#anger and sadness run along similar lines

[alouiadina]

Clegan au (sad) part 1

So this idea is kind of Brokeback Mountain-esque, and I see this as a three story deal, or at least told in three parts.

So part one/ story one starts in the summer of 1934. Gale is 15 (he'll be 16 in December), and plans to spend the summer either working his ass off on the farm to avoid his father's anger, and when he's not doing that, spend time with Marge, his sweetheart.

The first week goes according to plan, his father only lashes out once, and he manages to meet up with Marge for a couple of dates. Then, one night, after a movie date with Marge, he comes home to find a boy standing on his porch. He's tall, lanky, and wearing the obviously fake glasses. There are also a couple of suitcases at his feet.

"Your parents send you here too?" The boy asks, voice lower than Gale expected. It sends a shiver down his spine.

He tells the boy no, asking why the boy's on his front doorstep.

"Your doorstep?" The boy asks in a joking . "Aren't you a little young to be a farm owner with a wife and kid?"

Gale looks at him, baffled, then says: "I'm the kid."

Then the boy tells him that his mother had sent him to the farm because she didn't have enough money to support him and his two sisters, and Mr. Cleven offered fair pay for the summer. Gale is hesitant about the reason the boy is there, feeling that he's lying, but his presence there could be a buffer, and his father wouldn't lash out as physically as he normally would.

Not long after, the front door is opened by Gale's mother, who seems happy to see the boy.

"John," She says. "I see you've met Gale."

The look on John's face makes it look like the boy, John, thinks his name is ridiculous, but doesn't say anything akin to that. She then tells the boys that dinner's on the table, and Gale is surprised that he has a seat and a plate. Usually, after his dates with Marge, he isn't allowed to have one, even if he didn't eat on the date. His dad on about something along the lines of earning your keep and whatnot.

His dad is greatly nicer than he normally is, and Gale enjoys it. A small part of him hopes after John leaves that his dad would stay like this, but he knows it's unlikely. After dinner, Gale finds out that he and John would be sharing his room, and that while he was out with Marge, they had moved the spare bed they used to keep in the barn (the one Gale was forced to sleep on if his chores weren't done on time) into his room.

He shows John to his room, now their room for the summer. While unpacking, John bequeaths Gale the nickname Buck, which he hates, but that doesn't deter John. He doesn't get the nickname in the "you look like this guy from Manitowoc" way, that's for later in the story. Gale also doesn't know John's nickname is Bucky, which he also won't know until later.

Though, what he does learn that night is that John is 18 (he'll be 19 in September), he learns a lot about John's two sisters and mom, but nothing about his dad, which Gale doesn't press, as he knows a thing or two about not wanting to talk about your dad.

As the summer goes on, Gales chores lessen due to the presence of John, Gale's dad is still holding up the nice act, which gives Gale more hope he'll be a changed man by summers end, and Gale gets to spend more time with Marge. And he notices something whenever he's in close proximity to John, like an itch, or a magnet drawing him in. He recognizes it as a similar feeling he had for Marge when they first met, but he knows it's different. He thinks that maybe this is what having a friend is like.

He also notices that John has this jealous air about him whenever Marge is mentioned. He thinks it's because John is attracted to Marge, even though they've never met (Marge doesn't even know John exists), and is jealous of Gale or something. So he confronts John about it in the barn one day, and John ends up kissing him.

Panicked, Gale pushes John away (maybe says some things) then runs to do another thing on the farm. He considers telling his father what John did. He thinks that if John being here might not fix him, telling his father that John is a queer, that might fix their father/son relationship. But, the more he thinks, the more he know's that won't fix anything. He knows that his father will accuse him of seducing John, of more than just letting John kiss him. He'll tell Gale that John only kissed him because Gale wanted to kiss him.

In that moment, he realizes that he did want John to kiss him. That he liked it. That maybe... maybe he wanted to do more with John, the more that his father would most definitely think happened if he found out.

A day or so passes, before Gale has the nerve to talk to John. John starts to apologize, when Gale says: "Meet me in the barn after my parents go to bed." Or something along the lines of that.

So, they do that. After he's sure his parents are asleep, he goes and waits in the barn, and sometime later, John comes. John starts apologizing again, saying that he only kissed him because he thought Gale was like him, and that he thought Gale wanted too. He starts babbling a bit, only stopping in surprise when Gale kisses him. Gale pulls away, nervously looking up at John.

John has this expression on his face, like he just won the lottery or something. Gale knows he did good. He kisses John again, and it progresses further. Gets hungry. They end up dry humping in a stack of hay, Gale gasping at the intensity of it all until it's over. He falls asleep in the hay, waking up the next morning in his bed, no trace of straw on him.

They start a routine. Once every few nights, they meet in the barn, sometimes they just hump each other, sometimes John takes them in his hand. Sometimes during chores, John would get ballsy and quickly peck Gale on the mouth or cheek or something before disappearing to do the next thing. Gale still goes out with Marge every now and again, still not telling her about John, now having even more reason not to. He knows John is unhappy with his relationship with Marge, but he does his best to get John to understand that if he suddenly broke up with Marge, that his dad would be onto them, but in a way that doesn't let John know that Mr. Cleven is abusive when no ones around.

One night, John tells Gale he wants their relationship to go further than just humping and jerking each other off. Gale admits to John that he's still a virgin, so John back tracks a little. Gale tells him that he does want to with John, but is unsure how. For at least this part in the story, John bottoms. He doesn't want to hurt Gale, and he knows that this way would be more pleasurable for him.

This is already getting long, so I'll try to be short about these lasts few bits.

Marge thinks (correctly) that Gale is cheating on her, but quickly dissuades her from it, reminding her how his dad is. Gale's mom asks to speak with Gale alone after dinner one night, only to tell him that she knows about him and John. Gale panics a bit, but she assures him that it's fine, she won't tell anyone. She tells him that her sister/brother was the same and she did the same for them, until someone else found out and got to them.

Then summer ends and John is going back to Manitowoc. They share a kiss the night before, Gale asking John to pretend he's doing that the next day at the train station when they say goodbye. At the train station, John promises Gale that he'll write. (spoiler alert, he doesn't)

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: the Lark's Broken Wings

Okay, so as I've said I would, we have a bonus chapter to focus on the Lady of Larks and her trauma. I'll admit I had to go to a pretty dark place to make this chapter a reality, it was not easy to write.

That being said, major content warning with mentions of PTSD and sexual assault and the trauma associated with that. If this makes you uncomfortable, hang in there, I have more chapters planned for the main story line (plus a couple more bonus chapters).

Also I as a writer recognize that r*pe related trauma is not a universal experience, and it affects people in different and varying ways. If you have been through a similar experience, know you are not alone.

The following story also takes place during the Baptism of Fire story line more or less.

"No...no...please...stop...."

Your pleas in your sleep along with your thrashing about in your sleep bag stirred some in the group who made camp for the night.

Among those was Geralt who was quick to get on his feet and approach you. The witcher was followed by Jaskier who took a few seconds more to realize what was happening.

Zoltan Chivay and Cahir were a little slower to wake, Zoltan rubbing his eyes, "what is going on now?" he asks, "are we under attack again?"

"No," was Milva's answer as she approached with concern, "it's happening again."

"Go away....get away..." you continue as your nightmares of the Rogue Prince continue to haunt you.

"(y/n)?" Geralt places a hand on your shoulder and tries to shake it in an attempt to wake you. "(y/n)! You're having a nightmare! Wake up! (y/n)!"

"GET AWAY!" you scream, eyes wide as you bolt up from where you laid. You broke out in cold sweat, panting hard like you had been running for your life. Considering what your nightmare consisted of, you might as well have.

"(y/n)-" Geralt tried to touch you again, but you slap his hand and back away from no one in particular, clearly still in panic mode and hyperventilating. "He's coming, he's coming for me. He's coming for me, he's coming for me..."

"(y/n), you were having a nightmare," Jaskier tries to reason but you didn't listen, only screaming and crying in response. "He's coming for me again."

Geralt and Jaskier only exchange concerned looks, completely at a loss of what to do. "What do we do?" Jaskier whispers to the witcher. "(y/n)," Geralt tries again in a soft voice, slowly approaching, staying at a certain distance to keep you from feeling like you were suffocating. "He's not coming for you again, (y/n)."

You feel your breath return to normal, looking around to see Geralt kneeling in front of you. To his left you see Jaskier and to the right you see Milva and Regis and the others in the group staring at you.

It was just a nightmare, you realize. You were not in King's Landing anymore. You were not being abused at the hands of Daemon Targaryen anymore...you didn't have Aemma in your arms anymore. You had escaped...but at the cost of losing your daughter in the process.

You felt the tears threaten to spill. You place your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making any weeping sounds. "(y/n)," you hear Geralt say, empathy conveyed in his tone. You lean into Geralt, not caring about the scene you were probably causing before the company, "he took my daughter from me," you whisper as you sob incoherently into Geralt's shoulder, "My Aemma...my little girl." "I know...I know," Geralt rubs your back for comfort, sadness filling inside him for you, and the anger for the man who did this to you rising.

You stayed in Geralt's arms for a bit, willing to stay there all night, maybe forever. But then you saw the rest of the groups staring at you with looks of confusion and pity. You pull away. "What are you all looking at?" you ask, sniffling and wiping your eyes, "it was just a nightmare."

"It seemed more than that," Milva points out. "Well it was," you insist, "I'm fine, really." "Are you certain?" Cahir questions. "Yes, what does it matter to you? Why is he even still here?" you exasperate, "I thought we kicked him out. Aren't still mad at him because of Ciri?" "How about we don't change the subject?" Milva steps in. You lightly push her to the side, "I'm fine," you repeat, "I'm sorry I woke you all. I just want to go back to sleep."

You lay back on your sleep mat, turning around and curling your knees to your chest, trying to ignore the stares from everyone else in the camp. You were not a victim, you say to yourself- the things that happened to you in King's Landing at the hands of...that man did not change you or damage you in any way. All this, despite the fact this wasn't the first time those nightmares haunted your sleep, and it wasn't the first time said nightmares forced you to scream and wake up everyone around you.

After escaping the Lodge, you were reunited with Geralt and Jaskier, whom were just as relieved to see as the last time they saw you, you were at death's door and had disappeared seemingly in the middle of the night. You explained to them what had actually happened, that Yennefer took you to a secret place to save you with the  help of her fellow sorceresses.

At first Geralt had been furious that Yennefer would put you in the position you were in, and not trusting him enough to tell him her plan, but he was glad she did what needed to be done to save your life. You had yet to disclose that the remedy that saved your life also came at the expense of your fertility.

After the reunion, you had been introduced to the others that were part of the company: the vampire Regis, a dwarf Zoltan, Cahir, and a dryad named Milva. All four of them were somewhat familiar with who you were as the Lady of Larks, but didn't know the extent of the events you had endured as of recent.

The company was heading South towards Nilfgaard with the hopes of rescuing Ciri from the hands of the Emperor. You wanted to go back to Westeros to rescue Aemma, but with no mage to open a portal back to that place, it would take an army to lay siege to King's Landing just to save your daughter. It was a long shot, but maybe if you found a way to appeal to the Emperor's more empathetic nature, he might be able to help with that.  Again, you were not sure how that would work, but it was the only plan anyone had.

It was a long journey, and your bouts of panic attacks during the day, and the nightmares that followed weren't exactly helping the company, save for depriving them of a full night's sleep and slowing their trek when you needed to step away to calm yourself.

It was understandable they were all concerned, especially Geralt and Jaskier, but you still insisted you were alright, and this was temporary. It would all go away as soon as you got Aemma back, you convinced yourself to believe. Once she was back in your arms and away from her father, the nightmares would surely cease once and for all.

The following morning, the company departed at first light. You trailed behind for the majority of the trek, wanting to avoid eye contact with anyone in the group, and also with the hopes of avoiding answering any uncomfortable questions. Geralt was leading the group; today, it looked like he was able to cover more ground at a faster pace then he did yesterday. Since that day on Thanedd, when you were still in King's Landing, when that coup took place and Geralt suffered significant damage at the hands of the sorcerer Vilgefortz, the witcher has dealt with occasional bouts and flare ups that were associated with chronic pain. While he could put up with it most days, Geralt also had bad days. Even when Regis was kind enough to create a medicated balm to ease the pain, the witcher would still have days when the pain was too much, and he would either need to take it slow, or stop the trek altogether. You understood, and had no wish to push the man past what he was able to bare on those days. It was going to be a long journey anyway, what was a few extra days to stop and rest?

While you lagged behind, you found yourself lost in thought, thinking about your dream, specifically the part of the dream that wasn't a nightmare. When you heard Aemma crying in her room. You had walked in, seeing her in distress. You didn't know why, but you came to her side, picked her up in your arms, and sang her a soothing lullaby, which calmed her and had her falling asleep against your chest. You thought about how that dreamed reminded you of when you would do similar things with Aemma back in Dragonstone and King's Landing, when she was the one thing that kept you going during those dark times. She was what kept you fighting to survive so you and her could escape that terrible place. You escaped...and she was still behind.

You didn't want to think about how worried she was for you, not knowing where you were or if you were even coming back. Part of you had speculated the things her father was putting inside her head as of right now. What lies was Daemon concocting right now to fill inside your daughter's head. That you died? That you abandoned her? That someone came and took you from her? 

What if it was too late by the time you went back with the proper reinforcements? What if your daughter was so convinced by Daemon's lies, she would end up hating you?

You felt the tears build up, but you don't bother to stop them from spilling as no one in the front would see you crying. Or so you were hoping.

Milva looked behind to see your silent tears. She lagged now to be by your side. "Are you thinking about last night?" the dryad inquires. You shake your head and wipe your tears. "I wasn't thinking about last night," you assure. "Bullshit," Milva scoffs. "I don't want to talk about it," you huff. "Suit yourself," Milva concedes. The two of you walk side by side in awkward silence for a few brief moments before she spoke again, a little more empathy in her voice this time around.

"I used to have nightmares too, you know." You say nothing, continuing to walk in silence. "Most of them were of my stepfather," the dryad continues,  "The man he...well we didn't get along. Well I didn't get along with him, and he tried to get along with me a little too well. He would always unwanted advances towards me even though he was married to my mother. I was barely past adolescence around that time. Even after I stood up for myself and ran away after knocking him out with a rake, he still haunted me one way or another. I used to dream he was coming after me for revenge or something far worse." You turn your head to make eye contact with Milva. 

You didn't know too much about her, save for what little she has disclosed to the company so far; before becoming part of the dryads of Brokelin Forest, Milva was part of a family of hunters in Upper Sodden. Her father taught her everything she knew about the trade, and it was something she maintained well, having made her first kill when she was only 11. You knew her mother had remarried after her father died, and she ran away soon after, but this was the first time you understood why.   You didn't know how much Geralt had disclosed to the dryads when they first brought him to the forest to heal him with the waters of Brokelin Forest, but Milva remembered when Geralt insisted he needed to get to King's Landing to rescue from the family of dragon lords who ruled that place. She was under the impression they kept you in prison there. She was right, though it wasn't a prison like a dungeon. It was a gilded cage, one that seemed nice and luxurious on the outside, but on the inside it had turned into your personal hell.

"I'm sorry you went through that," you told her, meaning it, "but I fail to understand what this has to do with me." "I...I just thought it might help if you knew you are not alone in whatever it is you went through. Whoever it was that hurt you-" "Nobody hurt me!" you insist. Milva only gave a incredulous look in response, to which you took offense. "What you don't believe me?" "I'd have an easier time believing you if you weren't so defensive," Milva explains, "I used to get that way too. I tried to convince others around me, the other dryads, that my past didn't damage me. I would put up a front and act like I was not broken, not after I went through-" "I'm not you, Milva!" you interrupt her, the others up front pretend like they're not listening in.

"I'm sorry that you went through such horrible things, but that wasn't me. Yes, I was...in a less than ideal situation. I endured more shit in the last three years than I ever did in my whole life, I was...I was forced to do things I had no say in, sure that happened, and those things happen everyday. But I'm not damaged." "(y/n)-" "I'm not a victim, Milva," you insist, "I survived and I came out in one piece. Well, one piece was left behind, but I'm fine. I at least know my daughter is in a place where she can't be harmed for the time being. I'll be fine. I'll solider through till we get to Nilfgaard, rescue Ciri, and then rescue Aemma."

You stare daggers at the group, whom you knew were eavesdropping due to the fact they had slowed down, "and you all can stop pretending you were not listening in!" you shout. "(y/n), it was none of our intention to eavesdrop," Jaskier tries to intervene, running over to you, "we're just...you know, concerned."

"Why? Why all this concern?" you exasperate. "(y/n), you were held against your will on some foreign land with no allies or friends, except for your daughter. You were forbidden to leave and he-" You now stare daggers at your brother, almost daring him to finish his sentence, "he did what, Julian? HE did WHAT?"

At this point, the company all but stop moving. Jaskier could see in your eyes you were not going to acknowledge what happened to you anytime soon, and any further pushes would only lead to you clamping down on your unresolved trauma. You would only continue to keep it all in, even when it continue to bubble up to the surface, be it in the form of your nightmares or your daytime panic attacks. So your brother steps and concedes, "...nothing, little sister. Forgive me for doubting you being fine. I believe you."

You didn't believe him, but accepted his apology all the same.

The company continued their trek.

Jaskier walked up ahead to Geralt, "Geralt-" "I know," the witcher whispers to his friend. "She can't keep going like this," Jaskier insists, "if she doesn't let it out soon, it may end up destroying her before we even get to Nilfgaard." "She won't talk about it," Geralt points out. "She can't keep it in," Jaskier points back, "I know she keeps saying she's fine, but I know she's not. I saw that look in her eyes when I came for her in King's Landing. You saw that look too, Geralt, you know she was at the end of her limit."

Geralt had a sad look in his eye when he subtly turned to see you walking behind, putting on a brave face for anyone that would see you. 

The witcher recalled how after the two of you reunited, you would sleep next to him at nights, albeit with some space in between. You often would turn from him, curling up with your knees to your chest, hugging yourself in your sleep as if you were trying to protect yourself from whatever perceived dangers may be coming your way. He thought about the times when you and him shared a kiss, how quick you were to pull away so abruptly; there was even one time when you were making out which ended in you slapping him in misdirected anger, only for you to look at him in shock when you realized what you've done.  He would ask, but he never pressed when you simply answered it was nothing and you were fine. Not at all trying to repress your trauma.

Geralt could only speculate the things Daemon did to you. He already had some idea given the state you were in before the escape. It was telling in the way you flinched and backed off during any attempts you made to be intimate with him.

"Maybe there is a way she can process it...indirectly?" Geralt suggests for a solution?

Jaskier thinks on this, an idea dawning on him when he remembered a little activity you and him used to do years back before your time in Westeros.

--------later that evening-------------

"So...you want to collaborate on an epic?" you tilt your head a little in curiosity, yet feeling skeptical. "Yeah, why not?" Jaskier points out, "come on, little sister, we used to do this all the time, remember? We created some of our best ballads when we worked together, brother and sister, why try that to maybe create an epic this time?"

You were still hesitant, yet it did sound like a good idea. You and your brother had indeed done something like that many years back when the two of you were still socializing in the same circles, something you had been doing since before even meeting Geralt, when you and Jaskier would brainstorm together for coming up with new songs and ballads to perform in taverns and such.

It's been a while, but if it would help take your mind off certain things for just a little while then you were not complaining. "Okay," you nod, taking out a pen and paper, "we did compose some pretty amazing songs when we put our minds together. What do you think this epic should curtail?"

"Well," Jaskier begins the brainstorm, "I was maybe thinking of something along the lines of...a long journey, one filled with strife and struggle, one filled with pain, but it ends with something good, where the heroine in the story comes out of it on top." "Heroine?" you furrow your brows a bit, "interesting. Not many people think of women when they think epic of strife and struggle." "Well, maybe you could have an input on that," Jaskier suggests, "you are a woman after all." "Yeah...I am..." you say softly, taking some deep breaths as you put the pen to paper, trying to focus on some ideas.

It felt like forever as you struggle to come up with ideas. "Take your time, sis," Jaskier encourages, "there's no rush." "I know that," you say through gritted teeth, "I'm just...I can do this. I'm not sure how to feminize this epic." "I wasn't thinking of feminizing- well maybe a little. It's a heroine's struggle after all." "Heroine's struggle," you repeat absentmindedly, thinking of your own strife. The imprisonment, the abuse, the numerous assaults, the unwanted pregnancy that ended in a mutated miscarriage, the near death experience that followed, the physical cost that came to saving your life, the second imprisonment and the second escape that followed....

Everything else that happened in between. Having your daughter pried from your arms at the very last second just as you had tasted freedom once again. The idea that some time may very well pass before you ever see her again, the idea that you may lose seeing many major milestones in her life.

All this-and yet....you could not them into physical words. Why? Why was this not possible? You were able to channel your emotions and life experiences into your work before, why couldn't you do it now?

You feel your writing hand shake as your breaths became uneven- something that didn't go unnoticed by your brother.

"(y/n)? (y/n) are you alright? (y/n)?" Jaskier frantically questions, though you didn't hear him the first time around. "I...I can't do it," you say in a soft voice. "What?" "I can't do it," you say as your voice broke, a tear escaping your eye, wetting the paper. "You can't do what?" Jaskier asks. "I...I...I can't..." you shake your head and look up to see the concerned expression from your brother. "I'm sorry," you try to quickly assure, wiping your eyes, "I'm just exhausted. I should go to bed now." "(y/n), we only just begun, you can't just-" "I can and I will," you say rather snappy.

"(y/n), this is hardly like you to cut something like this so short," Jaskier brings up. "There's a first for everything," you say, trying to sound stoic, "I just need to sleep and it will come to me when I am ready."

"(y/n)-" "I'M FINE JASKIER!" you scream at the man, once again getting the attention of the company, "I know what you're trying to do, Julian, and it's not going to get me to admit anything." "What exactly would I even want you to admit," Jaskier exasperates, having reached his limits in patience, "(y/n), you can't keep this to yourself forever. You were imprisoned in King's Landing for three bloody years. You had your daughter ripped from your arms at the very last minutes, for gods SAKE (Y/N), the father of your child-" "Jaskier-" "He-" "don't. you. dare. finish that sentence-" "He's the reason you were in that situation in the first place, he assaulted you on more than one occasion, (y/n), and I know this, because I saw the effect it was having on you at the Red Keep even when you kept assuring everything was going to be alright in the end," Jaskier continues, "but it's not alright, is it, (y/n)? He hurt you in more ways than one and you can't admit the damaged he caused-"

"I AM NOT FUCKING DAMAGED!" you shrieked, "I'M NOT DAMAGED, JASKIER! I'M NOT A VICTIM! HE ALREADY TOOK SOMETHING FROM ME PHYSICALLY, I AM NOT ABOUT TO LET TAKE AWAY MY CREATIVITY!!"

"...what do you mean he took something physically from you...?" Jaskier asks, eyes slightly wide from that piece of information you unwittingly revealed.

Unable to hide anymore, the dam of tears broke, "I can't have anymore children, Julian," you finally confess, which got Geralt's attention right quick. "What do you mean?" "I...I...I was dying," you further confess in tears, "Yen- she- she took me to the Lodge of Sorceresses and- and they saved my life, but it came at the cost of my womb, the same womb that was already fucking damaged from that...mutation. He caused it. Dae...Aemma's father was the reason that even happened in the first place. He was hoping I would give him a son, and I would've. But now, I'll never have anymore children. Aemma is all I'll ever have, and she was ripped away from me. How much time must I lose before I see her again? What will I miss by the time I see her again? I'll never get to experience all those little milestones with anyone else, and now it seems I won't be able to experience those with her."

You look to see the pitiful looks once again, from Jaskier, from Geralt, and everyone else.

You couldn't stand it anymore.

Choking down more sob you turn and run, wanting for nothing more then solitude to process the grief you should have processed a long time ago.

More to be continued...

Bonus Masterlist

[league-of-sam]

Catching A Ghost | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

Ghost x Reader

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Simon 'GHOST' Riley x AFAB!Reader!OC 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

Catching A Ghost: Masterlist

The excitement buzzing through you was similar to that of a child at Christmas.

Your best friend was back, with a fucking fiancée, and your team was together again. Ghost moved all of his things into your room the second you pushed the newcomers upstairs. 

There was only one spare room, and of course it was Laswell's for the taking.

The newly engaged shouldn't be sleeping separate.

That was the excuse Ghost gave when he was running his belongings from his door to yours. Soap had scoffed, making a quip along the lines of 'Sure L.T., not like that's your girl's room or anything'. 

Ghost silenced him quickly, but couldn't help the smile that crept onto his cheeks underneath the mask.

Soap was right.

He just wanted to be with you every second that he could. It's not like he was using the bed anymore anyway, he spent every night sneaking into your room and then sneaking out in the mornings.

Glances were stolen every time he entered, as you were in the room, helping Alex and Farah get settled in.

"Are you sure he doesn't mind?" she asked, gesturing to Ghost as he walked out, a pile of books in his arms.

You smiled, shaking your head, "It was his idea."

"So, I was right then?" Alex spoke, wriggling his brow at you.

"Right about what?"

"You and Ghost."

"It wasn't all sunshine and daisies, Al. It took a lot to get here, including him acting like I didn't exist for nearly three weeks."

Alex frowned; he had no idea things had been so difficult for you, and he felt the same guilt as the day he left you in Las Almas crawl back.

He remembers the anger when he found out Graves kidnapped you, he remembers the heartbreak when he heard you'd killed him for it, and he remembers wanting to slaughter everyone when he heard you tried to sacrifice yourself for the cause.

After all, you were his best friend, and he'd rather die than lose you.

"I'm sorry, angel. I wish I was there-"

You placed a hand on his arm, shushing him, "It's okay, Keller. I'd do it all again if I had to. It seems that Simon Riley was worth waiting for after all."

"Oh my god." Farah exclaimed, placing her hands on your face, "You're in love."

You blushed wildly, and the smile on your face was a dead give away. It caused her to squeal, losing her composure for a moment, wrapping her arms around you as she jumped up and down.

"Yeah," you breathed once she released you, "I guess I am."

"I'm glad you're happy now." Alex whispered, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"And I'm glad you pulled your head out of your arse enough to give this fine woman what she deserves." You spoke, swinging your arm over Farah's shoulder.

Alex rolled his eyes, but smiled, "Yeah yeah, whatever."

The rest of the day was a celebration.

Beautiful moment after beautiful moment.

Laswell had even allowed you to video call with Alejandro and Rudy, who both gave you a telling off for what you did in Chicago. You couldn't help but shed a few tears, both happy and sad as you missed them both too much.

By evening, everyone was hungry, and so pizzas were ordered and the alcohol started flowing.

The group was back together, and the happiness you were radiating had rubbed off on everyone else.

Ghost watched the room, leaning against the doorframe. 

Only his balaclava donned his face, without the black eye paint this time. He smiled as he watched you interact with Soap and Gaz, the three of you in the middle of a pretty intense game of Black Jack.

It wasn't going well, given the fact the three of you were completely hammered.

"Drink, Simon?" Price said, two glasses of whiskey in hand.

"Nah, thanks, Captain."

"C'mon, we're celebrating. One won't kill ya."

Ghost tore his eyes from you to look at Price, "Need t'be at my best, sir."

"Why?"

"In case she needs me." he said, nodding in your direction.

At that moment, you'd looked over, face beaming as you saw your brother and your boyfriend chatting away.

"Might not be my place, Simon, 'cause she'll always need you. But right now, she needs ya to have a good time and enjoy yourself. God knows you deserve it."

With that, Price left Ghost, the other glass full of whiskey resting next to him.

He watched you as you smiled widely, Price wobbling as he tried to sit on the floor next to you, and you making a comment along the lines of him being too old for that shit. 

Ghost looked back to the glass, pondering over his Captain's words for a moment. The sound of someone clearing their throat got his attention, and he looked up to find Laswell staring at him from the other side of the room.

She lifted her own glass, nodding to him, before knocking back the liquid.

He nodded back to her, lifting his mask to his nose, and downing the drink Price had left. 

Bourbon, fuckin' perfect.

The liquid burned as it travelled down his throat, but the sensation warmed him. It thawed him all the way through, and before he knew it, he was allowing Soap to drunkenly drag him over to the coffee table and shove him down, Gaz dealing a fresh set of cards.

You looked at him through your lashes on the opposite side of the table, a soft smile gracing your face.

I love you. You mouthed after you threw back another shot.

He copied your actions after Soap shoved a glass in his face, mask still folded at his nose, I love you too.

"Oh please, John, you were going so hard the ceiling tiles were falling down!" you yelled, hands flailing, "Mum had to drag me out of the house for over an hour so you didn't traumatise me!"

You'd lost track of the time, but at this point, you'd drank so much (thanks to Soap constantly handing you shots) that you could barely walk on your own, let alone tell the time.

Right now, you were going around in circles, each telling stories of the worst sexual experiences you'd had.

Price had been telling of the time he brought his first girlfriend home. You were only 11 at the time, and had been late home from school because of parents' evening. Price had taken the opportunity of an empty house to finally lose his virginity, only for you to come home in the middle of it.

"That's not my fault, (Y/N)! You weren't supposed to be back yet!"

Laughter erupted, loud and boisterous, as Price's ears tinted red at the thought of his little sister hearing him have sex for the first time. The others thought it was brilliant.

"Right," Soap said, wiping his tears away, "My turn."

With a swig of his drink, he became animated with his story, which also involved parents interrupting the deed, only, it wasn't his parents.

"No you fucking didn't." you gasped, hand flying to your mouth.

"Yes, I did." he repeated, "so there I was, naked as the day my mam brought me into the world, and her dad busts the door down while I'm mid thrust-"

You continued to listen, laughing every now and then.

About an hour before, Ghost had finally let loose, and was around five drinks deep, hence why you ended up now situated in his lap, squished into the small armchair together.

His arms were locked around your waist, and he had discarded his mask long ago.

His nose nudged your head as he peppered tiny kisses onto your flesh.

"You okay?" you whispered, craning your head to face him.

"M'good." he mumbled.

"You drunk?" you giggled, hiccupping a little.

"Might be."

"I can tell." you giggled, sighing as you leant back into him, "you were right, you know."

"About wha'?" he said, nose rubbing on yours as his eyes fell closed.

On a good day, your scent made his mind fuzzy. But now, intoxicated, it made him completely drunk on you. 

"You can't kill ghosts." 

He squeezed you gently, placing a kiss to your cheek as you let out a content moan.

"You can catch them, though." you added.

His eyes blinked open, a smirk tracing his lips, "You can?"

"Well," you smiled, "I caught you, didn't I?"

"I guess ya did."

He let out an airy laugh, his hands moving to shift your thighs so you faced him a little more, and he placed his lips on yours.

The kiss was soft and slow, and it said everything either of you needed to say.

"And then I had to jump out the window in nothing but my wee socks!" Soap finished his story.

The room filled with the noise of laughter once again, Gaz laughing to the point no sound came out, and he was aimlessly slapping his leg. The commotion caused you and Ghost to pull away, but the two of you shared the same smile.

This was what home felt like.

You were sure of it.

Interrupting the laughter, Laswell's phone rang, and she excused herself. You watched her leave, concern filling you based on the look on her face.

"What do you think's goin' on?" Soap slurred.

"I don't know, but based on the look on her face, it's not good." you answered him.

"S'gonna be fine, boo." Ghost spoke, pulling you close.

"Yeah," Alex spoke up from next to you, placing a hand on your knee. "We're gonna be fine."

Laswell rushed back into the room with a sense of urgency, shoving her phone back into her pocket and fumbling for the remote.

"Kate?" Price said, confused.

"We got trouble, boys." she answered, switching on the television and flicking to the global news channel.

Everyone turned to view the television, the news covering footage of a hijacked passenger aircraft, that was rumoured to have taken off in Russia.

This was no doubt the work of Makarov.

You all watched in horror as streamed footage from inside the plane showed three armed men, shooting the pilot and co-pilot dead. You gasped as the shots rang, hand flying to your mouth. Ghost pressed his cheek to your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

The room was stunned to silence.

You straightened up from your position on Ghost's lap, his arms locked around your waist tightly.

"So what now?" you spoke, and all eyes landed on you.

Ghost stood, bringing you with him and setting you down on the ground. His unmasked face scanned the room, and the others followed suit, a similar expression on their faces.

He looked down at you, his hand raising to stroke your cheek lightly. You leaned into his touch, worry striking your features. Pulling you into his side, Ghost looked back up, addressing the room-

"We fight."

Nods and murmurs of agreement flowed from your comrades. 

They were ready.

You were ready.

It was time to fight your way through this hell. It was time to fight for your team; for your home. 

For your Ghost.

Because you didn't spend all that time catching one to let it slip away.

"You and me, yeah, Boo?" he whispered in your ear.

You looked up, taking his face in your hands. You could see the fear on his face. You could see the worry in his eyes that he could lose you in this, that he could lose anyone in this.

Pushing up on your tip toes, your lips met his. Soft, slow, movements calmed him, and his arms moved to rest on your waist, pressing his chest to yours. When you pulled back, you placed your forehead to his, whispering.

"You and me, Simon."

a|n: and that, is the end. thank you to all of you from the bottom of my heart for reading. i can promise you, this isn't the end for our Ghost and Reaper; their story is not over. until then, stay tuned for the prequel...As Grim as the Reaper. love you all so much.

[krillest1]

Week 6: Feeling Bad Feels Good

HEWWO It has been another strange week. I'm slipping away from normal interaction more quickly than I thought. This week, on a related note, I got anxious a few times just being around people. This is an ill omen, and usually precedes quite a bit of dysfunction in my life. There is, however, much to be grateful for. I have the first glimmerings of an out from my current job (which I hate). I also finished the bible this week, and consumed all sorts of fun media. I am a prolific consumer, which I'm sure will come up more fully in a future post (if this continues...). Feeling uncomfortable provides a good chance to step back and let go of those deeply-rooted-ego-things, to orient myself towards the interesting, and be taken up in a righteous anger. Just kidding about the righteous anger part. A couple of weeks ago, while talking to someone I don't know very well, I brought up the point that most structures/things in society bottom out at feeling good. They were not terribly interested in this point, so I thought I'd interrogate it a little further here

FEELING GOOD Being an (often wrong) observer of people, I've noticed that they often feel good doing 'natural' things. Socialization is a pretty good example here. We talk about interacting with people as natural, but the reason people engage with others (I think) is that it feels good. No man is an island, because islands are sad. Going to church, for example, provides a chance to interact with others, to feel part of a larger narrative, blah blah blah, doesn't matter, the point is that they feel good. In a similar vein, people feel good being touched, or touching, or laughing, or drinking, or doing whatever. A related point: the idea of being neurodivergent here is pretty interesting. There's a certain population for whom the 'natural' things do not feel good, and are not opened up to them in the same way. I think (more on this later) that without these good feelings, the things we do start to feel arbitrary. Should we chalk this up to the atypical being 'unnatural,' or should we object to the 'natural' as a category? I'm not sure, but I like the framing. To return, and maybe be a bit more consistent in the approach: do our actions 'bottom out' at feeling good? Aristotle comes to mind here. In Nicomachean Ethics, he talks about the role pleasure plays in the good (and remember that the good in this context is a mean (actually it's only a mean for stupid people, but whatever) that ultimately aims at our happiness). While I can't speak to the specifics (I need the mean, not contemplation), Aristotle defends the idea that pleasure accompanies 'the good.' Pleasure actually emerges as something which... not quite interrupts, but completes an action. It's the end of a process, not the process itself, or something along those lines. I hate to say it, but this is the framework we're running with. Forget the 'aiming at a mean' stuff, and focus more on the idea of pleasure accompanying the good, and pleasure as interruptionish. I do not want to imply here that pleasure is the good (neither, I think, does Aristotle); instead, I'd like to gesture towards the fact that the things we talk about as being good (as being happy, as being natural (is our natural state happy? I think these two get conflated)) are accompanied by pleasure... most of the time

FEELING BAD My body is not structured for pleasure in this way. Aristotle would probably diagnose me with akrasia, but as a committed materialist the idea of a 'will' feels too vague. Before the analysis, though, an explanation. My body is an uncomfortable thing to be in. Why start with the body? Because I take it that pleasure and the body are interrelated in some important way. My body, on the other hand, does not get pleasure from things like touch. My hands, for example, are so sweaty that touching another fills me and them with a sort of repulsion. I'm sure mine is learned, but the disgust in the other is not. Touch, in other words, is not a source of pleasure for me. Even if it's not using hands, a hug, a headpat (anime coded, what the hell), and even 'bones' (the bumping-of-fists-as-greeting-or-celebration) feel wrong to me. A similar thing happens with socialization. Being alone feels bad, but so does being around other people. I am not neurodivergent, but that population came up above and I think bolsters this point. For some people, in short, the natural is not pleasurable. The good/the right is also not pleasurable, or at least not available in a similar way. Sometimes, though, feeling bad can feel good. I'm not talking about anything as explicitly sexual as masochism (though there's something quite interesting going on there, sweeten your mouth with some Deleuze). Instead, I'm talking about the secondary feeling-good that comes from my feeling bad. Sometimes, for example, I notice that I'm making someone I'm talking to feel bad/weird. This, in turn, makes me feel bad. I then, however, feel good that I notice this feeling bad, and I feel good that I cannot fit. It forces me outside, and things seem strange and exciting from the outside. This is, after reading what I've read, too romantic. I am a strange and disturbing thing. This does not feel good. What does feel good is being thrust into the unknown, and being forced to evaluate things all the time. If things bottomed out at feeling good for me, I don't think I'd be as interested in the world/my unknowing as I am. Maybe there's some weakness of will here, and maybe I'm doing a disservice to those who are well adjusted and evaluate the world. Who knows. I should also note that even though I find unknowing interesting and exciting, I am an idiot. This feels bad. I'm currently working on a strategy, however, to make this bad feel good. Nice.

TYING TOGETHER I've been throwing terms around willy-nilly today. I've also done some tricky things with the idea of the 'natural' and the 'good.' I'm hoping to trace the relationship between those two concepts a bit more closely here, before an undoubtedly fascinating close. The reason I tied the natural, the good, and the pleasurable together is that I think people often talk (no language discussion here, much too much) about the three as being related. To return to the church example (sorry, I just read the bible), people feel good at church because they are doing a 'good' thing and feeling this type of good is natural. I should not here the distinction between the natural and the pastoral that Christianity emphasizes, and maybe push back against the idea of natural pleasure being embraced by Christianity. Still, we can make an appeal to a meta-approach, and say that man is a social animal rewarded (with delicious chemicals and receptors) when (s)he interacts with others. Ok, not super clear, lets try again right Here. Wanting pleasure seems, to me, to be natural. Happiness (to do Aristotle a disservice) is the aim of our actions, we get some pleasure related to happiness. So far so good. When, however, we are poorly designed (not quite unnatural, but not capable of extracting pleasure) things get a bit more complicated. We can appeal to reason to care for others in some way, but even this is complicated. This is another post, but the way we care for others maybe should not make us feel good. Comforting others maybe ought to be uncomfortable, and maybe is a process that consistently falls apart. We mourn with those that mourn, we don't get them to stop mourning. Not sure, I've lost the thread again.

DENOUMENT I am ashamed of this post. I spent a lot of time trying to understand Aristotle, but I'm way off here. Even though I claim not to care, I want to appear as something smart and capable. I'm working, however, on gratitude in my unknowing (this is the trick to feel good about feeling bad about being an idiot referenced above). More generally, things are going alright. There are times when I feel very scared about the future and my failures. This assumes some way things ought to be though, and I'm working on not thinking of things in those terms. Rent Strike released an album a week or two ago, go listen to that it's pretty good. I feel that this week was particularly rambling. I'm also, relatedly, working on seeing the unknown in its clarity; I ought to be more careful with what I write and say. I (unsurprisingly) need to feel the weight of language more often. I am going to quit my job, I think, which hopefully means I'll be unemployed for Halloween. I'm hoping to keep reading, keep being grateful in my unknowing, and keep seeing people in their strangeness. Love ya.

[sardinesandhumbugs]

Things you said when you were scared, for Ratty and Mole? 👀

Naturally, Rat seemed like the obvious choice here however I am already delving deep into that particular anxiety well in Fractured, so this is more Mole POV (well, that was the intention...) and set just before the retaking of Toad Hall. 

Want to request a mini fic? Find the prompts here! 

x

It wasn’t true that moles were a nervous species. 

Oh, Mole could see how the stereotype had settled –  so often staying in their tunnels far from the prying light of day – but he wasn’t the anomaly the Riverbankers took him to be. 

You couldn’t freeze in fear below ground. That was the thing. Freeze, and you’d go nowhere. Freeze, and the collapsing tunnel or the floodwaters or the predator with the thrashing claws and gnashing teeth would get you. You could only keep moving. Keep digging through the paths that you alone made, and trust in instincts that nature had honed that you were heading for safety. Nothing in the earth would be fooled by an animal playing dead. You only stopped when you couldn’t go any further.

The instinct lingered in itching claws, in the desire to dig when stress arose, although not for the fleeing reason that so many Riverbankers mistook it for. It was the impulse to move, to act, and just as often this meant barraging towards the danger as much as it did away from it.  

Mole’s claws itched now, his paws rolling and flexing and threatening to crush the paper animals they’d repurposed for the retaking of Toad Hall. 

Ratty leant over and eased the paper out of Mole’s grip before they could become the day’s first casualty. “Nervous?” 

“I don’t like this.”

Ratty chuckled although the sound was tight, a sign of his own unease bubbling close to the surface. “This was your idea, Moley. If you don’t think it’ll work–”

“It’ll work,” Mole said quickly, although not quite with the confidence he had previously possessed. His claws continued to twitch. “It’ll work. It’s just I don’t like – I don’t like the waiting.”

Ratty exhaled, and Mole rather suspected that he veered somewhat on the other side of the fence; the waiting was fine. The waiting was safe. It was when the waiting was over that all hell would break loose. Ratty didn’t say any of that though, and for that Mole was grateful. 

Instead, Ratty leant against him, shoulder to shoulder in a purposefully steadying manner. Mole could feel the other animal’s pulse racing in fear of what was to come, in juxtaposition to his own born from the slowly dissolving adrenaline. 

“We have to wait, Moley,” Ratty said, and if his thrumming heartbeat hadn’t given away his nerves, the overuse of the endearment would have. “Can hardly fool the weasels with shadow puppets if it’s still daylight out now, can we?”

“I still don’t like waiting,” Mole grumbled. “It gives me time to think.”

Ratty coughed in such a manner that didn’t quite disguise the laugh it was attempting to cover. 

“Time to overthink,” Mole clarified stoically, although part of him found comfort in the muffled snippet of genuine humour. “It seemed so simple at first – start a rumour of an army of bloodthirsty animals, sneak into Toad Hall, scare the Wild Wooders with the illusion of an army of bloodthirsty animals, save Portia, reclaim Toad Hall–”

“That seemed straightforward to you?”

“–but now I’m thinking what if it doesn’t go like that?” Mole continued. “What if they’re not fooled? What if we get lost in the tunnels? What if–”

“What if it all goes exactly to plan and it turns out you didn’t need to worry about any of this?”

“Do you actually believe that?”

Ratty eyed Toad, who was heralding an inattentive Mrs Otter with tales of the bravery of Toads from ages past. “Of course not,” he said. “But if you’re the one overthinking everything, then what am I meant to do?”

Mole snorted. “Take a rest?” he suggested. A moment passed. “You’re doing it now,” he said, affectionately admonishing. “I can hear you overthinking.”  

“Am not,” Ratty muttered. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking how insufferable Toad is going to be when he has Toad Hall back.”

“And?” Mole prompted. 

 A begrudging silence lingered. “And I’m thinking about the last time we encountered the Wild Wooders.” Ratty shook his head. “Not the courthouse. I mean–” and Mole felt Ratty’s breathing stutter, if only for a second, “before that.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed back into silence. Toad had finally twigged that Mrs Otter wasn’t paying him the attention he was due and had moved onto Badger, for all the good it would do him. Both water rat and mole watched as the amphibian trailed fruitlessly after Badger, endeavouring to persuade him to grant him all the most pivotal roles. (Toad lamented that he didn’t know what those roles were yet, but whatever they were, he would surely excel by nature of his innate aptitude)

In Ratty’s paws, the paper animals began to dance as he spun them from one paw to the other with agitated energy. 

“Ratty–” 

“I shouldn’t have let you go into the Wild Wood alone,” he said. “Who knows what could have– but that’s the thing,” he interrupted himself. “I know, I knew exactly what could have happened. And I let you go anyway.”

Mole wanted to laugh, to lighten the moment and assure Ratty that he was a stubborn creature and it would have taken a great deal to dissuade him from a course once chosen, but the air suddenly felt heavy in his lungs and so he stayed silent. 

“You are – you can be,” Ratty corrected, “so like Toad sometimes. Impulsive. Stubborn. You rush into things without thinking it through, without the barest semblance of self-preservation, and it drives me to distraction.”

Is there a ‘but’ to this? Mole wanted to ask with a smile and an amused cant of the head, but he could still feel the anxiety quickening Ratty’s heartbeat, and he knew that if he interrupted then Ratty might not find the courage to continue. 

“Toad was – is – my friend,” Ratty amended before Mole could chide him, “and he has many good qualities.” He dropped his voice a little lower, although he needn’t have worried about Toad overhearing him telling of his virtues for once; he was still focused on Badger. “He’s loyal, and soft-hearted in his own way, and there’s no better animal to energize one into action, but to be his friend... it can be a thankless task.”

The paper animals pirouetted quicker between Ratty’s paws. A paper rat lost its tail.

“And when it occurred to me that I might have stumbled out of one such friendship and straight into another of the same–” Ratty shook his head with a short, hollow laugh. “Oh, to think that I might have a type, to be continually cursed to repeat my mistakes... it scared me. I think it might have scared me more than the Wild Wood.”

Mole’s paw found Ratty’s and the contact was returned as if like a lifeline. 

“I am not a naturally brave animal, Mole,” Ratty murmured. “I do not have the buffer of Badger’s strategic planning or the... bluster of Toad. I certainly do not possess Mrs Otter’s grit.”

“It was a brave animal who went into the Wild Wood after me,” Mole said. 

Rat inhaled sharply with the ghost of a laugh. “Armed with only fishing tackle and a couple of oars? That wasn’t bravery; that was desperation.” 

“Still,” Mole said, unwilling to let Ratty write off a moment of courage, however foolish the latter might have thought it, “you still came.” 

“I came,” Ratty agreed. He sighed and, for the first time since the conversation had shifted his way, he met Mole’s gaze. His eyes were tired, but steady. “As it turns out, there is something I fear more than the Wild Wood or repeating my mistakes.”

Mole’s hold on Ratty’s paw tightened. “Then I’ll do my best not to get eaten by Wild Wooders,” he promised. 

“You’d better. Otherwise that’ll leave just me and Toad and I’ll probably murder him within the week.”

“Now there’s an incentive I can’t refuse.”

Ratty chuckled, and Mole felt the honest laughter pass through Ratty’s shaking shoulders and into his own, before settling with lightness in his lungs. And when it passed and silence alighted between them, Mole found that the itching in his claws had quite gone away.    

It wasn’t true that moles were a nervous species. 

But a little bit of help never harmed anyone.

[ducktales-lucktales]

could I request a romantic scrooge x gn reader? maybe something along the lines of them doing something risky to save the family and him being conflicted between anger and being flustered abt it bc he thought it was lowkey attractive? sorry if that’s too specific, feel free to branch out/go a different direction!

My Nephew

Scrooge McDuck x GN!Reader (GN!Reader & Dewey Duck mentioned)

Word Count: 1K+

Warnings: None! Everything is kinda vague! I nailed like 50% of your ask, and 50% went elsewhere. I don't know how i missed the mark but I hope it slaps anyway lol

AO3: Link

Master List 1, 2

“No one lays a hand on my nephew!” Scrooge replayed what [Y/N] said in his mind over and over again. Saddened by the how the event had to happen, angry with them for their actions and lack of thought, but the rage and the protectiveness of his family… he fell in love all over again. Time after time again.

Scrooge sighed and set his hat down on his desk and glanced behind him at [Y/N]. He watched them place their hands on the chair in front of them and lean into it, obviously still in pain from their stunt last week. The chair held most of their weight and kept them from curling up onto the floor to complain about the pain they’ve been hiding from the children. He slowly turned around and leaned against his desk, staring at them with a million and one things on his mind after seeing the light of his life commit a lifesaving action so recklessly and so hastily that they managed to get hurt themselves. Scrooge stared at them with a new kind of sadness; a sadness where he realizes that those around him are mortal, vulnerable, and in danger because of him and the enemies he has made throughout his life. The sadness slowly moved itself to the back burner as his lingering anger from that day returned to the surface. It was stupid of [Y/N] to think they could manage the situation alone, but it was just like them to go out of their way to prove something to him–to the world–to prove that [Y/N] McDuck (née Duckerty) still had it! But Dewey and the rest of the family were more important… and leaving [Y/N] behind was what they would’ve wanted him to do anyway.

By the time Scrooge noticed Dewey was gone, [Y/N] had already pulled a Dewey Duck and run off without the rest of the family toward danger or treasure–presumably the danger. They slowly peered around the corner, planning their next move and subsequent moves in order to save Dewey from what might be an untimely demise judging by the looks of the situation. As much as they loved the lad, he was a bit… crazy. It wasn’t just him, running off silently seemed to run in the family. They watched the cloaked foe and listened to their spiel about what their goal was, unaware that Dewey was barely going to recall a thing (and Dewey may have been unaware that the foe was not going to let him walk, their end goal was similar to that of Bradford Buzzards, except this foe wasn’t going to play the game as kindly was Bradford had).

Scrooge inhaled deeply, trying to contain his emotions.

“I know what you’re going to tell me.” They chuckled as they beat him to the punch. “I was stupid and reckless; you’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t be such because we’re both not as young as we used to be, Scroogie. But you know, I’m not the only guilty one here.”

Scrooge looked away and tried to hide his smile. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

[Y/N] shook their head and stifled another laugh. “You’re too much. He’s just like you. You always ran headfirst into everything and got yourself into much more trouble than you bargained for. Without that, you probably wouldn’t be where you are today. That’s what I admire about you.”

He looked back up. “You’re lecturing me and you’re also doing that thing again.”

“Force of habit.” They smiled. “And I swear I’m not doing the thing.”

Scrooge caught up to [Y/N] and Dewey; except [Y/N] was nowhere to be found. He thought that maybe he was too late, and the cloaked foe had already gotten to them when Huey tugged at his coat and pointed toward the ceiling of the old cave. Scrooge looked up and noticed his crazy significant other planning something insane on the ledge above the cloaked foe. He chuckled to himself to hide the boiling rage he felt, knowing that [Y/N] felt no fear or remorse for what they were about to do.

As if on cue, the whistled, grabbing the attention of the foe and dove headfirst into a situation that they were most certainly unable to escape. The foe lay on the ground, recovering from being slammed into the stone below them; [Y/N] rolled onto their side and yelled at Dewey to go toward Scrooge. Dewey obliged and ran toward his great uncle and the rest of the McDuck family. He paused, halfway to safety and glanced back at old [Y/N] McDuck. Fear had set and Dewey almost turned back and ran toward them to aid them, but Scrooge ran in and grabbed Dewey; he himself paused to look at [Y/N].

They stood tall with their cane in their hands as if they were posing for another one of Scrooge’s forced portraits. Behind them, the foe slowly started to pull themselves off the ground. [Y/N] was listening for something, Scrooge could tell by the tilt of their head. He ran back toward his family, with Dewey in his arms.

“You’re alright lad.” He spoke slowly.

Dewey tried to peer around him. “Uncle Scrooge! [Y/N]!” He pointed behind his uncle.

Scrooge turned around just in time to see rubble begin to trap [Y/N] in with the foe.

“No one lays a hand on my nephew!” He heard them spit at the foe out of pure rage.

“You almost didn’t come out of that.” Scrooge kept it brief.

“But I did, and I know you enjoyed it, makes you feel young, doesn’t it?” [Y/N] crossed their arms and watched Scrooge. “Look, I would do anything for this family, and you are not going to stop me from doing just that. You’re not the only one who cares about those kids, Scroogie. I might not be as fast as those triplets, but I can hold my own against any foe that wants your head on a silver platter.”

“[Y/N]…” Scrooge sighed.

They inhaled deeply. “By the way, can you ask Ludwig for a new cane? I may or may not have used mine to knock all those rocks and such down to buy you all some time. It got buried and I’ve got no free time to go digging for it.”

Scrooge looked down and chuckled. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh please, I’m more believable than you, dear.” They rolled their eyes.

“Stop trying to get me off topic, you know I can’t resist…” He pointed a finger at them.

They grinned. “I haven’t the slightest idea… I would never.” They sat down in the chair.

Scrooge followed in suit and sat down in his desk chair. “You make me so angry. You’re so reckless… but that’s what I love about you.”

[tallmadgeandtea]

On Fire, Trying Not To Show It

For today’s Turn Week prompt, no one will be surprised when I say my favorite male character is Benjamin Tallmadge. For all the reasons why I love Benjamin, you only need to see my blog, but anyways. I decided to write a scene that was also set after one of my favorite significant events, the Battle of Germantown. Benjamin is exhausted and sad- just the way I like him. This fic is set in the SS&SP timeline but takes place before Benjamin meets Elizabeth. I hope you enjoy!

Scene under the cut!

The battle was lost.

The battle was lost, and he was trying not to think about it. He was trying not to think about the fact that at the beginning, they were winning- in the early October dawn, the men and officers whispered about how similar it was to Trenton and Princeton, marching late into the night and early in the morning. They switched sides- finally, they were prepared while the British were not. It had worked once, why wouldn’t it work again? He wasn’t at either battle, but he felt the excitement, the anticipation in the air, exhilarating and infectious, like a disease spreading through camp. He was tired, but it washed away when he heard the first roar of gunfire, the slashing of swords, the hooves beating underneath him. He dove straight into it- like when he was younger, swimming in the sound, going further than his friends, fighting against the water, dragging himself under until he couldn’t breathe, until he had to give up control- another challenge. When he was home, everything was a challenge. He was outgrowing the town, but he couldn’t outgrow the water. He could only go deeper. Deeper until he was so far out he didn’t hear anyone calling his name. Only Caleb caught up with him, but Benjamin was still the faster swimmer.

The battle was lost.

The battle was lost, and he didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand it, because at first, they were winning. They’d driven the first set of the enemy back into the town to meet the rest of their force. God, they were winning, and they needed it. Brandywine followed them, a demonic, cruel shadow, and this was their chance to get rid of it. No more bodies laid along the creek, scattered across the farmfields. No British in Philadelphia- that was the unspoken goal, that was what they all wished for and wanted. It was what General Washington wanted, and Benjamin was going to help get it for him. Why do you want to impress him so much? He asked himself. Why do you need to prove yourself to him? Constantly, incessantly.

He couldn’t answer.

He didn’t know when he’d be able to.

The battle was lost.

Fog. Fog, for God’s sake. It settled over the town, heavy in the air like the cannon smoke. It was hard enough to see through gunfire, but it dissipated, and a good soldier could try his best to hit his marks. Fog, on the other hand, and the rain that followed, did not leave unless it wanted to. It was a stab from a bayonet, destroying their bleeding strategy. He watched as confusion set in, quick and lethal. Men started to run in every direction, and he tried his best to catch up with them, to do something. Something besides giving in to the anxiety, the frustration, the anger. He could still hear Washington agreeing to Knox’s plan, could still hear the first volley of cannons, the harsh beating against the stone walls. It all happened so quickly. He could still hear Washington- “Tallmadge! Stop the retreat!”

And he could still hear the men underneath his squadron’s line, desperate and dangerous, crawling underneath the horses. Screams and curses and even more shots. Was he dreaming? Was this another nightmare? An anxious trick?

If there is one thing you should have learned by now, it’s that plans always go awry.

The battle was lost.

It had ended hours ago, but it felt like it had only been thirty minutes since he reached Headquarters, dismounted from his sweating horse and walked into the farmhouse. He was greeted by silence- after Brandywine, Headquarters had been loud, Washington’s voice echoing through every room in the small house, but the uneasiness in the air was louder.

He found his general in the makeshift office, surrounded by the aides, Hamilton, Harrison, Meade, and Tilghman- they always looked at him when he walked into the room, and he hated it. He was still new to them, still unfamiliar- he wished he couldn’t see it, wish he couldn’t tell. But he saw everything, he thought of everything- another challenge he couldn’t stop himself from taking. He didn’t say anything to them unless it was necessary. It was the same on the other side.

“I’m here if you need me, sir.” He said.

Washington was sitting at the desk. He was looking at a piece of paper. An unfinished letter.

“Thank you for assisting in the retreat, Major Tallmadge.”

“You’re welcome, sir-”

“Even if it was unsuccessful.”

God, what did he say to that?

He nodded and left the room.

It was getting dark, now, the fog and the rain finally disappearing. He leaned against the wall of a different stone house- the only one they managed to keep that day, out of the town. A line of trees stood behind a barren field, their autumn colors dulled by dusk, rusty reds and orange contrasting against the deep green of the grass and the hills surrounding him on all sides. Washington had picked the house because it was on high ground- you could see the outline of Philadelphia from the windows. But all Benjamin saw was the hills, so different from New York- where the hills led to the water, the rivers and lakes and the sound. In Pennsylvania, the hills led to meadows and plains, tall grass and wheat and flax and whatever else the farmers grew. The hills were a reminder of how far he was from everything he knew. He was so tired of looking at them.

He closed his eyes, thought of the Hudson River and the Long Island Sound. Sometimes, right now, all he wanted to do was swim. Take off his uniform, his swords, the reminders of war, and go as far as he could. Swim until he was so tired he couldn’t breathe, until all he had in him was laying on the shore, feeling his chest rise, the sand underneath him and the sky above him. Water was so calming. Did they know what they were missing here?

All he wanted was a respite.

Selfish, needy, greedy.

You can’t have it.

I know, he said to himself, not listening.

The battle was lost, and he was tired.

He didn’t care if anyone saw him collapsing onto the grass, sliding down the wall until he landed with his knees in front of him, until his head was hanging in his hands. The stone was cool against the back of his neck, still damp from the fog. He inhaled a deep breath, then another.

How long could he stay out here? An hour? A night?

Until this damned campaign was over?

Until the war was-

Don’t even think about it.

He didn’t care if it was going to rain- he’d catch his death if it did, a repeat of his fall into the Delaware. Would Caleb come and find him?

Did he want anyone to?

He wanted a respite, and a plan, and a way to make things better, a solution for Washington and for- for the intelligence that could only go so far, that couldn’t walk over the hills of Pennsylvania.

Was that another failure?

How many more losses could there be?

His throat was heavy, but he didn’t know if he was holding back a sob or a scream.

“Major Tallmadge?”

He turned.

Captain Tilghman was standing in the doorway, yellow light highlighting him, basking behind him in the house. Benjamin heard hushed conversation emanating from the dining room. He didn’t want to know what they were talking about. “Why don’t you come inside and join us for dinner?”

For some reason, Tilghman had been trying to reach out to him for reasons he didn’t understand. You’re not a permanent fixture. You’re not in the inner circle. What does he want with you?

All of the sudden, he felt sick. God, when was the last time he ate? His stomach turned, and he couldn’t remember the meal.

“Come on,” Tilghman beckoned with his hand, a small smile on his face, “you can have Laurens’ spot.”

“Will he be alright?” Benjamin asked.

“So he says.” He tried again, “Come inside, Ben.”

He unbent his knees, sprawled his legs. He wanted to lay down. “I’ll take whatever’s left.”

Tilghman sighed.

“Can’t take whatever’s left when we’re already eating it, Tallmadge.”

God, he hadn’t even thought about what else they were losing everyday- supplies Meat, rum, and grain were becoming harder to find. The stores were running out, the evidence showing on the men’s morning meals and plates at dinner. Rumors about the quartermaster followed along with Brandywine’s shadow. Two things that seemed helpless. Hopeless.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t eat- he didn’t know if there’d be a next meal.

He didn’t know so many things, and he thought he did.

That was why you left home.

That was why you joined this war.

All he knew was what he believed in, and maybe they weren’t going to get it.

“Benjamin?” Tilghman stepped down into the grass, holding out his hand like Benjamin was fragile and someone he cared about- Tilghman was older than him, wasn’t he? “Are you hurt? If you need my help-”

“No,” he said, but he didn’t force himself to stand, like he should’ve. “No, I’m fine, Captain.”

“We gave them a good fight today, Major.” He believed it, didn’t he?

“Is that what His Excellency says?”

“Come inside and see for yourself.”

And face Washington? With no idea? With nothing to give him?

Falling short and failing the challenge?

He couldn’t do it.

He just wanted to sit out here, figure out what he needed.

Tilghman waited another moment before going back to the step, going inside. “I’ll try to save you a piece of meat or bread.”

Benjamin looked at the country road.

If he left now, could he find something?

Find what he needed?

Or was the night empty?

Was Pennsylvania run dry?

There had to be something, a solution , hiding in plain sight, hiding in the hills and fields of wheat-

“We need someone to help us, Tilghman.”

The man didn’t respond, but Benjamin knew he was still standing there. All of Washington’s aides were determined.

“We need someone to help us, and I’m going to find them.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Reckoning

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, violence, death, trauma.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Promise I’ll update the masterlist today but here we are, we’re finally at the end. We’re saying goodbye to Bucky, Luka, and reader in this one. We’ve come a far way. This was one of the first series I started on here. It started as a one shot about the asset being the scariest but you guys turned it into something more, so thank you. (also that’s three endings in less than a week :))

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You played with the leather strap around your thigh as you sat in the rattly train car. The freight was much like the one that saw you away from your prison so long ago and the same man sat with you, huddled behind the metal barrels and wooden crates. 

Your eyes rolled inside their lids as you thought of your son and his innocent voice as he sang his goodbye to you. Luka didn’t know you might not come back. It broke your heart to think you might not but you couldn’t let James face Hydra alone. He hadn’t let you.

Your hand settled over the gun strapped to your leg, another holstered against your chest beneath your jacket. There was a knife at your ankle and another at your belt. You were ready but you weren’t. How could you ever be ready for any of this?

“We’re almost there,” James whispered as he shifted beside you, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” you opened your eyes and tore your hand away from the gun, “ready.”

He nodded and got up to his feet, squatting behind the cargo as he pulled you up into a similar crouch. He checked your weapons then his own. He looked at you again and his lips thinned into an anxious line.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I have to be,” he answered and reached out to caress your cheek. You leaned into his hand then pulled him to you to peck his lips. He always seemed so meek when you touched him but he was softening.

“We are ready, James,” you assured him as much as yourself, “for Luka, we have to be.”

“You follow my lead. You can’t hesitate, understand?”

“I know,” you said, “I won’t. Those men, what they did to you… to us, they can never have our son. Never.”

“Never,” he echoed and turned. 

He kept low as he crept around the boxes and you followed. He unhooked the door and let it slide open with a loud grind. He reached back until you grabbed onto his arm and he stared at the moving ground.

“Up ahead, the bushes. You first, I’ll be right after you,” he said.

“I remember,” you said, “I know where we are.”

He looked at you and you let out a breath as you readied for your jump, “I lived close to here… with my mother.”

“Oh,” he uttered and went quiet.

“Come on,” you stood but kept hunched as you prepared to roll on impact, “this is about ending the past, not reliving it.”

He counted down and you leapt as the bushes thickened. You landed and rolled through the branches and dingy leaves. You heard him thumped down not far from you as you gulped the air. He was up before you and came to stand over you and offered his hand to get you to your feet. Despite it all, you barely felt the crash to earth.

“So you know where we are,” he said, “so you know where we go first.”

You pushed your shoulders back and sniffed. You said nothing and marched past him. He ran to catch up to you and you walked into the thin skeletal line of trees. He fixed the long bag on his back that held his rifle as his boots crushed the twigs and stones.

“Are you sure you’re--”

“What do we need from there?” you asked, “we get it and we go on.”

“Anything that’s left,” he replied.

You kept on, the terrain turning uneven and soon you were in the rocky passes that brought back bloody memories. That night with Luka in your arms as you walked in the boots of a deadman. You shuddered and kept on. You unholstered your gun as you got closer and James caught your shoulder before you could outpace him.

“I take the lead,” he warned, “you gotta slow down. You can’t just run in there and--”

“If there are any left, I will put them all down,” you swore as your hand shook, “you can’t understand. I have anger in my veins like none I’ve known before.”

He stared at you a moment and thoughts drew his brows together. His lips parted before he found the words, “and what else do you feel?”

“Certain,” you said, “that this will be over soon.”

He lowered his chin and puffed, his breath forming a cloud in the chill air, “this post is abandoned. They couldn’t have stayed after what happened but you stay alert and you point your gun at anything that moves.”

You nodded and he patted your arm. He turned and took the path ahead of you, the trail thinning out the further you got into the low mountains. As you approached the metal doors, he slowed and aimed his gun at the facade of the hidden compound. Rocks clattered beneath his boots and you brought your own weapon up in nervous expectation.

The doors were slightly open and he kicked one open, quickly poking his muzzle inside. He waved you on and you continued down the concrete hallway. The place was cleaned out but the bloodstains remained, painted across the floors and walls.

He led you down the corridors and checked each room as you waited without, watching each end of the hallway as he cleared the place. The further you got, the more the forlorn nostalgia took over you. You felt off, you felt every drop of blood coursing through you and the hot fury mingled with helpless sadness. You felt entirely weak but so powerful

When you got to the heart of the structure, you stopped and watched as James hesitated in turn. He braced himself and went forward into the eerily familiar room. The computers were smashed and the rusty medical equipment littered the floor. The glass chamber they used to keep him in bore the destruction of his escape and he went to it and peered inside.

You flinched as he broke away the last of the glass with his metal fist and quickly retreated. He was shaking as he began to tear open the filing cabinets, the locks cracking at the force of his intrusion.

You walked along the wall and slowly faced the windowed room. The bed was still there and the sparse furniture of your former existence. Your mouth fell open as your eyes tingled with tears. Those early days when you waited, when you dreaded his visits, when you watched him through the glass and wished for death.

You winced as he came up beside you and gently touched your arm. You looked at him and flicked away the moisture in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and his cheek twitched in pain, “I’m so sorry--”

“James, I know it wasn’t you,” you said, “I don’t cry because of you, it is because of them.” You took his hand and squeezed it, “did you find anything?”

“A few things but not what we’re looking for,” he said, “this place is abandoned. Whatever was left of… the experiment has moved.”

“And we know it will be where we’re headed?”

“Stark’s intelligence suggests it will be and… from what I can remember, it’s likely. Bigger than this place. They took me there in the early days.” He cleared his throat and looked around, “we’ll keep going until dawn. We will find somewhere close enough to rest and then…”

“And then we finish this,” you let go of his hand and moved past him, “James, I’m ready. I really am.”

✰

After some hours in a half-burned hut, you were wired. You ate rations under the open roof before you set out again. You hadn’t slept much as you and James took turns on watch. You stretched and went out into the wild and winding paths.

You climbed the steep incline of and followed the crumbling trail. As you got higher, it got colder but you hardly felt it as adrenaline surged in your approach. You ducked down as you walked along a crooked ledge and hopped off to hide behind a tall stone outshoot.

You looked down at the monstrous gates of the compound. You laid flat as James fixed the scope on his rifle and peered through the lens. He bit his lip as he adjusted his sights before he pulled his eye away.

“I can get the guards but we have to be quick after.” He nodded behind you, “down there. Quick. Gun out and ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can do this, James.”

He lined up his gun again and inhaled. He took his first shot, the noise muffled by the long silencer. Several others followed before he stood quickly and hung the gun from his shoulder. He pulled you up and you ran to the decline that led between the sharp walls of the mountain.

He was a few steps back as you made you way down the treacherous natural steps and slid down the last few. You slipped to your knees as voices sounded from the gates and James fired again.

You got up as he latched onto your elbow and continued forward. He reached to his belt and unhooked a grenade, throwing it at the gates as you ran behind him. You hung back as the metal gates shook with the blast and he directed you forward with two fingers.

As you reached the rent in the doors, he stopped and took two more shots. Men fell into the cold dirt and you raised your gun to take your first. You remembered all those hours of training though you never truly knew how useful they would be. It was always a precaution, always a what if, now it was your life or death.

You pulled the trigger and another man crumpled. You kept close to James and picked off the last few men outside the installation. A sudden siren began to whine as you neared the open doors and you could guess that one of the guards had fled inside to warn all those within.

James directed you inside and as you made your way down the corridor, you stopped at the end and listened. You couldn’t think of the hammering of your heart or the thought of the death at you fingertips. You could only think; left or right.

“We need to separate,” you said.

“No, you can’t--”

“This place is too big, I’ll slow you down and you’ll slow me,” you insisted, “I’ll go right.”

“No, we have to--”

“You showed me, James. I know what to do. I know what we need. We have our rendezvous. We know what happens if we do not get there.”

He shook his head and sighed. You heard footsteps.

“We have to go,” you said and before he could argue further, you raised your gun and ran around the corner.

The first man hit the wall after the bullet entered his chest, the second fell over him with your next shot, and the third slumped against the next corner. You heard James’ boots and his own shots as they flew in the other direction. You pressed on and reloaded before you took the next turn.

Your pulse filled your ears and kept you going. Everything felt so clear, so visible, so loud. You saw and heard it all. It was almost as if you knew what would happen before it did. You’d never felt this level of clarity.

You went deeper into the maze, bodies littered in your stead as others fled, those in white jackets, those like the men who’d tortured you. You followed them, they would lead you to what you needed.

A man surprised you as he lunged from a doorway. He slammed you into the wall and your gun fired into the ceiling. You kicked him and he grunted and you grabbed his arm as his hand stretched over your throat. Without pause, without thought, you twisted his arm and he screamed in agony as both his wrist and elbow snapped.

You shoved him away and finished the work with a bullet. You stared at his arm as the shock sunk in. How could you have done all that? It hadn’t felt like anything at all, like bending a toothpick.

You didn’t have time to linger as another appeared and you fired again. Warm blood spattered your front as your legs kept pushing through. You came to a large room but bullets preceded you. 

You peeked inside, James was already there. A flurry of men were engaged with him, those in camouflage and those in white. You downed two men before your gun was kicked from your hands. You grunted and ducked under a punch you didn’t even see was coming, you just knew. You reached to your belt and freed the long hunting knife.

The blade tore through the man's flesh like water. The sickly glide of the metal sickened you and the flood of warmth down our arm churned your stomach. You couldn’t stop, even as your fear rose, even as you realised the destruction you wrought.

Another man, this one broken by a kick that sent him into the wall. Your strength startled even you. You heard James and looked around. He was on his back, barely kicking away his attackers as he aimed desperately with his pistol. 

You broke through the wall of man, shoving them to the side so that they flew back into the machinery all around. You threw your knife at a man as he aimed at James and you wrenched back another and twisted his neck until it cracked. The third you broke over your knee.

You rolled away from them and freed the gun at your chest; one, two, three, four. They all fell dead at the pull of your trigger. James stared at you and sat up. He raised his gun as your own was too slow and you felt an arm around your neck, the pointed tip against your chin.

“Don’t,” the man warned as his white sleeve scratched at your throat, “she dies.”

James kept his aim steady as he got to his feet. The man choked you and pulled you a step back.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered in Russian. You gulped and tossed it down as the metal cut into your flesh just a little, “ah, always thought you would be back. Always expected it.”

“Let her go,” James said, “you can’t--”

“That is the problem, you see? The human emotion dampens the serum. We don’t need the mind, only the body--”

You were quick. You slid your hand up under the knife and fell to your knees, taking the man with you as the blade dug into your fingers. The shot knocked him off of you entirely and the knife fell free, your blood pouring down your hand. You sat back on your heels and reached for your gun with your uninjured hand.

“We get the files and get out,” James helped you up, “more will be coming.”

He drew you past the corpses and began to search the desk and cabinets. He took a black folder and you helped break open several of the computers to remove their hard drives. He packed it all into the compact pack on your back and zipped it up.

He shot past your head as more soldiers appeared. He nudged you forward and yelled, “come on.”

You raced away from the east wing and barrelled down the winding corridors, following the trail of bodies left by your entrance. You added several more to the floor until you reached the front door. Gunfire followed your departure, met only in defensive retreat.

You carried on past the gate and into the rocky impasse. A sudden blast shook the ground and James caught your arm and urged you on. You didn’t look back as the shots faded into thundering booms and bangs.

You kept on until you couldn’t hear the carnage, until it was silent but for the whistling of the mountain air, until the adrenaline was gone and your hand seared with pain, the rest of the unnoticed aches rising to the surface. 

James stopped you and pulled you into a dark cave. He fished out his flashlight and little up the stony walls as he led you further inside. He pushed his head back and took a breath and he let the flashlight rest on its side and cast a plume over the dark space.

“We have to bandage your hand before we press on,” he said, “we get to the bottom at nightfall and keep going.”

“What was that?” you asked as he pulled out his aid kit from his pocket.

“My orders were to burn that place to the ground,” he said, “lucky the blast didn’t take the whole mountain down.”

He took your hand and wiped your fingers clean before he wrapped them in gauze. You were silent throughout as your heart slowed and you had a moment to think.

“James, what--” you blinked and looked down as he moved around you to unzip your bag, “I’m not mad. What was that?”

“No, you’re not,” he said as he pulled the folder out of the bag and went back around you, “it’s why we need to burn these.”

“What is it?” you asked.

He handed it over silently and retrieved his flashlight. He held it over the folder as you opened it. Your picture was at the front of the pile of papers, several signed by Ilyich, detailing the progression of your pregnancy. There were several explaining how the growth of the enhanced fetus affected the carrier. How the serum seemed to have molded with the DNA of the subject.

You looked up at James and frowned. It couldn’t be. 

“You never noticed before and I never wanted to make you,” he admitted, “I thought you would hate to be like me and that would be just another thing I did to you.”

“James…”

“I know, it was the soldier but it still feels like me,” he took the folder from you and closed it. “So I will keep you from one misery in this life. We destroy this now and when we reach the rendezvous, I delete any of that from those hard drives.”

“What do you--”

“We’re going back to Luka,” he said, “they can’t know because they will want to know more. They will want to try it again. Doesn’t matter if it’s Hydra or Stark.”

You nodded and he dug out his lighter. He lit the first page and watched it wilt into ash. You sat on a flat rock and rubbed your gloved hands together. You watched him burn the file a sheet at a time.

“I was reading about Canada. There was a program on the TV Luka was watching,” you said as added the last page and he stood, “what do you think? A nice little house for us. I hear it snows there. I love the snow.”

He clapped off his hands and reached for you. He drew you up and zipped your jacket up to your chin. He framed your face and smiled down at you in the glow of the flashlight hooked on his hip, “If you’ll be there, it sounds wonderful.”

✰✰✰

END

Thank you again for all your patience and support with this series. I’m sad but happy to be done. Let’s all imagine Luka getting to sled with Bucky up in the Great North and be at peace.

[bffsoobin]

33

➤ soobin x reader, fluff, very slight angst, idiot best friends oblivious to their mutual pining

↳ prompt 33: “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?

requested?: yes

warnings: swearing, mentions of small injury

A/N: I’m sorry if you were expecting more explicit romance but I feel like this prompt worked better as a mutual pining idiots plot. Also apologies if this is lack luster, it’s been a few months since I wrote anything non-academic! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

You huddle underneath your comically large black umbrella as sheets of torrential rain pound down on it, washing across the pavement below your feet as if following the tide of the ocean. Your sneakers are soaked, squeaking pathetically as you shift your weight from foot to foot and grimace at the feeling of your socks soggy between your toes. Normally you would have been huddled in your dorm room, working on homework from the morning’s classes or watching reruns of Catfish just to grumble about how stupid a person could be.

But your best friend had texted you with a code blue, so you found yourself in the back parking lot of the campus library, enduring the rain that could only mean Noah’s Arc was due to float by any second. Wind whips your hair into your face cruelly and temporarily blinds you, as if mocking you for daring to brave the storm. You can do little more than scrunch your face oddly and shake your head from side to side in a desperate bid to get the locks away from you since there was no way in hell you were taking a hand off of your umbrella just to push your hair back. A car peels into the parking lot just as you clear your vision. It’s a humble silver sedan, a Hyundai of almost 20 years old, with streaks of rust on the back bumper and a sun-faded license plate. Even in the rain you can make out the litany of decals covering the back end, especially your favorite which boasts the term “MILF: Man I Love Frogs” in bold green letters.

There’s no hesitation in your step as you slosh through the rain to yank at the passenger’s side door, jiggling it several times until the telltale click of the unlock allows you to heave it open fully. Suddenly worried about the state of the car-which is littered with coffee cups, extra clothing, loose notebooks and sheet music and fast food receipts- you shake the umbrella off outside of the car before snapping it shut and closing the door. Beside you Soobin laughs, short and low.

“Thanks for shaking off your umbrella. Really counteracts the gallons of water your brought in with your shoes and pants.” He glances pointedly at where your feet soak the tan carpet into a dark brown and you bristle.

“Thanks for calling a code blue in the middle of a rainstorm. I wouldn’t have fucked your car up if you didn’t have an emergency.” Your voice softens at the reminder of why you’re here, and you finally turn to face him better after you buckle up. He’s devastatingly handsome, as always, but you feel your heart stutter at the fact that he’s wearing the hoodie you bought him for Christmas, the one he had almost slapped you for spending so much money on. It’s slightly damp from the rain and it casts his face in shadows along with the shitty weather and for once you hate the way it looks on him. He drives without asking, already knowing exactly where he wanted to go to talk out whatever had happened.

“I wouldn’t call it a total emergency,” he begins as Spotify takes a few seconds to switch between songs. “Just something I needed you to be in the loop for ASAP.” He looks your way again, eyes calculating for a few moments before the light turns green and he’s making the all too familiar right turn into the tasty and underrated diner that you discovered as freshmen. The rain has not slowed at all and the two of you run into the building to avoiding getting too wet, although your feet squelch with renewed vigor on the red and white tiled floor.

The lighting is much better at your favorite table, and after you place your order you’re able to finally get a good look at Soobin. His soft eyes are rimmed red and puffy, and you can’t tell if it’s the weather, the lack of sleep or his persistent allergies that are the cause. Maybe all three, or maybe something new entirely. He’s staring back at you just as clearly, studying your own face and mannerisms even though it had been years since anything about him was new to you. Of course, other than the day he casually pulled you into his chest and you realized just how tall and broad and handsome he had become.

The thought leaves as scarily quick as it enters, as Soobin turns his face to smile up at the waitress delivering drinks and you catch a glimpse of reddened, mottled looking skin just beneath the seam of the hood. As soon as the waitress retreats you lean across the rickety table and paw at the cotton. Soobin puts up almost no fight, knowing he’s about to lose a battle that hadn’t even begun. The delicate skin of his cheek is alarmingly bright red and looks angry to the touch. Bruises had already begun to form around the outer ring of the graze and your heart clenches when you realize that what you first thought was a circular bruise looks suspiciously similar to a fist. A symphony of anger and concern rise within your chest and your eyes prickle with tears that you know Soobin will wipe away for you if you let them fall. 

“What-” you swallow, saliva suddenly feeling like it’s made of cotton, “Who did that?” 

He smiles shyly, ducking away from your touch but you gently grab at his cheek, keeping him from moving too far. His eyes bore into yours, flicking down to your lips before bringing them back up. Slowly, as if scared to spook you, he encloses his palm around your wrist.

“Promise you won’t yell and disturb everyone else that’s eating?” You nod eagerly even though both you and Soobin know that it was a promise likely to be broken. His hand, steady and radiating warmth into the skin of your wrist tugs tighter, hooking on to you like a life line. 

“That asshole Braden. I was passing him in the lobby of the math building and he was talking to his friends about how-” Soobin stops to swallow an invisible lump in his throat- “how he worked with you on some project and he kept talking about how stupid you were the whole time.” 

Your face twists into a grimace at the reminder of that exact project and then the image of Braden, tall and wide with an angry round face; but then a laugh bubbled from the depths of your chest. 

“To be fair, I was useless for that project. It was film class and it was about that stupid French movie I didn’t watch. So he’s not technically wrong.” Soobin’s frown twitched and then, to your surprise, deepened. Heart dropping at the sight, you felt a chill creep up the back of your neck. For as long as you’d known him, there was always a good chance that a well timed joke could curb his anger or sadness or frustration. 

“It wasn’t that that got me, well, this. After he said that, he said that even though you were stupid he wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees.” You sucked in a simultaneous breath with Soobin, whose moody look finally transfered to you. It made too much sense now; why your joke hadn’t shifted his mood, why he was so vague about why he needed to talk to you, why he had that bruise. Your heart races as you begin to imagine how the skin will turn deep purples and greens, going sickly yellow around the edges. “It just pissed me off so bad. So I yelled at him and he squared up with me and before I knew it I was on the floor.”

To be honest, you were angrier that Soobin had come out of the altercation hurt than anything. You were used to the comments, the snide bullshit that falls from the mouths of your less kind peers.

“I’m going to kill him.” Soobin laughs, finally, as you clench your fingers into a tight fist around your innocent glass of strawberry lemonade.

“No, you’re not. I’m fine.” He finally removes the hood from his head, and if it weren’t for the bruise- which you now could see spread almost all the way to his ear- you would have been more interested in the fact that his shaggy hair had gotten even longer since the last time you’d seen it this close. You open your mouth to protest just as the waitress approaches again, this time balancing two hot plates of food on her arms. You flash her a sweet smile at the same time she notices the state of Soobin’s face and squints. She doesn’t say anything, though, and leaves almost as quickly as she showed up.

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” You ask as soon as she’s out of earshot. 

“Yes.” Soobin playfully scowls at you around a mouthful of french fries. Your heart skips at the adorable way his eyebrows knit and his dimples press deeper into his cheeks. Despite yourself, you smile, feeling the tension in the air dissipate around the pair of you. Soobin gestures loosely to the plate in front of you, wordlessly encouraging you to eat.

The pancakes you ordered are just as delicious as you remember them to be every time; fluffy and syrupy with just enough butter. Halfway through a chew, a new idea pops in your head and you struggle to keep chunks of batter from spewing onto the table as you speak.

“What if I just break his nose a little?”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

endgame

request: Can I request a Spencer Reid imagine in which the reader is dating him and is part of BAU? Before they’re called in for the next case, they have a bit of a disagreement about letting her come along on this one. She ends up not going and while they’re gone, she gets caught up in a bit of trouble. She was close by when a building was struck with a bomb, she suffers with only minor injuries and when word gets out to Spencer, he goes back for her to make sure she’s okay and helps to take care of her

for: @fandomofyourchoice-89 

word count: 1,941                                                                                     reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

My legs swung side to side on the chair that I sat on, my feet appearing and disappearing underneath the seat, while Spencer was creating a geographical profile on the board. His eyebrows furrowed and lines were etched on his forehead as he peered into the whiteboard intently.

“You okay there bubs?” I spoke out, taking him out of his trance. He responded with a small smile, running his hands through his hair as he sighed. Deep purple bags were evident under his eyes and his hair was tied up into a semi man bun. “That bad?” I empathize, stretching my arms out to offer him a consolation hug.

He dragged his feet towards me, accepting my warm invitation, before collapsing on top of me. “Oh! Geez- Spence- you’re so heavy” I groaned, the entirety of his weight suffocating me all at once. I looked to the office windows of the police station we were in, grateful that Spencer had closed all the blinds before we entered.

“You love me on top of you” He murmured into my neck, his lips slightly brushing against the skin, sending chills down my spine. I proceeded to smack him upside the head, earning a snicker from him.

“Spence please get off of me” I groaned, pushing my quaint arms against his chest. But to no avail, Spencer continued to lay his dead weight against me. I sighed in defeat, wrapping my arms around his head while I stroked the back of his neck with my thumb. Silence engulfed the two of us until I decided to speak up again. “Did you get anywhere?” I asked, running my fingers down his hairline.

He shook his head against my embrace, lifting his head up to look at me with tired eyes. “There’s just something- I feel it- but I just can’t place my mind on it” He grumbled, wearing an eminent frown on his lips.

“Well what is it?”

“This unsub- his victims right? They were found…” He trailed off, getting up to walk over to the board. “Here, here, and here” He pointed out, my eyes watching as he dragged his long fingers across the board. “But our profile doesn’t indicate that any of them would be his kill zones- or matter of a fact- none of them indicate any signs of his endgame” He sighed, placing his hands on his hips in frustration.

“Well Spence, I’m sure it’s noth-”

Suddenly Hotch barged into the room in a frenzy of impatience, the rest of the team following him at the same pace. “You’ve got to see this,” Garcia said frantically, placing her laptop on the table and furiously typed away.

I looked to Emily in confusion, but all I received was a shrug and a similar befuddled expression. I laid my eyes on the rest of the team, scanning their appearances, yet none of them seemed to budge. Finally, I paid attention to Garcia’s presentation of the unsub.

Something was obviously wrong, her fingers shook as she pointed to the board and she couldn’t keep a coherent sentence. “Garcia, it’s okay” I reassured her, giving her a small smile. But instead of receiving one back, her eyes became dull at the sight of me, quickly averting her attention elsewhere. I opened my mouth to add on, but decided against it as I gauged her reaction.

I was in my headspace, thinking about how Garcia responded to me until the mention of my name snapped me out of my thoughts. I whirled my head around, noticing all of my colleagues eyes on me. “What is it?” I laughed nervously, afraid that there might have been a target on my forehead.

My fears seemed to be actualized the second I turned around, my face morphing into mortification as I saw a candid picture of me with a big red ‘X’ across the page. My mouth fell agape while adrenaline ran its course throughout my body.

“Is that-?” I sputtered, looking to Spencer for confirmation, but he was too focused on the picture that he hadn’t taken his attention away from it. His fists were clenched, his chest heaved in an intermittent rhythm, and he hadn’t let a sound slip from his parted lips. “The unsub?” I looked to my colleagues, watching their facial features morph into pity.

Hotch nodded at me with hooded eyes, confirming my fears. My heart stopped and my body rejected the feeling of dismay that began festering inside me, shuddering at any malicious thought that permeated my mind. “We’ll be traveling to his most recent kill in hopes to apply the profile” He stated, looking to the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry Y/N” Garcia lamented with panicked eyes.

“It’s- uhh, I’m going to- I need a moment” I stuttered, tripping over my words as I got up and stepped out of the room.

It wasn’t the first time that an unsub had targeted me or any other member of the team, but this one was different; this unsub was the epitome of evil. The things he would do to the women he captured was far worse than death itself. He would violate these womens’ bodies and slice up their body cavities starting from their genitalia while they were alive.

When I first arrived on scene, my stomach churned at the mere thought of the event, refusing to go to the morgue with Morgan and Spencer. I felt violated just by the knowledge of such an evil being possible; now it’s an evil that could happen to me. It almost angered me that anyone could have such a putrid mind to think of such a thing, to carry on and blend into a crowd with bloodstained hands.

I paced back and forth, repeating a calming mantra in an attempt to ease my mind, yet nothing was nearly effective. I received a few wandering eyes from the officers that ran the station, but I pushed the judgement out of my head as it was too busy being engulfed in distress and acrimony.

The office door creaked open, indicating that someone had stepped out of the presentation room where I was previously in. I turned my head swiftly, my attention landing on the worried expression that Spencer wore as he approached me. My lips curled into a sad smile, hoping he would reciprocate my gesture to lighten up the mood, but to no avail his expression stayed stoic and grim.

“You’re not going on with us,” Spencer declared, an icy tone laced with his words. He made sure the door was closed behind him, whisper-yelling his command at me so we wouldn’t attract any unneeded attention.

“Spence- but I need t-”

“Please don’t argue with me Y/N” He sighed, combing his fingers through his locks, untying the man bun he wore previously.

“Spencer you see what this unsub is doing to all those women, I have t-”

“No you don’t Y/N- just please sit this one out” He pleaded, looking into my eyes for any sign of submission.

“Look Spence, I’m- god- I’m scared Spencer” I admitted, letting the truth wash over our encounter. “I can’t just stay here, I need to be out there doing something” I justified, hoping that he could understand and empathize with what I was feeling.

“Y/N you could do the same if you stayed here at the station- you can help Garcia and-”

“Spencer you have to understand-”

“No! Y/N” He impulsively blurted out, clutching the ends of his sleeves, which was usually an indication for his frustration. “You’re not going- I’ve already talked to Hotch and he said” He began to explain until I cut him off.

“YOU WHAT!” I exclaimed, but afterwards felt self conscious about the volume of my words. “You what?” I repeated in a calmer voice.

“Y/N I already talked to Hotch and he said that you’re off the case” He finished, belittling me like a parent would at their petulant child.

“So now you’re calling all the shots now, huh big guy” I scoffed, tucking my hands into my elbows. “You have absolutely no right to-”

“No right to what? To protect you? To keep you out of harm’s way?” Spencer combated, pulling me into a secluded corner that was farther away from the door and the crowd of workers in front of us.

“Not only are you commanding me not to go on the case, you had the audacity to tell Hotch to kick me off?” I spat at him, feeling every bit of fear I had previously dissipate and transform into enmity. “You’re unbelievable!” I exasperated, throwing my hands up and turning away from him. I was about to walk away to join the rest of the team, but I was forcefully pulled back by my wrist.

“Where are you going?” Spencer fumed as I yanked my arm out of his grasp.

“Away from you and to get myself back on the case” I jeered. I knew trifling with Spencer wasn’t the brightest idea, but messing with my career was a force to be reckoned with.

“Y/N can you not?” Spencer huffed, stepping in front of me to cut me off.

“Spencer I can take care of myself” I nudged past him, pushing him against his shoulder to make a few strides towards the room.

A heavy silence followed after the heated argument, the clacks that my shoes made against the stone floors enhanced the forceful steps I took. I felt every fiber of my being ignite in embers while I tried to recollect my composure. I peeked at Spencer through my peripheral vision, seeing his chest rise and fall in exasperation, the veins on his forehead bulging and prominent, and his hands being furiously wiped against the side of his pants.

Before I had the chance to turn the doorknob, Spencer had stopped me in my tracks with the sound of his voice. “Do you wanna end up like her?” He scoffed, gazing at me with a frustrated, yet desperate expression.

I titled my head in confusion of his words, almost ignoring him completely so I could proceed through the door.

“Do you wanna end up like Maeve?”

My blood ran cold at the mention of her name, feeling my heart clench for Spencer. I gripped the doorknob, hoping to alleviate the haunting feeling that washed over me. “That’s not fair Spencer” I warned, shutting my eyes, unable to face him.

“You know what’s not fair? You getting yourself hurt- or even worse- because you were too damn stubborn to listen to me-” He peeved. “I don’t know if you realize Y/N, but frankly I’m trying not to end up with another dead gir-”

“That’s not fair Spencer and you know it!” I repeated, meeting the coldness that was present in his usually warm eyes. I gritted my teeth, letting go of the doorknob as he slowly made his towards me.

“Then what’s fair Y/N?” He mocked, shrugging his shoulders in a petty manner.

“I’m going Spencer” I affirmed, standing my ground. His face seemed to harden at my words, the anger and spite in his expression growing into an irrational state. He glared at me, bumping into my shoulder as he brushed past me.

I wish that was what we left on; where he would storm back into the room with an exacerbated stature. But he decided to leave our encounter with a few words that were left to linger in the back of my mind.

“Come back dead for all I care”

part 2

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @linthebinbag​

part 2 coming soon

also, i’m in my first year of university right now so most of my imagines will be two part-ers because of all the school work- if you’re curious im a biology major. thank you for bearing with me <3

[robininthelabyrinth]

I would really like to see your take on JC/JYL age flip also JC is the sickley one JYL is sect heir and how it changes them

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng wondered if his father would have loved him if he had been born healthy.

If maybe that would have been the thing that would have changed everything – the little difference that would have entitled him to the hugs that Wei Wuxian got, the warm smiles, the praise. The hand on the shoulder, the occasional “well done”…

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know if it was his weakness that his father so obviously despised him for, or if it was only his mother’s blood that ran true in him – his face like her face, his temperament the same as hers except without the power to back it up.

He didn’t know if he would’ve been a different person if he’d had a body that obeyed him properly – one that didn’t try to kill him when he tried to train the sword, that didn’t send him blue in the face and choking when he ran too far or too fast or when it was too cold or too wet. He didn’t even want to be talented, the way Wei Wuxian was; he would be content with having the opportunity to complete, rather than being left out of the race entirely. Surely through hard work and effort he could have kept neck-and-neck with Wei Wuxian in the race for his father’s affection, the race Wei Wuxian won so easily, instead of the way he was now.

He wondered, too, if perhaps his body had shaped who he was – if perhaps his prickliness, his bitterness, his anger, his tendency to scold instead of praise, his frowns and scowls instead of smiles were all from that base anger, the anger at his body for failing him when he needed it. The way he saw himself left behind by all his peers, watching them grow strong while he struggled and strained and broke himself trying his best only to become barely average.

Maybe if he’d been born normal, he wouldn’t have been like that. Maybe he would have smiled easily, the way Wei Wuxian did; maybe he would have been calm and patient, the way Jiang Yanli was. Maybe he would have understood the Jiang sect motto the way his father was always telling him he couldn’t.

Maybe his parents wouldn’t have fought so bitterly all the time if only his mother had produced a son his father could think was worthy of him.

He didn’t know.

He regretted it anyway.

But most of all, he regretted what his weakness meant to Jiang Yanli.

She’d never complained, of course. She assured him it wasn’t his fault – that he couldn’t control it, that it was merely the will of the Heavens. She told him she wasn’t angry at him.

He wouldn’t blame her if she was.

He was angry at himself.

At his weakness.

At what it had cost her.

When he was still a child, they’d all thought that his sickliness was merely an artifact of his childhood – that it would pass and fade, that he would outgrow his illness and become a man like any other, and as a result his parents and all his sect had treated him as the presumptive heir. He’d gotten tutors, training, extra lessons; he’d been asked to listen to meetings, to read over reports, to think over problems…

Jiang Yanli, in contrast, had been left alone to amuse herself.

It wasn’t a matter of power; she had a powerful golden core, a good basic talent that could be further strengthened with hard work. But the Jiang sect had one daughter and one son, and obviously that meant that the son would inherit and the daughter marry out – and so what did it matter what her cultivation was? There was no need to train her to be anything other than a good wife.

Jiang Yanli had liked that.

She’d been so gentle, Jiang Cheng remembered – generous, kind, happy. She liked cooking, sailing, playing with children, walking by the pier and conversing with the merchants and fishermen…

She couldn’t do that now.

She was the sect heir, now. Responsibility had fallen hard upon her shoulders, but she bore it well: the endless classes to take, the increased stress to increase her cultivation, the burden of the sect’s reputation, the lack of time to do as she pleased – all that and more, she accepted with the same smile as before.

She was still gentle, still generous, still kind.

And yet, as she grew older, stronger, more confident, she also grew – bitter.

Bitter like her mother.

Like Jiang Cheng.

And the reason was all him.

Him, for being weak. For being unworthy. For not being Wei Wuxian –

“You deserve better,” Jiang Yanli said, Jiang Cheng lying in bed with his head in her lap, chest slowly rising and falling – the aftermath of an attack.

“Than what?” he asked, a sad laugh gurgling in his throat. “Than to be born sick? Than to be a disappointment?”

“To be treated as less worthy than Wei Wuxian’s shadow,” she said fiercely.

Jiang Cheng bit his lips. “Don’t say that.”

“She’s right, though,” Wei Wuxian said. He was there as well, sitting on the floor, and Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to argue with him.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand his father’s preference for Wei Wuxian. He even agreed with it. He adored Wei Wuxian, with his mischief and his brilliance, the way he would fight anyone and anything for Jiang Cheng’s sake; he always had the best ideas on how to waste time, how to play, how to joke around. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, bold and unrestrained, powerful and healthy and strong, everything Jiang Cheng wished he could be, and yet Wei Wuxian always allowed his useless can’t-breath, can’t-run, need-to-rest-again weak-bodied shidi to trail along behind him.

“Why don’t you call him A-Xian anymore?” he asked his sister, choosing to ignore Wei Wuxian.

“Too much intimacy between men and women is not good,” Jiang Yanli said, but she didn’t look at him, and Jiang Cheng might be weak but he wasn’t stupid.

“Does – does Father want you two to marry?” he asked hesitantly, looking between one and the other, neither of them looking at him. “But Mother already engaged you to Jin Zixuan.”

Presents had been exchanged, the engagement all but final – the Jin sect’s interest in the match, originally arranged as part of a promise between their mothers, who had been childhood friends, had gone up considerably ever since they realized that Jiang Yanli would be inheriting the Jiang sect. It was difficult but not impossible for two sect heirs to marry: they’d agreed that they’d need have two sons, one to inherit each sect, carry on each surname, and that the inheritance would devolve back to the original family lines should anything go wrong with that plan.

It was settled.

“Engagements can be broken,” Jiang Yanli said, and her eyes were a little red. “And – it might not be that. It’s just improper, now that I’m older…”

Jiang Cheng twisted to look at Wei Wuxian, who was nowhere near as good at eliding a direct question.

“Sect Leader Jin all but implied that we were planning on putting a green hat on his son’s head,” Wei Wuxian blurted out, characteristically blunt. “Just because I’m close to shijie, that we were planning for her to marry Jin Zixuan so that we’d get the Jin sect’s benefits, but that the children would be mine – that bastard.”

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaimed.

“It’s true, though! He is! In spirit, if not in blood –”

“That’s not the problem –”

“Are you?” Jiang Cheng asked, and they both turned to look at him. “Going to marry?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said immediately, eyes bugging out, even as Jiang Yanli furiously shook her head in similar denial. “Shijie’s – no!”

A marital sister was a perfectly reasonable match to make, even if they’d been raised together, but the disgusted expressions on both their faces at the very thought somehow pleased Jiang Cheng.

(He was a bitter, awful person sometimes. No, not sometimes – often. But they still loved him.)

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, it’s not important yet, is it? We’re going to go to the Cloud Recesses, where Jin Zixuan is, too. Maybe jiejie will like him and it’ll all be all right.”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli said quickly. “That’s right. I mean, I haven’t met him, and I’ve been far too busy to think about any of that…this will be a good opportunity to see if we suit each other. If we do, good; if we don’t, we don’t, and I’ll insist on breaking the engagement to marry as my own wishes suit – and not to A-Xian. Never to A-Xian.”

Not even if their father thought he would be the perfect match.

“Madame Yu wouldn’t agree anyway,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding furiously.

“That’s true,” Jiang Cheng said, and relaxed a little. He already knew he wouldn’t have a bride – nor a husband, for that matter, he found that he wasn’t especially fussed about that in the rare times he let himself dream of what-could-be. Those dreams weren’t for him, though, not really; who would want a broken barely average cultivator like him, with no talents except maybe cooking the way Jiang Yanli had taught him and a temper as bad as it could be?

It was horrible and selfish of him, to want his most beloved people to stay with him instead of finding their happiness elsewhere – whether with each other, or with someone else – but he couldn’t help himself.

He didn’t have anything else. Not his parents’ respect and love, not cultivation or fighting power, not even his health – all he had was their love.

He shouldn’t hope for anything more than that.

(And yet, in the Cloud Recesses of all unexpected places – he found it.)

[zoellajulien]

the chains that bind us

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1,343

Warning: Family fighting, Royalty AU, Kidnapping (Mention), Character death (Mention)

With a face scrunched up into a glare, hot tears running down your face, trembling hands, it was apparent you were experiencing burning, searing anger. There seemed to be no calm within you as you frustratedly fought with the material of the dress you wore while trying to remove it. Thoughts that could be considered punishable continued to run through your mind. Who does that thick-witted man think he is, telling me to find a man and replace the queen?

The maids' faces held obvious concern, but they did not speak. That, however, did not include the head servant. "Princess! Be careful! Ruining a dress tailored days ago will cause the king great distress." Despite having sound reasoning, the words went unregistered.

"That man's emotions have no meaning to me, as mine do not to him." You spat, eyes trained onto the wall in front of you. The gasp from the lower maids did not cause guilt. "I would be glad if his emotionless self experienced grief."

"My lady, you do not speak truth in your words. Please, try to calm yourself!"

At this, you turned. "Maiden Riene, you dare question the word of your princess?"

Before the woman could answer, a shudder went through you. With that, tears traveled down your cheeks and beneath your chin. All anger seemed to leave your body and change into various other emotions. Riene, who had spent many years in your presence and experienced more than a few breakdowns, enveloped you into a hug.

"Princess-"

You cut her off, reminding her to use your name instead of a flimsy title.

She changed her wording and continued, "what is prompting such sadness within you?"

There was a pause in the room, silence enveloping the four of you, excluding your heavy breathing. Your eyes, almost always bright with wonder, held deep angst and hurt instead. Taking a step with the intent to turn, Riene grasped onto your wrist. She did not utter a word, giving you much-needed space.

"He called me to his throne, told me we needed to speak. He handed me the ring he bestowed upon my mother during their marriage." Silence seemed to build thicker as confusion grew. "He told me that I needed to prepare myself to replace the queen. He told me he started the process of finding a 'worthy' husband."

The younger maids looked at each other. One spoke up timidly, "Princess, can I ask why that makes you sad?"

Moving towards the window, you sat down and stared at the gardens below. "My mother was a ruler most queens would only dream of becoming. She helped this kingdom prosper, along with the others around us, and gave many people jobs. She never let one servant fall under mistreatment by anyone. She convinced my father to let women become knights and fight for the kingdom." You smiled and placed a hand over your bracelet. "She always told me one thing, though. She told me to marry for love. Mother said that without marrying for love, miserable days do not get better. You will not have the reassurances of a friend to accept your lows without hesitance.

"My mother made me promise, swear my word to her, that I would not marry a man I did not love. I expected to stay true with Mother's help, but then she slept upon her deathbed. And my father, that belligerent man, expects me to take over what she left! To forget the vow I made to a woman with more intellect than he could fathom."

You could tell you got your point across, seeing as the two younger servants looked at you with wonder. Their looks of interest almost broke your static look into a smile due to reminding you of small children.

After more silence ensued, you took the initiative and motioned at your dress. The trio began carefully undoing the ties, buttons, zippers, and other things holding you tight in the dress. That gave you time to ponder the moments you had shared with the queen, sparking an idea.

"Rience, stop."

"My lady, what do you mean?"

"I request you fetch Prince Peter, King Anthony's child. Bring him here, for I must speak to him."

"Your highness, you are partially unclothed! His majesty will think sinful activities abound!" The third maiden, who had yet to speak since you entered your chambers, warned.

"Do not let the king find out, then. Go, all of you. My chambers are off-limits until I call for you again." Riene gave you a skeptical look, worried about leaving you with a boy. "I will not be doing anything you're imagining, please, have some sense. Now, go."

---

"If it isn't the fairest royal descendant in all of the land." Voice heavy with his accent, Peter entered your bedroom without knocking. How uncivilized, your father would say. You loved it.

"You flatter me, your highness." You tease, turning to look at him, smiling when he shined his grin at you.

"Oh, please, all the formalities! We sound as though we are ruler's consorts who are ordered about by their betrothed."

Standing in front of you was the widely known prince, Peter Parker. He wore his family crest proudly on his chest, son of the famed Anthony Stark. Once, he had been the child of a thriving family that served King Anthony well. However, tragedy struck the family when Peter's parents died due to one of the king's enemies' attempts at war. In a moment of guilt, the king brought the boy into his home. The Stark kingdom was not far, only a half-day trip west.

Peter had stood at 5' 8" at the age of fifteen, only to grow taller for the next three years. Now, he stood at 5' 10". His hair was a deep brown color, made up of several short ringlets that stuck out when not styled. His eyes were also brown but were a few shades lighter. His broad frame reminded you of your relatively small stature and warmed your cheeks as he held a confident presence.

"You're in distress. Why? What troubles you?" Peter's voice came out soft. His footsteps seemed even quieter as he made his way to sit beside you.

"Have my maidens told you?" Your voice did not come out laced with malice. Instead, an emotion similar to a mixture of hope and wonder filled the room.

"About your father? They have. I noticed the unease they carried, so I prodded until they granted me explanations. If it was a secret, it's best you punish me and not them."

When you hesitated to find words, he gazed at your appearance. In turn, you became uncomfortably aware that the dress you wore was tighter than usual around your waist. Was that just the corset? Did the color compliment your skin tone?

"Darling?"

"What? Oh. Apologies, I was lost in my thoughts. I do not wish punishment upon you or the girls. For, I expected and am rather glad they told you, as I do not need to."

"I understand you are in anguish. But, if I may ask, what can I possibly do to ease such feelings? Our families are bubbling a feud already-"

"I wish for you to remove me from this castle. I do not imply death, but I wish to escape the eyes of my father."

"What?"

For a fleeting moment, as you sat in front of someone you trusted with far more than your life, fear encased you. His expression was no short of confusion, with a heavy lining of panic as well. An undeniable terror tore through your chest, resulting in an unplanned and inelegant explanation to tumble from your lips.

"You've heard what my maidens have said." You stood and walked to your bed, pulling a light cover over your shoulders. "Tell me, is it kingly to break a widow's last wish? I can not fulfill what I promised with my father forcing a marriage down my throat."

"Princess, are you imply we stage your kidnapping?"

taglist: @rorybutnotgilmore

want to be added? just ask!

[annab-nana]

Bookshelf Confessions - Peter Parker

Peter and MJ are caught in the middle between a relationship and a friendship, a situationship if you will. There are definitely some feelings between the both of them, but when she overhears Peter talking to Ned about them in the library, she pulls you in to listen in with her and the conversation takes a turn you both didn’t expect.

A/N: Hi guys! So this was a late night tiktok inspiration. Here is the video I got it from and I changed the words up a bit to better fit how Peter would talk and to better describe MJ as well but anyway, I hope you enjoy! Oh also, if you guys really want it, I could do a part 2 to this but we will see :)

Part 1 of Books Tell Secrets and Lies

Warnings: some curse words

Word Count: 3.2k+

--------------------------------------------------

“Ned, I need to talk to you,” Peter whispered to the boy as he grabbed his arm and pulled him between a couple of bookshelves in the library. School had just ended, and the mop of brown curls dragged his best friend all the way to the room filled with books and resources as soon as class had been dismissed.

Though it was a library and you were supposed to be silent, the way Peter was being exceptionally quiet and almost secretive obviously caught the eye of an observant and nosy Michelle Jones. She was about to join the pair, but upon noticing that her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—seemed to try to be hiding something from her, she stopped. If Peter ever had a problem, he would round all three of you guys up to discuss it, needing all of the brilliant sound minds of his buddies to help him make a decision. So, when he was only talking to Ned without you and her included, she got a weird feeling and hung back behind the shelf next to them to eavesdrop.

You were minding your own business as you searched for a book to write your English report—which you thought was ridiculous that you already had a big assignment to complete when it was only the second week into your senior year but that was a topic for another day—and you were walking past the aisles to find where the fiction books of author’s with the last name starting with Z would be found when a hand reached out to grip your arm and tug you into a nearby aisle. You were about to protest until you saw it was only your harmless yet curious best friend. Before you could open your mouth to ask why the hell she dragged you here, her hand quickly but silently covered your mouth, prohibiting you from speaking at all. Her other hand came up to her own mouth as she placed a finger in front of her lips signaling you to be quiet. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone.

Y/n: ??

She pointed towards the bookshelf and you heard the mumblings of one Peter Parker, the top of his head hard to miss when it was peering above the dusty books that lined the metal shelf.

You, MJ, Ned, and Peter made quite the friend group. Though you all were fairly different, your similarities brought you together and you loved having them by your side. What made it even better is that when MJ and Peter started their “relationship”, it didn’t mess up the dynamic at all. You all still hung out and you and Ned weren’t uncomfortable with their closeness at all, though you both did want to know if they were actually dating or not.

Since the Europe trip, they have been a lot closer. There was no denying that. You and Ned both have seen the stolen glances and holding hands under the lunch table. There was something going on there that they didn’t want to let on or they were just simply happy being together more often.

When you heard about Peter’s plan to woo MJ over the summer, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you were not a little disappointed. You were ecstatic for MJ, but your heart longed to be in her place. He had looked to you for help in making her swoon since you had been her best friend for years and while you would always help Peter no matter what, it hurt to see him in awe of another girl. Once you found out that MJ felt the same towards Peter and you knew his plan would work, you pushed those thoughts and feelings to the back of your mind, far where no one could find them. You had been a tad upset for a moment, but when you saw how happy they were, there was nothing more you could do but support them.

You still were confused as to why you both were hiding from your friends behind a bookshelf before MJ started typing furiously on her phone to text you.

MJ: peter is being hella sus and i wanna get to the bottom of it

Y/n: you little detective

MJ smirked at you as you both leaned in a little closer to hear better.

“I’ve been hanging out with MJ,” Peter started, running a hand through those beautiful chestnut curls and focusing on Ned who was smiling innocently and nodding along to the conversation. “Everybody thinks we’re dating because I spend my weekends hanging at her house and watching movies or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Ned chuckled, clueless to where the conversation was heading as were you. MJ had a deep feeling in her gut that it would lead to him telling Ned he wants to break up with her even though they were not actually together, but she wasn’t quite sure that was all he had to say.

“She’s on the decathlon team, one of the smartest people I know, and she’s could even be prom queen if she wasn’t so against it.” Both the boys lightly laughed at that as you all knew MJ too well. You had to hold back your giggle while you and MJ shared an amused look before continuing to listen in on the conversation.

“While we study chemistry, there’s a little more chemistry between us if you know what I mean,” you watched the bashful boy sputter while pink dusted his cheeks. You looked to MJ who found the floor to be much more interesting than your gaze at the moment.

‘You guys fucked? And you didn’t tell me,’ you mouthed after placing your fingers under her chin to make her look up at you. Her eyes widened and she shook her head profusely before mouthing back, ‘no, just made out a lot.’ That put your heart at ease a bit yet you still weren’t fond of it, but Peter’s next words caught the attention of you both.

“But I have a secret I must confess,” Peter sighed, eyes flitting down almost as if in shame. Your eyebrows furrowed while your puzzled expression met MJ’s worried one. Your hand reached out to grab hers and your thumb rubbed smoothly over her knuckles, a small gesture you knew provided her with much comfort and though she was trying not to show it, you knew she was getting anxious.

“It’s not her laugh or the way she’d dress. She’s not the reason I’ve been thinking about love,” he muttered with his head still down. Ned let out a light gasp at what he was hinting at and your heart broke for MJ. You tugged at her hand and tried to step forward to lead her out of the library, this conversation being one she did not need to hear, but she remained put. She gave you a sad nod as if saying ‘it’s okay y/n’, so you conceded and stayed with her for emotional support. But you knew the second she left, you would rip Peter a new one if she hadn’t done it first.

“Every weekend we hang out, I lose my cool when she’s around over stupid little things that shouldn’t even bother me,” Peter stated with a huff, angry with himself because of how he felt. If he could love MJ and not feel at war with himself and his feelings, then that is what he would do but he was growing tired of the constant battle in his head and in his heart. “And I don’t know if this is just a crush.”

So, he liked someone else for sure because that was the second time he mentioned something like that. You were growing angry with the boy and you knew that even if he possessed superhuman abilities, your rage would overpower him. Your eyes mixed with sadness and anger sought out MJ again to check on her. She was remaining closed off as always, but she had begun to open up a bit more recently and Peter’s actions were putting her back where she was.

“How do I find the words to tell her,” Peter paused, eyes darting around before meeting Ned’s, “that I’m in love with her best friend.”

You and MJ both stiffened and for some reason, you felt uncomfortable holding her hand now. You were doing it to comfort her as you always have, but you were the girl her ‘boyfriend’ was in love with. Your wide eyes remained trained on Peter and Ned as you waited for them to further confirm your suspicions.

“Y/n?” Ned gawked at his best friend. He had zero clue that Peter felt like this, but he did know you had a small crush on Peter when y’all were formulating the plan to get MJ to fall in love with him. Ned had seen the way you looked at Peter and one day, he saw the tears that brimmed your eyes before you excused yourself to the bathroom, Peter too focused on perfecting each step to see that you were distraught. Ned left as well to go ‘get something from his locker’ and he found you fanning your eyes dry and blowing some air out to calm yourself.

“You like him, don’t you?” Ned questioned as you turned around to hide your embarrassment. You were crying over Peter Parker while helping him get with your best friend. It was silly.

“Hey,” he spoke calmly as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to hide from me. I saw the tears before you left but y/n, why are you helping him with this if you know he will end up with someone else? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts like hell but what am I supposed to do? Tell him I like him?” you spoke sarcastically but of course, he took it literally.

“Yes! That’s exactly what you should do,” he encouraged while you shook your head.

“I can’t do that to him, Ned. He is head over heels in love with MJ. Anyone with eyes can see that and though she will not let anyone know, I can tell she has a crush on him too so who am I to get in the way of that? They will be happy together and I will get over him. I will be okay, Ned,” you told him as you quickly wiped away your tears.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” Ned inquired, holding out a pinky for you to link yours with his. The childish act made you smile, and you did just that.

“I promise as long as you don’t tell him.” Ned nodded in agreement and you two unlinked pinkies. “Now I am gonna actually go to the bathroom to make sure I look fine, and I’ll be back,” you informed him before heading into the restroom.

“Yeah, Ned. I fucked up. I am going to ruin the whole group and their friendship. MJ will hate me and so will y/n for hurting MJ,” he sighed, leaning against the shelf to his right and keeping his eyes down. He felt so bad for this, but this was how he felt and he could not keep lying to MJ.

“Peter, you’re an idiot if you think they’re gonna let you ruin their friendship. They were best friends before you and they will be best friends after you too. You’re starting to sound like Flash,” Ned giggled while Peter shot him a glare, quietening him for a moment. “Sorry, but you should’ve come to this revelation back in June. Things would’ve been a lot easier.”

You had forgotten that they didn’t know you were there, and MJ was about to hear that you had been in love with her fling for a while and didn’t tell her. Again, you tried to get her to leave to spare her from hearing any more, but her feet remained planted. She was not going anywhere and if she wasn’t, you weren’t either. So, you stayed and listened beside her.

“What do you mean by that?” Peter quizzed and Ned’s eyes widened, realizing that he said too much. He let out a sigh before giving in and telling him.

“Y/n’s... kinda been in love with you since before the summer. I don’t know how much before, but she liked you when we were planning how to get MJ to fall in love with you during the Europe trip. I saw her tear up once and then I found out.”

MJ’s hand dropped from your own, her face reading shock and hurt when you looked at her. You felt like shit and you hadn’t really done anything wrong. Maybe you should have told her that you used to have a crush on Peter, but it seemed irrelevant since they were closer, and you never stood a chance so why add drama when it wasn’t needed? She took a couple of steps back before walking to leave the library, leaving you to follow.

“MJ, wait,” you called after her, but she was long gone. Tears filled your eyes as you watched your best friend storm away through the hall where you stood from the library’s entrance. You could have followed her further, but you knew MJ and you knew she’d rather be alone right now.

“Y/n...” you heard the faint voice of Peter whisper from behind you, a warm hand clasping over your shoulder as you turned to look at his freckled face. Under any other circumstances, you would’ve been thrilled to hear that Peter had liked you back, but your best friend’s heart was broken by him because of you as well and you just wanted it all to be fixed.

“You really had to tell him. I promised you I’d be okay if you didn’t tell him,” you spoke to Ned, choosing to ignore Peter’s presence in front of you for the moment.

“I’m sorry. It slipped and I couldn’t get out of it. I didn’t know you guys were right there.” He was right. It was not completely his fault. You two were invading on their privacy. You can’t help what you hear.

“Y/n,” Peter repeated, and your tear-brimmed eyes snapped to his honey brown ones.

“What?” You did not mean to come off angry, but you were aggravated to say the least.

“Are you okay?” he asked genuinely. The softness of his voice and eyes were pulling you in but you were so irritated with him at the same time.

“No,” you whispered, breaking your promise to Ned as he did to you. Peter stepped forward to hug you but your hand on his chest stopped him. “You can’t comfort me anymore. Do you realize what you have done? You have broken MJ’s heart, a heart I didn’t know was capable of breaking. If she sees us hugging, that will just drive the knife in deeper. You hurt me by dragging me into the middle of all this and because I didn’t tell her that I liked you, she probably hates me too.”

Saying that last little bit broke your heart. Your best friend probably hated you. Your crush liked you back, but you could not be with him which was more infuriating than longing for him from afar. You felt angry, upset, and exposed as your biggest secret was out. All the emotions whirled within you and you did let a few tears fall.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. This was not my intention nor how I wanted this to go at all. I’m so sorry,” he softly spoke before trying to hug you again as he desperately wanted to comfort you. He hated to see you upset. This time, you let him. You let your arms circle his waist and your head cry into his chest. You let him wrap his arms around your neck and press his lips to your head, something he had always done when trying to calm you down. You felt like you would have no friends left if you pushed Peter away so why do it? The reason why you should have spoke up and broke you two apart in an instant.

“Wow,” she muttered, saddened brown eyes dancing between you and Peter. “I came back because I wanted to talk this out before I stayed in my room and was left alone in my head, but you know what? I don’t really feel like talking anymore.”

“No! MJ, wait! Please!” you tried to stop her but her cold eyes and raised hand warned you to give it a rest.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk but until then leave me the hell alone.” And with that, her head of unruly brown crinkles and curls left the building of Midtown for the weekend.

The interaction made you feel even worse as a sob bubbled up your throat. You had never been like this with MJ, and you were scared you were going to lose her forever. Your hand flew to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound of you crying and Peter was quick to wrap his arms around you again, but now, you shoved him away.

“No, Peter! Can’t you see what this has done? We can’t be together. I don’t want to see you until MJ and I are on good terms and maybe not even then. I just...” you backed away towards the door, “I need to be alone. Ned, I’ll text you later.”

Ned nodded at you with a sad smile and held his pinky up toward you, his silent way of asking if you were okay similar to the promise you two had made months ago. While the action caused your lips to turn upwards only slightly, you shook your head to answer the question. He understood and he and Peter both watched you leave as well.

“Well, I guess I was wrong. You can come between their friendship,” Ned spoke up, trying to lighten the mood with a joke that was way too soon for Peter to enjoy if he ever would.

“Ned, not now. I’ve accidentally broken two girls’ hearts and they both happened to be my best friends. I feel like shit,” he groaned, rubbing a frustrated hand down his face. “I’m just gonna go on patrol to distract myself and then swing home.”

“Okay well, I’m gonna bring this to y/n and check on her before going home. I’d check on MJ too, but she scares me so I’ll just text or call her later,” Ned chuckled while holding up a copy of The Book Thief, the exact book you were hunting prior to the whole fiasco. “But you need to figure out what to do. You can’t ruin their friendship. I understand if they don’t want to be friends with us, but you can’t tear them apart.”

“I know, I know. I really fucked up,” Peter huffed while stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do but I’m going to fix this.”

“You better,” Ned stated before he left the school himself. Now all of his friends had left and were angry with him in different ways. He crushed MJ’s heart and then he crushed yours even more by unintentionally making your best friend hate you. Ned was more disappointed than angry, and he felt bad himself for spilling your secret. This whole thing was a huge mess that Peter had to fix to bring his favorite people back together and he was beginning to wish he had just kept his mouth shut in the first place.

Part 2: A Chemical Aquaintance ->

--------------------------------------------------

tag list: @rebelemilu @starrybrock @mxltifandoms06 @mendesblurb @dpaccione @msgorillagripcoochie @vintageobx @ilovejjmaybank @bibliophilewednesday @marjorie189 @sovereignparker @drewstarkeysbitchh

click here to be added to the taglist

[zee-writes-and-draws]

Normal world AU where the different buildings are just random groups of people and all of them ended up moving to the small village near the supposedly ‘haunted’ mountain that Samon and Enki grew up on bc property values are low as shit, and all of the minors are adopted by the guards. Qi has basically just grabbed Upa and Liang and ran the hell away from the Chinese mafia. Samon sees this random man dragging two half-dead children with him and this is now the very first time any of the new residents of the village find out the ‘hauntings’ that lowered property values were just a teenage Enki post massive growth spurt and a very small and over-energetic Samon that haven’t been seen in well over a decade.

- Hajime has, unfortunately, agreed to look after Jyugo and Nico while Rock and Uno try to find legal jobs, but it’s a lot on him. He and Seitarou help Uno and Rock fight a case to get custody of the two minors. Yamato is helping Tsukumo get a restraining order against his former agent and various paparazzi, as well as going to therapy so he doesn’t constantly feel the need to put on a persona in front of others. Hajime is a teacher at the local school (since there’s a decent number of local kids and then the building children), Yamato is the school’s coach, and Seitarou sells uniforms/cute festival stuff but is also occasionally seen working with the age 7 and below kids because they’re all very small and nice.

- Kiji is trying to cure Honey of his anger management issues and Trois of his pyromaniac tendencies. His day job is making and testing makeup that everyone buys, like mascara and eyeliner and hair gel. His second in command is working in one of the other small shops, selling everyone clothes (he and Seitarou make the clothing together).

- Kenshirou is only here because some of his dogs are sick and this village has been weirdly good for their health. Along the way he lets Musashi and Hitoshi stay with him because they help on chores and the dogs love both of them very much. He helps with the local stray problem by opening a shelter and rehabilitating most of them (the few who can’t be fixed to near-perfect health are still loved and cared for). Hitoshi bakes lots of food and sells it at Shiro’s restaurant, which is also why his presence is appreciated. Musashi tutors online part-time after Mitsuru rigged up wifi for them. Between all three of their jobs they can afford a place that’s small but has four tiny rooms so each person can a private space. (They sleep in the living room that’s been transformed into the group bedroom).

- Mitsuru is considered the local nuisance in so many ways, but after all of his loudspeakers and amplifiers have been confiscated he’s forced to resort back to regular hand-made instruments, so he at least gets to learn something entertaining as he irritates everyone with his noise-making. He and Momoko live in the same house but there’s a line drawn on the inside and outside that splits the house in half so everyone realizes in all of ten seconds they’re not actually together together, just saving on rent as long-term friends. Momoko works on managing the more official stuff to keep the town from being erased. She’s the unofficial (until the next election of course) mayor of the town at this point. Mitsuru’s day job is rigging up stuff like wifi and helping Hajime with his shop class at the high school.

- Shiro moved here after hearing how wonderful the cuisine is. He approves of being able to gather fresh ingredients on the mountain. Rock is frequently seen at his restaurant, both as a customer and as a worker. Hitoshi was recruited within a week. (Hajime has some mixed feelings but Rock mostly stops acting like an idiot after the first day, so it works out well)

- Inori and Ruka moved here years ago (and dragged the Daisen brothers with them) and are pretty much the only residents who were here before everyone started moving out and the buildings moved in. They’re the only ones initially who know the story behind the hauntings and never shared it out of indifference. Inori works in construction of new buildings/clearing rubble from the old, the Daisen trio help train the different sports teams at the school, and Ruka technically co-owns the makeup business with Kiji but his preferred job is as an unofficial swimming instructor because the two of them don’t get along.

- Samon and Enki bring the village supplies and materials from the mountain and trade this way. Samon has a notable weakness for ice pops, popsicles, and zakuro shaved ice, which he gets to surprise Enki on days it seems like he might want it. The new residents are all pleasantly surprised by how sweet Noriko is. Shiro offers her a job after trying some of her desserts. She bakes on weekends and holidays only to avoid overexerting herself, but the rest of the time her jobs include checking people in, taking orders to Shiro and Rock, and keeping peace if someone starts arguments. Houzuki is the area acupuncture specialist and medic until the Otogi family moves in, but he switches to full time acupuncture and massage therapy after they take up the practice. (they’re better than him at medicine anyways and he’s ok with admitting it).

- Liang and Upa love training on the mountain. Rock joins them frequently, often chatting with Liang as they race up. Qi is marginally less interested in physical activity, but he’s willing to make the hike up with them because of the amazing plant both during the hike and at the arrival itself. In the long run, doing some exercise in this form helps him with his mental health a lot and makes him happier. Tsukumo joins occasionally and talking to Qi helps him gradually come out of his shell.

- Trois takes to the challenge of trying to be constructive in building things instead of weapons and explosives. The downside is he frequently teams up with Mitsuru (who has the most equipment necessary) and therefore there are unique ways of getting around the idea of non-destructive inventions. Honey figures out ways to get Mitsuru his speakers back on the condition that he can use the wiring for his capsules.

- Nico ends up really sad about the lack of wifi so he tries to work with Mitsuru to improve tech, but he’s got a hard time reading the manuals so now Musashi, accompanied by either Uno or Trois depending on the day, can be seen teaching Nico how to read instruction manuals.

- Yamato is still very proud of his Japanese heritage, but he also frequently encourages others to appreciate the culture they live in and the culture they came from. Thanks to him, there’s a small festival hosted each year where everyone brings something like food or games or clothing from their culture and share it with everyone.

- Kiji takes it as a personal challenge to help teach normal world culture to at least one of the Gokuu brothers. Enki is far less willing to go along with the idea that he needs help from someone, so it’s Samon. Inori, who had a similar idea for the last eleven years, is currently trying to teach Samon how to drive. It’s yielding mixed results, but he takes really well to motorbikes. Hajme and Samon have a brief ceasefire whenever the subject of motorcycles comes up.

- No one is allowed to bring up the time that Hajime got lost in the mountain. No  one.

- Kuu comes and goes as he pleases. Mostly he stays at Hajime’s house but sometimes he’ll somehow appear wherever Samon Enki and Noriko are presently staying and lies down in the lap of whoever is trying to meditate. Enki tries to ignore Kuu (and fails), Samon will give him small scritches and complain about Hajime in a quiet tone, and Noriko feeds and pets him.

- In their spare time, many of the adults critique the prison systems they rescued the others from. Kiji, Hajime, and Kenshirou work with Enki to fix things on a bureactraic level, frequently accompanied by Momoko when she isn’t a sole representative in front of various international governments. Hajime knows the prison model perfectly, Kenshirou understands the police aspect that ties into it, and Kiji has several decades of experience serving as a prison guard, and their combined knowledge leads to many of their proposals being pushed pretty far up the ranks. 

- Samon is working on fixing prisons on the level of how each inmate is treated. All the official and formal changes in the world don’t change that there’s also issues with inmates not receiving care, sufficient entertainment, decent things for purchase and not just whether or not they can afford them, all sorts of stuff that slips past the cracks in the paperwork. He’s also the one who’s pushing for  more rehabilitation programs with Kiji and Mitsuru’s help. Between Samon’s knowledge of physical needs of people, Kiji’s balanced addition of general knowledge of what kind of education and paperwork prisoners need for proper rehabilitation to stick, and Mitsuru’s experience in communication, they have a very solid structure. Mitsuru’s ability to middleman and talk to Momoko also helps push their ideas forward.

- Slowly the buildings become more friendly towards one another. Upa smiles more because Nico helped him get out of his shell, there is a photo of Tsukumo laughing as himself for the first time hanging on the wall of Shiro’s restaurant, and Kenshirou’s dogs all adopted different humans to befriend and bond with. Qi gradually gets over his fear of dogs thanks to Musashi and ends up adopting one who works as a service dog for him and keeps him away from panic attacks and self-harming attempts, as well as (gradually) learning how to tell what kind of health Upa and Liang are presently in and alerting the doctor if necessary.

- The time-honored tradition of feuds between the different non-inmates and adults in charge of them continues, but they added in some new competitions. There are now options for multi-building tug-of-war, kids vs adults (and variations) relays, one v one competitions, and general tomfuckery. Most of the time Momoko is the referee, Mitsuru commentates, and although they rarely join in, they tend to tag-team and secure a near-effortless victory. If it’s every person for themselves, Momoko wins unless distracted by Hajime, at which point the rule of funny is frequently used to determine a victor.

[daltonacademia]

There’s A Time For Daring - 1

charlie dalton x fem!reader [post events of the movie]

word count: 1.7k

warning: allusions to sex / slight sexual harrassment? drinking, mentions of neil’s suicide, horrible parents 

Charlie couldn’t help but emit a low growl as his vomit-inducing, picture-perfect, high-society mother and father, whom he despised, prodded him towards the expansive front entrance of Nealson Preparatory School located in southern Vermont. His fuschia-lipped, cakey-faced mother, Cynthia Dalton, was a well-dressed, dignified housewife by day and charming socialite by night; she was particularly harsh as she trampled his pen-stained oxfords with her spearish kitten heels. His eyes shot daggers at the snow-strewn path below, a familiar fire burning in his core.

There were many things Charlie was tempted to furiously spit out at his parents, but instead, he managed to keep his jaw clamped shut, his pearly whites digging into the light pink of his lips hard enough to draw blood. No matter what he shouted, cried, pleaded, they wouldn’t budge. They never would. And it was infuriating.

“Charles! Being expelled from such a prestigious school is no laughing matter, young man. That school cost us quite the pretty penny! How dare you defy the rules to the extent of expulsion. It’s disgraceful, and I will tolerate it no longer!” Charlie’s mother shrieked, furious tears smudging the thick mascara that coated her eyelashes.

“You’ll be shipped off to Nealson Preparatory School in February, and if I hear so much as a single mention of your name not followed with overwhelming compliments, you can expect nasty, nasty consequences! Go pack your things, you’ll be staying with Aunt Barbara until the first of February finally arrives!” The rims of Charlie’s brown eyes stung with anger, frustration, and furthest down, sadness. He was diminished to nothing but an image-ruiner to his mother. The person who was supposed to love him, protect him, save him from the horrors of this hell called Earth.

Mr. Dalton silently observed the boisterous outburst from his expensive leather armchair across the den, a glass of strong, half-drunk whiskey in his palm. Charlie couldn’t bear to see their despicable faces any longer, and as his body felt no longer under his control, stomped up the stairs in a huff, rapidly swiping away the glassy tears spilling from his eyes. Thoughts of running away, escaping it all, flooded his unstable mind. ‘I get why you did it, Neil. I really do. But did you have to go so soon?’ 

But instead of lingering on the image of Neil any longer, he hastily threw his bare necessities into his suitcase, which was still covered in an array of Welton Academy stickers.

The grounds of Nealson were unsurprisingly well-maintained; it reminded him a lot of Welton. The impeccably manicured lawns, gleaming, icy blue lake, the gothic stone arches and pillars. It was eerily similar to Hellton, even down to the ice-cold blanket of snow coating the distant rolling hills. It’s beautiful, Charlie thought, surveying the slow sprinkling of snow, No, it’s hideous. 

Before he could fully vomit at the vile grounds of his new school, his parents fiercely shoved him inside the Headmaster’s dingy office, politely taking the vacant mahogany seats beside him. Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen to a word his parents said with pearly white smiles, which were no doubt tooth-rotting, sugar-coated lies about the real reason he was expelled over a month prior. 

He knew that they couldn’t just be transparent and tell the Headmaster that he had socked the utterly vile Richard Cameron’s face in (rightfully so, in his opinion), or that he was a star member of the infamous Dead Poets Society, or that he had gone to the extreme lengths to stage a phone call from none other than God himself. It didn’t work like that. 

His mother’s cheeky, artificial voice sounded precisely the same as it always had: carefully rehearsed and slathered with naivety. Seemingly without hesitation, the catty woman could deflect any less-than-pleasant questions or insinuations about her “golden role-model” son, who’s admittedly “a little misguided at times”. 

The new headmaster seated across from him appeared to be around the same age as Mr. Nolan, which, as far as Charlie was concerned, was older than the Cretaceous period at least. His pale-as-a-ghost skin was wrinkled and paper-thin; his patchy, gelled side-swept hair was (very obviously) dyed a deep, midnight black, reminiscent of an off-brand Elvis. 

Charlie’s ears continued to mute the awkward conversation happening amongst him, his focus instead shifting around to the various awards and certificates lining the ivory walls. They all seemed so phony; ‘Best Headmaster- 1947-1959’, ‘Nealson Academy: Exceeds Expectations’. The Headmaster had even framed his high school superlative: ‘Voted Most Likely to Succeed’. What a pathetic-

In a swift blur, his parents rose from their seats, his mother clutching her magenta purse with matching pursed lips. Charlie was handed a hefty, stapled packet packed full of school rules and guidelines with a denture-toothed smile from Headmaster ‘Campbell’. This’d make some decent kindling, he thought as he yanked the packet from his clammy clutches, leafing through its pages with a smirk, this garbage’s almost laughable.

A syncopated rhythm of raps on the door, followed by a gravelly, ‘come in', presented his new dorm escort. His chauffeur just so happened to be you, the accomplished and universally admired student body president in the same grade as the newcomer. You were dutifully donning Nealson’s horrendous uniform: a crisp, white button-up accented with a blue and silver tie was topped with a depressing grey sweater vest. An equally loathsome pleated skirt concealed your thighs, and your ankles were shielded from the chilly February air with black crew socks. 

You extended your perfectly manicured, soft hand out to your brand-new peer with a yearbook-worthy smile, introducing, “Hi. Welcome to Nealson, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You swore you heard the brunette mutter something disrespectful under his breath, but nonetheless, he, rather unprofessionally, shook your hand with an eye roll. Things between the two of you were not starting off the way you hoped, but you were determined to make a good impression. The best impression possible.

“Charlie Dalton,” he replied with a mischievous smirk. The brunette standing in front of you reeked of cigarettes, and there was the slightest smell of cheap beer clinging to his clothes. His brown hair was messy, springing out in every direction, despite the water furiously combed through it. His eyes glinted with rebellion, a look so alluring yet dangerous.

“I’ll be showing you to your dorm, which you’ll sleep in for the remainder of the year.” Since Dalton was starting in February, he only had five months of studying before long-awaited senior year. Mr. Campbell waved the two of you off, and with that, you trekked towards the Boys’ wing, Dalton sauntering at your side. 

The walk through the main corridor was silent and awkward. You had tried to enchant him with fun facts about Nealson and its (extensively selective) history, much to his obvious boredom and dismay. His umber eyes glazed the walls, uninterested in the decor. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but for all you knew, it could be on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. 

After a while of treading through the high-ceilinged corridors illuminated with fleeting pale rays of sunlight, the boy next to you made no attempt to hide him drawing designs up and down your body. 

“I’ve never been to a school with both boys and girls,” he drawled with a smirk. “Do things ever get exciting around here?”

You shook your head no while indiscreetly tugging down the hem of your skirt uncomfortably, and he said, “Do you think you’d maybe wanna spend the night with me in my dorm? Make sure I’m all settled in?”

Your whole body, from head to toe, froze. The audacity of this… creep! Your tongue poked, nearly stabbed, the back of your teeth, wanting to unleash a select few words to the disgusting Dalton beside you. But alas, if he were to tell anyone of your fiery wrath, you’d be demoted from class president faster than you could explain what really happened. It’s a corrupt system, sure, but even with the power that comes with such a title, there was no way to mend it.

Eventually, while you were wrapped up in the furies of your mind, Dalton revealed a small, autographed golf ball from his trousers pocket and began throwing it up and down above his head casually with every step. 

“Can you not?” you snapped at the chestnut-haired boy after he tossed the sphere up and down again in an arch. “Don’t wanna get in trouble on your first day, do you?”  

“You think this’ll get me in trouble? Have a little fun, it won’t kill you. I promise.” Dalton turned his gaze towards you, an annoyed but smug grin painted on his lips. He slowly tossed the golf ball to your hands, intending for you to catch it. However, the small ball evaded your grasp, instead bouncing around the hardwood floors below you, creating a series of loud, reverberating thunks.

“You were supposed to catch it, you know,” Dalton teased, nonchalantly watching you chase after the rogue orb. After it was finally safe in your clutches, you stomped over to the no-good newbie, irritated. 

“Nealson’s strict. They don’t let stuff like creating an awful lot of racket go unreprimanded.” You were seething; red-hot blood pumped through your veins. Dalton didn’t look anything but utterly amused.

“Wow, you’re just about one of the biggest suck-ups I’ve seen in a while.”

“A what?” you growled.

“A suck-up. A rule-following poster child of excellence? A bratty, know-it-all? Anything along those lines?” He sputtered insults so nonchalantly, it made your blood boil and eyes sting.

“You better watch it, Dalton. I don’t know who you think you are-”

“I’m the best thing that’s happened to this school, by the looks of it.” 

You had nothing left to say to this conceited shuck of a boy who really thought that he was all that and a side of fries. Well he wasn’t! Not in the slightest! And if his first day of classes wouldn’t drill it into him, you would.

The rest of the walk was pin-drop silent and tense. No more fun facts about Nealson escaped your downturned lips, just the light patting of his beat-up oxfords and your pristine mary-janes on the polished wood floor. The hallways seemed more depressing than usual, their framed portraits and condensated windows didn’t fill you with the motivation that you came to expect.

After finally arriving at the boys’ dormitories, you grumbled, “well, this is it. Have a swell life, Dalton.”

“Right back at ya, Y/L/N. Let’s hope this isn’t the last time we meet.” He gave you a cheeky wink before slamming the door in your face.

[weasleypogues]

fight club (p.h.)

request: hii can i request smth angsty with pope ? maybe it could end well for both the reader and him but overall it’s just filled with angst and slow burn and tension ? ty xx

ofc lovieee!!! loving this pope recognition finally!! :)

this will be a two part becuause this was longer than i expected!!! part 2 here!!!

masterlist.

you literally felt like you could not sit still. anger was pulsating through your veins as you paced back and forth on the porch of the chateau. you also felt the piercing eyes of pope follow you back and forth as you struggled to form a cohesive sentence.

“it’s just- ugh! she can’t get away with this! she thinks because she’s a kook that i’ll be begging for her forigveness and shit like i’m a starving peasant just to save my reputation! i’m a fucking pogue, i don’t have a reputation to uphold!” you spat as your hands clenched together so hard you swear you were going to accidentally draw blood from your palms.

vanessa was a kook that you never had problems with when you were kids because you two had a friendship that was secretive and playful because of opposing groups. it wasn’t until middle school was when she ditched you, similar to kie and sarah’s relationship. thankfully for them, they sorted it out. however, vanessa was bitter and bitchy every chance she could get. 

“yes (y/n)! keep it fiesty! i wanna see you win a good cat fight.” jj egged you on.

“you’re gonna make yourself go crazy if you don’t just sit down.” pope spoke in a sterner tone than you would have expected. but as the rage filled you from vanessa, pope’s tone was not helping. you felt a tinge of hurt in your chest as he expressed his clear stress and annoyance with you. but you weren’t going to let it go that easily; not in this state.

“i’m fine just the way i am, thanks.” you responded just as passive-aggressively as he did. you literally had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes so you wouldn’t egg this on, because the last thing you needed was for pope of all people to be on your bad side. 

you heard him scoff from behind you and his footsteps faded away. you spun around so quickly, maybe even too quickly to play it cool, to just see a flash of him as he turned the corner. your eyes flashed to john b, kie, and jj who had expressions that were just as shocked as your own.

“what’s his problem?” you asked, expecting an answer real quick before you had to go investigate it yourself. your teeth grinded against each other and you felt your face and ears go hot. 

“he probably just doesn’t think this is worth it (y/n/n).” kiara stated, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and giving you a look that said don’t let it get to you. kiara shared a quick glance with john b and jj, which definitely did not go unnoticed by you.

“w-what was that? that little look you three shared?” you asked pointing your finger at them interchangeably and confused but angrily eager to find out. you raised your eyebrows, expecting another speedy answer as you finally turned towards jj who held his hands up in defense and bit his tongue. 

“cut pope some slack. you’ve been looking for trouble lately (y/n), it’s been keeping him on edge each time.” john b responded and slapped his hands on this thighs before getting up off the couch. you felt your cheeks get a little hot and your jaw drop slightly.

pope was trying to be protective of you. this was not a secret that you and pope were always flirty with each other but neither of you ever acted on it. both keeping the same sad mindset, if they wanted to, they would. everytime you talked about this with kiara and sarah at a girls’ night, they playfully judged you for thinking like that and tried to encourage you to just go for it. 

you took a deep inhale and relaxed your shoulders and face, feeling the tension ease up on your body. “she’s asking for it...look i don’t want to make pope upset or anything but vanessa can’t keep pulling this shit. she’s asking for her teeth to get knocked in.” you huffed out as you grabbed your backpack and phone to hop on your bike and head home. 

--

your grabbed your phone and backpack as you headed back outside to your bike. you didn’t even bother to text the rest of the group about catching a ride to tonights kegger because you were just a little fired up from earlier. they were your friends and if this were any other case, they would be backing you up. why is this time any different?

you’re recalling yourself getting ready. stud earrings because she can grab hold of hoops. your hair in two braids because there was less surface area for her to snatch onto. sneakers to make a run for it in case shit gets bad. 

what the rest of them don’t understand is that not only was vanessa mean, spoiled, and made your existence on the obx difficult, was that you had a bumpy past with her. more than just losing a friend. she made up a rumor based on fake ideas that she overheard her parents talking about. when she would run into you on the street with her other kook friends at the ripe age of 13, she would be a bystander as they spat insults your way. that always caused a strain in your friendship. 

until one day, she started the picking on first. she judged you on your family’s financial situation and said quote-by-quote “i heard her mom cheats on her dad with all of her little pogue friend’s dads. who knows, they could actually be related and we wouldn’t know. she’s a whore and i’m sure she’ll end up just like her.” tears still brim your eyes at that memory. you wouldn’t dare tell the rest of the pogues, whether it was out of embarassment or fear. it was best for them and their own minds that it was never brought up again. since then, it seems like constant torture from her. 

you pulled up on the beach and hopped off your bike as your tires were definitely not made for the sand. you laid it on a tree and made a b-line to the keg that john b was basically guarding. “thought we’d hear from you.” you heard kiara state as she sat on the sand and glanced up at you, squinting her eyes to keep the remaining sun from basically burning them.

“yeah well, just got a lot on my mind.” you responded. you didn’t want to be so abrupt with them but your blood was basically boiling with the idea of vanessa. john b stared between you and kiara and handed you a full red solo cup which you gladly took, taking a gulp.

“soooo...” jj started, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “cat fight tonight?” you felt a chuckle rise out of you as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“if you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get front row.” you joked, sending a smirk jj’s way and taking another gulp. you felt a presence behind you and turned to be faced with pope. his facial expression had clearly changed from what you saw from him last time. he looked almost guilty and concerned rather than aggravated. 

“come to snap at me again?” you said, turning towards the horizon on the water. looking into his eyes right now was difficult. maybe because it was the idea that you knew some part of you wanted to snap at him for him snapping at you earlier but you couldn’t make another enemy. not tonight. 

“about that...can i actually talk to you for a minute?” pope muttered, instincitvely cracking his knuckles, clearly scared to tread on water. you felt your shoulders relax and your facial muscles follow suit. placing your drink and backpack on the ground you followed a few paces behind him, closer to the sand where the tide was rolling in. although he didn’t stop, he wanted this to be a walk and talk situation. 

you strolled beside him, both of your hands slightly brushing against each other every now and then. while neither of you took initiative to grab the others’ hand, neither of you pulled your hands out of that pathway either. that connection and touch felt nice. it was reassuring that his snappiness, along with your own, was out of love and protection of each other. 

“you won’t be happy with what i’m about to say...” pope started, basically holding his breath.

“so why say it, pope? i know it sounds bad to say outloud but, why not just let me fight her? she has made my existence so unbearably difficult on this island and has slandered my name and countless others of those i love too much and for too long. i’m sick of being a pushover and letting her get away with it because of mommy and daddy’s money. im done!” you blurted out, letting more info out than you expected. “why does it bother you so much? if this was topper and john b going at it, or rafe and jj? which keep in mind, both have actually happened, i’m sure you would be more hesitant to stop them.”

your strolling came to a sudden halt as pope took a step directly in front of you, face to face. he looked longingly into your eyes, somewhat darting back and forth between your own eyes to search for an answer to his questions or even an answer to yours. 

“(y/n)! i can’t see you get hurt. i know how badly you want to do this and how much it means to you but in the end, what is it going to get you? an even worse reputation among kooks, bloody nose, and a black eye? is it worth it?” pope rambled drasticaly. 

“it is worth it! and i’m so thankful that you care about me and my well being and everything in between but this is something that i have to do. once and for all. i’m not putting myself and everyone i love through this torture anymore. and if that means beating the shit out of her and getting a bloody lip and battered up on the way, than so be it!” you responded, using your hands quite animatedly throughout the performance. the waves seemed like the loudest thing on earth as you awaited an answer from pope. he looked defeated and anxious, knowing that there was no getting through to you for this. 

“i-” pope started before cutting himself off, looking deafeated yet again. he ran his hands over his face in frustration and as he let his eyes shine over the tips of his fingers, they locked with yours. you felt stuck in place and in a trance for a split second before you felt a pair of hands on your waist and soon enough, you were lip locked with pope. 

instantly you pulled away, your heart feeling full and your legs feeling limp. your hands made their way to his jawline, slightly caressing his cheeks and neck as you pulled him back into the kiss, elongating it. 

he pulled away, shocked yet proud with himself. you could not help the small smile that made it’s way onto your face as your cheeks felt hot immediately. “i can’t believe i’m saying this but...fuck it. beat the shit out of vanessa.” 

the small smile grew as a laugh escaped your lips. you were quick to grab his hand as you both made your way back towards the kegger that was becoming a little more dense as the minutes passed. sarah, kiara, jj, and john b’s eyes were quick to fall on your interlocked hands with pope. both of you kept quiet, playing it nonchalantly. but you couldn’t help but notice pope’s look to john b and jj, all with smirks lined up on their faces.

part two out later!! :)