#gender restriction lift was a step in the right direction but still | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yuthoe · 4 years ago

Text

Day 6: Muse (MONSTA X: Lee Minhyuk)

REPOST BC IT DIDN'T SHOW UP IN THE TAGS LAST TIME

i was wondering when i'd finally miss a day of this challenge HAHAHA, but here it iiiisssss! today's prompt is

Day 6: Artist & Model

from this prompts list. i cheated a bit, using a short story i submitted to a creative writing class in college, but i edited quite a bit of it (in the original, the guy is bound and the artist is a woman) bc i wanted to make the reader as gender neutral as i could.

this story is kinda my baby, but at the same time im tired of looking at it by myself and letting it rot unseen in my college files lol. it's probably still horrible tho, even if i did get a relatively high grade for that class HAHAHAHA. i'm putting all of it under the cut bc we going RIGHT TO IT

PAIRING: Lee Minhyuk x reader. GENRE: smut (bc there's bondage and ~feelings~), fic. WARNINGS: bondage, ropes, gagging, mild suggestiveness. WORD COUNT: 1,501.

---

Minhyuk loops the rope one last time around your wrists, the white cotton startlingly bright against your skin. The series of crisscrosses start from your elbows down, secured with a small knot you can easily pull on if you want to unravel the whole thing. Your arms are pulled back behind you, looking almost suspended in movement; the rope gives no leeway, no space to move even an inch.

“How is it?” Minhyuk asks, moving on all fours on the bed to check for any signs of discomfort on his friend’s face. It’s almost a relief to be looking away from the ropes, if he’s being honest. If he weren’t so worried about this being your first time with bondage, he’d probably just sit there and stare at the intersecting lines and patterns the ropes make, the way they dig into the plush of your arms. “Are you good?” he asks again, swallowing.

You shift and squirm, the sheets rustling underneath you as you adjust your position. You open and close your hands, move your shoulders to try and dislodge the ropes, but they won’t budge. While Minhyuk was securing you in the bond, you didn’t feel a pull at all—he was very gentle, and you were even worried the ties would be a little loose.

Obviously, that isn’t the case now, as here you are—donning shorts and a tank top, a gag in your mouth, and your arms securely tied at your back.

Your eyes meet Minhyuk’s and you nod, impressed and a little scared that your friend group’s resident funny man is the kinkiest person you know because, with the way the ropes are tied, the way he walked you through the whole process… it’s like he’s done it before, and multiple times.

But while the sudden realization is scary, it is also very, very hot, so you’re not complaining.

“All right, just stay like that,” Minhyuk says, and you watch him hop off the bed and scurry to the corner of the room to drag the broken-in armchair across the floor. He shifts it this way and that, just out of your field of vision, miniscule adjustments that he insists helps him sketch better. It isn’t the first time you’ve modeled for your partner, so this is all familiar territory.

The ropes and the cloth between your teeth are new, though.

You inhale deeply. Exhale. You try to make yourself comfortable in the pose Minhyuk directed you into, sitting with one leg tucked underneath the other like a mermaid. You’re definitely gonna be sore later.

The springs squeak in the armchair, and you see Minhyuk tucking himself into the seat while flipping to an empty page on his sketchbook. You ground yourself on the familiar sight; he really is pretty, with the sharp jaw and piercing eyes. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like to have any artistic talents, so you could draw him too. Alas, the best you can do to replicate his image is a stick man.

“You still good, Y/N?” he asks, and without waiting for an answer, starts sketching. You hear the faint scratches of the pencil on paper, some light and long, some quick and short with a fuller sound.

It’s quiet, as Minhyuk is always quiet when he draws. He told you once that the silence is calming, the sounds of nature and graphite on paper helping him concentrate. You don’t know how long it’s been since he started sketching—your phone is on the desk at the opposite wall, and the clock’s batteries have run out.

The rhythmic scratching of Minhyuk’s sketching overtakes your senses, makes you doze off. You only notice when you start drooping forward, and you have to stop yourself from plummeting face-first into the mattress.

You shake your head, shift slightly to wake yourself up, and—oh.

Shivers wrack your body. Your arms, stiff with disuse, tingle as the ropes dig into your flesh, and you tense as if trying to break free of the bonds. You feel the resistance of the rope and try to breathe in deeply, keeping the oxygen in your lungs before breathing out slowly. Your back curves forward as you exhale and you struggle keeping in the moan that threatens to erupt from the feel of the rope.

Minhyuk notices the movement and pauses his sketching, moving his canvas out of the way to peek at you. “You okay there, Y/N?”

You take in another deep breath and nod frantically, still facing the direction of the desk, still sitting there how he wants, obedient and pliant.

The next thing you know, the hair that’s fallen into your face is brushed away, and you lift your head to meet Minhyuk’s concerned face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

A shaky nod.

“Really?”

Another nod, more resolved.

“We can stop if you want.”

You shake your head.

Minhyuk purses his lips, weighing whether or not to continue, and you feel a little guilty for worrying him, but you’re overwhelmed!

Finally he sighs. “Think you can wait like, five minutes? I’m almost done, babe.”

You let out a muffled “mhm”.

As soon as Minhyuk steps off the bed, you take another deep breath to compose yourself.

God, his fingers in your hair felt nice. Has it really been that long since you had any physical contact? It took everything in you to not lean into his touch, to not let out a sound, to not disobey him and keep still.

You close your eyes and crack your stiff neck, trying to relax once again. You will your breathing to slow and your body to move back into position, long enough for Minhyuk to finish the sketch. But with each second that passes, with each scratch of graphite that reaches your ears, it gets harder and harder to keep composed.

You can feel yourself sweat, and your thighs are shaking and tired from keeping your position. The rope restricting you feels tighter, its fibers digging into your skin—or is that just your imagination? Has it been five minutes or five hours? You’re not sure.

You take another breath—Is Minhyuk done yet?

The bed dips and you open your eyes. Minhyuk’s dark brown eyes look back at you, satisfied and grateful.

“You were really good, baby, thank you,” he says softly. A hand cups the back of your head and the other pulls down the cloth gag, leaving it to hang around your neck. Minhyuk leans forward and quickly kisses you on the lips.

“Can I get out of these now?” you said, voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. You try swallowing spit, but it only makes your mouth drier.

Minhyuk snorts. “The sketch looks great, thanks for asking,” he jokes and rolls his eyes. “No joke, though, you look really beautiful like this.” He slowly, gently lifts you up, giving your aching thighs a reprieve and settling you on his lap. You feel his warm hands rub and massage your tender flesh as he smiles at you. “Kinda wanna just have my way with you right now.”

You whine, “You’re killing me here!” and he just answers with a laugh. You squirm, trying to loosen the ropes, but your muscles are jelly. You’re still wound up from being in the ropes too long; you just want to get out of them and hold him again, press kisses into his face and run your hands through his silky hair.

Minhyuk isn’t helping either—his hands are everywhere, squeezing at your waist, running over your still trapped arms, cradling your neck, slipping under your shirt. His lips are at your neck, pressing kisses up your jaw and your ears, further amplifying your need to just touch with your own two hands.

Is this what the girls feel like in all those pornos? The heat, the haze, the feeling of feeling everything and nothing at the same time?

“Man, you knew what you were doing when you asked me to model for you,” you say, voice catching on a moan as he lightly nips at your ear.

Minhyuk chuckles and pulls away, smooths a thumb across your lip. You tremble in his hold. “So…? Wanna have a go? We can just try it out, but if you want to stop in the middle, we’ll stop.”

Would you even want to, though? In the event that you say yes and play out a scene, would you really, voluntarily choose to stop?

Do you want to get out of these ropes? Yes. But do you also want to see what Minhyuk is going to do with you in these ropes?

… Also yes.

There isn’t a doubt right now that you’re really, really absurdly curious as to what Minhyuk has planned for you.

You take a deep, shaky breath and lick your lips, anticipation clear in your eyes. “Okay,” you say, letting him take the reins. But still, you press closer and give him a kiss as you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

#kdiarynet #monsta x smut #monsta x minhyuk #minhyuk #lee minhyuk #monsta x minhyuk scenario #monsta x minhyuk imagine #minhyuk scenario #minhyuk imagine #monsta x scenario #monsta x imagine #fic: mine #fic: minhyuk #fic: spicy #theme: may trope mayhem 2021

36 notes · View notes

carelessannie · 4 years ago

Text

maybe it goes like this: steve builds his pack (part 1)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Read on A03

Read the Tony courts Peter wip

Stucky focus (Steve x Bucky)

A sweet, slightly angsty backstory in three parts (ending in Stuckony).

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, Middle/High School Au, talk about family death, public non-sexual submission, steve beats the shit out of some bullies

---

Maybe it goes like this:

Steve can’t remember life with a pack, but knows for certain that his Ma grieves for them. Ever since he was a boy, he would catch his Ma staring at fading photos of strangers, wiping tears from her eyes, and denying it when Steve would ask why do they make you cry.

It’s not until later in his life that Steve learns the truth about pack bonds, about the decision an Alpha makes in life to form a familial or an intimate bond with their packmates. His Ma refuses to let him learn about packs from school, instead sitting him down across the table, like an adult, Steven, and he learns about orientations and secondary genders when he’s nine years old.

His Ma explains the way kids will turn into adults: first establishing their orientation as Dominant, Submissive, or Versatile, and later in high school, presenting as Alpha, Beta or Omega. She threads their fingers together, and asks Steve if he can notice what she is, and he concentrates real hard, trying to decide, as his Ma laughs.

It’s okay, Steven, you won’t be able to tell what other people are until your own body has developed.

Steve nods, pretending like he understands, and asks his mom about her presentation. She gives him a sad— sad? — smile, and says she’s a Submissive Beta.

It’s silent as Steve puts those two things together with the strong, beautiful woman he admires as his Ma, and is still confused. He asks about packs, and Alphas, and what intimate and familial packs are— gaining an amused shake of the head from his Ma.

Why don’t I just tell you about my pack, yes?

Steve nods eagerly, desperate to hear the story of a family he never had,

My pack was intimate, Steven, which means we all loved each other very much and decided to live together. I met my— our Alpha when I was in nursing school, before you were born. She was already mated to two Omegas, and they had been searching for a Beta to join their pack. We fell in love. I met her Omegas, and all four of us were very compatible— do you remember what that means, hun?

Mhm, like when you know you belong with someone even more than anyone else.

Right, good, so we all belonged to each other, understand? We lived in our Alpha’s house, and all of us worked jobs in the city. About a year after joining her pack, I met your Pa. He transferred to the hospital I worked at, and he was also a Beta, like me, but he was Dominant. I introduced him to my pack, and they loved him too. Within a year, we were mated and I had you. Makes sense, Steven?

Yes, Ma. But… What happened to them?

At this, his Ma goes silent, breathing deeply before finishing the story for her son.

Do you remember the difference between packmates and bondmates, Steven?

Um. One is forever, right?

Yes, good, if you are in love or committed to a pack, they are your packmates, whether you are intimate or not. But sometimes, two people, or a whole pack, want to make their relationship last forever, and they become bondmates. All people have the private part of their necks, remember? You have to know, sweetheart, the only way to start a bond is to bite each other there while mating. We’ll wait to talk about mating until you’re in middle school, okay hun?

Yes, Ma.

Good boy. Now. The other important thing about bonding is that it ties your soul to another person’s forever. Any person of any orientation can bond with whoever they’d like, as long as they’re compatible. But you have to know, and this is so important, that once you bond, your souls become one. My whole pack was bonded, but… Daisy… hun, our Alpha died of cancer. She got very sick, and died. And when one bondmate dies, everyone who shares the bond gets sick and dies too.

… Ma, but. Why didn’t you die?

I decided, once I got pregnant with you, that I didn’t want to risk bonding to my pack. Your father and I loved each other so much, and you were the symbol of our love, not a bite. And I’m thankful, sweetheart, because I get to be your Ma and watch you grow up.

Do you miss them, Ma?

Every day, Steven.

Steve doesn’t remember his Ma mentioning her pack again after that day, but he did start to notice that she would get sad a few times a year, around forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. She would spend all of her days working hard to provide for the two of them, and always made sure Steve knew he was loved and valued, even when she denied herself the opportunities to find a new pack.

Looking back, Steve can see that they didn’t have a lot of luxuries or comforts, and definitely didn’t live in the best part of town. He had a few friends in Bushwick, growing up in the nineties it was a poor place to live, but they were perfectly happy to play in the streets during the day, and lock their doors tight at night.

As he ties up his laces, he thinks about his small family and is immeasurably happy. There’s no one he loves more in the world than his Ma. He hates the thought of getting on the bus and driving far away to switch middle schools, but his Ma reassures him that he will love meeting new kids and making new friends.

So he grabs his backpack, tightening the knots holding the straps in place, and hops down the stairs, only sparing one look to his Ma on the front step.

It’s a long bus ride to the school, more than thirty minutes. Over the summer, his Ma found out that the school system wanted him to transfer to a better school because of budget... something and overcrowding—? He’s actually not quite sure why he can’t go back to his old school, but his Ma made it seem like William Alexander Middle School thinks he’s special and has asked for him specifically. So yeah, Steve is really excited.

He’s going into Seventh grade, and gets his own locker, and gets to go to art class.

Steve spends the whole bus ride reviewing the schedule he already has memorized, and comparing it with the school map that his Ma printed for him, tracing his finger around from class to class. Bus to Nurse to Homeroom to Algebra to English to Nurse to Lunch to Gym to Art to Nurse to Bus.

The day passes this way, Steve confidently following his map around the school and taking notes in his small notebook. It’s not until Gym that he gets nervous, remembering his last asthma attack, and hopes the nurse told his gym teacher about his restrictions as he files into the gym and takes a seat on the floor.

“Steve Rogers?”

“Here.”

“No, Steve, I need to talk to you,” Steve looks up and sees his gym teacher, a really large man with a beard, waving him to the front of the class. The other kids turn to whisper to each other as Steve walks forward.

“I— did—”

“Steve, I have a note here from the nurse, saying you cannot participate in most exercises because of your health issues. Because of this, I’m going to suggest you join the sixth grade class, which will go at a better pace for you, and let Mr. Howlett help you further, okay?”

He feels his entire face flush dark red as the other students behind him whisper and laugh. He’s a seventh grader, not a baby sixth grader. He holds eye contact with the gym teacher, folding his arms across his chest, but still grinds out a, “Yes, Sir,” like his Ma would want him to.

“Good, it’s settled. Here, Mr. Howlett has sent James to show you where to go.”

Steve turns to find a small, smiling boy waiting for him at... parade rest? What—

“Alright Stevie, let’s go,” and the boy turns on his heel, marching across the gym as Steve scrambles to keep up.

James slows down slightly, letting Steve catch him, “First things first, my name is James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Jamie. I hate it, but it’s better than nothin',” he looks over at Steve, eyeing him up and down, “Second, Mr. Howlett is friends with my dad. You stick with me, and this class will be a breeze, capiche?”

Steve swears his eyes are falling out of his head, and he nods his affirmation.

“Good,” is all Jamie responds with before grabbing his hand, tugging him to join a younger, smaller group of kids in the gym. As they approach, Jamie lifts their hands in triumph, “I found him!”

Feeling betrayed, Steve rips his hand free in embarrassment, but Jamie just smiles wider and pulls him towards their gym teacher, Mr. Howlett.

How this man could be bigger and scarier than the last teacher, Steve doesn’t know, but refuses to hide behind Jamie as they approach, and instead stands up even taller. Mr. Howlett makes a grunting noise, flipping through a few papers on his clipboard, before looking up at the two boys.

“Rogers?”

Before he can respond, Jamie pipes up, “Yeah! Here’s his note from the nurse, and he’s my friend and— and can I help him out? Please?”

It’s pretty clear that Mr. Howlett couldn’t care less either way, but all Steve can see is the raw, eager look in Jamie’s face as he begs their teacher to help Steve.

Huh, he thinks, the only other time I've seen this look is when Ma begs the pharmacist to refill my inhaler prescription when her paycheck's late.

“Whatever, Jamie, just keep outta trouble, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir!” Jamie delivers, with a crisp solute to match, and pulls Steve towards the back of the class.

They settle down, and Jamie keeps holding onto his hand. Steve glances over and sees Jamie quickly look away, suddenly shy.

“Jamie?”

The smaller boy looks over, hopefully, “Yeah, Stevie?”

“Thank you, I didn’t think I’d get a friend on my first day, much less the best one in the school.”

Jamie ducks his head again before turning his brilliant smile in Steve’s direction, and Steve continues before he has a chance to respond, “and Jamie?”

“Yeah, Stevie?”

“I swear, cross my heart, that I’ll find you a better nickname.”

Jamie’s eyes widen, and then he’s laughing, loud and doubled over. He grips harder onto Steve, who can’t help laughing along, even as they get funny looks from the class and a gruff, c’mon, quiet down, from Mr. Howlett.

Shaking his head, Jamie tries to catch his breath as he responds, “ I— I think— I’d love that— Stevie.”

And all Steve can do is smile back.

---

It takes a week for Steve to settle on Bucky, and when Bucky says he loves it, Steve runs all the way home to tell his Ma.

---

Steve and Bucky have Gym class and Lunch together almost every day for a year, and spend the whole summer waiting for their schedules to be mailed, hoping for at least two classes together.

They get their wish.

---

Halfway through eighth grade, Steve gets sent home with a stamped letter from his guidance counselor. For the past few weeks, the guidance counselor has asked him and Bucky to have lunch in her office, and the boys always shrug and agree. Today, after finishing lunch, she hands both boys an official letter for their guardians to discuss with them.

“Whaddaya think’s in it, Stevie?” Bucky asks, squinting at the letter as he holds it up to the light. The boys are heading straight from lunch to the nurse’s office to get Steve’s medicine, like they do every day, and Bucky grips tight to his hand, intertwining their fingers, like he does every day.

“I dunno, Buck. Maybe she’s gonna tell your Ma that you smell and needa bath,” the comment earns Steve a light shove, and an affectionate, “Punk,” in response.

“Jerk,” Steve replies, a reflex, and reaches out to pull Bucky closer, “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it, Buck. She’s been real nice up ‘til now—”

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t wanna bother my dad if it’s somethin’ bad.”

They fall silent for a moment, both boys knowing how busy and strict Bucky’s dad can be. Steve sees Bucky’s head drop, lost, as he looks at the letter in his small hands. He slows them to a stop, turns Bucky around to face him in the school hallway, and hums in approval as Bucky meets his eyes and slowly tilts his head back. He grabs onto both shoulders, squeezing lightly, and pulls Bucky up close. Fingers tighten in the back of Steve’s shirt as Bucky clings to him, and he nuzzles into his best friend's hair, comforting, while rubbing across his shoulders.

“So sweet, Bucky. There’s no way your dad could be mad at you, alright? Believe me?”

He gazes down into soft, glazed gray eyes, and freezes. Bucky is slightly trembling against him, looking at him like he’s a revelation. Steve feels a calm settle into his bones as he reacts purely on instinct, reaching up to grip Bucky around the neck.

A few things happen in quick succession.

First, Bucky’s eyes roll up into his head, breath leaving his body in a woosh along with a high pitched whimper.

Second, Steve widens his stance, straightening his back, and Bucky sinks, fast, to his knees, gripping onto Steve’s thighs for balance.

And then, out of the haze—

“STEVE ROGERS, YOU RELEASE THAT BOY IMMEDIATELY,” and the trance is broken.

Steve is horrified to see Bucky curled up on the floor, and he stumbles back. Large arms wrap around him, herding him away from—

“STEVIE, no, please—” the voice of his best friend, his Bucky, follows him down the hallway along with small broken cries, and Steve fights hard against the strong arms that hold him,

“C’mon, kid, it’s okay. Just gonna call your Ma and getcha settled,” but Steve doesn’t care.

His boy is back there, somewhere, calling for him, needing him, and he can’t get back, he can’t protect, he can’t save, he can’t— breathe.

---

It’s okay, hun. Shh, sweet boy, it’s okay.

— Sarah, he had Jamie on his knees, submitting—

— no, I don’t think Jamie has stopped crying yet—

— only a few more months, it’ll be fine—

---

Steve wakes in his bed at home, confused.

“B— bucky?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his Ma pushes past the door, “you up alright?”

He blinks his eyes a few times, disoriented, “Where… what—”

“Shh, hun,” she holds out a glass of water, which Steve takes gratefully,

“Ma, where’s Bucky?”

His Ma looks nervous, and straightens the sheets on the bed, “Steven, Bucky is just fine. How much do you remember about what happened?”

The memories are sticky, “I was just hugging Bucky. He was scared that his dad would be angry about the— oh! The letter from the counselor. Ma, I have an important letter for you. Officially stamped and everything,” his Ma just nods, so he continues, “I dunno, I was hugging Bucky in the hallway, and then something was… different. Like really heavy between us? And all I wanted was to keep him safe, but then… Then they took him, and—”

Steve looks into his Ma’s eyes, suddenly horrified, “I hurt him, didn’t I?”

He must’ve, that would be the only reason they knocked him out and separated him from his— from his—

“No, Steven, not like that. You absolutely did not hurt him,” then what... “You were the perfect Dominant, hun, and it’s not your fault, okay sweetheart?”

“Dominant? Ma…”

“Hush, Steven. I’m going to tell you something important, and you’re going to listen to me,” he nods once, so she continues, “the letter from your counselor was very important, Steven. Remember how boys and girls start to present around your age? Your guidance counselor has been monitoring signs of presentation between you and Bucky, signs that were confirmed today in the hallway. Steven, today you presented as a Dominant, and Bucky submitted to you. Do you know what this means?”

“T— that we’re… compatible?”

His Ma nods solemnly, “Yes, exactly. The doctors are not sure yet if Bucky is Submissive or Versatile, but you are a strong Dominant. My strong boy.”

“But Ma, why was it so bad?”

She sits on the edge of the bed, scooting so that she can pull Steve closer,

“Because, hun, both of you dropped.”

“Dropped...”

Ma hums, finding the words to explain,

“A lot of times, when a Dominant and Submissive are together, they go into a headspace. It’s calm, it feels right and certain and instinctual. Usually a Dominant will take more control, and the Submissive will allow it, naturally. If this doesn’t happen in a safe, private space, or if it’s interrupted, both parties are at risk of dropping. That means you could feel sick, lost, and upset— and even panic or become depressed,”

Exactly like what happened to me, Steve thinks,

“— and with you and Bucky, you both passed out from the stress. That’s why I need to know if you’re okay, Steven,”

It makes sense. Now that Steve knows what to look for, he can easily recognize not only moments where Bucky has submitted easily to him, but also moments where Bucky challenged him and he ended up claiming Bucky’s submission in an argument. His best friend, the boy who fights for him and is always at his side— it’s overwhelming. All Steve wants to know is—

“Ma, please, what happened to my Bucky?”

“Steven, don’t—“

“I need to know—“

“He’s still in a drop, hun.”

Steve swings out of the bed, “How? It’s been hours,” he hears his Ma stutter out something, but feels a resolve settle, “I’ve gotta be with him, Ma.”

“No.”

“But—“

“I said no. His pack is sending me updates, but was very clear that they want you to stay away from Bucky for now. He needs time to recover and understand what’s happened, as do you. And, as your principal recommended, both of you are switching lunch periods and transferring classes, to help reduce the stress of being around each other, is that clear?”

Not even sure he’s heard right past stay away from Bucky, Steve drops back into bed in shock. No more Bucky? He can’t even comprehend what his day would look like without his best friend next to him, and just like that, he’s destroyed one of most important relationships in his life.

Hot, wet tears fall through the night as he wraps around his sheets, wishing he was holding onto a smaller, dark haired boy with crystal blue eyes.

—

There are only two months left until summer, and they feel like two years without Bucky.

Steve cries himself to sleep for the first week.

In the second week, he tries talking to the adults in charge, all of whom give him pity and suggest he’ll get over it and move on.

By the third week, Steve is angry. He snarls at classmates, teachers, anyone who looks at him the wrong way. He gets sent home with a note about his behavior, and his Ma just gives him more useless pity.

During the fourth week, he’s walking the hall to his last period of the day, when he hears a plea for help and the slamming of a door echo from the boy’s bathroom. He runs inside, ready to take down a bully, and sees two eighth graders pinning someone to the bathroom stall. He steps in just as they punch the boy across the jaw,

“Hey assholes, why don’tcha pick on someone your own size?”

The boys whirl around and sneer, dropping the smaller kid in a heap on the ground.

“Look what we have here, a pint sized savior,” the larger of the two smiles wickedly, as he sizes up Steve, and the other one delivers a kick to their initial target for good measure, “Wonder where you got the balls, tiny?”

Steve throws his fists up, and the boys smile even wider, amused. The larger bully lunges for him, suddenly, and Steve absorbs his tackle, trying to roll them around on the floor to get on top. He delivers a well aimed elbow to the guy’s throat, which has him sputtering, and drives his knee down between the kid’s legs, earning him a satisfying howl.

“Yo, kid, it’s okay, c'mon it was just a joke—“

The other boy’s words barely register as Steve lands one, two, three hard right hooks to the bully’s face, before pushing off his chest and standing to his feet. The second kid scoots past Steve, hauling his friend up and escaping out the entrance.

“St— Stevie?”

All of the rage expels from Steve’s body as he turns to find Bucky smiling up at him from the floor where the bullies had dropped him just moments earlier.

He approaches slowly, and notices just how bruised Bucky is, just how tired he looks. Steve catalogs the blood on his face, dark circles under his eyes, possibly dislocated shoulder, and gaunt expression with care, touching as little as possible.

“We should— we should go to the nurse, Buck. It doesn’t look good.”

Bucky nods and attempts to get to his feet, but lets out a weak groan and sinks back down to the floor.

“C’mon, jerk,” Steve teases, trying his best to hide concern and devastation, pulling Bucky back to his feet on his good side, “do I hafta carry ya the whole way?”

There’s a weak laugh that could also be a sob from Bucky, and Steve tries to take more of his weight as they limp towards the nurse’s office.

He feels hopeful after hearing a barely whispered, “Punk,” in return.

---

The nurse lets the two boys cling to each other on the small cot, and proceeds to call both of their packs, asking for both kids to go home early for the day.

Steve glares at the nurse the whole time, knowing that he only has a few precious moments with his best friend before they’re separated again.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Stevie?” the younger boy looks up adoringly, “you okay?”

“I’m fine, Buck, how— are you okay?” He does his best to hold back tears that are welling up in his eyes, and enjoys the solid feeling of Bucky, safe and warm in his arms.

Small fingers run over his cheeks, wiping away a few stray tears that had slipped free, and Bucky’s smile just grows, “So much better now, that’s for sure.” He wiggles a bit, and Steve laughs lightly, gripping his friend’s waist tighter.

He leans down, brushing his nose against the shell of Bucky’s ear, and whispers, “Nothing has been the same without you, Bucky.”

A shiver goes through Bucky’s body, Steve feels it by proximity, and Bucky remains silent, until Steve hears one hitched breath, then another. He pulls away slightly, looking into Bucky’s face as the smaller boy dissolves into tears. Bucky pulls himself closer, burying his face in Steve’s neck as great, giant sobs tear him apart. All Steve can do is shush him gently, kiss him on the head, and rock them back and forth, waiting for his Bucky to calm down as the minutes pass in silence.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,”

Steve looks up, turning his body to guard Bucky’s vulnerable one, and sees Bucky’s Beta father and Omega mother standing in the doorway, expressions both shocked and resolved.

“Steve, can you tell us what happened?”

It takes a few minutes for Steve to explain how he saved Bucky, and when he finishes, he watches the Beta and Omega exchange a knowing look, before they take a seat near the nurse’s cot. Neither move to take Bucky away, which is perfectly fine with Steve, who just holds his friend closer. A quick glance gown confirms Bucky has stopped crying and fallen asleep, sniffling lightly.

“We need to talk to you, Steve,” he hears Bucky’s dad call for him, and reluctantly looks up at both of them, noticing the guidance counselor also waiting in the doorway. He nods to allow them to continue,

“I’m afraid we haven’t handled this situation well, son,” Bucky’s dad continues, “and it seems to have hurt both of you boys. I’m sorry, and want you to know we only wanted the best for Jamie.”

“I get it, sir,” Steve shifts slightly, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “Does this mean I can see Bucky again?”

The Beta leans forward on his seat, making sure to focus on the younger boys, “Yes, Steve, we want you and Jamie to keep being friends, at least until you go to high school next year.”

He can’t even help the relieved sigh and small smile that take over his face, letting his eyes fall shut as he relaxes back onto the bed. Good. He doesn’t even spare a thought for their friendship after middle school, completely convinced that in this moment, him and Bucky will be together, forever.

---

Steve and Bucky fall back into their old routine, classes and lunchtime back to normal, and the news of Steve’s fight spreads like wildfire throughout the school. Both boys find themselves surrounded by new friends, many of whom knew Bucky but hadn’t hung out with Steve before, and he enjoys watching his best friend thrive in newfound popularity.

As summer approaches, Bucky starts talking more about going out for football in eighth grade. Steve always knew he loved sports, and had often encouraged Buck to keep playing baseball when the younger boy would get frustrated, so he naturally pushes his friends to try out. What he isn’t prepared for is how little he sees of Bucky over the summer. He barely notices at first, still seeing Bucky a few days a week, but then he starts to get rain checks on his invitations.

“Sorry, Stevie, rain check— I’m doing drills with the guys all day,”

“Aw man, rain check? I’m at conditioning every day this week and literally can’t get free,”

“Maybe rain check for this weekend? The guys are running plays all day, and I just gotta be there,”

“— you understand, right Stevie?”

And Steve does understand. He decides to give Bucky a little more space, only asking to hang out once a week, if that, and focuses on preparing for high school. He spends more time with his Ma, and she helps him pick out a brand new backpack from Walmart. When he protests, saying his old backpack is just fine, she shakes her head and insists on buying a product that will last. He fills it with notebooks and new pencils and pens and even a pack of colored pencils with a shiny dual sharpener.

It’s a few weeks before school starts that his Ma receives a letter from the school system. He’s decorating the cover of his notebook, laying across their living room floor, when his Ma comes and sits next to him on the floor.

“Steven, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay, Ma, one sec,” he takes a few moments to gather his pencil shavings, packing up his colored pencils, putting them in the correct order, and closing his notebook, stacking everything neatly on top.

“What’s wrong, Ma?”

“Remember when you went into middle school, and the government had to move you to William Alexander because the school closest to us was overcrowded?” Steve nods, he does remember, “Well, they don’t have the same issue with the high school here. So you’re going to be going Bushwick High, which is just a couple blocks away from us.”

“Oh, I thought I was gonna be going to school in Park Slope again, near Bucky?”

“I know, Steven,” his Ma gives a small pat to his head, before standing up and heading for the kitchen, “why don’t we have a snack and talk about it more? They sent a list of classes, and you get to choose electives and everything.”

Steve tries calling Bucky that night, eager to tell him about his news, but just gets the answering machine. He tries two more times that week, and comes up blank.

Within a few weeks, Steve is walking into Brooklyn High, confident and proud, and barely spares a thought about missing his best friend at his side.

#stucky #steve pov #steve x bucky #d/s fic #childhood friends #soft stucky #fluff #minor angst #steve beats the shit out of some bullies #mcu #fanfic #MiGLT #omegaverse

12 notes · View notes

prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

Text

The Devil Contained

Prompt: #162 for anon – “Come into the light.”

Anonymous said:

Hello hello! For the drabble game could I ask for #162 with jaebum if you don't mind?

Pairing: Im Jaebum x reader

Genre: demon au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1359

Whilst this is part of the KOD world, you can read this away from the series, although it would make more sense to read the previous stories to understand the world this takes place in.

King of Demons series: Havoc // King of Demons // Unfathomable // Sacrifice // King of Demons: The Return // In The Night // Identity // Prophecy // Someone // The Devil Contained // The Monsters Witch

“Why are you hiding? Come into the light properly!” you called out and Jaebum sighed heavily, looking down at his new clothes right when you walked into the room.

Your light snort wasn’t lost on the demon and Jaebum lifted his hand, fingers on the ready to click together. You gasped. “Oh no, don’t you dare!”

“Y/N, this isn’t me,” Jaebum implored, snapping his fingers. His appearance changed before you, his cloak and dark clothing returning to him.

“This is you in Sheol,” you reminded sternly, placing your hands on your hips. “Change back.”

“Why should I?” he asked bitterly, shaking his head to refute your instructions.

It was ironic to Jaebum that he commanded an entire world down in Hell. Everyone listened to what he had to say and never questioned him, knowing the grave consequences if they even tried.

Still, even after all these years of being together with you, he wasn’t used to having someone he answered to.

Your eyes grew hard and the devil softened, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Must I?”

“We’re trying to find your earthside fashion, Jaebum. We still haven’t found something you won’t protest about endlessly after one night wearing them. Last time you even burned the outfit from existence! That cost me a lot of money!”

He smirked. “Human clothes are too restricting.”

“Says the man who gets around in leather pants most days,” you retorted, uncaring of his troubles.

Sighing, Jaebum clicked his fingers together again and you immediately beamed, fussing over his polo shirt and chinos. Jaebum shook his head. “Y/N, who even wears these clothes?”

“Lots of people,” you mumbled, still admiring him fondly. Jaebum scrunched his nose up at you.

“Really?”

“Sure, this is a popular look for a lot of men in power.”

“To go to work in?” he echoed and you laughed, shaking your head.

“No, for leisure.”

“The Devil himself never gets a day off so why would I need an outfit for leisure?”

You rolled your eyes. “You have one night with me every two years on Earth. The first time around, I don’t think you ever complained this much about your clothes.”

“I was rather preoccupied, don’t you think?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Stealing all the mint chocolate chip ice-cream sure took your attention off your outfit, huh?”

“This isn’t me, my love. What other outfits can I wear instead?” he asked, looking at the pile of clothing you had bought in preparation this year. Jaebum had to admit, anything would be better than the weird layered thing Jackson had insisted was the hottest trend on Earth two years previous.

However, the stripes on the tee and the waistband of these pants did nothing to appeal to him whatsoever.

“Okay, how about this?”

“A shirt? How is that much different from my normal look?”

You laughed. “For one, it’s not made from silk.”

“I thought you liked the feeling of it under your hands,” he questioned, stepping in closer to you. Reaching to cup your face within his hands, he smiled wickedly at you. “Or is it the way you can easily rip it from upon me?”

“Simmer it down, Devil,” you remarked, blinking away the lust forming within your eyes. “No one in their right mind wears a silk shirt here unless they’re in a historical play or the mafia.”

“You humans have lost your sense of fashion. Silk has been a staple for centuries.”

“Yes, much like you have, we know.”

Shoving Jaebum back into your bathroom, he changed, looking up at himself in the mirror as he did so. This wasn’t as bad, he could wear a shirt, though he did miss the lightness of his silk. The pants weren’t a bad fit either.

This would do.

“Okay, I’m coming out,” he announced, stepping out to find you rubbing at your stomach. He frowned. “Are you unwell? Must we cancel our human date?”

“Hm? Oh no, I’m fine!” you excused with a smile, now eying him up.

Jaebum cleared his throat. “What do you call this look?”

“The Devil contained,” you mused, coming over to wrap your hand around his lower arm and tugged him along. “Come on, we have a reservation waiting for us.”

Dinner was delicious, though paled entirely once he was equipped with the largest scoop of mint chocolate ice-cream that he could get. Swinging your linked hands lightly as you strolled around the streets together, you shared smiles as you ate your ice-cream, and Jaebum knew it didn’t matter what he wore to enjoy this special time with you. Although he would always feel his best in the land he belonged in, it didn’t matter wherever he was, as long as you were at his side.

It was a love that was unlike any other.

He longed for you whenever you were earthbound without him and he wanted time to stop when you were spending your half of the year with him in Sheol. Knowing that after tonight, he wouldn’t see you for another two months was bittersweet.

Perhaps that was why he liked eating mint chocolate whenever he was up here.

You stopped suddenly and Jaebum examined your expression, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, your eyes attached to the store you had halted outside of. Jaebum looked inside, noting it was a baby store. He frowned; did you know anyone who was going to have a little human soon?

As soon as the thought came, his eyes travelled to your middle once more, blinking slowly. He had been so worked up and focused on himself that he hadn’t once picked up on the changes happening within you.

Jaebum didn’t know if the idea frightened or excited him immensely.

You caught his knowing gaze and laughed awkwardly. “Maybe it won’t be something we have together.”

“How can you say that when you know of our child growing within you?”

“It’s not just any child, Jaebum. It has a demon for a father.”

“Does that bother you?” he murmured and you shook your head adamantly.

“I worry I might not be strong enough to nurture it. Not to mention, all that I have read up on says that the gestation rate should be different. I could be having our child faster than I’m physically prepared for.”

“You read up about having a child with my kind?” he mused, touched by your efforts. Reaching down to rest his hand upon your stomach, Jaebum grinned. “She is as strong as her mother is.”

“She?!” Gasping, you shook your head rapidly. “Jaebum, I didn’t know the gender! How did you… why am I even asking, you’re the Devil himself.”

“It appears I have wreck havoc after all on a human, just not in the way the Gods anticipate,” he announced as you groaned loudly. Looking at you, he noticed the smile you were trying to hide and laughed in satisfaction. “Who knew I would become a father?”

“I did,” you told him, recovering enough to look up at the man you loved. “And a fantastic one at that.”

“With you as my queen, what can I not do?” he told you, kissing you passionately before looking up at the store again, a smile curling up his lips.

“No ice-cream this time, that’s a first,” Jinyoung exclaimed when Jaebum arrived back from his trip to Earth, though the insightful demon soon grew perplexed. “Brother, what did you do?”

“The unthinkable,” he mentioned proudly, raising a hand to his chest as he passed Jinyoung and went into his chambers. Jinyoung had followed, scratching at his head.

“Did you cause actual calamity?”

“I brought around new life.”

“New… you did what?!”

Jaebum grinned, opening a set of doors, watching as everything he had travelled back with soon settled upon the floor. Jinyoung approached the first box and then sent a startled look in the direction of the Devil.

“Will you help me prepare everything? It won’t be long until we have a true demon princess among us.”

Jaebum was excited for his next trip to Earth already, knowing it would be a family outing instead.

_________________

[Drabble Game Masterlist] | [GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

196 notes · View notes

ultradiplr · 5 years ago

Text

Stress Relief

Butler!SigmaxReader

Plot: You notice the head butler of the estate you’ve been invited to has had a rough night and offer to help him relieve his stress.

Tags: Age Difference. Size Difference. Master/servant dynamics. Oral. Fingering. Penetration. Reader is Gender Neutral but is referred to as Sir as an honorific because Idk, I didn’t feel like thinking too hard about it.

A/N: Prompt provided by the Sigma Server and voted on by my lovely followers on Twitter, head over there yourself to see art and vote in the next poll if you’d like! Twitter.

Company get togethers are always sort of awkward, but when its hosted at the founder’s estate it just adds a whole new layer of unpleasantness. Although you were technically nothing more than a file pusher at the lower levels of the company you won a lottery draw to join with the bosses and executives to said founder’s estate and you dreaded the idea the moment your name was announced.

You did not belong around those sorts of people, rich assholes that just had a knack for ordering people around or the types of people willing to kiss up enough to join them, and you felt completely isolated as you stood in the nicest thing you owned alone at the back of a large party room filled to the brim with fancy business types all wearing suits that probably costs more than your entire life savings.

You were sure no one would realize you left if you just walked out right now, no one except maybe your boss but they were off rubbing shoulders with their boss’s boss so maybe not, but you stayed anyway. One because free food was free food, and two because well… you hated to admit it, but the owner sure had some fine looking help.

Especially the head butler. An older man, insanely tall and broad, with sharp but still soft features and gorgeous grey-periwinkle eyes that dazzled as if filled with stars. It was embarrassing how quickly you became smitten from simply laying eyes on him as he greeted everyone as they came in through the door, it was more embarrassing how quickly filthy thoughts entered your brain when he held your hand in his gloved ones in a polite handshake.

You always had a thing for older or bigger men, and this guy was the complete package. God, you wanted to run your hands through his cute greying hair and hold onto his shoulders for dear life and kiss his pointed nose but alas, you did not have that sort of confidence. So you contented yourself with simply staying and taking your fill of him from afar for tonight.

Not very afar though, he was good at his job and came by to ask if things were alright quiet often, perhaps seeing you alone as a sign of a problem. You usually just answered him with a quick “I’m fine, thank you.” when he asked, and a simple “No, thank you.” when he offered you a glass of wine. You blushed hard every time he came around with something new and he spoke to you in his rich, sweet voice, and every time you made sure to thank him for his offers, especially as you noticed more and more people simply waving him off without so much as a glance.

You felt bad for him as the night slowly winded on and you noticed he started to look a little frustrated as he had to deal with increasingly rude guests. Disrespecting him, not answering him, and finally actually shouting at him, he took everything in stride but that last one really got to him, you could tell, as he apologized, turned on his heal, and walked out of the room. No one paid him any mind except the asshole who yelled at him who simply looked pleased at the abuse he inflicted before turning back to his group and chatting on like he’d done nothing wrong.

It boiled your blood but you weren’t in a position to stand up for the poor butler either, after all everyone here was technically your boss too. But you wanted to help the guy, he had been so thoughtful of you tonight, even if it was his job, so quickly you followed after him.

It took a bit to find him again, his stride so much bigger and faster than yours but when you did find him he was pacing around and looking as frustrated as ever. He didn’t seem to notice you, or any of the other help that shuffled past him quickly taking things to and from the party. He looked a bit disheveled and his hand combed through his hair as the other was gripping repeatedly into a fist. He was a lot more angry than you thought.

You stood a distance away from him, and coughed to get his attention, “Sir?” You said and he stopped in his angry pacing to look back at you, “I’m sorry for what happened back there, you didn’t deserve to get yelled at.” You said hesitantly.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes betraying his confusion even as his face stayed placidly angry. He blinked, sighed and composed himself as best he could, smoothing his hair back with one of his gloved hands.

“Thank you, I appreciate your concern.” He half smiled at you, the tire now coming out in his features. “But I advise you to return to the party, this area is restricted to staff only.” He said calmly, shifting easily back into his service voice.

You blushed and chuckled awkwardly looking around you realized you had no idea where you were, “Oh… um, alright.” Was that it? A simple thank you? Was he alright? You didn’t want to leave him stewing in negative emotion but at the same time you didn’t want to seem like you were pushing boundaries on this complete stranger.

“So it’s a left and then right, right?” You ask pointing behind you and he looked in that direction and back at you.

He sighed again and straightened himself out, “I’ll escort you back.” He said and you instantly felt bad, had you just interrupted what little break he wanted to take?

“No, it’s fine, thank you!” You say quickly, stepping back from him but he closes the distance between you instantly and takes your hand, wrapping your arm around his and leading you briskly back in the direction you came.

“No, no, I don’t want you getting lost, it wouldn’t be the first time a guest has and the onus is on me if you do anyhow.” He sounded a bit annoyed and it stung your heart, you didn’t want him to be angry with you, you just wanted to apologize and make him feel better.

“I’m serious about being sorry for what happened.” You say as you try to keep up with his gate, “You did a really good job tonight, you really didn’t deserve that yelling, I just wanted to know if you’re alright.” You spoke fast, mind slightly distracted with not tripping over your feet and falling flat on your face.

He stopped and you jolted a bit by the sudden lack of momentum, the party could be heard slightly muffled through the thick walls, perhaps only just right outside were it was being hosted. He looked down at you, his expression amused, tired, but amused.

“I’ve done this job for many, many years, that wasn’t anything I can’t handle on my own.” He says assuredly with a soft squeeze to your hand, though that doesn’t really make you any happier.

“At least take a break, please?” You ask up at him, for the first time in your life actually pouting, “You looked awfully stressed back there, I can show you a few ways to relax if you want.” You said with a touch to his chest.

He blinked at you as all expressions dropped from his face, and you looked at him confused for a moment before blushing hard with the realization about how that sounded. He seemed frozen, like he was unsure about what you said, and in truth you were unsure too.

“I-I know some breathing exercises.” You correct quickly, withdrawing your hand slightly. You saw his expression change slightly into.. Disappointment? Wait a second, he couldn’t have actually wanted…

“But there are other things too… if you want… I wouldn’t mind.” You added quickly after that, splaying your hand on his chest again, feeling his heartbeat under the thick layers of clothing.

You watched the cogs turn in his head and flush a little darker as his eyes quickly flick over you. He looks up at the entrance to the party and back at you and then he lets out a slightly shaky breath. Without a word he holds you a little tighter to him and leads you to another door in the hallway.

When he opens it he quickly ushers you inside before shutting the door and locking it behind him. You feel softness around you and are kind of freaked out before he turned on the light to reveal it’s just the coat room. You’re momentarily distracted from your handsome partner by the idea of being surrounded by so much money, but your attention is drawn back as he pulls you into him and lifts you so that he can latch onto your lips.

You moan into the kiss as he flexes his strength, holding you tightly against him with one hand firmly on your ass as the other hand threads it’s fingers in your hair. He’s frustrated and rough, devouring your moans as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him desperately.

Your make out session did not last long, or did it? It was hard to tell, time felt so fake as you felt his tongue explore your mouth, but soon enough he pulled away, chuckling at your already disheveled appearance and wiping away the little saliva that followed him.

“Did that please you sir?” He asked cheekily and you felt a weird sort of feeling roll through you at the title.

“Y-yes.” You squeaked out and he chuckled giving your ass a squeeze before letting you down.

“I believe you wanted to show me how to relax, sir?” He said, the honorific dripping with pointed lust, and you gulped.

“I.. um.. I think you’re too tall… standing.” You stutter out, hands resting on his thighs and seeing easily if you were to get down on your knees you wouldn’t actually be able to reach him.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” That word was making your head swim, even if it was a respectful title it sounded more like a pet name in his tone.

“Sit?” You say unsure and he lowers himself to the floor instantly, keeping his legs wide to allow you room.

“Is this alright?” He asks as you settle between his legs and start to run your hands along his thick legs.

You nod, “Perfect.” You say a little breathlessly, and he chuckles, watching with amusement as your small hands feel up his calves and thighs.

The fabric of his uniform felt expensive too, soft and smooth and very breathable. He was warm to the touch and so very muscular. You wondered just what this uniform was hiding, but at the same time the sight of him sitting with his legs spread before you while still wearing such an outfit was much too delicious.

You ran your hands up his thighs, feeling them quiver just the slightest as your small hands roamed over them, and slowly felt up to his already hardening bulge. He felt hot to the touch, even through his pants as you cupped him, moving the fabric over him as you gave a few light tugs at him. He moaned softly and bit his lip, his face red and his eyes dilated in lust. As you felt him up you leaned down and kissed him over his pants, earning a satisfied sigh as a white gloved hands settled on your head, petting it softly.

You unzipped him enough to free him and you gasped when you pulled him out. He chuckled darkly at your expression and you felt your face heat up even more.

“Is it to your liking, sir?” He said smugly and your face reddened even more.

You could only nod, wide eyes and open mouth as you held is beautifully thick and long cock in your hands. It was heavy and hot and just so perfect with a thick vein running along the bottom that you thumbed as you stroked him experimentally. His hand flexed on your head a little but he made no move to rush you, settling back more as he watched your hand pump him slowly, taking him all in with your eyes.

You locked eyes with him as you lowered your head and licked a long stripe from his base to his tip, smiling when it pulled a delicious groan from him that hit you straight in your loins. You liked his head, swirling your tongue around it and lightly sucking on it as you jacked him, delighted to feel his hand grip into your hair.

“Sir.” He whined as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You knew no matter how much you wanted to take all of him you simply did not have enough time or luxury to adjust to him so you compensated for the extra inches with your hand as you took him as far as you could, moaning around him as he twitched in your throat. He smoothed your hair out of your face with his extra hand and before you could do anything both hands gripped your hair and forced your head up and off of him before slamming you back down onto his shaft.

You let him, drooling around him and lazily looking up at him, tears falling from your face as your hands abandoned their stroking to simply grip onto his pants. He was rough and obviously trying to just chase his own release regardless of your comfort though you noted he didn’t force you down any further than your limit. He bucked his hips into your mouth and delighted in the awful sounds that came from him fucking brutally into your rawing throat.

“You’re a natural, sir.” He bit out, the sir adding a strange and arousing layer to the degradation. He was mocking you and it was so fucking good.

He pulled your head off of him and pulled you to him, smiling at the way your eyes rolled and locked on him, unfocused and dilated to hell, gasping for air through your rubbed raw lips. He kissed you, tender in comparison for his rough treatment.

You straddled his hips, locking him between you as he continued your make out session from before, only this time with a lot more biting and mumbling as his hands quickly grabbed and pulled you out of your clothes, stripping you completely while he still sat fully clothed.

As he tossed your shirt deeper into the closet he pulled back to admire you, eyes taking your in as his soft gloves caressed all your sensitive areas lovingly.

“Mooi.” the word drifted out of his lips breathlessly and although you didn’t know what he said it made you blush all the more harder.

You wanted to cover up, feeling exposed under his eyes and the fact he was still clothed but he simply did not let you, lightly swatting your hands away every time you tried. His hands smoothed over your sides and down to your hips where they rested and guided you to grind onto him a little. You grabbed onto his shoulders and mewled as you felt his hard shaft under you.

He thrusts lightly up into you as he watched you glide along him, precum dripping along himself and helping you slide smoothly even more. You whimpered when he lifted you a little high and you felt his tip ever so slightly catch into you before gliding back over you. He kissed your shoulder and whispered into your ear,

“Is this what you want, sir?” He tilted his hips and you felt him push up just a little into you and you gasped loudly, gripping on his shoulders so tightly your knuckles went white.

“Y-yes.” You huff out as you feel him glide over you again.

He chuckled darkly and leaned you back onto the floor so that he loomed over you. He smiled down at you, looking awfully menacing and sexy, all done up and proper still save for his slightly crooked bow tie and ruffled hair. He braced himself with one arm beside your head and with his other hand he brought it up to his mouth and removed it in one smooth motion. He spit the glove away to the side to be lost with your own clothing and delicately began to caress you again, no barrier between you and his skin now.

You writhed a little under him as he felt you up, running his fingers over your neck and shoulders and down the middle of your chest and over your stomach, teasingly stopping just at your waistline and skipping straight to your thighs that he pet lightly.

“Please.” You sighed raising your hips as his hand traveled higher up your inner thigh, “Please.” you pant as his hand lightly ghosts over were you want him to touch, “Please.” you moan when he finally does.

He leans in to capture your lips as you pull him close when his fingers finally enter you, wasting no time in stretching you out. It was a little painful but you didn’t care as you slowly adjusted, moving your hips along with his fingering, loving how deeply they hit inside you. His chest rumbled with moans as fingered your tight entrance and you squeezed down on him, the need to shove his cock into you growing by the second.

When he felt you prepped enough he took his fingers from you and grabbed onto himself, stroking himself a few times as he lined up with you. He gave you a look, making sure you were ready and with a nod he began to push into you. His other hand had to clamp down on your mouth as you let out a long, strained and loud whine as you felt him stretch you. You couldn’t stop it, the stretch just too much. Not bad, not bad at all, but just.. So much. You went ridgid at just his tip and he had to coo you into relaxing with kisses and soft words.

As he slowly worked inch by inch into you, you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching, the mixture of the feeling of being so full and his sweet attention being a dangerous concoction, and before he could even get halfway in you jolted with a sudden orgasm. He stopped instantly and a desperate, muffled cry was pulled from his throat as he felt you squeeze around him.

“Are you alright?” He asked with a huff, touching your face and waiting for you to snap back to reality.

“Y-yes, fuck, keep going.” You asked leaning into his touch and moving your hips to encourage him, helping him slip into you even more.

He groans and continues to push forward, bottoming out with a full body shiver and holding your hips tightly with his hand to keep you from squirming, trying to calm himself down long enough to actually start moving. You meanwhile grabbed and scratched and pulled on whatever you could reach, pulling him closer to kiss his face and feel around under his suit jacket. You felt so hot and overwhelmed in the best way, stretched wider than you ever had and completely addicted to the feeling already.

You were sure you’d be ruined for any other man after this.

When he started to move you nearly came again, the long, agonizing drag out forcing you to feel every little detail of him. You mewled and muffled yourself in his shoulder, biting down on the fabric there as he snapped his hips into yours harshly. He set an agonizing pace, slow out and hard in, making you lose your mind as you were pushed quickly toward another peak.

“Fuck” He barked as he felt you cum again but this time he did not stop, continuing to thrust into you as you quivered around you, dragging it out.

His hips picked up as he began to slide into you easier and easier as you relaxed and adjusted to him and soon your whole body was wrapped around him in an attempt to hold onto him as he pounded relentlessly into you. He kept his hand firmly on your mouth as every thrust pushed a moan out of you and his head was bowed harshly into your neck, his breath hot and quick on your skin as he huffed with every brutal thrust.

You heard mumbling from him but you couldn’t tell if it was English or Dutch, mind lost in the feeling of his thick cock.

When he came he bit down hard on his arm he was using to brace himself as he emptied a thick load into you with a full body shiver, continuing to fuck into you until it finally became too much and he stopped, panting and whining quietly.

“Thank you.” He says softly, breathlessly, and it hits you how tired and relieved he sounded, how much more… lively his voice sounded like this.

“You’re very welcome.” You say so softly, nuzzling into him with a wide and tired smile, warmth radiating through you.

—–

After you had gotten redressed and presentable he helped you out and called a private driver to take you home, seeing that you had no reason to stay any longer.

“I do hope you enjoyed your short visit.” He said as helped you into the back of a very nice car.

“Yes, very much.” You say as you settle onto the nice leather seats.

Before he could shut the door you stopped him smiled, “If you ever need to relieve some stress again I’m always free.” You flirted.

He smiled, a beautiful genuine smile and nodded, “I’ll be sure to remember that on your next visit, sir.” He said with a wink and with that he closed the door.

Damn, guess you need to get a promotion asap.

#Sigma #Sigma Overwatch #Overwatch Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Sigma x reader #Sigma x you

100 notes · View notes

tangledcassandra · 5 years ago

Text

I Know the Truth

Title: I Know the Truth

Description: When Cassandra has a not-so-innocent dream, it opens up a whole flood of feelings.

[Read on AO3]

Cassandra wakes to find herself immobile. Arms, legs, torso, hands, ankles, all bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Who are you?" A voice rings out, and Cassandra looks up from trying to determine what she's been restrained with. It's not rope, that's for certain.

"My name is Cassandra. I've come to rescue the lost princess," she says, with as much authority as she can muster. She doesn't exactly have the upper hand, and appeasing her captor is probably her best bet. Still, seeming timid is not her strong suit.

"I'm the lost princess," the mysterious captor steps out of the shadows, revealing herself to the guard.

It's then that Cassandra realizes what's restricting her. It's hair. Long, golden locks spring from the head of the princess, swirling in random patterns on the ground and culminating around her and the furniture. An unorthodox but effective tactic, she notes.

"All of Corona has been searching for you, your highness," she squirms under her confines, but she's tied up tight.

"And now you've found me," she slinks across the room, coming to stand in front of Cassandra. She reaches a hand down to cup her chin, pulling her face upwards. The guard gets a good look at those sparkling green eyes, before the princess descends and envelopes her in a deep kiss. She doesn't protest, leaning into the intimate touch. She's dreamed of this moment many times before.

Rapunzel straddles her legs as the kiss becomes more passionate. Cassandra fights against her restraints, wanting desperately to touch her, but not being allowed. Rapunzel rolls her hips, sliding against Cassandra's lap, and she can barely suppress a whine as she feels a wave of heat rise up her body.

"You kept me waiting a long time," the princess says breathily.

"My apologies, princess," Cassandra leans forward as the princess pulls back, aching for her touch again.

"Since I had to wait so long for my freedom, now you'll have to earn yours," she dips down again, and her soft lips meet Cassandra's with renewed fervor.

As the guard melts into the kiss, so too does the princess, and soon Cassandra finds her hands roaming the delicate hips of the woman occupying her lap. One hand trails up, gloved fingers making contact with the flawless skin of the princess's neck. She shudders beneath the touch, which compels Cassandra to grab a fistful of that blonde hair and pull her head back. Their lips part, but Cassandra keeps hers busy with the exposed neck and collar of the princess.

"Cassandra…" the breathy whisper of her name makes her pause, looking up at her romantic companion. Eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling as she allows herself to be absorbed in the moment. Cassandra carries on with her nipping and suckling, teeth and tongue playing along the perfect untouched skin. She certainly doesn't want to disappoint her princess.

"Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra!" Rapunzel's voice rises in pitch as she carries on. It encourages her to be bolder, sliding a hand down to lift the purple dress. She hears her name being called again, this time louder, more pronounced, less breathy. More urgent, almost.

Cassandra wakes to see Rapunzel standing over her. Looking up and taking stock of her surroundings, she determines she's inside the caravan. Still on the journey to follow the Black Rocks. She blinks, pushing down the last traces of a wonderful dream, sighing groggily as she sits up on the edge of the bed.

"Raps? What is it?"

"You were breathing heavily and squirming a lot. I thought you might be having a nightmare."

Cassandra can feel a blush rise from her shoulders all the way to her face, and she quickly turns away. "Nightmare. Yeah. Right. I need some air."

She stands and makes her way to the door, opening the top half and letting in daylight. She leans out, surveying the trees around them, trying to judge what time it is by the location of the sun. Her frequent night watches have made for a lot of day naps, altering her perception of time and the passing of days. She yawns, the fog of sleep lifting, although her mind keeps replaying the events of her most recent dream.

Rapunzel appearing by her side does not make it easy. "You know, when I had nightmares back at the castle, it helped if I talked about them. You've always been there to listen to me. I want you to know that I'm here for you too," she reaches for Cassandra's hand, but the lady-in-waiting senses the touch before they meet, and preemptively pulls away.

"Thanks, Raps, but I'm fine. I'm good," she smiles wanly, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, hoping to scatter any remaining indecent thoughts. This isn't the first time she's had a dream like this, and with Rapunzel standing next to her, hair glowing in the sun, eyes sparkling in the light, she knows it won't be the last. Daydreams and night dreams of the princess have filled her head ever since the day they met. She thought they might subside after a while, but they've only gotten worse. Now, they're cooped up together in the small room they share in the caravan, and every day it gets harder to hide her feelings.

"Are you sure?" her voice is layered with concern, and it makes Cass's heart ache when she thinks of all the things she's hiding. "You won't tell me about your dream?"

"You really want to know?" Maybe she's too tired to think clearly, or maybe the heat of the day is getting to her. Whatever the reason, Cassandra decides opening up is better than dealing with inquisitive glances from Rapunzel for the rest of the day. When she decides she wants something, she doesn't let up, and the lady-in-waiting can tell she's overtly curious about the dream.

"Yes, of course I want to know! I get that you want to be seen as this fearless warrior. But it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes. I won't tell anyone," This time, she reaches for Cass's shoulder, and makes contact. Her affectionate smile is always so tender, it melts Cassandra's heart right into a puddle on the floor. It's always so hard to say no, and this time, that soft look wins out.

"It wasn't a nightmare. It was-" she's trying to determine the best way to explain her salacious sleep scenario, and decides it's best to just jump right in and let the consequences happen as they may. "I find you in the tower. Before Eugene ever arrived. You've tied me up with your hair, but you're not threatening me. You're not even scared of me. You make your way across the room and sit on my lap, and then you start to kiss me. Before I know it, I'm free, and my hands are on your hips and you like what's happening. I like what's happening. I kiss your neck and run my hands through your hair and along your body, and just when I go to slide my hand up your leg- well, you woke me up," she's staring out at nature, not wanting to meet Rapunzel's eyes, but when she's silent for several moments, she has to.

She's met with wide eyes, some sort of shocked, and her heart plummets as she recognizes this was a mistake. "Look, Rapunzel, I'm sorry. Forget about it, okay? It doesn't mean anything," She hasn't bolted or thrown Cassandra out, which is frankly confusing considering the expression on her face.

But her features relax as she asks, "Do you have a lot of dreams about-" Cass sees her mouth something, more quiet than a whisper, before she seems to rethink what she was going to say and finishes with, "-involving girls?"

"No," Not anymore, anyway, "Just you, Raps."

"I didn't know girls could do that."

It suddenly hits Cassandra like a ton of bricks that Rapunzel might not understand her predisposition towards women. Of course. She'd been locked in a tower most of her life. Her exposure to persons with a preference for the same gender would have been minimal, if not completely non-existent. "I guess you wouldn't, huh? Well, they can."

"And that's allowed?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, I guess- I've never met someone who…" she trails off. She's known Cassandra for nearly two years, so actually, she has met someone, and now she's rethinking every interaction they've ever had that she may have misinterpreted.

"You've probably met more than you think, Raps. It's not a big deal. We're just regular people."

"No, of course you are, I just-" Her thoughts are scattered in all directions. Rapunzel wants to ask Cassandra some personal and prodding questions, some of which are related to certain personal moments the two have shared, but all that comes out is, "So you like girls like I like Eugene?"

Cassandra hates the comparison, but she supposes it's the closest example to her personal inclination that Raps has to work with."I guess? Probably."

She nods like she understands, but looks like she wants to say more. Cassandra can see the cogs in her head turning, trying to piece together her thoughts. Usually new situations or experiences have her bubbling with questions and curiosity, but this time, she looks like she's concentrating very hard on processing this new information.

"Raps?" Cassandra ventures. Maybe she needs a little encouragement to say what's on her mind.

"So, if you have dreams about me, does that mean you like me?" she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her query sounding innocent.

Cassandra's face heats up, and she realizes disclosing her dream has now landed her in hot water. Face-to-face with Rapunzel, she can't exactly lie her way out of this, and anyway, she's been truthful for the rest of this conversation, so why stop now? "I've always liked you, Raps. I mean, just, you know, as a friend likes another friend," she settles on a thin half-truth.

"But as more than a friend, too?" Rapunzel prods.

It’s been so long, Cassandra was sure Raps would never catch on to her crush, and anyway, she has Eugene, so it would never work. Maybe she’s being so honest now because that fact finally settled in and she’s ready to move on. Now that she knows Raps had never really been rejecting her advances and was more naive than she thought possible, things started to shift. Her heart thrummed in her chest, her confession finally out in the open, at least partly.

She swallows, knowing it's too late to turn back now. She may as well get this over with. "Yeah, Raps. But like I said, it's no big deal. You're with Eugene, and that's okay. I'm okay with that. I don't fight with him because I'm trying to break you two apart or anything. He's just seriously annoying," Cass can only hope Raps believes the last part, because it is true.

"Right, of course, Cass! You'd never do something like that to hurt me. Right?"

"Right. I lo- like you too much," she pauses, letting more words spill as she decides to get everything off her chest here and now, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

Rapunzel is quiet for awhile. The sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves fills the empty air between them. It's peaceful out here. Maybe it's the freedom from the hustle and bustle of the city that's finally given Cass the clarity to say what she needs. Maybe, out here, she can't distract herself from her feelings, because there's no giant castle to get lost in and no training grounds to take out her frustrations on.

"How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you known about your feelings?"

That's an easy one. "Since the day we met."

"You knew right away?"

"Yeah, Raps. I think I kind of knew before then, too."

"But I've known you almost as long as I've been at the castle. How could you?" she sounds confused, and Cass can understand why. Rapunzel doesn't fully realize that the entire city of Corona spent nearly two decades waiting for her to come home. All of her subjects have known about her long before she even knew about her royal heritage.

"You didn't know me. But I knew you. I grew up hearing stories about the lost princess. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being the one to rescue you. I imagined all sorts of dangers I would have to face to free you. A lot of the citizens of Corona gave up hope. Some assumed you were dead. But somehow, I knew. I hoped, anyway. I hoped I'd be the one to find you, and then I would be your hero, and maybe-" she's rambling, and shuts her mouth before she reveals too much. The more she says, the more she feels like she's trying to win Rapunzel over, when the last thing she wants to do is come between her and Eugene.

"Maybe?"

Yep, she's said too much. Cass runs a hand down her face, and opens the bottom half of the door so she can step out. Raps follows close behind. "-maybe we'd live happily ever after," she finishes, reluctantly. All the walls she's worked to build over the past several months have all crumbled down in one spectacular heap.

"I'm going to go forage for some supplies," she's almost ready to bolt into the woods and never come back.

"Cass-"

She can feel Rapunzel's eyes on her as she disappears into the undergrowth, but she can't bear to look back. She doesn't even know what kind of supplies they need; all she knows is she needs some time to clear her head and get some space. Maybe, if she's lucky, Raps will let this all go by the time she gets back. Maybe, if she's not so lucky, Raps will have even more questions. Well, she's got time to figure out how she's going to dodge a potential interrogation about her feelings. She's always managed before.

* * * * *

It's been hours, and Cass has let herself get lost once or twice, just for the fun of it. Well, not the fun of it, so much as she is avoiding going back to camp. She's never been one for wasting time, but today, she's making an exception. She knows that wherever she roams, Owl can help her find her way to the others. At least, she hopes so. If not, well, she guesses she'll just live here now.

But somehow, she finds her way back before dark. Her satchel's full of herbal and some more rare plants, that the group can use or barter for other goods. Food is easier to come by, so she hasn't wasted her time on it. With her training, she's pretty much the only one of them who can tell the different types of flora they come across, and its uses. They'd probably all have died or turned back without her, honestly. So she has to come back.

"Cassandra!"

She nearly turns around and heads right back into the forest. But the sound of her name on Rapunzel's lips tugs at her heartstrings, and she feels almost forced to look at her. There's Raps, standing outside the caravan, looking distressed. Her fists are clenched, one over the other, pressing against her chest. Cass wants to run to her, to hold her tight and tell her everything will be okay, like she always does, but she knows that for once she's the cause for her being distraught.

"I was worried about you."

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. is what she wants to say. She wants to take Rapunzel in her arms, kiss her gently on the forehead, and hold her close, telling her everything is okay now. They're together again.

But that's not the life she's living, so it's not what she says.

"Raps, I can take care of myself," she rolls her eyes and smiles. She doesn't want her sudden disappearance earlier to become some big thing right now. She tries to pass Rapunzel so she can sort through her findings inside the caravan, but a hand on her shoulder stops her.

"You can't just go off alone!"

"I can, and I did."

"You're always telling me not to wander off."

"That's different. You can't track your way back. You can't forage and live off the land for days on end. Do you even know how to set up a temporary shelter? Or build a fire? I know you can hold your own in a fight, but surviving in the woods is a lot more difficult. I worry about you. You don't get to worry about me," she pushes past, setting her bag down on a table inside.

Rapunzel follows, and Cassandra can tell from her demeanor that their conversation from earlier is far from over. Cass settles into a chair, and Rapunzel takes the one on the other side of the table. She sighs, looking anywhere but at the princess, hoping if she ignores her maybe she'll go away. She isn't usually this cold toward Raps, and a pang of guilt has started to wind its way through her stomach. She's not good with feelings, she knows, which is a polar opposite to her best friend.

Finally, the silence stretches too long between them, and Rapunzel bursts out, "I do worry about you, Cass! I've been beside myself all day waiting for you to get back. I didn't even know if you were coming back at all! You didn't tell me anything when you left. I was afraid you were mad and you were going to do something reckless. I don't know how I can live without you! How I could make it to the end of this journey without you. I can't possibly comprehend how much you sacrificed to be here with me. Putting your life on hold, leaving behind the only family you know, being away from home for who knows how long. Cass, I never fully understood why you did all that for me, until today.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rapunzel's voice is pitched, like she's trying to hold back tears. Cass has always been there to comfort her when she's upset, and it pains her that she can't do that now. Here they are, on the road, with who knows how long a journey ahead of them, and she just had to open the Pandora's box of her heart.

"Because it wouldn't have mattered," Cassandra replies, plainly. She shrugs for emphasis, trying to play off this whole conversation like it isn't affecting her. Trying to brush this all off so Rapunzel lets it go. Trying, in her own way, to make the problem go away by ignoring it.

"What do you mean it wouldn't have mattered?! You had a dream! Your hopes and dreams matter to me, Cass. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I care about you?"

Cassandra doesn't know how to respond to that. She's spent her whole life pushing others away, focusing on the here and now, concentrating on meeting her goals and not letting anything or anyone stand in her way. Having a social life was a waste of time, in her opinion, but more and more she's learning that perhaps skipping the crucial life step of having friends made it much more difficult to talk about herself now. She leans back in her chair, blowing stray hair out of her eyes.

"Raps, it's silly."

Rapunzel taps her fingers on the flat surface. She drove Cass away earlier, and she's not prepared to go through all the panic and worry of losing her best friend again. But this is important, for the both of them, to get this out in the open.

"Tell me, please. Tell me everything. No more secrets. I've never been afraid to confide in you, Cass," she reaches across to place her hand over Cassandra's, then thinks better of it and returns it to her lap, "Please, trust me too. Tell me what I can do to earn your trust."

"Raps, it's not about that," Cass sighs. She feels like every word she says is driving a wedge between Rapunzel and Eugene, but every word she doesn't say is driving a wedge between Rapunzel and her. Maybe Rapsl is right. Maybe trusting her is the right thing to do. Trusting her, not just with her private personal thoughts, but trusting her with the ability to be able to continue to love Eugene and ignore her feelings, just as she has for months.

"Okay, so there's this whole thing I made up like, one time. I'm riding into Corona with the lost princess. Everyone's cheering and celebrating, but none of that matters because you're right there with me. You feel safe in my arms, leaning back against my armor, a little frightened by all the attention, but you know I'll protect you so it's okay. We arrive at the castle and the king and queen are overjoyed to have you back. That evening, there's a whole banquet in your honor, and I get the privilege of sitting next to you.

"After that, I get offered any position in the royal guard that I want. I choose to be your personal bodyguard. Keeping you safe from all dangers, showing you around Corona, helping you adjust to your new life. Opening doors for you, sliding out your chair when you sit down, lifting you over puddles so your feet don't get wet. Staying by your side every moment you're awake, and making sure you're taken care of.

"One evening, when I've brought you back to your room for bed, you tell me how nice it is having me around, and how lucky you are that I found you. You invite me into your room for a moment, away from the door guards. You hold my hands in yours and confess that you think you're falling in love with me. You're nervous about it, but I think it's cute how flustered you are. Then, I tell you I've been in love with you for a long time.

"You're so relieved that you lay your head on my shoulder and wrap your arms around me. It's all so warm and comforting, and the only thing that makes it all the more perfect is when you step back and look into my eyes, smiling. I can tell you want to say something from the way you keep fidgeting and looking away, but instead of speaking, you practically leap forward and plant your lips against mine. It's surprising, at first, but I can't deny I've wanted this for a long time. So I give in, letting my hand tangle in some of your hair, the other hand resting against your hip. It doesn't last long, but afterwards I bid you goodnight and leave quickly.

"After that, our evening talks become longer and more frequent, until one night I stay until morning, holding you in my arms. We decide we have to tell the king and queen, your parents, if we really want to stay together. King Frederic takes some coaxing before he comes around, but Queen Arianna helps convince him. She's suspected for awhile that something has been going on between us, mostly thanks to the other guards who can't keep their mouths shut. But she's supportive, and that's what matters. Eventually, the king comes around too."

"For something you say is silly, that was a very elaborate description," the way Rapunzel says it sounds like she doesn't really mind hearing Cassandra go on and on about her imaginary scenarios. "Is that why you trained so hard all your life? So you could be ready to take care of me?"

"No! Of course not. I trained to- because-" Cass swears under her breath. The question catches her off guard. "Obviously, to impress my father."

"Obviously," Rapunzel echoes, but she doesn't sound convinced.

"Look, it was a whole big fantasy when I was younger, but that was all way before I met you. Besides, I never really believed any of it would come true. Dreams are just that, dreams. They're not reality. That's why I focus on the here and now, like my dad taught me. All that's important is what's right in front of me."

"I'm right in front of you," Rapunzel points out, even though it's not entirely accurate. It seems like the right thing to say, in the moment.

"Yeah," Cass says, softly, turning to meet Rapunzel's gaze. "You are. And you're what's most important to me."

Rapunzel pauses at that, and Cassandra knows it's because she can't reciprocate. She has Eugene, and he is and should be the most important person in her life. And if not him, than her parents. Either way, Cassandra is down a ways on Raps' list of important people. She knows she's important to the princess, in some way, but not the most important. She's always been aware of that reality.

"That's not fair," Raps says with a scowl.

"You're right. It's not," Cassandra counters, as a smile pricks at the corners of her mouth for some reason, like it's funny Rapunzel somehow thinks things are unfair from her point of view. The princess, with the boyfriend and the biological parents and the servants and the inheritance. Her life is really unfair.

"What about your dad?"

"He's great, and I appreciate everything he's done for me, but… our relationship is complicated," he was a good man, a strict father, and he fed and clothed her for the majority of her adolescent life. But when it came to affection, he was lacking in that area, and in later years it made their relationship strained. Maybe that factor contributed to Cassandra's own inability to communicate her feelings. Coupled with his determination to hold her back from becoming an official royal guard, and well, he wasn't always her favorite person.

"You don't think this is complicated?!"

"I've been trying to avoid it being complicated for months, so yeah, now it's complicated. You wanted honesty, you got honesty," Cassandra reconsidered spending a night in the woods.

Rapunzel takes a deep breath, letting her exasperation subside. "Well, I'm glad you told me. I don't like when we keep secrets. Especially when they're about something so significant. You mean a lot to me, Cass. And since we're being honest, until today I never thought of you as more than a friend. I didn't realize I could. So I need some time to think about that. About us. Nothing has to change between us right now. I don't want it to. I like what I have with you, and the friendship we've built since I first met you. I hope all of this honesty helps bring us together, instead of driving us apart."

"I hope so too, Raps," she smiles, wistfully, knowing things will never fully be back to the way they were, when Rapunzel was naive to her feelings. "But what we need to focus on is the mission ahead. We can't afford to get distracted. It won't do either of us any good to dwell on what might have been," it's the same thing she tells herself every day, even if it fails to help her feel better about her situation.

"Right. You're right, Cass," she reaches across the table and offers her hand, and her best friend takes it tentatively. It's not the first time they've held hands, but this time, it feels more intimate. Cassandra trusted her with her whole heart, and in return, she asked for focus. Confessing her feelings must not have been easy, but Rapunzel is grateful everything is finally out in the open. It's been a long time coming.

They still have each other, as friends. Rapunzel thought that was all they needed, but now, she's not so sure. She suspects Cassandra dwells on what might have been, a lot, despite her insistence such frivolous thoughts are pointless. Her animosity towards Eugene makes more sense now, too. Whether or not she admits it, she's secretly jealous of him. Jealous of him living her dream.

Maybe this journey will give her the time she needs to sort through her newfound knowledge of Cassandra's inner struggle, and her own budding feelings for her best friend. There's still so much about the world she has to learn, and this revelation from Cass has opened up a whole new aspect of relationships she's never considered. Maybe Cassandra's dream doesn't have to stay a dream. Maybe, when they get back, there's a way to make this work.

They have time. There's always later.

Support this and other stories! https://ko-fi.com/gemology

#Tangled the Series #Cassunzel #Cassandra #Rapunzel #Tangled #Fanfiction #home brew

1 note · View note

lifeisafunnyplace · 6 years ago

Text

First day of summer turned into second week of summer and before they knew it, July was around with warm nights and warmer days.

The forest offered shelter from the sun and when days were warm enough, they disobeyed Baekhyun’s mother and ran to the dark pond on the other side of the soggy swamp.

Chanyeol jumped in from time to time, Baekhyun always only watched. The usually so brave boy was afraid of water, had never been thought how to swim. It didn’t stop Chanyeol from splashing water on his friend, soaking his clothes until they were sticking to his body. Like that, he cooled down to and Chanyeol secretly loved watching his friend trying to avoid it.

When done swimming they lay in the grass waiting for the sun to dry them up, talked about nothing and everything. The smallest was the best at coming up with crazy stories to tell. It ran in the family, Chanyeol assumed.

Baekhyun’s grandmother always told the wildest stories, about white horses that ran away with young girls and jumped into a lake or a river, about the fiddler that thought you how to play the most wonderful music, but took your soul in return. There were stories about forest floors drizzled with stars and fairies painted with gold. All of them told with an enthusiasm leaving young boys spellbound in front of the fireplace on stormy winter nights.

Baekhyun’s speciality was clouds. In white, featherlike clouds, the big cotton candy ones and even in the threatening dark grey, he saw stories. Chanyeol only had to look in the direction his friend pointed and he could see the story occur on the blue sky. As the clouds changed form, the story did too, like a shape shifter in his grandmother’s stories. You knew what you saw, but only for a very short moment. A blink of the eye, and everything changed. It was fascinating.

It might still be July and autumn was far away, like an eternity. In September, they would have to start their education in Church, start preparing for their Christian confirmation next spring. It was a big happening in the village. After they were seen as young adults, parts of their freedom reduced, more work, more studies, less time to act carefree and run around barefoot. Even if eternity is a long time, they knew autumn would come eventually, and they knew that then, everything would change.

Parents didn’t wait around for him to turn 16 to make him help out. Both Chanyeol and his brother worked long days at the farm. Always stuff to do, like painting the fences. Today had not been the warmest of days, a bit cloudy, or as Mr. Park’s was wording it: ‘A perfect day for painting’.

Chanyeol had not bothered changing his clothes when a familiar blond boy shouted for him, told him to hurry up. He had simply let everything behind with a promise of covering up for Sehun the next time he was out meeting girls late at night, if Sehun cleaned up for both today.

He followed his friend, running through knee high grass, balancing on rocks and jumping over water streams. It felt like freedom, as time stood still and they could act as childish as they wanted. It was the contrast they both needed to balance out the serious talking sometimes going on in their tree or in the grass by the pond.

As Chanyeol stripped next to the refreshing water, clothes dropped in a big piele of smelling items, he noticed Baekhyun following his every move with a pleased smile and a teasing spark in his eyes.

“What?”

“Hm? Nothing!”

The smaller shook his head and quickly stretched his body with closed eyes.

“You stared at me while I undressed. Don’t you have a dick of your own? You have to watch mine?”

Chanyeol held his hands in front of his crotch, covered up some. He always skinny-dipped. This was the first time he felt naked in front of his friend though.

“It’s just... “

“What is it?” An unsure laughter followed Chanyeol’s question.

“You’ve grown a lot lately. That’s all. You sort of look like a man already”

Okay, that was a bit more than expected. Chanyeol’s ears turned red and hot and water felt like a way out of it. Blushing or not, he wasn’t going to give his friend the victory that easy.

“Well, at least I have a dick!”

He turned around and carefully stepped into the quiet water, creating tiny waves in the surface while he waited for a comeback.

“Are you asking me to show you my own dick? Is that it?”

Oh God! He was never winning against his friend’s quick tongue. Chanyeol felt tongue-tied. Instead of trying to come up with anything that wasn’t going to make this more awkward, he threw his long body backwards in the water and kicked his legs the best he could. In the grass sat a soaked blonde boy, still fully dressed. That much he deserved for such behaviour.

So far this summer they had done a lot of nothing. It had mostly been just the two of them. Of course, Sehun followed suit from time to time. The boys from the Kim’s farm too. Picnic with girls had yet to happen. Because when it was just the two of them, Baekhyun and Chanyeol, nothing else mattered. They had their own secret places, their own humour and stories, what else could you need?

Chanyeol was done swimming for today, had dried up enough to put back on his underwear and shirt. Clothes smelled of a long day of working in the sun, but he wasn’t going to run around naked in the forest. Lazily chewing on a straw, he focused on the clouds and the story Baekhyun tried to put together next to him. It was a bit too cloudy though and the story ended up as a barn filled with hay, no patterns, nothing to get a hold of, a mess, allowing Chanyeol’s thoughts to drift away.

“Baek! Did you hear Sehun kissed that Lisa-girl?”

“Yeah, I think he told everyone” Baekhyun chuckled. Sehun really had been running around bragging about it.

“He’s only 13!”

“Yes, and?”

“Well, he’s too young. She’s too young!”

“Come on! What’s the big deal? It’s not like he proposed to her”

Baekhyun was on his back in the grass, arms and legs spread out like a starfish, eyes focused on the sky above. Chanyeol had sat himself up, watched his too relaxed friend. Didn’t he get how it was affecting him, how he constantly had to cover up for his brother when he was out running at nights?

“You’re just jealous” The boy in the grass sat up too and stuck out his tongue to tease. “Idiot”

Chanyeol let his back hit the soft moss and grass. If he wanted to, he could get kisses too! Jealous of Sehun? Not happening!

With a slight pout on his face and closed eyes, he tried to force the darkness that followed jealousy away. He was not going to be jealous just because his stupid brother kissed someone before he had.

Suddenly Baekhyun leaned down and left a quick kiss on his mouth. It was over before it started. Nevertheless, enough to make Chanyeol jolt up from the ground.

“What was that?” His eyes big and confused.

“A kiss” Baekhyun sounded proud and happy.

“You kissed me? Why?”

“Then you had your first kiss too!” Baekhyun’s eyes were shining and if his tone was a bit cocky, his red cheeks told him he wasn’t all confident about it.

“It doesn’t count”

“Why?”

“You’re my friend, and a boy” the last part barely a whisper.

Chanyeol chewed nervously on a freshly plucked straw. He knew he was judging right now, but he also knew it was what mattered at school. Boys kissed girls, period. His friend was raised differently and Chanyeol knew. Like many things on the Byun farm, the stories were different too. The nøkk could lure away a pretty boy just as easily as he could want a girl. Humans fell in love with all kind of creatures. Love simply wasn’t restricted to man and woman.

“It’s still a kiss” His friend wasn’t done arguing. “My mother kisses me good night every day”

“Now you’re being stupid! A mother’s kiss on your forehead is its own category. I’m talking about romantic kisses. I thought better of you! Gender doesn’t matter when you kiss!”

Baekhyun watched him. Even with his eyes closed, he felt the others gaze.

“Sorry. I know that’s true, but you cannot call what you did a ‘romantic’ kiss. Your lips were barely touching” Chanyeol shook his head and chuckled lightly.

He should have seen it coming. He should have known his friend well enough.

“Then show me how it’s done Mr. I know how to kiss!”

Baekhyun leaned over him, pushed the taller into the grass with one hand resting on each side of his head. When Chanyeol opened his eyes, he saw straight into a pair of challenging blue ones.

“Show me! Have your first proper kiss”

The weight of the body on top of him made him stay where he was, actually taking some time to considering it.

“For science? And no one will know?”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who wanted your first kiss”

“No it wasn’t! You gave me a kiss without asking”

“I never took you for a wimpy kid”

Chanyeol snorted and turned his face to the side. He knew he was right. It had been Baekhyun that kissed him without warning.

“Oh come on! Waterlilies won’t tell. It’s no one but us out here.” Baekhyun’s words gave off just how much he enjoyed the teasing. He used his hands to turn Chanyeol sulky face and slightly shook his head in amusement.

As Baekhyun pushed his soft lips down on Chanyeol mouth, Chanyeol closed his eyes and gave up. Baekhyun always got it the way he wanted, besides, no one ever called him a wimp.

Baekhyun’s lips softly brushed his and when his friend head tilted a bit, Chanyeol copied. It felt warm and strange and sort of crazy. He couldn’t word it, had no explanation for why he parted his lips to let the other take control, his brain had turned to mush the very first second he felt a tongue slide over his lower lip.

It took a moment to register how the weight on him had lifted. Another to remember how to open his eyes.

Baekhyun was laying on his stomach in the grass next to him, a soft smile on his face but eyes a little worried.

“Hey, you okay?”

Chanyeol shook the rest of the fog away and pushed his upper body up from the ground.

“Yes, I was just... you know...” He used the strictest face he knew of, needed to show the other he meant it. “No one will ever get to know about this. Never!”

He quickly stood up and pulled on his paint stained jeans and sweater, waved his hand for Baekhyun to follow before he started marching away from the pond. “Come on, it’s late”

#exo #chanbaek #exo fanfiction #chanbaek fic #supernatural #supernatural creatures #chanbaek fanfic #baekyeol fic

6 notes · View notes

imadeangirl-butimsamcurious · 8 years ago

Text

Two Shirts

Title: Two Shirts – Warmth Series Part 2

Characters/Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 1600

Reader Gender: Female

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Tomorrow came, as it inevitably does, and now the reader has to think about her relationship with Dean. But what will happen if they have to share more than a bed?

Author’s Note: Okay guys, here’s part two of the Warmth Series! I can’t thank you all enough for the amazing response the first part of this got and I hope you guys enjoy this just as much! There will be either one or two more parts of this series, depending on how many words it takes me to write what’s left of the story. If you want to be tagged in the next few parts of the please add yourself to This List or send me an Ask. Feedback is appreciated, and enjoy!

P.S. I’m going to stop using the Pond Taglist soon so if you’re on there and want to keep getting tagged in my fics please add yourself to my tag list. Thanks!

Two Beds - Warmth Series Part One

If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out my Masterlist!

*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*

It was tomorrow.

When you’d opened your eyes this morning you became acutely aware of the unfamiliar weight still around your middle, Dean’s muscled arm caging you in in a way that - despite your best efforts - wasn’t unwelcome, but you knew had to be stopped as soon as possible.

Getting involved with a hunter was dangerous and only ever ended one way: badly. He’d die and leave you alone, or you’d die and leave him, and no matter what happened someone was getting hurt – whether fatally or not. You couldn’t risk emotional attachment or compromise your ability to think rationally – which would most certainly happen if you had a relationship clouding your judgment.

Mercifully Dean woke up and rolled over at that point, stretching his arms and yawning. Then he flung a pillow at Sam to wake him up.

And now here you were, sitting in the back seat of the impala and heading back to the room with the beds - the two beds – ready to do it all over again. You promised yourself tonight you would be stronger, promised tonight you would keep your distance and stay away from the man on the other side of the bed, from the man you loved despite your best efforts not to. But you knew the truth. If he pulled you close, if he offered his warmth, your fortitude would crumble and you wouldn’t reject him.

You never could.

“Soups on!”

You and the Winchesters filed into your tiny motel room, the outer layers of fed suits hitting the beds in quick succession and questionable diner food being passed around in grease-soaked cardboard. You took your supper from the room’s wobbly two-person table in favor of the bed, settling against the pillows and putting your dinner on the nightstand, along with a giant soda you never asked for. Dean never did listen when you tried to grasp at some semblance of a healthy meal.

The three of you ate in an almost-silence, the loudest noises in the room being chewing and the sloshing of over-sized soft drinks. Once the boys had finished inhaling their food, leaving you with still over half of yours left, business as usual kicked back in and you all dove into the case that so far had yielded few results. You’d all spent the day doing the usual: going to the morgue, talking to friends and relatives of the victim, flashing your fake badges to get whatever you deemed necessary for the case. But so far? Nothing. You had no leads, nobody with motive, and a heartless corpse cooling on a metal shelf.

You were all understandably irritable, so leave it to your clumsy fingers to lighten unavenged-murder-mood.

You reached for your massive drink, thumb and middle fingers barely even touching, then lost your grip on the smooth paper cup and watched as it and all its contents dropped directly into your still-open duffle bag.

Dean laughed so hard he practically fell off his chair.

You scrambled to grab the drink before it emptied itself entirely onto your clothes, but you were too late. Everything was already sticky and soaked, smelling of Root Beer and tinted brown.

Dean was still laughing on the other side of the room. You balled up a pop-soaked shirt and threw it at his head.

“Keep laughing, Winchester. Your bag is next!”

Dean clamped his mouth shut and raised his hands in defense, the dripping t-shirt hanging limply from his fingers. “I’m sorry, YN. But you gotta admit,” he motioned to the bag, “it was pretty funny.”

You glanced up at the person responsible for you even having that drink in the first place and smiled despite yourself, a breathy laugh escaping your lips. “Shut up.”

You looked down at your bag and frowned. Everything was covered in sugary soda, there was no way this crappy little motel had any laundry facilities so you’d have to wash everything in the bathroom sink, and even if you started now nothing would be dry by the time you went to bed. You would likely have to try and sleep in what you were currently wearing – which was a dress shirt and pencil skirt from your phony fed suit. You sighed and flopped down on the mattress.

“Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Wash them?” Sam offered – rather unhelpfully.

You lifted your head and glowered in his direction. “I know that, but all my clothes will be wet! What am I supposed to sleep in tonight?”

You saw a smirk spread across Dean’s face. “Well -”

“Don’t!” You sat up and pointed an accusatory finger at the eldest Winchester. “Don’t you dare say I can sleep naked.”

A guilty look replaced his smirk.

Dean threw your sticky shirt on the table beside him and went to find his bag, rifling around inside until he pulled out a surprisingly well-folded plaid button up. “Here.” He handed you the shirt from across the bed. You sat up and stared at his extended hand with suspicion.

“Really?”

“Yes, come on. It’s clean, none of your stuff is, and what you were wearing last night wasn’t warm enough anyway. You were shivering so much it was like a mini earthquake in the bed.”

Dean threw the shirt into your lap and you mumbled your gratitude, surprise preventing you from forming a coherent thought.

Then the next think you knew you were bent over the bathroom sink, attempting to wash the last of your stained clothes, the lip of the bathtub and shower rod already hanging with what you’d cleaned so far and the only dry shirts you had folded neatly on the counter. Two shirts.

One restricting and uncomfortable, only bought to be worn when necessary and never for more than a few hours. And one soft and loose fitting, perfect for sleeping and heavy enough to keep you warm in the freezing motel room with a broken heater and potentially non-existent insulation.

One belonging to you and carrying no risk of intensifying your feelings for a certain green-eyed, short-haired hunter. And one borrowed and holding the potential to do all of that.

You reached for Dean’s plaid and pulled it over your head.

Once you’d finished getting ready for bed and taking care of the soda incident you walked back into the main room to find Dean already under the covers, something on his phone drawing his attention. You walked towards him cautiously, pulling your shirt down with every step in a futile attempt to cover your exposed legs. Dean looked up and his eyes caught on your bare skin. You’d never felt more nervous in your life.

“Uh – here. Just uh – just climb in.” Dean held up the blankets as he stuttered his greeting, motioning for you to join him in the bed. A timid smile. “You must be cold.”

“Kinda,” you whispered.

You crawled under the covers and settled near the edge of the mattress, facing away from Dean and pulling the collar of his shirt up to your face for warmth - or maybe because it smelt like him. But that wasn’t important, as long as you didn’t repeat your mistakes from last night.

“You know Y/N, he doesn’t bite,” Sam said from across the room, just about to get into bed himself. “You look like you’re gonna fall right off.”

You did your best to conjure up a laugh, moving just the slightest bit closer to Dean so you didn’t look quite so absurd. Thankfully Sam was asleep shortly after and didn’t press the matter further.

And then the shivering started again.

You tucked yourself into a ball, trying to retain as much body heat as possible without stealing any from anyone else. You kept your fisted hand close to your mouth in an attempt to stop your teeth from chattering and somehow managed to get your ice-cold feet under your body.

“Y/N, this is ridiculous.”

You halted your desperate maneuvering and turned your head towards Dean.

“What?”

“You’re freezing, I can literally feel you shaking. Just come here, let me warm you up.”

You shook your head in a silent attempt to dissuade him but you knew if he came closer, if he reached out for you, you would do whatever he wanted. So when his hand found your shoulder and he turned you to face him, when your eyes locked on his bright green ones even in the dark of the night, you let him pull you against his chest.

His chest.

Last night at least he was behind you, at least you could pretend the band around your waist was a pillow or a blanket if you closed your eyes and concentrated, but now? Now your cheek was pressed against his muscled chest, both of his strong arms holding you close, his shirt rubbing against your skin and his smell all around you. You were lost. Lost in the feeling of him, in your feelings for him, and you didn’t think you would ever find you way back out again.

The next morning when you woke up, still wrapped in Dean’s arms and both the boys fast asleep, you knew you should move, knew you should get away from Dean as quickly as possible and put all thoughts of last night – of the last two nights – out of your mind. But in the early morning quiet, the chill of winter fading away with every second you spent cloaked in Dean’s warmth, you made no move to get up.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all?

Two Keys - Warmth Series Part Three

Forever Tag List:

@crapythings @destiel-sandwich @spn-fan-girl-173 @chelsea072498 @bea789 @cass-t-el @myownlittlebookishworld @maj430 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @spirallingdownfandoms @ruprecht0420 @aebirdie @jpadjackles @dpqssmdd @summer-binging-spn @skymoonandstardust @tom-is-in-my-tardis @plaidstiel-wormstache @helvonasche @gizmospacerocket @skatergirl98me @steampunkd16 @brianaistre @sammied23 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @something-random @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @impalaimagining @millaraysuyai @hamartiamacguffin @fabulouslyboredeveryday @27bmm @quiddy-writes @mogaruke @a-broken-hunter @itsummertime22 @notnaturalanahi @creatively-charlie @notallwhowanderarelost21 @winchesterswantmypie @donnaintx @buckysmetallicstump @mizzezm

Dean Tag List:

@anokhi07 @backbiiter @shameless-danni @katenelsonxo @lipstickandwhiskey @betterlattethennever @ruprecht0420 @kaitlynmarie1120 @deansbaekaz2y5 @mizzezm

Warmth Series:

@feelmyroarrrr @betterlattethennever @mogaruke @a-broken-hunter @itsummertime22 @staraustria @ruprecht0420 @jamiemelyn @spectaculicious @audiblesmirks @walkerbex98 @donnaintx @mizzezm @ellen-reincarnated1967 @yunngarab

If you would like to be removed or added to any of these lists please send me an Ask or add yourself to This List!

Pond Tag List (Dean):

@aprofoundbondwithdean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @purgatoan @torn-and-frayed @thegreatficmaster @notnaturalanahi @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @deathtonormalcy56 @wildfirewinchester @cici0507 @fiveleaf @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @mrswhozeewhatsis @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @babypieandwhiskey @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx @writingbeautifulmen @revwinchester @ageekchiclife @drarina1737 @castieltrash1 @ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel @inmysparetime0 @winchester-writes @deals-with-demons @faith-in-dean

The tags that didn’t work are crossed out!

484 notes · View notes

fiery-assassin-arc · 8 years ago

Text

Keys to Survival

Chapter 20 (holy shit...) of Of Shadows and Flames. I may end up finishing soon... like at least 30 chapters I hope.

Triggers: broken bones, wounds, blood mention, hallucinations.

Enjoy!

Removing dressings can be a real bitch.

Due to the excruciating pain my back has given me, I am only halfway through with removing the old dressing when my wounds begin to ache. I guess the healing process is taking effect after a week.

The ache is caused by a sinful heat that makes fire blush at the prospect of being so painful and destructive. Muscle and skin do their best to fix themselves, to close and heal the wounds caused by the whip.

I haven't even considered practicing with it since I stole it in my escape. It feels it's a part of me due to it taking ribbons of my flesh and splashing blood. Yet I wonder . . . I wonder if I can add my fire to the metal and leather, make it more lethal than it was originally.

My fingers close around the leather handle, and stare at the tails. The tails that are stained with my blood, the dirt from being dragged on the ground. This once belonged to Kano, but it is mine. My memento of my escape, of my agony.

“Iris!” Jess shouts from downstairs. “Can you come down, please? We need to talk to you.”

My throat feels tight, fearing the absolute worst is yet to come. I can't even feel optimistic that my parents survived and found me. I lost that hope the day the old me died in that building, chained. “Be down in a second!” I call.

I clean up the wound, placing a new wrapping around my abdomen, as slowly as I can. I even bite my tongue to conceal my moans of pain. Within two minutes, I have done an adequate job in replacing the old dressings. And it angers me that I it isn't right. It looks off by an angle, and tape tugs at my skin with every twist.

I descend down the stairs, quickly scanning to see photographs here. None, but paintings and forms of taxidermy. When I reach the final step, I am greeted by Hayley, who sucks her thumb while holding a stuffed animal.

“Iwis.” she says, smiling brightly and hugging my leg. I don't understand why she's been so attached to me, but I have to get used to it. Though, it reminds me of her. Her violet eyes and bright smile. Her way of sticking the tip of her tongue out. Her wrapping her fingers around my wrist, then my hand touching her face—

I give a sharp exhale and try to shake her off. I can't be swept back into that day. “Hi, Hayley. Did you eat lunch?” “Yes.” Her thumb leaves her mouth with a loud pop! as she tugs at my braid. She looks adorable that way. “Kishen.”

“Let's go, shall we?” I offer, letting her lead me towards the kitchen. I wonder if they have a calendar here. I kept track of my time by weeks, but not by the month. Last I recall it was June, now I am unsure on what day it is. What month. Does Outworld have the same year?

Hannah is doing the dishes, hand wrapped around a soaking dish cloth while Jess eats a plate of green vegetables. Cravings, I guess. Lazur and T are going over something in books. I look at what reflects the calendar back home, and see the date. July.

It's now July.

Exactly 6 months since she passed.

“Mommy!” Hayley announces, alerting our presence in the kitchen. Her hand release their grip on my finger, and she goes to wrap her small body around Hannah's leg. I fold my hands in front of me, feeling so, so out of place here.

“Have a seat,” says Lazur, not even looking in my direction.

I do as he says, twisting a loose piece of thread from the new shirt. It was once Jess', so a hand-me-down of sorts. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all, honey.” Hannah says, putting down the wet cloth. “We're just wondering what you wish to do while you recover from your injuries.”

I want to go home and mourn the possible deaths of my family and friends, but I am unsure on how to find a portal here. I can't be a burden to this family, they're so full of life, and I . . . I am a puppet without a master to pull my strings. “I'm not sure.”

“Maybe you can watch Hayley and T.” Jess suggests, hand on her swollen belly. “And watch this little fella. Hayley does love a playmate.”

I glance at Hayley, who pops her thumb in her mouth, grinning brightly. “Okay, I can do that. Anything else?”

“I could teach you some cooking techniques. You know how to cook?” Lazur pipes up.

I give a shake of my head. I only know how to add things in the bowl or lick the spoon. Never on how to create things from scratch.

“Then, I'll give you a hand.” He turns his body in the chair, arms draped along his lap. “I've always needed a helping hand.” He glances towards the children, who aimlessly avoid his look.

“No clue what you're talking about, Papa.” Jess says, braiding her hair to distract her hands. T flips a page in his book while Hayley holds on to my forefinger.

“Mm-hmm.” He tsks, looking up in my direction. “Maybe you can help me make dinner tonight, what do you say to that?”

I can't help but nod, but my throat is sealed shut. I remember vaguely of helping nanny Katrina in making food for Mother and Father on their anniversary. I don't even know if she survived the attack on the palace. My hand circles around my neck, melting the cold lump of ice inside my throat. It's still there, inside me.

I miss my family.

“All right, that's settled.” Hannah claps her hands. “Hungry, love?” Her smile is light, and I can't help but to grin back, confirming my answer. I need food to increase my healing.

When I heal from an injury, it takes a lot out of my body. The cells doing their best to repair the torn skin and muscle. In perspective, scrape takes no longer than a full 1 hour. Enough to scab and turn into bright pink flesh. A broken bone, depending on how large a fracture, can heal in the span of one or two weeks. (My fingers are still crooked; it'd take a while for me to adjust them correctly.) My scars, are another story.

They haven't scabbed over yet. They're still huge, gaping, bleeding on occasion, and I sleep with tight bandages restricting my breathing. I need months or years to heal from this. And every time I look in the three-way mirror of my room, I see the lacerations of my back, shielded by my hair. A shroud to conceal my worst side.

I accept the sandwich Hannah gives me, and lift a whining Hayley on my lap. She calms in my arms, moving her head to look at me, thumb still in her mouth. I see her again.

How I saw her when I was a toddler, her nursing her thumb. How she always held my hand, how she played with my stuffed rabbit. How her brown hair was trapped with mine due to us playing with mud in her papa's backyard.

Her violet eyes shining bright that day at Kelly's sleepover, making me happy. How our roles felt reversed when I was heartbroken after Yvette and I split, and she came to my home, with ice cream and a reasonable explanation why I should still be Yvette's friend. I had cried in her lap, and she smoothed the tresses of my hair, then braided it into a beautiful french twist.

She was my key to survival. She made my day brighter, and now it's a vicious storm cloud, growing darker and building up massive waves of heat so it can be a thunderstorm. My skin starts to flare,

“Iwis!”

Hayley's voice rips me from the memories swarming in my head like bees. Before I can figure out why she snatched me back, I realize my other half of sandwich is missing. I look down to see her, chewing on the crumbs and meat inbetween. “Oh, you little sneak!”

Hayley laughs and continues to eat as I rub my face in her wild curls. Something is tugging at my lips. I haven't felt it in the weeks I've been captured, I've been in a relationship and was engaged.

Whatever it is, I miss it.

* * *

It's been over two weeks since I've made myself at home, and useful here in the Cardons' residence. Hayley and I have bonded greatly, clinging to my leg wherever I go, and she loves bath time. T is almost like what I picture Nick was at the age of ten. But more of the attitude of an asshole; I admire that.

Jess and I have talked about what she thought the gender of her baby is. Since Outworld is so out of date with technology, there are no such things as “sonograms” or “ultrasounds.” Only pure intuition or guessing on genders. Or by how you carry.

Lazur has taught me the basics of cooking: boiling, cutting meat and vegetables, pan searing it until it's well done. (Yet the dragon in me wants it cooked medium well.) I burned breakfast the first two times, and Lazur did not yell or say I failed. He said it happens, and he showed me how to be patient. A virtue when impatience is my vice.

I wake up entangled in my long hair, sweat soaking the front of my shirt. The air in the house is cool from the windows, but it only makes my skin hotter and hotter. Another nightmare? I shift my head to see the night clouded by little stitches of constellations.

I roll out of my bed, bare feet tracking along the wooden floor, while a slight twinge of pain strikes my abdomen. I ignore it, going downstairs, and making my way to the back garden, the cool summer air of Outworld a relief to me.

The grass is lush and green, surrounded by patches of gold sand and grains. Trees are full and blooming of fruit, apples from the color. Moonlight splashes like a glass of white champagne, filling me with light. The wind lifts some of my hair to life, and the smell of blood, trying its best to send me into memory.

I collapse to the dirt, hands digging it in, and I am sucked back inside the building with the Black Dragon.

The outside is replaced with walls color of the sandy dunes of desert, my hands are not free and set loose. They are bound and dirty and bloody with fingers broken beyond my recognition when I see the white of the bones.

I hear nothing but the incessant whirring of the machine, feel nothing but a terrible chill that bites at my orifices, taste nothing but bile and blood, smell nothing but alcohol and cigar smoke, see nothing but black military boots, my clothes from school torn and dirtied.

“Learned your lesson, love?” Kano's voice is anything BUT soothing, in fact; it is a mockery of being someone caring. He doesn't have the capability of caring for someone, only money and the fact that his job is what he is. He feeds on my misery, my pain like it is a delicious supper and can't get enough. “Always listen to what I have to say.”

I am tied in the rope, unable to do anything but stare and breathe. Stare. Breathe. Blink. If looks could kill, I would have only pricked his hand while his say he would spend his sweet time making me die in the most brutal ways possible.

My voice is trapped inside my larynx, a shiver taking over while I bite my tongue. Blood is pooling in my mouth and I cannot do anything but let it sit. I have the urge to gag, to scream. I have screamed for over 3 hours, which is 180 minutes, which is 108,00 seconds.

He stalks towards me and walks in a complete 360 degree circle, hand casually rubbing his beard as he inspects me. He probably thinks my brain is a safe, and through cracking me, the combination will open and the family secrets will be revealed.

But he should know that I have no knowledge. I close my eyes and bow my head, not wanting to look at his face. The image of him is burned into my retinas. The glowing red eye, the calculating, vicious smirk atop his face.

A hand grabs my chin, and a tight pinch forces me to open my mouth, then my eyes with a soft squeak. I'm staring at his face. Wrinkles creased, the salt and pepper of his shortly cropped hair and his beard, the hook of his nose, crooked from possibly one too many breaks. Eye that is not so much brown as it is black, color of fertilizer. The other eye, the cybernetic, is completely a half done trapezoid, blazing a bright red and then back to a soft red, like a stoplight for traffic.

“Look. At. Me.” he says, every breath of the word stained by rancid air, every syllable a threat, a warning, an order to listen and never be insubordinate.

I don't. I don't I don't I don't want to because I hate how he stares at me, and I hate how weak and ded I feel in front of him, I am no more than a puppet and he holds the strings to make me talk with knives and fists and bruised knuckles

“Iris.”

Sweat lines my forehead and continues to soak my shirt, my pants and I feel sick and I am dying, but I look up to see Hannah standing over me, shoes covered in mud and grass, hair piled up in a messy updo. “You're sweating, love. Perhaps a fever?”

I snake my hand through my hair, curly now from the sweat. “I—I don't know—I am sorry for having a flashback—I-I just—I am such a—” My lips tremble, and I let myself break down in front of Hannah for what is the first time since she's seen me.

“Baby? Are you okay?”

No, No I am NOT OKAY. BORN IN THE RIVER AND I DO NOTHING BUT BRING DEATH AND MISERY TO EVERYTHING I TOUCH. Hannah shifts, body distorts into Kano, a smirk capturing his face and the intent to kill me. He twirls his knife in a circle, pinched between his fingertips.

“Miss me, love?”

I scramble on my hands and knees, the muscle inside of my chest pounding and kicking at my ribcage. My vision is blurring, tears are sliding down my cheeks and my stomach lurches with a ache similar to a stab wound. I push against a stand, crashing a flower pot to the floor as everything around me is sending me back. Back to when I lost Remy.

Remington has his back to me, head leaned down, and I see the wound. The blood on his body. He collapses on top of me, breathing much too fast and much too short. I can hear his heartbeat slow.

“Run.” he mouths to me, exhaling one more time.

Back to when my brothers were harmed, back to when I lost HER.

Mia lays there in the water, her body floating still by the creek. Her shirt is bloody on the left side, skin a bluish-pale. Her violet eyes are dim, and her hands are still clenched in fists. A wound is still on her head, and it's covered in dried blood and her brown hair. She almost looks like she's daydreaming.

People part like the Red Sea as I walk towards her body, kneel. I see a bloody knife by her side. I reach over, but someone stops me. “She's gone. Killed herself.”

“Mia,” I say, gently touching her cheek. It is wet and cold. I can almost feel my heart breaking. “Mia, no, Mia!”

The scream is torn from my throat as I fall on her lifeless body, holding it tight. I wish I can bring her back. Margaret is at my side, and I feel her tears on my shoulder.

My heart is hurting me, and I feel the spit in my mouth dry up. I can't think, I can't feel anything due to my body reacting and Kano is walking towards me, and I hear it all over again

SNAP! CRACK! SNAP! CRACK! SNAP! CRACK!

Red and Black bleed through my vision, and I fall to the side, my heart forever racing, trying to escape its captor, it's villain for doing this.

#🔪👑🔥🔪Of Shadows and Flames #🌵🌹She's a Cactus in Bloom; Sharp and Pretty ( young visage )#👳🏻🍂She Nursed Me back to Health ( Mommy Hannah )#tw: blood #tw: broken bones #tw: hallucination

1 note · View note

viralnewstime · 6 years ago

Link

This week, Facebook invited a small group of journalists — which didn’t include TechCrunch — to look at the “war room” it has set up in Dublin, Ireland, to help monitor its products for election-related content that violates its policies. (“Time and space constraints” limited the numbers, a spokesperson told us when he asked why we weren’t invited.)

Facebook announced it would be setting up this Dublin hub — which will bring together data scientists, researchers, legal and community team members, and others in the organization to tackle issues like fake news, hate speech and voter suppression — back in January. The company has said it has nearly 40 teams working on elections across its family of apps, without breaking out the number of staff it has dedicated to countering political disinformation.

We have been told that there would be “no news items” during the closed tour — which, despite that, is “under embargo” until Sunday — beyond what Facebook and its executives discussed last Friday in a press conference about its European election preparations.

The tour looks to be a direct copy-paste of the one Facebook held to show off its US election “war room” last year, which it did invite us on. (In that case it was forced to claim it had not disbanded the room soon after heavily PR’ing its existence — saying the monitoring hub would be used again for future elections.)

We understand — via a non-Facebook source — that several broadcast journalists were among the invites to its Dublin “war room”. So expect to see a few gauzy inside views at the end of the weekend, as Facebook’s PR machine spins up a gear ahead of the vote to elect the next European Parliament later this month.

It’s clearly hoping shots of serious-looking Facebook employees crowded around banks of monitors will play well on camera and help influence public opinion that it’s delivering an even social media playing field for the EU parliament election. The European Commission is also keeping a close watch on how platforms handle political disinformation before a key vote.

But with the pan-EU elections set to start May 23, and a general election already held in Spain last month, we believe the lack of new developments to secure EU elections is very much to the company’s discredit.

The EU parliament elections are now a mere three weeks away, and there are a lot of unresolved questions and issues Facebook has yet to address. Yet we’re told the attending journalists were once again not allowed to put any questions to the fresh-faced Facebook employees staffing the “war room”.

Ahead of the looming batch of Sunday evening ‘war room tour’ news reports, which Facebook will be hoping contain its “five pillars of countering disinformation” talking points, we’ve compiled a run down of some key concerns and complications flowing from the company’s still highly centralized oversight of political campaigning on its platform — even as it seeks to gloss over how much dubious stuff keeps falling through the cracks.

Worthwhile counterpoints to another highly managed Facebook “election security” PR tour.

No overview of political ads in most EU markets

Since political disinformation created an existential nightmare for Facebook’s ad business with the revelations of Kremlin-backed propaganda targeting the 2016 US presidential election, the company has vowed to deliver transparency — via the launch of a searchable political ad archive for ads running across its products.

The Facebook Ad Library now shines a narrow beam of light into the murky world of political advertising. Before this, each Facebook user could only see the propaganda targeted specifically at them. Now, such ads stick around in its searchable repository for seven years. This is a major step up on total obscurity. (Obscurity that Facebook isn’t wholly keen to lift the lid on, we should add; Its political data releases to researchers so far haven’t gone back before 2017.)

However, in its current form, in the vast majority of markets, the Ad Library makes the user do all the leg work — running searches manually to try to understand and quantify how Facebook’s platform is being used to spread political messages intended to influence voters.

Facebook does also offer an Ad Library Report — a downloadable weekly summary of ads viewed and highest spending advertisers. But it only offers this in four countries globally right now: the US, India, Israel and the UK.

It has said it intends to ship an update to the reports in mid-May. But it’s not clear whether that will make them available in every EU country. (Mid-May would also be pretty late for elections that start May 23.)

So while the UK report makes clear that the new ‘Brexit Party’ is now a leading spender ahead of the EU election, what about the other 27 members of the bloc? Don’t they deserve an overview too?

A spokesperson we talked to about this week’s closed briefing said Facebook had no updates on expanding Ad Library Reports to more countries, in Europe or otherwise.

So, as it stands, the vast majority of EU citizens are missing out on meaningful reports that could help them understand which political advertisers are trying to reach them and how much they’re spending.

Which brings us to…

Facebook’s Ad Archive API is far too limited

In another positive step Facebook has launched an API for the ad archive that developers and researchers can use to query the data. However, as we reported earlier this week, many respected researchers have voiced disappointed with what it’s offering so far — saying the rate-limited API is not nearly open or accessible enough to get a complete picture of all ads running on its platform.

Following this criticism, Facebook’s director of product, Rob Leathern, tweeted a response, saying the API would improve. “With a new undertaking, we’re committed to feedback & want to improve in a privacy-safe way,” he wrote.

The question is when will researchers have a fit-for-purpose tool to understand how political propaganda is flowing over Facebook’s platform? Apparently not in time for the EU elections, either: We asked about this on Thursday and were pointed to Leathern’s tweets as the only update.

This issue is compounded by Facebook also restricting the ability of political transparency campaigners — such as the UK group WhoTargetsMe and US investigative journalism site ProPublica — to monitor ads via browser plug-ins, as the Guardian reported in January.

The net effect is that Facebook is making life hard for civil society groups and public interest researchers to study the flow of political messaging on its platform to try to quantify democratic impacts, and offering only a highly managed level of access to ad data that falls far short of the “political ads transparency” Facebook’s PR has been loudly trumpeting since 2017.

Ad loopholes remain ripe for exploiting

Facebook’s Ad Library includes data on political ads that were active on its platform but subsequently got pulled (made “inactive” in its parlance) because they broke its disclosure rules.

There are multiple examples of inactive ads for the Spanish far right party Vox visible in Facebook’s Ad Library that were pulled for running without the required disclaimer label, for example.

“After the ad started running, we determined that the ad was related to politics and issues of national importance and required the label. The ad was taken down,” runs the standard explainer Facebook offers if you click on the little ‘i’ next to an observation that “this ad ran without a disclaimer”.

What is not at all clear is how quickly Facebook acted to removed rule-breaking political ads.

It is possible to click on each individual ad to get some additional details. Here Facebook provides a per ad breakdown of impressions; genders, ages, and regional locations of the people who saw the ad; and how much was spent on it.

But all those clicks don’t scale. So it’s not possible to get an overview of how effectively Facebook is handling political ad rule breakers. Unless, well, you literally go in clicking and counting on each and every ad…

There is then also the wider question of whether a political advertiser that is found to be systematically breaking Facebook rules should be allowed to keep running ads on its platform.

Because if Facebook does allow that to happen there’s a pretty obvious (and massive) workaround for its disclosure rules: Bad faith political advertisers could simply keep submitting fresh ads after the last batch got taken down.

We were, for instance, able to find inactive Vox ads taken down for lacking a disclaimer that had still been able to rack up thousands — and even tens of thousands — of impressions in the time they were still active.

Facebook needs to be much clearer about how it handles systematic rule breakers.

Definition of political issue ads is still opaque

Facebook currently requires that all political advertisers in the EU go through its authorization process in the country where ads are being delivered if they relate to the European Parliamentary elections, as a step to try and prevent foreign interference.

This means it asks political advertisers to submit documents and runs technical checks to confirm their identity and location. Though it noted, on last week’s call, that it cannot guarantee this ID system cannot be circumvented. (As it was last year when UK journalists were able to successfully place ads paid for by ‘Cambridge Analytica’.)

One other big potential workaround is the question of what is a political ad? And what is an issue ad?

Facebook says these types of ads on Facebook and Instagram in the EU “must now be clearly labeled, including a paid-for-by disclosure from the advertiser at the top of the ad” — so users can see who is paying for the ads and, if there’s a business or organization behind it, their contact details, plus some disclosure about who, if anyone, saw the ads.

But the big question is how is Facebook defining political and issue ads across Europe?

While political ads might seem fairly easy to categorize — assuming they’re attached to registered political parties and candidates, issues are a whole lot more subjective.

Currently Facebook defines issue ads as those relating to “any national legislative issue of public importance in any place where the ad is being run.” It says it worked with EU barometer, YouGov and other third parties to develop an initial list of key issues — examples for Europe include immigration, civil and social rights, political values, security and foreign policy, the economy and environmental politics — that it will “refine… over time.”

Again specifics on when and how that will be refined are not clear. Yet ads that Facebook does not deem political/issue ads will slip right under its radar. They won’t be included in the Ad Library; they won’t be searchable; but they will be able to influence Facebook users under the perfect cover of its commercial ad platform — as before.

So if any maliciously minded propaganda slips through Facebook’s net, because the company decides it’s a non-political issue, it will once again leave no auditable trace.

In recent years the company has also had a habit of announcing major takedowns of what it badges “fake accounts” ahead of major votes. But again voters have to take it on trust that Facebook is getting those judgement calls right.

Facebook continues to bar pan-EU campaigns

On the flip side of weeding out non-transparent political propaganda and/or political disinformation, Facebook is currently blocking the free flow of legal pan-EU political campaigning on its platform.

This issue first came to light several weeks ago, when it emerged that European officials had written to Nick Clegg (Facebook’s vice president of global affairs) to point out that its current rules — i.e. that require those campaigning via Facebook ads to have a registered office in the country where the ad is running — run counter to the pan-European nature of this particular election.

It means EU institutions are in the strange position of not being able to run Facebook ads for their own pan-EU election everywhere across the region. “This runs counter to the nature of EU institutions. By definition, our constituency is multinational and our target audience are in all EU countries and beyond,” the EU’s most senior civil servants pointed out in a letter to the company last month.

This issue impacts not just EU institutions and organizations advocating for particular policies and candidates across EU borders, but even NGOs wanting to run vanilla “get out the vote” campaigns Europe-wide — leading to a number to accuse Facebook of breaching their electoral rights and freedoms.

Facebook claimed last week that the ball is effectively in the regulators’ court on this issue — saying it’s open to making the changes but has to get their agreement to do so. A spokesperson confirmed to us that there is no update to that situation, either.

Of course the company may be trying to err on the side of caution, to prevent bad actors being able to interfere with the vote across Europe. But at what cost to democratic freedoms?

What about fake news spreading on WhatsApp?

Facebook’s ‘election security’ initiatives have focused on political and/or politically charged ads running across its products. But there’s no shortage of political disinformation flowing unchecked across its platforms as user uploaded ‘content’.

On the Facebook-owned messaging app WhatsApp, which is hugely popular in some European markets, the presence of end-to-end encryption further complicates this issue by providing a cloak for the spread of political propaganda that’s not being regulated by Facebook.

In a recent study of political messages spread via WhatsApp ahead of last month’s general election in Spain, the campaign group Avaaz dubbed it “social media’s dark web” — claiming the app had been “flooded with lies and hate”.

“Posts range from fake news about Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez signing a secret deal for Catalan independence to conspiracy theories about migrants receiving big cash payouts, propaganda against gay people and an endless flood of hateful, sexist, racist memes and outright lies,” it wrote.

Avaaz compiled this snapshot of politically charged messages and memes being shared on Spanish WhatsApp by co-opting 5,833 local members to forward election-related content that they deemed false, misleading or hateful.

It says it received a total of 2,461 submissions — which is of course just a tiny, tiny fraction of the stuff being shared in WhatsApp groups and chats. Which makes this app the elephant in Facebook’s election ‘war room’.

What exactly is a war room anyway?

Facebook has said its Dublin Elections Operation Center — to give it its official title — is “focused on the EU elections”, while also suggesting it will plug into a network of global teams “to better coordinate in real time across regions and with our headquarters in California [and] accelerate our rapid response times to fight bad actors and bad content”.

But we’re concerned Facebook is sending out mixed — and potentially misleading — messages about how its election-focused resources are being allocated.

Our (non-Facebook) source told us the 40-odd staffers in the Dublin hub during the press tour were simultaneously looking at the Indian elections. If that’s the case, it does not sound entirely “focused” on either the EU or India’s elections.

Facebook’s eponymous platform has 2.375 billion monthly active users globally, with some 384 million MAUs in Europe. That’s more users than in the US (243M MAUs). Though Europe is Facebook’s second-biggest market in terms of revenues after the US. Last quarter, it pulled in $3.65BN in sales for Facebook (versus $7.3BN for the US) out of $15BN overall.

Apart from any kind of moral or legal pressure that Facebook might have for running a more responsible platform when it comes to supporting democratic processes, these numbers underscore the business imperative that it has to get this sorted out in Europe in a better way.

Having a “war room” may sound like a start, but unfortunately Facebook is presenting it as an end in itself. And its foot-dragging on all of the bigger issues that need tackling, in effect, means the war will continue to drag on.

from Social – TechCrunch https://tcrn.ch/2DNPAOH

#Blogger

0 notes

sheminecrafts · 6 years ago

Text

When it comes to elections, Facebook moves slow, may still break things

Worthwhile counterpoints to another highly managed Facebook “election security” PR tour.

No overview of political ads in most EU markets

A spokesperson we talked to about this week’s closed briefing said Facebook had no updates on expanding Ad Library Reports to more countries, in Europe or otherwise.

Which brings us to…

Facebook’s Ad Archive API is far too limited

Ad loopholes remain ripe for exploiting

Facebook’s Ad Library includes data on political ads that were active on its platform but subsequently got pulled (made “inactive” in its parlance) because they broke its disclosure rules.

There are multiple examples of inactive ads for the Spanish far right party Vox visible in Facebook’s Ad Library that were pulled for running without the required disclaimer label, for example.

What is not at all clear is how quickly Facebook acted to removed rule-breaking political ads.

There is then also the wider question of whether a political advertiser that is found to be systematically breaking Facebook rules should be allowed to keep running ads on its platform.

Facebook needs to be much clearer about how it handles systematic rule breakers.

Definition of political issue ads is still opaque

One other big potential workaround is the question of what is a political ad? And what is an issue ad?

But the big question is how is Facebook defining political and issue ads across Europe?

While political ads might seem fairly easy to categorize — assuming they’re attached to registered political parties and candidates, issues are a whole lot more subjective.

So if any maliciously minded propaganda slips through Facebook’s net, because the company decides it’s a non-political issue, it will once again leave no auditable trace.

Facebook continues to bar pan-EU campaigns

Of course the company may be trying to err on the side of caution, to prevent bad actors being able to interfere with the vote across Europe. But at what cost to democratic freedoms?

What about fake news spreading on WhatsApp?

What exactly is a war room anyway?

But we’re concerned Facebook is sending out mixed — and potentially misleading — messages about how its election-focused resources are being allocated.

from iraidajzsmmwtv https://tcrn.ch/2DNPAOH via IFTTT

#IFTTT #iraidajzsmmwtv

0 notes

endenogatai · 6 years ago

Text

When it comes to elections, Facebook moves slow, may still break things

Worthwhile counterpoints to another highly managed Facebook “election security” PR tour.

No overview of political ads in most EU markets

A spokesperson we talked to about this week’s closed briefing said Facebook had no updates on expanding Ad Library Reports to more countries, in Europe or otherwise.

Which brings us to…

Facebook’s Ad Archive API is far too limited

Ad loopholes remain ripe for exploiting

Facebook’s Ad Library includes data on political ads that were active on its platform but subsequently got pulled (made “inactive” in its parlance) because they broke its disclosure rules.

There are multiple examples of inactive ads for the Spanish far right party Vox visible in Facebook’s Ad Library that were pulled for running without the required disclaimer label, for example.

What is not at all clear is how quickly Facebook acted to removed rule-breaking political ads.

There is then also the wider question of whether a political advertiser that is found to be systematically breaking Facebook rules should be allowed to keep running ads on its platform.

Facebook needs to be much clearer about how it handles systematic rule breakers.

Definition of political issue ads is still opaque

One other big potential workaround is the question of what is a political ad? And what is an issue ad?

But the big question is how is Facebook defining political and issue ads across Europe?

While political ads might seem fairly easy to categorize — assuming they’re attached to registered political parties and candidates, issues are a whole lot more subjective.

So if any maliciously minded propaganda slips through Facebook’s net, because the company decides it’s a non-political issue, it will once again leave no auditable trace.

Facebook continues to bar pan-EU campaigns

Of course the company may be trying to err on the side of caution, to prevent bad actors being able to interfere with the vote across Europe. But at what cost to democratic freedoms?

What about fake news spreading on WhatsApp?

What exactly is a war room anyway?

But we’re concerned Facebook is sending out mixed — and potentially misleading — messages about how its election-focused resources are being allocated.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8204425 https://tcrn.ch/2DNPAOH via IFTTT

#IFTTT #RSSMix.com Mix ID 8204425

0 notes

technicalsolutions88 · 6 years ago

Link

Worthwhile counterpoints to another highly managed Facebook “election security” PR tour.

No overview of political ads in most EU markets

A spokesperson we talked to about this week’s closed briefing said Facebook had no updates on expanding Ad Library Reports to more countries, in Europe or otherwise.

Which brings us to…

Facebook’s Ad Archive API is far too limited

Ad loopholes remain ripe for exploiting

Facebook’s Ad Library includes data on political ads that were active on its platform but subsequently got pulled (made “inactive” in its parlance) because they broke its disclosure rules.

There are multiple examples of inactive ads for the Spanish far right party Vox visible in Facebook’s Ad Library that were pulled for running without the required disclaimer label, for example.

What is not at all clear is how quickly Facebook acted to removed rule-breaking political ads.

There is then also the wider question of whether a political advertiser that is found to be systematically breaking Facebook rules should be allowed to keep running ads on its platform.

Facebook needs to be much clearer about how it handles systematic rule breakers.

Definition of political issue ads is still opaque

One other big potential workaround is the question of what is a political ad? And what is an issue ad?

But the big question is how is Facebook defining political and issue ads across Europe?

While political ads might seem fairly easy to categorize — assuming they’re attached to registered political parties and candidates, issues are a whole lot more subjective.

So if any maliciously minded propaganda slips through Facebook’s net, because the company decides it’s a non-political issue, it will once again leave no auditable trace.

Facebook continues to bar pan-EU campaigns

Of course the company may be trying to err on the side of caution, to prevent bad actors being able to interfere with the vote across Europe. But at what cost to democratic freedoms?

What about fake news spreading on WhatsApp?

What exactly is a war room anyway?

But we’re concerned Facebook is sending out mixed — and potentially misleading — messages about how its election-focused resources are being allocated.

from Social – TechCrunch https://tcrn.ch/2DNPAOH Original Content From: https://techcrunch.com

#Technical Solutions #SEO #Online Earning #Youtube Marketing #Android Developer

0 notes

legalroll · 7 years ago

Text

Women as an Asset: Requiring Women to Register for Military Selective Service (A Law Student’s Perspective)

The military is, in part, arguably the largest law enforcement agency in America, and its members engage in a type of policing at the international, national and even local levels- especially in emergent times. Elizabeth Kyle-Labell, a seventeen-year-old girl from New Jersey, is single-handedly spearheading the battle for gender equality in the military throughout the United States via her class action lawsuit against the U.S. Selective Service System (“Teen Girl,” 2016). Although the United States has not employed a military draft since the Vietnam War, the lawsuit is representative of significant progress in the pursuit of equality for all individuals regardless of gender or sex. The systematic discrimination of women based on gender for this country’s military simply reinforces the patriarchal stereotypes imposed upon women (“Women and the Draft,” 1980). Women should be required to register for the United States Selective Service as well as men, because with the implementation of gender equality the military will be able to secure the best possible force, if a draft is ever necessary in the future.

According to the Military Selective Service Act (2012), solely male residents of the United States are obligated to register for the draft. This duty is cited as an essential element to the strength and security of the nation, acting as an insurance policy contingent upon the necessity for additional persons to serve within the military when a shortage in voluntary force arises (“Women and the Draft,” 1980).

The rationale behind the “only men” clause within the Military Selective Service Act (2012) is fundamentally rooted within the perception of combat and military institutions as primarily masculine operations (Gustavsen, 2013). Evidently this ideal reinforces the gendered stereotypes of women and their inferiority to their male counterparts, nevertheless this exclusion of women has persisted throughout time.

Previously the United States Supreme Court has upheld the Selective Service System’s overt discrimination against women through the case of Rostker v. Goldberg (1981) as constitutional (The Office of Public and Intergovernmental Affairs, 2015). This ruling was predominantly based off the Department of Defense’s restriction of eligibility on women participating in combat roles within the military (The Office of Public and Intergovernmental Affairs, 2015). Because women were not allowed to serve in direct combat positions, the Selective Service was not required to include them within the draft, considering that they did not contribute to the “combat-ready pool” that the SSS was pursuing (“17 Year Old,” 2016). This decision fails to recognize the important roles women would be able to serve within a draft, while abiding by the Department of Defense’s ban. In order to definitely insure the availability of individuals to fulfill the “support” positions within the military it is crucial to expand registration to women in addition to males within the country.

As of December 2015, the Department of Defense’s restriction on women’s roles within the military was lifted and all combat jobs have been subsequently open to women (Rosenberg & Philipps, 2015). Although this decision’s codification is groundbreaking, many branches of the military had opened up these positons to women prior to Defense Secretary Carter’s announcement, this resolution is still pivotal to the battle for equality. Gustavsen (2013) explains this phenomenon as “the most profound break with tradition in two thousand years” (p. 362). Women are increasingly seen as asset within the armed forces and the removal of this ban is the sole mechanism for women to achieve equal opportunity within this institution dominated by males (Gustavsen, 2013). Albeit a counter to this claim is that this decision will not lead to the complete integration of women within the military (Rosenberg & Philipps, 2015), but this sentiment neglects the overarching intention. The significance of Secretary Carter’s decision is not that it will create concrete equality, but rather that this decision will act as expansion and thus create equal opportunity within the military, which is the first step to seeking gender equality (Gustavsen, 2013).

The freedom of opportunity for women within the military creates the perfect context in which people like Elizabeth Kyle-Labell are able to challenge the Selective Service System’s discrimination on the basis of gender (“17 Year Old,” 2016). Without the Department of Defense’s additional intervening policy of exclusion, Kyle-Labell and women across the country are able to optimistically challenge the violation of their fifth amendment right caused by the United States draft’s registration restriction (The Office of Public and Intergovernmental Affairs, 2015). The controversial element of this possible case outcome is that not only would women be able to register for Selective Services, but if the policy is overturned, women will also be required to register. In order for women to be seen as equals with men, this requirement is a necessity. The military draft was created as a safeguard to insure that the United States military remains strong unremittingly (Military Selective Service Act, 2012), and since women have proven to be an asset to the strength of this force, it is crucial that women be included within this pool of registrants (“Women and the Draft,” 1980).

The removal of the Selective Service System’s ban on women registering for the draft is a vital element in the pursuit of gender equality across America. As late as 1980, even military officials concluded that requiring women to register for the draft is a necessary step to assessing the overall strengths of qualified individuals within the country (Women and the Draft,” 1980). Although the military as it stands is currently a volunteer force, the breakdown of this barrier to entry is a symbolic, as well as concrete achievement of equality (“Teen Girl,” 2016). The effort to actively include women within the military is one that may promote an increase in women volunteering for service, which is a continual success for gender equality throughout the U.S. (The Office of Public and Intergovernmental Affairs, 2015). The inclusion of women within the United States Selective Service not only serves the best interest of the country’s national security forces, it also demonstrates the concrete importance that women serve within society when given the same opportunities as men.

References

17 Year Old Girl Sues Government for Her Right to Be Drafted into The Military. (2016). American Military News. Retrieved from https://americanmilitarynews.com/2016/04/17-year-old-girl-sues-government-for-her-right-to-be-drafted-into-the-military/

Gustavsen, E. (2013). Equal Treatment or Equal Opportunity? Male Attitudes Towards Women in the Norwegian and US Armed Forces. Acta Socioloigca, vol. 56, no. 4, pp.361-374. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/24569485

Military Selective Service Act, 50 U.S.C. 380. (2012). Retrieved from http://legcounsel.house.gov/Comps/Military%20Selective%20Service%20Act.pdf

Rosenberg, M., & Philipps, D. (2015). All Combat Roles Now Open to Women, Defense Secretary Says. The New York Times. Retrieved fromhttps://nyti.ms/1Ns1Lv7

Selective Service System. (2017). Registration: It’s the LAW. Retrieved from https://www.sss.gov/Registration-Info

Teen Girl Hopes to Open Selective Service to Women. (2016). Fox 10, Retrieved from http://www.fox10phoenix.com/news/arizona-news/teen-girl-hopes-to-open-selective-service-to-women

The Office of Public and Intergovernmental Affairs. Selective Service System. (2015). Backgrounder: Women and the Draft. Retrieved from https://www.sss.gov/Registration/Women-And-Draft/Backgrounder-Women-and-the-Draft

Women and the Draft: The Constitutionality of All-Male Registration. (1980). Harvard Law Review, vol. 94, pp. 406-425. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/1340585

Women as an Asset: Requiring Women to Register for Military Selective Service (A Law Student’s Perspective) published first on https://medium.com/@SanAntonioAttorney

0 notes