#he comes over the very next day and does……this…… to every available surface

[thunderheadfred]

looking forward to my kitchen table no longer looking like this

[foli-vora]

Massive congrats Foli! Thanks for bringing joy and thots to us, we appreciate you! 💗

I’m being greedy and I know it: 110 “is that a drawing of me?” with Marcus Pike à la You’re Somebody Else? Angsty or heartbreaking smut? Or both?

my sweet, sweet angel! thank you so much for your request and your kind words. i appreciate your presence here! i'm always down for hopping into this universe - i hope you enjoy! x

rough lines [marcus POV ’you're somebody else’]

marcus pike (alex) x f!reader

word count: 1.8k+ warnings: angst. A N G S T. lies and deception, undercover work, soft moments, these two were so in love it fucking hurts me, soft sad smut/love making - not overly explicit but still very much 18+ ONLY.

It shouldn’t be happening like this, but it is.

He feels it everywhere. He feels it thrum through his system, mixing with the blood that runs through his veins. He feels it in the pit of his stomach, twisting and curling and threatening to tear its way up his throat and choke him. He feels it crawl over his skin, stretching over his being with rivers of trembles and sparks of something wonderful. 

Love.

God, he’s such an idiot.

What the hell is he doing?

This is a job—a case—and here he is, falling in love. 

Falling? No. It’s too late. He’s already fallen. He’s done for. He’s sold his soul and now has to live with the pain of knowing it has an end date. This wouldn’t, couldn’t, be forever, and it’s starting to slowly break him. He swears he could hear the tic of a clock.

Time patiently chips at his heart, the inevitable end lingers in the shadows of every tender moment.

There would be no ring. No house. No altar. No future.

He fights it. Of course he does. 

Despite his heart singing it’s relief, it’s joy, of finally finding another, he shuts it away. He ignores the thrill that shoots through his system. He ignores the way his heart starts to thud in his ears. He ignores the fire left in the wake of your touch.

You give him the affectionate name of Snoopy. You merely think he just likes rifling through your things, flicking page after page of your journals and sketchbooks out of curiosity and the want to know you on a deeper, more personal level… if only you knew. 

While, yes, that was true—he loved studying the curl of your handwriting and the notes you’d leave next to your drawings and memories and soaking in your voice as it recalled moments in the past—he was looking for things to lead him and his team in the right direction with the case.

He wasn’t doing it for the right reasons. 

You believed he was just asking about your friends after coming across photographs of you smiling prettily at the camera, when in reality he was memorising names to give to his fellow agents for a background check and to grow their lengthy suspect list.

Every bit of your life was under scrutiny, under careful observation, and you had no idea. None whatsoever.

He wasn’t expecting the guilt that would come with this investigation and the way it would grow, the way it would fester into this hideous beast of a thing that threatened to make him sick the second he looked at you.

It’s there now, bubbling on the back of his tongue—anxiety, nausea, mixing with the ever present words of apology and declarations of love. Words you’d never dream of hearing, yet words you’ll hear through ringing ears as your love for him morphes into red hot loathing. Hatred.

He won’t ever be ready, prepared, for that day.

The soft pat and stroke of your brush is calming in your apartment, lit only by your favourite candles lining every available surface. You weren’t into strong bright lighting, choosing to instead turn to soft, warm hued lamps and lighting wicks birthing a constantly calm, welcoming atmosphere.

He knows your favourite scents.

He knows your favourite lamp. 

He knows you prefer to lounge on the large, shaggy rug rather than any of your comfortable chairs.

He knows the way your tongue would peak from between your lips when focusing.

He knows you. 

The nausea grows.

He can no longer focus on the journal in his hands and flicks it shut, smoothing his fingers over the front cover with an air of apology for stealing from its depths. He slides it back into your monstrosity of a bookcase, the vintage dark wood stretching along your wall, ignoring the way your collection of trinkets and souvenirs placed over the shelves seem to jeer him.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice pulls him from studying the shelves, and he forces a smile in return, turning his head to find you sat comfortably on your rug with a small easel propped out in front of you. He can see the swirls of colour sprawling out across the canvas—an original, he notices with relief— and admires it as he wanders closer, sinking down behind you and warming at the way you comfortably recline into him.

“Yeah baby, just had a bad day,” he murmurs, kissing the bare skin of your shoulder where your cardigan had fallen from.

He rests his lips there, sighing quietly and closing his eyes, almost in pain, when your hand raises to cradle the back of his head, your fingers weaving and combing through the grown out hair there. Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and, just for a moment, he pretends he’s himself.

Marcus.

He’s Marcus, not Alex.

It’s bliss.

There’s no hiding, no secrets kept close to his chest or lies to burn his mouth. You know him, you know everything, and you’re still here, still open to him, loving him… but the moment can never linger. He returns to the present, to the truth of your situation, and languidly opens his eyes at your concerned tone. His fantasy melts away with the next exhale that blows along your skin. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask quietly, tilting your head so you could gaze up at him from where you rest against his chest.

“It’s work,” he replies truthfully, letting his head hang until his forehead presses into yours, “it’s just getting harder and harder, that’s all.”

It wasn’t meant to be this hard.

The feelings he holds for you had just developed so quickly, and admittedly, he had lost himself in the budding romance. The intel on you had left out how sweet you are. How caring and kind and compassionate and smart… he should’ve stepped back the second he felt that spark of true attraction.

Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was the loneliness inside him crying for the company of another… either way, he was fucked.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you murmur softly, your fingers tracing his cheek, “is there anything I can do?”

Self loathing rolls around the pit of his stomach at your tone, at your touch. His exhale blows softly across your lips, his head giving a small shake of denial. 

“It’s just the way it has to be,” he admits in a whisper, trying to push his unspoken apology into his tone.

He hates it. He hates it so fucking much.

“I get it,” you reply with a distinct note of sadness, your eyes fluttering to a gentle close. 

God, he wishes you’d say more.

Maybe he could help you, maybe he could get you out before it all goes too far. Maybe there was still time…

You’ve been incredibly tight-lipped about your place in this whole illegal art ring, but with the more time he spends with you, taking in the cryptic marks you’d make here and there, he’s almost certain you weren’t into this life of crime as others may suspect.

It’s not like he could just come straight out and ask you, so he was simply left with his theories until you trusted him enough to open up. 

“No more talk of work,” you decide after a moment of silence, turning in his hold and looping your arms around his neck with a sweet smile.

He finds himself returning it immediately, unable to resist.

“Okay,” he grins, eyes closing at the delicate press of your lips.

Everything feels so easy with you, so natural. The way your lips mould with his, the way you both seem to fall into such an effortless rhythm. He burns under your hands, his heart launching into his throat as your nimble fingers drag his T-shirt up and off his body before exploring the planes of his bare torso. 

He’ll never get sick of the sounds that fall from your throat. Your whines, each and every soft exhale, the muffled moans that he swallows down eagerly when his own hands explore your body.

He memorises it all.

The feel of your skin, the curves and dips and soft spots that tear the prettiest of sounds from your lips; the way your back arches when he hovers over you, his mouth crafting its own path over your skin; the way you open up for him, weep for him, muscles clenching and tightening and fluttering around him as you meet your end. 

The guilt lingers.

It hangs there in the back of his mind as he moves, his skin like fire against yours as he fills you. He hides in your throat, squeezes his eyes shut when you start to whisper the name that doesn’t belong to him. If he focuses hard enough, he can almost imagine your sweet coo of Marcus ringing in his ears.

The shadow of it takes hold when he sits on the edge of your bed after spending the evening losing himself in you, chasing your end and kissing away your bliss filled tears. He tugs at his jeans, pulling them up his legs and relishing in the warm fingertips that trace up and down his spine, bringing a pleasant wash of electricity across his skin.

“Can I have my water, please?” You murmur tiredly from where you rest in the sheets, your face half hidden in the pillow you snuggle into.

He gives you an amused smile over his shoulder before stretching for the water jug beside your bed, pausing when the page of your open sketchbook resting on the edge of the night stand catches his eye, displaying a familiar face crafted from hasty, rough lines of graphite. His stomach tightens.

“Is that a drawing of me?”

You hum softly, accepting the offered jug and leaning up on an elbow, unbothered by your nudity as the sheet slips and pools around your stomach. You gulp at the water greedily, smiling when he catches the drop that escapes your lips and slides down your chin with the rough pad of his thumb.

“It is,” you admit quietly, “that’s not weird, is it?”

He chuckles, reaching for the sketch pad and shaking his head. 

“No, it’s not. Why did you draw me, though? I’m hardly the Statue of David,” he says with a heavy tone of amusement, his grin hiding the faint wash of pink that crawls along his cheeks.

You sit up more, shifting closer to him and brushing the strands of hair falling over his forehead with such a soft tenderness it threatens to knock him down. 

“Because you inspire me.”

His heart aches at your answer, the pain spreading throughout his chest and seeping into his bloodstream. It takes every bit of strength within him to not let the anguish twist his features as you soften into his side with a peace filled exhale, a single thought circling around and around his mind with a fierce, unrelenting force—

I’m so sorry.

---

everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @timpletance, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @trinkets01, @jxvipike, @thesmutslut, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @scentedthingtidalwave, @mwltwo, @loveslide, @artsymaddie, @untitledarea, 

marcus pike tags: @pedrohoe04, @evyiione, @androah, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @quica-quica-quica, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola, @fuckoffbard, @dins-cyare, @eatommo, @serini-ty, @chaoticevilbakugo, @raphaelaisabella, @f*cklife_imdreaminghere, @randomchick546, @in-for-a-pennyx, @littleone65, @joelmiller81, @Curiouser-an-curiouser, @h-hxgirl, @thevoiceinyourheadx,  @shadowolf993

yse/rty tags: @kirsteng42, @insomniamamma, @albertasunrise, @oursubjectisntcool, @birdie-girl, @lepagera-blog, @maryfanson, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @cecilyjmorgenstern, @donnaa, @spishsstuff, @hungrhay, @tanyaherondale, @dreamcatcher121, @elegantmusicdragon, @aninnai

[followthebluebell]

Hi! I hope this ask finds you well and you're having a great day! I had a question on cat behavior, mostly trying to figure out some issues we've been having in training our cats. They're both about a year old now, and we've had them since they were roughly ~15 weeks (they were abandoned by the dumpster at my inlaws apartment and they ended up bonding with me). My girl Sabrina doesn't do this as much as her brother Sebastian does (or at least we've caught him doing it more often), and that's scratching at doors rather than the cat towers they have. We've been trying to figure out how to get them on the scratching posts for months but he's just not having it and my sister in law has told me their mom (who was abandoned with them and she adopted) does the same thing at the wall. We've tried pretty much everything we've seen online and some things I've seen said it might be them marking territory? The only thing we haven't tried is the citrus sprays yet and that's been the next on the list. It's done some pretty bad damage to the door frame and we're about to have an inspection next month. They're the best cats in the world and we love them so much but we don't know what to really do here and I'm also a first time cat owner. My friend pointed me over to your wonderful blog and I was wondering if you might have any advice for us to try? I just want to see them happy and thriving but also not get in trouble with the housing people. Thank you so much for your time!

Hello there!

Yeah, cats can damage doorframes pretty badly; I think it's because doors just smell interesting. They bring in all sorts of smells every time they open.

So, your choices are to either redirect the behavior or discourage it entirely.

If you want to discourage it, you can try using double-sided sticky tape or silicone tape. The bad news is that this kind of tape can risk damaging your doorframe or peel the paint off. But since you're replacing the doorframe anyway, you can sort of test it out. If it damages it further, no harm done; it was going to be replaced anyway. Cats really don't like sticky textures and will try to avoid touching them (honestly, same).

You can also redirect it. You KNOW your cat wants to scratch in that location for very specific reasons: so you can give them an alternative surface to scratch on by putting a hanging scratching post on the doorknob. These are pretty cheap and are available in a few different types of surfaces. Most cats LOVE the cardboard ones. They don't last very long but it seems to be the most popular surface in my experience.

They don't have to hang either. There are also scratching mats that you can literally put on the wall. Hell, you can even cut them up into thin strips that are just wide enough to cover a doorframe. Most of these types of mats come with their own adhesive. Again, be warned that the adhesive backing can damage certain types of surfaces! It's a good idea to test them first.

I hope this helps!

[readingsquotes]

What was available in terms of painkillers and anesthetic?

Dr. Yousaf:We had one medicine, ketamine, that prevented a lot of misery. It’s a sedative medicine we would never use in any other environment in the way that we used it there.

People came in with legs torn off and their skin burned off and visible bone-crushing wounds. Dr. Rana and I saw a 10-year-old who came in with no pelvic bone. The only relief we could give was to push ketamine—hoping it would sedate them until we had time to really assess what was going on. In the long term, we had very little to nothing. Outside of the trauma room, we were using ibuprofen and Tylenol often for full body skin burns.

Dr. Rana: People in there were just suffering 24 hours a day. All the time. There was just no way just to give them even brief relief.

....

During the press conference, you mentioned a pregnant woman you treated up until her death. What happened?

Dr. Yousaf: The first day I was in Al-Aqsa hospital, there was a mass casualty event. I want to say 15 or 20 people came in simultaneously. She was plopped down right next to me—belly down, initially—with full burns. Her hair had been burned away. Her face was completely burned. Seventy percent of the surface area of her body was burned. And the first thing we noticed during our primary survey, which is the kind of first quick glance, is that she had shattered her leg from an explosive injury. I could see the tendons.

Then we heard screaming in Arabic outside the door saying, She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. It took me a minute to really process what they were saying because you couldn’t tell this patient’s age due to the burns. When we realized what was happening, we flipped her over and somebody put an ultrasound on her belly and noticed that she had a viable, kicking, 18-to-20 week old pregnancy.

When you hear of a pregnant lady, everybody’s sensitivity gets even sharper and we did what we could. She was rushed to the OR, got the orthopedic surgery, got taken care of. She ended up undergoing an amputation of the leg because there was no way that it was savable.

But every single doctor and nurse and health care provider realized an inevitable reality; she was going to die.

She ended up in the ICU for many days, where I cared for her as part of a team. Every day on rounds, we would pass by her bed. She moaned and groaned in pain the entire time. We could only provide her relief intermittently with very, very inadequate medications until the day came where we rounded on her and she was no longer in the bed. We all knew what that meant. The nurse said to me in Arabic that it was a mercy—for her and for her husband, who was with her the entire time. The guy never left her bedside. He watched her suffer. She suffered. And there was no happy ending there.

There are so many stories of the Gazan people that don’t have a happy ending. In the privilege we live in, we imagine: Yousaf is going to say that the baby was born and the baby lives on. No, no. The baby died. Her mother died. Her husband is now a widower with a lifelong trauma that he’ll never be able to overcome.

I don’t know if there are other family members. I don’t know who else died in the explosion.

In many cases, the bombs causing these injuries and deaths were likely made in America. And in some cases, the weapons may have been paid for by American taxpayers. How does that connect to your decision to come to Chicago?

Dr. Rana:There’s a lot of talk about ceasefire, and what everyone needs to understand is that we’re so far past the point of where a ceasefire should have happened. There’s so much destruction, death, devastation, annihilation, genocide, all of these things have continued to happen under our watch.

What we’re telling you as Americans who were there on the ground is that innocent people and an entire society is being decimated. We’re not only standing by and watching it, we are contributing to it. We are actively doing it. And it’s unbelievable to me. I just can’t understand how we continue to supply bombs then talk about a ceasefire. The hypocrisy of it is just astounding.

Was there a consensus among the doctors you were working with that you were witnessing a genocide?

Dr. Yousaf: There was no doubt.

Dr. Rana: Without a doubt.

Dr. Yousaf: I’d love to meet a doctor who was there for more than seven days who would say that what they saw wasn’t a genocide.

Dr. Rana:In terms of war crimes and things like that, we saw targeting of children. We saw young men targeted with rifle shots to their thighs to try to require amputation of their legs.

There were quadcopters targeting men in their groins and genitals. They would come in with no other injuries and would lose their testicles. They’re healthy young men, but they’ll never have kids. One of the surgeons I was speaking to said, This is the seventh one like this I’ve seen. This is something they do. A quadcopter comes in and just targets a young man.

I asked the urologist who was doing the operation, How many of these have you seen?

Too many to count, he said.

The reason I believe him is that when he finished reconstructing this young man, I was so amazed at his proficiency. This was obviously somebody who’d done a ton of this type of case. Either you’re trying to decimate the future of a society, or it’s just sick entertainment for sociopaths. And I don’t know which one it is.

[zealouscanonindeer]

The Pipe Problem

Dr John Watson:

And what course of action are we employ further?” I questioned.

Holmes had filled me in with the details of the day, I felt nervous at her sudden disappearance. 

“I shall think upon the matter, hopefully we shall have more clarity by tomorrow morning.”

I knew Holmes would not sleep a wink that night. Attaining his usual position, heavy smoking and intense meditation, he would slip into solitude as the hours wore on. Even he admitted, his findings were meagre and could not make for much but I had enough belief in his abilities for both of us. 

The next morning as I made my way to breakfast, I witnessed Holmes neatly dressed, busily writing something. He was in much better spirits that yesterday. It seemed his penance had yielded a beneficial clue.

“Aha, morning Watson. Which one would you say more suited?” he thrust two letters at me. Before reading them, I put forth my queries.

“Well, it is clear enough that she was writing a letter to me, the words my dear Holmes, sherlock, apologies and understand could culminate in that respect. Maybe she wished to inform me of her absence but though better of it.”

“The sherlock need not be in your letter, she could have mentioned you to a third party”

“Good Watson, very good. That is true enough. Now for the wrong and deliberate, they hint at a mistake or ill intentions and they’re deliberateness. Understand also is too loose to be clubbed into one category. The father could show her describing her father’s recent travel. The appreciate I cannot place.”

“It seems easy enough. She appreciates you understanding her absence.”

“But that’s the thing. Both the words are too far apart, with understand on what one could make the second line of the letter while appreciate does not appears until the very end of the page.it could serve a similar purpose, nonetheless.”

“What of the letter she supposedly received from you?’

“The most acceptable conjecture would be thus. She received a letter, one that was to deceive her but she realised the hoax and wished to unfurl the person behind this. She did as per the letter, making her escape in the night. Her attempts of the letters are more difficult to explain for she would undoubtedly inform me. She must have used her father’s departure as an excuse to mask her own.”

“How about she was being watched and her attempts of contact denied”

“That does not explain the sheer amount of discarded paper. If she was being watched, only a single letter would be burned. No more likely she struggled with her next course of action, often vacillating between outcomes.”

“Who would know of the lady’s presence in my life and its importance to send her a letter on my behalf, knowing she would certainly act.”

He closed his eyes, eyebrows ruffling in agitation, his forehead wrinkling as he thought deeply. After a few moments, he got up making his way to the coat rack, pulling on his overcoat and securing his muffler around his long neck.

“Watson, if it pleases you, I shall be grateful of your company. ”

“Don’t you wish for me to read these prototypes first?”

“If our endeavours are successful, we shall some original documentations. Now come along Watson, the game is truly afoot.”

We made our way to Mrs crofts establishment, Holmes intently studying the times columns. He, as per his custom maintained silence.

We were let in by a small parlour maid with an alarmed expression over her thin countenance. Holmes nodded at her and silently made his way up the stairs into the third room to the left. His nimble fingers, handling a smallish hatpin worked away at the lock until it gave open.

No sooner were we in than he had once again turned into a creature of frenzy and unduplicable energy, his hands working on every crevice and his trained eye unable to miss even a slight detail. However, his search yielded nothing concrete.

Next, he tore open the closet, dresser drawers and every other surface was rendered open but to avail. He then, with visible displeasure conceded,

“Oh, Watson, I suppose everyone has their limits as I have been painfully made aware of mine. I wonder what I have missed…. I must have…. surely…. By Jove! There it is!”

He lurched at the morning dress placed on the settee and dug into its deep pockets and his whimsical smile returned once more.

“Not yet Watson not just yet.”

He procured a curious little piece of paper, a crisscrossed one, the columns filled with unusual numbers. 

“What is this then Holmes?”

“Beats me, another night in tobacco ash shall be needed. Come now, we must swiftly take leave before Mrs croft is made aware of our presence.

With immaculate detail, the room was left as found and two gentlemen slipped noiselessly out of the women chambers. 

[certainsadspongebobpics]

Why the episode “Gone” will never appear on this blog.

I have no way to post the entire episode on tumblr. Plain and simple. Its an okay episode. Certainly not the worst, not by a mile, but it is.. very dark if you look below the cartoony surface, and you certainly dont have to look deep. If you gave up on the show after season 5, let me fill you in. The episode is simply about Spongebob waking up to find everyone in bikini bottom gone. At the end of the episode, they come back and explain they were “gone” because of national “No Spongebob” day. Horrible premise right? Very cruel. Well it gets worse. They weren’t gone for a day. They were gone for weeks. A month. The episode doesn’t make it clear on how long, we’re just given “weeks.” Seems rather trivial, but take the time to imagine how just one week would feel to you. Spongebob had no human contact during those “weeks.” They didn’t leave a note, or any sign that they were alive and okay. Nothing. You on some level, are social, even if you dont have many friends. Even if you don’t have any friends. Theres a possibility that you have neighbors, or coworkers, or classmates or teachers, or online friends, or SOMEONE to interact with during the day at least once. You will at least bump into someone or be contacted by someone in your day to day routine. Spongebob is social too, very social, and very welcoming. We’re shown in the episode his routine, and just how many people he interacts with. He feeds his snail, he annoys Squidward, says hello to Patrick and interacts with customers at the krusty krab. ...Now they’re not there. I think we’re suppose to inference that Spongebob is just stupid and doesn’t notice everyone’s gone. But I say he isn’t. Spongebob may be dumb, but he is also very loving in the platonic and familial sense. Don’t let the later seasons cloud your judgement. Think back to “Have you seen this snail.” Spongebob forgot to feed Gary for a while while taking the dirty bubble challenge. He simply lost track of time. After he realizes Gary’s gone? He goes on a massive search. He puts up missing snail posters, asks people, searches the entire town for him and even puts up a bill board. ....What caused him to do all of this? When Gary did not come to eat. He most DEFINITELY could have seen that something was wrong. He even searches the whole house for him, to no avail. Still... there is the possibility that Gary could have gotten an early start. Sames to Squidward. Squidward always yells at Spongebob, he can’t really help himself. He wouldn’t have just rolled over and ignored him. This is where you start to get the inkling that something is wrong. Then he goes over to Patrick’s house, and tries to wake him up. Patrick.. of course, does not respond. Spongebob is not showing any signs of distress. He even walks through the empty streets and hops over an upside down boat. I’d like to think that this is Spongebob in a sort of denial phase. Think about what you would do if you woke up and everyone around you was gone. Would you search for them? Would you continue your routine in the hopes that they’d all show up? Would you go to work/school and start working, just in case? Spongebob does grill patties, just in case. But nobody’s there to eat them. Still.. its a slow day, right? Mr krabs doesn’t respond to him saying good bye, but maybe he’s just been busy in his office all day? Spongebob just starts to freak out when he sees Gary hasn’t eaten his food. That brings him right to the reality he’s living in. He starts doing all of these things to confirm that his friends are gone, and he realizes that its not just one or two, not just Gary or squidward, It’s ALL of them. Every single person both in his innercircle and out. At the end he shouts “WHERE DID EVERYBODY GOOOOOO” It echoes, emphasizes the emptiness. We move onto the next part, where it starts to get slightly unsettling. We’re not into full weirdness mode yet, but we’re getting there. Spongebob.. starts imitating all of the people he knew in their lives. He’s acting them out. He is, as he puts it, “Living out their lives for them.” He plays both himself, and them in these situations, and he is definitely aware of their thoughts and feelings on him, there or not. I would like to believe that this is some form of bargaining, both to keep his routine, and by having a form of connection to them. In the end.. it doesn’t work. He breaks down because he wants them, not his version of them. Theres only so much one sponge can do. Now this.. is the darkest part of the episode. He does grant himself a drivers license, after all, nobody’s there to stop him. And he does drive recklessly, after all, theres no pedestrians to hit. He crashes the boat into his house, after all, theres nobody to yell at him for it. He starts talking and forming a relationship with the boat. The boat of course, does not talk back.He even wakes up with the boat in his bed and says “I guess its just you and me now boaty.”  He showers with the boat, eats breakfast with it, does a whole bunch of other stuff, and then takes it to his place of work. After all, Mr krabs isn’t there to yell at him to causing a big hole in the wall. He even throws a krabby patty into the engine in an attempt to have the boat try it. Of course.. the boat rejects it. Spongebob loves krabby patties. He practically worships them. He even cremates one in “Just one bite.” He would know it wouldn’t work with the boat, but theres nobody else there to eat his krabby patties so thats why he tries it. In the next scene, he mentions something particularly telling. “You know, I thought I’d go crazy without all my friends and acquaintances around, but it looks like you were all I needed to stay sane.” Boaty.. starts talking to him, but not in a human way, in an engine making noises way that Spongebob interprets. It.. starts accusing him of having a meat puppet of his old best friend, which is totally crazy right? Except it isn’t. Because thats exactly what Spongebob has. He has formed a puppet out of meat in the shape of Patrick and has hidden it away in the closet, and he starts talking to it. Remember, despite all of their conflicts, Spongebob and Patrick are best friends. They’re close. They’re even a part of the best friends forever club. It makes sense that Spongebob would talk to  Patrick, but since Patrick’s not here, this meat puppet will have to do. Of course he does nuts and starts distrusting the boat. After all, he can’t really trust anything in his reality anymore. In the final end, They all come back. The entire town. Spongebob says “You’re all still alive?” Meaning this entire time, there was a possibility in his mind that his friends and loved ones might not ever come back. The boat, the meat patrick, everything might have stayed that way his entire life. All of the people he knew might have been dead, and he wouldn’t have even known why or how. They come back, but why have they been gone for so long? National no Spongebob day. An entire day dedicated to getting away from Spongebob. Everyone participated in this. The entire town. You can’t tell me that at least one person was left behind, because we were very thoroughly shown that Spongebob searched the entire town, and all he could say was “Gone.” The worst part? In this particular episode, even Patrick, his best friend, partook in this abandonment. Now consider how you would feel if someone dedicated an entire holiday to getting away from you. Mr krabs of course, deflects the blame by saying “Its dedicated to you.” He conveniently leaves out the “Getting away” part. This doesn’t help when he says that they build a wooden replica of Spongebob and burn it and dance in the ashes. In the end, they start a “No Patrick” day, and everyone takes off without Patrick. I am not satisfied by this ending. 1. I’m guessing this is to give him a taste of his own medicine, but if you’re gonna do that, then EVERYONE needs a holiday where they get shunned. 2. Patrick knows where his loved ones have gone. He knows they’re alive and they have to come back eventually, something Spongebob wasn’t even given the pleasure of knowing. Overall, this episode is an exploration of loneliness, and how it can really drive someone who’s social to the extremes, just to feel something. In the end, we find out it isn’t just loneliness, its shunning, full on shunning. The idea hanging in the area of never knowing where your friends and acquaintances have gone, and never getting closure for that just lingers. Even as a kid, I remember watching this episode and feeling really odd and worried. Poor Spongebob.

[flightless-rising]

Made a new Flight Rising iceberg and also wrote an explanation.. man, this took way longer than it should have.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :D

Iceberg explanation

( If there are any mistakes please let me know and I’ll edit this asap. Also, English isn't my first language so please forgive me for any grammatical errors)

EDIT 28/06: Added some new info! Thanks to everyone who tagged and responded with new stuff to add, I really appreciate it!

The Sky

Naomi

Back in the day, whenever you bought or sold something on the auction house a message would show up in your inbox confirming the transaction. These messages were sent by one of the dragon couriers: Pearl, Spitfire or Edgar.

On January 2016, a strange glitch occurred that replaced the images and names of couriers with the ones of a female fae named “Naomi”.

It goes deeper than that, though: if you looked up her name in the user search menu, a clan would pop up with over 15 million dragons.

It was quickly discovered that all exalted dragons had somehow become part of her clan. Naomi herself apparently didn’t exist, and clicking on her page redirected to an error page. This was later fixed and the original Naomi page can be now visited.

What exactly caused this glitch is still a mystery and today Naomi is still a well-known piece of Flight Rising history.

Missing Tidelord

In the official lore, the deity of the water flight disappeared in early 2018, as described in the short story “Hear Today, Gone Tomorrow”.

In the follow up story (Mixed Elements) posted in April of the next year it is confirmed that the Tidelord is still missing, but alive. This coincides with the fact that the Tidelord account hasn’t made any forum posts aside from festival announcements.

Emperors

Emperors are a type of unobtainable dragon that are formed when several Imperial corpses are left in close proximity to each other, which then fuse forming a multi-headed chimera.

Emperors are described in the lore as having an animal-like behavior and destroying everything in sight. They are extremely difficult to kill, which is the reason why in-universe Imperials have such strange burial rites.

An emperor named Luminax is first described in the Raising a Family short story, and their sprite can be seen walking around on the world map.

The Surface

Old color wheel

Originally, there were only 67 available colors for dragons. On June 8th 2016, 110 more colors were added, meaning that currently there are a total of 177 colors available.

When making a custom progenitor dragon, it is only possible to choose among the 67 original colors because it would be otherwise unfair for those who made their account before the new colors were added.

Imperial breed scrolls

Imperial breed change scrolls are one of, if not the most, rare type of item on the site. They were given only to those who pledged 30 dollars or more on the original Flight Rising kickstarter.

At the time, this was the only way of obtaining an Imperial dragon, which meant that the breed as a whole was pretty valuable. Now that Imperials are abundant this is no longer the case, but First generation Imperials are still extremely sought and probably the most expensive type of dragon on the site.

There were also other items that were only given to Kickstarted backers, namely Skycats, Bonefiend, Golden Idol and Cogfrog familiars, and those are also pretty much impossible to obtain.

Baldwin breed change

When Baldwin was introduced in 2015 he was originally a Pearlcatcher. On September 14th of 2016 however his site art started to gradually change, until his transformation was completed five days later.

In-universe, Baldwin started to change after a lightning strike hit his cauldron during an experiment, which made him slowly mutate into the breed we now know as Bogsneaks.

Trans Fiona

When Fiona was added as a trading post dragon people speculated that she was trans, because the female pose for Skydancers only displays two antennae, while the male one has four.

Since Fiona has four antennae in her site art, many wondered whether it was an oversight or actually intended. Aequorin later confirmed in a forum thread that Fiona is indeed trans.

Boolean

Speaking of rare items, the Boolean familiar was only given to a handful of Flight rising beta testers and as such is extremely rare and valuable.

Plaguebringer coli team

On the Plaguebringer’s page she is listed as being part of a coliseum team.

As of now we have no clue as to why this is, and even more strangely she is the only deity that does this.

Boston & Hope

This story is a bit complicated. I’ve scoured the forums in search of info but it seems like there are still some pieces missing. I’ll try my best to explain anyway.

So, for a long while the Lightweaver was the only deity that had other dragons aside from herself in her lair: these dragons were a Spiral named Boston and a Tundra named Hope. Strangely, they were both Earth dragons and apparently have been there since the beginning (?). When asked why (this happened back when deities would interact on the forums) the Lightweaver responded that they were having a dinner party together.

In August 2014 during a pretty heated dominance battle between Shadow and Light Boston and Hope disappeared from the Lightweaver’s lair.

The Shadowbinder now had them, and both their elements were alsochanged to Shadow. The two deities acknowledged this and changed their broadcast messages accordingly.

If I had to guess this was some kind of inside joke that the admins had, although some people got angry that the Shadowbinder now had both Hope and Boston. Some time later(?) Boston was returned to the Lightweaver and for some reason his element was changed to wind.

I don’t have any more info on the matter but if some of you do I would appreciate it if you tell me.

Shallow Waters

Eyepocalypse

On June 8th 2018 eye type variants were introduced. This update was pretty controversial for a bunch of reasons, and the topic is still discussed today. The majority of people(?) seemed to be upset by the fact the “best” eye types (primarily goat, primal and multi-gaze) could only be displayed on dragons that were born with them, and the fact that every dragon born prior to the update couldn’t have these eye types at all displeased a lot of users.

Another problem was the fact that most of the non-special eye types (i.e the only ones that could be applied to already existing dragons using a vial of Scattersight) were not clearly visible on the grand majority of adult dragons.

A smaller(?) complaint was that two of the primal eye types, Shadow and Plague, were seen as kind of disturbing by some people.

Three years later staff attempted to fix this issue by adding Eye type vials for every available eye type. This resulted in a market crash for special eye typed dragons, as now these eye types could be applied to any dragon. The value of Scattersights also tanked, and the people bought them and hadn’t used them yet lost money as now they were infinitely less useful.

EDIT 28/06: Goat isn’t actually obtainable via breeding, faceted is. Bad mistake on my part.

Also, Scattersights were given away freely by Galore on Flight Rising’s fifth anniversary in 2018 and could not be bought afterwards. I admit that I thought people could be able to buy Scattersights due to how upset people were that the value went down, but whatever.

Courier Breed

The courier dragons (Edgar, Spitfire, and Pearl) are part of an exclusive dragon breed that is currently unobtainable. Even though their eye color still reflects the flight they were born in, in-universe they are considered to be “neutral” and they are granted free access to all domains. This raises the question as to which deity created them, as every other dragon breed (Bogsneaks being the only exception) has been created by one of The Eleven.

Multiaccounting

According to the site’s terms of service, no one is allowed to have more than one account. This is pretty standard for pet sites, as having multiple accounts grants unfair advantages and can mess up the site economy. This doesn’t completely stop people for having more than one account, and the practice as a whole is called “Multiaccounting” or “having multis”.

Some people only do this to have multiple clans or reboot their account without deleting their old one. They mostly do no harm but it is reasonable that the site wouldn’t allow this because of how easy it is exploit.

The real harm of multis comes from a practice called “funneling” which is when someone creates multiple accounts only for the purpose of giving items to their main account. This practice violates the game’s rules and can result in a ban. Funneling is not limited to multiaccounting though, and having an account only to feed another is against the site’s rules whether or not the account in question belongs to another person or not.

Some people fear of being banned for multiaccounting even if they haven’t done so, especially if they share a computer with other people.

Purble

“he purble” is probably among the most famous Flight Rising memes.

In 2016(?) a rant was submitted to the original Dramarising blog by a very angry user that wanted to buy an XXX Purple Ridgeback back when triples were pretty expensive, but got beat by someone else.

I’m not going to copy paste it here because in my opinion it’s one of the funniest Flight Rising related posts ever and I don’t want to spoil the experience of reading it for the first time. You can find it pretty easily by searching it up.

Tert Picking

This is something that refaced recently, even though I’ve seen people talking about this for a while. Some people vividly remember being able to pick their custom progenitor’s tertiary color, even though the developers have made it clear that such thing would be impossible. This is without a doubt just one of those weird situations where a lot of people somehow remember the same thing wrong.

Still, it’s fascinating just how many people claim to remember doing picking their tert.

Swiftwings

Swiftwings were a dragon breed that was scrapped in development. The design was rejected because it didn’t fit the 2 arms 2 legs 2 wings format that every dragon design had to follow before the introduction of ancient breeds.

The reason for this rule is that otherwise it would mess up apparel placement. Although the concept was scrapped, echoes of the design were scattered throughout the site: for example, the empty dragon slots that were present prior to 2019 had the silhouette of a Swiftwings dragon. They are also mentioned in the April Fool’s update of 2018.

“Real” Lore dragons

Most people don’t know that some of the dragons featured on the lore stories are actually real, and you can visit their pages. This is the case for Tetra, Cracklinne, Velya, Liefa, Garote and Mirth, which are currently chilling in Aequorin’s lair.

All of the other dragons in the developers’ lairs are not canon and are used to test bugs and features on the site.

The Middle ground

True deity names

When the site first started the deities used to have actual names instead of titles. Some of these names were based off of the site founders’s usernames on other sites.

The names are the following:

Amogayvhi - Gladekeeper Xhaztol - Arcanist Rhenik - Tidelord Akiri - Flamecaller Thrage - Stormcatcher Undel - Shadowbinder Jhortanas - Plaguebringer Ghurab - Windsinger Artaios - Earthshaker Rhiow – Lightweaver

As you can tell, Xhaztol, Akiri, Thrage and Undel are the usernames of some of the admins of the site, and the flight they are a part of corresponds with the previous name of their deity.

No leg coatls

On January 16, 2015 an iconic thread was posted in the flight rising discussion forum, which displayed a photoshopped image of a coatl with its legs removed. Quickly the thread devolved into a general photoshop thread were people took official site art of dragons and modified it.

The thread was eventually locked due to spam and quote pyramids, but spiritual successors of the original “phoatlshop” thread still exist today.

Dress slot unlocking

A thing that a surprising amount of people don’t know is the fact that when buy an additional apparel slot, the slot opens for every dragon in your lair and not just the one you bought it on.

This is something I also discovered very recently and it’s kind of funny that so many people that have been on the site for very long don’t know this.

Clanbound scatterscrolls

I think the wiki explains it best, so I’ll just copy paste this here:

“Tri-Color Scatterscrolls suffered from an issue where they would only scatter a random range from colors 1-47 (white through sunshine) rather than 1-67 (white through rose). They have been fixed and are now functioning correctly with a random range within the 67 color set. The affected timeframe was from August 15th, 2013 until September 22nd, 2013. The admins allowed users who were unsatisfied with their bugged Tri-Color Scatterscrolls to receive the same amount of them back in the form of Clanbound Scatterscrolls to try scattering their own dragons again with the full color range.”

Beta Mirrors

Ever wondered why they’re called Mirrors?

According to Undel, the main artist of Flight Rising, mirrors originally were supposed to have every part of their body “mirrored”, meaning they had two sets of eyes, two pairs of wings, two tails, and so on.

This design ended up being too cluttered and looked weird shrunken down. The name was kept the same, even though the only mirrored part of the design are the eyes.

Dragons are evil

If you read the “Beastclans on the rise” lore bit, the dragons come across as… very evil, stealing territory from the beastclans when they have been living on Sornieth way longer than the dragons have and killing them for loot.

Furthermore, in the Bounty of the Elements lore bit the Beastclan rebellion guided by Talona is seen by the dragons as unreasonable and wrong even when in canon Beastclans are framed as the innocent party.

The Depths

Scroll of Divorce

In the alpha stage dragons were supposed to be monogamous and could only breed with the dragon they were “paired” with. To break their bond you had to use an item called “Scroll of Divorce” which even featured broken marriage rings in the art.

If I had to guess, this item and the concept as a whole were scrapped because the idea of dragons having “weddings” and needing to divorce before breeding with another dragon felt kind of weird, especially in a game targeted towards teens.

First Festival

The first Holiday festival in Flight rising history was the 2013 Brightshine Jubilee. The items that were available for this festival only are incredibly rare, particularily the Light Sprite which is one of the most valuable items on the site. Apart from that and the fact that the skincent contest only had 6 winners, not much is notable about it.

Offsite drama

Flight Rising has had its fair share of drama both on and off site, but due to the fact that it’s against the site’s rule to discuss user drama on the forums most of the notable drama happened off site (mainly tumblr).

Egg rot

Egg rot was a very early mechanic that was pretty quickly removed from the site. If you forgot to incubate your eggs, they would “rot” and no longer hatch.

It’s the reason why in the nesting grounds the text reads “Eggs healthy” and also the reason why on the stats section of the Account settings it says “Eggs discarded”. The mechanic was removed because it heavily punished casual players and the frequent downtimes of the site meant that even if someone logged in every day they could still have their eggs die.

Also, the images of egg rot look extremely cursed.

Pablo

From what I could gather, Pablo is a dragon which became somewhat popular after user “Desmondtiny” wrote a very long and detailed backstory of them being the Arcanist’s lost boyfriend.

I’m pretty sure it gues deeper than that but I couldn’t find any further information. As usual, if you know something more let me know.

Latest News

On November 12, 2014, a glitch(?) occurred that let anyone post in the Announcements thread. Anything that was posted went directly to the front page, which resulted in quite a bit of chaos.

This was fixed only half an hour later, but the screenshots people have from that time are extremely funny.

Lameforger

On the 2014 Flameforger’s festival announcement Undel accidentally misspelled “Flameforger” as “Lameforger”, which prompted the official account of the Flamecaller to respond aggressively. Lameforger is still jokingly used by users, even after the typo was fixed.

Festival of one (1)

On the first day of the 2014 Greenskeeper Gathering a glitch occurred which switched the site banner for the Starfall celebration banner instead of the Greenskeeper one.

It didn’t end there, in the coliseum Magical shards dropped instead of Bladed Flatleaves, even though skin chests dropped as normal(?).

The weirdest thing about it all was Joxar’s Space inventory, which didn’t display any items at all and had glitched dialogue.

The event was nicknamed by the fanbase “Festival of 1” and even the deity’s official accounts acknowledged the incident.

Vape Juice

As far as I know the original forum thread as been lost, but the vape juice fiasco will always remain cemented in Flight Rising History.

A company called Vape Daugz was making vape juice with Flight Rising dragons plastered on their packaging, completely violating the site’s policy.

The company’s site still exists, and browsing through their products I found that the products that previously had Flight Rising dragons on them still exist, but now feature completely different packaging.

I have no idea whether they changed the packaging spontaneously or staff did something about it.

I think there’s a potentially interesting story buried down there, but we’ll likely never the truth behind the Flight Rising vape juice.

The Abyss

Humans

There’s been some speculation over the years as to whether or not humans are canon in the Flight Rising universe. Some people believe that the “Mages” of the second age in the official lore are actually humans, but we can’t be sure because they are depicted with long robes that cover their whole bodies.

The idea of humans existing in canon has spawned a couple of memes, most infamously Thomas.

Plague healers

Again, I think the wiki explains this one better:

“According to Aequorin, Plague healers are an interesting bunch because rather than administer treatments that counter illness, they use a mixture of magic and contagion that stress the affected dragon further, allowing them to reach a stronger, healed, and resistant state faster than other elements. Plague healers will treat physical injuries with sutures, bandages, and braces, but they won't clean the wounds or apply ointments."

Akitla

As described in the original thread, Akitla was a dragon that user “qunii” saw on the front page, but noticed that she wasn’t accompanied by the username of the person owning them.

After clicking on her, an error page loaded. It was discovered that putting her color combination or ID in the search bar would result in an error page. This was later fixed, and both Akitla and her mate were now displayed as being exalted to the Arcanist. T

here are some theories as to what happened to the Akitla’s user, some think that she belonged to a deleted account, others that it was the result of an incomplete account creation.

As with a lot of things on this iceberg, it will likely remain a mystery forever.

Arcane sprite book

“what is the arcane sprite reading??” is probably one of the oldest still active threads on the forums.

On September 25, 2013 user “Kaadashi” started a joke thread were they wondered what exactly is the arcane sprite reading, and playfully suggested that it could be erotic fanfiction. People went crazy of course, and started to wonder what kind of juicy secrets were hidden within the pages of that book.

I don’t want to say too much because I really don’t want to spoil the experience of reading through this very cursed tread.

Sunshine

Sunshine is one of the most… interesting lairs on the site, and certainly one of the most well-known.

They(?) have a lair (almost) completely full of triple basic sunshine dragons, most of which are Tundras. So far they have collected about 320 triple hundred Sunshine dragons, almost all of which are also named “Sunshine”. They’re not all the same, some of them have apparel, some of them are gened and some have unique art and descriptions.

They’re dedicated and I respect that.

EDIT 28/06: Apparently some people seem to think that the sunshine-dedicated lair is based on a meme concerning the announcement of the color wheel expansion, which became so discussed that the itself site broke. The two things are unrelated however, as the Sunshine lair has been around for much longer.

The announcement of the color wheel expansion was cryptic, with only a few post showing off differently colored coatls and then 3 pages of reserved posts, with no explanation whatsoever.

Simple Farmer

Another very famous thread is the “I am but a simple farmer” thread started by user “someKindOfGenius”. It’s not really about anything specific, it’s just a rather silly thread were people photoshop flight rising dragons onto various crops.

Still, this thread is iconic so I had to include it.

Dragon Deaths

Way back in 2014 former flight rising programmer Thrage revealed on a forum thread that way back before the beta, dragons could actually starve to death if left unfed.

Yep.

Obviously they had to remove this mechanic because it would have been extremely harsh to casual players and make people frustrated with the game.

Zalvador

User “manojalpa” became fairly well-known for the extremely dark lore they(?) had written for their Clan, it was so dark in fact that every single one of their dragon’s bios had to moved to their tumblr where they couldn’t be easily seen by the site’s mainly underage usebase.

Their lore centered around their progen dragon, a tundra named Zalvador, which behaved and had the same powers as a flight rising user: buying dragons off of the action house, having “breeding projects”, exalting dragons, etc.

These things seem pretty normal when done by a player, but when taking them as actual real things that happen in universe… yeah, it was way too morbid for the site.

The Pit

Black linen neck wraps

For some weird reason, the apparel piece “Black linen neck wrap” when put on a male pose Coatl wraps around the dragon’s throat instead of it’s neck. It’s kind of subtle and hard to see, but if you compare it with the female pose the difference is clear. This is probably just an art error, although it’s weird that it hasn’t been fixed yet, since linen wraps are a very old piece of apparel.

Another weird thing about linen wraps in general is that the wing wraps just sort of… go through the membrane? This is not possible. These dragons are in pain.

Icewarden ears

Another very remarkably popular thread is the Icewarden ears thread.

In 2014 user “Llanai” simply makes note of the fact that the Icewarden has teeny tiny ears.

As we have come to expect from these threads, it quickly devolved into nonsense.

Forbidden Snapper lore

Snappers used to have a way different lore section that was changed because it deemed too similar to the lore of another petsite.

This is what the original section read:

"Snapper dragons do not sleep, but exist in a constant state of reverie. They receive and catalogue all experiences and stories told within their dreams. This persistent state of awakened dreaming awards them the longest memory of any dragon species. They are living encyclopedias, and any dragon who is seeking difficult-to-obtain information will have the most luck unearthing it from a Snapper clan - provided they have the patience for it. If you want two dozen quick answers, talk to a spiral. If you want a fully developed answer, camp out around a Snapper. These dreamers move at their own pace, which varies from dragon to dragon. For some, the awakened dream can prove to be more interesting than their surroundings. This leads to a focus upon the dream, and the waking world as filtered background noise. Interacting with these sleepwalkers can be a trying and repetitive task. Other Snappers may be fairly lucid, with a focus upon their surroundings and the constant hum of the dream pushed aside."

Bee movie script

I’ve seen this story around the forums a few times but I’ve never been able to learn the details.

From what I’ve heard someone copy pasted the entire bee movie script into their clan bio in a drop down text format, which completely broke the page for anyone who visited it. This was fixed, apparently, although I have no clue as to who this user is.

EDIT 28/06: Zeus

Zeus is an XXX gold g1 permababy imperial that used to belong to user "happywing".

Their account is now locked because Zeus was created with the use of a duplication glitch on an imperial breed change scroll, which is obviously not allowed (although I've heard some people say that the dragon was hacked in altogether). Before the account was locked, people speculated that Zeus was the most valuable dragon on the site, because an XXX g1 imperial is impossibly rare.

Wegg shaming

On July 2017 user “Dreamnorn” made a thread were they(?) claimed to have a dream where everything was the same except people used the term “wegged” when two dragons would lay only one egg in a nest.

Ex. Aw man! I’ve been wegged again! = Aw man! I bred two dragons and they only had one egg!

The dream ended up being prophetic, as the term catched on and people started to use it unironically.

The practice of “Wegg shaming” I think refers to the trend of people posting pictures of the dragons that “wegged” them in order to “shame” them.

Plague nest skull

The site art of the plague nest features an unique dragon skull that doesn’t match with any currently existing dragon breed or creature: It appears to have two sets of eyes, like a mirror, but also long and curled horns.

It’s probably just for decoration and it likely doesn’t have any significance whatsoever, but personally I believe it would be pretty cool if when they eventually release plague ancient it at least somewhat resembled this skull.

EDIT 28/06: On second thought, the skull doesn’t seem to have two pairs of eyes, It just has the generic shape of a carnivore.

Rock bottom

CAPTAINPLANET

…this is CAPTAINPLANET. Somehow, user “Decres”' managed to overlay a Fae skin on top of a Tundra, creating this horrifyingly fascinating abomination.

I have no idea how she did this, and she seems pretty adamant to tell.

EDIT 28/06: People have pointed out that this skin overlay glitch was actually somewhat common (although I still haven't found another dragon like CAPTAINPLANET). What you had to do was breed change a dragon while attaching a skin to them in another tab.

This glitch has been patched and such thing is no longer possible.

Lair 46264

A cursed lair.

Dreams

I’ve seen a lot of people, both on forums and on Tumblr, sharing dreams they had about Flight Rising.

A lot of people dream of just being on the site, while occasionally weird things happen.

I’ve read of people who dreamed the distribution of a new breed, buying an exclusive item, a new Fiona feat or Swipp trade, or just browsing the forums.

The most common type of Flight rising-associated dream I’ve seen however is being caught multiaccounting and having their account banned.

I’m no psychoanalyst, but I think it’s pretty clear that these nightmares stem from the paranoia of being banned from their beloved petsite instead of showing any actual intention of doing the “crime” in question.

Anyways, I think it’s fascinating how so many people dream about this site, and it reminds me of the dreams people claimed to have about Mario 64 where completely new levels were added or a scary monster appeared.

Dragon Slime

Dragon Slime was an infamous thread which was supposed to be start off point for an ARG.

It was deleted because it was considered too “spammy” and also because ARGs are banned from the forums. The thread has been lost, unfortunately.

EDIT 28/06: Thanks to @randompurple-fr for providing screenshots of the dragon slime tutorial! You can find them here

Cucumber

Cucumber is the only dragon ever to have been exalted with a skin, which is something that should not be possible. This raises some questions as to what exactly did the person that exalted them do to achieve this, but we have no way of knowing who Cucumber belonged to.

EDIT 28/06: Actually, we do know who used to Cucumber belonged to! Its owner was Osiem: an official flight rising artist. I couldn’t find the thread where they(?) acknowledged the glitch though, if someone has it please let me know!

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two

So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)

PART 2

Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.

Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.

And for the finale.

The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.

"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."

Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.

"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.

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Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.

For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.

(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)

The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.

She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.

Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.

Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.

Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.

(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)

The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.

Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?

The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).

“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.

“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”

Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.

She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.

“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”

If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.

Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.

Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,

“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.

“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.

Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.

“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.

Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.

Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.

“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”

They haven’t been friends for a long time.

Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.

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

Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.

Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)

He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.

Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.

Just lovely.

Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)

The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.

The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.

With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.

(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)

At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.

After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.

“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”

Thwack! Smack!

Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.

She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)

“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”

“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”

“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”

“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”

“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”

“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself.”

She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.

She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)

“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”

He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.

As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.

“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”

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

Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.

He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.

“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.

“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.

“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?

Whizz!

Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”

Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”

“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”

Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.

“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”

“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.

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(Part 3)

[acapelladitty]

Heisenberg/Reader fic (nsfw)

Summary: After a short meeting with Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters barely escapes ending in bloodshed, Heisenberg is keen to show you just how much he appreciates your loyalty towards him. (Warnings includes rough sex, mild knifeplay, vandalism and restraints).

Karl Heisenberg was a selfish man.

He was selfish in almost every aspect of his life, and that selfishness also extended to you and your company. It was uncommon for him to allow you to join him when meeting others on his business outside the factory, with the only exception being your regular meetings with the Duke to acquire much needed parts for his equipment and experimentations.

However, a meeting with the Duke was necessary and the only available slot he had happened to directly follow a meeting Heisenberg had already planned with fellow Lord, Lady Dimitrescu. Due to this, options were limited, and the most sensible course of action was for you to accompany him for the meeting and then for you both to attend business discussions with the Duke within his room in the castle.

Which is how you ended up seated within the grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu with Heisenberg glued by your side as you both faced down the Lady of the castle and her three adopted daughters.

“And why should I listen to you?” Dimitrescu asks, her tone haughty as she ran a hand along the hem of her closest daughters’ dress in a loving manner. Cassandra, if the hair colour was anything to go by. Her lack of attention towards yourself and Heisenberg was intentional, a mark of disrespect, and a flare of irritation ignited within your gut at the pettiness.

“Miranda’s rules, not mine.” Heisenberg shrugged, delivering the message he had been requested to, “If you’ve got a problem then take it up with her. I don’t give a shit.”

Enjoying her mothers’ attentions, Cassandra tilted her head at her sisters as she shared a contemptuous look with them at Heisenberg’s words. Their attitude was just as rotten as their creators and it did nothing to dissuade your anger as Dimitrescu responded.

“Mother Miranda should have known better than to send a child to deliver a message to me. A true Lady should not have to deal with a foolish infant who can barely lay claim to the title of Lord.”

Against your better judgement, you can’t hold back a slight snort as Dimitrescu referred to herself as a true lady. Her hate for Heisenberg was without question and that hatred had long since leaked over to yourself and while Heisenberg was somewhat protected by his status as one of Miranda’s children, you were considered lower than dirt and she had made that opinion quite clear across your shared interactions.

She didn’t like you as you didn’t like her, and that was fine.

“Keep your filthy pet under control,” Dimitrescu snarled fixing you with a pointed glare, her hand flexing almost subconsciously against her white dress, “or I will personally put it down.”

“Is she talking to me?” You ask, glancing sideways at Heisenberg and ignoring Dimitrescu as you cut off her insult, “I’m your pet? While she’s sitting there with three bags of flies she dares to call her daughters?”

A loud chuckle escaped Heisenberg’s chest as low growls from the women ricocheted throughout the room at the brazen derision.

“You DARE insult House Dimitrescu?” Dimitrescu bellowed as she stood to her full height, the looming form admittedly very intimidating, “You dare open your common mouth against us while you sit by the side of scum like him?”

“At least he has a sense of humour,” you hold her furious gaze with a steeled spine, confident that you would be protected from harm, “and isn’t a frigid bitch living in a gifted castle.”

A lot of things happened at once as the daughter closest to your position, Bela, seemingly unable to restrain her anger any longer as her mother was insulted, leapt to her feet and withdrew her scythe from within her robes.

“I’ll bleed you dry!” The rage in her eyes was clear and her sharp blood-stained teeth were on full display as she darted quickly towards the couch you occupied, swerving across a small side-table as she advanced.

She had barely crossed the empty space between you when a pained cry escaped her throat as the scythe in her hand was wrenched free of her grip, finding a new home against her throat as the sharp tip of the blade dipped into the flesh there in warning as it froze her in place. The same went for the scythes which were hidden within the robes of Cassandra and Daniela, the weapons no longer beholden to their mistresses wishes as they bowed to Heisenberg’s influence and power and assumed a betraying position against their necks.

Along the edges of the grand hall, the armoured knights rattled as the very air in the room seemed to expand and contract in anticipation. High above, the metal grating which held the windows in place flexed and shook; a clear warning which dared any of them to move.

“Back the fuck off.” Heisenberg snarled into the room, his voice easily carrying above the feral hissing of the three daughters. Having only moved his head forward slightly, his expression was mostly hidden by his positioning and wide-brimmed hat but from your place at his side you can see the rage that is simmering behind his glasses, “Get control of your bitches before I carve them into a million pieces and leave you to clean up the mess.”

The rage that radiated from Dimitrescu’s form seemed to pulse for a moment as she flexed her long claws before a hint of uncertainty crossed her expression as her eyes darted between her three daughters. Unlike herself, they were more vulnerable to attack and it was no secret that Heisenberg’s life was worth more to Mother Miranda then their own.

There was no doubt within the room that Heisenberg would kill them, consequences be damned, and Dimitrescu could not take the risk, no matter how satisfying the reward.

Sheathing her claws, Dimitrescu straightened her back and faced Heisenberg directly.

“You come into my house, brother, and threaten my daughters with violence.” Her tone was measured, the anger buried beneath cold accusation, “Bela!” She indicated to her still body with a loose hand, “Come sit by my side, daughter. This fool and his plaything are beneath us and not worth the effort it would take to drain them.”

“Yes, mother.” Bela bit out, having no interest in peace but submissive to her mothers’ wishes as always.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as the rattling of the metal within the room subsided and the tension eased off slightly. The three scythes clatter to the ground with dramatic flair as they are released and Heisenberg rises to stand at your side, indicating you to do the same.

“You have your message,” facing Dimitrescu, he inclined the rim of his hat at her with a twisted smirk, “now do as your mother asks and make sure that it’s done in time. This meeting is over.”

Calling his hammer from the floor, it flies into his hand with ease as his free hand comes to rest on your elbow, guiding you towards the stairs in a firm grip.

“See you next week, sister.”

He calls the words over his shoulder, not bothering to spare the lady of the house a glance.

One final insult.

Passing down the stairs of the great hall, a subdued cry of rage followed by hurried footsteps and hushed voices can be heard from the space you recently vacated, and the direction of the disappearing noise suggests that Dimitrescu was retiring to her quarters.

No doubt to complain of the day’s events to her disgusting spawn.

To your side, you can sense a restless energy radiating off Heisenberg as he marches you down the stairs but before you can question him, you find your arm seized in a vice-like grasp as he pulls you into a nearby room which lies opposite the room in which you are due to attend your meeting with the Duke.

Glancing around the room, you take in the space.

It is a small bedroom, mostly consisting of one large four-poster bed which was decked out in the same extravagant nature as the rest of the castle. Overhead, a large skylight made up the centre of the ceiling with its domed shape letting in a vast amount of light while also keeping out the cold. Two sets of drawers and a vanity table make up the rest of the furniture and you turn back to Heisenberg once more to question his actions.

You open your mouth to speak but are immediately cut off by his lips on yours as his hands move to his head to pull free his hat and drop it to the floor atop his freshly discarded hammer. Pulling away for a moment, he does the same with the glasses, dropping them into the same pile before returning to your lips; his mouth insistent against yours as he bites as your lower lip demanding entrance.

“What’s this about?” You ask and a grunt escapes you as he backs you up against the wall, your shoulders connecting with the hard surface roughly as he presses a leg between your thighs.

“It makes me so fucking hard to see you stand up to that bitch,” he grunts, nuzzling his head against your neck as he inhales your smell, “a little warrior, ready to go to war with nothing but your wits.”

“I have you.” You whine back as he bites into the skin of your neck, the force enough to guarantee a mark but not enough to break skin, “I don’t need anything else. You could tear that bitch and her infested little spawn to shreds without breaking a sweat.”

At the praise he presses his body against you and you can feel the hardness against your hip.

Ah.

“So loyal,” he purrs against you, rubbing himself on your hip, “and it doesn’t go unrewarded.”

“We can’t here,” you mutter with great regret even as arousal curls low in your belly, “my biggest fan or her daughters could appear at any time and I’d rather not deal with them while you’re inside me.”

His smirk is almost feral as he pulls free his blade from the inner pocket of his coat; the same blade which never left his person as a final line of defence against possible attack. Running the blade along the hem of your shirt, you suck in a soft breath and meet his eyes, seeing your arousal reflected in his own. He had tried to get you to learn to use one for your own defence but any attempts at training barely got underway before they were lost to more carnal pursuits.

Extending his hand with a flourish, the blade sliced through the air with great force, arcing upwards as it reached its target and smashed through the skylight. The shattering of the glass was loud and you instinctively duck to avoid any of the shards as they litter the canopy of the bed and fall to the floor.

“The fly-bitches can’t stand the cold.” He explains away the act of petty vandalism, shielding your body from the glass with his own as his hand summons his knife back within his grasp, “Now, where were we…”

His hands grip at your wrists, pinning them above your head as his knife works independently at his will; the sharp blade running along the buttons of your shirt with surgical precision as it slices them off, the small buttons bouncing along the floor as they fall free to expose more of your body.

A shiver rattles through your body, a result of both the low temperature of the room as the winter winds enter through the fresh hole in the ceiling and the anticipation of events as you watch his knife slowly remove your barriers. A soft creaking from a nearby lamp holder catches your attention and you jump in surprise as the metal features flies free of the wall, coming to imbed itself around your wrists as he releases them, pinning you into place against the wall.

His knife drops to the ground as his free hands come to rest on your shirt, spreading the fabric open to fully expose your chest and his mouth is immediately drawn to your nipple as he worries the sensitive nub there between his teeth gently. It ignites a warmth in your chest that draws a low moan from your throat as you push out to meet him, encouraging him as your other nipple is rolled between his fingers to the same effect.

“Just one quick fuck,” he grunts against your chest, his hands fumbling at his slacks as he frees himself, his cock twitching in the chilled air of the room, “and then we’ll continue with our business.”

You pant as his hands grip at your slacks, carelessly thrown on before you left, and he pulls them free of you, slipping them down past your knees and allowing them to fall to the floor carelessly as he exposes your clear arousal to his sight.

Lining himself up against your entrance, he pushes in with one swift thrust and the torrid mixture of pain and pleasure rips the breath from you as you clench around him, unable to do much else. The friction is almost too much as he sets a quick pace within you, the burn spurring you on to snap your hips back to meet him as he supports your weight, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as he sheathes himself within you.

Wriggling against him as he pins you to the wall, you almost feel as though he is trying to fuck you through the stone and the rough growling of his throat as he does so is almost hypnotic as you whine and moan around him. Your fingers grip at their restraints as they are held in place by his power and your heels dig in to the soft of his back as you encourage him on.

As you cry out your pleasure, a rough hand comes to sit over your mouth as it muffles the cries. His fingers taste of oil and metal as your tongue meets them and the familiarity of it is pleasant as you moan around his hand. His cock stretches you as always and the brutal pace seems to be hitting every nerve inside of you as arousal curls your toes and tightens within your gut.

A grunt of surprise escapes you as he lifts you free of the wall, hurling you around with ease and dropping you on the bed as he continues to rut within you. It’s almost animalistic and you can do little but wrap your legs around his hips and meet every punishing thrust as your fingers dig into the flesh of his back.

Even as you whine below him, your orgasm still manages to catch you off guard as the tight band of tension within your gut snaps as your thighs tighten around him and your feet press against his spine, sheathing him within you as you clench around him and milk him for everything he’s worth. You can feel your mess but you ignore it as you focus on finishing him but he’s not far behind and, with a savage growl, you feel his cock jerk and the warmth of his release as it burns through you.

“So fucking loyal,” he snarls against your neck while his cock continues to twitch within you, each word punctuated by a lazy thrust as his pace slows, “so willing and warm and for nothing. Just for me and no one else. Mine.”

The final word is little more than a growl and, sensing that the words didn’t require an answer, you give a low grunt of acknowledgement as you release your grip of his back and allow yourself to relax into the sheets.

The bed is soft against your back as you continue to writhe against him, ignoring the mess that you’ve just made as you both enjoy the other. The chill of the room is offset by the heat of his body as he remains atop you and you focus on the strange duality as you try to steady your heaving chest.

Finally slipping free of you, Heisenberg pauses before pulling his slacks back up to wipe the mess from his cock off on to the soft bedding; leaving a noticeable stain against the expensive fabric with a satisfied smirk as he tucked himself back in.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the immature display, you focus on righting yourself even as your knees lock into place to keep you steady. Your hand dips to the floor to grasp at your underwear and slacks and you pull them on quickly, ignoring the mess which you both made as you cover it with fabric.

Your eyes settle on your poor discarded shirt.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to wear?” You ask, indicating the slashed-up fabric with an open palm. In the cold air, your nipples were peaked and walking about shirtless in the middle of winter was not an appealing thought.

His laughter is open and genuine as he considers his actions, “Oops, maybe should have thought about that. If you weren’t such a fucking tease then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Remaining silent, you stare him down.

“Fine,” he grunts as he shuffles his shoulders out of his coat, “wear this.” He tosses the coat in your direction and you grasp it between your fingers, the fabric still warm as it clung on to his body heat.

Slipping your arms within the coat, the first thought to grab you is that it smells like him; that is, it smells like copper and oil with a hint of spice that you are never quite able to place. The second thought is that it is very heavy against your shoulders and you straighten up fully to balance it correctly as you easily close it over your exposed chest.

As you go to leave the room, his presence fills the space behind you and you can feel him pressed against your back.

“I think I like you in my clothes.” You can feel his grin against your neck, “It makes it clear who you belong to and it makes me want to fuck you again right here and now.”

“Business before pleasure.” You purr, tightening the coat around you as you move through the doorway as you guide him to your meeting, “We can negotiate terms later.”

As fun as it would be, you had both kept the Duke waiting too long and you would rather not be around when Lady Dimitrescu discovered her vandalised ceiling and come-stained bedding.

Fic also available on AO3 @ DittyWrites

[the-bau-quinjet]

heyy do you think you can do a steve rogers x reader where the rest of the avengers try to matchmake them because everyone ships them (& everyone knows that they're both in love with each other besides themselves LMAO)? it would be EXTRA amazing if you could make it such that the reader is smaller/shorter than steve? personally really love the height difference in a relationship but if not it's fine too! thank you so much, have a great day ahead xoxo

Set Us Up

Warnings: 2455

Word Count: crude language, but mostly fluff

a/n: This took me a hot minute because I couldn't think of ways for everyone to try and set them up lol, but I think this is super cute! I hope you have a great day too!!

Masterlist

"He totally has a thing for you! Nat, back me up." Wanda turned to the redhead.

You, Wanda, and Nat were supposed to be training. Instead, the two of them have been trying to convince you to make a move on Steve. As if that would ever happen.

"She's right." Nat replied calmly.

"Would you two stop gossiping and just train with me! Please!" You have never confirmed your crush on Steve, but that didn't mean your two best friends didn't know about it.

"Y/N, I'm serious. That man is crazy about you." Wanda tried again while Nat easily defended your attack.

"Wanda, he's my friend. That it." You refused to make eye contact, knowing she would she the longing in your eyes. Instead you kept advancing on Nat.

"Friends don't look at each other like that." Wanda smirked, knowing you'd fall into her trap.

"Like what?" You continued sparring with Nat.

"Like he wants to fuck you against any flat surface available." She stated matter-of-factly.

"Wanda!" You finally turned to her. Unfortunately, that was the point where Nat went on the offensive.

She easily tackled you to the ground, unable to stop her own momentum. She folded you like a pretzel, resulting in a very pitiful whine from you.

"Ow." You complained from the ground, not bothering with trying to get up.

"I know exactly what you need." Nat smirked devilishly. "Steve!" She called across the gym, only making you wince further.

"Steve! Can you do me a favor?" Nat asked the super soldier, knowing he was never one to turn down a friend in need.

"'Course, what do you need?" He made his way across the gym to where you were still sprawled out on the mats.

"Y/N just took a pretty bad beating. Can you help her stretch?" Her and Wanda wore matching smirks despite trying to hide them. "I'd do it, but I promised Wanda I'd help her with something, and we have to go now."

Steve barely had time to respond before the two women were making their way out of the gym.

"Hey, Y/N." He greeted you kindly, looming over your body which was still on the ground. "Are you okay?"

You huffed, glared at the door where your friends just abandoned you, and then smiled at Steve. "Yeah, Wanda just distracted me and you know what that means when you're sparring with Nat."

He grimaced slightly, imaging the beating you just experienced.

"I've definitely been there." He gestured for you to put your foot in his hand. "Here, give me your ankle."

You followed his instructions, lifting your left leg until he grabbed onto your ankle. He slowly pushed your leg forward, helping to stretch your hamstring.

You couldn't help but laugh at the way he had to bend over slightly to fully push on your leg.

"What's so funny?" He tickled your leg before gesturing for you to switch.

"Nothing. You're just really tall." You snickered again at his hunched over frame. Your foot didn't even reach his hips, meaning his back was arched at an odd angle to give him the correct leverage to help you stretch.

"Maybe you're just short. Ever think of that?" He raised a brow, dropping your right leg back to the floor. "C'mon, give me your hands."

You raised your arms up like a petulant child, knowing he would have to bend down to reach your hands.

He rolled his eyes at your childish behavior, but ultimately bent down to grasp your hands. He pulled you to your feet a bit too harshly causing your body to stumble into his.

Your head landed squarely against his chest, really showing off the height difference.

"See," he put a hand on top of your head. "You're just short."

You shoved him slightly, backing away from his warm body. "That may be true, but that doesn't mean you can go around saying it." You playfully glared at the much taller man.

"I'm sorry. Come with me, I'll make you a smoothie to make up for it."

Despite your best efforts, you couldn't keep the grin off your face.

"Deal."

You just knew Nat and Wanda would be all smirks when you inevitably filled them in on this whole encounter.

-

"Who moved all the mugs?" You muttered to yourself. You spent the last five minutes standing on the tips of your toes trying to reach the mugs that, for some reason, had been move to the very top shelf.

Then you spent another five minutes looking for the step stool you kept in the kitchen.

You were about to resort to climbing on top of the counter when Steve walked into the kitchen.

You didn't even have to ask for his help before he was walking up behind you and reaching for a mug. His body briefly brushed against yours as he pulled the mug from the shelf, plopping it down on the counter in front of you.

"Thank you." You smiled at him, unsure if you could form any additional words.

"Anytime, short stuff." He smirked.

"Hey! It's not my fault someone felt the need to reorganize the cabinets." You whined. "Who does that?"

"I think it was Tony." He chuckled. "He said something about helping two idiots realized they're in love." He shrugged.

"That man is so weird." The two of you laughed, completely oblivious to Tony's plan.

-

"You ready to go, punk?" Steve could tell just by the look on Bucky's face that something was up.

"What did you do, jerk?" He eyed him suspiciously.

"Nothing!" He quickly looked down the hall, knowing you and Sam were supposed to emerge any second.

"Sam! You promised you would take me to Coney Island today!" You followed him down the hall, not realizing Bucky and Steve were already in the living room.

"I know, but I can't! I have to fix my wings." He glanced at Bucky conspiratorially. "Tin man, Tony said he needs you in the lab. Something about updating the tech in your arm."

Bucky looked back at Steve.

"Sorry, man. Gotta go." Bucky went to leave, but turned back before he made it out of the doorway. "Why don't you and Y/N go?"

"That's a great idea!" Sam added on. "You two go have fun."

The two of them ran from the room together before you could protest.

"Looks like it's just you and me." You smiled at Steve, grabbing your purse and heading for the door. "You coming?"

"Definitely." He smiled right back at you before leading you to the car.

The car ride took a while, but it felt like no time at all while talking to Steve.

"What's your favorite part?" He gestured to the park map as the two of you walked in.

"I've actually never been before. That's why I was so bummed when Sam said he was busy." You looked around the park entrance, taking in all the bright colors and happy people.

"I'll just have to show you all of my favorite parts then." He smiled at the look of wonder on your face, slowly reaching for your hand.

"I'd like that." You bit your lip nervously, butterflies swarming in your stomach when he took your hand.

He showed you around the entire park, starting with the rides. You went on every ride you could, only stopping when a fan asked for an autograph or a picture from one or both of you.

"Those are all the best rides." He smiled confidently.

"Really? No ferris wheel?" You pouted a bit. "I've always wanted to ride a ferris wheel."

"Don't worry, we will." He grabbed your hand again. "It's better to save that for the end of the night. Right now, it's time for games."

You couldn't help but smile at his antics. He genuinely looked to be having the best time in the world, and you honestly felt the same way.

"Lead the way."

The two of you made your way to the arcade, where Steve let every kid beat him.

His face lit up with joy watching them celebrate beating Captain America at various carnival games. When the game seemed unbeatable, he would win and let the kid choose a prize.

At the last game, he whispered with one kid as you looked on suspiciously. The little boy grinned, nodding his head in complete seriousness before turning back to the game.

When Steve won, the little kid smiled bigger than anyone else had all day. Steve walked back over to you with an enormous gray teddy bear.

"Your losing streak ends." You gestured to the bear.

"Yeah, well little Michael over there said I needed to win a prize for my pretty friend. He said he'd throw the game for me." He spoke with complete seriousness, causing you to giggle.

"That might be the cutest thing I've ever heard." Your face was the epitome of heart eyes as you looked between Steve and the bear. You pulled him into a massive hug before finally stepping back and trying to calm down.

"What's next?" You grabbed the bear, holding it tightly in one arm.

"Food!" Again, he held your hand as he lead you around the park.

He walked with you along the boardwalk, pointing out various spots to get different foods. Some had been there since he was a kid, others were clearly newer.

"This used to be my favorite." He smiled fondly looking at the Nathan's Famous sign.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" You walked confidently up to the window only to realize you had no idea what to order. "Steve! What should I get?"

He laughed at the panic on your face. Without even realizing, he put his arm around your shoulder, drawing you closer to him. You went easily, leaning into his touch.

"Can we get two Coney dogs and a large order of fries?" He asked the attendant taking orders. "Do you want anything to drink?" He looked down at you as though this were an everyday occurance.

"A slushie!" Your eyes went wide, a giddy kind of excitement growing in you.

"And two cherry slushies, please." He fished out his wallet with his free hand, still holding you close.

You moved to get money as well, but Steve shook his head. "This one's on me, sweetheart."

You all but melted at the pet name, hiding your smile by burying your head between your bear and his chest.

You signed a few more autographs and posed for more pictures while you waited for your food. A little kid came up to the two of you just as your order was called.

"I'll get it." You gestured for him to talk to the child.

"Captain America!" The little girl smiled widely when Steve crouched down to talk to her. "Are you on a date?"

Steve's face reddened at the question, but it made him think. "You know what, I think I am." He shook his head when he finally realized that Bucky and Sam set the two of you up without either of you realizing it.

"My mommy's gonna be sad. She said you're really handsome." The little girl laughed.

"Well, she's right. He is really handsome." You whispered conspiratorially as you returned with the food.

The little girl laughed before running back to her mom.

"C'mon, we can go sit on that bench." Steve gestured to an empty bench overlooking the beach. The two of you joked and laughed while you ate, but Steve couldn't stop thinking about the little girl's question.

"It's beautiful." You looked out over the sand. The sun was low in the sky, reflecting off the water.

"Breathtaking." Steve agreed, his eyes focused on you rather than the view.

"It's later in the day. Does that mean it's time for the ferris wheel?" You smiled widely, a common occurrence for the day.

"Yep. The ferris wheel is the very last thing to do before leaving." He threw away the trash from your meal before taking your hand in his.

"Why's that?" You looked up at him curiously.

"It's slow enough for you to enjoy the ride, even after eating. Plus, you get the best view from the top when the sun is setting." The two of you stood in line as he explained his reasoning.

"I guess you really know all the best tricks." You smiled at him, hugging the bear to avoid any embarrassing actions.

"Not really. Just the old ones." He joked.

"Steve Rogers! Did you just joke about your age?" You gaped at him playfully.

"Hey! If I can't joke about your height, you can't joke about my age." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"I guess that's fair." You nudged him with your shoulder, but he remained solid as a rock.

The two of you sat next to each other in the cart, placing the stuffed bear across from you.

"You were right. This is an incredible end to a marvelous day." You looked out over the park, taking in the pink and orange hues from the sunset.

"Y/N... I think Sam and Bucky set us up." He looked at you nervously.

"Yeah, they did a great job of it too." You replied easily, having realized much earlier than Steve what was going on.

"You're not upset?" He questioned, a confused look on his face. You decided to respond with an unfamiliar amount of bravery.

"Steve, I had an incredible day. The only way I'd be upset is if you didn't kiss me at the end of it." You smiled shyly.

"What if I kissed you now, even though it's not technically the end?" His smile matched your own.

"That'd be okay too."

"You both leaned in, meeting in the middle for a soft and romantic first kiss. His lips moved against yours as if they were made for each other.

"Steve?" You pulled back for air.

"Yes?" He smiled blissfully, forehead still pressed against yours.

"I think we're the idiots in love with each other." You whispered softly, thinking back to what Tony had said.

"I think you might be right."

He smiled, pulling you to kiss you again.

"Steve?" You pulled back again, a bright smile on your face.

"Yes?" His eyes remained closed, just breathing in the moment.

"The ride is over..."

His eyes snapped open, a blush painting his cheeks when the ride attendant awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry!" He jumped from the ride, grabbing the bear in one hand and you in the other.

"Where to now?" You questioned, laughing as he pulled you through the park.

"Home, so I can end this date right."

Permanent tag list:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

[peachy-panic]

“Look at me.”

Hi there. I’m new here, but also very much not, which is to say you’ve probably seen me pop up a few dozen (hundred) times in your notifications with likes and comments and the occasional ask when I’m feeling brave, sliding under the radar from the safety of my obscure fandom-turned-main account.

POINT IS, I’m no stranger to the wonderful works of this community, and CERTAINLY no stranger to whump appreciation, even if I haven’t always had a word for it. And because I’ve been so inspired by all the talented writers here, I’ve decided to finally cut loose and throw my own work into the ring, and the whole @whumpmasinjuly thing seemed like an opportune time to pop up.

I’ve aggressively lurked on so many of your pages in the last year so I’m sure I’m leaving someone out, but I did want to tag a few of the writers who have really motivated me to start this page just by reading their writing:

@ashintheairlikesnow @orchidscript @deluxewhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @card-games-and-pain

And if you’ve made it this far into the post, we’ve arrived at the actual content. This snippet is from a project I started writing before I knew about the existence of the BBU, but I’ve slowly started molding it into something that fits more-or-less within the bounds of that collective universe. Some things may take slightly different turns to the rules established there, but it’s the same general concept.

Without further ado.

PROMPT: “Look at me.”

WARNINGS: General BBU-esque warnings, human trafficking, slavery, non-con (fade-to-black ish but the lead up is… Not Great). Let me know if I missed anything!

He knows something is off right away when Mr. Torley calls to him from the end of the long hallway on the other side of the house. 

When the children are home, Jaime is confined to the main common areas: the living room that spills into the large open-concept kitchen, the guest bathroom, the laundry room (where he has already spent most of his time working), the boys’ toy room (where he has only gone to clean up after them), and of course, the small room he has been given to sleep in, which he is sure once served as some sort of storage area. 

At the mouth of the living room is a corridor that leads to Mr. Torley’s study, and across from that, his bedroom. So he is told. Jaime was given instructions never to go into that wing of the house unless explicitly invited. He has been in his new home assignment for three days now and has never once been asked to cross those bounds. 

Until now. 

Carefully, Jaime places the mug he had been diligently scrubbing in the basin of the sink and shuts off the tap. He looks around for the hand towel and, remembering he had thrown it in with the last load of laundry, dries his hands on his t-shirt instead.

There’s a shift in the air, something thick and weighty and terrible as he steps into the opening of the hallway, but he doesn’t allow himself a moment to hesitate. He pads near-silently forward, toward the only open door, all the way at the end. 

In the threshold between the hall and the master bedroom, Jaime’s toes brush against where pristine hardwood meets soft carpet. It feels good against his bare feet after days of standing on an unforgiving surface without the allowance of shoes or socks, but not nearly good enough to settle the uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach. Mr. Torley sits on the edge of the bed, a long, deep-colored robe covering most of his body, save for the deep strip of exposed skin down his chest where a few patches of thick, dark hair peek through. Jaime forces his eyes up to his.

“You called for me, Sir?” His voice low and steady, even as his eyes draw unwittingly to the lamp on the bedside table, which has been dimmed to an orange glow that makes the room feel small and suffocatingly warm. 

“Come here,” his Keeper beckons, and Jaime’s muscles operate by the hand of some unseen force, pushing him forward. He only makes it half a step in before Mr. Torley raises a hand, gesturing to where the light of the hallway spills in around his silhouette. “Close the door behind you.”

Jaime’s limbs feel very heavy all of a sudden, but he moves anyway, a phantom sting buzzing beneath his skin at even the briefest thought of hesitation. Never make your Keeper wait. Never let your Keeper ask twice. 

The hallway is plain and sterile, much like the rest of the Torley house, but Jaime stares longingly out at it as he pulls the door shut, wishing he were out there instead.

When the door clicks shut, he can feel a pair of eyes rake down his back like cold fingertips. It raises the hair on the back of his neck, his skin breaking out in an unpleasant chill, but he forces perfect neutrality into his expression before he turns around. He zeroes in on the sensation of soft carpet under his soles instead of the prickling dread under his skin as he makes his way toward the bed, coming to a stop a couple feet away.

Mr. Torley chuckles under his breath, a low, amused sound that Jaime is already getting used to hearing. He seems to reserve it for Jaime alone and it always serves to make him feel like there is some sort of private joke he’s not been let in on. Or, more accurately, that he is the joke, and he can’t quite stifle the lingering sense of shame that comes with that. 

“I said, come here.” It’s a direct order, but paired with a hint of amusement and something darker swimming behind his eyes. He rubs a hand invitingly, pointedly, over the comforter next to him and Jaime swallows back a lump in his throat that feels a lot like bile.

He isn’t stupid. Despite everything that’s been told to him, he’s not. But in that moment he wishes maybe he was, and then ignorance could be bliss for just a few more seconds. He knows where this is headed, and he knows that it’s wrong. It is against the policies, against the rules, he knows it is, but he isn’t surprised, either. It hadn’t taken long at the training facility to discover that the system on paper looks a whole lot different than the system in practice. 

“‘We uphold a zero-tolerance policy for the sexual exploitation and abuse of Domestic workers,’” a cruel, mocking voice recites in his head, alongside the memory of a leather-gloved thumb sliding between his lips, his wide, tearful eyes glued to the tiny, black remote in his handler’s fist. 

The skin beneath his collar burns at the memory, and he raises his fingers absently to touch there, half expecting to feel the heavy weight of the electric clip attached. He doesn’t, of course, and the only electricity he feels now is of a different nature, coming off his Keeper in waves as he waits, a bit more impatiently with every second, for Jaime to sit. 

So he does. 

Mr. Torley crowds his space immediately, and his instinctive response to pull away is smothered by a heavy arm draping over his shoulders and a droning voice inside his head. You must make yourself available at all times. You may not refuse any order or request that does not directly interfere with the wellbeing of another person. Jaime allows himself to wonder, for the briefest moment, if his wellbeing counts for anything. He knows it doesn’t. They had just spent the past three months teaching him, in every way imaginable, that he was not, in fact, a person at all.

All the offhand remarks from the trainers, the lewd sneers, the heavy-lidded glances and roaming hands… they had all painted him a picture of what to expect. He had just tricked himself into thinking that maybe, hopefully, if there ever really was a god in this universe that loved him like he was sure he once believed, that he was wrong. In the three days since he had stepped foot into his newest post, Jaime had managed to convince himself that maybe, possibly, he had gotten one of the good ones. 

Mr. Torley is all too happy to shatter the illusion as his finger and thumb find Jaime’s earlobe, rubbing it between them and then ghosting down the side of his neck. 

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers.

Jaime’s blood runs cold. 

You may not refuse any order or request. He can’t conceal the trembling in his fingers as they curl around the hem of his standard-issue grey t-shirt. You may not refuse any order or request. The warm ambience of the room feels startlingly cold against his naked torso as he pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall in a soft whisper onto the carpet. You may not refuse any order or request. His arm is back around his shoulders instantly, hot and cold assaulting his skin all at once and he feels so exposed and he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to do this. 

Mr. Torley places a heavy palm against his chest, running it slowly downward, and Jaime can picture what it looks like without even looking; calloused pads scraping over soft skin, all thick fingers and subtly unkempt nails, the beginnings of age spots and wrinkles and small dustings of black hair across the knuckles. He thinks his keeper must be able to feel the way his heart is pounding through his ribs, and he feels a surge of embarrassment that he was sure the training should have beaten out of him.

It’s because you weren’t trained for this, the panicked voice in the back of his head screams as the hand trails lower, grazing the thin patch of hair below his navel. This isn’t supposed to happen. This is against policy. You weren’t made for this. His skin feels static in every place Mr. Torley’s fingers brush, and he wishes he could dissolve under them.

“You’re shaking, baby.” Jaime winces at the unexpected term of endearment. So far, it has only been boy, curt and abrasive when thrown in his direction, usually followed by a direct order. “Have you never had a man touch you like this?”

His mind supplies a horror show of memories, flashes of images behind closed eyelids -  leather-gloved hands and concrete rooms of the training facility - and he realizes he doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to cry. Can’t cry. Isn’t allowed to cry. Then there are fingers on his chin, on his jaw, softer than any of his touches have ever been; soft like the word baby on his lips, soft like the half-lidded eyes that he is forced to meet. 

“I asked you a question.”

“I haven’t. Sir.” His voice shakes, barely a whisper. 

It is mostly true, probably in the way Mr. Torley really meant it, and unfortunately seems to be exactly the answer he was looking for. Dread splits Jaime in two. One part, the part of him that’s hazy and pliant and good tells him he has done a good job, that he has pleased his Keeper, he has said the right thing. His keeper’s needs are his needs, if his Keeper is happy, he is happy. 

The other part just keeps screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

He doesn’t want this.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, he’s not supposed to have wants.

But this isn’t allowed.

His Keeper is happy.

Please, please stop touching me.

He can’t say no, no is forbidden to him.

Please don’t make me do this.

His keeper is smiling.

“You’re very lucky,” Mr. Torley says, dragging the thumb that was holding his jaw over he’s lower lip. “They could have given you to any one of your bidders, and trust me… there are some messed up people out there who invest in the services of Domestic Companions. But I can be good to you.”

Somehow, he doesn’t feel very lucky at all.

“Yes, sir,” he says, a bit breathless as fingers trace up and down his spine. His own fingers curl into the bedsheets on the opposite side of his thigh where Mr. Torley can’t see the outward signals of his distress, though from the naked delight in his eyes as he watches him, he doesn’t think he minds. 

There are lips on his before he can even process what is happening, and he feels his whole body go rigid in his Keeper’s hold. He’s never been kissed before and the cold wetness against his mouth is nothing like the movies make it out to be. It’s hard to wrap his head around the overwhelming sensation, but the one thing he knows for sure, immediately, is that he hates it. 

He hates his first kiss unlike anything he’s hated before. Terror and humiliation seize him in equal stride as he realizes he doesn’t really know what to do. He is frozen, for a moment, his own pulse beating wildly in his ears as slimy lips move against his own. When Mr. Torley cups a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to lean into the kiss, his mouth opens instinctively, submitting to the insistence of the movement, and this seems to be exactly what he was looking for. A low, throaty hum vibrates against his mouth and Jaime clamps his eyes shut tight. He feels like he might die. For a moment, he kind of wishes he would.

He doesn’t register the pressure of the hand against his chest until his back is already pressed into the duvet. Mr. Torley sits up then, breaking the kiss, then stands. Jaime doesn’t look at him - he can’t bring himself to - but he can feel his eyes on him anyway. Thick fingers hook into the elastic of the thin, gray pants he had been given three days prior, and his breathing goes flat. Please don’t please don’t please don’t, his brain lights up with panic, every nerve ending in his body on high alert. But he doesn’t move, other than to close his trembling fingers around the material on either side of him, curling the soft fibers of the duvet into his fists. He wants to close his eyes, but he can feel them burning, then swimming with moisture, and he knows if he clamps his eyelids shut, the tears will spill over and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Torley.

Instead, he stares up at the ceiling fan, focusing on the long, thin blades of wood instead of the feeling of cool air against his lower half as the material is pulled away from him. He hears the rustle of cloth as his pants join the discarded shirt on the carpet at his feet, and then another sound of the same, this time heavier, but he doesn’t dare look away from the grey clump of dust dangling from one of the fan blades above him.

Worse than the chill of the exposure is the heat that follows in the form of skin on skin, an immovable weight settling over his body. His throat jerks in another attempt at a sob, a plea that can’t let free. He swallows it down and tells himself that if he just keeps staring at that one spot of dust, he isn’t really here, that his keeper is not on top of him, that this isn’t about to happen to him. 

But he is. It is. There’s no stopping it now. There never was.

“Look at me.” 

For the first time, he allows his eyes to slip shut in a quiet moment of defeat - just a singular moment of hesitation before he follows the command. He feels the moisture slipping out at the corners but he can’t do anything to stop them even if his hands weren’t being slowly pressed above his head and into the mattress. When he opens his eyes, he looks up into the cold expression hovering over him, fully eclipsing the spot of his previous focus. It’s just him now. It’s all him, every one of his senses besieged by the one person whose life he is supposed to center himself around now. In that context, perhaps this should feel exactly right. 

Somehow, it doesn’t. Not at all.

[ask-feederjin]

Halloween Special: Early Bird JinMin

[As an apology for the lack of posts here, have an early Halloween special featuring Jimin and Jin! I've been having some medical problems in addition to school starting up plus work plus work so I'm unsure when I'll be able to write again, but I wanted to get a little something special out for my favorite holiday. cw: very small amount of eprocto at the end]

Contrary to the bright and cheery morning light outside, the inside of the Kim house was full of festive gloom.

Quilt stuffing was ripped apart and taped to the corners of walls to mimic cobwebs, couches and chairs covered in white bed sheets and plenty of electric candles decorated every available surface. Small pumpkins and gourds sat on shelves and skeletons of all shapes and sizes made themselves comfortable where they could.

Out of all the Halloween props and preparation they had set out, most important to the occupants of the home was the candy.

Mixing bowl sized containers sat on every surface, spilling over with sugary treats. There were some near the front door, in the hallways, on the kitchen counters, and a bowl at least three sizes larger than the others on the coffee table.

One would think that with so many bowls full of so much candy that they would never have to be touched again after being set up, however, with the combined gluttony of six growing men Jin has had to refill them twice now. And it’s not even halfway to Halloween yet!

Speaking of having to refill them, Jin spots a moderate pile of empty wrappers beside one of their couches.

Jin always woke several hours earlier than everyone else, partially because he was an early bird and partially out of habit. He liked to use this time to get a head start on breakfast which, when it came to feeding his boyfriends, required at least a couple hours to make enough.

It was a day like all the others. The eldest of the house was walking into the living room, on his way to the kitchen to start breakfast when he noticed the TV was on. The volume was quite low, but the flashing lights lit up the rather dim room.

Rounding the couch, Jin saw Jimin reclining on his side. The younger was mechanically grabbing, unwrapping, and eating his way through a half empty bowl of chocolates. A bowl that Jin knew for a fact was overflowing last night.

Jimin hadn’t seemed to notice Jin’s presence yet, enthralled with the early-morning gardening program and the endless intake of pure sugar.

“Minnie.” Jin prompted. “Did you want to help with breakfast this morning?”

Jimin startled slightly, the gluttonous haze in his eyes melting away like the square of chocolate between his chubby fingers. “Jin! ‘M sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

“It’s fine, Baby, I’m sorry for interrupting.” Jin knelt next to the younger man. “How long have you been up?”

“Mmm, a while…” Jimin looked to the side. The lazy blond was still in his pajamas. “I had a bit of a nightmare. It woke me up and I didn’t want to go back to sleep.”

“So, you came out here to distract yourself.” Jin guessed, cooing. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Jungkook show you Alien. That monster is way too scary.”

“It wasn’t the monster; the monster was cute!” Jimin protested, sitting up a bit. His bloated belly strained against his button-up top. “The robot was the scary one.”

Jin shuddered a bit. “Ugh. I don’t know how you all can stand those films. Gruesome!” He refused to let Jungkook show him scary movies, which was usually all he wanted to watch in October.

“Yoongi makes them less scary when he calls out the bad editing or continuity mistakes. I think he mostly does it for Hoseok, though.” Jimin reported. The pudgy man reached past Jin for another candy and shoved it in his mouth. “He’z shweet li’e tha’.”

“Good boy, keep eating.” Jin praised automatically. The feeder prepared Jimin’s next chocolate by unwrapping it for him. “Yoongi is very sweet for doing that. You know what, maybe that’ll convince me to finally join one of Kookie’s horror nights.”

Jin placed the next candy into Jimin’s waiting, open mouth. The boy’s plump lips were messy with chocolate, some getting on Jin’s fingers as they wrapped around the digits.

While Jimin was distracted with the chocolate, Jin felt up his tummy. “Oh, you have been here for a while. Are you sure you’ll have room for breakfast?” The pudgy boy’s belly stuck out several inches more than it typically did before a meal, it’s usual wobble muted by the sheer amount of chocolate inside.

“I’ve got room!” Jimin denied, protesting his boyfriend’s teasing. “I’ll eat a whole double serving! Promise!”

“But look at you, Jimin. You’ve stuffed yourself with quick, empty calories.” Jin scolded. “All when you knew that I was going to cook you a delicious meal within the hour. You really couldn’t wait, could you?”

“I-I’ve gotten so used to feeling stuffed, Jinnie. I couldn’t help it!” Jimin stated defensively. The younger man looked sheepish. He hadn’t done anything wrong per say, but their familiar dynamic was so easy to fall into. Especially when he felt as gluttonous and fat as he did right then.

“Is that so?” Jin questioned. “Can you really not control yourself, for even an hour? Have you gotten that greedy?”

Fuuuuuck…Jimin thought, pants somehow feeling even tighter than before. “I-I think I’m addicted to it… Being so full and stuffed. All the time, I-I need it…”

“I know you do, Baby. You think it doesn’t show? You think I haven’t noticed you waddling around, struggling to pull your underwear up ‘cause you’ve grown your ass too fat?” Jimin’s eyes dilated with arousal at the teasing. Jin didn’t let up, continuing in a flippant tone. “We all see you humiliate yourself daily. We’re just too polite to say anything about it.” He fed him another candy. Jimin sucked it down with fervor.

Jin continued speaking, “You eat, and you eat, but where does it all go?” The older man took a moment to admire Jimin’s corpulent figure. They both knew where it all went, the question was completely redundant, but they played along anyway.

“Dunno…” Jimin mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate, shuffling slightly. He tried to subtly tug his stretchy pajama pants up, but the already taught material refused to budge higher than mid-cheek.

“Right here. And here, and here.” Jin pinched and prodded at various spots along the boy’s exposed hips and tummy. “Your ass has always been so hungry, hasn’t it? Look at it. Swelling uncontrollably. It’s gotten so big, so fast. I bet you can even feel it growing.”

A dribble of melted chocolate and saliva ran down the boy’s chin as he let out a muffled belch.

“Or maybe that’s just all the gas you let rip nowadays…” Jin slapped one chunky cheek causing the boy’s entire lower half to wobble visibly, a dutiful squeak leaving his rear end.

Jimin swallows and gasps, cheeks pink and completely smeared with candy. His stomach audibly growled, whether to indicate hunger or fullness, neither man cared. More chocolate pieces entered Jimin’s mouth.

And more.

And more.

By the time Jin’s hand brushed the bottom of the bowl, Jimin was hiccuping and it was well past mid-morning. The younger was in quite a state, flushed pink, panting, and disheveled. Jimin was in no position to sit up straight, let alone help with breakfast.

As Jin sat back to troubleshoot how on Earth he was going to manage cooking for six overgrown men in less than 20 minutes, he heard grunting and the creaking of mattresses from down the hall.

“Well…” Jin sighed. “It looks like we’re ordering in today.”

Jimin moaned, licking his lips. “Can I -urp!- get chocolate chip pancakes, Jinnie?”

-PING!-

Jimin’s shirt button gave up the ghost, shooting across the room.

Jin sighed again.

[thebadgerclan]

Fake Boyfriend

Pairing: Jesper Fahey x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Jesper makes a great fake boyfriend...

A/N: I made the reader a Heartrender in this

“Alright,” Kaz said, his gloved hands on the table.  “Now, only Jesper, Nina, and Y/N are able to get into the club, as it’s a Grisha only club.  So, Jesper and Y/N will enter, posing as a couple, and sneak Nina in through the back.  She’ll take care of lifting the target, but you two will have to stay inside until she gives the signal.  Clear?”  You nodded, as did Nina, but Jesper was frozen.

“Is there a reason we have to pose as a couple?” he asked, and Kaz pressed his lips together.  “Because, the bouncer will be expecting a Fabrikator and a Heartrender who are celebrating their anniversary.  Simple as that.  Inej inquired about availability earlier this week, it’s a very popular club, the only place where Grisha are the patrons rather than employees.  Can you make that work?”  Jesper shrugged, confident persona slipping back in place.

“Course I can,” he said, shooting a wink in your direction.  “Right,” Kaz went on.  “Wylan should be back with the kefta soon.  When you’re both ready, we go.”  The meeting broke, and you approached Jesper.  “Think you can pull off acting madly in love with me for an evening?”  He laughed, leaning against the wall.  “Darling, that’ll be easy.  The real question is, will you be able to resist me?”  While he was cool and collected on the surface, on the inside, Jesper was doing somersaults.

He’d been in love with you for months, pining more by the day, his heart longing to belong to you.  But his confidence left him every single time he tried to ask you out.  He wondered if you could sense his heart speeding up every time he was near you, how he nearly stopped breathing when you sat next to him.  “I’ll do my best,” you smirked, and Jesper felt like he might die.  

Wylan returned with two kefta, one red with black embroidery for you, and one purple with silver embroidery for Jesper.  Seeing him in a kefta took your breath away, and you had to use your power to slow your own heartbeat to keep calm.  “Don’t you look dashing?” you said as you entered the common area.  “Why, thank you,” Jesper said, fastening the front of the garment and turning to face you.  He froze when he saw you, overtaken by your beauty.

Your hair was pulled into an updo, eyes darkened and lips painted red to match your kefta.  “Wow… Y/N, you look…. Wow.”  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, a smirk on your face, but your heart felt like it could burst.  “Come on, Kaz will kill us if we’re late.”  Laughing, you took his offered arm, leaving the Slat and walking the streets of Ketterdam.

Kaz was very clear: as soon as you were on the right street, the act began.  Jesper, to his credit, played his part extremely well.  His arm came around your shoulders, his lips pressed to your temple, sending sparks throughout your body.  “Hello!” Jesper greeted the bouncer.  “I believe we’re expected for our anniversary?”  You leaned into Jesper’s side, allowing him to kiss your forehead, and the bouncer smiled.

“Of course!  Congratulations!”  “Thank you,” you said, voice slightly dreamy, and to your surprise, it wasn’t forced.  It was pointless to deny it, you were in love with Jesper Fahey, your heart racing whenever he was near.  And tonight, you got to be his girl, even if it wasn’t real.  He led you into the club, taking the offered glass of kvas from an attendant.  Jesper found a corner booth, sliding in after you were seated, keeping his arm around you.

“We’ll let Nina in soon,” he said, sipping his drink.  You nodded, snuggling into his side a bit, completely subconsciously.  Jesper only smiled, adjusting his arm so he was holding you against his side.  After a few minutes, Jesper rose and went to let Nina in.  He soon returned, placing his arm around you again.  “Now we wait,” he said, absentmindedly kissing your temple.  Your heart was pounding, overwhelmed by Jesper’s proximity and the affection he was showing you.

Was it real?  No, you knew that, but it was nice to pretend it was.  It was easy to imagine that it was just an evening out with your boyfriend, that you’d return to the Slat and fall asleep in each other’s arms, but that simply wasn’t reality.  The pair of you remained in the corner booth for hours, waiting for Nina’s signal, and the entire time, Jesper played the doting boyfriend to a tee.  He got you drinks, he kept his arms around you all night, telling you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you.  Partially for the sake of appearance, but mostly because he wanted to.  He might not get another chance to say these things, and he wanted to say them while he could.

Jesper was gently stroking his hand up and down your arm, a warm feeling filling his chest.  He was in love, anyone with eyes could see.  He’d pretended to be someone’s boyfriend, someone’s husband before, but it was clear to someone who knew that it wasn’t real.  And Jesper knew that if Kaz or Inej were here, they’d see that he truly felt the act he was putting on.  He’d had you in his arms for nearly 2 hours now, and if he didn’t tell you how he felt, Jesper would never forgive himself.

“Y/N,” he began praying to the Saints that this would end well.  “Yeah?” you responded, twisting in his arms to look at him.  “How good of a fake boyfriend would you say I’ve been tonight?”  You felt your face heat up, and you played with the cuff of your kefta.  “The best,” you answered, truly meaning it.  Jesper had been everything you could have ever wanted in a boyfriend; he was sweet, he was adoring, he was handsome, nice, strong, protective, the list went on.

“Really?”  “Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes.  “You’re a great fake boyfriend.”  “Maybe… Maybe I could be a real boyfriend?”  Your eyes widened and your heart leapt into your throat.  “W-what?”  “I’m in love with you, Y/N, and I’ll spend the rest of my life telling and showing you how much I do.”  “Oh Saints, is this real?”  “Yeah, love, it is.  Haven’t you felt how my heart races when you’re near?”

You hadn’t, having been too focused on keeping your own heart in check, but now that he mentioned it, you felt it, his heart banging against his ribs at a rapid pace.  “I feel it now,” you said.  “And mine does the same.”  You breathed deeply, unable to keep the smile from your face.  “Yes, Jesper, I’d love for you to be my real boyfriend.”  He beamed, pulling you closer to him.  “Saints, I love you Y/N.”

And he kissed you, lips soft and warm against yours, one hand cradling your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.  The kiss might have lasted minutes or hours, you couldn’t be sure, but you would have been content to kiss Jesper Fahey until the world ended.  But a fist banging on the table startled both of you, forcing you apart.  Nina stood before you, a package under her arm.

 “Suppose you didn’t see the signal?  I thought not; let’s go.”  She turned and left, her kefta fluttering behind her.  When you and Jesper didn’t follow; remaining in each other’s embrace, she shouted over her shoulder, “Come on, lovebirds!”  You began laughing, as did Jesper, and you got to your feet.  He hooked his arm through yours, kissing you again before leading you from the club.  Jesper was a good fake boyfriend, but you knew he’d be an even better real one.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Could we please have companions eating sole's food and shes an amazing chef? Like she can take 3 things and make a tasty meal outta anything? Thankies!

Here you go! 🥰💙💛 I had a lot of fun with this one 😉😂

Cait - Is not expecting much when she first forks a bit of it, but decides she will give it a chance since she is hungry and she's not one to be horribly picky about what she eats. As soon as the stuff meets her tastebuds, her eyes go wide and she starts eating the stuff as if it will disappear before her very eyes. She is asking for seconds before she even finishes her plate.

Piper - Is very, very skeptical at first. After all, she saw what F!Sole put in there and it did not look like a good mix of ingredients. But to spare her Blue's feelings, she carefully picks up a tiny bit of it and takes a bite, aiming to suffer through it if she has to. However, to her immense shock, the stuff is actually one of the best things she has ever tasted. She gets a huge grin on her face as she tarts shoveling the stuff in. With her mouth as full as it can be while still allowing for a bit of conversation, Piper starts complimenting F!Sole and asking for the specific instructions on how to make it so she can completely wow the ever-unimpressed Nat.

Curie - Is confident that F!Sole can cook. After all, F!Sole seems confident in herself and her abilities to cook, so Curie hopes for the best. When she bites into it, her eyes light up with life renewed and she looks at F!Sole as if she is some sort of heavenly angel before declaring that her current plate of food is the best food that she has ever had since coming into her synth body. Which naturally does wonders for F!Sole's ego. The entire time after that, Curie is showering her with compliments and making happy humming noises and just enjoying the food. She then asks if F!Sole could cook that exact dish every night.

MacCready - When he sees how she's making the weird concoction, he proclaims how it sort of reminds him of the way Lucy used to cook things. Of course, Lucy was not quite that good at cooking, but she certainly mixed ingredients together in strange, unforeseen ways not unlike F!Sole. Therefore, when the food is served to him, he turns around to make sure there's a clear path to a place for him to escape and barf if needed. But when he tastes it, he completely forgets all escape plans in favor of practically diving into the food before him. When the plate is completely empty, he asks her if she could cook more of that very soon. Like maybe at the next mealtime.

Deacon - Tries not to look too hard at the ingredients as she's making it, but knows what things that she's throwing together. When he is handed his plate, he tries to steady himself and give her an actual chance. Maybe she's good at cooking? This theory is confirmed quickly. As soon as he tastes it, he's eating it like crazy until he's finished the last bite and then he's licking his fingers for any remaining taste. He wastes no time in asking her if she could cook that for the gang back at HQ. After all, he wants to see Doctor Carrington's face when F!Sole proves herself to be more than just an agent. If they're going to get him to finally see her like Deacon does, F!Sole's cooking is most certainly the best way to go.

Codsworth - Cannot actually eat it. But he does comment on how incredible it looks and how it must be absolutely amazing since everyone is eating it at a lightning pace. He waste no time in attempting to compare it to pre-war cuisine and mentioning how it looks like different dishes.

Hancock - Does not know what to think when he sees her making it. It does not look like a good mix, and he does not really want to eat it but at the same time, he knows she is good at pretty much everything she does, so he just goes with it. He trusts her. When she finally serves it to him, he takes a bite quickly, curious what it will taste like. When it meets his mouth, he almost feels like there are some kind of fireworks going off and a choir singing nearby. After a moment, he looks at her and asks her, completely dead-serious, if she had put some kind of souped-up chems inside when he wasn't looking.

Danse - Is more than a little afraid at first, and he is not entirely sure he wants to eat it. But because she looks so hopeful about him trying it, he decides that he can miserably cram the stuff down his throat and try to look at least a little happy about it. But when he actually tastes it, his eyes get big and he looks at F!Sole in shock. He only has one thing to say before he digs in--- "Outstanding."

Preston - Can't help but wonder if the stuff is going to be toxic when he eats it, but he tries to stay positive even if the stuff kind of looks like something puked on his plate. He sticks his spoon and sort of fiddles with it a little before taking a tentative small bite. When he tries it, his eyes light up and he raises his eyebrows as he looks at her, questioning playfully if she has any more tricks up her sleeve that he should know about. He happily finishes the rest of it and starts making suggestions that she should teach that recipe to the Minutemen so that they could make the best and the fullest use of available food resources.

Valentine - Cannot eat it, but he can definitely smell it. It activates a pre-war memory of the original Nick Valentine and he gets intense nostalgia as he asks F!Sole if she thinks it smells like whatever food he is thinking of. When she agrees, they both begin to reminisce about the old times and the food of days gone by.

X6-88 - Does not really want to eat any of it at first, insisting that he has rations and that it is really not necessary to eat something with the combination of ingredients that she just mixed. He finally concedes, though, when F!Sole looks so disheartened by his lack of desire to even try it. When he actually gives it a chance, he finds the food to be quite satisfactory and expresses that to F!Sole. This is probably one of the highest compliments that can be received from X6-88. Well, that and how he surreptitiously withdraws a ration container from his pocket and rakes some of the leftover food into it.

Dogmeat - If he manages to get a bite of it (which he usually does since Piper can't resist feeding him human food) he is wagging like crazy and licking all over the surface or the hand that had the food on it. Usually he ends up ratting out whoever gave him the food because he won't leave them alone until they give him another bite.

Strong - Does not expect anything good or anything bad, and is aiming on proceeding with it just like he would with any meal. But when he gets a hulking mouthful of it, he actually pauses and looks down at it before looking at F!Sole for a moment. After that one short pause, he wastes no time in standing up and grabbing the pot or pan with the rest of the dish and pouring it all onto his plate before pigging out.

[simplyclockwork]

I know you have a lot of prompts, but I can be patient! This thought just won’t leave me alone. John and Sherlock in a new relationship and John discovers Sherlock snores terribly. At first John suffers in silence but when he tells Sherlock, Sherlock is horrified and disbelieving and embarrassed. Can be funny or fluffy or smutty (even a bit angsty if you like). Happy ending please. I’m well over 18.

Hey anon! Thank you so much for your patience. I finally filled your prompt. Thank you for sending it and feel free to send any others you might think of in the future.

Hope you are well!

You can read your prompt below the page break or on Ao3 here.

------

It has taken them far too long to get to this point. To get past all the blind moments, the obliviousness shared by them both. Ages to traverse the awkwardness that is the process of shifting their dynamic from friends to flatmates to partners to… more.

But they get there. They get there together, in fits and in starts, in uncertain kisses and stolen moments between the insane, case-driven chaos of their lives. Their first time is a little clumsy, kind of sloppy, but enjoyable, leaving them both satisfied in the end. So satisfied that John can’t even find it in himself to complain when Sherlock flits off to peruse that new case file Lestrade dropped by earlier in the day. It’s fine. Sherlock is Sherlock. John would never expect him to change simply because they’ve gone from just sharing a flat to snogging one another on every available surface.

They are still them, and it’s all fine.

Rolling over, John stretches, tugs the blankets over his cooling body, and settles into a blissful sleep.

The roaring sound of a chainsaw, inexplicable and horrific, shocks him awake. Shooting upright, John blinks blearily in the darkened room. A glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table tells him it’s just shy of four am, as good a time as any, John gathers, for him to be murdered by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. He shakes his head, bemused at his own groggy response to imminent death, and squints into the gloom. But there is no sign of a maniac — chainsaw-wielding or otherwise — at the end of Sherlock’s bed. Just an open armoire filled with suits that cost more than all of the clothing John has ever owned put together.

Maybe he dreamt the noise? John blinks. He shakes his head again and startles violently when the ripping, awful sound comes again. John jerks towards the noise, spots mussed curls on the pillow next to his, and freezes. As he stares, the sound comes again, loud and rough enough that John swears it must resonate within his very bones.

No. No way.

Refusing to accept the truth before his very eyes, John reaches out and flicks the blanket down to reveal Sherlock’s face. His sleep-softened face, his closed eyes and open mouth. As John watches, the most horrible noise emerges from that mouth. The same one that, only earlier, had sunk down the length of John’s eager cock, and had parted around the most deliciously lewd sighs. Now, that mouth is a channel for evil, Sherlock’s sleeping throat doing its best — and horribly accurate — impression of a freight train.

“Bloody hell,” John mutters as dismay dawns. The sinking sensation in his stomach only deepens as Sherlock releases another monstrous snore, loud enough that John swears he can feel the walls vibrate. This can’t be happening. Surely, John would have noticed this before. They’ve shared rooms before, even shared beds… Haven’t they?

Thinking it over, John is forced to admit that while they’ve often found themselves sharing a room, they’ve never actually slept in it at the same time. Typically, John does the sleeping, while Sherlock stays up at all hours working on cases, traversing the countryside for clues, or buggering off to who knew where to do who knew what. This is, John realizes, the first time they have slept together in the same place at the same time. The fact boggles John’s mind, who then silently applauds the amount of soundproofing that must exist within the walls of 221B to have kept this little — more like deafening — secret from him.

Another ripping snore escapes Sherlock, making John’s ears ring and his nose scrunch up in despair.

Bloody hell, he’ll have to come up with a plan.

“No, he doesn’t.” Lestrade sets his pint down on the counter and raises two disbelieving eyebrows at John across the sticky top of their table. “Sherlock, snore? Nah, that’s not true.”

Arms folded over his chest, John cocks his head to one side. “Do you really think I would lie about something like this?”

Lestrade opens his mouth to reply, then seems to think better. He shrugs. “Alright, you’ve got me there. As far as pranks go, that would be a pathetic one.” He frowns. “Sherlock used to crash at mine all the time when he first started consulting. He’d run himself ragged, come running to fill me in, and would always end up passing out mid-sentence on my sofa. I never heard him snore.”

“That was a while ago, though, yeah?” John receives a nod. “Okay, well, he snores now.”

Lestrade looks sympathetic. “That bad, huh?”

John grimaces into his beer. “It’s like sleeping next to the train tracks, but I think even that might be better.”

“Bloody hell.”

Sighing, John takes a large swallow of bitter brew. “You have no idea.”

A week goes by. John wonders if he should mention the snoring to Sherlock. But every time he thinks of broaching the subject, something sidetracks him. A case, a last-minute call-in for a shift at the clinic, Sherlock’s hand slipping into his pants under the table as he’s eating breakfast… There is always something.

In the end, John lets it slide. After all, he and Sherlock rarely share the bed. There is almost always a case to be solved, during which Sherlock pinballs around the sitting room and kitchen like a human-shaped balloon let go mid-inflation. And, when he’s not doing that, he’s terrorizing Mrs Hudson about her scratchers. Or sprawled in a flouncing pout over his armchair. Or tormenting his violin until it sounds like a cat is being murdered in their flat.

So John doesn’t bring it up. Sherlock seems blissfully unaware of his ability to produce chainsaw noises while asleep, and John doesn’t want to disturb the peace. Aside from the snoring, John treasures the few and rare times when Sherlock actually does curl up with him in the bed and is loathe to jeopardize them with even the slightest complaint.

A year into their relationship, he discreetly purchases a pair of reusable silicone earplugs. He keeps them inside the bedside table and wears them only once he’s sure Sherlock is asleep, in those few and far between times when Sherlock actually deigns to sleep in their now-shared bed.

But the peace does not last. John is eventually busted despite his success in keeping a secret from the world’s nosiest — and noisiest —man. It happens when he least expects it, just like when he first discovered the snoring: in a deep sleep.

A sudden touch on his earlobe has John stirring from dreamland, then wide awake as long fingers tug the earplug gently from his ear. John opens his eyes and sits up at once, staring with confusion at Sherlock, who stares back at him from the next pillow.

Gripped between finger and thumb, the earplug is offered up in silent accusation.

“John,” Sherlock says in a bemused voice, “why are you wearing earplugs?”

John’s mind races. Here it is, the moment he’s avoided for so long. But it seems his chickens have come home to roost as Sherlock waits for his answer with an expectant expression on his pillow-lined face.

“Um,” John says cleverly. “Well. I, uh.” Inspiration strikes. “It’s for the neighbour’s dogs. Always barking, you know how it is.”

Sherlock favours him with a long, silent stare. Then, “John, our neighbours don’t have dogs. No one within five flats has any kind of pet. Well, Mrs Gladly’s daughter has a fish, but that really doesn’t count.”

“Fish are pets.”

“Fish don’t bark, John.”

John swallows, his smile nervous. “Right. Of course they don’t.” He purses his lips. He’s not nearly at his best. He’s exhausted, his brain still half-asleep. Dogs? Really, Watson? Dogs? Do better.

He tries to do better.

“It’s… an experiment?” Dammit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

Sherlock arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “An experiment.”

“Yes,” John says, nodding, hoping desperately that Sherlock will buy it. “That. One of those. Yes.”

Pale eyes narrow. Sherlock doesn’t buy it. “What kind of experiment?”

“What kind?” John asks, swallowing again. “You want to know what kind?”

“Yes, John. What kind of experiment.”

Is the heat on? Blimey, it’s hot in their bedroom. Why is it so hot? Quick, Watson, come up with an answer!

“A… secret one?”

Sherlock’s lips flatten into a thin line. “A secret experiment,” he echoes, disbelieving.

John tries to smile. It feels like a grimace. “Yes.”

“John Watson, you are a terrible liar,” Sherlock says dryly.

Wincing, John spreads his hands. “Never said I was a good one.” Good, this is good. A change of topic is just what he needs. Bold, hoping to redirect Sherlock’s focus, John reaches between them and strokes the inside of Sherlock’s naked thigh with one teasing finger. “I’m very good at other things, though. Maybe I should show you?” He shifts closer, that single finger turning into a palm cupping Sherlock’s soft cock through his pants.

Sherlock jerks his hips away from the contact with a scowl. “Are you trying to distract me with sex?”

Teeth pressing into his bottom lip, his expression desperate, John asks, “That depends… Is it working?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow again, his mouth turning down at the corners. “No.” But his cock twitches under John’s searching hand, betraying him as a liar as well.

“Someone begs to differ,” John says, giving Sherlock’s growing erection a pointed squeeze.

A flush rises in Sherlock’s cheek. His head rocks back briefly, but he refuses to be swayed. “John Watson,” he snaps, batting John’s hand away, “you tell me the truth right now!” Brandishing the earplug, he holds it right in John’s face. “Explain this! Explain yourself. Now.”

Looks like the jig is up. With a sigh, John rescues the earplug from Sherlock’s furious grip and says, “You snore. I didn’t want to say anything because I figured you already knew. I thought I’d just deal with it on my own, hence this.” He gestures with the earplug. “Anyways, I…” John’s voice trails off. Sherlock’s expression is strange. “Sherlock?”

There is a long moment of silence before Sherlock blinks and replies. “I don’t snore.”

John goes still. “Um… yes. Yes, you do. Really loudly, actually. It’s awful.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows do something interesting, shooting upward before dropping again into a scowl. “I certainly do not, John.” He is insistent. “I’m sure someone would have said something by now if I did.”

“Maybe it’s new,” John says with a shrug. “You did break your nose a year and a half ago during that forgery case. Maybe it started then.” He peers closer at Sherlock, focusing on his nose. “I bet you have a deviated septum. It’s very common.”

But Sherlock seems determined to deny his snoring until his dying breath. “I. Do. Not. Snore.”

John sighs. Thankfully for his sanity, he has a video on his phone. After Lestrade refused to believe him, he’d recorded one of the worst nights and showed it to him with triumphant smugness. Now, it stands as evidence to back his case. After rising to find his phone in the sitting room, John returns and plays the video.

Sherlock stares at the phone in perturbed silence, not saying a word until the damning clip ends. Then, his face dangerously red, he snaps, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” John says, setting his phone aside and gesturing at his irate bed partner, “because I kind of worried you might react like this.”

That shuts Sherlock up. His mouth closes with a snap. Then, haughty and offended, he shoves the blankets aside and rises. “If that’s the case, then I’ll remove myself — and my horrible snoring — from the vicinity.” His mouth twists down at the corners. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your precious sleep, Doctor Watson.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” John sighs.

His Nibs makes it two steps toward the door before John snags his arm and hauls him back. The backs of his knees strike the edge of the bed, sending Sherlock tumbling onto the mattress. Sprawled on his back, he blinks up at the ceiling with a bemused expression.

John doesn’t give him the chance to recover.

He takes advantage of Sherlock’s stunned moment to straddle his thighs, trapping him on the bed. Perched, refusing to budge, John captures Sherlock’s wrists and pins them over his head. “None of that, now,” he says in a crisp tone. “It’s almost three in the morning, and I am in no mood for dramatic theatrics when we both know you’re just embarrassed.” Leaning down, John noses at the side of Sherlock’s neck. “I’ll give you two options. Well, three. Either talk to me, go back to sleep, or I’ll have no choice but to seduce you.”

Sherlock, scowling, turns his head away and refuses to look at him. Chuckling, John shakes his head.

“Not going to talk to me, huh?” Silence. John grins. “Fine. Guess we're going with the third option. I don’t need to talk.” He demonstrates his commitment to a non-verbal attack with a pointed roll of his hips. Even pouting, glaring at the wall, Sherlock can’t control his body’s reaction to John’s teasing. A shiver ripples through him, and colour floods into his cheeks again, this time from something other than embarrassment. John repeats the attack, his grin widening as Sherlock’s teeth sink into his bottom lip hard enough to turn the flesh white.

Leaning down, John mouths at the side of Sherlock’s neck and nibbles his earlobe, whispering, “I bought the earplugs so I could sleep with you. Are you really going to pretend you’re offended by that?”

A huff escapes Sherlock, but he turns his head and meets John’s eyes again. He opens his mouth to speak, but John captures his lips in a searing kiss, leaving him panting and breathless when their mouths finally part.

Sherlock looks up at him and gasps for air with a dazed look in his eyes. Feeling rather smug about the effect he’s having on his stroppy detective, John says, “Remind me to try that tactic next time you’re in one of your sulks.”

Sherlock just huffs at him again before freeing his wrists from John’s grip. Looping his arms around John’s neck, he tugs him down into another kiss. He bites at John’s lips with more force than usual before gentling his mouth and slipping his tongue over the roof of John’s mouth. Then, breaking the kiss, he says, “I do not snore.”

Still grinning, John presses a sloppy, wet kiss to Sherlock’s cheek that makes him pretend to grimace and replies, “Whatever you say, Mister Holmes.”

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 57 (Final)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find your relic.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You’d only been to the ancient Sanctum a few times, with strict access to the library for your studies and nowhere else, and normally you would be excited to visit the unofficial headquarters of the Mystic Arts.

But now, as you followed Wong to the room of portals that would lead to the Nepal sanctum, your stomach twisted and your heart raced. You couldn’t even enjoy the fact this was where Strange had gone on his near-disastrous pilgrimage. The idea of the Ancient One kicking him out on his ass was an entertaining one, though you were still glad she eventually trained him. As irritated as you were about a lot of things regarding the former surgeon, he and Wong both had taught you nearly everything you knew.

Plus, you’d seen the scars on his hands. As arrogant and egotistical as he appeared, Strange had suffered to get where he was. Not unlike yourself. Not unlike Bucky.

The Orb of Agamotto hung within the circular room where other sorcerers consulted with it, verifying that the magical Earthly shields were still intact. Past them were three doors leading to the other sanctums, including the one in Kathmandu.

You and Bucky followed Wong through, the familiar feeling of displacement shifting your stomach and throwing you off balance for a moment. Neither Wong nor Bucky were as unsteady as you were. It had been something you were embarrassed about, but according to Strange during one of your lessons, it simply meant you were more sensitive to spatial displacement.

As Wong led you both through the ancient stone hallways, past the commons where other sorcerers were in training, doubt crept along your nerves. Someday, possibly sooner than you were prepared, all of these people were going to follow you. Look to you for guidance, for teaching. For protection.

How were you supposed to become the next Ancient One if you couldn’t even walk through a portal without getting dizzy?

This wasn’t going to work. The idea was crazy enough to begin with. The Ancient One had to be wrong. You were going to step into her office and nothing would happen. You would make a fool of yourself; you weren’t any more talented or skilled than any other sorcerer. Just half a year ago, you’d had no idea demons and magic were even real.

And now, you were expected to carry on the mantle as one of the most powerful sorcerers on Earth? How was that even possible? How could you ever be worthy enough to—

Wong opened a door using a complicated series of hand gestures, and as soon as you stepped through, your panicked mind fell silent. Energy thrummed along your skin, setting the hairs upright.

“Here it is.”

Wong’s announcement was unnecessary; you would know this place in your dreams, even though you had never been.

It was a simple room with a single large, circular window pointed towards the mountains over the city. Potted plants perched on most available surfaces that weren’t covered with books, scrolls, and odd knickknacks.

There was only a single writing desk pushed to the side, humble and unobtrusive. The rest of the room was empty space with a single well-worn green rug in the middle. But the plants made everything seem alive and verdant. It felt very much like a place the Ancient One would spend her time. It was a reflection of her, in a way. Quiet, but hidden with secret truths.

“Take a look around,” Wong said, but you were already moving. Slowly and with intense focus, you circled the room, reaching out and feeling, not with your hands but with your mind.

Odd and powerful energy pervaded the room, muted by spells but still apparent to you. They were coming from the artifacts that were laid out, seemingly casually, on the shelves and desks.

Most of them seemed as plain and unimportant as the room itself. A cracked vase with the lip stained red. A golden helmet that was varnished and faded, but two glittering horns jutted from the temples. A knobby staff with a smooth, grey stone fixed at one end, as modest as any walking stick except for the melodic hum that emanated from the stone. You had a feeling neither Wong nor Bucky could hear it.

But despite all the weird, wonderful oddities in your reach, you were drawn elsewhere. You approached one corner of the room where lay a pile of old scrolls and their cloth wrappings, and moved them aside with care to reveal what was hidden underneath.

It was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. There was no blade, not even a piece of broken metal. The metal was dulled with time and flaked with rust, the pommel grey and dirty.

You reached out and hesitated. Fingertips inches away, something stopped you. The knowledge that once you took hold of the relic, everything would change.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky.

He was watching you with close attention, as was Wong, but when he caught your eye he gave a small smile of encouragement. He supported you, even though he had to know what this meant, or at least had a good idea of it.

Not every sorcerer found their relic within the Ancient One’s study.

Comfort and warmth, so strong it could only be described as love, flooded across the bond and washed away your fears. You returned his smile, even if it was shaky, and you held on to that feeling as you turned back to the hilt.

You closed the distance, wrapped your fingers around the relic, and lifted it.

It was surprisingly heavy; that was your only observation before it began. The hilt thrummed in your palm, vibrating so fast you nearly dropped it.

The rust flaked away from the metal, leaving it polished and silver. The grey pommel was shaken of its dirt, and you realized it was white bone, the metal wrapping around it to form the grip and crossguard.

The thrumming didn’t stop, but you couldn’t let go even if you wanted to. Your fingers seized around the metal, energy teeming up your hand and arm. When it reached your right shoulder, all the way up to your pentagram, the sigil burned in a way it hadn’t done since the ritual.

Bucky must have sensed your panic because he rushed forward, but you backed away from him fast, instinct screaming at you to put a safe distance between you now.

It was a good thing you had; the energy from your sigil exploded down your arm, through your hand, and into the hilt. A burst of red light shot outward, forcing you to turn away from the blinding beam.

When the light dimmed and you could see again, blinking away the after images, you stared at the sword. That’s what it was now. A glowing red blade, seemingly made entirely of light. The energy that came from it was purely of the demon realm, scorching and sulfuric.

“What…” You choked the words past your dry throat. “What is this?”

There were only a handful of times you’d ever seen Wong shocked. So, that was three powerful sorcerers you’d rendered speechless in the span of a day.

“The blade of Hell, or so it is spoken. None in the history of the order had been able to unlock its powers, rendering it anything more than a broken hilt.” He leveled you with a somber stare. “It is called Daemonio Vexatur. Which means—“

“—to become a demon.”

Wong raised a brow.

“Rough translation, but yes.”

“So, it’s a demon sword?” asked Bucky, eyeing the glowing blade. He was understandably wary, and honestly, was accepting what was happening better than you were. You were still stuck on the fact that you were holding a glowing-freaking-sword in your hand.

“Yes. And no,” Wong said in traditional teaching-fashion. “A demon cannot wield it, but it takes demonic energy to power.”

“Oh. So that’s why my sigil and my entire arm feel like they’re on fire.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and he took a step forward, protectiveness sizzling along the bond, and you gave him a hurried smile.

“Kidding. Sort of.” You smiled wider through your clenched teeth. “It is really uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s dark look told you he didn’t believe you, and with what you imagined was coming from your end of the bond, you didn’t blame him. Holding the sword was like holding on to a live wire that was also burning. There was a molten jolt connecting the hilt to your sigil, and you were just hoping to not get incinerated in the process.

And just like that, the connection was gone, and the relief of your arm no longer being on fire was dimmed by the disappointment as the sword was extinguished, leaving nothing more than a gleaming hilt.

“What happened?” You frowned, eyeing the relic as if searching for an on switch.

“It will take time and training to effectively control your relic.”

“How long?” You looked up when Wong didn’t answer immediately, catching the serious dent in his brow.

“It’s hard to say. No one in living memory has wielded the blade, and it was believed no one ever would.”

Wong gave a heavy sigh.

“So of course, you would be the one to wield it.”

You returned your gaze to the relic and turned over the hilt in your hand, admiring the metal and bone. You wondered if the bone was from a demon, a safe bet considering.

“So.” You carefully put down the hilt and turned to give Bucky your best serious face. “How does it feel to have a wizard girlfriend with a lightsaber?”

Wong rolled his eyes. He knew you well enough by now to know what you were doing, but he didn’t comment on your attempts to over your fear with humor. He muttered something about reporting to Strange as he left the office.

But Bucky…

Worry and fondness conflicted across the bond, struggling to coexist. He stepped forward, the green cloth tunic he’d found in one of the drawers of your room stretched unfairly tight across his chest. It was the largest he could find in a hurry, and it was nearly enough to distract you from your own anxieties.

“I think…” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, drawing you into an embrace that you melted into easily. “That I’m scared for you. I’m confused as hell what this means, and I’m guessing this isn’t going to make your life any easier or less complicated. But… I’m also proud of you.”

You could sense the pride easily, but Bucky was trying to bury the fear that was close to terror. He truly was scared of what this meant. You were too, and the Ancient One’s words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

There was a questioning feeling tugging at your thoughts, and you remembered too late that Bucky could sense the same anxiety, even if he didn’t have all the details. So you smoothed out your tumultuous thoughts and covered them the best way you knew how.

“You say that to all the wizard girlfriends.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“That is what swords do.”

Bucky pulled back far enough to stare at you with narrowed eyes, but when he touched his horns to yours it was with such gentleness that you nearly forgot to breathe. But breathe you did, drinking in his familiar, soothing scent and allowed the tension to drain from your muscle.

“We should head back.” Bucky said after a moment of intimate, comfortable silence in which you finally relaxed. “Got a bastard to catch.”

You reluctantly let go first, knowing he was right and you couldn’t stay here forever. Turning toward the sword hilt, you reached for it and paused. You took a small detour and picked up an old, ratty cloth nearby and carefully wrapped the relic within. Until you had a better grasp of how to wield the sword, it was probably a wiser idea to not handle it directly. You had no idea if it was sentient like Strange’s cloak, and it would be better not to accidentally set it off. Slicing off your own leg was a poor way to convince anyone that you were the next Ancient One.

On your journey back down the halls toward the portal door, Bucky said, “So… what are you going to name it?”

He smiled at your sideways glance.

“All cool swords get a name. It’s kind of a universal rule.”

Maybe you didn’t know Bucky as well as you thought you did, because you had no idea he was such a damn nerd.

“Yeah? You’ll have to bestow all your sword knowledge on me.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“It is now.”

Bucky’s smile died on his lips when you were no longer at his side. He paused and looked back where you had stopped at the threshold to the portal room.

“What if I can’t do this?” The doorway before you was no longer just a doorway. It was an insurmountable hurdle, and your feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. “What if I fail?”

Bucky approached slow and steady, his expression gentle and fond.

“You won’t. You’re too stubborn to fail.” A warm hand softly cupped your cheek, his human one, and you leaned into it. He laughed silently at your predictable need to be touched, but his expression faded into something more serious. “But on the very slim chance you do, then you get back up and you start again. Just as you always have.”

Your stomach fell. Bucky couldn’t understand what failure meant in your case. You didn’t even know what it meant, but you could guess. If you failed to be the Ancient One everyone needed… then there might not be any second chances.

Bucky wrapped you in his arms one more time, undoubtedly sensing his words of encouragement hadn’t hit as effectively as he’d wanted.

“Whatever this means, you finding that relic… Whatever happens when we find Zemo...” Bucky’s voice was deep in his chest, a rumbling sound that never failed to comfort you. “I’ll be here.”

You returned his embrace, gripping him tightly as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

“I know.”

And you did, too. Bucky would be there for you. Not because he was compelled to be, and not out of a sense of duty or guilt to protect you. He would be by your side by choice.

And that fact made Zemo’s escape, the Ancient One’s words, and your own self-doubt a little easier to bear. Because you and Bucky would weather it.

Together.

“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful.” –David Bowles