#i guess the moral of this story is that sometimes putting a ring on it isnt enough

[zafulz]

Regarding SotE's ending.

Spoilers ahead, rant.

I'm a dissappointed on the fandom always wanting to take sides for the most nuanced narratives ever written in games, sometimes it feels like we play different games at all. They want to excuse other demigods and put the blame on the ones who wanted to changed the status quo, when we all should realize how the Greater Will and the Outer Gods had influence and have been the ones to actually be playing chess with their tragic fates. Radahn and Morgott wanted to keep and perpetuate Marika's / Golden Order rule, Miquella, Ranni and Rykard wanted to get rid of all the Gods (using the Stars/Moon, destroying gods or becoming God themselves), and Mogh, Malenia and Godwyn had their fates taken by Outer Gods/Plots. They were all played and incited by the horrors of Marika, under the Greater Will. Remember that Marika shattered the Elden Ring to rebel against the Greater Will due to all the grief and most recently Godwyn's death, so we can guess she realized too late.

Then, it surprises me how easy we are to label Miquella as a villain without taking all that into the equation. The game changers, following up Ranni's statements, were only Miquella, Malenia (as she was almost ready to become a goddess even before Miquella), and her. Ranni, probably the one who knew all of Marika's record and was already done with the situation of her family and the Lands Between, started this first with killing Godwyn. Miquella just could not keep at delaying the facts during the time he tried to revive his brother and revert his twin curse, leading to despising the Greater Will and deciding to ascend having learned the horrors of the Lands of Shadow and the current state of the Lands Between. The actions taken by them can't be honestly judged at certain human moral standpoint, since we are talking of literal demigods, SOME of them supporting the current status quote where Omens, Demi Humans, Albinaurics, Giants where OBLITERATED to keep the Golden Order's rule. The DLC covers the process in which Miquella decided to walk the same path as Marika, probably for similar "better world" goals, but Marika just followed the Greater Will. Miquella decided to become a god and strip himself from all essence, without any guidance. Is not a mending rune to keep the Elden Ring somehow. The story trailer show us how Marika called the Greater Will, now dried up after thousands of sacrifices, Miquella becomes a God by stripping himself of what attaches him to the world (reminds me of Tales of Symphonia, where Colette is loosing all senses to become an angel or the Avatar State) St. Trina asks us to kill him, because she understood this path will only create another Greater Will-like God, no feelings, just cold stare and control, a caged god.

Now, somethings that aren't clear is how the affection compelling powers works. Miquella shattered his own rune knowing this would remove his "charm" from others. Why he did that? What's the vow Radahn and Miquella made? The cutscene crystal clear shows Miquella is afraid of becoming a god, but taking that decision on this vow.

Probably a fight with Malenia before becoming Lord. Whispered this part on his ear like normal.

A LOT of information is missing, but the point was that there are no " villains" in this game, BUT THE GODS. It is a Man vs God narrative that is very nuanced. Thanks for your time.

Ps. Did you notice this?

Grace and the Gods influence reflect in the eyes. Messmer is final proof of it when he breaks his Grace and Serpent appears isntead, or Miquella showing up with eyes shut, becoming a God himself. Ranni Melina I wish we could have more dialog options and reactions from what we did in this DLC :')

[meanbossart]

Just gotta say that the way you draw facial expressions is soooo dynamic, and your art makes me grin with equal feral glee when I see it. 🥰

I love your spooky smiley deranged durge, will you tell me more facts about them?

Thank you so much! And YES i certainly can uuhhh lets see

-In my personal canon he has no name, having first assumed to have forgotten it along with everything else and later being told/figuring out that he renounced any in favor of being called Bhaalspawn, Slayer, Death Bringer, Bhaaling, and any number of edgy titles we hear throughout the game lol he did this pre-tadpole to emphasize his birth-right and deny himself any personal identity. He never picked a name for himself post-tadpole and everyone just refers to him as The Drow, Astarion also calls him his usual pet names.

-He's not necessarily one for luxuries but still likes pretty, ostentatious things, especially jewelry. Pre-tadpole DU drow wore them generously, post-tadpole doesn't understand his own fascination, but he likes wearing rings and holds some sentimentality for specific pieces. (he never threw away the "magic" ring he stole from the tiefling child in act 1)

-Every expression of love and affection he had pre-tadpole came out pretty twisted, but with this in mind he very much adored Orin, though you would never guess it from seeing how they interacted with each other.

-The patterned scars on his chest, face and neck were mostly self inflicted (the rest he had Orin's help for). The one's on his arms were an "accident" kinda but he still put them there willingly (and gleefully lol)

-He has a borderline irrational hatred for drow women. He hates drows in general, though mostly because they're uptight and snobby and less so because of, yknow, all the slavery and child killing etc.

-Despite looking evil as hell he's very much morally neutral post-tadpole. He's pretty much a "do what you have to do to survive" kind of guy - and sometimes a "because i want to" kind of guy lol.

-He thinks very highly of himself which makes him overly bold. This got him through the whole campaign and destroying the brain but it also makes him a huge liability LOL its also a source of conflict in his and Astarion's relationship because he lowkey doesn't think Astarion can make it without him - he continuously and completely fails to realize how this is an issue.

-The only other people he has respect for and trusts are Shadowheart, Astarion and Jaheira. Ironically these are all people he didn't get along with well at all at the start.

-He's kind of a hopeless romantic, he's just weird about it. He's pretty much picked Astarion as his person and kind of devotes his life to him now, sometimes to a troubling extent.

-I'm writing a whole story that takes place post-game here where you can gleam a lot more about his character and learn things that i can't share yet because it would be a spoiler hint hint nudge nudge

[mushroomjeremy]

I have been holding on to this design for a little while now. Thinking about how best to deliver how I changed the character and if I did enough.

I really want to get to clearing my 'to post' folder out. So I guess its better now than never.

This is Dr. Jair Shimmer a rewrite for SCP 963. Ignore that this is almost the exact same design in my Clight artwork; I liked the design so I kept it.

His main gimmick is that he study cursed object not just 963. He wears many curse object regardless of moral or ethical reasons against it. His office is chalk full of them, enter at your own caution.

SCP 963 isnt to much changed from base one, only thing is the souls in the amulet can be retrieve. Very hard thing to do and Shimmer needs to do that action all on there own and he kinda does not care to do that.

I do want to make more bodies for Shimmer but Im very busy and Im scared to draw women.

Past Keep Reading is just headcanons (do I even call them that at this point?)

The amulet is made of out silver, Red Beryl/Bixbite, and different colored sapphires.

While I am using He/Him in this post, Shimmer is a genderfluid, pansexual, panromantic with any pronouns as long as your not taking the piss out of him

Despite shipping war, Shimmer is with Glass, Clef, and Kondraki. Sometime all at once.

He use to be cautious around cursed objects, but after 963 he started to become reckless knowing he'd always come back after the Foundation found him

963 works a little differently on how is possess someone. All it needed was an initial soul trap and the next person to pick it up will be possessed. If Shimmer kills themselves the curse is kinda broken, he would just be in the amulet and the next person to pick it up is the knew host.

So Able is out of the story.

Shimmer just touched it and became the host.

How he found out about SCP 963 abilities is a informant apart of a different GoI stabbed him in the back cause they thought Shimmer was getting to close to figuring out why they were in the Foundation in the first place

Shimmer went to Deer College to get a degree in Magic and Curses

Shimmer can see, read, and understand magic in objects and crystals but he himself is not a wizard/witch/Type Blue/ect.

He's a lot calmer here with a stern voice, though he still tells jokes when he feel in danger. Force of habit.

I wanted to keep this as I think it gives some good worldbuilding to the Foundation daily life. He does facilitate a betting ring for literally anything. You could put a bet on if the kitchen will be destroyed in the next breach or not.

Shimmer likes to see the personnel fight when bets don't go their way.

Where is Shimmer get money to pay back people? Who knows.

Shimmer has yet to see the gravity of immortality. He's in the phase of getting sick of dying but still careless with his bodies and "clones."

Oh yeah the Clones! How the amulet after a month could be taken off and put on another person? Well the Foundation uses that to their benefit instead of killing them. More bodies that can work on higher clearance levels stuff.

Shimmer can take of the amulet before the end of the month and still retain his body.

I also wanted to keep the Personnel Director position. I like him having all the information on the Personnel of the Sites he is place in. It could cause tension between characters if they fine out about Shimmer knowing those things or it could show how much they care about friends with this information. Example for both: Clef

I want to do the rest of the Family as well but its still a wip. But I will say I wanted to explore ableism as a defining problem for the family in its dysfunction

If I remember or figure out anymore I'll come back here maybe.

[missparker]

Hiiii, I haven't seen you on the birdsite in ages, so in lieu of, like, conversation, here are ask meme questions!

14 how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

17 What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

66 How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

74 You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

Hiiii, the bird app and I are having moral and philosophical disagreements right now but you can always find me on threads, FB, and insta. 

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I am always surprised when people tell me they laughed out loud or cried or had any sort of big emotional response to something I’ve written. And while I know that’s like the goal, there’s no guarantee that what you connect to emotionally is going to hit the same note for another person. Which is to say, I think I do tend to get into the head of a character, or I let them into my head. Is that different? Who knows. I think you have to feel it a little for it to ring true. 

I draw a ton from personal experience, be it conversations I’ve had, situations I’ve been in, things that I’ve felt. I always say that if you’ve read my fic, you probably know me better than anyone I know casually in my real life. Also, it’s real terrifying when someone you know in real life wants to read your fic! Stop perceiving me!

17.  What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

This is so tricky, because there’s no good way that works a) every time and b) for every person. For me, sometimes I have to write through the block and just unclog it with some trash before the good words start flowing again, but also sometimes I need the break and pushing through it only causes more harm. It’s really a matter of knowing yourself and checking in with what you need to keep making good art. Sometimes when I get stuck on a particular story, I know that I need to delete a big chunk of it but I’m stubborn and don’t want to and I spend too much time trying to fix it before ultimately doing what I knew I needed to do all along and just delete it. I think you have to be willing to admit you’ve made a wrong turn somewhere. And sometimes what needs to be deleted doesn’t need to be thrown away forever, but it’s just not right for THIS story. 

66. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

When it comes to fic, most of the pressure I put onto myself. I’ve learned to just ignore the comments that ask for more, demand updates etc because those don’t serve me in any positive way. I always appreciate when people read and comment, but fic is a gift we give of our time and effort and talent and it’s kind of a “you get what you get when you get it” situation. When I wrote greener grasses, I put myself on a weekly update schedule and I could do it but it was TOUGH. For my latest WIP, it’s months between updates and that’s okay too because it just has to be. 

Now, for writing that gets published, it’s sort of a different can of worms. Deadlines do matter, because you’re just one author working with editors who have their own deadlines and you’re part of a big schedule of authors and editors and if you’re late, it impacts a lot of people. I get a lot more strict with myself about achieving a certain word count every day, setting aside blocks of time to revise, etc. It takes priority over other things for sure. But I treat it like any other job - triage tasks, give it the time it deserves, do my best.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it? 

This is so funny because I think I do kind of have a distinctive style, at least people have said as such to me. One time another fic got posted and someone said it was written in a missparker style and I was like… am I so predictable?! But no, I think it was a compliment. Anyway, my style is domestic and character focused and probably someone is gonna drink coffee and probably someone is gonna go pee and probably it’s gonna start with song lyrics.

Thanks, @sarking!

Get to know your fic writer! | ask box

[frodo-with-glasses]

Thoughts, for the word ask!

I’ve been staring at this ask in my inbox for at least a week.

Every time I saw it, I would draw a blank. Not because there wasn’t anything to talk about, no; because there was too much. We spend so much time in these characters’ heads—getting to know their opinions and personalities and hopes and fears and morals and beliefs—that there’s a near insurmountable amount of “thoughts” I could discuss, and a possibly infinite amount of things I could say about them, and I just don’t have that kind of time.

This ask has made me draw a blank for at least a week.

Until today.

There’s a scene in Lord of the Rings that consists entirely of the uninterrupted thoughts of a single person. There’s a scene that is nothing but someone’s inner monologue, and yet somehow it manages to be one of the most beautiful things in this story. It’s one of my top five favorite scenes of all time—probably top three, actually—and it drove me so absolutely feral when I read it that I wrote a whole four-part essay series about it.

If you’ve been here for a while, you know what I’m talking about. If you know even a little bit about me, you can probably guess.

…Frodo after a few mouthfuls of lembas settled deep into the brown fern and went to sleep. Sam looked at him. The early daylight was only just creeping down into the shadows under the trees, but he saw his master’s face very clearly, and his hands, too, lying at rest on the ground beside him.

He was reminded suddenly of Frodo as he had lain, asleep in the house of Elrond, after his deadly wound. Then as he had kept watch Sam had noticed that at times a light seemed to be shining faintly within; but now the light was even clearer and stronger.

Frodo’s face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiselling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, though the identity of the face was not changed. Not that Sam Gamgee put it that way to himself. He shook his head, as if finding words useless, and murmured:

‘I love him. He’s like that, and sometimes it shines through, somehow. But I love him, whether or no.’

Whether or no.

There’s not a single more beautiful thought in this entire story.

WORD ASK GAME!

[dirigibird]

🎶~IF YOU LIKE IT THEN YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT~🎶

so i started reading blackest night and was extremely entertained by how much the different spectrums wanted to recruit hal. the red ring just straight up stole him and saint walker had to jam the blue ring onto his hand? he just spent most of the lead-up cycling through colours like a very disgruntled strobe light?? unfortunately for them he’s a strong independent lantern who only wants to be green.

ANYWAY here’s the four corpsmen doing beyonce’s single ladies choreography.

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 04

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: hello!! i hope you enjoy this new chapter as i dive more into bucky’s past. italics in this work symbolise a flashback in case anyone’s confused. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

The entrance hall of the Barnes household was pilled up with people. Between his mum barking orders left to right and caterers bringing food in and out, the once silent room turned into a busy crossroads which meant James had retreated back to his room. He was sat down in his bed, cashmere black suit on and hair pushed back, Dead Souls opened on top his legs. He was lost in between the small black letters printed on the yellowing paper, so lost that the sound of his window opening went by him until a loud thump woke him up from his literary daze. Bucky looked up to see his younger sister, sat on the floor of his bedroom by the window with her dress partially on and hair messy due to the windy weather outside. He sighed, closing his book and putting it off to the side.

    - Can’t you climb into your own bedroom? - Bucky got up from bed, leaning down to help her back onto her feet.

    - Yours is closer. - she brushed the dirt off her baby pink dress picked by their mother. - Shouldn’t you be downstairs?

    - Shouldn’t you be in your bedroom? 

    - Touche. - she pointed. - Can you not tell mum? She’ll freak out if she discovers that I went out on dad’s big day. 

    - Go on, I’ll keep mum occupied while you sort out that bird’s nest hair. 

    - Thank you! - she smiled, giving him a short hug. - What am I gonna do when you go to Princeton? Who’s gonna cover for me?

    - I guess you’ll just have to form an alliance with the maids.

Y/N and Bucky were silent, barely speaking to each other if even looking into each other’s eyes. She merely remained there in her operatic costume, the corset doing the best of jobs at enhancing her female features and almost making her look like a femme fatale out of a classical movie in rich red and green fabrics decorated with what he guessed where heavy metal gold pieces resembling precious jewels and golden rings. He did not know which production they were putting on, he hadn’t even heard her sing before but she looked like she belonged in that stage, like she would have been showered in praise the moment the spotlight grazed her. 

She paced around the living room not exactly sure what to do, the beads which made up her skirt and would suddenly peak to show her legs making a slight rustling noise as her eyes studied the book shelf which was filled with tons and tons of books from the classics to mere economy books. Maybe she could read them whenever the tension between of them wasn’t so apparent. She couldn’t help but sometimes look at the badly fixed window and wonder if she could make it, maybe when he wasn’t looking, maybe when he was sleeping yet looking at him; tall, muscular, fast, definetely much stronger than her, she knew that even if she managed to get outside, he would easily get her back. Her mind battled her positive side as she wondered if this was it, if this was home now. Suddenly, her old flat no longer seemed old and she would give everything away if only she could go back, back to being told to do errands that really did not concern her, to stepping on bobby pins laid on the ground, to way too strong makeup which looked ridiculous in proper daylight. She would give everything, if she could go back to what her life had been. 

The man whose name he hadn’t even dignified himself to tell her yet was sat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen with his eyes trained on her. She briskly turned around, arms crossed under her chest with an almost child like pout of someone who had just been punished. In reality, I’m the one who’s being punished here, he thought to himself.

     - You could tell me your name. - she said, not looking into his eyes, instead rubbing her worn out ballet shoes against his hard floor. 

     - You don’t need to know my name. - he was quiet yet imposing. Y/N could not deny he seemed to have a strong presence despite barely raising his voice. It was almost magnetic as if he was made to be looked at, yet she felt he didn’t want to be seen. 

     - What if I need to call out for you? 

     - I would know. There’s no one else here, is it?

Y/N did not reply to this, instead rolling her eyes and sitting down on the couch. There was not much to do in the small one bedroom apartment other than pace around, eat and watch television. Her hand flew over to the remote, pointing it at the TV to turn it on which opened on the news channel. She guessed this was the way she had of now knowing what was happening outside the four walls she was being held captive in. There wasn’t much happening and even if it was, all the local news could talk about was about the upcoming mayoral election. It was a circus with advertisements and rumours flying around about each and every candidate and while it was almost painfully enjoyable to see men over thirty acting like gossip mean girls in school, everyone knew who was gonna win. 

She’d always been told that behind every great man, there’s a great woman and in this particular election it couldn’t be anymore true. The favourite candidate to win, Robert Moore, also known as Bobbie, was married to an senator’s daughter but not just any senator, Senator Barnes. She was too young to remember his policies or even his public persona, yet from what she knew, he had been a very well liked and well respected Senator, coming from a prominent family and building an even more prominent family. Being married to Rebecca Barnes, now Rebecca Barnes-Moore, was a one way ticket to a good career in politics. The two stood in the television screen, side by side in an almost JFK and Jackie Kennedy fashion with sunny smiles looking like the picture perfect Americana couple. It seemed all his ads showed him, his wife and their new born baby. High school sweethearts, it seemed.

    - Are you gonna watch that the whole day? - she turned her head around, looking at his annoyed expression, whiskey glass in hand. 

    - They look good together. 

    - It’s a circus. - he snickered, sitting by her side. 

    - What are you? An anarchist? - those words flew out of her mouth without any filter, mostly out of nuisance. - Her father was a great politician and he is young and likeable.  

     - Young and likeable ... sounds like great political traits. 

     - What do you know about politics?

     - What do you know about politics? Do they have a crash course in politics at whatever company you were in? 

She rolled her eyes, turning the volume up to listen to the broadcaster tell the love story of the future mayor and his wife. Her face softened as she heard what was probably a highly modified version of the actual truth yet she couldn’t help but slightly smile at the idea of it. They seemed in love and as someone who had a degree in pretending to be in love while singing, it warmed her heart to see it. She liked that idea, the idea of Ms and Mrs Americana, the idea of having someone to lean in. Well, she liked the idea of someone. Sure, maybe the man whose name she still didn’t know and was starting to believe was never going to learn was right, it was a circus, all elections are but she couldn’t help but be pulled by the myth of it, by the we against the world mentality no matter how morally wrong it was. 

She continued to watch the coverage of the election run as the man next to her got up from the couch to pick up a phone call. Her hearing slightly moved towards what he was doing, mind always thinking of escaping but even though he was talking on the phone, his gaze was trained of her as if she were his prey. He mumbled something on the phone before turning it off and moving his eyes to text someone yet after that his eyes were on her once more. 

    - Try not to escape for the next hour.

    - Do you have a nameless anarchy convention to attend?

    - Billy is coming to watch over you. No funny business. 

    - Will. - she corrected him. - He doesn’t like being called Billy. 

    - As long as you don’t pull a mission impossible on him, I will call him whatever you want. 

Will didn’t take long to arrive, dressed in a tennis-like outfit as if he had been pulled away from tennis which sounded like something he’d do. Bucky exchanged a few words with him before leaving the two of them together. He trusted Billy, or Will, was smart enough not to let her escape or run away. God, he didn’t even want to think about what John would do to him if she escaped, much less what he would do to her if she escaped. He made his drive to John’s condo in fifth avenue, parking his bike somewhere before making his way up. The condo was always weirdly filled with chatter talk yet he could see no people, it was as if the ghosts of the people he had taken out followed him in his own home and Bucky couldn’t say he pitied him. After all, he had his own ghosts too. 

He looked into John’s office where he was sat in the couch, the coverage of the election run on the television on low volume. John’s eyes immediately found Bucky’s figure looming at the entrance, never really entering, just standing behind the line which separated the hall from the office. 

     - How’s the roomie? - he motioned his hand for him to come in. - Still pretty?

     - What do you need?

     - I just got an invitation to a fundraiser. Zemo’s going so I want you to go. 

     - I can’t, I have her to watch over Y/N. She’s not very keen on remaining in the flat.

    - Chain her up for all I care. It’s in two weeks and I’ll be damned if I’m there by myself with Zemo. Besides it’s your sister’s fundraiser, I always love to see Rebecca. 

    - She’s not gonna be there. - his jaw locked. - A fundraiser for the mob? It’s mostly free alcohol and networking with them not showing up. 

    - Maybe you should bring your roomie. She’s pretty and if anything I’m sure she can sing and if not maybe she can entertain in another form. 

    - The NYPD is probably looking for her, it’s not wise ...

    - Do you make the rules? - John interrupted him, leaning against the couch with arms crossed. - You seem to have forgotten who makes the rules, soldat. 

    - I just don’t think ...

    - You don’t think. - he interrupted him once more. - This election is important and since I do not have the right person here to get ahead, I will make do with what we have. I don’t give a fuck about what you do when you’re at your flat but she is mine. She is my get out of jail card. Are we clear, soldat?

    - Yes. 

    - You can go now. - he dismissed him. Bucky turned around, eyes open wide yet emotionless face as if he were disconnected from his own consciousness. He guessed it was for the best to remain disconnected, to not know what was going on.

He drove himself back home, standing alone at night looking at his flat; the window still broken while the lights were flickering. He thought about running off, starting his bike and running off into the night and just drive until the tank was empty but he couldn’t. He had strings, strings which kept him tied to where he was right now. He guessed that now she was another string keeping him here. 

Bucky sighed as he walked back to his flat, opening the door to a rather serene sight. Will was by the kitchen watching the football game while Y/N was laid across the couch, book in hand which he recognised as one of his old ones. Her hair was different, she probably had taken off her wig and for the first time since those few minutes in the costume room. It looked soft, framing her face and getting in front of her eyes as she herself got lost in the room. Will excused himself, leaving just as he noticed Bucky before he could be yelled at by using his television. Yet again, Y/N and Bucky were alone in that small flat. She looked up from the book and at him before returning to read.

He left her with the book, walking to his bedroom which was probably now more hers than his to grab one of trousers and hoodies before returning back to the living room. Still reading. At least she wasn’t trying to break any more windows. He put the hoodie and trousers by her side, turning off the television as more screams for the football match came through. 

   - You can change into those. - he pointed at the clothing, getting her attention as she closed the book. - Those beads can’t be comfortable. 

   - Oh 

   - The bathroom’s there. - he pointed at one of the few doors in the flat. - You can shower too, there’s towels. 

   - Thank you. - she grabbed the things he had put out for her before leaving him in the living room by himself.

And then it was just him once more, alone, tied to this city which screamed everyone’s name but his.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying​ @buckyswillows​ @blossomslibrary​ @juliesland​ @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically​ @red-head011​ @poisonous00​ 

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 8

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy, jail

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

Also, if you are liking this series, consider checking out my new Lee Bodecker series, The Nanny. Part One

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Also, even when this fic is over (it’s not yet don’t worry!), I want to continue writing for Lee and this reader, so send me ideas of what you would want to see! Smut, fluff, I just wanna hear ideas you think would match this story! Like moments of them living together, dreams, or even ideas for one shots of Arvin x Reader when they were dating if you want more from that aspect of the story... anything else you want to see with this story that will be like one shots that are part of this same universe. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

That’s the funny thing about time. More often than not it’s the one to dictate you and not the other way around. Rationalizations regarding time hardly ever work out in your favor.

Oh, I just need more time for this, and then everything will work out.

Just need to make it through this week and then next week will be better.

If I had had more time, I could’ve gotten everything done.

How often did those actually ever work out? Time, especially in this town, was never an ally. It worked against you, spreading and infecting as fast as a forest fire. Time let rumors spread and time allows for circumstances beyond your control to unfold. It’s the catalyst that expertly pulls people apart and sometimes if you’re lucky, back together.

Perhaps, two years ago, you would have thought you would have been one of the lucky ones. One of the select few that time actually heals, but you had since given up on that notion. Lee was gone, ripped from you as quickly as he had swooped in. Your job was ripped from you as well, leaving you incapable of supporting yourself. And now you had Tommy back as well you needed to worry about. That was the one positive in the whole mess Lee left you to clean up alone.

The events like a domino effect just tore things done one by one. Now the room is cleaned out and his things are tucked away in boxes in your garage just like his car. It was the only physical evidence that had proved it all had actually been real.

You didn’t even want to try to visit him at first. You were hurt, and felt used. He had kept so much from you, especially your job. His lies had been so effortless. It bothered you immensely. He let you believe you had been able to land it by yourself. Maybe you could have. But now you’ll never know. What employer is going to hire you now?

Tommy got a job fairly quickly and you found a job outside of town, away from the people who knew your name or Lee’s. The article published that revealed Lee had gotten you the job was evidence enough for the town that all the rumors and gossip that they spread with no forethought were actually true. You had slept with him for the job, of course. Some people pinned the blame on him and some on you.

It took you six months of him being gone before you would even go in his room. Anything of yours that had secured a permanent spot there you just went without. But you needed the money, and Tommy had the good idea to get another tenant. He helped you box everything up and move it all down to the corner of the garage, making it all out of sight out of mind.

You had managed to sneak several of his shirts into the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were impressed with how much of a front of indifference you were able to put up. You had made it like an assembly line, and you ignored the tug at your heart at how it reminded you of when he first moved in. Keeping busy kept your thoughts at bay. However, nothing prepared you to what you found in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had just wanted to get the work done fast, removing the whole drawer and dumped the contents into a cardboard box. It was mostly junk, but then a black velvety box had caught your eye. It stood out from everything else. You hadn’t been nosy, and up until this point, you hadn’t given much thought to any of the items you had been packing away. It was a necessity to keep you sane.  But like Pandora’s box, you really just couldn’t control the urge to open it. You reasoned it was probably cufflinks or something for special occasions he just never wore. But the temptation was just too much and you sat down on the floor and fished it out of the half-filled box. You opened it and you immediately burst into tears. Not once had you cried since he had been gone. You hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to, not when there were so many things that needed to be done.

It looked brand new, a gold band with a perfectly round diamond sat perched in the box that he had hidden away in the junk drawer he assumed you’d never have a reason to go through. You distinctly remember Janie’s ring had been white gold, and you remember Lee had told you she kept her ring. He said he didn’t want it back anyways; he had said over coffee one morning. Nope, this was yours and the receipt you found in the cardboard box confirmed it when you saw the date printed on the top. He had gotten it a month before your whole world went to shit.

For the next two weeks, you had kept it stashed away, hidden under the t-shirts you selfishly kept out as well. The weeks really started to blend together, just going through the motions and not really feeling like you were living. You were on autopilot. And before you had realized it, it was coming up on a year. Time had moved somehow simultaneously slow that year and also fast enough for you to lose track. You hadn’t moved on. You were just ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge the hurt that was still behind your eyes, still as apparent since the day he was carted away.

One night, you don’t know what switch in your mind flipped, but you started crying in the shower and then couldn’t stop until you had cried yourself to sleep. You had just exhausted yourself and the cycle continued night after night as soon as you stepped in the door after work. You were lying on your bed, still in your clothes that you had worn to work even though it was way past midnight. You turned your head and just stared at the bottom drawer of the dresser, your eyes straining from the tears and also from the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel better. You got up, walked over to the dresser and sat crisscross in front of it. It was probably the first conscience decision you had made in weeks. Somehow it made you feel more alive.

Stripping down to just your underwear, and leaving the work clothes haphazardly in piles on the floor, you grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it over your head. Just the smell of him cleared your head. The way it was able to just aid your headache was almost instantaneous. It smelled like him. It grounded you, and had the opposite effect you thought it would have. You skeptically believed you were torturing yourself, and grabbing one of his shirts would make you feel worse. For the first time in a while, you felt comforted and finding a candy wrapper in the front pocket just made you smile.

You then pulled out the ring and looked at it, taking it out of the box for the first time. You slipped it onto your left ring finger. It was a little loose, but Lee didn’t do awful guessing your ring size. You didn’t care, you thought it fit perfectly. It was understated and stunning and you had never seen a nicer ring. It was simple, very unlike what your relationship had been. Actually, that wasn’t true, you realized. It was very easy falling in love with Lee, and when it was the two of you, it was perfect. It was the world and circumstances outside of your control that made it complicated. You also realize you had forgiven a while ago, but you had been too stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it. Fuck everything that you let overpower you for so long. What? The old ladies at Church call you a slut? Let them. The amount of weight that words hold over everyone here is so toxic. No one in this town was a saint. The whole town is held hostage by their own twisted dark secrets and the way people get by is just exposing the secrets of others. No one was moral. You hadn’t done anything wrong. What was your crime? You did nothing. Lee was as guilty as sin, but what made them better? What gives anyone the right to decide for themselves his motives, and ignore the good in him to villainize him?

It was early Saturday morning. Getting up from your spot, somehow feeling lighter on your feet, you see its after two in the morning. You settle back into your bed, and the revelation allows you to have the most restful sleep you can ever remember having. You woke up feeling refreshed, and feeling alive. Your head was clear. You still didn’t look good. Your undereye bags were dark and heavy. It would take more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to remedy those. The pain behind your eyes was still there, but the motive had changed. It was a longing, and a missing of him that weighed heavy on your head.

You wake up shortly after seven and your body doesn’t allow you to sleep in despite your attempts. You get ready for the day, changing into a pair of your fitted jeans that were cuffed, a pair of your Keds and one of your white t-shirts. You grabbed your purse, and made your way downstairs. Tommy had already left for work early and he doesn’t like to wake you. It was probably better, because had he been there, he would probably talk you out of what you were going to do.

The bus was pretty crowded, always was on Saturday morning. You hadn’t realized how close he was to you this whole time until you realized you had been on the bus for less than twenty minutes. This whole time, he had felt so far away, almost like he was erased, even though he was just in the next town. You arrived just as visiting hours had begun. You weren’t even sure you’d be allowed to see him, or if he’d want to see you. You hadn’t come before, and you wouldn’t blame him if he refused to see you. Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d say. You didn’t think about it once. You just wanted to see him.

The guard at the front desk took all your information and got you situated and then you just had to wait. It was probably less than fifteen minutes you had to sit there but it felt like forever. It was that familiar feeling of time messing with you again. Finally, the same guard returned and led you down a really bleak hallway, until you reached a room with a long table, with seats and dividers, and phone receivers. The seats situated across from each other separated by think glass. You gulped, you’d only ever seen rooms like this in the movies, and you shuddered facing where Lee had been stuck for so long. You weren’t the only one there, and other prisoners in beige scrubs were seated behind the glass talking over the receivers with their loved ones.

You took the seat the guard motioned to, and you thanked him. You were trying your best to not shake or show how nervous you were to see him again. You were scared he would hate you for not coming sooner, or he’d say he didn’t want to see you again. You couldn’t blame him. It has been a year. Yet, your heart leaps and betrays you when he walks in and any brave front you had is gone. He looks more tired than you, and his hair is slightly shorter than when you last saw him. But overall, it’s still Lee and goddamn, what you wouldn’t give to break the glass. The silence is deafening when he doesn’t even look up at you when he grabs the receiver. Does he not even want to look at you? He sat down without even looking up from his feet. He looks so defeated.

“Lee?” you ask softly into the receiver; you aren’t even sure if it picked up the sound. Apparently, it had because his eyes shot up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were wide and looked vulnerable as he scanned your face, like he was trying to keep from blinking.

“Oh sweetheart,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry. Everything- all of it. It was all my fault.” He also looks close to tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you say, unable to pull your eyes from his.

“I didn’t expect you to even want to see me, darling,” he admits.

“You left an awful mess I had to clean up first,” you joke, making him chuckle halfheartedly.

“You deserve so much better,” he said sadly, “Settle down with someone your age, with a nice job or something- get out away from this place.”

“Christ, Lee, if I wanted that do you think I’d be here?” you joke. He smiles.

Four months ago, Arvin offered to drive you home from Church. Even with your brother being back, you still ended up going by yourself most Sundays. You weren’t even sure why you still showed up. It was an hour of being stuck in a room with a ton of people where you didn’t even have one ally. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. You had Lenora, who’s sympathetic smiles from across the aisle let you know her silent solidarity, and you had Arvin, who wasn’t one to care what others thought much anyways.

Leaving Church now since the news was finally printed, no one tried to talk to you afterwards except for Arvin and his family. His grandmother was still as sweet as always, but you could see how much she pitied you. Arvin was always friendly still, and he had been so helpful with everything.

“I don’t even care if it was true you know,” he said suddenly, pulling your attention from the open window on the passenger side.

“If what was true?” you ask looking back to him.

“You know, how everyone is talking,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to actually say it.

“That I slept with the Sheriff to get the job?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, I- It doesn’t change anything,” he says, “You’re still you and I don’t care. We’re all human.”

“It’s not true,” you confirm, crossing your arms, and then looking back out at the passing landscape.

“Look (Y/N),” Arvin continued, “I’m sorry about what happened. I feel awful. I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“You’re always such a good friend to me,” you smile, “You shouldn’t be putting yourself out too much for my sake.”

“I want to,” he insists with a smile, “We got a history, you and me.”

“Yeah,” you say with a content sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he admits nervously. He pulls in front of your house, and as usual he runs over quickly to get the door for you. “And just that we aren’t kids anymore,” he continues, and you nod. You dig for your keys as he talks.

“I got a job, pays pretty good,” he continues on, “You got a good job, and this old house. I know you better than anyone. I know it isn’t that romantic, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’d love to marry you, if you’d have me.”

“A-Arvin, are you serious?” you ask, your heading whipping up at the sudden proposal you hadn’t anticipated.

“Tell me it wouldn’t make sense,” he laughs softly with a shrug, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Arvin, I don’t want to just marry someone for the practicality of it,” you sigh.

“It’s you and me,” he continues, holding your shoulders gently and his eyes are latched onto yours. “I know I made a horrible mistake, but I have been trying so hard to make it up to you. You’re the only girl I ever loved- I never stopped. I loved you when we were eighteen, I love you know that we’re twenty-two and I swear if you let me, I can love you for the rest of my life.”

“Arvin…”

“It’s always been us, hasn’t it?” he asks rhetorically, “There’s never been anyone else…”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say hurriedly, cutting him off before he continued.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say again, slower and much more purposeful. You watch his whole expression fall, and it breaks your heart to hurt him.

“You’re in love with Sheriff Bodecker?” He asks, “That fucking deadbeat?”

“He’s not,” you insist, “You don’t know him…”

“You don’t either, (Y/N),” he cuts you off. “He’s no good and crooked. He manipulated you, took advantage…”

“No, he didn’t,” you affirm.

“(Y/N), he’s a liar, and he’s good at it,” he continues, “You don’t think he just up and told you anything he thought you’d want to hear to just get what he wanted…”

“You’re wrong!”

“He’s an alcoholic, no good drunk who took advantage of you with your mama gone…”

“Shut up!”

“He was using you!”

“You’re wrong, Arvin! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “Let’s say you’re right. So, you’re gonna wait for him? Wait out the five years until you’re twenty-six? And then after you wait for him to get out, how do you know he wants you? Then what are you going to do? I know right now you hate me, but God, (Y/N), I’m a good guy who only wants to put your happiness first… I’ve always put you first. I love you and I’m not going to make you play a ton of games or keep things a secret. I’ll run around this whole town right now screaming how much I love you at the top of my lungs so the whole town knows.”

“I don’t love you.”

Lee still can’t believe you’re finally here in front of him. He thought about this moment for so long. He had even tried to prepare himself to brace the possibility that you might never want anything to do with him ever again. His dreams would plague him with thoughts of you. Sometimes they were happy, and he’d be woken up with the horrible realization that they hadn’t been true, and others were worse. He’d dream about getting out, and seeing you with someone else. Married, and happy, and he wasn’t the one you settled down with. Sometimes, he wouldn’t actually see you with someone else, it was always just implied, or he’d see you with Arvin.

Most nights he’d jolt awake and be covered in sweat, and he would still be cursed by the images that flashed before him in his dreams. He just thinks about all the things he wished he could change and how much he’s hurt you. He just thinks about all the things he would say if he ever got to see you, or what he would do to try to win you back. Then, other nights, he’d be much more self-deprecating and he’d internally fight with himself about how you don’t want him anymore, and you’d realize he was never what you wanted.

Now, he can’t believe you’re here across the glass. He could see the pain and exhaustion behind your eyes and he hates that he is the cause of it. He can’t stop looking at you, and part of him thinks he’s actually back in his room, having another dream about you that he will wake up from and find himself alone again. His eyes scan your face and just wants to take in every part of you, it had been so long. Then his eyes land on a shimmer of something on your hand and he might just die in his seat.

“You found it?” he whispers, looking at the ring on your finger. You look puzzled and then you follow his gaze down to your hand. You had forgotten you hadn’t taken it off.

“Um, yeah,” you admit shyly, looking down at it, “I assumed it was mine.”

“It is,” he smiles, pressing his fingertips gently to the glass briefly. “If you really want it.”

“It’d be a shame for it to just sit in the box,” you shrug. Neither one of you say anything for a moment, neither one of you not knowing what to say to fill the silence.

“I’m going to wait for you,” you declare, aimlessly playing with the ring on your finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.

“I’ve never been surer of anything, Lee,” you affirm.

“I will make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will,” you joke, making him laugh.

“I love you,” he sighs relieved, like the weight of everything that has held him down this past year just vanished. You wanted him, and he wouldn’t lose you.

“I love you too.”

PART NINE

Taglist:

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee @bluebouquetcupcake29 @stucky-my-ship @moonliightbabes @sassy-kassaay @lharrietg @bbmommy0902​ @hoe-for-sebstan 

[anystalker707]

I Wanna Be Your Slave

Pairing: Frank x [amab] Reader Word count: ~ 2 400 Genre: Fluff / Smut Summary: (Y/n) f*cks Frank harsh as a kind of reward and punishment at the same time. Kind of content: Praising / Hair tugging / Handcuffs / Harsh / Temperature Play / Safe / Dirty talk / Edging / Fingering Requested on Wattpad Help with details by @frank-ieros-lip-ring

*not proofread this is the last part of a 3 parts story, afab reader smut coming soon

"You will never redeem yourself." I light a cigarette, bringing it to my lips. "Stop trying. Once your hands are dirty, the stain never comes off." A smile tugs on my lips, although completely humorless, as I take a drag of the cig, leaning back against the chair, watching the smoke go out through the window. "Not redeeming yourself doesn't mean you can't be a good person. It depends on how much you're up to changing or how well you are with yourself."

"And sleeping at night is just that easy?" Frank raises an eyebrow at me, shifting in his place on the armchair by the other side of the desk.

"If you bury it deep enough." I shrug. "It doesn't matter, honestly. You shouldn't overthink because that's exactly what will end up killing you. Or not. I don't know. I don't like to think about it."

"You're confusing." He twists his lips lightly.

"I guess. But I'm doing well. I'm alive, I'm here, I have you." I let my eyes fall to the papers again, signing my name over the line. "And that's what matters to me."

It's silent, dense. For the first time in a good while, I'm actually the one uncomfortable with the silence I've imposed after my last words and the room has never felt so small. Having feelings for someone like this feels almost wrong. I have a whole company, a whole family to run, but again, it doesn't mean I can't be happy or that I need to live exclusively for them – on the other hand, that'd mean someone else to threaten me with. Sometimes I want to leave Frank.

"I supposed I can live with that," Frank says quietly.

I never look up. A true smile forms itself on my face this time and I only hum in response as I brush the cig's ashes away from the paper.

It's already late at night when I'm heading back to my bedroom, halls dark and only the sound of low chatter filling the ambient. Frank is in the room when I walk in, sitting on the bed only in his underwear, reading a book.

"Who said you could crash here tonight?" I hum, shrugging off my blazer, kicking away my shoes.

"I don't need anyone telling me what I can do or not." He doesn't even look away from his book, turning the page. Not really his book since I can recognize it as one of the books I got in my office.

"True?" I get rid of the suspenders so I can remove my shirt, then do the same with my pants. "Didn't know you'd gotten such a moral around here, Mr. Iero."

"Oh, but I do, actually!" And the way Frank sounds so cynical is somehow so funny.

"Being a bad boy today?" I struggle to hold back a chuckle, suppressing it before I can face Frank. He's about to say something, but I'm taking the book away from his hands first. "Mary Shelley? I never thought you'd like her books. Nothing against, tho," I mutter, marking the page so I can put the book down. "It's a really good book."

"What are you doing?" He shifts on the bed, glaring at me. "I was reading that!"

"You'll have all the time to read, tomorrow." I glare back, but actually amused.

"But–"

"Why don't you stand up for me?" I make a come on motion, ignoring all the questioning looks shot at me.

Frank tenses up, but is eventually doing as told, eyes only meeting mine for a couple of seconds before they're falling to the ground. Not like I need him to look at me right now, after all. I cup his face and let my thumbs run across the soft skin – he leans into the touch, hands resting over my chest.

My lips meet Frank's in a soft kiss, one that's returned only after a few seconds, his lips slowly moving against mine until I set a pace, letting a hand fall to his hip to pull him closer then touch him through the thin underwear; his hands twitch on my chest, closing themselves around nothing.

"Safeword?" I whisper into Frank's ear, giving the side of his face a kiss.

"Redemption," Frank mutters back and I slowly nod.

"Good boy." I step back. "Now, undress and sit on the bed."

Frustration crosses Frank's eyes momentarily, but it doesn't stop him from doing as told, soon becoming unquiet because he's already half hard so, of course, I'm not going to rush things. One by one, the lube, handcuffs, candles and matches come off one of the bedside table's drawers, clearly intimidating Frank.

The candles go on the bedside table, over a couple of saucers whilst a third and a fourth candle are left aside along with the lube, the fire slowly burning and casting a warm light over Frank when I'm finally moving to give him some attention.

Creaking comes from the mattress with it sinking under my knees as I move towards Frank, my hand on his chest slowly pushing him down against the sheets; he chews down on his lip with me straddling his hips, but all I do it for is to use the handcuffs to lock each of his wrists to the bedposts despite his wide eyes watching me in silent complaints. A whine escapes Frank's throat with it, but I silence him with a peck, moving off of him.

"You're not to come until I tell you so, do you understand?" I grab the lube again, kneeling between his spread legs. "As you already know and have experience with, I'll stop at the same moment if you say the safe word. I thought that'd be great to remember."

Frank meekly nods in response, chest falling with an exhale.

The swallows around Frank's hips deform lightly as I sink my thumbs into the skin, rubbing circles into it, and watch him miserably push his hips up. "Please," he mumbles, but I barely give attention to him, starting to press kisses from his belly button down, mouthing around his crotch, seconds that probably feel like forever to him, but compensated with the pleasure once I take the tip of his cock in my mouth. A loud moan comes from him with it, squirming intensifying, in a way I can't help but to feel anxious to finally touch him properly.

I sigh softly, holding onto Frank's hips while taking him in completely, hearing the sound of the metal against clinking the bedposts under the cries coming from him.

"Tell me," I whisper once I pull away, letting my thumb sink into the inside of his thigh to rub circles into it – it's pathetic how he continues whimpering even with such a simple touch. "What are you, Frank?"

"Yours," he manages to say, voice tight.

Great. I fondle his balls lightly, watching his thighs quiver. "My what, hun?"

Frank gasps, a shaky moan escaping his lips. "Slave."

"Good boy." I press a kiss to his thigh and move away from him completely so I can reach for the lube, which makes Frank actually quiet instead of complaining about anything. "I'm gonna fuck you until I come," I tell him, covering my fingers with lube, "and if you come before I tell you to, you'll sort yourself out, okay?"

"No," Frank groans. "I–" He cuts himself off when my fingers start tracing his entrance, feeling it fluttering under my touch, before a finger finally sinks in, which snatches a sound of discomfort from him. "Please, just don't hold me back from cumming, I–" A moan.

"And what if you don't cum until I finish foreplay?" I can't help but to grin. "Then you can cum, but I won't stop until I've done it myself."

Frank mutters something under his breath, something I can't identify whether it's a complaint or a plea, however, he's frantically nodding. "Yes, master."

"Oh, fuck you," I mutter almost in the same moment, feeling my underwear grow way too tight.

With a second finger, Frank is being louder and almost pushing himself down against my hand when I brush against his prostate, not touching it as much as he'd like me to when scissoring and twisting my fingers around. The third finger makes him gasp, only moving more frantically. So hopeless.

"Fuck!" Frank throws his head back and arches his back when I'm pulling my hand away, eyes pressed shut tightly.

"You're doing really well, hun," I whisper, cleaning my hand away so I can reach for a candle.

"S-Sir," he swallows, breathing shakily.

I light the candle with one of the others and, opposite to them, this one burns easier, meaning the wax isn't harmful. Wax soon starts pooling in it and I tilt it to pour the warm liquid over Frank's torso – he lets out a gasp, a moan, as he uselessly tries to escape the inevitable touch of the wax.

"Fuck," he curses, melting down along with the wax.

"Tell me how it feels," I say softly, peeling away some of the dried wax while waiting for more to melt.

"I– It's good," he breathes. "Hurts in a good way." He hums, biting down on his lower lip when I pull onto a chunk of wax. "More, please."

And I do as said, carefully letting it fall over Frank's nipple and appreciating each little sound that escapes his lips – he arches his back like to meet the wax, humming as he moves his hips, pushing himself down and ending up finding a little of friction when his balls meet my leg for a second.

"Such a whore," I whisper, peeling the chunk of wax away from his nipple. "I had no idea you'd like something like this, look at how pathetic you are."

Whatever complaint Frank has is lost among moans once my hand is wrapped around his cock, working on it while I let more of the wax pour over his chest and without many pauses now, snatching a chain of gasps from him whilst he thrusts into my hand.

"S-Sir," he says breathlessly.

"I said not to cum during foreplay." I let go of Frank at the same moment, blowing the half burnt candle out before I can return it to its previous place.

"But master, sir," Frank says and these are honestly the only words I'm able to make out from all the babbling and cries coming from him.

"Shh, baby, it'll be just a moment." I stand up from the bed to get rid of the boxers and grab the lube again. Having my hand around my cock feels like such a relief; I almost immediately gasp, though trying to focus more on lubing myself up than jacking off. "Right," I mutter to myself, returning to kneel down between Frank's spread legs before I can adjust my position, bringing one of his legs up to make things easier. "My pretty boy, all mine," I say softly, "what'd it be of you if it wasn't me, hm?"

"Nothing, sir," he replies. Well, I wasn't waiting for that.

All I do is to flash Frank a smile in response then lean in for a kiss, a short and sweet one.

I use my free hand to guide myself in, not so slowly as Frank doesn't need it at all nor a slow pace at first – his body jerks with the heavy thrusts, instantly snatching high pitched sounds from him with every movement.

Frank is fucking tight, clenching around me each time I slam right back in, not bothering to miss his prostate this time. The pleasure is sent ringing up my spine instantly along with this immense relief, incessantly, and it's all about the small details. Clinking echoes through the bedroom along with the sound of the headboard hitting against the wall, but none of these are as loud as Frank.

"Please– Touch me, sir, touch me," he whines among all the gasps and moans.

"You can cum without it, baby boy," I reply softly, my fingers sinking into his thighs, holding both of them up so I can go in deeper and Frank's squirming shows how successful it is. He starts pleading again, but stops after a harsh slap is delivered to his thigh.

Frank fucking comes. Just now I become aware of his spluttered attempts of telling it to me, which I ignored due to being too focused on observing him and myself instead.

It'd be a lie to say it's like nothing; he immediately tightens around me and my hand shakes, sending some of the wax dripping down my fingers instead. "Fuck, fuck," I mutter, putting out the candle messily so I can set it aside and once again take a hold of Frank's thighs, fucking him through his release.

Frank is so messy, throwing his head back – I don't waste the opportunity, quickly attacking his exposed neck with my lips to leave behind marks among the few tattoos decorating the skin.

His skin is hot. Almost like mine, I imagine, burning, though certainly not as much as the muscles on the back of my thigh, which are already complaining by now with a sharp and annoying pain.

"A good boy, aren't you?" I breathe into his ear, not stopping to thrust in, feeling him pulsate, clench around me just so perfectly. "But also such a whore. Look at how you're letting me use you. Mine and only mine. Who's the only one who can touch you this way?"

"Y-You, sir," he stutters, thighs twitching under my touch already, but it doesn't take long for me to cum already, letting out a low moan escape my lips, mind momentarily going blank with the pleasure climbing up the back of my thighs and unraveling the knot in my lower stomach. My movements don't stop until I can feel the oversensitivity threatening to kick in.

"Hell," I breathe, slowly letting go of Frank. "Hell."

I rest my forehead against Frank's, both of us not sharing a word.

"You did so well, baby, so well," I whisper, moving to release him from the handcuffs and his arms just fall limp to the mattress. Fuck. So small and hopeless. "C'mere." I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. "Relax for a bit so I can clean you up, hm?" I pull his sweaty strands back from his forehead and press a kiss to it. "I love you, hun."

"Love you, sir," he mumbles, eyes half lidded, though I'm sure he's barely conscious.

[funkymbtifiction]

Please, help me understand Fi more.

Hello! I hope you are enjoying your day!

I was hoping that could help me understand xSFP types and Fi types in general better, because as an ENFJ most of them seem reckless, annoying and egotistical to me. It’s easy to resonate with some of their fears and desires, however, I don’t really get them.

E.g.: in ‘Shadow and Bone’ Alina Starkov’s whole personality is a huge red flag. It is quite difficult to understand how one can think only about herself (and Mal sometimes) when there are much stronger forces at work and you can feel that historical events are literally at your doorstep. It’s quite surprising to see Alina not making any effort(she doesn’t really want to know other Grisha or train or even think about what is going to happen). She gets a chance to feel normal, to fit in, to have a kind of family with other mages, and yet…

As you have probably guessed, I have no problem understanding Kirigan’s intentions, but I would like to understand Fi a bit better, as there a lot of main characters with Fi.

Thanks in advance.

I am enjoying my day, thanks. I got done with work early, and realized I’m exhausted, though, so I doubt I’ll get much more ‘productivity’ done today.

SFP / SP types “live in the moment” and focus on what is immediately in front of them; they don’t see or look for the big picture, and whatever Ni flashes of insight they have are rational “sequence of order” premonitions. For that reason, you cannot judge them from an NF big-picture perspective, because their focus is here and now. Sometimes, they are reckless; other times, they are “on point” and skilled at seeing what is coming and doing something about it (either being part of it, or getting the hell out of Dodge).

I had a conversation with a friend one time about Marie Antoinette, as we debated whether she was ESFP or ISFP, and she pointed out that Marie could not have been ESFP, or she would have had a quicker sense of the reality of her situation. One of her ladies in waiting, an ESFP, saw what was happening and the way the trend was moving toward beheading aristocrats and left France. Marie was swept up in it all, and a casualty of it, because her feelings (subjectivity) outweighed her Se objectivity.

That is, in a nutshell, what is happening with Alina. Her personal feelings are directing every decision she makes. You have to “get” her not only from an ISFP perspective, but a 6 perspective, and factor in that she’s a social-blind Enneagram type. Her feelings are all that matter to her. Her feelings dictate her actions. Who she cares about influences her choices. She is a Fi-dom. Fi-doms have barometers that are in flux between “I love this,” “I hate this,” and “I don’t care.” For love, they love a lot. For hate, they loathe. And for the “I don’t care,” there’s no middle ground, and no need to think about it further, because they really do not care. Fi weighs everything according to itself – what its ethical judgment is about this thing, person, situation, belief, etc. How *I* judge it.

Alina is an orphan who has only ever had her best friend, and she is ripped away from him without any choice in the matter, and forced to attend a magical school where the only other person who seems to care about her, and offer her protection and guidance (the same thing Mal did) is the general. She’s an sx-user – if she doesn’t have fire with someone, she doesn’t “bond” with them. She’s an sp-user, she wants to feel safe and keep herself “okay.” She has no social instinct, which means friends aren’t to be made for “casual reasons.” (To be honest, that baffles me to; I have strong soc and not to make friends, take an interest in the other girls at the school, and think about what my role is would never occur to me.) She is a Se user, so she’s thinking about what is immediate and what she wants rather than seeing the bigger picture. It takes her time to start doing that, to start breaking down things and trusting her Ni, and by the end, she has a sense of her place of “belonging” in the world, but it’s still… about the person she cares about the most. It will always be that way.

She’s a Fi-dom, she has sx, and she’s a 6 – she NEEDS Mal. The story is all about a 6 learning to trust herself and do things for herself, rather than relying on other people all the time; like the Darkling’s mother said, you can’t always be using “amplifiers” (other people), you need to do it yourself. Every 6 must learn this. She’s about her connection to Mal (and later, the Darkling) and protecting that person; that is the central focus and drive of her life: I need you and me to be safe, and to be together. Other ISFPs aren’t like this. Harry Potter is one, and he takes on plenty of things that are “not his problem” because his Fi says, “Wait a damn minute here… this is WRONG. I MUST ACT.” SFPs act on what they feel is right – you see it in Harry Potter, in Buffy Summers, in Legolas Greenleaf, in Thomas from the Maze Runner. Feelings lead to action.

Fe/Fi conflicts a lot, and it’s not hard to see why, because it’s going in opposite directions. FJs want to be situationally-appropriate, FPs want to live their truth. FJs feel like they are obligated to society, to put themselves aside and work for a greater good; FPs feel like society is made up of individuals who should make their own choices, and not be “forced” to do anything. For an FP, it’s a choice of “*I* am going to do this, because it’s the RIGHT thing to do.” Consider Frodo in LotR. He didn’t have to take the ring, and throw his entire life into the toilet in the process, but he decided, with his Fi, it is the Right and Moral thing to do, and that the task should be his. The Ring came to him. It’s his responsibility.

Alina was not given a choice; she was revealed to have magic, and forced away from the man she cared about, her entire life uprooted – and it was not her choice. IFPs just want to live their life free of outside interference and for others to be able to do the same. Some of them are selfish, some are generous. Some of them would make friends, others would not. Some of them would say, “I have a responsibility to society to do X,” others would say “X is not my problem.” It’s all dependent on the individual. That’s what you need to remember about Fi: it’s all subjective. Everything for a Fi is subjective. You won’t find two Fi’s who are exactly alike in terms of what they think is right, if they feel responsible for what happens, or what should happen. They live in a world of a continuous testing of the outer world, to see where their barometer arrow swings. Do I care? If so, what am I going to do about it? If not, then what?

Ironically, an INFP introduced me to this show. As it turns out, her Fi only cares about the trio of Crows, so she watched it focused on them and sometimes felt angry about the changes to the book / their characters; she didn’t care about anything else, so she didn’t absorb it (or even necessarily watch other scenes). I watched it, absorbed everything, but only cared about the Darkling’s arc, as I found him the most interesting. As a result, we have nothing to talk about after seeing the show, since she only cares about the Crows and I don’t care about the Crows. For both of us, the viewing process was a process of looking for something to care about, something that means something to us as individuals, and devaluing everything else. That’s how Fi works: if I care, I care a lot. And this matters more to me than that does. It comes with a subtle tone of dismissal at times -- I don’t care about that -- but it’s really a process of what draws Fi.

That is just the tip of the iceberg about Fi; you can read a lot more about them and all the types in my upcoming MBTI book. ;)

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 3

THREE - Little Shop Of Horrors

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Bucky vividly remembers being about 10 years old and sitting on the living room floor watching his father assemble a heavy cabinet made from dark, massive wood. It had intricate gold ornaments along the sides and around the edges and even at that young age, he knew that it must’ve been expensive.

He likes thinking back to that memory, mostly because it’s one of the few that he can still tightly hold onto and recount the exact way he’s felt then, and partly because it’s so seemingly insignificant. It’s nice to know that some of the memories he regained after having his mind wiped clean, are tiny unimportant ones. It’s not just the big moments and grand gestures that make life worth living. Sometimes it’s the little things, the small details you look back on and fondly remember with a smile on your face.

Looking at the furniture before him, Bucky can’t imagine what his mother would think of these cabinets. Everything is white or beige or grey and there’s a lot of shiny black fronts and glass doors. The place is huge, so huge they have to tape arrows on the floor so people don’t get lost, and it smells of artificial vanilla and sawdust.

It’s not like he hates the furniture here, it’s just a lot and quite honestly, he’s not sure what really matches his personal style. Hell, he hasn’t had a personal style since before he went to fight in the war.

“ Ooooh, this one is very you! “ (Y/N) exclaims as she lets herself fall onto a fluffy brown 2-seat sofa.

If it wasn’t for her, Bucky wouldn’t be here. Not only because he wants her to come around more often and actually be able to sit on a couch, but also because she was literally the one driving them both here.

“Watcha doin? “

That was the text that started it, and before he knew she had pulled up to his apartment building, arm hanging from her open car window, and yelled “Get in loser, we’re going furniture shopping! “

Bucky assumes that is another movie reference though he doesn’t dare ask her about it.

“Nope, that’s a two-seater. Too small. I want to be able to sleep on it. “

“ Or, and hear me out on this one, you could get a new bed to sleep in. “

He doesn’t have any reply to that. It’s not like he doesn’t want to sleep in his bed, it’s just — it’s too soft. It’s too comfortable. It makes it easy to fall asleep and dream. And it’s never pleasant dreams. It’s nightmares. It’s faces that haunt him. Innocent faces. Eyes filled with terror. Fear. Fear of him. It’s nightmares. It’s memories.

When he doesn’t answer, (Y/N) pulls herself back up from the sofa and wanders on “or we’ll just have to find a bigger couch, that’s fine too. “

And at that moment he’s entirely grateful that she doesn’t push him any further.

They wander around the store for a while longer, slalom in between sofas and recliners, swerve in and out of mock-up rooms, all the while (Y/N) keeps throwing puns at him incorporating the Swedish names of the furniture.

Hanging out with her kind of reminds him of the times he hung out with Steve when both of them were so much younger. Of course, it’s nothing alike. He’s not even close to the person he was then, the boy he was then. The thing is, back then everything was easy and light. Being here with her and listening to her horrible puns, that’s easy too. For right now, he doesn’t even notice the weight that’s constantly resting on his heart or the perpetual shadow that seems to rest above him. This is easy and it feels so nice.

They step into yet another room, this one painted a dark forest green. Against the wall, there’s a dark wooden cabinet holding books and a fake tv and in the middle is a corner sofa made from dark brown leather. It’s big enough to fit both him and (Y/N) and maybe even Lady if she’s okay with cuddling up a little to either of them.

“ I like that one,” Bucky says and lets himself plop down on the couch. It’s comfortable but not too soft. It’s just right. Is this what Goldilocks felt like?

(Y/N) sits down next to him, rests her feet on top of the couch table and for a second it’s just them and the black screen of the fake tv and the intercom system calling out for little Kyle to be picked up at the Småland play area.

“ Honey, “ (Y/N) speaks up after a moment, “ I think the tv is broken? “ her voice ringing through the mock-up in a thick Transatlantic accent, making her sound like the women in the movies he grew up with.

“ Huh. Ain’t that something ?”

“ Well didn’t you fix it like I told you? “

“ Guess I must’ve forgotten,” Bucky plays along, trying to suppress the smirk pulling the corner of his lips upwards.

“ Ugh, remind me again why I married you? “

Bucky shrugs his shoulders casually “ my good looks? “

“ Oh, don’t flatter yourself. It’s very unbecoming. Good thing is — “ she announces as jumps up, pulling Bucky up with her and right over into the next mock-up living room. “ We have another tv.”

As Kyle’s parents are called out again, (Y/N) and Bucky tumble from one room into the next. From kitchen to bathroom to fake little balcony. All setting the stage for another chapter from their made-up marriage. Scenes from a movie never made, a book never written. A beautiful kaleidoscope of could-be and never-was. A nice fantasy to get lost in.

If this was a rom-com, (Y/N) thinks, this would be the falling in love montage. Some killer indie track would play in the background and it would be featured in at least one Buzzfeed article about romantic gestures.

But it’s not a movie, it’s real life and she isn’t the romantic lead and Bucky is — well he would make a great leading man now that she thinks about it.

They make their way back to the green living room with the brown couch and the ‘broken’ tv and fall back against the leather, laughter shaking their bodies, tears of joy stinging at the corners of their eyes. As she catches her breath, (Y/N) taps Bucky softly on the right shoulder and drops her voice to a whisper.

“Honey,” she says “I don’t know how to tell you this but uh — there’s a family on our balcony.”

Bucky’s eyes follow her outstretched hand and sure enough on the adjacent fake balcony is a family of 4 staring back at them. And just like that, they fall back into a beautiful harmony of laughter.

“So explain to me again what this movie is about?” Bucky asks as (Y/N) takes another sip from her coke can.

“Dude buys a plant, it starts eating people.”

“And this is gonna show me what women want these days?”

A joyful chuckle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. “I mean … there is a love story and a moral about how far you’re willing to go for the people you love even if it might be morally questionable, but maybe — maybe we should consider this one the Halloween special.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulder as if to say “okay fine with me” and leans back against the car seat. The massive screen of the drive-in is currently playing some kind of ice cream commercial that has (Y/N) softly humming along to the jingle.

This trip wasn’t planned, in fact, they’d been on their way back home when a billboard at the side of the road caught (Y/N)’s attention and put a huge grin on her face, so wide it could’ve split her face in two.

That’s how he ended up parked neatly in a row of cars, Coca-Cola in hand, popcorn resting in between him and (Y/N) waiting for the commercials to end and the movie to begin.

“You’re gonna love this one,” she’s told him beforehand. He’s a little skeptical about it but he’s not gonna tell her. Bucky is just so appreciative of the fact that she bothers trying to introduce him to these things. They might not end up being for him but it’s a good feeling to have someone care this much. Someone who hasn’t been with him through all the shit. Someone who doesn’t feel responsible because they pity him. Someone who doesn’t owe it to Steve to look after Bucky…

“So … I still have some homework to do.” He chimes in thinking back to their conversation on his living room floor.

“Homework that involves me?”

“Mmh. Doc thinks I should learn some more things about you. Apparently, it’s not enough to know that you’re crazy about movies and talk a lot.”

“I do talk a lot.” (Y/N) agrees and pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you. What you want to know?”

“Anything.”

Since coming back from oblivion, Bucky hasn’t really made an effort to get to know anyone. Growing closer to people only means there’s more for you to lose. More people you can potentially hurt. He doesn’t usually learn new things about people because he doesn’t ask. Because he doesn’t want to know. It’s a lonely life but it’s safe. It’s comfortable.

But this is different. He’s in too deep now to stop. And yeah, maybe this is his homework. Maybe he asks because his therapist told him too but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. He wants to know about (Y/N). Even the little things. The insignificant details.

“Well as I said before, I’ve studied literature and creative writing. I want to be an author. That’s uh — that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. The thing is it’s very hard to actually get people to give your writing a chance. Especially now. The world is in such a weird limbo after everyone came back. There’s no room for my art right now. So I work as a waitress to make ends meet. “

“What would you write about?” Bucky asks and in her eyes, in the surprise that’s so clearly written on her face, he can see that people don’t ask her that all too often.

“I don’t know, life? “

“Love stories?”

She lets out a mix between a scoff and a snort “what do I know about romance? I can tell you all about the love the movies and the songs and the books want to sell us, and don’t get me wrong, I love that. But I don’t think I’ve ever really experienced true and honest romantic love. So how could I ever write about it ?”

For a moment silence falls upon them. It’s neither comfortable nor awkward. It just is. Sometimes that’s enough.

“Look, I might not know a lot about love either, but I do know that dreams are worth holding on to, no matter how out of reach they seem. If it’s something you believe in and that you’re passionate about, it’s worth fighting for it.”

“Huh, didn’t put you for such a motivational speaker. Where’ve you got that from”

“Didn’t think the skinny boy from Brooklyn was ever gonna save a whole bunch of lives and fight in a war. Steve was the walking proof that you can do anything. “

“You miss him, huh?”

People don’t usually ask about Steve. They either don’t care how Bucky feels about the whole situation or they know it’s a tough topic and avoid it altogether. The worst part is he doesn’t even know how to respond. Yes of course he misses Steve, more than anything really, but there’s also a little bit of resentment swinging along. With Steve here by his side, it always felt like there was someone there who understood exactly what Bucky was going through. Someone who also had to figure out how to navigate this new life. But now with Steve gone, he feels so utterly alone.

“Every day.”

“Look I’m not going to ask what happened because quite honestly I’m still trying to grasp the fact that there are aliens and superheroes and wizards — “

“Wizards are not a thing.”

“You sure?”

Bucky lets out a slightly annoyed sigh “Yup. 100%”

“What’s the Strange guy?”

“Sorcerer.”

“That’s not the same?”

“No.”

(Y/N) considers for a moment, eyes screwed up in uncertainty before she shrugs her shoulder “ alright if you say so. Anyway, my point is, I don’t know if you have that many people to talk to and I don’t know if you even want to talk about Steve but if you do … well you can talk to me. I know I talk a lot but I’m also a really good listener. “

There’s no doubt in his mind that she is. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to talk about Steve yet though. Not when his heart is still at war whether or not to be angry. Not when he’s still so uncertain about his own complicated emotions.

“Thanks, I uh — I appreciate it.”

Loud music starts to play and (Y/N)’s head snaps towards the screen just in time for the title card to pop up in big colorful letters as three women shimmy across the street and start singing.

Bucky can’t help but let his gaze travel back towards (Y/N) every once in a while. There’s something about her he can’t quite figure out, but the way her eyes light up as she watches the movie and the smile on her face, it gives him a warm feeling. Like bad things don’t exist for the 90 minutes they sit together and watch a film.

“Sooooo?” (Y/N) asks as she parks the car in front of Bucky’s place. Her eyes still hold a sparkle that’s both mischievous and excited.

“I actually liked this one a little.”

“A little?”

“Look it’s not gonna be my favorite movie but I had fun. But uh — maybe that’s just because I’ve watched it with you.”

(Y/N) grants him a beautiful smile. It’s full of warmth and care and honesty. And he’s glad he told her, even if it makes him vulnerable.

“You telling me I’m a good friend?”

“Guess so.”

“Well, you’re a good friend too, Bucky.”

He hopes she’s right though he has a hard time believing it. He’s never seen himself as the greatest friend. Everything he did for Steve he did because he knew Steve would do the same. It came so naturally from both of them that it never felt like he was doing anything special or exceptional. It was as easy as breathing.

“Do you wanna come up? We could order some food.”

“Oh, I can’t. Gotta pick up Lady from Robin’s place. But as soon as your couch is delivered count me in as the first sleepover guest. “

“Will do. Hey, you think I should name the plant we bought (Y/N) 2?”

“Depends, you wanna feed the neighborhood Dentist to it”

“Maybe.”

They fall into another fit of laughter and even though it’s not that funny, and even though it’s really dumb and silly actually, Bucky enjoys it so much. He can’t remember a day when he laughed this much, felt this light.

“Oh, by the way, I’m throwing a pre-Halloween-party next weekend. If you’re free you should totally drop by.”

“I um — A friend is coming around that weekend.”

“Then bring your friend! The more the merrier, right ?”

Sam is gonna be down, there’s no doubt in Bucky’s mind about it. Sam isn't the problem, he never is. It’s Bucky. Going to a party is terrifying for someone who’s never known anything but the 1940s. This can only end up in disasters.

And yet …

“Okay, I’ll let him know.”

“Cool. Awesome. Just uh — Just text me when you know. Also, there’s no special theme so you can dress up as whatever.”

“I’m not dressing up.”

(Y/N) blows a raspberry against her arm “lame! But whatever, you do you.”

He guesses that means as much as “suit yourself”.

They bid each other goodbye with a hug and a promise from (Y/N) to Bucky to text him once she’s home just so he knows she’s safe.

To her, that’s a gesture so sweet and endearing it sends a jolt through her heart. To him, it’s as natural as breathing. You do what you can to keep those safe that you care about, even if it’s just a simple little text.

“You dressed up!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Man, You’re wearing a costume. I’m looking at you right now. I can see it. You dressed up.”

“These are just my clothes.”

“These are just your clothes? Your normal clothes?”

“Yes.”

“You’re wearing Converse now?”

“ mmh.”

“Your Jeans are cuffed, man. I’ve never seen you cuff your jeans.”

“It’s something I do now.”

Bucky isn’t a very religious person. He doesn’t pray very often. At that moment though, he prays to god and every higher spirit one might choose to believe in, to open up the earth and let it swallow him whole.

“Look,” Sam says and gives Bucks a friendly pat on the back “you don’t gotta be embarrassed by it. I dressed up!”

“Yeah, what even are you, by the way? An exterminator?”

“I — what? No! I’m a ghostbuster.”

“Okay. Whatever that is.”

“Whatev— Bucky, Man you really gotta go with the times a little. I know you’re practically ancient but the Ghostbusters? Catch up!”

“Whatever. I'm not dressing up. Can we go?” Bucky sighs in exasperation, making Sam’s grin grow even bigger. Bucky knows that he’s just playing into his game, that Sam loves riling him up. That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to not let it get to him.

“Alright alright. Hold your horses. I’m ready. Let’s go … Danny Zuko.”

Bucky wants to punch him then but Sam is out the door faster than Bucky can even react, his loud laughter sounding through the hallway.

There are people everywhere. Sitting on the kitchen counter, lounging on the couches, leaning against the wall by the open windows. Everywhere. The apartment is small and with so many people inside, it looks absolutely packed. Like sardines in a tin.

Music echos through the place, a song Bucky faintly recognizes from the radio but can’t name. Sam seems to enjoy it though, his body already swaying along to the tune.

“Hey Buck, where’s your girl?” He asks as both of them let their eyes travel across the room and over the crowd.

“She’s not my girl and I don’t —“

In the middle of the room is a fish tank. It separates the living room area from the dining room and kitchen. Blue and green hues radiate from it as colorful fish circle around and swerve in and out of the plants.

But Bucky hardly noticedsthe fish, as his eyes fall onto the girl at the other side of the tank. The water sends a blue shimmer across her skin but her smile doesn’t lose any of the warmth it always holds. She looks beautiful. She always does but there’s something about her tonight that’s different from all the times he’s seen her before. Something ethereal.

At that moment, Bucky feels a fluttery feeling in his heart, in his bones, in his blood. He knows this feeling, has felt it before, a long time ago. Maybe, he thinks, maybe there could be more than friendship there.

And that thought absolutely terrifies him. Because falling for someone makes you foolish and dumb and vulnerable. And that’s awfully scary.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //: 

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[nik-the-bik]

Henriel Week Day 4: Fireside

“Perhaps It’s the Wine”

Summary: Jekyll is super attracted to Gabriel and Gabriel is oblivious

CW: Alcohol, sex mention, and enough sexual tension to take out a priest, but nothing that veers too NSFW.

Gotta thank @corvidayyy for the awesome prompt because I'm surprisingly proud of this one?

****

It was a bitterly windy evening in January, but the guests at Dr. Jekyll’s home were none the wiser. That night he hosted an extravagant dinner for many of his friends and colleagues, sparing no expense for the endless array of hors d’oeuvres, hearty meats, and assortment of rare wines and spirits. Most everyone left the dinner party warmed with a good meal and head fuzzy from drink. As the evening crawled on into the deepest hours of the night, all that remained in Dr. Jekyll’s parlor were himself and his two oldest friends, Dr. Lanyon and Mr. Utterson.

The three sat around a roaring fire reminiscing about their boyhood follies, having animated discussions as they corrected each other’s memories and laughed at long forgotten stories. Some of the last of the wine was passing from hand to hand as they all sank comfortably into its stupor.

Henry opened the final bottle he had bought for the occasion and poured himself and Utterson another glass as Lanyon finally rose from his chair and stretched.

“What’s the matter, Hastie? We’ve got just a bit more wine left! Surely you can stay for one more drink?” Henry asked.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I’ve had more than my fair share,” said Lanyon, straightening his appearance as he prepared to bid his goodbyes. “I feel that any more would be too dangerous—I’m not as avid a drinker as I used to be, and I’ll lose my head entirely.”

“Suit yourself,” Henry chuckled. He and Gabriel Utterson shook his hand goodnight as Lanyon made his way out the door, but not without a few more jabs at his friends. The three were left with laughter ringing in their ears as he left them, Henry and Gabriel relaxing into the plush armchairs closest to the warm fireplace.

The two sat in silence for some time, feeling quite at ease with each other. The situation was not new to either of them—many a dinner party had ended with these two being left alone at the end of the night, softly whispering philosophy with each other or simply dwelling on memories while nursing one last drink before turning in for the night. These quiet, intimate moments were perhaps the ones that Henry Jekyll looked forward to most out of these evenings. Jekyll put down his empty glass and turned himself to face his best friend.

Gabriel Utterson looked beautifully relaxed. He had sunken into his own armchair, one arm around the back while the other lazily twirled the little remaining wine in his glass. He had one leg up on the ottoman, and a rare, small smile of sheer contentment rested on his face, as his eyes hungrily watched the roaring fire before them, cheeks rosy from the wine. Jekyll was captivated – warmed both by the glow of the fire and the soft glow of hedonistic bliss radiating from this man before him, a man who had always lingered in the back of his mind as the example of moral perfection. Yes, Gabriel Utterson was beautiful, and finding him in this tiny moment of domestic pleasure, Jekyll felt that old secret yearning ignite within him once more.

His attraction to Utterson was not something Jekyll let himself dwell on frequently, but on instances where the pangs of desire struck, they often were crippling in their intensity. Tonight was no exception.

Henry suddenly regretted that he never learned to be a painter, wishing that he had the talent needed to capture Gabriel Utterson in this moment. When he felt brave enough to confess as much out loud, Utterson let out a soft chuckle, and his eyes twinkled as his smile became broader across his face.

“Whatever would you want to paint ME for?” he asked, turning his attention away from the fire for the first time, and looking directly into Jekyll’s eyes. Jekyll’s heart stopped for the briefest of moments before his insides turned to butter under Gabriel’s warm, affectionate gaze.

“Well,” Henry started, averting his own eyes as he felt the heat rise to his face. “I guess it’s because you look so…effortlessly happy. It certainly suits you.”

Gabriel laughed again, a cozy, inviting laugh. “Perhaps it’s all of the wine.”

Henry Jekyll couldn’t help but grin himself and bring his eyes back to Utterson’s. He reached for the wine bottle that they had started just before Lanyon had left them and decided to refill his glass. “It certainly is good wine,” he said, scooting his chair a bit closer to Utterson’s in order to top off his glass as well.

“It is good wine,” Utterson reaffirmed, clinking their glasses together and giving him a jovial wink. Henry Jekyll nearly choked on his own drink—why was everything that Gabriel did suddenly so captivating, so…seductive? He was grateful that Utterson had turned his attention back to the fire as he dried his lips with a handkerchief, heart beating loudly in his ears. He had been secretly attracted by Utterson plenty of times before, but somehow tonight, somehow this was more than Henry Jekyll was able to take, and perhaps most maddening of all was how the seduction seemed entirely unintentional on Gabriel’s part.

Yes, this entire evening had been near perfect. Great food, plenty of alcohol, engaging conversation—the pièce de resistance for the night would be great sex, and the primal part of Henry Jekyll was suddenly roaring for it.

Another sip of wine as he stared into the open flame of the fireplace, and suddenly his heart was braced and tongue was loosened just enough to do something a bit foolish.

“You should stay the night, Gabriel.”

“Mmm?” Gabriel lazily hummed, turning his attention back to Henry. God was he gorgeous.

“It’s so late, and the weather tonight…I would prefer to know you were here, safe.”

“Thank you, Harry, but I couldn’t possibly intrude for much longer,” Gabriel said, suddenly shifting in his seat.

Jekyll leaned forward, putting a hand on Gabriel’s knee to stop him. “But I insist! It’s no intrusion, none at all, not when I have so many empty beds—”

“I still have my carriage waiting…”

“Send them home for tonight, and tomorrow you can take mine.”

Gabriel was quiet, only just now noticing that Henry’s hand was still resting on his knee.

“Henry, it would be lovely, but I really shouldn’t stay much later, not when I have so much work waiting for me tomorrow,” he said, turning his face back to the fire.

Jekyll brought the last of his glass of wine to his lips and downed it in one swallow, setting the glass aside and leaning still closer to his companion.

“I am requesting the honor of being hospitable to my dearest friend,” Henry said, voice lilting. He decided to give him the most sultry stare that he could muster. “I do so enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Gabriel turned his bright, beaming face back to Henry’s, a sweet, naïve giggle escaping him. “I have really enjoyed our visit too.”

Beautiful, innocent, oblivious Gabriel! He had no idea what Henry was getting at!

This wouldn’t do, this wouldn’t do at all. The primal monster inside Henry was hungry, demanding he be sated. He bit down on his lower lip as he pictured himself losing control and yanking Gabriel’s face forward into a deep, passionate kiss, arms encircling his waist, Gabriel’s fingers trailing along his spine... But no, as tempting as the fantasy was, that couldn’t happen either. Not yet.

“It would certainly break my heart to have to spend tonight alone,” Henry said, slowly moving the hand from Gabriel’s knee upwards, rubbing up and down his thigh. “If you were here, well, I could imagine we could make it worth both of our trouble…” he trailed off, delighting in the feeling of Gabriel’s warm, firm thigh in his hand, unconsciously tightening his grip, tongue just starting to touch his lip as he continued rubbing, letting his hand wander ever closer to--

Gabriel’s hand snatched Henry’s away. Henry looked up at Gabriel, who was blushing furiously.

Oh. Gabriel finally understood.

Oh God, he finally understood that Henry--!!

“We shouldn’t,” was all he said.

Henry Jekyll’s heart was racing faster than it ever had before, his face hot with shame, or was it just the fire? Why had he allowed himself to indulge in this secret want of his?

But the foolish, drunken part of Henry’s brain began to chime in. He said WE shouldn’t! Emphasis on the WE!

He didn’t seem offended or angry or ashamed, did he? Just…flustered? Could that possibly mean…?

Jekyll realized that Utterson was still holding his hand. Casting off any sense of caution, he drew Gabriel’s hand towards him, clasped in both of his, desperate to salvage the moment.

“Forgive me, Gabriel, I sometimes forget myself and…”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel said, unable to meet his eyes. His breathing seemed a bit more shallow than usual.

“I'm so sorry if I was inappropriate--I want you to know,” Henry continued, drawing Gabriel’s hand towards his own heart. “That you mean the world to me, and that I would hate to completely jeopardize—”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel insisted again. “You don’t need to apologize. You haven’t done anything.”

“I’m a weak man,” Henry said. “A slave to my most base, sensual urges, many of which, I must humbly confess, center around you.” With that, Henry drew Gabriel’s hand towards his lips, kissing it tenderly. When Gabriel didn’t pull away, Henry continued to plant kisses all over his hand, losing all sense of hesitation as he began to dip into the frenzy of his own desire.

Gabriel finally retracted his hand from Henry’s greedy lips, his whole face red. “Perhaps it’s just the wine making you feel this way,” Gabriel said, pulling his own chair a little further away from Jekyll. “I know I can definitely feel it enacting a certain…influence…”

Henry straightened himself up, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain his composure after his brief slip into blind ecstasy. “Perhaps it is the wine,” he confessed. He grabbed the bottle, nearly empty now, and decided to pour one small, final glass for himself.

“It’s very, very good wine,” Gabriel said, offering his glass for the remainder. He had his hand half covering his face, still brilliantly pink, eyes sparkling slightly as they peered at him between his fingers.

Henry smiled as he raised a silent toast to his companion, a thrill in his heart as it foolishly began to harbor the belief that maybe, just maybe, this overwhelming desire wasn’t entirely his alone.

[winter-fox-queen]

We All Deserve a Fairy Tale Chapter 5

Warnings:  Here be smut, my loves.  Minors be gone, because it is explicit.  First time writing smut, so I hope it works.

Frankie x female blank slate, use of first person.  I think there is cursing.

Frankie ghosts you, then something happens to change it…

Thanks to @sharkbait77​ and @hnt-escape​  If you want on my tag list, tell me.  :)

I waited a week.  A week and a half.  And I broke down, finally, and texted.

Got the edits back for my next book.  I hate this part.

After a moment, a reply.  You got this.

Hope?  Maybe?  Or was he just being nice?

I responded anyway.  

Maybe we can go out and see that movie tonight?  Have dinner?  A little fun before I chain myself to the computer?

No response.

I waited a day, but my stomach churned the whole time.

I texted again, after getting myself good and wound up.  You don’t owe me any explanations.  But please respect me enough not to ghost me.  You’re not interested in me, that’s fine.  But don’t leave me dangling.  You’re better than that.

I hit send, regretted it immediately.

Your right.  What’s your address?

“Shit.  Shit.  What have I done?”  I whispered as I typed it to him.  

About five away.  K?

Yeah.  Thanks.

I ran back inside the house and straightened myself up.  Military minutes must be shorter than civilian minutes because I heard him pull up sooner than I was ready.

I went outside, to the back yard.  I waved at him, half heartedly.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and came over.

“Hey.”  He gave me a soft smile.  Everything about him was guarded.  OK.  Well, I asked him to come over and officially tell me to take a hike, so, I guess I deserved it.

“Frankie, I…”

“No.  I, uh.”  He looked at the ground between our feet.  It was more dirt than grass.  “Man, you weren’t kidding about this place being a wasteland.”  

I laughed despite the rock in my gut.

He looked up at me, a little sideways.  “Let me say my piece and go, OK?”

I hugged myself, and nodded.

“I like you.”  He said so quietly that I had to lean closer to hear him.  “Like you more than I’ve liked anyone for a long time.  And I mean that.  But wanting you in my life doesn’t mean I get to.  I’ve killed — “

I started to object, say something about the army and of course he did and he did what he had to…

He saw it and said, firmly, “No.”

I closed my mouth and he nodded.  “No.  I’m talking about…less than a year ago.  Some friends and I went on a mission.  We said it was to help stop a major drug dealer but it was just…”  He’s breathing a little heavier, now.  Unable to look at me, rubbing the palms of his hands on his thighs.  

“People died.”  He looks at me, then, the anguish in his eyes, the guilt.  “My own fucking actions lead to one of my best friends getting killed.  If I hadn’t taken that shot.  If I hadn’t wrecked the fucking chopper…”  

He steps forward and takes my hands in his.  They’re clammy, shaking.  “The mail you saw, it was a reminder.  My friend’s widow, she’s angry and looking for answers and she doesn’t want any of us to be happy.  And she’s right.”  

I try to find words.  I feel like I’m in a cave in, trying to scramble over rocks and debris.  

“I don’t deserve to be happy, and I don’t deserve you.”  He touches my cheek for a second, a butterfly landing and running away.  “I’m gonna go now, I’m gonna block your number.”

He kisses me.  His lips are hot.  When he steps back, I say, “So you’re not going to give me a choice?”

“Why would you want one?”  His voice is incredulous.  There’s an echo, under his words, I can see it in his eyes, in the frustrated way he throws his hands out.  Why would you want me?

I shook my head.  “You say you like me, but you want to close yourself off?  Not give me a chance to get to know you, help you if I can?”

“It’s for the best.  You see that, right?”  There’s a desperate edge.  

I shake my head.  Everything that can possibly hurt does.  I’m supposed to be so good at words, and I can’t find the right ones, the ones to reel him back in.  

He adjusts his hat.  “No, you don’t.  I love your books, but they are fairy tales.  You can’t make a good man out of a monster.  It’s not how the world works.”

“You’re not a monster.”  

He’s all twitchiness now, looking at his truck, desperate to get out of this situation.  It makes me mad, how badly he wants to go.  How I know I can’t fix this.  “Don’t bother blocking my number.”  I say, as I turn on my heel.  “I won’t bother you again.”

He whispers my name and it is so pained that I almost turn around.  But I don’t.

***

I don’t block his number.  I can’t.  I focus on work.  My job that lets me eat work.  My book.   My hands shake on the keyboard, sometimes, as I try to make the story mine again.  It’s hard to write a love story, even one with murder and mystery, when your own heart is broken.

It was ridiculous.  I didn’t even know him that long,  but the loss of him hurt.  It made the story feel pointless.  What right did I have to sell these lies?  To make people believe in love and romance and happily ever after when you can meet someone so amazing and wonderful, and have to watch him walk away?

I kept working.  I’d get over it.  I had to.  It’s not like I’d built anything with him.  I was just aching for the possibilities — the things I tortured myself about.  The things I imagined I m might have lost, with Frankie.

And damn it, I missed him.

But life continues.  And sink faucets wear out, making you have to run to the local home improvement store, wandering the isles with an armload of new faucet, fittings, plumbers tape and everything else the YouTube videos I’d consulted said I would need.

The universe has decided that I have not suffered enough, because I can see him, Frankie Morales in the flesh, frowning at the back of a box like its his greatest enemy.  He was in the home security section.  

I could sneak by.  He was way too interested in what he was holding in those lovely, large hands of his.  I dashed by, head down, determined to just get past him, but some lady with a cart pushed past me at the same time, and my arm load of stuff got jostled.  I was able to save the most expensive bit — the faucet in its box, the long flexible connection thingies — but the plumbers tape, in its plastic hard shell donut jumped out, fell onto the floor, and rolled right over to a well worn work boot.  Spun like a top.  Settled right against his toe.  I looked up, too nervous to enjoy the view (much) and right into his eyes.  His lips were parted, like he was a little surprised to see me.  

“Hey.”  I said, and then, because I didn’t  know what else to do, I turned and fled back the way I came.  I knew where the plumbers tape was, I could just go get another…

“Hey.  Wait a second.”  

I stopped, took a breath, smiled like everything was perfectly normal.

He held up the white plastic Judas.  “Um…your faucet break?”  And then he winced.  “I mean, obviously.  Um.”  He placed the tape on top of my pile delicately.  He was holding a box in both hands tight enough to warp the cardboard.

“It’s old.  I thought I would try my hand at replacing it…can’t be that hard.”

“No, but plumbing can be really picky if you’ve never done it…”

“Don’t offer.”  I whisper it desperately, before I can even think about it.  I can tell he’s working himself up to it, and the thought of him in my house is like a punch ion the guts.

“It wouldn’t be a problem.”  His dark eyes study my face.  Sad.  A little desperate.  For a second I think, maybe he misses me, too.

“No.  I got it.”  I say softly, looking at the floor again.

“Do you still have my number?  If you change your mind?”

I nod at the container.  “Go back to your project, Frankie.  I can handle this on my own.”

Did you know, plumbing is an utter bitch?

Throw in some more curse words in the last sentence.  I certainly used every one I could.  

Two hours later, I get a text.  

Frankie:  How did it go?  

I want to sob.  Instead, I put myself together and write a fairly moderate response:

Me:  I have decided that I will now do my dishes in the bathroom sink.  Who needs a sink in the kitchen?  A total waste.  

Frankie:  The offer is still open?

Me:  How did you know?  Did you just look at me and think, she is too inept to be able to do this herself?

Frankie:  No.  I don’t think that at all.

Frankie:  Let me help?  Please?

Me:  Since you said please, I guess I can allow you to come rescue me.  

Frankie:  OMW.  

I looked at the time, and decided to order pizza.  It was only fair.

Twenty minutes later he’s under the sink.  “You did a good job.  I think maybe you just cross threaded it…”

“Oh, no…did I ruin the threads?”

“It’s probably OK.  I’ll just use a lot of tape…”

And he does some magical things with a wrench and the bright pink tape, which he wraps around the threads to make them more water tight.  I try not to admire his long legs or the rest of him, spread out on my kitchen floor, as he half lays in the bottom of the sink.

The doorbell rings, and I go pay for the pizza, and when I come back he’s turned on the water, and he’s kneeing in front of the open sink bottom, using a paper towel to see if he can find any leaks.

“It looks OK?”  I ask tentatively.

“Yep…you really did have it done mostly.  Just that one spot.”

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly.  “I bought us dinner?”

“You are awesome.”  He does a quick but of clean up so he can shut the sink doors and washes his hands in the newly repaired sink.  He tosses his hat onto the end of the island, and I want to run my fingers through his hair.  He does it for me, absentmindedly pushing the hair off his forehead.  

We sit on either side of my kitchen island, sharing pizza.  I don’t know what to say.  

“It’s a nice apartment.”  He said quietly, picking up another slice.

“It’s cheap, not far from my day job.  It works.”  I shove a hunk of crust in my mouth to stop myself from saying anything else.  I knew this would be bad.  Here he is, sitting a few  inches away.  I could touch him, but I’m not allowed.  It’s a rotten feeling, wanting something and not being allowed to have it.  To feel his fingers wrap around mine.  To have that easy, happy camaraderie again.

“What are you thinking?”  I ask, when the silence gets too much.

He shakes his head.  Wads up his napkin.  Puts his plate in the sink.  Locates the trash.  Such a good guest.  

“I shouldn’t have come.  But I wanted to see you.”  He said this quietly, as if he isn’t sure he should admit it.  

“Well, if you hadn’t, I’d still be under the sink wondering why the damned fittings are still leaking.”

He gives me a gentle smile.  “You would have been ok.”  

“Lucky I didn’t block your number, huh?”

He smiles and kneels down, picking up tools and putting them back in the box.  Sorting his from mine.

“It was nice of you to come help me?  I might be a bit snarky, but I really am grateful for the help.”

“I was happy to.  Where do you keep these?”  I took my tools off him, put them and the plumber’s tape in my tool drawer.  

“But why?  Why were you happy to help?  Why did you want to see me?  You couldn’t leave here quickly enough the other day…” I smile to take the sting out.  “Not that I blame you, the yard is a hot mess.”

He touches my face gently.  “Hush.”  I stop my babbling, lean into his touch.  

“You asked me a question, awhile back.”  I muzzle his hand.  “I never got to answer it.”

“What was that?”  

“You asked me if I wanted you.  And I do.  Very much.”

He made a huffing sound, as if he had been gut punched, and then, slowly, slowly, leaned in and kissed me.  “I miss you,”. He whispers between kisses, his hands framing my face like I’m a delicate thing.  “I miss you when I wake up.  I miss you when I lay down to sleep.  I miss you when I’m driving.”  And each sentence he punctuates, gently, with a kiss, to my forehead, to my nose, to my mouth.  “I barely know you, but you are already woven into my thoughts…”

I’m holding him tight, kissing him back.  I bump my nose against his, sweetly, and I saw, “Then why?  Why stay away?”

He pulls back as far as I’ll let him, sits down again.  I see the ghosts in his eyes again, and I remember the lyrics from a song I used to love, “There’s ghosts in your eyes, they cry when you smile…”

“I shouldn’t have come…I’m a train wreck waiting to happen.”

“No, not if you’re just going to push me away again.  That’s cruel.  I never thought you’d be cruel, Francisco Morales.”

He winces like I punched him.  

“If it’s too soon to tell me, that’s fine.  Just push it aside until you trust me.  Or until it matters.  I don’t care about your past, what you’ve done.  I know you well enough to know you did what you had to do at the time.”  I give in to the longing to touch him, I run my fingers lightly through the curls at his temple before letting my hand drop.  He’s watching me like a landmine he’s stepped on.  His fingers ghost over my hips.  Grip them gently.  Pulls me between his thighs.  Now it’s my turn to be wary, as he pulls me close.  His dark, liquid eyes study my face, I can almost hear him weighing and sorting.  Lay your secrets on me, beautiful man.  I want to tell him.  But I wait.  I wait until his large hands encompass me, run over my waist, the softness over my ribs, glide up the sides of my breasts so softly I am not even sure he touched me, to cup my face.

 “I want to be who you think I am,” he says, and I smile gently.

A decision is made, in those fathomless eyes.  And he leans close, and he kisses me again.  The last kisses were loving.  This kiss is passionate.  Deep. So full of longing I could cry.  I let my lips part and his tongue traces, licks inside.  I make a little sound and grab his wrists, pushing them aside so I can wrap my arms around him, if I could meld myself to him, I would have then, melted inside of him like gold, fixing his cracks.

He stands, the stool scraping against the floor.  The sound is jarring, lifts me out of the lust sodden moment.  “If you want me, baby, you have me,” he says in that rough honey voice of him.  “Show me the way.”  

I take one of his hands in both of mine, I kiss each knuckle.  I’d been playing with the idea, and now here I was.  I could still say no.  I could slow things down, I could be sensible.  

But I’d never wanted anything so deeply, so profoundly, as I wanted him.  Every time I touched his skin, I felt like something lost had been returned to me.

I smiled a little at him, and backed away, pulling him with me.  “This way, sweetheart.”

His lips are on mine the second we cross into my bedroom.  Once Frankie Morales makes a decision, he is all in.  His hand cups the back of my head, holding me so he can kiss me, his tounge sliding against mine as his other hand slips under my shirt.  I pull back and tug at his shirt.  “Off.”  I command, and he grins and sheds it.   My shirt and my bra join it on the floor.  I press my breasts to the warm smoothness of his chest.  I run my hands over his ribs, his stomach, as his mouth claims mine again.  His skin is soft and warm, strong muscles flexing under my hands.  I kiss along his jawline, I lick and kiss the constellation of freckles on the side of his neck.  He moans softly in approval as I nip and kiss my way to his shoulder.

His own hands slip up to my breasts, weighing them in his hands, squeezing gently. He runs his thumb over one nipple, then bends to lick the other into his mouth, sucking gently, his tounge flicking at the hard peak.  His freehand is splayed against the small of my back, holding me in place.  Pleasure shoots through me, and all I can do is cling to him.  He lets me go and pushes me gently.  I fall back onto my bed, tearing at the button on my pants, needing to get everything off, needing to feel his skin, his warmth, his strength and softness.

“Condoms?”  He asks, one knee on the bed.  “I didn’t think…”

I shook my head.  “I’m on the pill?”

His eyes darken further, and he asks, “Are you sure?”

I nod and hold out my arms, and he gives me the sweetest smile.  He stands up again and undoes his pants, sliding them off, and he’s naked and beautiful and I just want him wrapped around me.  He slips into my arms and kisses me again, his arms holding him over me.  He gives me a little of his weight, grounding me.  It feels so good, skin sliding against skin, warmth against warmth,

His slips a hand between us, and I clench at the thought of him touching me just as he slides two thick fingers between my folds, rubbing my clit gently, exploring me.  “So wet.”  He whispers, kissing my temple.  “So soft.”  He kisses the tip of my nose.  “So hot.”  And his takes my lips again, his fingers rubbing my clit, making me shake with building pleasure.  “I want to taste you, sweetheart.  I want to make you come on my tounge…can I, baby?”

I nod.  I don’t know who can resist that voice, rough with lust and promise?  He kisses his way down and I spread my legs wider, and he gently licks — a test lick, from my entrance to my clit.  He licks my clit, hard, with short licks before drawing me into his mouth and sucking me.  He is fervent, as he works, and I can’t think about anything but the heat of his mouth.  As the pressure and pleasure builds, I’m making the most needy sounds, unable to control myself.  His slips one finger in, then a second, exploring, touching, then another, stretching and reaching for that spot.  The rippling explosion leaves me shamelessly arching into his mouth, crying out his name like a prayer.  

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, kissing the inside of my thigh, rubbing his beard against the soft skin.  

He comes up to kneel between by thighs.  His eyes meet mine as I struggle to compose myself, and his hand gently comes up to very gently lay across my throat, his thumb tracing my chin.  

“Are you sure?  Where do you want me to come?”

I nod frantically. “Please, baby, I want you.  Inside me, please…”

His hand slips away from my throat to rest on the bed above my shoulder, and I miss the warmth of it as he gently strokes my skin, settling his hand on my thigh.  He takes his cock into his hand, stroking it before rubbing it against my clit, causing me to whimper.  He runs the head of it up and down a few times, his eyes slipped closed, his jaw going slack, that lush lower lip parting.  I wish I had a picture…he was beautiful.  Skin made gold by the fading light, thighs splayed under mine.  I felt the head of his cock in my entrance, and he pressed in, a slow hot stretch until he was sheathed completely.  

“Oh, fuck.”   He whispered.  “You feel so good.  So fucking good.”

He lowered himself back on top of me.  “You feel so huge inside me, baby,” I whisper in his ear.    “You feel like heaven.  Please…fuck me, honey.  Please…” And he started moving, slow at first, the changing the angle and speeding up.  With every thrust he pressed against something that felt so good…I was seeing the proverbial stars as he gasped in my ear, making soft sounds of pleasure every time he slammed home.  I nipped at his shoulder, and he was looking down at me, dark eyes studying me.  

“Frankie, I…I can’t think, I don’t know what to do…”  

“Don’t think.  Just let me take care of you.  It’s all I want to do…”  He captures my mouth in a sloppy kiss.  “Just let go.”

And I do.  I cry out his name as he continues to move, the friction making my high last.  He speeds up, and I cup his face in shaking hands.

“You’re so beautiful.  I want to feel you come, Frankie, honey, come for me.”

He moved to kiss the palm of my hand, then his eyes squeeze shut as he finds his own release.  I can feel it, spilling hot inside of me.  I welcome him as he lowers himself down completely, unable to stay up on his forearms any longer.  He tried to shift off, but I cling to him.  I welcome his weight.  His strength.  

I don’t want to let go.  I never want to let him go.

[xwing-baby]

Pull Over (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Warnings: Fluff!! description of a dead bird, swearing, not edited

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: On a cross country road trip with your boyfriend Frankie, you wake to a beautiful sight...

A/n: I’ve pining for Frankie all week, add this gorgeous prompt photo and this is the result

---

You woke up slowly to the sound of Frankie mumbling along to the radio, as he had been when you fell asleep. Blue sky was all you could see out the window as you slumped in your seat, it wasn’t until you sat up properly that you saw the majesty of your surroundings. You gasped at the sigh of the expansive red dirt, sun dancing on the endless road ahead in mirages. The last time your eyes were open you were driving through concrete suburbs, a far cry from the desolate and beautiful desert you drove in now.

“Holy shit, Frankie!” You exclaimed, choking up in emotion at the sight through the windshield. Frankie startled at your sudden proclamation, “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Tears streamed down your cheeks, happy tears, shocked and amazed tears. You wiped them quickly from your eyes hoping your fiancé wouldn’t see.

“Are you crying?” Frankie laughed, turning his head for a moment to look at you properly. He didn’t miss the tightness in your voice.

“Shut up,” You sniffed, wiping your eyes, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t know you’d react like that!” Frankie continued to laugh at you, “And besides you looked cute!”

“That is not an excuse!” You exclaimed, cheeks heating up at his compliment, “Oh Babe, it's so beautiful,” You sighed happily. You pulled your phone from your jeans and took pictures through the truck window. They’d come out blurry and scratched, Frankie knew that. Then he had an idea.

“Do you want to pull over to take a proper photo?” He asked. Your mom had recently given you her old polaroid camera, the one she used when you and your siblings were younger. Having been there as a stop on the road trip already, it was sat in your bag waiting to be used. Here would be the best location to start, he thought. 

“Really? What about your schedule?” Ever the military man, Frankie liked to have a plan and stuck to it religiously. You’d been on the road for two weeks, he had planned every moment down the minute. He’d refused to stop at rest stops, despite if he himself needed to pee, all in the name of the schedule. You were surprised he was allowing the break. 

“Baby I can allow five minutes for a photo I’m not a complete hard ass,” He chuckled, “there's a stop point up ahead, I’ll pull over there and you can take some,”

You cheered and began to root around the stuffed backpack in the footwell to find out the camera. Frankie pulled the truck up ahead a few meters, parked and you jumped out eagerly.

“Fuck me it’s hot,” Outside of the cool AC in the vehicle, the air was dry but scorching hot. You could practically feel the soles of your shoes melting to the tar as you stood on the road. 

“It is a desert,” Frankie said, looking around at the expansive nothingness.

“Really? Would never have guessed!” You stuck your tongue out at him, he copied and you quickly snapped a photo. Frankie pouted and reached for the paper as it printed but you were fast and slipped the photograph in your pocket before he could get it and ruin it. 

Frankie wandered around the truck, you walked a few paces in the opposite direction enjoying stretching your legs. You’d been driving for eight hours, even if you had been asleep for the last two hours, your legs were cramped up. You stretched them out as you walked through the red dirt, watching your sneakers slowly become red stained too. You snapped a photo of Frankie leant against the truck staring off into the distance, a photo cliffs in the distance and then...

“Ah gross there's a skeleton!” You exclaimed. A half rotted carcass lay on the side of the road, bones pale under the beating sun it had been there for a while. It used to be a bird, though its feathers were gone. You stepped closer to it to get a better look.

“Don’t go closer to it!” Frankie said, walking over to you to look at it too.

“What? It’s already dead, it’s cool!” You peered at it, gagging as the smell of rotting flesh hit you. You retreated back to him and wrapped your arms around his waist as you took in the expansive desert surrounding you. 

“I do worry about you sometimes,” He teased you. 

“As you should, baby,” You grinned and kissed him quickly. “Take a picture of me, I’ve got loads of you,”

“Watch for cars,” Frankie warned as you stepped into the middle of the road. 

“Somehow I think I might see them,” You joked, it was clear from miles around you. You stood in the road and posed for the photo, waiting for a moment before calling back, ”Did you take it?”

“If you stop moving!” 

“I’m posing!” You laughed, Frankie raised a brow. “Fine I’ll hold still for you, slow poke,”

“Got one,” He said after another couple seconds. You sighed and jogged back over and took the developing photo from his fingers. You smiled, it was a really nice photo actually. 

“That’s cute! You are a surprisingly good photographer,”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” He smiled proudly. 

“That you are,” You pressed up on your toes and kissed him on the lips again, “I’m going to take a couple more and then I will be back in the car and we can get to Vegas!” You sang, doing an excited dance at the thought of finally getting to your destination. Frankie cheered too and laughed heartily before giving you ass a little tap and letting you go. 

He watched you wander about in the wilderness ahead, ever the adventurer. Unlike him, you didn’t really know the harshness of the world. You knew the things he had done, the things he’d seen, but only through stories. You weren’t hardened to the world like he was, like he used to be. Pope always teased him that you’d turned him soft but Frankie couldn’t find fault in that if it meant he could have moments like this. Usually a small reminder in his head would tell him to watch the back mirror, to watch for people hidden on the side of the road. Now, he didn’t think about any of that and instead watched you stride fearlessly into the unknown, smiling at the wildness taking photos as if you belonged among the rocks that surrounded you. 

Your smile was his favourite thing in the world. He would rather die than never wake up to see it again. You brought so much joy into his life, even when things were tough to hope that you would stick around long enough to smile again helped him through. Through fights, through low moments for the both of you the smile always sat as the prize for getting through the dark. It was what he dreamt of stuck in the Andes, it was what drove him home when he wanted to run away from everything. You.

The question had been his head the entire trip. He wanted to ask at a good time, a romantic spot meant something to the two of you. One memorable and meaningful. His plan was to take you out to California, where you’d met, and propose on the same beach. But each day with you in the truck was making him impatient. He nearly slipped it out when you had sex in the horrible motel you’d stayed at the night before. He was desperate, couldn’t wait another day to ask you to be his for forever. Now, watching you and your reaction to seeing it waking up from your nap. Maybe he didn’t need California, and past memories. Maybe he could make new ones here in the middle of the desert.

He watched you walk back to the truck, slipping the last polaroid into your back pocket. You opened the door and smiled at him. That smile. The decision was made. He had to ask now.

“What?” You asked, with an awkward laugh. You could tell he wanted to say something. He didn’t so you began to pack up your camera, putting it and the polaroid photos you’d taken away safely.

“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?” He asked, you stopped fiddling with your backpack and looked back up at him. Your heart fluttered in your chest. 

“What?” You were surprised. You had spoken about marriage with him, from the beginning of your relationship you had joked about being grumpy grandparents on a porch swing together. You just didn’t think Frankie was the type to just ask like this. You sat up and looked at your boyfriend. He was staring directly at you, he cleared his throat and readjusted his shirt. 

“Marry me? Tonight. In Vegas,” He said with more confidence, “Our friends are already there, I don’t have ring but we can go get one when we get there and I-,” He stopped, catching himself rambling, getting excited at the idea, “I would like to marry you,” He admitted, with a hopeful smile.

“You’re serious?” You asked, shocked at his words in the best way. Francisco didn’t speak, looking back at you with hopeful eyes. He needed an answer, “Yes of course I’ll marry you! Yes!”

“Thank fuck,” He gasped as you leaned over the console and kissed him hard. You’d kissed him a million times, but this was special, a new spark. 

“I have one condition,” You said as you pulled away. 

“Anything,” He smiled, eyes starry looking at you, so full of love.

“I want an Elvis impersonator to officiate” You tried to remain serious but couldn’t fight the grin on your lips. Frankie laughed and shook his head, “And you need to call my dad,” You said seriously, “I know it takes away from the spontaneity but he’d be-,”

“Already asked him, two weeks ago,” He interrupted you. Your jaw dropped, shocked.

“We were at their- Oh my god that’s why Dad had that stupid grin on his face when we left, isn’t it?” You gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

“Maybe,” He smirked, proud of himself now his plan had fully worked out. You gaped at him, 

“So you really planned to propose next to a decaying bird?” You looked at the skeleton again, curling your lip at it.

“The bird wasn’t in the plan,” He chuckled, turning your attention back to him with his hands on your cheeks. You smiled and leant into his touch, affectionately. 

“I love you Frankie Morales,” you whispered. 

“I love you too sweetheart,” 

---

tagging: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ the wonderful host of this awesome game

@hunters-heathen​ @peterssweetpea​ @beskarbabs​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @wille-zarr​ 

[danwhobrowses]

Castlevania Season 4 - My Thoughts

So we return, for the end Well, the 'end', there's possibility for expanded universe stories they say but for our current trio this is how we finish it

I've just binged it all so it's fresh in the mind, so I'm gonna look at the ups and downs of it all

You can also look at my review of season 3 if you'd like

Spoilers for Season 4, Watch it and get back here

So yeah, another great season, it had its downs but a lot of it had its ups too, which we will get to soon - but first let's get the negatives out of the way

What wasn't so good Nothing is perfect, and while a lot of these will be negatives they are mostly small negatives, stuff I felt could've been done a little bit better.

Saint Germain's heel turn could've been hidden So Saint Germain turning bad under the deception of death was a good way to establish conflict and pull back the rebus thing he mentioned in Season 3. But I kinda wish we didn't immediately know that he had broke bad, like we could've been super sly and coy about the fact that he's back and this time encountering Alucard only to be the orchestrator, like imagine the shock we could've had with learning what he was doing in the Castle then getting the flashback which drove him to it.

The rules of the ring change Last season Hector made the foolish decision of trusting Lenore, and while he got to bed a sexy vampire it had cost him all his freedom and the ring would prevent Hector acting against the coven of four sisters. But come this season it turns out that Hector was easily able to scheme against the sisters and invite the downfall of Camilla. Was a bit weird to establish that last season only to ignore it in the next.

The Patented Slow Start Castlevania has had a bit of a knack for starting slowly and Season 4 kinda did the same, things only really kicked off halfway through. Now of course we had to establish things; Trevor and Sypha being exhausted, the plans to resurrect Dracula, Alucard taking in the village and whatnot but we did linger on it a bit too much.

Striga's 'Day Armor' doesn't get enough time Striga took an ambush like a champ with a specialized armor that allowed her to fight in daylight. It was awesome and striking and looked absolutely badass...but that's the only time we saw it. It was just a shame really, granted it ended up that this was Striga's only time to fight, but we could've then used it for other characters, like the ambush dude who had his armor picked apart by the trio, or the Slavic vampire, just felt we could've done more with it.

CGI is sometimes a little shoddy The animation quality was mostly excellent, but that made it very glaring when some of the 3D rendering kinda hit an uncanny valley. I think the one that was most iffy was when Varney jumped into the mirror and then the mirror fragments just kinda wiped into the ground - even though Isaac's mirror tore a hole in the air - it was just a bit off-putting at times.

Couple of things left behind So when we ended it felt like we wrapped a lot of things up...except 2 things. One, where is Saint Germain's unnamed kickass lover? We caught her silhouette just walk away so we know she wasn't killed by Death, she's just 'out there' now. We also never got back to Targoviste, whose survivors must be wondering how to function since Sypha their only hope kinda disappeared on them, they'll also learn that their royals are dead, so it would've been nice to wrap that up.

Our heroes decide to use weapons sparingly In terms of arsenal we knew that our trio had a lot. The weird thing is that in some fights they just wouldn't use what would've been handy to them. There's of course Chekov's god dagger - which we didn't get too much explaining on - but Trevor would often just not use his Morningstar or Vampire Killer at times, even against two vampires, Sypha also seems to have forgotten how to use her wind magic or used her ice buzzsaw extremely sparingly and now Alucard can suddenly have bird wings...which could've been useful in prior fights.

We still lacked intelligent Night Creatures, and the badass vampires were underused So I still feel like it was very missed that the sentient night creatures of Season 1 didn't return still, especially since they were death's creatures. The one's dialogue with the priest is still among Castlevania's best and it's a shame we missed out on seeing more of it. In addition, the Ambusher's squad of vampires looked pretty cool, but like Dracula's council ended up just being swatted away after one fight, the same can be said with the Slavic vampire that was rolling with Varney. They didn't even get the pre-battle slaughter that Dracula's council did, Godbrand got more than these guys and that's a shame.

We don't get Bloody Tears or the Full Opening So the music was good, but we didn't get Bloody Tears again. For the final chapter of this saga it would've been better than using the opening song when the trio were together. Speaking of the opening song, we could've had the full length opening that we loved to see, small stuff but it would've elevated it.

Sypha is pregnant, because...because! So Sypha being pregnant is sweet, but it wasn't really needed aside from the throwaway 'trefor' joke which Alucard did better. Also that baby has gone through a lot, it's not like Sypha's been skipping in a meadow these past few weeks. Also they really gloss over how Trevor knows this and she doesn't

Some of this could've been done in a Season 5 This is more the fault of Netflix I'm guessing, since it does feel like after Season 3 we had much more to tell, but it did feel like some of the characters skipped a load of development. At the end of Season 3, Hector was beside himself in the fact that Lenore enslaved him, Isaac was still very bent on killing everything, Camilla is soaking in her genius and Alucard is more closed off than ever, but in Season 4 Hector is much more content and now has some legitimate connection to Lenore, Lenore is treated as sympathetic, Isaac is eating berries with a new outlook and Alucard decides to rescue a village because they asked, also he has a shield now. It does feel like half of what Season 4 had could've been in a Season 5, and then Season 4 could've built between having the growth be showed; Lenore feeling left out and confiding in Hector, Isaac deciding to bury the dead and rebuild the city, Trevor and Sypha having some friction in their relationship and Alucard not helping someone in need and then regretting it. As I said, this is probably not the show's fault, they were likely told that Season 4 would be it and they had to make do with it but in a vacuum it would've been nice to have had a little more build.

What was Awesome about it So I could easily just say 'the rest of it' but I guess I can afford to be a little more detailed.

Great Animation Aside from the CGI at times the animation was a top grade of excellence. I mean I watched the current My Hero Academia episode which really was pushing its budget and still I'm impressed by this animation, the artwork and settings were excellent too.

Downside: You're turning into Trevor, Upside: You get a strong warrior woman as a love interest While Alucard could've used some more time to go from emotionally scarred by 'the twins' to sympathizing with the town's plight, his character dynamic with Greta was great. Greta herself proved an excellent late addition being both a capable fighter, a strong independent leader and someone who was more than just an Alucard love interest. If you don't like strong women you're doing it wrong basically, and Alucard realising how he's turning into Trevor was some lightheartedness to Alucard combatting his loneliness and depression.

The Dialogue remains just as enthralling as the combat One of Castlevania's great strengths especially in seasons 1 and 3 were their use of gripping dialogue, the philosophical confrontations of different parties envelop the characters in greater depth thanks to the excellent script, primarily for Isaac and his chat with the bug man. The Slav Vampire also had a fantastic monologue.

Characters remain complex After four seasons it would've been easy to make some characters one dimensional, including the side villains, but Castlevania kept with the morally grey. The psycho noble clung hard to her delusions but her motives remained pure, as much as she was someone on the heroes' side she also infuriated Sypha, Saint Germain was driven to evil out of desperation but he still believably made amends in the very very end, Striga, Lenore and Morana were all on the side of the villains but had doubt about the scope of Camilla's ambition and made them consider their very nature. Simply put, it bodes well when characters have struggles that affect their motivation.

Layered Scheming 'Bring Back Dracula' was a simple premise, but the show did really well in connecting the channels between 3 plot areas, Trevor and Sypha learned of the plot by continually walking into scholar vampires attempt it, in Season 3 it was via a Night Creature in Isaac's name to start it all too, this connects to the Hector & Isaac story through Varney who schemes with the former to enact the plan, but this also connects to Alucard's story thanks to Saint Germain also plotting too. It was a clever way to entwine all three separate stories which would eventually bring things together.

Action still kicks a lot of ass Castlevania has good action? In other news water makes things wet. But still we got some great brutal action we've come familiar with in Castlevania. It could've been easy to go overboard like other shows had, which'd zone in on one thing like gore or nudity but Castlevania remained consistent in their action, looking for new lengths of creativity that never pushed its bounds. Of course building up to the final battle where we took it up a notch for the crescendo. Also I continue to call her Sypha 'Fatality' Belnades because god she kicks ass.

Isaac and Hector grow up It could've been easy and satisfying for Isaac to just roll up to Styria, take his revenge on Hector and leave, acting in both anger and mercy. But instead the characters grew beyond it, Isaac finally decides to heed what the shopkeeper and ship captain were saying rather than the crazy witch, Hector accepts his fate but works to try and make amends his own way. When the two finally cross again we see that both have accepted their humanity and instead of working for someone else they look to seek their own happiness, they forgive humanity in a way and it saves themselves. Their understanding to 'let Dracula rest' also grants them payoff from being Dracula's loyal commanders.

Camilla goes out swinging Where was this Camilla hiding huh? Brutal, Lightning powers and a crimson sword, I mean the wardrobe seems to be a bit less than last season and not battle-suited but dammit did Camilla grip you in her scenes. Her desperation and madness in taking over the world set her up to her downfall where she was betrayed and overwhelmed by Isaac's forces, but rather than let him have the satisfaction she kills herself. It could've easily fell flat because Camilla had just been sitting around like a vampire Cersei Lannister last season and end up proving her frustrations right by having a man take her life but instead she took control of her life and went out strong.

The bittersweet ending of Lenore At the end of season 3 the scheming Lenore claimed herself 'the diplomat', but having been shelved and fonder of Hector than usual it opened the door to explore her own grasp of control. The theme of enduring being prominent in this season for all the arcs we had. We learned the tragedy of Lenore's situation though, as a child of war diplomacy was her escape, she isn't comfortable with peace or total control, she can only live for conflict. While she does like Hector, she ends up valuing her own freedom in the end; and though we could've given more time to earn that sympathy we still accept it as she decides against a quiet life of surveillance freedom with Hector - ironically as Hector has lived under Camilla's captivity - and instead chose death. It was a much more poetic death than gruesome as well, after mulling how she mourned her sister because she understood the nature of greed she elected to make a choice rather than live without making any, looking at the sun for once and getting one last banter with Hector before immediately fading to dust. In a show that almost prides itself on hypergore and graphic deaths, this one was perhaps the most tranquil deaths of the show.

Striga and Morana overcome the greed Which leads to the final two of the four sisters. Camilla consumed herself with greed and died fighting for it, Lenore had no greed but also had no freedom so chose to die in order to be free, but lovers Striga and Morana were not in Styria for Isaac's attack, they were on the outskirts fighting and seeing the struggle firsthand. Their conflict over how they agreed and disagreed on certain aspects of the fight was intriguing, with the intermission of Striga on a tear in her swanky armour to tilt the tone to Striga's side of the argument. A Soldier and a Politician, both agreed though that Camilla's ambitions only worked on paper, so when confronted with their castle overrun and their sister dead it became a matter of duty or survival. Instead of dying in a good fight, Striga looked past her desire of battle and agreed to follow Morana in living, and Morana gave up any political power she could have under an empire to be a mercenary. They didn't overreach, and it spares them their lives in a surprising conclusion where the 'bad guys' still kinda get to live happily ever after.

The ReHumanization of Alucard Alucard has always been a fan favourite, but in the world of Castlevania he still acts as an outcast. While helping the village and getting close to Greta helps bring out some positive emotions in him, it's his dedication to saving the people that gives the show some of its lightest moments, especially when he toys with the kids. In a way it's what he wanted from the twins, but they had lived to not trust and wanted to kill rather than survive, and he grew a community out of it. Allowing the town to settle is the ultimate payoff for Alucard too, because it fulfills his mother's dream, now there are people who know the knowledge that his father did.

Bringing the old band together We all knew that Trevor and Sypha were gonna reunite with Alucard sometime near the end, I mean it's a shame they ditched a city that cannot organize themselves but they were kinda needed in the castle. What's best is that the moment came in it was like they never left, perfectly in sync and bantering off each other, when they fought the top level vampires it was their teamwork and synergy which made them overcome - which is great battle narrative too because alone they were getting beaten. It's just the stuff you love to see.

Trevor is tougher than Death The final battle being Trevor vs Death was a proper Attack on Titan-esque boss fight, just peeling away at the enemy and trying not to get hit. As well as a feast for the eyes it proved to be an entertaining climax - in spite of the limited info we got on the magic 3-piece dagger - and in a way it paid off Trevor's character journey. When we first met him he was an outcasted drunk that wanted nothing to do with the world let alone his family, but now he's here fighting death to save innocent people, his half-vampire buddy and his pregnant speaker magician girlfriend, being willing to give his own life for something bigger than himself, and succeeding...thanks to Saint Germain who owed him a favour and one very clever unsung hero of a horse. To tell you the truth when I saw the trailer I was expecting Sypha to have died and Trevor to be pulling her out of hell by fighting death, but this still worked really well and was perhaps a bit more logical to the canon they set.

Death is temporary, Dracula is forever With all the attempts to revive Dracula one had to work eventually. But back at Season 3 I'm sure we all thought about what would Dracula's reaction be anyway. I mean, yeah he's dead but his wife is there, you really wanna be the guy who ripped him from his wife a second time? It worked though because the people loyal to Dracula never truly understood his grief, they only wanted to further their own agendas through him. So when Dracula does come back in the final scenes with his wife, we see that Vlad Tepes is no longer the vicious killer he once was, not for now anyway. Reviving Dracula may make people think that Trevor and Sypha's actions in Season 3 and 4 were worthless because he still revives but you do have to remember that they do still save a few lives and make a few less night creatures. In addition if they want to expand the universe long into the future they can bring Dracula back in older and disillusioned again if they see fit.

He has many faces, but you still know him At about episode 8 I was really ramping up to tear into the Alchemist and Varney for being practically useless characters, but then the show went and hit me with a great twist by having both characters being guises of Death itself, the proper big bad of the season. It was a fantastic twist which validates the characters, because it was super suspect that the alchemist know where the girl was and said you can't look at her rebus, and that Varney felt like a beta Godbrand but still managed to slither away from the fights. His design was excellent too, the crown was really menacing.

A Surprise Happy Ending! Like, could any of us imagined that? The fight ends, Trevor and Sypha live happily to make a family, Alucard has his friends, a girlfriend and a community that appreciates him, Isaac has his own kingdom, Hector doesn't get the girl or a finger but he still has his freedom, Striga and Morana have each other, it mostly wrapped up very neatly and was earned, a satisfying end which closes the chapter on our trio.

Conclusion

It is sad to see great shows end, Castlevania's use of anime-style animation with gore and a strong voice cast has done extremely well, especially for a show who only got 4 episodes for a first season. It did feel like Netflix didn't give it a chance, but it pulled it off big time and escaped Netflix's cancel hammer long enough to bring a satisfying story, and one can hope we see more of this style and universe either in more Castlevania stories or even the rumored Devil May Cry adaptation.