#dreaming about being railed by a series of old men

[booksandabeer]

Stucky Recs: Road Trips!

Well, well, well. Look at that! After only three months of constant whining about having no time to do it, I've finally managed to put together a new rec list! Yay.

The theme of this list was requested by multiple people and really, who doesn't love a good road trip story, right? And let me tell you, there are so many good ones, this post could've been twice as long. I'm actually already hoarding fics in my little folder to do a part two later this year.

But for now, please enjoy my effusive ramblings about the following 10 Road Trip fics + 1 Rail Trip fic:

🚗 you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all by biblionerd07 | T, 15K

Author's summary: Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

A post-CW canon divergent fic that's in a lot of ways very soft, but with just enough of an edge to keep things interesting and the reader uncertain as to how everything will play out in it. This starts with a somewhat disaffected Bucky who has not (yet) regained all of his memories and a Steve who, in his desperation to reconnect with him, tries so hard but ends up saying and doing all the wrong things. As they travel around the country, they both find ways to let go and to unlearn and relearn each other. Features moments of heart melting yet tongue-in-cheek sappiness (so the absolute best kind of sappiness) and a fun background Sam/T'Challa pairing.

🚗 a black sky prickled with small lights by emilywithoutY | M, 26K

Author's summary: There's this: The July heat. A wide open road. An obnoxious country song on the radio. Bucky in the driver’s seat.

Or: Two hundred-year-old men and their Great American Road Trip

The ultimate, unashamed Steve-and-Bucky-visit-the-Grand-Canyon wish-fulfillment fantasy—and I mean that in the best possible way. The summer road trip vibes are impeccable. This is technically the third part in the Litanies series, but it absolutely works as a standalone. However, if you ask me whether you should read the entire series, the answer is obviously a resounding yes. It's not only one of the best EG-Fix-Its I've read but also comes with an additional fun and sexy twist on how to get these two to finally get their heads out of their asses. Anyway, in this installment, they have already done that and now they get to enjoy the road, their freedom, and most of all, each other. Includes: healing along the way, long overdue conversations, and the attempt to reconcile the joy of finally having all that time with the bittersweet reality of having all that time.

🚗 Blue Moon by what_alchemy | E, 15K

Author's summary: "Now are you gonna run away with me or not, Rogers?”

God, this story (this author, really)! I’ve read this fic so many times I’ve lost count. It features one of my favorite post-WS characterizations of Bucky. One where he's still—somehow after everything—a romantic at heart, but also clear-eyed and unsentimental enough about certain things to not shy away from laying out some uncomfortable truths for Steve and the reader alike (there’s one line in particular that is seared into my brain and every time I read it I personally feel so called out). Steve may be a bit more cautious and softer about it, but oh, he gives back just as good. Nobody is handling anyone with kid gloves here. A story about learning how to be together (again), defining one's very own version of 'Happy Ever After', and about being very much in love, and also very horny for each other.

🚗 Not Language but a Map (The Grammar of Sensation) by dorian_burberrycanary | E, 20K

Author's summary: Steve has never felt right running away from a fight, even if the fight is with unanswered questions. But it’s not running if it’s a road trip and the oldest, thorniest unanswered question is along for the ride.

If you follow my blog you will probably already know that I am head over heels in love with this entire EG-Fix-It Series. This third story is finished, but Steve & Bucky's road trip continues in part 4, which is currently being posted (updates weekly). I believe this fic can be read as a standalone but, really, why would you deprive yourself of even a single word of this absolutely magnificent series? Every word, every detail, every narrative choice feels deliberate and well thought out. It's a masterclass in subtle storytelling and yet so rich in its themes, characterizations and descriptions of people, places, and food. This fic will make you hungry in so many different ways. A lot happens between the lines which may require some patience at times, but when the emotional payoff hits—it really, really hits. I cannot recommend this enough. Spectacular all around.

🚗 where the days are longer by endofadream | E, 13K

Author's summary: And maybe that’s what they’re running from. Those ghosts. That minefield. The suffocating pressure to live up to who they used to be when who they used to be has now become stale, recycled words in textbooks and museums and clickbait online articles.

They fuck off to the coast, trying to put as many miles between them and D.C. as possible. New York is loud and claustrophobic at the best of times, but California has the open skies and roads that make Steve ease a little more into his skin.

I have such an immense fondness for this story. There are some very minor problems with shifting POV in the first chapter, but please don't let this deter you from giving this story a chance—it's got so much heart. This is a slow and meandering piece that can be best summed up as: Steve and Bucky being so very much in love. Set in some undefined period post-CATWS, in a world where the events of Civil War never happened, Steve and Bucky decide they’re tired of fighting and conforming to what everyone else wants them to be and just get in a car and drive all the way to California. There, they start figuring out how to live in the future while also accepting that they can never quite leave the past behind, and that time, indifferent to the tragedies of (not quite) mortal men, will inevitably keep marching on—whether they want it to or not. To quote directly from the story itself: They’re both men out of time, so they make their own.

🚗 Lightning in a Bottle by odetteandodile | E, 63K

Author's summary: The problem, Steve thinks, isn’t so much his motorcycle giving up the ghost on a lonely stretch of highway through a lonely stretch of the country. He doesn’t mind stretching his legs or the prospect of hitchhiking.The problem is the roiling black blanket of storm clouds slowly spreading itself over the landscape headed his direction…

Steve Rogers is looking to hitch on a highway abandoned by everyone smart enough to avoid a looming storm. Bucky Barnes is the professional storm chaser who offers him a ride. It gets more complicated from there. 

This AU offers an intriguing twist on the The Road Trip as a genre, Shrunkyclunks as a trope, and modern!Bucky as a character—it's an electric ride from start to finish—in more ways than one… *wiggles eyebrows* ...yeah ok, I’ll see myself out. It was either this or something about 'chasing all kinds of storms together' and I just couldn’t resist. Anyway, this story is a clever and unique take on canon events (not just limited to the CA movies!) and I don’t really want to give too much away and spoil all the fun, so I’ll just say this: If you are in the mood for a thrilling sci-fi/adventure/romance hybrid-story with beautiful evocative writing, characters that actually act like the smart, competent grown-ups they supposedly are, sex scenes that are both hot and emotional, and a touch of spy/mission fic to go along with a free crash course in weather phenomena—this is the fic for you!  

🚗 The Only Familiar Thing by brideofquiet | E, 39K

Author's summary: Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.”

And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

A Post-CATWS fic, in which Bucky has returned to Steve after being on the run for a while. They are together, share an apartment in Brooklyn, and Bucky has regained most of his memories—so yay! All good, right? Well, things are going…uh...let's say they're going. See, Steve and Bucky are still very much in love—the thing is, they're pretty good at the being in love part but pretty awful at the talking about it (and everything else that matters) part. So much so that they accidentally on purpose non-communicate and out-stubborn each other into going on a road trip, where things will eventually—inevitably—come to a head. Throughout the trip, the tension between them builds and builds until finally they have to admit that sometimes being partners, lovers, best friends, and knowing someone better than anybody else in the world, still doesn't mean that you can *actually* read their mind. Sometimes you gotta use your words. The author skillfully manages to create a story that treats its characters and their conflict seriously, while also infusing it with a healthy dose of humor and romance to always keep the readers on the right side of 'frustrated' (i. e. invested, not irritated).

🚗 old college try by kafkian | E, 19K

Author's summary: Bucky wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling like stealing: Steve Rogers, Captain America, the hope of a nation tucked into Bucky’s right hand. It’s the heist of the century.

In which Bucky Barnes remembers himself, Steve, and what it means to be selfish – not necessarily in that order.

Another old favorite of mine. Set post-CACW, this fic starts with a recently defrosted Bucky and a somewhat unmoored Steve in Wakanda, as they try to figure out what to do next: Keep fighting the never-ending wars of other people or run away, see the world, and retire to a quiet life? Well, since this is a road trip fic, I think you can guess which option they go for. It's a beautifully written story about Steve and Bucky's journey across continents and decades, and their ultimate arrival in a life that they never dared to hope they could have one day. This was written in 2016, so right between the fanfic avalanche caused by TWS and the frenzy of EG-Fix-Its. Re-reading this for the first time in quite a while made me realize that—aside from being a fantastic story in its own right—it's also an interesting commentary on popular Stucky fics that came before it (you can see clear influences but also some gentle rebuttals to popular fanon of the time) as well as very much a product of its time. And I don't mean that in a negative or disrespectful way at all, but simply, that it also serves as a fandom artifact; a text that reveals and reacts to certain trends, shifting attitudes, and developments in Stucky fanfiction over the years. Either way it's definitely well worth a read.

🚗 The Long Way: A Stucky Fancomic by BeaArthurPendragon, LittleWolf82 | T

Authors' summary: After Thanos is defeated, Steve doesn't stay in the past. This is the story of where he and Bucky go next.

A little something different here: a road trip fancomic! And oh, it's only one of my favorite fic writers teaming up with one of my favorite artists—what's not to love? This is an EG-Fix-It that simply ignores the last five minutes that Ruined It All and instead tells the story of what could've or should've happened to Steve and Bucky after EG. A story that is infinitely kinder and truer to these characters. Sweetly told and beautifully drawn—an absolutely wonderful collaboration.

🚗 i need a forest fire by tomorrowsrain | T, 65K

Author's summary: In which Tony Stark makes a reckless decision, becomes a wanted fugitive, goes on the run with the former Winter Soldier, and learns how to forgive. For his part, Bucky Barnes is just trying to hold himself together. AU, post-Civil War.

This is the only fic on this rec list that does not have Bucky and Steve going on a journey but instead it's Bucky and...Tony. WAIT! Hey, come back! I know that for a lot of Steve and/or Bucky fans the idea of reading a 65K fic that heavily features Tony Stark does not really sound like an enticing prospect. BUT! Hear me out. This is a fic that runs with one of the core concepts of fix-it fanfiction, which is: What if these characters actually talked to each other for a change? And yes, it gets messy and complicated and often painful—nothing is glossed over and no one is let off the hook easy. What you get here is a fantastically written story that is simultaneously an intimate & slow character study of both Bucky and Tony, a grand sweeping road trip fic with a thrilling plot that will have you on the edge of your seat (there is a moment in this where I really thought it was all over), AND a decade spanning tale of epic love. If you're worried that there is too little Stucky or Steve in this, don't be. Even before he shows up around the halfway mark of the fic, Steve is very much present the entire time. It's incredible what the author pulls off here. This is one of my all-time favorite fics. I love it a totally not normal amount.

🚂 Will There be Any Freight Trains in Heaven? by phoenixflight | E, 56K

Author's summary: It's summer of 1934, a quarter of all Americans are unemployed, and record numbers of migrant workers are hopping freight trains to seek their fortune out west. What are two boys from Brooklyn to do?

Or, Steve and Bucky ride the rails, become socialists, and fall in love, in no particular order.

This story is a bit of an outlier on this list because not only is it the only fic that's set in the pre-war period, it's also not strictly a road trip fic, but a rail trip fic. Usually the road trips in these stories are either (1) a last ditch effort at saving a friendship/relationship, (2) a way of finding oneself and/or making peace with one's past, or (3) the 'we survived all this and here we are together in the future, so let's go and actually see some of that world we fought so hard to save' victory lap. The impetus for travel in this fic, however, is born out of sheer necessity. It's the height of the Great Depression and Steve and Bucky are really poor and really desperate—so desperate even that they're willing to leave behind Brooklyn, their families, and their lives as they know it to go look for work in the West. This is not a fic that's always easy to read, circumstances are dire, attitudes are, ahem, authentic to the period, and the nostalgia-tinted glasses about the good old days before the war will get firmly knocked off your face. It's also a story that will show you time and time again that sometimes you will find kindness, love and almost overwhelming humanity in the places you least expect it. And listen, if period accuracy and a very political Steve Rogers do not convince you, let me tell you that there's also a lot of pining in this. So. Much. Pining.

Ok. This was fun.

Next up: Short fics under 10K

[thomasthetankieengine]

This would be funnier if prominent Tankie men on this site, such as pissvortex, brendanicus/yuri-alexeygaybitch, and archeocommunologist/sober-communist, didn't have such long histories of thinking their leftist politics makes them immune from being misogynistic.

Far from confined to them, misogyny in Leftist movements has a long history. Indeed, much of Second Wave Feminism was driven by women who were frustrated with their sexism of male leaders of the male leftists leaders of 60's and 70's. For example?

Revolutionary movements, often preaching violence and imbued with machismo, lend themselves easily to chauvinism. Andreas Baader, who formed an eponymous West German terrorist organization in 1970 with feminist journalist Ulrike Meinhof, spoke of all women as “cunts.” Like Baader, who would be remembered solely as a criminal had he not adopted a revolutionary political agenda to justify his gang’s murder and bombing spree, the leaders of the Black Panther Party preached a more equitable world while subjugating the women in their midst. The party newspaper railed against abortion as “a victory for the oppressive ruling class who will use [abortion] to kill off Black and other oppressed people before they are born,” and the birth control pill as “another type of genocide that the power structure has poured into the Black community.” It once expelled a member for terminating a pregnancy, and according to historian Kate Coleman, the group “punished rank-and-file females for even minor ‘infractions’ by turning them out as prostitutes.” In his memoir Soul on Ice, Panther “Minister of Information” Eldridge Cleaver wrote of how he viewed rape as an “insurrectionary act.” After he “practiced” on black women, he moved onto white ones, as “it delighted me that I was defying and trampling upon the white man's law, upon his system of values, and that I was defiling his women.” Panther Party co-founder and “Minister of Defense” Huey Newton talked a good game when it came to female equality, publishing a letter in the party newspaper reproving sexism (and homophobia) and declaring “we recognize the women’s right to be free.” Yet Newton authorized the beating of the woman who managed the Panther Liberation School after she reprimanded a male colleague. Oh, and he murdered a 17-year-old prostitute because she referred to him as “baby.” ... As long as there has been misogyny on the left, women feminists have fought it. In 1970 -- the same year Andreas Baader founded his revolutionary cell and Leonard Bernstein was introducing Upper East Side society matrons to the Black Panthers – the feminist writer Robin Morgan wrote a groundbreaking essay entitled, “Goodbye to All That.” Taking on “the good guys who think they know what ‘Women’s Lib,’ as they so chummily call it, is all about – and who then proceed to degrade and destroy women by almost everything they say and do,” Morgan wrote that, “it hurts to understand that at Woodstock or Altamont a woman could be declared uptight or a poor sport if she didn’t want to be raped.” She attacked the Weathermen, the American analogue to Baader-Meinhof, “with the Stanley Kowalski image and theory of free sexuality but practice of sex on demand for males,” and the patriarchal attitudes prevalent among New Left organizations more broadly, waving “goodbye to the dream that being in the leadership collective will get you anything but gonorrhea.” 47 years later, her critique could be applied to Harvey Weinstein, who earnestly seemed to believe, at least in his initial apology, that a series of random liberal bromides condemning Donald Trump and the NRA immunized him from the charge of sexism.

[beefromanoff]

Dream Team

Tony Stark x OC (you)

this could be a one-shot or the beginning to a series...just let me know if you want me to continue! 🌶️

_______________________________________

Gunfire exploded all around me. 

Tony and I were outnumbered twenty to one. In my experience, that’s the most fair odds these guys were going to get. We stood at the top of a massive wooden, spiral stairwell on a small landing. Bullets splintered the wood all around us, I felt tiny lacerations in my cheeks and the exposed skin on my arms. Gritting my teeth, I raised my arms and looked at Tony. He caught my eye and nodded. 

He lifted his arms and a high pitched whine filled the air as he shot two light beams from the metal palms on his hands. I moved my fingers in the air, the light beams breaking from their straight path and following my guidance. The beams spiraled down the staircase, snaking through each of the gunmen one by one. They dropped like flies. It was almost too easy.

Once it had clicked that I could manipulate light and energy, just not create it, there was a general consensus that Tony and I would be paired for every mission possible. It just worked. 

We’d cleared the men out of our immediate line of sight, but experience taught me that didn’t mean anything. 

“Dozen more, about ten flights below, headed our way. Giddyup, kid.” Tony briefed me on the intelligence he undoubtedly just got from his suit. 

Just as I began to climb on the bannister, a small explosion rocked us backwards. I landed flat on my back on the hard ground, the wind fully knocked out of me. I groaned and forced myself to open my eyes, rolling to look for Tony. He’d been pushed back, but the thrusters on his boots kicked in and kept him upright. His helmet, however, had been blown completely off. Dark hair, tousled. Eyes, vaguely irritated. The only person I know who would look vaguely irritated after nearly getting their head blown off. He held a metal hand out to me, pulling me to my feet. 

Tony, Iron Man, flew over the bannister and hovered just below the railing. I boosted myself onto the railing and dropped onto his shoulders, my thighs on either side of his now exposed neck. We descended slowly down the middle of the staircase, both of our arms raised in preparation for attack. 

Both of us were on high alert, now having lost the luxury of FRIDAY in Tony’s ear. I could already hear Cap’s “I told you so” when we got back for the briefing. He was a huge proponent of self-sufficiency and not being reliant on technology. Most of the time we’d just give him shit because he was a tech-averse old man, but in this case, he was right. 

I closed my eyes and focused on the energy in the room. I felt my hearing perk up as I honed in on the sound waves around us. The hum of Tony’s suit. The sound of my heartbeat. The burning of the thrusters. The light shuffle of combat boots on sawdust. 

“Tony. Ten o’clock. Now.” 

He raised his hands and fired. Moving my hands fluidly, I sent the beam around the staircase below us, hearing satisfying yells as the men were all taken out. We descended more rapidly now that any cover was blown. I pulled my hands toward my body and spread my palms flat in the air, the blue beam of light coming close to us and flattening into a translucent shield. 

Tony fired a few more times from behind the shield, taking out any stragglers. When we approached the bottom of the staircase, I dropped my hands, letting the shield down. 

“I told you not to call me kid.” I knotted my fingers in Tony’s hair, conveniently right between my legs, and tugged. 

“Ow, okay, don’t take it out on my abnormally full head of hair.” His boots touched down gently on the ground. Instead of hopping off of his shoulders, I decided to have a little fun in honor of another successful mission. I pinched the tip of my glove between my teeth and slid my hand out. Reaching around to the front of his face, I cupped Tony’s jaw, stubble pricking the palm of my hand. My thumb ran along his lower lip, instantly relaxing when he felt my touch. I tugged down, parting his lips. His tongue slid over the tip of my thumb before gently biting down. 

“Having flashbacks, already?” He dropped his right shoulder, sliding me off and into a bridal style carry. 

“I was going to call it a vision of the future.” I brought my hand to my own mouth and licked the outline of my thumb. 

He let out a low whistle as he gently deposited me on my feet. Pressing a thumb to his ear, he spoke into our comms system. 

“Dream team, ready for extraction, make it snappy. I’ve got business waiting for me.” His eyes never left mine. 

“Copy that, Mr. Stark. The Quinjet will be at the extraction point in t-30 seconds.”

We stepped outside the building just as the wind from the jet began to pick up. Leaves swirled around us and I held a hand up to cover my eyes from the dust. Trekking up the ramp, we were greeted with a familiar voice. 

“Excellent work, you two.” Nick Fury stood at the helm of the ship, Maria in the cockpit as our pilot. 

“Not that I don’t always love to see your face, Captain Hook, but why exactly are you here? I do recall inventing a groundbreaking software that made these things fully autonomous, say uh, last month.” Tony’s irritation was only mildly apparent as the suit disassembled around him. 

“Well, you see, it’s come to our attention that some members of the team, and I’m not gonna name names, can’t be trusted to be alone on a Quinjet without…Maria, what are the words I’m looking for?” 

“Without screwing each other’s brains out, sir.” She called from the cockpit. 

My cheeks flushed but I couldn’t help but grin. Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry, since when is it a crime to take care of my personal matters in my personal property? Also, correct me if I’m wrong,” He turned to me. “But, didn’t we just successfully collect all the intelligence we were sent in to get, with zero casualties and a total mission time of 47 minutes?” 

“46 minutes and 38 seconds.” I smirked, pulling two zip drives from the pouch on the side of my suit. 

“Mr. Stark, while we’re ever so grateful for your donation of the fleet,” Fury’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “They are, actually, SHIELD property. As with all SHIELD property, they are fully equipped with a comprehensive audio-visual system for security and training purposes. In other words, every single goddamn thing done or said in one of these is broadcast to our mission control and intelligence room and all 50 agents inside of it.” His voice had raised by the end of the sentence. 

I chewed on my lower lip to keep from laughing. Glancing at Tony, I could tell he felt equally as shameless. 

“Well, that would have been prudent to mention in the briefing.” 

“You think we have to tell any of the other Avengers not to fuck in the Quinjet?” Fury asked incredulously. 

“Cap and Barnes? Romanoff and Banner? I feel targeted, personally.” He strode over to the small fridge and tossed me a water. 

“Likewise,” I sat in one of the large bucket seats at the front of the jet. “I’m feeling very violated by my employer. I think I’m going to need to speak to human resources.” 

“Your concerns are very serious, why don’t you come to my office when we get back and we can address them expeditiously.” Tony sat across from me. 

“I think that’s best.” I winked. 

“Good God almighty, you’re like motherfuckin’ rabbits. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, my ass.” Fury sat down next to Maria, who was failing to fight a grin. 

When we landed at the compound, I could feel eyes on Tony and I from every side as we crossed the tarmac towards the equipment room. 

“Should I feel embarrassed?” I said, under my breath as we walked along. 

“Eh, you get used to it.” He shrugged. “Believe it or not, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve accidentally made a sex tape.”

“I know.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “How do you think I knew you’d like it when I-” 

“Briefing in fifteen, upstairs. Get your suits to the equipment team for repairs beforehand.” Fury interrupted. “Don’t be late.” 

The door slid shut behind him, leaving us standing in the expanse locker room, decorated with the most advanced superhero garb modern technology can create. 

“Fifteen minutes?” I grinned, lifting my hair off of my neck so Tony could unzip me. 

“Ten more than I need.”

[terushimooo]

furudate drew this manga panel with all the coaches with you in mind

This is so hot, fr. The energy given off by... literally all the coaches here????

Unreal. Illegal...

ILLEGAL!

I’m out here manifesting Washijo yelling at me, only for Keishin to lead me to the greasy, grimy old pair of besties waiting to dish out my punishment ♡

I mean hello??! LOOK AT THEM!! LOOK AT ALL OF THEM!!!

So mean, so stressed, so sexy, heh.

I WANT THEM ALL!!!

And, I mean, Goshiki and Tendo can watch... of course ♡

COACH GANGBANG FIC WHEEEENNNNN?!?!? WHHHHEEENNNN??!?!? WHHHHHHEEENNNNN?!?!?!??!?!

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

[giorno-plays-piano]

Can I request a dark king Steve and inexperienced princess please? Thank you❤❤

First of all, I’m so sorry it took me so much time to finish this request. However, I’m very grateful to you for it because it made me remember my favorite mini-series Gormenghast 😌💖 Hope you’re going to enjoy this!

Boy in the castle

Pairing: king!Steve Rogers x princess!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, death of minor characters, forced marriage, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2430.

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When coup d'etat had happened - for the first time in centuries - your old nanny almost had a heart attack, locking you two in your chamber high up in the tower and barricading the window. The bastard boy would kill you, she kept repeating over and over until your head hurt. He is wicked as the Devil himself, she said, holding a heavy fireplace poker in her old shaky hands as a weapon. He will stab you in the back as he did to your royal father or poison you like he poisoned the Queen. 

That time you thought it would be much easier to push you throw the window and make you fall from the tower instead. Why bother with a knife or a poison? But you didn’t voice over your thoughts to your old nanny, knowing well her old heart wasn’t strong enough for this conversation. Strangely, you felt nothing hearing of the death of your parents. From your books you knew people were ought to mourn their families, but sadness had never come to you, anyway. Could it be because you only saw the King and Queen several times a year since you had been three years old? Maybe so.

Nevertheless, your nanny kept talking and talking about the dangers waiting for you outside of your room: the new King would murder anyone who posed a threat to him, and he had most likely already killed your younger brother, a true heir to the throne. You shrugged your shoulders at her words in return - you saw the boy as much as you did your parents. Despite being both a princess and King’s and Queen’s firstborn, most of the time you were confined to your chamber up in the tower where the only one serving you was your old nanny, a woman who had been taking care of you since the time you were born. You only encountered other people on special occasions like your honored brother’s birthday or the first day of a new year when you were allowed to leave your chamber.

You couldn’t feel sorry for those the new King had killed - the one who had never felt compassion from others barely knew what it meant to care about another human being. Of course, you loved your nanny, that foolish old woman who still slapped your back hard if you didn’t sit straight in your chair while reading, but you had long found peace with the thought that one day she would die, too, leaving you all alone. You weren’t scared of that. You had always been alone, locked away and forgotten even by the faithful servants of the King.

Maybe that was why you weren’t worried about being killed by the bastard boy who came to power. Being backstabbed certainly wasn’t pleasant, but it was a quick death, maybe even an easy one: in some books you read people were skinned alive or burnt at the stake, and you imagined it to be much more painful.

Silly girl, your nanny had told you then, weakened by the lack of food - it was the second day of your imprisonment after coup d'etat. The new King could do so much worse things to you, the only woman belonging to the old royal dynasty.

At the end of the third day when you were delirious from lack of water, the guards had broken down the heavy wooden door of your chamber, and a shy little maid got in, carrying a large tray of food. The new King had probably picked the poison, you thought then when the girl poured water right into your mouth and it run on your dry, parched lips. moistening your skin and hair. She fed you some chicken soup while the guards forced the food down your nanny’s throat. Oddly, neither her no you died that day.

What could the bastard boy possibly want from you, your nanny asked over and over again, passing from one corner of your chamber to the other while you cleaned yourself in a metal basin filled with cold water. Wasn’t he supposed to kill you like all other members of the royal family? You thought so, too, but didn’t speak out loud to the old woman, knowing of her poor nerves.

When several man dressed as court attendants came to your chamber in a week, they announced your marriage to the new King, and a few maids assigned to you took your screaming and cursing old nanny away, assuring you no one would harm her. You, on the other hand, were brought to the castle, an army of maids following you to what they said was your new chamber, a large room with several windows and walls decorated with peculiar floral paintings. It was beautiful, but you felt you missed that small room high up in the tower with no one but your old foolish nanny by your side.

The new King was fearsome yet fair to the ones under his control, the maids told you, all eager to speak to you as you were left alone by the guards. He was a kitchen boy once, they said, a bastard son of some lady’s maid who left him right after giving birth, afraid to be punished by her mistress. Weak and ugly with his body like a twig, the boy was smart enough to rise in his ranks over years, becoming the servant of the court magician - you saw him once or twice on your brother’s birthday celebrations, you thought. Weaving his net around all right people of the royal court for years, in the end Steven Rogers overthrew the old King, the man who cared about no one but himself, and the Queen who was more worried about her cats rather than her people dying of hunger.

The new King was a good man, all of them told you once they bathed and clothed you, combed your wild hair and put some flower oil behind your ears and on your wrists. It was good he decided to marry you, the one forgotten even by your people.

Be nice to him, they warned you before escorting you to his chambers, be gentle and choose your words right when speaking to him, and then you’ll be safe and sound. The new King wasn’t a bad man, oh no, he just suffered so much inside the castle walls.

When you entered his chambers, the ones belonging to your father before, you saw so much light coming from open windows it made you hold you breath for a second. You had only been here once - on the day when your brother, the successor to the throne, was born - yet you still remembered how dark and gloomy was the room lit by dozens of candles smelling like pig fat. It was so odd to see the same room that looked so different now.

The man standing up from a heavy mahogany desk turned towards you, and you saw his handsome face: his eyes were of dark blue color like the twilight sky; his skin pale but cheeks a bit rosy as if he had just returned from outside; when you saw his full lips, you thought they were too sensual for a man, though not that you knew much about men, anyway. Truly, the new King looked like he belonged here - maybe even more than your father, old as ancient skies, with his back hunched and crooked. He wasn’t dressed in a heavy dark mantle of your father but in an embroidered and slashed doublet, ankle-length breeches fastened with points, a sword of your father hanging by the man’s side. Oh, he looked so much more like an Ancient King than your father ever did.

“People said you are ugly.” You said, watching his face with curiosity and tilting your head to the side - your old nanny hated this habit of yours. “But I don’t think it is true.”

“I have been ugly.”

He didn’t speak loudly, yet you heard his low voice perfectly clear in the silence of this huge chamber, his expression calm but eyes unsettling.

“But one day I have drunk the potion the court magician prepared for your father, Your Highness.”

Funny, you thought, coming a little closer - you struggled to walk in this heavy crimson dress with many layers, the neckline adorned with precious stones generously. It was probably one of your mother’s dresses she never wore.

Watching his dark blonde hair shining in the sunlight, suddenly you remembered something, something you had long forgotten, and you stopped, watching the blue eyes that now seemed familiar. A little boy with his body so feeble he could get swept away by the wind. No, no, he couldn’t be. It was impossible.

“You’re the boy who fell off the Moon.” You stared at him with your eyes wide, your lips slightly open as you saw the little guy whose name you didn’t remember - the one who had fell on your balcony when you lived in the castle for a couple of months while your chamber in the tower was being repaired.

He was a funny boy, skinny as a rail with his hands so white you thought he had always been cold. When he turned up on your balcony, you had been reading and almost screamed at the loud sound of him falling. Gladly, you didn’t make a sound - the guards were everywhere in the castle, and they’d surely take him.

You remembered the boy saying he was a moon knight, showing you how he handled the invisible sword he carried and, once you two sat in front of the fireplace, he told you many stories of all places he visited and things he saw. Gladly, he disappeared before your nanny showed up, carrying a tray of food in her shaky hands, but the boy came the next day, and then the day after that, and after that one, too. He kept coming for seven more days before the reparation of your chamber had been completed, and you moved back. Sadly, he couldn’t get to the Tower, saying the angle wasn’t right to jump off the Moon.

“Yes, Your Highness. I am the boy you let into your room years ago.”

A part of you refused to believe him - the new King is too big and handsome to be the little boy whose arms were so skinny you thought you could see his bones through the skin. Besides, for many years you kept thinking the Moon knight was just a dream you saw. But what if the new King told you the truth? What if it was him?

“I remember standing on one knee in front of you and pretending giving you an invisible ring as something to remember me by when I’d return to the Moon.” His face lightened up for a couple of seconds, and suddenly you saw the familiar twinkley eyes and that shy little smile when the new King curled his lips. “Isn’t it peculiar I have been thinking about those days with you when the Royal Chef whipped me till my back bled? When I was strangling him, all I thought was the day when I see you again, Your Highness.”

Uneasiness washed over you once you heard the man talking. Living alone in the tower, you knew very little of a life in the castle, but you knew murdering someone was wrong. 

“Why did he whip you?” You asked, furrowing your brows when the man in front of you chuckled. “You killed him for that, right?”

“I killed him because he was the most disgusting son for a bitch you’d ever met, dear princess.”

You winced at his harsh words: your old nanny had never even once sworn in your presence except the day when the new King killed your father, but, of course, the man in fancy clothes knew nothing of etiquette and good manners. 

“I’ve killed the court magician, too.” The new King continued, marching to you like one of the guards you saw once in a while, and you felt the urge to retreat to your room immediately. “I’ve killed much more people, your father and mother, too, and I don’t regret it even the slightest bit.”

You made a step back, looking at his face growing darker once he sensed your fear, and you were on the verge of running away the very next moment, thinking he was going to murder you, too.

“Are you scared now, princess? Do you know what I’ve done to get so far? Do you understand who owns the castle, your tower, even you, Your Highness?” With each question he was getting closer and closer until you showed him your back and sprinted towards the heavy doors beside you, clenching your dress and lifting it up to move faster. “Do you know what I’ll do to you, darling?”

You didn’t, and you had no desire to figure it out, finally reaching the door when the man beside you pushed your body into the wood with his, his hands on the door, preventing you from leaving.

“I’ve lied and cheated; I’ve drank the potion that broke every bone in my body and healed them back; I’ve killed your father and all those who stood in my way.” His words turned into a low, guttural growl as he pressed your body into the wood. “I’ve did everything to own this goddamn castle that made me feel so unhappy, so miserable and pathetic. I loathe this place. I loathe you. God, I loathe you so much.”

He was going to kill you. Dear Lord, you should have listened to your old nanny.

“You made my feel like I was someone. It was because of you I couldn’t stay just a kitchen boy. I wanted to have what you nobles had. I wanted to control all the ones who looked down on me.” He nuzzled into your hair, and you felt his firm touch on your shoulders. “God, I wanted to have you, but, unless I had the castle, I couldn’t get to you, princess. Do you know what I’ve done to get here? Do you have the slightest idea, darling?”

“Please, don’t.” You whispered quietly, afraid to raise your voice as you felt his angry breath on your skin.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, for I’m too far gone.” Moving your dress up in haste, the new King put his knee in between your legs, ignoring your whimper. “Whatever you have, I’ll take.”

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @lovelydarkdaydream @ninefuckingoneone @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Dramione RomCom Fest (Part 1)

Dramione RomCom Fest 2020:

12 Years and 3 Months by pixiedustandbluebutterflies - T, one-shot - As news of their engagement takes Wizarding England by storm, elusive power couple Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are finally sharing their love story in this Witch Weekly interview!

50 (First) Dates with Hermione Granger by HufflepuffMommy - G, WIP - Draco Malfoy sets his heart on romancing Hermione Granger, but she has short-term memory loss; she can't remember anything that happened the day before. So every morning, Draco has to woo her again. Her friends are very protective, and Draco must convince them that he's in it for love. Plot (andsummary) taken from the movie "50 First Dates" for the Dramione RomCom fest!

About Time by WordsmithMusings - E, WIP - When Draco's Father reveals to him that the men in their family have the ability to travel back in time, he uses his newfound gift to do many things - save a life, be a better friend, reconnect with a witch, and fall in love.

All's well that ends well (to end up with you) by weestarmeggie - M, one-shot - Hermione Granger is all set to be the maid of honor at her best friends wedding. She is taken back when she finds out that the best man is none other than her ex-fiance.

Away by In_Dreams - E, WIP - Desperate for a change of pace, Hermione unknowingly commits to a home exchange with Pansy Parkinson and finds herself swept up in the chaos of New York City and into the arms of Draco Malfoy. Dramione/Hansy. Loosely inspired by The Holiday.

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19 - T, WIP - Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn't fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer.

Chasing the Future by Rdlentz8 - T, WIP - An unusual and anonymous Patronus finds a frustrated Hermione alone in the library and talks to her about being lonely. Could this be the push she's needed to change her fate? Inspired by A Cinderella Story. There are direct quotes from A Cinderella Story.

Domino Effect by KoraKwidditch - M, WIP - Resolved to live her life in Muggle London, Hermione Granger finally felt free. Free from the Ministry, free from her celebrity status and everything that entailed. But who knew that one cataclysmal incident would lead her straight into the Malfoy's den and down a series of unfortunate events? At least they think she's a Muggle.**A Dramione retelling of While You Were Sleeping**

Fairytales and Wishes by Charlie9646 - T, one-shot - All Scorpius wants is for Hermione to be a nice step mother, but somehow that sort of gets lost in translation with his accidental magic.

Flipping Through the Pages by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns - T, WIP - Draco Malfoy had a fascination with a popular book series and its writer. His life changes when he meets her.

The Hate List by bethelson - T, WIP - While chaperoning the post graduation trip, Hermione and Draco find themselves wandering the streets of Paris in the middle of the night, fruitlessly searching for the seventh years they were supposed to be in charge of. What Hermione doesn’t know, is that those seventh years struck a bargain with Draco to keep her occupied so they could sneak out for a last hurrah before they all head back to London. So in his efforts to derail her search, he convinces her to join him in their own night of frivolity. As they paint the city red, they slowly learn to let their guards down, and find that putting the past behind them allows them to finally focus on the present. ___ My contribution to the Dramione RomCom Fest!

Hollywood & Vine by dreamsofdramione (Bugggghead), msmerlin - M, WIP - As the manager of an occult bookstore currently renting a room from an old friend and living paycheck to paycheck, Hermione wasn’t exactly living the Hollywood dream. But her life is turned upside down when a chance encounter with Tinseltown’s current heartthrob, Draco Malfoy, leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about life and love. or the one in which Hermione unintentionally falls in love with a movie star.

Home is Where the Heart Is by lrs002 - T, one-shot - A rewrite and Draco/Hermione look at basically the last scenes of the movie Sweet Home AlabamaOr in the other words: The Wedding and the Kiss

How to Lose a Wizard in 10 Days by GracefulLioness - E, WIP - Hermione will do anything to prove to her boss at Witch Weekly that she's ready to take on more serious topics, including dating a man just to drive him away for the sake of her next column, How to Lose a Wizard in 10 Days. But pushing Draco Malfoy away proves to be a challenging task, perhaps because he's got ten days to make her fall in love with him. Inspired by How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

It Happened One Knight by Klawdee - T, WIP - “A spoiled heir running away from his family is helped by an old classmate, who is actually a journalist in need of a story.” Based off of the 1934 film, It Happened One Night

It's All In The Malfoy Family by TwilightToMidnight - M, one-shot - Over a decade of longing and desire comes to fruition one night. Not quite the way Hermione expected but definitely with a bang. Everyone and their dog seem to be working against her. For the 2020 Dramione RomCom Fest. Loosely based off Sabrina (1954 - with Audrey Hepburn).

Love, Actually in Dramione by Blessedindeed - G, one-shot - I absolutely love the movie "Love, Actually" and was so excited to make some art pieces from a few of the more memorable scenes! Many thanks and kudos to QuinTalon & NuclearNik for hosting and being such amazing encouragers to everyone! I cannot wait to dive into all these fun pieces!!

Love, Hermione by pandora_rose_xo - G, WIP - When Hermione leaves some personal letters lying around in a sleepy haze, Dobby comes across them, and trying to be helpful delivers them to their recipients. Who were never supposed to see them.

Metamorphosis by persephone_stone - T, WIP - Draco Malfoy is king of Hogwarts High—student body president, captain of both the water polo and basketball teams, and boyfriend of Astoria Greengrass, the hottest girl in school. That is, until said girlfriend returns from Spring Break with some unexpected news: she’s dumping him for a college boy. Now, Draco is on a mission to win her back. And who better to help him turn into a more intellectual, cultured version of himself than Hermione Granger, the smartest girl in school? As he and Hermione spend time together, will Draco learn how to be the right type of boyfriend for Astoria? Or will he instead learn that maybe Astoria is not the right type of girl for him? Written for the Dramione RomCom Fest, based on the 90’s teen romcom She’s All That.

Midnight in Paris by Aneiria - E, one-shot - ‘Granger,’ Draco replied, casting a quick wandless charm to clean his own clothes. ‘Want to watch the magic you’re casting next time? Whatever spell that was, it nearly took both of us out.’ Hermione’s face settled into a frown of confusion. ‘I thought that was you,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘I wasn’t using magic.’ They both looked away at the same time, taking in their surroundings. ‘Where are we?’ Hermione wondered out loud, as she spun on the spot and took in the sights. It was the wrong question, really.

My Big Fat Muggle Wedding by BiscuitsForPotter - G, one-shot - Draco's gotten more used to having Muggles as future-in-laws, but what about his parents?

No More Waiting by anchoredto717 - T, one-shot - The end of Hogwarts, an impending Mastery, and confirmation that Hermione is well and truly over Ronald Weasley: three factors that push Draco into a place he never imagined. Is he really going to Harry Potter’s house party? A one shot heavily inspired by the 90s teen classic, Can’t Hardly Wait.

Off the Rails by RoseHarperMaxwell - E, WIP - For the Dramione RomCom Fest 💚 My adaptation of the movie Trainwreck (Amy Schumer/Bill Hader), featuring Draco in Amy's role. “Pans.” Draco’s head falls back petulantly. “I can't interview Granger, especially not about how she's healing Potter. Neither of them are going to want to talk to me. Make Creevey do it.” “No, you'll do it. And don't sulk at me, Draco.” Pansy shuts him down immediately, not that he expected to talk her out of it. She gives assignments, not suggestions. “Old Quidditch rivalries. Gryffindor Princess confiding in the Prince of Slytherin, with a side of The Boy Who Lived. You’re the only one for it.” She drops her pen on her notepad with finality. “She’s also fit as hell now. I’d even fuck her, so our readers will be drooling over her. This is easy, Draco. Don’t fuck it up.”

One Thing We've Got by IrisCalasse - M, WIP - Over a decade after the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy is a broke socialite straddling the Muggle and magical worlds. One day a new neighbour moves in his residential complex. What has happened to Hermione Granger to make her hide from Ronald Weasley? If Cormac McLaggen is gay, why is he hanging around Granger so much? And why does her cat seem to know way too much about everything? Based on the plot of Breakfast at Tiffany's, but set in 2012 London with a magical twist. Updates every 16th of the month.

Pin down your heart by hiyas - G, one-shot - Hermione Granger contemplates a door when Destiny comes knocking.

Playing Cupid by tygermine - T, one-shot - Set It Up AU.

Pretty Witch by TakingFlight48 - E, WIP - When confronted with the opportunity to take on an alter ego - Hermione Granger, Potion's Mistress and the Wizarding World's Golden Girl became Vivian Roberts - London's weekend escort. For three years she lived in this duality until Draco Malfoy, lost in Soho and driving a precious DB6, wound up uncovering her secret. This is the tale of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy finding a balance between work and love through the guise of fake dating, unacknowledged feelings, and Hermione not wanting to let go of a part of herself that is no longer serving her.

Promises, Promises by Musyc - T, one-shot - Lawyer and social work advocate Hermione Granger is one signature away from fulfilling her dream to have a house-elf education program. All she needs is to seal the deal, and Draco Malfoy has promised the full support of Malfoy and Son Developments. But the owner of the property is balking, there's a new buyer in the mix, and a promise isn't a contract.

The Proposal by FaeOrabel - M, WIP - When Head of Creatures Division of the DMLE, Hermione Granger, is pushed into a corner regarding a new marriage law she doesn't want to comply with, she gets the brilliant idea to stage an engagement with her long time, loyal assistant, Draco Malfoy. Draco goes along with the charade on the condition she gets him promoted to a new position. A deal set, they prepare to fool not only the Minister of Magic, but Hermione's best friend, and Draco's entire family. What could go wrong? Just the threat of Azkaban should they fail.

PS I love you by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - M, WIP - After a tragic accident, Hermione must reintroduce Draco to a life they've built far away from home. She recieves unexpected help in a series of letter written by Draco himself before the accident...

Regrets Only by nztina - T, WIP - Draco and Hermione are the best of friends - until Hermione goes off to teach at Hogwarts and Draco realises that he doesn’t just miss her. Upon her return to London, he intends to reveal his feelings, but she has a surprise of her own, one that will definitely put a damper on Draco’s plans. Draco. Hermione. And...Hermione’s fiancé?

Restless in Ripon by QuinTalon - T, WIP - Scorpius Malfoy wants his father to be happy again and as his grandfather often told him, a Malfoy always gets what he wants. A nosy radio host, well-meaning friends, and fate will help bring two lonely souls together. Well, that and one tenacious eight-year-old.

Rushing Back by floorcoaster - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy is thirty, surviving, and very much not thriving. He's near the utter end of himself when he experiences the worst of all possible bad days--a double betrayal that rocks him to his core. Unmoored, untethered, he winds up in a strange place, where he begins an adventure through time that will change the course of his life. A time travel fic with a twist on the movie "13 Going on 30."

Say Anything by MidnightValkyrie - G, 9 Chapters - To know Draco Malfoy is to love him. Hermione Granger is about to know Draco Malfoy. Written and created for the Dramione RomCom Fest, based on Say Anything.

She's the Snake by monsterleadmehome - E, WIP - In a universe where Voldemort never came back, Harry lives with Sirius, and Dumbledore isn't dying, the worst thing the Golden Trio has to contend with is their grades and Quidditch matches... oh, and the recent magical attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Harry is sure Malfoy had something to do with it, and though Hermione doesn't agree, her sarcastic offer somehow turns into her latest nightmare: to go undercover as a boy in the Slytherin dorms and find out what's really going on. And maybe throw a Quidditch game or two. But there's one thing she hasn't prepared for: falling in love with the boy she's supposed to be spying on.

Signed and Sealed by niffizzle - M, WIP - She owns a children's bookstore. He runs a corporation buying significant shares of small businesses. Never in their lives have Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy gotten along — or so they think.

Timing is Everything by anne_ammons - M, 7 Chapters - Draco Malfoy is your average bachelor living an average bachelor's life, until he crosses paths with his former classmate, Hermione Granger. Strike that - when has Draco Malfoy ever been average? A retelling of the 1994 movie, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Dramione-style.

A Trip to Kouloura Beach by rennaissance_woman - one-shot - A day at the beach, what could happen?

The Truth About Kneazles and Crups by samkablam7 - T, WIP - When Draco Malfoy started hosting his wizarding radio show The Truth About Kneazles and Crups, he had no idea that it would bring Hermione Granger back into his life. He also didn't know that they would both be interested in each other. The only problem? She thinks that the radio host she's interested in is his best friend and Pro-Quidditch-player-wannabe, Blaise Zabini.

Untitled Marital Crisis Comedy by Darlingheart - G, one-shot - Draco is rich, handsome, and most importantly, excellent with the ladies. Harry Potter is not. Which is where Draco comes in. With Draco’s help Harry will learn there’s more to life than being a one-woman man. But what happens when Draco meets someone who changes his mind? And what does Hermione Granger have to do with it...

A Woman of Some Dignity by mcal - G, one-shot - That seemed to get his attention. “What are you—of course I respect you, you daft witch!”

“Your actions today show the opposite!” I answered. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m a woman of some dignity and I’d like to shower in peace. You’ll kindly wait half an hour before Apparating back to my flat.”  Hermione's not one for diaries, but it's been a week to say the least. It all started off with a confusing meeting with Draco Malfoy in her office, and... well, Hermione thought maybe recording her thoughts on the events would help her process. She isn't wrong.

You lost and lonely, You just like heaven by Wake_The_Dragon - T, WIP - Dramione Romcom Fest. Hermione Granger had needed something new and a change of scenery was a good start. What she hadn't counted on was renting a flat with an annoying (if handsome) ghost, who claims he isn't dead. Somehow, helping out a ghost and falling in love were two things she hadn't bargained for.

You Wish by Talonwillow (Ehollis303) - T, WIP - What makes a bad case of "Black Cat Flu" more tolerable? Young Perseus is learning that hearing about dueling, torture, revenge, giants, dementors, chases, true love, and miracles from his Grandfather Scorpius certainly makes things easier- If the man would finish the story that is. A story about love, where not even death can keep the beautiful feisty stable-girl and her sometimes irritating one true love apart. Together they must battle the evil Lord Voldemort through an adventure crossing the magical and fairy tale realm.

[simonxriley]

OC lore part 1 of 7 for @gear-redfield 

Since I have a ton of ocs I’m gonna start off with the ones that are in different fandoms and then work my way through the fandoms I have multiple ocs for. I think I’m gonna do 5-6 HCs for them so it won’t be a mile long. The other ocs I’ll go into more details (maybe).

Riley Sanders (Metro Series)

Has three Watchers for pets, they’re her babies. But there was barely any room on the Aurora for them until they ended up getting the other rail carts. They tend to sleep anywhere they want, mostly in place where they stop people from moving around the train. 

She’s not very talkative, likes to keep to herself for the most part. The people she talks with the most is Ulman, Artyom, Anna and Duke. That was until Katya and Nastya joined them. 

Being able to breathe fresh air was kind of liberating for her. It made her happy that there were placing where you can live and breathe on the surface, not stuck in the dark, cold and damp metro. 

Besides her and Ulman, Nastya was the first of the Aurora crew to hold their son. 

Her brother wasn’t with her when that whole issue on the train occurred. He has no idea if she’s alive or not and she vice versa. She’s hoping she’ll be able to see him soon and have him meet his new nephew. 

Amazing at stealth. Can sneak by a group or camp in a matter of minutes without killing anyone. 

Kenadee “The Viper” Taylor (Ghost Recon) 

She joined the US Army right out of high school with her high school sweetheart, Maverick. They married a year later and a year after that had their daughter Addison. 

Joined Delta Force at the age of 24. That whole selection process was rigorous but very rewarding. 

She has a very happy outlook on life, always bubbly. You wouldn’t think she’s apart of Delta. It throws people off every time. 

Lost her husband in the field when their daughter was 5 years old. She retired after that and moved back to her hometown of San Diego where she could raise their daughter in a better environment. 

Joined Nomad’s Ghosts five and a half years later. All thanks to Midas, who she met because their kids go to school together. 

Carries around a knife coated in snakes venom, only uses it during interrogations. 

Anja Kovic (Uncharted)

Was born to Borislav Kovic, a General Major in the Yugoslavia Ground Forces and Svetlana Kovic, a former nurse. Also the younger sister to Vladimir. 

She grew up in a highly abusive household under her fathers rule. He had that mindset of the men work and the woman stay home, then add on the strictness of being in a military family. 

Wanted to be a nurse growing up but those dreams got shot down when her father married her off to the war lord Zoran Lazarevic at the age of 18. 

Marriage to Zoran was horrific, she was just happy he spent more time in the field than with her. His death did not sadden her whatsoever. 

Lost her mother to suspicious circumstances when she was twelve. Leaving her and her older brother at the will of their father. 

After Zoran’s death she was finally free. She left for Serbia in search of finding her brother and during that time gave birth to her and unfortunately Zoran’s son, naming him Dragan. And yes, she did find her brother and became the nurse she always wanted to be. 

Evelyn “Evie” Hazelton (The Order 1886)

Was born to Edith Hazelton and an unnamed father in London, England on October 1st, 1860. (Her mom was a prostitute) 

She lived in a brothel up until her mom’s murder. She loved it, to be surrounded with so many women that helped her through her life, gave her advice and helped molded her into the woman she is today. 

Sir Percival/Malory gave her a spot on the Order after her mom’s death and she became the protege of Sir Galahad/Grayson. There she learned how to fight and shoot a gun. 

The first time she ever saw a werewolf she thought it was a big dog. It was late at night, she was young and couldn’t tell since it was in the far distance. 

Has a scar going down her back from being scratched by a werewolf during a fight. 

Very protective of the people she cares about. She was the only person who pleaded not guilty during Grayson’s trial because she knows him. She knew he wouldn’t have worked with the rebellion if it didn’t suit a good cause. 

Lydia Wilson (Call of Cthulhu) 

Her parents were apart of the cult that was trying to bring back Cthulhu. However, they left Darkwater when Lydia was five and moved to Boston. 

No matter how much her parents tried to make her forget the past, she didn’t. She still has memories of the cult, what the uniforms looked like, the masks. It never left her. 

Started hearing the voice of the Leviathan in her dreams once she hit her late 20′s. Eventually she caught wind of what he wanted and she set sail for Darkwater, a place she hasn’t been since she was five.  

Her father ran a tailoring shop and she helped a lot through her childhood. 

When she spaces out she has a resting bitch face. It makes her loo unapproachable according to her mother. 

The first time she saw the Shambler she though she was hallucinating. That wasn’t the case and she never wants to deal with it again. 

Lily (MCU)

Born on the planet Prometheus. A planet cover in lush green grass and waterfalls. 

Ever since she was a child she had this fight in her. She use to find a decent sized stick and pretend to fight a tree. 

Was married to Thanos for over 20 years. The only good that came out of it were her kids. 

Joined the Avengers after Thanos’ death. It was nice to be around people and strike up conversations. She just loved learning about Earth and she would talk about her home world. 

She was the first owner of the scepter until it was given to Loki. That made her angry, she really loved that scepter. 

The first person she befriended was Carol Danvers because her youngest daughter, Lotus really liked her. 

Ashlynn Davenport (Tomb Raider)

Was born into Trinity. Her father was a sergeant in the Trinity army and her mom was a nurse. 

She liked her life for the most part, loved her parents and friends, but the more she found out about Trinity and all the harm they do she wanted out. Unfortunately they didn’t happen when she was being married off to the Trinity field commander, Konstantin. 

Being married to Konstantin meant moving around a lot, never really staying in one place for too long. Once the mission was done then they moved on. She didn’t mind it, not at first. She liked traveling around and seeing the world, but the stuff Trinity did put a bad taste in her mouth. 

Ash can be quite manipulative when she wants to be. It was something she learned from her dad growing up. 

She helped Lara take down Trinity from the inside when they were looking for the divine source. No one figured it out, all of thinking it was Lara. 

Ashlynn actually loved Konstantin, she just thought his mind was corrupted by his sister and was trying to make him see what was right. So when he died she was pretty pissed and was going to say her true feeling to Ana. Unfortunately the Trinity sniper got to Ana first. Leaving her with a bunch of anger inside her. 

Sawyer Monrow (TLOU)

She was 12 at the time of when the cordycepts outbreak began. Her life was pretty great as well and then over night everything changed. 

Her family ended up at the Hartford QZ, where her and her younger brother went through military training (just like in Boston) to teach them how to kill infected and other humans if necessary. 

Met Joel and Ellie in Pittsburgh. She was with Henry and Sam at the time and after their deaths she stayed with them and made the trek to Jackson. 

She can be very standoff-ish at first glance. It’s how she acts in this apocalyptic world, more so to protect herself and because she doesn’t trust people. 

Started a relationship with Joel a year and a half later. He was the first person she really let in and was happy for the few years they were together. She even considers Ellie like a little sister. 

She lost her family when the Hartford QZ fell. She tried to save her brothers, but couldn’t. That still haunts her to this day. 

Phaedra Alexeyev (Werewolf The Apocalypse) 

She’s very good at backstabbing and manipulating people. All thanks to her former caern. A part of her hates it, but the other knows how in handy it can be. 

She was born at the Shadow Lords Thunderstrike Sept, Ural Mountains, Russia. Close to the city of Chelyabinsk. 

Phaedra and Cahal became a surrogate family after they both had to kill a family member. 

Always the first ready to jump into the action. When there’s a fight she’s on the front lines, she’s not going to miss out. And she just likes to fight in general. 

She born under a full moon making her have the Ahroun Auspices.The Full Moon makes the Ahroun the living weapon of Gaia. They are the warrior among a race of warriors, the champion of a martial people. Ever ready to kill, and to die if need be.

Her name means Bright Defender. 

Emma Ross (Stargate Atlantis)

Joined the Marines to help pay for her college tuition. She surprisingly enjoyed it and continued to serve as she got her degree in science. 

Lived a very mundane life growing up. Had two wonderful parents, a good upbringing, nothing exciting really happened. Which might have been the reason she joined the military. 

The hardest thing she has to do is lie to her friends and family when she was transferred over to the Atlantis expedition. Being so far away from them sucks, but with the Daedalus she has more of a chance to go visit them.   

As much as she’s in danger, she’s never felt more alive than being on Sheppard’s team. All the action just makes her blood pump. 

Ronon calls her ‘red’ due to her being a red head. She finds it kinda funny. 

She’s very friends and loves to strike up conversations whenever she can. Getting to know more people on Atlantis made living there easier. 

[thebluelemontree]

As a teenage girl, Sansan, Sanrion, and Sansa x Petyr are all gross to me. I don’t understand how ppl like you ship them because the scenes you guys read as romantic like Blackwater read to me as sexual assault. Even if Sansan got together when Sansa was older, I wouldn’t be able to see it as anything but successful grooming. Sandor is only 3 yrs younger than Petyr & he’s making sexual comments about a 12 year old’s breasts like men that have catcalled me. Her dreams are abt trauma, not romance.

First, let me say how sad I am to hear that you’ve been the target of catcalling especially at a young age. I’ve been in a situation where an older man used his position of power at a social gathering to trap me into hugging him so he could kiss me on the cheek. This was after another incident where he had put his hand on my thigh and I was actively trying to avoid him. I completely understand how icky and shaken it can make you feel when that kind of attention is aimed at you. It still sticks with me some 15 years later. And I know a lot of people in the Sansan community can relate as well from the stories I’ve heard from them. If I, or a lot of other Sansans I know, had been there when you were catcalled, that pervert would have had the fear of God put into him for messing with a kid like that. Men like that are absolute garbage.  

Your feelings are totally valid. I’m never going to say you shouldn’t feel a type of way about some ships. I have my squicks too. There are some ships I’m like *gag* “Nope, not for me.”   

I’m a little concerned, though, that you are seeking and engaging with fandom content that seems to really upset you and reminds you of your horrible experience. For your own well-being, I’m strongly advising that you don’t do this anymore for a number of reasons. Please, please, please take care of yourself first. There is nothing in fandom that is worth you having to relive experiences that have negatively impacted you. You can curate your dash to block out as many of those blogs (including mine), tags and keywords as possible. If you can’t stay away from it, you might need to ask yourself why that is. Another reason is that there are very unsavory types in anti circles that want to harness other people’s real life trauma and encourage them to believe it is their moral obligation to engage with potentially triggering content to fight against things like real life sexual assault, pedophilia, and predatory behavior. No real life victims are saved or helped by going after fandoms you find objectionable. If people in your circle are making it seem like you are being a good soldier in a noble cause by sending me an anon message like this, I would seriously think about what they want from you, why they aren’t concerned about your well-being first, and if this is a healthy way to be spending your time. Time you’re supposed to be enjoying things and having fun.  

Under normal situations, I would say if you wanted to understand why I shipped something, I’d say go through my sansan meta tag; however, I think we’ve established this is probably not a good idea for you. So don’t. You don’t need to understand me or anyone else in any of those other fandoms. Just walk away. 

I see that you could still potentially be a minor (under 18), which is why I’ve responded with patience and understanding. This is where I need to get a little stern with you.

I think we can both agree from your message and my response that harassment of any kind is not okay and it doesn’t feel very good to be on the receiving end, does it? So why do you think it’s okay to send people anon messages implying they are bad people for shipping fictional characters? I realize you could have worded it with far more incendiary accusations, and thank you for not doing that at least, but I can still feel your judgement and contempt for me personally. 

I just want you to know that I do not care what you think of me, my ship, other ships, or how you interpret the text.  Not even a little bit.  I don’t care what your interpretation of the Blackwater is because I disagree and I think you’re wrong. Period. I may feel empathy for you because of your horrible experience, but I do not care about anything else you said. I’ve already laid out my responses to interpretations like yourself in great detail in the past. I do not need to explain myself to you or anyone else any further. 

Furthermore, ASOIAF is not a series created for a kid or YA audience, even if it features young characters. It’s thoroughly adult content written by an adult for other adults. You enter at your own risk. We are not adult fans invading your underage fandom space with our ships. Absolutely no one is obligated to make their fandom a safe space for you. I can and will ship whatever the hell I want, and I don’t care how it makes you feel, when you are not taking any responsibility in curating your own dash. I am not your parent. I am not responsible for you. I don’t owe you safety and protection from shit that offends you. And it shows great audacity on your part to come seek me out instead of spending time on blogs that make you happy to complain that you don’t like how I keep my house and foist your unsolicited opinion and judgement on me. 

Honestly, for you own good, I hope you are taking this to heart to cease harassing blogs in the future and potentially doing yourself harm by engaging with content that upsets you. It’s totally 100% fine for you to not like certain ships for whatever reasons you want. You can rail against them all you want on your own blog if that’s how you like to spend your time. By all means, block me if you haven’t already, but knock off the anon bullshit and leave people alone. 

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #252: DECIDING FACTOR!

February, 1985

Who on Earth is strong enough to smash Hercules? Hint: there’s two of them!

Well I have my guess but I happened to guess right so I won’t be sharing. Let’s sayyyyyyyy.... Más y Menos.

Its very rude of DCAU’s Más y Menos to be picking on Hercules. Maybe sí podemos but that doesn’t mean ustedes should.

Anyway.

Last times on Avengers, Vision walked through a null field created by Annihilus and promptly fell in a robot coma and had to be put in a tube. He regained consciousness and Starfox hooked him up to the Titan supercomptuer ISAAC after which Vision started behaving oddly. When half of the Avengers got back from Secret Wars, Vision convinced Wasp to step down as chairman and nominate him. He’s created a second branch of the team in California under Hawkeye’s leadership. He’s pushed the president into making the Avengers chair a member of the Cabinet. He hid Starfox’s secret sexy power from the rest of the team. And just last issue, it was revealed that Vision and ISAAC have built a take-over-the-world-for-its-own-good device with Vision only lacking the will to pull the trigger on it.

So, uh, stuff is afoot.

Vision stuff. And, oddly enough, Doc Sampson stuff.

Vision is very impressed on seeing what seems to be Doc Sampson’s demo reel and offers him membership in the Avengers.

Doc Sampson turns him down because he doesn’t see himself as hero material and he already accepted an offer to join the faculty of Northwestern University.

Vision: “That needn’t rule you out, doctor! What would you say to heading a new, Midwestern branch of the Avengers? I should think you’re make an excellent group leader!”

Wow, Vision. You’re coming on a little strong there.

Midwest Avengers seems like the kind of thing that would be made up to spoof the expansion team idea, kinda like the Great Lakes Avengers of later. But if Vision seems desperate to get Doc Sampson to join the Avengers, well I think he is desperate.

Vision talked to ISAAC of his frustrations on trying to spread the power and influence of the Avengers. He has his take-over-the-world-for-its-own-good device but he doesn’t seem to want to use it. So he’s trying to repeat the trick with the West Coast Avengers. Sign up more and more Avengers. If you told this era of Vision about the 50 State Initiative, he’d be all over it.

But Doc Sampson turns him down. For the best. God only knows who Vision would have finagled into being on the Midwest Avengers in Chicago.

Doc Sampson: I wonder if I made a mistake in turning down the Vision’s offer? Being part of such a team would have given me an opportunity to observe some highly unusual psyches up close. But, no... I could hardly maintain an impartial detachment in such a situation.

Yeah. A Doc Sampson led Chicago-branch would have been an implosion waiting to happen. And Sampson will get his chance to pick the brains of a superhero team later with X-Factor. He does not maintain an impartial detachment.

On his way out, Starfox very much wants to discuss this newspaper headline. As he’s from a more advanced space civilization that doesn’t have prejudice probably, this is very baffling to him.

He hasn’t been on Earth long enough to learn that “ANTI-MUTANT FEAR GRIPS U.S.” is Tuesday.

I wonder if it corresponds to anything going on in the X-books. I tried to look it up but the same month as this issue, X-Men was doing a Kulan Gath thing.

Anyway, Vision and Doc Sampson agree that anti-mutant fear gripping things is bad and could tear society apart.

So in case anyone was ever wondering: the Avengers officially think anti-mutant fear is whack.

Anyway, on the mansion’s back patio, Captain America and Scarlet Witch are just having some old friend hangout time.

It’s a nice moment, really.

Wanda is drinking tea and Cap is just sketching her because they’re comfortable enough friends to hang out in a tea sketch party.

Anyway, Cap is also familiar enough with Wanda to know that she’s well vexed.

And she admits that she’s well vexed by two things. Of course, by the new wave of anti-mutant phobia because it really seems like a cruel cycle where every time people seem like they’re chilling out or there’s a swell of tolerance, it just gets yanked back. A cruel yo-yo of intolerance.

Also, its happening when she’s having personal trouble with Vision. He’s keeping secrets and he has some really extreme moods.

Scarlet Witch: “One moment he’ll be friendly and open, and the next he’ll get so remote!”

I wonder if its possible for Hank Pym’s bipolar disorder to have skipped a generation and somehow been inherited by Vision. That’s entirely not how anything works but I dunno. That sounds like Hank.

Since Cap has been wondering about Vision’s behavior (he and Monica Marvel had a discussion about it in the previous issue, remember?), he agrees to go talk to Vision.

Vision is having solemn thoughts in the mansion’s library, having been upset by the Daily Bugle that Starfox was waving around.

Vision: The world is beset by so much strife. Humanity cries out for peace... Yearns for life and prosperity... but in the end it denies itself that which it most desires! Mankind might never put aside its prejudices. Too many have refused responsibility for their own actions. How can they be expected to save the world? And, yet, who am I -- a synthezoid, an artificial being -- to rail against men of flesh? My encephalatron command chair would give me the power to bring peace to the world... and yet I hesitate to use it! Can I find the courage... make the sacrifice necessary to use that power?

That’s when Cap wanders in to give Vision a talking to. A supportive, helpful talking to.

Since he assumes that what Vision has on his mind is the burdens of leadership, he confides that he knows how tough it can be to have to always make the right decision at a moment’s notice and that he’s here if Vision needs a sympathetic ear.

Vision admits that chairmanship isn’t what he expected. He’s not unaware of the strain that its putting on his marriage. Especially since he insisted that they rejoin the team when Wanda would have preferred to return to their civilian life in New Jersey.

Cap tells him just talk to her more, ya goof.

So this is a very nice conversation between friends and peers that Vision drops a bomb of a totally-a-hypothetical into.

Vision: “Cap, what would you do if you discovered that you could bring peace and prosperity to the entire world... but only at the cost of your personal well being, perhaps of your own existence?”

Cap: “What?!”

Vision: “We have all put our lives on the line many times to stop world-threatening menaces, but it occurs to me that we’ve seldom tried to do anything to cure the world of its ills.”

Cap: “We do what we can, Vision. There are no fast and simple ways to eliminate want or fear.”

Vision: “But what if there were a way to insure a lasting peace to the world, to bring about a new golden age? What if you could only bring it about by sacrificing yourself? What if you could make the world a paradise, but you could never enjoy it yourself? Could you do it?”

Cap: “It pains me to say this, Vision, but I honestly don’t know. I don’t believe I could know unless the situation actually presented itself. Life should never be given up lightly, but... if there were a way to truly save the world... I’d like to think that I’d make the sacrifice. But I’d have to be certain that it would work!”

Vision: “Yes... Yes, there could be no room for doubt.”

I do really like the slow unfolding of whatever Vision’s Supervillain Actually Its Well-Intentioned plan is. His doubts and how he poses a very specific hypothetical to Cap to see what The Iconic Avengers Leader thinks.

At this point my guess is that Vision is going to turn himself into a supercomputer like ISAAC to take over the world, for its own good. Since it was apparently inspired when he was plugged into a supercomputer and was running the mansion.

Anyway, Wanda runs in and interrupts the totally-a-hypothetical discussion with big, alarming news that their house from the Vision and Scarlet Witch series is on fire.

That’s rough.

By the time Wanda, Vision, and emotional support Captain America show up, the ire is unstoppable and the firefighters just let it burn down.

That’s rougher.

Later, Vision and Wanda pick through the smouldering rubble.

And worse of all, this wasn’t a random electrical or grease or magic fire. It was arson. And the arsonist even called the cops to make sure everyone knew it.

Scarlet Witch: “So! I should have known! The blind, unreasoning fools! Do I have to fight them for the rest of my life?!?” This is so maddening! Losing my temper won’t bring our house back... all I’ve done is frighten the neighbors. That’s always been the biggest problem in being a mutant... No one will let you act human.

=(

Some random bystanders basically gloat that the “weirdies are finally leaving” causing Captain America to go off.

Captain America: “For your information, mister, those ‘weirdies’ have saved your hide a dozen times over! They’ve fought and bled so you could have a home!”

Bystander: “N-now hold on, Cap! Me, I don’t have anything against ‘em... but why’d they have to move into my neighborhood? I mean, all our houses coulda caught fire from that blaze! This never woulda happened, if they hadn’t moved here!”

Captain America: “Mister, today somebody decided that he didn’t like mutants. Tomorrow, maybe someone will decide he doesn’t like blacks... or jews... or you! We’re all in this together. The American dream has to be there for everyone, or it can never truly work for anyone! It’s our duty to do everything we can to make sure it works!”

I doubt Bystander is very convinced. Maybe momentarily shamed. But in an hour he’ll be like “am I wrong about mutants? No, its the tolerant people who are wrong.”

But Vision... Vision has made up his mind.

Vision: ‘Do I have the right to take over the world for its own good?’

Vision: ‘Moral quandary resolved.’

The next morning, Vision has exciting new terrible news for the team. The US Army Corp of Engineers have dug up Thanos’ secret base in Arizona from his first appearance in Iron Man #55. And despite Vision protesting how dumb it is to poke unknown alien technology in hopes of finding a cool new weapon for America’s strategic arsenal, the Department of Defense is having the army poking unknown alien technology in hopes of finding a cool new weapon for America’s strategic arsenal.

Captain America: “Blazes! I believe in a strong defense as much as anyone, but the hardware Thanos used is way out of the army’s league!”

Starfox: “Perhaps more than even you can imagine, Cap! My brother Thanos was a ravager of worlds... he coveted power and worshiped death! His hidden base could well hold the means to rip this planet asunder!”

Cool, cool.

Man, I hate it when the US Army blew up the world in 1985 by poking alien gewgaws.

Anyway, Vision did manage to talk the government into allowing a small group of Avengers to act as advisers.

Instead of rounding up scientific geniuses slash superheroes like they did for Bruce Banner’s lab, Vision just selects everyone he has handy.

He says he’d like to assign the West Coast Avengers (who in fairness do have two scientific experets - Mockingbird and Wonder Man, kinda) but they’re busy with an off-panel mission in the Pacific. Just because they don’t have a book doesn’t mean they stop doing stuff.

So instead Vision selects Captain America, Hercules, Scarlet Witch, and Starfox (who in fairness is a great choice since he knows space science and Thanos) and sends them off.

Yeah. Vision is totally going to get up to stuff while they’re gone.

This foreboding is enhanced when Captain Marvel shows up and Vision tells her he has a special assignment for her.

Vision: “Our deep space monitor has picked up some disturbing signals -- that seems to be emanating from Sanctuary II, the starship which once belonged to the mad Thanos! After the arch-fiend’s final defeat, we left his ship to drift beyond the orbit of Pluto!”

Since she’s the fastest Avenger he asks her to leave at once, fly out to the ship to check it out, and then report back.

So. Light is the fastest thing, the speed limit of the universe. Give or take tachyons which are FTL and also hypothetical. And I don’t know if Captain Marvel can turn into tachyons. Point being, the speed of light is really friggin fast but the universe is really friggin big. Even something as ‘close’ as our solar backyard where Pluto is located is 4.9 billion miles away and takes light 4.6 hours to get there from Earth.

He is definitely getting Captain Marvel out of the way where even her nyoom will take a while to get back.

The Vision slowly stalks through the corridors of Avengers Mansion. On the second floor, he pauses before the door of the quarters he for so long shared with his wife... recalling past joys and sorrows. And then, he moves on -- solemnly descending the grand staircase, as if for the final time.

O_O

Uh...... plus side is that he gives Jarvis the day off to take his mother to Montauk Point!

I just like seeing Jarvis in Avengers.

He’s always around but only occasionally seen.

My god. His vacation clothes though.

Of course, Vision being nice to Jarvis who deserves good things is only partially because Jarvis is a cool guy who deserves nice things.

Vision has managed at this point to clear everyone out of the mansion and he locks the doors behind Jarvis so that NO ONE CAN INTERRUPT WHAT HE MUST DO.

Meanwhile, team ‘prevent the military from doing anything stupid’ arrives in Arizona and at the site of Thanos’ former base.

Huh. I was half and half on whether Vision was just making shit up to get the Avengers out of the house but I guess something really is going on.

Makes sense. If they went there and found nothing, they’d return too soon.

I wonder if there’s something really going on with Thanos’ ship Sanctuary II too.

If so, was it just a great coincidence that Vision had two different emergencies he could divert the team with the day after he decided to go through with his plan or is it just the Avengers’ lot that there’s constantly emergencies going on and he had his pick of them?

Anyway. Colonel Farnam of the US Army is convinced that they have everything under control at Operation: Prize Package and don’t need any Avengers supervision.

Colonel Farnam: “If we can figure out how just a fraction of this gear works, the United States will never again need fear an enemy power!”

Captain America: “I’m told that similar sentiment was expressed following the development of the crossbow, Colonel.”

Nice sass, Cap.

But, like, the instant that the Avengers are escorted inside the base, Starfox spots some technicians messing with a machine to see what it does and they tell him to screw off when he tells them not to mess with things they don’t understand.

Starfox: “GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

Scientist: “What are you, crazy?! We’ve spent twelve hours trying to goose this transmitter to life... we’re not going to stop now!”

He has to drag them away from a sudden energy surge as the machine activates by itself with a programmed homing signal that will bring Something to the base.

Colonel Farnam: “Now hold it right there, Avenger! Only my men are authorized to monkey with these machines!”

Starfox: “Colonel, I was raised among machiens such as these! If I can’t fix these settings, your men don’t stand a chance!”

Colonel Farnam: “I don’t care if you were raised in... GOOD LORD!”

Geez. It may have been partially a ruse to get the Avengers out of the house but its a good thing Vision sent the Avengers here. The US Army was clearly going to doom the world unsupervised.

GOOD JOB RANDOM SCIENTISTS

NOW HERCULES IS GETTING HIS ASS KICKED

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED, YOU MONSTERS??

Anyway, the Blood Brothers are some Thanos minions from early days. Weird that they never showed up for the MCU. Like, look, they didn’t need to be part of the Black Order. They don’t have the theme naming.

But these two dinguses would have made great antagonists in one of the earlier movies.

Though Starfox and Hercules get wrecked for being the nearest to the Blood Brothers when they appear, Cap and Scarlet Witch do better for being slightly forewarned.

Captain America can do the backflips to keep from getting punched and Wanda’s do anything powers are as helpful as always.

Meanwhile, back at Avengers Mansion, Dane Whitman (sometimes the Black Knight, sometimes just exhausted), arrives and tries to use his old Avengers ID card to enter.

The security system does not like that.

Anyway, back in Arizona, Starfox rejoins the fight. That’s good.

Wanda tries to do her patented ‘all oxygen play keep away from this guy’ move on one of the Blood Brothers but his super strength lets him slam the ground to break Wanda’s concentration.

The other Blood Brother tries to strangle Captain America who got knocked into a pile of rubble but Hercules emerges from underneath the rubble to do that greatest of comic book tropes.

Ah, grievous harm with a body. How I love you.

But though the Blood Brothers heads are hard enough to knock each other out, the fight did do some lasting damage.

TO MY PERCEPTION OF HERCULES!

When the Blood Brothers beat the shit out of Hercules at the beginning of the fight, they apparently tore his Hercules skirt.

And Hercules isn’t wearing anything under his Hercules skirt.

So the other three Avengers get to see Hercules’ mighty adamantine mace, so to speak.

That’s all well and good.

Except its not!

Hercules? Being ashamed of public nudity??

That doesn’t sound like the Hercules I know!

Tsk tsk, how retroactively out of character! Annnnd possibly not retroactively? Didn’t he compete in the original Olympics which were no pants allowed?

You’ve corrupted him, modern society!

Anyway.

Captain America starts yelling at the colonel because if the Avengers hadn’t been here, it would have been a major disaster.

Captain America: “You were warned -- Washington was warned -- that something like this could happen! But those warnings were almost totally ignored!”

But back at Avengers Mansion, Dane Whitman wakes up and sees this argument being broadcast on a jumbo screen.

Vision: “People never listen to those who know better! I shall have to change all that!”

Vision: “Hello, Dane. I’m sorry you had to be incapacitated. But your arrival was most unexpected... and I really can’t afford any interruptions now! You see, I have to save humanity from itself!”

Something about you seems different, Vision.

Did you become one with the universe? It’s a pretty popular move.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because whoa what huh? Vision what? Also, like and reblog. Its necessary to save humanity from itself.

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter 4 Midoriya x reader/ Bakugou x reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Mentions of suicide/ Attempt at suicide, Angst, Anxiety,

Word count: 4,336

Comment: Thank you all for reading this series, I have two different endings I’ll be posting after this chapter. One will be for Bakugou, One for Midoriya. I’ve enjoyed writing this and I am so happy that so many like it. 

Once again you matter and any issues you have are valid!

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You remember once, when you were little, watching a hero on TV save the day. What hero it was didn’t matter to you at the time. All you saw was this person risk their life to save someone else. You watched the emotions that passed over the citizens face, the relief and security they found after being rescued. You remember thinking that you wanted to save people. You wanted to be someone’s reason for feeling safe, a stable beacon of hope and strength. Oh, how foolish you were. Really a child with dreams too big for her bleak future.

A little girl with a quirk better suited for someone with confidence, for someone who truly believed they could save the world. You remember the excitement when it manifested. You ran around telling everyone you were gonna be a hero. There was no idol for you, you didn’t need to be like All Might. You just wanted to help people and with this quirk you were gonna do it. Other kids wanted to be hero’s for fame or power but you didn’t need any of that. You just wanted to make a difference in someone’s life. As you grew the dream was the same but the reason started to change. You wanted to make a difference in your own life, you wanted self-worth and thought being a hero could give you it. Selfish, that is what you thought you had become. How could you have gotten so lost? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to save people you just wanted someone to save you.

As you grew up each year brought on more and more emotional issues. You were convinced that you had brain damage or were dying of some brain eating bacteria. You weren’t completely wrong, you had issues, mental issues.  The first time you had gone to therapy you were six. You stopped getting along with other kids, stopped playing with toys, stopped being a child. Your family was worried, what could have happened that you lost all desire for life. A little kid not wanting to be a little kid was a strange concept. After therapy and some medication, you were back to being a child, running around and playing hero. You were ten when you watched the people around you go about their days like you didn’t exist. You found out the hard way that the world doesn’t stop when you are depressed. Still a child you had to realize that if you were gone the people around you would go on and eventually forget about you. You couldn’t understand this feeling of anxiety. You tried harder and harder to be noticed in the hopes that if you did disappear or die people wouldn’t be able to forget you. This plan back fired. Your family members, friends, and teachers started getting irritated with you. Your parents yelled at you to behave, your teachers scolded you about being loud, and your friends pushed you away not liking this version of you. Eventually you were secluded, an outcast. You were afraid of being alone so you cried. Crying became a norm for you. You did it in public until the judgement started. People didn’t feel bad anymore, instead they claimed manipulation just like Uraraka had. Crying eventually became a taboo thing you did behind closed doors. You learned how to sob silently, how to scream without being heard. That ten-year-old girl was aware of how painful life was and yet you hadn’t even felt true pain yet.

As you aged beyond ten the headaches started, the voices told you horrible things, your smile had faded out of existence, and you constantly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your therapy was pointless because no one knew why you were like this. It was trial and error. You’d be fine one minute and then you would have scratches up your arms and hollowed out eyes. You’d look like you hadn’t slept for weeks which was true. You couldn’t sleep because your thoughts were worse at night. When you tried napping during the day you were called lazy, told that you were slacking. How could you be a hero if you slept instead of trained and studied. Your parents meant well when they pushed you toward your goal. They just didn’t know the real you. The you behind chipping paint. You felt like an abandoned building left for the earth to take back. Your words were vines burying walls of concrete. The worse things got, the more you painted portraits and placed them in front of you. People admired your work, telling you how happy you looked, how hard you were trying. You were a success story but what was success when you were miserable and a step away from falling into a pit of despair.

One day things changed and for the first time in a long time you felt normal. You felt excited and happy, you looked forward to waking up. What happened to change you? You were accepted into UA. You had tried harder than you thought possible. Tears, blood, sweat, and a lot of profanity was released from your body on your journey to be a hero. All Might telling you in a holograph that you were good enough made you feel like maybe you were. You hadn’t smiled in a school photo until the day you received your school ID. There you were with a toothy grin staring directly at the camera as if to say ‘I did it’. That should have been the moment your life took a turn for the better. You should have been on an escalator going up and you were for the first year. Even after the attack on USJ, after the training camp kidnapping, after everything with overhaul you still fought with no doubts. You smiled even when you cried with your classmates. You had participated and enjoyed their company. Things had gone so smoothly for a while.  However, mental health issues don’t magically go away. One day feeling mentally exhausted turned to two days feeling useless and massive fatigue turned to ten days of sharp chest pain, uncontrolled emotional breakdowns, and drowning in self-loathing. That most fucked up part was you were dealing with it all alone. You couldn’t tell your parents what was happening. What would they say? They would think you were pathetic, not cut out to be a hero. But were they wrong? Did someone who constantly wished negative things on themselves have the right to be here. You found that you questioned yourself over everything. You wondered why you even tried if you were a failure. Why did you eat while others went hungry stressing over classes while you suffered academically on your own terms? Why drink water when you hadn’t put in enough effort to prove you deserved it. The thing that never changed was wanting to save people. You would die if it meant saving just one person. You wanted to change lives not ruin them. You wanted people to smile not scream and cry. You wanted to do so much more for people but had no energy left to try. Your flame had burnt out and you were running on what little smoke it still produced.

Like a steam engine your legs moved you up the dark staircase. Your fingers ran along the cold railing feeling every nick or chip. You wondered if someone touched you if they would feel the broken pieces. Could you cut someone with your shattered mask, with your fractured mental state. Was there a doctor, a quirk specialist, a magician, any person that could put you back together? all the kings’ horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put poor Y/n back together again. Or at least that’s what was going through your mind as the roof door opened with a swift kick that jolted pain through your leg at the heavy metal it was made of. You were so close to the edge. No one could stop you; no one could help you. No hero was waiting and you weren’t feeling heroic enough to try and stop this. All you could think was how you were just a few steps away. You had failed everything else. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t fail this.  

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You don’t have to remove your shoes since you aren’t wearing any. The roof is much windier than you expected. You jump slightly when the roof door slams from the force of the wind closing it. Your hair is reacting to the wind, trying to blow with it, which would normally bother you but you don’t care about something so trivial. You rub your arms from the slight chill the height and wind brought. Not much longer and you won’t have to worry about the cold, or anything for that matter. You close your eye tilting your head upward toward the vast sky. When you open them, you can barely make out the stars because your vision is warped. It’s like you’re watching the night sky as you sink deep under water. The tears that slide down your cheeks make you angry. Why were you crying when you chose this? You chose to climb the stairs and there was no turning around now. The large metal door wasn’t going to be the way in which you would be leaving. Your legs grow shaky as they move you closer and closer to the fencing. You push your hand against the fencing letting your fingers slip through the diamond patterning of thick metal wiring. This wasn’t going to stop you. Not when you climbed all those stairs and broke open a heavily locked door. You activate your quirk using the blades that appeared on your finger tips to cut the obstacle away. Your quirk allowed you to create blades on your body, they could range from small swiss army knives to sharp saw-like weaponry. A cool useful quirk wasted on a useless fuckup. Once there was a large enough hole in the fence you deactivated your quirk before tossing the damaged property aside. There was a little room between the outside of the fence and the lifted concrete ledge. Just enough room for you to move along the ledge trying to find a good spot. You ran your fingers against the cold stone feeling fragments of cement crumble away. You stopped after finding the perfect spot. You could see city lights in the distance and when you turned you could see the buildings you had run from. The rows of large dormitory building. Some lights were still on and you smiled wondering what these strangers were doing. Maybe some friends were staying up talking about nothing important just enjoying each other’s company. Maybe someone got hungry or needed to finish an assignment. The thing you truly hoped was that none of these lights were coming from a room where someone laid crying wishing for death as you had done for so long.

“Please don’t cry!” Your voice is carried by the wind and disappears into the darkness. You wipe at your eyes because you are yelling to no one but maybe you were yelling to one of those lights. Maybe you wanted anyone hurting to hear you, to feel that you cared. That you believed that they could get better, as a true hypocrite would.

“It’s okay to hurt!” The words weren’t yelled at max volume because your throat was tightening from holding back sobs. You were suffocating on them as you leaned your body over the ledge gripping it for dear life. This time no words came out but instead a scream. A scream that mimicked that of an injured animal, or someone who had witnessed everything they love be destroyed. You screamed until you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore, till your throat was raw. Your nails dug into your neck, palms pushing against your throat begging for your lung to work. Your body was breaking down and you could feel adrenaline pulsing through your veins. The word ‘breathe’ a mantra pounding in your skull. Maybe this is what you deserved for trying to preach something you didn’t practice, something you didn’t believe for yourself.

“I… I JUST WANT IT TO STOP!” There were rivers of sorrow moving like ghastly rapids down your flushed face. Snot dripped out your nose and you gave up wiping it away. You were ugly right now and that didn’t matter. No one was here to see you like this anyway. That was a good thing. You wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of judgement you’d receive from this nauseating display. “Please make it stop.”

Your grip on the stone wall tightened as you finally pulled yourself onto it. The edge crumbled slightly causing you to feel the smallest bit of apprehension. Why were you scared? Why the hell did you keep questioning yourself? The more questions that you asked yourself the more doubt arose, it was creating hesitancy. You were standing literally on the edge, there was no room for indecision. Eyes closing you think, think about everything that lead you here. The quiet disappointment of your parents, the withdrawn behavior that pushed your friends away, the pain of waking up. The bad wasn’t all you thought about, you thought about the good times. The way your parents cried and held you with worry after the USJ attack, the proud cheering for you at the sports festival even though you lost, and how they always text you to remind you that they love you. They supported you, loved you, and yet you just couldn’t use that as an excuse to feel better. You were still missing pieces of yourself, no matter how much love you received you still hated yourself which made their love feel invalid, undeserved. There were good times with your friends as well. The first day of school was the most terrifying and yet best day. You remember Bakugou getting scolded by Iida, you remember the way Midoriya’s eyes sparkled when learning people’s quirks, and you loved the anxiousness and thrill you felt holding onto that ball. You didn’t even know if you could match everyone else’s throws but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that you were even there amongst such amazing people. The time you spent with Mina was the most important, she was the first friend you made that truly loved and cared about you no matter what mood you were in. The first time you ignored her she gave you space but still checked in on you. She still told you jokes and complimented you. It hurt at first but then you realized that no matter what happened she’d be there for you. She made school easier for you. Other people soon approached you and you had become a part of different groups. Kirishima always invited you to train, Kaminari always tried to make you laugh and flirted playfully with you every time you seemed down. Every time you were lost in bad thoughts, when your body was amongst friends but your mind was in a dark place, Sero would tape Kaminari to the wall. You’d laugh, really laugh no matter how many times he did it. There were so many moments and memories you had shared with your classmates. What a shame they’d go to waste.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out dejected. No fight left, no more energy. You were tired and ready. Oh god you were so ready for this to all stop. The slightest giggle broke the silence with as much pain the screams had. “I’m sorry.”

Your parents flashed through your mind followed by your friends. Regrets disappearing from your body as you inched closer to freedom. Midoriya would cry, he always cried. You didn’t want him to cry, sitting in that teacher’s lounge waiting for you knowing that you wouldn’t ever return. With you gone he could have friends, enjoy life without your negative energy. He could hold Uraraka close while you faded from existence. Bakugou wouldn’t show his emotions, he was really good at hiding any emotion that wasn’t anger. However, you knew he would be sad. You knew that he had blamed himself for All Might’s retirement. He would blame himself which scared you. This had nothing to do with him failing to save you. This had everything to do with failing to save yourself. You wondered if he would still make too much food out of habit and have to throw it away. Would he train harder as a distraction, potentially overwork himself? One final heartbreaking question passed your mind. Would Mina still smile, would you take her sunshine when you left?

One step and the world seemed to move in slow motion then all at once. The sky was beautiful as you turned to fall backwards. You didn’t want to see the ground. Just the gorgeous vastness of space. You fell with grace. Like an angel falling from heaven, like a shooting star, like someone who had nothing left to live for. Darkness surrounded you as your conscience was lost, as you plummeted toward the ground.

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Bakugou and Midoriya collided as they rushed into the broken school doorway. The panic in each other’s eyes evident as they shared a look. Usually they were rivals but, in this moment, they wanted the same thing and it didn’t matter who got there first, what mattered was that they got there. Got to you. Finally sharing the same goal, they moved as a unit toward the staircase. How long did it take you to climb these stairs? Were your legs as heavy as your heart? Midoriya wanted to find you sitting on the stairs crying. Bakugou wanted to open the door and find you on the other side about to head back down because you couldn’t do it. As they ran, they both wished they could have done more but there was only so much they could have done. Bakugou wanted to go back in time and fought the people and situations that made you feel this way. Midoriya would have held your hand, dried you tears, reminded you every moment that you mattered. They will do these things if they stop you, after they stop you. Fear drove them up the stairs faster. The temperature getting hotter and hotter as Bakugou activated his quirk to move faster. The dark walls of the stairwell illuminate as Midoriya uses one for all to boost his legs further, skipping a copious number of stairs at a time. Passing a window, they hear you, the words you yelled to those distant lights, ‘please don’t cry’ ’it’s okay to hurt’ it was as if you were giving the validation you wish you had. The words were heartbreaking enough but the added tone intensified them, the broken scream that followed just about destroyed the boys. By the time they reached the halfway point you had begged for this to stop. Your words were like knives digging into their hearts, chests, and minds. How could you have felt this much pain and no one ever notice? What kind of heroes were they if they couldn’t save you? Though the most important thing for heroes to remember is that they can’t save everyone. Right now, they didn’t care if they couldn’t save anyone else, they just wanted to be able to save you.

“Don’t you fucking do it!” Bakugou’s voice matched the time he had broken down in front of Midoriya. Tears welled up in Midoriya’s eyes and his voice followed his childhood friends. “Y/N! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!”

Bakugou turned and looked toward the doorway leading into the school halls. He didn’t know what possessed him to rush through the doors rather than continue up the stairs, but he was grateful. He ran at the window as he heard Midoriya scream from the floor above. Bakugou rushed through the glass and he wasn’t the only one. Midoriya had kicked through the window and launched himself outside to try and catch you. Bakugou used his quirk to propel himself downward after you. Him and Midoriya moving at the same speed. Fire blasting behind Bakugou while Midoriya kept running along the side of the building. You were passing the floors faster and faster. Bakugou screamed using the full force of his quirk. His hand reached out and grabbed your ankle yanking backward to pull the top half of you closer. His hand gripped the back of your head pulling you into himself. He could see the ground getting closer and couldn’t use his quirk without letting go of you. He would have taken the damage but didn’t. He never hit the ground as Midoriya kicked off the building grabbing the two of you before pushing against the air. He broke through the fourth story window hitting the floor and tumbling through the glass. He had let go of Bakugou who was still holding you, his hand cradling your head against his chest as he took the force of hitting the floor and glass pushing through his sleep tank top. Both boys were breathing heavy their chest pounding harder than when they were running. Midoriya got up rushing to your side. Bakugou moved you away from his chest. Your chest rose and fell in a very slow manner. It was like you were sleeping. They were scared that when you woke up, you’d try again, you’d fight them for saving you. Or maybe you would be okay. Maybe you just needed to be saved to know that it was possible. Bakugou wouldn’t let go of you and Midoriya wouldn’t leave your side. His fingers stroking your hair. The two boys shared a quiet promise to not tell anyone about their sorry states. Bakugou was crying, his eyes bloodshot. Midoriya didn’t look any better, he had to keep wiping his nose and eyes on his hoodie sleeve. There was the distant sound of sirens and the dark room flashed with red and blue lighting from below. Bakugou stood up holding you in his arms. Midoriya took off his hoodie shaking the debris off it before laying over you. Bakugou and him stare at you before looking at each other. They could tell how much the other care for you. Bakugou scoffed before walking ahead. Midoriya smiled sadly walking beside him. His legs were throbbing and he could see the singe marks on Bakugou’s knuckles. They walked down the stairs in silence, no words being shared. Nothing could be said right now, you were safe for now and they just wanted you to be okay. Police, EMT’s, and a fire truck were parked outside. Your classmates stood off to the side behind tape, every one of them. Mr. Aizawa turned with All Might to look at the boys than down at you in Bakugou’s arms. The medical staff rushed forward but before they could try and take you Bakugou pulled the hand supporting your head free. It sparked and his snarl threatened them. Midoriya moved his hand to replace Bakugou’s against your head. The officers told Bakugou to back down and give you over. All Might and Mr. Aizawa approached.

“Young Bakugou, Young Midoriya. You got to her on time. We are so grateful; you both are heroes but now you have to hand her over so they can take her to the hospital.” Bakugou didn’t want to let you go and before he could Midoriya spoke up. “We made it on time to catch her. We didn’t make it on time to stop her. She jumped; we were just able to catch her.”

There was this tension as the realization seeped into the two adults’ minds. You had jumped and that changed things even more. The two boys knew you needed help, a lot more help and they were determined to get it for you. They knew that you couldn’t be magically cured and that this would take time but they had time and were willing to be there through it all. The two boys nodded at each other before handing you over to the EMT waiting. They watched them hook you onto a gurney lifting you into the ambulance and then you were gone. As you were wheeled to the vehicle your classmates behind the tape watched. They couldn’t believe that one of them had been hurting enough to do this. The girls were quiet do to them being the last ones to witness your breakdown. Uraraka was crying and rubbing her hands against her eyes. Sobs broke from her as she realized that she was the one who pushed you to do this. Mina screamed your name willing you to sit up and smile at her but you remained unconscious on the bed. She watched you get taking away and she cried out your name while the students around her cried too. They never wanted this and wished they had been there for you. The thing is though, you would never want them to blame themselves.

“Come on you all get back to the dorms.”  Mr. Aizawa ushered his students away leaving Midoriya and Bakugou to tell the police what had happened. Bakugou was aggressive toward the officer when he seemed to not care about your mental health. They made it seem like you were crazy. Even Midoriya had to argue for your sake. They both left with All Might. They wanted to go to the hospital but only family was allowed to see you. All Might promised the boys that he would take them to see you as soon as you were allowed to have visitors. There was also a chance you wouldn’t want people to see you, or that you’d be considered a threat to others and yourself and be locked up.

While everyone dealt with this heart ache and remorse you rested peacefully for once. Not even aware that you hadn’t succeeded.  

[keyboard-cowgirl]

Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

 “Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

 Chapter 1:

 You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

--

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: In Your Head, In Your Head, They are Dyin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Geez, open my big fucking mouth much? Oh Jane, could you go to the Citadel? But why shouldn't you? You said you had spent time there; you're the one person who knows how to get around. She half-assedly kicked at the locker at the foot of her cot, besides, Rogers is too green. We need someone with experience leading the team. It would be best if you kept busy; civilian life doesn't agree with you.

They couldn't order her around.

Jane craned her head, taking in the entirety of the beam that would catapult her into the Citadel. A frown was the sole betrayal of her panicked nervous system, she would never be ready to go back there. But this was not the time for fear, not when Biotic's Division looked to her guidance. At least she could hide the apprehension- they looked like they could piss themselves at any moment. Jane knew the beam wouldn't lead to death but they were not so confident. It seemed insane, she got it.

Roy and Helen talked amongst the students, leaving Jane some time to collect herself. The last time she had approached the beam the entirety of Hammer had died to get her here, it seemed too easy now that it was a simple jaunt down a hill.

"You sure this thing won't vaporize us?" Roger's question interrupted her solitude.

"I'm not saying it's going to be pleasant, or you'll like what we're going to find-" distress crossed the 2nd lieutenant's face, this was the wrong approach, "if Anderson's team could make it to activate the Crucible, I think we will be fine. Besides, think of the bragging rights- being the one to restore communications with the Citadel, and eventually with the rest of the galaxy. It's not a small thing."

"But I'm not leading the operation," Rogers's hadn't taken the forced deference to the Recruit well.

"Believe me, kid, you'll be glad for all the calls you didn't have to make." She had refused to lead on principle, even after several others had tried to guilt her for refusing the mission. Jane wouldn't have stepped up if not for a series of harsh conversations from Mr. Alenko, most of them implying he would take the mantle if she would not, "get the team into place, we leave in two."

Roy and Helen naturally separated from the group, not away from the mass of students but toward her. Roy led a step ahead and Helen fixing her with the usual judgmental stare from behind her husband.

"I'll be fine," the woman snapped the M-77 into a ready form, "it should be easy."

"Be careful."

How many times had she heard that? To boot, in the same somber tone. The last time, so physically close to where they stood now. It was an odd irony that his father stood closer to the beam than Kaidan had managed to get.

"Thank you," regret was a hell of a thing, so unprompted she grasped his hand unflinching under that whiskey-hued gaze. For a blip of a moment, she looked forward to coming back. Hope returned in a microdose.

The students lined up as ordered, each reaction as individual as the person who stood before the blue light while they wouldn't argue with the mission: it didn't mean they had to trust it. Jane would question flinging herself blindly into the beam, she had at a couple of points. On Illos, she at least had the Mako to give her the illusion of safety, here for the second time only experience made her undaunted besides the emotional toll.

"Alright, the mission is simple. Meet with Bailey or whoever is left in charge. After that, we worry about setting up the long-range commlink," it was better to put this off as a simple run, when things got complicated, they would deal with it then, "on arrival, where exactly we'll end up is a mystery. This functions much like a Mass Relay, so small groups and make sure your ass is out of the way."

Jane nodded to Rogers and the female that stood beside him, "anyone else want to go first?"

She didn't wait for a reaction before sauntering brazenly into the beam.

The Spectre had thought she was used to running into the unexpected. She had made a career of dealing with the strange, but awe of circumstance truly never went away. This time it was far more physical than expected. Pulling herself over the lip and onto the metal path, water violently expelling from her nose and mouth. If she were a little more with it, she would have pulled a gun on the Keeper scuttling by- but she was a little more focused on breathing. The next concern was the two in line behind her; one was lucky and ended up straddled over the railing the next erupted from the water much in the way she had.

Once it was clear all was fine, Jane rolled onto her back. Dark laughter barking from her diaphragm. It was a far cry from the body-lined hallways and corridors she had dreamed up, the relay monument looked down on her. God, she felt nauseous. Her sides didn't stop seizing until all breath left her body, eyes stinging with tears. Rolling to all fours, then finally upright the world swirled into sudden clarity.

This was the Presidium. Behind her, the partially broken statue that honored the krogan. A white spire jutting into the sky, a brave blue flower standing tall, heat speckled metal walkways, and the white-walled building. Her fingers raked through a tangle of wet hair, shook out her pistol, pulled Rogers from the railing, and tightly squeezed her fist until the twang of her muscles bid for release. The relay fired again, splashing followed, and the approach of footsteps came from her right side. The tepid water running down her face made pinpointing smells impossible, but she could sure taste the strange flavor of the unfiltered liquid.

"Holy shit."

"See, you should have never doubted me."

The Lieutenant did not find it quite so humourous.

"Lighten up, Kid," she remarked blithely, turning her attention to the squad that corralled them into the center of the walkway, "it's nice to see C-Sec arrive promptly."

The turian officer scoffed but lowered his weapon, "Bailey will want to see you."

"Good, we're looking for him."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"How is it always you?" Bailey hardly looked up at her, "but I've got to admit, nobody else is crazy enough to walk through a beam on foot."

The man was one of the few who could recognize her immediately, even with grown-out and natural hair. He had seen the scarring left behind after the Lazarus Project before they had faded for the first time. It took only a little imagination to see past the more extensive facial scars.

"The first or second time?"

Bailey's head craned up, concern crossing his face, "Com-"

Jane waved a hand, "please, Bailey, that person is gone. Let her die with her crew."

The concern grew behind the glow of his omnitool "if anyone ever asks, you waved your Spectre status in my face. But I don't think you are here to catch up."

"No, I am not."

The team back on Earth had tried to reconnect with the Citadel, but all attempts to reach them had failed. So a mission to the station became necessary. Bailey attempted to skirt the subject, but life on the Citadel was not easy. Slowly some peace was restored but at a snail's pace. Whatever jammed the comms slowed any hope of a unified force on the station. It also explained their failure to find a tech expert who might fix the issue and perhaps the lack of a Spectre or someone of a higher rank to authorize it—security measures as usual were great until they hindered progress.

"I'll need you before you try and disappear again," Bailey warned, swirling the scotch in his lowball glass. He figured this was special occasion enough, even if the hero returned as little more than a ghost.

"I'll consider it my retirement party," she mused, finishing off the bitter liquid, "seems easy compared to a Reaper invasion."

"Nothing with you is ever simple."

"Hell, this could all be a dream... for both of us." It felt a little cold for a dream, but it was all surreal. For now, she put it off as walking old hallways and the memories of the companions that haunted the place.

"The scotch must be hitting you hard."

"I haven't hit the hard stuff since-" the statement crossed into territory painful for both of them, "but I say there is no time like the present. Must be driving my squad nuts waiting."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Shepard before-"

Jane flinched, and Bailey retracted for a moment. Equal parts confusion and frustration with the jumpy woman. Perhaps it was time, untold horrors of war, or the alcohol that made her weird, if not mentioning the other multitude of reasons the Spectre seemed off her game. She went by a different name to the men she led, and it was becoming apparent the problem was far out of his wheelhouse.

"I have to give it to you plain, we found Anderson's body in here. It looked like he was shot."

"I know."

She had shot him after all. For a long time, she had tried reasoning that it was not her fault; after all, the Illusive Man had made her do it. Those strange cybernetic eyes had stared at her in her dreams, one of the thousands of voices taunting her. Those blue eyes had found her again as she walked the hallways to the Council Chambers.

"He must have activated the Crucible before he died, it's funny because we all assumed you had done it."

Jane hadn't activated the Crucible. That was true. Maybe Mary had; it was all a little foggy.

"We gave him the best funeral we could, I can take you there later if you like," Bailey offered, trying to rouse her with a touch.

Jane shook her head, "another time, this is enough."

Too much.

Bailey nodded, falling behind a few paces so she could absorb the room. Mentally, she remarked on little other than it had become a bit overgrown in disuse and that she liked it better without the constant trickle of running water.

"Nothing unusual up here, Ma'am," buzzed the comm.

"Roger, roger."

"It wasn't funny, even when the Major did it."

Fine, "hold position, I want eyes on anything that could go wrong. I'll place the shunt."

Jane moved slowly across the catwalk, the face staring at her accusingly grew clearer as she approached. The simple frame wreathed in upkept foilage, plants, and candles of all sorts making up an altar. She tried to move through littered petals and papers with reverence, but some wound up disturbed fluttering into the pit below. Jane crouched to cradle the picture gently, "Admiral."

Her blue eyes scanned upwards, resting on the bloody handprint covering the virtual interface sensor.

The total weight of another being crashed onto her, attempting to wrestle her from the catwalk. Even after weeks without combat, Jane dislodged the man with ease throwing him over the unprotected edge. The unnatural steel blue eyes, shocked with bright blue patterns, brimming with fury. Quickly as they had entered her vision, the figure went still and dark.

Coldly, empty, she returned the broken frame to its spot. Her complete attention turning to the console that lit up at her presence. The only break from her attention was the dramatic slam of her fists on the sides of the railing behind the console- it wasn't working.

Before she could release her temper upon the undeserving railing again, a keeper nudged her aside. Compiling the necessary commands with ease, the sudden noise of a system erupting in a blastwave. As quickly as the creature arrived, it scuttled back away. Leaving Jane to complete her task.

Bailey looked over the ledge, approaching the woman slowly once he was satisfied.

"Commander Bailey, you should have access to all Citadel systems," her bright blue eyes turned to him with a terrifying hollowness, "don't make me regret it."

"You- but, he," Bailey swallowed, running a hand over his cropped hair, "it's never simple with you."

He grabbed her arm before she slipped by him, "take this."

"I should go."

"Don't worry, you weren't here," he called after the stumbling figure.

Jane didn't recall stumbling back through the relay, or for that matter, picking her way back to the mall. Or the time she had left, or if she had bothered to warn anyone in the meantime. Reality was a persnickety thing at the moment, failing to anchor her securely to the present.

It was dark, the mechs hadn't stopped her, and not even her body was warning her of exhaustion. It was all instinct.

The room she stole into, that was not so much a call of instinct but of desperation. Her world grew colder, and it was beginning to tumble at a speed that she could barely withstand.

"Rahna."

Nothing.

"Rahna."

"Jane?"

[kelseaaa]

Alone with the Sunrise

Part One: When It’s Over

Masterlist

Pairing: Lieutenant Oliver Cochrane x f!MC (Abigail Bellamy)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst city b

Series Summary:  What really happens when Abigail goes back through the time portal after their fight against the Admiral? And how will Oliver and the pirate crew handle it? This is a follow up series to my first Oliver fic: Together with the Sundown.

~~~~~

Tagging:  @jaxsmutsuo​, @krishu213​, @greedy-choices, @imrookieramsey, @choicesficwriterscreations​ please let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed :)

~~~~~

Oliver had never known love. Not true, head over heels, make your heart stutter, love. He knew the love of his mother. He regretted not being able to tell her how much he loved her when she was here. He knew the love he held for his father, once. Though that love was long gone now. He had a love for the sea and her mystery. But none of that could compare to the love he held for Abigail Bellamy.

As they laid in his cabin, the gentle waves had already lulled her to sleep. He was sure she was exhausted, just like him. They had been through a hellish ordeal, fighting his father’s and Robert’s crew then his father himself on that strange island that came from the sea. But they had won. And now, after a night of love and passion, him and Abigail were finally together. 

And she was beautiful. Her warm, bare body curled against his now-healed side. Her long hair fanning out over his shoulder and pillows. Eyes closed and lips parted slightly, her gentle breathing filling the space between them.

Oliver had never known love before. But right now, at that moment, he knew it well.

He tilted his head, letting his lips brush against her hair to leave a feather-light kiss. He inhaled, reveling in the sea salt and sun scent of her skin. Wrapping his arms tighter around her body, Oliver closed his eyes and settled further into the bed. His fingers trailed down her spine, across her waist and settled on her hip. With one final kiss to her parted lips, Oliver waited for sleep to consume him.

But before he released his mind to dream, he opened his mouth one more time to whisper in her ear.

“I love you, Abigail.”

Oliver knew that when he woke up, his new future - their future - awaited them. And with that knowledge, he could finally rest.

~~~~~

When daybreak hit, he was alone.

Oliver slowly opened his eyes, already sensing the lack of heat next to him. When his eyes were fully opened, he scanned the bed. Empty. Then scanned the room. Empty, as well. The only sign of their tryst from last night was the pile of his discarded clothes. Only his. He breathed a sigh of relief, realizing she must have already left the room for the day.

Oliver stood from his bed and quickly got dressed. He walked out of his cabin, pulling his loose blonde hair back and out of his face, and made his way up to the helm to check in with his men. Both Officer Doyle and Officer Alvarez were standing there, deep in conversation. They quickly broke apart when Oliver cleared his throat and greeted them.

They spoke briefly, talking about the ship’s course and the next port they were headed to. Doyle filled them in on how the night went - uneventful. After a few more minutes of conversation, Oliver finally asked them if they had seen Abigail.

“No, sir,” Doyle replied quickly.

Alvarez shook his head. “Haven’t been up here long but I haven’t seen her yet. Might check the mess hall.”

Oliver nodded his head and bid his men a good day then made his way down to the mess hall. He pushed open the door and was greeted with a large, empty room. Save for the one man sitting in the galley.

“Mornin’, Henry,” Oliver greeted the old pirate who simply waved his hooked hand lazily in response. “Has Abigail been by here?”

Henry tilted his head, possibly in thought, then eventually shook it. “Haven’t seen her all mornin’.”

Oliver frowned but nodded his head in thanks. He turned around and headed back out of the mess hall onto the top deck. All around him the Poseidon’s Revenge’s crew worked the sails and rigging. Oliver still couldn’t believe that this was his life now. A Navy Lieutenant defying the law. But it was all worth it because Abigail was worth it.

His eyes scanned the many faces, looking for one in particular. He frowned when he didn’t find it. 

Making his way across the deck, Oliver joined a group that consisted of Jonas, Kendrick and Charlie who were talking casually.

“Ollie!” Kendrick exclaimed, clapping his hand on the Lieutenant’s shoulder. Oliver didn’t flinch at the nickname this time, though he wasn’t exactly used to it. Maybe this crew of criminals were finally growing on him.

Oliver smiled and greeted the rest of the group. “How was everyone’s evening?”

Jonas grunted and Kendrick started to drone on about needing more rum. Charlie rolled her eyes at the two pirate men then smiled a dangerously coy smile to Oliver. “I should ask you the same question,” she said through a smirk.

Oliver felt the heat rush to his face but cleared his throat, brushing off the insinuating remark - no matter how true it may be.

“My evening was… pleasant,” he responded. He didn’t miss the slight eye roll Charlie shot him but chose to ignore it.

“I see,” Charlie replied. “So ‘pleasant’ that Abigail couldn’t even bother to get out of bed?”

Oliver opened his mouth to respond but shut it quickly. He furrowed his brows and for a moment, he thought maybe she was joking. But the look she gave him proved otherwise.

“Abigail was gone before I awoke,” he said quietly, nervous.

Charlie’s smile faltered as her eyes started to wander around the deck, just like Oliver’s had earlier. When she realized that Abigail was nowhere to be found, she turned to Kendrick and Jonas. “Have you seen her?” she asked them.

Jonas and Kendrick looked at each other before turning back and shaking their heads.

A pit was now forming in Oliver’s stomach. His palms grew damp and he had to remind himself to breathe. He turned in a circle, eyes scanning everyone on the deck again, hoping that he had been momentarily blind earlier.

He distantly heard Charlie calmly say his name before he turned back around to the pirate group. “Fan out!” he instructed, his mind switching into military mode. “Gather everyone that you can and search every deck. Every room.”

The three pirates didn’t argue, quickly breaking away to do as they were told. Oliver didn’t wait to see where they went. He broke out into a sprint, heading to the door that led inside to the cabin Abigail had been staying in. He quickly pushed the door open and his heart nearly shattered.

It was empty.

His eyes flicked between the desk, the bed and finally to the trunk at the foot of the bed. He opened it and had to hold in a cry. Inside the trunk were the two weapons that Abigail carried on her at all times, the detailed pistol and Robert’s sword. His fingers grazed the hilt of her blade, feeling it to make sure it was real. When he felt the cold of metal on his fingertips he nearly collapsed.

No no no no no.

Oliver ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Ginny as she bounded down the hall. Her face was one of determination and Oliver silently begged that her search would prove bountiful.

Oliver walked back out onto the deck, his steps sluggish with no direction. His thoughts were clouded with concern and confusion. He eventually made his way back into his cabin, searching the small space of any sign that she had been there. That he hasn’t made up everything.

When his search turned fruitless, he made his way out onto the small balcony. He knew it would be empty, and being right didn’t help the large pit in his stomach or the ache in his chest. He gripped the railing, fingers digging into the wood so hard that he silently hoped it would splinter beneath his hands.

He had believed Abigail when she told him about the time travel nonsense. As absurd and outlandish as it had sounded, somehow it had all made sense. When they had touched the amulet together in the cave - when he saw their future - he knew that there was nothing more he could ever want in this world. And when they closed the portal, he thought that maybe the fantasy they had envisioned would actually become reality.

But now...

Oliver dropped his head into his hands. “Please,” he whispered to the ocean, a hope and prayer that somehow she would hear him. “Abigail, please. Not like this. I… I can’t…”

He was silenced when he heard a knock at his cabin door. He quickly tried to regain his composure then went back inside to answer the door. Hoping that when he opened it, this nightmare would be over and he would be greeted with the woman he loved. But when he opened it, he was surprised to see Captain Edward on the other side.

His expression was forlorn and Oliver felt his heart plummet. Every fear was making its way to the surface and Oliver wanted desperately to be anywhere but there.

Edward frowned, his eyes looking down at the deck below him. Then finally - finally - he spoke.

“She’s gone, Lieutenant.”

~~~~~

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wicked, part one (DT royal AU)

Summary: Hoping to stop the centuries-old feud between two very different kingdoms - a modern-day Astros and the traditional Dracovia, a treaty is signed on an arranged marriage between the future monarchs. However, Astros’ King is unaware his new bride comes with a plan of her own - she’s not interested in peace or his love, for she wants his crown and kingdom.

Warnings: swearing, SMUT,  angst, mentions of death...

Word count: 5900

WICKED - SERIES MASTERLIST

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~                          ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~  

It’s a story as old as time – a woman in distress is saved by prince charming and once the dust settles and they realize they have fallen in love, a marriage occurs. When the king marries his dame, every fairytale ends with a happily ever after. However, Grayson will learn that’s not how his story ends.

Centuries of mutual hate and disputes over land, bloodshed in wars that late King Sean wanted to end before his demise had all lead to a signed agreement. Once Crown Princess of Dracovia and the Crown Prince of Astros are of age, the two will join hands in holy matrimony and bind the two kingdoms for a peaceful future. The intention was to bring a new age to both kingdoms, to see a dawn instead of the sunset they were all forced to live in.

“You know your duty.” King Sean told his sons in his last days, reminding them of the sacrifice one of them has to make.

While in Dracovia, the rules of succession were clear - the eldest becomes the ruler, in Astros the line of succession was decided after their king dies by trials. Trials of mind, body, endurance between the siblings was to determine which of the two will rule over Astros and marry the future queen of Dracovia.

“Yes father.” Ethan and Grayson didn’t fight it. Both of them knew their destiny would be to marry for duty. They couldn’t even dream of love. Not when there was a kingdom to think of.

Meanwhile, the Dracovian Princess had a similar conversation with her father, the king.

“You know your duty.” King of Dracovia spoke solemnly as he reminded his daughter of her assignment, the blood she’d have to spill and the throne she’d have to claim.

For a long time, Princess Y/N had no intention of following through with her father’s mad plans despite everything that happened in the past. She believed the past should stay just that…a ghost of remembrance that cannot affect the future.

Her beliefs changed once she watched her best friend lose her head after they were supposedly meeting for a confirmation of the peace treaty…the one she agreed on because they wanted to see if she was pretty enough for their future King of Astros. Once she had lost Andrea, Y/N’s heart turned black and she willingly forged her path to Astros.

“Yes father.” Y/N wanted to appease her father. More than that…she wanted vengeance. After all, she was trained for this her whole life. She knew she was ready.

**

“Your highness, we have official news from the new king of Astros.” Lady Mareen walked into princess Y/N’s quarters, a letter neatly folded in its envelope on a golden platter.

With a hum, Y/N beckons her lady to come closer, taking the letter in her possession. She had been expecting the news ever since she heard there would be a new King crowned, the same man who would wed her after. She is of age, has been for a week now. He’s been of age for a year, as well. Both her potential husbands were already nineteen summers wiser, nearly twenty.

Taking out a small blade, the hilt black with a silver dragon wrapped around it, sapphires placed instead of its eyes, Y/N took a moment to admire the wondrous dagger. It had been a gift from her father, the king of Dracovia. It had been a way to give her courage, to let her know he believed in her - his daughter, the dragon queen. Sure, the dragon’s time had long passed and most people outside of Dracovia would laugh at the notion of them ever being real, but Y/N believed in a dragon’s wisdom and guidance and it all led her to this moment.

Using the tip, she cut open the envelope and drew out the letter with just the tip of her index finger. Unfolding it, she nodded to herself before speaking.

“It seems my husband is to be Grayson Bailey Dolan, the youngest of their dynasty. He had managed to win the trials by beating his brother in a duel. He lost the battle of the wits and managed to win the courageous trial by mere seconds.” Looking up from the letter, Y/N smirked.

“He should have lost. This was dumb luck.” Looking back at the neatly written letters, she continued.

“The King was crowned a week after, and he married me through our proxy only five days later.” Even if she hadn’t even seen him yet, Y/N felt sick to her stomach knowing she’s already considered to be his wife.

“It says I am to sail to their kingdom in two days' time where I shall do my duty and bear him children so that we can bring about a new era of peace.” Snorting, Y/N ripped the paper in two, tossing it beside her chair. She had no interest in bearing his children, especially not when she had her heart set on taking his life and marrying someone of her own choosing.

Y/N came from a long line of very traditional royals, those who believed to be descendants of the dragons themselves. They called her blood the blood of the dragon and when she decided to be a mother, her children will not bear tainted blood of her enemies. She refuses to have her insides become a home for his evil seed. While tradition demands she has children, Y/N decided to accept one thing that would rescue her from such a fate - birth control pills.

“Your father must be told.” Lady Mareen voiced her opinion, earning an annoyed sigh from her future queen.

“He knows. Make the necessary arrangements, we leave soon. Make sure you’re well-acquainted with their traditions and values, you’ll be my most trusted advisor.”

**

It had been a week since she abandoned her home in search of vengeance. Y/N had spent each hour plotting the best way to go about - be herself and seize the throne by force or to play the dutiful wife that Grayson will fall in love with and sign crown matrimonial on his own accord…after which she’d put her dragon blade through his heart…and his brother’s and anyone else who stands in her way.

The continued travel on waves had given her calamity, but there was nothing calm in the storm inside her mind. She was prepared for a lot, aware Astros seems like a completely different planet in comparison to the life she’s lead in Dracovia. It would need adjustment, but she could find a way to connect to their people, to win their hearts. If she found love among the people, she’d be a step closer to the throne.

She watched the almost finished bridge between the countries with narrowed eyes, realizing it may help her travel home much faster than by water. While it was a long way to go, she had time to think and prepare for the task she set herself up to do.

However, despite all she expected, the moment she saw the sandy beaches in the sunset, the icy flames in her eyes came alive with fury.

“Is the King with them?” Y/N hissed through her teeth, appalled by her welcome committee.

A dozen of casually dressed or half-naked people waited barefoot in the sand, some cameras set in place to stream the dragon princess when she steps foot on their lands.

“Is he…shirtless? Doesn’t he own a shirt?!” She nearly threw up at the sight, upset over the way she was to be welcomed. “Such disrespect. I had low expectations from these barbarians, but this managed to exceed those expectations!” Y/N bashed on Grayson’s choice of outfit and she found herself absolutely horrified by the scene she was met with. After all, who greets his future wife, a woman of royal blood - dragon blood, like she’s a common whore?

“I’m sorry, majesty, but we’ll dock soon and they cannot hear you speak in such a manner. They’re a proud nation and their sense of appropriate royal behavior differs from ours.” Lady Mareen spoke in a hushed tone, hoping to calm her future queen down. She could tell the young princess is fuming, but she needed her wits when they docked and she had to make sure the fire is out by then.

“I have to ask you once again…do you truly think you should do this? How would more bloodshed be justified? Would Andrea want this or would she seek peace?” And that was Lady Mareens first mistake. Without so much as turning around to grace the lady with the honor of eye contact, Y/N gripped the railings with all her might. She had been certain of her choice for a long time now, ever since they cut her friend’s head off and tossed her heedless body at her feet, but before that as well…she still didn’t believe her mother’s death was an accident. The ship wreckage was far too damaged to be the result of a storm she didn’t even see or hear happen. Y/N suspected them to be guilty of regicide too.

“I will answer injustice with justice.” Drawing in a sharp breath, Y/N felt her icy fire spread through her veins, replacing the uncontrollable rage within.

“And you will watch your tongue or you shall find yourself without one.”

Plastering a pleasant, fake smile on her lips, Y/N made eye contact with the man that stepped out of the group of people on the beach, realizing that just might be the king…her husband Grayson.

But before the ship had docked, they soon hit a reef, knocking some of the men over the railing and definitely shaking the princess up. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed at the reef she could see through the crystal clear waters, Y/N felt her blood run cold as ice.

“The water is low enough for us to walk to the shore, your highness.” The captain spoke, his voice a little shaky as he pressed his cap to his stomach while his nerves clearly took over. How was he supposed to tell his future queen that he had missed a whole reef and that the boats were now destroyed from impact?

Turning around on her heel, her shoulders rolled back and her chest puffed out, Y/N looked like a perfect picture of royalty, poised and graceful, beautiful and just as dangerous.

With a deathly glare aimed at the captain, she scoffed, pressing her lips together.

“I believe you might have a way to the shore that won’t get you wet.” Lady Mareen whispered, turning the princess’ rage over to herself and her attention back to the shore.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Y/N noticed the same shirtless man she thought would be her husband had run into the water, walking over to the ship. His face is clearer the closer he gets, his determination visible in every clench of his chiseled jaw. This is a man much more than a simple king, a man not easily swayed. Grayson Dolan, the king of Astros would clearly be a problem with his warrior instincts, for she had never met a royal willing to get wet for a woman they’ve never met but a warrior who was sworn to die in her name. And he looked just like them - a warrior who would die for her and she didn’t know if she liked the notion, or feared it.

“Will you come down or should I carry you piggyback down?” Grayson shouted up at his future wife, his voice light and cheery, way too informal and teasing. For a woman who had never had a man dare speak to her before being presented formally, Y/N could only snort at his behavior that’s unbecoming for a king.

“I’m wearing a dress!” Y/N shouted back, a little irritation slipping past her with her sharp tone.

“So? I’ll see what’s under before the day is done anyway!” Grayson chuckled, his words angering her. She knows she’s supposed to consummate the marriage, that much she can’t avoid, but to be spoken to in such a manner even before they’ve been introduced? That was unheard of. She’s not some wench he can treat as he pleases – she is the blood of the dragons of the old and she demanded respect.

“Just jump!” Grayson added, realizing his mistake once he saw her look at him furiously, her cheeks darkening so much that he could tell even from a distance. Ethan had warned him to be formal, charming and untrusting toward her - to be careful, but Grayson never expected her to be such a beauty, so captivating, a goddess in her like. He had seen many women that possessed beautiful, symmetrical lines of their face, but Y/N had something he had never seen before – graceful rage and while he should know better, he found himself craving the burn she offered just as much as the cold she provided.

“What?! Are you mental?” She screamed at him, leaning over the railing to make sure she heard him over the crashing waves. He seemed tall, very tall in comparison to her, so if the waves were up to his mid-thigh? They would drown her with that dress of hers. The corset would make it even harder for her to breathe and she’d drown…Perhaps that’s a little dramatic to an average human, but the princess had never stepped foot in the ocean before, let alone swam on her own…swimming wasn’t one of the lessons she needed to learn to be a royal, so yes, she believed she’d drown.

“I’ll catch you, I swear! I never break my royal promises!” Grayson crossed his index and middle finger in a gesture she didn’t understand, but what else could she do?

Knowing it’s insane, Y/N didn’t see a better way to go about things. She had to risk it and trust this man she wouldn’t ever trust, she swore it. But even if he dropped her, she’d still land in water, her life wouldn’t hang on his ability to catch a woman of her size. Sure, her dignity and ego would be bruised, but she’d survive...if the waves didn’t pull her under.

Climbing over the railing, she held on tightly. She drew in a shuddered breath of bone-chilling fear before she stopped being afraid entirely as her mother’s words reminded her of who she is.

“Dragons can’t die, not like humans do. Remember who you are, my dear. You’re a dragon’s heir, the future Dragon Queen and the only silver dragon patron we’ve had since the first Queen. You can’t be defeated.”

She’s the blood of the dragon, she can’t be killed so easily.

The wind whipped her hair about her face and she sucked in a deep breath. Her muscles were poised as if to run away but instead, she brought her toes to the edge. Now she trusted her life to the stranger who she vowed to ruin and she didn’t miss the irony.  As gravity took her fiercely toward the aquatic death trap below, she struggled to claim any of the air that rushed by for her own lungs. The second between jumping and feeling a pair of strong arms with a wet sensation spreading over her felt like an eternity. Then the whirl of color settled into the unfamiliar sight of woodsy brown eyes that pierced her with an unrelenting gaze, taking in every inch of her water splashed face.

“Welcome to Astros, Your Majesty.” Grayson decided to address her properly, at least once. He knew it must be anything but easy for her to be taken from her home, her family and friends and to be placed in a kingdom so different than her own, traditions entirely foreign to her. He wanted her to feel welcome, wanted, cared for and respected.

“I believe there’s more to this kingdom than the ocean.” Y/N tried to keep her voice calm, but the slight shake wasn’t hard to detect by Grayson’s keen ears who were trying to absorb every word spoken by the woman he held so tightly to his chest, even if his arms were aching really badly from keeping his promise to catch her. Sure, he didn’t manage to keep her dry and they did hit the water with the impact, but her feet didn’t touch the sand and her pretty glassy Cinderella shoes were still in place.

“Of course. Plenty to see.” Grayson smirked, realizing she was subtly telling him to move along instead of standing in the ocean like a loon. He couldn’t help his smirk from growing into a full smile once she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing herself closer to his body, more than before. Realizing he needed her now in the most intimate, dirty way possible, Grayson decided the bedding ceremony would be moved up to immediately after meeting the officials. He had thought about having a ceremony for the wedding again, but being married by proxy wasn’t odd for royalty and his crotch was much more interested in taking the dress that clung to her body off instead of replacing it by another one.

“Can you not afford shirts? Is Astros in such a bad economic state?” Y/N rose her left eyebrow, her question earning her a hearty chuckle from the king who had been silent as he approached the shore. She didn’t know how hard he had to fight to keep himself restrained.

“We’re very well off, Princess. It was a warm day. Clothing isn’t always necessary to run the kingdom.” Winking, he brought a new wave of rosy-colored heat upon her cheeks. Putting her down, rather reluctantly, Grayson had swallowed thickly once she pulled away from him so quickly that her warmth left him yearning for her.

“Welcome.” Ethan was the first to approach her, his hand taking hers carefully. Keeping eye contact with the princess, he pressed an unusually long, open-mouthed kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it with a smug smirk upon his lips once Grayson cleared his throat, dissatisfied with the time Ethan had taken from him.

“I’m Prince Ethan, at your service.” Ethan flashed her a dazzling smile and for a moment, had she not been there with a purpose, Y/N thought he could be a friend. But she knew better. The Dolan twins may look like angels sent from above, but their hearts must be as dark as the deeds their family had committed against hers. She was ready to set fire to their lives and their reign, but in order to do so, she had to get them to trust her fully.

“Delighted to meet you.” She went for a bow, but Grayson swiftly stops her.

“You’re my Queen. You bow to no one.” Grayson explained, smiling as if he had managed to pierce the invisible veil she set between them, unaware she was anything but softened by this gesture.

“No one, but you? My King?” She didn’t hide her discontent with the situation in this moment, wanting him to catch a glimpse of the infinite hate she had for Astros and the ruling family. Unable to speak up, shocked with her reaction, Grayson stared at her with lips parted. He wanted to say something to convince her she wasn’t brought here to be his inferior but equal, however, he couldn’t because that wasn’t entirely true. As long as he refused to sign crown matrimonial, she’d be his inferior, his consort and wife, but never the Queen of Astros in the actual sense.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Mareen and I shall retire.” Y/N exhaled fully once she saw her lady has arrived, relieved she gets to hide from the inquisitive royals and catch a moment where she can breathe.

“Not a problem at all. However, I suppose you’re aware of our duty.” Grayson whispered the last bit, wanting to be more tactical than he was at the ship.

Lifting her chin, Y/N met his gaze decidedly. After all, she couldn’t avoid her marital duty and while he wasn’t the old, ugly, undeveloped king she had imagined in her mind, she wasn’t quite keen on giving herself to him. She had kept her maidenhood all those years only to lose it to a man who shall never be more to her than a husband in name only. She’d never love him…she promised herself that.

“Yes. I shall expect you at dusk.” Y/N nodded curtly, holding her breath as he gave her the honor of bowing for her. He told her she isn’t supposed to bow to anyone, so why did he do so for her? To get her in the mood to spread her legs for him? To dig a tunnel to her heart with soft gestures so the moment she reveals her beating muscle, he’d put a blade through it? She didn’t trust him not to kill her and he’s a fool if he trusts her.

As the girls moved toward the large, beach located castle, Ethan and Grayson finally had a chance to speak.

“She’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Ethan noted, rubbing his chin in a mixture of jealousy and lust as they both stared at her disappearing figure and the way the dress she wore clung to her curves.

“Yeah. And she’s mine, don’t forget that.” Grayson remarked, making sure Ethan knows his place and that his place was definitely not beside his wife. Strangely overprotective already, Grayson wondered if the old tales of the magic in Dracovia were true and if the princess might have used it on him. He felt bewitched, genuinely.

“Oh, I don’t intend to get too close to her at all. I said she’s drop-dead gorgeous as in, she will kill you brother. You’re not going to survive this dragon bride.” Ethan snickered, playfully punching Grayson’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes at his big brother.

Meanwhile, Lady Mareen had helped her future queen disrobe properly for the bedding. Despite it being anything but what the young girl wanted, she had to be presentable. She knew the theory, she had seen it in her training back at Dracovia, but she had never tried to please a man before and she had to be a master in it. She had to seduce his mind just as well as his heart and body, otherwise she would fail. A man is weakest when he’s in bed with a beautiful woman and while she didn’t think of herself as a typical beauty, she knew she could use skill to keep his interest on her instead of the many paramours she assumed he has hidden in one of the many rooms this castle held.

A special room had been readied for the bride and groom. A large corner of the solar had been partitioned off around one of the fireplaces. An enormous bed had been set up in the room and sheets of the softest linen were spread across it. A coverlet of emerald green, lined with black silk fell across the sheets. Rose petals littered the bed.

Now nude, Y/N got under the covers, telling her lady to leave and let her be alone with her thoughts until her husband came around. She cursed herself for noticing just how beautiful and charming he is, how seemingly loving and kind he might be. She reminded herself that men only break hearts…the only time a woman can keep her husband entertained is when the magic of their newly formed marriage surrounds them, but once that’s over? He’ll tire of her and find a new woman to keep him entertained. She had witnessed that one too many times and she wasn’t going to put herself in a position to love a man she has to kill.

The room was supposed to be filled with many court officials, so she braced herself for the inevitable shame she’d have to endure during the bedding ceremony. If losing her virginity to a man she had just met isn’t bad enough, she’d have to do it in front of several strangers who will be there to make sure the marriage was consummated.

Through the oak door, she heard the noise of the men arriving with Grayson carried aloft on their shoulders. He entered feet first, shirtless as he was when they first met, the men yelling their offers of assistance, their wagers as to the competence of his performance of the task ahead. They were silent as they stood him on his feet and stared at the bride who waited in the bed.

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Funny enough, the candlelight instead of electricity made her feel more at home than she’d like to admit. While Dracovia had electricity, most of the castle stayed alight thanks to candles – fire…fire for the dragon family.

Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken as if they smoked. Her lips were hard, as if carved of some warm vermilion marble. She averted her gaze, unable to bear being so bare before them all, including the king’s brother who seemed most engrossed in the view he was about to get.

Grayson was quickly undressed and pushed to the bed. The men watched avidly as he drew the covers aside, giving them a glance of Y/N’s bare thigh and hip, but nothing more. Grayson made sure he was fast enough for them to see nothing at all.

“Out! All of you!” Grayson ordered, his voice loud and determined, no one daring question his will.

When the heavy door slammed shut, the room suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet and Y/N found herself achingly aware of the man beside her. Grayson sat looking at her. The only light in the room was from the flames in the fireplace across from the foot of the bed. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the centuries-old wars between their kingdoms. He had no thoughts of the warning he was given of her possibly making an attempt on his life. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, moving his hand to touch her shoulder to see if the skin was as smooth as it looked.

Y/N wanted to bare it all and do her duty, but she drew sharply away from him on instinct.

"Don't touch me!", she said through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her enchantingly cold eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful. Never had he felt such a raging desire. His hand went around her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. "You are my wife," he said in a low voice. "You are mine!"

“I may be your wife, but I will never be yours.” Y/N told him with such spite, such determination that he let her go immediately.

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” Grayson’s voice softened, his eyes holding more understanding than she liked. Had he acted unreasonably and taken her against her will, she’d at least be right about his horrid heart and vile mind…but he didn’t. Instead of being a savage she imaged him to be, he offered her gentle understanding.

“Every female descent of the dragon is untouched before marriage, my King.” She addressed him properly, nearly throwing up at the title. She hated the notion of him being the King or having to bow to him, despite him telling her she didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry I was rough. I’ll try and be gentler. If you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you. I want you…really fucking bad, but I won’t take you against your will.” Grayson sighed as she stared at him with her big, wide eyes, seeing confusion pass her features.

“You won’t?” She cocked her head to the side, sitting up. She held the sheets close to her body, unready to reveal herself just yet.

“You really think that low of me?” Grayson scoffed, pulling away. He was clear on her way of thinking now – she saw him as a beast, not a man worth loving. She hated him. Wanting some fresh air, he moved to stand and leave the bed, but her small hand quickly wrapped around his bicep and applied just enough pressure for him to stop and look back at her. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze. In less than a minute, her eyes turned from ice to flame and he found himself captivated by the change.

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Grayson may be a warrior at heart, but she saw the desire in his eyes and she knew she had to harness it if she would ever convince him she’s his.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Grayson nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. He wanted to possess her. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Grayson chuckle into the kiss.

"I will help you," Grayson said and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress. His hand held Y/N's neck, and when the sheet was gone and she lay nude before him, he relaxed his grip as he gazed upon her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the warrior look in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A warrior isn’t gentle at all, unlike what he presented himself as. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Grayson stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Okay.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the speed of her pulse.

With one thigh, Grayson is forcing hers apart. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the curls he’d be the only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, Grayson found her clitoris and applied enough pressure as he pressed the pad of his thumb against it. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when her first moan escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Grayson pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as the nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, Grayson stops for a moment, looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, but she seems lost in the sensation of his thumb against her nerve bundle.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Grayson starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for her clitoris, drawing louder moans from her with each passing second until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, Grayson finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to release his semen deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Grayson decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants to cuddle, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

And that’s exactly what happened soon after. In minutes, she heard his slow breathing and she knew he was asleep. Silently, she slipped from under his arm and left the bed. She found the sheet Grayson ripped clean off her on the floor at the foot of the bed, taking it and wrapping it around her body. She felt his cum as it ran down her thighs, angrily wiping herself clean with a wet wipe she brought in her bag. After she got herself clean, she opened her jewelry box and pulled out a small packet, pushing out a single pill from the package and swallowing it without water – her safety net, the birth control pill.

Sitting in front of the fire, she glanced at his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself not to cry. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the King.

“Earn his trust, crown matrimonial, take the throne….Mom, Andrea, my youth.” She reminded herself of her plan and the valuable things she’s already lost for him and his family, drawing in a sharp breath when she realized he might hear her…He cannot know of the plan. But she needed her mantra and she recited it slowly, quietly, religiously to push him out of her mind…besides, he was asleep.

Or so she thought.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~           ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~      

Tags: @graysavant​ @yaren-ates​ @beinscorpio @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @graydolan12 @gia-kerks​ 

[seokjxnnie]

celestial (pt. 1) | kth (m)

genre: (future) smut, angst, demon au, incubus!taehyung x reader warnings: blood and violence, aloof asshole taehyung length: 5.3k

↳ her flesh and blood imparts immortality to any demon, but the incubus protecting her from the hunt requires something else of her body.

masterlist | part 2 ↠

a/n: let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates! thanks!!

Everything was a little out of focus, but those piercingly red eyes were impossible to dismiss. Long, slender fingers unbuttoned her shirt. A heavy, aching fatigue paralyzed her, yet she still managed quiet mewls when a pair of lips cascaded tender caresses down the side of her waist. A scarce twinge of pain followed each stroke of a tongue, inspiring her to lightly squirm, but strong hands held her hips down. Eventually, with each kiss against her skin, she felt better, revitalized. Her vision gave to a slow fade.

She stirred in her sleep, rousing awake.

A dream. An inexplicable yet vivid dream. She wasn’t sure how long she napped for, but it must’ve been for too long if she felt this lightheaded. Sluggishly, her eyes opened, adjusting to the light as she stretched in silky sheets.

Her body suddenly went rigid, remembering she didn’t have silky sheets. A jolt upright and she found herself in a foreign environment. She was in a bed she didn’t know, in a room that wasn’t hers, wearing clothes that didn’t fit her. Before fear crippled her limbs, the door opened and revealed a kind face.

“Oh, Princess, you’re awake.” Soft eyes greeted her. “My name is Seokji—”

She flinched and tousled back when he approached and extended a glass of water to her. There was a throb in her head that elicited a pained exhale from her.

“Don’t move so suddenly! You’re probably still a little weak from all the blood you lost.”

An unearthly chill swamped her skin at such menacing words with inference she couldn’t grasp. Her heart thumped violently against her chest. Her throat tightened with the threat to suffocate. “Where am I? Who are you? Who changed me out of my clothes?” she assaulted him with panicked questions.

“Taehyung did. He had to heal your wounds and your clothes were soaked with blood. I’m washing them right now.”

Although he was seemingly speaking to her in an incomprehensible language, his words somehow brought on an ambiguous, fleeting series of images of her mind, bursts of what she could only hardly make out to be violence and gore. Even so, they were just passing visuals that failed to illustrate a coherent recollection.

Plagued with confusion and terror, her limbs quaked and her head pulsed. She darted her gape around the room in search of means of escape. “Please just let me go,” a frail, fractured voice pried from her quivering lips.

Seokjin swallowed, lips tautening into an apologetic frown. “Listen, I know this all might seem crazy and scary, but try to stay calm so you don’t overexert yourself.” Gingerly, he attempted to extend the glass of water to her once more, “I can explain everything.”

Her breaths fell as tremoring wisps before she contemplated whether it was idiotic or in her best interest to believe in the sincerity the stranger projected. She peered down at her foreign attire, finding herself in basketball shorts and a Spongebob t-shirt – both of which were too generously sized for her. The harmless image of the apparent pair of men’s pajamas she was in seemed to suggest something far from a hostile kidnapping. Then briefly, her gaze shifted to the drink stretched out to her, recognizing that her pounding head was begging for it.

“It’s safe, I promise. I’ll show you,” he insisted, bringing it to lightly touch his lips before he took a gulp in hopes of evaporating any of her apprehensions of it being contaminated. “See?”

Wary hands reached out to accept it. Reluctance quickly turned to eagerness when she felt how good it was to soak her dry tongue and quench the dense throb in her temples.

She’s never had a hammering headache in this magnitude before. She’s also never ‘lost of a lot of blood’ before which, according to him, was why she was feeling the way she did. All over again, she was swathed by a haunting uneasiness.

Hence, in spite of his warm smile and seemingly benevolent efforts, when his hand extended out in offer of taking away her quickly emptied glass, she instead tossed it at him. In the distraction of having him fumble to catch it, she made a hasty lunge off the bed and a beeline for the bedroom door – the alternative of the bedroom window was unhelpfully high and would’ve instead made for a slow and clumsy escape. Veering around him and his wide blinking eyes, she threw open the door and sped out, her bewilderment readying her to weave through whatever she has to in order to make it outside and scream for help. Unfortunately, it was a swift transition from the bedroom’s doorway into a face-first collision with a broad chest of another unidentified figure. Dizziness returning in an amplified form, she stammered back.

“Jesus, take it easy,” a tongue clicked before big hands claimed her shoulders and held her upright.

She peered up to find familiar eyes – the same eyes from her dream. They didn’t have the same red quality, but the matchlessly penetrative glance they delivered couldn’t be mistaken. Was her mind so inundated that it had fabricated a dream of the man now standing in front of her trailing his lips down her side?

Taehyung, she recalled Seokjin’s mentioning earlier. The visual prompt of his familiar face suddenly made for an enrichment of her memories, triggering another barraging flash of bloody imagery. Nausea settled down on her and her sights started spinning again.

He caught her when her knees submitted to a buckle. “You’re not supposed to be up and about yet,” his criticism resonated with a deep voice. Arm swinging around under her knees, he picked her up. A quick nod at Seokjin reassured the older that he can handle it from here.

She would’ve struggled if she wasn’t entirely crippled by fatigue and anxiety. However, as he began carrying her down the hall, she was suddenly confronted with a strong sense of nostalgia. The humble and rustic walls looked as if she’s been acquainted. It wasn’t until he sat her down on a couch of a living room that she then taken back to an amicable elderly face eight years ago.

“This is the town shrine,” she mumbled to herself after the fragments of reminiscence assembled to refine a certain memory.

For as long as she could remember, the girl could see supernatural beings. In childhood, they had never bothered her more than a brush of curiosity. And so, as a kid she had even called the things her imaginary friends, being that apparently no one else was able to see them and she was consistently being dismissed as having a wild imagination. Approaching adolescence, she began to recognize the eeriness in their ghastly looks, becoming increasingly concerned that she wasn’t growing out of her ‘imaginary friends’. Her developing maturity allowed her to find the fear in seeing things others couldn’t.

As a result, at 12 years old her parents took her to a shrine seeking advice from a gentle-faced elderly monk. There was a brightness behind his crinkled eyes when he smiled, and a cosiness played in his voice whenever he talked. He assured her parents that it was nothing to worry about, that all her visions were the product of a creative mind. Nonetheless, he still imparted her with a bead bracelet, assuring that as long as she kept it on it would protect her. Her parents appreciated the monk’s white fib in an attempt to help her feel better. Although it didn’t dispel the monsters, she felt an attachment to the bracelet and kept it on till present day.

Now in the same shrine eight years later, she blinked at and fingered the same beads around her wrist. Their original dark brown colour was now tinted a deep red. Before she even had the chance to add to her amassing puzzlement, she stiffened as five other strange men joined them in the room.

“Oh, the Princess is awake!”

“I thought I heard voices.”

Seokjin followed, entering and setting down her folded clothes on the table in front of her. “I managed to get the stains out,” he greeted her by her name with a lively grin, “but I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything about the rips and tears.”

Her eyes broadened, terrified, when she held up her shirt with a monstrous bite taken out of its side. She gasped and jerked back in retreat when she at last remembered the earlier pain that had thoroughly conquered her body. All too vividly was the reminder of the demonic face of the child that clamped its teeth onto her ribs. All the overwhelming emotions from the entire day suddenly barraged her, provoking her to shake uncontrollably. Stinging tears welled up in her eyes.

“How do you know my name? Who are you guys?” she whimpered through a broken and frail voice, sinking into the couch to increase her distance from everyone.

__________

The day was eerie from the start.

The walk from her dorm room to campus was darker than usual. It wasn’t due to gloomy weather of any sorts – it was actually a sunny morning, perfectly characteristic of the budding summer season. The shadows were actually casted by the blankets of monsters that spread, hardly leaving any landscape vacant. Two-headed cats hung on trees, three-eyed foxes sprawled across garden beds, double-ended snakes spiralled around stair railings, crows two feet tall enveloped benches and stone sculptures. It was routine to see them often, so much so that it was often hardly a chore to walk on through as if she didn’t see anything, to pretend as if she wasn’t stiff with anxiety and fear. But today was different. Their presence has never been so ample. While none of them flocked to her, she could feel their hungry stares searing into the back of her head, as if stalking her as prey. A chill snaked up and down her spine.

“What are you staring at?” A classmate joined her side and reeled her out of her troubled daze. Their paths often overlapped, heading to the same lecture.

She had long ago given up on talking about the things that she could see. “Oh, nothing, just thinking about the lengths I’m willing to take to get out of that argumentation assignment due tonight. If I asked you nicely, would you hold a knife to my throat?”

The classmate snorted. “Christ, relax! It’s your birthday tomorrow! You get it done tonight and won’t have to worry about it when we celebrate.” Excited pats warmed the girl’s shoulder. “You think I’d let myself forget and let you off that easily?”

With such an uncanny start to her morning, even she forgot.

She tried not to act distracted and insincere when she thanked her peer.

While eager to find distance from the horde as she entered the school, she instead found dismay in her lecture. Windows lined the side of the class, and lining the windows were an abundant layer of more demons. The students carried on as if the room wasn’t dramatically dimmed by the obstruction of the copious densities of the monsters, as if they didn’t see the multitude of brutish, ghastly faces glowering at them – at her.

She sank into her seat. Not only the horror, but the loneliness has never felt as smothering as it did now.

What’s going on? Why was today as unusual as it was? She didn’t know, and will probably never know. It’s been this way of her whole life – no one around her could ever answer her questions about her experiences with anything other than a look of concern. Nonetheless, she swallowed the fear accumulating as a swell in her throat and reminded herself that she’d just have to carry on and hope that the strange themes will curb on its own by the end of the day.

So, once she finished her classes, she found refuge in a deep, quiet corner of the library away from the windows to finish her assignment due at midnight. Hours bled into the tedious clicking and typing of her laptop, and although mind-numbing, it adequately served as a distraction from the eeriness that lurked a just a few walls away. So much so that the anxiety of the supernatural gradually dispersed to instead make room for the fatigue of her studies.

The library was completely silent – it was now late and the occupants must’ve cleared out. She, however, just had a couple more paragraphs to refine before she could leave too. Eyes strained and dry, face stretched by frequent yawns, and mind dazed from the droning of the past few hours, she remembered submitting to the droop of her heavy eyelids.

Just for a minute, she promised herself, just to rest my eyes.

Regardless of what she insisted, the brief moment of ease and tranquility was mesmeric. So much so that when she finally did bring herself to stir and scarcely open her eyes, she found the time to be 11:42pm with no accomplishment of additional work from when allowed herself the break an hour ago. The panic surged through her, bolting her upright with consciousness and playing her fingers in a hurried and tireless employ.

It was 11:59pm when she clicked on “submit” and a green checkmark responded on her screen to inform her of a successful submission. She threw herself back in a slump with a sigh of relief. Stretching in her chair, she relished in the release of tension in her body to accompany her close-call victory.

Happy birthday to me, the girl quietly tittered to herself when the time on her laptop blinked midnight.

Packing herself up, she was drawn from the excited thoughts of being engulfed by her bed when she heard a childish sobbing coming from another corner of the library.

She froze, stiff and cold. What was a child doing on a college campus at midnight? The catalog of horror movies she’s watched could provide some ideas, none of which too kindly for her. Pulse thumping so rapidly that it seemingly burned a hole in her throat, she remained unmoving, waiting to see if the cries continued. Maybe she was so worn out that she was hearing things, she tried to rationalize. She remembered a psychology article she read, outlining something along the lines of the mind tending to fabricate false stimulations to the senses amidst a backdrop of paranoia, which was easy for her to develop in the dark and isolated environment she was in now. Although she might just be desperately reaching.

A rigid breath of distress pushed past her gritted teeth when she heard the whimpering continue. She wasn’t imagining it.

Prompted by the sliver of concern that it was actually a child in the need of help, pale and clammy fingers dug for her keys before wedged them between her knuckles as a makeshift tool of defence. Then, she cautiously made her way towards the sound. An attempt to console herself came with the reminder of her phone’s function of a blaring SOS alarm. She thumbed the power button in preparation to hold it down and trigger just that if necessary.

Up ahead, she saw a little boy sitting at a table with his back turned to her, whines and sniffles produced from the face that rested down on folded arms. The child’s shoulders quivered up and down as he sobbed. Gingerly closing their distance, she didn’t see any other company.

Someone’s visiting little brother? A staff member’s wandering son?

“Hey, are you alright? Are you lost?” she asked, employing a soothing and reassuring tone before reaching out a hand to tap his shoulder.

The kid spun around to reveal a demonic face – pale blue skin, eyes beady and red, teeth jutting and serrated, far from the anticipated face of innocence and vulnerability. Gasping, the girl would’ve lurched back if the thing didn’t latch onto her shoulder with its claws, breaking skin and drawing blood. She cried in pain, only wailing louder when his jaw widened and protruded to clamp down onto the left side of her ribs. An agonizing ache thundered throughout her entire body and forced her to her knees. It felt like the monster child had started lapping at the blood he drew from the wound he created. Then, it felt like his robust set of jaws was curtly removed from her side. With her senses blurring towards a deterioration from the sudden trauma that rendered her faint and close to unconsciousness, she was losing the ability to perceive reality as anything other than indistinctive and uncertain.

Her pale face dropped to the floor when she lost control of her movements over the immense pain. Under hooding eyelids, her hazy and departing vision managed to dimly distinguish a set of legs that straddled and knelt down on the demon’s chest. Vaguely, she watched as its thrashing and resistant body abruptly drop to a limp when a fist brutally landed on the creature’s face. Puncturing through its skull, a gaping hole was left when the hand retreated.

Everything dulled to a black.

A dream. A stir awake. A jolt upright in a bed she didn’t know, in a room that wasn’t hers, wearing clothes that didn’t fit her. The door opened and Seokjin entered with a glass of water.

__________

It was just past 3am, she learned. She had been unconscious for three hours.

A man named Namjoon was seated next to her on the couch, a wary distance away in consideration of her comfort amidst a disorientation. Next to him, Seokjin. Across from her on the other sofa, they introduced themselves as Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook, who was perched on top of the backing of the couch. Taehyung remained leaning against the frame of the living room’s doorway.

Her eyes were darkened with exhaustion and dewed with distraught. Hoseok had reached out to offer her a box of tissues. Soon, fibres of the damp and crumpled napkin in her hand produced a speckled and velvety texture on her fingertips.

Although still on edge, she’s decided to submit to cooperation. She couldn’t fight back anyway, burdened by not only the physical stress and wear, but also by its allied emotional strain when complete recollection of tonight’s dreadful events returned to her. Or at least for what she was conscious enough to record.

Moreover, this group of seven men might’ve been strangers, but they were strangers who promised answers to her confusion. For the first time in her life, she just might be able to finally understand… everything. Her fear of them had grown less aggressive – if they wanted to hurt her, they would’ve done so by now, as opposed to all keeping a sympathetic distance and projecting similar looks of concern from their eyes.

“When you visited the shrine as a child, the monk knew exactly why you could see things others couldn’t. But, you were still a kid, you weren’t ready to understand yet,” Namjoon spoke softly, prudently.

Jimin, foreseeing her overwhelming plunge into a reality different from what she’s known, moved mindfully not to further rouse disturbance within her when he departed and quickly returned with a hot cup of tea to soothe. She took the mug from him with a timid thanks, deciding to trust the gentle qualities reflected in his consolatory smile. It came as a reward, the hot sips calming the sharp strikes to her temples and dissipating the bloat in her airways.

“What wasn’t I ready to understand?” her voice came out feeble and splintered by a stubborn sniffle.

He replied, “You come from what our people consider a line of royalty.”

A loaded statement. A challenge to process. She only registered the first half of it. “’Our people’...?” she tentatively repeated.

“Demons,” Yoongi uttered the word she’s been waiting to hear, “the kind you’ve been seeing since you were young.”

An indecisive gaze trailed over their faces, unsuccessful in realizing any severe differentiations. No one had colourful skin, excess limbs or features, barbaric and unearthly characterizations, none of what she was used to seeing.

“But you all look human.”

Demons come in different forms, they explained. The stronger ones were able to suppress their demon traits and resemble humans, with the trade-off of being able to be seen by them. They’ve blended in, even walking among society, undetected and only perceptible to other demons.

It all sounded like an exert straight out of a supernatural young adult novel. It only escalated from there when she questioned the latter half that addressed her relation in all of this.

Every century, a human is born with the blood that can prolong a demon’s life if consumed after the ripening of adulthood. Devoured in its entirety, the celestial flesh and blood granted immortality. That celestial being was her.

The hammering in her head resurfaced. An apprehensive throb in her chest imitated the same pattern. Denial was the overpowering emotion in this instance, however. The girl scoffed a slight laughter of disbelief that accompanied the shake of her head. “That’s ridiculous. That can’t be. It… I can’t be…”

Except it would’ve explained why a mass of monsters stalked her yesterday morning. They were waiting. And right on time, at the stroke of midnight that marked her 20th birthday, the demons that mainly left her alone her whole life suddenly wanted to make a meal of her. Most of all, it would’ve explained why she was the only person she knew that could see the supernatural element.

Tautness abruptly overcame her once again when she made the connection that the seven men in front of her were also demons, possibly with the same intentions. Had they only brought her here just to surround her and have her all for themselves? The tips of her digits drained pale by the deathly anxious grip she had on her cup.

Jungkook realized the brewing fright and unease in her silence. With wide eyes, he threw his hands up in defence. “Woah, wait! Not us though! We don’t eat humans,” he exclaimed.

“Not all demons have desires for immortality and intend to hurt humans. But, we are here to protect you from those that do, Princess,” Jimin added, a trustworthy look glossing over his irises to complement his promising words.

She grimaced, “Don’t… call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

“Most of us have been under the monk’s care since we were young,” Seokjin explained. “He knew what would happen when you turned 20, and he wanted to protect you. We all grew up knowing that. When he passed away a couple years ago, the seven of us took over the shrine as well as the responsibility of making sure you’re safe.”

Her shoulders deflated at the solemn news, reminiscing the elder’s kind eyes that had comforted her many years ago. “So,” her wilted gaze reluctantly flickered up at them, “that demon earlier… it was you guys that stopped him?”

Hoseok nodded, “Taehyung did. If he had come any later, you would’ve…” he shivered at the thought of it.

She swallowed, disturbed as well by the recollection of the grisly red eyes and the agonizing pain that came with the sinking of its jagged teeth, how she was likely seconds away from being reduced to an indistinguishable pool of blood and guts. Her eyes stuttered in their peer up to Taehyung, who had remained quiet and still by the door the entire time. He was stoic and difficult to read, but she had been deprived of the resilience necessary to look at him for longer than a blink. This was because she was uneased by the idea that he had been the one to undress her from her red-stained and tattered clothing earlier. Whatever he did though, the claw and bite marks no longer marked her skin.

Stammering fingers traveled to graze her side, acknowledging the lack of an anticipated ache upon contact. “H-How did you…?”

Namjoon gestured to her wrist. The bracelet that the monk gave her, he also gave it to Taehyung. He was apparently faster and stronger than any of them. Wearing the beads simultaneously for a long interval formed a bond between the two of them. Taehyung was her familiar, was the term Namjoon used. It was a bond that meant Taehyung’s duty protect her overpowered his instincts as a demon. It was what provided him the ability to close her wounds and prevented him from personally gaining vitality from her flesh. They had scented the beads with his blood, Namjoon continued to explain, which will come as a warning to other demons. They shouldn’t be bothering her anymore for the most part.

Dwelling in such a prolonged stage of bewilderment was exhausting. Being awake in the middle of the night after just barely recovering from a penetrative pain that spilled her blood was exhausting. Wrestling between knowing to believe and wanting to deny such outlandish fables was exhausting. She sat still, quiet, numb, tired, fingering the bracelet around her wrist, now understanding why they produced their red tint.

“Someone’s going to tell her, right?” Yoongi blurted.

She looked up. What now?

Namjoon sighed, eyes dropping as if he was about to disappoint her. “Taehyung is…” he paused, clearing his throat and shuffling a nervous hand through the hair at the back of his head, “an incubus.” The air surrounding them seemingly tightened. “Which means—”

“I know what that means,” she deadpanned, stopping him before he had to embarrass himself— embarrass her any further, and before the red tips of her ears spread to blot more of her face.

A reminiscence of the elective mythology course she took during freshman year reminded her that incubuses gained life energy through sex. Incubuses were also supposed to be nothing more than a myth, but how could she be surprised when monsters and familiars and immortality-granting blood were a factual aspect in her reality?

No longer being able to stand emotionally smothering herself, she leapt to her feet.

__________

While finally in her own bed, in her own room, wearing her own clothes, she was restless. In spite of her relentless tiredness, she couldn’t sleep. Swaddled in an uncomfortable warmth prescribed by the summer heat and a fidgety apprehension, the ensuing sticky layer of sweat that draped over her skin made for a painstakingly long journey until the state of drowsiness.

She had politely asked to leave. She had thanked them for their care and for their explanations, but she was in dire need to be alone in her state of exhaustion and disorientation. They didn’t stop her, however Hoseok and Jimin insisted on walking her back to campus residence at this time of night. She declined and asserted her request to be unaccompanied. Again, they didn’t stop her, perhaps out of sympathy and condolence.

Alone at last, the girl was lost in her thoughts and it kept her up. While her eyes idly traced the uneven patterns of her ceiling, her mind tirelessly ran several trains atop numerous winding tracks that overlapped, each one trying to make sense of her situation, trying to assess how she was going to handle the disarming truth she had still so desperately sought for. Most rails ultimately ended in collision.

The sun was already beginning to rise, peeks of radiance generously filtered in through her opened blinds and made for an unaccommodating setting for sleep. A huff of frustration sat her up and trudged her towards her window to drop close the shades. Already a crack open, her fingers first wrapped on the underside of the window’s frame to open it further in hopes of it catching a heavier breeze. She had just started to lift the glass pane when a tall, dark silhouette came into view.

She gasped and recoiled backwards, her release of the window allowing it to fall. Her hand hadn’t retreated far enough yet, she realized when her finger got caught in the panel’s drop. Pain surged up the length of her arm when the frame slammed down on her index. Yelping, she dropped to her knees before wrenching her digit free, finding a bloody trench framing her nail.

She didn’t have more than a second to grimace at her injury when the complete opening of the window required her immediate attention. Clambering back, fear seized her lungs when the shadowy figure that was suspended on the tree branch immediate to her window had climbed in. Before a scream managed to pry her throat open, their closing distances allowed her vision to sharpen the facial features of the stranger.

“Jesus, you humans scare so goddamn easily,” Taehyung huffed, sitting on the sill with one leg hovering above her bedroom floor and the other swinging five storeys above ground.

Anger surfacing, she exclaimed through gritted teeth, “Were you there this entire time?”

“Yeah,” he replied, curt and without a shred of shame or penance. “I actually followed you the entire way home, but I guess humans are inattentive too.”

She would’ve clenched her hands into fists in resentment if she wasn’t met with an immediate aching jolt from her fingernail. “I told you not to,” she instead spat an irritated murmur, which promptly transitioned into a hiss of discomfort when she wiped the blood from her finger.

Her scent flooded his senses. “Yeah, well look how easily you hurt too. How your species has survived this long completely escapes me.” After a patronizing scoff, he leapt down from the window and slumped down onto the floor next to her, legs folded in front of him. He captured her wrist with the injured finger and brought it close to his face. She resisted, face contorting into a scowl, knees withdrawing to her chest, and hand tugging back in response. He reinforced his grip. “Just relax. I’m trying to help,” his tongue clicked with impatience.

The girl swallowed, eyes locking with his unwavering, assertive gaze. The echoing reminder that the supposed ‘familiar’ had healing abilities prompted her to retire her defences, although she was unsure of how it was exactly going to unfold.

Another sharp inhale dropped open her jaw, stunned when he plunged the tip of her finger into his mouth. “What the fuck are you do—” she began to shout before wrenching herself free from his lips, only to reveal undamaged skin that made her abruptly pause in disbelief. Rotating it in view, she confirmed that her finger was no longer bleeding, the nail was no longer cracked, and the likelihood of bruising was no longer promising.

Is this how he does it? She only briefly pondered. But just as quickly, her eyes dropped closed when disrupted by the recollection of her supposed dream of him running his lips down her shoulder, down her waist, before she had woken up suddenly unscathed.

This is how he does it.

And that wasn’t a dream.

Taehyung interrupted her silent stupor, “A ‘thank you’ will do—"

“Get out,” she lowly rasped. A series of troubled and shuddering winces debilitated her upon remembering the unintended mewls and whimpers he had drawn out of her in half-consciousness. “Get out!” her snarl escalated to a roar. She reached behind her before hurling a pillow toward him off her bed.

He jumped to his feet, his tensed lips sputtering a string of frustrated profanities and curses at her apparent unexplained outburst, especially after his kind deed. “Fine!” he barked. Spotting his basketball shorts and Spongebob tee slung on her computer chair, he snatched them up. “And I’m taking these back!”

The incubus leapt out her window and disappeared, which she firmly made sure of with her own eyes. The girl threw herself back flat on the ground, flustered, burying her face in her damp palms when she couldn’t strip herself of the lingering sensations of his tongue against her skin.