#i could do tha—*gets sniped*

[moodlesmain]

Calling all ADHD having insomniacs….. how are we supposed to fucking live like this

[mamalunawolf]

Soap Mactavish || Never Gone but Lost Forever

TW: violence, language, mature ratings apply, some minor sexual content.

Minors do not read. And do not read if you are sensitive to violence and angst.

It felt like a century had passed since Johnny had died. Everyone grieved differently, Ghost kept on doing his missions. Over and over again. Captain Price, did the same. Missions. Either going to Urzikstan to see Farah. Or going to the states to see Laswell and her wife. Gaz, stayed behind. To keep an eye on you..

You were a different story. You were Soap’s everything. You were the calm in his storm. Soap loved you whole heartedly just like any damned fool. How those late nights were restless between the two of you. The way he would be on his knees like a helpless man towards the immortal. How his lips grazed over your stomach. To taste you like nothing else mattered anymore. How his calloused hands held your hips down just to caress your body. Every curve and contour of your body.

“You alright?” Gaz had spoken, knocking you out of your trance. The laptop had pulled up the old reports when Makarov was still out terrorizing the world. Having Johnny’s name pulled up, his photo on the side of the screen. A neutral expression on that Scottish man’s face. He was definitely the best. Clean sweep was what he was. You were trying to find means. A hope. That his ashes weren’t spread across Scotland Yard for nothing. If they were his ashes.

“Yeah. Fine. Just a little light reading.” You spoke, the exhaustion was there in your tone. And on your face. You closed your laptop and stood from the desk. Spilling the only good glass of wine you had that was on your desk. Thankfully, not a lot had ruined your paperwork. “I might head down to the gun range. Shoot some targets.” You suggested. More to yourself than anything. He could come, only if he wanted to.

“Need company? I think I need to get myself into my sniping practice. Cap’n got onto me for it. Again.” He chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. Only for you to nod and have him follow you out of your office.

—

Shot after shot rang through. Gaz seemed a little terrified that you managed to get each target in the heart or head. You practiced with Johnny too much to count. It was a good shot too. And each one better than the last. The TV behind them was playing. News reports of various things happening around the world.

“This just in! By the harbor was a report of a man taking down civilian casualties. Police have been informed and taking excessive action.” The reporter pans in view. A man in dark plated armor. Green lining into the suit. A black mask, covering over his mouth. The way his eyes stared down the camera before he shot it. Not allowing anyone else to see.

—

“Bravo six. This is Bravo 6-2 and 6-3. Coming in. We see the hostile.” Gaz and you were running. Preparing yourself for an incredible battle between what is right or wrong. Price heard the commotion and made you and Gaz team up and neutralize the target.

“Take the left! I’ll go right!” You had shouted at Gaz. Making sure no other enemy hostile was in the area except for the masked hostile that kept killing those in its wake. You had gotten closer to the hostile. Your gun raised and shooting bullets that did little to no damage. “Don’t move or I will use force!” And the hostile froze in place. Not a single step. Hardly any silence when the piercing screams of death was behind you. “Turn around. Now.” You demanded of him, the tone in your voice gave of some kind of authority.

“I won’t back down. I can’t do tha’ to ye.” He said, the undertone was calm. A little hostile and full of malice. The accent on the other hand was familiar. Scottish. As if you *knew* that voice before. Your eyes narrowed and you took a step forward.

“Soap?” You called out his name. The same lock of hair that trained down his head. His eyes like the oceans that always drew you in like a comfort and beacon of hope. He didn’t seem to know you, though. As his eyes were filled of confusion. The mask he dawned, covered his mouth. The hint of smugness if you could see that smirk on his face. Until Gaz came hurling in, and sent a punch to the face. He didn’t know, not until the mask flew off and johnny’s face appeared.

“Bloody hell.. Soap? Is that you, mate?” Gaz stood there cautiously, and stood in front of you as a protective shield. Johnny scoffed at you both. “Who the fuck is Soap?” He didn’t remember who he was and that painful feeling in your chest grew. He doesn’t remember you. He doesn’t remember the loving moments you shared.

“Johnny..Come on. Please… it’s me.” Your voice choked, you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders fall on you specifically. His eye twitched and he growled in his throat. He lunged forward with a running start and knocked Gaz to the ground. Johnny grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall. “Johnny…please. Stop. This isn’t you.” You choked, your hands wrapped around his wrist and pleaded with him. Begged. His eyes. As if he remembered a little bit of your past together. “Don’t I mean anything to you?” The tears in your eyes pricked and you could hardly see straight.

His grip on you loosened and he stepped back and glared at you. His lips grazed over your ear as he leaned forward. “Everything is temporary, this was merely one of those things.” He moved away and turned his back on you. Grabbing his mask and leaving off the chopper that picked him up. Leaving you with those words echoing in your mind.

He was gone..

But for how long..?

[jellybean-supreme]

My Soulmate (Dabi x reader)

Description

This story depicts the struggles of a young person, Y/N, with a difficult past and the unexpected bond with a villain named Dabi, who reveals a softer, protective side towards Y/N. The story incorporates themes of trust, vulnerability, and the complexities of relationships, creating an engaging narrative. While the story ends on a hopeful note, the characters' journey of growth and healing is left open-ended, allowing readers to imagine how their relationship will develop further, potentially with Y/N becoming a villain as well or Dabi undergoing a redemption and change of heart.

Story starts here :

“You’re telling me my soulmate is some bottom tier hero?” Dabi sneers. He throws you to the ground. “I’ll erase you like everything else.”

But the moment his flames erupt from him, he can’t seem to hurt you. It must be the soulmate bond. Your name has long been burned off his flesh, but your souls are intertwined.

*Touya Todoroki* written written across your arm like a curse. Your soulmate mark. Dabi wants to rip it off of you. The name had hardly been *his*, why do you get to have it?

“Soulmates.. are a curse,” he snipes at you, clearly still seething. The air between you and Dabi is electric with tension. You can feel it in your core, the fire within him, that you should be afraid. But you aren’t. You can see beyond the hate. You can see the Touya within.

"Soulmates... A curse, right?” You murmur, studying all the staples on his face. “How many times did you try to scrape that off?” You ask, referring to your soul mark on his flesh.

He grits his teeth in response. You can’t blame him. He probably hates your name. A constant reminder of the life he didn’t have.

"Enough times to know it hurts like hell," he retorts, his tone cold. He crosses his arms, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. "Soulmates are for the weak. They're the chains that hold you back."

He seems to loathe himself for being bound to another person, for being bound to *you*. He sees it as a weakness, a restriction.

"If I'm that bad, I'll leave and never bother you again," you say, wishing he'd reconsider. We'd both die in so much pain eventually because of being apart for too long. All you've ever wanted was to feel loved and have someone you can rely on. You've always thought that person would be your soulmate, but you guess you were wrong. You wonder if he'd ever think of you when he'd eventually sends you away.

Dabi's face is unreadable as he listens to your ultimatum. A part of him wants to push you away, to sever the connection between you two, and never see you again. But something within him hesitates, a small glimmer of hope, a flicker of desire for compassion that he long thought extinguished.

He wants to say something, *anything*, but the words catch in his throat. It's as if he's struggling with inner demons, torn between his anger and resentment and a suppressed longing for companionship.

"I have a suggestion before you send me away or tell me to leave. How about we spend a week together, get to know each other or see how it'd be? I'm suggesting only a week because then you don't have to spend such a long time with me, like a month or something, because I know I'm already a nuisance to you." I tell him my suggestion. He will probably not agree, like he said I'm just a weak hero who is nothing but useless to him.""

Dabi's eyes narrow as he considers your proposal. A week. He could handle that, right? He could deal with you for a measly week. And besides, what harm could it do to spend time with his so-called soulmate, especially after he’d already been saddled with you?

"Fine," he says finally, his voice cool. "We'll spend a week together. But don't expect me to suddenly become some sappy romantic."

I nod and give him a small smile. "Thank you, I know, I don't expect anything."

Dabi scoffs, clearly sceptical of your attitude. "Don't thank me. I'm only doing this because I want to prove to you that soulmates are pointless. You'll see, eventually."

Despite his harsh words, there’s something almost melancholic in his tone. Perhaps somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of trauma and resentment, a glimmer of longing.

"Maybe to uou they are useless, but I want someone who I can have who will never hurt and love me with all my flaws." I mutter back to him.

Dabi rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your idealistic notions. "Flaws? We're both damaged goods, sweetheart. Do you think I'll magically heal you? We're broken, and that's never going to change."

Despite his scepticism, there's a hint of vulnerability in his voice, a small crack in his tough exterior.

"I don't think you'll magically heal me. I just hoped we'd be there for each other when needing someone to rely on. That's what I hoped for when I found out about soulmates." I tell him

Dabi lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Rely on each other. Hah. You really have no idea who I am, do you? I don't need anyone to rely on me. And I sure as hell can't rely on anyone else. You're setting yourself up for disappointment, doll. Love and all that crap is just a waste of time."

He turns away as if trying to shield himself from your hopeful gaze.

"That what you believe, I'll believe my 'romantic crap' until the day I die." I reply to him.

"Where are we going? Where do you want to spend our week? I'm not doing any hero work. So I'm fine with anything." I ask him.

A hint of amusement flashes across Dabi's face at your stubborn determination. "You're really not backing down, are you? Fine. We’ll see how much your *romantic crap* holds up at the end of this week."

His smirk is sardonic, but there's a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes, and his expression softens just slightly.

"As for where we're going? My place. No way I'm staying at some crappy hotel or something. And, of course, no hero missions."

I nod, following him to his house, I'll get my clothes from my house tomorrow, I think to myself.

Dabi leads you through the alleys and backstreets of the city, his steps swift and confident, his eyes constantly vigilant as if wary of any possible danger. As you follow him, you can't help but notice the way his every movement is calculated, his body tense, as if anticipating an attack.

Finally, he stops in front of a relatively nondescript apartment building, the facade blending in with the row of other apartments around it. Without a word, he keys in the access code and pushes open the door, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

Dabi's apartment is as cold and sparse as the man himself. The living room is devoid of any personal touches or decor, the only furniture, a single, worn leather couch, and a small coffee table. The walls are bare, the windows covered with thick black curtains casting the room in perpetual shadows.

The kitchen is barely larger than a broom closet, with a small fridge, a single counter, and a gas stove. The cupboards are mostly empty, save for some instant noodles and a few canned goods, suggesting that Dabi doesn't do much cooking.

The bedroom is even more austere. A single bed in the corner, a small dresser, and a single metal rack. The room is so devoid of personality that it's as if no one has lived here in decades. The only splash of colour comes from a single, faded picture propped up on the dresser. It's a picture of a young boy with white hair, smiling and holding a ball. Despite his youthful appearance, there’s a darkness in his eyes, a sadness that seems to pervade every aspect of his being. This is Touya Todoroki, Dabi's former self.

"This is it," Dabi says finally, gesturing around the apartment. "Home sweet home. You can have the bed, I'll take the couch." He takes a seat on the couch, folding his arms across his chest. "So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Or maybe chat about how much you think love is wonderful and perfect?"

"I'm fine with either one, though you'll be sleeping in your bed, I'm not going yo be kicking you out of your bed just so that i can sleep comfortably." I tell him a stong tone.

Dabi's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and amusement at your insistence. "You really are stubborn, aren't you?" he muses, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "No way am I letting you sleep on that piece of junk couch. I wouldn't be able to sleep in a comfortable bed knowing you're out here being uncomfortable. Besides, I don't need much sleep."

"That's a shame then because you'll be sleeping in your bed whether you want to or not." I tell him. I won't be able to sleep even if I were to sleep on the bed, I'd wake up screaming or crying because of my nightmares. So, there's no point in trying.

Dabi lets out an exasperated sigh, realizing he's not going to win this argument. "Fine, fine. If you insist on being so stubborn, I'll take the bed. But don't come complaining to me if it's uncomfortable." He leans back on the couch, pretending to pout. "Just don't expect me to tuck you in or anything."

"Good," I say with a smile, completely ignoring his last sentence.

"So what do you want to do?" I ask him. It was about 7 pm at night, it was really pretty outside, I could see the moon and the beautiful stars through Dabi's circler window.

Dabi's gaze follows yours to the window, and for a moment, he looks almost contemplative. "How about a walk?" he suggests. "I know a good spot that's secluded. We can talk and I can make some food if you're hungry. It won't be anything fancy." He shrugs, seeming to struggle with the idea of actually spending time with you.

"That's be nice, no need to worry about food thought ill.make something when we come back if that's alright with you." I tell him as I follow him out the door to the spot he's talking about.

Dabi leads you through the city, avoiding the busy streets and opting for the quieter alleys and side roads. He seems to walk with a purpose, his steps sure and calculated, as if on a mission. Eventually, you arrive at a small, secluded park, surrounded by towering trees and blanketed in shadows.

The air is thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and flowers, a stark contrast to the bustling city sounds that seem worlds away. The stars wink above, their light reflecting off the surface of a small pond in the centre of the park.

"It's beautiful," I say quietly, being in aw.

Dabi nods slightly, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily. "Yeah, it is," he replies, his tone neutral. Despite his indifference, there's a flicker of something in his gaze as he looks around the park. Something almost reminiscent, as if he too can appreciate the beauty of the place.

He seems tense, on edge, as if expecting something to jump out and attack. But the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the faint sound of water lapping against the banks of the pond.

"Come on," Dabi says, breaking the silence as he starts walking towards the pond. The moonlight reflects off the water's surface, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Dabi stops beside the pond, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?” He mutters, almost to himself. "It's one of the only things that makes me forget, even for a moment. Not the heroes, not the villains, just this quiet." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the night air.

I nod, sitting next to him on the bench. "You don't have to be so tense," I tell him.

He seemed to calm down after a while. We started asking each other any and every question that came to mind, nothing to personal though. Neither of us was ready to talk about the deep stuff, like our parents, our siblings, or our past.

Dabi nods, seemingly appreciating your concern. "Force of habit," he mutters, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

The conversation flows easily between you two as the night deepens. You ask each other questions about your favourite colours, your favourite places to visit, your favourite foods. Simple, lighthearted topics. Nothing heavy, nothing that would scratch the surface too much. Despite the casual subject matter, Dabi seems less tense now, his guard slowly lowering as you continue to talk.

As the night wears on, the conversation starts to deepen, veering into more personal topics. Dabi opens up about his love for old music, and you learn that he has a secret passion for collecting vintage vinyl records. You confide in him about your own struggles with hero work and the constant pressure to be perfect. For a moment, it feels like you both are just two ordinary people sharing a quiet, intimate moment under the stars.

As the conversation continues, Dabi's facade starts to crumble even more. He seems to be enjoying the conversation, enjoying the chance to talk to someone who isn't constantly trying to fight or kill him. Despite his efforts to keep up his cynical front, there are moments where his true self shines through. The Dabi who craves companionship and understanding beneath all the layers of pain and anger.

Slowly, the conversation shifts gears again, moving into more serious territory. The tension in the air grows thicker as you both begin to open up about your pasts, your families, and the events that shaped you into the people you are today. Dabi shares snippets of his life with his family, the abuse he suffered at his father's hands, and the deep sense of betrayal and abandonment he felt when he was left to rot. Hearing Dabi's stories, his voice cracking with emotion as he tries to stay composed, touches a cord in you.

Because you had and still have to experience the abuse of your family, tho you don't tell Dabi that you're still being abused and forced to do this you don't want to do.

As Dabi's stories of his family life unfold, your heart aches at the familiar pain he's expressing. Your own experience with abuse in your family comes rushing back, a fresh wave of pain washing over you. But you keep your own secret close to your chest. You don't want Dabi to know that you're still experiencing abuse, still being forced to do things you don't want to do. You don't want pity or sympathy. You just want to be understood.

Dabi is lost in his own pain, too consumed by his own trauma to notice the pain in your eyes. He continues to share his story, the words pouring out of him as if they've been waiting to escape for years. And as he talks, you sit there, listening silently, your own pain festering inside of you, threatening to bubble over.

Dabi pauses for a moment, his eyes locked on the pond's shimmering surface. He's quiet for so long that you wonder if he's done sharing. Then, without looking at you, he whispers, "I'm sorry." The apology surprises you, coming out of the blue. You glance over at him, and for a moment, his veneer of nonchalance slips, and you can see the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

"There is no need to apologize," I tell him as I gently put my hand on his shoulder.

Dabi stiffens for a moment at your touch but then relaxes slightly under your comforting touch. His gaze flicks to your hand on his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, you can see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Something fragile and fragile and broken that he has probably been shoving deep down for years.

"I'm sorry for burdening you with all this," Dabi mutters, almost to himself. "For putting all this heavy stuff on you. It's not fair." His voice is softer now, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior.

"Dabi, look at me. There is no need to apologize. I don't want to hear those words out of your mouth again." I tell him, not wanting him to apologize for telling me what he feels.

Dabi's eyes flicker up to meet yours, surprise flashing in his gaze. No one has ever said those words to him before. No one has ever told him not to apologize for his pain. But the raw sincerity in your voice seems to reach him, and he gives a slight nod. "Alright," he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. "No more apologies. Only honesty."

You exchange a moment of silent understanding, the moment charged with a new level of intimacy. And then Dabi turns back to the sky, his gaze tracking the stars above. You can see the weight of his past still clinging to him, but there's also a sense of... release. As if sharing his past with you has lifted a small portion of the weight off his shoulders.

"How about you?" Dabi asks suddenly, breaking the silence. "Do you have any traumatic life experiences you want to share?" There's genuine curiosity in his eyes now, the first hint of vulnerability you've seen since meeting him.

"Nothing that compares to your pain. What i experienced could have  been worse." I reply to his question, lying straight to him. Though it was the truth to me, I believe others' problems are bigger than my own, because me being abused and r@ped is not important to me, that its happening to someone else is my problem.

Dabi frowns slightly at your dismissive reply, sensing the lie in your words. "That's bullshit," he mutters, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "Don't downplay your experiences. Your pain is as valid as mine. Don't act like it's nothing."

"It could be worse, Dabi, so it's not that bad."

Dabi's frown deepens, the anger in his voice turning to mild frustration. "That's bullshit, Y/N. Don't do that. Don't pretend like your pain doesn't matter just because it 'could be worse'. Pain is pain, and if it's hurting you, it's worth talking about. So drop the act and just be honest," he says, his tone a mix of annoyance and concern.

You look at him with suprise. No one has ever been like this with you. No one has seen through your lies and seen your pain as something that matters. You just nod and start telling Dabi everything that happened and people have done to you. You told him about how your parents punish you when not being perfect. How the people you were supposed to call your family r@ped you and whipped you for their own pleasure. How your mother did nothing to help you through any of this, she in fact joined them in torturing you. And how they would lock you in the closet for weeks without giving you anything to eat because of your low ranking. You never wanted to be a hero, you wanted to live a happy life with the love of your life in a little cottage in the woods away from everyone and everything, with your lover and your children playing in the mud, ot in the trees together, that's all you ever wanted in your life, to be happy with someone. But like everyone says life's a bitch and then you die. There were so many times I thought I was going to die, and after this week with Dabi. I most likely will.

Dabi's eyes widen in shock and anger as you recount your stories of abuse. His fists clench tightly, the veins in his arms straining against his skin. Fury and rage burn deep in his turquoise gaze, his jaw tightening as he struggles to contain his emotions.

As you finish speaking, a deathly silence settles between you. The atmosphere is thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of the pain you both share. Dabi's breathing is shallow, his body rigid as he tries to grapple with the information you've shared.

"Y/N...." His voice is low, tinged with a mix of pain and anger. "Why.... Why did you let them do all that? Why did you let them get away with it?" His eyes search yours, a mixture of confusion and frustration. "Why didn't you fight back?"

"I already tried, it didn't work. I told the police I showed them everything, the scars, the videos, anything and everything to get them arrested. The police didn't believe me, though who would believe a child. After I tried that, I knew whatever I did to try and stop them, it wasn't going to work, so I just stopped. "

Dabi's anger flares at your answer, his jaw clenching tightly. "The police," he mutters, his voice full of contempt. "Of course those useless assholes couldn't do anything to help." He growls, his fists clenching so tight, his knuckles turn white.

"They were supposed to protect you," he spits. "They were supposed to help you, and they failed. They failed miserably."

"But you didn't deserve that," he continues, his tone growing softer, more vulnerable. "No one does. No one deserves to suffer like that, especially you." He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek with a touch that's surprisingly tender. His thumb traces the outline of your cheekbone, a touch that's gentle, almost affectionate.

You flinched at his touch at first, but after a few seconds, you leaned into his touch. You wished you could stay like this forever. You felt safe. He made you feel safe. You wished that he wanted you as a soulmate. You didn't want to force him, so instead of making him feel uncomfortable, all you did was just lean into his touch a little.

Dabi freezes for a moment as you flinched at his touch, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But then you lean into his touch, and his eyes widen slightly, a hint of surprise mixing with something more tender. He can't remember the last time someone showed him physical affection like this.

He leans a little closer, his other hand gently cupping your other cheek, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern on your skin. You can see the conflict in his eyes as he battles with his emotions, the fierce anger and protectiveness warring with the vulnerability and affection.

"I won't ever let anyone else hurt you, alright?" Dabi's voice is low, a fierce whisper. "You won't suffer like that ever again. Not under my watch." He leans his forehead against yours, a rare moment of openness and vulnerability from the cold, aloof villain. And in this moment, even though he doesn't say it, you can feel a deep sense of protectiveness and possessiveness from him, a need to keep you safe.

You nod. You wondered if that meant that he would let you be his soulmate if he'd et you stay after this week was over. You wished and hoped he was telling you the truth right now.

"We should probably head back, it getting late," you tell Dabi, eve though you didn't want to leave. You check the time. It was 1am, and you both had been talking for over 6 hours.

You get up, not waiting for his answer, you grav his hand and help him up and start to walk back to his house. You don't let his hand go, though.

Dabi follows you silently, letting you lead the way. He doesn't pull away from you or try to break the contact. Instead, he allows himself to be led back to his house, the warmth of your hand in his a comforting presence.

As you walk, Dabi's mind races, conflicted. His entire life, he's been alone, pushing everyone away to shield himself from potential heartbreak. But as he walks beside you, holding your hand, a part of him longs for something more.

Finally, you reach his house, the familiar surroundings a stark contrast to the vulnerable atmosphere you've shared. Dabi hesitates for a moment, his hand still holding yours. He glances at you, and you can see the flicker of a smile at his lips, a momentary crack in his usual facade.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice a low rumble. "For listening to me. And for sharing your own stories too." The words are filled with a sincerity that surprises even himself, as if he's not used to expressing gratitude.

"I'll be here for you until the day you don't want me here. And there is no need to thank me, i should be thanking you for listening to my problems, when you arleady have tour own." I tell him as we walk to bed.

Dabi's lips twitch at your words, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He hadn't expected you to offer your support unquestioningly, had assumed that everyone would eventually turn their back on him. But despite his disbelief, a small flame of hope sparks within him, warmth spreading in his chest.

As you head to bed, Dabi remains silent, the gravity of your promise settling heavily on him. He wasn't used to people being there for him, but now, with you, the promise of companionship and understanding felt like a lifeline.

Once you both get into bed, Dabi's mind is still racing, the events of the evening replaying in his head. He turns to face you, the light from the moon filtering in through the curtains casting a silvery glow across your form.

For a moment, he hesitates, unsure of what to do. But then, driven by an inexplicable urge, he reaches out, gently touching your cheek. His fingertips trail across your skin, his touch whisper-soft, almost reverent.

"Y/N," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. His gaze flicks to your face, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort, any hint that he's overstepping your boundaries. But all he sees is acceptance, understanding, and a flicker of something deeper.

Unable to resist any longer, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a hesitant, gentle kiss.

You kiss him back, if someone where to tell you that your soulmaye who didn't want you this moring kissed you and accepted your problems, and promised to keep you safe you should have laugh at them. But now all you can feel is happiness, as you bothe pull away Dabi pulls you closer to him cuddling you close he whispers in your ear. " I'll never let you go. I will protect you no matter what. And I might finally see why you love this romantic soulmate stuff."

Dabi's words, whispered in your ear, send shivers down your spine. The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion, it's a side of him you've never seen before. Dabi, the intimidating villain who always kept his distance, is finally opening up, showing you a flicker of the man beneath the scars.

As he cuddles you close, holding you tightly in his arms, a sense of safety envelops you. His body is warm and solid against yours, a protective shield against the cruel world outside.

Hours pass as the two of you lay entwined together, the moon casting shadows on the walls as it travels across the night sky. Dabi's breathing is now slow and even against your hair, his grip on you loosened but still possessive.

You watch him sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a soothing sight. A sense of contentment envelopes you, a serenity that you hadn't felt in a long time. For once, you feel safe and cared for, your soulmate's presence a balm for the traumas of your past.

As your eyes start to flutter closed, you allow yourself to drift into a deep, peaceful sleep, wrapped in Dabi's embrace. The gentle rise and fall of his chest is a lullaby that eases you into dreamland, and for the first time in ages, you feel a sense of protection and safety that you've always yearned for. The horrors of the past seem a little farther away, and the present moment is filled with the warmth of your soulmate's presence. With Dabi by your side, everything feels better, more hopeful.

The End

[iheartjohnlennon]

'Looking out for you'

London, '64

Summary: Paul says let's kiss and makeup.

Word count: 1,187

Tags: Emotions, Mild Smut, Heavy Angst

Paul stood outside the door, a little uneasy. It had been a good couple of weeks since he had seen you, so he was keen to become familiar again.

He bought carefully selected gifts, eager to show his affection to make you feel like the only girl in the world. With a bouquet crowded with luscious flowers and a small box containing something silver and girly, he raised a fist to knock at the door. 

The door opened and you appeared, you smiled happily at him with delight. Waves of attraction were all he could feel when he caught a long-awaited glimpse of you.

Paul couldn't help but blush with anticipation.

"These are for you, beautiful." He extended the bouquet to you, and the fragrant petals gently brushed your fingertips. "Somethin' pretty."

You leaned in for a hug, he embraced you back, he felt you.

You looked up at him lovingly, "Hello, Paul," your voice was small and kind. "It's fab to see you."

Paul grinned back. "It's good to see ya too," he replied sultryly.

As you embraced, Paul couldn't stop a sappy statement from escaping his lips, "Bein' away for those weeks felt like ages love. I couldn't wait to see yer gorgeous face again." 

You giggled coyly.

Paul took a step back, holding your hands in his. He retrieved the small box from his pocket and presented it with a proud grin. "An' another surprise, stumbled upon it durin' my travels, thought it would be perfect for ya Y/N." 

There was a delicate, silver necklace inside the box. The intricate and gentle design made your eye gleam with sincere fondness. "It's lovely, thank you." 

"Yer welcome, it's our reminder."

As you made your way to the bedroom, Paul couldn't help but notice the slight state of the apartment. It was messy, cluttered with clothes and miscellaneous items. That roommate of yours was in the back of his mind. 

He took a seat beside you on the duvet and reached for the bottle of pinot noir you had brought along with you. As he poured himself a glass, he suddenly spoke up. "Ya know, I've been thinkin'," he started, his tone profound. "I think you'd be better off livin' with me."

You looked in surprise, your eyes widening. "Why do you say that?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Paul shrugged, "I jus' worry about ya, tha's all," he said. "An' I know I could take better care of ya than yerself." He wanted so desperately to replace the last word in that sentence him.

You gazed at him sceptically. "I don't know.." 

"Wha' do ya mean, 'I don't know,'?"

"I mean thank you," you continued, taking a sip of wine. "But I think I can handle it. And besides, I don't think my roommate would be too joyful if I just up and left."

Paul's expression darkened at the mention of him coming out of your mouth. He had always been slightly envious of that man, and the simple thought of him standing in the way of him and his girl made him feverish. What you may have done whilst he was gone made him feverish.

Paul couldn't concentrate, feeling a surge of jealousy. He didn't want to flat-out say you didn't need anyone else but him. He couldn't push that hard, that could be risky. Now was not a time to lose you.

He tried so hard to keep his attitude in check, so hard. His grip on stability and trust weakened and his feelings became palpable as he started the former discussion.

"Why must he live here?" He pressed, trying to sound all reasonable and that. "Carn't he find somewhere else to live? Or carn't you live with me? Tha's an option." 

He amassed the questions, you didn't know what answers to give him because he didn't need any answers. You shook your head bemusedly. "He's a friend Paul and we get along just fine."

"Gettin' along too fine." He murmured bitterly. 

"What was that?"

"I reckon ya heard me." He sniped. 

"Well, what happens when I'm not around you then?" You sniped back but the words came out unhurriedly. You couldn't really be bothered to start this conversation again.

Paul's thoughts started to get the better of him. Insecurity and severe doubt bloomed and the stalk couldn't be cut. 

Truth be told you obviously weren't the only girl in the world to him essentially, but you were his main one so what did it matter to you? It was his vitality.

"Ya know," Paul began, "I won't  shake off yer little friend, as you so love to call him. I wonder what goes on when I'm not around." His voice was cutting to the nerves, you didn't understand what had gotten into him.

His inner turmoil was apparent in his glassy eyes. Your face fell slightly, damage apparent. 

You discerned the horrific shift in his demeanour and replied timidly. "Oh."

Paul hesitated for a moment, what did he just do? Realisation dawned on him as he saw the impact of his words. 

"God, 'm sorry Y/N." He sighed promptly and had to resort to pleading, "I shouldn't have said it like tha', tha' was unfair, forgive me." He rubbed his hands down his face, he looked exhausted.

You scrutinized him, love was evident.

"Heat of the moment type thing?" You responded. 

Paul nodded, his expression filled with relief.

"Y/N, Listen-" 

"I know." You reassured, squeezing his hand.

The evening wore on slowly, intimately, half nakedly. Paul held you tightly, finding solace whilst lying on your chest.

It was a deep moment, one so deep you could've fallen asleep. But then Paul suddenly shifted so he could be above you, his hazel eyes flirted with yours. He was an attractive blur as your eyes flitted.

He got closer, your breaths mingling. Paul's lips met yours in a soft and wet kiss, an enduring meld of desire. Your mouths dragged in a synchronized manner. "Christ, yer even prettier than I remember." He muttered.

You could taste the vivid blend of wine and spit, it was a charming flavour. You gently pushed him off, he deftly reached his hands down to massage your hips. Paul led a sensuous route from your navel to your breasts, along your neck tenderly; he cupped your face in his hands. 

"Baby.." He sounded sure and knowing. It was total eye contact for a few beats. He wouldn't shy away from that. 

"If ya ever call upon anyone else, I think I'll lose me sanity." He whispered in a sing-song voice. 

"Yes Paul, I know."

"I need to have ya." He muttered, he inched down to suck on your neck. You had no intention of resisting. He invigorated his neck kisses and got angsty, including his teeth into it. You felt your heart flutter.

"Those weeks were bloody torture, without yer everythin'." 

You laughed softly at those last two words. 

Your gaze righteously lingered on him, he was the epitome of beauty right now. You both had a sudden craving for each other, something primal.

[woterezwhet]

Pilot. I

CW: SHORT-first og post-

Walking through the dense forest with her bowie knife strapped to her waist, accompanied by a handful of throwing knives, River trudged through on high alert for any dangers that may try to get her, especially the new one that recently emerged, the walking dead. As an only sibling with an alcoholic mother and absent father, River learned how to fend for herself in Atlanta, Georgia, finding a certain infatuation with all types of knives and becoming a type of knife enthusiast her friend –dead for all she could know– would call her. That is how she found herself in this odd situation. A standoff with a bowman who seemed to be tracking what she wanted. Venison. Holding up a throwing knife against his crossbow may seem unfair to many other people, but in this new world, who the hell cares? “Tell me you're not trackin that deer, too?” River asks, ready to snipe the man between his brows with her knife. “I’d really hate to kill my first person over a damn deer.” She almost groans out. “I don’ think you’re in the position to be given out demands.” The man practically growled out at her. “I’m just at hungry as you are, and it’s a simple fucking question.” She snaps at the bowman. “How ya expect to even kill it with a knife like that?” “I have my ways bow boy.” River vaguely answers. “Ya got a camp around here?” “And if I do?” He retorts and River sighs. “I’m looking for a safe place in this shithole of a world we live in and a group of people sounds like a smart idea on my end.” She pauses. “Unless you wanna team up together, just us. Nobody else, maybe-” She’s cut off by mystery bowman. “Ya I got a damn camp, tha’s why I’m tracking this deer.” He snaps. “Don’ slow me down an’ don’ make noise.” Internally, River is dancing like no tomorrow; outwardly, she simply nods at him and follows behind as quietly as they met. “I’m River, by the way-” Cut off “I said shut yer trap didn’ I?” He snaps at her. “Damn, okay.” Is all that’s mumbled the rest of the trip, unknowing of the fate of the two.

[pennycat83]

I keep thinking about Kaname so I wanna rant about Him

(Following contains mentions of S.A and child abuse)

Y'know what's weird?

I don't hate Kaname

But I DO hate how his characters is handled as both a concept and throughout the story.

On paper I like the idea of this kid who's pressured into doing so perfect in school in order to succeed what his dad never could 'cause of his existence. It's such a wonderfully fucked up concept and could work as a great tragic character (somethin' like the idea behind My Ordinary Life).

I'm also not against him having a mild God complex, granted I think it's handled like a fake dog turd at first, but the idea of his inner monologue being his actual personality and external dialogue giving off a facade might make for an interesting concept, as long as it's done sparingly to give us the viewer a sense of danger with him. We get snippets of what he actually thinks about certain things and people but never consistently.

Hell even his bootleg Madoka Kaname name is kinda cute when you realise Kaname roughly translates to cycle/circle, as in the cycle of abuse his dad puts him through.

Here's the problem with Kentaro though. The man's got the character writing IQ of a tapeworm. So instead of an interestingly fucked up character, we get immidately ass pounded with his treatment of the main character that already snipes some of the sympathy we might get towards him. There's no subtly, no nuance as to how he's pissed Aya gets off scott free.

Too much work. He just keeps, beating her ass to the point we don't give a shit about him, so we WANT to see him suffer. And he does after he gets kidnaps by shit cop (I don't wanna remember his name).

And THEN I start feeling sympathetic towards him. Not because they give him any character depth, but because Kentaro huffed too much glue and thought "I'MMA GET 'IM ASSULTED!". Just straight 50 Shades of Grey levels of uncomfortable, like I'm very opinionated on male S.A getting played for laughs of a valid justice. That's bullshit, regardless of gender this kinda stuff shouldn't be seen as anything good.

But it's fact that after this his character kinda falls to the wayside until he gives Aya a half assed "hey sorry I beat your ass a lot". Even Ichi taunts him about the S.A and the fact he WILLINGLY PUTS UP WITH THE SHIT COP?! My man pummel his ass like your dad's after he died!

Jesus Christ why doesn't Aya just nuke her dad, no one fucking likes him and he's the reason your adopted brother's like this!

Can you tell I'm furiously mixed on this man? Like again the idea of a stressed out teen who can't handle his outlet for his stress is a legit brilliant idea as both a critique on certain parenting methods and in the context of a magical girl show.

Hell I only mildly tolerate him, I wanna smack him 'round the back so hard he goes Fansworth but it's only 'cause his later abuse is so intense I can't hold that much hate for him! That's not how you redeem a shitty person KENTARO THA-

[the-last-human-war]

GodofWar Punisher WarMachine FutureWinterSoldier MolagBal Sauron

who tha fuck are these guys?!! So at least these Soldiers you can actually see, except their practically wearing the Mini versions of the Juggernaut Suits. Yeah, let's just call these ones Mini Juggernauts. Nothing Overkill about this, oh yeah that's right... These Mini Juggernauts are designed to Torture Kill to Death, as in each Round of Ammunition is to Inflict the Most Extreme and Exquisite amount of Pain. Yeah, like the Opposite of 5 Star Fine Dining, yeah. I see them shooting them Electric Bottle Caps, one at a time, Galvanizing him, then sticking a Jellyfish on top his head. Yeah I see you, I see you!! This some good weed though. [COUGH, COUGH, COUGH, COUGH, COUGH] Oh shit they really do use Radiation Bullets!! Only tiny amounts though, so they can seep in slowly. Plus they're not trying to bleed them out quickly. They want to combine the Effects of Multiple Ammo Types for a Symphony of Torment. It's like an Opera to these Sick Fucks. Well actually... They can shoot a round of Anti-Matter to Overload your entire body with a Hydra-Nano-Tech Replicating Virus that Consumes all your Cells in Anti-Matter, so you just Explode like Leatherface's Birthday Party. And that's just from 1 Round. Some Bullets can Phase the Matter from Solid to Solidus Clay Hashish to Completely Molten Liquid hmmm. What I need is some Crystals is what I need. And of course they can completely Vaporize them too, you might still see a bit of Steam leftover. Freeze Guns what is this?,,, A Gotham Winter Wonderland? Actually I like that Glass & Ice Castle they made there. Damn Artists!! Sometimes they collect our hacked off limbs, and Shishkabob them into these Freaky Murals. Sometimes they Re-Animate the Murals so the Crippled Undead could Scream as Monuments for Eternity. Ah ha Thank God I found some Special K yeah fuck this. Some Juggernauts have a Cactus Dildo equipped to their Arm, and they just Go to Town. All the while these Soldiers hallucinating their Grandmothers are doing this to them on their Favorite Holiday, while the Juggernaut reassures them with comforting words that when their Grandmother is through with them, I'LL RAPE YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S SOUL. Sometimes these Sick Fucks will Test out every Round of Ammunition from their Hellheim Guns, and for the Mothafuckin Crescendo, they Shoot Every type of Round All at once, All over their Face... And the fucked up thing is that you don't know what to expect with that, there's Random Results every time. Maybe every Soul is different. Even the Invisible Swordsmen, God I hate those Puta Madre... They say if they Slice you with a Perfect Slash... It Hijacks your Nervous System, so that you Feel every possible Sensation of Pain that the Subconscious can Imagine. Look dawg I just wanna eat one of these Starfish, there's a whole Buffet of them laying out there. Hold up, are those Snipers on their Ships? Yeah and of course some of them Snipe while Jewel Diving, and Snipe while Surfing. I could of sworn I seen a Sniper standing on top of a Helicopter Blade, while 360 No-Scoping!! Are we Dead yet? Oh great, ur Calvary has arrived... Child Soldiers again... This time riding Lycans. Can this Eclipse get any Darker? Oh sure now you whip out ur Battering Rams. Literally, a Demon War Sheep, Fully Armored with Time Crystal Meth Ram Horns. And oh it's on, it's on like Donkey Kong. This some Donkey Kong Gorilla Warfare shit!! I'm talking some Planet of the Apes Sentient

[artnerd1123]

Consider: ocs playing laser tag. Who’s the stealth sniper? Who thinks they’re stealth sniper but is really bad at it? Who’s just in it for fun? Who busts into bases and stuff with guns ablazin and tries to win through sheer intimidation alone?

These are important questions to think about.

[luminberry]

Horror asks you say? 👀

Maybe something with zeke encountering ch@ser for the first time?

Since it p close to halloween and work sniped me in the ass a lil, here u guys go! i'll still do the other prompts dont worry but for now here is this. The beta group had a blast reading this.

It was nearing somewhere around dusk at base after a fairly busy day of the usual upkeep and what not. Sanford and Deimos had brought back some pumpkins after a surprising find on a mission, leading to half the base now decorated with jack o lanterns.

Zeke thought it was nice honestly, with the weather turning chillier it felt almost a bit normal for once here since the Madness took hold..almost. He was broken out of his thoughts by someone calling out for him, it sounded like Bull actually.

“Huh? Bull that ya callin for me darlin? Sorry was spacin out for a sec there.”

“Yeah, ya mind comin n lendin me a hand real fast? Hands are a bit full n someone hit tha dang lightswitch on me, can’t see a damned thing in here…”

That made him laugh a bit, following the sound of his partner's voice into the nearby darkened room. Must have been one of the others playing a bit of a prank on the poor man.

“Hang on a sec Bull, lightswitch should be round tha doorway right?”

“I think so, last I remember it was a few steps ta yer right?”

Strangely..it was somehow near impossible for Zeke to find the switch either at first. Was it always this damn dark in here? Before he could look to ask Bull if he was sure the switch was on the right side, the door clicked shut, sealing him in complete darkness.

It took the sound of the door click to remind Zeke of a key fact he happened to forget about his partner, Bull could see just fine in the dark.

“...Bull? Uh, darlin is somethin goin on in here?”

When all he was met with was silence, the hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle..something was wrong here. On instinct he turned to put his back towards the wall, eyes straining to quickly adjust to the dark room while going silent for a moment. If he waited just long enough he might be able to get to the door before whoever else was in here could get to him first.

After what felt far too long, details of the room faintly started to surface at last thanks to the faint crack of light filtering in through the door that felt too far away now. 

What he saw though made him suddenly too scared to even try moving, taking the breath out of him as the faint form in front of him came close enough to be seen.

“What’s wrong Zekey boy~ Ya’ll lookin a bit pale suddenly, don’t tell me ya don’t recognize me.”

He knew the voice, there was no mistaking that self satisfied deep rumble.. But what he saw was “talking” was the real reason he was immediately on edge.

Standing only a short few feet away..was his own desiccated and skeletonized body. Throat feeling far too tight suddenly he tried to slowly scoot towards the doorway.

“W-whatevers goin on, this ain’t funny anymore… C’mon ya had yer fun, I thought we were past this kinda thing, right?”

“Dunno what yer talkin bout sweetheart, thought ya’d get a kick outta tha fun little Halloween decoration I got ta hang up.. What’s wrong Zekey, don’t like it~?”

“Ya know I don’t..Open tha door already n lemme out..please? I don’t like this, ya had yer fun already scarin me..J-just put that damned thing away already..”

A sharp laugh rang out from the dark behind the “decoration” but…something felt off even about that. It made something in the back of his head ache, that didn’t happen before.

“Aw, don’t feel like playin anymore? That’s a damn shame…but I don’t recall saying you could make the decisions here. And I’m only just getting started with you.”

Oh god.

He knew what that meant more than anyone else, but something had shifted in his tone of voice..It didn’t sound right anymore, it made his head ache just listening to it now..But he knew it was a mistake to stay here any longer than necessary, he needed to fucking run while he still could.

The other seemed to reach the same conclusion, making his decoration suddenly lunge out at him, hands lashing out for his neck with a cackle that made his skull pulse in pain.

Thankfully Zeke was always just a few seconds faster, he managed to duck and thankfully only lost his hat in exchange for latching onto the doorknob and throwing the door open wide to sprint through. He refused to look back at the thing now more than likely now hot on his heels calling his name.

Sprinting down the hall helped clear his head, the chilly air making him shiver as he tried to put as much distance behind him as possible. 

Wrongness was starting to ping at the back of his mind once more, no one else was in the hallway. There wasn’t even any of the decorations half the base had spent the day setting up. Eyes darting around rapidly, the unsettling worry grew heavier in his stomach as nothing looked familiar to him now.

“Wh..what the fuck? What’s going on..where th’hell?”

He couldn’t stop for too long to make sense of anything, not while he was in the open like an idiot at least. He knew better by now than to make that sort of mistake. He needed to get outside, or at least put a few solid doors between him and that bastard chasing him down before he could even bother to try and think of anything else.

So that’s what he did, running until the cold air started to burn into his lungs and his legs started to ache. Door after door closed and locked as he moved erratically to try and disorient his pursuer for all he was worth.

Dipping into what looked like a small supply closet he moved quietly to shut the door behind him and catch his breath for a few precious moments. Even in here the air felt somehow frigid, Zeke just barely able to get himself to stop shivering and calm down to think properly.

Several things weren’t adding up here and it was driving him mad. The base was devoid of life entirely somehow in the few minutes he had been trapped in that room. It was now damn near freezing when it was only just barely chilly..and he couldn’t seem to find the damn way outside no matter how many doors he had run through.

He knew the base practically backwards and forwards by now..By all means he should have been outside long ago, what the hell was going on here?

He knew there’d be no answers unless he felt like risking his skin trying to pry them from the bastard hunting him down, speaking of which..he hadn’t heard them come through yet..or at all really. That alone was more than enough to set his nerves on edge once more.

The only thing worse than knowing you were being hunted down was the quiet and allowing yourself to think it was safe.

But Zeke knew better by now than to trust the silence beyond the closed doorway. He had rested long enough, but now there was a damned good chance he could be walking headlong into a trap. But the longer he stayed hidden also led to that same risk of being caught with no way to escape.

The longer he stared at the thin strip of faint light beneath the doorway, the worse his chances would only grow. He needed to move before he was cornered by that sneaky bastard and snatched up to get punished.

“..fuck. He knows I hate these goddamned headgames..just gonna be walkin inta one of his fuckin traps I jus know it. Ngh, gotta risk it then.”

Steeling himself for the worst he yanked the door open and pushed back out into the hallway..Only to find nothing?

Nothing but an empty hallway stretching almost endlessly in both directions, which somehow felt so much more worrisome than running headlong into a trap..

“..This ain’t right..this ain’t right at all, what tha fuck’s going on..? Wh-What tha fucks goin on??”

This wasn’t possible, right? This was still the base, he was just a bit..disoriented or something. He could find the way outside, he could still find someone…

He just needed to calm down was all, the damned adrenaline in his system wasn’t helping and neither was the cold honestly.

“Still haven’t figured it out have you? Such a shame then, you were doing so well up until now..”

Zeke jolted at that voice, spinning on a heel to try and see just where it came from..The dull ache in the back of his skull had returned full force once more hearing his pursuer.

“Figured what out, ya creepy sonnofabitch? Ain’t nothin here makin any goddamned sense! Stop foolin around, whatever ya did..just stop alright?”

“Cute. You honestly think talking back will do you any good here Cowboy? Perhaps a little hint on just how grim your situation truly is will quell that tongue of yours.”

Zeke looked at every possible way for something, anything at this point to help make sense of what the hell was going on, he received an answer.

Something colder than ice gripped the back of his neck like a vice, making him go dead still with a strangled gasp. As dagger thin nails dug slowly deeper into his skin, he knew escape now wasn’t an option any longer.

“Still so scared, that little heart of yours just drumming away like a frightened bird…You’re Zeke aren’t you? Normally I don’t care enough to learn my victims names..But I’ll make an exception this once, don’t you just feel oh so special~?”

“Who..who tha hell are y’all then?”

“What, did you think someone else was hunting you down for entertainment? I must admit I borrowed a few things from that wretched creature, your reaction was delightful regardless.”

“Egh..W-well then if ya just wanted me, where tha hell is Bull? Ya better not have done anythin ta him just ta get at me..”

“Always having to play at being a hero don’t you? An endearingly stupid trait I’m sure someone cares for elsewhere. You still don’t seem to be putting all the little puzzle pieces together quite yet, do you want another hint? It will cost you however…”

That damned mocking tone, of course he couldn’t put things together, he had no idea what the hell was going on to begin with! He hadn’t any idea why he was targeted, what this..person even wanted or anything else other than to make fun of him.

“Fine..y’all just wanna stroke yer fuckin ego a bit more don’t ya? Just..just tell me who tha fuck ya are n what ya want from me..”

“Oh so simple and so straightforward as always aren’t you? I’ll humor you then..if not to see the look on your face.”

The icy grip released with a harsh shove, Zeke letting out a hiss of pain as those damned nails raked down and more than likely drew blood.

Spinning on his heels to face the closet he expected to see his attacker standing there. But instead all he was greeted by was darkness beyond the doorway and nothing more.

“Wh..? S-stop foolin around already. Come on out, there ain’t anywhere else for ya ta hide..I know yer tricks ya bastard..enough’s enough.”

“Are ya sure about that? Are you really, completely sure about that?”

Instead of that headache inducing voice..Bulls voice rang out from the dark void before him, his familiar warm voice sounding jarringly wrong now.

“What’s wrong Zeke..Not so sure anymore? Not going to guess at all? I worked so hard to get his voice right just for you~”

“S-stop…Stop usin his voice damnit! Fuckin knock it off! Knock it off or I’ll-I’ll fuckin make ya!”

“Oh will you now~? Well then..go ahead and try, why don’t you? I’m waiting cowboy.”

Getting tired of whatever goddamned mind games this bastard was trying to play, Zeke pulled his gun out and fired three rounds into the darkness before him.

Spooky nonsense or not, he was fairly certain a few bullets would at least put a damper on that smug ass attitude.

At least until a harsh grating laugh echoed out moments later, making him take a step back from the doorway.

“Do you feel better now Zeke? Think you managed to wound me hm? You should know better by now that your pistol is utterly useless..I think it’s time to end this little game don’t you?”

If Zeke was cold before, the sudden temperature drop all but snatched the breath out of his lungs in shock. Any heat left in his shuddering form was a distant memory now.. 

But what truly struck him cold to the core was the figure now in the doorway, separate but still somehow a part of the darkness beyond in a way Zeke was dead certain was nowhere near natural.

Tall and gaunt, the thing in the doorway regarded him with mild amusement for a moment or two before speaking. That voice now somehow echoed down the halls and within his own skull all at the same time.

“You should consider yourself quite lucky, most who even see me are already seconds from death..Of course, you won’t be alive much longer now will you? Though I admit I’ve been having fun..playing with my food as it were, a delightful change from the dismally stupid meatheads I cut down.”

He could only guess what they meant..They looked so similar to Hank it was more than enough to worry him, but the way the shadows clung to his form said there was much worse going on here.

“Wh-what the hell are ya..? Why are ya doin this ta me of all people?”

“Oh I could tell you..but that would ruin things now wouldn’t it? As for why you dear Zekey boy. There is no reason, you were just chosen entirely at random after I watched your little base for a time. And now I’m going to enjoy tasting the fear pump through your veins until you drop dead, or I grow tired of this game and kill you myself.”

So this was just..nothing but pure entertainment for them. He was being fucked with, for no true rhyme or reason other than a whim. That was enough to ignite a spark of anger in the man, enough to make him try taking a swing at the smug entity’s face with all he could put behind his fist.

Despite the cold and fear, Zeke honestly did want to wipe that smug self entitled look off the others face..And in a way he did, though not with the punch he tried to throw.

Faster than what he expected, Zekes fist was caught in that same vice like icy grip. Nails digging deep into his flesh and eagerly drawing blood, Zeke could only cry out in pain as the other stared him down.

“Cute. I take it you still think you have a chance at winning somehow don’t you? A pathetic thing like you should know better by now that such ideas are doomed, just like you are now.”

With a harsh twisting throw, Zeke was sent sailing back to slam into the far wall and left to fall in an agonized heap before the other.

“You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how outclassed and outpowered you are compared to me, you ignorant little hick. The only thing you’re good at is running away aren’t you? So will you run, or just die here like the sad idiot you’re clearly telling me you are?”

“G-go fuck yerself..asshole.”

Despite his anger, the figure unfortunately had a point. He couldn’t do a damned thing to whoever the hell this is, leaving the only option of running. So even if it hurt his pride to admit this fucker was right, Zeke pushed himself to his feet and simply took off running. 

The only thing following him was the sound of laughter.

Running down the seemingly endless hallway, Zeke ran over what had happened so far hoping something could possibly help him find a way out of this mess he got dragged into.

The only clues he could even think of were the unsettling cold..and the fact the bastard could mimic voices well enough to fool others. He had Hanks appearance and anger issues..possibly his strength and abilities too, no matter how he looked at it they seemed like some shadow Hank.

Nevada had produced weirder things, but this was quickly climbing to the top of his mental list of things and people he didn’t want to deal with again.

The other thing that was slowly making it onto that damned list was this endless damn hallway, his legs were starting to burn from overworking things..Hell he felt like he was starting to slow down as the cold starting biting into his sweat soaked skin in earnest…

Wait, he actually was starting to have trouble moving now..Looking down after a moment explained what the problem was. The tiles were sinking under his weight, they weren’t tiles..but ice caked mud now somehow..The frigid mud pulling him in deeper the longer he stood still, that was enough to get him moving once more..Only when he looked up something else had changed.

He was outside now, a endless expanse of icy mud and derelict looking trees dotting the horizons in every direction he looked.

“Oh god…what tha hell is..How?? Goddamnit, I can’t die like this..C’mon damnit..gotta keep movin.”

He was scared and utterly confused now, nothing seemed to make sense and it likely never would at this rate. The icy mud pulled and clung to him, making every step a hellish force of will. He felt it slowly

climbing up his legs, to his waist and hips as moments crawled by..He couldn’t feel anything beneath the mud, and honestly he didn’t want to check and see the state of things at this point.

When it was clinging to his chest, Zeke finally realized he was fighting a losing game. But even then he didn’t want to give in. Even if he couldn’t feel anything anymore aside from exhaustion..Hell all the struggling made him feel a tiny bit warmer somehow. A warning bell rang distantly in the back of his aching skull as that sensation started to spread further and further.

“Fuck..gonna really die like this ain’t I..? …Could be worse, maybe..”

He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping at least that respawn could pick him up from wherever the hell this nightmare was taking place..Though that sinister laugh made him open them once more, finding himself still alone regardless.

“ ‘M already on death’s door ya fuckin creepy ass bastard, frozen fuckin solid and too tired ta care anymore.. Happy now? Ya fuckin won, ya smug sonnofabitch. So jus..c’mon n get it over with n finish tha job.”

“So eager to leave me Zeke? And here I was just starting to enjoy your useless struggles.. But I dont recall saying I was done with you just yet. You still have so much more suffering left to do, don’t you agree?”

Before Zeke could protest, he felt what could only be a boot slamming down on the back of his skull. The heavy weight making him sink deeper and deeper still into the mud till only his nose was left exposed to the cold air.

Weakly thrashing to try and get the others foot off of him, he couldn’t pull his arms up enough to effectively get a grip on the others leg. Panic starting to swell into his chest, Zeke still tried all he could to keep himself from being submerged entirely.

“Stop struggling then Zeke, just let me take over.. You’re making your new friends wait, and they don’t like to be kept waiting long…Can’t you feel them?”

As if to make things somehow even more terrifying, something solid clamped down onto both legs beneath the mud. First one, then two and three, quickly becoming uncountable as Zeke felt claws tearing into him to gain a solid grip.

“You’re only just beginning to learn what real suffering is Zeke, let me show you just how bad things can be..”

Chaser could only grin down at the wide eyed frightened stare looking up at him before his plaything was dragged beneath the surface. A choked off scream being the only noise they could make before silence returned to the world once more.

“Perhaps I should try seeing how long the others will last against me..This one broke far too easily to be of any real fun, a shame.”

His fun at an end, Chaser let the false world fall apart for now. He needed to find a new source of entertainment it seemed, and the base he had found Zeke in had plenty to choose from.

---

As Zeke felt himself being pulled further and further away from the surface, things started to feel different around him. The cold mud encasing him felt so much more firmer..like slick muscles working him deeper and deeper into..something. The fact that everything around him now oddly felt like cold slick flesh was making his skin crawl. He could just barely breath but the air felt stale in his lungs.

The sensation of hands latching into him had long since fled thankfully, leaving behind a ghostly sting in their wake that made it feel like he had been bitten by something instead. A idea of something much worse than dying by suffocation underground started to grow the longer he slipped deeper into whatever hole he was in.

The moment Zeke felt himself enter a brief freefall into a small chamber filled ankle high with freezing liquid of some kind, everything clicked into place. There was a reason this all felt horribly familiar, he had just been swallowed alive.

"Oh no..oh fuck no don't let this be what I think it is..It can't be.."

If only to make matters somehow worse, Zekes eyes began to slowly adjust..Finding out the chamber he was in glowed in a very faint blue light..It was just enough light for him to confirm the reality of things was indeed what he had feared most.

He had been eaten alive, more than likely by the bastard that had chased him down if he was going to wager a guess. He was too tired to even bother putting up a fight anymore, the cold surrounding him only sapping the last of his body heat and energy entirely.

Zeke could only sigh in defeat and let his captor have his meal, there wasn't anything more he could do being as exhausted and cold as he was now..The longer he stayed awake the more it felt like the cold was creeping into his very bones, down into the core of his being. He just wanted it all to end already, to wake up in respawn and try to warn the others about whoever this was..

----

Feeling his little treat settle in at last, a hand pressed to where he felt the cowboy sit in his stomach. Not enough to pose a problem but just big enough to be a lovely meal regardless. It was always so nice to feel them slide down his throat and give in entirely after being worn down and filled to the brim with fear.

He would definitely have to grab this one again another time, along with the alternates that base housed. For now he was more than satisfied with his current catch.

[thesunmeltedthegrayaway]

The Outsider From Opulence Chapter 22: Sodapop Curtis x OC

Chapter 22: Heavy Storms

~~~

POV: Elliot's

His eyes bore into mine. Dad sat tense in the kitchen, following my every move. I could not get the energy to care about his sour mood. He could be pissed off at me all he wanted to; I still would not bend to his every whim. He could pout and complain, all he wanted to; all he was going to end up doing was wasting his breath. We sat in silence, the quiet clanks and screeches of metal hitting the glass plates below occasional let-out spurts of sound.  

But I knew the silent treatment from my father could only last so long. Especially when it is dealing with something as glaringly important as this.  

“Elliot, you know we need to talk about last night.”  

I did not bother to reply to him, not verbally or physically. I simply got up, abandoning the food that was placed in front of me.

“You don’t have to leave now honey.” Mom muttered sadly.

“No Caroline, let’s watch our son walk away from another one of his problems.” Dad replied with a disparaging tone.

If he thought that would get me to react, he had another thing coming.

“See there he goes, dumping his baggage on everyone else, not caring that his actions might affect the both of us. Not caring that we could lose everything I have worked for.” He commented after I did not respond to him.

“Oliver,” Mom whispered in a melancholic tone. “Just stop.”

Before I left the kitchen, my father spoke again. “I am not stopping until he realizes just how much he has put this family in jeopardy. Especially over something that he considers to be “love.” He mocked, rolling his eyes at his own sentence.  

“Love you, mom. I got to go.” I simply state before walking away.

“You can’t ignore this forever, Elliot; you’ll have to listen to me eventually!” Dad’s voice echoed throughout the house, following my every step.  

“Whatever.” I say to myself.

“El-” I slammed the door, cutting off my hearing from another one of my father’s infamous tangents.

He must love to hear himself spew off complete and utter nonsense...

~~~ One minute I was walking alone, completely annoyed, the longer I replayed my father's ignorant words in my mind. And the next...

Well, I honestly felt like my arm was nearly ripped out of its socket. I was spun around abruptly to be met with an all too familiar pair of icy, bitter eyes.

“Are you ignoring me just to piss me off?” Darry asked me heatedly. “I’ve been shouting your name for the past 2 minutes.”  

What a greeting...

“I’m sorry what was that? I only listen to words spoken to me that are worthwhile.” I sniped back.

Darry’s grip tightened on my arm, making me wince. “Don’t you dare snap at me like that, boy.” He sneered.

“Get the hell-” I ripped my arm out of his vice like grip, making him angrier. “Off of me! And after the shit you pulled last night, I think I have a right to snap at you!”

“Shit, I pulled? The shit I pulled? I was just stepping in trying to protect my brother from the nonsense you filled into his head!” He yelled; specks of spit hit my face due to the proximity we had with one another.

“You know, you talk about Soda like he’s this... naïve, foolish human being. When in reality he’s the exact opposite of this image you put of him in your head.” I explain bitterly.

“I don’t-”

“Really? So, you truly think I brainwashed Soda every day for the past 3 months. Telling him to be gay, telling him to fall in love with me? That’s not how relationships work, Darry. That’s not how they work at all!”  

“Oh please.” Darry scoffed, not taking me seriously in the slightest. He backed away from me, pacing in anger. As I looked past him, I noticed a boy clad in a brown leather jacket. He watched up from a distance, observing my every move quickly.

“The second you met him you knew you could mold him into whatever the fuck you wanted him to be. He just someone who wants affection, and you gave it to him. He isn’t in love with you, he’s in love with the attention you give him!” Darry ranted.

"You are delusional!” I exclaim. “Why, why is it so crazy to you that your brother is gay? Seriously, what is so hard to comprehend about that?”

“Because he knows what’s right and wrong.” He said simply.

“Oh, don’t give me that morality crap!” I hiss.  

“A man should not lie with another man.” He spoke as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

“Oh, so, you’re basing your ideology on a book. You’re not... basing it on something that you truly believe is wrong? Fuck your brother’s happiness, he’s sinning!” I exclaimed in faux horror.

“Hey!” Darry started pushing me back roughly. “I care about my brother’s happiness!”

“How do you know that I don’t give him happiness? Honestly, what part of you truly thinks I am in his life to bring him nothing but evil?”

“You’re not giving him happiness; you’re just-”  

“Brainwashing him? Yeah, you brought that point up before. What else do you got?” I interrupt tensely.

“Y-you don’t love him.” He spoke humorously.

“Oh, and Sandy did? You know... his previous girlfriend that cheated on him?” I asked mockingly. “But hey, that relationship was fine though because it was straight and holy and pure right?”

“You’re playin’ a sick joke on him, filling his head with nonsense that he would forget in a week if you weren’t around.” He tried to speak as strongly as he could. But I could tell he was running out of things to say.  

“I’m am not playing a joke on him, Darry. I wouldn’t do something like that to anybody, and I sure as hell wouldn’t do something like that to someone like Soda.” I admit, my jaw clenched in frustration. “So, you can try to accuse me of playing games or manipulating your brother so he can bend to my every whim. But I think we both know that those accusations you speak are nothing but wind.”

Darry seemed as though he was holding himself back, but the more I spoke the more he looked as though he wanted to know the living daylights out of me.

“The only fact of the matter is that your brother is gay and you can’t handle it!” I hissed, getting into his face. My voice wavered in anger the longer the conversation went on.

“He is not.” His voice was quiet, simmering in rage.

“He is, and I am too. So, you can threaten me, follow me around to try and intimidate me.” I then pointed to the boy who was still hanging around us. “You can try and get your friends to do whatever you want them to do to me. But nothing, nothing will change the way I feel, and it sure as hell won’t change the way he feels.”

“Get out of my face.” He gritted out before pushing me back again.  

“You can’t handle the truth, can you? That your brother is doing something that isn’t correlating with some bullshit view point you have! He’s gay Darry! He’s gay! Get over it!”  

Before I even realized what I was doing, I shoved Darry back as hard as I could. He stumbled back before recovering quickly, his fist suddenly clenched in my shirt, jerking me roughly. Before I could even react, a bony fist was slammed into my jaw, making me bite my tongue harshly.

I balled my hand into a fist myself and knocked my knuckles as impactfully as I could into his face. The hit stunned him, but before I could do anything else I was grabbed by the collar of my shirt, choking me slightly. I was thrown down onto the ground, my hand landing unnaturally as I fell onto the concrete.

The boy who had been watching me before stood above me. His face was menacing and tense. My blood ran cold, staring into the intimidating pair’s stares.  

“Fuckin’ soc scum.” The boy’s voice gritted; a sudden boot entered my line of vision before crashing onto my face, making my head jerk back onto the concrete. The boot hit my face again; it struck me seemingly harder than the first kick.

Things became a bit fuzzy after that; the slight taste of copper dripping into my mouth from my lower lip. Pressures began to bloom painfully on my stomach and ribs. The wind felt as though it was getting knocked out of me every few seconds.  

I wanted to get up and fight back, but with each labored breath and inch of movement that I attempted to do, it felt bruising. I couldn’t even open my eyes half the time, my head still dizzy. I didn’t know whether it was from the impact of the pavement hitting my head. Or the adrenaline that was struggling to leave me. Each stomp and hit that landed onto me grew harder with each passing impact. A hand roughly gripped my hair; the movement I was suddenly forced to make made my body protest with a burst of pain. I lazily whipped up a hand, trying to hit the man who was holding me. But the only hits I could connect with were weak, lazy. They couldn’t do any real damage.

The boy began to speak; his voice ragged but filled with enjoyment. “You wanna try and fuckin’ hit him again? You think you’re real tough? You shouldn’t even-” He paused; his free hand gripped the side of my cheek. His nails dug into the already tender and bruised skin. “Be around these parts of town, you know your territory!”

What territory... I was just trying to get to school. I just wanted to be with someone who I truly cared about. Why does it always seem like someone has to get in the way of something good that comes my way?

“Get off.” I gritted, but my request only made him grip onto me harder.  

Suddenly, another voice spoke into the air. It wasn’t Darry’s or the other boy who had jumped in. It was familiar, and it sounded livid.

“Elliot!?” It called out; it didn’t speak again for a few seconds. But I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching closer to us. I was unexpectedly let go, my head once again hitting the pavement unceremoniously. My eyes closed due to the sudden impact.

“Get the hell away from him!” I could now recognize the voice, Cherry spoke in the trembling, uncollected tone.  

A felt a presence kneel down next to me, my eyes opened blurrily to see Cherry staring down at me in fury. She whipped her head over to Darry and-

“Dallas, of course you’d do something like this” She started in a tone of disgust. “But I would never expect you, to do something like this to him.” Cherry said in a disappointed but angry tone.  

“You don’t even-” Darry started tensely.

“Your brother goes to the same school as me and we talk occasionally. You really don’t think he’s mention you before?”  

Darry didn’t reply to her. He simply looked down at us in disgust.

“Yeah, this hard working, smart, stern, headstrong man, lowered himself to the likes of Dallas Winston.” She spat.  

“I just did what I had to do to protect my brother!” Darry defended; his booming voice made my head throb.  

“YOU don’t need to protect your brother from Elliot! Trust me! I’ve been around him for a while and let me tell you he has gushed about him almost every day!”

“He’s trying to make him gay!” I could see Dallas giving Darry a shocked look at his statement.  

Cherry scoffed indignantly at Darry’s ridiculous statement. “Elliot was terrified when rumors were spread about him liking Soda. Because I am sure Elliot genuinely believe Soda would hate his guts if he found out. And I knew Elliot liked him, it was pretty obvious that he did.”

Darry went to speak, but Cherry cut him off.

“Shut your mouth, I’m talking and you’re going to listen.” She spoke dangerously. “I know Elliot, a whole hell of a lot more than you do. And I know he wouldn’t dare try to manipulate or force anyone to do something they wouldn’t want to do.”

“Tell that to my brother.” Darry sneered.

“Your brother has a mind of his own and can make a decision about his love life on his own. If he said he loves Elliot, then he loves him. Get over it, you have no choice in how he feels.” Cherry said bluntly.  

“And you,” she began, now, turning her direction toward Dallas. “You just jumped him, beating him up without a care in the world.”

“I thought-”

“You didn’t think!” She interjected. “Look at what you did!” She shrieked. “He didn’t do anything to you! And you just, attacked him! How are you no better than those socs who went after Johnny before!?”

Dallas stiffened at the mention of Johnny; I guess they were close. “That’s different.” He snapped, his face growing red.

“How? A boy is getting jumped and without as much as question why you join in. Maybe it’s because he’s something that you don’t like! Or you’re doing it because you just find some sick enjoyment in it!”

Dallas didn’t say anything. He just darkly looked down at her intensely.  

“That’s what Bob and the other’s do... you’re the same, more than you realize. The only difference is the leather jacket glued onto your back and the closer bond you share with the people you know.” Cherry's voice wavered as she spoke.

She looked back down at me, sadly, cringing at each bruise that undoubtably bloomed on my face. “Just get away from him.”

“Look-” Darry started.

Cherry’s head whipped back over to Darry. Her red curls flew messily in the air as she turned. “Just go!” She yelled.  

I closed my eyes at the volume change in her voice, a painful throb shot across my head. I didn’t know if they were there still or not, but with Cherry here now I didn’t seem to care.

“My god, Elliot you looked terrible.” Cherry said worriedly.  

I slowly opened my eyes again and attempted to sit up. But the rush of pain I felt as I did, made me lay back down.  

“I think you need to go to the hospital, Elliot.”  

I protested to that idea immediately. The last thing I wanted to do right now was get poked and prodded by a doctor. I just wanted to sleep; I was exhausted.

“No, no, just... help me get back home.” I replied hoarsely.  

“Elliot-”

“Please, I-I know you’re freaked out but I just want to head back home.” I interrupted gently.  Cherry looked at me reluctantly before sighed and shaking her head.

“Fine, but if your mom or someone else say’s you need to go to the hospital. You’re going.” She ordered before gingerly helping me up.

“Deal.”

[angelic-ish-phantom]

Tucker always felt alive on the full moon.

It was like moonbeams ran under his skin, through his veins, everything turning light, and bright, easy.

When the transformation hit, when the full moon was at its highest his soul sang as his bones shuddered, slipping into more comfortable flesh and fur and power.

On those nights, all he wanted to do was run and run and never stop. And sometimes, he did, when his parents’ paranoia wavered, and more so when they knew he had his friends to help.

The full moon was a night of freedom and being and joy. But it was only one night in the moon’s cycle.

Or at least it should have been…

“You know, this is exactly where I wanted to be tonight.” Tucker said from his position on his back, “Not playing Doom in my room. Inside. Nope. I totally wanted to lie in the cold, wet grass, in the middle of the woods helping you guys do witchcraft. Past midnight. Yep. Great time.”

“What can I say? we just know you so well.” Danny sniped back. He hovered over Sam’s shoulder in his ghost form, occasionally glancing up at the sky as though he were checking something.

“Stop it.” Sam said conversationally, flicking through the glowing purple book in her hands.

“Look guys,” Tucker tried, twisting one of his wrists against the damp grass distractedly in an attempt to give the irritated skin under the rowan and hazel bracelets some relief, “This is really cool of you and all, but it’s a little tired don’t you think. I don’t think the chances of this working get any better after each try. I don’t think it’s possible, so can’t we just call it quits now and go inside…” He complained.

“Stop wriggling.” Sam said, and Tucker thought she’d ignored everything he said until she continued, “We just need to keep trying different rituals, and we’ll get results. There are a lot of different forces at play here.” She nodded, eyes still never leaving the pages.

Sam had gotten that book around half a year ago. A book full of spells and spiritual practices for witches. Sam had looked inside and said it wasn’t much different than others she’d read, which was a revelation. They sold books on witchcraft just… at the store. They weren’t even hard to find.

The point was the book was probably making the magic Sam did with it work. That was the working theory at least. And for some reason it wouldn’t work for either him or Danny. Just Sam.

Now, Tucker knew there could be a whole host of reasons for this, but since they had a sample size of three, he had chalked the reasoning up to: because ghosts.

It hadn’t taken long for her to stumble across rituals involving energies granted by the state of the moon which was what started this whole mess.

Once a month, on the new moon, Sam, Tucker, and Danny had been trying different ways to trigger his transformation without a full moon. Sam and Danny always got really exited about it; Tucker had been too… the first time.

But it had six months and nothing had worked. Now it was just a mild annoyance.

Danny was still genuinely wanted to find something that would help Tucker shift on the New moon, but Tucker was pretty sure Sam just wanted to try out all the rituals; she was pretty obsessed with that book.

…Now that he was thinking about it, they should probably be concerned about tha-

“Tucker, if it’s going to work, it’ll be this time: it’s the Wolf moon!” Danny said, self-assured.

Sam groaned, “That’s not why we’re doing it. The Winter moon has nothing to do with actual wolves, Danny.” She said, already resigned to the fact he wouldn’t listen.

Danny opened his mouth to speak, before glancing up at the moon, and jolting. “It’s time, we’ve got a minute.” He said quickly, moving to light the candles scattered around Tucker’s body with bright green energy. It was another one of those weird obscure abilities; Danny could tell when the moon was at its highest.

Sam fastened her (entirely unnecessary) hat and began speaking: “Through the cold and dark we see her, grant us protection and strength for the plans we have made, the changing of the ancient light. We ask for luck and prosperity. Let our effort bare results.” She finished, clearly, voice flat.

Danny fed him marjoram and Tucker swallowed, but he would make sure Danny knew later just how much he hated eating anything that wasn’t meat around Sam on principle.

(It was sweet though.)

The smell of birch grew more potent in Tucker’s nose. The cold of silver chains that had made him itch, now felt weightless, numbing wherever it touched. The haematite crystals in his hands, however, burned at his palms making him hiss.

He’d hoped nothing would happen, but alas. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as bad as last time, when he forgot everyone he knew for a few hours. Was not a great experience. Three out of Ten ritual, would not do again.

The time for the ritual ended, and this Tucker expected it to end. And it did. Except not actually, because he stopped feeling anchors all over his person, but didn’t stop feel the light roiling wishing him, moonbeams caught in a wild dance, eventually settling into a small, deep pool—a focused well off power.

It wasn’t as potent as the full moon, but it was there.

Tucker gasped. A whine sounded underneath.

“Ummmm,” Tucker heard Danny start, “That wasn’t supposed to happen. We can fix this, right.” He asked Sam, sounding a little panicked.

“Danny, I don’t even know what this is…” Sam said, voice wavering.

Tucker didn’t know why they were concerned he felt amazing.

Tucker surged forward and pulled them both into a hug, tongue hanging out, tail wagging. He realized, he was the same height as Danny like this, when before he had always been the tallest of the trio; Tucker was fairly sure his legs had shrunk to be the same length as his arms. That was useful.

He tried to thank Danny and Sam; he hadn’t thought anything like this half form was possible. He didn’t think he could ever stand upright, and have his power and freedom, and the moon in his chest so he would never have to wait for it. He didn’t think he could ever be wolf like this. And he’d wanted to stop trying, he never would have had this, never would have known if it weren’t for them.

He tried, but the sounds were hard and stubborn as he wrestled them from something close to a wolf’s throat. “T-t-the-thannnn-xsssss…” was all he could manage, voice distorted and gruff.

He shook himself, reaching for his moonlight so he could change back for a moment. He hesitated, assuring himself that it would still be there when he changed, that he would turn right back.

And then, the wolf slipped. It had been as easy as blinking: he was human again.

Sam sighed, pulling from his embrace, “Shit, Tucker, I’m sorry about that. You doing okay?”

Danny moved back too, squinting at Tucker, like he was looking at something else.

Tucker beamed regardless, “Thank you guys so much! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Tucker said happily.

Sam’s brows furrowed, “What-“

“What is that?” Danny interrupted.

Tucker was pretty sure he was talking about the pool of moonlight, but instead of explaining, grinned brighter, shifting again.

This time, he dropped on all fours, a wolf again, settling easily. His clothes were still an easy fit like this, but as his ears rounded, his Barrett slipped off. He bounded in circles, prancing in an exaggerated display.

“Ohhhhh!” Danny said as though he’d understood entirely.

“Did we, can you do that when you want?” Sam asked, shocked but putting together the pieces of what they’d done.

Tucker barked once, high agreement, before standing upright again, snatching Sam’s (very stupid) witch hat in his jaws, and sprinting off on all fours.

“Tucker, you-“ He heard Sam start to yell, behind him as he ran giddily, barely catching Danny’s cackles.

He ran, and ran, and ran some more, knowing that he’d have to go home eventually. But, for now, he would be free in this small swift form, so unlike the hulking, graceful thing he became on the full moon.

Tucker bounded on, howling to himself with a feral sort of joy.

Tonight, and for many more to come, Tucker was a wolf. And everything was perfect.

(Until Tucker realized, his strange half form didn’t even have thumbs which mean he still couldn’t use his phone nor laptop, nor his PDA while he was like this. What even was the point-)

[tarhalindur]

2021 NFL Predictions

Man, as someone who occasionally spends too much time thinking about the NFL (football: the closest thing American sports have to a turn-based strategy game) and trying to predict how its season will go it occurs to me: why do all this work in my head and not write it up?  So, here goes nothing:

(Terminology note: “true talent” = estimate of how many games I would expect the team to win given average luck and schedule.  The categories are derived off the old 16-game schedule because that’s what I was drawing off of and I’ll need to see how the new schedule plays to calibrate the break points now: as it is, “Super Bowl contender”: true-talent 12-13 wins or better (in 16 games); “division contender”: 10-12 wins; “wild card contender": 7-10 wins, with 9-10 being “upper end” and 7-8 being “low end”; everyone below that is bad.)

- The AFC South got fucked by the scheduling gods (they drew the AFC East and NFC West, likely the two deepest divisions in the NFL), and I will be quite surprised if any team in it gets a wild card. (Let’s take an upper-case outcome and assume the second-place team in the division sweeps two terrible teams and splits with the division champ.  That’s five wins.  Assume the Jets are terrible too and that’s six.  And then... what?  Barring a Kliff implosion and/or the Rams rolling injuries to the stars on their stars-and-scrubs roster the worst team in the NFC West should be at least true-talent seven wins.  New England could be trash if Mac is bad or gets injured now that Hoyer is their best backup, but otherwise every non-Jets team in the AFC East is true-talent nine wins or better.  Cross-divisional?  Not likely unless the Colts implode due to injuries and Jacksonville does massively better than expected - they get the Bengals and Broncos, and the Falcons might also count depending on whether that team hits its fail states.  The AFC South would even have a hard time benefiting if both the Browns and Chargers implode, because the third place team last year is the one team basically guaranteed to be terrible in Houston.  A wild card isn’t impossible, but it needs a whole lot of dice rolls to go in a team’s favor either on the field or between games - which is by definition not likely.)

- The NFC North also gets an uphill climb to a wild card. They rolled the NFC West, the AFC North, and the new cross-conference against the AFC West, an absolutely brutal set.  Getting a wild card out of that probably needs at least 4-2 in the division (probably needs exactly one of CHI/MIN to implode, though sniping a game off Green Bay also works) and some good fortune either in games that should be close in true talent or in events elsewhere (the easy road involves at least two implosions in CLE/PIT/ARI).

- The AFC East probably gets a wild card.  They rolled the AFC South (likely 2-3 games where you’re heavily favored if you’re even a wild card contender) and the NFC South (admittedly not free, but NO and CAR are both probably winnable and while I’m high on the Falcons they have significant downside risk - there’s also the possibility that Father Time finally gets to the far side of his near-Brady experience), plus the Jets and the new cross-conference game against the NFC East.  Worlds where the AFC East doesn’t get a wild card probably involve both multiple implosions in the AFC North and West and at least one of Coach of the Year Robert Saleh and OROY Zach Wilson.

- The AFC West probably gets a wild card?  They rolled the other likely weak division in the NFC East, which goes a long way, and frankly there’s enough teams with implosion risk in the AFC North and West (CLE, DEN, maybe LAR, maybe PIT) that it’s probably going to happen to someone.

- The NFC East... they’re probably exporting a whole bunch of wins as well?  Not a guarantee, though, I could actually see them get a wild card if there’s enough implosions in either the NFC South or the AFC West.

- The AFC North might be the highest-variance division in football.  If they hit the high end they’re absolutely stacked, but there’s a real risk the Browns are fool’s gold (I think they were a true-talent 8-8 team last year that lucked into one of the easiest schedules in years, the question is how much they improved) and that Father Time gets The Older Rapist enough to knock the Steelers down to a true-talent 8 win team (have a hard time seeing them go further down with Mike Tomlin’s team-building, though admittedly they might underperform that given Tomlin’s occasional issues with not covering certain receivers and looking past bad teams on the road).  One thing’s for sure: I don’t think there’s enough wins for all of the AFC North, AFC West, and NFC North to get wild cars.

- The NFC South has one good team (barring Father Time finally getting Brady, one that should be decent (Payton isn’t a bad coach), and two that could be anywhere from wild-card contenders to outright collapses.  Note that with the Easts and Souths playing each other this year, there’s too many wins for both the NFC East and NFC South to whiff wild cards unless both divisions seriously export wins to the AFC (in which case the AFC North has an uphill climb and there’s a pretty good chance that the AFC East gets two wild cards and the other goes to the AFC West).

(Bonus under the cut: individual team thoughts!)

- Bills: Should be in the playoffs and are the division favorites, but slightly more downside than they’re getting credit for. The problems are twofold: what should have been the second most favorable schedule in the division (because the likely best teams in both the AFC North and NFC East did not finish first last year) is salted by the schedule gods taking away: they draw Pittsburgh in the season opener so are the single most likely team to face a full-strength The Older Rapist, and they draw Washington in September as well maximizing the chance that they get Fitzpatrick before he inevitably turns back into a pumpkin.  (Fitzpatrick playing out of his mind and beating the Bills mostly singlehandedly and getting Team fans’ hopes up before dashing them would be peak Fitzpatrick...)  More to the point, their early schedule is PIT, @MIA, WAS, HOU, @KC, @TEN; it’s not out of the question they start 2-4 or even 1-5 going into the bye if the stars really align against them, and at that point locker room morale becomes a factor.

- Dolphins: Wild card contender (true talent roughly 10 wins), could be more if Tua really develops or the Bills stumble. Good news: they dodge KC and instead get the Raiders in a quite winnable game, on top of the common AFC East schedule, and now they get the Giants (who I suspect are the worst team in the NFC East) as well. More good news: like, the worst Miami is doing against the Pats is a split, right?  Bad news: they face Baltimore.

- Patriots: With Cam gone and Hoyer (a second-tier backup at this point) the presumptive backup the Pats are suddenly one of the highest-variance teams in the league.  If Mac Jones is good immediately they’re a division contender, and if he’s even a competent game manager they’re another true-talent 10-win wild card contender given that run game and possibly that front seven as well. If he’s bad or gets injured, however, they now might very well wind up with a top 10 pick.  Which might actually be part of the point, on top of doing a vet a solid and avoiding any locker room issues?  In a weird sense Belichick is unconstrained by job security in a way no other NFL coach is; he doesn’t have unlimited job security... but he’s also nearly 70, and if the rebuild fails then by the time his seat would really be getting hot he’s probably considering retiring anyways.  So he’s playing with house money.  It’s not likely, but don’t be shocked if the Pats pull what Arizona did a few years back and draft a first-round QB two years in a row - it’s definitely an option if Mac is terrible.

- Jets: Not out of the question as a dark horse if Zach Wilson is good, I’ve been getting good vibes off of Saleh.  Problem is the combination of their division and injury issues; I’m not sure they have the roster to overcome that yet.

- Steelers: Basically covered above.  If Big Ben aka The Older Rapist is still above average they’re a wild card contender or even an outright division contender again; if Father Time gets him and they’re stuck with Mason Rudolph or Dwayne Haskins-level play at QB they probably still win a few games because Mike Tomlin is not a bad coach but they have an uphill climb.

- Baltimore: The one obvious division contender in the AFC North, given a very good quarterback and one of the five best coaches in the league.  Admittedly their OC is potentially a question mark, but they should get back to the playoffs.

- Cleveland: Actually hard to tell.  There’s two offsetting issues here.  First, as mentioned above their schedule was soft as fuck last year and that’s unlikely to still be the case. On the other hand, I think there’s a decent chance they take a step forward this year.  Ceiling is about where their record was last year barring a massive leap, floor is a 7-8 win team unless a bunch of other teams hit their upside at Cleveland’s expense.

- Bengals: Depends on how good and/or healthy Burrow is, but they probably finish last in the division regardless.  Low-end wild card contender if everything goes right?

- Titans: The one team in the AFC South that should actually be good.  Exactly how good depends on things like “did they overuse Derrick Henry last year?” and “is the defense any good at all?”, but the fail state here is a true-talent wild card contender in a likely soft division.

- Colts: Depends on two questions: can they get Wentz back to anything resembling 2018 form, and do they keep getting bit by the injury bug?  AFAICT the core roster is of the classic “quarterback away” type with good D and a decent running game (see also this year: Denver, Washington, possibly Carolina, Pats if Mac Jones doesn’t pan out).  The best case is that they can reclaim Wentz and the injury bug is done with them for the year, in which case they challenge TEN for the division.  Worst case Wentz is bad and/or injured and half their roster is on IR, in which case they get a top-10 pick and the AFC East and NFC West are even more likely to get wild cards than they were already.

- Texans: Obvious tire fire, and not just on the field at this point.  Problem is the tire fire includes both the new owner and his favorite exec, so they’re likely to remain a tire fire for a while...

- Jaguars: Probably depends on how good Trevor Lawrence is and how quickly, especially since I suspect Urban Meyer is at higher-than-usual risk of flaming out.  Best case they’re a true-talent 8 win team that might manage to take advantage of a soft-ish schedule to challenge for the seventh seed.  Otherwise look for them to export wins.

- Chiefs: Obvious Super Bowl contender is obvious, barring a Mahomes injury they’re the presumptive division favorite and near-locks for the playoffs.

- Raiders: I’m high on Carr (solid Tier 2 quarterback IMO, on par with someone like Tannehill and I’d take him over Kirk Cousins - and probably Baker Mayfield, too, though maybe not since Mayfield has less track record and thus higher upside).  I’m considerably less sold on Gruden, and have doubts about what he’s done to the roster.  Still should be a wild-card contender.

- Chargers: How much of last year’s late-season run was fool’s gold?  Not sure.  Could be all, could be none.  IIRC they replaced their head coach, so that hole is at least possibly filled.  Herbert is probably good, though I want another season of track record to be confident.  The real problem here is that they still seem to be connected to some Indian burial ground somewhere.  Upside is division contender, downside is 6 wins or so.

- Broncos: QB-away team in a bad division for it.  At least they get the NFC East, but I suspect they finish out of the playoffs again this year.

(Interlude: A general thing to note about the NFC is that due to two QB injuries and one QB retirement there is exactly one team that finished first place in their division last year that I expect to be the best true-talent team in their division this year.  Worse, due to the aforementioned injuries two teams I expect to be the best or at worst second-best in their divisions finished third and fourth in their divisions last year, respectively.  This is throwing a giant monkey wrench in the usual SOS-based scheduling balance.)

- Football Team: The Football Team has the kind of defense that’s a characteristic of the QB-away team.  There’s two differences between the Team and the usual suspect, however.  First, I’m not entirely sure how good their line and thus running game will be. Second, and more importantly, the usual QB-away team has a consistently mediocre medium-to-high floor, low-ceiling quarterback. The Football Team, by way of contrast, has Ryan Fitzpatrick, arguably the single highest-variance QB of the last two decades, a man who will absolutely win you games you should have lost… and lose you games you should have won.  Also, he’s in his upper 30s and thus at risk of Father Time coming for his NFL career.  So, the questions: how many games do you get Fitzmagic and how many do you get Fitztragic?  If the usual cycle applies, when exactly does he turn back into a pumpkin?  And is the division + the lower end of the NFC South soft enough that it doesn’t matter?

- Giants: Probably the worst team in their division, and my pick for the most likely second-worst team in the NFC.  I don’t like Daniel Jones, I don’t like most of the rest of the roster, and their coach is unimpressive.

- Cowboys: Remember those quarterback injuries I was talking about?  Right.  The ‘Boys are not without flaws – the defense is notoriously questionable (though by preseason reports they may actually have drafted a difference-maker of a linebacker this year) and Mike McCarthy may well be a downgrade compared to Jason Garrett.  But barring another injury (eyes Dak’s shoulder nervously) they have a QB (I’m a bit low on Dak relative to most people, but in this case “low” still means a Tier 2 quarterback roughly on par with Derek Carr), and they should have an offense.  Barring a Jalen Hurts breakout or Fitzpatrick rolling Fitzmagic for most of the year, with a healthy Dak this is at worst a wild-card contender in a weak division and thus the presumptive favorites for the division title.

- Eagles: Oof.  This team is hard to judge, mostly because AFAICT they’re a weird superposition of potentially very good and potentially complete trash (that’s also spelled “very high variance”).  The issues are twofold: they have a largely untested starting quarterback who was roughly average last year but might develop (the aforementioned Hurts), and they have quite a few very good but aging players on the roster.  Best case, Hurts plays like a Tier 2 or even Tier 1 quarterback, the rest of the roster holds, and they’re in contention for the division title and/or a wild card slot.  Worst case, Hurts is meh, the vets fall off or get injured… and then next year might be even worse because at that point you probably need a rebuilding year even if they hit this year’s draft picks.

- Packers: There’s risk here, mostly of the forms “simmering issues blow up the locker room” and “age and/or injury sap Aaron Rodgers and Jordan Love is meh or worse”.  But Aaron Rodgers is one of the five best quarterbacks in the NFL until proven otherwise, and both the coach and the rest of the roster are at least decent, so barring those the Packers should be at worst a division contender with Super Bowl aspirations ala the Ravens.

- Chicago: Uh.  Hmm.  I like the Fields pick, gut says he’s a pretty solid bet at a Tier 2 quarterback of some description barring catastrophic injury.  IIRC the D is still good.  But I do not like that O-line, and I do not like that schedule, and I’m not a big fan of Coach Nagy either.  In the NFC East or AFC South the Bears would have at least a decent chance at the playoffs.  Here?  Not so much. It’s not impossible the Bears do well, but I think a top-10 draft pick is more likely.

- Vikings: Hmm.  By true talent the Vikings are probably a wild-card contender in the same vein as the mid-2010s Bengals.  That’s not quite a good comparison, because I’ve got Zimmer as probably a top-10 coach and those Bengals lacked that.  But the rest fits: solid if aging roster (ala the later Dalton Bengals years), overpaid mediocre QB.  Yeah, I’m low on Cousins; IMO he’s a high-floor, low-ceiling type that gets overrated by analytics, the second coming of Matt Schaub.  He’s a solid choice if you want to win 10-12 games (maybe 13 now) and have a shot at the conference championships, but I’ll be very surprised if he ever wins a Super Bowl as a starter. The problem for the Vikes is that they’re in the NFC North and therefore their schedule sucks balls.

- Lions: They’re rebuilding and their schedule is one of the roughest in the NFL.  They might surprise someone early before the lack of talent really shows, IIRC I’ve heard about that happening once before with a Dan Campbell team, but this team is playing for a top-5 draft pick and they’re probably going to get it.

- Saints: Actually really hard for me to tell, mostly because I can’t tell how good the non-QB parts of the roster are this year relative to last.  They’ve lost a HoF quarterback, and while Jameis has seasoning and a possible QB whisperer now I suspect his ceiling is still a high variance high ceiling, low floor type in the Fitzpatrick mold (absolute peak might be Eli mk. II).  Payton is one of the better coaches in the NFL but finished 8-8 with Brees for multiple years.  That said, the Saints’ roster last year was better than it was in those years, especially on defense.  Question: is that still the same this year?  Don’t know; the Saints took non-Brees losses, but I’m not sure how much.  Peak is a true-talent wild card team if Jameis is above average and the rest of the roster is good; fail state is probably 6-7 wins by true talent.

- Buccaneers: Let’s be real, this boils down to a single question, the same one we’ve all been asking for over half a decade now: “is this the year Father Time finally comes for Tom Brady?”.  At this point I’ll believe it when I see it.  And even if yes they’re probably still a playoff team, because the rest of the Buccs roster is still the best in the division and the schedule gods once again blessed Tom Brady’s team with a weak slate of foes – the entire rest of the NFC South has issues, they get the NFC East, and by finishing second-place in the division last year the Buccs get Chicago, the Rams, and now the Colts as their SOS-dependent opponents.  The AFC East with the probable exception of the Jets will be tough (but even there the Buccs luck out – they rolled New England early, and even without a possible Mac Jones adjustment period even if he’s good the first month for the Belichick-era Patriots has often been an adjustment period as the team figures out what’s working and what isn’t) and the Rams should be as well (here the schedule gods frown, the Buccs rolled the Rams early – a lot of the Rams’ downside is injury-related volatility, drawing them early minimizes the chance of this happening prior to this game), but even then the Buccs don’t look severely disfavored in any game and everything else looks very winnable and would even if Brady declines to 2015!Peyton.

- Panthers: I’m not going to lie, I actually rather like the Darnold gamble in a vacuum.  If you’re betting on anyone in the NFL to pull another Tannehill he’s the one, because I’ve gotten the same vibe off him that I got off Tannehill on the Dolphins: possible tier-2 QB held back by coaching (and the same coach, no less).  The problem is, I think he might be better off as a backup behind a mediocre starter for a little while to regain confidence the same way Tannehill was, and instead he’s getting thrown straight into the fire again.  (Also, Fields was available, and Mac Jones too though I’m not sure the Panthers would have been a good place for him to develop.)  The rest of the roster is another QB-away team with a likely very solid defense, Christian McCaffrey, and IIRC an O-line that is at least decent.

- Falcons: Possible sleeper team.  The Falcons have one major advantage that people keep forgetting about: barring a major breakout from one of Jameis and The Darnold, they have at worst the second-best QB in the division, potentially even the best if Father Time gets Brady but not Ryan.  And that’s not damning with faint praise; at his peak I had him as the best Tier 2 quarterback and roughly sixth-best in the NFL overall, that MVP year was not a fluke. He’s just been saddled with bad coaching and bad rosters and been unable to overcome that, which I can’t blame him for given all those 8-8 years for the Brees/Payton Saints in the mid-2010s.  Good news: Dan Quinn is gone, and the schedule this year is soft (49ers game aside).  As I noted above there’s probably a wild card sloshing around for the NFC South and NFC East, and I would not be surprised in the slightest if the Falcons got it.

- Seahawks: … We know the book on the Seahawks by now, right? Top-5 quarterback in the NFL (and of the three I would take over Russ on the field itself, two are old enough for Father Time to be a real concern and the last is testing exactly how bad off-field issues have to be to make a Tier 1 quarterback unemployable in the NFL), average roster otherwise, coach who is average at worst.  That’s been a true-talent division contender for the last half-decade, and barring injury or locker room issues blowing up I see no reason why that would change this year.

- Rams: High variance, for a very specific reason.  The roster, as constructed, is a wild-card contender, or possibly more if Stafford really goes off.  The problem is that due to spending first-round draft picks like candy and not getting enough out of the later rounds to make up for it, this is (as noted above) very much a stars-and-scrubs roster.  And the thing about a stars-and-scrubs roster is that it’s vulnerable in a way that a roster with more depth isn’t; if a star gets injured, your team is facing a massive drop-off in performance.

- Cardinals: Honestly, unless Kliff hits one of his downsides (can’t adjust now that defenses figured out last year’s offense and/or loses the locker room) then by true talent this is probably a low-end wild-card contender at worst (~8 wins).  The problem is, in the NFC West that makes you the worst true-talent team in the division…

- 49ers: So, let’s just point out the obvious: last year was a case study in just how badly a possible true-talent Super Bowl contender has to get injured in order to get a top-10 pick. Admittedly part of that is that Jimmy G. sure seems to merit the injury-prone label at this point, which is why the 49ers traded up for another QB, but the rest of it is just extremely bad luck and that’s unlikely to persist year-to-year.  This is probably the best team in the NFC West, which is saying something.  (Unfortunately for them, Shanahan is in the Reid/Tomlin bucket and his weaknesses as a game coach make an actual Superb Owl an uphill climb.)

Bonus: Thoughts on the new QB class!

Trevor Lawrence: There’s obvious sample size issues, but quarterback prospects that highly rated haven’t busted in at least 30-40 years (Luck, Peyton, and Elway were all stars).  He’s probably gonna be good.

Zach Wilson: Man, I was all ready to write The Other Wilson off as another LOLJets bust after the draft and then he played well in preseason and Saleh actually looks like the first competent coach the Jets have hired in a while (which may still not help him keep his job because the AFC East is now nuts).  We’ll see if that holds during the regular season; among other things he has the misfortune of playing Belichick in week 2.

Trey Lance: So far looks to be talented as fuck and also raw as fuck.  Shanahan seems to be pretty good at developing quarterbacks?

Justin Fields: I’ve gotten future Tier 2 quarterback vibes off him ever since he was drafted; the problem is he’s on the Bears, with questionable coaching and at least this year what looks like a terrible O-line as well.  Possible next Stafford here?

Mac Jones: People don’t understand the probability curve here – the risk with Mac isn’t the ceiling, it’s the very good but not great outcomes.  He got a first-round draft grade despite  physical limitations, and he’s almost certainly not just being carried by his school – possibly even the opposite given the talent argument and Bama QBs’ track records.  To me, that says he’s a one-tool player whose tool is the mental tool.  And of all the QB tools that is by far the most important.  So, the question: does that tool play in the NFL?  If no, he’s probably a third-tier quarterback at best.  If yes?  Well, in that case there’s a very real chance he’s a Hall of Famer.

[crimsonrae]

Bear and Birdie

Chapter One

Summary: AU Howard only ever had Birdie to confide in as a child and Steve only ever had Bucky. So, what happens when more than just a supersoldier serum connects these people? Told in a collection of one-shots and flashbacks, rating subject to change.

Bucky BarnesxOFC

Rating: Mature

A/N: Okay I have this posted on FF and haven’t updated it in a... long time, but I’m going to post here and hope I find inspiration to finish their story, because they live in my mind and I love them.

Chapter One

1935 Brooklyn, New York

It was quiet.

But...it wasn't the world is just silent right now quiet. It was heavy, just shy of tangible.

James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his friends, frowned at the silence unsure why the quiet unsettled him that morning. The sun drifted through the cloudy windows of Saint Catherine's Lost Home for Boys in a hazy laziness that only seemed to add to the heavy silence of the lobby. It was almost oppressive. He bit back a sigh as he turned his attention to the paperwork he needed to fill out, lightly twirling a pen through his fingers as he read.

Official release documents – at eighteen-years-old James Barnes could no longer and would no longer be considered a ward of the great state of New York.

Bucky had known this day would come, had known he would have to say goodbye to the only stable home he ever had. He had thought he would feel angry about this day or maybe sad. He had thought he would feel something more than a slight dread and muted indifference. Maybe it was the fact that he knew the orphanage could never be a true home, a place to come back to when life became too much as he grew older. Hell, when he had arrived he hadn't intended to stay as long as he had, it was just…it was just the world seemed to have other plans for him.

If he was being completely honest with himself, the orphanage had stopped being home over a year ago. Maybe that was why he felt so indifferent to this whole process.

The lack of funding that Saint Cat's had received in the past few years had caused Bucky to ease away from the system long before it was ready to release him. The parish fought for every penny to feed and dress the growing number of children under its care. Yet, he hadn't felt right taking those meals and clothes when he knew he could take care of himself. He had spent his spare time working odd shifts down at the docks and at various diners in the area. Whatever work he could find he would take. He probably would have dropped out of school, if not for his entirely too lecture-friendly best friend - Steve Rogers would drag him off to class whenever necessary. James smirked, he had graduate by the skin of his teeth and he knew it. School was for the smart cats like Steve, not dumb bastards like him.

Not dumb bastards like him.

The paperwork seemed to glare up at him in stark black and white confirmation of that thought. James sighed resignedly, not entirely sure where his head was at as he finally lifted his hand to scrawl messily across the bottom of the page.

It was official now – he was no longer a lost boy, only a lost man. He snorted quietly, somehow that seemed far worse.

A muffled cough disturbed the oppressive silence and made Bucky blink up from his release papers directly into the sad green eyes of Sister Madeleine. He had forgotten she had been waiting for him to finish. The old Sister seemed to fade into the framework of the lobby. Always a part of the structure, but infinitely her own. Bucky pushed a small smile to his lips as he handed her the papers. Neither seemed to want to disturb the odd silence of the lobby as they waited for the other to speak. They didn't have to – the sound of shallow steps and a light grunt caught their ears as they turned toward the hallway entrance. Bucky nearly rolled his eyes.

"Stevie, what're you doing?" James sighed tiredly as he watched his best friend trudge into the lobby of the orphanage carrying a duffel that was almost as big as him.

The shorter blonde sent James a pointed look that said he shouldn't be surprised. In truth, Bucky wasn't. He had half-expected Steve to show up at the boarding house with a room key already in hand. In their almost decade long friendship and adopted brotherhood there wasn't much that Steve Rogers could do that Bucky didn't see coming, "You didn't seriously think I would stay here with Richie Long and Herman Dutt, did you?"

Bucky didn't even blink at the mention of Steve's long time tormentors, knowing it was a smokescreen. He merely quirked a brow, "And here I thought you three had made nice."

Steve snorted, "There's making nice and then there's being friendly, Buck." He paused as he ruffled through his coat to pull out paperwork that looked suspiciously like the documents that Bucky had just signed before handing them over to Sister Madeleine, "Sides, it's not like I'd be staying here much longer."

Bucky frowned as Steve glanced at him with a sly smile and certain spark in his blue eyes. Steve had at least another ten months before his release papers would need to be signed. He pursed his lips in question when the light bulb finally went on, "You got it. You got the scholarship."

Steve nodded almost shyly and Bucky just about crowed. Somehow, Steve had managed to graduate a year early with Bucky. James hadn't questioned it. He knew how determined his best friend could be and that he was smart enough to understand all the extra work. But the scholarship to Columbia...The scholarship had been a goal of Steve's since they had started high school. Bucky knew it had to do with a promise Steve had made to his mother before she passed...but Columbia.

Suddenly, leaving Saint Cat's didn't seem as unsettling. He grinned widely at his friend as he snatched his duffel up from the ground. Once again forgetting Sister Madeleine's presence as he nudged Steve in the shoulder, "This calls for a celebration. Let's go get some breakfast down at Mel's."

"We can't afford Mel's." Steve stated dryly as he followed Bucky's lead, unable to keep his small prideful smile from his lips.

Bucky just chuckled, "I think Cassie is working this morning. She'll get us something. We're celebrating Stevie. Man, you just got into Columbia. You'll be rubbing elbows with the blue-bloods soon enough."

"God, I hope not." Steve muttered amused. He tried not to shake his head at Bucky's excitement. He hadn't even been that happy when he received his acceptance letter, but it was good to see that smile. He hadn't seen Bucky smile at much lately. Swallowing tightly as the duo stepped outside he reached into the side of his bag and pulled out an envelope, "Here."

James frowned curiously as he took the wrinkled envelope. There wasn't paper inside. The contents too bulky and hard in his grasp, "What's this?"

But even as he asked, his fingers were prying open the flap to let loose two brass keys. He knew these keys. Steve almost fidgeted in place as he met Bucky's sharp gaze, "Aunt Mabel never sold Mom's apartment... just packed up and headed home to Oklahoma after...well after. And we need a place, so."

"Stevie..." Bucky started, unsure what he wanted to say, but knowing he should say something. Sarah Rogers had died in her apartment after a long drawn out battle with a sickness that he could barely understand. He couldn't see Steve living there...not after everything, "We can find another place."

"Like where, Buck? The boarding house you've been going to?" Steve pushed stodgily, "A roof is a roof, right? I can deal."

"The boarding house ain't so bad." Bucky murmured tiredly, because he couldn't quiet see Steve living there either.

Steve shrugged, he wouldn't admit that he didn't want to live in his mom's old run down box of an apartment, but he also wasn't ready to sell it yet. He hadn't even finished going through her things and she had passed over two years ago, "The apartment ain't so bad either, jerk."

James had a few reservations about that statement, but he wouldn't fight about it with Steve. Not now, maybe not ever. Instead he rolled his eyes and slung his arm around Steve's shoulder, "So, how long have you known about the scholarship, ya punk?"

"A week."

"A week? You didn't tell me for a week? You really are a punk, you know that?"

Steve snickered, "I think you'll get over it."

"Nah, we have a week worth of celebration to do now." Bucky said boastfully as he pushed his thoughts and Steve's away from Sarah Rogers.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes as he held in a groan. He had a week of Bucky trying to drag him out to a club or with a girl now. It wasn't the worst fate in the world, but he was sure it would be the most exhausting. The two sniped at each other as they walked. Their feet automatically moving where they needed.

The duo made it halfway to Mel's Diner when Steve snorted and nudged his friend, "Hey Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Birthday."

         ●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

1935 Kingston, New York

It was an unbearably hot morning. The sun seemed to be reminding the world that it was a giant ball of burning gas. Well maybe not the world, but the heat was definitely making its presence known to the small group segregated in a cemetery just outside of Kingston. Elena Turner stifled a sigh as she tried not to tug at the sleeves of her mourning dress. The satiny material didn't breathe and was beginning to cling to her skin…she wished the preacher would talk faster, this farce of a funeral needed to be over. She felt her cousin shift uncomfortably next to her and knew that he too was becoming impatient. She couldn't help, but turn to look at him. His eyes were glazed red and glaring miserably at the wooden coffin perched before them. He had foregone any pretense at being composed and was pulling clumsily at his collar.

Elena supposed it was for the best, Howard was supposed to be playing the role of the grieving son. She doubted that anyone, but herself and a few servants, knew that his pallid complexion and bloodshot eyes were the result from a night of drinking in celebration, rather than crying in sorrow. He was beyond hungover and the strange heat was doing nothing to make him better. She only hoped that he wouldn't do something incredibly…stupid.

"Stop fidgeting." Elena warned quietly, "There are more than enough people staring at you."

"I think I'm going to throw up." Howard murmured uneasily as he continued to pull at his collar. He could care less about the people watching him. He had spent the past week in a wild state of relief, shock and horror and it was almost over. As soon as the coffin was in the ground, he could move on.

"Please don't." Elena said with a small grimace, "I told you not to drink so much last night."

He rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it as the sensation of a million needles pierced his skull, "How was I supposed to know it would be such a wretched morning? Isn't it supposed to rain at funerals?...God, I'm dying."

"You're not dying, you big baby. Besides, I think the world is rather happy that your father is no longer in it, I know I am." Elena muttered lightly as she watched the preacher finally close his bible and step back from the coffin to let the gravediggers have access.

Howard nearly cried in relief at the sight of the slightly grungy men, "Give me a break. The only person mourning daddy dearest is your mother."

As if the woman in question could hear his words from across the aisle of folding chairs, Vitoria Turner, sister of Howard Stark Senior, let out an awful screeching sob. Elena was sure the entire congregation cringed at the sound as she tried to hold back a groan of disgust. She could see her older brother, Fergus, quickly coming to her mother's aid with a handkerchief. It wasn't even eleven in the morning and already the day was too long.

"Think she'll still be crying when she finds out that father left her out of his will?" Her cousin murmured amusedly as he watched the spectacle his aunt was making.

"Yes, except then the tears will be real." Elena muttered dryly as she turned her attention back to the lowering of the casket. She honestly didn't want to think about her mother receiving that news. The woman was intolerable on a good day; on a bad day, Vitoria Turner could make Satan cry, "Can I stay with you when that happens?"

Howard sent her a sympathetic look, "Do you even have to ask, Birdie? You're always welcome in my home." He tugged at his collar again, "My God, what is with this heat? It's barely even May. I swear this is my father's doing. He's making sure I'm miserable even when he's gone."

"Don't say that!" Elena whispered harshly as she went pale at the thought of her uncle still having any influence on the world.

She sensed Howard's sharp eyes studying her and suddenly felt her stomach roll with silent shame. He hadn't been the only one to have a tumultuous week. She had been bouncing between the same emotions he had, the only difference was that Elena knew they would not be able to move on as easily as her cousin seemed to think. Her eyes drifted back towards the rectangular hole in the ground, and suddenly, her dress wasn't the only thing unable to breathe. What had she done?

As if he knew what she was thinking, Howard quickly grasped her hand and squeezed her fingers. Her blue gaze quickly snapped to him, but all Howard could do was shake his head. Don't fall apart now, he was silently trying to tell her. Not yet.

"Where's that flask you snatched this morning?" He whispered instead, no longer meeting her stare. If he had, then he would have seen the exasperated disbelief that sparked in her blue orbs.

"I'm not giving you anymore alcohol."

Howard bit back a smile as he heard the annoyance coating her voice. However, he hadn't been asking for the flask for himself to use, but for her. Elena could use a little alcohol to calm her nerves. He turned to explain this to her, but was only able to get his mouth open when another resounding screech was heard from the other side of the aisle as the mourners began to stand for final farewells.

Elena glared at him, "If I have to deal with my mother sober, then so do you."

Howard wisely kept his mouth shut and stood to receive the forming line of condolence wishes. Suddenly, he wished she had given him the flask. In a perfect world, he would not have had to arrange a funeral at the age of sixteen. His eyes drifted toward the now lowered casket that had induced Elena's minor panic moments before, but then he should not have killed his father either. His hands went clammy and the headache he had been nursing all morning seemed to become even more unbearable. He just needed to get past today. A moment later, he felt Elena come to his side. Her hand lightly tapped his elbow to let him know that she was there if he needed her. He smiled gratefully at her.

"Uncle Leo is here." Elena whispered as he began to shake hands, "He'll take us back to the house once we're done here."

Howard nodded his understanding as he spared another glance toward his father's grave. As he glanced back at the mourners, he caught Elena's gaze. A look of grim understanding passed between them.

No one could know.

Next Chapter

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[soldieronbarnes]

Malec prompt - My homophobic parents are coming to visit will you pretend to date me as an extra “fuck you”?

Uhhh this…..completely got away from me? It’s a lot longer and a lot angstier than it was supposed to be….sorry? Not sorry? idk.

___

“Okay, what is wrong withyou?”

The question - and particularly the accusingtone of it - shakes Alec out of his stupor. It’s a testament to how out of ithe is that the only response he manages is an intelligent “huh?” 

He blinks, shaking his head to clear his head,but in the end, Magnus Bane is still standing in front of him, a stack of bookshugged to his chest and eyebrows raised and it’s - well, it’s a lot. It’s alwaysa lot, to be the focus of his attention, to be faced with his….everything:his incandescent beauty, his razor sharp wit and brilliant mind, his smoothcharm or his biting contempt. 

Alec flounders. Magnus Bane is the secret starof all his late-night fantasies, his verbal sparring partner in their shared Introduction to Clave Law class andall-around thorn in Alec’s side. 

They snipe at each other a lot.

What they don’t do is talkoutside of class.

Alec quickly runs through a mental inventory ofthings he might have done to offend Magnus so horrendously that he’s corneringhim in the corridor, eyes blazing, and comes up empty. Unless his mouthdeveloped a mind of its own in the last sixty minutes, there’s nothing he couldhave possibly said. And if there’s one thing that Alec knows how to do is makesure nothing unintended ever slips out of his mouth, to keep his closelyguarded secrets.

“I didn’t do anything,” Alec defendshimself. 

“Exactly,” Magnus says irritably. 

“I don’t follow,” Alec admits. 

“You didn’t participate once this session.What, do you want to tell me the professor can drone on and on about thelegitimacy of Downworlder discrimination and you don’t have an opinion on that?No raising your hand to offer your…..valuable insights?”

“What, are you my professor now?” Alec says,snippy. “I don’t need lectures from you on how active participation is abig part of the final grade.”

“That’s not why I’m asking.”

The last thing he needs right now is picking afight with Magnus, but he can’t help it. “Why are you asking?I’m sure you enjoy class less when you don’t have a convenient punching bag foryour arguments, but newsflash: I don’t owe you an explanation on why I don’twanna engage in that. It’s not like it’s any of your business.” 

“Well, I’m sorry for stepping on your toes byexpressing my concern for your general well-being,” Magnus snaps. “GuessI’ll remove my lowly Downworlder self from your presence before I leave a stainon your perfect reputation or something.”

For the third time in their brief conversation,Alec is completely thrown. “I - that’s not - what?” 

Now that he sees actual fury on Magnus’handsome face, covering up a brief flash of something that looked almost likegenuine hurt, he realises that the expression Magnus wore before was lessfurious and more….furiously concerned. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this confusedin his life.

“Magnus, wait!” He struggles to catch up withMagnus’ quick strides – he has a head start, and he’s surprisingly tall, but inthe end, as they’re hurrying down the deserted corridor that leads to the notoriouslyill-tempered professor Fell’s office, Alec’s freakishly long legs win out. “Magnus,will you just –“

He grabs him by the biceps, and Magnus whirlsaround faster than lightning. To his credit, he doesn’t punch Alec in the face.Maia, he knows, would have had a much more violent reaction to being seizedlike this. Most Downworlders would – recent attempts to smooth things overbetween the different factions in the Shadow World haven’t done much to assuagerational fears and suspicions based on several centuries of near constantoppression and maltreatment.

“Sorry, I – sorry,” he blurts out, quicklywithdrawing his hand. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not contagious, despite whatyour precious Clave might tell you,” Magnus sneers.

“Can you just stop for a second?” Alec snaps. “Don’tput words in my mouth!”

“Why would I?”

“I’m trying to apologise here!”

That seems to take Magnus aback. “For what?”

Alec takes a deep breath. “I – don’t reallyknow what’s going on here,” he admits, waving his hand around in what he hopesis a sufficiently all-encompassing gesture. “I mean, we don’t really….talk, andI guess I was confused and had my hackles up, because I was having a shit dayanyways but – none of that is your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out onyou. So I’m sorry.”

Magnus cocks his head. “I appreciate thethought, but as you so astutely pointed out, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I did owe you the apology, though.”

Magnus hums contemplatively, and, against allodds, lingers. Alec knows a challenge when he sees one, or maybe it’s aninvitation – he’s misjudged Magnus’ intentions before. He doesn’t really wantto talk about it but – well, if he’s honest, it does grate on him to not havehis siblings around, constantly needling him until he talks about what’sbothering him, and he doesn’t really have friends here to confide in.

He’s been told that friendships often formbetween roommates just by virtue of being stuck with one person in closequarters for a long time, but his roommate Raj is a grade-a asshole, and otherthan that, his options are limited; there aren’t many Shadowhunters here, andthose that do attend generally think he’s insane for being the only one Nephilimvoluntarily choosing to go to thefirst integrated college when he was good enough to attend theShadowhunter-only and highly acclaimed Idris Academy. The Downworlders, on theother hand, who make up a majority of the student body, are all understandablywary and tend to avoid him when they can. He’s cordial enough with a lot ofpeople, but there’s no one he would say he’s actually close to. He’s gettingthere with Maia, he thinks, who’s brazen enough to yell at him and so fargrudgingly impressed by the lack of times he’s given her an actual incentive tostart a fistfight.

So maybe it’s a need for connection, or maybeit’s the fact that Magnus is everything Alec isn’t while simultaneouslyprobably one of the few people who might understand, that causes Alec to talk.

“Campus tours are next week.”

“I’m aware,” Magnus replies, raising hiseyebrows at the sort of non-sequitur.

“My siblings are thinking about going here aswell and – that means the whole family is coming. Including my parents.”

“I take it that will not be a joyous reunion?”

“Uh, no. They’re still angry with me for not goingto Idris like they wanted and –“ Alec hesitates briefly, and then decides tonot give a fuck. The truth is going to be out there soon one way or another. “Andeven angrier with my ruining the marriage they had arranged for me.”

The first, he had been able to mostly explainaway with logical arguments about Shadowhunter politics – if he was supposed tolead an Institute one day and work with Downworlders, he’d need to get a betterunderstanding of them, especially in the changing political climate. The latter– not so much.

Magnus looks almost at a loss for words. “It ismy understanding that arranged marriages are so traditional for Shadowhuntersthat they are virtually unavoidable,” he says cautiously.

“Basically.”

“Another way for you to rebel, then?” Magnussuggests. “Fighting for more freedom of choice?”

Alec shakes his head. “It’s not the arrangementpart that I couldn’t handle. I know my duties, my responsibilities, that’s not –that wasn’t the problem. Many of the couples end up kind of happy, anyway.”

“What part disagreed with you that much, then?”Magnus asks softly. He can probably see where this is going, judging by the wayhe’s now clearly careful of his words and by the way his entire demeanour seemsto soften.

He takes a deep breath, and steels himself. Hishands are trembling, which is stupid – everyone on campus knows that MagnusBane will judge you for pretty much everything, but not for this.  There’s no one else around – everyone knows tomake a wide berth around professor Fell’s office at all times. “The part whereI was supposed to marry a woman.”

Magnus goes to say something, but Alec barrels on.He’s not sure he could stand to hear some supposedly affirming and supportiveplatitudes right now. “They’ll forgive me for the choice of college eventually,I guess, but – not that. Don’t – please don’t say you’re sorry or whatever.Just – it’s just the way it is. I’ll deal with it.”

Magnus accepts that with a nod, and remainsquiet for a long moment. “So what’s the plan?” is what he eventually asks.

It’s not the question Alec was expecting. “Sorry?”

“For the upcoming visit of hell,” Magnusclarifies.

Alec shakes his head. “There is no plan. Getthrough it, I guess. Izzy and Jace will try to intervene when things get out ofhand or take some of the family heat if possible, but there isn’t much thatwill stop them.” He shrugs a little helplessly.

“So what, you’re just going to keep your head downand take it?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Magnus says quietly. “It just doesn’tseem like your style. You don’t generally strike me as the type of person to letsomething like this slide without a fight.”

“How would you know?” Alec asks, and oh, he’sgetting defensive again now.

Magnus doesn’t take the bait this time. “Alexander,”he says, “as much as we disagree on howthings should change, or how quickly steps must be taken, I haven’t ever seenyou defend a bigoted law or damaging stereotypes. Why are you willing to defendpeople like me from people like your parents, but not yourself?”

Oh, but he had forgotten how scarily perceptiveMagnus can be. “It probably won’t even be that bad,” Alec says, desperatelytrying to deflect. “I’m sure they’ll just use the fact that I’m single to arguethat I’m just confused and will change my mind and it’ll be fine once theyconvince themselves of that.”

For a brief moment, Magnus looks angry. He doesn’tthink anyone but his siblings has ever been angry on his behalf. It’s a strangeexperience. “Sounds like you need a boyfriend to show off to them to stop thatludicrous line of thinking once and for all.”

“Well, I don’t have a boyfriend, so –“

“You could have a boyfriend,” Magnus sayseasily.

Alec snorts. “Yeah, right. Magnus, half thepeople at school won’t even look at me, and I’m not really good at this kind ofthing anyway. Plus, even if I didfind someone to go out with me – who’d want to meet my parents after a week?”

“It wouldn’t need to be real.”

“What, like, hire someone? No one would go forthat, and if I have to pay someone to date me – well, I’d rather spare myselfthat particular humiliation.”

Magnus bites his lip, almost nervously. “Iwould do it,” he offers hesitantly.

Alec stares.

“For free, even,” Magnus adds. “I’m always infavour of sticking it to homophobic and racist bigots.”

“Uh,” Alec says dumbly. “You do know who myparents are, right?”

“The Lightwoods are rather famous, yes,” Magnus says drily.

“Then you know how they’d react to –“ Wordsfail him. He can only weakly gesture between the two of them.

Magnus smiles bitterly. “They are rather famousfor that as well, so yes.”

“Why would you –“ Alec falters. “Why would youwillingly subject yourself to that? Why would anyone – I mean, they’re my family, it’s not like I have a choice – but you shouldn’t have tosuffer through that. Not ever and – you get enough crap from Shadowhunterswithout painting a huge, deliberate target on your back for me.”

In front of him, Magnus’ eyes hold an infinitesadness that threatens to choke Alec. “You know,” he muses, “when I first heardthat the Lightwood heir was going to go the same school as me, I was expecting –well, I was expecting many things, none of them pleasant. But you – I don’tthink I could have predicted a single thing about you. At every turn, youcontinue to surprise me. Look – “ he continues, “if you don’t want to go for itbecause it’s – too much for you, I get it. But if you’re only turning me downto protect me, don’t bother. I don’t need anyone to protect me. There’s nothingthey could say to me that I haven’t heard a thousand times before.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Alec argues hotly.“You shouldn’t have to hear it at all.”

“And neither should you,” Magnus points out. “ButI can assure you, in my experience, if it can’t be avoided, then it’s easier ifyou have someone there to help you through it, to have your back. You don’thave to do everything alone, Alec.”

It’s – it’s too much. The magnitude of Magnus’offer sends him reeling. Even worse is the heady feeling of being judged byMagnus Bane and being found worthy when that notion of getting his approval isutterly ludicrous to him. Magnus shouldn’t choose him. Not like this, not ever,maybe. When Alec had run after him he’d at best expected a chance to extend an olivebranch that would help them get back to the way things were. A part of himthink he shouldn’t even be contemplating it, but –

It would be so good to not be alone in this,for once.

He draws in a shaky breath. “It’d be ugly,” hewarns.

Magnus’ smile is small and lopsided, but it’s there.“Fighting for something important usually is.”

“Right.”

“Do you have class now?”

Alec blinks at the sudden change of topic. “Notuntil five.”

“Then how about we get some coffee and just –talk, figure things out?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, that sounds good.”

Magnus’s smile widens, soft and sweet andgenuine. It’s the first full smile he’s ever directed and Alec, and Alec thinks– if he just keeps smiling at him like that, then Alec can do anything, getthrough everything the world and his parents throw at him.

His heart is fluttering in his chest, and itfeels a lot like hope.

[innerpostmentality]

The Return of Mr & Mrs Sinclaire – Part III A Rose By Any Other Name

A Choices Desire & Decorum based AU fanfic All rights to characters and settings from the Desire & Decorum fiction belong to Pixelberry Studios Featuring: Rose Sinclair, Luke Harper, Caiden Lykel (oc), Marina Burke (oc) Rating: PG-13   Warning: Captivity, Language Word count: Long post around 3446 This takes place after Part II - The Fire Tags: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde @ritachacha @hellooliviaolivia @paisleylovergirl @allaboutchoices @regencylady1810​   Rose was bounced hard against the floor of the wagon as the team strained for speed. The hay wagon lacked the suspension designed to add comfort for carriages. Trussed in the feed sack with her arms bound she couldn’t brace herself. Time was measured in bruises. But she could feel the fatigue of the horses even as she heard one of the men yell and the whip crack.  “Garrik, ease up mon. T’weren’t no good if yas kill tha horses.”  “Shut it Hob. I ain’t dyin on this bloody plain over no doxy. Tha horses will make it to tha farm and we can hand er over and get our quid and be done.”

   She heard the edge of nervous anger in the second voice even as the whip cracked again. Rose tested her bonds and realized her luck as the rope was bound around and around her but her wrists and feet weren’t bound. She wasn’t gagged. And the bonds were all inside the sack where she could get at them. The problem was even if she could get free and manage to get out of the cart in the daylight there was no practical cover to hide in. And if she tried to get away and they caught her she knew they would secure her better.  The more the wagon slowed the more the men argued until finally Hob bellowed, “I’ll piss on you if you don’t stop, mon. I need to piss and there’s water here. You got ta let them rest and drink for a bit or we’re all gonna be walkin’. We need ta check her ladyship and gag her like you said. They was specific ‘bout her bein’ in good state. She ain’t made no sound she could be daid.”  “Fuck she ain’t daid. Don’t say that. Bloody fuck.”  They stopped.  Rose felt the wagon shift as the men got down. She did her best to relax as much as possible knowing it wouldn’t serve to struggle. She heard some rustling but couldn’t discern what was happening.  “She ain’t movin’” The man she thought was Hob sounded close. Abruptly her ankles were grabbed and she was drug to the end of the bed of the wagon. Somehow she managed not to scream fearing they would let her drop to the ground.  “She ain’t daid just fainted is all.”  She was pulled and nudged. “Come on girlie, wake up.”  She remained completely limp. “She ain’t movin’, Garrik.”  “Fuck. Come on girlie it’s time ta wake up.” He shook her again. “Fuck.” “Put on your scarf and get me some fuckin’ water, Hob. I’m gonna take er head sack off.”  “What about, ‘I gotta piss’ did you not ken? You get your own water. I told you not to go so hard. Now you broke the horses an the doxy. I knowed we was shite outta luck when you took this job haulin’ er ladyship cross tha country cause she ran away from tha high nob. Ladyships is delicate like flowers and yas broke er.”  “I’m gonna break you, ya piss fer brains.” Grunts and curses and noises of scuffling were coming from the ground close to the wagon. For a moment she considered if they really thought she was dead they might just leave her. Then she almost panicked when she considered they might try to bury her. She settled on playing senseless and incapacitated. If she could convince them they would be less likely to restrain her as well. So when the sounds of the fight changed from angry shouting to more petulant sniping and grousing she moaned softly.   “Ya bastard, ya broke me nose.” She moaned a little louder.   “Bet ya wish now ya’d got me wat..”       “Hush!” She moaned again, softer.   “I tol ya I ain’t killed er! Now get me some water for er! And put yer cloth oer yer face.” A moment later she was being shifted in the wagon remarkably gently. And the voice she had decided was Garrik was again trying to persuade her to wake up. “Come on yer ladyship just wake up a wee bit.” She thought he was untying the top of the sack she was in as he coaxed her.  “We got a commission from es highship yer husband tha Duke ta get ya back ta em.” She stayed limp but moaned in reality as he shifted her and hurt one of her many bruises. The sack over her head was removed and she concentrated on staying relaxed and resisting the nearly overwhelming desire to open her eyes. She could tell it was light out by the deep red she saw through her eyelids. He was adjusting her again then cold water was dribbled on her face. She gasped and moaned and fluttered her eyes open a moment before she rolled them up in her head closing them again and going limp.  “Fuck! Somethens wrong wit er.” He started to shake her again but almost immediately stopped when Hob yelled at him.  “Garrik, for fucks sake stop mon! She’s sore hurt cana ye ken! Prolly smashed her brains. Ain’t gonna serve ta shake her none. Leave er ta me and go tend tha horses so’s we can get ta tha farm.”  Her plan seemed to be working well as Hob tended her undoing the rest of her bonds and then patting at her face with a soaked handkerchief that made her twist away from the smell of stale sweat which only encouraged him to renew his efforts to rouse her.  “Come on Ladyship, let me know ya’s gonna be foine.”  She fluttered her eyes open again and blinked doing her best to look confused. “I.. I… “ She frowned as though trying to focus. He was dressed in workers trousers and a dirty green sack cloth shirt. A scarf covered the bottom half of his face and his left eye was swelling shut. A cut over his brow continued to seep.  She blinked and whispered softly “You’re hurt… Did, did you save me?”                                 -----------------------------------------  Marina smiled as she exited the Turks Head Tavern and saw The Captain was waiting with four horses, two of them saddled. She adjusted the pack she had put together over her shoulder and fished a couple of carrots out of her pocket breaking them into four pieces and giving each horse a piece before she walked around them trailing her hand gently over them. She checked their legs and hooves making certain of their soundness before she adjusted her tweed cap and glanced at Caiden.  “Good horses, Captain. Are they yours?”  “Aye. They’re Arabians. I first encountered Arabians on a trading expedition years ago. They’ve got the best endurance of any horse I’ve ever seen. As a boy I loved horses.” He frowned. “Then I joined the navy and had to ship them.” He trailed off and shook himself nodding at the mare that Marina was inspecting. “That’s Sheba. The one next to her is Jezebel. She bites so have a care. I’m sitting on Samson. And Zibiah is my lead.”  Curiously she turned a steady assessing gaze on him.  The Captain was not an especially large man though he had the aura of command that pulled attention and filled spaces. He possessed an elegance in his bone structure that spoke more of French or Spanish heritage than Germanic. His eyes had always fascinated her. They shifted from a dark steel gray to a blue so dark they looked black. For just a moment she allowed that he was a handsome man. The recognition bothered her. Her awareness of him bothered her. Her experience with men as a woman was not a happy tale.  “Am I sound?” His deep voice shook her from her contemplation and she dropped her eyes and adjusted her cap to hide the heat in her cheeks before taking a deep breath and meeting his dark gaze.  “Philosophers of the ages may debate that. It’s beyond my ken for certain.” She secured her pack behind the saddle and grabbed Jezebel’s lead before carefully fitting her foot to the stirrup and springing herself into the saddle. She caught his grin before he turned and led them off.  They rode silently north along the carriage road and Caiden set a steady mile eating pace. Having lost the morning they were pushing the fresh horses just a bit.          

  Marina found herself enjoying the opportunity to study The Captain even as they rode. Perhaps because they were leading horses and the speed they were travelling they travelled single file. Keeping to the road as much as possible for safety and speed. Still she noted how he focused on the horses and regularly would drop back to check on her.   Hours later Caiden departed the road and headed for the river Wharfe. The river had been getting closer and closer to the road for the last hour or so and now was a shimmering silver grey band winding its way beside the road.  Eventually he pulled up under a large sycamore tree by the bank. He dismounted and allowed his horses to drink while he went to her, “May I assist you?” He lifted his arms in offer.  She hesitated, lifting a brow and looking down at him. It was a strange moment for her, the first moment the Captain was treating her in a manner that proved he recognized her as a woman. She noted the afternoon sun had turned his eyes silver grey like the river and it momentarily transfixed her. At last she nodded and swung her leg over the saddle to face him. He gave her a gentle smile as he grasped her waist and lowered her carefully to the ground. Holding her a moment to be certain she was steady before he stepped back and went to pull the saddle from Samson.  “We’ll change horses here.” He spoke to her as he saw to Samson rubbing him down with sweet grass and checking his hooves. “I had fancied making Skipton when we set out but I think not now.” He paused looking at the light and back over at Marina who was pulling the saddle from Sheba. “If you allow I can saddle Jezebel for you.” His voice was soft with the offer his face hidden from her as he gave Samson a fond pat before taking his blanket and saddle to Zibiah and checking her before saddling her.  “It’s a kind offer and I thank you, but I can manage.” Marina frowned realizing that she was becoming increasingly discomfited by the Captain’s gentlemanly behavior toward her. “I’m not helpless.”    Caiden snorted with laughter and Zibiah shied a bit til he placed a calming hand on her neck speaking gently. He looked over at Marina, “Forgive me. But you are the least ‘helpless’ person I think I’ve ever encountered.” He was shaking his head. “I would not have engaged you on this had I thought you were at all helpless. That you are not helpless does not mean that you are not worthy of every consideration.” Just then Jezebel decided to try to bite Marina as she was preparing to saddle her. Marina slid her hand up on the reins to just beneath Jezebel’s mouth holding the horses head down and pushing her backwards as she spoke firmly “Ty budesh' podchinyat'sya! No! You will obey me!”  Caiden’s mouth fell open as the diminutive woman backed the horse up. He watched as she walked forward forcing the horse back with sheer strength of will and determination. Finally she stopped and stared at Jezebel for a moment sliding her hold on the reins back to a more natural lead position. Her voice was soft but firm as she addressed the mare. “Are we in accord? Good. Now come.” She led her back to the tree and the blanket and saddle.  Caiden chuckled and shook his head. “Jezebel, I could have told you not to try such foolishness with her Ladyship.”  Marina’s eyes went wide. “I’m not a Ladyship!.”  “Oh, but you most definitely are. And I am your Captain.” The words fell from his mouth without thought as some admission of his soul’s desire even as his personal measure of proper decorum was cringing at the most unsuitable retort.

He strode over to her picking up the saddle and settling it on Jezebel’s back before he reached beneath the horse to grab the cinch and fasten it. His mind was trying to formulate an apology but he wasn’t sorry.

 Her black eyes were lancing him, one arm braced on her hip in agitation. “I am NOT some Ladyship to be owned by anyone, Captain. Others have tried and failed before. I may have foolishly agreed to help you; and I hold to my word. I am your employee. But mark this well when your friend is safe we are done. Do you understand me?”

 His eyes went wide and locked with hers studying her carefully. Her reaction was far more extreme than he could anticipate. Finally his voice as gentle as he could manage, “Miss Burke please forgive me. Truly I intended no offense. I fear this endeavor will necessitate some levels of intimacy between us that may prove awkward for both of us. We actually know little of one another.  Be assured that I respect you in every way.”

 She turned without a word and riffled through her pack pulling a couple of carrots and a cloth wrapped piece of cheese. She wordlessly handed him a carrot and then unwrapped the cheese and cut a chunk of it off handing it to him before cutting a piece for herself. She wiped her blade on the cloth before rewrapping the cheese and stowing it again.

 Caiden fished a dried summer sausage out of his own pack and sliced chunks off for each of them. Then pulled a bottle of wine out of his pack and deftly pulled the cork with his teeth before offering her the bottle first.

 Marina took a deep swig of the crisp summer wine before handing the bottle back to the Captain. They stood as they ate their travelling repast and walked each horse to the river allowing them to drink. At last as they were tightening their girths and checking their packs were secured on their lead horses she addressed him. “So you should tell me of your friend and this Lady I’m to impersonate.”

 He looked at her a moment noting that she had not accepted his apology nor uttered a word of forgiveness. And he was still trying to fathom how his banter had so seriously offended her. He wanted to press it but thought better of it and decided to answer her question.

 “Ah. Well, Earnest Sinclaire I’ve known since we were both boys. We made our maiden ship together. It was one of his father’s ships and I came aboard as cabin boy and cook’s mate. We were bound for China. Being of an age and our first time at sea we found soon enough that we got on well. We both planned to get our experience and then serve commissions in the Royal navy and fight Bonney.” He frowned looking pensive for a moment. “It sounded so grand when we would talk about the future to pass our watch hours. Then James, Earnest’s elder brother and the heir died and his father fell gravely ill. He went home. I went to the Navy commissioned as a lieutenant.” He shook his head pulling himself from the past and looked over at her.

 If he hadn’t seen her when she rescued him from drowning he would never have guessed that the trouser and coarse linen shirt clad diminutive figure was aught but a boy. She was fascinating to him. Even dressed as she was, sweaty after riding steadily for the last four hours there was an energy about her and a quality that spoke of nobility. He frowned at himself so addled by this woman. As he forcibly brought his thoughts back to her question.

 He’d never actually met Rose Sinclaire but Earnest had given him fair description. Miss Burke was smaller he suspected. Earnest was fairly tall and commented on how his Rose fit perfectly in his arms as they danced. Caiden met her dark gaze as she studied him.

 He smiled and shrugged. “To be truthful I’ve never met Rose Sinclaire. I have her description from Earnest’s letters.” He grinned, “Hair like the sunset spun into fiery waves… Skin fair as alabaster, angel’s kisses dusting her perfect nose…”

 Marina snorted shaking her head and laughing. “Your friend is drunk as a sailor just paid with a week before shipping out again on this Rose of his.”

 Caiden chuckled feeling his heart lift at the pure joy of her laugh. He was having his own moment caught again in his own fascination with one Marina Burke.

 She continued, “So does she have an accent? You said they are new married now? I know we are in haste to Gretna Green. Then we assume their names and leisurely journey back to where? Hoping as a fisherman teases for fish to lure those who would collect this bounty out to attack us?” She lifted her brow.

 Caiden was contemplating the perfection of her tiny rosebud mouth. He finally managed to process what she had asked him and nodded. “That’s the plan so far.” His voice was warm and soft as he met the rich darkness of her gaze.

 She cocked her head slightly puzzled by the delay in his response and the strange note in his tone. “And you think we can manage this impersonation?”

 “Aye.” He was certain in that moment he could convince any observer that he was besotted with this woman. He was leaning toward her and caught himself. He cleared his throat and noticed the length of the shadows. “We need to go, Marina.”

 She nodded and took a small hop setting her left foot flawlessly into the stirrup and vaulting into the saddle.

 He took an extra minute to check the cinch on his saddle girth before mounting. “Let’s make for Addingham while we have the light.”

 “As you lead, Captain.” And they were off again.

This leg they did not push their mounts and it was well after the sun had slipped below the horizon that they made their way into the village of Addingham and found stable at The Fleece Inn.

Caiden went first to secure a room at the inn and was pleased to find they had one to let with stabling for their four horses. He paid for the room and extra rations for the horses then went out to join Marina and lead the horses around to the stable. As they were tending them he kept watching her as she fed them and gently cared for them.

 “You have a hand with horses, Marina.” His voice was whisper soft as he looked over the stall wall at her brushing Jezebel.

He frowned. “It would be good if I had a name to call you besides your own. Introducing you as my stable lad Marina won’t do.”

 “You shouldn’t introduce me.” She lifted her brow at him as she looked over Jezebel’s back. “If you introduce me I’ll have to remember to answer to it. Just call me Boy for this journey.”

 It made perfect sense and Caiden hated it. She deserved so much more than this hell paced ride to swap places and put herself in mortal danger. But he knew better than to argue with her so he nodded and went back to brushing Zibiah.

 When he was finished Caiden went around to the stall where she was putting up the tack. “There’s lamb stew in the common room.” He waited for her and she looked up at him and smirked.

“I don’t think you escorting me in to dinner is going to be good for our cover, Captain.”

He fidgeted suppressing his inclination to offer her his arm. Then he met her dark eyes, his voice soft and sincere, “Marina… I am sorry to put you through this. I want you know… I appreciate this.. I appreciate you…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “so much.”

She turned from him ducking her head to put her cap between her flushed cheeks and the warmth of his gaze.

“Apology accepted Captain.” She nodded toward the opening of the stable. “Lead and I shall follow you.”

------------------To be continued -----------------------

[takerfoxx]

Right, okay, let’s talk about Maleficent: Mistress of Evil.

Oh boy, do I have a lot to unpack here. And, uh, content warning for discussion of rape and genocide.

Right, let’s start with my thoughts on the first one. Overall, I liked it a whole lot, but mostly I’m astounded that it got the go-ahead in the first place. I mean, a bizarre subversive take on Sleeping Beauty of all things that recasts Disney’s most iconic villain as a sort of anti-hero with a heavy feminist slant that had a blatantly unsubtle rape metaphor as its centerpiece? It should have been a trainwreck! Hell, it almost was a trainwreck, one that threatened to jump the tracks the entire runtime! It shouldn’t have worked, it almost didn’t work...but it still did.

Part of that was just how committed everyone involved was to its own mad premise. Say what you want about the idea, but it was ballsy as hell, and it totally went all in with...everything. I mean, you kind of have to just to make something like this work, as any kind of drawback or halfass would’ve caused the whole thing to come crashing down, so the only chance you’ve got is to point the whole endeavor straight at that brick wall and slam your foot down on the ignition. And it went in deep, recontextualizing King Steffen as a paranoid, manipulative, power-hungry madman; the three fairies as total dolts; Prince Philip, someone who might seem dull in comparison to later princes like Aladdin, Eric, or the Beast, but was still the most proactive prince Disney had at that point, as kind of a duffer whom Maleficent had to literally drag along on his own quest and who was understandably squeamish about kissing an unconscious girl against her will; Daival as a dashing sidekick; and completely flips the Maleficent/Aurora relationship on its head. That’s the sort of thing you see in those What If? fanfics that you tend to obsess over in highschool, and it comes packing all of the raw emotion of one of those fics, and because of that it pulls its own crazy premise off. Yes, it was flawed. Yes, there were things that didn’t work. But they almost don’t matter in light of just how impressive it was that they managed to pull something this audacious off.

And as for the rape metaphor...actually, scratch that. Let’s call a spade a spade, okay? It wasn’t a metaphor, that was straight up a rape. Maybe it wasn’t sexual, but what a lot of people forget is that rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power. It’s about dominating another person to take their power away so that the aggressor can feel powerful, and that’s how it was played, and they committed to showing it in all of its ugliness. I mean, holy shit that takes balls.

But the bulk of the reason why it worked was because of Angelina Jolie.

I mean, what an absolutely mesmerizing performance! The OG Maleficent was so memorable in part because everyone else in that movie kind of...wasn’t, but also because she was super cool and super badass and totally in love with being THAT BITCH! And Angelina Jolie absolutely owns that role.

I mean, she is Maleficent. She just took a DNA test, and I don’t need to tell you what the results are. She embodied all of that iconic character’s regal majesty, menace, cruelty, confidence, and knowing that she was the badass bitch to ever vamp about in a long black gown with a bitching pimp staff just ready to show up uninvited and wreak some unholy vengeance, and then some. There is no longer any need to wonder where your god is, because she is right there, and she is all out of mercy.

But then she goes and gives actual depth to a really awesome but still kind of one note character, from the young innocence before she was betrayed to genuinely bonding with young Aurora to her desperate heartbreak over being unable to break her own curse to actual fear when it seems that the mad king has finally got her to...well, the agony of betrayal when she wakes up and fully realizes what Steffen has done to her. That’s a wide range of emotions to have to portray in a character only known for being smirkingly evil or ragingly evil, but she goes in hard, and basically holds the whole haphazard production together through the sheer gravitational pull of her performance.

So when they announced a sequel, I was intrigued. In fact, I was hoping for another totally insane, probably a bad idea production that just goes HAM on whatever crazy topical stuff it wants to talk about with Angelina Jolie just owning everything she touches.

But what it turned out to be...

Sigh.

Okay.

Let’s do this.

All right, I won’t go into specific plot details until I reach the spoiler cut, because they’re not really important. What I want to get across is the first third of this movie, it really had me. It was good! It had everything I liked about the first one. Different situation, sure, but we had Maleficent being Maleficent and bouncing off other characters, both old and new, and it was good.

Then the second third rolled around, and things started to come apart. I mean, it didn’t totally lose me or anything, there was a lot of good stuff, we learn a lot of cool lore, there’s a kickass Zootopia-type place we visit with a whole bunch of biomes, and I was generally okay with how things were, assuming that they could stick the landing. But the big problem here was that there was a whole lot less of Maleficent. Oh, she was there, sure, but she wasn’t really...doing much, mostly just walking around while some other character explained exposition to her, to which she barely even reacts, so we’re left with Aurora and Philip and Michelle Pfieffer as the new evil queen to do all the heavy lifting. And they do an admirable job of it I suppose (though the lack of romantic chemistry between Aurora and Philip was really noticeable here), but this part was seriously missing Angelina Jolie’s overwhelming presence that the first movie had, so the seams started to show.

And then we get to the third act, and that’s where it all fell apart for me. So, I guess it’s spoiler time.

Long story short, the main plot is that Prince Philip’s mom is evil and is trying to arrange for the total genocide of all of Maleficent’s fairy subjects in the Moors so that the humans can take over. And she does this by first poisoning the king with the same curse Aurora was originally under and blaming it on Maleficent (okay, that works), have Maleficent sniped when she tries to flee with an iron bullet (makes sense), come up with a special iron/magic flower compound that is fatal to fairies (good so far), and luring the Moors inhabitants in with the promise of being wedding guests, locking them in the cathedral, and dousing them with this fairy killing dust. And just in case, she also has the entire castle barricaded and guarded with a whole bunch of fairy killing dust weapons and traps.

You know what? For an evil plot, she really worked out most of the contingencies, and it nearly succeeds, though the question must be asked of why the Moors inhabitants just stroll right in after their guardian just straight up disappears after doing the same thing. But anyway, she gets as far as actually locking up all the fairies and pelting them with the killer dust.

But then the castle is attacked. See, all through the second act, Maleficent is rescued by the rest of her people, the Dark Fae, and it turns out that they’ve slowly been forced by humans to retreat to a single sanctuary, but they’re ready to reclaim their homelands by force, and after seeing her people’s sacred burial grounds defiled and the Dark Fae that saved her assassinated by humans, Maleficent is feeling pretty okay with that. In fact, the warmonger Dark Fae that’s all for violence and who leads the attacks makes a point that Maleficent has powers that not even they possess and could be their secret weapon. I mean, just have her show up and be all Mistress of Evil. Makes sense, right?

Buuuuuuut, then they attack the humans and...just sort of leave her behind? Like, she just stays with the dying dude who sacrificed himself to save her and was the one espousing a peaceful solution, and no one bothers to try to get her to come along despite her having every reason to kick all sorts of ass? Like, they have the forest magic going for them, sure, but she’s packing that green fire of I WIN, YOU LOSE, and they just...don’t take her with them?

Huh?

And as predicted, the humans unleash all their killer dust bombs and killer dust missiles and just massacre the Dark Fae. We see several of them just get slaughtered on screen, and meanwhile we also watch the Moor fairies also getting massacred in what amounts to a fucking GAS CHAMBER, complete with several of them straight up dying on screen, including one of the three fairies! No, I’m being serious, they straight up kill the Blue Fairy!

But then Maleficent shows up fashionably late, green fires all the humans into submission, has her big faceoff with the queen, there’s a bunch of stuff with Aurora and Philip trying to get everyone to stop fighting, there’s a big fakeout GOTCHA with Maleficent dying to save Aurora but coming back because I guess she’s the Phoenix or something, then the queen gets captured and turned into a goat and everyone’s friends now so they all get together and let Aurora and Philip have their wedding because the power of love wins in the end!

...

wat.

Okay, so there is something to be said for the letting peace and understanding win out and refusing to continue the cycle of violence, but, um, wasn’t there, you know, A FUCKING GENOCIDE HAPPENING NOT TOO LONG AGO? And by not too long ago, I mean literally five minutes? We see Dark Fae and Moor fairies dying en mass! And they don’t come back! I mean, there’s a sly hint that the Blue Fairy lives on as a flower or something, but that’s not really elaborated on, and we literally see a whole bunch of people get massacred! But now we’re just going to have a wedding right over everyone’s conveniently bloodless corpses and everyone’s just fine with it? And the evil queen that arranged this whole slaughter gets humorously turned into a goat and everyone laughs at in, including the recovered king (because apparently to break the curse for good all you needed was to destroy the original spindle, so I guess so much for that touching retelling of True Love’s Kiss from the first movie! Totally unnecessary now!) who just says something like, “I’m sure Maleficent will turn her back...assuming we want her to.” And then he just makes a face as if the queen was just a nagging harpy that was hard to put up with and not a literally murderous despot who tried to assassinate you and bring your kingdom to total war by eradicating the neighbors you were trying so hard to work out a peace with!

No. Fuck that, no! That is bullshit! Choose a path and fucking commit! That’s what the first movie did! It decided it was going to sneak a fucking rape scene into a Disney movie that was to be seen by a lot of little girls, and it went all in, up to and including never blaming Maleficent for wanting to take vengeance and putting all of the blame on Steffen, so it worked! If you’re going to stick in a fucking genocide, then you better show the horrific aftereffects of that genocide, not a weaksauce power of love, everyone’s friends now ending! And make the despising of the queen actually mean something, not just a humorous slapstick humiliation!

Fucking hell, what were they thinking?