#i have no clue what the correct tags here are supposed to be

[local-dragon-haunt]

hey! i’m an artist and i was wondering what about the httyd crossover art made it obviously AI. i’m trying to get better at recognizing AI versus real art and i totally would have just not clocked that.

Hey! This is TOTALLY okay to not have recognized it, because I DIDN'T AT FIRST, EITHER. Unfortunately there’s no real foolproof way to distinguish real art from the fake stuff. However I have noticed a general rule of thumb while browsing these last few months.

So this is the AI generated image I used as inspiration. I will not be tagging the account that posted it because I do not condone bullying of any type, but it’s important to mention that this was part of a set of images:

This is important because one of the BIGGEST things you can use to your advantage is context clues. This is the thing that clued me in: right off the bat we can see that there is NO consistency between these three images. The art style and outfits change with every generated image. They're vaguely related (I.E. characters that resemble the Big Four are on some sort of adventure?) and that's about it. Going to the account in question proved that all they posted were AI generated images. All of which have many red flags, but for clarity's sake we'll stick with the one that I used.

The first thing that caught my eye was this???? Amorphous Blob in the background. Which is obviously supposed to be knights or a dragon or something.

Again, context clues come into play here. Artists will draw everything With A Purpose. And if what they're drawing is fanart, you are going to recognize most of what you see in the image. Even if there are mistakes.

In the context of this image, it looks like the Four are supposed to be running from these people. The thing that drew my attention to it was the fact that I Didn't Recognize The Villains, and this is because there is nothing to recognize. These shapes aren't Drago, or Grimmel, or Pitch, or any other villain we usually associate with ROTBTD. They're just Amorphous Blobs that are vaguely villain shaped.

Which brings me to my second point:

Do you see the way they're standing? There is no purpose to this. It throws the entire image off. Your eye is drawn to the Amorphous Villain Blobs in the background, and these characters are not reacting to them one bit.

Now I'm not saying that all images have to have a story behind them, but if this were created by a person, it clearly would have had one. Our group here is not telling a story, they are posing.

This is because the AI does not see the image as a whole, but as two separate components: the setting, and the description of the characters that the prompter dictates. I.E. "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other"

Now obviously the most pressing part of this prompt are the characters themselves. So the AI prioritizes that and tries to spit out something that WE recognize as "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other".

This, more times than not, is going to end up with this stagnant posing. Because AI cannot create, it can only emulate. And even then, it still can't do it right. Case in point:

This is not Hiccup. The AI totally thinks this is Eugene Fitzherbert. Look at the pose. The facial structure. The goatee. The smirk. The outfits. He's always next to Raps. Why does he have a quiver? Where's Toothless? His braids? His scar??

HE HAS BOTH OF HIS LEGS.

The AI. Cannot even get the most important part of it's prompt correct.

And that's just the beginning. Here:

More amorphous shapes.

So these are obviously supposed to be utility belts, but I mean. Look at them. The perspective is all off. There are useless straps. I don't even know what that cluster behind Jack's left arm is supposed to be.

This is a prime example of AI emulating without understanding structure.

You can see this particularly in Jack, between his hands, the "tassels" of his tunic, and the odd wrinkles of his boots. There's just not any structure here whatsoever.

Lastly, AI CANNOT CREATE PATTERNS.

Here are the side-by-sides of the shit I had to deal with when redesigning their outfits. Please someone acknowledge this. This killed me inside. THIS is most recognizable to me, and usually what I look for first if I'm wary about an art piece. These clusterfuck bunches of color. I hate them. I hate them so. much.

Anyways here's some other miscellaneous things I've noticed:

Danny Phantom Eyes

???? Thumb? (and random sword sheath)

Collarbone Necklace (corset from hell)

No Staff :( No Bow :(

What is that.

So yeah. Truly the best thing to do is to just. study it. A lot of times you aren't gonna notice anything just looking at the big picture, you need to zoom in and focus on the little details. Obviously I'm not like an expert in AI or anything, but I do have a degree in animation practices and I'm. You know. A human being. So.

In conclusion:

(Y'all should totally reblog my redesign of this btw)

[woonhakist]

WHO! (but i like you) — 9. IHOP UHOP WEHOP

THE BOYS HAD NO CLUE WHAT THEY WERE DOING.

They were sitting inside a booth—per Woonhak’s request—at IHOP, snugly fit with three people on each side. Sungho, Woonhak, and Riwoo sat on one side, while Jaehyun, Taesan, and Leehan were sat on the other. There was very minimal fighting in regard to their seating chart.

“Sungho, let me sit next to Woonhak!” Jaehyun whined, lightly pushing Sungho’s shoulder.

“Hell no. We’re not embarrassing ourselves more than we already will be,” Sungho laughed, shaking his head.

As soon as they got settled in, their host followed the typical script, passing out menus and telling them a waiter would be with them in a second. Once the host walked away, the boys didn’t even glance at their menus before opening their mouths.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck are we doing here?” Taesan questions in disbelief, visibly looking haunted by what they’re doing. “I’m regretting not taking Jaehyun’s side.”

Woonhak’s expression quickly changes to one of exasperation. “Really? We’re here to get shitfaced, duh,” he states matter-of-factly, unaware of the boys’ skeptical expressions as he plays with a sugar packet.

“Shitfaced,” Leehan repeats, slowly. “At an IHOP.”

“Yup,” Woonhak nods, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Silence fills the table, everybody who wasn’t Woonhak stifling their laughs.

“What are we supposed to get drunk with?” Sungho presses, looking around the table at four other disappointed faces. Woonhak was still messing around with sugar packets, making faces on the table with them.

“I didn’t say drunk, I said shitfaced,” Woonhak corrects, shaking his head.

Riwoo clears his throat. “Is there…a difference?”

Woonhak looks at him. “Dude, of course! We’re gonna get shitfaced with sugar.”

Everybody furrows their eyebrows at Woonhak, Taesan raising his hand to scratch at his head. Woonhak gestures to the side of the table, and the other five shift their gazes, their eyes landing on the four color-coded syrups.

“Oh my god,” Jaehyun cries, putting his elbows on the table and stuffing his face into his hands.

Before anyone else can react, a waitress walks up to the table, clearing her throat to get their attention. All of them turn to look at her with wide eyes, Jaehyun lazily lifting his head up.

“What drinks could I get started for you guys?” She says with a raised pitch and a smile.

The waitress had black hair tied up into a bun, her bangs falling just below her eyebrows. A notepad was in her left hand, a pen being flipped through her fingers in her right.

“Oh, uh, could I get a water?” Sungho stammers out after a few seconds pass, slightly startled. “With lemon, please.”

The waitress nods, looking down as she writes in her notepad. The rest of the boys order their drinks one by one, Woonhak getting a Sprite, Riwoo a Dr. Pepper, Leehan a Fanta, and Taesan a Coke. She writes their drinks down, patiently blinking at Jaehyun as she waits for his decision.

Jaehyun tilts his head at her, curious. “You look familiar.”

Her ‘customer service’ personality falters slightly, her eyebrow raising as she narrows her eyes at Jaehyun. She lowers her notepad slightly, uncovering a crooked, silver name tag on her uniform shirt. She uses her pencil to point at it, the tag reading as ‘Natty’.

Jaehyun reads her name tag, the confusion on his face morphing into realization. “Oh, Natty! You go to our school, right?”

Natty licks her lips, looking to the side as if she’s trying to remember something. It takes a second for her eyes snap back to Jaehyun, pointing her pencil at him with a smile. “Yeah, I do! I think I recognize you guys.”

Taesan leans over to Leehan. “I have no clue who this girl is,” he whispers. Leehan chuckles, nodding his head.

“I can hear you, you know,” Natty’s face drops as her eyes shoot daggers at Taesan, his head lowering slightly. She looks back at Jaehyun. “Anyways, what drink did you want?”

“Sorry, can I get a Coke, too?” Jaehyun laughs, watching as she writes in her notepad.

Natty speaks as she writes. “Are you guys—”

“Wait, are you going to Jake’s party later?” Jaehyun interjects, not even registering that he cut her off.

Natty pauses, looking up again. “Yeah, I am,” she looks at him suspiciously. “You guys know Jake?”

“No, we don’t,” Sungho chimes in before Jaehyun can open his mouth again. “Chenle invited Jaehyun, and Jaehyun invited us.”

The rest of them nodded in approval, save for Leehan, his gaze turned away from Natty; he was instead zoned in on the view beyond the window next to him.

“We’re here to pregame!” Woonhak adds, much to the dismay of the other boys.

Natty nods slowly, licking her lips again. “You guys know the party is at, like, 10 P.M., right?”

It was currently three in the afternoon, and the sun was as shining down at what looked like its highest peak. A short sigh came from Sungho, and another one from Taesan right after. There was an awkward, hanging moment consuming the entire group, the boys mutually aware of their awkwardly early arrival.

Woonhak had woken up at 7 A.M. on the dot without alarms, taking one look at the clock and waking the rest of the boys up shortly afterwards. He had ushered all of them up and out of the bedroom within a mere five minutes, then running their routines like it was the military. None of them had the room to properly check the time until they were about to leave.

Riwoo was the first one to turn on his phone, immediately groaning at the sight. “Dude, it’s seven in the morning, not in the afternoon.”

“Oh, shit, no wonder it was so bright outside,” Woonhak simply said. “That’s my bad!”

Taesan tackled him to the ground shortly after.

Once they all had gotten unready and went back to sleep, Leehan was the next early bird, waking up again at noon. When he got up, so did Riwoo, being shaken awake by Leehan’s poor attempt to quietly sneak away. This caused a domino effect, waking all of them up one by one until they were all groggily sitting up with half-decent cases of bedhead.

Luckily, Woonhak was much more lenient with the boys’ routines, and they were all able to take their sweet time dolling themselves up in Sungho’s bathroom. They were all finished by 2 P.M., sitting in Sungho’s living room with almost nothing to say.

“So….can we go to IHOP now?”

“Shut up, Woonhak.”

“Okay, sorry!”

“When does the party even start?” Sungho asked, looking at Jaehyun.

Jaehyun looked dumbfounded. “I…actually don’t know.”

“How the hell do you not know?” Taesan flopped back on the carpet, staring up at the fan spinning above them. When he was met with no answer, he only sighed.

“Fuck it, let’s just go to IHOP now.”

When nobody answers Natty, Riwoo reluctantly takes the lead. “Yeah, of course we knew that! We’re just…uh…you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” Natty scoffs. “Enlighten me.”

“Oh my god,” Sungho rubs the skin between his eyebrows. “We, in fact, didn’t know what time the party started.”

Natty opens her mouth but closes it before she says anything. “You know what? I’m not gonna say anything. Do you guys know what food you want, or do you need a minute?”

Sungho gives her an awkward smile. “Give us a min—”

“Six happy face pancakes, please.”

“Woonhak, no—”

“That’ll be it!”

Natty nods, takes in a deep breath, and doesn’t let another word be spoken to her before she walks away.

“Wait! Could I get extra whipped cream and chocolate chips on mine?” Riwoo calls, but all Natty does is speed up her walk. “Aw, man.”

“Please, please tell me I’m dreaming,” Taesan pleads dramatically, staring down at his plate.

It has a decently sized pancake on it, with a smiley face that was made out of strawberries for eyes and bananas for a mouth. Not to mention the singular tube of Go-Gurt next to the pancake, putting the cherry on top of the childish aesthetic. The rest of them have plates identical to that, mutually not having anything to say when Natty brought all of it out to them.

“I can pinch you?” Jaehyun offers.

“Touch me and die,” Taesan denies, shifting closer to Leehan.

Woonhak is the first to make a move, grabbing the strawberry syrup and pouring it over his pancake. Once he finishes, he holds it up with a grin, looking into the five other pairs of eyes staring at him. “Anybody want any?”

There’s not even two seconds of a buffer before Sungho bursts out into sudden, uncontrollable laughter, holding his stomach and covering his mouth. Without even knowing why he was laughing, Jaehyun joins in, simply happy to laugh along. Riwoo and Woonhak begin giggling quietly, entertained by the scene. It doesn’t take long before Taesan and Leehan join in, too, the entire table laughing for seemingly zero reason.

It takes the worried, confused stares from the other groups of families in the restaurant for them to gain their consciousness back, another domino effect happening until they’re all sat there beaming with embarrassment, stifled laughs, and an inexplicable joy.

“Shit, what were you even laughing for?” Leehan speaks up, grinning over at Sungho.

Sungho shakes his head, shoulders still bouncing with silent giggles. “I—I don’t know!”

Jaehyun amusedly shakes his head and picks up the abandoned strawberry syrup, holding it up as if it was a trophy. “Who wants the first shot!”

“Holy shit, why the hell are you guys still here?”

Sungho, Jaehyun, Woonhak, Leehan, and Taesan all pause their mundane conversation (ranting about possible situations of seeing their dream girls again, much to all of their delights) to stare dumbfoundedly at Natty’s sudden reappearance. Leehan takes the liberty to reach across the table, lightly smacking Riwoo’s hand until he abruptly lifts his head up from the table.

They had ultimately ended up playing a “drinking game” (which just consisted of Jaehyun shoving a syrup dispenser into someone’s hands and telling them to drink; his general success rate was 30%, 100% when it was Woonhak) until the dispensers were near empty.

This persisted until 4:30, and only because Woonhak ended up having a sugar crash and passed out. Riwoo followed soon after at about 5:00–but that was due to him being closest to the syrup; he consistently took sips out of the dispensers until he met the same fate.

Now, it’s 9:00, Woonhak having only woken up from his sugar coma about fifteen minutes prior, and Riwoo about fifteen seconds ago.

“We…uh…” Sungho starts, but doesn’t quite finish.

“Where’ve you been this whole time?” Jaehyun interrogates, head resting against the back of the booth.

Natty blinks. “They needed another cook, so I filled in.”

She looked completely different from when they had last seen her. She was adorned in much more casual, visibly comfortable clothing, her hair was down, and her makeup looked like it’d been touched up.

Natty looks down at her phone, reading something before she looked outside. “I gotta go, my friend’s here. See you guys later…I guess?”

She pivots on her heels without waiting for their answers, trotting away from the table while looking down at her phone. Like clockwork, the boys get caught back in their delirious trance for the nth time that day as soon as Natty steps out of their view.

“Let’s get out of here,” Leehan stretches, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Hold on! We still have to pay,” Sungho halts, looking around at a suddenly scandalized group of boys. “Don’t tell me none of you brought money.”

Crickets.

“Jesus Christ,” Sungho whines, pulling out his wallet and picking up the bill.

Riwoo suddenly furrows his eyebrows, yawning. “I just remembered something. Jaehyun, why were you acting all weird yesterday when Sungho pulled some shit out of his ass about there being an ‘elephant in the room’?”

A chorus of “Ooooo”’s erupts from the boys.

“Oh,” Jaehyun laughs, nervously. “I just…thought he was gonna say he knew about how I was the one that accidentally blew out all the power while we were watching the season finale of The Bachelorette last year.”

Taesan’s the first one to gasp. “That was you?”

“Let’s just get to the party!”

masterlist | previous | next

SYNOPSIS — sungho, riwoo, jaehyun, taesan, leehan, and woonhak all find a summer crush to call their own, but it turns out that you’re the one they all call their own.

TAGLIST — @dilfjk @lumixen @jungwoning8 @pagesofmiracles @metalchick529 @blaycke @minkkumaz @melonshifts @asherbl @pleasetellmenow @xkixo @heetoldme @euiioo @lxerhan @sngvhs @suniis-blog @s00buwu @heegasm @schmocolateschmchip @jenofairy @li0ilthecxnt @sahinoriverse @akanexw @yumicherryii @arwn-yng @keilovr @sseastar-main @chweverni @beemarkie @hrts4hanniehae @snowflakemoon3 @cherribonbom @bee-the-loser @en-minniesode @minfolio @nujeskz @lailols @dearly-somber @sirenla @kage-yaa @wtfhyuck @dimplewonie @shoberi @i03jae @jmclouds @cherrycolaberry @tkooooop @talk420

© woonhakist 2024

[leighsartworks216]

What He Wants

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I was writing smth to be a second chapter to All The Gentle Things, but then I wanted to explore this further sooooo yeah. Not proofread and I am sooooooooo tired while I write this but the brainrot. You know how it is

Warnings: sex mentions, references to past abuse/trauma, loss of sense of self

Word Count: 1,067

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion, over the span of 200 years, perfected his art of doing exactly what people wanted. Specifically, he knew exactly how to manipulate people through sex. He knew just where to press, exactly when to run his tongue along their lip - everything they wished of him.

Now he had no idea what to do.

It started out exactly the same; he kissed and touched and said everything exactly as you would want to hear it. He did everything he needed to to manipulate you into liking him, into protecting him should Cazador come sniffing around. And then… you turned out to be different. You didn’t see his body as a sex object to be used and tossed away. You saw him. And, gods, if that didn’t just rewrite everything he thought he knew about himself.

You asked him once, late at night while you fought to stay awake, what he liked. He said embroidery and reading and wine, because of course he loved those things. But then you’d corrected yourself. Asked what he enjoyed physically. Touches and kisses - that sort of stuff. And he didn’t have a clue. You looked up at him through heavy lids, waiting. The best answer he could come up with was, " This. I like cuddling with you." But that was it. You didn’t press further, snuggling in closer and letting the dreams overwhelm you, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He distanced himself for a few days, turning that question over and over and over in his mind until he thought he’d go insane, before finally gathering the confidence to tell you. You, in all your grace, smiled and told him that it was okay, that you could try helping him learn what he liked, little by little.

That’s how he got here, he supposed, face held lovingly in your battle-calloused hands. The ends of your fingers tangle carefully in the curls around his ears, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and under his eyes. You lavish him with this attention without question, without any thoughts of reward… And he loved it.

Astarion was selfish by nature - he always had been, even before his unfortunate death and undeath. He’d had to be selfish for 200 years just to survive, grabbing and stealing any morsel of food he could. And for 200 years he had to give himself away night after night, unwittingly placing his body in the hands of other selfish, naive fools. He wanted to be more than just selfish with food. He wanted to be selfish for attention. Your attention. He wanted to drown in it.

You press light kisses to his cheeks, so soft it feels like nothing more than butterflies’ wings brushing his skin. He sighed, relaxing into it. In the back of his mind, he felt awful for accepting your affection like this. His hands should be touching you, not sitting in his lap. His lips should be filling your every desire, not waiting placidly for you to initiate. But every time he tried to lean forward, capture your mouth, your hands held him firmly in place. If he tried to reach out and touch you, you would push his hands back into his lap, with all the patience in the realms. He willed the guilt to go away.

You take his lip between your teeth and he can’t help himself from watching through half-lidded eyes; watching as you smile with a sort of fond deviousness as you hear the quiet breath he lets out. You don’t bite hard enough to break the skin. All you do is tug on it and let it go, before tracing over the slight indent with your thumb. His undead heart would be utterly racing at such tender care. He places a kiss on the pad of your thumb, and you smile even wider. You’re so beautiful. What did he do to deserve you?

He expects it when you lean in and finally kiss him properly. What he doesn’t expect is how uncertain he is. He has no idea what to do. How can he pleasure you? What does he want? What would make you feel good? What would make him feel good? He’s so torn, a low growl of frustration rising in the back of his throat. But you, saint that you are, pull away with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You brush the wrinkle from between his brows, urging him to stop being upset with himself.

He has no choice but to listen. So he thinks about himself - what he would want - as you brush his hair back and kiss his jaw and thumb at one of his earrings. And when you lean back in and carefully meet his lips with yours, he begins to figure it out.

Your hands don’t hold him in place as he tilts his head to kiss you better, falling headlong into the safety you offer. He wants to taste you. So he hesitantly opens his mouth, and you follow without question. His tongue brushes your lip, slips inside your mouth to meet yours, and he loves it. You taste divine. You move in sync with him, following along like a partner in a dance. You do what he wants. It’s thrilling.

He fully relaxes into it. Into you. That damned voice in the back of his head quietens for the first time in too long. There is no quilt to be found here; no shame. He wants this, you want this. A shuddering breath of relief fills the kiss as he lets go, as he places himself fully in your hands, as he learns what is nice and what is too much.

When he pulls away so you have a chance to breathe, he presses his forehead against yours, and stays close enough your noses brush against each other. He reaches up and holds your hand to his cheek, keeping it pressed against his skin as he leans into it, like a cat vying for a scratch beneath its chin.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You open your eyes. He looks so at ease. He turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, before kissing each finger in turn. “This is a gift.” He presses your hand back to his cheek and catches your mouth in another kiss. Shorter, but still so full of love. “I won’t forget it.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red

[lemotmo]

Another really good one, I like this because we're starting to see a lot of this redemption thing in the BT tags. This was a question about Gerard and his connection to Tommy. And now that we know they're not upset about us sharing their answers I feel okay sending it to you.

A. Happy Friday to you as well! Unfortunately, based on your question, I don't think you're going to like my answer, but I promised you guys my honesty so here goes. Gerard is not here for Tommy. Gerard is not here for a Tommy redemption arc. Mainly because we (the audience) are not meant to see Tommy as needing redemption. Tommy is a general audience character. Meaning everything we're supposed to know or care about where Tommy is concerned is what the show told us in season 7. He is the guy Buck is currently dating and he used to work at the 118 before Bobby took over. That's it. That's all the show needs the audience to care about, at least right now. Fandom people are the only ones who remember his exact history, and no offense to anyone, they didn't bring him in for us. He is there to serve a specific story purpose so his individual history is irrelevant. Gerard is there for Bobby, and increasingly I think, Eddie. The Bobby stuff is obvious, but Ryan has mentioned Gerard now in a couple of interviews so I think he's giving us a clue that Eddie and Gerard will be some kind of story.

The Tommy stuff depends on whatever reason the show decides to give for his breakup with Buck. And yes, I do genuinely believe that is what's coming. If he's meant to be the one responsible for Buck figuring out his feelings for Eddie then I don't think his history with Gerard will be brought up except maybe as a scene or two in passing (if it's not necessary for the breakup, it probably won't be mentioned at all). If Buck is the one they want to end things, and have him figure out his Eddie feelings another way, then I think Tommy's past with Gerard will play a bigger role in their breakup. Especially if he tells Buck to deal with him by just keeping his mouth shut, and his head down and ignoring him. We all know Buck won't do that, especially if Gerard makes Eddie a target. So it depends entirely on the reason for their breakup. They don't need Tommy in a ton of scenes to accomplish either scenario, which is good because I do think he will also be filming SWAT and his availability won't be great. If he's supposed to figure out the Buck and Eddie thing, and point it out to Buck, we will need his reaction to at least some Buck and Eddie moments, (or at least his reaction to Buck's reaction to some of those moments), so they might need him for a few more scenes if they go that route for the breakup. Either way I don't see him lasting past the winter finale. Whatever the plan for Buck, I think he'll be ready for Eddie by the break, maybe even before. I think the second half of the season will be getting Eddie ready and then building up to Buddie. I don't see them dragging the Buddie thing out all season but I do think it will be the latter part of the back half of the season. Depending on Lou's availability he may be done sooner than the winter finale. We just don't know yet. But as someone who has watched the show from the beginning I don't know what other direction the Eddie storyline could be going. It's he's queer, or they're writing him as never going to be in love again because he was that in love with Shannon (which would be god awful television), or he becomes a devout Catholic (absolutely not). Those are kind of the only outcomes they've given themselves. And I'm sorry you don't like them, but Buck and Eddie learning to navigate an actual relationship, given Eddie's intimacy issues, inability to communicate his feelings, and his family/upbringing, as well as Buck's abandonment issues and need to fix everything is interesting storyline after interesting storyline. No one will force you to watch. And you're correct that lots of people will be pissed off, but many more would love it. They're very well liked by the general audience, people have got to stop trying to convince themselves otherwise because it's simply untrue. They're popular, people like them and most people would be interested in watching that storyline play out. It feels earned. Earned by Buck and Eddie and the audience. I know this answer has probably upset you and many others, and that is never my intention, but I also don't believe in telling people what they want to hear when the canon events seem to be leading in a different direction.

*chef's kiss* love it love it love it

Hi Nonny, thank you for sending in this really interesting message from the ‘anonymous blog I love’.

For those of you who have missed it, the OP of these very interesting posts on BT and Buddie has contacted me yesterday. They are a BT shipper that also like Buddie and they are okay with me posting their messages. They do however, wish to remain anonymous because they don’t want to attract any more negative attention. Their inbox is probably already a minefield, so let’s not add to their stress and respect their wishes. Thank you.

If you are interested in the OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

Now, let’s talk about this answer:

The answer above is very interesting to me. They talk about Tommy’s role in the whole Gerrard saga and I fully agree on most of it. They point out again that Tommy is there to serve a purpose in Buck’s story, so essentially he is there as a plot device in Buck’s narrative.

As for Tommy’s role in Buck’s story, I am of the belief that Tommy will be the one to tell Buck to just ‘Keep your head down, your mouth shut and pretend it isn't there.’ as he complains to him about Gerrard and how he treats his friends on the 118. This is something Buck could never do. He isn’t like Tommy, he can’t just accept and tolerate his friends being bullied by their new captain.

I agree with OP that Tommy will probably be gone by the end of 8a. His arc will be finished and the queer Eddie/Buddie arc will be in full swing by then. This arc won’t find its satisfying ending until well into 8b though. There needs to be drama first. And I do believe that there will be a lot of drama before we actually get the payoff of the Buddie storyline.

The fact that Eddie’s arc is most likely to go into the direction of him realising he’s queer seems unavoidable. It’s like OP said: It’s either queer Eddie with eventual Buddie or ‘never again in love’ Eddie. Two options and we all know which one will bring along the most press and a whole gaggle of new viewers. 😉

Now, as a treat, I have a second post from the OP for you today. This was sent to my mutual and friend @buddiebeginz and she has kindly allowed me to use her post on my blog in order to centralise all the posts from the OP. Thank you Justine!

For context I’d like to relay to you why this post was sent to Justine. She received an ask earlier which she replied to here. I urge all of you to read her reply as well, as it was very insightful and I do agree with most of it.

Anyway, someone else sent her an anon ask later on as a response to the post she made. This anon had found a reply from the OP as to why they thought that Tommy is ‘good’ for Buck ‘right now’ and why they enjoy the character’s role in Buck’s story for as long as it will last.

Keep reading under the cut. I didn't want to clog anyone's dash with too long of a post.

Here is that ask with OP’s answer:

I admit I really like this answer. The way they break down Tommy’s role in Buck’s story as Buck having a ‘fun and light’ first experience as a newly out bisexual, before the more ‘heavy’ Eddie and Buddie story will start. I understand it and I can see how that could be some valuable life experience for Buck, so he is strong enough to tackle the next part of the Buddie journey. I can logically 'perceive' that this is what the writers originally intended for the BT storyline.

Does this mean that I suddenly like Tommy and the BT arc? No. Definitely not. And I think the problem can be found in the way that Tommy and BT was written. He wasn't written as a very appealing character. I don’t see the chemistry between him and Buck and I think they don’t fit well together. Their ‘energies’ just don't match. I don't see enough proof of him truly caring about Buck in any of the episodes. So, I admit I can't see the 'light and fun' experience OP talks about. To me Tommy is just weighing Buck down with too much negativity.

And let's not forget about how we were all introduced to Tommy in season 2 and the way he treated Hen and Chimney. The man was never meant to be a 'nice and likeable' character with a questionable background like that. They tried to redeem him somewhat with the helicopter cruise ship rescue storyline, but to me it fell kind of flat.

And yes, of course there is also the ‘Eddie factor’. I have been shipping Buddie for years now, so whether I like it or not, I am biased towards Buddie. I am also not a multi-shipper. I just don’t have that in me. Once I latch onto a ship I never let go. 😊

So yeah, ultimately… different opinions make for more interesting conversations, right? And I love reading about OP’s opinions. Sometimes they match my own and sometimes they don’t, but I still respect them and value their view on 911. That’s what fandom should be about: sharing opinions, respectfully agreeing or disagreeing with each other, listening and learning from each other. It’s so much more enjoyable than sending anonymous hatred to someone’s inbox.

Anyway, once again I ask everyone to not post any hate towards the OP in the comments or reblogs. I do highly encourage a civil conversation about the topics discussed in this post. 😊

[rythmicjea]

On the last day of summer vacation... The Writer and His Muse

Full disclosure, I wrote another version of this last night. It was... factually correct. But it just wasn't good. So I saved it and took a few steps away and realized what I was supposed to be writing. I apologize now this is going to be long.

When I came up with the idea to write this series, I wasn't sure of the structure. If I'm honest, I still don't know lol. And after being called the "Riverdale Analysis Auteur" (thank you @storkmuffin ❤️), I promise to do the utmost to put forth only my best for you. There isn't going to be an uploading schedule so follow the tag "Code Word Jeronica" to see when I post.

My intention with this is to show that from the pilot there has always been the opportunity for Jeronica. I know what you're saying "there's an opportunity for ALL pairings."

And, yes, while you are correct. There were some possibilities that were more feasible than others (Sorry Jarchies!). For the skeptics out there, the showrunners did chemistry tests with so many pairings. Cole even admitted that he did one with Cami and he was open to a Jughead/Veronica relationship "It's the CW, anything can happen"! Coding isn't always intentional or needs to be taken seriously. And that's okay. As a writer myself, I understand the "side character curse" all too well.

With all of that being said, I will only be focusing on the evidence we get in the show itself. I may reference the comics sporadically (like how Jughead and Veronica have been paired up/dated several times in the comics, throughout the comic's history. Below is a picture from Pep #154 in 1962!) but I'll never reference anything outside of the source material as evidence.

The Writer and His Muse

It's established from the pilot that Jughead is a writer, an aspiring novelist. All writers need a muse. Something that inspires them to put pen to paper. In Greek Mythology, Muse was a Greek Goddess who gave inspiration to all. Often, a muse is referred to as a beautiful woman but it can be anything. The show Riverdale is the muse for fanfiction writers who write in the universe. Jughead has several muses throughout the show. He goes through various tribulations with his writing. We see him suffer with writer's block, make a deal with the devil (both Jugheads in Rivervale), and we know that the story that put him on the map was a telling of him and his friends.

In the overall show we know of five big stories that Jughead writes. Jason Blossom's murder, The Red Dahlia, Killing Mr. Honey, The Outcasts, and Bend. Towards. Justice. All follow a pretty basic plotline. Something happens, a group of teens have to investigate, there's a surprise twist, and then a resolution.

But, through all of these he has one muse that is constant. Would you believe me if I told you it was our fair Veronica? Because it is. Before you ask "What about Betty?", let me ask you the same. What about her? She is a character in his stories. Sometimes she's the main character. But being the main character and being a muse are two very different things. Veronica's presence in his stories symbolize different major elements to a story. More than any other Riverdale character.

Throughout the series we see Jughead struggle with his writing. His father tells him to keep writing as a way to get out of Riverdale and not get caught up with the Serpents. We see him have profound writer's block, plagiarize another author, change the way he writes due to his disability, and physically lose his ability to write. His writer's block, and the complications with it, start in season 5 and aren't resolved until season 6.

Here's an unexpected bonus from helping Veronica...

...I started writing again.

She is, and has always been, his muse. This is the first time he acknowledges it, but the clues have been there since day one.

Jason Blossom's Murder

The first story begins with the pilot's very first scene. It also introduces the audience to a concept called "The Center of a Story". The center of a story is just how it sounds. It is the element that brings everyone together. However, while this can be the main character and what that character goes through, it can simply be a person or place that has very little interaction at all with the main story. In a murder mystery, which Season 1 is, the center of a story can be the murder victim. In telling that story we can either have flashbacks of the person's life up until they are killed; or, they are simply the reason why everyone comes together (and not even just to find out why. Sometimes the why isn't necessary).

Jason Blossom is the center of the story. It's all about finding out who killed him. But the muse of the story? The hook? The character's entrance that actually connects everyone together? That's Veronica. "On the last day of summer vacation, a new mystery rolled into town." Jason's murder is the B-plot of the season. It might have kicked everything off, and the action might be connected to him, but it's not the entire reason why Jughead is writing this book. In fact, the opening soliloquy says:

Our story is about a town, a small town, and the people who live in the town. From a distance it presents itself like so many other small towns all over the world. Safe, decent, innocent. Get closer though? And you start seeing the shadows underneath. The name of our town is Riverdale.

The story was never about Jason Blossom.

The Red Dahlia

I'm not going to touch on this much, because I have a whole post planned just about this episode. But, I want to point out that out of all of the stories we see him write, this is the only story that focuses solely on one character. It's completely about Veronica. She, like Jason, is the catalyst. The difference is that, unlike Jason, she plays a major role.

Killing Mr. Honey

In his last story to submit to the University of Iowa, it's about how seven teenagers try to get rid of their unethical and overbearing principal. We have known up to this point that Jughead loves horror. He likes to write "Lovecraftian" style stories. The difference between the two are HPL rejected morality. He considered himself a "Morality Atheist". Jughead, on the other hand, loves morality tales. (In 1955 there's a whole episode about it.) This is most evident in this telling. Each character represents an architype. Veronica, arguably, is the most important architype. She represents morality. She's the only one who really challenges what they are doing. Specifically, Jughead. At face value someone can go "Well, Jughead and Veronica aren't friends so it makes sense". First off, no, they very much are friends. But, second, if they weren't, why put her in such a place of honor. In actuality, given his character in the show (and the comics), Archie should be the moral compass of the story.

The Outcasts

The Outcasts is really the only story that we have very little knowledge of. I freely admit that for evidence, it's the weakest of the five. It presents coded details for the audience to infer their meaning. Jughead is the Viper Leader, the Serpents are the Vipers, but is Betty The Homecoming Queen? Most likely. The co-ed he takes home tells him that he wrote a "very sexy book" in regards to the Viper Leader and the Homecoming Queen. However, in his drunken voicemail, he lambasts Betty. One line in particular stands out "You're a cold, fake, duplicitous bitch. And once people read my book, everyone's going to see that". Now, we don't know what is in the book (Kind of wish they'd released it) and it could end with the Homecoming Queen cheating on the Viper Leader with the Football Captain (I'm inferring that that would be Archie's character). Or, they could have lived happily ever after. Or... using the ambiguity to stretch the possibility... the Homecoming Queen could have been Veronica.

Why? Well, there's a reason why the Enemies to Lovers trope is so popular. What better way to get back at your ex for cheating but to immortalize their best friend (who was also cheated on by your best friend) as the true-love-fairy-tale-princess of your wildly popular NYT best seller?

Bend. Towards. Justice.

The last story we see Jughead write is when they've been taken back to 1955. 7x01 is very reminiscent of the pilot. But, for Jughead and his writing, it's always been in the details. Season 7 is my favorite season, and trust me, I have a lot to say about what happens. So, I'll keep this brief. Even when he describes Tabitha it's very factual. There's no emotion. He lists who she is and the reason why she might know what's going on. Please don't take this to mean that at this point he isn't still in love with her, because he very much is. When he sees her, he doesn't know the 1955 version isn't his girlfriend. He keeps all of his emotions bottled up until he can figure out a plan. And to spare her from any craziness because her memories also might be gone. Up until this point, everyone's description is "This person is here, and this is who they are". Including himself.

For starters I live in an abandoned train car with Hot Dog which... actually tracks... Betty and Kevin aren't merely friends, they're dating. Cheryl's twin brother is alive, but he's not Jason, he's Julian. No sign of a Reggie yet. But Archie exists and he's pretty much a teen Charles Atlas... I've been waiting to reconnect with the one person who might shed some light on our predicament because she was both Chronokenetic and the town's guardian angel. My girlfriend, Tabitha Tate.

He mentions that all of this information is "overwhelming, heartbreaking". But he doesn't say why because there are many reasons why. His best friends don't remember anything. Do they even really know him? With one one question he realizes that the person he loves doesn't love him back. But he breaks this way of introducing the "characters" when he introduces Veronica. It's all emotion. There's even a sexy jazz trumpet riff announcing her.

"Damn..." His thoughts whispered to him breathlessly. "Even in 1955, Veronica Lodge still knew how to make an entrance." He goes from boredom to attention. He straightens his shoulders, he sits up to see her better, and he doesn't blink. Like everyone else, and very unlike him, his whole attention is on her.

THE PILOT

Now that we've gone through the five major stories we know he writes, let's go back to the end to see the beginning. The last episode of the entire series ends with a typewriter. All of the stories mentioned above are stories written within the main one. Riverdale itself is a story (possibly Archie Comics fanfiction) written by Jughead.

The pilot itself, as all TV shows, has a narrative woven throughout. There's characters, conflict, plot, etc. Though the episode opens with Jason's murder the pilot was never about that. Hell, Jughead is barely featured in it. We see him two significant times. The first time is two minutes in, where he's drinking his coffee writing his story. And he says the classic line, "We were still talking about the Fourth of July tragedy on the last day of summer vacation, when a new mystery rolled into town." We are introduced to Veronica Lodge, by Jughead, right after we're introduced to him. At this point he's only named Cheryl and Jason Blossom as that is the impetus for this show/season. "There needs to be a dead body".

The pilot is about Veronica. She moves to Riverdale, she meets Archie and Betty, she mentions Our Town, and her desire for Archie is established. Compared to Veronica, it takes 8 minutes to mention Jason again and 10 minutes to bring him back into the plot. Then nothing significant happens with him until the very end of the episode! But even after that brief interlude it's only 5 minutes later Veronica is given her first conflict. And by the halfway point, she's thoroughly decimated said conflict.

So, Miss Auteur, why are you bringing this up?

Because Riverdale was supposed to be about Archie. But by the end of the first half of the first episode Veronica is the only character to have a full plot arc and even an epilogue! More importantly, she is immediately woven into the fabric of the town. Even though the Varchie romance is introduced we must remember how the episode is being framed.

If you compare the narration to the writing on Jughead's laptop, it doesn't match up. Cole Sprouse might have read everything on said laptop and it was shortened for time. But, I wouldn't read too much into the discrepancies. I mean, the previous two pages are exact copies of each other lol. And while there might not be numbered pages it's at least four and I'm baffled about what he could have written prior to the opening lines. Also, as a writer, there are the things we think we're going to write and the things we actually do write (For example, I wrote a 16 chapter 100k+ Zack and Cody fanfic, and I didn't know the show existed! The Suite Adult Life). Our thoughts vs our words carry weight to a story. An argument can be made that either position is the most important. Is it better to write out that which we keep so closely guarded so it may live on in infamy? Or are the most profound thoughts those we keep closest to our chests?

Though one little line stands out when I do read it...

"See, the Blossoms had their tendrils wrapped around the entire town - no one wanted to make enemies of them."

Who is the person not wrapped up in their tendrils? And who immediately made an enemy of Cheryl Blossom?

Bisous, Bisous... Votre Auteur.

[nekoannie-chan]

Stolen?

Title: Stolen?

Ship: Steve Rogers X Double agent!Reader.

Word count: 306 words.

Square: I3 “Stolen DNA.”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Someone stole Steve’s DNA.

Major Tags: Stolen DNA, double agent, trap.

Additional tags: This my entry to @cabottombingo Captain Bottom Bingo round 2. CABB2024.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

@sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighsss @marvelatthisonee @caplanbuckybarness @sapphire-rogerss @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot5555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard

Rumors began to circulate about a group of villains who apparently stole Steve's DNA that S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to have in safe keeping.

The news reached the ears of Steve, who began to investigate what happened. He, more than anyone, knew that it could not fall into the wrong hands; otherwise, everything could turn into chaos.

As soon as you found out, you offered your help to Steve to recover the DNA. After conducting a thorough investigation, you discovered the truth behind the theft of Steve Rogers' DNA. You had followed the trail of clues and had finally concluded that an extremely powerful secret organization was behind this plan.

“Steve," you began, "I have discovered that this was all carefully planned by a secret organization. Their goal is to create an army of superhumans under their control. We need to act quickly before they can dangerously use the DNA."

Steve nodded gravely.

“We know what's at stake. We have to stop them and make sure this technology doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Do you have a plan to infiltrate their base?"

You nodded, pulling out a detailed plan of the secret organization's facilities that you had managed to obtain.

“Yes, I have found a way to infiltrate. The main entrance is heavily guarded, but there is a ventilation shaft that leads directly to their main lab. We can use it to sneak in undetected."

Steve nodded as he looked at the plans you showed him.

You easily reached the place and did everything according to the plan you had made; however, Steve suddenly fell unconscious.

“I thought you would never bring him in," Sinthea mocked.

“I had to do everything convincingly; at least we got what we wanted," you commented while you secured Steve's ankles and wrists. You were not going to let him escape.

[one-winged-dreams]

Zack vs Adri's Fictional Parents

ship: adriel & zack (platonic) source: final fantasy vii word count: 1091 cw: transphobia, mentions of abuse, implications of physical abuse, parental trauma, you get it by now.

FUCK IIIIIT, I'm so mad right now I'm shaking, posting this before the guilt sets in.

Not tagging anyone bc it's kind of rough and I know I'm gonna feel guilty for it in a few hours but you're free to reblog it.

This takes place a little after Modeoheim.

"And the parents… Well. They're not acknowledging him at all."

As Tseng relayed the situation to him, Zack could only stare incredulously.

The fact of the matter was, Adriel was missing. As with Angeal and Genesis, the most logical course of action was to ask his family if they had any idea where he might have gone. Little context clues began to align. Adriel had dropped hints that his upbringing had been… Unsavory, to say the least.

But an utter disregard for their own child being missing?

"I have to talk to them, please, tell me where I can find them."

-

Tseng had given Zack the address, and he had followed it to a humble residence in Sector 7. As far as homes went, it was simple - perhaps a bit low-class upon further consideration.

"My parents werrre… Shinra wage slaves?" Zack recalled Adriel relaying this information with a tense, forced smile, "They all but sold me off to the SOLDIER program - just desperate, I guess."

Zack's fists tightened.

"Guess even the money wasn't worth keeping me around, after…"

He couldn't afford himself another moment to remember any of the things his friend had told him.

It would only make this all the more difficult.

With a sharp breath, he knocked on the door, immediately following by putting his hands on his hips and kicking the ground as he not-so-patiently awaited it to open.

As if he had been expected, the door opened after only a few moments, the visage of an older woman with a grim expression greeting him.

"Another one?" she sighed, seeming to analyze Zack as she looked him up and down, "A SOLDIER at that."

"The hell do you mean a SOLDIER?" a masculine voice followed from the adjacent room.

Zack didn't bother to speak yet, a tall man with an equally disagreeable face approached the door to presumably judge his merit as well.

And judge he did, quite clearly so, as he scowled at Zack and then at the woman.

"I thought you ran a Turk off earlier, what the hell did they send a SOLDIER here for?"

This time the woman seemed to direct her ire at the tall man, scowling just as forcefully.

"How am I supposed to know? If you're implying I didn't do good enough-"

"What the hell do you want? State your business or get off my doorstep," the tall man interrupted her to address Zack as if the woman were an annoyance and nothing more.

Clearing his throat, Zack crossed his arms. It was his turn to judge, and so far, these two weren't making a good impression in the slightest.

"I'm here to ask about your son-"

"We don't have a son," the woman interrupted now, glaring at Zack with apparent loathing, "We already told that Turk. You people need to correct those records of yours."

Zack let out a tense breath through his lips, steeling himself.

"Adriel. Your son. Your only child?"

The pair looked at each other before the tall man scoffed and shook his head.

"We had a daughter once. Had. Never a son, though."

"Oh are you SERIOUS," Zack exclaimed in exasperation before he could stop himself. He hadn't intended to lose his cool, he'd had every intention of civilly interacting with these unpleasant people to the best of his ability.

Easier said than done.

This obviously displeased the two further, the woman's glare intensifying.

"Watch your mouth, boy. Hadn't anyone ever taught you any respect?"

"Well maybe if you'd taught HER better we wouldn't be dealing with this right now, would we?"

Zack's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together in an attempt to endure the horrific implications that he had been given the misfortune of hearing enough context clues to understand.

"Oh, so it's MY fault she turned into a good for nothing disappointment? I TRIED," the woman directed her statement from the tall man to Zack halfway through her sentence, "She had POTENTIAL, and she squandered it. I did my damned best to keep her on the right path, but she had to go and cast us aside. And for what?"

"PLEASE," Zack managed to keep his volume to a level that was stern but still civil, "He's MISSING. Please. Do you have ANY idea where he could have gone? Just- Just tell me and I'll leave you alone."

Even as Zack's fists clenched, even as he fought the tides of rage that swirled inside him, the pair only scoffed in unison.

"She stopped being our problem years ago. If she wants to disgrace herself further and become a deserter then that's on her."

Zack glared in exasperation at the woman as she disregarded Adriel without an ounce of remorse. He could hardly speak, struggling to keep himself agreeable just for this one instance. Just until he could leave and put these two out of his mind.

"She's become shamless, you know that. She probably doesn't know what to do with herself now that that 1st class she was whoring herself out for is g-"

Zack wasn't even aware that he had moved until his fist had connected with the tall man's face so forcefully that it sent him reeling back. Even as he stepped into the motion to grab the man by the shirt and shake him, his self-awareness was lost entirely. He knew he was speaking, knew that the woman was slapping at his arm and shouting, but still, he processed nothing.

It wasn't until he felt someone grapple him from behind and pull him back that he realized what he'd done, Tseng's voice becoming clear as he called out to him, "Zack!"

Everything rushed back at once - the sound of the woman shrieking at him, the sight of the man slumped against the doorframe, and the feeling of Tseng pulling him off the doorstep before releasing him.

"Zack, that's enough," the Turk spoke sternly, addressing him with equal intensity before looking at the pair in the doorway, "We're heading back, you've caused enough of a mess. We'll have to make a report for this," he sighed, clearly inconvenienced but not with a single ounce of judgment.

Zack's fist felt warm as he glowered at the two people in front of him, stomach heaving at not only having not gotten what he'd come for but for being shown proof of the harsh reality he had only been given glimpses of.

"You're right," he spat, offering one last hateful look before turning away, "He IS no son of yours."

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @zeldamacgregor thank you so much!

1.How many works do you have on ao3?

One hundred and seven.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

553,867

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sanctuary and Stargate SG-1.

4. Top five by kudos

Commute - 87 (SG-1, Sam/Jack)

In-between - 72 (SG-1, Sam/Jack)

One Snowy Day - 66 (SG-1, Sam/Jack)

Two Kinds of Sparks - 62 (SG-1, Sam/Jack)

One Rainy Day - 60 (SG-1, Sam/Jack)

There is a definite pattern here.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Except when someone was being a jerk to me, I ignored them once or twice.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, man, I have no idea. The Last of the Tau'ri was pretty bleak and angsty, especially since I was evil enough to make it a one-shot.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

No clue on this one either, 'happy' ending aren't my strong suit.

Happiness is an emotion, not a state of being.

I have sweet endings, but I'm not sure I have 'happy' ones? I can't answer this question in any way that satisfies me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Other than the one idiot that was correcting me on their version canon, nope.

9. Do you write smut?

No. I can't say I ever won't, but at the moment I'm not in a headspace where I feel comfortable doing it.

Let's just say if I want that in my fics, I'm probably going to have to ask someone else in the fandom to right that chapter or an accompanying scene fic for me. 😂

10. Craziest crossover?

Ohhh, I have no idea, I don't think I've gone insane yet.

My upcoming Encanto + Sanctuary is going to take the cake for the moment.

One that actually exists? Howl's Moving Castle + Sanctuary.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sort of got two in the works. 😉

And started one with @tina-mairin-goldstein but I haven't committed as fully as I should. (In my defense, I haven't seen the season of Supernatural it would take place in and Hannibal is....not my favorite thing).

14. All time favorite ship?

Helen/John from Sanctuary.

(I can feel the respect the Sanctuary community has for me draining away, especially when my most popular Sanctuary fic is Teslen.😂)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I'm determined to finish all of the SG-1 and Sanctuary ones!

The ones I won't finish, I have actively chosen not to finish. I quit writing Fantastic Beasts and I have no plans to further associate myself with/in the fandom.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Foreshadowing and emotions, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Description.

Fluff is also hard because from my view it doesn't seem fluffy, but that's just perspective of author, I suppose.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'd do it more if I had more confidence in being able to do it correctly.

For now, I just sprinkle in a couple words.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warriors cats before I knew what fanfiction was, Fantastic Beasts once I did.

20. Favorite fic you've written so far?

Enigmatic Confections and The Abnormal X-File. Can't choose between.

No pressure tagging: @tinknevertalks, @chartreuseian, @theleotorrio, @ladyelysandra, @romanaisalive

[skeletonsweatshirt]

Connected || Viktor x gn!Reader

Connected - Part 3

Soulmate!AU (Red String of Fate)

Viktor x gn!Reader

WC: 2.4k

Tags: Slightly out of character Viktor. Like it's just a lil. Reader is a lil awkward but it's okay shhh, Not beta read, one on one reader and Vik time

Warnings: None baba grill you good

A/N: Hello my lil fellas (I need a name for y'all or something damn). Here's your food. I even made it more than 2k words just for you. Also you finally get Viktor talking. I promise I made up for him being mute for two chapters because this is quite literally an entire chapter of Viktor interactions so enjoy. (P.S. I 100% wrote this while I was supposed to be doing my math homework so don't tell my mom please)

You rested your head in your palm, scribbling notes in your algebra workbook. Your lip caught between your teeth in an attempt to focus. Every few minutes, your eyebrows knit together on your forehead as you decipher a challenging equation.

With Jayce at a meeting, the only sound filling the air around you is vigorous tinkering and accented mumbles from Viktor at his workbench across the room. Your partners have been working on a new prototype for the past few days. Based on the growing aggression in Viktor's voice, the two are nearly finished with the project.

You aren't awfully involved with their projects yet, but the way it has been explained to you, the prototype is a metal-boned vest and a pair of gloves designed to make lifting objects simple and put less of a strain on the wearer's joints. You're not quite sure how that works, considering Jayce and Viktor are more experienced in the topic than you, but it's interesting nonetheless.

The clang of metal pauses, allowing the sound of frantic scribbling to cut through the air instead. A few moments of silence follow the writing before an accented voice calls out.

"Y/N." Viktor announces.

It takes several seconds for your brain to register that your name was called since you are so engrossed in your work. Without removing your eyes from your paper, you reply with a simple. "Yeah, what's up?" 

You can feel a familiar gaze on the side of your scalp. "Can you come over here for a moment?" Viktor requests.

"Yeah, one second." You acknowledge, taking a moment to finish the math problem you are on.

You shut your notebook and rise from your stool. You carefully crack some of your joints before turning and strolling over to Viktor's workstation. You swiftly glide your eyes over the machinery and papers covering your partner's section.

"Alright, what can I do for you?" Your question as your pupils sweep from desk to Viktor.

"I believe I have corrected all of the issues with the prototype, but I need to test it." He states. Viktor analyzes the equations and sketches in front of him. "Usually, Jayce would assist me since he is more knowledgeable, but he is currently occupied, and you are, quite literally, here to help."

"Okay, what do you need me to do, exactly?" You ask and scan the same items as your counterpart to get a clue about what is happening.

"I need you to try on the prototype." Viktor states and spins his head to face you.

You can feel yourself make a face at his suggestion. Now, technically you know this is part of the job, being a lab assistant. However, knowing something is going to happen and something happening is entirely different things. 

"Now, of course, I would appreciate the help from our assistant," Viktor starts. "but I understand you have matters to attend to. I can wait for Jayce if necessary."

"No, no. I can do it. As long as you say the odds of me getting injured are low." You say.

"Considering Jayce and I are nearing completion on this prototype, you should be more than safe." He replies.

"Okay, then, let's do this." You state with a curt nod.

Viktor shows off a slight grin before he begins to remove the apparatus from his station and get it prepared. You stand, arms behind your back, while you wait for instructions. 

"Can you put your arms out to the side?" Viktor requests. 

You do as he asks, sticking both arms out. Viktor leans his cane on the desk next to him, allowing him both of his hands. He holds up the vest first. It's leather with some black fabric inside, presumably to make it more comfortable.

Viktor limps around to your rear and aligns the vest with your arms. You bring your arms back to meet him halfway as he slips the vest over your arms and torso. He adjusts something on the back of the piece before limping back to your front.

Viktor grabs the elbow-high gloves resting on his workbench and nods up. You wordlessly raise your arms to your front, palms down. He slides the leather gloves over your fingers, then your palms and forearms until they reach your elbow. They fit so snugly that you would think they were made for you.

Viktor silently takes your hand in his. You look down at where he's holding onto you. You can still see the permanent cord woven around your pinkie finger despite the gloves. The length of the string at this point is so short you couldn't use it to tie your shoes. 

Viktor starts moving his hands- and eyes- up your arm as he adjusts the various bells and whistles on the glove. As his fingers graze the inside of your forearm, you feel a shiver shoot up your spine. A slight blush hides behind your cheeks. Viktor moves on to the other glove, repeating the previous process. Once finished, he straightens his gaze back up to your face.

"Do they fit alright? Not too tight?" He questions.

"Yeah, they're alright." You answer with an affirmative nod.

"Good, good." Viktor expresses.

A short and shaky step from Viktor places him toe-to-toe with you, between your still-parted arms. His hands find a set of metal clasps on the front of the vest, and he begins to latch them together. You find yourself having to stand up straighter to accommodate the new support. 

You don't realize you're staring down at Viktor until the second to last clasp. Now, with the few crushes you'd had previously, in this condition you would've looked away out of embarrassment. However, you continue to stare down at your partner. Something in your mind is itching to stare at Viktor in his whiskey-toned eyes and ask why he still hasn't even acknowledged your predetermined connection; why he isn't willing to talk about it. 

Viktor must've felt your gaze and lifted his head to make eye contact with you. "Is everything okay up there?" He asks. You sware you can see him holding back a grin.

His words take a moment to register in your mind before you can reply. "Oh, yeah. Just thinking." 

"About?" He questions and returns to fastening and adjusting the vest.

"Homework." You lie. "I didn't think I'd be having issues with my classes until at least a month in, but it appears the universe has multiple surprises for me."

Viktor slowly returns to his standing position. He sweeps his eyes over the vest and gloves, then looks back at you. 

"All good?" You ask.

"I'm ready if you are." Viktor replies.

"Alright. What do I do?" You ask.

Viktor then steps you through the process that you vaguely remember watching Jayce do from across the room as you did your work. It starts simple, moving around as you typically would. After, Viktor has you lift standard items. Nothing that you would usually have trouble picking up or carrying. 

And then, just as you are getting comfortable with the movement and strength of your top half, Viktor surprises you. Just like he always does. 

"I need you to lift that box from Jayce's desk and bring it over here." Viktor states, using his pencil to point toward an empty spot beneath his very busy desk.

"Easy enough." You respond.

You stride over to Jayce's workbench and peek into the large wooden box on the surface. Inside is two burlap bags. They're both sinched shut, but based on Viktor's ability to make something out of what's lying around, your best guess is tools or rocks. As you reach out and lift the crate, you realize the correct answer is the latter.

You're honestly surprised. Not at your friends' creativity or abilities, but at how well the vest and gloves are working. Especially when they are working with not much base strength.

You manage to take a few steps toward Viktor's station before you pause, feeling the gloves start to lose their stability. Just before the gloves (and your arms) give out on you, you manage to lower the crate to the ground and drop it.

Viktor audibly sighs and grumbles to himself, and you can't help but feel like you did something wrong. You bend over and attempt to lift the box again, but nothing happens. 

"I- I am so sorry. What did I do? I can help you fix them-" You begin to ramble.

"No, no, Y/N. It is alright. Jayce and I have been running into problems like this regularly." He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "It does not make the result less aggravating, but it is not your fault. Chances are the same thing would have happened to Jayce had he been here."

"Oh...okay." You respond.

Viktor mumbles to himself again before he ambles over to you and reaches out to remove the clasps from the front of the vest. 

"Please, remove the gloves. Be cautious, though. I would like to keep my work in tact." Viktor instructed.

Confusion grew on your face. "We're not gonna try again?" You question.

"Considering we'd most likely get the same result, no. I would like to adjust a few more things." Viktor replies, straight-faced.

You accept that as an answer and begin removing the gloves. After Viktor finishes with the clasps, you shrug off the vest as well. You place the articles on top of each other and hand them over to Viktor.

You follow behind him as he returns to his desk. You peer over his shoulder at the papers on this prototype and notice they've only been running the same three tests each time. 

"Viktor?" You say.

"Yes?" He responds.

"Do you happen to take constructive critism?" You ask, reaching past him to grab a few sheets of lead-covered parchment.

"I suppose I do. Why do you ask?" He spins on his heel and watches as you read over the notes he took.

"Because I think I may be able to help." You remark. You file through the papers again, making sure you didn't miss anything. "Did you and Jayce happen to do any other tests on the prototype, or just the tests you had me do?"

"Usually, we do the tests I had you do." He answers, looking at you skeptically.

"With the same thing? Only that box?" You make eye contact with the scientist.

"Yes. It was most readily available." He nods.

"Okay." You nod, taking a moment to process the information. You lay the papers back down on the table. "You see, in my personal experience, variety always helps. Doing the same test over and over again not only gets repetitve and frustrating, it also gives you tunnel vision."

You point at some of the more recent notes, in which Viktor theorized how long it would take to complete the project. He seemed upset in the entries. Like he wanted to get the tests done as soon as possible.

"You are focusing on one weakness because it's the only one you are aware of. Now, if you do extensive testing from the beginning, you can learn your boundaries and work towards pushing them. In this case, learning how it handles different types of objects, such as a container that is spherical, cylindrical, or contains different stock might prove useful since the test you're running focuses on what, in humans, would be strength in the shoulders, biceps, and back. The gloves could have excellent grip strength, but you can't tell because you aren't running tests to gauge other aspects of the device." You explain to your partner. "Working with lighter objects and building up to the box over there might also help."

Viktor just...stared. His sight darting between you, the papers, and the prototype. His eyebrows knitted together, but not in confusion, like yours and your father's, in disbelief. It seems Viktor has been so focused on lifting that damn box that he didn't even think of the other possibilities.

"Also, circling back. If the gloves do have a solid grip strength, you might be able to distribute it, so the entire apparatus is more tenacious and stable." You comment.

The look on Viktor's face melts away as he processes everything about the prototype and what you just said. "That was incredible." His accented praises ring in your ears. "Would you mind writing some of that down? Perhaps assisting Jayce and I in testing some of our future endeavours?" Viktors asks.

You can feel the warmth flood your cheeks. Not only at the praise, but also at the invitation to start assisting in Jayce and Viktor's projects. "Uhm, yeah, totally. I would love to help you guys more. That is my job, after all."

"Incredible!" Viktor exclaims. He clears his throat and straightens himself out before he continues. "Now, I have kept you from your studies long enough. You may return to your work." 

"Thank you, Viktor." You grin and give a slight bow at his statement. "Also, when you and Jayce complete this project, which I am excited to see, I would love to take you two out to celebrate. Since this will be the first venture you two have completed since I arrived. I know a fantasic little café my parents have always taken me to. You two would enjoy it. They have a bookshelf for you to borrow books to read while you eat."

Viktor looks slightly unimpressed with your elevator pitch. "Jayce would enjoy that sort of thing;" He states, but seeing your disappointment when you realize he will probably refuse the invitation, he continues the sentence. "however, I will think about it."

You beam and give a light clap. "Great! I am excited to show you two." You express. "However, I have Algebra homework to attend to, so I will leave you be to mull over your notes."

You parade over to your workbench and return to your place on your stool, unable to sit still courtesy of the dopamine running laps in your body. You pick up your pencil and go back to attempting your algebra work, which only partially works. Evident by the fact that you had to complete the last third of your worksheet at your dorm after you had taken a shower.

[booklovertwilight]

I'm really sorry about what happened to your fic. I'm sorry if it's a stressor or anything (You don't have to answer this if you're not in the right headspace for it) but do you have any idea why they might have targeted that fic in particular? Judging by AO3's TOS, there's absolutely no reason they should have done that. I'm just worried that if it happened to you, it might happen to other people too.

Thank you for your sympathy. It is in fact a major stressor, even so long after it happened... that fic really mattered a lot to me, and I often came back to read the nice comments people had left on it when I was having bad days. Those are all gone now.

I don't know exactly why they took it down, but I have a guess. The idea came from an orphaned fic, and the first few chapters were very similar (before it diverged around chapter 4). In a way it was a fanfic of Death Note and also a fanfic of another fanfic. However, I wasn't able to credit the author with the inspiration, because I had no idea who the author was. Orphaned fics work like that. I did link to the inspiration fic in the notes, but... I guess that wasn't good enough...?For a long time I was confused. I all cited the sources of my story. I tagged it as a divergence. What else was I supposed to do?

Then, after a while, I realized (while publishing another work) that there was an easily-overlooked little checkbox in the work-creation menu, "this work is based on another work". I wondered if, perhaps, I should have checked it for What I've Done--if that would have solved the problem and kept the mods from coming after me. I certainly would have checked it, if I'd known it existed. But that wasn't a mechanic on FFnet, where I started writing fanfic - what we did back then was just link to the inspiration fic in the summary. (Which is what I did!)

Not a clue if this would have fixed it, honestly--maybe not. And, even if that is the problem... well, it's weird. "This is too similar to another work" is a weird criticism to level against a fanfiction. The whole point of fanfic, and the whole reason for AO3's existence, is that fanwork is too similar to one or more existing published works. If my speculation on the source of the error is correct, I should never have had to speculate: the mods should have told me about it in their emails. And, while they're at it, their interface should be more friendly to fanfic-of-fanfic writers, since fanfic is their whole thing.

But anyway, that's the story. If the error is generalizable, it is "failing to tick the little checkbox in the work creation screen". I will certainly not be making that mistake again.

I would put the work back up, now: someone wrote a sequel to What I've Done that now lacks its relevant context. But I worry that if I did so, the mods might just delete my account in its entirety. They do seem to be capricious like that.

This whole incident has put a sour taste in my mouth regarding fanfiction in general and AO3 in specific, so that's one reason (of many) that I haven't been updating my other fics very much. Sorry about that.

Thanks for asking about this. It makes me happy that people still care about this story. And, just in case you don't already have it, here is the google doc where you can still read it.

[thecoffeelorian]

Overwatch, Chapter 5

Inspired by ASMR

SFW

Word Count: 1.1k

5 of 5 Chapters

Created for TBBAW 2023 @tbb-appreciation-week

DAY 5: CROSSHAIR

"I'll keep you safe."

Characters: Crosshair and Omega, aka You are Omega because the usual ‘x reader’ tag will not work here.

A/N: My thanks to @intrepidmare for making this fan event possible, and so giving me the opportunity to make this little series. :D :D

Tag List: @groguandthebadbatch

AO3: Click Here

Maybe I will.

All right...so you might not have thought this through entirely before letting these words spill out of you. Your cellmate’s growing hostile expression suggests as much, along with the idea that you’re still very far away from becoming friends.

Nevertheless, this is something that has to be dealt with, especially if your suspicions are correct. Suspicions like Rampart being a lot more oily in personality and ethics than he tried to present at the Senate meeting, even if you don’t know whether or not he interacted with people like you and Crosshair before. Suspicions that there must have been some kind of missing step between you breaking out of your cells and facing Crosshair at the docking bay, although you have no clue as to what that missing thing might be.

That, and all of his isolation, torture, and anything else that’s gone on in this family’s absence, has to be properly brought to light. To Hunter, even, whether or not he wants to hear it.

“You…?”

“Me.”

And in order to do that, you’re not going to be the ‘Little Daughter In Distress’ any more.

You can track wild animals, as well as slightly gentler people.

You can fly a shuttle.

You can shoot an arrow.

You can sabotage a droid, and you can dismantle an explosive.

Should you live to see the outside of this mountain, you will also have proven to yourself that you can break out of one of the largest prisons in the galaxy.

How hard, then, will making one of the most stubborn Clones in existence listen to your claims turn out to be…?

“Think about it, Crosshair. This could be your last chance to get out, and to get someone else besides Hemlock or Emerie to give you a normal check-up. This could also be my last chance to break free of whatever twisted future I’m supposed to help them with, cloning or not. Why can’t we do this together, then? It’s great out there on the outside. Think of all the trees you could climb, all the snacks you could be eating—”

“—And all the lives I could be wasting?”

“What lives?”

He’s doing it again. That strange thing with his face where he presses his lips together and gives you a dirty look, but refuses to speak any further. He was just a little bit stubborn as a baby, too...but nowhere near this level of rigidity. Something big must have happened between back then and right now.

The question is, do you keep on pressing him for details, or just change course to a different topic entirely…?

“Are you talking about the rest of Clone Force 99? Or did you want to mention somebody I haven’t met yet?”

A bit more silence comes and goes...then, somewhat unexpectedly, you hear him answer you in a slightly lower tone.

“...I am not watching any more Troopers die. Just leave it at that.”

“And I’m not leaving you behind again,” you counter, scooting yourself a little bit closer. “You’re still my brother, remember?”

“Oh, will you open your eyes and start facing reality? I’m. Not. Them!”

He’s hissing at you now, a harsh whisper that might not bring all of the Imperial Commandos down upon you, but just enough to drive you away a second time if he manages to scare you that much. That is, if you hadn’t had so much previous experience in dealing with difficult patients.

“I’m not going to entertain you. I’m not going to read you bedtime stories or sing you lullabies. I’m not even going to show you a super-secret way to fix Gonky. So, why in the entire kriffing galaxy are you still—”

“—Because we need each other’s help. That’s why.”

There.

Now he knows.

He knows that he doesn’t have to be a genius to be around you, or loudly talkative, or overly instructive, or so much as slightly wary of other people in order to come home. That’s simply nothing close to what you’re asking of him.

What you do need, however, is a reliable person to be your eyes in the sky.

Someone to keep an eye out for others who might see you stealing a key-card, and then possibly stop you from purposefully using it on the nearest available doors.

Someone to trail along beside you as you search the armory, listening hard over the comm networks for any chatter that would otherwise indicate that key-card is being missed.

Someone to have your back the moment you get into that elevator, and so prepare to open fire upon any surprise attackers as soon as you walk out of it.

And should the two of you not get executed on the spot for attempting to escape...you’ll finally need someone to help you pilot.

“I just need you, all right…? Not Hunter. Not Tech. Not Echo, or Wrecker, or yes, even Gonky. Just you.”

“Fine!”

He throws both of his hands forward, most likely out of frustration, but you’ve got one more thing left to do here. It’s time for a little, shall you say, negotiating.

“Fine. I’ll keep you safe, but on one condition. The moment any one of your brothers—our brothers—decides to turn their blaster on me as payback for saving your hide, it’s over, do you understand? I’m gone. No more begging, no more whining, just me and the next available ship all to myself.”

“Done. And if they shouldn’t turn their blasters on you, but ask to get you checked out by Azi instead, what then?”

“I’ll—I’ll stick around a while longer, maybe even show you how to use my rifle. If they haven’t already sold it off for credits, that is.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Cross’ika.”

And the moment you’re done striking the terms of the deal between you, you seal it with a handshake.

It’s done.

It’s done, and you’re going to see the outside of this dreaded prison.

You’re getting all of your possessions back.

You’re going to see your squad again.

And this time, after over a year of waiting, watching, and questioning whether or not you’ve got what it takes to do so...you’re not leaving this lab by yourself.

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking...can I give you a hug?”

Crosshair’s still a little hesitant around you, though, because at first, he just stares at you blankly like you’ve asked him to start speaking in Geonosian. Like he’s not exactly sure if he likes the idea, or even if he does, whether or not it would be remotely safe to do so without getting stabbed in the back somehow.

However...once you’ve taken his other hand, a little less tightly this time and with a hopeful look upon your face...that’s when his usual rock-solid guard lowers a little bit more, allowing you to pull him in.

“Thanks, Cross’ika. You won’t live to regret this.”

[jessybarnes]

Unexpected Savior

Pairings: The Winter Soldier x OFC Cadence Michaelson (platonic), Bucky Barnes x OFC Cadence Michaelson (platonic), Bucky Barnes x OFC Jane Michaelson (implied)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner/Hulk, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier, OFC Jane Michaelson, and OFC Cadence Michaelson

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, fluff, Bucky's trigger words, Hydra, weapons, use of a syringe/needle, mentions of killing, anxiety, fear, crying, explicit language, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 2,992

Betas: T. Thompson and A. DiLorenza 

Title Card: Yours Truly

A/N: This fic is based on my daughter. She is absolutely obsessed with Bucky and if he were real and this happened to her in real life, she would 100% defend him. I am not fluent in Russian, nor do I trust Google translate to get the words right. I'm sorry if the trigger words aren't spelled correctly. If anyone is Russian or knows the language, please feel free to correct me! I will change it in the fic if need be. 

Bucky knew going on this mission was a bad idea. It wasn't a difficult one, but he just had this feeling. A gut instinct told him that he should stay back at the Avenger's Tower. The team needed him though, so despite his bad feeling, he got on the Quinjet with them anyway. 

Their objective was simple. Fury needed some Hydra intel about a supposed secret base location. All they had to do was search an old warehouse that had been previously abandoned and see if they'd left behind any clue of where it could be. 

Once they arrived the team thought it best to split up so they could cover more ground. Steve and Bucky had gone east, Clint and Natasha chose the north side, Sam and Tony took the larger west side. That left Thor and Bruce with the south end. 

Things were fine at first, searching filing cabinets, desks, and boxes while communicating through their comms system. A few minutes later, however, Bucky started to feel uneasy. Almost like he was being watched. He shook it off and told Steve he was going to check the rooms at the end of one of the hallways. 

The first two didn't have anything useful, but the third one had a safe. Bucky had set his rifle down on a nearby desk and began pulling at the handle with his metal arm. Everything happened so fast. The door slammed shut, a needle in his neck, and muffled voices was all he remembered before everything went black. 

That brings him to where he is now. He's tied to a chair, his metal arm is stuck between two pieces of heavy machinery, and Rumlow sits in front of him with the book. The fucking book ruined his goddamn life.

"Hello, James. It's good to see you again."

Bucky glares at him menacingly, "fuck you, Rumlow." 

"Well, that's not very nice. I'm here to do you a favor after all."

Bucky scoffs and continues to try and break free of his bonds. "I'd rather you go to hell!"

Rumlow smirks and leans in close to his face. "You first." 

He opens the book and stands up, staring straight at Bucky as he speaks. 

Zhelaniye

Bucky grits his teeth and pulls harder on the ropes.

Rjaviy

"No!" He closes his eyes and wills himself not to listen. 

Semnadtsať 

It wasn't working. Bucky can feel himself slipping away. 

Rassvet 

"Aghhhh! Stop!" 

Pech' 

His mind starts to fog over, the evil inside him beginning to rise and take hold again. 

Devyať

All he can do is scream. He knows it won't work. He's past the point of no return now. 

Dobroserdechnyy 

Bucky hangs his head, his chest heaving as the monster gains the upper hand inside him. 

Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu 

He's fading, like he's in a nightmare where he can see what's going on, but can't control anything. 

Odin

The last sliver of himself slowly dissipates, the vile desire to kill flooding through his body. 

Tovarnyy vagon 

He's gone. Bucky Barnes is pushed to the side as pure evil, the Winter Soldier, takes complete control of his body. 

Rumlow walks to stand in front of the soldier, crouching down so he can see the emotionless blue eyes of his weapon. He unties him and raises the metal machinery.

"Soldat?"

Bucky doesn't move, he doesn't even blink, but he answers the Hydra affiliate nonetheless. "Ya gotov otvechet" 

His response is deep, very monotone, and he stands staring straight ahead as he waits for his mission instructions.

"Do you see this man?" Rumlow holds up a file with a man's picture on it and Bucky immediately responds. "Da."

"This man has stolen vital information from Hydra, and he needs to be eliminated within the next twelve hours." 

The Winter Soldier stalks out of the small room and takes a high-powered gun from one of the guards. His stealthy nature allows him to sneak out of the back without being detected by the Avengers, and within minutes he's on his way back to New York. 

Steve is furious. He's pacing back and forth in the common room of the tower chastising himself for allowing this to happen again. Bucky is his best friend. He's been through so much torture, so much pain, and he couldn't even protect him on an easy mission.

"Goddammit!" He slams his fist into the wall, punching right through it, and making everyone else in the room jump. 

Natasha stands and walks across the room. "We're gonna get him back, Steve."

He snaps his gaze to hers, "how, Natasha? We don't know where they took him. Hell, he could be in Siberia and we wouldn't know."

Stark cuts in before she can respond. "Actually, you're wrong." 

All eyes move to Tony, but he isn't focused on them. Instead, he's typing something into one of his many tech devices.

Clint raises an eyebrow, "care to elaborate?"

A couple of seconds later, he projects a map for all of them to see. "This," he points to a little moving dot, "is Barnes' current location."

"After our last big mission, I took the liberty of putting tracking devices in everyone's gear. I would have tracked him earlier, but I didn't think we'd need the main tracker module for such a small mission. I was wrong. The good news is, it looks like he's right here in Manhattan." 

Steve moves to stand in front of the map, watching the tiny, red dot. The moment it stops, he notes the location and grabs his shield.

Bruce steps in front of him holding out a hand. "Whoa, don't you think we should talk about this, Steve? We can't just go into this blind."

"I agree with Banner," Thor adds. "I've definitely learned my lesson from charging into a battle without a plan."

The Captain turns around, giving his team a stern look. "Bucky is my best friend. I was the only one he remotely recognized back when we had the conflict with the Accords. If anyone is going to bring him back, it's me." 

Jane pulls her red Chevy Malibu into the gas station parking lot. She and her nine-year-old daughter, Cadence, have been driving for nearly twelve hours now, and they're hungry. Their hotel isn't too far away, but she wants to stock up on snacks for the room since the amenities they provide cost an arm and a leg.

She brought her daughter here for her birthday since it's been the only thing she's asked for over the past eight months. Cadence is a bit more unique than the rest of the kids in her grade. They were all playing outside or watching their favorite cartoons while having sleepovers with their friends.

Not her baby though. No, she spends almost all her time watching the news just to catch a glimpse of her favorite team of superheroes. Almost everything in her room revolves around the Avengers, specifically Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Cadence would often tell Jane that she wants a best friend like Bucky and Steve are to each other. 

Jane isn't sure if their tower allows visitors, but they plan to try tomorrow morning. Her baby will be ten in just under eleven hours, and it would make her entire life if she could have a chance to meet her idols. 

The gas station is quiet. Other than the cashier, they're the only ones there. Jane walks down one of the back aisles and begins to grab bags of chips. She turns to her daughter and smiles.

"Hey baby, do you wanna go pick out some candy for the room? Pick whatever you want, okay?"

Cadence nods, "Okay, Mommy!" 

Even though the candy aisle is on the opposite end of the store, she doesn't think anything of it. It's not that big, and she can still see her while she stocks up on drinks. As she is reaching for a two liter of Coke, all hell breaks loose.

Jane whips around at the sound of the door being ripped off its hinges. She watches in horror as her daughter's idol walks in with an assault rifle. Cadence stands no more than five feet away staring wide-eyed at the super soldier. Jane knows he isn't Bucky, but her baby doesn't. She didn't have the heart to tell her about all the torture James had to go through when he was captured by Hydra.

Now her daughter is mere feet away from the assassin, and she's too scared to even blink for fear of him turning around and shooting her little girl. 

Just when Bucky raises the gun at the startled cashier, the rest of the Avengers come barreling through the wall, courtesy of the Hulk, to try and stop him from adding another kill to his list.

"Bucky! Stop!"

Steve shouts at his friend causing him to turn around and narrow his eyes. He doesn't speak, but his intent to kill is evident. 

Everyone is armed and ready to strike if James so much as twitches. Jane looks at her daughter and tries to get her attention as quietly as she can, but it's no use. Her baby is laser-focused on the situation, her eyes wide with fear and wonder.

The moment Iron Man raises his hand to fire a beam at James, Jane's worst fear becomes a reality. Everything happens in slow motion as Cadence drops the bag of Skittles she's holding and runs straight into the line of fire. 

"No! No, don't hurt him, Iron Man! Don't hurt my Bucky!"

She stops in front of the Winter Soldier and wraps her tiny hands around his waist, burying her face in the front piece of his tactical gear. Everyone stops. It's so quiet that you can hear a pin drop.

Steve, Tony, Sam, Thor, Natasha, Clint, and even the Hulk stand completely still with horrified looks on their faces. Never in the history of their careers has a civilian intervened on any of their missions. Especially not a child. Now they're standing there, trying to come up with a strategy on how to save this tiny little girl from one of the world's most deadly assassins. 

Steve is the closest to her. She's probably no more than forty-five pounds and maybe three and a half feet tall. He could probably grab her before she got too injured. He isn't sure that's the right way to go about this though. He gauges Bucky's reaction to try and figure out the best solution. 

The Winter Soldier looks down at her, confusion written all over his face. He isn't trained in any interactions other than the ones where he kills. He's mostly confused about what she said. My Bucky. There's that name again, the one that the Steve guy called him on the bridge a few years ago. 

"I'm not Bucky."

She looks up into his menacing eyes and hugs him a bit tighter.

"You look like my Bucky. And you talk like him. Did you lose your memory? The tall blonde over there," she points to Steve, "he's your best friend! I think you guys have been friends for like a hundred years or something. My Mommy told me once, but I forgot the story." 

Tony speaks up to try and coax her away from the danger she's in. "Hey, sweetheart…Bucky isn't feeling good right now and he needs our help. Can you go hang out with my friend Natasha over there so we can help him?"

Cadence turns around, her arms are spread out and her back presses up against Bucky's legs.

"No! I won't let you hurt him! If you're gonna make him better, then why would you shoot him? That's not how you play with your friends. You don't hurt them. My mommy says friends are supposed to give each other hugs when they're upset. Right, Mommy?" 

Everyone, including Bucky, turns their gaze to Jane. She's moved a bit closer now, still too scared to make any sudden movements.

"T-That's right honey," she whispers. "Can you do what Iron Man said and go stand with Black Widow? Please, baby?"

Jane's voice is shaky and she's got tears in her eyes. Bucky picks up on it all. His confusion increases and he's starting to feel different. 

His flesh hand is still on the trigger of the rifle, but it's pointed at the floor now. Cadence moves to stand at Bucky's side, and everyone watches in amazement and fear as she grabs his metal hand in hers, holding it tightly.

"I can't, Mommy! Iron Man will hurt him." She starts to cry, thick tears sliding down her tiny cheeks onto her shirt. "I love him, Mommy. I love Bucky and I won't let anyone hurt him because he's a good person. He's just having a bad day, and we all have those." 

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, his head beginning to throb. His breathing pattern changes and then suddenly, he feels the anger leave his body. He looks down at the tiny blonde holding his bionic hand and pries it from her grasp. The movement makes Steve step forward, ready to pull her away from him in an instant. Instead, he and everyone else stare in awe as Bucky gently rubs the back of her head. 

All their eyes widen in shock. Sam is the first to move. He folds his wings into his pack and slowly steps forward.

"Buck? Hey, man you good?"

James looks up and drops the gun. He feels lightheaded and quickly falls to his knees. Cadence is now level with his face and she smiles warmly at him.

"It's okay, Bucky. Sometimes superheroes need protecting too."

She snakes her arms around his neck and rests her tiny cheek on his shoulder.

James has never been shown this much compassion by anyone other than Steve. He looks up at Jane, his eyes shining with tears, and gingerly runs his metal hand down Cadence's back.

"Th-Thank you…" His body starts to shake a little as he cries from both the kindness and the relief of knowing he didn't hurt anybody.

Cadence pulls back to look at him and reaches out to wipe his tears with the sleeve of her shirt. "Oh, please don't cry, Bucky. You're too pretty to cry...well, at least that's what my Mommy says." 

Jane goes beet red and buries her face in her hands. Bucky glances at her briefly before looking back into her daughter's big, brown eyes.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Cadence Elizabeth Michaelson and my Mommy's name is Jane Marie Michaelson." 

James smiles and cradles her cheek with his flesh hand, "I owe you my life, Cadence. If it weren't for you, I don't know if my friends would have been able to bring me back."

Tony crouches down and removes his helmet. "You're a very brave little girl, Cadence. I could use someone like you on the team. When you're older, of course. I'm sure your Mom wouldn't like it if I recruited you now." He winks. 

Steve walks over to Jane and looks her over to make sure she's okay.

"Hi, ma'am. I'm sure you know me, but I'm Captain Steve Rogers. I know this might sound a little strange, but do you think you and your daughter would be willing to come back to the tower with us? I'd like to discuss a few things with you if that's alright?"

She nods, "Yes, that's okay. It's actually why we came here anyway. Cadence's birthday is tomorrow and all she's ever wanted since she was two years old was to meet you guys. Especially Bucky. She has always been drawn to him from the start." 

Back at the compound, they all gather in the common room. Nat, Bruce, Sam, Thor, and Clint are eating snacks and watching TV, Steve, Tony, and Jane are chatting in the kitchen, and Bucky is sitting on the floor with Cadence. She's on his lap and reading him her favorite book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar. 

"Ms. Michaelson I-"

She interrupts Steve briefly, "please call me Jane."

He smiles, "Jane, I don't think you understand how extraordinary that was. This isn't the first time Bucky has been brainwashed by Hydra, and the last two times we were in a situation like that, things didn't end well. The only way we were able to bring him out of the Winter Soldier mindset was to restrain him and wait it out."

Tony nods, "he's right, ya know. Barnes doesn't trust anyone really. Well, except for red, white, and blue here and maybe Natasha, but he's still not to that point with everyone else." 

Steve puts a big hand on Jane's shoulder. "In all the years I've known Buck, he's never let himself be that vulnerable with anyone other than myself. I don't know what it is about your little girl, but she calms his anxiety. I can see it, and that's why I'm asking you if you'd consider staying here for a while? You'd have your own rooms, own bathroom, all new furniture, and whatever else you need." 

Jane's eyes go wide, "y-you...you want us to stay here in the tower… with you?"

He nods, "if you're willing to. I don't think Bucky's really ready to let his new best friend go yet. I know it's selfish of me to ask such a thing of you, but I think it would really help him if she's around."

She looks over at her daughter and watches as she and James laugh at something in the story she's reading him. He really does look relaxed, and despite his strength and metal arm, he's being so careful with her. Jane moves her eyes back to look at the two men in front of her. Her decision comes easy, and she doesn't hesitate in giving them a bright smile. 

"Alright, we'll stay."

Does anyone want a Part Two? :)

[sandervansunshine]

10 First Lines tagging game

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Ok ok @felixantares ty for the tag and sorry I'm late! Here are ten openers!

His eyes open slowly—some might say reluctantly, even, his usual manner of waking to the unwelcome knowledge that it’s Monday morning. Bloody Mondays.  He sits up and stretches his arms out with a long yawn before rubbing his eyes to clear out the morning crud—what even is that crusty shit, anyway?—and finally, he blinks the world into focus. What the fuck. What the fuck? What in the ever-loving-the-world-is-massive-the-bloody-dog-is-the-size-of-a-tree fuck? -Honey I Shrunk the Draco

Harry pushes through thick leaves eagerly, muscle memory carrying him through the brush as his mind wanders— no, not wanders. It skips, then cartwheels, and finally swims away through a purple sea, beige fish passing him by. -My Favourite Colour

Don’t look. -On the Nights He Can Look (Based on and featuring gorgeous art work by @felixantares)

When he’s eleven, Dean Thomas receives a pair of fuzzy snake slippers in the annual Gryffindor secret gift exchange. -Something Warm and Fuzzy

“Can you hear me?” -The Bridge That Never Ends, and the Gate to Nowhere

Maybe she’s stalling. -We're gonna finally be fine

“You look like shit.” -a family corrupt

King Harry supposes he ought to know better by now than to be caught by surprise. -A spasm of love and hate

May 14th, 1687 I think something might be wrong with me. No, that is a lie.  The real question is not a matter of “if” there is something wrong with me, but of when it began. An argument could probably be made for November of 1667, I suppose, but that would imply that something has been wrong with me since birth, which I honestly find to be a bit depressing. -A Fire Burns Today

Theo hasn’t a clue how to choose the “correct” flowers. Is he supposed to pick her favourites? Or ones with the proper meaning? -Flowers cry on the corpse of love

Some of those are so silly lmao

Ok ok imma tag @nanneramma and @girl-with-goats and @gloivy and @bluestringpudding and @lilithphantasterei and if any of you were already tagged/already did it I'm so sorry lmao ignore me

[owibitmylip]

Certainty

Meredith centered fic posted also on AO3!

Relationships: Meredith Stannard/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Meredith Stannard, Cullen Rutherford, Varric Tethras, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Lyrium Addiction, Red Lyrium, Slight body horror, Jacked Meredith, POV Meredith, Meredith’s super fucked up perception of things, Adrastianism

Chapter 1: Knight Commander

Meredith awoke in a complete daze. She had not a clue where in the world she was, whether or not her name was in fact actually Meredith Stannard, what she was doing wherever she was, or who the person standing above her could possibly be. Her head felt like it was full of fog, and very heavy, and stuffed with cotton, and a little bit like she had perhaps an ice pick through her eyes as well. She was hesitant to move. Afterall, if there were ice picks in her eyes, she should probably hold still - but how could she see the person above her, if she indeed had picks in her eyes? The man - woman? - man? - probably man, Meredith decided, spoke up before she had a chance to properly wonder about how she could see when her eyes had been impaled.

“Merri-dith, how many fingers am I holding up?” The probably-man asked. Meredith felt like she was hearing his voice from a thousand fathoms under the sea. He was muffled, far away, quiet, barely comprehensible, and had he called her Merri-dith? Surely that couldn’t be her real name.

“Who are you?” Meredith said, although what actually came out of her mouth was a string of incomprehensible sounds that amounted to roughly “-oo a- -oo?”.

“That’s not a number, my friend. The correct answer was four. Perhaps you should consider blinking, Merri-dith. Your eyes are going to get dry.”

Meredith took his advice, and blinked. After she had spent what felt like an eternity laying on her back and blinking, her vision slowly, finally began to clear. As she looked around the room her head protested to the movement, and the pain made her grateful that the room was dark.

A gust of wind that felt like it rattled her skull however, quickly showed Meredith that wherever she was, it was probably not a room. Her best approximation at the moment was outdoors somewhere. Unfortunately, outdoors was very big, and Meredith could not even begin to guess at which part of it she was in.

“Now, Merri-dith, we really ought to get going before anybody notices you’re flesh and bones again. They might take it personally.”

“Wha- huh?” Meredith blinked again and then squinted at the man now kneeling above her. Why would somebody take her being made out of human things personally? Was that not what she was supposed to be made of?

“I’ll explain later, let’s get you indoors. Can’t have you catching cold, now.”

“Who a- you?” Meredith felt herself being lifted up into a sitting position. Her body felt like it was made of jelly, and she was not confident she could stay sitting up if it weren’t for the man’s hand bracing her back. As she was brought up, she felt something warm begin to trickle down her cheek.

“I’ve got you, my friend. It’s Byron, you know, the apostate from the woods - well, one of the several apostates from the woods. But the one you befriended, not one of the ones you dragged back to a Circle. Remember? The whole sword at my throat thing, demanding what my business was being in the forest, as though you weren’t just as mysterious of a figure. Threatening to drag me back to the Circle, so on, so on, so on, but then you were wounded, and I fixed it for you. Really, Merri-dith, has the lyrium addled your mind so? I’ve known you since you were but a wee Knight Templar, back when you wore your hair in that lovely braid and before you put on the Andrastae crown. Before you got sent back here when the Knight Captain before you bit the dust, do you recall?”

“Byron?” Meredith croaked. It was actually helpful for once that Byron was a rambler, because it had at the very least assisted in jogging Meredith’s memory. His odd mix of an Orlesian and Kirkwall accent was just as soothing now as it had been back when they had first met, and she was laying on the forest floor bleeding from her side. He had knelt over her and asked how many fingers he was holding up, back then, too. Was she as close to death now as she had been then? And what had he said about the lyrium, what lyrium? It had never addled her mind in her youth, why would it-

The moonlight briefly glinted off a small shard of red crystal laying on the ground beside her. Bright, glistening red, calling to her, singing the sweetest song she had ever heard, begging her to just -

She recoiled away from the shard. Meredith remembered. She remembered how she had spent months slowly watching herself grow more paranoid, less patient, she had jumped at shadows, had suspected the worst of everyone except for her Knight Captain - speaking of, where was he? Had he replaced her as Knight Commander, or had he left Kirkwall? Had he even survived that fateful night? Meredith remembered feeling herself slipping, slipping and not doing a damned thing about it. She had allowed herself to fall into madness, thinking all the way down that it for the best. She had told herself she was doing what had to be done, that the mages under her watch were dangers to the rest of Kirkwall, that her duty demanded she put them down like the rabid dogs she saw them as. She was blessed with just enough clarity to recognize that she could not allow herself to repeat her past mistakes.

And the worst part of it was that she still wanted the red. She needed it, felt like she would lose her mind all over again without it, she felt like she would die without it - and maybe she would, but maybe that was for the best. Meredith wanted the red, more than she had ever wanted anything else, but she had the presence of mind to not try to grasp it. Not that she could if she had tried to, she was not capable of making a fist. She was barely capable of moving her body at all.

“What’s the matter, Merri-dith?” Byron followed her gaze over to the crystal and sighed. He reached over and batted the fragment away. Meredith watched his gloved hand connect with the shard, and she watched it clatter along the flagstones, only able to wrench her eyes off of it when Byron spoke to her again. “No more of that, my dear. Nothing good ever comes from the red stuff.”

Blearily, Meredith nodded. Would she remember a second of this later, once she had slept and eaten and regained the ability to move her body on her own? She hoped so, because the brief but almost painful clarity she gained about the red stuff was valuable, and she wanted to hold onto it. Meredith felt it in her bones, the longing for the red, but she could feel the wrongness of it, too, the corruptness, the profound unholiness.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” Byron was crouched in front of her now, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her upright.

“Uuuuggh,” Meredith moaned. Her head was killing her, but her ability to think was slowly returning. “Like death.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat was raw, every word a struggle to get out.

“Well, we’ll get you a bandage for that eye, a warm bed and some soup and a cup of tea, and perhaps a bath, and then you ought to start feeling like a person again, hm?”

Meredith just groaned in response, but she did agree with the sentiment. She would very much like to feel like a person again, rather than a woman-shaped jelly that hurt everywhere. And a bath and a cup of tea sounded absolutely luxurious. But - what was that about the eye? What was wrong with it? She could see, could she not?

It did not occur to Meredith just that she might only be seeing out of one of her two eyes.

“Alright, dear, alright. Come on, I’ll help you along. Maker, we’ve got to get that damned armor off of you, it’s so heavy. I don’t understand how you wandered around in it all day.” As he spoke, Byron looped one of his arms around Meredith’s waist, and one of Meredith’s arms went around his shoulders. He hefted her up, armour and all, and held her arm in place so she did not slip.

“I’ve got a cloak for you, and I’m afraid you’ll have to take the crown off too. But we really cannot have anybody recognising you, it’ll be a fuck of a situation if I have to explain why I’m dragging around the supposedly dead Knight Commander.”

“Byron,” Meredith rasped. “Would you tell me if you were possessed by a demon?” While she would be surprised if Byron was possessed, it was in her nature to be suspicious. The red lyrium had not been wholly responsible for her paranoia, and despite her clear ideas about certain things, Meredith’s head still felt like it was full of water.

“Of course I would, Merri-dith,” he said, strolling slowly along as he held her up. Meredith hung off of his shoulders in an almost comical manner, she was unable to hold her head up, and barely able to keep her feet underneath her. Byron may as well have literally been dragging her.

“Okay,” Meredith accepted it. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him, nor the inclination, really. She thought it was unlikely that a demon would know to call her by his silly nickname, or that there was any demon in existence capable of Byron’s particular brand of rambling.

*

Meredith did indeed begin to feel like a person again once she had slept, eaten, and bathed. Her slumber was an utterly dreamless one, and she had been dead to the world for nearly thirteen hours before Byron had gently roused her to eat and clean up. He had left while she bathed, saying he had to pop out and pick up a few things. Once she had dried off and put on the clothes he’d previously procured for her - the trousers of which were a little too loose and the shirt of which were a little too tight, but they were clean at least - she had stumbled over to the small table situated in their room at the Hanged Man and had taken the cup of tea Byron had set out. Her belt was fastened tighter than she would have preferred, and the shirt strained a little around her shoulders and biceps, but as she sat there sipping piping hot tea with a little drizzle of honey in it, Meredith felt extraordinarily comfortable . Feeling really comfortable had never been an easy task for her, she had been the restless sort ever since she was a young girl. Things in Kirkwall had done nothing to quell that, and indeed she had done nothing to pacify the situation, Meredith had only ever fanned the flames in her own mad pursuit of order.

But, she was no longer Knight Commander. She might not even be a Templar anymore. Would they still have her in the Order, even after everything she had done? Everything that she had allowed to happen? Even after she had turned her back on the Maker’s will and used corrupted lyrium? She doubted it, but perhaps that was a good thing. She had become a person she knew she could not be again in service of the Order, she had allowed herself to become such a person. She had allowed herself to give in to her paranoia and prejudice. It was an allowance that Meredith knew she would not survive a second time.

Absentmindedly, Meredith brought her free hand up to gently touch the bandage that now covered her left eye. The eye itself and the area around it were now numb, Byron’s work she assumed. Given the quantity of bandages, Meredith imagined that she must have taken a pretty hard hit to the face during that fight, the last fight. She had been so thoroughly addled by the red though, she probably hadn’t even felt it at the time.

“Ah, Merri-dith, glad to see you up and about,” Byron said, entering the room with a small cloth bag in his hand and softly closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling now?”

“Like a person,” Meredith said, her voice still a little hoarse and a little raspy, though the tea was helping to sooth her throat. “Mostly,” she added.

“Very good, very good. That’s how you ought to be feeling.” He laid the small bag on the table and took a seat in the second chair, briefly glancing at the bandages on her face. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

Meredith raised an eyebrow. “What is the occasion?”

“Well, you aren’t dead. I, personally, am quite excited about that.” He opened the cloth bag. There were a few things in it, mostly small vials and philtres, but he took out a small bundle of fabric and handed it to Meredith. “And because you are not dead, I thought you might want a few vials of this stuff.”

She accepted the bundle and set her cup down. Through the fabric she could feel the shape of a few small vials, and she shook her head. “Lyrium,” Meredith hummed, more to herself than to Byron. “I do not think I could take it now, I would be sick. But the urge will come back to me soon, so thank you.”

Byron nodded gravely. “I shall procure more if you need it, I know a few guys. Now,” he laid his hands flat on the surface of the table and looked at her. “We have some matters that really must be discussed. Time sensitive, and all.”

“If you do not mind, I have a question,” Meredith laid the bundle down next to her cup. “Why have you come to rescue me?” From a prison of my own making, Meredith did not add. Why would you save a wretch such as this from perils she herself created?

Byron blinked at her, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re my friend, Merri-dith. I was not going to let you stay trapped in a brick of red lyrium if there was a chance you were still alive in there. I thought it decent to at least come check.”

“Well… Thank you,” she inclined her head and once again took up her teacup. “I did not very much enjoy being a statue.”

“I’m sure. Doesn’t seem like the most… interesting existence.”

Meredith nodded. “Indeed it was not.” Were he anyone else, Meredith would have questioned him further about his reasons. She had grown cynical, and she often found it difficult to believe that people outside of her own Order were willing to do things just out of the kindness of their hearts. In her experience, most people around her - men, especially - almost always had ulterior motives. Byron, however, she had known for decades, and if there was ever a man willing to do something stupid and dangerous just to give her a helping hand, it was him. He was one of the - well, now he was perhaps the only mage that Meredith felt she could really trust. There had been another, some time ago, but that one was long dead.

“Well then, the good news is, things are going to be much more exciting for you now. The bad news is, the excitement is because there was a massive explosion at the Conclave, and now there’s a hole in the sky spitting out demons around Ferelden and Orlais.” Byron's tone was unsuitably casual.

Meredith choked on her tea. Byron continued on while she coughed, aggravating her already aching throat.

“Yes, well, the mages and the Templars are both blaming each other, as we do, you know. And things have… Really gone to shit, Merri-dith, I will not lie. Things are not looking awfully good. Between the demons and the political strife, you know, it’s really quite the opposite of good.”

“No shit,” Meredith sputtered.

“So yes, we - well I, my, ehm, associates are not aware that I’m here nor that I’ve busted you out. I was hoping that you might be willing to lend a hand. I do not know who is responsible for the Conclave yet, nobody does, but the wild accusations going on are not helping anyone, and it’s all really getting in the way of dealing with the demons that are falling out of the giant hole in the sky. ”

Meredith was silent for a spell, just looking at her friend, hesitant to take another sip of tea lest he say something else. This sounded like one fuck of a situation, nobody could deny it. She had absolutely no idea what she could do to help. What national catastrophes had she helped with in the past? Meredith had been through two large-scale incidents, and both of them she had been inclined to deal with by hitting them with her sword, and that had only worked well the first time. Putting down Qunari trying to take over the city was a much easier task for her than quelling a brewing mage rebellion had been. Look how that had turned out, anyway. Had Byron not just had to break her out of a statue made of corrupted lyrium that she was trapped in because of how poorly she had handled that?

“I am unsure how I can assist,” Meredith said carefully. She didn’t want to say no, if there was something to be done than she wanted to do it, of course. It was just deciding what the thing was that she could do, that was the hardest part. Springing to action had always come easily to her, especially back when she had had her old Knight Commander, Valeria, laying out her actions for her.

Byron sighed, glancing down at the scarred surface of the table. “There is… There’s more. I… Well, this is probably going to be the hardest part.”

“Carry on, do not leave me in suspense.”

“It’s the Templars. The apostates have concentrated in Redcliffe, which, if they can find somewhere safe that’ll take them in, of course they’re going to go there. But the Templars, many of them have gone off to some fortress in Ferelden - Therinfal, I think it’s called. No one I’ve spoken to knows why. They just all picked up and left, and there’s not that many left who didn’t go.”

All the blood left Meredith’s face. “Wh… What… How long ago?” What was the Order, her Order, doing?! At a time when the world seemed to need them most, why would they run away? Why would they go into hiding in some fortress Meredith had never been to? There was a mage rebellion evidently still running rampant across Thedas, there was a demon-spitting hole in the sky, an attack for which there was no one yet held responsible, and where was the Order? Hiding.

“A couple of weeks. I came here as soon as I heard, and it took me a few days to figure out what to do with you.”

“Maker…”

“But there’s a new- Some people have formed- well, re formed I think, the Inquisition. They’re… They are aiming to close the damn hole in the sky, since nobody else seems to care all that much about it. I understand that the Divine being dead is quite the-”

“ The Divine is dead?!” Meredith exclaimed, though her voice came out quieter than she had expected. Her throat still raw and her voice hoarse from dissuse, she could not yet muster the same volume or tone that she could prior to being encased in red lyrium for Maker knows how long.

“Ah… Yes. Yes she and… Many others were killed at the Conclave. They have not selected a new Divine yet, of course. Things are a bit slow going, there. But her Left and Right hands are both involved in the Inquisition - Maker help me, I cannot remember either of their names right now. But they are trying to set things to rights. I thought… Well, I am on my way to join up. I have a couple other friends who are going to join up, too. If you are willing to help, joining the Inquisition, I think, is the best way to do it.”

“And do you expect this Inquisition is going to extend an olive branch to the Order as well?” Meredith had no proof yet that there was truly something amiss with the Order, perhaps there was method to what looked like madness. But she had the worst feeling, a horrible twist in her gut that told her there was more to it. There was something she could not yet see, something she was confident she would not like when it came to light.

And Meredith, at heart, was a Templar. Her purpose was to serve the Maker, to make room for His Light to shine into even the darkest, remotest corners of Thedas. Perhaps the Order needed to be reminded that it was through the Maker’s grace that they were allowed to carry out their duties, that they were given life, that they were placed upon this earth to do his will.

Meredith, then, would gladly remind them.

“I don’t know. The… I know there is at least one Templar helping to run the thing, I don’t know who, though. I’ve just heard that it’s a man, and that they’re calling him their Commander. Then they have this woman, she allegedly saw Andrastae in the Fade during the whole mess at the Conclave but that is it’s own rather extraordinary story, and they’re calling her the Herald of Andrastae. As far as I know, the girl’s a mage. So I suspect, she may be hesitant to reach out to the Templars, especially given how temperamental the Order has been.”

“Maker’s breath,” Meredith swore. “Alright then, I will come with you to join this Inquisition.” She paused for a moment, glancing down into her mostly empty teacup, and then back up at Byron. “I suspect word of what happened in Kirkwall has spread.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps it would be in our best interest if we did not tell people that I am the Knight Commander responsible for it.”

“Yes!”

“I will have to change my hair, dress differently of course. I suppose the eye will help make my face less recognizable.”

“I expect most anyone who might recognise you would probably be dismissed as being out of their minds, anyway. Meredith Stannard is, as far as the world is aware, extremely dead.” He cleared his throat and gave a resolute nod. “But precautions should be taken. The eye’ll help, although I’m sorry to say, Merri-dith, but I don’t think you’re going to be able to see out of it again. It’s a nasty wound, looked like you took a sword to the face.”

“I probably did. My memories of that night are… Hazy, still.” She could recall a good many people fighting against her, even her own Knight Captain. At the time the betrayal had enraged her, but with the red haze receding from her mind, she was glad that he had done it. Meredith expected that if Cullen had sided with her, he would have been killed too. Much as she had been furious back then, she was pleased at the thought that the boy might have made it out of Kirkwall alive.

“Well then, at least it just took out an eye and not something more vital.”

“Indeed.”

“As for your hair,” Byron smiled. “Perhaps you might wear it in a braid again? That really did suit you, my friend.”

“Yes, perhaps I might.” A very small smile tugged at Meredith’s lips. “But first, I should like some clothing that fits me a little better. And what of my sword?”

“That big, red-lyrium infused beast? What did you call that thing, anyway? Vanished. I’ve not a clue where it’s gone, but really, Merri-dith, it probably is not the best plan to use the red lyrium sword that drove you to utter madness.”

“...Yes, I suppose it is not.” Rationally, Meredith knew he was right. She should absolutely not be wielding Certainty again. But oh, how she missed it. The weight of the blade, the grip that was made specially for her hands to grasp, the beautiful hum hum humming as it sliced through the air… “It… I called it Certainty.”

“Lovely name, just not quite such a lovely sword. We’ll get you one which was not created with the help of corrupted lyrium.”

“That,” Meredith swallowed hard. “That is for the best.” It took all the willpower she had to agree, to not lash out at him for even suggesting she give up Certainty. But Certainty had been a mistake. She could see that now, and it was a mistake she could not afford to repeat. Not just for her sake, not just for Byron’s sake, but, evidently, for the sake of the Templar Order and all of Thedas.

“Perhaps you might like some new armour, as well? Something a little less recognizable, something that maybe is not designed to make you look like Andrastae?”

Meredith laughed, and the sound of it was bitter and humourless. Maker, she had been such a fool.

“Yes,” she nodded. “That would help.”

*

Meredith’s new sword took six days to get ahold of. Byron had gone to a blacksmith the day after she woke with her list of specifications - she was quite particular, if the is was to be her sword - and a sword fit to replace Certainty at that - about the length, the weight, shape of the blade and how long she wanted the serrated edge to be. The armour was a bit more of a trifle. Meredith was a tall woman, dwarfing even the majority of the men that stood near her. She was also a particularly broad and muscled woman. Her physique was almost that of a short Qunari, and there were not very many armorers in Kirkwall used to fitting people with the physique of a short Qunari. There were even fewer that had the skill to make something that both met Meredith’s own specifications, and Meredith’s standards for quality.

What she had worn before, her breastplate, her gauntlets, her greaves, her boots, all had of course been crafted specially for her. The armorer they’d had in the Gallows had been one of singular skill, an older Tranquil who had little else to do except for turn out piece after piece of top quality equipment. Meredith had loved her old armour, but she was begrudgingly aware that it was no longer something she could wear without being immediately recognized.

The issue, then, stemmed from the fact that any idiot could throw together some mess out of scrap metal that wouldn’t fall off of her, but Meredith needed something that would both keep her safe, and move with her if she was going to be joining an Inquisition, fighting demons, and saving the Templar Order. And unfortunately, most blacksmiths that Byron ran across in Kirkwall were idiots. At least, Meredith was convinced that they were.

As much as she might have preferred it, though, Meredith could not justify taking the time to travel all the way to Starkhaven to get a new set of heavy armour. It was too out of the way, too far North, it would take too much time.

She eventually came to accept a lighter set, given she knew of no remaining blacksmiths in Kirkwall that had the ability to make a metal set that’d stand up to the incredible challenge of keeping former Knight Comander Meredith Stannard from dying. What she wound up with was a gambeson, breeches, gloves and a pair of boots made of dark, thick leather. It was simple stuff, and not what she would have preferred, but it would keep her safe enough for the time being. Once they got to Ferelden, she would keep an eye out for a blacksmith that knew how to swing a hammer and not hit their own thumb. Until such a time as that, Meredith hoped she would not encounter any demons. She would not feel secure again until she was back in a set of heavy mail.

The sword was, at least, quite well made. Long enough that Meredith elected to carry it braced against her shoulder instead of trying to get any sort of sheath she could carry on her back. The hilt was long enough that she would be able to maneuver the blade well, with or without her gauntlets on. The weight of it left something to be desired. Meredith preferred heavier blades, things that could really get some momentum built up. Certainty had been perhaps the heaviest blade she had ever wielded, and it had been an absolute dream. The accursed thing had felt like an extension of her, it had responded to her even whim, had never once faltered. It had been as steadfast as it’s wielder, all the way to the bitter end.

But Meredith knew that the only thing that blade was good for, as much as she hated to accept it, was to destroy. Certainty was not something meant to protect, to safeguard, it could not be used to rebuild. Certainty was something created to ruin, and nothing else.

This new sword, much as Meredith wished it weighed a little more, much as she missed the way her old sword would sing to her so sweetly, would serve perfectly fine. She was not yet sure though what she was going to name it. Meredith had named every sword she’d ever used, even the practise sword she had favoured when she was just a girl, first learning to swing a one-hander and keep her shield where it was supposed to be. Cabarella, she had called it.

When they reached Ferelden, she and Byron would obtain a pair of horses, and then Meredith would rig a sheath to the side of her saddle. Meredith supposed she had the rest of their journey across the sea to try to think of a name for the sword. Or perhaps she would have to use it first, before a name would come to her. See how it felt in her hands as she struck down an adversary, see how the blade glinted at her when it was covered in her enemy’s blood.

Certainty’s name had come to her as soon as the had held the blade in her hands for the first time, but she had had to bloody a few of her comrades with Cabarella before she had bestowed a name upon it. A fitting title would come to her when the time was right, as it always had before.

“Ready, Merri-dith?” Byron asked, hood covering his dark, curly hair, and pretending his staff was nothing more than a walking stick. Though Meredith was doubtful that he looked old enough to pass it off as such. And, at least to her, there was something about him, he had always had the demeanor of a mage. It was in the way he carried himself, the tone of his voice, the furtive look in his eyes that he got whenever he was thinking of using magic. Perhaps it was just because Meredith had spent her life sniffing out mages wherever she could, but she could see it in the way he walked. He did not have the bearing of someone used to carrying a sword around. His speech was guarded, he was skilled at dancing around the question and subtly changing the topic. He had the secretive quality that Meredith had observed in a lot of mages, though perhaps they had only acted that way because she was near. Even more than some mages were obviously mages, Meredith was obviously a Templar. She had lived and breathed the Order since she was just a girl, and she had been - was still - willing to continue until her dying breath.

Her belief that this was her purpose in life was unwavering. The Maker had put her here to serve, and so serve she would.

Meredith nodded. Her hair was in a loose braid, and hung down over her shoulder. Byron had also managed to procure an eyepatch for her, which she would wear at least until her eye stopped looking like she had taken a sword to the face yesterday. Between all of that, a hood obscuring her face, and the radical change of sword and armour, Meredith hoped it would be enough that she wouldn’t be immediately recognisable. Byron had assured her that people would probably just think she was a woman who bore an unfortunate resemblance to the late Knight Commander, but Meredith wasn’t so sure. Stranger things had happened, she’d told him. After all, were they not on their way to help close a glowing green hole in the sky that was spilling out demons?

Point taken, he’d said.

She followed him down through the rest of the Lowtown to the docks, and nobody had hassled them as they found and boarded the ship that had graciously agreed to - or rather, had been generously bribed to - carry them over to Ferelden. Meredith was glad to see that, even if they were most often lacking in common sense, the people of Lowtown had enough of it that they didn’t want to get into an altercation with a - regrettably lightly - armoured titan of a woman carrying around a sword that was taller and heavier than some grown adults.

They got on board the ship with little issue, although Meredith received an odd look from the woman she assumed was the Captain. No comment was made, so she let it pass. If the Captain thought she might look a little bit like the deceased Knight Commander, well then, the woman didn’t have the courage to say it to her face. The effect of carrying a massive sword, Meredith decided. They tended to strike fear into people’s hearts whether she was recognised for the fearsome Knight Commander of Kirkwall or not.

Meredith had never liked travelling on ships, it felt too confined. But, it was much faster than going around, so she would deal with it. For the sake of the Order, she told herself, she would deal with a lot of things. And at least the little cabin that she and Byron shared on the trip over was pleasant enough, it was cozy and warmer than she had expected, and there was luckily enough room for them both to lay down and not be kicking each other all through the night. In their room at the Hanged Man they’d had to share a bed, and they had woken each other up more than a few times. Restless sleepers, both of them. But in their little cabin, there was not even one bed to share. They laid on the floor, covered by their cloaks and using their packs as pillows, spaced out enough that their chances of hitting each other were slim. Part of her dislike of sea travel though was Meredith’s difficulty falling asleep on a ship. On her initial over-night journey to Kirkwall, she had not slept a wink. Had she been any less exhausted from her recent ordeal, she probably would have been in a similar situation. But being a statue, Meredith had discovered, was extremely taxing even though it was also extremely dull. As sleep slowly crept up on her, she watched the sky out the small porthole on the opposite wall. There were stars out, and there was not a demon-spewing hole to be seen. It was calming, in a way, but it began to stir up anxiety in her chest.

The Maker had made the sky beautiful, had placed each of the stars as he saw fit. It was a pure plain, totally untouched by man. She could not help but wonder, how could the Maker allow such an unnatural thing to happen as a tear in the sky itself? Perhaps that was why he had sent Byron to free her, Meredith thought, perhaps the Maker had seen fit to give her a second chance so she could help mend the sky. Whether or not that was true, Meredith privately believed it. Her purpose now was to heal the sky, and to save her Order from what she felt was a horrible fate. She was so thoroughly convinced that it was indeed a horrible fate that she almost did not want to know what it was, but a strange sense of familiarity mingled with her nerves, and for a brief moment before sleep took her, Meredith feared that she already knew.

[snailyman]

more doodles to occupy myself

my favourite songs from popn always fluctuate, but shizuku is always pretty high up there

[saetoru]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 | 𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈.

word count: 5.1k

tags: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+, fem! reader, blow jobs, cum swallowing, humping, natsuo walking in on yall lmao, unprofessional work relationships, ceo’s son! dabi aka touya, modern / business au

a/n: no scars in this, they’re tattoos, and they aren’t everywhere like his scars. also endeavor isn’t a piece of shit here, he’s just a lacking dad lmao what else is new. THANK YOU to my love ris for hearing me cry about this for hours ily

“so you don’t know what i’m talking about?” you raise a brow, and touya simply props his feet up on your table, casting you a lopsided smirk as he shrugs. he has the audacity to level your chair down to accommodate his height, and if he weren’t your boss’s son—and your hopeless little crush—you’d have half a mind to drag him by his dyed roots out the door.

“nope, sorry doll. no clue.” gritting your teeth, your hands find their way to your hips, and touya’s eyes glint in amusement at the way they hug your waist perfectly—much like your tight little pencil skirt, and it drives him up a wall.

“touya—”

“ahh, i think you mean dabi, doll,” he corrects you instantly, raising a brow. sighing, you pinch your nose in irritation. touya is entirely too much for you to handle, but somehow, you still can never seem to get enough. he’s intoxicating, he’s got the eyes of the devil, and all it takes is one fleeting glance your way, and you’re more than willing to sell your soul to him.

“this is an office, not your streets,” you hiss.

“and yet you still fuck me here like it’s your bedroom. we still haven’t fucked in the conference room, you know. i want to cross that off the bucket list—”

“touya,” you say sharply, and instantly, he sits up a little, eyes slowly turning cautious at your sudden shift in tone. he tries to read you, staring at you calculatingly as you let out a heavy exhale, shaking your head. “it’s getting way out of hand,” you say seriously.

and a ghost of a pout forms on his lips, and you fight all urges to kiss it off. he’s insufferable, but he’s got you in a tight grip, wrapped around his finger.

“i didn’t even do anythi—”

“you switched all the coffee to decaf the other week,” you challenge.

“you have no proof—”

“and our receptionist is sick of you clicking a pen around her nonstop,” you add, cutting him off. huffing, he crosses his arms with a frown.

“have you even met her? she’s so annoyi—”

“and, the entire third floor said they’re all missing their staplers,” you continue to list, and he grumbles under his breath, muttering something along the lines of it’s their fault for being the worst floor as he sags into your chair once more.

todoroki touyai is painfully off-limits. you’re supposed to be his father’s assistant. you’re supposed to be professional, but somehow, he manages to make those thoughts fly out the window and have you bent over one thing or another. and even though you tell yourself each time that this really will be the last time you let him fuck you in his father’s company building, he manages to worm his way through anyway.

but truthfully, it’s not just sex anymore. it’s little moments in between too. he walks you to your car, he stands by your window and talks to you for a good amount of time, he texts you cheesy little texts—that more often than not have hidden innuendos, of course, he gets to know you, and little by little, he lets you get to know him too.

you’ve learned that todoroki touya is a lot more than the family disappointment—so he calls himself—and despite it being a largely inappropriate idea, you can’t help but slowly lose yourself to the thought of getting to know him outside of your little arrangement.

“are you…are you getting in trouble?” he questions quietly after a few moments. tilting your head, you furrow your brows.

“huh?”

“the old man,” he scowls, jaw slightly clenched at the thought of you paying for his actions. he’d never let it fall on you. “is he getting onto you for all of it? i’ll talk to him, i’ll handle it, okay? don’t worry about that old fossil, he’s not firing you. not if i got something to say about it.”

he’s got a lot to say about it, you’re sure that that’s true. you’re not entirely in the loop why touya and his family seem so estranged—though you do know he has a soft spot for his mother and sister, and the thought makes your heart swoon a little—but he seems to cast a glare at his youngest brother every time they’re of the vicinity of each other, and being civil isn’t exactly his strongest suit when he speaks with his father. you don’t ask why, though.

“no, touya—”

“dabi,” he corrects with a scowl. “just call me dabi,” he mumbles.

“okay, dabi,” you roll your eyes, fighting the small smile on your face at the intimacy of the nickname. “no, i’m not in trouble. he just asked me to see if i could handle it. but quite frankly, i am sick and tired of hearing complaints every lunch break,” you purse your lips in irritation, rolling your eyes at the memory of the same topic of discussion for the last week. touya smirks, hands finding their way behind his head as he sends you an all too confident wink.

“jealous people are speaking on me, princess? don’t worry, you’re the only one i’m balls deep in—”

“office setting,” you cut him off with a scowl. “we are in an office setting.” chuckling, he holds his hands up in surrender, giving you a small wink. he finds it a tad bit too amusing that you insist on being professional with him in your workplace during work hours.

“alright, alright,” he stands from your chair, stealing a mint from the small jar on your desk. you don’t bother to mention that you keep them there because you know they’re his favorite, just like he doesn’t bother to bring up that he asks to get a coffee in the mornings with you, even despite hating coffee. “i’ll tone it down just for you, doll. and i’ll keep in mind this is an office setting,” he snorts, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek before leaving the room.

you pretend your knees don’t wobble when you make your way to your chair, rolling your eyes when it’s slightly too low from his earlier adjustments. but there’s a soft smile tugging at your lips that he’s given you his word.

except with touya, just because he is a man of his word, it doesn’t necessarily mean he is any good at keeping it. you of all people should know by now that he always finds a loophole to keep at being a menace.

“shoto,” you grin, setting your chopsticks down and waving the young boy over as he walks past your table, motioning for him to join you. with a soft blush dusting his cheeks, he quietly stalks over, hands fiddling with his fingers as he doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“uh…y-yeah?” he mumbles quietly, and before you can speak, a certain nuisance pokes his head through the doorway instantly, scowl on his face as he studies his youngest brother interact with you. you cast touya a warning glare behind shoto’s head.

“could you hand your father this folder for me? it has some notes and papers i need him to look over—”

“you know, i can always take it for you, doll,” touya offers you with a dashing smile, a little too dashing for your liking. walking past his brother—and bumping shoulders with him in the process—he snatches the folder from your hand before shoto can reach for them.

“touya—”

“i told you to call me dabi—”

“touya? what are you doing here?” shoto asks with a tilt of his head. touya’s eye twitches in aggravation and you mouth a sinister be nice as a warning, and it makes him clench his jaw. it’s a massive blow to his pride that you defend his little brother of all people, and it takes all his self-control not to smack the young boy’s head with the folder in his hand.

“aww, you wound me,” he chuckles dryly, hand over his heart in faux offense. “i can’t come to the family business anymore? c’mon, i’m still part of the todorokis, aren’t i? or are you just too embarrassed your brother’s here in front of your little school girl crush—”

“cut it out,” shoto scowls, cutting his older brother off, and touya narrows his eyes menacingly at him. before he can open his mouth and retort, you cut him off.

“thanks for the offer, touya,” you snatch the folder from his grasp, thrusting it into shoto’s hand instead, “but i think shoto can handle it. can’t you shoto?” you ask him, turning to face him with a forced smile. the younger todoroki takes the hint, nodding and leaving you to deal with the older one—although, you really don’t want to at the moment.

“well, at least he’s gone—”

“he’s your brother,” you interrupt. “you’re supposed to be older. act like it,” you scold, and his eyes harden instantly, and it’s not something you’re used to from touya. he rolls his sleeves up slightly before he crosses his arms, and you catch a glimpse of the tattoos that litter them. they run across both his arms, full sleeves that extend up to his shoulders, and your mind instantly wanders to the other ones across his chest and abs, ones only you see often. before your thoughts can escalate, you blink.

“me and my brother aren’t your business, doll,” he spits. “you would do good to keep out of family issues,” he bites harshly, and a lump forms in your throat. and maybe he has a point, you’re not exactly in a position to insert yourself in his family life anyway, but you like to think you know touya a little better than many have gotten the chance to. and you like to think the morning coffees, and the late-night talks by your car, and even the small displays of affection and cuddling after a hook up he indulges you in sometimes, are all things that make you a tad bit closer to him.

but perhaps you’re wrong, and his tone makes your heart drop.

he seems to sense the shift, but before he can say anything else, you pick your chopsticks back up, turning your attention to your lunch before you.

“of course,” you say curtly. “well, i’ll see you later, it’s my lunch break, and i have a lot of things to do after this, so i want to enjoy it as best i can.”

“doll, listen, i didn’t mean for it to come out—”

“i’ll see you later,” you dismiss, and he rubs his face with a groan, running a hand through his dark locks. the red roots are starting to grow in, and before you can stop yourself, you point it out.

“you need to dye your roots,” you mumble. smirking, he looks up from his hand before plopping himself beside you, nudging you with his shoulder.

“you pay close attention to me, huh?”

“not a chance, you dickhead,” you huff, shoving him back harshly, and he snickers, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. “anyone would notice it with how dumb your hair looks.” his thumb rubs small circles into your hipbone, and you sigh, relaxing into his hold and giving in.

if not for the teal eyes he’s inherited from his father, you’d have never guessed that todoroki touya was the son of todoroki enji. in fact, at first glance, he looks nothing like the rest of his family. with jet black hair, a body adorned with tattoos and piercings, and fingernails painted in black polish, touya is the exact opposite of what you’d expect the eldest son of your boss to look like. but somehow, you think he’s even more alluring this way, not because he looks like the dictionary definition of bad news, but because of his loyalty.

touya is nothing if not loyal to himself, he snaps back at his father and powers through harsh stares and quiet whispers, but he remains intact to himself. you can’t help but admire him for it.

“well, i need help doing the roots,” he insists.

“you did them just fine without me before,” you raise a brow, losing a battle with yourself and reaching over and pressing a soft pinch to his nose. he scrunches it slightly, and you chuckle at the sight.

pressing a swift kiss to your temple in return, he shrugs, a grin on his face that makes your heart flutter, and your earlier distress starts to melt away.

“you do ‘em better,” he murmurs, lips hovering over yours, breath fanning over your face, and you can smell the mint in it, and you know he was in your office looking for you before he found you here. gently shoving his face away, you roll your eyes, turning back to the food before you.

“you just want an excuse to come over so we can fuck,” you say flatly, and he snorts.

“what, and you don’t?” you do, but you’d rather be swamped with even more paperwork than admit that to him—he needs his painfully large ego bruised here and there. scowling, you huff, shuffling away from him, but he only presses himself into you again.

“if you’re gonna insist on being here, you might as well be useful and do something,” you snap, though there’s no malice behind your words.

“old man makes me sign papers with ‘im,” he rolls his eyes. “he seems thrilled i’m suddenly into the family business,” touya sneers. carefully, you glance over at him, watching him cautiously before digging a bit deeper.

“and are you? into the family business, i mean.”

“nope,” he pops the end of the word. “i’m into the crazy hot assistant my old geezer dad’s hired though,” he winks at you. you can’t help the laugh that bubbles in your throat, and his smile widens at the sound. and for a moment, you both stare into each other’s eyes, neither willing to look away.

you break eye contact first, turning to your food once more after a bit, heat flooding your cheeks.

“i have to finish eating and get back to work,” you mumble.

“can i have a bite, at least?” he whines, and with a roll of your eyes and a shove of his face, you shuffle away from him again.

“no, touya.”

evidently, you’re not as good at denying touya as you thought you were, or you wouldn’t be here in his room, kneeling between his spread thighs.

“fuck, doll,” touya groans, panting as you kiss up his length, tongue swirling around his flushed tip. with a low groan, he throws his head back, hand moving to the back of your head and pushing you down closer to his throbbing cock, making you take him in deeper. your tongue runs over the vein on the underside of his length, and he lets out a strangled gasp, chest heaving raggedly as a layer of sweat covers his inked skin. hand rubbing soothing circles over his thigh, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on the tip before taking his length until he hits the back of your throat.

the todoroki household is empty, save for you and touya, and with no one meant to be back for another few hours, touya calls you over. and like a true gentleman, he makes you dye his roots for him before he asks you to suck his dick, and maybe if he wasn’t so pretty like this, you’d have left as soon as he brought the idea up. but your chest swells with affection for touya, and the idea that only you get to see him like this, only you get to touch him like this, fills you up with excitement and a carnal need.

and just like the slight flutter of your heart a few moments ago when you helped rinse the dye out of his hair and he whined about making sure not to get any shampoo in his eyes, you feel a heat pool in between your legs as he cries out for you, a mess of broken curses and moans above you.

“sh-shit, princess,” he moans, letting out a small whimper when your hand reaches to fondle his balls, heavy and sensitive as he approaches his orgasm. you feel pride swell up in your chest when you look up at him, watching as he closes his eyes, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as a whine bubbles from the back of his throat. “close, doll, ‘m so close. th-that’s it, just a bit more,” he groans, deep and drawn out as his hips buck into your mouth, hand keeping your head in place as he all but fucks your throat. and with a guttural moan, he cums down your throat, thick spurts pumping into your mouth as you bob your head and work him through his orgasm.

touya can’t remember the last time he felt like he was special to someone—all on his own, just as himself, but he thinks that he’s pretty close to that feeling when he’s with you. he feels a taste of intimacy with you that he’s craved for a long time, but this time, it’s his. alone. no younger brother to share it with—not one that’s everything he’s not, everything he won’t be, everything he can’t live up to. shoto may have enji wrapped around his finger, but touya has your lips wrapped around his cock—and he thinks that’s infinitely better.

“f-fuck,” he rasps, grunting when your hand plays with his balls through his high, his hips raised and mouth parted as the last rope of cum paints your mouth, one final quiet groan falling from his lips before he slumps back into his mattress, panting as he catches his breath.

finally lifting his head up with a smirk, he holds an arm out for you, motioning you over. you straddle his hips, rubbing your clothed cunt over his member, feeling it harden once more. you both groan at the friction, and touya’s hands grip your waist tightly, guiding you to a steady rhythm. just as his fingers slip past your waistband, moving to plunge into your dripping core, the door opens, making you freeze.

“touya? you okay, man? i heard you—holy shit,” you hear a deep voice curse, the door slamming shut once more. and you stare at the man below you in shock, watching as his eyes widen before he’s sitting up.

“touya! you told me that we were home alone—”

“we were supposed to be,” he hisses, pulling his sheets to cover himself. he’s never been religious, but he sends a silent thanks to whoever listens that you’re at least still clothed.

“what is it, natsuo,” he asks flatly. “i’m kind of in the middle of something here,” he adds, making you slap his chest. touya snickers, pressing a tiny kiss to your forehead before his brother enters once more, face bright red as natsuo clears his throat.

you try to climb off his lap, but touya’s arms tighten, keeping you firmly in place.

“i uh…didn’t realize you had company over,” natsuo mumbles. touya raises a brow with a scoff, rolling his eyes at the fact that he’d been interrupted from some free time he finally had with you.

“i didn’t realize you’d be home so soon. thought you said you were gonna be back late,” he raises a brow. his brother shuffles uncomfortably, avoiding looking you in the eyes.

“forgot my wallet and then i heard—hey, wait a second,” natsuo cuts himself off, narrowing his eyes as he focuses on you. recognition flashes his eyes, and you fight with yourself to keep from burying your face into touya’s chest. “aren’t you dad’s assistant? touya, you’re fucking dad’s assistant?”

“keep your mouth shut, natsu—”

“does he know? wait, what am i saying of course not, he’d make a scene if he did by now. holy shit, do you have any idea how mad he’ll be?”

“it’s not your fucking issue—”

“are you gonna tell him? what are you gonna say? did you tell mom? does fuyumi know? she’ll freak,” natsuo asks question after question, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, you can’t help but giggle softly at touya’s obviously increasing irritation.

“would you stop talking for a sec—”

“are you dating? or is this like a fuck buddy type of thing? i won’t judge, you can tell me,” his brother continues, and touya’s hand grips your wrist tightly, and you gently take his hand in yours, soothing the back of his hand with small circles of your thumb as you bite your lip to keep from laughing again.

“dude, shut up,” he groans, and natsuo holds his hands up in surrender.

“well, it was nice knowing you, bro,” he shrugs before turning to walk out the door, but before he shuts it, he peeps back in and meets your eyes. “just so you know, touya still keeps his baby blanket in his closet,” he adds with a smirk, shutting the door with a loud laugh as touya curses at him, making you chuckle. turning back to the eldest todoroki, you pinch his cheek, grinning at the way he scowls at the sheets and avoids your eyes.

“aww, you’re blushing,” you tease, and he gently swats your hand away.

“yeah, well, did you know that he still—”

“i don’t need to know all the todoroki secrets,” you chuckle. “i don’t need a family feud starting.” rolling his eyes, he groans, slumping back against his headboard, pulling your face to press against his chest. your finger traces soft patterns into his shirt, and his hand rubs slow circles along your back.

“well, the mood is ruined,” he grumbles.

“i agree,” you nod. “but you know what?” he raises a brow for you to continue. “i like your brother, i never met natsuo before. you never talk about him,” you add, eyeing him up as he avoids your gaze. sighing, he looks off to the side.

“yeah, i guess we’re pretty close, me and him,” he shrugs.

“what did poor, sweet shoto ever do to you?” you tease gently, poking his cheek. clenching his jaw, touya doesn’t meet your gaze, no matter how intensely you stare at him. you wait a moment before cupping his cheeks, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“hey,” you say softly. “you know you can talk to me, right?” his gaze softens, and touya presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and nodding.

“yeah,” he sighs quietly.

“you don’t seem too fond of shoto,” you murmur, dragging your fingers through his freshly dyed hair, scratching at his scalp. touya’s face falls to your shoulder, and he hugs your waist tightly, shoulders relaxing when you press a sweet kiss to the side of his head.

“‘s not his fault, i guess,” he mumbles. “i just…never really lived up to my dad’s expectations.”

“yeah, i supposed not,” you hum, rubbing the back of his neck. “you two aren’t exactly peas in a pod.”

“well, shoto’s perfect,” he grunts. “he’s got what it takes to keep the family business going, and me and natsuo want no part in that,” he rants quietly. “old man thinks we’re wasting our potential. like i’m some failure just cause i don’t want to sit in a suit and tie all day. so what if i’m not like shoto? fuck shoto,” he spits, gripping your waist tightly.

and touya can’t remember the last time he felt this vulnerable, he can’t recall the last time he’s let himself feel the emotions he’s bottled up for so long and pretended weren’t there, but something about the way your hand glides over his back and shoulders makes him spill his heart to you.

he doesn’t realize that a few stray tears have slipped down his cheeks until you pull him out of your neck, swiping them away with the pads of your thumb. pressing a delicate kiss to his nose, you pinch the tip, making him let out a watery chuckle.

“yeah, screw shoto,” you nod, agreeing, smiling gently at him as he sniffles. it’s what he needs to hear. that someone is willing to pick his side.

“do you…think i’m…bad?” touya croaks, staring at you with wide eyes. “for being bitter with shoto?” shaking your head, you kiss his lips softly, and he melts into it, eyes shutting closed. touya thinks he’d have withered if you said yes.

“no, i don’t,” you whisper. “i think you’re just hurt. sometimes we tend to blame things when we’re hurt. we’re just human,” you mumble. “you’re good, touya. so good,” you promise, and his breath hitches in his throat. sniffling, he hugs you closer.

“thanks,” he says simply, but you know how important your words are to him. you can feel it.

“if it’s of any solace, i think you’re the farthest thing from a failure,” you kiss up his jaw, and he snorts, poking your side gently, laughing when you flinch away.

“so cheesy,” he huffs out with a quiet laugh, but your words make his heart flutter, and his lips wobble once more.

for the first time in so, so long, it feels like someone is proud of him, and he latches onto the feeling as tightly as he can. touya’s always thought that he was destruction for the longest time, always thought he destroyed his father’s dreams and reputation and his family’s name, but you give him salvation, and he feels like he builds something with you.

he’s not sure if he can let that slip past his fingers.

“nevermind, you disappoint me,” you huff, glaring at him. but he sees the softness in your eyes—he could never miss it.

“you can’t take it back now,” he bites your cheek, laughing at the way you shriek. it’s quiet for a moment, just the two of you staring at each other before he decides to break the silence, hesitantly looking away from your eyes and down at his lap. “i…okay, promise me you won’t be mad.” raising a brow, you chuckle.

“did you do something at the office again? i knew it would be a matter of time—”

“i told my mom about us,” he blurts, cutting you off.

“oh,” is all you can say. oh. and suddenly, everything feels a lot more serious, and your stomach twists painfully. you’re not used to being this serious with touya.

“that’s it?” he whispers, searching your eyes for more. it’s your turn to stare down at your lap.

“what did…what did she say?” you ask quietly. you always knew touya was wrong. he’s unprofessional, he’s off-limits, he’s everything you shouldn’t want given your position. but you can’t help but crave him desperately, and even if it has to be in secret, you want every piece of him, and it makes your heart drop and lungs feel like they’re about to give out that this might be where it ends.

“she wants to meet you,” he mumbles. “only if you want,” he adds quickly.

“but…i’m your dad’s assistant,” you mutter.

“i know.”

“well, does she know?” rolling his eyes, he nods, scowling at you.

“yes, i didn’t miss that big of a detail. she knows.”

“and she still wants to meet me?” he nods, eyeing you carefully, watching as you bite your lip. “but your dad is my boss—”

“i know!” he groans, pouting at you with a huff. “you gonna meet my mom yes or no? i…i never…never brought a girl home, okay? she’s gonna be real disappointed if you don’t show,” he grumbles with pink dusting his cheeks, not meeting your eyes. your heart hammers at the sight.

“even if the girl is her husband’s assistan—”

“for the love of god,” touya groans, flicking your forehead. the pout on his face deepens, and you can’t fight the urge to poke it with your finger, pulling away when he moves to bite it. “she knows, okay? she knows. the old fossil can shove it up his ass if it bothers—”

“that is my boss you’re talking about, touya,” you smack his chest, making him scowl at you. “highly unprofessional.”

“yeah, and so is fucking the bastard old man’s son, what’s your point?” giggling, you roll your eyes, cupping his cheeks and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, closing your eyes when his lips mold against yours perfectly. pulling away, your nose brushes against his as your foreheads meet.

“yes, i’ll meet your mother,” you murmur, smiling when he lets out a breath. “baby’s first steps, aww,” you tease, pinching his cheeks and making him scowl. you chuckle as he pulls away from you with a grumble under his breath, but you don’t miss the faint tilt of his lips at your news.

and you shouldn’t be this excited, you shouldn’t feel this trilled to be the first he brings home, to meet his mother despite your compromising status, to make things that much more serious with touya—but you are. you are and you can’t bring yourself to regret it one bit.

“good,” he grins, leaning back and pulling you to his chest, draping his blanket over your bodies and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll take you on a real date soon, and i’ll pay with my old man’s credit card, so you’ll have a blast,” he winks, making you roll your eyes.

and you know that there’s a lot more to todoroki touya than what you’ve learned today, and you know that it’ll take some weaseling out of him to get him to share more, but there’s a certain shift in the air that makes you think that maybe it won’t be so hard, and maybe he’s not so off-limits after all. you grin at him softly, heart fluttering that maybe, you’ll get to learn everything there is about touya, and it makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw.

the late-night talks and the morning coffees and the small displays of affection do make you closer to him than anyone else has gotten, and you want even more of the taste of closeness he gives you.

“so, are we going to just stay like this?” you question, raising a brow. he nods, flashing you a smug little grin.

“we got the place to ourselves, natsuo won’t be back for a bit. we can always pick up where we left off,” he wriggles his brows, grunting with a pout when you elbow his ribs.

bonus conference room sex scene

got too lazy to beta it fully *sobs* so lmk if there are errors and also its ooc and not accurate obviously—it is an au