#by the time I was done I kind of exhausted

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

THIS. THIS THIS THIS. i could talk a lot about how this kind of thing goes for me and how i use it--i might come back to do that in another reblog--but for now i wanted to pass it on because THIS. i am on a basis where i can literally ask my body, in words, what i'm feeling, and very quickly get an answer. it's fucking wild.

another extremely helpful step i'd like to add is: if you're trying to get in touch with and narrate to an emotion this way, ask it if it needs you to talk to someone else first. ('someone else' being 'another feeling you are having.')

if something happens that leaves me feeling kicked in the gut--even if i already know why it feels that way, and what caused it--trying to interrogate it too directly will just make it even worse, and it won't listen or tell me jack shit. if i ask if i need to talk to someone else first, i am almost certainly going to be directed straight to the parts of my body that are feeling anger; panic; sense of betrayal; sense that Something Urgently Must Be Done; and so on, and have to address those first, because my reaction to the trigger is going to involve layers of emotions and not just one. defeat my seven evil fight or flight responses etc.

and on top of that, many times more often than not, the emotion i'm going to be directed to is HOLY GOD I AM SO HUNGRY/THIRSTY/TIRED/HURTY, TAKE CARE OF IT PLEASE. i'll become immediately aware of bodily factors i'd completely failed to notice, which were stressing me the fuck out on top of the other emotional triggers. even if it's something i can't do much to mitigate at the time (my body's favorite hobby is randomly hurting like a bitch), it is insanely helpful to be able to go 'the toddler in my nervous system is hungry, exhausted, and in pain. they need a nap and a snack and to curl up in a blanket with a comfort movie for a while before we can talk productively about the meltdown they just had, no matter how gentle or understanding i am about it.'

once i've addressed those things, the vast majority of the time lump of lead in my gut will actually be ready to work with me. it's practically magic and i highly recommend.

on the validity of recognizing emotions

[hana-no-seiiki]

My first writing commission! This will be a multipart series for HOTD. Featuring yanderes, political warfare and overall mayhem. And perhaps?? some time traveling??

Thank you @dawntheday for commissioning this project.

// tw/cw: reader is not a targaryen. canon based violence, incest, sexism, the usual. canon divergences. reader is gender neutral but is described as ethereal. reader gets pimped out (implicit/short descriptions). seggs/light smut. basically a lot of disgusting shit happens.

AND THEN, THERE WAS YOU [PROLOGUE]

Childbirth was one of the most traumatic, painful and bloody experiences known to man. The sheer agony of a child being ripped out of your womb, kicking and screaming. And yet, so many deemed it miraculous event. All joy, love and positivity.

It was horrific to even witness.

But the Gods wouldn’t be satisfied for you to be a bystander. No. You would find out that childbirth was worse when you were the one being born.

Sentience was a curse. One forced upon you since the beginning. You could feel the push of your mother’s walls, constricting you, flattening you, forcing you out into the world. Her screams, your cries, and the panicking voices of the midwives as you finally, finally made it out were all too much. The blood all too much.

You never really forget that experience even as you grew older. Features of your youth melted away to reveal ethereal beauty. One that commanded worship and awe.

That was another thing the Gods made you have to torture you. Droves and droves of sick and twisted people at your doorstep as your birth parents watched in delight, their coffers filled to the brim with gold.

But perhaps it wasn’t always a curse. Your beauty, I mean. Now that you’ve stolen much of their earnings and escaped to another continent.

Westeros.

A journey by sea it took. For you to crawl your way into the newly conquered lands. Bloodied and battered from the journey. Exhausted yet eager to renew yourself in the new lands your feet would walk upon.

Your first ever job was at a Brothel. Taking in clients like the way your parents did to you not so long ago, but of your own accord.

That was where you met Aegon Targaryen. Aegon the Conqueror. Loud, proud, and scrotum heavy. You’ve heard of the classic old tale where the men of his family would visit this place to sow their oats. Bastards upon bastards littered the place. You knew that one of these days, you would be bear his spunk and parade it around like many others. Your ego ached for it even. To conquer the conquerer. To bear a dragon’s seed.

Little did you know, the dragon already knew you.

“I dreamt of you.” He said as he ravished you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t recognize. You certainly hadn’t seen in your family’s nor have your old clients. “Like I dream of the walkers. Of an apocalypse to come.”

You’ve heard of his rough and relentless way in the sack. How your fellow workers complained of the way they were treated, how they couldn’t walk any further than two feet after he was done with them. The man did not view them as anything more than objects after all. Something to toss aside when he was done.

But if anything, he’d been the most attached and sappiest man you’ve ever had the fortune of bedding. Disgustingly so.

“You. You are the calm amongst those nightmares.“ He was gentle, loving. Nothing like Aegon the Conqueror that you’ve heard of. Nothing like the Aegon the Conqueror that you wanted.

As soon as he fell asleep, you went and disappeared.

It is not long before he calls upon you. Again and again, murmuring about dreams and winter. You’ve even met his wives. All so eager to meet you. All so kind and benevolent. All so unlike the expectations you’ve set in your mind and heart. Expectations you were willing to brave through. Somehow, drama and your potential death was better than the constricting vice they held over you. Memories flashed through your head. Of your mother, of your birth. Of blood and viscera.

You try to leave but are sent back to Aegon’s chambers in an instant.

“You may leave. You may run. But nothing will stop you from finding your way back to the Dragon’s nest. Fate wills it so.” He said, but all you heard was a challenge.

“You’ll find that I’m quite stubborn regardless.”

You quickly find out that Aegon knew your movements from his dreams. Each plan of yours to escape had been foiled before it had happened.

And so you stopped, you let him and his wives coddle and fuck you when they wanted.

Years later, an opportunity presents itself. A cliff overlooking the ocean. So vast and wide. Yet to be taken and shackled by the man who took your freedom away.

You do not hesitate. Not for one moment.

“Come.”

You jump. You bet that Aegon did not foresee that coming considering he was too shocked to catch you. Your death would be swift you suppose. At least it wouldn’t be as arduous as repeating the same day over and over again.

Your eyes fluttered open, a meeting between [e/c] and purple. You grimaced as you see her platinum blonde hair and luxurious outdoor clothing. Blood across her face and a knife in her hand.

It can’t be . . .

Tears fall down your cheeks. Your broken cries echo through the woods.

a/n: future chapters will be longer because hotd is hotd.

[samoschier]

✧˖*°࿐ 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

series masterlist

—𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎. now go stand in the corner (and think about what you did)

𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐚, 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐡

Trying to deal with the aftermath of your boyfriend cheating on you with your best friend is hard... But it becomes a little easier when the perfect opportunity for revenge suddenly presents itself.

You were done crying over Luke Hughes. Too many tears had been shed the night you broke up, and you refused to shed anymore— even when he was glued to the side of some girl you had never seen before, barely a month after your relationship ended.

It felt impossible to stop staring at the picture. Jack was the one that posted it, Luke wouldn’t dare, not when you still followed him. Or maybe he would, everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was had been thrown out the window weeks ago.

Jack probably didn’t even realize that Luke was in the background, sitting next to some blonde girl with his arm thrown around her. She’s halfway into his lap and you hold back the urge to scoff.

“Okay, no.” Your phone is promptly snatched from your hand, and before you can react, your best friend has quickly turned it off and slid the phone into her pocket, just out of arm's reach. 

“Chelsea—” you sigh, exasperated.

“Absolutely not.” She stares you down with a look that’s eerily similar to that of a mother’s. “I will not allow you to stare at this picture and wallow in self pity while Luke Hughes is out there sticking his dick into anything that moves.”

“Don’t say his name.” You sink further into your bed, pulling up the hood of your too-big hoodie that had been stolen from your brother’s closet long ago. 

“I can’t believe you still follow him, and his brothers.” Chelsea shakes her head, speaking up again before you have a chance to defend yourself. “He’s lucky I haven’t strangled him already, especially after what he did.”

The reason behind your break up still lingers, and no matter how much you wish you could forget about it, you seem to be reminded of it at every corner. At least it was summer, and you wouldn't be subjected to seeing Luke Hughes every time you walked around campus.

Your eyes drift over to the cluster of pictures that decorates the space above your desk. There are noticeable gaps, empty squares of white that stick out like a sore thumb against the colorful collage. 

There had been photos there, ones of you and the girl that was supposed to be your best friend since kindergarten, ones of you and Luke throughout your relationship, until you ripped them down with tears in your eyes.

Even now it was still hard to believe that she could do that to you, that they could do that to you. It makes your body heave with exhaustion. You were so tired of feeling like this, so tired of the ache that ran rampant across your heart.

So tired of being the only one heartbroken meanwhile Luke was off in New Jersey with his brother having what seemed to be the time of his life. 

The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped, and you could hear as Luke stepped out of the shower. Right as he did, a ding! From his phone caught your attention.

“Luke!” You called out, “you got a text.”

“Will you read it for me?” He asked, voice muffled from behind the door.

Without responding, you lean over from your spot on his bed, reaching for his phone that’s face down against the nightstand. The screen lights up as you turn it over. The name that pops up on the screen makes you furrow your brows. Why was she texting Luke?

You type his password in before clicking on the message. Your face drops, and you can feel your heart beating so loudly in your chest that you can’t hear Luke call out your name from behind the bathroom door.

It doesn’t register in your head the first time you read it, you have to read it a second time, and even then it's hard to believe what the words on the screen say. 

“I know we’ve already talked about this and you don’t want to tell her but she deserves to know. I know you said that you guys were on a break, but it never should’ve happened. We never should’ve slept together and I feel horrible about it. So either tell her about it or I will.”

When Luke calls out your name for a second time, you hear it. He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He scrunches his face in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t say anything, can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you stand up, phone in hand before shoving it into his chest. He stumbles, clearly taken aback by it.

Luke’s brows furrow before taking a look at what’s on his phone that has you so upset. His face drops, and then the yelling starts.

“You don’t unders—”

“I swear to God, Luke, if you try and come up with an excuse right now I’m going to slap the shit out of you.” Your jaw clenched, a futile attempt to hold back the tears that are beginning to well up and blur your vision ever so slightly. 

You can’t even look at him, can’t stand the pleading look in his eyes. Though, it’s hard to tell whether he actually feels guilty about it, or if he’s just sorry he got caught. Everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was feels different now.

“Just let me explain.”

Tears are falling down your cheeks at this point, but even now you can’t help but scoff. “Explain? Explain what?”

“How you fucked my best friend— a girl I’ve known since we were kids, and didn’t even have the decency to tell me.” The way Luke lowers his head, casting his eyes downward in shame does nothing but set you off. “Explain how I had to find out through a text?”

“Were you even going to tell me?

The question is followed by silence, which is an answer in itself. Luke won’t look at you, even though he’s the one who did it. He’s the one that made that decision, and he won’t even take accountability for it. 

“When did it happen?” You ask, and it makes Luke look up at you, face scrunched in confusion, like he couldn’t possibly understand why you would want to know the details of him sleeping with another girl.

It takes him a moment to gather his words. “Uh, it was over spring break, when I was in New Jersey.”

The room goes silent as you process what he’s told you. Your voice cracks when you finally speak up again. “This happened almost two months ago?”

Luke takes a moment to respond. “We were on a break, I didn’t think it was worth mention—”

You attempt a scoff. “Just because we were on a break doesn‘t give you the right to sleep with someone else, and the fact that you didn’t think it was worth mentioning is… astounding.” 

You search his face for any sign of guilt, and if it’s there you can’t seem to find it. He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t apologize, doesn’t beg for forgiveness, just stands and stares at you, like this whole situation is just an inconvenience for him. 

The sudden urge to leave washes over you, unable to look at Luke any longer. Before you know it, you’re grabbing all of your things, but Luke is quick to try and stop you.

“Come on, don’t leave, can’t we just—” he goes to grab your arm, but you yank yourself out of his grasp, tears still streaming down your face.

“No, Luke! We can’t do anything about this, there’s no coming back from sleeping with my best friend.” Your tone is accusatory, and you can’t bring yourself to stand there any longer, not caring about anything else that could possibly come from Luke Hughes’s mouth. You’re almost to the door when you realize that there’s one more thing you want to get off your chest. 

“I would’ve never done this to you.”

That was the last time you’d seen him. You’d gone straight home that night, letting Chelsea comfort you while you cried yourself to sleep. Luke brought your stuff over a few days later, per Chelsea’s request.

You refused to talk to him, even after he blew your phone up with messages, though none of them were an apology. He tried to talk Chelsea into letting him into your apartment so he could talk to you, but she was quick to slam the door in his face. 

When Hailey texted you, however, you were torn. Explaining that she was upset with how you found out and that it shouldn’t have been that way. Apologizing that it ever happened in the first place. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Which brings you to now, coping with the aftermath that comes from no longer having a boyfriend or a best friend in your life. 

It’s two weeks before the start of your junior year, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a movie with Chelsea when you get a text. It makes you furrow your brows and you nudge Chelsea with your elbow, angling your phone so she can look at the screen.

She turns to you with a puzzled expression. “Why is Mark Estapa texting you?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I know they’re already back at school, so he must've just told them we broke up. I don’t know why Mark would be texting me about it though.”

Right as you finish your sentence, another text from him comes through, one that makes your eyebrows shoot to the sky. 

Hey, sorry to hear about you and Luke.

Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything. 

The two of you turn to look at each other, Chelsea with a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. No words are able to come out of your mouth when she takes your phone from you. She reads the text over again.

“Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything?” Her mouth is agape, rereading the text once again like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Chelsea laughs. “Oh, he wants you.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to try and take your phone back but she holds it just out of reach. “No, he does not. He’s just being nice.”

Chelsea gives you a look. “No guy texts his homeboy’s ex after they break up just to be nice.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up, shaking your head at the girl, but the fun quickly ends when you realize she’s typing something. “Chelsea, what are you doing?”

She smirks and by the time you finally snatch your phone back to see what she’s doing, a text back has already been sent. Your jaw drops when you read what she’s written.

“I appreciate that, maybe I will, winky-face.” Your eyes went round, just completely astounded. You groaned. “Chelsea, he’s already seen it, what am I gonna do?”

“Well,” she starts, and you already know you’re not going to like what she has to say. “You could just fuck him.”

You swear your head has never whipped around so fast. “Chelsea!”

“What?” She laughs, shrugging her shoulders as if what she just said wasn’t at all out of pocket. “Come on, think about it. It’s like, the perfect way to get back at that dick.”

You sink further into the couch, glancing up to stare at your friend. “How is sleeping with one of his friends going to make this any better?”

Chelsea grins. “You wouldn’t be sleeping with just his friend, Mark’s like one of his best friends. They literally live together, could you imagine the look on Luke’s face if he saw you there with Mark?”

You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for her to keep going, but suddenly an expression crosses her face. You squinted at Chelsea, not liking the way her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

She promptly ignores you, adjusting her seat on the couch so she’s cross legged and facing you completely. “What if you got with all of them?”

You blinked. “All of who?”

“Luke’s friends.”

An incredulous look crosses your face. “Do you know how many friends Luke has?”

Chelsea lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t mean like every single one of his friends, just the ones he’s really close with. You know, like Mark and the rest of their group. It would be the perfect way to get revenge.”

Suddenly, you realize exactly who she means. “They’re not going to get with their best friend’s ex-girlfriend, they wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Mark would.” Chelsea smirked. When you didn’t immediately speak up to disagree she kept going.

You open your mouth to speak up, but promptly close it, letting Chelsea continue her ramble. She did have a point, but you were still unsure. Doing this just kind of felt exactly what he did to you, and you meant what you said; that you would’ve never done that to him. You understood that the circumstances were different, of course, you and Luke were no longer together so it wasn’t exactly what he did to you. 

You went back and forth in a mental debate before finally shaking your head. “I don’t think so, Chelsea. I just… at this point the last thing I want to think about is Luke. All I want to do is move on from this whole thing.”

Chelsea sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Okay. If that’s what you want, then I won’t bring it up again.”

Reaching over, you grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.”

As promised, she didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, and by the time you woke up in the morning, you’d almost forgotten all about it. It was around midday, though, when you found yourself scrolling on Instagram that you saw it. 

You shoot straight up, elbows no longer resting on the counter top like they were previously, and for the first time since the break up you find yourself angry, rather than upset. You screenshot the picture and zoom in, making sure you’re not just seeing things.

You’re not. 

You scoff, it’s a picture of Luke and some girl, his arm around her shoulders, but that’s not what has you upset. It's what she’s wearing, a necklace around her neck that’s yours. The one you were so upset about when you couldn’t find it because it meant so much to you.

You send the screenshot to Chelsea, typing out a message to go with it.

I take back what I said.

I want to get revenge.

— hope you guys enjoyed the intro, and if you did then there’s more where that came from

— i don’t have a set schedule for when i’m going to be updating, i am a college student so i’m pretty busy but i will try and get chapters out as quick as i can

— with that being said, remember my inbox is always open, feel free to ask me any thing you want to about the series (i’ll try and answer without spoiling anything as best i can) or if you just want to chat that’s okay too :)

[bluem1lls]

Hey I was wondering if you could do a se-mi fic where the reader is really sweet/kind and is apart of Gi-hun's group in the games. So when se-mi starts flirting with her the boys go all big brother/dad mode and start getting protective. I just think it would be funny to see Dae-ho and Jung-bae doing their goofy marines bit, while se-mi is absolutely unimpressed and sassy and the reader is just watching from afar happy that they're all 'getting along'. Thank you and I love your writing <3

✧₊⁺ i'd do it all again

✦ synopsis: she's very willing to flirt with you, even if there's two are always there to try to stop her from doing it!

tw: pure fluff!

authors note: hiiii, its short but its a week update and im DEAD so dhhdhdfh i hope u like it!!! tysm for the request💓💓

-> "fuck" my head hurts from the impact as i open my eyes to see a girl.. on top of me. her eyes widen as she tries to stay still. her arms keep my body trapped underneath her.

"shit- i'm so sorry" she whispers slowly, trying to not get caught by the doll from the game.

as i can hear it say 'green light' once again. she stands up quickly, lending me her hand as we start running. i can see my brother's eyes moving across the entire room trying to find me because he lost me out of his sight. when he does, he lets out a big sigh as he runs to my side, staying still as we hear the 'red light'.

-> once we're get to the finish line, i lay on the floor, exhausted. my eyes try to find the short haired girl. i stare as i see her bent over, trying to catch her breath.

"you're not allowed to leave my side, ever" dae-ho, my brother, grabs my shoulders as i rolled my eyes. "i'm serious."

"i know, i'm sorry. a girl tripped over me."

as we turned around to head to the main room, i see the girl's eyes follow me until we arrive.

-> as we're done voting, my brother, being the social butterfly he is, already got us a group.

i sit besides gi-hun as i stare the surroundings. i can feel my brother's arms around me as i groan. the girl who fell on top of me stares, quickly removing her eyes of me as i find her sight.

-> and i try multiple times to talk with her, but everytime i seem to get somewhat close, she's moving around as i frown. maybe she's awkward after the way we met but, i'm still curious.

-> as the second game begins, we get together until they announce 'group of 5'. their eyes widen as in-ho tries to move aside, i grab him as i shook my head no. i turn to leave as dae-ho grabs my arm, serious.

"there's no way-"

"listen, i'll be fine. i have an idea. i promise i'll be fine."

"no you liste-"

it's too late, because i'm already running to the pierced girl as she stares up and down at me with a smirk. great, finally an excuse to talk to her and i know she can't run away this time.

"you owe me. and i need a group" i said to her as she scoffed in amusement.

"oh? i owe you?"

"you fell on top of me!" i reply as she hums, playing with her lip piercing.

"what's wrong with your boyfriend's team?" she lifts an eyebrow as i stare wide eye. boyfriend???

"that dumbass?!" i point at dae-ho."he's my brother, ew."

her expression turns into a surprised one, quickly returning to her normal one. was that why she was avoiding me this whole time? i chuckled softly as she did too.

"oh- right. sorry. so um, let's go get three more people" she says, turning around as we see the purple hair guy coming in our direction. we both stare at eachother at the same time, smiling.

great.

-> as we pass the second same, i sit with them, waiting nervously for my brother and the group's return. i see them arrive with a smile as i get up to throw myself into his arms as he hugs me tight. i hug every one of them, happy to see them again.

-> as the night comes, i eat my food while chatting with the group until i see a someone in front of me. i lift my gaze to meet her brown eyes.

i lift my eyebrow as i slowly smile. "hi"

"hey.. thought you could use the company" she said with amusement, sitting next to me. "and, you never told me your name.."

as i tell her, she replies with hers. se-mi.

"pretty name for a pretty girl" i chuckle at her poor attempt to flirt as she laughs with me.

i feel arms wrap around me as i turn my head. of course. i roll my eyes as i sigh.

"hello ladies. i'm dae-ho" he says (to se-mi, mostly) with a serious expression as she stares unfazed and gives him a head nod. "her brother, but you probably guessed since we have the same 'pretty face', like you said." he tells her, trying to put his most 'older brother' face as i elbow him on the ribs.

"get out, oh my god you're so annoying" i said removing myself from his grip as he stares, offended.

"i'm trying to look after my little sister! you can't date someone from this game"

"we're not dating! leave!" i whisper/shout at him as he stares like a puppy while i push him out.

"i was in the marine, by the way!" he tells to her, turning around one last time as she smirks.

i sit again besides her as i huffed. she smiles, amused.

"so that was.. interesting" she plays with her lip piercing, the smirk never leaving her lips. i nod as i stare away, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. "does that mean every time i'll try to talk to you, you'll have a bodyguard?" she chuckles as i nod, embarrassed.

"i mean.. probably"

she hums as her gaze meets my eyes.

"i can do that."

and she means it.

-> and as the days go by, we become closer and closer. hugging eachother everytime we see the other one survived the game, teaming together and staying all night talking.

and she's so pretty, that it doesn't feel surprising when she's making me blush from staring too much, or when i get butterflies everytime she whispers sweet things to me because she knows i love it.

-> and after one specific hard game, i realize i wanna spend every little minute with her. too scared to loose her, i'm asking her to bring her mattress besides mine. as i'm helping her to move it, i can see two people standing in front of us, staring to see what we're doing.

"are you two sleeping together? i don't think thats a good idea." jung-bae says as my eyes widen. "you look like a good young girl, but we can't trust too much" he says to se-mi as this one stares and gives him a soft chuckle.

"that's true. sleeping together is a step too far. are you two dating?" my brother nods at jung-bae's words as i cover my face in embarrassment.

"not yet" she smirks at my brother as his eyes widen.

"can you two just... shush away?" i murmur to them, staring at both.

they look at each other as i move them softly aside.

"i can't believe the disrespect we face. from two young girls" jung-bae says as dae-ho nods.

-> and as the night comes, we lay side to side while talking.

"i really like this.. spending time with you" she says, making me smile. i feel her cold hands with the rings cup my face as i stare at her. "do you think your brother's awake?"

my expression turns into confusion. "um.. no? i don't think so?"

"good" she mumbles against my lips as she kisses me. i let out a soft moan in surprise as i melt into the kiss.

"i knew you weren't a good girl!" my brother jumps from the bed, his finger pointing to se-mi, making us break from the kiss to stare him.

"oh my god where you spying this whole time? you're a fucking-"

"hey careful!" he says, his finger now pointing at me. "now. if you want my sister, i will make your life a living hell" he warns se-mi as she lifts her arms, smiling.

"she's worth it" she says as we both stare at her.

-> and he means it. because even when we leave the game after voting 'x', she warns me many times i'm not allowed to disappear now that she's attached. not like i was going to. but wherever i go, he's also always there too.

and all the guys are also there. even gi-hun, jung-bae and in-ho, warning her every step of the way, as me and jun-hee chuckle. and se-mi starts loving them too, because she's sure she won't be able to get rid of them (she tried!)

with our poor relationship with our father, jung-bae ends up turning into more of a father figure to us, being the one supporting my brother through everything, but also being there for me everyday.

and with time (a lot of family dinners we have together) they start to soften up for her.

-> so it's not a surprise when a few years later, at our wedding, she takes a video of how our life together has been and a video of my brother and jung-bae shows up.

"are you- are you asking us for our blessing?" dae-ho sobs as jung-bae seems to be suppressing his tears. i can hear her laugh, although i can't see her because she was the one recording the video.

"i don't think i would be able to go through it if i didn't" she says, softly.

they're both crying now as they hug her.

"i knew you were the one!" jung-bae says, sobbing like a baby while she laughs.

"we knew it! that's why we went easy on you!" dae-ho says, wiping away his tears.

"yeah, i figured" se-mi says, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

i turn to the side to hug her while i kiss her, laughing as dae-ho and jung-bae stare at the video, blushing red.

"we agreed that was a secret!" jung-bae says, embarrassed as gi-hun hugs him with a chuckle.

"that's-that an edition. se-mi! you said you wouldn't play that" dae-ho says to her as she shrugs.

i cup her face on my hands as she laughs. her gaze meets mine. "i love you so much." my stare filled with love like the first day i met her.

"mh, i love you so much too. happy family, happy wife and happy life right?"

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 3

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns who to trust in the Red Room

W/c: 5.2k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Someone I once loved gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift - Mary Oliver

You'd learned a lot of party tricks since you became Dreykov's best girl. You'd been trained by some of the world's deadliest martial artists and snipers. You knew how to make an arrow pierce through the toughest skin. You could crush your enemies' windpipe without your bow's help. You could use a man's tie against him and bring him to his knees in seconds.

You had learned early on that survival in the Red Room wasn’t just about strength or precision—it was about illusion. It was about shaping yourself into whatever they needed you to be, bending and twisting your identity until you could barely recognize your reflection.

When you were twelve, one of the older Widows taught you makeup—not just how to wear it, but how to weaponize it. Lipstick wasn’t just a shade; it was a story. A bold red screamed confidence and control. A soft pink whispered innocence. The faintest hint of gloss could disarm even the sharpest of men.

The etiquette classes were the worst. Hour after hour of balancing books on your head, learning the perfect angle for a smile, the exact tilt of your chin that would make you appear approachable but not too eager. You were drilled in dining etiquette, how to sip champagne without smudging your lipstick, laugh at jokes you didn’t find funny, and dance just close enough to your target to keep their guard down.

They taught you how to pretend to be smart—not too smart, but just enough to stroke a man’s ego without intimidating him. You mastered the art of asking questions you already knew the answers to, of feigning curiosity to keep the conversation flowing.

Every lesson was a reminder that you weren’t being prepared to live. You were being prepared to infiltrate, to seduce, to kill.

You still remembered the first time you saw yourself in the mirror after they finished with you—a little girl’s body dressed up like a woman. The makeup made your face look older, the heels forced your back straight, and the dress clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t recognize the person staring back.

"You’ll grow into it," the instructor had said, adjusting a curl in your hair. "By the time we’re done with you, you’ll be perfect."

Perfect. That’s what they wanted. A perfect soldier. A perfect spy. A perfect party trick.

And they had almost succeeded. Almost.

You had become everything they wanted you to be, yet somewhere deep inside, you had kept a piece of yourself hidden—a touch of defiance, a spark of who you were before they took you.

You didn’t need a party.

You didn’t need their approval.

You needed freedom.

And one day, you were going to take it.

****

After the meeting with Dreykov, you felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you. You tried not to scratch at the skin of your arms. You tried not to focus on the places he’d touched. You walked briskly through the cold, sterile hallways.

As you reached the nearest bathroom, you pushed the door open and slipped inside, grateful for the reprieve from everyone. The bathroom was small, with harsh lighting and chipped tiles, but it felt like a sanctuary compared to the outside world. You leaned against the cool metal sink, slowly closing your eyes to collect yourself. Opening them, you felt heavier than before. The mascara smudged as you rubbed at your eyes.

Your reflection in the mirror looked exhausted, pale, and drawn, as though someone had taken a paintbrush and erased all the color. With one hand, you gripped the sink, and with the other, you shoved it down your throat.

You gagged as bile rose into your mouth, hot and burning. Your stomach contracted and heaved.

This particular party trick only helped you.

********

She hadn’t seen you in a while. Four days, thirteen hours, and twelve minutes, to be exact. It wasn’t like she was counting. You weren’t friends or anything. Widows in training came and went all the time, whether for training, on missions, or worse.

Death.

Natasha had learned not to become attached. Your presence had annoyed her since the first time she spoke to you. You were like an unwelcome buzzing in her ear. You didn’t listen like the other girls. You talked back. You were defiant. You got into trouble. You had resilience and determination in ways the other girls didn’t. Something she wished she could be. Natasha had drive and determination. She was the best in her class. She moved up an age group since returning from Cuba. She was good with a gun, she was fast on her feet, and she could quickly pick up new skills. The one thing she hadn't mastered was her poker face.

Her eyes scanned the room as she ate alone. It was time for a day meal. An hour where the girls were able to let loose just a little. Everyone sat near their favorite colleagues. The word friend should never be in a Widow’s vocabulary. Natasha didn’t have many. None that she wanted any. It made things more painful when she had to pull the trigger.

As she ate, she looked for two people in the room and didn’t see either of them as expected. The first one is you. Your absence had caused quite a stir in the commons. The widow's gossip about you and what’s become of you. Some girls in your age group had mentioned dishonorable things that Natasha didn’t care to replay in her mind. Though she thought nothing of you, she refused to believe bad things. The other person was Yelena. It had been a few months, and her former mission mate would be seven now.

In the years before, Yelena’s birthday was spent in the comfort of their own home. Alexei would grill burgers. Melina would decorate the den with balloons, streamers, unicorns, and pony things that the little girl liked. Natasha was always in charge of keeping her sister occupied. They would run around the backyard until the parents, Melina and Alexei, would come out with a cake and candles for her to blow out.

It was a good memory that Natasha allowed herself to hold onto. It was stupid. None of it was real. Yet everything about it warmed her heart. Memories like that kept her sane. One day, she would be free, and she could make memories like that again if she got the chance.

Natasha looked down at her tray. Lunch consisted of Pirozhki, a stuffed roll with minced beef and rice. There were also a ton of vegetables that Natasha wasn’t fond of. While the Red Room was another hell on earth, the girls were fed well. Their bodies needed it to remain healthy and strong enough to fight.

Natasha took her time biting into her food. Despite the lump in her throat, she chewed her food while keeping her eyes up. She only ate half before she decided it was not for her. She stood, walking over to the trash bin, before clearing her plate. She wiped her hands against the leg of her black sweatpants. She eyed the two guards at the entrance of the cafeteria. Demetri and Igor. They’d worked there for as long as she could remember. She approached the door with an excuse already at the tip of her tongue.

“Kuda ty idesh? (Where are you going?)” Igor’s hand pressed against Natasha’s shoulder, his voice sharp.

Natasha paused but didn’t look at him. “I am going to the infirmary,” she said in English, her tone clipped. Since returning to the Red Room, she had refused to speak Russian unless necessary. It wasn’t defiance—not entirely—but a quiet rebellion against a country that allowed men like Dreykov to exist unchecked.

Igor’s brows furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with Demetri. “Zachem? (Why?)”

“I have my period.” Natasha’s voice was steady, and she met their gazes without a hint of embarrassment.

Both men immediately looked uncomfortable. Demetri muttered something under his breath and opened the door. Natasha didn’t wait for a formal dismissal. She slipped through before they could change their minds, her steps quiet on the worn linoleum floor.

The hallways were dimly lit, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. Natasha passed several doors before she reached the infirmary. Her hand hesitated on the knob. She shouldn’t care about you—not here, not now. But she did.

Turning the knob, she opened the door just enough to peek inside. Voices drifted through the crack, low and tense.

“You need a break,” Nora’s voice was firm, though tinged with concern. “She’s been pushed too far, Madam B. Her body can’t keep up at this rate.”

“She’s fine.” Madam B.’s tone was clipped, her frustration evident.

“Widows are made of marble, is that it?” Nora countered, sarcasm dripping from her words. “She’s not marble. She’s flesh and blood, just like the rest of us.”

“Enough!” Madam B. snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “We do not coddle here, Doctor.”

“She’s still a child,” Nora shot back, her voice firm and determined. “A growing girl who needs her rest if you want her to carry out any of her duties.”

Madam B. stilled, her lips pressing into a thin line. The word child hung in the air like a taboo, an unwelcome reminder of the humanity the Red Room sought to erase.

“She ceased being a child the moment she stepped into this place,” Madam B. said coldly, her eyes narrowing.

“And yet her body hasn’t caught up to your expectations, has it?” Nora’s voice softened slightly, though it didn’t lose its edge. “You can push, break, and mold them—but they are still human. Y/N needs time to heal, or she’ll collapse in the middle of your next mission.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Madam B. said sharply, her gaze flickering to you where you sat on the infirmary bed, silent but seething.

“I wouldn’t,” you said defiantly, your voice cutting through the tense exchange. “I don’t need a break. I’m fine.”

Nora turned to you, her expression softening. “Y/N, this isn’t a competition. It’s your health—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists. “Widows don’t need rest. We don’t break.”

Madam B.’s gaze lingered on you long before she returned to Nora. “You see? She understands the stakes. Weakness is not an option.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Nora muttered under her breath, though not quietly enough.

Madam B.’s sharp glare returned to the doctor, but a quiet creak drew their attention before the tension could escalate further.

The infirmary door was slightly ajar. Natasha stood frozen in the opening, her green eyes darting between the women.

Madam B’s eyes narrowed as she glanced toward the door. “Watch her,” she commanded Nora before letting out a sharp huff and storming out of the room. The door slam echoed through the infirmary, leaving a tense silence.

Natasha pressed tightly against the wall outside and held her breath. Her heart pounded as she strained to listen for footsteps fading down the hallway. She waited—one second, two, three—until she was sure Madam B had left.

Carefully, she peeked around the corner to ensure the coast was clear. Satisfied, she stepped closer to the infirmary door. Her hand hovered over the knob, hesitating.

Inside, Nora sighed as she adjusted the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around your arm. “You really need to care more for yourself,” she muttered as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

“You really need to stop worrying about me,” you replied, shaking your head.

“I’ve been worrying about you since you were four years old,” Nora said sharply, her eyes meeting yours.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Nora had been the closest thing you had to stability in this place. Her care had always been a confusing blend of warmth and frustration, a kindness wrapped in thorns. You could never understand why she cared so much. Why did she care at all?

Before you could think of something to say, you changed the subject. “How’s this love story with the scientist going?”

Nora froze, her brow furrowing as she shot you a pointed look. “Melina Vostokoff is a respected Widow who is incredibly smart,” she began curtly. “There is no love story. And you know it’s dangerous to talk like that.”

“You know Melina?” Natasha’s voice cut through the conversation as she stepped into the room.

Nora spun on her heel, her expression hardening as her eyes locked on Natasha. “What are you doing here?” she snapped, her tone sharp. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Natasha hesitated, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I just—”

“You just nothing,” Nora interrupted coldly, stepping forward. “Do you think this is a game? That you can wander wherever you please? Do you even understand the danger you’re putting yourself in by being here?” She gestured toward you, her anger flaring.

“Nora,” you said softly, sitting up straighter.

Nora ignored you, her eyes still fixed on Natasha. “You have no idea what she’s been through—what we’ve all been through. And now you think you can just walk in here and—”

“Nora,” you said again, more firmly this time.

Nora finally looked at you, her jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice steady. “Let her stay.”

Nora’s shoulders sagged slightly, her anger dissipating into more like exasperation. She glanced back at Natasha, her eyes narrowing. “If anything happens, it’s on you,” she muttered before returning to work.

Natasha stepped closer to you, her movements careful, almost hesitant. Her eyes flickered to Nora, who was now busying herself with the clipboard, and then back to you.

"Hello," Natasha whispered.

"Dobro pozhalovat (welcome)," You said, not looking at her.

Natasha didn’t know why she came. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper she wasn’t ready to name. She stood stiffly in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as she scanned the room.

You were sitting in bed, your posture slouched but tense, eyes staring ahead as if avoiding any attempt to connect—whether with the walls, the room, or anyone.

“Are you sick?” Natasha asked, her voice soft, though her eyes were sharp as they scanned your body for any signs of injury. There were no bruises, bandages, or anything that would explain your absence.

“I wish,” you muttered with a sigh, fingers tracing aimlessly over a loose thread in the blanket that covered your lap. “Just getting evaluated,” you excused yourself, trying to shrug it off.

“You’ve missed all your training sessions.” Natasha pressed, her gaze intense as she approached cautiously.

“Keeping up with my schedule?” You raised an eyebrow, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you my new handler?”

“No,” Natasha replied quietly, her throat tight momentarily. “I thought we were friends.”

You didn’t answer right away, your lips pressing into a thin line. But you didn’t deny her, either. The silence between you two stretched, uncomfortable in its weight.

Nora kept her eyes on your chart from the corner, deliberately avoiding any direct attention. She'd never seen you regard anyone with such softness. You weren’t open with anyone other than her.

“You’re not going to go and report this to the other widows, are you?” You finally broke the silence, eyes narrowing slightly.

“The other widows are not my friends,” Natasha said, calm but firm. She let her gaze flicker toward Nora momentarily before returning to you. “You know Melina?”

Nora's response was clipped, her words tight and minimal. “She’s gone,” she said when Natasha asked about Melina’s whereabouts. “Don’t know where, don’t need to.” She didn’t look up from your chart as she spoke, not offering any more information. Her gaze remained focused on the paper in front of her, the lines of your vitals there, as if pretending not to notice the growing tension in the air.

After a long pause, she finally sighed, rolling her shoulders back as she stood up. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she muttered, making it clear she wasn’t interested in offering anything more.

With a curt nod to Natasha, she stepped toward the door, leaving you and Natasha alone in the sterile quiet of the room.

Natasha stood there momentarily, unsure of what to do, her thoughts swirling around the brief, cryptic exchange. She glanced back at you, her expression softening just a little.

“Is that your mom?” Natasha asked, her voice low and tentative, though the curiosity in her tone couldn’t be hidden. She didn’t wait for an immediate answer; she just leaned against the wall, her eyes still on you, waiting for a response.

"You see the resemblance?" You said flatly. "Nora is not my mother. Though she likes to pretend she cares."

"She seemed soft with you," Natasha offered, watching your reaction closely. "Not like the other Widows. Not like the guards."

Natasha shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the wall. She looked at you, her gaze unwavering but uncertain, as if trying to piece together her own reasoning for being there.

You huffed, shaking your head. “Softness is just another strategy. You know that.”

Natasha didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flicked toward the door where Nora had exited moments ago and then back to you. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s different.”

You scoffed, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it. “Why are you here, Natasha? You’ve never been one to check up on anyone.” You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes as if trying to read her. “So why me?”

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t a question she’d asked herself before walking into the room, but now it hung between you, heavy and unavoidable. She shifted her weight, her fingers brushing over the edge of the wall she leaned on.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice almost too soft to hear. She looked down briefly, her lips pressed into a thin line, before meeting your eyes again. “Maybe I was curious. Or... maybe I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why would you care?” you asked, your tone blunt but not unkind. “I’m just another Widow, right?”

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer to the bed. “No, you’re not. You’re... different.”

You raised a brow, leaning back slightly. “Different, how?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She stood there. Finally, she said, “You don’t let this place break you. I’ve seen it. You don’t let them win.”

Your gaze softened, but your walls didn’t crumble entirely. “And what about you?” you asked. “Are you letting them win?”

Natasha didn’t flinch at the question, but its weight settled in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I’m trying not to.”

"I am to train you,"

"You?" Natasha blinked, her surprise evident. "Aren't you too young?"

"They say I'm the best,"

"Then, why not use your talents on a mission?"

"Leaving this place is too much of a privilege," You shrugged. "I am meant to be here. I am meant to be his."

"Does he hurt you?" Natasha asked.

You paused, your expression unreadable. You didn't want to answer. It felt like admitting weakness, like giving in. "I'll live."

"That's not what I asked,"

Natasha frowned, her curiosity gnawing at her despite your apparent resistance. “You’re not like the others,” she said cautiously, watching for any shift in your expression. “He treats you differently.”

You let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You ask too many questions. You’ll do best not to in the future.”

“I just want to understand,” Natasha pressed. “How did you become so close with him?”

“If I had a straight answer, you’d have it,” you muttered, your voice low and even, your fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “But if I were to guess, it’s probably because I’m a good fighter. Maybe the best. That’s all that matters to him.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t treat you like a child.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you replied, your tone sharp, almost cutting. “What is it that you really want to know? What happens when I meet with him? It’s private.”

“It’s not nothing,” Natasha said softly. “I can see it. It’s not.”

“No,” you agreed, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “It’s not. But it’s none of your business.”

“You’re too young to—” Natasha started, but you cut her off.

“I am young,” you said sharply, sitting up straighter, your gaze hard. “And I’m the best. That’s a gift and a curse. He gives me gifts, and I give him something of myself in return. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Natasha’s stomach turned at your words, but she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she wanted to push further, not when you were unwilling to share.

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing just slightly as you glanced at her. “I’ll train you,” you said, your voice softening, “but I won’t tell you things about my life. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Natasha hesitated, her mind racing with unspoken questions and uneasy thoughts, but in the end, she nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly.

*******

The door to Dreykov’s office loomed taller than Natasha expected, its dark wood heavy and foreboding. She hesitated before knocking, her fist pausing mid-air. No one talked about what happened inside. Girls went in and came out changed—quieter, sharper, colder.

The door opened with a groan, and Natasha stepped inside. The warmth hit her first, different from the biting chill that filled the rest of the Red Room. A space heater purred softly under the desk, and the faint smell of tobacco lingered in the air. She didn’t know what she expected—something barren and clinical, maybe—but this wasn’t that. Shelves lined the walls, packed with books she doubted he read. A globe sat in the corner, and photographs she didn’t dare look at too closely caught the light from the desk lamp.

“Natasha,” He greeted, not looking up right away. He sat behind a wide desk of polished mahogany, his large hands resting flat on the surface. His tone wasn’t harsh but didn’t invite ease, either. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Natasha did as told, tucking her hands into her lap.

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes roaming over her body before resting on her face. His gaze was unnerving. It reminded her of a hawk eyeing a mouse, calculating and cold.

“You’ve been doing well,” Dreykov began, lifting his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were sharp and calculating, making her feel like he could see through her skin. “Top marks in marksmanship. Hand-to-hand combat. Strategy. Impressive for someone so… young.”

“Thank you, sir,” Natasha replied carefully. Her voice was steady, even though her heart was pounding.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.

Natasha hesitated. She didn’t know. Not really. “No, sir.”

Dreykov smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve caught my attention, Natasha. That is not an easy thing to do.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“But,” he continued, his voice softening in a way that somehow made it more dangerous, “attention can be fleeting. Do you know what keeps it?”

“No, sir.”

“Loyalty,” he said, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “Obedience. Dedication. Do you have these things?”

“Yes, sir,” Natasha answered quickly.

Dreykov studied her for a long moment, the silence thick and uncomfortable. She wanted to look away but didn’t dare.

"You're familiar with y/n?" Dreykov asked.

She didn't know how to answer the question. She didn't know how much he knew. If he knew, she would be in trouble, too.

"She is a fighter and the best of the Red Room," Dreykov continued.

"Yes, sir," Natasha answered, swallowing hard.

"And do you respect her?" Dreykov's eyes bored into hers, unrelenting.

"Yes, sir," she said, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.

Dreykov was silent for a long moment as if contemplating her answer.

"She is to train you," He finally said, his gaze not wavering. "You will report everything back to me. Your training, your progress, her attitude and treatment of you."

"I don't understand," Natasha said, her brows furrowing. "Why?"

"Because you're special," Dreykov said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because I have plans for you, and I need to ensure y/n does not interfere."

Dreykov’s gaze didn’t waver as Natasha processed his words, her thoughts running a mile a minute. How could you interfere? What could you possibly do to derail his plans? Natasha didn’t understand.

The confusion must have been written all over her face because Dreykov chuckled—a deep, humorless sound that sent a chill down her spine.

“Ah, you’re wondering, aren’t you?” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk. “How could she possibly get in the way?”

Natasha didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to remain composed.

Dreykov smirked, the expression cold and sharp. “Y/N is… how shall I put this? A jealous little thing,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “She doesn’t like to share. Especially not with me. You trust her?"

"I do,"

"Don't. Don't trust anyone,"

"Not even you?"

Dreykov laughed. "Especially not me."

Natasha didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. Her mind raced, the warning ringing in her ears. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the words stuck in her throat. A knock at the door broke the tension before she could muster the courage to speak.

“Come in,” He called smoothly, leaning back in his chair, his smirk firmly in place.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside. Natasha barely recognized you. Gone was the confident fighter she’d seen earlier in the training halls. In your place stood a girl—more petite, somewhat more fragile, with your shoulders held high. Your dress was simple, patterned with tiny flowers, its soft colors highlighting your youth. You looked pretty. Beautiful if she dared to think it. For the first time, you looked your age: fourteen.

Natasha watched as you crossed the room without sparing her a glance. It struck her as deliberate. You kept your eyes forward, focused solely on Dreykov, and your expression was carefully blank.

His smile widened as his eyes roved over your appearance, a glint of satisfaction gleaming in them. “Perfect,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Doesn’t she look like a proper child, Natasha? A flower among thorns.”

Natasha’s stomach twisted at how he spoke and appraised you as though you were nothing more than a tool he’d shaped with his own hands.

“Someone will teach you how to blend in,” Dreykov continued, his gaze shifting to Natasha. “How to act like a child. Then, how to act like a woman. It’s a skill, you know. One you’ll need.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. The idea felt foreign to her—learning to act like something she was supposed to be. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly, daring to speak despite the tension thickening in the room.

“Of course, you don’t,” Dreykov said, his tone condescending. “But you will. There’s a reason I’ve paired you with her.” He nodded toward you, and Natasha caught the faintest flicker of something—an emotion she couldn’t place—across your face before it disappeared. “She’ll show you. Watch her. Learn from her.”

You finally spoke, your voice softer than Natasha had ever heard it. “What do you need me to do, sir?”

Dreykov’s grin returned. “Everything you already do, my dear. And perhaps a little more. Natasha will shadow you for a time. Set an example for her. Show her how to be... convincing.”

You nodded stiffly, your movements almost mechanical. Natasha couldn’t tell if you were resigned or simply afraid.

She watched you with a growing sense of unease, unsure of what she was seeing. She couldn't pinpoint the shift in the air. Maybe it was the way you moved, the way you held yourself. You were afraid of him. Truly afraid of him. Every display of bravado she'd seen of you with others was thrown out of the window. You were small. Fragile. Vulnerable.

It scared her.

******

As the door shut behind you, the silence was almost unbearable. You walked ahead, your steps quiet and purposeful, refusing to meet Natasha’s gaze. She followed you down the hallway, barely able to keep up with the pace you set.

Finally, Natasha broke the silence. “Do you always wear dresses like that for him?” The words came out sharper than she intended, her voice laced with something between curiosity and accusation.

You stopped abruptly, turning on your heel to face her. You looked less fragile momentarily, the fire she’d seen in the training halls flickering behind your eyes. “What do you think?” you snapped, your tone cutting.

Natasha stared at you, searching for an answer, unsure of what she was looking for. “I don’t know. You won’t tell me anything.”

“And I don’t plan to,” you shot back. “You’re not here to know me, Romanova. You’re here to watch and learn. Do that.”

Natasha felt the sting of your words, but she refused to back down. “He thinks you’re jealous of me. That you don’t want me around.”

You flinched at that, just barely, but it was enough for Natasha to notice. “He doesn’t know anything,” you muttered, your voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness.

“Doesn’t he?” Natasha challenged, stepping closer. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he? Playing dress-up, doing whatever he tells you to do.”

Your jaw tightened, and for a moment, Natasha thought you might lash out. Instead, you smirked, though there was no humor in it. “And you’re any different? Do you think he doesn’t have plans for you, too? You’re just another piece on his board, Romanoff. Don’t kid yourself.”

The words hit harder than Natasha expected, but she kept her expression neutral. “At least I’m not pretending I have control,” she said evenly, her eyes narrowing.

Your smirk faltered, and Natasha caught a flicker of something—hurt, maybe, or anger. “You don’t get it,” you said quietly, almost whispering. “You don’t know what it’s like to be... useful. To matter.”

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what it was like—not really. But she could see the weight of it now, the burden you carried. And for the first time, she wondered if Dreykov’s warning wasn’t about jealousy but the cracks in your armor that he didn’t want her to see.

You turned away before she could say anything else, your steps brisk as you returned to the training hall. “You don’t need to understand,” you said over your shoulder, your voice cold again. “Just keep up.”

Natasha watched you go, a knot tightening in her chest. She didn’t know if she wanted to follow yr fight you, but she knew one thing for sure: Dreykov was right. You were dangerous—but not in the way he thought.

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

You know what, I'm fucking done arguing with a brick wall.

Hon you can just concede, agree to disagree, and be done with it, you don't have to pretend like I'm a "brick wall" who hasn't been making well-wrought points to refute yours. I took the time to respond very exhaustively to you, point-by-point — give me a fucking break, lmao

Send my apologies to your English literature teachers for having to put up with you.

I mean several of them are dead (it's been quite a long while since I was in school), so I'm gonna stop you right there. All I'll say is: people who are really truly into literature on a professional level, such as my mentors, or myself, have a strong appreciation for deep engagement with a text. What you think of as a "brick wall" (debate, exegesis, and fondness for overlooked details), my English lit teachers held in high regard. We had a hell of a lot of fun dissecting material together. It's fine that you don't enjoy this kind of thing, but don't pretend that it's somehow a slight against you, or that my points aren't worth seeing.

And take a good hard look about whether you would feel any different if the story stayed exactly the same except you swapped Fiyero and Glinda's genders.

Right back atcha, hon. Your takes have been pretty consistently sexist.

Let me leave you with one thought though, honey. If this is just "reading from the text" then presumably you think Winnie and Stephen agree with your delusions?

Winnie and Stephen pretty transparently wrote Fiyero to be the Early 2000s Slightly Rebellious Male Heartthrob For the Girls to Fight Over and not much else. He's been improved greatly in the film adaptation by NOT being that, and as I've said many times, I would love if they've ended up canonizing the double agent idea in the second film; albeit, as I've explained, I think that he'd lose something if he were made too straightforwardly "good". It doesn't matter whether Winnie, Stephen, or any of the directors or actors that have interpreted Fiyero over the years, specifically "agree" with me. Theatre of all mediums lends itself especially to a panoply of readings. There is no set-in-stone "canon". I just find certain takes to be ignorant of the details of the text, and I've argued against those takes. I happened, in the process, to do analysis which spawned further discourse. But it isn't like my analysis is Word of God: it's just fun to discuss ultima facie instead of prima facie. Your reading may well be closer to prima facie in certain ways — but that's not somehow an argument in and of itself for being "correct". You and I both made our arguments and apparently mine are now left to stand as ultima facie, as you have run out of counters.

Seems awfully cruel of them to go out of their way to save Elphaba from dying at the end of the story to leave her with an oh so awful fascist soldier?

The fact you seem to believe I think of Fiyero as "oh so awful" just tells me you haven't been engaging seriously with anything I've said.

He's a fascist soldier. That is something that should be reckoned with and examined in any real analysis of his character. He isn't "awful" — I never claimed he was, far from it — and he is certainly not the first or last character to have the narrative gloss over more troubling details and implications about what was written for them. But don't come at me for pointing those details and implications out, just because you personally dislike them, lol. I'm not the one who came up with Fiyero volunteering to become a fascist soldier: take that up with Holzman, lol

Also, if Elphaba was happy to fuck Fiyero in the woods and later leave with him, she clearly thought what he did was justified given the circumstance.

Hon, it's not that deep, lmao. They boned because they're passionate people with unresolved sexual tension suddenly given an opportunity — the only opportunity — to resolve it. Elphaba was not weighing his past several years for their moral soundness whilst riding him, lmfao

And I think the biggest Animal rights activist probably knows better than either of us the about the situation :)

Perhaps she does, perhaps she doesn't. We can only speculate. All we know is that she was frightened of him, and was worried he'd bought into the propaganda against her — which is a fair concern, given how he spent those years. She's relieved to find that he hasn't succumb to the hate against her, and that he isn't trying to harm her, and... that's really all that's stated, and that's all that need be stated. It's probably the first time in years that a human hasn't been her enemy — I don't think she wants to go there and review his choices, for her own sake, and I don't blame her for that one bit. But just because she doesn't go there doesn't mean that we shouldn't. We aren't bound to the POV of any singular character: we get to study them from beyond the fourth wall as much as we want, and there's a TON of interesting stuff there.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[jelloapocalypse]

Last question I've got for you, has there ever been a reason why there isn't more continuously-available Epithet merch on Creator Spring? It's always struck me as odd that you haven't gone for more stuff like shirts, stickers, and buttons.

The honest answer to this is that I just do not like merch.

I'm a really environmentally-conscious person and frankly there just aren't a lot of merch options out there that aren't objectively kind of bad for the environment. Even t-shirts and plushies are pretty dicey in the long-run due to textile waste.

Print-on-demand services have a lighter carbon footprint, but they're usually poor quality. I don't mind Spring for posters or prints, but their t-shirts feel cheap. I don't like wearing them myself, so I don't want to promote them to other people. It makes me feel like I'm lying to my fans or trying to rip them off. One-time campaigns like the dolls are fine, but they are, by nature, one-and-done.

You might not know this if you haven't been A Content Creator(tm) in a post-2020 world, but we get emails and offers from all these horrible companies literally nonstop asking for merch opportunities. I got six today alone. There's a huge subculture of scummy merch providers who can't wait to help you rip off as many people as possible. It's poisoned my opinions on merch even more.

Additionally, merch is exhausting to promote. Every single campaign is 5-7 days of emailing and planning minimum and then a little dedicated promotional video. "Well, you don't have to make a video Jello". Oh yeah I do. People miss these things even when I do promote them. If their only heads up is a tweet or an email from the website subscription letter, nobody's going to buy them, and that usually means a failed campaign if if I have to hit a threshold.

It's worth mentioning that "the Epithet team" is just me. I'm the one guy who has to oversee literally everything. And if I'm having trouble keeping official print runs of the actual book on store shelves, which I am right now, I don't feel like it's a good use of my time to start selling extra stuff while the series languishes.

The only piece of merch I've ever made that I thought was pretty cool was the Molly hoodies because they were interesting and custom made. The dolls are okay.

I'd like to release a blu-ray set for Epithet some time in the future so people can have a physical version of the media. Other than that, I'm hesitant. I know people want more merch. I just hate making it.

[guttedwhxre]

─ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ❞ multiple slashers

UNDER THE CUT: bo sinclair, michael myers, billy loomis & stu macher

tw: reader death ment, violence, torture ment

author's note: photo courtesy of @/pngsnail <3 also, hi everyone! i missed you, did you miss me?

michael is one of the most particular of the slashers, and dating him means you must be able to handle his peculiarities. this requires patience and resilience to do so, losing your temper would only result in pissing him off. michael won’t have quarter for being patronized and demeaned, not anymore. a pissed off michael typically means a deadly michael — but your death won’t be immediate. he’ll toy with you, gradually making your life worse and worse. he’ll allow you to keep blowing up at him, snap at him, until one night michael ends it all, for good. as you look up at him while you bleed out on the floor, cursing him under your breath, he’ll slowly don his mask, and leave you there without a second thought. 

while he won’t allow a bad temper, or disrespect of any kind, michael is surprisingly lenient about you boundaries. as long as you’re firm, and gentle he’ll let it slide. in fact, he almost encourages it. in his own, twisted way. again, michael will push you in small ways until something is done about it. here you can blow up, or collect yourself and gently, yet firmly tell him what he’s done wrong and ask him to stop. that’s only the first part however, as you have to consistently keep these boundaries, or michael will push, push, and keep pushing. 

don’t let him threaten you. he’s not actually trying to kill you when he holds his blade to your neck, no, just testing you. even if you’re into that, you have to be able to differentiate between play time, and a test. once you know that’s he’s testing you, cut him off there. ask that he doesn’t put his knife to you outside of play time, and he’ll slowly drop the knife from your neck, tracing it down your front as he tries to initiate play. however, if you let him press the cold steel into your neck, sit still as his gaze rests on his knife and your supple flesh - he’ll stop there, for now. then another day, when he comes home, he’ll “accidentally” cut you with his knife, watch as you rush around to clean and cover up the wound, gently asking him to be more careful next time. more little “accidents” will follow, each one more life-threatening than the last, and it’ll become more apparent that michael is toying with you. he just wants to see what will happen! just because you let him each time, he wants to see your breaking point. if that ends in your death, well, michael still got what he wanted. to see you break. 

to be clear, michael isn’t very picky about what kind of person you are. just stay consistent, keep your boundaries and make them clear, don’t be a pushover, then you and michael will be very happy together.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

bo is a simple man. at least, that’s how he’d describe himself. he describes his ideal mate as the perfect house-spouse kind — docile, quiet, stays out of the way. but that is far from the truth. someone who submits with no questions asked, all of the time, would bore him. nah, bo sinclair needs someone to match his temper, his fire, not take any of his bullshit. when he blows up, shouts, you need to be able to stand your ground, and sometimes shout right back. it surprises him being challenged, excites him, even. go ahead baby, put him in his place. 

like with michael, constantly shouting and losing your temper at bo wouldn’t be the best idea. it wouldn’t result in your death, just a constant, toxic cycle of fighting and making up. it’s not fun, nor is it worth the exhaustion. you have to be able to know when to fight fire with fire, and when to back down and let bo do his thing. 

bo, to be totally honest, isn’t the kindest guy. he puts on a front for the tourists, sure, but that’s just that – a facade. to be with bo sinclair, you have to have tough skin. he’ll throw more than one insensitive comment your way, about your hair that day, your complexion, hell your weight, even if it’s not intentional. he’s never had to hold his tongue before, why would he now? you’ve gotta stand up for yourself, or else the comments will keep coming, and probably worsen over time. 

all of the sinclair brothers have been through a lot, and it’s affected them in different ways. but for all of them, bo especially, empathy will go a long, long way. take into consideration why he lashes out the way he does and be able to understand why. you don’t have to excuse his actions, just be able to tolerate them, and of course — stand up for yourself. 

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

with billy and stu, you’ve gotta be able to take a joke. a lot of jokes, at that. at your expense, the expense of others, billy and stu have absolutely NO filter and that won’t change when you’re around. be happy it doesn’t! it means they trust you. billy is meaner than stu by a longshot, so be prepared for them to take shots at you. to get them to stop, or at the very least let up a little, go at them right back! joke back or tell them to fuck off, either works. just avoid the topic of mommy issues unless you want a knife to your neck in a not fun way. 

you don’t need something super special to make them interested in you — just be you. do your own thing, mind your own business, be content with yourself. that kind of casual confidence is enthralling, and if one of them picks up on it, trust me, the other will know shortly after. 

gotta be okay with a little kick-back every once in a while — stu likes to party and billy is just fine tagging along, so that means you have to be too! stick to one of them the whole party if you need, though i don’t suggest it as it can very well lead to semi-public sex. unless, sweet thing, that’s exactly what you’re looking for — then be my guest!

stu is handsy. incredibly so. he needs to touch you often, so you’ve gotta be okay with physical contact frequently. he can’t help it! you’re so precious and touchable it makes his heart melt (and his cock hard). if you say no one too many times he’ll tattle on you to billy, which nobody wants — least of all you. billy is fiercely protective of both of you, and stu knows how spoiled he is. he will surely use that to his advantage, even if it’s to your detriment. 

billy often takes the lead when it comes to the three of you, and stu gives up control willingly, eagerly even. you don’t have to be as excited about it as stu is, but it’s best to hand control over day to day decisions to billy. he gets a little bitchy if you don’t, and no one wants a bitchy billy. just whisper to him that he knows best, that’s he’s so strong and capable…and then maybe you can slip a little suggestion in, and he’ll take it. since you’ve been so good…so yes, they’re both very susceptible to seduction.

billy and stu just want you to be you. if you can accept them at their ugliest, most carnal, real selves, they will gladly accept you.

xoxo, babe 💋ྀིྀི

[tldrthor]

Homecoming | steve rogers

Summary: the key in the door is his favourite sound // established relationship hurt-comfort fluff, fem!reader, no use of (y/n), minor description of minor injuries // word count: 1.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

The key in the door was one of his favourite sounds. It's melodic, jingling tone reverberated through the quiet, empty halls of their home and he found himself on his feet through muscle memory alone.

The old door squeaked open — shit, he had forgotten to oil the hinges again — and there you were. In all your sweaty, dirty, bloody glory.

"Stevie." You breathed, feeling your shoulders relax at the sight of him. Your feet ached and the cut on your forehead throbbed with every pulse of blood. Before you could even say hello, he had enveloped you in his arms, the warmth of his body melting away the tension in your body.

He sighed "I missed you." His hands made their way from your shoulders to your head, and concern softened his eyes as he smoothed your crusted hair away from the gash on your forehead. He frowned, the pads of his fingers gentle as he traced the wound. You winced, and he immediately muttered a soft apology.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, barely audible. "Let's get you cleaned up — you kind of stink." He chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but smile, despite the ache that pulsed through your body. He placed his broad hands on your shoulders and steered you to the bathroom, placing a kiss on your cheek, and then your neck as he undid the many zips, clips and buttons of your tac suit.

Upon the reveal of several more gashes and a couple of still-appearing bruises, he tsked, his concern deepening. "I thought the mission was supposed to be an easy one?"

You stepped out of the suit fully, shivering as the cool air met your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "It was more complicated than we thought," you answered, voice heavy with exhaustion. "The base had about double the amount of men than intel had indicated. Ended up being a firefight."

He nodded, quietly, eyes flicking over the damage. He quickly asked; "Everyone else good?"

"Yeah, Sam's got a pretty decent shiner over his right eye, but we all made it out with only minor injuries."

He nodded in response, still in that familiar quiet, protective state, as he moved away from you to turn on the shower. This was like clockwork, now. Someone came home from a long mission, the other took care of their wounds, helped them shower, and then it was snacks and movies under the sanctuary of the duvet.

It was the only time Steve let you eat in bed, the poor soul hating crumbs enough for it to be one of the very few sacred rules in the house. But you could get away with it when you had been apart for a while, and he didn't care at all whether there were crumbs in the bed, as long as you were there too.

He moved deftly through the often-used first aid cabinet, finding the antiseptic and cotton pads with a well-practiced ease.

"It's gonna sting." He held up the cotton pad, and you frowned at him in resignation. "I know, you hate it. But it's important." He raised his eyebrow, tilting his head to tell you that it was going to happen whether you liked it or not.

You scowled, but moved your hair out of the way for him to get into the gash. "There we go, I'll be gentle."

His touch was gentle as he wiped over the cut, but you couldn't help but whine as the alcohol burned through the encrusted blood, your fingers curling around Steve's strong bicep for comfort. He murmured gentle reassurances at you through the whole thing; soft, lilting tones of nearly there, sweetheart, you're doing so well.

"All done." He kissed your forehead just next to the cut, and then one more kiss over your eye for good measure. "Come on, get in the shower."

You peeled off the rest of your clothes, each piece revealing more bruises, more injuries. Your body ached for warmth, and when the water hit your skin, it felt like you could finally exhale. You sighed in contentment as you felt human again for the first time since you left for the mission, a week ago.

"Better?" He asked, his voice soft, as he watched from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, just to be there with you.

You watched the pink-stained water spiral down the drain, as your body finally relaxed under the near-massage level pressure. "Much better," you responded. "thank you."

He smiled a tender, slow smile. "You don't need to thank me, angel."

You stayed there a little while longer, eyes closed, the gentle din of the water hitting the tiled floor all the background noise you needed.

Eventually, when the water was all but running clear and you finally felt clean again, you turned off the shower. As you turned off the water, you turned around to see him already standing with your towels prepared.

"Fresh out the dryer, just the way you like them." He said with a wink.

You hadn't even seen him leave, wrapped up in the bliss of the hot shower. You stepped out, and he wrapped you in the towels, almost as if he were swaddling you. The softness of the fabric was a comfort beyond words, and you almost melted into his embrace.

He gently dried your shoulders, taking care with each motion, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Stay warm," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "I’ll be back."

You heard him scrambling around in the other room for a few moments, before his footsteps receded. A beat later, he returned, a smile already playing at his lips.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice playful.

You obeyed, still wrapped in the warm, fluffy towels. "Okay?" you giggled.

You heard him moving around, and then the smile was clear in his voice as he called, "Open them!"

When you did, your laughter bubbled up immediately, uncontrollable. He was holding up a onesie, the kind of ridiculous outfit that could only come from Steve. You couldn’t help it — your laugh filled the room.

"Is it… a onesie?" you asked, barely able to speak through your giggles.

He unfolded it with a flourish, holding it up against his chest as though it fit him perfectly, despite the fact it would never in a million years. The Captain America design was unmistakable, complete with wings on the hood and the bright white 'A' proudly displayed in the center.

"I love it," you said, your voice dripping with humor as you peeled your towel off and slipped into the ridiculously warm, thoughtful gift. "But where's yours?" you teased, still laughing.

"Well, that's the best part," he said, his grin wide and utterly shameless. He pulled a second, larger onesie from behind his back, and you nearly lost it. The absurdity of it was too much — the familiar green hue, the faux straps that looked nothing like your actual tac suit, and the look of pure mischief in his eyes. Tears sprang to your eyes from laughing so hard.

"Oh my god, Steve," you gasped, clutching your stomach as your sides ached from both your injuries and the laughter. "Is that supposed to be my tac suit?"

With a sheepish laugh, he quickly pulled off his sweats and wriggled into the onesie, spinning dramatically for you.

"How do I look?" he asked, giving you a full view of the poor imitation of your high-tech gear.

"You look amazing," you joked, barely able to breathe through the laughter. "You might actually suit it more than I do."

He pulled you into a hug, the wings of your onesie tickling his face as he squeezed you tight. "I could never do that, sweetheart."

He pulled you to the bedroom, where he had already brought through the snacks for your traditional homecoming movie night. He laid you down in the freshly made bed, tucking you in carefully with the plush duvet.

"Steven, you didn’t have to do all this," you said, your voice soft with appreciation, though the warmth in your chest was undeniable.

He gently pushed you back into the bed, settling beside you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Angel, I’ll do this for you for the rest of our lives."

He grabbed the remote and pressed it into your hands. "Pick a movie— nothing scary," he said with a pointed look. "I’ll get the tea brewing."

You glanced up at him, already feeling the soft glow of contentment settle over you as you whispered, "Steve? I love you."

As he turned, his face flushed, even though you’d said it a hundred times before. "Not as much as I love you, sweetheart."

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dividers by saradika-graphics

[darth-jess]

Would the Republic and the Jedi have fallen without Anakin’s help?

Honestly, it depends on the scenario and whether or not you’re keeping characters in character. If you change the characters, obviously you’ll get wildly different results.

Palpatine living is the biggest factor so let’s play around with it.

Scenario 1: Anakin helps Mace Windu kill Sidious.

A happy and hopeful version:

Order 66 never gets activated, so obviously that saves the lives of thousands of Jedi. Anakin never becomes Vader, which also saves the lives of hundreds (if not thousands) more Jedi. Bail Organa is elected Chancellor (I’d say Padmé, but she just had two babies and definitely wants a few years of… relative peace and quiet before running for Chancellor) and he swiftly ends the Clone Wars and helps former Separatist systems rebuild. A few CIS systems do not rejoin the Republic, but they make peace.

This happy and hopeful version is great, but let's be honest. Bail Organa is clearly the right man to elect as Chancellor, however when have sentient beings ever elected the right person? Very rarely.

So. A realistic version if Order 66 is still never activated:

Order 66 never gets activated, which saves the lives of thousands of Jedi. Anakin never becomes Vader, which also saves the lives of hundreds/thousands more Jedi. An investigation is done into Chancellor Palpatine’s death, and it turns out he was assassinated by Mace Windu. So what if the Chancellor was a Sith? People are free to practice their own religions, what the Jedi did to him was bigotry! (I’m being sarcastic, I hope you know, but you know the Pro Palpatine News Media would print this and get a lot of people riled up.) Sate Pestage (Palpatine's BFF) runs a fear-mongering campaign and someone very pro-Palpatine is elected the next Chancellor. (The Senators of the Republic literally cheered Palpatine as he declared himself Emperor, you think they wouldn't elect someone very pro-Palpatine to follow him if he was assassinated?) So the pro-Palpatine Chancellor continues the war until Republic forces are exhausted. The Republic collapses, probably through some kind of military coup- though obviously not by clones- and whomever gains power turns the Republic into an Empire to restore some order. Faith in the Jedi is at an all time low (they killed the last Chancellor after all!) and the new Empire moves to remove Jedi from all official business, and they become a group of monks who just do their own thing on non Imperial worlds.

Scenario 2: Anakin and Mace Windu Both Die in the Chancellor's Office.

Palpatine kills both Anakin and Mace Windu somehow. He activates Order 66. Thousands of Jedi across the galaxy are slaughtered by their friends. The 501st legion storms the Jedi Temple, though more Jedi survive and escape because Vader wasn’t there. Palpatine announces that the Jedi tried to assassinate him and overthrow the Republic. To restore peace to the galaxy, he will become Emperor and people cheer for him. Padmé finds out Anakin is dead and loses the will to live, and she dies in childbirth in her apartment on Coruscant or in a medical facility nearby, with Dormé and Typho with her. The children are brought to their grandparents on Naboo. Obi-Wan and Yoda return to the Jedi Temple to stop the message telling all Jedi to return. Palpatine turns the Republic into an Empire and everybody cheers for him. The war carries on, because the Separatist leaders who all went to Mustafar weren’t murdered… unless Palpatine could remote lock the facility and drop it into lava. Palpatine would still have Inquisitors to hunt Jedi, but he’d have to train them himself. The surviving Jedi would fight back, and eventually succeed- probably a bit sooner than 20+ years later because more Jedi would have survived Order 66, but it would probably have still taken them 10 years at least to regroup and rally a rebel movement large enough to destroy the Empire.

My Conclusion

I personally feel like removing Anakin from the picture doesn’t do much to change whether or not the Republic or the Jedi fall. I’ve heard some people say this cheapens the narrative, or it means Anakin's choice didn't matter. But of course it still matters.

It matters that he decided to participate in the destruction, that he chose to destroy himself to try to save Padmé.

Palpatine wanted the Chosen One at his side, the ultimate victory over the Jedi. The one destined to destroy the Sith made to become a Sith himself? Brilliant. (And then much later, disastrous for Palpatine.) Keep your enemies close, right?

Don’t get me wrong, Vader is incredibly useful to Palpatine. But by the time of Revenge of the Sith, Palpatine has done so much damage to the Republic and trapped the Jedi, even Palpatine’s own early death couldn’t have entirely stopped the fall. Things would have happened differently, and slower, but he had dismantled the Republic while everyone was focused on the war.

Idk what do you think? What other scenarios are out there? What do you think is most realistic?

[arynnstjohn]

Arynn smiled and hummed in thought. "Yeah, I guess in some ways it can be. It's like... a giant, magical cookbook that can be passed throughout the generations. Someone writes a recipe here; another person there..." He chuckled at the notion.

He nodded once at her continued questions of intrigue. "Magic always has a price. Sometimes, you don't know what that price will ultimately be up front. In general, magic draws upon the life energies of the witch that's casting the spell. You remember after the costume party? How you found me on the fountain - worn out, exhausted, that kind of thing? I pushed myself too far - used too much magic; dangerous magic. It took its toll on me at the time. It's entirely possible for witches to kill themselves by overexerting their energy." He explained. He knew stories of a few times his mother had done that exact thing.

"The only limits on what kinds of spells you can do entirely depend on your own ability and skill; and your knowledge of the craft. There are..." He paused a brief second as he thought of how to explain it best. "There is some magic that most witches consider to be 'dark' - a taboo to even consider practicing or using. It's dangerous stuff and you could seriously harm yourself or others if you don't understand what you're doing."

Nova hummed in fascination. "That is an insteresting way of putting it. Then in some ways magic can be shared then no?" Nova asked. There was a pause as she shook her head. "Disregard that doesn't make sense I'm thinking law of conservation."

Nova waved her hand as the lights turned off. Nova looked at her fingertips rubbing them. "Wow." Nova said looking at the book. "Fascinating..."Nova looked at the book. "Is there a catch?"Nova asked. "With magic, is there a limited source? Am I limited to certain spells?"Nova asked.

[sarifinasnightmare]

VENARARE

I wrote this incredibly pissed off, so if you don't like this too much, whatever.

Rated: Mature

Summary: The Winter Soldier is a terrifying gladiator who doesn't care about the world, much less love anyone. Well we'll see about that.

The Winter Soldier was the greatest, most terrifying gladiator in the area. They say he got his name from his time as a soldier up in the north among the hairy barbarians and in the freezing cold had lost his mind and slaughtered an entire village single-handedly. When he came back to the city he still craved violence and bloodshed so he became a gladiator in order to slack his dangerous lusts.

When he appeared on the line-up people knew they were in for a show. He decimated his fellow gladiators, leaving them out cold or even dead out on the sand if the crowd didn’t protest quickly enough to spare them. If criminals needed to be offed, he’d do it cleanly, sending the head sailing before the fool even knew he was dead. The number of animals he’d killed rivaled the legendary Cop Offerus. He had even made a cloak of white wolf pelt that he’d skinned off the beast that had nearly gotten him.

In his mail skirt, greaves, the Winter Soldier wore a silver manica down his left arm that glittered ominously in the sunlight. What made him stand out from all the other strong, powerfully built Murmillo was his refusal to wear a helmet. His long hair curled around his ear, and he covered the lower half of his face. Why? Some said it was to emphasize the icy blue of his eyes, but he never explained himself to anyone. He cared about nothing and no one. He ate, slept, pissed, fought and fucked with the same expression on his face.

Since he was no slave, but a citizen and a former soldier, the ludus he called home had been obliged to pay him some share of his winnings. The lanista had at first scoffed at paying him anything, but with every successive win and his growing popularity he gladly paid him so he’d stay and not go off with another owner. That did not mean he could shirk his duties. During the observations, people would crowd, scared and intrigued as he paced around the cage like a beast looking for his next prey. Children were terrified of him, men were fascinated and the woman…it depended.

People wanted a piece of him, his sweat was highly prized, he’d been at many homes of wealthy patrons who wanted private demonstrations of his prowess, whether that was sword or cock it didn’t matter to him. Many thought that they could tame him, bring him to heel with their powers or their beauty, but he’d seen it all, done it all. They were all a bore and he plowed through them until they were little more than gasping whimpering lumps of flesh on their perfumed couches. The wives of ancient senators were his personal favorite bit of sport. There was a pleasure in knowing that while the arrogant assholes were congratulating themselves on being so superior in their lecture halls, he was in their houses fucking their wives stupid, spilling his seed into their cunts and filling them with his bastards. He knew of at least three so far. One of the women even went and brought the infant to him. Fat little thing, he wished the child well, knowing that the cuckolded husband had long desired an heir and now he had it, so he needn’t worry about it’s future. She thought she could gain his affection this way, but he wasn’t moved. Those women, those men meant nothing to him. They were the ones who craved him; he didn’t want them at all. They could all disappear, and he’d be fine. One day he’d put his sword down, collect his winnings and leave. Where? No one’s damned business.

On a hot day during a funerary tournament, amongst the sea of white, red and purple togas was the delicate splash of pink that caught his eye. The Winter Soldier had just been stopped from killing his opponent and had been basking in the light breeze that came through only to have a pink linen wrap around his ankle. He picked it up and could smell the faintly spiced fragrance. Looking around he saw a woman also in pink going to the edge of the arena in the hopes of catching her kerchief but then tugged down by her companion. She wore her veil over her braided head, but her face was unmistakable. For one she was Afri, but not a slave, a free woman, a maiden. In fact, she was amongst a small group of them. Merchant class if their clothes were any indication. Her skin was an unbroken, unblemished mahogany with a glossy shine to her cheekbones that made her look almost goddess like. Even from this distance, he could see how plump her lips were as well as the slight glimpse of snow white teeth. Fire suddenly bloomed from his loins at the sight of her.

She stared at him, noticing her linen in his hands, her fingers twitching as if aching to get it back. He stared back, wanting her to see as he brought the soft cloth to his nose to inhale her fragrance and upon finding it pleasing, he slipped it down to tuck under his skirt for safekeeping.

The maiden looked away, blushing furiously and the Winter Soldier’s lips curled slightly.

___________________---

Afterward he waited for her to appear, to ask for her linen back. Much to his disappointment, it was her companion who appeared; a blonde skinny thing, who came in with a slave and an escort. She requested the return of her friend’s linen. He refused.

“She values her chastity, and she can’t be seen in the company of…you.” She explained even as her eyes slid over him in a familiar path. “I however have no such problems seeing you…or you seeing me.”

Boring. He could make this slip of a maiden come in five minutes without even having to take his tunic off. “Then it stays with me. It smells so sweetly of its owner. Perhaps I’ll wear it as a favor during my tournaments.”

Unable to do anything else, the blonde left in a huff and the Winter Soldier sat down on a bench. He took the linen from his pouch and stroked the fabric, thinking of her and savoring the ache that she created in him.

_______________________---

Sarah was upset when her friend returned without the linen and with what he said. She heartily cursed her brother for going against their parents’ wishes and wanting to go see the gladiator tournament. As the sheltered daughter of a wealthy merchant, she’d never been allowed to see such a thing, their mother feared it would be too much for her to handle. Being stubborn and a bit rebellious, and egged on by her new friend Fabia, she decided to make her brother take them. Now because of her impulsive decision, her handkerchief was in the hands of the most dangerous gladiator in the arena!

“Why is it such a bother?” Fabia said in their shared room. “It’s just a little bit of cloth; there’s not even a mark to distinguish it as yours!”

“You don’t know my parents!” Sarah protested. “My mother is the goddess of discovery; she knows when something’s going on. She knows this color is my favorite and should your parents take my parents to the circus, and should she see that bit of pink she’ll get a feeling. Then the next thing I know she’ll pester my brother until he gives up the secret and I’m doomed!” She lays back on the couch and covers her face. “She’ll marry me off to the first fat, rich, old man in order to save my reputation!”

“Nothing a little poison in his wine can’t fix.”

“Fabia!”

The blonde shrugged. “Well if you can’t go to him, then I’ll just have to bring him to you.”

Sarah glared. “How?”

“My father is throwing a feast in honor of your father, right? So I’ll just do a little begging and insist that since us sweet little maidens can’t go to see the games if he’d hire a couple of the gladiators for a harmless exhibition to entertain the guests?”

“You can do that??”

The blonde scoffed. “I’m the only girl out of five sons and if his precious little darling wants to see the great Winter Soldier, then that’s what’s going to happen, so then while everyone is feasting, you can sneak over to him and get your linen.”

It was a crazy idea and the thought of being within reach of him made her shiver, but what else could she do? Sarah immediately agreed.

_______________________---

The Winter Soldier gave no thoughts about the party he and the rest of his companions were being sent to. It was pure entertainment, an exhibition only, so he didn’t care until he saw the older, dark-skinned matron standing next to her husband. Quicky, he saw the similar features to his pink maiden and realized that she might reside within. Now his senses were pricked, and his icy cold eyes darted around, taking in the layout as he carefully sought the slightest glimpse of her. They were taken to the slave’s quarters to prepar themselves until it was time for them to work. Some of the servant girls giggled and flirted with them and most were responsive, but not him. They weren’t the ones who shone like a black pearl in his mind.

“Where is Lady Sarah’s gown for tonight! Tell me it’s dry!” A black servant rushed in frantically.

“Here, here! Just came off the rack.” Another presented her with a folded white linen with green edges.

“Thank the heavens! She didn’t want to wear pink tonight for some reason.”

He appeared nonchalant as he listened to the little tidbits that they dropped for him. Sarah, her name is Sarah and she’ll be in a white and green dress. She’d wear no veil for the event as it was in a private residence, so he’d see the full scope of her beauty.

When they were finally taken to the grounds where he and the others would spar, he took a look around at the partygoers until he found her. She was seated next to the blonde at a small distance with the other women, but truly she shone like a pearl.

Roman men saw true beauty in pale white skin. Idiots to limit their views in such a way, because who could compare to the richness of Sarah’s dark skin? Her black hair was tressed up with cowrie shells and bits of gold. Her eyes were dark and sparkled like the night sky. She was a gorgeous, untouched beauty and his body abruptly ached with a want that nearly split him in two.

Suddenly he almost got walloped by a shield and he was forced to ignore her so as not to make a fool of himself. He wanted this fight to end quick, he didn’t care if he won or lost, he wanted to find her, go to her…

Briefly he caught a glimpse of her looking excited, the tip of her pink tongue peeking out and the frustrated rage that he couldn’t touch her made him charge against his opponent like a madman.

_____________________---

Sarah was nervous, during the mock battle the Winter Soldier fought like a beast unleashed, impressing the men and frightening the women. The other gladiators, groaning and aching were taken back to the servant’s quarters to relax, refresh and prepare in case they were wanted for other things. Now as the party continued, and the wine was being drunk to excess did she finally make her move to meet the great soldier.

Slowly one by one the Winter Soldier’s companions became otherwise occupied but no one called for him, then the black maid from earlier whistled to him and gestured for him to follow. It was time. Wordlessly he followed her. His body tightened in anticipation, he couldn’t help it and then there she was.

Sarah emerged from a darkened corner and gasped to see him suddenly less than foot away from her. He didn’t hesitate to shorten the distance between them until her back was pressed against the wall.

“Please don’t kill me, I just want my handkerchief.” She said breathlessly.

She was taller than he imagined, but that only made her more goddess like and the scent of her was sweeter than the bit of linen had implied. “I’m not going to kill you…” he touched her satin cheek with rough fingertips, “…why would I harm such perfection?”

Heat bloomed on her face and she looked down modestly. “I never knew soldiers could flatter.”

“They don’t, most are brutes who take what they want.” His thumb delicately stroked her lower lip and she shivered. The heat on her face now spread through her chest and further down her body.

“Like you did with my linen?” she managed to say softly. “I need it back.”

“You want me to give back what the gods decided was now mine?” He chided gently.

“It was the wind, not the gods.” She countered and carefully grabbed his wrist, drawing his inquisitive fingers away so she could think clearly. He was handsomer than she first thought, and those blue eyes weren’t cold, but warm, almost burning. “Please, my mother would be furious if she suspected I am here with a man…”

“I too would be furious to see you with a man.” He growled, taking her hands in his, finding her fingers long, but soft. “The thought of anyone touching you…” Dipping down he inhaled the perfume before kissing her knuckles.

He was too much, and she shuddered, overwhelmed. “Why are you so determined to keep my kerchief?”

“Because it is yours and when I touch it I feel as if I’m touching you.”

Goosebumps broke out and her heart skipped a beat. “What’s your name?”

“Hm?”

“Your name? I can’t call you soldier.”

“James.” He revealed softly.

The way he softened a bit when he revealed that to her was so charming. Perhaps he was not the beast he played to be. “If you wish to have a part of me so much then let me offer an exchange. If I give you another linen of mine, one my mother won’t recognize in exchange for the pink one, would you accept?”

The pink one had since lost its scent. “Only if given by your hands, Sarah.”

The butterflies fluttered within. She went with her maid to get the cloth and quicky returned with a soft white linen of the same size. Making sure they were still unseen she rejoined the gladiator in the darkened corner. He watched her, large and silent, as she approached him. With great tenderness she brought the linen to her lips for a gentle kiss, then offered it to him.

“As promised from my own hands to you, James.”

He bypassed the linen, grabbed her wrist and pulled her suddenly into his arms. He was a wall of muscle and heat, his blue eyes blazing into hers, catching her breathless.

“Is this linen the only way I will ever know the taste of your lips?”

“Is that all you crave?” She asked, as her hands rested over his shoulders, touching a man for the first time and finding the shape of his lips suddenly incredibly compelling.

“Sarah if I had my way I’d lay you out before that statue of Venus and teach you pleasures that send you to the stars.”

Seduced beyond understanding, she parted her lips and he claimed them, his tongue sliding in to awaken hers to this new form of pleasure. Passion scorched them to the bone as they kissed until they were panting desperately for more.

“My lady! My lady!” Her maid hissed. “Your mother’s looking for you!”

“No,” she whimpered, drawing away. “James I need to-”

“You’ve ruined me,” he growled, letting her go, but not before giving her the pink cloth back.

He watched her go, disappear back into the party full of people who’d keep her clean and pure and far away from men like him.

“Fuck you,” he said to no one in particular, then took the new white linen and pressed it to his nose, inhaling her scent.

____________________----

A fever had broken inside of him and there was no quenching it. It made him irritable and soon people gave him a wide berth. He threw himself into his battles, needing to burn the energy and when that wasn’t enough, he fucked his way through a succession of wives, leaving them gasping and bowl-legged.

But when he closed his eyes, it was Sarah on his mind and the kiss that snatched his soul and bound him to her. Sometimes he’d wake up from a nocturnal emission frustrated and full of longing.

In another part of the city Sarah was struggling with her own desires. His kiss left her aching, throbbing for more of what he promised. She wanted to see the stars, she wanted James to take her there.

“What is wrong with you?” Fabia whined as they walked through the gardens. “All you’ve done for a while is look out into the distance and sigh to yourself. Did your parents tell you something?”

“Well yes. My mother said when we go back home they’re going to start looking for a husband for me, but I knew that would happen soon…It’s just…I think of him…”

“Him?? There’s a him??” The blonde grinned and embraced her excitedly. “Who is it? How did you even meet him?”

Sarah hesitated for a moment. “It’s the Winter Soldier…when I asked for the linen back we spoke…and he kissed me.”

“You kissed the most terrifying gladiator in all of Rome! Sarah you’re mad!”

“He’s not terrible. He’s not terrible at all…Oh Fabia the feelings I’ve had in my stomach, in my heart…”

She clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Oh Sarah, Cupid has struck you.”

“I wonder if he feels the same? It’s been weeks.” She looked over the walls in the direction of the coliseum.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Fabia smiled cunningly.

“Fabia you’re insane!” She guessed.

“Do you wish to see him? Then be brave! True lovers will risk anything.”

Sarah was frightened of the consequences of her parents’ wrath, but the temptation was too strong, and she acquiesced.

___________________---

The Winter Soldier sat at the bench, thoughtfully chewing on his bread, ignoring the crowd that watched him and the other gladiators feast before their fight. He heard in the distance men shout their bets and exchange coins. He knew many were putting money on him, confident in his win. He thought of his share of the money, which has grown considerably.

A pebble suddenly landed on his plate. He looked over, irritated until he noticed it was Sarah’s maid. Realizing what that meant, his gaze darted around until he spotted her. She was escorted, an umbrella covering her from the sun, her veil properly in place, but it was her unmistakably. She came to see him but dared not approach, not with all the other gawkers. Her eyes moved around him, seeking. He pulled out the white linen kerchief and she smiled sweetly. She tapped her chest three times and pointed at him; her heart was glad to see him.

“My mistress wants to see you-” Suddenly one of the spectators tried to take liberties with the maid. Furious he grabbed him by his garment and yanked him violently against the steel bars. The fool fell into a heap, and everyone gave him a wide berth. Before the coliseum guards could pull him away, he listened to the maid finish. “-tonight by the west gate of your ludus.”

As the guards yanked him away he looked Sarah in the eyes and nodded.

_________________------

The whole day was torture for him. He’d fought like a god, knowing that the end of the day he would see his goddess again. The west gate of the ludus was least watched, mostly because it led to nowhere, only thick brush and rocky hills. However they were still locked and bars were solid, yet that didn’t diminish their reunion.

Sarah wore a black cloak, her maid and guard at a safe distance keeping watch, so they didn’t stop them as they kissed between the iron bars. The Winter Soldier was desperate to wrap his arms around her waist and pulled her as tight as the barriers allowed. Sarah cupped his dear face and kissed him fiercely.

“One kiss and I’m yours, James. What have you done to me?” She panted.

“Say it to me again. Tell me you’re mine, Sarah.” He commanded, his hands caressing, seeking.

He found her breasts and cupped them, making her hard little peaks bloom with desire. “I want to be yours, I dream of being yours.”

“The way I’ve starved for you. The way I’ve suffered from the lack of you.” He replied, “No woman nor man has tortured me as you have.”

The primal urge surged throughout her body, begging her to shed her clothes and let it fulfill it’s sacred duty with this man. “I want you to take me to the stars, James. Take me there before my husband does.”

The words stopped him dead. “Husband?”

“My family is leaving in a few weeks.” She revealed softly. “They plan to find me a husband.”

No, no! Is this a cruel joke by Venus to present a woman that finally awakened his soul only to snatch her away and give her to some pompous idiot who would only see her as a broodmare?

“I will go mad.” He said gruffly.

“And I will yearn for you for the rest of my days.” She replied. “Please.”

He could not deny her. “Send your maid to me in three days. I will tell her where we shall meet.”

____________________-----

The three days felt like years to Sarah, but she quietly prepared for their eventual joining. Fabia smuggled in oils and perfumes, helped her groom herself and arranged her clothes. Her mother noticed the change and commented on it.

“Fabia was showing me some new cosmetics.” she said shyly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different, but it makes me think of what we’ll plan for when you get married. I’ve already ordered some new fabrics for dresses and ordered some stones…”

“Do you think I’ll be married off so fast, Mama? Or is that you want me to go?”

Her mother looked sad. “No! No, my darling it’s just…the relatives think we’ve been holding onto you for too long and that all this traveling will leave you restless and open to mischief. Don’t worry, I won’t have you given away so quickly. We will make sure your husband is a good man who will take good care of you, I promise.”

“And if I fall in love, Mama?”

“Then we will make sure he is worthy of that love.” She promised as well.

That night Sarah thought of her mother and her promise, but it didn’t dissuade her. With maid and guard beside her, she stole into the Roman night to meet with her true lover.

___________________---

By the temple of Venus there was a garden built by one of those snobby senators in order to win more points with the citizens. Of course, he built himself a little villa that overlooked it that only he could use. Luckily, said senator was off doing some pompous bullshit down south so the villa was empty. The Winter Soldier knew when he brought Sarah inside. He cleaned it a little and prepared the bedroom for his maiden. There were only a few oil lamps, but it was just enough for them to see each other as they undressed for the first time.

He never wore much to begin with, but what he revealed to her was shocking to say the least.

“Will that…in me?” She murmured breathlessly.

“I will be gentle.” He promised as he approached her and gently touched the cord around her waist. “May I?”

She nodded and only trembled slightly as the cord fell to the floor and her gown was slowly lifted from her body.

He had seen and fucked so many types of bodies, but hers, hers was without rival. Formed from the finest clay, glossy like satin, designed to make his mouth water.

“Is this pleasing?” she asked and gasped softly when he picked her up and effortlessly carried her to the bed. He hovered over her for a moment before bathing her in kisses.

“Gorgeous, radiant, divine….” He mouthed against her skin, “….the gods wept when they made you.”

He caressed her everywhere and made her feel glorious. When his tongue lapped her intimate place, she was momentarily repelled until new ecstasy caused her to cry out for more. She ran her fingers through his hair and pleaded with him to never stop.

Drunk with the taste of her, he pleasured her, teased her until the sweet music of her cries filled the air and she experienced her first climax. Taking advantage of her fresh slickness, he moved up between her long legs and placed the throbbing head of his shaft against her opening.

“I dedicate our joining to Venus, to guide me in showing you the true love between us and show you the delights of the celestial heavens.”

She knew there would be some pain, so the burn and the stretch didn’t scare her. She did her best to relax and moaned when James stroked her tender nerves, mingling pleasure with pain. It was a marvel that he could fit so perfectly inside her and by the time their roots met, she felt positively stuffed.

“Oh…”

James braced himself over her, sweating, her virgin sheath so good that it was killing him not to move. “Am I hurting you?”

“No…I’ve never felt anything like this….” She suddenly gave him a smoky smile. “I like it.”

“Sweet gods,” he whined, bowing his head in utter defeat as his hips rebelled against his control and began to move.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him and held his muscular body against hers as they gave in to the primal urge that stirred from the first look. There was no shame between them as they kissed, licked, caressed and moved as one. Black and white flesh mingled and rolled around in the sheets as they fought to draw out the pleasure for as long as they could.

James could not take his eyes off her, loving how she gleamed with pleasure, how the sweet scent of her mingled with their sex and then there was her unrestrained moans. She didn’t screech or howl like a whore determined to put on a good show. Her breathless, needy whines were of genuine joy and his own soon broke free, groans that were as deep as the pleasure churning in his loins, threatening to shatter him.

“James, James, I love you, I love you!” She cried out as the wave of delight crested over her body, threatening to drown her. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she forced him deeper and shuddered helplessly.

He was lost, lost in the tight heat of her and then she squeezed, flaying him with ecstasy. “My love, my love!”

The stars burst before them, and Venus blessed them with joy.

__________________---

They could not meet again for another interlude, although the gods knew they wanted to. Too quickly her family was packing their belongings from Fabia’s family’s residence and then she’d be on a ship heading back home.

Sarah did her best to come close to the Coliseum as often as she could, claiming that she wanted to walk it a few more times before leaving. James was there behind his iron bars waiting for her, staring at her as if he could make love to her from his gaze alone.

On the last day she came in her pink gown and dared to approach the bars. He grabbed her hands and dared to openly kiss them.

“I will be a good wife to my husband. I will run his house and give birth to his children, but my heart and soul will forever be yours James. Know this, believe this.”

He nodded and tried to speak. “I’ve been cold for so long. All my life I’ve felt nothing until I saw you. I, who have never prayed to the gods now beg them to reunite us in the end.”

She nodded, fighting back tears and thrust her original pink linen into his hands before turning away to go.

He watched her go, clutching the bars that he suddenly hated more than life itself. He gripped them until he was white knuckled and screamed at the injustice of it all.

Sarah heard the scream down to her bones and cried quietly in her bed as they sailed away.

_____________________----

The Winter Soldier was colder and meaner than ever on and off the arena. His companions at the ludus avoided him like the plague as all he wanted to do was drink, sleep and fight. He rejected the advances of former paramours, refusing to befoul the memories of Sarah with their filth.

She should be back home by now, no doubt picking out fabrics and jewels for her wedding day with her mother. Anger flooded him and he slammed his cup of wine down harshly, causing it to spill over.

“It’s a waste of food, soldier.”

He glanced over and saw that it was Sarah’s blonde little friend. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“When does a slave get to speak to me that way?”

“I’m not a slave, I’m a freeman! I’m here of my own free will!” He snapped.

She arched a brow. “Oh really? Then what’s stopping you from leaving the arena, sailing across the ocean and paying Sarah’s bride price?”

“I don’t have enough to do that….to provide for her and give her what she deserves.” He muttered.

“Bah, I bet you could earn more than enough in a single fight.” She countered. “If you wanted to, but I suppose a soldier like you only takes orders.”

Bullshit! Everything he’d ever done was because he wanted it, but Sarah had her wants too.

“She’s determined to do right for her parents. I cannot ruin that for her.” He argued.

“She slept in the same room as I and her tears for you were endless. Her heart and soul are broken without you. Do you really wish for her to be so miserable?”

No, and to know that she had been so unhappy made him angry. Why did Venus give him a taste of real love only to cut it off so abruptly? Was it his punishment for treating it so lightly before? Or was she perhaps offering him the chance to prove that he had changed and would risk it all?

“Find me a ship.” He said suddenly, standing up.

“For when?” She asked.

“Three days. It’s all I need.”

______________----

Sarah was glad to be home of sorts. They all arrived safely but her mother became very sick so all concerns were about her recovery. The matron had insisted that they continue with the matchmaking, but Sarah had firmly refused to even consider thinking about her happiness while her mother was in such a state. Relatives would accuse her of being selfish and unfilial.

Finally, when her mother was healthy enough to move around once more did she reluctantly agreed to start looking for a husband. There were plenty of men put forward by relatives insisting that they would be perfect for her. She doubted it.

It turned out the fussiest person in the groom selection process was not Sarah, but her father. He loved his son, but also doted on his daughter and wanted to make sure that the man for her was good, hard working, fearless and rich…very rich. It frustrated her mother to no end when he rejected nearly all the men when they tried to negotiate the bride price. He wanted a hundred head of cattle, goats and sheep, servants to take over their daughter’s former responsibilities, plus some jewels for his wife. There were some men who could do it, but wondered if the merchant’s daughter was worth so much.

“Hey,” Samuel disturbed her and her mother from their weaving, “a new suitor just showed up and he’s Roman. He’s talking to father right now.”

“What?” Both women were shocked and rose to investigate.

Rushing to the main sitting area, Sarah nearly collapsed when she saw that it was none other than James! Except he wasn’t dressed like a gladiator, but a Roman citizen.

Meanwhile James saw her enter and it was as if he had been given water from paradise. He offered her a small smirk before turning back to her father.

“Your daughter is a pearl without price, but I am willing to pay for her to be my wife.” He said firmly.

“I am surprised that you are here making such a request when I don’t even know you.” Her father asked.

“I was a common soldier who joined the legion and fought the barbarians up in the frozen north. I then became a gladiator because after all the ugliness and horror I saw I didn’t care what happened in the world. I was the Winter Soldier and my life was meaningless until I saw your daughter.”

Sarah blushed and her mother studied her. “You know this man, Sarah?”

“I do, Mama. I know him as James.” She admitted, her heart beating fast.

“When she left I wanted to die, but then someone reminded me that I had the choice and the means to get her back.” He then explained how he took his life savings and bet it all to win one of the largest, winner take all gladiator battles exhibited at the arena. There were no less than thirty pairings and winners kept fighting until only one stood standing, then the leaders decided to throw in a few tigers just for fun. By the end of it, he had been battered, bruised, bleeding and exhausted beyond belief. The only thing that gave him courage was the pink linen tucked on his belt, for her he’d fight until the end and he nearly did. His reward finally? He was rich beyond belief, so finally he dropped his sword, took his money and sailed across the sea to find the only one who would make him happy.

“Sarah, be my wife. Run my house, bear my children and I will love you with a flame that will shame the sun.”

“Yes!” She cried out, running and throwing her arms around him before anyone could stop her. To be in each other’s arms after believing that they never would again was intoxicating.

The family was then shocked to see them kiss with a passion that only lovers could have.

Her father cleared his throat sharply. “Sir…the bride price?”

James drew back, his eyes fixed on Sarah’s joyous expression. “Name it, name your price. I’ll give you Rome itself.”

The family matron gave her husband a knowing look and the man sighed understanding. “Rome will not be necessary, but we can negotiate the bride price into something reasonable so long as you promise to make my daughter smile as brightly as she is now.”

In the end her father got his hundred head of livestock, her mother got a small casket of jewels and Sarah sought out the most beautiful fabrics for her wedding dress.

Sam helped his new brother-in-law find a house worthy of his sister and arranged it to her liking. When the ceremony, rituals, and feasting was done, James took his beloved wife over the threshold of their new home and brought her to bed. There their passion was unleashed once more as their bodies mingled on the marital bed. James feasted on her like a man starved and she saw the heavens every time they joined.

“I’m yours, yours completely.” She murmured sleepily as they lay sated in their bed.

“My wife,” he replied pulling her close, desiring her warmth. “I loved you at first sight.”

They had an altar to Venus built and tied around the wrist for safe keeping was the pink kerchief.

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[sleepinglionhearts]

hhhgh. Robin.

[iraprince]

Hiii, i love your stuff and kinda from a distance really look up at you for, in my perception, being able to express yourself without giving a fuck. Thats sick dude, Im so so afraid, of absolutely everything, its nice to think like i might grow into someone less apologetic of my existence. Nice to see people just being yknow

hey, thank you, this is really really nice. the secret that is probably not a secret is that i am also deeply afraid a lot of the time lmao -- but less than i used to be, and in ways that feel less stifling and self-suffocating, if that makes sense.

like, it used to be "i'm scared that if i express myself the way i want to, everyone will find me obnoxious, so let's just sand those edges down to be safe" -- now my fears are more like "now that i'm expressing myself in a way that feels natural and real, i'm afraid that it's all stupid/vapid/not worthwhile or meaningful" (<- specifically abt my art) or "i'm happy that i talk and act the way i want to now, but what if it makes me impossible to befriend," etc etc etc. which still feels bad and puts me in a funk a lot of the time but at least it's a fear that comes After/in reaction to doing stuff, rather than a fear that STOPS me from doing stuff, you know? like, it's evolved into a kind of fear that's less in my way.

anyway. i believe you'll experience something like this, because wanting to grow is the first step of growing. the fact that u hope or wish for something different means you're already on your way. to fewer fucks!! or at least distributing the fucks u give in a way that serves u better

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

Extremely controversial opinion, but I think people who don’t have the time or energy or wherewithal to brush a dog should stop acquiring dogs with coats that require brushing.