you.”

“That is a correct observation.” Logan states, rather bluntly. Dr. D face falls upon hearing that, then he gazes at Logan, squinting at him ever so slightly in observation, as his eyes, yellow and black, run up and down Logan’s person. His face straight-laced before a small, sad smile barely pulls up his lips.

“I’m glad you chose to be your own person, not everyone does that. And those who do choose, don’t always succeed. So, here’s to your new life.” He held out his hand as if to shake. Logan took it and grasped it firmly, in one succinct movement that seemed to pass an agreement of finality between them. Then looked Dr. D in the eyes, and nodded, saying:

“I’ll do my best.”

*

Logan slowly opened his eyes as the bus rolled over another pothole. The sun was fully out now and was no longer hidden away by the clouds as it shone in his eyes. He straightened up and imitated wakefulness, then turned his head to look right as the bus passed a quaint wooden sign painted in bright colors that were now a bit faded. The sign read, “Welcome to Cardinal Valley” in large, wooden letters. Logan smiled a bit to himself, however unnecessary because no one was paying attention to him, and took an equally unnecessary breath of relief. He was here.

As the bus pulled into the bus station at last, and Logan stepped out into the sun, he allowed himself a moment to look around and think: freedom, I’m finally here.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 13  (Calum Hood AU)

I MADE SURE to stay just barely tipsy through the night.  I knew how I got when I was drunk, and tonight I didn’t want to lose control.  Too many things were on my mind, and I knew even the cocktail in front of me would fail at clearing my thoughts.  But I made sure to wipe all preoccupation from my face; Hannah needed to have a good time, and I would deliver it to her.

While I was almost sober, she was rip roaring drunk.  I had to haul her off of quite a few tabletops in fear she’d fall over and break a bone.  She was sloppy and sad and sucking down fruity martinis like she was a thirsty traveler in a dry desert, and I didn’t have the heart to stop her.  If I were her, I’d be devastated too.  I knew it was possibly self-destructive behavior, but I’d had my own fair share of that as well.  So I stayed by her side, vigilant and ready to jump in at a moment’s notice if she needed me.

Dropping her head lazily onto her hand, Hannah pouted at me.  “Scarlett,” she slurred, clumsily reaching out to grab my arm.  “You need to go.”

“What?” I questioned immediately, pausing in my absent-minded stirring of my drink.  “What are you talking about?”

Hannah shook her head, hair falling in front of her eyes.  “No, not leave.  Go.  Over there.”  She lifted a shaky finger and pointed somewhere in the crowd of bodies in the center of the club.  I couldn’t decipher her target, and frowned.

“Han, I don’t--”

“Scarlett,” she interrupted.  “I’m talking about going over where that guy has been staring at you for the past hour.”  I tracked her gaze and followed her pointed finger until I caught sight of him; tall, with messy brown hair and stubble.  He was in a cluster of other guys, his friends presumably, but every now and then his eyes drifted over to me.  When he caught me watching him, he smiled, flashing a row of perfect teeth.

I groaned, turning back to Hannah.  “He’s definitely cute, but I don’t want to leave you.”  It was more than that; I was scared to at this point.  Who knew what trouble she’d get herself into.

Hannah sighed loudly.  “Scarlett, I don’t think I have a boyfriend anymore.  Normally when I’m single, I can’t keep my hands off people.  But seeing as I can’t even see three feet in front of me, you need to pick up the slack.”

My brows furrowed, and I took a sip of my drink.  “Are you saying you want me to get with that guy for the both of us?”  

“Yes,” Hannah exclaimed, shaking her fists in victory.  “Go get some, for my sake.”

As I licked my lips, considering her demand, I thought about Calum.  More particularly, the way we’d left things at the house.  I was mad at him for saying what we did was nothing, but then he wasn’t thrilled that I was going out.  What did all of it mean?  Was he thinking about me right now, wondering if I was doing what I’m about to do?  Should I do what I’m about to do, if I would rather do it with him?

Hannah’s pleading eyes gave me my answer.  And besides, knowing Calum he probably didn’t care at all.  So I stood up from the table, downed the rest of drink, and strided into the throng of dancers.

I pushed through the crowd, worried for a second I wouldn’t be able to find him.  But then my eyes locked with his clear blue ones, and my stomach flipped.  Cuter up close, I thought approvingly, my smirk growing as I approached him.  His friends saw me and gave him a clap on the back and a round of cheers before backing off to let us talk.

When I finally reached him, I crossed my arms and quirked one eyebrow.  “My friend just informed me you’ve been watching me for a while.”

His smile was sheepish, illuminated by the roving rainbow lights above us.  “She caught me.  But can you really blame me when you look like this?”  His compliment sent a flush to my cheeks, and I started to feel the cocktail working its magic as my brain became fuzzy and my smile clumsy.

“I guess not,” I replied.  At that moment, the song switched into one I recognized, and I closed my eyes blissfully.  It was slower, with a sultry melody that dripped into my veins.  “Oh, I love this song.”  It reminded me of being at school and going to big parties with far too many people.  My hips swayed naturally to the beat, and when I felt hands gently fall onto my hips my eyes snapped open.  The guy had moved closer to me, holding my waist as his head bent low.  Grinning, I wrapped my arms around his neck and we moved together, his hands grazing lower until I felt them on my bum.  I giggled, moving my hips in tune and throwing my head back.

“I’m Scarlett,” I added.

“Nick,” came his response just as the song switched into a much livelier one.  

I lost track of how long we danced, all of my focus on Nick and his hands and his smile.  I definitely wasn’t drunk, but the world had a funny glow to it all the same.  I felt comfortable and confident here with him, two things I almost never felt with Calum.

Shut up, I reprimanded myself.  Why can’t you just forget about him?  Somehow Calum always crept up in my mind just when I was feeling happiest.  He had some sort of power over me that I hated; just once, I wanted to be free of his oppressive stare.

What are you saying? came another little voice in my head, the one that actually liked being with Calum.  Guilt flooded through me as I remembered the events and revelations of the day.  Calum pouring his soul out about his family, the kiss I gave him by his car, the way I’d never felt more connected to someone in my life.  Maybe I was the bad guy in this story, seeing as I had left him.

The war of perspectives waging in my brain was suffocating.  Did I like Calum, did I hate him.  Did he hate me, did he secretly need me.  It was all too much, and I found myself sighing.

Nick looked down at me in concern.  “Everything okay?”

I shook my head, sobering up after a long night of dancing.  “It’s nothing, just...I totally forgot about my friend.”  It wasn’t the true reason for my change in mood, but I did completely forget about Hannah.  My eyes scanned the perimeter, finally locating her at the bar as she tried to convince the bartender to give her another drink.  She was so wasted he was definitely not going to budge, and I saw the frustration clear on his face.

Turning back to Nick, I placed my hand on his chest.  “I think I have to go,” I admitted regretfully, but he grabbed my arm to stop me, bringing his face close to mine.

“Come home with me,” he whispered, and my heart leaped in my chest.  The idea wasn’t unappealing, and for a brief second I imagined what it would be like to go home with him.  But worry for Hannah superseded any desire, and I shook my head.

“I really can’t, she needs me right now.  But trust me, I want to.”  I thought that was the end of it, but then Nick pulled out his phone.

“Let’s just put a pin it, then,” he offered with a smile, and I pursed my lips in amusement.  We exchanged numbers, and before I left I planted a long kiss on his lips that would definitely keep me on his mind for a few days.

Weaving through the club, I reached Hannah and tapped her shoulder.  She flinched, clearly disoriented and out of it.  When she saw me she raised her empty glass.

“Scar, tell this guy I can have another drink.”  The bartender looked about ready to throw her out, and I set him an apologetic glance.  Taking her by the arm, I led Hannah towards the door despite her protesting.

The wait for our uber was long and cold.  A chilly night breeze had my teeth chattering, but Hannah seemed so intoxicated she didn’t even feel the cold.  She just wobbled next to me, groaning about her headache and the bad aftertaste of the fireball shot she’d done.

“Do you feel any better?” I asked, hoping our night out had served its purpose.  Her frown was evident as she shrugged, eyes glassy with either tears or alcohol.

“It felt good in the moment.  It always does, though.  And then the moment ends.”  Her words were short but they carried weight.  I understood her completely; I felt similarly about Calum.  When I was with him, I never wanted to leave.  But when we were apart, there was nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

When we slid into the backseat of the uber, I had the sudden urge to confess everything to Hannah.  Tell her about my three kisses with Calum, how he spent the night, how he whisked me away when Ashton turned on me.  I needed to tell someone, or else I’d lose my mind.

Luckily, Hannah provided the perfect segue by asking, “So why didn’t you go home with that guy?  He was hot.”

I bit my lip, deciding to just dive in.  “I wanted to, but...someone else was on my mind.”

This peaked her interest, and Hannah twisted to face me.  “Who?  Not Jeremy, right?”

“No way, I haven’t though of him in forever.”  I took a deep breath.  “No, actually I was thinking about Calum.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and her jaw dropped.   “Really?”

I nodded shyly.  “Yeah.  We’ve actually kissed a few times, and once he even slept in my room.  But every time things are good between us...they go bad.”  It felt good to get this off my chest, even if Hannah was so drunk she might not remember it tomorrow.  In a way, I would’ve preferred this.

She considered the explanation for a second.  “I knew there was something weird between you two,” she remarked.  “Calum was just so...odd whenever you were around.  Normally he’s an asshole, but with you it’s like a whole new level.”

“Tell me about it,” I murmured.  “It’s exhausting.  I just want him to decide if he hates me or not, because this back and forth is too much.”

Hannah nodded, leaning back and exhaling deeply.  “I don’t know if Calum has ever been able to figure out what he wants,” she confessed.  “He’s been through so much, I kind of just let his bad attitude slide.”

“But I want to help him.  Letting him wallow in his misery isn’t doing any good.”

Hannah laughed shortly.  “Calum hasn’t let anyone help him his whole life, good luck cracking that shell.”  She must have detected my disappointment, because Hannah added, “But who knows?  You might be the first to do it.  I say you’ve got a pretty good shot.”  Her smile was warm and comforting, and I leaned against her arm.  I didn’t know whether I would keep trying to help Calum, honestly.  It might not have been worth it.

The house was dark when we got back.  Michael’s car wasn’t in the driveway next to Calum’s mustang, and when we got inside there was a note saying Michael and Luke had gone to Ashton’s for the night.  I hid the note from Hannah, who hadn’t noticed the missing car, and gave her a tight smile as she went down to the basement.

Blowing out a sigh, I leaned back against the kitchen counter.  I was pretty much sober again, pouring myself a glass of water to wash out the last remnants of alcohol from my mouth.  I kicked my heels off and yawned, reading 2:24am on the small oven clock.  

Just as I placed the empty glass in the sink and decided to head to bed, Calum appeared by the kitchen entrance.  My heart clenched at the sight of him, wearing joggers and a gray shirt.  He looked wide awake despite the time, and I knew then I was in for a long night.

“Look who’s back,” he commented icily, hands resting in his pockets as he leaned against the wall nonchalantly.

I kept my expression neutral as I answered, “Yeah, Hannah was pretty out of it so I thought I should bring her home.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he sneered.  “You’re such a great friend, letting her get shit-faced and then bringing all the broken pieces home.”

Sighing, I fought against my instinct to react harshly.  That’s exactly what he wanted: a reaction.  But tonight, I would not be giving into him.  “Look, Calum, I’m sorry I left so suddenly before we got a chance to talk, but I did it for Hannah.  She needed me.”

His smirk soured into a glare.  “What makes you think I wanted to talk?  I have nothing to say to you.”  His arms crossed defensively as the air got tenser by the second.  

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I pushed off the counter to take a step forward.  “Okay, if you didn’t want to talk to me why did you look so pissed when I was leaving?”

“I wasn’t pissed.”

“Bullshit,” I refuted, folding my own arms now.  I wouldn’t let him lie about what I knew I saw; he didn’t want me to go, but I needed to know why.

Calum just scoffed.  “No, you’re bullshit Scarlett.  Your obsessive need to know everything and try to help everyone is bullshit.  I don’t care what you do, because I couldn’t give less of a shit about you.”

I swallowed roughly, already feeling moisture build in my eyes.  Don’t let him see you cry.  Pulling my lips into my mouth, I fought to keep my composure.  “You know Calum, a lot of people put up with your shitty attitude.  But soon you’re gonna drive everyone away when they don’t feel like dealing with you anymore.”  For emphasis I brushed passed him, stalking up the stairs and tugging at the tight, uncomfortable fabric of my dress.  I was hot and irritated, and needed to unwind alone in my room.

But footsteps behind me alerted me to Calum’s insistent following, and I whirled around before entering my room.

“What?” I demanded.

He scowled down at me, his towering frame suddenly very intimidating when it was so close.  I felt the emptiness of the upstairs without Luke here, and with Hannah all the way downstairs Calum and I were truly alone.

“My attitude might be shitty, but at least I don’t drive everyone insane with all the lying and the stupid good-girl act.  I think people are gonna get sick of you far sooner than me.”  His words were clipped and cruel and they dug deep, but not enough to truly hurt me.  Instead, I retaliated by pulling my phone out and dialing the newest number added to my contact list.

“Oh, really?” I countered.  “Let’s see how sick of me Nick is.”  At the sound of another guy’s name, Calum tensed, and I felt a rush of evil satisfaction.  The phone rang a few times, obviously going to voicemail since it was so late and he was probably asleep.

Smiling darkly, I spoke into the phone, “Hey Nick, it’s Scarlett.  The girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off of at the club--or your hands.”  A vein in Calum’s neck twinged, but I kept going.  “I wished I could’ve taken you up on your offer to go home tonight, but things got in the way.  How about we try again tomorrow night--dinner, a movie, whatever you want.”  I made sure that last proposition was bathed in innuendo, and luckily it hit Calum right where I needed to.  He looked about ready to smash my phone into a million pieces as I wrapped up the voicemail.  “Anyway, give me a call when you get this.  I’ll be waiting.”

Just as I hit the end call button, Calum eliminated what little distance was left between us as his chest pushed me against the wall.  I inhaled sharply, surprised at the sudden movement.

I could barely see his dark eyes in the pitch black hallway.  “I hate you,” came his voice, deep and resonating.  My lips parted, soft air exhaling as my breath quickened.

“Good,” I murmured, gaze flitting down to his mouth.  “Because I hate you too.”

The last word had barely been uttered before his lips crashed into mine.  This was a far different kiss than the one we’d shared in the parking lot of the diner.  That had been gentle, intimate, full of feeling.  This was hot, rushed, and dripping with desire.  Anger fueled our bodies and lit us on fire, the passion between us born from hatred.

Calum’s lips were rough on mine, and he wasted no time in driving his tongue against mine.  My fingers gripped his curls, pulling slightly and eliciting a slight groan from his throat.  He tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth, a sort of pleasurable pain I’d never felt before.  His hands scorched up my sides, practically burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress.

Wrapping my leg around his waist, I felt his hands hitch under my ass as I moved my lips across his face.  I found a spot below his ear and focused my attention here, sucking and nipping and licking until I heard the sounds of pleasure rumble in his throat.

In a swift motion, he gripped the back of my thighs and brought me towards the door of his bedroom, pushing through and slamming it behind him with a deft kick of his foot.  I had no time to register my dark surroundings before I was hurled onto the bed, my dress bunched up at my hips.

Calum’s large frame loomed before me in the dark as he crawled up the bed, settling between my legs as I wrapped them around him.  He reconnected our lips for a moment, and then moved to explore the skin on my neck and collarbone.  My breathing was erratic as I felt his tongue swipe out against my skin, love bites being littered across the creamy white surface.  His hands ran up my thighs, pushing the dress further up until I was sick of the garment altogether.

Gripping the back of his neck, I pulled his head back to mine and whispered, “Off.”  It took him no time to react, and as I leaned up he practically ripped the dress off of me, the zipper surely breaking in the process.  He threw the dress off to the side, landing in a heap of fabric.  Once my body was freed from the cover, his eyes greedily roamed across my chest.  I hadn’t worn a bra, now only clad in my panties.

Calum ducked back down, kissing down the swell of my breasts until his lips found my left nipple.  I moaned as he began licking at the sensitive bud, his hand working to massage my other breast.  My back arched into his mouth, hands dragging across his still clothed back and impatiently pulling at his shirt.  He leaned back so I could rip it off, eyes glinting in the darkness.

His tongue lashed against mine as we kissed again, my breasts pressed against the skin of his chest.  I felt his leg dig between my thighs, brushing against my thinly covered core and making me whine.  Calum heard the noise and leaned back, shifting so his hand could drift down my body.  It skimmed across my breasts, the dip of my stomach and finally stopping at the band of my underwear.  I sucked in a breath, anticipating what was to come.

I felt his fingers ghosting up my thighs, my pulsing heat so close to his touch.  His index finger dragged across my covered center, making my hips shift towards him.  He was teasing me, hovering above my lips as he stopped kissing me and danced around the one spot I desperately needed him to touch.

I didn’t know how much longer I could take his feather-light touches, and was about to complain when all of a sudden my panties were pushed to the side and his fingers finally traced my slit.  A string of moans fell from my lips as my hands gripped the sheets, and I cried out when he sunk a finger into my slick folds.  He circled his hand, pressing his thumb right on my clit.  My whole body jumped at this, heat erupting from the bundle of nerves he had complete control of.  I couldn’t control the sounds leaving me as he pumped his finger harder, using his thumb to expertly circle my clit until I was an unraveling mess.

“God, Calum,” I breathed, eyes rolling into the back of my head.  He added a second finger, stretching my core deliciously.  My fingernails dug into his bicep, surely leaving marks.  But this only quickened his movements, and the waves of pleasure began to cascade over me.

With one final flick of his thumb on my clit, I was gone.  The burning in my stomach erupted into fireworks as euphoria pulsed through me, causing me to cry out in ecstasy.  I rode my high all the way through, feeling Calum’s fingers work me until I was finished.  When I’d recovered from the orgasm, he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips, glistening with my arousal.  As he wrapped his mouth around his wet fingers, I felt myself getting turned on again despite my release, and I channeled this into confidence.

Flipping us over so I was on top, I pressed a light kiss to Calum’s lips.  My legs straddled him, and I moved down until my hands gripped the waistband of his joggers.  I watched his face the whole time, taking in his wild eyes and panting breaths.  I pulled the sweatpants down until he could kick them off, and ran my hands up his legs until I reached his boxers.  An unmistakable bulge had grown underneath the black fabric, and I trailed my hand over it, making him suck in a breath.

Grinning in the pitch black room, I kissed up his chest until I reached his jaw.  I felt his heaving chest under my palm, and brought my hand lower and lower until I grazed across a thin line of hair leading into his briefs.  I sucked on his neck, expertly running my hand across his growing mound and causing him to jerk at the sensation.  I was teasing him just the way he teased me, skimming under the band of his boxers before finally letting my hand disappear into them.  

His length was long and silky, and I felt his impressive size with my fingers.  Calum tried to suppress the groans rising in his throat, but when I wrapped my hand around his cock he couldn’t resist letting a groan leave his lips.  I pushed his boxers down slightly further, letting his stiff erection spring free.  Moving my lips to his mouth, I swallowed his moans of pleasure as I pumped his cock.  I collected the moisture at his tip and used it to slide my palm up and down, creating a rhythm that had his hips bucking in pleasure.

“Fuck,” Calum swore, hands tangling into my hair as his body reacted to my hand.  I let my fingers massage his tip, his cock twitching and his brows knitting.  He grew stiffer and stiffer as he neared his end, and as I grazed the base of his length near his balls he moaned, punching the sheets beside me.

Another slick pump and he was done, white release shooting out onto his lower abdomen as curses tumbled from his mouth.  I rubbed him down from his orgasm, pausing our kiss as I held my face above his.  My eyes met his, seeing how blown out his pupils had gotten.  His parted lips reached up to meet mine, and I met his body willingly.  

He reached an arm out over the bed, fishing for something on the floor as he used another hand to reposition his boxers.  I saw him grab a towel and swipe it across his stomach, tossing it over and rolling onto his side to reattach our lips.  My head was buzzing from my high, my whole body bathed in the aftermath of what he’d done to me.  We were both only wearing underwear, but I didn’t care as I laid on top of him, breasts flush against his skin.  

Eventually our kiss slowed, ending with a final press of my lips to the corner of his mouth, and I watched his eyes flutter closed as he pulled the blankets over us.  I fell asleep with my hand on his chest, his arm under my head, entangling our bodies in a way I never wanted to undo.

[riveir]

wishlist plots & aus.

i’ve been meaning to do this for a while but because i’m a person that really strongly prefers plotted interactions and also runs into problems with actually getting those more developed things going, i figured compiling wishlist stuff and stuff that comes from my own brain might be helpful. i’ll keep this linked in the pinned post if anyone ever wants to draw from it for a starter call or whatever, and to also make it easier for me to find if plotting ever hits a road block.

peace corps. this would technically fall under the umbrella of one of river’s canon au verses, the one in which he lives but is in the less realistic scenario where he rejects his parents’ wishes and goes ahead and joins the peace corps. this could be a really good way to get muses from two different canons / universes / etc. to meet, because the organization brings all these people together into one group sent to work somewhere overseas. river works as an english education teacher, and where they’re working can be totally open. could be used as mentioned before, but also as sort of a stepping stone for river to start a life beyond the states / open up opportunities for him that will take him away from home, etc etc. just a fun way to take him out of his usual settings and throw him in a new place under new circumstances, whether your muse is in the corps with him or if they’re just in the same place and they meet under different circumstances.

political dynasty. rather than holding a high position with goldman sachs, river’s father has an influential political position ( like a diplomat or foreign ambassador, which could explain river living years of his life at least somewhat abroad ), something that would put the family under a microscope on a national scale. could be a very kennedy-esque thing where politics is sort of just like the family business and river would be expected to carry that mantle as well ( which, obviously, he doesn’t really want ). this could go a number of different directions because the barkleys would be considered high profile individuals: bodyguard stuff, danger stuff, etc. i’m open to anything here, this would just be the groundwork to set up some conflict that would be more specific to your muse and their circumstances, since this is pretty adaptable on river’s end. i’d also be willing to write river older than i usually would ( as a younger adult ), because i think being nationally known would change his circumstances a bit and yada yada i can elaborate on that more if anyone asks, if we wanted to go the route where river himself is the political figure, probably a junior congressman or something. he could pretty controversial, as mental health advocacy and gun control would probably be two of his biggest agendas / two of the most important components of his platform.

modern royalty. similar to the above, but rather than coming from a political family, river comes from a monarchical family. obviously not based in the united states but could open up similar plotting opportunities as listed above. for one example he could still be attending a traditional university, and could open up opportunities for your muse to be a classmate of his ( as a friend sure but maybe there’s some benefit your muse could gain from making friends with him or something shadier like that ), or maybe you’re super annoyed that he’s there because like who cares about the royal family and why does he get so much attention, or maybe your muse knows he hates the attention and it gets to a point where he actually has to be fearful about it and there’s some way your muse can help him out.

fake dating. this is a jam of mine always. river could have several reasons of his own to be in a fake relationship, and this could work especially well in another au like the political dynasty or modern royalty scenarios, but it could totally come more from your muse’s end as well. it could also be a thing where river’s parents are trying to set him up with your muse if that would make sense, because that’s a very wasp-y rich people thing to do. 

period aus. this one is super open but river could work really well for this type of thing, especially because his family is so old fashioned in a lot of ways and very traditional in how they expect their family to be and how they expect river to be and all that. also could work super well for this letter writing plot i have in my wishlist tag.

ghost!river. this would have to be plotted for sure because the way river’s “ghost” canonically manifests is as an extension of the other person; he exists to give them advice or as their moral compass/conscience or something like that. it can be different depending on the muse, but he manifests at their own will and serves some sort of purpose for them. he’s more of a guiding force of some sort rather than an actual ghost coming back to reveal new information or anything like that. he wouldn’t do anything that the other muse wouldn’t think he would do, and wouldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. the exception to his in river’s canon is when the protagonist has a near-death experience and sees river in the afterlife and they have an actual conversation as two separate entities, and that could definitely be something i’d be up for, too.

champagne problems. this song off of evermore has enormous river energy. from the genius description of the song: “’champagne problems’ tells the story of a woman who shocks her would-be fiancé and their loved ones by turning down a marriage proposal right before christmas ... the song depicts ‘longtime college sweethearts [who] had very different plans for the same night, one to end it and one who brought a ring.’ the song implies that the protagonist has a history of mental illness, which the town subsequently stigmatizes in their gossip surrounding the failed proposal.” river could be either of the people in the couple for obvious reasons ( either the wealthy person from the well-to-do family all expecting the proposal, or the person who breaks it off and is subsequently - or, maybe, already is - the subject of that gossip ). the circumstances of the breakup can vary depending on the specific relationship between the muses: maybe they were really in love and had a great relationship but the influential family just had too much influence and pressure, maybe the stigmatization and gossip was a bit too much, maybe neither of their hearts were really in it and it was just an advantageous thing that appeased the big family but the other person ultimately just decided they couldn’t go through with it. as i am with everything i’m totally open here. it also totally doesn’t have to match the exact circumstances and can just be based on the general idea. ( in the same vein, here’s a link to some cool folklore-based plots )

apocalyptic danger. or to be honest, any sort of scenario that creates a life or death (or near life or death) situation for one or both of our muses. in all honesty i just love raising the stakes.

musician or actor river. even though it’s not my favorite alternative path to explore for him to seriously pursue acting or music as a career, it could open up some potentially cool dynamics that i’d be down with. maybe river plays piano in a bar or restaurant or whatever at night during college and your muse loves open mic night. maybe they’re doing a show together in college or maybe even out of college if i think it would make sense that river could get to that point in life. maybe river’s actually achieving some level of success and has some degree of notoriety. idk this is just an option that could be cool if we develop it enough ( cause like i said, without that development and specificity to our muses i’m not as into this route for him specifically)

childhood best friends to lovers. ( or some variation ). self-explanatory, just my favorite trope. some wishlist stuff here.

wishlist post #1: “i just want a plot where it’s two rich kids who live in neighboring estates and their families always throw parties together and they have vacation homes in the same spots and their elite parents are too busy to notice when they sneak off to fuck in that second guest bathroom that no one uses or get high in the back library and makeout”

wishlist post #2: “give me a we broke up because i had to move away because of school and we knew we couldn’t do long distance but oh my god i’m home for christmas and you’re still beautiful and we’re wine drunk slow dancing to the sound of elf on the television and you smell like hot chocolate and i miss you so much please don’t let this end again plot !!!!!”

wishlist post #3: “someone give me “you live in the apartment across the hall and you’re so fucking hot but i get so awkward around you even though you act completely normal and i stutter every.time. you’re out of my league anyway but then one night my stupid roommate locks me out and i forget my key and you see me sitting the hallway so you invite me in. and obviously i say yes but holy crap what is happening” plot pretty pls”

wishlist post #4: “au where it's a blind date gone wrong/really awkward first time/two people who just get off on the wrong foot but keep on running into each other and then slowly fall for each other”

wishlist post #5: “give me best friends who harbor feelings for each other . they’ve acknowledged the feelings but they don’t do anything about it , because the friendship is too precious . and when one of them is finally ready to say “ fuck it, let’s take the risk ” , they see the other making out with another person”

i also always just want more college things and things in pre-established canon universe aus ( all linked in my pinned post, but including hogwarts, gossip girl, legacies, riverdale, etc ). i’m also always down for plotting ships.

[juliabohemian]

Shameless Self Promotion

I am getting ready to wrap up a novel length WIP that I started writing in 2017 and started posting in August of 2018. I have an entire second story plotted out that is supposed to follow this one. Which will probably be from Jane’s POV.

This is something I have poured a lot of time and effort into. But admittedly, I am not great at promoting myself. And I am terrible at explaining what the story is about. The description on AO3 doesn’t really explain much.

Instead I am going to post a very short passage from each chapter in the hope of attracting some new readers.

TITLE: In Loco Parentis TIMELINE: Post-Ragnarok. AU after that point. Some similarities to Infinity War, but with different outcomes. Loki survives instead of Thor. CHARACTERS: Loki, Erik Selvig, Steve Rogers, Jane Foster with mentions of Thor, Odin, Frigga, Heimdall, Bruce Banner/Hulk and Stephen Strange. LENGTH: Current length is 105,160 word. 24/26 chapters have been posted. GENRE: Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Intermittent humor, Lots of feels, explorations of father/son dynamic. Second person narrative; Loki’s POV. WARNING: References to violence, torture, terminal illness, and character death.

CHAPTER 1:

Earth keeps careful track of its inhabitants these days. They pay closer attention to some than others, of course. The United States government knows precisely where you are right now, or so they claim. It's distinctly possible that they even know exactly what you're doing. Not that you have anything to hide for once. But you will never get used to to the fact that very little of your life is genuinely private.

CHAPTER 2: 

It's evident that the other man is annoyed with you. His words suggest as much. Yet the remark is delivered with unusual tenderness. Unfortunately, your tolerance for pity is somewhat limited. And even if you were in pain, which you are most definitely not, it would be none of his concern.

CHAPTER 3:

You might be stranded on Earth, your home and your family gone forever. But somehow, for some reason, despite all statistical improbability, you're still alive. You're still moving, still breathing. Surely there must be a reason. Because everything has a reason.

CHAPTER 4:

You hate the fact that, for now at least, you appear to be dependent on someone else's kindness. It's not a position you're altogether comfortable with. Because kindness is a limited resource. You know it's only a matter of time before he tires of you. You don't understand why he's bothering to pretend otherwise. You don't know what motivation he could possibly have to tolerate you one second longer than necessary.

CHAPTER 5:

You were convinced that, at any minute, someone would kick down your door and carry you away in chains. Surely after being reminded of the extent of your abilities, Erik would no longer want you in his home. But when you were quiet again, all you heard was Erik knocking. You could not answer. You knew of no words that could hope to mend what you had done.

CHAPTER 6:

While your host imposed no time limit on the arrangement, you never planned to stay long. But days turned into weeks, and months became years. And you kept running out of reasons to leave. Your attempts to test Erik's resolve were so gently diffused, that you ultimately gave up trying to alienate him.

CHAPTER 7:

Your denial served no purpose. Unlike so many lies you had told during your lifetime, this one was innocuous enough. You had learned fairly quickly that there was no point in contesting Erik's delusions. You knew not his reasons. But you had accepted that some part of him needed to believe that you were his son.

CHAPTER 8:

You hate just how relieved you are to have someone to talk to, even if that person is Steve Rogers. And you hate that your instinct is to alienate him. You just can't help yourself.

CHAPTER 9:

Your stomach churns with a fierce assortment of unwelcome emotions. You cannot help wondering whether this is just some random event, or if Erik is making some sort of attempt to say goodbye.

CHAPTER 10:

You stare at the message on the screen for nearly a minute, reading the words over and over again. You try to find a way to be insulted by Steve's offer. But you cannot think of one. And yet, you are still annoyed. Because it is so like Steve to give you the benefit of the doubt by suggesting that you might have dialed in error.

CHAPTER 11:

You have never openly declared Erik to be your father before. You have only ever conceded when others have done so. Not only is it a lie, it feels like something you have no right to say.

CHAPTER 12:

You want her to leave. Yet, for some reason, she seems to believe that you genuinely require her assistance. You think perhaps you need only convince her that you are not completely helpless. And thus, her intervention is not required. Then, surely she will be on her way.

CHAPTER 13:

You frown immediately at your use of the phrase big deal, which you cannot remember ever using before now. You know not the origin of the phrase. It's something that Erik would say. In your mind, you can picture his face...that reassuring smile he would give you whenever you were convinced that you somehow managed to ruin absolutely everything, yet again. Hey...it's not a big deal. 

CHAPTER 14:

You chuckle, nervously. You are practically pinned up against the counter, now. You could effortlessly shove her to the floor and leave the room. As annoying as she is, you have no desire to do her harm. After all, it's not her fault that you're a complete lunatic.

CHAPTER 15:

Throughout your life you have been many things. But you have never been slovenly or lazy, and certainly never uncleanly. And yet, you are confident that you would have been content to starve and wallow in your own filth, had Jane not come along and intervened.

CHAPTER 16:

You know that you should probably take a few minutes to compose yourself before confronting Jane. But, naturally, you don't. As annoyed as you are, there's a small part of you that is pleased to have reason to be angry. The fury that you were longing for earlier is finally here. Now you need only embrace it and see where it takes you.

CHAPTER 17:

Deep down, you know that you don't actually want to escape. And not just because you have nowhere in particular to go. You have a life here, albeit a limited one. You have a place that you think of as home, a place that you want to return to. Perhaps not every bridge you cross needs to be left burning in your wake.

CHAPTER 18:

What Jane doesn't know is that, somewhere deep in your most private thoughts, you envisioned yourself making Erik better. You fantasized about it, even. For by healing him, you would be offering him something that might actually be worthy of praise.  

CHAPTER 19:

The conversation is becoming far more serious than you would like. You are now relieved that you are intoxicated. He appears to be seeking some sort of validation. Though you seriously doubt he wants or needs yours.

CHAPTER 20:

The irony of your situation is not lost on you. As you are currently playing nursemaid to an ailing Midgardian...a member of a species you were raised to view as grossly inferior. And you don't regret it. Not at all. But you wonder what Thor might think, if he could see you now. Whether he would this consider your actions to be admirable, or he would regard you as a fool.

CHAPTER 21:

The unmistakable hint of fear in Erik's eyes would likely go undetected by the casual observer. It is almost as though some part of him is genuinely worried about your reaction. You recall, all too clearly, that night you found him collapsed on the floor beside his bed, his tears of shame, how he couldn't even look at you. Whatever this is, however inconvenient, it is definitely outside of his control. Thus, do your best to conceal your frustration.

CHAPTER 22:

Various scenes unfold before you. Through the kitchen window, Erik watches you working in the garage. He admires your focus, your meticulous attention to detail. Erik looks in on you, after hearing you cry out in your sleep. Erik returns home, after a long day working at the university, and the two of you share a meal together. Such events would be considered, by most, entirely benign. Yet, you find it unbearable to look upon yourself this way, painful even.

CHAPTER 23:

You are exhausted and can no longer continue. The soil beneath your feet is soft and moist. When you drop to the ground, you rest on your knees and your hands end up planted deeply in the wet earth.

CHAPTER 24:

You wake periodically, throughout the day. Random people enter your room, constantly. Thankfully, they never stay for long. Whenever you open your eyes, you find yourself checking to make sure that Erik is still there. And whenever he catches you looking at him, he touches you, as if to further reassure you of his presence.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Not Exactly a Classic Dame (3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (platonic friendship between Steve x OFC)

Warnings: Language, otherwise none this Chapter, but later

  Bucky Master List / Main Master List

CHAPTER 3  

“Hey, I brought you something.” Steve handed Bucky a stack of books as he walked into the apartment. “These are really good.” 

“Thanks.” Bucky shut the door behind him. “You want some coffee or anything before we go.” 

“No, I’m good.” Steve looked around at the now furnished room. It still lacked personal touches and decoration, but he liked what was there. He sat on the sofa, running his hand along the armrest. “This is nice.” 

“Yeah. It’s comfortable.” Bucky sat down to tie his running shoes.  

“Cas said she had a really great time when you took her for a ride.” Steve watched his friend. 

Bucky didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. 

“She likes your company, but it looks to me like you’re avoiding her.” 

No response. 

“So,” Steve crossed his arms and stared at the back of his best friend’s head. “Does she rub you the wrong way or are you just being a jerk?” 

Bucky whipped around, scowling. “Listen, if your girl. . .” 

“MY girl?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky shot to his feet, anger instantly flaring to the surface. “I’m trying to be respectful, okay? She’s -” He stopped himself. What? A flirt? Sweet? Sexy as hell? He finally growled, “Yours.” 

Bucky’s eye grew wide in confusion when Steve burst out laughing.  

“Oh, Buck.” He shook he head, still chuckling at the incredulous look on the other man’s face. “We’re not an item. Never have been. Cas is a sweetheart, and I adore her, but we’re not a couple.” 

A wave of confusion hit Bucky in the gut, making him even more angry. “But the way you two carry on? What the fuck? I’ve seen her hug and kiss on you. Eat off your plate without asking. There’s a picture of the two of you at some fancy shin-dig in your office. Steve, you gave her something you drew! What the else was I supposed to think?” 

“Okay, yeah.” Steve stood to face him. “We’re close and, I’ll admit, pretty affectionate. But it’s just gotten to be natural. Honestly, Buck, it’s completely innocent. We’re just close friends.” 

Not knowing what to say, Bucky just stared at the floor in front of Steve’s feet. He wasn’t about to apologize for barking. Steve laughed at him. The few interactions between himself and Cassidy came back in rapid fire memories. Sure, it made him feel good. Made him feel like sweeping her up in his arms and tasting those red lips. What if she was just, as Steve put it, being affectionate? He had no desire to be the fool. When he was younger, he may not have cared. He wasn’t the same man anymore. 

The silence stretched out and Steve watched the emotions play out on his friend’s face. He looked stoic, but the clench of his jaw, the small change in his eyes as he stared into nothing, gave him away. 

“I knew you would like her the minute I met her.” Steve sighed. “Even before I knew you were still alive.  I would sit there thinking, ‘Bucky would just be smitten with her’.” 

“You should’ve said something.”   

“I should have said something.” Steve agreed. “I didn’t think.” 

“She probably thinks I’m a jerk now.”  

“You are a jerk.” 

“Shut up, punk.” 

Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulder, giving him a shake. “Come on. Let’s go for a run. After, maybe we’ll see if Cas is up for lunch.” 

“You sure you don’t what to go to the gym instead?” Bucky smirked. “Give me the chance to beat your ass for a while?” 

o o o o o  

Cassidy stood at her work station, bare foot and swaying in place to the soulful jazz music crooning from her speakers. Her mood danced on the edge of melancholy today. She indulged in an extra cappuccino and splurged on a chocolate pastry. Despite wearing her favorite outfit and doing her hair in her favorite style, she just didn’t feel herself. 

“Hey Cas, how ya doing?’ Steve’s voice came from the door.  

She didn’t turn away from the screen. Answering, voice flat. “Peachy.” 

“That didn’t sound convincing.” Bucky scoffed.  

Cas turned around somewhat surprised. “It’s about as good as it gets at the moment. Sorry.” 

“Would lunch in town help?” Steve smiled.  

“Maybe play hooky for a while.” Bucky added. 

She looked between the two, relenting to their grins. “Okay. Okay, fine. Give me a minute to send a couple emails. But I’m taking my car in case I want to bail on you two goofs. I don’t know how much I testosterone I can take.” 

As Cassidy drove a two-seat sports coupe, this left the guys in a quandary. Bucky decided to just follow on his bike and Steve rode in her car. They settled on a pool hall that served good barbecue not too far away. The establishment knew most of the Avengers so they wouldn’t be gawked at.  

Steve insisted on ordering, so Cas and Bucky picked one of the many empty tables. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned over the top toward her, aware they had a brief moment alone. “I feel like I should apologize.” 

Cas mirrored his pose, finding herself drawn in by his expressive blue eyes. “Oh?” 

“I’ve been a bit of a jerk, even if I had good intentions.” He nodded.  

“Suddenly giving me the cold shoulder has good intentions?”  

Bucky sighed. Of course she would call him on his bullshit without hesitation. He shot a sideways glance at Steve who was putting his wallet away and waiting for the pitcher of beer. “You’ll laugh at me.” 

“Try me.” 

“I was staying away because I thought you and Steve were together.” He said quietly, leaving how much he liked her implied.  

“He didn’t set you straight?” Her back went stiff. 

“Today he did.” 

She blew a little angry huff out her nose. When Steve sat down next to her with a pitcher of beer and a stack of glasses, she turned on him. “You can be a real asshole.” 

“What?!” 

“You are the first one to wave the great big ‘we’re just friends’ flag anytime anyone looks at the two of us even remotely sideways.” Cas poked him in the chest. 

“Well, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” Steve admitted sheepishly. 

“And yet you hung your best friend out to dry, you moron.” She poked him again, scowling. “Just go ahead a wait until things get all dramatic and awkward before you say anything.” Poke. “To who?” Poke. “Oh yeah, your best friend. Because that make perfect sense.” She threw her hands in the air. “Way to make everyone feel comfortable, Steve.” 

Bucky knew she was laying it on thick on purpose, being a little melodramatic to make a point. She looked adorable. He chewed his lip to hide his smile. Steve pouted, making it even funnier. “Give him a break, Doll. You’re going to make him cry.” 

Steve’s head fell to the side with a ‘really?’ look. Cas giggled.  

“Okay.” She began to pour the beers. “Here’s to clearing the air.” 

Happily, they clinked glasses and drank. By the time the assortment of ribs and brisket arrived, they were all feeling better and lively stories of how Cassidy helped Steve adjust to ‘modern times’ had Bucky laughing. He too had a lot to learn, but Cas took immense joy in the easily shocked Captain. 

“You should have seen him when I took him with me to get my tattoo finished.” Cas smiled into her beer glass.  

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “You’ve been to a tattoo parlor before.” 

Steve looked horrified. “Buck, they do piercings. Everywhere. On private parts. Men and women.” 

“Huh?” 

“Not just their ears and lips and noses.” Steve refilled his glass, trying to keep from blushing as he recalled the graphic photo album Cas showed him. “They get their nipples and parts ‘down there’ pierced too.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, trying to imagine. He turned to Cas, “Do you-” 

“Oh, hell no. I don’t go in for piercings.” She shook her head. “I’ve got plenty of ink, though. Every tattoo I have is for a reason, they’re are personal.” 

Cas showed him the inside of her right bicep. There a little black tattoo said 'stay strong'. “This one I got after my mom died of cancer. It’s in her handwriting. There’s a breaching whale on my right leg. I got it after a rough recovery when I was in my early twenties. Then there’s this,” She lifted the left sleeve of her blouse. The thick arrangement of old-fashioned flowers reminded Bucky of the ones on cards he’d see in the old days. Violets, pink peonies, red roses, blue irises, sat among detailed green leaves.  

“It goes all the way up my arm and part way down my back.” She lightly ran her fingers over the skin. “I know its dense, but it covers all the scars.” 

Bucky went from quietly studying the details, to staring at her blank face. His mouth opened, but the question didn’t emerge. The glassiness of her eyes stalling him. Steve’s hand covered the fingers of Cassidy’s hand. Her eye shifted to his hand and she blinked. 

Steve’s frown deepened. He squeezed her fingers. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-” 

Cas shook her head and rocked it all the way through her shoulders, like a small mimic of a dog shaking off water. “No. Nope. It’s okay.” She looked a Bucky and chewed her lower lip for a second. “When the invasion hit New York, I was there for a software conference. The building was hit and a big section collapsed. On all of us. Most died. It took twenty-six hours to dig me out. I was pinned. My arm was broken in four places. Collar bone crushed. I had to have my shoulder complete rebuilt. My back was a mess of imbedded concrete. But,” She finished half her beer in one go. “It could have been worse.” 

Bucky nodded slowly. Their eyes locked and he wished he knew the words to convey his understanding, his admiration. He wished he could tell her he understood her pain. Somehow, she must have seen something because he watched life light up her eyes again, just a little. A small smile touched his lips, “Well the tattoo is beautiful.” 

“Thanks.”  

“What do you say we shoot some pool?” Steve got up and kissed the side of her head. “I’ll go set up.” 

“You okay?” Bucky replaced Steve’s hand over hers.  

“Yeah,” She turned her palm over and entwined her fingers with his. “Most of the time it just hangs out in the back of my brain, you know? Sometimes it rears up its ugly head.” 

“A smell or sound.” He looked at her tiny hand in his own and nodded. “It doesn’t even make sense sometimes.” 

She glanced at Steve, who was bent over the digital juke box in the corner. Cas didn’t know if he was purposely giving them a moment or not, but she felt thankful either way. “It wasn’t even the pain, or injuries, or surgeries. It was being trapped. It was being completely utterly powerless. I screamed and screamed, and nothing. My world literally fell in around me. My world became fear and silence and darkness. . .  and it was like I suddenly ceased to exist.” 

Holy shit, he wanted to hold her. 

“I am so in awe of your strength. I cannot imagine how strong you are to survive what you have.” Cas whispered, staring at his thumb rubbing over her fingers. 

Bucky’s eye snapped up, but she stared at their hands. “You’re pretty damn strong too, you know.” 

A sideways smile slid across her face. “I fake it well.” 

“You’ll have to teach me that, sometime.” Bucky returned the look. 

Tony Bennett began playing across the speakers just as a loud crack echoed through the bar. Steve leaned across the table, lining up another shot. Another ball dropped into the side pocket. 

“Which of you are taking solids? If you actually get a turn.” 

 TAGS

@angelus320, @babyloutattoo89, @blacklightguidesnic, @buckyharms107th, @buckysloved, @daaeleira,@dinosthatrawr, @elizabethporch, @fanficfluffer, @i-fear-neither-death-nor-pain, @jksymons, @josie605, @karla-silva, @littlemonsterseatkittens, @mama-bop, @mawietobacky, @mom---nicole, @mps427, @ohtheangst, @rorynne, @runlikeclockwork, @siliverin, @something, @veryangelslimecash

(If you want to be added or removed or if anything has changed, please message me! Thanks!)

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

 Part 1 - Chapter 3

Soso wakes up in her bed, and for one blissful moment it’s as though all of it were only a dream brought on by too much chocolate before bed. Sunlight is shining through her window and, other than a dry mouth and a mildly upset stomach, she feels refreshed and content. Today has the makings of a perfect lazy day, she decides. She sits up, stretches, relishing the feeling of life coming back into her stiff muscles, opens her eyes, and squeaks.

The living gargoyle is staring at her from the foot of her bed. He’s eating a candy bar, pausing to pick flecks of caramel out of a rather impressive set of pointed teeth, framed on either side by a pair of tusks. Next to him on the floor is an empty bread bag, empty milk carton, two boxes of cereal- yes, empty- and a jar of peanut butter that has, as of yet, been spared from the rampage.

“You ate all my food,” Soso comments dumbly. All things considered, it shouldn’t be the biggest issue, but that milk was supposed to be communal and her housemates are going to kill her.

The beast bows his head. “I’ll replace it.” Before she can question just how he plans to do that, he hands her the peanut butter like a peace offering and— what the hell, she takes it and starts eating with her fingers. It calms her down, marginally.

“You were a statue,” she says with, if she does say so herself, remarkable evenness.

“I was. Rather, I was cursed into a prison of stone.”

“A curse, okay, sure. And now you’re… uncursed?”

He nods.

“But you still look like…” She coughs awkwardly. “I mean, you know, you don’t look human.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he explains. “I am Adamantius the unbreakable, son of man.”

“That’s a hell of a name.”

“I am the fire that burns in the west,” he says, as if that explains everything. “What may I call you?”

“I’m… Soso,” she replies. “Soso Willoughby. I don’t have any fancy titles, sorry.”

“Lady Willoughby,” he says, and his eyes sparkle. “I owe you a great debt.” He drops his head so low his horns brush the floor.

“Hey, I’m not mad about the food, don’t worry about it. You must’ve been hungry.”

“I was. I have been. For countless years I’ve been imprisoned, waiting until the fated night you would free me from my endless purgatory.”

“I did what?” she gawks. “No, you’ve got me confused with someone else. I didn’t free anyone from anything.”

He sits up and presents her with a slightly squished snickers bar. “A single selfless gift,” he says, sounding overcome. “Even when the world forgot about me, even after the stories of my triumphs were lost to time, you still came and spoke to me with such kindness. Truly I can never repay you, but I will stay by your side and serve you faithfully ‘til the end of my days in gratitude.”

“Whoa, wait, what?” she chokes. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything! And you can’t… how am I supposed to explain you to my roommates? How am I supposed to-“ A thought occurs to her. “Oh god, how am I supposd to explain to Mr Surehouser that I stole his gargoyle? We need to get you back to the library before anyone notices you’re missing.”

The reverence falls from his face, replaced by a baring of teeth. “I will not go back there.”

Soso puts up her hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s… put a pin in that discussion. I need to think.”

“I apologize,” Adamantius rasps. “I didn’t mean to frighten you again. I swear to you, I will not cause you any harm. But I do not wish to return there, ever.”

“Well, what do you wish- want?” She leans tentatively closer, studying him. He’s less frightening in the light of day, but not by much. The color of skin still makes him appear as if made of stone, except now she can see his chest rise and fall with his breathing. A thin crack near the junction of one of his horns glows a faint red, the same flame-light that flickers behind his eyes, an inferno contained in a shell of granite.

“I want only to serve you, and to bring to account those who have wronged us.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

A flicker of something almost devious enters his expression. He gestures towards the bedroom window. Soso gets up to have a look. She pales.

Outside, the town is in chaos. Windows are smashed in, cars are tipped over, heavy claws marks carve a path down the entire street. It looks like the aftermath of a horror movie. A young man wearing a rubber mask is cowering in a tree on Summer Street as police and concerned neighbors try to coax him down.

“I thought it was just a really good costume,” another boy says, shaking like a lead as he gives his statement to a local news reporter.

Soso stands on the porch barefoot in yesterday’s clothes and tries not to panic. Adamantius comes up behind her in the doorway and she shoves him back inside. Remembering she’s not alone in the house, she keeps shoving until they’re standing in the narrow fenced-in area behind the back of the house, well out of sight.

“What did you do?” she demands.

“I thought the fates of the enemy should be left to your discretion, but I wanted to ensure they got the message.”

“Yeah, I think they got it!” She puts her head in her hands. “Dear god, you didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“As I said, I was awaiting your orders.”

“Okay, my orders are ‘don’t kill anybody’.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not ever?”

“Not ever! No killing, Ada- Adam- Why is your name so complicated!” she asks in frustration. “Don’t you have nickname or something I can call you?”

He lowers his head, looking pensive. After a moment he says, “There was someone once very close to me called me ‘Adami’.”

This information mellows Soso’s temper somewhat. Despite his appearance and somewhat murderous tendencies, there had been someone who cared for him, and whom it seemed he cared for in return, and now if his story was to be believed, crazy as it all sounded, they are likely long gone. Soso tries to imagine being imprisoned like he was, asleep and awake at once in a frozen form while the days, months, years went by. It sounds terrible.

“How long exactly were you… doing time?”

“I couldn’t say. After the first few decades or so time begins to lose its meaning. I didn’t so much feel the passage of time, only watched the rising and falling of the sun, the turning of the seasons. For much of that time, I wished only for vengeance, then for death, and then I wished for nothing at all. There didn’t seem a point. I had lost all hope of rescue long ago.” His gaze falls on her again. “Then you came. You spoke to me, and reminded me that I was still alive.”

Soso feels her face heat. How was she supposed to tell him that she’d only started talking to him because she thought he was an inanimate object?

“Adami,” she says gently. “We need to go back there. I need to figure out what happened, and the only other person I can think of who might know something is the librarian. I can’t- I don’t have enough room to hide you here without someone finding out, and once they do… I don’t know, they’ll probably want to put you in prison or dissect you for science or something!”

She reaches up and places her hands on his shoulders, privately marveling at the sheer size of him. She has to stand on her toes.

“I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, but you need to trust me.”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I will follow where you lead.”

Soso exhales an anxious breath and releases him. “I’ll need my bike.”

 --

 Surehouser doesn’t wake up in his bed, and rather than the morning light he is woken by a persistent thumping sound. At first, he thinks it’s simply the pounding in his own head. He’s had a bottle of dandelion wine- a gift from some cousin or other- stowed away since the equinox, saved for the express purpose of drowning out the Halloween festivities with his own.

In the time it takes him to recognize the knocking for what it is, he’s become aware of three things. One: he is wildly hung over. Two: today is the first of the month. Three: following that logic, he is well overdue to submit his annual report, which was due at the first of last month. He should get to it, he supposes, adjusting his glamour to better disguise the air of malaise he carries with him. Then again he doubts anyone is going to come breaking his door down about it. If not for the occasional paperwork and the letters and packages from his relations he’d think the whole of faerie society had long forgotten about him. It’s not as if anything happens here anyway.

He trudges to the front door of the library, wondering who could be so desperate to get his attention, and finds standing there the young lady who’s been dropping by the past couple weeks, accompanied by an eight foot abomination.

“So,” says the girl. “Don’t freak out.”

Surehouser runs to his desk and retrieves the enchanted blade he keeps below the stationary drawer. He’s not as spry as he used to be though and the monster has him pinned to the cherry wood before he can so much as unsheathe it. It gnashes its teeth and twists his arm until he’s forced to drop the weapon with a cry. Without any other option, he drops the human farce and the light it forces outward stuns the creature just long enough for him to slip from its grasp. From there, escaping would be easy, just take the form of a jackrabbit or a will o’ wisp and be gone. He almost does just that, but it seems somewhere along the years he’s picked up a conscience. Damn it.

“Soso, get back, I’ll hold it off.” He places himself between her and it, forming a barrier. Between the throbbing headache and the fear he hardly notices her grabbing onto his arm.

“Hold on a second, both of you stop it!”

Adamantius readies to charge and Soso steps between them.

“I said STOP!”

It stops. “As per your instructions,” it growls, startling Surehouser almost more than the attack itself. “I will not kill him.”

“I don’t want you to do anything to him, understand?”

The creature- he looks torn. “Not even-“

“No, whatever it is, no!” she says, flustered. She chides the rampaging goliath like one would a misbehaving dog. It’s honestly impressive. “Mr Surehouser’s a friend.”

Another snarl tears from him. “He’s a faerie.”

It takes a moment to sink in, but once she realizes he knows there’s no way to deny it. Soso steps back and for the first time really takes him in, the truth of him. Under his human disguise, the librarian is summer court through and through; his body all mist and golden light. The base human features are still there, but unlike some of his more passable fellows, one look at him without the aid of a glamour is enough to know he’s not of their world. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he veils himself with the familiar mask of the old unassuming librarian. It’s a magic specifically designed to make him easy to overlook, though the exact details of his appearance still depend largely on the viewer’s perception. It’s why he does his best to stay away from crowds. Too many conflicting accounts of the same man create a very real risk of his cover being blown.

It’s been a long time since he willingly dropped the act around another person, even among his own kind, however infrequently he sees them. Certainly he hadn’t planned to destroy his entire carefully-crafted persona when he woke up seven minutes ago. Yet here they were.

“That’s, wow,” the girl says.

He forces a chuckle. “Not the worst reaction I could’ve gotten, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting to a point where being shocked at every new thing is just taking up too much energy.”

Her eyes are winged and weary. Surehouser looks from her to Adamantius, an ancient warrior whom last he saw was petrified on his front lawn, a being even older than his great-grandfather, and significantly more sapient than he’d been led to believe from the wartime tales. He casts one last, longing look at his dagger laying on the floor and declares,

“It seems that we have a lot to talk about and frankly I don’t want to have this conversation standing up.”

He takes them out of the main library to a sitting area. There are two arm chairs and a small sofa loosely fitted into a circle around a low table in front of a fireplace, now dormant. Soso flops gratefully into the nearest chair. Adamantius isn’t so eager.

“I don’t like faeries,” he says. “And I don’t like your rings.”

“It’s a semi-circle if anything.” He sits. The monster stays standing, hovering at Soso’s side, tense and wary.

“So,” Surehouser begins after a moment. “You’ve, er, woken Adamantius.”

She nods slowly. “If it counts for anything, I didn’t exactly mean to.”

“It’s alright, Soso. I understand many humans in your age group go through an arcane phase, performing your little rituals and whatnot. Although how you stumbled upon something powerful enough to undo a curse like that is far beyond me.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know anything about magic or curses or whatever! It was an accident.”

He looks into her eyes; she seems earnest, though it can be hard to tell with humans.

“I gave him a snickers,” she says. “Adamantius says it was a gesture of pure kindness that broke the curse, or something.”

She looks to him for confirmation. He doesn’t take his eyes off the faerie, but nods his confirmation. She goes on to tell the full story, punctuated with various exaggerated hand motions.

“-And you don’t seem that surprised by all this,” she notes as it comes to a close. Or rather, catches up with the present. “And also, you’re a faerie? Is Surehouser even your name?”

“You could say so. It’s a name, and it’s mine.”

She makes a face. “Right. So like, what now?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Now, I need a drink.” He stands up and, obliged by the laws of hospitality, adds, “Do you want anything?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink. Also, it’s like 2:30.” When it becomes clear that that is not the deterrent she thinks it is, she turns to the creature. “What about you?”

“If you’re not having anything, neither will I.”

She purses her lips. “Actually, Mr Surehouser, if I could bug you for some water or something to eat… all I’ve really had today is, like, half a jar of peanut butter, and this guy was a rock for like a thousand years I guess so he’s always hungry.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Though food is not his indulgence of choice, he’s pretty sure he remembers where the kitchen is supposed to be. The fruit there doesn’t go rotten and the water he runs into a pitcher is cold and clean. For himself, two painkillers. As much as he’d rather not, he’s starting to think this is indeed a conversation he should be sober for.

Once he’s made up a tray he returns to the sitting room where the odd pair are exchanging muttered words and serious glances. Soso stands up to help him set everything out but as she reaches for the fruit, her monster stops her.

“For pity’s sake, Adamantius, they won’t harm her. This place is neutral territory. That’s the whole point.”

While he’s distracted she pops a handful of grapes into her mouth. “You two know each other?”

“Not personally,” says Surehouser. “Though at the same time you could say we’ve been neighbors for years.” He chuckles to himself. “For more than a century, now that I think about it. I’m a watcher. Not the first, though maybe the last.” He loses some of his good humor. The reality of the situation is setting in, unbelievable though it is. “It’s been my job to… well to prevent what is happening right now.”

“He is my jailor,” Adamantius clarifies.

“More or less. Soso, do you even know who it is you’ve been sitting so comfortably beside?”

“Does she know who you are?” he snaps in retaliation. “Have you ever taken a moment to explain the depths of your fraudulence, you oversized pixie?”

His eyes narrow. “Name calling isn’t necessary. But you have a point.” He turns to the girl. “I haven’t lied to you, but neither have I been truthful. Look around you. You see an old library, and me, its keeper. Although on the surface that is true, it’s such a small fraction of what it is. It’s only a name, only some books on some shelves.”

“Then what is the truth? The full truth.” She stares at him intently.

“Long ago,” he begins. As a start to a story, it’s as good as any. Soso’s told him her story, now he owes her one in return. “There was a terrible war between humankind and the fae people. You might know them as faeries, the hidden folk, the good neighbors. Again, that’s only the barest sliver of it. The fae consist of all magical beings, united against humanity. Once, our worlds were one, with the faerie lords, whose magic was strongest and purest, ruling over all.”

“While the humans,” Adamantius interjects. “Struggled at the bottom of the food chain. Although they were greater in numbers and more widespread than almost any other species, they were preyed on by the faefolk because of their lack of natural magic. When their science and scholarly learning grew strong enough to threaten even the faeries’ regime, war broke out. In the process, countless human lives and achievements were lost.”

“I would’ve gotten to that,” Surehouser says haughtily. “As I was saying, after years of fighting the humans finally made a breakthrough. Through study and spiritualism their brightest scholars developed a power that was enough to rival fae magic. They called it alchemy, and with it they created a killing machine powerful enough to turn the tide of the war. Adamantius, the man-made monster.

“Though it was magic, albeit humans’ version of magic, that created him, he became the ultimate soldier against the fae forces. Because of this, many came to consider his existence the ultimate insult, a betrayal of our ways.”

The monster in question lunges forward. Soso seizes his arm, nearly falling out of her chair.

“Your ways and your magic have nothing to do with me. I am the son of man.”

Surehouser takes a sip of water, smiling against the rim of his glass. All this drama for a beast who was unable to act without his human’s approval.

“Personally I’m neutral on the subject. War is a terribly ugly thing. The humans’ precious pet soldier did a lot of damage, but so did we. The only reason the humans won the war in the end was because the lords at the time feared their new alchemy. This single creation of theirs had dealt more damage in a few years, a blink of an eye to them, than all their previous efforts combined. If the humans managed to reproduce their experiment… well, the risk was too great.

“The fae forces surrendered and treaty negotiations began. One of the main conditions of the treaty was that each nation’s greatest tools of war be retired and sealed away somewhere on neutral ground, never to be used again. You see where I’m going with this?”

Soso looks offended. “Adami’s alive. A living person isn’t a weapon.”

He shrugs. “When I say tools of war I’m not speaking of just blades and bombs. Lots of things can be a weapon that you wouldn’t expect. Wealth, knowledge, even a bowl of fruit.”

Adamantius picks up an armchair.

“Kidding, kidding! No need to go throwing furniture.” He stands up, hands raised. “You are much more hair-trigger than the stories suggested. Come, I’ll show you what I mean.”

He takes them behind the front desk and pushes aside a shelf of “staff picks”, revealing a hidden doorway that opens onto the basement. Anyone who knew what to look for would be able to pick out a concealment charm easily. Sometimes it paid to do things the old-fashioned way, so to speak.

The entrance is short and narrow and Adamantius struggles to squeeze through for a minute before it becomes clear that it’s wasted effort.

“What a pity,” Surehouser chirps. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me with your human for a while.”

He growls his disapproval, but once again Soso manages to talk him down. “I’ll be fine. I promised, right? Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

The creature doesn’t look entirely at ease with the idea, but he relents. As they descend the steps, he stands stalwart at the doorway, his eyes following them down until they disappear into the darkness completely.

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Good Ole Stuffing

A/N:  For @xxloki81xx​ ‘s 2019 Xmas writing challenge, filling the song prompt:  It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas - Michael Bublé.  Thanks for organising this badass challenge

This is a Bucky Barnes x Reader w/ powers fic where their relationship is established.  The story is set a couple of years after another of my fics, Disco Ball Diva.  I think I might make a cluster of fics with this reader character because she’s hilarious and sassy as fuck.

Read Disco Ball Diva  |  Main Masterlist  |  Mobile Masterlist

Words:  3.3k

Warnings:  18+ only please... Smut, threats of bodily harm, and terrible terrible language.

Summary:  The early arrival of Christmas and a prank courtesy of Sam ‘turkey boy’ Wilson ruins your super-chill fall vibe.  Bucky makes it up to you, and let’s face it, his recipe for stuffing is right up your street.

November 1st.  You sighed blissfully.  This day always felt so peaceful, like all the tension that built up over the course of a year just seeped away leaving behind a fresh, crisp, new-feeling world much like the old one but lighter; unpacked and unburdened.  This was one of the things you loved about Halloween, aside from the dark occult connotations, and the child-like excitement that came with this holiday, All Saints Day had its own special feel; everything felt cleansed.  Except your mind – that was always filthy.

Halloween at the Avengers compound had been an evening garden party with a bon fire, a haunted house marquee, carnival games and spooky themed circus acts.  It was more for the families of all the Avengers and Stark Industries staff (families with children), but you but you loved every second regardless.  Kids in costumes running around excitedly with candyfloss, completely hyperactive on sugar and E numbers.  Adults in costumes running around excitedly, completely hyperactive on alcohol.  But that had been later in the night, after all the kids had gone and all who were left were those of your who lived in the compound.

This year, you and Bucky had done the couples thing.  Collaborating costumes for the first time had been fun and your adaptation of Sweeny Todd and Mrs Lovett had gone down swimmingly, especially since you actually baked pies for the party; apple and blackberry, made to look like a bloody filling. Delicious.

It wasn’t the first Halloween you’d had together, you’d been together 2 years now and things were going great.  You’d danced around each other when you’d first joined the team but as time grew on you came to realise that you truly cared for the man formerly known as The Winter Soldier, and learned that he felt the same.  And boy, did he!  Bucky poured his heart and soul into you, giving life to the aching hope you cherished, that one day all the tension between you would evolve into something amazing. And that he’d fuck you senseless.  Phew!  That man was passionate on a whole other level, even the thought of him was enough to get you going.

Sweaty and in desperate need of a different kind of release, you quit the gym having worked through your hangover, and hit the showers.  If you’d have told yourself a couple of years ago that you’d be an exercise-loving badass Avenger with a badass Avenger boyfriend, you’d have told yourself to suck a dick.  You’d come a long way since Tony Stark picked you up, back when you were a hotdog seller whose superpower was simple prismatic projection.  Now you were a fully-fledged Avenger whose power could both protect and harm, as well as look snazzy as fuck.  Your Avenger name was Suncatcher, which was a hell of a lot better than Rainbow Brite - the name Bucky first called you when you joined up.  That asshole! 

The communal area in the compound had a different feel altogether.  Not the calm you loved about All Saints Day, but something glowing and bright and-.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Your gym bag was heavy as you toted it the final few steps into the lounge where you observed a kind of carnage you’d never seen before, not even in the aftermath of battle.

 Bucky’s head snapped in your direction, his glitter-covered hair fanned, sending sparkling dust everywhere. There were fairy lights wrapped around his metal arm, plugged in, no less, and he had baubles on the floor all around where he knelt.

“Hey sweetheart.”  He was at your side in seconds, having ditched the lights and come to give you a hug and a soft peck on the cheek.

“Where’s the Halloween shit?”

Bucky’s mouth flapped in surprise at seeing your deep scowl, and he thumbed over his shoulder at his friend.

Ahh yes, the other culprit. The Falcon.

Sam had been knelt by Bucky, hidden from view when you’d entered.  Now he was out in the open, exposed, and he was struggling to stifle his mirth.

“Well, this ain’t happenin’.  Hell fuckin’ no!”  You stood in front of the partially assembled Christmas tree, hands on hips, bristling.  “I will fucking fight you both.”  You were sure you looked fierce.  Amazon queen that you were.  

“C’mon, Rainbow Brite.” Sam smirked.  “Tis the season to be jolly.”

“Fuck that!”  You gripe indignantly.  “It’s Halloween until December 24th and not a day before.”

“You tolerate this woman?” Sam jibed at Bucky, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering groan.

“Get stuffed, turkey boy.” Your irritation was only half serious, you loved talking shit, especially to Sam.  “I light up his life like the glorious disco ball of sexy bitchin’ badassery that I am.”

Bucky pulled you in for a hug, chuckling against the top of your head.  “Speaking of stuffing.”  He murmured.

“Oh baby!”  You moaned salaciously when his hands slid down to your ass.  “You know I love me some of that 100 year old sausage meat stuffing.”  You cackle with glee at the disgusted noise Sam made.

You were sorely tempted to push Bucky down on the sofa, straddle him and make a scene of dry humping him just to get Sam to flee the scene.  Bucky would let you do it too, he’d long since stopped being embarrassed by your exhibitionist behaviour.  But you wanted this man to fuck you senseless and that called for the soundproofed bedroom in which he slept.

Nightmares.  It was for the nightmares, alright.  But it certainly served your needs.

“If I’ve got to tolerate this Christmas bullshit before the corpse of Halloween is even cold then you,”  you paused to poke his pec playfully, “robocock, are going to make it up to me.”

With a grin, Bucky tapped your thigh and bent down a little.  Jump up, his eyes said.

No sooner were your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, were his lips on yours in a searing kiss and he carried you away.  Somewhere in the background Sam was muttering something about being scarred for life, counselling needed and some other lame ass complaint.  You didn’t care.  Bucky had you and he was going to take you.

 There was no preamble once his bedroom door banged shut against the frame.  Bucky threw you down onto the bed and tugged down your yoga pants, knickers and all. He knew what you needed from him, he was great like that, reading your mood and desire like you were an open book. It had come with much practice, but it had come.

You were yanked by your ankles to the edge of the bed and Bucky was inside you immediately, where he stilled, eyelids fluttering as he allowed you both a moment to adjust.  You were tight, even after all this time as his lover.  More so because he hadn’t warmed you up beforehand, but you were great.  Perfect, in fact.

You grinned at his sharp intake of breath at the purposeful flex of your pelvic floor, teasing him, goading him to fuck you sore.  To leave you with that burning throb that reminded you for days of the feel of him buried deep in your cunt.

“Lose the shirt.”  You commanded with a sly smile and he obeyed instantly.  “I’ve been thinking about you naked all damn day.”

“Yeah?”  He threw your legs over his shoulders folded you in half, leaning over you until his hair tickled your face, swaying as he started a slow rhythm.  “Been thinking about my cock too?  I bet you have.”

You groaned deep as he slammed into you hard, once twice, three times.  “What girl – doesn’t love – vintage – accessories?”  Your grin was taunting and your hit your mark.  You loved it when he talked dirty.

“I’ll give you vintage.” He growled, dragging your hands up above your head to pin you down, his hands locked with yours.  “You’ll feel this tomorrow, for sure.”

It was brutal.  The depth and force of his thrusts, and the angle he achieved by forcing your knees down onto the mattress by your ears using his weights as leverage.  You could hardly breathe, but that was half the thrill.  Gasping and keening, dizzy but exhilarated, you took every inch of him as he drilled you down into the bed.  Paying rent, you called this.

“You gonna come for me, huh, sweetheart?”  Bucky read the violent flush blooming on your face and décolletage with an arrogance smirk. “Gonna let me feel that sweet little pussy flutter?  Yeah, you are!  I’m gonna fuck you until you come around my cock.”

You had no words for him, only grunts and gasps made of what little air was in your lungs.  He didn’t mind, he was giving you this, fucking you how you needed.  It wasn’t always brutal like this, sometimes you couldn’t bare anything more than the softest touch, when you asked him to make love to you instead of fucking you into oblivion.

“Feel that?”  He slammed into you hard and ground against you for a few beats, his pubic bone wreaking havoc with your clit, before resuming his punishing rhythm.  “I’m gonna destroy that gorgeous hole of yours so bad you won’t sit right for a week.”

He was so close, straining to hold back until he pushed you over the edge.  Impossibly he picked up the pace, pounding you ruthlessly until your eyes rolled back into their sockets.  You practically drooled on yourself, groaning as you crested the huge mountain of intense pleasure he built for you.  The wave crashed, destroying what was left of your self-control. You cried out, tears undammed as they spilled forth.  It was exquisite, the sharpness of your climax and the painful burn where you were stretched so perfectly around his swollen prick.

The first violent contraction of your cunt dragged him with you, his cock twitched almost painfully as the pressure between his hips exploded.  The air around you grew heavy to the point where he couldn’t draw breath, and as he filled you to brimming with his jism small flecks of multi-coloured light erupted all around.

He slowed and sat back on his knees, prolonging your orgasm with slow deep strokes until you began to relax.  The light show was spectacular, undulating spectrums layered over one another, growing in size until you came back to yourself.

Bucky stroked his hands up and down your thighs gently, watching as your breathing settled and your eyes cracked open to meet his.  Your shock was temporary, followed by guilt and suddenly he could breathe more than short shallow breaths.  You hadn’t realised you’d used your power; it was a reaction to the intense emotions you’d felt.  The first time it happened, Bucky panicked, but now he knew to ride it out, and sometimes it added to his pleasure.

“How was that?”  he whispered, lowering your legs to the mattress and curling himself against your spine.

“Best stuffing, evarrrr…” You spoke quietly but with a smile, blissfully worn out and on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Not bad for 1940s vintage, huh, sweetheart?”  He pressed a kiss into the hair at your temple and pulled you closer, feeling you relax back against his chest.

“They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”  You mumble and Bucky chuffs a soft nasal chuckle, rubbing his stubbly cheek in your hair as you succumb to complete peace.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Everywhere you go…

Take a look at the five and ten, it’s glistening once again

With candy canes and silver lanes that glow…

 You stirred from sleep, grumbling at the infernal racket that was threatening to ruin the amazing dream you were having about Bucky kissing every single inch of your body.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Toys in every store…

But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

On your own front door…

 The muffled vibrating that accompanied the horrendous tune pulled you further from sleep and made you crack an eye open like a sleeping dragon.  A phone.  Someone’s phone was ringing.  Some Christmas-loving heathen’s phone.  Ughh!

A pair of hop-a-long boots and a pistol that shoots

Is the wish of Barney and Ben

Dolls that’ll talk and will go for a walk

Is the hope of Janice and Jen

And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again…

 You were soon bolt upright, slightly woozy but too grumpy to care.  You scoured Bucky’s room for the source of the annoyance and fixed, confusedly, on your gym bag.  What the fuck?  Hands frantically searching, you pulled out your phone to find one missed call from ‘Fist of Victory’.  Bucky must’ve called you to wake you from your nap.  Blissed out as you were, he must’ve left you to sleep while he ran some errands and did some chores, like bringing your gym bag from the common room.

The screen flashed and the voice of Michael Bublé piped up once more.  Bucky again.

It’s beginning to look a lot like-

You killed the call and, with an irritated nasal sigh, you delved into your settings to undo whatever heinous crime had been committed on your phone.

It’s beginning to look-

“Nope.”  You swiped the red button, growing more annoyed by the second.  Your phone asked you for a password but your pin didn’t work.  “Don’t do this to me!”  You groaned, trying everything you could think of short of factory restoring your device.

It’s beginning to-

“What the actual fuck?” You raged.  It was no use.  Some bastard had set your ringtone and locked you out of your own security.  “Fuck Christmas!”

Dirty yoga pants pulled on in haste and phone in hand, you raced from Bucky’s room towards the common room where you hoped to find your beau or at least someone who could fix this travesty.  Micheal Bublé’s voice chased you down the halls until you were about ready to flush your phone down the nearest shitter and call it quits.

Shoving through the door of the lounge, you were faced with 4 pairs of eyes around a dinner table laden with food; Bucky, Nat, Sam and Steve turned to look at you.  Bucky’s smile faded when he saw the state of you, dishevelled and panting, pink thong over the top of your inside-out yoga pants; furious.  You froze, cringing as the song continued uninterrupted in your hand.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Everywhere you go…

There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well

It’s the sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow…

 There was confusion from three of the four, Bucky included as he ended the call, but Sam – oh that bastard!  You lunged for him and almost got to him too, before a solid metal arm wound around your waist and pulled you back.

“You!”  You struggled hard against Bucky’s strength, but even if you got free Steve was ready to stop you before you could hurt yourself, and it would hurt, but it would be worth it to punch that smug parrot in his weak-looking jaw.  “I’m gonna fucking pluck you, roast you and feed you to the homeless.”

The amused glint in Sam’s eyes goaded you further but you succumbed to the calming effect of Bucky’s arms tightly gripped around you.  You dropped your head against his chest and groaned.

“C’mon, y/n!  Get into the Christmas spirit.”  Sam chuckled and you flipped him the bird.

He knew he’d won this round but you’d find some way of paying him back.  Maybe you’d set fire to his tree on Christmas Eve so Christmas Day would have that vibrant bonfire smell that reminded you of Halloween, which was only yesterday.  You huffed.

“Is this why the tree is up so early?”  Nat said judgingly with a slight roll of her eyes.  “You should probably fix her phone.”

“Hell no!”  Sam snorted around a mouthful of food.  “This is too much fun.”

“Suit yourself.”  Nat hid her smirk behind the rim of her coffee cup. “I’m not going to save you when she chokes the life out of you, Darth Vader style.”

Coughing and choking preceded grains of rice spluttered into a napkin as Sam’s wide eyes flitted between you and Nat.  “She what?”

“Wanda has been working with her on expanding the range of her powers so she can effect larger areas further away from her body.”  Steve chimed in.  “It’s impressive.”

“The air gets thick and suddenly you can’t breathe.”  Nat cocked a brow.  “She doesn’t even need to touch you and you’re choking to death.”

“From over there?” Sam pushed his chair back a few inches, like that would make a difference.

Steve and Nat nodded deliberately, solemnly.

You grinned, projecting a light show worthy of your wrath.  Sam was out of his seat and backing up before Bucky turned you and positioned himself between you and your target.  Sam didn’t know you couldn’t reach him and it was fun to make him squirm so you tried, like, really tried to stretch your power outwards at that winged menace. The air grew heavy and it seemed like everyone held their breath, everyone except you.

Bucky stroked his hand into your messy hair and tilted your head ready for his kiss.  You knew he was trying to distract you, and it worked. Lips and tongues eagerly danced until you were moaning into his mouth and pressing yourself against his growing arousal.  The room relaxed as he ravaged your lips, forgetting you were not alone.  Your tummy growled aggressively and broke the spell, bashful giggles followed.

“Looks like I’m going to be making it up to you again, darlin’, on behalf of that bird brain.” Bucky kissed the tip of your nose.

“Well…”  You drawled.  “If you’re going to fuck me every time he pisses me off then I might sign him up on a contract.”

Bucky smeared his lips against yours in a passionate but tongueless kiss before swiping a plate full of food from the table and shoving it into your hands.

He swept you up bridal style and spun you around once for good measure.  Nat caught your eye and you mouthed ‘thank you’ to her.  She winked subtly with that pursed lop-sided smirk she does when she’s highly amused.  Steve was looking elsewhere, seeing his childhood friend head-over-heels in love and so confidently displaying his emotions was a moment of awkward pride for him.

Sam was forgotten as Bucky carried you back to his room with a grin on his face that already had you weak. Your phone was forgotten, turned off in your hand, and as you disappeared down the hallway, those in the common room would swear they heard you humming a tune.  A tune that fit with the words now playing in your head.

 It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Several times a day

Take a look at that perfect bum, and that juicy pair of plums

And the cock that’s going to fuck my cares away

 It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Get the toys and stuff

If I’m still walking straight, and not with a funky gait

Then he hasn’t truly boned me hard enough

 A pair of nipple-clamp bells and some lube that smells

Like cherry and not something yuk

A straining hard cock that gives my ovaries a knock

And I’m gonna give it a suck

And when we’re done, we’ll watch some porn until we’re ready to fuck

 It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Fingers tease me slow

When he’s giving me metal three and working them ruthlessly

Until I’m screaming and I’m ready to explode

 It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

And we’ve ruined Bucky’s bed

We’ll take it to the floor or stood by the door

Where I’m on my knees so I can give him head.

 It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

He’s gasping as he comes

Filling me to the brim and holding me close to him

Rubbing my cheeks so tender with his thumbs

 I do love Bucky’s plums.

If you’ve enjoyed this, why not try my other Suncatcher fic, Disco Ball Diva.  Same sassy reader character, just earlier on in her Avengers career.