#i fast forward through the torture but its hard to skip it all

[lovealwayssay]

I hate 4.16 On the Head of a Pin. Uriel and Cas forcing Dean to torture Alastair, something Dean feels so guilty about, is disgusting. I hate watching the torture, its just too much for me. But at the same time, its such an interesting episode. We learn so much about Cas and how his relationship with Dean is making him question his faith, we learn about the dynamics between the angels, we learn more about Sam and Ruby’s relationship, we learn about John and Dean’s times in Hell, and we learn that Dean broke the first seal and that he is a righteous man. “I guess I’m not the man either of our dad’s wanted me to be.” Its such a good episode but I feel physically ill watching it.

[callmeshakespurr]

Hey, if you're requests are open could you do a Rick Flag × Male Villian Reader (fluff) idk something cute where Rick Flag ends up falling in love with Male Reader, and the feeling is mutual. Idk you can fo what you want with it. ❤

Rick Flag x Male Reader

Requested: yes

Category: fluff, just a little bit of angst

Warnings: slight torture (?), i mention a knife like,, once

Note: I haven’t watched Suicide Squad in some time, so this could’ve turned out just the tiniest bit yandere, I hope you don’t mind! Also- I kinda struggled with this cause its my first time writing an actual one shot, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways (:

Tysm for requesting, hope you enjoy it <3

“Where is he?”, Amanda Waller called out as she walked down the hallway, towards the high security room you were currently kept in — Colonal Richard ‘Rick’ Flag not far behind her.

Her call grabbed the attention of the two guards, who stood in front of your cell.

“Is he in there?”, Amanda asked again, approaching the door with fast steps. One of the guards nodded and opened the thick metal door to let the director and the colonel in.

Amanda Waller had tried to get her hands on you for almost five years now, after you first made an apperiance in a club, killing two people. After that, several assassinations followed. Nobody knew who you exactly were, what you looked like, who you worked for; you were like a shadow — what people then came to call you, Shadow.

The major reason of why nobody could get a hold of you even in the slightest bit, was because you always vanished before anybody could even spot you.

After two years of not being able to catch you, the police gave up on further investigation in your cases. Amanda didn’t break so easily though. She wanted you in one of those cells she kept so many freaks in already, and she wasn’t going to give up until she had you sitting behind one of those metal doors, unable to escape her.

After all these years of going after you, she did manage to find out two major things about you. Why you always managed to escape without anyone catching a glimpse of you, and what your weakness was.

All these things led to the present situation.

You sat in a dark room, the only light source being a small lamp, dangling from the ceiling. Your ankles were tightly cuffed to the chair you were sitting on, on your wrists and neck you felt something cold and heavy, which seemed to send small electric shocks through your body every few seconds.

You weren’t sure where you exactly were, since you passed out before they got you. Hell, you didn’t even know who ‘they’ were.

You closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on your thoughts, which was not as easy as you hoped it would be. To say that you were in pain was an understatement. The electricity flowing through your body kept you from thinking straight, and send a wave of pure pain through your limbs with every shock you got.

A female voice ripped you from your trance, and you slowly opened your eyes again, head still hanging low. You knew that voice and you knew that you didn’t stand a chance anymore.

“Your powers won’t work anymore, unless i allow you to use them, so don’t even try.”, that voice belonged to none other than Amanda Waller, probably the only person on this planet you actually feared. You were never scared of what her minions could do to you, no. You were scared of what she could do to you if she ever managed to get you — which almost happened on several occasions.

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the pain that came over you again, as you frantically tried to somehow sort your thoughts and find a way out of this, but nothing seemed to work. There was no way out of this. There was no escaping this. The feeling of helplessness washed over you, a feeling you didn’t like at all.

“You’re Y/N L/N, you’re a teleporter, thats how you managed to always vanish before the police got to the crime scene”, Amanda spoke, watching you as you sat there on the chair, staring at the ground, unable to move a single muscle. “It took me some time, but i managed to figure out how to block your powers”, she continued, taking slow steps towards you “Teleporters are extremely sensitive to electricity, some mightve even already died due to the constant pain if they were in your place.” She stopped right in front of you, looking down at your slumped figure, the only thing restraining you from falling over being the thick metallic handcuffs that kept your hands tied behind the chair.

Amanda grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. Your sight was blurry and it cost you a lot of strength to even keep your eyes open, but you did manage to make out the silhouette of a rather tall person standing at the entrance of the cell, watching the whole scene, before your focus was back on the woman in front of you. “You’re actually a very pretty boy, Y/N, and very smart too, it’s a shame that you decided to end up like this.”, she said, before letting your face go. “Rick, take him to get the injection, then get his things and introduce him to the team. After that, you can take him to his provided cell.”

The man standing at the door — Rick, you assumed — made his way towards you, as Waller left the room, leaving you to the colonel.

Rick helped you out of the cuffs, that kept you strapped to the chair. Looking at you, he almost felt bad, you looked so drained and helpless. He had never exactly agreed with anything Amanda Waller did, but seeing what just a few hours under her control did with you was another level of not agreeing with something she did.

“Can you stand?”, the colonel asked and you nodded, slowly rising from the chair. Your legs wobbled beneath your weight and you instinctively grabbed onto whats next to you, which just so happened to be Ricks Arm.

After making sure you had gathered enough strength, he began to walk with you towards the door.

time skip

It’s been a little over a week now since they’ve brought you here — you think. Every day was the same. Sitting on the cold floor of your cell, staring at the camera in the corner of your ceiling, some guard bringing you food, you not eating it, some guard taking it away again and reporting everything to someone, more staring at the camera, someone bringing you food again, you not eating it again, the guard taking it away again and reporting everything, all over again, everyday.

The only slightest bit good and entertaining thing was the colonel — Rick Flag, as you learned was his name — checking up on you every now and then when he didn’t have anything better to do. You didn’t quite understand why Rick was making efforts to look after you, just for you to not answer his questions anyways, but you appreciated it. It made everything a little more bearable.

Of course, you were one of the bad guys, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a life outside of assassinations.

When you weren’t working for other bad guys, you loved to just sit in your apartment and read, you loved to go onto high buildings and watch over the city. You dreamed of leaving everything behind and exploring the world someday. You worked at your favourite coffee shop, hell you even had a cat. The thought of your only friend being probably already dead or suffering made you sad, but what could you do about it?

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t picked the path you were on, but looking back at the time you chose to work for the bad guys, you didn’t really have a choice.

Your train of thoughts was interrupted, when you heard the door to your cell open. Hoping it would be Rick, you looked up, your eyes only half open from the lack of strength you had. What you did not expect was to see Amanda Waller standing in front of you, Rick Flag behind her.

“Stand up”, the woman demanded. You listened, as it was of no use to resist her orders. You slowly got up on your feet, which didn’t last long, since you almost immediately fell over, landing painfully hard on your knees. To your suprise, Rick immediately rushed to your side, helping you stand up again.

“I don’t need him on missions like this”, Waller spoke as she watched you lean onto Rick for support. “Take him to the base, the council and I will be waiting there in the meeting room for him.” With that, Waller left again.

The way to the car wasn’t long, but with you almost not being able to stand on you own, let alone walk on your own, it took a little longer, which only fueled your anxiety. The ride to the base was even worse though, since nobody talked and you had five guards sitting around you.

Finally arriving at the door of the meeting room, which was located in the base, the two guards standing in front of it immediately opened the door as soon as they saw the colonel.

The room was quiet at an instance, when you stepped a food inside, Rick following very close behind you — just in case something should happen.

Amanda Waller stood in front of a group of suit wearing men who all sat at one big round table, most likely discussing something. She gestured you to come next to her, to which you complied.

“And who is this now, Director Waller? A new addition to your group of- freaks?”, asked one of the men as he looked you up and down, probably doubting that someone like you could be much of an good asset.

“This, Gentlemen,”, she grabbed your arm and moved you a little forward, making you almost tumble “is Y/N L/N or ‘Shadow’, he was an assassin for almost five years now, working for several other bad guys. Nobody got a hold of him till now due to his teleporting ability. He has over a hundred confirmed kills and not once did anyone ever get near him. I’m using these electric cuffs”, she grabbed your arm again and lifted it up to present the metal cuff, which was secured around your arm “to block his powers, which means he cannot teleport, as long as the electric shocks are on full power. As soon as I turn down the power a little, he can use his power, it is more draining and limited to a certain radius, but it works. I have him under full control and I want him on the team.” Murmurs broke out between the people in the room, as soon as she finished.

“I’m sorry, director, but do you really think it’s a good idea to put another- another misfit on that team? They’re bad guys and will always stay bad guys, and their freaky abilities make them even more dangerous.”, one of the men in suits spoke.

“As I said, I have him under full control, gentlemen. Let me demonstrate.”, Amanda spoke, turning to you, as the people sitting at the table sat back.

Waller took out some kind of remote and tapped on something. First your body tensed due to all the stress and pain you were under at the moment, but as soon as Amanda tapped on the remote, the electric shocks suddenly weren’t as intense as they were before, and your whole body relaxed, your eyes almost watering due to the wave of relief washing over you.

Rick was more than tense while watched the whole situation, only realizing in how much pain you actually were when Waller turned down the intensity of the electric shocks emmitting from the metallic cuffs you were wearing.

Waller looked you in the eyes with a serious expression on her face. “You disobey, you die, got that?” And suddenly you remembered the injection they gave you, when they first brought you here.

Seeing you had no other choice than obeying her, you simply gave her a small nod and looked around the room, taking in every detail. You looked at the small table in front of you, spotting a sharp knife, which you figured was put there by Amanda specifically for you in this exact situation.

With fast movements, you grabbed the knife and teleported to the other side of the room, holding the knife to one of the mens throat. Everyone in the room stiffened even more, and you heard at least three guns clicking.

Looking up, your eyes met Rick’s, before you looked over to Waller, who was already fixated on you. You slowly pressed the knife more against the man’s throat, wanting to see what Waller was going to do. The next electric shock came and you almost yelled out in pain, letting the knife fall, teleporting back to Waller and falling to your knees, clutching the metal around your neck.

Rick wanted to rush to help you, but was quickly held back by Amanda, gesturing him to wait.

“As you can see, I can control his powers however i want to, and should he disobey in any way, or should his powers bolt”, she tilted your head with her finger, than pressed onto the spot on your neck where they injected you, “he dies.”

Still staring at the ground, you swallowed harshly. You’ve never wanted to go back in time and undo all the bad things that happened so badly like in this specific moment. Maybe if you’re parents hadn’t ever found about your ability, you would still be at home, with your family, not here, being tortured by some government lady who wanted to use you as a weapon.

“There’s one more thing. I don’t need him on any mission in this shape. He needs to recover, quickly, and while doing so, I want him under Rick Flags complete supervision. It might cost a little more effort, but think about of how much use he will be for us”, Amanda said, a mischievous expression crossing her face for a few seconds, that going unnoticed by you and pretty much everyone else in the room.

time skip

Three whole months had passed. You’ve been staying with Rick ever since Amanda Waller announced that he had to fully supervise you.

The time you spent with Rick made you feel as if everything wasn’t so bad after all. Occasional talking here and there, Rick cooking something for the both of you every now and then, you almost felt normal again — weren’t there the electric cuffs reminding you of what was real every few minutes.

Over the past three months, your sleep only got worse. You got used to the constant pain by now, but the electricity didn’t only affect you physically, it also messed up your thoughts like hell. Sometimes you didn’t know where up and down was anymore, everything was all over the place inside your mind.

That was also the reason, you were up right now, in the middle of the night, sitting at the big window in your bedroom, looking over the city. You hugged your knees tightly to your chest, and rested you chin on them, letting a few tears slip. You hadn’t cried in a long time, but you were just so exhausted. You were never this close to giving up than right now. Nothing seemed to ever be okay again, you couldn’t do anything but accept your fate.

Being to entangled in your own thoughts, you didn’t hear your bedroom door open.

It didn’t take Rick a long time to spot you in your place at the window. He just came home from a mission that Amanda Waller had wanted you on, but Rick insisted on giving you a little more time to deal with everything.

The tall man closed the door as quietly as he could behind him, which seemed to not be quiet enough, since you jumped slightly at the noise, quickly standing up and turning around. Rick gave you an apologetic look, before slowly walking towards you, “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked, I just wanted to check up on you and see if you’re alright-“ “It’s fine, I’m fine”, you interrupted him, wiping your tears quickly, taking a deep breath.

Rick frowned, he had never seen you cry before. He cared too much for you and he knew it, he just couldn’t help himself. Stopping in front of you, he looked down at you, only for his eyes to meet yours. For a moment, you both got lost in each others eyes, before you ripped your gaze away, looking to the side.

“Do you want anything else from me?”, you asked shakily, getting a little nervous with his burning stare on you.

“I actually do, yes-“, he hesitated for a moment. You looked up at him with a questioning expression. “Close your eyes”, you complied, closing your eyes slightly, one hand moving to hold onto Rick’s shirt so you didn’t lose your balance. You felt him lean down slightly, till you could fell his warm breath on your cheek. You surpressed a shiver, as he carefully tilted your head.

Now, you didn’t really know what to expect; you and Rick had gotten closer but you weren’t sure, if there were actual romantic feelings, or if he just pitied you, so a kiss wasn’t exactly what you expected. But you definitely would’ve expected it more than what happened next.

A small ‘click’ echoed through the dark room, the next thing you knew was, that all the pain suddenly disappeared. Your eyes watered when you felt Rick’s fingers carefully removing the heavy metallic cuffs around your wrists and neco, pure relief washing over you. Your leaned your body onto Rick’s, unable to support your own weight for a few moments.

When you had finally gained control over your own body again, you moved back a few centimetres and looked up to Rick, who met your confused eyes. “I couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain any longer, so I triedmy best to convince her and I’d say I’m lucky that she trusts me with you.”, the colonel smiled a little, raising a hand to softly carress your cheek. Your eyes widened. He quickly removed his hand again and apologized, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Rick took a step back, still being careful so you didn’t lose balance again, “I should go, and you should sleep, you need to be well rested and-“

You were fast to interrupt him by taking a quick step towards him, getting a little on your tiptoes, before pressing a small kiss to Rick’s lips. You carefully looked him in the eyes again, “I don’t know either, but it just felt like the right thing to do.”

It took the man a few seconds to process what just happened, but when he did, he was quick to kiss you again, his soft lips over yours, moving slowly, as you kissed back. He put his hands on your waist, while you locked yours behind his neck. You kissed for a few moments, before the both of you had to breathe again. “Thank you”, you whispered against Rick’s lips, before receiving another small peck. “Sleep with me tonight?”, he asked quietly, getting lost in your eyes again. You gave him a small nod, allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his room, both of you smiling as you fell onto the mattress.

[shootybangbang]

Can i request an Arthur/sadistic female reader please？i really want to see him all messed up because of...you know🥺

(btw, pls check out the requester's art. her arthur content is 😩👌)

[Oneshot]: In which you still don't know how to tie an overhand knot

[Rating]: Explicit

[Note]: this is so fucking horny that i feel i have to apologize in advance. unedited and a little rough around the edges, feel free to point out errors or give criticism

———

“Huh,” you muse aloud. “Looks like the gallery’s putting up a new exhibition this weekend.”

With one hand, you spread the newspaper across the bed and skip to page three. With the other, you continue to stroke Arthur’s cock, twisting your wrist a little to smooth your palm against its dripping tip. The man himself groans as you touch him, and the frame of his body trembles beneath where you’ve straddled yourself over his thighs.

His breaths are quickening again. “Please,” Arthur rasps, his voice hoarse with exertion and desperation alike. You indulge him with another slow, teasing pump of your fist as you continue to pick through the St Denis Tribune, humming thoughtfully as you peruse the newspaper’s Arts and Entertainment section.

“I’m beggin’ you, girl.” He sounds as though he’s teetering on the very edge of agony and ecstasy, and venturing perilously close to the latter. “C’mon. Please.”

“Looks like it’s mostly Impressionists this time. Let’s see here… a selection of Seurats and Monets… a couple Renoirs… oh, some Degas too?” With a mild expression that belies the depth of torture you’ve been putting him through, you slow your hand to a stop. He makes a choked, unhappy noise in the back of his throat that you heartily ignore. “That’s pretty bold of them, considering the reception they gave that Chatenay fellow you told me about.”

Growling, Arthur starts fumbling with the (admittedly badly tied) restraints securing his arms behind his back, twisting his wrists in an attempt to find a loose end.

“Easy there.” You run the pad of your thumb along the ridge delineating the head of his cock, slicking against the precum beaded at its tip. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Been hearin’ you say that for almost half an hour now,” he replies, glaring. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“Better savor it while you can, because I promise you — I’m gonna remember this the next time I get you beneath me.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? What‘re you gonna do then?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he says.

“No,” you reply with a beatific smile.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to something smooth and dangerous: the sort of tone you’ve known him to use for threats he actually intends to follow through on. “When it’s my turn,” he says. “I ain’t gonna tie you up. Won’t need to. Because with you, all I need is my hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The man’s wrists may be bound, but you’re still very much at his mercy. In all actuality, your authority here amounts to only a length of rope and his own good humor.

You let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the very thought of it.

“Gonna pin you down when I fuck you,” he continues. He’s smirking now, clearly enjoying the demonstrable effect his words have on you. “Lay you down on your stomach and keep you under me, where you belong.”

You’re half-tempted to loose the rope and let him do just that. Instead, you grab the hem of your shift with both hands and pull the garment over your head in a single fluid motion. It’s 1899, after all. High time for a woman to take charge of her own pleasure.

The dim glow of the oil lamp bathes your bare skin in a wash of gold and amber as you settle yourself against him, pressing the wet line of your slit along the length of his cock. “Go on,” you tell him. “What else?”

Arthur swallows hard and licks his lips, then draws in a sharp intake of breath as you roll your hips forward — just a brief stir of movement, but more than enough to make him twitch beneath you. “Drive you to the brink the same way you’re doin’ to me now,” he says weakly. “Take my time with you, nice and slow. Make you really beg for it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Another roll of your hips, this time with just enough pressure to grant him a touch of warmth.

Finally, he breaks. And it’s truly a sight to behold: Arthur Morgan, a man who you’d thought would break your spine like a toothpick the first time you’d met, openly begging for the simple privilege of being allowed between your thighs.

“God, please,” he groans. “You can’t do this to me. Can’t let me feel how wet you are and just leave me like this.”

“Of course I can.” You relent. “But I won’t. So be a good boy and stay still for me, alright?”

His cock weighs heavy in your hand as you guide him between your thighs. Arthur lets out a harsh gasp and instinctively thrusts upwards — but you immediately withdraw, and he finds nothing but the cruel emptiness of absence waiting to receive him.

“Thought I told you to stay still,” you repeat sternly.

He nods with the frantic desperation of a badly-trained dog begging for a meal. Hungry and eager, but standing to attention with as much obedience he can muster. Which isn’t much, even on the best of days, but he is trying. And for that, he deserves something in return.

You take him in slowly, both out of principle and necessity. Just a taste of him first, then the gradual descent, a long and drawn out consumption that he has barely the means to endure.

His gaze still hasn’t left you. There is an intensity in it that once might have frightened you, an azure bright as broken glass and twice as sharp. The purity of emotion in them strikes you to the bone, makes your throat tighten and your dominance waver — there is a depth of devotion there that borders on the absolute.

When you move against him, he squeezes his eyes shut against the sheer force of sensation that floods through. Arthur makes a low, pained noise in the back of his throat and confesses, “I ain’t gonna last long.”

You lean forward and kiss him, then start a slow, rocking motion with your hips that spurs him to whimper your name against your lips, a small cry of warning before you feel the first twitches of his cock. Arthur bucks up once, twice, then shudders beneath you as his seed pulses deep, blooms hot and slick inside your core.

“Goddammit,” he hisses. “Didn’t think I’d— ah, fuck…”

You ride on, grinding through the last, weakening throbs of his orgasm and until he lets out a final, heavy sigh. Arthur regards you with loose-limbed exhaustion, lolling his head against your pillows as he flashes you a drained, weary grin. “Alright,” he says. “Untie me and get up here so I can—”

“No need,” you say brightly, then lift your hips in a brief mockery of release before sheathing him again and sending him reeling into oversensitivity.

Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps, wincing. “What’re you—”

“Too much?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says. His jaw is clenched tight and his voice is faint, but the look on his face is one of stubborn determination.

You test him with another slow, sinuous slide of your hips. This time, he meets you with a shallow thrust of his own. He’s breathing hard, each exhale shivery with exertion. “Keep goin’,” he urges. “I can take it.”

The added lubrication of his come eases the friction of him, soothes the inevitable ache of penetration. You settle for an unhurried, leisurely rhythm that allows you to fully appreciate the slickness of each stroke, the accompanying warmth of his seed still spread through your core.

Arthur’s gaze darts downwards to the base of his shaft, where the drip of his come has begun to pool. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just beautiful.”

He snakes his right arm free from his bonds and abruptly flips you onto your back with a well-timed shove.

“What— how did you…?”

“Sweetheart,” Arthur says, his voice warm and affectionately condescending. “You still can’t tie an overhand knot for shit.”

“But I double-checked this time!”

“Not very well, apparently.” He hitches your thighs around his waist and cages you in beneath him, then lowers his mouth to the slope of your neck. A brief, gentle nip — not hard enough to hurt, but more than enough to convey his renewed authority. “God, but you’re a greedy little thing, ain’t you?” he growls against your skin. “Just one load of my spend ain’t enough?”

“Thought you’d appreciate the challenge, since you’re always so— oh, shit,” you gasp, clutching at his shoulders when he drives himself downwards with a sharp, savage thrust.

“Go on.” Arthur says. He’s panting now, his dark blond hair slicked against his forehead with sweat. “Weren’t you sayin’ somethin’ about me?”

You let out an indecipherable whine that bears only a passing resemblance to human language.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs, low and tender. Arthur cups the side of your face against his palm and traces his thumb over your cheekbone, then presses a chaste kiss to your brow. “Can’t even talk right when I’m fucking her proper.”

He’ll no doubt be insufferably smug about this later, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, distracted as you are by the view of him rutting against you, his shaft still streaked with his previous release. He’s fucking his own come back into me, you think to yourself, and that thought alone blinds out all else and leaves you blank with pleasure.

Arthur takes you hard and fast. Far rougher than his usual handling, which can sometimes be almost excruciatingly cautious. He kisses you clumsily, then lowers his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until the first, faint traces of tomorrow’s bruises begin to darken.

And with this, it’s not long before the first delirious ripples of your own orgasm begin to crest.

Every muscle drawn and tensed, dissolving into an inward ache of arousal that spurs you to grip him tight and whimper, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to keep his face in view. With a fierce satisfaction, you savor the sudden weakness in his expression when he feels you contract against him, then his harsh groan and the stutter of his hips as he follows, spilling what seed he has left.

Arthur keeps himself hilted until the very last shivers of exhilaration fade, then pulls away with a reluctance usually reserved for long farewells. The overflow of his come is thick and heavy as it drips from between your thighs, and the look on his face as he beholds it is one of tired appreciation.

Then he flops onto his side, totally spent. “You’re a real demon,” he sighs. “You know that?”

“A real demon would go for round three,” you reply faintly, staring dreamy-eyed up at the ceiling.

Arthur groans at the mere suggestion of it. “I think that’d actually kill me.”

When you curl up against him, he automatically throws an arm over your side, the action at this point an instinct secondary only to breathing, and brushes his mouth over the back of your neck.

As you ebb towards sleep, you murmur as an afterthought, “Didn’t you say you were gonna make me beg?”

He lets out a weary chuckle. “Well,” he says, “There’s always tomorrow.”

[rosiesung]

7 Days || Y.JW

for @geminirules "Just Friends" collab

⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

Pairing: Jungwon x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Friends to Lovers AU

Words: 3.63k

Warnings: Reader calls Jungwon a dick.

Synopsis: You are dared to pretend to be in a relationship with your best friend Jungwon. Initially, you go through with the childish challenge, knowing it will be insignificant to your friendship. But as the days pass, you begin to realise your true feelings for him. Will your revelations ruin your friendship? Or will something beautiful blossom because of them?

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"I dare you to pretend like you're dating Jungwon for a whole week."

You looked at your best friend with wide eyes, a similar expression of surprise on his face. There was no way you were going to do that. It would be way too awkward.

"Come on y/n. Don't be a party pooper. It's not like you guys are going to fall in love."

Of course things wouldn't turn out that way. No matter what, nothing would change the way you saw Jungwon. He would always remain your best friend and nothing more.

Jungwon looked too embarrassed to say anything. Both of you knew it was just a dare. What was the worst that could happen?

"Fine. Starting tomorrow Jungwon's my unofficial-official boyfriend," you announced, linking your arm with his. Jungwon hid his face in his hands as everyone around you screamed and cheered. This was going to be one interesting week.

~

☀︎ DAY 1 ☀︎

Since you only had to put on a show in front of your friends, you figured the best thing to do would be to hang out with Jungwon in solitude. He didn't have a problem with your plan. You both had been having playdates together ever since you were three. He was comfortable being alone with you.

Both of you met at your secret spot. A small grove behind the schoolyard. It was a place the two of you had found while skipping classes one day. Ever since then, this was where you spent time together whenever you needed some peace and quiet.

"I can't believe you actually agreed to this," Jungwon said, mindlessly plucking the grass he laid on. You sighed, staring at the row of trees beyond. "A dare's a dare. Besides, we have nothing to worry about because we don't have feelings for each other."

Jungwon sat up. "You know that we can't avoid all of them for the entire week right? They're literally planning to hang out at the cafe just so they can see us in the act." He sounded worried. There was no need to be.

"Of course I know that. So what? We'll let them see what they want to. It's not like they're going to make us kiss or something. The most we'll do is feed each other and hold hands."

Unlike Jungwon, you had already thought everything out. You knew how far to go while respecting the boundaries of your friendship. All Jungwon had to do was trust you.

He cringed in disgust at your words. "You're going to pay for landing me in this mess. We've barely even started and I already feel so miserable."

You patted his shoulder, flashing him an assuring smile. "You're not alone in your miser mister. After this is over, I'll do all your homework for you."

Jungwon laughed. "Learn how to do your own first. Then you can come and ruin mine."

~

☀︎ DAY 2 ☀︎

As Jungwon had predicted, your friends called you out to the cafe. Both of you were supposed to show up together. Jungwon met you a block away from the cafe, looking incredibly reluctant. "Are you sure you want to do this," he asked, just about ready to turn back around.

There was a determined look in your eyes. "Remember when he had to play Hansel and Gretel's parents for that play we did in preschool?" Jungwon nodded. He could never forget that day. "If we managed to get through that, we can get through this without a problem."

That made sense. Appreciative of your pep talk, Jungwon took your hand and whisked you away to the cafe.

By the time you reached your destination, both your hands were sweaty. Jungwon was just as nervous as you were. Not only because you had to pretend like you were dating, but also because your friends weren't going to miss the opportunity to tease you.

Seeing you two enter hand in hand, everyone began hooting and cheering. Jungwon's cheeks flushed almost immediately. You had to drag him towards the table you were supposed to sit at. "It's nice to see you two arriving together," one of your friends said, making space for you.

Taking a seat, you watched in horror as they placed a glass of juice with two straws in front of you both. No one had to explain what its purpose was. You glanced at Jungwon whose eyes were fixated on the glass hesitantly.

"If we get this over with now we'll be at peace," you whispered, leaning forward to place one of the straws between your lips. You looked away when Jungwon did the same, feeling the heat in his face on your cheek. You were certain you had never downed a drink so fast in your life. It didn't take long for you to finish the contents of the glass, quickly sitting back up to catch your breath. Your friends couldn't seem to get enough of the event, laughing and clapping avidly.

"You guys are so cute," some said. "Both of you would make such a nice couple in reality," said others.

Sitting there amongst your terribly evil friends, you wondered how you were going to get through the next five days with Jungwon.

~

☀︎ DAY 3 ☀︎

Your friends had invited you to another escapade at the park. You couldn't tell what they had in plan this time but you were sure it wasn't going to be enjoyable. At least this time, you and Jungwon didn't have to show up hand in hand.

When you reached the park, Jungwon was already there. Your friends beckoned you over, making you stand next to him.

"Now that our subjects have arrived, here's your to-do list. First, remain holding hands the entire time we are here. Second, Jungwon, give y/n your jacket if she starts feeling cold. Third, walk her back home and make sure you give her a nice, sweet little kiss before she goes inside."

Jungwon let out a noise of surprise. He wanted to run as far as he could and never come back. Holding your hand was fine. He had gotten used to it because of the previous day. He didn't mind giving you his jacket, but you were already wearing one so he didn't see why he would find the need to. Jungwon could do many things. But kissing you was not one of them. It didn't matter if it was on your cheek, your forehead, or the back of your hand, because there was no way on earth that he would bring his lips anywhere near yours.

What neither of you realized was that your friends were willing to go to the farthest lengths to make sure you went through with their tasks. They made you two walk in front of them so that they could see your hands intertwined. When the sun went down and the air started getting colder, they made you take your jacket off so that Jungwon would be left with no choice but to give you his. Just when it seemed like your night of torture would come to an end, they even made you share a single cone of ice cream. When it was finally time to go home, two of your friends followed behind you to make sure that Jungwon did his bidding. It was awkward enough walking through your neighborhood hand in hand. Those who knew you cast looks of confusion and surprise upon you two. Eventually, you reached your doorstep. Jungwon let go of your hand, standing in front of you. He looked everywhere but at you, avoiding your gaze. You glanced behind your shoulder, rolling your eyes when you saw your two friends filming you from behind your neighbor's car. They weren't even attempting to be discrete.

"Hurry up and kiss me already. This is too embarrassing," you urged, slapping Jungwon's arm. He sucked in a breath, pressing his lips in a thin line. "Do you think it's not for me? I mean, I'm the one who has to kiss you for heaven's sake."

"Stop pitying yourself and just get on with it. The longer we stand here the more reason they'll have to punish us tomorrow."

Jungwon stared at you long and hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, pressing his lips onto yours without a second thought. You froze, eyes going so wide they might have popped out of your head. Even though it was probably only for two seconds, it felt like an eternity. Time froze as you stood in the foreign feeling of his lips on yours. He pulled away almost immediately, skipping down your driveway as fast as he could with a short wave and 'good night'. Still stunned, you entered your home, breaking into a smile when you closed the door.

~

☀︎ DAY 4 ☀︎

The next day, Jungwon asked you to meet him at your secret spot. So far, your friends hadn't made any plans to get you together. You saw Jungwon sitting in the middle of the grove, laying down on the damp grass as he usually did. Walking over, you sat down beside him, flicking his forehead so that he would open his eyes.

He grinned on seeing you, sitting up with a soft groan. "So, how was your night?"

You furrowed your brows at the question. It wasn't like him to ask you things like that. But you decided to overlook it. Maybe he was still feeling a bit awkward after the kiss you both hard shared the previous night.

You shrugged. "It was fine. How was yours?"

"I couldn't sleep," he revealed. It sounded like he'd been dying to tell you. "Why's that," you asked, believing that you had an idea of the reason.

"Last night scarred me," Jungwon shared, pretending to gag. You didn't know why, but hearing him say that made your heart sink. Suddenly, you felt horrible. "Was it really that bad," you asked, genuinely curious to know what he thought of it. Jungwon nodded, making you feel even worse. "It was worse than I thought it would be," he added. Your eyes started stinging. A lump formed in your throat and the longer you held it back, the more it hurt. You knew you hadn't been eager to kiss him, but you would argue about how 'bad' it was. But bringing that up right now would just be stupid. Jungwon would misunderstand where you were coming for and that would just lead to another disaster entirely. You had told yourself that you weren't going to let this dare get to you, but four days in you were already slipping. The longer you sat there, listening to Jungwon whine and complain about everything he'd had to do with you so far, the harder it became to control your emotion. Not able to take it anymore, you got up abruptly and ran away, leaving Jungwon sitting there extremely puzzled.

~

☀︎ DAY 5 ☀︎

You didn't respond to any of Jungwon's calls or texts. You didn't have it in you to face him. He would be disappointed if he found out the real reason behind your sappy mood. So you were gonna wait till you got over it before facing him.

You still couldn't believe that you had been so affected by Jungwon saying that he hated the kiss. Despite telling yourself that you disliked it too, you couldn't help but think otherwise. There was something so magical about it. You had never felt that way because of a kiss before. Whenever you thought back to it, an exciting warmth rippled through your mind. Your heart danced in glee and a wide smile formed on your lips.

But you weren't supposed to feel that way. Jungwon was your best friend. Besides, he hadn't kissed you willingly. You didn't understand why it felt so special to you when it clearly meant nothing to him. You knew you couldn't blame him for that. His mind was wired to see you as nothing more than a friend. You found it hilarious. Here you were, realizing that you probably liked your best friend after having continuously assured yourself and him that something like that would never happen. The sad part was that Jungwon would never reciprocate your feelings. You were all alone in this.

A knock sounded at your window, startling you. Slipping out of your reverie, you glanced towards it, eyes widening in surprise when you saw Jungwon crouched before it. You didn't think twice before letting him in. He entered your room and stood in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. "You wanna explain what happened yesterday?"

You frowned and turned away shoulders slouching disinterestedly. "Is that what you came here for," you asked, regretting letting him in?

"Well did I have a choice? You've been blatantly ignoring me while all I've been trying to do is make sure you're alright," he said, stepping closer to you.

"I'm fine. If that's all you needed to hear, you can leave now," you replied. You didn't need him prying and prodding at you right now.

Jungwon stood his ground, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "No, you're not y/n. You aren't fine. Tell me what's bothering you."

You sighed and faced him. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to know."

Jungwon furrowed his brows. He didn't know what that meant. "I think I'll be the judge of that."

"It's you. You're bothering me," you spoke, narrowing your eyes at him. Jungwon hadn't been expecting that. But he didn't let the surprise show on his face. "What did I do?"

"You made me feel so worthless and undesirable. But that's not your fault. I can't blame you because you're right to think that way about me. I'm just pitying myself here and there's nothing you can do about it so please, just leave me alone." The tears were coming back again. You didn't want to break down in front of Jungwon. His face fell. He didn't know what to say to that. He thought you knew he was just being overdramatic. He seriously hadn't meant to hurt you. Before he could apologize, you turned to him. "I don't think I'll be good at keeping this a secret, so let me just tell you that I'm starting to catch feelings for you. If that makes you uncomfortable then you can leave. If you have something to say, just say it and go. But don't ask me why I feel the way I do because that's something I'm yet to figure out."

Jungwon was at a loss for words. He stood there, gaping at you like an open-mouthed fish before turning on his heel and exiting through your bedroom door. You heard your mother yelp on seeing him, probably wondering where he had shown up from. A part of you wished that he hadn't left, but the other was glad that he was gone. You felt like a fool for letting all of this happen. You should have never agreed to this dare. Who would have thought it would lead to something like this? There was nothing you could do now. There was no way you could change the way you felt. Because at the end of the day, it was as clear as ever, that you were undeniably in love with your best friend Yang Jungwon.

~

☀︎ DAY 6 ☀︎

Jungwon couldn't stop thinking about everything you had told him yesterday. He would never have imagined that you would catch feelings, especially through such a childish dare. Your friends had called you out to the park again today, but Jungwon wasn't going to go. He knew you wouldn't be there so there was no point. He wished he could tell you that he hadn't meant half the things he'd said about the kiss at the grove that day. He was just trying to show you that the kiss hadn't made him feel some type of way. Not just that, but he was also attempting to persuade himself that he indeed had loathed it. Maybe he should have been truthful instead of lying about it.

This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. Jungwon was always fond of you. He cared for you and he wouldn't lie when he said that he loved you. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that maybe he felt that way because he thought of you as more than a friend. Jungwon didn't want to convince himself that he liked you just because you had confessed to him. He wanted to understand the way he truly felt about you.

He knew every little thing about you. No one knew you as well as he did. Jungwon cherished your friendship and the time he spent with you. Whenever anything bugged him, he always came to you, knowing that you were the only person who could make things better. He relied on you more than anyone else. He couldn't go a day without speaking to you. After yesterday, he realized how important you were to him. The fear of losing you ate at him the longer he stayed away from you.

Jungwon hated knowing that you were sad. It hurt more to know that he was the reason behind it. He wanted nothing more than to hug you and apologize for making you feel bad. He felt guilty for everything he had done. It had only been a couple hours since he had last spoken to you, but it felt longer. He missed you so much.

So he left you a text, asking you to meet him at your secret spot. He kept his phone close, waiting till you replied. But you didn't. You probably wanted nothing to do with him. Nonetheless, he still hoped and prayed that you would give him one last chance to make things right again. He couldn't afford to lose someone as special as you. There was nothing for him if he didn't have you.

~

☀︎ DAY 7 ☀︎

Jungwon laid in the grass, staring at the dull sky above. It was filled with clouds, hiding the sun. The grove felt so big and endless when he was alone. When he was with you, it was much more cozy and bright, even if the atmosphere was gloomy.

He had been waiting for you for quite a long time now. You hadn't replied to his message last night, but he knew you had seen it. Just before he was about to lose hope, he heard the grass crunch a few feet away from him. Jungwon didn't have to look to know it was you. No one else knew the path to get here.

"What do you want," you asked, voice small but laced with malice. You were cross with him. Jungwon wished to change that today. He patted the space next to him. "Let's not pretend like we hate each other. You could do the worst thing to me but I'd still admire you."

You didn't argue and sat down beside him. Other than the tension in the air, everything felt normal. There was a scowl on your face. It must have taken a lot of convincing for you to come here. Jungwon needed to get to the point.

"I'm sorry about everything I said. I didn't even mean half of those things."

You scoffed. "Oh really? They sounded pretty heartfelt to me."

Jungwon sat up. "I was just trying to enforce the idea that I wasn't into you, on myself," he revealed, hoping that you would forgive him. "And being a dick was the only way you could do that? Jungwon, you weren't the only one who was attempting to suppress their feelings," you refuted.

"I know y/n. And it's my fault for not realizing sooner," he admitted, hanging his head. You sighed and shook your head. "This is so immature. I can't believe we're letting a stupid dare get in the middle of our friendship."

Jungwon chuckled darkly. "Maybe it's a sign that our friendship has run its course."

You turned to him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Jungwon smiled. "I gave it some thought yesterday. We're both attempting to be in denial of our feelings. Obviously, that isn't working out. If it wasn't for this dare, they would've remained buried deep down somewhere. But I guess you could say everything happens for a reason." He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I never realized how much I loved this feeling until I had to go a whole two days without it."

You couldn't even hide your smile. "Where is this going Jungwon?"

"Maybe we should give this a chance. Give us a chance. Who knows? It could turn out the be the best thing that's ever happened to us," he said, meeting your eyes.

"And what if it doesn't? We would be throwing so many years of friendship away."

Jungwon shook his head. "How long are we supposed to contradict how we truly feel about each other? That would take a heavier toll on us."

You laughed, squeezing his hand. "It doesn't hurt to try I guess."

Jungwon beamed. "That's the spirit!" It felt nice to see you smiling at him again. He was grateful for that. It was funny how a large part of his mood depended on you. If you were happy, he was happy. If you were sad, he was sad. His entire world revolved around you, and Jungwon knew the best thing to do was strengthen that bond.

"So, will you be my girlfriend," he asked, smiling cheekily. You bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes. "Of course I will."

⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this fic. Please let me know how you found it! Thank you so much!

[poptod]

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate. 

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Not a Baby: Nat and Chris (And Ronnie)

CW: The first part is pure fluff with a couple underage drinking references/jokes. Second part references the events of Chris getting appendicitis (One, Two, Three, Four) and takes place while he is healing from surgery. Includes surgery references, whumpee rejecting medication, medical trauma references

Sometimes, you just want bittersweet fluff lined with angst.

-

“You gotta help me out,” Tristan sings along with the radio as they wait at a red light, Ronnie furtively checking her phone. “It’s all a blur last ni-eee-eye-ee-ight…”

One message from Paul, just now out of bed after a longer-than-usual workday had fully wiped him out, thanking her for leaving some food in the fridge. She smiles, faintly, at the sight of the little heart emojis he leaves after every single text. 

He’s not much for showing emotion in his face, not like Tristan wears his own feelings on his sleeve, but he knows how to make sure Ronnie feels loved. He always has.

The light turns green, and she taps on the gas, then lets her foot slowly press down. Next to her, Tristan dances in his seat, totally unselfconscious, rocking back and forth. 

“We need a taxi, ‘cause you’re hungover and I’m broke…”

Ronnie starts laughing, one hand over her mouth, the other still on the wheel.

He blinks, turning to look at her. They just clipped his hair short last week, getting him ready for the next competition coming up. She never expected to be a Gymnastics Mom, not once, but here she is, chaperoning her teenage son to the gym on a Saturday afternoon, where he more or less lives these days. “What?”

“I just. It’s something else to listen to your teenage son sing about being hungover, Tris. That’s all. You’re way too young for this song. And probably just for Katy Perry in general, not that anyone should listen to-”

“Mom.” Tristan rolls his eyes, leaning over and pointedly turning the volume up on the radio. “I like Katy Perry. And I, I, I know what hungover is. I’m not, not, not, not-... not-not four years old. I’m fifteen.”

“Fair enough, but I don’t think my fifteen-year-old should know about being hungover, either.” She takes a turn, the radio cheerfully blaring that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas and she wonders why she keeps letting Tris pick the radio station, exactly, when they could be listening to some perfectly fine soft rock right about now. “What do you get up to at Aki’s, huh? Maybe I need to speak to Aimi. Ask if you’re having wild parties as soon as I leave.”

“Oh my god, Mom.” Tristan turns bright red, and she tries not to enjoy how much he’s his father’s son - always but especially when he blushes, the red seeming to make the scattering of pale freckles stand out even more, not less, when he does. “You are, are not going to-... we don’t drink, Mom. We just, just watch shows and… hang out.”

“I know, baby,” Ronnie says, laughter still edging her voice. “I’m teasing you, that’s all.”

He glares out the windshield where he sits next to her, running his fingers up and down the smooth seatbelt, along its edge. Back and forth, enjoying the mix of silk and rough in the texture, she thinks. 

“I’m not a, a, a, a baby,” He mumbles, all teenage resentment and irritation. 

“Oh, honey. That’s the downside of having parents,” Ronnie says, gentling her voice down to affection, taking another turn. She can see the gym now, down at the end of the street. Aimi will probably already be here with Aki, she figures, and maybe they can make a coffee run while the boys practice. “It doesn’t matter how old you get. You could be fifty and I could be sixty-seven and I’d still see you wrapped in that hospital blanket looking up at me with big eyes. Even when we’re both old, you’ll still be my baby.”

He rolls his eyes again, but this time she catches the hint of a smile he’s trying to hide pulling at one side of his mouth. Tristan leans forward and switches the radio station over to Ronnie’s favorite, then falls back into his seat, focusing on the seatbelt again.

Sometimes, like his father, he doesn’t know how to say he loves her, but he always knows how to show it.

-

Two and a half years later

Nat came down for a glass of water, only to find Chris wide awake on the couch at 3 am, top teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip she was afraid he’d draw blood, making his slow, careful, shuffling way towards the stairs.

She’d managed to convince him to go back to the couch, or really more or less command him, but the trade-off was promising she’d stay downstairs with him for a while.

Now, instead of water she has a mug of hot tea steaming gently on the side table, instead of her warm bed she has Chris’s head resting on a pillow in her lap while she runs fingers slowly through his hair - dark red in the night, lit with a hint of silver by the reflected light coming off the television - and instead of dreams, she has reruns of Frasier.

“You palmed your pain medication earlier, didn’t you?” She asks the question as gently as she can, without judgement.

He doesn’t answer, green eyes locked on the television, where the main character’s younger brother is preparing for a date and managing to set an ironing board on fire in the process. It’s probably one of the best scenes in television history, but Nat can’t even begin to pay attention to it. Worry has her all twisted up, heart beating a little too fast, as she picks up her mug and takes a sip, honey and lemon and yes, a little bit of whiskey in her tea all settling over her tongue. 

“Chris,” She says, softly. “I asked you a question.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all he says, and he doesn’t move. His head is a soft weight against her leg, and his hair runs like silk through her fingers. He’s pale not just from the darkness and the late-night TV, but from the pain he must be in, must be holding back.

Of course, there’s no one who has come through her house who hasn’t been pretty good at hiding pain, after a while. Once you’re drowned in it, once it’s your everyday truth, you learn not so much to actually hide it as simply to go on living with it. 

No one Chris’s age should already be so good at this.

“You have to take those, or you’re going to hurt like this all the time for a while,” Nat says, trying to keep from lecturing him. His freckles stand out more, lit by the cool blue-tinged light of TV. She watches him smile, just a little, at the slapstick comedy going on. “It’ll take longer for your incision to heal if you-”

“Don’t, don’t like pills,” Chris whispers, and she watches one of his hands, palm flat, running up and down the heavy weighted blanket she’s laid over him. It’s soft as rabbit fur, and he starts to hum, nearly a whisper, as he touches it. “Jake’s gone. Out. Didn’t… didn’t want them.”

Nat takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Chris, you can’t only take pills when Jake is here to give them to you. He can’t always be here, he has things he does outside of this house-”

“I know. But… I didn’t want them. I, I, I don’t mind hurting a little.”

The funny thing is, it’s not bluster. He really doesn’t. Chris would really rather lay here, awake in the middle of the night, in terrible pain than simply put two pills into his mouth and wash them down with water. There’s been too much done to him with drugs, and he’s not the only one she’s had to help recover the idea of medicine as something other than torture.

He’ll get there.

She hopes.

“Okay, well… where did you put them?”

There’s silence, again, but this time he shifts a little, a flash of his hurt and discomfort across his expression. “In, in the couch cushions.”

“Do you have any of your other doses in there?”

“... mmhmm.”

“Chris…” She sighs, putting her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her fingers just above the bridge of her nose as the tension starts to build behind her eyes. Oh, her head’s going to hurt soon. She can’t just be up at night like she used to without paying for it the next day. “How many have you skipped? Huh?”

“... four.”

“Four. Four times-... okay.” She exhales, slowly - he’s tense under her hand, now, and she can feel the worry in him. Knows he’s trying to figure out if he’ll be in trouble, get punished. Disciplined for the ways he’s learned to live with what happened to him.

A different kind of test than what he’s tried on Jake, but it’s still a test.

“Chris. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to have to sit here and watch you and see you swallow them. I know that it’s hard for you, I do, and I’m so sorry that we have to do this, but I have to take care of you. I want to take care of you. And part of that is making sure you know how to care for yourself. When you’re recovering from serious surgery-”

“The, the, the, the cut’s not even that big,” He mutters, a hint of irritation. 

Nat feels a surge of affection for him that, if she were standing, would nearly knock her off her feet. Chris interrupting her, Chris being pouty and sulky and every inch a seventeen-year-old boy, is a new thing. She doesn’t take it for granted.

It’s just… a little inconvenient right now.

“It doesn’t matter how big it is. It went all the way inside your stomach, and it was a pretty serious surgery. You need these pills or you are going to hurt like hell for so much longer than if you take them and get better. You got it?”

He sighs, but relaxes against her again, and she starts running fingers through his hair again, simple and maternal. “Yeah. I, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s watch the show and see if maybe you’re up for taking your dose and heading back to sleep in a bit, huh?”

“Will you, you, you stay? Even if I-... even if I do, and fall asleep?” He twists a little to look up her and winces as it pulls the still-tender muscles in his abdomen. “Will you stay?”

Nat thinks about how badly her back’s going to hurt in the morning. The headache already trying to sneak its way in around the edges. How she’s going to end up napping half the day away and not getting a damn thing done she had planned.

Then she just smiles down at him, at his wide green eyes in his narrow face and the heavy blanket hiding every other inch of him in softness and warmth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay right here with you, ‘til Ant’s up in the morning. How’s that sound?”

“Good. See if you can get comfortable for a bit.”

The two of them fall back into an easy silence, broken only by the low-volume of the TV show, and get through two more episodes of Frasier before Nat’s tea is gone and she and Chris are both half-asleep on the couch, her hand simply resting on his hair, now, light but ever-present. 

Eyes closed, the television’s cool blue still dancing against the inside of her eyelids, she hears Chris mumble, “Night, Nat,” in a sleep-slurred voice. It’s got to be four in the morning, there’s not much night left.

“Night, baby,” Nat murmurs.

“Not a, a baby, Mom,” Chris whispers, but both of them are too close to sleep to notice.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[lorei-writes]

Impression of Infinity

Vincent x Reader Fluff (?) Fantasy AU

Word Estimate: 1.5k

I blame @cheese-ception​ for this. Also, excuse typos, I literally wrote the last parts with closed eyes, because I can’t see anything just regardless - it’s all blur.

Content Warnings: none Disclaimer: Reader & Vincent are of the same age, Vincent just found himself in a very peculiar situation

Vincent’s finger twitches – and green grows between the rows of students, translucent, reaching up to the very ceiling. His wrist twists the brush by what could be an error margin, the swing of his arm summons purples, invites them alongside violets, to rest between the stars – and you watch very carefully, although you know you should observe his work, not him, that you should listen to his words, not the thumping filling your head… Yet how could you, if he has you charmed, if you cannot turn your eyes away? Vincent nearly dances, his cheeks growing redder from exercise, the canvas he chose being much greater than the body he inhabits. To paint it must be tiresome, you reckon, although your concerns vanish, the spark in his eyes causing something inside of you to sting. Clearly, he is not the same boy you used to know, not the one sentenced to the fate of failure due to his inability to enchant with his voice alone. Yet… Is there anything wrong with that? After all, his greatest flaw turned into what made him a prodigy, as you always claimed.

The heat does not hold against the chilly air of the corridor, you think, the soles of your shoes clacking against the granite floor. The air vibrates outside, kept ablaze by merciless sun, the dreaded celestial body refusing to set even at night, its halo extending from one end of the horizon to the other – and even as your eyebrows furrow, you cannot stop and stare through the tinted-glass windows for even a moment, a steady stream of humans behind your back pushing you forward. In this world of yours, rather secluded from the outside realm, it is another sort of movement that agitates the air, lively chatter lifting in clouds, further replenished by curious students.

The lecture theatre is a marvel in its own right, rows of wooden benches and bookrests refusing to fall apart despite all the centuries passed. You take your seat, in the very front row – and although you try to, you cannot help wondering who sat there before you. Have… Have they discovered anything? Gained some fame? You cannot tell for sure, that much is certain, yet… It would not be unthinkable, it would not be impossible in any way. The Seventh Century University have had quite a number of excellent graduates.

Your hands beginning to hurt, you forcibly unclench your fists, your gaze lifting up from the floor. Right in time, as the chatter stops abruptly, killed by the shriek of the walnut door. A man, no taller than average, steps inside – and something perhaps stings inside your chest, just a little bit. His robe is somewhat crooked, just the way you remembered it to be, the traditional pointy hat (much dreaded by any student, in all fairness) seemingly glaring at him from its place in his arms. He looks around, as if lost, mildly dishevelled blonde hair appearing not to have grown any more obedient the past year. Your throat tightens. He is already at the lectern. “Good evening,” he laughs awkwardly. “My name is Vincent van Gogh and I will be your Practical Astronomy professor.”

The room grows dark, obsidian seemingly crawling over all stone spaces and consuming them whole. Your jaw tightens. Was it truly just a year? To think, so much would have changed… For you both to start at the same time, and then…

It happens as if a sea of fireflies was released into the room, a single twitch of the brush in his hand colouring the nothingness anew. “As we all know, Tralangea is located within the Galatos triad, in the galaxy of Saana. Little is known about the outside universes, however, the most recent findings indicate the remaining splatter points present different variants of the reality known to us. As you should already known after going through Analytical Divination, it would align well within the still-standing model of inter-crossings. In this moment, I want you to imagine the infinite number of elements, circulating through space and interacting with one another. I will give you a second.” The light dies down again, the previously invoked golden specks splashing against the ground. “How does it look?”

No one dares disrupt the silence. How can he ask? It is impossible to answer, of course – and you are very well aware of that. How to picture an infinity? Is it… A trick question, perhaps? You go over the possibilities in your thoughts. A void? The light? You do not know. Something completely abstract, the end of all times? For all you know, it may be just that, and your fellow students seem to agree, confused whispers beginning to hum behind your back. The hushed voices growl, a sea of flies united in mere human distrust. “Professor?” some brave soul asks. “Yes? Do you have an answer?” “I… I think this is impossible.” “Oh? Why so? I might have given you too tough a question at the start,” Vincent laughs, seemingly mildly unease. “It is infinity, professor.” The room quiets down, the concern of all having been spoken out loud. “It is impossible to picture infinity with a finite mind. It would fry it up!” A smack, a couple steps. “I see, you are not aware,” Vincent muses, something swishing in the air. “Your life already is an infinity, in this very moment.”

The room begins to glow, the brush in Vincent’s hand seemingly coming to life with a mind of its own, streaks of navy blue and petrol painting below the dome, swirling and tying with shades of orange, lined with golden dust. “We do not need perfection. We need a model,” he explains softly, almost tenderly, his gaze focused.

Vincent’s finger twitches – and green grows between the rows of students, translucent, reaching up to the very ceiling. His wrist twists the brush by what could be an error margin, the swing of his arm summons purples, invites them alongside violets, to rest between the stars – and you watch very carefully, although you know you should observe his work, not him, that you should listen to his words, not the thumping filling your head… Yet how could you, if he has you charmed, if you cannot turn your eyes away? Vincent nearly dances, his cheeks growing redder from exercise, the canvas he chose being much greater than the body he inhabits. To paint it must be tiresome, you reckon, although your concerns vanish, the spark in his eyes causing something inside of you to sting. Clearly, he is not the same boy you used to know, not the one sentenced to the fate of failure due to his inability to enchant with his voice alone. Yet… Is there anything wrong with that? After all, his greatest flaw turned into what made him a prodigy, as you always claimed. You were right. You were right in not telling him not to…

Vincent lifts his arm over his head, a halo emerging above him. His lips move, a barely audible charm seeping out of his lungs and pulling his creation into a newly created sphere. The room lights up again, granite having conquered the walls. You blink fast. Is it over already? “We have a little more time, so allow me to repeat myself. It is not about creating perfection, but much rather… An impression,” Vincent laughs, perhaps a little shy of what they have just witnessed. “The universes are infinite and so are their interpretations. With our current state of understanding, we cannot provide an accurate depiction. However, different stances on them can be beneficial in certain contexts. Do you know what my model could be used for?” “Map of the stars!” somebody shouts in the back. “Exactly,” he agrees, nodding happily, his lips curled into a smile. “It is what I focused on. By the end of the year, I want you to be able to process an infinite amount of information and take only a fraction of this information. Starting next week, we will be deconstructing our universe. Any questions?” Silence. “You’re free then, thank you.”

The seats around you empty at a gradual pace, some pooling around the lectern (it appears the shyness is quite infectious, you note) while others speed out of the hall, seemingly terrified of classes which are yet to come. You, however, you stay still, as if unable to move, although there is nothing holding you back. Is it you? Is it a mean spell somebody has cast? You do not know, although it seems it is not your day for knowing anything, Vincent, the very Vincent you knew so well, emerging right before you, from who knows where. He graces you with the brightest smile you have seen in a year. “Hello. I didn’t know you were taking my class,” he says, a trace of laughter in his voice. “I saw you listed as the professor and could not believe it, so of course, I had to see it for myself,” you reply, shaking your head, perhaps mildly amused. “Congrats! That internship must have been so hard, you skipped so many years! I hope they didn’t torture knowledge into you there, professor Van Go –” you stop before you finish the word, Vincent scratching his head, his eyes drifting way from you. “Vincent?” “Well, emm… I didn’t skip any years,” he laughs. “It is just those models. The rest, well…” “You still need to pass them?” “Please, tell me you have not chosen my subject over Astral Projection this year,” he forces out of himself – although you barely hear it, laughter shaking your arms violently. “I haven’t. How does this even work?” “I don’t know. I don’t think they know either.” “Oh, Vincent. Well, professor van Gogh, get ready for failing Astral Projection, Miss Szajna took over it this semester and I do not see anything painting in bright colours, unlike your models.”

You get up, the both of you walking to well, the next class. How does it all work? You have no clue. However, it does not matter in the slightest, a weight having been lifted off your heart. You can still tell him those three words. You have not lost your chance.

Tag List: @cheese-ception​​​​, @kisara-16​​, @nad-zeta​, @rikumorimachisgirl​ @bestbryn​​ If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

[lovemybluebully]

Danger Room Level 1

Posted this at the beginning of the year on my DA account. Thought I’d throw it up on here. This was my first Wolverine tickle pic in 4 years! O_O

https://www.deviantart.com/lovemybluebully/art/Danger-Room-Level-1-865337680

Wrote a little story to go along with it.

Story is below the ‘Keep Reading’ line.

*/M Tickle Fic (Obviously lol) "Any other surprise challenges for me today, bub? Or is that all ya got?" Wolverine smirked confidently up at the team leader of the X-men, glancing over his shoulder at the pile of rubble consisting of destroyed weaponry and dismembered sentinels and robots of all sizes. Cyclops only sighed as he shook his head and looked down at the Canadian brawler from the control room of their training facility, having exhausted almost every combination of attacks that he could think to throw at him.

These scenarios of Wolverine slicing and dicing up every obstacle and foe were quite predictable and honestly getting a tad boring to watch over and over. Scott decided it was time to try something a little different. "No, this just isn't working. These upper level programs are just all foreseeable for you. Lets try something new. I say we scrap everything and start over from scratch. How about we start you at level 1?"

Logan's smirk disappeared as he frowned up at the other man. "Level 1? Yer kiddin' me, right? That's the program the Professor uses to train the kiddies."

"Trust me Logan it'll be perfect for you. Since you've always skipped over the bottom levels you'll have no idea what they contain so you won't be able to predict them so easily. Hell I don't even know myself exactly what is on each level, but lets give it a shot! Maybe we'll both learn something." Scott actually wasn't lying since he himself had been too competent for those beginner programs when he had joined the X-men. It was likely that Logan would just blow right through them, but he was curious and quite frankly desperate for a change of pace. "Fine. But this is gonna be just a waste o' time," Logan grumbled as he lazily stretched out his arms and cracked his neck. "Don't underestimate the Danger Room and dismiss this program so easily. It may be aimed towards the less experienced, but should still provide its own formidable experience. Remember to stay alert and don't let your guard down." Wolverine just scoffed and blew off his advice like he normally did. "Yeah whatever Slim. Lets get on with it."

"Ok great. Now just a moment here. I'm initiating level 1....," Scott uttered with some fast typing on the control board before pressing one final button, "Now." They waited for a few quiet moments, but nothing happened. Logan was about to quip some sarcastic remark when finally the Danger Room began to show some activity. A compartment on the wall opened and two gloved robotic hands being controlled by metal tentacles began to slowly make their way over to him. Logan snorted in disbelief and shook his head as he looked over the two appendages and noted that they were not holding any kinds of weapons; basically looking completely harmless.

"That's it? This is ridiculous. What's next, a pillow fight? Not that I expected this crap to be any kinda challenge whatsoever," Logan rolled his eyes as he raised his hands into the air and released his deadly claws; ready to dispatch the advancing robot hands with a quick swipe once they closed in. Not even a second later he quickly found his arms ensnared as two metal tentacles had crept in from behind to successfully restrain him much to Logan's shock. He growled as he tried to slice at the tentacles with his sharp claws, but they firmly held his arms away from each other just above his head. The distraction had been just enough that he barely had time to notice that the gloved hands had now reached him as one of them wasted not a moment to grab hold of the hem of his uniform's shirt and roughly jerk it upwards, exposing his bare stomach.

"Hey! What is...?!" He shouted in confusion; his words cut off as the other hand immediately shot forward and buried it's furiously wriggling digits right into his muscular belly.

Logan hadn't listened to Scott. He had let his guard down completely when he had seen this "threat" first enter the room. His overconfidence was now going to be his downfall for mocking the capabilities of the robot hand; the hand that was now ruthlessly tickling him. This tactic was a complete shock to him, and having not put up any of his mental defenses in preparation the laughter exploded out of him as soon as contact was made. "Ahahahaahaa! Wha-Whahahat's goin' ohohohon?! Stahahap thaaat!" He howled out at the mindless hand that relentlessly continued tickling all over his sensitive abdomen; the other hand holding his shirt securely out of the way. Scott too was in complete awe by just what method the program had decided to use, though he couldn't help but grin as he saw the situation that his normally cantankerous teammate was now in. It was already a known fact by the mansion's inhabitants that Logan was surprisingly ticklish as his female team members found it quite endearing and took great delight in ganging up on the burly mutant at times. Heightened senses did have their drawbacks. Still nothing that Scott himself would partake in, knowing that while Logan might put up with it from the ladies he was pretty sure he'd be skewered on the spot if he even made a hint at attempting such a thing. In a way he now felt that he had a sense of power in having Logan in this position. "See? That's what happens when you underestimate the situation, now get to work Logan. Tickling probably isn't a real world offensive that you're going to run into, but no harm in being extra prepared." Wolverine's claws remained out, but he couldn't move his arms enough to free himself. Unable to think straight he continued to fail in his efforts to come up with a strategy to get out of this aside from yelling up at the amused operator in the control room. "Cyyyykehehehee! Tuhuhurn thihis shihihihiiit ohahahahoff!!" Arms bulging he thrashed uselessly in the grip of the tentacles, trying to block the torturous hand from his body by lifting his knee to no avail. He'd been tickled worse than this before, but never had he been this helpless to defend himself. Meanwhile Scott mused over the scene before him. It in fact was a little stupid to be messing with one of the world's deadliest mutant's like this, and he was pretty sure there would be Hell to pay later. His hand hovered momentarily over the button to shut down the Danger Room, but then he pulled back. "No, I think you just need a little more time to figure this out. I have faith in you. I mean, this program is only used to train the 'kiddies', right?" Yup. He was pretty sure Logan was going to kill him after this. "Fuhuhuhuck yooooouuuu!!" Logan cackled as he desperately tried to regain some kind of focus though was only barely able to retract his claws back into his hands, knowing that they were of no use. "Aw c'mon Logan. You're not that ticklish, are you? Can't resist just one little hand tickling you?" Scott couldn't help but tease a bit, having on more than one occasion seen Logan nearly lose his mind from just having his stomach tickled by his teenage sidekick, Jubilee. No sooner had he said that when a third hand began to move in from out of Logan's sight before grabbing the squirming mutant right below his ribs as the fingers playfully dug in over and over again.

"Bwahahahahahahahahaa!! Noooo!! Gehehet 'em offa meeheeheehee!!" Roaring with laughter from the added torture Logan was regretting not taking the lowest level of the Danger Room more seriously. With his arms being held out of the way he couldn't even use them to help guard his body no matter how hard he pulled to free them. It wasn't much longer before his legs began to weaken as he attempted to sink to the floor to hopefully get him a split second of reprieve.

He was allowed to move to the ground, but the hands were unrelenting. With a firm tug the restraining tentacles around his forearms pulled him down onto his back as a few more hands now appeared seemingly out of nowhere to join in tickling under his arms and the other side of his ribcage.

"No!! No!! Stahahahap ihihihihit!! Lemme outtahahaha heeheeheeeere!!" The Wolverine howled as he kicked and squirmed like crazy; his armpits being one of his worst spots. Two other metal tentacles quickly slithered over and grabbed onto each leg to stretch him out and prevent him from curling up in defense. Tears crept out of the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard as so far he had made no progress in getting loose. "Very disappointing Logan. I thought for sure you'd have passed all these lower levels with ease. Well it seems we've uncovered your true weakness. Something that your healing factor won't protect you from. We'll probably have to repeat this level over and over until you get it right," Scott grinned wider, only half serious as he liked to push Logan's buttons at any given opportunity. He was hardly listening though; too focused on the incessant tickle torture. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse two additional hands made their way over and quickly tugged off his boots, revealing his twitching bare feet as Logan's eyes bulged in panic. "HEY!! Hey hey waahaahaait a m...minute!! No don't!! Not the-AAAHAHAHHAHAHA!!" Fingers wildly scratched at his tender soles, tickling from his wide heels to up under his curled up toes with not a thing he could do to stop them. He was laughing harder than he'd ever had as the tears began to roll down his cheeks. He absolutely could not handle having his feet tickled and once had accidentally kicked Rogue for trying. Luckily she is a tough woman though she used it as an excuse to really punish him with his ankles trapped in the crook of her super strong arm while Logan hysterically cried 'Uncle'. This was more than he could stand. Being spread out and tickled in all his most sensitive spots at once with no way to guard himself was where he drew the line. He loathed the thought of what he was about to do, but he couldn't hold back the frantic pleas that came pouring out. "NAAAHAHAHAHAHOOOO!! N-NO MORE!! STOPSTOP!! PLEEHEEHEEEEASE!! I CAN'T..HAHAHAHAHAA..CAAHAAHAAN'T T-TAKE THIHIHIIS SHIIIIIT!!" Scott was just enjoying the show as he chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "Wow. Who knew? All one has to do to defeat Wolverine is to tickle him and he'll be begging for mercy. Better hope none of your enemies ever find out about this one."

And with that he finally pushed the button to shut down the currently running program in the Danger Room. He'd have been more than happy to let it keep going, but even he could feel some sympathy for his frenemy and knew once he started begging that he had had enough. Logan instantly panted in relief as the hands all stopped tickling him while he was gently released from the restraints, everything then retracting back into the chambers that they had emerged from. A giggle escaped him here and there as he still had a phantom feeling of the fingers all over on his body.

Scott slowly clapped his hands in jest from the control room as he grinned down at the seemingly lifeless body. "Not bad, Logan! I think you almost had it there, but I'm sure you'll do better next time! So what do you think? Ready for level 2?"

The middle claw that immediately popped out of Logan's fist crudely gave him his answer.

[annewritesfic]

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

y’all i’m so attached to this au-

anyways! based on chapter 58 of cress by marissa meyer!

tw: discussion of blood, violence, chess has a pretty gorey nightmare in the first section (you can skip the first few paragraphs and pick up at “Chess opened her eyes with a gasp” to miss it), blades, pain medication, mention of attempted murder/murder, hallucinations

word count: 2275

In Chess's dreams, she was being chased by a wolf.

She was running through a field of crops with thick mud that sucked at her shoes, fog soaking her jacket and leggings, her lungs burning and her eyes stinging and her heart thundering. Dry leaves crunched underfoot, quickly being swallowed by the mud, and something in the back of her head dimly registered that she was being chased through the sugar beet fields on the Benoit farm back home. Even as she thought it, something began to glow in the distance - the lights of a farmhouse. Her house. The house she’d grown up in, the house that had always been safe and warm. If she could just make it to the farmhouse, then everything would be okay.

But no matter how hard and fast Chess ran, the farmhouse didn’t get closer. It almost seemed that for every step she took, the farmhouse was three steps farther away. She might’ve been running for hours or days or months or years, but the farmhouse got no closer. Eventually, the fog closed in and swallowed the farmhouse, the warm glow blinking out of existence.

She tripped, landing on her hands and knees with a shout of pain, mud sticking to her clothes and caking her braid. The damp wetness soaked into her bones, making them ache from the cold. She looked up, and just a few feet away was the wolf, crouched low to the ground, eyes flashing with hunger and anger. Her hands desperately searched for a weapon on the ground, something, anything, as the wolf got closer, and closer, and closer…

There. Something smooth and hard under her fingers. It was surprisingly easy to yank from the mud. She barely had time to look at it, to register the blade glistening in the moonlight under the layer of mud, the sanded wooden handle - an axe - before the wolf leaped in the air, jaws unhinged, sharp teeth reflecting in the axe blade. Chess lifted the axe reflectively, bracing herself, just moments before the wolf would’ve landed on her chest and ripped her to shreds.

The axe cut clean through the wolf, slicing it in two pieces from snout to tail. Its blood splashed all over Chess’s face and chest, and she heard twin thumps as the two halves fell on either side of her head. A choking sob fought its way up her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, sure she was going to throw up.

Then the two halves of the wolf began to move, shifting beside her into two human-like shapes, each wearing half of the pelt. The fog began to clear as two hands reached towards her, and Chess stifled a cry - her grandmother and Cairo, welcoming her home.

Chess opened her eyes with a gasp.

Instead of her grandmother’s old military jacket and Cairo’s shining eyes, all she saw were steel bars. The air was filled with the scent of ferns and moss. The chatter of birds was so overwhelming she almost covered her ears.

A soft yip came from somewhere to the side, sounding concerned - the white wolf. Chess rolled over to look at him - on the other side of the pathway, the wolf sat, watching her. He tilted his head a little bit, and it struck her how much he almost seemed like the neighbors’ dogs back home.

Home…

It wasn’t the first time she thought it, but Chess was still shocked by the near-physical pain in her chest, the longing for the rolling fields and blue skies and familiar faces. She wanted to go home.

“He likes you,” said a voice.

Chess inhaled sharply and sat up, eyes searching wildly for the source of the voice. A girl about her age was sitting in her cage, hands folded in her lap, watching her curiously, close enough to touch. Chess tried to move away, but pain shot through her hand, and she fell back to the ground with a hiss of pain. Her hand was wrapped in bandages, but her pinky was the worst of it - during her trial, Levana had forced her hand to pick up a hatchet and use it on the pinky finger of her other hand, taking it off at the second knuckle. The pain had been bad enough that she’d wished to pass out, although she hadn’t. But while that was the worst of her pain now, it wasn’t all of it - there were scratches and cuts and bruises all over her entire body, some from the scuffle on the satellite and some from that awful Lunar boy she’d stayed with for several days and most of the aches from sleeping on hard floors for more nights than she could count.

The strange girl didn’t react to Chess’s fear. She sat quietly against the wall, her back straight, looking interested and curious. She clearly wasn’t another prisoner - she wore a pale pink dress that looked out of place against the dark regolith Chess’s cage was carved from. Her honey-brown hair tumbled around her shoulders in healthy, shiny curls, half of it tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes were a pale blue, sparkling with excitement, and Chess realized that her left eye had three scars below it, cutting in straight, parallel lines down her cheek - almost like perpetual tear tracks.

She was the most beautiful person Chess had ever seen.

And it was that beauty that made Chess realize she was wearing another glamour - another trick.

“Ryu and I were wondering if that was a very good dream or a very bad one?” the girl asked in a sweet voice. “You were mumbling to yourself quite a lot.”

Chess pushed away the lingering memory of the dream, the image of Cairo and her grandmother smiling at her. “Who the hell are you? And-and who’s Ryu?”

The girl smiled. “Ryu is the wolf, silly!” She turned to look at the wolf across the path. “Haven’t you been neighbors for four months now? Ryu, why haven’t you introduced yourself?”

The wolf blinked big yellow eyes at her.

The girl looked back at Chess and leaned forward, like she was sharing a big secret. “And I am your new best friend. But you mustn't tell anyone, because all the guards think that I am your master and you are my pet - they don’t know that my pets are my dearest friends of all! We will fool all of them, you and I.”

Chess struggled to comprehend what the girl was saying. None of it made sense, or answered Chess’s question.

The girl reached for a basket beside her that Chess hadn’t noticed before. It seemed like a picnic basket, lined with some soft, silvery material. “I thought that today, we could perhaps play doctor and patient! I’ll be the doctor, of course. You seem in need of some care.”

Chess sat up and pressed herself against the opposite wall. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I know. That’s why it’s pretend.” The girl smiled wider. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“No, actually, I’m really not.” Chess’s fingers pressed against the rough stone floor. “I’ve been mentally and physically tortured, I’m starving, I’m thirsty, I’m locked up in a cage in a goddamn zoo-”

“Menagerie.”

“-and I’m hurting in a thousand different places. And now some crazy girl comes in here and wants to play make-believe? Like we’re best friends or some shit?” Chess scoffed. “I’m good. Go away.”

The girl sighed and leaned her chin on her hand, resting her elbow on her knee. “You shouldn’t call me crazy. The guards don’t like that. Even though it’s true.”

Neither of them broke the silence for a moment.

“I know it’s true. You want to know how I know?” The girl leaned forward again. “The palace walls have been bleeding for years, but I am the only one who sees.”

More silence.

“No one believes me, no matter how many times I say it,” the girl continued. “Sometimes I can’t help but step in it, and then I track bloody footprints everywhere, and I worry that perhaps a wolf soldier will smell it and come for me. But if the blood was real, don’t you think the palace maids would clean it up?”

Chess tried and failed to think of an answer.

The girl pulled a small box wrapped in ribbon. “These are for you. Doctor’s orders are to take one pill twice a day.” She handed Chess the box with a wink. “It isn’t real medicine, of course. It’s just candy. Sour apple petites - they’re my favorite.”

“I’m not eating one of those.”

“Why not? It’s a gift.” The girl opened the box and held it out to Chess - four small, round red candies, shiny and smooth. Chess didn’t move, and after a moment, the girl set the open box down on the floor between them.

“What do you want from me?” Chess asked.

“I want to be friends.”

“A friendship based on lies?” Chess laughed sharply, humorlessly. “Of course you don’t mind that. You’re Lunar. Lying is all you know how to do.”

The girl looked at her lap. “I’ve only ever had two friends - two human friends. One became a pile of girl-shaped ashes when we were very little, and the other has gone missing. I don’t know if he’ll ever return.” She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “But I asked the stars to send me a sign that he was all right, and the next day was a trial like any other trial, except standing before me was an Earthen girl who’d seen him.”

“Can you make sense? Please?”

The girl leaned forward, closer than she had before, close enough that Chess could almost feel her breath across her face. “Is he all right? Sybil said he was still alive, that he probably was supposed to be piloting that ship, but she didn’t say whether he’d been injured. Do you think he’s safe?”

“Who?”

The girl smiled again, almost wistfully. “Clark Winslett. Sybil’s guard. The man with the blond hair and the kind eyes and the smile that holds the sun. Is he all right?”

Chess blinked, baffled. She didn’t remember much from the fight on the Rampion, and what few memories she did have were blurry. But while her focus had been mostly on the thaumaturge, she did faintly remember a blond guard.

But the smile that holds the sun? Bullshit.

“I remember two people that tried to kill us,” she muttered.

“And he was one of them?” the girl pressed, seemingly unconcerned with the killing part.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The girl smiled gleefully. “Did he look okay?”

“He looked like he was trying to kill me,” Chess said. “But I bet my friends killed him first. That’s our typical procedure for people who work for your queen.”

The girl’s smile vanished. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. And he deserved it.”

The girl began to shake, almost hyperventilating. The wolf - Ryu - pawed at the bars of his enclosure, whimpering. Chess tamped down her guilt and told herself she wouldn’t call for the guard’s help.

The girl got her breathing under control and sat up, her hand resting on her basket. “I see. Well, I-I should go.” She moved as if to stand, but then stopped. “I wasn’t lying about the bleeding walls. Soon, the palace will be so soaked with blood that Artemisia Lake will be so red, even Earthens will see it.”

“I don’t care,” Chess said. “And I’m not going to feel sorry for you. Your glamours and your mind control - you people have built your entire civilization around those lies, and I don’t want anything to do with it.”

The girl crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Chess, but said nothing for almost a minute. Chess lifted her chin and looked the girl in the eye, refusing to be afraid.

“I haven’t used my glamour since I was twelve years old,” the girl said at last. “That’s why I have these visions. Why I’m going mad.”

Chess didn’t show her surprise as the steel bars of the cage opened and the girl ducked out, taking her basket but leaving the candy. “Your Highness,” said the guard as he closed and relocked the cage door.

Chess listened to the footprints retreat down the path, staring at the candies, her heart thundering in her ears.

Your Highness.

Princess Annleigh.

The queen’s stepdaughter.

Annleigh was rumored to be more beautiful than Levana herself - which was why the queen had given her those scars. Even Earth knew about her, about her unspeakable beauty, about her scars… though Chess had never heard about the girl going mad.

The candies lay in front of her still, tempting her. Chess had no reason to trust her, but she’d finished her one small meal hours ago, and she wouldn’t be fed until the next day. Her stomach began to ache, and her head spun, and while she was proud of how long she made it, eventually she reached for the box and lifted one of the candies from the shreds of paper it was nestled in. It was smooth as glass between her teeth and cracked easily, the warm, melty center sweet and sour on her tongue. Nothing, nothing, had ever tasted so good.

But it was nothing compared to the sensation that expanded through her chest, down to her legs and into her fingers. A feeling of warmth, of comfort, that took her pain away with it.

Chess managed a smile up at the glass ceiling, at the stars beyond it. Perhaps the princess wasn’t so cruel after all.

[sifeng]

Review: Love and Redemption

While I first started watching this drama out of pure curiosity of why people claimed it to be “the second most tragic drama” (after GMP, of course). While there are certainly aspects of this show that could be better, I find it fair to claim that it is a wonderfully made xianxia, and certainly one of the best in the genre within this decade. 

Plot:

According to legends, the god of war saved the heavens in a deadly battle against the demon a thousand years ago. Both fell from the heavens and disappeared from the world. Chu Xuan Ji was born to the world lacking in the six senses which makes her rather clueless and inept. She befriends Yu Si Feng, the outstanding head disciple of Lize Palace who falls for her, thus beginning a xianxia romance that is entangled with the conspiracies from the past. The Zan Hua Tournament is being held in the Shaoyang Sect and its leader Chu Lei has two daughters - his trusted eldest daughter Chu Ling Long, and the youngest daughter Chu Xuan Ji who is lazy and terrible at martial arts. When Yu Si Feng and Chu Xuan Ji meet through a coincidence, they forge a friendship with each other. Yu Si Feng falls for Xuan Ji despite the harsh consequences that he must face as it is forbidden for students of Lize Palace to fall in love. Meanwhile, Ling Long clashes with Wu Tong after she criticized his foul actions at the tournament. In retaliation, Wu Tong accidentally injures Xuan Ji and gets expelled. Having recovered from her injuries, Xuan Ji promises to concentrate on cultivating. Four years later, Xuan Ji and Yu Si Feng meet again. Si Feng wears a mask due to a curse that can only be broken if he finds true love. 

Cast:

Cheng Yi (成毅) as Yu Sifeng (禹司凤)

Yuan Bingyan (袁冰妍) as Chu Xuanji (褚璇玑)

Liu Xueyi (刘学义) as Hao Chen (昊辰)

Zhang Yuxi (张予曦) as Chu Linglong (褚玲珑)

My Opinions:

Plot (My Rating - A-):

First of all, I quite like the pacing in this drama. As the matter of fact, towards the end I actually feel like some things were rushed, not dragged out. It’s never a show that allows you to press the fast forward button, because 1. the tragic moments are super intense and dramatic, and 2. you don’t dare skip over the cute/funny moments because you know there won’t be many left. Second of all, I really appreciate that the writers of this drama really decided that they were going to make the most tragic drama ever. They really dedicated themselves to that craft, and I think they succeeded wonderfully. In terms of plot points, I absolutely loved the whole 9 lifetimes idea. It really brings out the tragedy and beauty of Yu Sifeng - he will do anything to protect those he loves, especially Xuanji. I would not complain if every single lifetime was made into a 45 minute episode, though that would be 405 more minutes of Sifeng being tortured by love on top of the infinite amount of minutes that already exist in this drama. 

One problem I had, again, was with the misunderstanding that separated our two leads. I understand that this misunderstanding was one that had to do with the morals, backgrounds and fates with both of them, and thus was obviously meant to be a separating factor, but with the way the two characters were written, it felt odd that it created such an amount of misunderstanding. Overall, the plot was good, it didn’t have any revolutionary ideas, but it turned up the tragedy factor and had consistent pacing (if not too rushed towards the end). I’m sure there were probably a few plot holes here and there (one of which is why is it so easy to destroy that huge jar thing towards the end? If that’s what’s keeping the universe at balance, shouldn’t it take more than just one Yuan Lang to destroy it?), but overall, solid plot.

Characters (My Rating - B):

Sifeng is an absolute angel. He’s probably the most heroic lead in a drama who acts totally out of selflessness, who will help his loved ones no matter what pain it puts him through, and who can remain so kind, so unbothered mentally by whatever pain everyone puts him through. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have faults. He acts irrationally in the face of love and he often mistrusts the people around him. He’s a very complete character that not only evokes viewer’s sympathy, love and admiration, but also makes sense when taking into consideration his morals. He rarely does things that are out of character. If I were to rate just his character I’d probably give an A+.

But, there are other characters in this drama. I do like Xuanji, not as much as I like Sifeng, but I like her more than most drama leads. Despite the whole lacking six senses thing being a super confusing plot hole of sorts (like she clearly likes people in the beginning, Linglong, Minyan, her father, and dislikes people, Wu Tong, but isn’t she supposed to be unfeeling? Also she screamed out of fear when she fell using the teleport tool etc etc), I liked how she wasn’t stupid, but simply naïve. She’s actually a pretty smart person, especially in the first half of the drama, when she defended Sifeng against the Five Sects, and then Minyan after he was caught from Tianxu Tang. She didn’t let herself be manipulated by her father or Hao Chen, but rather thought for herself, took into account what she knew of their characters and came to the correct conclusion that the Five Sects were being stupid. I found myself a slight bit annoyed when she took the Five Sects side on the whole Mosha Xing issue, but given that the argument was no longer Sifeng vs. her father, but rather demons vs. humans, I can sort of understand why she didn’t trust him. Also, he did lie to her a bunch of times so, I suppose that adds to the fact. Though, she failed to use the trait that I used to really like, which was the ability to take logic and character into consideration. Did she really think that Sifeng never loved her? Because like, with all the evidence right there in her memory, I find it hard for anyone logical being to come to that conclusion. Also, I really like how she eventually became as loving of Sifeng as he was of her. She was literally willing to destroy the world, and herself, just to save him. 

As I have said before, no one likes Hao Chen, and that’s good. He’s obviously written to be a character that you should dislike, not only because he gets in the way of Sifeng and Xuanji, but because he is clearly so biased against demons (despite the fact that most demons aren’t even bad at all); because he manipulates Xuanji/God of War so many times and doesn’t even feel guilty whatsoever; because he always says “for the three realms” and yet happens to do things that will completely destroy the peace of the three realms. There are things to like about him, like I am pretty sure that he does actually care about the three realms, and he does want there to be peace, but his ideology about peace, and love, and war are just so skewed that he ends up doing the opposite of what he wants to do. 

Other characters were mostly likable, like Linglong, Zi Hu, Teng She, Minyan (most of the time), Xiao Yinhua, Ruo Yu (sometimes), Wu Zhiqi, etc etc. Some were evil for no apparent reason like Yuan Lang (why does he want to control the three worlds? What happened to him in the past for him to become this power hungry? If these questions were answered this character could be sooooo much more compelling) and Wu Tong (again, why did he start out so violent and cruel? I understand why he become a demon and helped them, but like does he not realize that it was clearly his fault first?) Also, the Heavenly Emperor seems like such an odd character. I understand he is the emperor and so he shouldn’t hold his relationship with Bailin and Xixuan above their faults, but like why was he so okay with like letting a totally faultless Xi Xuan endure several mortal trials all ending with painful deaths? And if that was because he was being a good and fair emperor, why does he let a game board decide fate? He also just stood there while the world was ending, and it took Xuanji to convince him to help her. I would like to know more about this guy and his complete lack of ability to care about anything.

So overall, while I think the main characters were written very well, with complex characteristics, some of the villains were just left tools to push forward the plot. 

Acting (My Rating - A-):

So first of all, Cheng Yi’s portrayal of Yu Sifeng was absolutely amazing. He brought out all of Sifeng’s traits super well, from shyness initially to the cruelness Mosha Xing to his loving gaze at Xuanji to the heartbreak in tragic parts. I’m pretty sure he’ll become a star after this show, and can I just say, he totally deserves it!

(Like can you see the pain in his eyes?)

I was pleasantly surprised by Yuan Bingyan here. I really like how her acting style changed along with the new role she took, as Xuanji she was bright and cheerful, as God of War she was heartless and cruel. You can see in the nine lifetimes that the way she reacts to Sifeng’s death slowly changes. Her crying scenes need a little more emotion, but overall, a super stable performance. 

Chemistry/Romance (My Rating - A):

The chemistry was just amazing. I find it interesting that their kisses slowly got more and more passionate as time went on. 

I think part of the reason they have such good chemistry is because of the acting. Like oh my god their tiny reactions to when the other gets hurt really gives it away that they love each other. 

The romance was also written nicely. While some people complain that Xuanji didn’t suffer enough, I feel like they don’t have to be equal in suffering in order for them to be a good pairing. You could tell from the very beginning that Xuanji liked Sifeng in a different way from other people. And the fact that they went through nine lifetimes together, each one when Sifeng died because of Xuanji... it just makes their romance so much more epic. Add that with good chemistry, good kisses, and good acting, well of course people love this ship so much! Xuanji would destroy the world for Sifeng, because the only person that matters in her world is Sifeng. Sifeng would put himself through ten lifetimes of torture just so Xuanji can be happy, because so long as Xuanji is happy, he will be happy. 

Music (My Rating - A): this one is simple. Just listen to the soundtrack and you’ll understand my rating. I didn’t give it an A+ though, because while all the songs are great, there isn’t one in particular that I love. 

Costumes (My Rating - A-): Sifeng’s costumes are really pretty. Some of Xuanji’s are pretty too, they get prettier as the show goes on, but some of the ones early on were kind of meh.

CGI (My Rating - A+): the best CGI in a cdrama. Just look at the scenes where Sifeng shows his wings! 

Overall Rating: A-

Recommend For: People who like xianxia dramas and dramas that try to incorporate a lot of themes. People who don’t mind their heart breaking a thousand times while watching a drama. People who want to find a couple that you have to root for. People who like super epic guzhuangs with lots of subplots, mythology, reincarnations etc. 

[fe-th-trash]

uh...hi

so like I’ve never done this before, but I desperately needed a creative outlet while doing my final papers and between playing FE:TH and listening to my playlist instead of studying, I got hit with an idea that’s been plaguing me for days, so please enjoy this likely awful first attempt at this if you’re reading this I’m sorry thank you! WC: 1600ish

CW: Pre & Post Time-Skip, Azure Moon potential spoilers, lil angst, lil cuteness

The sights and sounds of the training room were of the few things that time hadn’t run away with. It’d been five years, five long, painful, years with the Imperial Army wreaking havoc on any land beneath its feet. Countless civilian and soldier lives had been lost and for what? All in the hopes of--

“Oof!” You manage, a strike while you were taking in your surroundings sending you to the floor. “Ugh. I yield.” “You’re distracted.” Felix concludes fairly easily, looking down at you, “That was a terrible hit. I was testing you, you failed.” “Okay, okay. I get it. Maybe a little. I’m sorry.” You sigh, rising and dusting yourself off. “I just...Being here again...I didn’t think it was going to feel this strange.” 

He forces air out of his nose audibly, shaking his head, “If you’re dwelling hard enough to let me land a hit like that, you’re going to get yourself killed on the battlefield. Reminisce all you want, some of us are here to prepare for what’s to come. Get yourself together. If you die...I’ll be annoyed.” He remarks, rolling his eyes as he turns, heading towards a training dummy that would undoubtedly be more of a fight than you were. If nothing else had remained, this was still the same Felix, that much is certain. 

The same bitter, broken, boy he’d been for nearly a decade. It was almost refreshing that he’d stayed the same. One familiar tongue in cheek remark and the upward turning of his eyes and it’s as though you’re both 17 again, more worried about the Professor’s overloaded tactics lectures and class exams than...well, a war raging on beyond the confines of what used to feel so safe. Of what, despite its dilapidated and decaying structure, still somehow felt safe. After everything it had so clearly been through, it was still standing, and that had to be a sign.

You didn’t know if it was being here again, or being surrounded by familiar faces for the first time in years that was keeping your chest warm, but you sincerely hoped the others were feeling it too. For the first time in so long, despite the current state of ruin that had fallen on Garreg Mach, the fragility of the surrounding circumstances, the rabid bloodlust that had overtaken Dimitri, the uncertainty of what the next few months would hold...

At long last, you could feel it. Something you thought was lost long ago.

Hope.

You consciously tried to remember a time before the war as you took your leave of the training grounds and walked toward the corridor of classrooms. Felix was right, it was useless to train if your mind was otherwise occupied. It was a miracle they were still mostly intact, and you found yourself picturing your Academy days, drifting into a daydream as the sound of your shoes on the cobblestones drifted gently away, replaced by the sounds of a bustling courtyard. 

Remembering your first day as a Blue Lion was an easy feat as you took the seat that used to be yours, in the very back of the room, where the professor would often catch you reading instead of listening to their lectures. It was one of those days, where you felt it necessary to do anything but pay attention that you’d find where you belonged, in of all places, detention.

Quietly scrubbing the blackboard thanks to your indiscretions, joined by Sylvain, who had pestered Felix into “accidentally” knocking an inkwell all over him, his desk, and the floor, Felix, who refused to apologize for the action, and Ingrid, peacefully standing in the doorway of the classroom, experiencing great joy at the hands of the two of them. Sylvain, who was meant to be mopping the floor, kept finding “missed spots” conveniently where Felix was working at cleaning the desks, knocking into him with the handle as he’d pass by and further annoying him, Ingrid suppressing her urge to both laugh at the action and scold each of them for being a nuisance to the other. It wasn’t long before Felix had stolen the mop from him and backed him up against the wall, Sylvain both smiling playfully as he looks down at him and holding his hands up, Ingrid shaking her head, bringing you into the world they’d created for themselves, “You’re free to crack either of them over the head with the broom in the closet if they get to be too much. I won’t tell the Professor.” “Tempting as that may be...” You joke, turning to watch along with her, drying your hands with one of the rags. “They are fairly entertaining.” “Don’t encourage them.” She warns, laughing a little as Sylvain sighs heavily,  “Alright, alright. Enough. You can’t kill me with the ladies watching, especially not with such a blunt object.”

“Watch me.” Felix grumbles, shoving the handle into his chest with a thud and storming back to put the supplies away, Sylvain sporting a pout and rubbing where it’d hit, “Too far...noted.” He mutters, heading for the assist with extreme caution, leaving you to crack a smile as you take the dirty water out to the bushes, Ingrid assisting despite not being in trouble. “Sorry about them.” “Don’t worry, I find them entertaining. I look forward to the day Felix has finally had enough.” “That...is not a day I’d like to imagine. Planning Sylvain’s funeral won’t be fun, especially when a body can’t be found.” She jokes, the both of you laughing as you head back to the classroom, “Hey, are you two ready to quit quarrelling? They’re going to start serving dinner any minute!” “I never wanted to start. Goddess sake.” 

Ingrid went on to invite you to dine with the three of them, something that greatly pleased Sylvain while simultaneously displeasing Felix. If there was anything he hated more than Sylvain’s antics, it was being forced to socialize, especially with people he didn’t already know. He’d chosen civility as a basis, but your disregard of Sylvain’s advances, and the fact you made Ingrid happy, quickly changed his mind. You didn’t know when exactly he’d started considering you a friend, but somewhere between the first time he’d called you a fool out of annoyance and long nights in the library studying by candlelight, you assumed he enjoyed your company, even if he’d never say as much.

“How did I know I’d find you here?” came his voice, startling you out of the depths of your mind. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your cheeks, brought on by days that would never happen again, until you turned toward the sound, him standing in the doorway, softening slightly when he saw the state of you. “I don’t know why you insist on torturing yourself.” he continues, heading inside the classroom, hesitating slightly as he passed his old desk. 

“Fe...” You manage, wiping at your face, “It ended so...suddenly. Everything changed so fast. I just want...something to hold onto. You have to know what that’s like.” You attempt, looking over at him once again, him reluctantly levelling with you, sitting in the seat beside and looking across at the blackboard. “I do. And thinking of everything we didn’t get to do will only cause you pain. It’s foolish to sit here and think “what if” when there’s a war going on. If we are going to win, we need to keep our minds clear.” He says, looking to you. “After we’ve won, I’ll sit in the cathedral and help you light as many candles as you see fit. But for now...” he trails, rising once again, “...let me walk you back to your room. It’s dark out.” 

You agreed with no words, rising and pushing your chair in like you’d done a thousand other times and taking his hand as he led you off into the night, holding on tightly. If this was yet another dream, you weren’t letting him go that easily. 

Knowing you were in need of comfort, and not realizing just how much of his own was needed, he allowed this to continue all the way to your door, dropping your hand and turning toward you, your better judgment leaving you as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. 

The following few seconds were quiet as he was tense, his arms eventually finding their place around you. It wasn’t the first time, nor the first willing time, but likely the most necessary time for both of you. And in a few seconds more, it was over. He pulls himself away, clearing his throat. “Sleep off the rest of your nonsense...save it for later.” “You sleep too...if anyone tells me you went back to the training grounds after this...”

“Tch.”

“Exactly my point. Please rest yourself.” You found yourself near pleading. The deaths of those you didn’t know weighed so heavily, you didn’t want to imagine what losing someone so dear would mean. He merely shakes his head a little in response, turning to leave, “As you wish. Goodnight.” 

 “...Fe?”  He sighs, turning back toward you, “What? Need a bedtime story too?” “Do...you really think we’re going to win this?” You question, playing with your hands, unsure if you wanted an answer or just another minute of company as a gently and uniquely sly expression takes hold of him, his arms folding at his chest.

“Do you really think with the four of us together again, there’s any chance we’d lose?” He questions back, the warmth in you returning, that hopeful, optimistic feeling taking you over once again. “Of course not...goodnight Fe...thank you.”

“That’s what I thought. Enough of the foolishness...and get inside. Catching cold also does us no favors.” He says, an irritated tone that you knew by now was code for worry overtaking his voice, leaving you to smile and enter your room, gearing up to face the next day ready for what it throws at you.

All the while, Felix waits idly by to hear the clicking of the lock, the guarantee of your safety, before taking himself back to his own room, gently reminding himself of the pledge for “blades, blood, and battle” he’d made long ago, there being no time for anything but, no matter how it felt to finally hold your hand.

[jeranasblog]

Everything is about trust

Notes: This is my exchange fic for @starkerkink​​ and my lovely prompt partner is TellMeNoAgain. I really hope you like it <3 (and thanks a lot for editing, Mads)

Rating: E

Pairing: Peter Parker/ Tony Stark

Summary:   "During a fight, Tony tells Peter to drop back, and Peter swings forward, earning himself a stupid injury and giving Tony a minor heart attack. Tony's had enough- it's time to teach Peter what happens when bad boys don't listen."

Warnings: Dom/Sub, Punishment, Orgasm Denial, For further warnings (especially smut) check Ao3

Read on Ao3

Peter sat in the back row of the classroom, the wall to his left and Stuard, a student who was always sleeping at school, to his right. Even though they currently had physics, Peter’s favorite class, he had still decided to shut his brain off because he probably knew everything he could learn today anyway. Usually, he still participated since his grades were very important to get into MIT, but thanks to his boyfriend, he wasn't even coherent enough to explain the theory of relativity even if he wanted to. 

 Everything had started yesterday during an Avengers mission. Iron man, better known as Tony Stark and Peter’s boyfriend, had warned Peter not to come too close. Another villain had decided to attack New York City, nothing special so far, but he had used mean poison that burned through all layers of clothes. Not through an Iron Man armor, though, so Tony had ordered Peter to stay back and let him handle it. 

 Peter had wanted to obey, really, but then the monster had run towards Tony, and Peter had panicked, so he had thrown himself in front of Iron Man. A drop of poison had landed on his hand which had not been covered by his suit because Peter had adjusted his web-shooters a minute ago and his gloves had bothered him. 

 Thankfully, Peter wasn’t completely human and after an hour of tears and screams, he was as good as new again, no troubles, really. But Tony, apparently, disagreed because he had lectured Peter for over an hour this morning. He had even come to the small apartment in Queens, and May, the traitor, who also thought Peter’s actions had been stupid, listened to Tony and did nothing but smirk. So dramatic, both of them. 

 Unfortunately, Tony knew him too well, so he had already assumed the lecture wouldn’t stick. After an hour of screaming and yelling, he had grabbed Peter in front of May and brought him to his room, carried over his shoulder like a small child. Peter’s face had burned and he could only hope May wouldn’t mock him with it until the day one of them died. 

 As soon as the door closed behind them, Tony’s attitude had changed. He acted less like a disappointed principle and more like Peter’s Dom. Not good. Especially since Peter had about thirty minutes left until he had to leave for school and there was no way Tony would allow him to skip it for sex. 

 For a moment, Peter had thought he might have been wrong because Tony had crowded him against his wall and pulled down his pants.

 “Turn around, boy. Show me your hole. I won’t wait today.” Who could blame Peter for thinking he would get Tony’s beautiful thick cock at this moment? Right, no one. 

 But of course, Tony wouldn’t reward him after the stunt he had pulled last night. Instead of his boyfriend's length, a cold metal toy was pressed inside of him. Thankfully, it was already lubed and not that thick because Peter hadn’t been prepped enough. This would be doable. The toy wasn’t thicker than one, maybe two inches. But as soon as Tony had pulled up his trousers, he had smirked evilly and pulled a remote out of his pocket. 

 Oh, god. The girth of the toy was not only increasing, it apparently had an integrated lube shooter function as well because Peter could feel how something slick splashed against his insides. He whimpered like a whore while he tried not to tremble and fall on the ground. 

 “Shhh, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll drive you to school and pick you up after. You just have to get through the day.” 

 Peter moaned pathetically while he tried unsuccessfully to lessen the friction against his sweet spot. He just had to get through the day, he wouldn’t even have to take the subway. Easy.

 It was anything but easy. Every hour, the horrible toy expanded half an inch and released more lube inside of him until Peter was scared he would leak on the chair. He was constantly aroused and it was torture to hide his hard on in his pants without anyone noticing. Ned had asked him multiple times why he was so jumpy today and Peter’s answer had been nothing more than a dismissive grunt. Thankfully, his teachers had left him alone. 

 When the bell rang after the last hour, Peter jumped up and regretted his move instantly. The not-so-small-anymore dildo shifted and rubbed full force against his pleasure point. His eyes rolled back and he had to suppress a loud moan in the middle of his classroom. 

 “Look at that, Peter is in a hurry,” Flash scoffed. “Probably all too eager to see his Sugar Daddy.”

 Peter was too aroused to give a fuck about Flash, so he smiled brightly and winked at him. “So true. I can’t wait for him to fuck me in his million-dollar car.”

 And before Flash could say anything in return, Peter had already left. 

 ~*~

 The ride home was torture. Tony hadn’t been busy apparently, so he had picked Peter up personally. His boyfriend didn’t mention the stupid toy once, not even when it suddenly inflated even more, and to Peter’s horror, started to vibrate. 

 Peter had spent the entire ride moaning, sobbing, and begging for mercy, but Tony only looked at the road even though the car could drive on its own. This was all because Peter had been a little bit injured. Tony was so dramatic.

 When they finally entered the bedroom, Peter was a mess. He couldn’t even walk anymore, so he was crawling behind Tony, struggling with every step. His pupils were blown wide, his hair disheveled, and his pants were decorated with a huge wet spot right in the middle. 

 “Strip, boy.” Tony’s voice was firmer than usual, and Peter would have thought his boyfriend was unaffected if he hadn’t seen the bulge in his pants. “I want you naked on the bed, ass up. You have two minutes. If you don’t obey, I won’t let you come for a month.”

 A month? No, Tony couldn’t do that. That would be torture.

 Peter had never stripped as fast in his entire life. Not even thirty seconds later and he was kneeling on the bed, ass up and legs spread. His face was pressed into the pillow, so he couldn’t see Tony, but his Spidey senses told him exactly what his boyfriend was up to. 

 Tony towered over Peter and finally, Peter could feel hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks to reveal the hole in between.

 “Baby, you’re so stretched. Look at that.” Tony’s finger wandered alongside his rim and made Peter moan in pleasure. “Let’s see how full we can stuff you, Peter. I think it’s only fair that you feel it after, don’t you agree?”

 “Uh-huh.” Peter didn’t even understand what his boyfriend was saying anymore, but he would do what Tony wanted him to anyway.

 “Alright, let’s get you trained properly, Peter. Maybe you’ll learn this time?”

 Before Tony pulled back to fetch the remote, he took one last look at Peter’s straining hole. Peter couldn’t stop himself from tightening around the thick toy, eager to show his boyfriend how good he could be for him. 

 “Don’t tempt me, baby.” 

 The words were accompanied by a firm slap directly over Peter’s abused rim. The student sobbed in pleasure, pressing his ass closer to get another blow. Pain coursed through his body, an overwhelming burn, and his skin tingled deliciously. He wanted more, more of his boyfriend, everything of him.

 “Mr. Stark. Please, again. Please.”

 But Tony only chuckled lightly. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

 Peter wanted to scream yes, anything to get more of that delicious pain, but he knew from experience that lying would make it worse. “No, Sir.”

 The pleased hum told Peter his answer had been the right one. 

 “That’s correct, baby, you’ve been bad and we both know it. Stop whining now, boy.”

 Any protest died on Peter’s tongue and he closed his eyes, accepting what was about to come. He knew Tony wasn’t done with him and that he wouldn’t get his boyfriend's cock anytime soon. Instead, he had to make do with the awful thing inside of him, probably handmade from Tony himself. One perk of being with a billionaire engineer was Tony’s unlimited patience to build the perfect sex toy, something Peter couldn’t even order online. 

 “Let’s see if you can take it completely.” Tony looked at him as if he was an experiment rather than a human being and the humiliation made Peter wail in pleasure. This man would be the death of him.

 He could sense that Tony fumbled with the remote, but it was still a shock when the toy expanded again. Peter could feel how stretched he was and his rim slowly started to hurt. The only reason Tony could still keep going was Peter’s spider mutation. A simple human would have caved by now. 

 “That’s it, sweet boy. You’re taking it so well. Just five more times and it'll be over with.”

 Five more times? Suddenly, Peter knew why this was a punishment. Until now, it hadn’t been a real struggle aside from a small burn, but Peter wasn’t sure whether he could take even an inch more in his straining hole. 

 “I can’t, Sir. Please, that’s so much. I'm already so full.”

 Tony smiled at him and pressed a kiss on his forehead, but he didn’t put the remote aside. “You know I can’t let you go after the little stunt you pulled yesterday. Either you use your safe word, or you get it over with.”

 He looked at Peter expectantly, but the student remained silent. He wanted it, he just couldn’t admit it. When Peter still hadn’t protested after a couple of minutes, Tony pressed the button again. Twice.

 The pain was agony. Peter wailed and squirmed on the mattress, his fingers digging into the sheets. Fuck, it burned like fire, but at the same time, it was so good. He felt full, fuller than he had ever been and Peter didn’t know anymore whether he wanted to pull the toy out or get more of the delicious stretch. But despite the pain, his cock was hard, leaking onto the mattress until the sheets were practically soaked. 

 “I’m sorry, Sir.” Peter’s voice was nothing but a whimper, high-pitched and pathetic. He felt so raw, so exposed, and he couldn't deal with the thought of Tony being upset anymore. 

 “I know, boy, I know. Only three more, then everything will be forgotten, baby.”

 Peter sobbed during the next two times Tony made the toy expand. An endless string of words left his lips, pleading to make it stop, begging to take it out, but not once did he safeword. He wanted this, not only because he craved to be good, but also because despite all the pain, the friction felt delicious inside of him. 

 When Tony pressed the button for the last time, Peter almost came. He was just laying there, his legs giving in until his body crashed into the mattress. He had never felt so full before, his little hole stretched to the brim, and every movement, even taking a breath, sent a mixture of pain and arousal through his body. 

 Tony stroked his back, told him what a good boy he was, that he would learn his lesson, but Peter wasn’t capable of doing anything but breathing. He was afraid Tony would pull the toy out, leaving him open and empty again, so he savored the last minutes and drifted with the pain. 

 His rim was very likely red and sore, pulsing from the abuse and begging to close again, but Peter didn’t worry. It wouldn’t even take the entire night until everything would heal, a huge thanks to his spider biology, so he could enjoy the feeling, knowing he would be good as new again tomorrow. 

 Tony gave him a few minutes to come back to himself before he pressed another button of the remote and shrunk the toy back to its normal girth again. Peter felt empty, even though he was still filled, but his hole was used to something so much bigger by now. And on top of that, he could feel the huge amount of lube dribbling out of him, soaking the sheets and running down his thighs. 

 It was filthy and so obscene that Peter could feel his cock twitching again, still trapped against the mattress. He wanted something bigger, he wanted the real thing and not some metal toy, even though it had been crafted by Tony himself. 

 Thankfully, Peter didn’t have to beg and he could feel fingers wandering over his abused hole and pulling out the toy. It hurt a tiny bit and Peter welcomed the pain, closing his eyes in pleasure. 

 “I’m going to fuck you, baby,” Tony announced, his tip already positioned in front of Peter’s hole. “But I don’t think I’ll let you come today.”

 The words felt like denial, and Peter teared up, turning his head to look at his boyfriend. He had already gotten his punishment, hadn’t he? Why was Tony still denying him? Just the thought of being a disappointment hurt and Peter couldn’t stop the tear that ran down his face. 

 “Oh, baby, don’t look at me like that,” Tony cooed and pressed a kiss on his back. “Do you know what the punishment is for?”

 Of course, Peter knew. Bratty boys get punished. 

 “I-I didn’t l-listen to you,” Peter hiccuped and fought not to press his hips back, impaling himself on his Daddy’s cock. He wanted to feel that everything was fine again. He wanted Tony’s forgiveness and he wanted to come.

 “Baby, that’s only part of it. You endangered yourself, even though I had it under control. Tell me honestly that you wouldn’t do it again.”

 Peter remained quiet. He couldn’t say that. He loved Tony with everything that he had, and he didn’t always think rationally during fights. Keeping his boyfriend safe was his top priority and if that meant getting scolded like a child afterward, it would be worth it. 

 “See, that’s exactly what I mean. I know I’m human, baby. I know you heal faster, but I have my suit. I need you to trust me, Peter. When I tell you I’ve got this, I’ve actually got it. Do you understand me?” Tony waited for him to nod before he continued. “I need your trust, baby. In the field, in our relationship, in bed. If I know you don’t take me seriously, this isn’t going to work. JARVIS analyses the fights, baby, and he can’t calculate if you don’t stick to the plan.”

 Peter swallowed. He had never thought about it this way. Saving Tony had been the only thing on his mind. Suddenly, Tony’s previous lecture wasn’t a joke anymore. Peter could’ve avoided the injury and could’ve saved Tony the same anxiety and worry that Peter himself felt. Trust was everything, on the field and outside of it. 

 “You won’t come, today. I need you to trust me, so no one gets hurt.”

 The student cried when Tony’s cock entered him, not from the burning pain, but from the emotions that wrecked his body. He had made his Sir feel like that, it was his fault Tony questioned his trust, and it was his fault the mission could have gone south. 

 “Baby, don’t be upset now, just let it happen. I know it’s not your intention to make me feel like this, and you’ve already received your punishment. Just be a good boy and tighten around me. You’re not perfect, I’m not perfect, but we’re here to learn together.”

 A warm wave of emotions coursed through his body and Peter felt grateful to belong to this man. Tony made him a better person. He explained what Peter did wrong and helped him to become better. He didn’t know what he would do without his dom. 

 Peter drifted in the arousal, accepting that he wouldn’t come today. He just had to be a good boy now. Obscene noises filled the room with every single one of Tony’s thrusts, emphasized by the huge amount of lube Peter was stuffed with. He wanted Tony to come, wanted to be forgiven.

 His body drifted when he finally felt his boyfriend’s cum filling his body, Peter’s cock still leaking onto the mattress. He didn’t protest as Tony moved him until he was pressed against the billionaire’s chest. It was warm, it was quiet, and Peter’s own arousal got pushed in the back of his mind. 

 “You did amazing, baby. I love you,” Tony whispered in his ear while he pressed kisses all over Peter’s face. 

 Peter could feel Tony's arms around him, holding him and creating a safe space for him to fall into. Before Peter could drift away, Tony made him drink a few sips of water. 

 “Luv you, sir.” 

 Tony pulled him even tighter against his chest, making him bask in the glow of the arc reactor. 

 Peter felt calm and protected, his mind pleasantly numb while he drifted into the sweet space Tony always brought him to. Even though he was sore, even though his cock was still so hard that it hurt, Peter felt satisfied and happy. Tony had forgiven him, Tony loved him, Tony was happy. 

 "Take a nap, sweet boy. You were amazing. I love you so much. When you wake up, I'll make you come."

 He closed his eyes and snuggled closer against his boyfriend’s chest. They were perfect together and Peter would prove to Tony that he trusted him. 

 “I understand your concern, Tony, but you know that it wasn’t my intention to hurt you, don’t you? I trust you, I really do. I just haven’t thought about it.” Peter had to make sure Tony understood. 

 Tony gave him a smile and pressed a kiss on his forehead.“I know, baby. Just think twice next time, alright? I can’t even stand the thought of losing you.” 

 Peter smiled and nuzzled closer against Tony’s chest. He would think twice next time. His injury had been unnecessary and he could have saved them both a lot of trouble if he had just listened to Tony before.

 It was quiet for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Peter fell asleep while a hand stroked his hair and the beautiful deep voice whispered in his ear how perfect he was. 

 When he woke up again, it didn't even take a minute until he came all over Tony's hand. 

[hyena-frog]

I personally don't understand people who think that Virginia 'can't win on her own'. As if she has to prove herself or she is 'too nice' and has to learn 'how to violence'. Just because Sevro's solution for everything is cutting some fingers or worse, doesn't mean he is always right or that Mustang's work to keep that balance and play within the designated lines is not badass or interesting. She is the only demokratic ruler and her own people gave her absolute power of decision making to end the war at any cost. What's not great about that!?

If Virginia was indeed 'too nice', she would have perished long ago - last absolute cinnamon roll we saw was Julian and we all know what Society thinks about people like him. Just because she plays by the rules, doesn't mean she has no claws - she wiped a terrorist's memories away for fuck's sake. Now that the rules have been extended, you can bet your ass that she'll take more than one page out of Nero's playbook. After all, she said it herself, she tamed herself, but it's fun to let the lion out.

Agreed 110%! I don't understand people who give Virginia shit in general tbh. I mean, how do you not fall in love with her immediately? How are you not ride or die for her from the get-go? It boggles the mind.

Those arguments, being "too nice" or being unable to win on her own, are reaching and easily debunkable. The lack of reading comprehension. 😒 If you don't like her, then whatever. I may not understand how that’s possible, but it really isn’t necessary to make shit up, you know?

Virginia can't win on her own, huh. The nerve! Where would Darrow be without her? Dead. Many times over. He would have bled out after Cassius stabbed him if Virginia hadn't helped him. And it was Virginia who brought the Howlers back from the Rim weeks in advance of Darrow actually needing them, just in case. So many things would have gone wrong in Morning Star if she wasn't at Darrow's side (and if Ragnar hadn't gone out of his way to make sure she'd be there, the absolute legend).

Perhaps it's Darrow who can't win on his own? But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? All of his successes were achieved through teamwork. Darrow acknowledges this many times. It's the same for Virginia. While it's simply not true that she can't win on her own, it’s also untrue that the inability to win on your own is a bad thing. The whole argument doesn’t make any sense.

The idea Virginia still needs to “prove” herself despite doing so plenty of times already throughout the series is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, the success of the Rising relies just as heavily on Virginia's intelligence as it does Darrow's battle skills. The Solar Republic simply wouldn't exist without her. Fitchner never had a clear vision of what "after the Society" would look like and neither did Darrow for a long time. The war effort needs a conscience and a vision for the future, otherwise it's just endless bloodshed. Virginia helps Darrow see beyond the bloodshed. Plus, Darrow has no interest in politics. He'd be the first to admit he’s not good at the slow game of political maneuvering. But Virginia thrives in that environment. In Dark Age, Darrow even admits his current predicament is a consequence of not trusting his wife's way of running the Republic, and he vows never to do that again.

Sure, Virginia doesn't get into physical fights often, especially now that she is Sovereign. But politics is no less perilous a battlefield. I feel like because the political battlefield isn't as flashy and fast paced as a literal one, people forget the constant danger she is in, even before the Senate's betrayal. Silenius' Stiletto is a delicate tightrope act she has to perform every day to drag progress forward while keeping her opponents in check. This requires a level of self-restraint, clear-headedness, and badassery, that no other character can achieve.

Virginia is not "too nice." She is practical. And often, is it practical to play nice. Not every confrontation is best solved through violence Sevro. We all know the line: Virginia is the mustang that nuzzles the hand; people know they can work with her. That’s why the people chose her consistently for ten years, over literally everyone else in the solar system, to run this new government. And her steadfast resolve to gain Imperium legally, to not force her will on the people, proved to them again that she won’t abuse this ultimate power to end the war.

No, Virginia may be reasonable but that doesn't mean she is too nice. If she was too nice, she wouldn't have used her relationship with Cassius to protect her family. She wouldn't have shot Cassius in the throat with an arrow. She wouldn't have promised Ephraim he would "die shitting in a foreign bed" if he skipped about on their bargain to return the kids. She wouldn't have zapped the Duke of Hands' entire personality from his head. Like you said, she never would have made it this far if she was truly toothless. She's practical, and sometimes the practical solution doesn't require violence, but creative thinking.

Speaking of creative thinking, one thing Virginia doesn’t get nearly enough credit for is abolishing the death penalty immediately after Adrius was hanged. That wasn't her being "too nice" or too lenient on her caste. Yes, she feels life in prison is the moral option over the death penalty. But she knows her people. The punishment for the worst criminals in Deepgrave is a Gold's worst nightmare. Life in prison denies a Gold their desire for a glorious death, to be remembered through the ages for their deeds in battle. The Republic's justice system sends a clear message: "Mess with us, and you won't get your notoriety or fame, you'll only get obscurity and shame and sucking algae through a tube until you die naturally of old age." That to me is crueler than hanging.

Virginia’s mind is her greatest weapon, but more than that, her greatest strength is how she applies her intelligence. Her ability to read people, and to communicate, is greatly underappreciated imo. These skills require nonviolent interaction yet they yield great results. There are many examples of this. She used her natural charisma to gain Octavia's trust. She brokered an alliance with the Rim when she thought Darrow was dead. She held the Republic together for ten years despite constant, increasing animosity from the Vox. She refused to torture Lyria and was able to see she was not lying about being an unwitting pawn in the kidnapping scheme and was rewarded with information and a new ally. She figured out exactly what Sefi was planning for Cimmeria, even manipulating the situation to her advantage without Sefi realizing it. She knew Victra was going to bargain with Sefi for the kids, without being told. In her own words, this is simply what she does.

There is a quote in Iron Gold that caught my eye: "Communication is the soul of civilization." (532) Now, this line has nothing directly to do with Virginia. This is Ephraim trying to get a rise out of Gorgo. But it fits Virginia perfectly, doesn’t it? The Republic is able to exist as a civilization because it has such an amazing communicator at its center.

Virginia is such an excellent communicator that she is even able to get parties who refuse to communicate with her initially to reciprocate communication eventually. She convinces Sevro, Dancer, and even Victra to stop freezing her out and work together. She does this by speaking their "language." She knows exactly what to say or what to do to get them to finally listen to her. Revealing she already knows exactly what is going on works for Sevro, providing hard evidence of conspiracy works for Dancer, and proving her actions (showing her scars) works for Victra. This isn't to say she never makes mistakes. She shouldn't have called the Wardens on Darrow, for example, just as Darrow shouldn't have kept the meeting with the Society "diplomats" a secret from her and the Senate. But more often than not, her nonviolent communication skills yield valuable results.

As for Virginia apparently needing to learn how to use violence… While Victra and Sevro’s feelings were justified, their actions at the end of Iron Gold and the beginning of Dark Age were just wrong, wrong, wrong imo. Freezing out Virginia did nothing but delay the return of the kids. It's frustrating to think how much heartbreak could have been avoided if they'd just put their heads together from the moment the kids disappeared. And what exactly did Sevro's rampage through Luna's underground accomplish? Some dead Syndicate thorns, sure. But that tantrum put a huge target on Sevro's back. As Virginia said, one lucky sniper and boom, no more Sevro. What would Victra have done then?

While it may feel like Virginia would have achieved more if she just beheaded some people, she has a responsibility as Sovereign to consider the bigger picture. She has to consider the Stiletto. If the Vox saw her offing some fools it would have added credibility to their smear campaign. The people would have lost faith in her and think she turned into another Octavia. Whoever replaced her could use her actions to justify their own dictatorship. Violence was simply not practical for her until she legally gained Imperium. Now though… 😈

Virginia's over here playing 3D chess while everyone else is playing Connect Four, but this still isn’t enough for some people. After the clone gets the better of her, she gets flack for not being an omniscient god and just knowing her twin brother laid out a plan to clone himself ten years ago. Tut, tut, should have seen that one coming, despite the lack of evidence. If only she’d punched some people. (Can you see I hate this argument with every fiber of my being?)

In Dark Age, Ozgard says this about Electra and Pax: "She is better fighter. He is more dangerous human." (184) Well, Pax gets it from his momma. Pax and Virginia may not be able to throw devastating punches but in many ways, their intellect is what makes them the greater threat to their enemies.

Thank you for the ask!

[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 13

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Story Master List

Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

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-

Greta stares at you from across the table. An unwavering glare that makes you squirm in your seat. It’s not until Sam snaps his fingers in front of her face that she breaks her focus.

“Behave yourself,” he warns. 

“I didn’t do anything!” She’s indignant, but you can feel the underlying fear. She’s mildly fearful of Dean but Sam is another story and you all know it. 

“Yes, but we can all feel you simmering in your own self-righteousness.” Dean shakes his head and picks at the boiled potatoes. 

“Just because your mouth isn’t running doesn’t mean you’re not trying to upset her.” Sam nods toward you and Dean chuckles with a mouth full of turkey leg. “Stop looking at her and worry about finishing your supper.” 

Sam’s instructions leave no room for argument and she begrudgingly begins to nibble at the food on her plate. 

“You don’t want to get on his bad side sweetheart.” Dean grins, looking around the table at three somber faces. “What stimulating company.”

“She’s already there,” Sam snorts. 

Greta sneaks a few quick glances but leaves you alone for the rest of the meal. While she might be silent her growing agitation is palpable. She shifts in the chair, mouth curled in a grimace while you try to ignore her. 

Sam lets out a deep sigh, setting down his glass and places both forearms on the table. 

“What?” he hisses. 

“You’re evil,” Greta hisses right back, caught somewhere between her own common sense telling her to shut up and her uncontrolled rage. 

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Sam counters, eyes narrowing, looking as if he might lunge across the table and rip her throat out. 

“I have a pretty good idea. I know it was you who gave the order to kill the families. Women and children. I heard my father talk about how you insisted your men kill every last person but the Omegas.”

“I did.” Sam gives a single slow nod, leaning forward. “There’s nothing more dangerous than a child who grows up with a chip on their shoulder. That need for revenge breeds dangerous men.”

You wish you could cover your ears. Wish you could forget hearing this. Thoughts wander back to the boy in your village screaming for help the night the attack happened. This was all Sam’s doing. 

He catches you looking at him, that blank look in his eyes. You can clearly see the part of him that’s missing. He’s devoid of any capacity for true empathy. His eyes linger a moment longer before turning back to Greta. 

“I'll be the first in line to take your head off when the time comes. And after it’s done I won’t give you a second thought. Dead and forgotten.” 

“Fuck you,” she spits. 

You think he might reach across the table, or perhaps Dean will reprimand her. But neither happens. Dean finishes his dinner and when he’s done he looks to his brother for confirmation. 

“Let's take them now and get it over with.” 

-

“Where are we going?” you ask, careful to keep a neutral tone. Sam doesn’t mind your genuine questions but if he senses even a hint of disapproval his mood can sour. 

“To have something done you’re not going to like.” He grips your upper arm tighter as you weave through the tents of the makeshift camp. Men stop what they’re doing to watch you pass, to watch the sight of Sam and Dean dragging their respective Omegas along.

“I won’t like it?” You look up, nearly tripping but he catches you.

“It’s going to hurt,” he explains flatly. 

You walk a while further until you reach a tent larger than the others around it. You can feel the heat before you see the forge glowing hot as a man uses a hammer on a piece of molten steel. You look from Sam to the blacksmith trying to put together what’s about to happen. 

The pieces click together in your mind and suddenly you understand all too well. You and Greta are about to be branded just like every other captive-turned-slave in the camp. 

“No,” you sputter, instinct causing you to back away. “No, please don’t.”

“Stop,” Sam hisses, holding you tighter. “It has to be done. Don’t fight me.”

You can feel the terror explode as your heart thunders like a stallion. Your breath goes choppy and your head begins to spin as the fear takes over. 

“Please!” you whisper frantically, turning to face him. “I beg you. I’ll do anything.”

“Yes, you will. And you’ll do as I tell you. Stay calm.” Sam places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing until it hurts. “You go first, brother.”

“Sure.” Dean thrusts Greta forward and she squeals in response. When she tries to run, another soldier grabs her free arm. The two men bend her forward as she thrashes in vain, trying to get away with everything she has. 

“Stop! Don’t you dare touch me! Stop!” Her words are strong but she’s crying, eyes wild and just as scared as you, if not more. “Please! Please! Stop! I’ll kill you all!” 

She panics, kicking and screaming. You try to close your eyes but you can’t, you’re frozen, helpless as you watch Dean lift her dress exposing her backside. 

You press backward to find Sam, tall and broad behind you. He places a hand on each shoulder, thumbs digging in while you both watch the blacksmith raise the brand from the fire. It glows a sickening orange as he walks over to Greta. Without pause, he presses the rather large brand into the flesh right above her right buttock. 

She screams out in gut-wrenching pain and you scream right along with her. When the brand is pulled away she’s limp and sobbing hysterically. You get a good look at her face contorted in agony as Dean pulls her away. 

“Your turn,” Sam instructs a hand at your lower back urging you forward. 

“Do you need my help, sir?” asks the soldier who pinned down Greta. 

“Do I need him?” he asks you expectantly and you nod yes. 

“I don’t think I can do it. I can’t stay still,” you admit, tears falling down both cheeks. 

“Alright.” Sam and the unnamed soldier each take you by the arm and ease you forward over a wooden stool. Your Alpha pulls a knife from its sheath and offers the hilt to you. “Bite down on this. It’ll help.” 

Crying, you open your mouth and sink your teeth into the grip. Sam raises your skirts, exposing your round bottom and you wait, breathing hard and fast like a bull before a match. You brace for what you know is coming but the pain is unlike anything you’ve ever known. It’s an immediate burning that sends you into a frenzy trying to get away. 

There’s little relief when the blacksmith pulls the rod back but at least you’re done. Or so you think. Instead, to your horror Sam’s hands curl around the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart exposing your sex. 

“What are you doing!” you scream, thrashing as hard as you can. 

“Hold her down,” Sam commands and a set of hands press down on your back until you can’t move at all. 

You’re completely unprepared for the second brand on the inside of your upper thigh. It’s unbearable pain in tender flesh that brings a torment you’re not able to handle. Before you know what’s happening you vomit and then promptly pass out. 

Sam inspects both marks before moving to check your pulse. He presses two fingers to your neck just to be sure your heart hasn’t stopped beating. 

“See,” Dean gestures from a blubbering Greta to you. “It could have been worse.” 

“She’ll be fine.” Sam hoists you up, holding you in his arms as he turns to thank the blacksmith. 

-

You wake to the feeling of hands on your skin. There’s intense pain. It’s not as bad as before but it sends the night’s event flooding back. 

“Stay still,” Sam’s voice instructs. 

“It hurts.” You moan, burying your face in the pillow. It’s soaked with sweat, as is your entire body. 

“I’m sure it does,” he observes, tapping some sort of balm over the burn on your buttocks. For a moment it feels like ice, burning cold and then begins to numb until the pain is tolerable. He repeats this application on your thigh. And then wraps each in cloth bandages until it seems as if you’re wearing a makeshift diaper. 

“There, we’ll change them again in the evening. It’s important to keep them clean.” He sits back on the edge of the bed, watching you silently. You lie face down in the bed until you turn your head and find him still there. “Do you hate me now?” he asks. 

“I’ve always hated you,” you respond with no regard for the repercussions. 

“Is that true?” He smiles and a finger trails up the back of your calf. 

“Yes. More at certain times than others. Right now I hate you more than I ever have before.” 

“If you hate me then why didn’t you let me die when you had the chance?”

“You know why,” you whisper, shutting your eyes to avoid the sight of him. “We’re connected. My mind can’t stand the sight of you but my body always wants you closer.” 

“Fair enough.” Giving your calf a squeeze, Sam stands up with hands on his hips. “It’s almost dawn. I have places to be. You rest today. Make sure you eat. And keep an eye on her for me.” 

Both of you look across the room at a sleeping Greta who’s tethered to the bed by way of a rope around each wrist.

“I just want to sleep,” you whine. 

“Then sleep, little bird. And when you wake up, keep your ears open.” 

Several Hours Later

“Are you alright?” you ask, lying motionless.

Greta takes a deep breath and answers without looking toward you. 

“No. What about any of this could possibly be alright?” 

“We’re both alive,” you offer. “That’s something.”

“If you consider being alive to be drawing breath, then yes, we are alive.” 

“We don’t have to talk.” You close your eyes again, wishing you could shut out the world. She’s unbearable. 

“I just don’t understand you. The way you bow your head to him like a dog that’s been beaten down.” 

“You have no idea what I’ve been through. I’m just trying to stay alive,” you explain, unsure why you feel a need to explain yourself to her. 

“Maybe that’s all it was at one point, but it’s more than that. We both know it. I can smell it on you, that need to pair off and mate.” She sighs, finally turning her head to look at you. “You can’t help it, I know that. It just makes me so angry. What they’ve done to you, done to all of us.”

“Aren’t you afraid that if you keep talking back and threatening them, that they’re going to kill you?”

“Of course I’m afraid. But I can’t let fear stop me. If I stopped every time I felt fearful I’d be completely paralyzed. It’s likely John Winchester will have me killed anyway. And if he doesn’t, my fate isn’t much better. I don’t have anything left to lose.” 

You wrote her off as stupid, but perhaps she just possesses bravery that you’ve never witnessed before. 

“Could you see what the brand on my leg was?” you inquire, not even brave enough to have a look for yourself. 

“No, but if I had to guess I’d say it’s Sam’s personal mark. He’s fond of you, as much as a heartless monster can be fond of anyone. You’re property now.” 

“I’ve been property for some time. It’s not a new development.” 

One thing is sure, while Sam doesn’t take pleasure in hurting you, it also doesn’t phase him. He was all too willing to hold you down for the blacksmith. If he had any idea of your identity, he would be just as eager to lob off your head as he is with Greta. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Dismantled: Karen and Dex

CW: Caning for discipline, serious blood, cuts, wounds, bruises, all the stuff you an imagine. Dehumanizing and degrading language, references to dubcon, pet whump, dehumanization, broken bones, head wounds, suicidal ideation (brief, at the end) as a way to escape torture... look, the gang’s all here.

Takes place sometime after Like Love. Henry and Wright Farling (referenced) belong to @spiffythespook.

He walked into the trap before he understood what it was - later he would be able to see the way she had been lying in wait for him to slip, but in the moment all he understood was that, once again, Karen had said no.

"I will not be allowing you to see him."

Why? Dex signed, an angry slash of movement through the air with his hands.

That very first question had been the first mistake. They were never to ask Madam why, her word was law, she would explain or not as she saw fit. He should never have asked.

He’d done so well, for twenty years, but then he’d had to wait for Wright in perfect silence - five fucking years of silence - wearing his mask. He'd done it, in the end. He had played his part.

He'd stood behind her at prison visits, looking at Wright through glass pretending to be empty. He'd listened to their surreptitious phone conversations, unable to so much as greet him. He'd waited and waited and waited. When Wright had left prison he'd been sent to him, lived for a week in that hotel under assumed names and spent every day wrapped in him, under him, around him…

Since then, nothing. She was using him, feeding him to Wright or denying him for her own purposes and at her own whims. She always had been, but it grated on him more than ever.

He was tired of being a chess piece, a bit of control Karen could exert over someone who she was supposed to care about.

The only person she supposedly cared about.

She watched him, for just a moment, with silent regard. “Because I said no, Dex. He will ask again. Besides.” She smirked, sitting slowly back. “He’s gotten too dependent on having you as it is, and I’d like him to focus on dealing with his true passion, his projects, not… you.”

That had been the red flag, the warning sign he should have seen.

“I am given to understand, Dex, darling, that Wright has gathered his lost sheep together. I’m sure he keeps himself busy dipping his pen in that variety of ink.” The amusement on her face infuriated him, and Dex struggled to keep it buried as far as he always had, the anger in him a simmering pool beneath an unbroken placid surface. “Does that bother you?”

Dex swallowed, hard, and he could barely unclench his fists enough to sign his response. I am Wright’s bed toy, nothing else. I don’t care what he does with others.

“Ah, is that true? Is it?” Karen smiled and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Wonderful. So you don’t mind if you never see him again.”

Never? His hands shook forming the word. His heart went cold, not with fear but anger.

He had been at Karen’s side since he was nineteen years old, forced into the mold she had made for him, silent and obedient, her perfect masterpiece. His life belonged to her, had always belonged to her. She had taken it from him, and the only thing he had found for himself within it had been Wright Farling helping him remember who he was, how to speak, giving him a safe place to think.

He should have known that if she found out about Wright, she would take him, too. 

“Never.” Her voice was smooth, a glossy as oil, and he should have known better.

I have to see him again, he signed before he could think about it, and stepped closer to her desk. I want to see him again. She didn’t lean back, or flinch, or show any sign of intimidation. All she did was slowly push herself to her feet, leaning forward with her weight on her hands on the swirls and grains in her large wooden desk, and looked up at him, to meet his gaze. 

I have to.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Karen said softly. “Not a single thing I do not tell you to do, command you to do. But you run to him with your ears up and your tail wagging, don’t you, little dog? You spent five years all but tap dancing out your impatience. You’ve gone to him with eagerness, again and again and again, and I think… I think you are hiding something from me, Ten.”

The old number.

Dex took a step back from her, his back straightening instinctively - perfect posture sometimes got you mercy, sometimes they don’t hurt you so badly - and realized too late how deftly she had maneuvered him into the trap.

“You are,” She breathed. “I have not had to discipline you in so long, darling.” A flush had begun to find its way into her cheeks, giving her the sparkling look of a much-younger woman, and Dex couldn’t remember how old he was, how long he’d been here, because Karen had always been the same. “What are you hiding, my sweet first boy? What does he tell you that you don’t tell me?”

She suspected Wright of hiding something, and it was true, he was - Wright was hiding Dex.

Dex’s eyes flared, and his hands stutter-skipped, fingertips beginning and dismissing different ways he could reply, before he pressed his lips together firmly and signed, He tells me nothing you do not know. I tell you everything he says to me.

He had lied to her for twenty years. He wasn’t about to stop now.

“You say you do, but I don’t know…” She opened a desk drawer, and he swallowed hard, knowing what she kept in there. The disciplinary tools she never used on the others, except sometimes Peter, and then only once or twice. No, the discipline in that drawer was always kept for Dex alone. “Perhaps it isn’t that he is telling you things you aren’t telling me… perhaps it is only that you feel things you don’t tell me. Why do you run to him, Dex?”

Back to Dex. He could handle being Dex.

He swallowed, and shrugged, trying to think fast enough to get ahead of her. Karen didn’t understand emotions, she didn’t understand physicality, and if you could think around her fast enough you could hide them, could understand how to use what she could not see-

“Do you love him, Dex? Is that what this is?”

The world froze.

He could have sworn the ticking clock on her bookshelf went silent in the breath between seconds, the space carved out by the fear. He had given something away, somehow… maybe in how quickly he had gone to see Wright when he escaped, how eager he had been to visit him again.

He’d thought he’d covered it up well enough, but-

“Oh, you do." She clicked her tongue against her teeth in a mocking imitation of sympathy. "Oh, darling. You poor, poor dear. And I suppose you think he can love you back? Have any feeling for you beyond a physical appreciation for how he’s no doubt trained you to please him?” She pulled a small black box from the desk drawer, laying it out on the table. Each movement slow and deliberate, and if he were less broken he could have tried to fight her, he could have turned and run out the door. But she had taken and twisted every part of him too long ago.

I don’t know how he feels, Dex signed, shaking, but he did.

Wright called his name in bed, had done so for years, had never said anything to declare love but he didn’t have to. It was in every question and careful concern for his well-being, in every time he took him outside to feel sun on his face and the way he asked him about the books he was reading and gave him choices… It was in the way that Wright sometimes had him hide his special collar, the one he wore for Wright, under a turtleneck and took him out to dinner, like they were real, like he was a person.

It was in the way, with Wright Farling, he was human again.

“I can tell you exactly how he feels.” Karen chuckled to herself. The sound was dry and cold, even as her voice kept that hint of deceptive warmth that only barely fooled the world outside her front door. “All he thinks of you is that you have a nice face and he likes to look at it when he's fucking you. That’s all you are - a body he can thrust himself into. Wright Farling is the light of my life, Dex, but he has always allowed himself to be led by his dick and not by greater matters. To my friend you are little more than a hard-on and a couple of convenient holes.”

He felt his teeth grind together, face flaring red at the humiliation of it.

“Don’t be mad, darling, and don’t get your hopes up. We both know that he’d kill you if I asked him to.”

That’s a lie, he signed before he could stop himself, and she paused with her hands resting on the edges of the box. He met her curiosity with his own blazing anger.

“And how would you know?” She asked, softly.

Because I know, he signed, viciously. His usual quick, efficient signs were lost to the anger that had his hands lingering over signs that they normally barely registered. You don’t know him at all.

“Oh? I don't know him?” She raised an eyebrow. “You have allowed yourself to be deceived. He is using you to watch me, I’m sure of it. Are you carrying stories to him? Does he use you as a spy, sweet boy?” He has been a grown man the entire time she has known him. She has always called him boy.

“No, I won't have that. You are mine. You need to be reminded, I think, of where your loyalties lie.”

With him.

Her eyes flared with a burst of true, real anger, the whites showing all around them. Dex realized only a moment too late that he didn’t think the words - he signed them.

Karen inhaled audibly, and he saw the change in her expression. "You do think he feels for you. You think he loves you."

Dex felt real panic - not for himself, but for Wright. If he'd given too much away, she'd have a weapon to wield against her oldest friend, and Dex would be the one who gave it to her.

I don't know, he signed, letting his shoulders slump, as though perhaps he knew Wright felt nothing.

“You are a piss-poor liar.”

He didn’t tell her that she had believed his lies for twenty years, so he couldn’t be that bad at it. He managed, this time, to stay still.

“Well.” The word left her as a slow sigh, and he saw the anger begin to fade, replaced by an emotion he knew well in her, one that is so much worse. Anticipation. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ve been misled, all right, if you think he will return your loyalty. But I can fix that, can’t I? I’ll show you how loyal he is to you. Oh, Dex, my love. You were always my favorite toy to break, weren’t you?”

She took out a pair of bright blue plastic gloves. When she snapped them on, Dex flinched at the sound. He knew exactly what they would smell and feel like shoved against his mouth to quiet his screams.

The sight of the gloves was worse than the bare, vulnerable feeling around his neck.

She moved to pick up an object from the box. He knew what was on the inside - a soft, deep red lining with a hint of brown to the color, like clotting blood. Syringes inside little plastic bags, sterilized one-time-use needles he had seen a thousand times before. The little vials of liquid, color-coded not because of their chemicals but to help her remember which vial would do what.

Dex’s eyes dropped from her face and instead caught, fixated and terrified, on her hands as she pulled out a needle and opened it, discarding the little clear plastic bag, crinkling the only sound he could hear beyond his own heartbeat. She picked up the light blue vial, and Dex took an unconscious step back.

He shook his head, and she looked up at him as she carefully drew back the plunger, pulling a precise amount of the blue drug into the little canister.

“Darling, you know you don’t get to say no. Not to me. Not after that disgraceful display of emotion. Now take your collar off.”

He had expected it from the moment he saw the box, but still his hands shook as he slowly lifted them to undo the buckle that rested just under the short dark hair, felt the ever-present weight of safety drop from his neck. With his collar on, he was safe. She never hurt him more than a caning for discipline as long as his collar was on.

It was when she ordered him to remove it that he knew - that they all knew - that they were not safe any longer.

He laid the collar carefully on her desk, staring down at it, the stamped-in letters of the name she had given him after ensuring he would never remember having any other.

DEX

“Good boy. Not good enough, it seems, but that doesn't matter." She looked him over. "Right arm this time."

He did not hesitate, or try to defy her. He simply held out his right arm, the inside of his elbow facing the ceiling, and curved his fingers into a tight fist to help the veins show more clearly under his pale skin. She smiled at him, pleased by the quick obedience even as she pulled out a small plastic square and tore it open, taking out the tiny white square of alcohol-dampened cloth inside. She wiped the inside of his arm, leaving a hint of dry cold there, as always, the syringe held between her teeth as she held his arm still with plastic fingers gripped tightly, until she pushed deep divots into the skin.

Dex raised his eyes to the ceiling. He heard the sound of her taking the syringe in hand, and when she slid the needle in, he was so used to the sensation he barely felt the pinch at all.

Instead of stepping away and letting go, she kept her tight grip on him, simply dropping the empty syringe to the floor. Her fingertips slid down the inside of his arm, and he shivered, more frightened of the simple fact that Karen was touching him than of the feeling of cold he felt slowly spreading from the injection site, the way his knees began to feel suddenly, horribly weak.

He braced himself still standing, blinking, as she took his hand and unwrapped it from the fist, until his palm and fingers were totally flat, and turned it so his palm faced the floor.

“What secret is he keeping from me, Dex? Does he love you, is that it?” She asked, softly, looking up at him.

Dex swallowed, hard. The room began to shift and move around him, an unsettling instability, as his veins carried the contents of the blue liquid through his body, pumped by a heart that didn’t know not to send it right to his fingertips. His heart rate began to speed up, spurred on by a sudden artificial fear.

He shook his head.

She sighed, softly, disappointed. “I had hoped you would be more forthcoming,” She said, with quiet certainty. “But I suppose this will do.”

She took his ring finger and snapped it backwards and up until he felt the break. 

Dex let out a hoarse, surprised cry of pain, jerking forwards only to have her slam her hand into his chest and force him back upright. “Don’t move, Ten.”

He swallowed hard, breathing harsh and uneven, and braced his feet shoulder-width apart, waiting.

The room moved but he stayed still. Things crawled up the walls along the edges of his vision, shadows that prickled around him, and if he did not do exactly as she said, she would let the shadows devour him. He had been eaten by shadows before.

His eyes welled with tears he couldn’t control, he spun wildly around the emotions he didn’t consent to feel. Familiar and always horribly new, all at once.

She took another finger, the middle finger, and held it. “Tell me what secret Wright Farling is keeping from me, darling, and I will stop. What does he have you do that you haven’t told me?”

He looked at her, at the cold inhuman monster that stared at him from Karen’s very human face, and took a breath. Things moved under her skin - the drug, he knew it was the drug, but he couldn’t stop seeing it.

He steeled himself and shook his head again. 

She snapped the next finger as easily as she had the first, and at the new flash of agony he cried out again, louder this time. She held tightly to the broken finger, pushing it back and back and back, and he groaned out loud, fighting the way his body tried so hard to pull back and away, but he was too well-conditioned to move.

“Speak, Dex,” She said loudly, over the whining sounds he had started to make. “That’s what you do for him, isn’t it? Twenty years ago he swore he had made you speak for him when he was fucking you, and that he would get you to do it again… then he tells me he couldn’t replicate it, you were too well broken. So sad, Wright said to me, and I should have known… He lied, didn’t he? Wright Farling has been lying to me for twenty goddamn years, hasn’t he, Dex? Speak for me!”

He nearly told her it wasn’t Wright who lied, but him, his lips moving to mouth the words, but he made no sound to shape them.

She snapped a third finger, his forefinger, and bent all three fingers back as far as they would go simultaneously. Dex whimpered, trying helplessly to jerk his arm back and away from her, his knees giving out. He dropped with an audible crack to the floor.

Dex only stopped whimpering when he ran out of air, and still she was pushing his broken fingers back, until they nearly touched the back of his hand. He couldn’t breathe, the pain was too much, he made gasping animal sounds with every attempt to inhale.

“That’s not speaking,” Karen said calmly, as though nothing had happened at all. She dropped his hand and stepped back and away, turning away from him. He pulled it in tightly against his chest. Twice, now, she had taken his voice, in two different ways. “Dex, you’re fighting me, and that isn’t allowed. Not even for Wright. He is my friend, and I adore him, but your loyalty should always lie with me. And if I cannot have that loyalty through my decades of keeping you clothed, and fed, and cared for… then I will keep your loyalty through fear and pain.”

Dex tried to push back to his feet, and Karen glanced back at him over her shoulder as she stepped up to the wall behind her desk and took from a special set of hooks in the wall her favorite disciplinary cane, smooth shining black with silver on each end. “Stay down, Dex.”

He dropped back onto his knees, into Position Two, his head bowed. If he stared only at a small part of the floor, it didn’t spin like everything else. He waited for her to tell him how many strikes it would be, for this.

“Look up, Dex.”

He obeyed, and her arm was already swinging the cane. There was no time to register it before the blow connected.

Dex’s head snapped to the right so hard the rest of him went with it, slamming bonelessly into the floor, the left side of his face a sudden wet burst of horrible pain. Dex screamed, helplessly, in a voice like hoarse gravel, bouncing around the room and echoing down the stairs through the open door, writhing on the floor, raising his good hand to feel at the open wound.

“That’s more like it,” Karen breathed out, her voice thick with the closest emotion she felt to lust. Her cheeks blazed bright red and her eyes sparkled with it, as she pulled her arm back for the next strike.

Dex dropped his hand and curled up, as small as he could make himself, feeling warm blood running down his face. He would have begged her, but he couldn’t remember the signs, he couldn’t remember how to beg any longer, all he could do was pray it would end before - or after - he died.

He didn’t care which any longer.

“Do you speak for him? Does he care about you? Do you tell him things that aren’t yours to tell? Speak for me, Ten!” She shouted the last words, spit flying from her mouth with a loss of control he’d never seen before, her eyes white-rimmed and he saw the madness in her, that lay always just under the cool, collected surface.

He cried out as the next blow rained down, and the next, and the blow after that. She never pulled her strength, and he felt his clothing rip and his skin tear with the impacts. He was sliced by the sharp edge of the silver at the end of the cane, ripping his skin open in new flashes of agony he could not escape.

She would not stop hitting him, and he could do nothing but curl tighter and tighter and try to survive.

“I won’t have disloyalty!” The cane came down once more and slammed into the side of his head in a burst of terrible light. Dex went limp, feeling blood that had begun to pool beneath him on the floor soaking into his clothes, warm and cold all at once. The world spun lazily around his pain, and he couldn’t remember if the shadows that kept him here were real or not.

She raised her arm again, and he watched with dull eyes as the blood spattered onto the wall with the speed.

It went on and on and on.

He didn’t know how long. He couldn’t remember what time was, or how to count seconds. Dex existed in a place he had not lived in since he’d left the Facility, an eternal place in which he hurt and hurt and he would never stop hurting.

But he never spoke for her, and he never answered a single question about Wright. She asked and promised and threatened and cajoled and he never said a word. He clung to that fact, as he spun inside the world made of his failure to be loyal to her, the punishment, his discipline.

He protected Wright.

At some point, it stopped. There was a sudden lack of blows, where before they had been the beginning and ending of his awareness. He laid there, still curled into a ball, and listened to his own blood rush in his veins, pushing and pushing to escape through the places she had ripped him open. His left cheek throbbed worse than anything else.

One of Wright’s projects was disfigured, wasn’t he? Dex blinked, blearily, and when he tried to look up the world spun once more, the shadowy fingers started to move to grip onto his chin, to whisper to him.

Isaac…

No one was named Isaac, here.

Isaac... wake up, sweetheart, you’re late for school again...

She walked away - or didn’t, he wasn’t sure what sounds were real and what weren’t any longer - and then he heard the click of her heels moving back. She came to a stop just in front of him, and he stared at the place where the red soles of her heels met the warm hardwood floor.

Isaac, honey, this won’t work unless you get some help.

“Lick them clean,” Karen said in a cold voice, and Dex nodded, eyes unfocused as the world swirled and spun around him, the shadows in all the corners had hands grasping. He could feel the shivery brush of their fingers, like twigs drawn slowly, lightly, across his skin. He forced himself forward, dragging himself by the fingernails of the hand she had not broken.

Just sign right here, on the dotted line. And here, and here, too.

He managed to pull himself up onto his knees, swaying there, and leaned over to lick his own blood from Karen Renford’s perfect black heel with its eternal red soles, a mockery of the color he was nearly drowning in.

Isaac, baby, what time is it?

Salt-copper-sweet-sick. Swipe after swipe of his tongue, stomach flipping and lurching, until the blood he had made burst from him was gone, and only the leather remained. His head spun, and he had to catch himself with both hands, moaning low in his throat in pain as his broken fingers could not quite straighten themselves against the floor. 

“Good boy,” She said softly. “Now look up at me.”

Look up, Mr. Thompson! Smile!

When he looked up, light-colored eyes nearly all black pupil by now, he couldn’t focus on her face. Her head was in front of the light, and she was a halo of bright auburn around a fuzzy black center, the goddess that owned him, the monster.

She leaned slowly down and slid a blue-gloved hand through his hair, then gripped on tight. He couldn’t remember the last time she had touched his hair, and it sent a terror into him that no other action she had taken ever could.

He had wasted too much adrenaline during the beating, he had none left to find the energy to do anything more than stare into her eyes, his own wide and unfocused and frightened, and watch her smile to see his fear.

Oh my God, Isaac, please, don’t leave! We can fix this!

Tears ran openly from his eyes, stinging into the cut she’d torn wide open along the left side of his face, and he winced in pain just as she held up her phone with the other hand.

She took a few pictures, a smile twitching along the corner of her mouth. “Perfect, Dex. Let’s just see what he has to say about this, hm?”

Dex let his forehead drop back to the floor when she let go, groaning as he could feel spiderlegs all over his skin, the distinct sense that something was crawling on him, and he cried helplessly into a smear of his own blood, his tears watering the stain until it seemed faded, nearly gone.

Just like him.

When I am done with you, Number Ten, you’ll never speak again.

“Here we go… let’s see, add attachment..” Karen hummed to herself a bit as she typed, with the slow and careful motions of someone who had only adopted texting when she absolutely had to. “Perfect. ‘Someone had a silly crush on you, Wright,’” She murmured out loud to herself, reading along as she wrote. “‘I took care of that.’ Add a smiley-face emoji. No, wait. Winky-face. There. If he led you to think he felt for any part of you except your… apparently quite talented and, granted, fairly well-endowed dick… well. He won’t like this, will he?”

There was a pause, and all he could do was try to keep breathing.

Isaac...

He didn’t know who that was. The name spun around his mind and it meant nothing.

Karen’s phone dinged and she slowly dropped into a crouch, resting her weight on the balls of her feet, and held out the phone. “Look up.”

Dex slowly looked up at her, obediently, and something inside of him shattered at the words he could see on the screen.

He broke.

Lovely work, darling.

That was it.

Dex began to sob, hoarsely, hopelessly, on the floor.

“Look at that.” Karen sighed happily. “That is all he has to say about what I’ve done to you. No anger. No enjoyment, even. Just… dismissal. You’re a toy to him. You’re nothing. You belong to me, and your life is mine to end as I see fit. He won’t want you, Dex, even if he did before. Look at you, I have disfigured you. No pretty face for him to admire now, hm? You are nothing to Wright Farling. Do you understand that now?"

Dex slowly nodded, his eyes still locked on the tiny photo of Wright next to his text, the way it wavered and pulsed with the drug running through his system. Wright’s mouth kept seeming to move, to echo her words. Dismissed. Disfigured. Pretty. Isaac.

"He doesn’t care about you. Wright Farling is my friend, mine. I won't have your little hard-on for him ruin all my years of hard work to ensure he won't walk away from our friendship. I will ask you one more time, Dex. Did you speak for Wright Farling, and lie to me?”

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and slowly shook his head.

He would not give her a weapon.

He would not turn on Wright.

Even if Wright had never seen him as a person at all.

“Good. I can’t trust you, Dex… not with him. I understand that now. So you will never be alone with him again. Ever." She leaned in closely, running a bloody blue-gloved hand through his hair.

"And my darling Wright… he won't care. Do you get that, love? No one cares about you. You’re a pet. You are a pet to me. You are even less than that to him."

Then she stood, and he listened to the click of her heels on the hardwood floor as she walked out the door and down the stairs.

He waited. He didn’t know how long.

He heard a gasp when she brought Henry upstairs and the boy saw the sprays of blood on the wall, the puddle of it Dex was lying in, the wounds still weeping with the thrum of his pulse. Karen stood next to Henry, not quite touching him, and the boy was taller than her but infinitely powerless, now.

"M-Ms.-..." Henry caught himself, crossing his arms defensively. "Madam… wh-what-... why-"

"He disobeyed me, Henry," Karen said softly. "He felt things that I did not allow him to feel. He felt love for someone other than me. I have allowed you to keep your name. I have allowed you to keep your memories and your mind. I want you to look at my Dex and understand, darling… I can take that all away from you. I took it from him, all of it, everything that mattered."

She turned to look at him, head tilted up, and slowly ran a bloody gloved finger down the side of Henry's face. He swallowed, hard, but he didn’t pull away.

"If you try to have thoughts - or feelings - that I did not allow in you… I will do this to you. And worse. You love playing the piano, don't you, Henry?" Karen's voice was soft. "That's what I adored about you, how I knew I would keep you. You are so… talented with your voice, with your piano playing. Disobey the way Dex has disobeyed, darling, and I will take your voice the way I have taken his. As for your fingers… Dex. Show him your hands."

Dex laid his palms flat on the floor. Henry gasped at the sight of his mangled right hand, the broken fingers bent at so many wrong angles.

"Continue to make moon eyes at Peter and you will lose the things you love that I have allowed you to keep. Your loyalty is to your owner and not to another pet. Am I understood?"

Henry's eyes were locked on Dex's fingers, but his voice stayed even as he slowly said, "Yes, Madam. I understand. I’ll obey."

“What am I, Henry?”

Henry’s jaw set, just a little. “My owner, Madam. You own me.”

“For how long do I own you, Henry?”

“... for… f-for the rest of my life.” His voice had dropped nearly to a whisper by the end.

“Good boy.”

He didn’t know what else she said - whispering in Henry’s ear, sounds like snake whispers, a forked tongue flickering in and out of her mouth… Dex hated the drugs, hated seeing the forked tongue that he knew was not real and knew was real all at once…

He must have lost himself for a second, because when Henry touched his shoulder, he jerked in surprise and had to shift and look up.

Henry was barely eighteen, and looked younger.

Shock of red hair, frightened eyes, the black leather collar he’d worn for so long now, still too tight and constricting - Karen wanted him to feel it every time he swallowed. Dex had watched her put the collar on Henry, watched her force him to sign the postdated contract, the polite fiction that allowed her to pretend she hadn’t broken the law.

He’d stood by while she gave Henry no choice, no escape, no way out. He’d watched her respond to his protests by threatening Peter, and seen the look the two youngest of Karen's boys had exchanged before Henry slowly nodded, picked up the pen, and carefully signed his name.

He’d watched her take Henry to the car for his surgery, waited a week with his heart in his throat, and seen the angry red skin over Henry's collarbone around the small, shining metal circles set with what looked like sparkling green stones when he returned. He could see those green circles shining now, glinting in the light that came in the window, shown off by the series of low-cut boatneck shirts she forced him wear now, shirts he hated.

Dex had stood with the others while she showed them what those little circles could do, watched Henry collapse in agony, screaming as the shock ran through his nerves. He'd watched Peter hold Henry while he cried, as his life was taken away from him, to be given to Karen’s next of kin when she died. Henry had stopped being a person before he was ever an adult, and Dex...

Dex had stood by, and done nothing, because he didn’t want to risk what he had left, the sense of himself Wright had helped him to steal back, piece by secret piece. And it had all been pointless.

I’m sorry, he tried to sign, and his broken fingers screamed in pain. He wept into the bloody floor.

“H-hold on, Dex,” Henry whispered, shaking all over like a leaf, his face flat white, swallowing reflexively, again and again. His eyes were wide and horrified, and his hands hovered over Dex as though he didn’t know what he could touch that would not make it worse. “Hold on, hold on, I just need to go get Peter, I don’t, I don’t know-”

The house phone was ringing, somewhere, and it echoed strangely in Dex’s mind. Ring, ring, ring… then it stopped, when someone picked up.

“I don’t know what to do,” Henry said, softly.

Me neither, Dex thought, laid his head down, and closed his eyes. 

She was right, wasn't she? It had all been a game to Wright, to see if he could bring the person Dex used to be out from the careful shell of his training. It had been a game Wright and Karen were playing with Dex as the pawn, and it was Dex, in the end, who lost.

He was silent.

He spoke for Wright. For twenty years, he had been dreaming about him, kneeling to him, he would have done anything for him. It had been stupid, to speak at all, to imagine to himself he might matter to Wright as much as Wright mattered to him.

He was nothing. He was brainless. He was a pet, a Box Boy no matter his age, an empty void with skin stretched over it in the shape of a broken man.

She would never let him die. Or maybe one day she would.

Wright wouldn't care.

[shyinadarkplace]

One of Zed’s darkest moments

WARNING: DARK THEMES PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Zed is an original character as is Ryth. Loki is well Loki this definitely leans more toward mythology Loki

Zed knelt at Loki’s altar, more drunk then he had ever been and almost completely naked save for a loin cloth. He was broken. He was tired. He was done trying. He could feel it in his bones that if he tried to kill himself now it would finally fucking work. On the altar he placed a series of thick envelopes, his goodbyes. More importantly explanations, these beings whose faces he never saw had taken everything from him. Everything that he loved. His birth mother. His true mate before he was even old enough to know her for what she was. Then His adopted mother and siblings. The only woman he had ever truly loved. He had been beaten, tortured, his mind fucked and mangled. He was so fucking tired. So he prayed, to the only god who has ever bothered to give a damn. The only one who had bothered to help .

Zed took a deep breath. His forehead resting against the edge of the altar, tears blurring his vision falling unchecked. Numbly he gripped his hunting knife and held out his right forearm. Deftly he dug the blade in and slashed downward savagely. Quickly he repeated the process on his left arm. Zed watched the blood pour from him and sobbed. Releasing choked and broken noises chest heaving.

Loki heard screaming, a tormented yell. The token for Ryths altar glowed a slight red. Odd Ryth and her mother never left blood...realization hit him the only other person to use that altar was Zed. Loki cursed standing before the mirror image of the altar. Saw a poor and broken boy open his veins, saw the thick letters, then he heard the prayer. Many thought Loki cold and cruel, but he was far from it, so hearing these words and seeing these images made his heart ache.

“Loki...Loki...th-this is it. *sob, slight chuckle* I I can finally escape. I am sorry I bled on your altar. I am so tired. Why would my father do this to me? Why would he help those bastards? I guess it doesn’t  matter now...Nothing matters now. I lost them all Loki....my mother. fUCK  she didn’t even know how messed up my father was and then after she had taken such good care of me .... he he KILLED her. But you already know that from before . *sigh, sobbing hard* Tuari, oh fuck  she is  gonna hate me...for awhile I think she will come around ...she will know that every word is true because the paper, ink, and pen are imbued with truth spells I couldn’t lie there if I wanted to. Ryth will too, though she probably won’t care really. I am glad Tauri has her mates. I know they will take good care of her. Keept her out of too much trouble. Loki...you know Ryth has the most beautiful eyes right ? I love her . I love her so fucking much. I loved her the second I saw her. *chuckles sadly* Her hair was so long it brushed the ground. *brings up the image in his mind* Her eyes were shining like green opals at least But she will never forgive me. Never. I will never see any of her smiles. She has so many, but they all, they all take my breath away. *gently touches the faded half formed mating mark just above his heart crying harder* Loki please take care of her. Please, I know you care for her and love her too, so please take care her. D-don’t ...fuck its getting dark...so tired *laughs broken sobbing* D-don’t let her cut off her hair for Eric...uhhh I know a secret way to bring him back from...from the ashes...its its in my letter….please help her . I wonder if my mark is still on the inside of her ankle ? I thought I saw it when we first saw each other again. *heart skips a beat slowing darkness taking over* Hey loki can I ...can I go with Hel I just want peace. Please. Please take care of her...pl...ease… take care...of her. *falls over passed out*”

Loki appears at the altar. With a wave of his hand he stops the bleeding healing the wound, placing the poor boy in deep healing sleep. Gently he lifted Zed and took him to the back of the cave and summoned a soft, comfortable bed, laying him down. As he covered him with a thick, soft blanket Loki was thankful he had free time, though he was loath, feeling that once again he would have to put his claiming of his little changeling. Or he thought to himself perhaps not, perhaps his claiming would benefit all involved. Making a decision he placed food, drink and a note for Zed before placing strong concealments and protections around him before going back to the altar to retrieve the letters and clean away the blood. After securing the letters away to retrieve later he returned to Asgard there were a few more things he had to finish and not long to finish them. He knew that it had been almost a month since Eric’s death but Loki still felt the effects of Ryths scream. Hell everything  with the breath of life had felt the echoes of her agony when the mating bond between her and Eric shattered. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt all over again. He had to hurry.

Meanwhile Ryth wandered aimlessly out in her gardens. She summoned what she called shadow memories. They were memories that places and people shared. She could view all the memories of her and Eric since he began building here. So she did. As she watched it all  kind of played in fast forward, at the same time overlapping. She watched him building the house and planting the gardens. She smiled and laughed at all their antics. Looked on longingly at every time they had mad love out here under the stars. She shuffled inside tears once again rolling down her face, and watched everything on the inside. All the times they had cooked dinner together, had their friends over, danced through the whole house singing and laughing. Every time the depression hit, and how Eric took care of her. Finally came the last time they had actually seen each other. Rhythm gripped the choker around her neck using it to try and ground herself. She watched their fight. It tore her apart. She collapsed in her chair muffling her agonizing scream with a pillow as she watched and cried. How many times had she watched that night? One hundred, two hundred times? It didn’t matter, Ryth screamed until she lost her voice and cried till she dry heaved, before she finally fell asleep curled in her chair, still clutching at her necklace.

Loki heard Ryth wail at the loss of her love. Felt her clutching at the necklace he had given her many years ago. He stood under the light of the full moon and admired the home that Eric had built her. He could feel the love and care that went into every brick and board. All the care that had been given during tilling and tending. Ryth had done well with him, she had learned to thrive in many ways. Loki’s long hair stood almost on end for a moment while all the protections around the house examined him trying to determine if he was a danger or not. After a moment his hair dropped and he smiled at having been able to witness the strength of his little changeling, then continued into the house. For a moment he simply watched as Ryth slept .

Ryth woke suddenly, her knives flying from her hands before her thoughts could even fully form. They embedded themselves on either side of Loki’s head. To which he cocked an eyebrow. “Is that really how you would welcome me little changeling?” he said softly, gently. He waited, as Ryth rubbed her eyes and rose from her chair, another knife in her hand she stalked forward. Loki leaned against the door frame, hands in the deep pockets of his trousers. She was certainly a sight. Her long hair unkempt, bedraggled and slightly greasy. Her eyes were vacant and rimmed red almost raw from crying. She wore an oversized shirt and little if anything else. Oh she was firey, good. Ryth snarls showing her needle sharp fangs (all fea had sharper than average canines on the top and bottom) “You aren’t really here.” her voice was hardly a whisper as she had screamed it away for the most part. “Yes, I am little one. I am here to help you heal. You are mine and I am going to bring you back from the dark pit that you are in.” Ryth dove at Loki, tackling him to the floor knife pressed into his throat. For a moment he was taken by surprise.