#i really hope it matches your own ideas of the scene you drew

[unclewaynemunson]

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @artbean that obviously has been living rent free in my head for weeks

People wouldn't expect this from him, but Wayne Munson has a big love for metal music. He may seem soft-spoken and like he's trying to make the best of what life has given him, but underneath that exterior - an exterior that was only crafted by the necessity of being a balance to his brother's short temper in the first place - he is angry.

He's angry at his parents for not giving him and his brother what they needed to succeed in life; angry at his brother for making a hot mess of things time and time again; angry at the men in the White House for not looking out for their people; angry at his boss for refusing to give him and his colleagues fair wages for their hard work... And that's only the beginning. He could keep listing things he's angry about for days on end without running out. But he knows it's no use being angry: he has learned a long time ago that it never solves anything. So instead, he channels his anger to places where it can do no harm. He recognizes parts of himself - the parts that he has been suppressing ever since his brother started getting into serious trouble - in screaming voices, overwhelming guitar riffs and deafening drums. He loves the anger, and he loves the escapism. He loves turning up the volume until he's drowning in the music and can forget without any drugs.

So for Wayne, it makes sense that he loves metal. But what he doesn't expect, is for a nine year old boy who sees more than enough anger at home to love it too. When Eddie unsuspectingly turns on the radio in Wayne's trailer only to be met by Paul Samson's aggressive voice on full volume, Wayne expects him to flinch and get scared or upset. But none of that happens: Eddie's big eyes widen even further, something resembling a hungry kind of understanding sparkling in them, and he goes to sit cross-legged right in front of the speakers. He stays quiet for way longer than Wayne even knew he could, engrossed in the music until the tape has finished and leaves a deafening silence in its wake.

Wayne spends the rest of the afternoon answering all kinds of questions from Eddie: about the music, other bands that are like that, the instruments they use, the way they use their voices, the topics they sing about... And so it becomes a passion that he and Eddie share with each other. Wayne has a new tape ready for Eddie every time he visits him in his trailer. He teaches him to play on his old acoustic guitar, while saving up to maybe get him a real one someday.

On Eddie's tenth birthday, Wayne drives him to Indianapolis and takes him to a concert. They get some odd looks, this plain old man in his plaid flannel with a young boy on his shoulders among all the black-clad youngsters, but Wayne will still clearly remember Eddie's overjoyed smile for years to come.

[nutzgunray-lvt]

Welp, the itch needed to be scratched, and I wrote a rough draft of one of my fic ideas:

A Perfect World

Izuku knew that he was breaking curfew, but he didn't care. After the dream he just had, he didn't really care about anything.

"We're past the singularity point, now. Don't worry, you are not alone."

He saw the past seven users of One For All looking right at him, and the first user had spoken directly to him. He said he wanted to show him more, but more of what? Was he going to have to get even stronger to find the answer to that question? He was already capped at 20% of One For All, and look what wound up happening: it activated in his sleep and destroyed his room.

If by some miracle he managed to not wake up his classmates with that stunt, he was definitely going to be in trouble tomorrow when someone either saw the broken window or the charred floorboards. And how exactly was he going to explain that?

"Well, I had a vision of how All For One created my Quirk by forcibly passing it down to his little brother, said little brother gave me a vague message about passing the singularity point, and then it activated in my sleep and destroyed my room in the fallout. I'm sorry, it won't happen again!"

Yeah, that would go over real well with Mr. Aizawa and Principal Nezu.

It was why he decided to go out for a run. It did wonders for clearing his head, and maybe the fresh air would help him to make sense of what the hell had happened.

The dream/vision had scared him, yes, but the first user seemed incredibly kind (they had the same eyes). He sounded apologetic that he couldn't show him more (more of what?) and genuine when he reassured him that he wasn't alone. Even the other users radiated kindness and patience as they looked over him.

But why him?

From his match against Shinsou at the Sports Festival, he had known that pieces of the past One For All users had remained inside the Quirk. He hadn't bought All Might's belief that his sheer determination was what broke him out of Shinsou's brainwashing, but part of him had hoped that it was just a one-off event, because then all he had to worry about was figuring out how not to maim himself every time he used it.

He wasn't ready to contend with eight ghosts living inside of him and showing him visions from 100+ years ago, because if All Might had no idea what this was and how to deal with it, what the hell was Izuku supposed to do?

By the time he made it back to Heights Alliance and sneaked back into 1-A's dorm, his brain didn't feel any less cluttered than it had before he went on his run. His new plan was to get a drink of water and take a nice, cold shower before doing his best to clean up the crime scene that was his room -

"What are you doing awake, Problem Child?"

Izuku flinched, nearly dropping his glass.

Busted.

Biting on his cheek to clamp down on the fight or flight response that always seemed to kick in around Mr. Aizawa, he took a long sip of water to hold off on answering him.

"Couldn't sleep," he non committedly answered before finishing his drink. It wasn't like it was a lie or anything, but a quick glance at his homeroom teacher leaning against the back of one of the couches showed how unimpressed he was at his response.

"Yeah, your broken window told me as much," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "One of the Camera-Bots reported a disturbance coming from the second floor, and you want to know how long it took for me to put two and two together that you were the source of the disturbance, Midoriya?"

Izuku didn't dare answer. He was glad that it was cloudy outside, otherwise the moon would have provided enough light for Mr. Aizawa to see his fist clenched at his side, his teeth biting into his lip so hard that it drew blood as he tried so hard to not rise at the bait, because he probably wanted Izuku to get mad at him because everything Mr. Aizawa did was for his own amusement -

"About two seconds," the older man finally answered. "I came over, saw the broken window, and I figured that making a dramatic break for it wasn't your style."

"What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Aizawa?" Izuku asked when he trusted himself to speak again. He turned to get another glass of water for himself, just so his hands would have something to do as his mind raced.

This was different. Normally, when he was caught on Mr. Aizawa's radar, he would storm the place, lecture him, give him some sort of punishment (or three) and leave. He never explained himself to anyone, Izuku least of all. Was this some sort of ploy to lull him into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from underneath him and expelling him? Or was he just biding his time, playing with his prey before dealing the killing blow?

What game was Mr. Aizawa playing here?

"I'm saying that there must be a good reason why you're up at 1:47 in the morning with a broken window," Mr. Aizawa responded. "I wouldn't have dragged myself out of bed for it otherwise. You know I don't get enough sleep to begin with."

Yeah, because you use school hours to make up the difference, Izuku thought to himself. The uncharacteristically bitter retort was silenced by a rather aggressive chug of his water. That definitely would have gotten him in even more trouble had he let that out into the open.

"So, the floor's yours, Problem Child," the older man prompted. "I want to know why your window spontaneously broke five hours after curfew."

Izuku finished his second glass of water and set it in the sink, clenching his shaking fists by his sides. In a perfect world where all men were created equal, he would know that Mr. Aizawa was genuinely trying to reach out to him, to get him the help he desperately needed since these weird dreams and visions started occurring. He would know that he wasn't breaking his bones for the fun of it, would see how problematic it was that it took spending a week outside of his supervision to resolve that problem. He would know that he only maimed himself fighting Muscular because Mandalay had approved of him finding Kota and bringing him to safety. The life of a five year old boy was on the line and he had no way of contacting anybody where they were located at. He would know that Bakugou's rescue wasn't his idea, nor was their fight the night of the Provisional License Exam.

He wouldn't blow off him and the rest of the class off for a student not even in the Heroics Department.

In a perfect world, Izuku could trust Mr. Aizawa.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a perfect world. This was a world where all men weren't created equal. In this world, Izuku was the Problem Child who committed the crime of getting his Quirk 10 years later than normal. All Might was trying his best to help because he was the only one who could actually understand what he was going through, but Mr. Aizawa dismissed it as favoritism and placed part of the blame on Izuku's feet. In this imperfect world, Mr. Aizawa singled him out in front of everyone and threatened to expel him on the first day of school, only to take it back at the last minute as some sort of "Rational Deception" in order to make him work harder. In this world, Mr. Aizawa hoisted the duty of curbing a bully's behavior onto said bully's victim, blaming him for the problem being as bad as it was.

In this imperfect world, Izuku had no reason to trust Mr. Aizawa outside of a life/death situation.

"I don't know," he resignedly said after a long bid of silence. "I genuinely don't know, but I'll fix the window and give you a written apology."

"Midoriya -"

"I'm sorry for causing a disturbance so early in the morning!" he hurriedly apologized. He had to get out of here now; fight was very quickly turning into flight, because what else should he do when Mr. Aizawa always looked so annoyed and exhausted at his mere existence?

He rushed up the stairs and into his room before Mr. Aizawa could finish what he was trying to say, locking the door behind him as he tried sweeping up the broken glass with a folder. He was too keyed up to go back to sleep now.

'Talk to Yagi tomorrow,' the first user said, making Izuku jump in surprise. Great, now they could just talk to him all willy-nilly? 'Yagi will understand how to help you. We didn't mean to get you in trouble. We're sorry.'

Izuku wanted to tear his hair out and scream at how weird this was starting to get, but the first user was so nice that he couldn't be mad for too long. He also had a point: All Might would understand.

All Might could be trusted.

Tomorrow, he would get this mess cleaned up and hopefully get some answers.

He needed them.

[connoisseursdecomfort]

SxF interview & panel discussion at TICA

I was reading articles about Kyōji Asano (animation director) and Tetsuya Nakatake (producer) attending the Taipei International Comic and Anime International, so I’ve decided to share some of the interesting things I’ve read here.

In the YouTube live video, 

11:10 Nakatake gestured how tiny Anya would be in real life. Asano then gave a quick demonstration on “how to pick up baby Anya and carry her on your shoulder”. I thought that was really cute. As if they all know Anya so well they are ready to babysit her at any second.

12:47 Asano drew a bunch of Anya’s faces. From 12:55 onwards he just started pointing at the faces he drew, and said he enjoyed drawing them very much.

15:54 Nakatake jokingly said they (I’m guessing he meant Nakatake himself, Asano and other staff members who also have children) could particularly relate to tired™ Twilight. They have children and understand how exhausting being a parent could be. 

There are also displays of pictures of character designs and frames sketches. You can see they are particularly proud of the original designs and scenes they’ve created for the show.

No recording is allowed during the panel discussion. I’ve read several articles (Source 1, 2, 3) and a post by an attendee, and what they’ve shared are more or less the same: 

1. They spent a month creating the second ED. They’d actually cooked all the food and presented them on a table so they could draw it. (Source three actually provides many interesting photographs of the food and the sketches hey’ve drawn while producing ED2.) It's such hard work, so much so for a 10-second scene the team had created 100-130 frames, and a member of the team even said he’s gonna quit, but they’d all persisted. Asano said their goal was to make the audience hungry while watching ED2, and was particularly happy to hear from the attendees that they have succeeded.

2. They had also drawn the food Yor made before pixelating it. And no, the team won’t show us what they originally look like. The team likes the scene where Yuri ate and threw up at the same time so much the animator put in extra effort to draw it. (Nakatake: Don’t you like sick characters like Yuri?)

3. The work atmosphere while creating AoT was more stern. On the other hand, it feels more lively when producing SxF. The work atmosphere is usually affected by the content they are creating. The animators have their own ideas they want to express as well, and it is a lucky coincidence when they get to animate a popular work they happen to be interested in, and the audience likes the product as well. They feel the bliss while creating the anime, and hope to create something the whole family can enjoy.

4. They create the OPs and EDs as something to add to the world-building. OPs and EDs also offer an opportunity for the team to show the audience their own interpretation of/ reflections on the story. They went on to explain how OPs and EDs are usually done. Most of the time they would have the song first. The musician would read the manga and write the song. The production team would then design the scenes that would match the song. The director confirms what scenes would be needed, and the animation team proceeds to create the OP/ED.

5. It is of utmost importance to make Anya cute. Asano suggested to draw her hair first, then the shape of her face. Draw her facial features last.

6. When asked of their favourite scenes, Nakatake said the interview scene where Loid punched the table was what inspired him to push the sxf animation project forward. Asano liked ep 5. He thought it made the story livelier. 

7. Nakatake likes Yor the best. He says he wants to meet her in real life, and claims he doesn’t mind eating her food. (He also likes the scene where Bond ate the cookies Yor made and fainted.) Asano wants a daughter like Becky. If he had to choose between Anya and Becky, he would still choose Becky.

PS I've also shared an identical article here. I did the translation myself. I didn't translate everything. For example, Asano also mentioned AoT as another example of how they do original scenes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this.

[melanatedkink]

Can I Wake Up First?

Summary: This is the second addition to a series in which Y/N is dealing with chronic pain, and receives comfort from her boyfriend. This time with Tamaki!

Burnt out didn't even cover a sliver of the state you were in. You'd been fidgeting all day due to your body having to ward off stubborn pain in your gut. Your doctor assumed it would be a wonderful idea to attempt to weem you off steroid painkillers since refills were hard to come by, and his office was half way across town. Not only that, but shifts at work were only getting longer, so making time to get their signature was narrow. Nearly impossible.

Your breath hitched, biting back a whine as you swayed on the train back home. Rush hour typically meant standing room only by the time you entered. Curse your morality for forcing yourself from the corner of a seat for an older man with a walker. Hell, if he had offered his walker in exchange (seeing as he wasn't using it sitting down) then maybe your bitterness would be sated. At least, you were headed back to your apartment. Finally you could...

Sharp stabbing ripped you from your thoughts. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the sensation to subside with mental pleading instead. You were about to envision yourself resting before your body so rudely interrupted your daydream. Your hope, more like. It seemed that your best bet lay in praying for exhaustion to kickstart your unfulfilling rest, tonight. Thank God it's at least Friday.

You trudged through the door, breath uneven due to managing your splintering nerves. Light rustling drew your attention to the kitchen. Once you rounded the corner, you beheld a mountain for various groceries and boxes. It looked like an unboxing was taking place on your kitchen island. Tamaki peeked from behind the fridge, immediately cooing at your frazzled appearance. Without a word, he immediately doused you in a tight embrace.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered into the crown of your head.

You chuckled sardonically, "What gave it away?"

He hummed in thought," Most notably, the fact that you haven't been asking me out." He pulled back just enough to gaze into your eyes," It's been three weeks since our last date night,"

Shame colored your features. Had it really been that long? You guessed fighting for your life took precedent over a date. Though, lack of intimacy wasn't helping win the war, either. You sighed and apologized. His brow quirked at the sound of your fatigue, and he gently led you to the mess on the table. As he rummaged through the chaos, Tamaki distracted you with a question of his own.

"Would you like some tea? Maybe a movie?"

"I'd love to, but I'd rather not deal with light right now. Tea would be nice though,"

He offered a soft smile, taking your hand and placing a sack of bath bombs in it,"Go ahead and take a bath,"

The scene in the bathroom was, well, soft. A new rug and deep green plants hinted at an oasis rather than a tiny closet of a room. There were a few candles scattered about, with a box of matches lying against one candle sitting next to the sink. Fluffy towels hung on a rack adjacent to the tub, all of which in a complementary array of your favorite colors. You felt yourself tearing up at his efforts. Not only that, but you were determined that you would get through this, just for Tamaki.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

the “we’re fake dating to make someone jealous but actually end up together trope” reminds me of drrreeeaaaammmm😇😇😇

-🧚🏻‍♀️

YES YES 🧚 ANON I LOVE UR IDEAS YES.

I also included these: WELCOME 🦀 ANON and as always, 🍭 anon I'm in love w u.

[𝐁𝐎𝐘]𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (���𝟖+)

pairing: dream x reader (dre™ my beloved)

warnings: vulgar language, mentions of sex, basically that one scene from Easy A, me lowkey trying so hard not to get carried away

You took a sip of your drink; your mind racing with Clay’s words as you debated his plea. You hated the idea of pitting yourself against someone else for an envy factor and meddling in the love lives of your friends, but you knew you’d do anything for Clay. He could mention needing to kill a president and without a word, you’d be by his side. It had always been that way, so why were you so shaken by his request. Then again, you had brought it upon yourself.

“See that girl over there?” Clay asked, barely nodding toward the kitchen as he slumped down to your height so you could hear him over the pulsing music. The smell of the cologne your cousin bought him one Christmas in the hopes that he’d ask her to marry him wafted towards you. You had noticed how he had attempted to clean himself up when the two of you met at the bus stop before traveling to this shindig, but you had brushed it off, knowing it was probably for some girl’s attention.

You peered over his shoulder, seeing the kitchen packed with females. You shrugged slightly. “Yeah, which one?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. “As if it’s not obvious,” he mumbled sarcastically after realizing what you were talking about. His hand moved to hold your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he angled your head towards one of the various women.

She looked up at the right moment, making eye contact with you and you pulled out of Clay’s grip, already knowing how idiotic the two of you looked staring at her as he blatantly was pointing her out to you. “Oh my god, she saw,” you whispered quickly and he drew in a sharp breath, the two of you freezing as if something were going to happen.

When she didn’t approach the pair of you, you went on like it hadn’t happened, Clay beginning to tell you about why he mentioned her. “We hooked up after calculus a few times,” he smugly boasted.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Why are you still in calculus? Aren’t you a jun-”

“That’s beside the point,” he added, crossing his arms. “She hasn’t texted me back lately.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, peering back over in her direction. It always shook Clay up when a girl didn’t vie for his attention. He was attractive and popular on campus, but there were always a few that would slip through his fingers. And it drove him absolutely crazy.

You wet your lips, exhaling as you thought. “Maybe it’s because you’re too available?” You spoke, thinking out loud and more to yourself than him. He tilted his head as if urging you to continue. You took a sip of your drink, also wondering what you’d meant. “Just start fooling around with another girl and she’ll come running,” you offered.

He nodded along as you spoke, leaning a hand against the wall behind you. “Wanna fool around with me?” He jested, making you snort.

“Oh come on now,” you broke, dropping your head back against the wall, nearly missing his thumb.

He sent you a cheeky expression. “No, you come on now. You suggested it!”

You lightly punched his chest as if to get him to hear you instead of just listen to you. “I didn’t mean me, idiot! Don’t you have like fifteen other people in your phone?”

His shoulders slumped. “Please! I’ve seen you charm the pants off Karl and Sapnap at the same time,” he begged. He straightened up as if he was about to reluctantly agree to something. “I’ll paint your kitchen like you’ve been asking,” he mumbled.

And that’s how you found yourself leaning against Clay’s side as the two of you talked to a group of his friends. His arm curled around your waist, fingers gliding beneath the hem of your shirt to settle against the skin of your hip. You willed yourself to think of something other than his fingers pressed against you, fighting every urge to blush at the contact.

The song switched to a stereotypical dance song and people began to move. You downed the rest of your drink to psych yourself up before eyeing the girl momentarily and standing on your toes to reach Clay’s ear. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder as you told him to dance with you, knowing she was watching the two of you with searing eyes.

You knew he was fighting to see her expression, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled him towards the mass of people by his belt loop. “This is going to be super cringey before the both of us, just pretend you like it,” you bit as you pressed your back to him.

His hands dropped to your waist, moving with you to the beat. “Maybe I will enjoy myself. Don’t be so bossy,” he chided, voice raspy and warm in your ear from talking over the music for most of the night. He was a loud guy, but he always seemed to lose his voice after a party.

You turned in his arms, his body close to yours. “Don’t get too excited,” you jested, pressing a hand to his abdomen as you kept up with him, letting him drop his head beside yours.

“Oh, bet. I’ll get so drunk and mistake you for someone else,” he mocked, his voice a welcome break as it penetrated through the heavy bass of the song.

You scoffed. “Like who? Your cousin?” You teased, making him bite back a laugh as he bit his lip. You felt a laser gaze digging into your back as his hands moved you pull your waist against him. Your hand moved to pull his face to the crook of your neck. You could see her at the new angle; glaring at you over her cup. You felt guilt twist in the pit of your stomach. You’d been at it for a few hours and you were ready to amp it up before she left without him.

“Dream, take me upstairs,” you mumbled into his ear. He pulled away from you, brows threatening to furrow at your words. “Trust me,” you gritted, slipping your hand into his and making it apparent you were looking for a room with him in tow. He was quiet as you lead the way. From where you were walking, you saw her move to inch towards the steps as if she was investigating what you were doing with him. You knew it was in bad taste to set anyone up for jealousy but Clay was your friend, and you really needed your kitchen painted.

You found an empty room, tugging him inside and locking the door. He looked at you with a red tinge to his cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment as if he’d been thinking about what the two of you would be doing in the room, or if it was just from the alcohol. “What now?” He asked.

You chuckled, grabbing his wrist. “Fuck me,” you stated, the words feeling weird with him on the receiving end. His eyes went wide and he awkwardly moved his hands as if he were going to touch you. You rolled your eyes, swatting away his hands before grabbing his wrist and pulling him up to stand on the bed with you after you kicked off your shoes.

You started jumping on the bed, but he just looked at you with a confused expression, making you gesture for him to copy you. He was always like that; you telling him to do something and without actually questioning, he’d go along with you.

You could hear talking outside the door and something clicked in your head. “Oh, that feels so good, Clay. Don’t stop,” you falsely moaned, glaring at him as he struggled not to laugh, the two of you jumping almost in sync as the mattress squeaked beneath your weight.

You motioned for him to add and he looked up to the ceiling, attempting to recover from everything that was happening. “You like that? Slut,” he matched your tone, making you roll your eyes and cover your mouth to hide your laugh at the degradation.

You moaned again, and he giggled quietly, moaning with you. The two of you had begun to loosen up, even timing your jumps so you could double jump and throw Clay off balance. If someone had told you a week prior that you’d be jumping on a nameless person’s bed with your best friend, pretending he was nailing you into tomorrow, you would have laughed. But it probably wouldn’t have surprised you.

The two of you slowed down, winded from the unnecessary exercise. You shrugged slightly, mimicking what you would sound like during an orgasm. It came out weak and Clay looked at you like you’d stabbed him in the chest. He mouthed, “Come on.” You rolled your eyes, wondering how you had found yourself in that position before moaning again, this time a bit too accurately.

You covered your mouth and Clay’s ears turned red as he laughed slightly. You’d been roommates with a friend of his in the past and it nearly dawned on you that he might have heard the sound from you before. You brushed the thought from your mind before it could completely sink in as you got off the bed. He plopped down on the edge of the mattress, catching his breath as you straightened your clothing, tugging your shoes back on. There was something hanging in the air between the two of you now, but you had quickly decided that you’d rather not address it.

After that night, you weren’t really sure how it had gone between Clay and the girl. You wanted to ask him about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to after you noticed the two leaving together. You had done your job, maybe a bit too well.

In fact, the two of you had been avoiding each other since then. It wasn’t until a week later that you were finally in the same room with him at a birthday party for a mutual friend of yours. The two of you glanced at each other awkwardly before you stood beside him, nudging his arm with your own.

“So, how’d it go with that one girl?” You asked, glancing up at him, your eyes then settling on the group spread around the room talking amongst themselves.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, yeah I ended up just driving her home,” he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip. You raised an eyebrow at him. “I just… I wasn’t in the mood anymore. I don’t know…”

You nodded at his statement, deciding that it was ridiculous for you to feel so weird around him for nothing. You knew it was all in your head and he wouldn’t be walking around on eggshells if you weren’t making him. This was Clay, after all. “All that work and for what?” You joked.

He sent you a smile, his shoulders relaxing. “I mean, come on. You had to have enjoyed that-”

You cut him off. “Oh yeah, grinding on you was literally the greatest time of my life,” you quipped sarcastically.

He grinned smugly. “I mean, it was the greatest time of my life to hear you moaning my name.”

You scoffed. “Hope you recorded it,” you mumbled, making him nod in agreement. You rolled your eyes playfully as everyone moved to gather around each other. Seats quickly filled up and Clay sent you a sly grin, patting his lap.

Just to prove a point, you took his offer, making him tense up as if he wasn’t expecting you to. He sat up a bit straighter to even the two of you out, making you shift on his lap. You moved again, setting your drink on one of the nearby tables and he groaned. You froze, hoping no one had noticed his hand press into your hip.

His lips were beside your ear; breath warm and inviting. “Stop moving,” he bit, voice barely above a whisper.

Your mouth curled into a smirk. “Why? Can’t control yourself?” You jeered, making his grip tighten on you.

“Don’t tease,” he nipped, making you smile wider. You moved again, this time pulling your knee to your chest and leaning back against him. With the new movement, you could feel him harden beneath you, and for some reason, you were into it. Your escapades in the bedroom had given you a series of oddly sexual dreams about Clay. Maybe this was your chance to relieve what tension had been built between the two of you.

His other arm moved to wrap around your knee, cementing you in place. “Cut it out,” he hissed, making your eyes settle on his. You could tell by the lust-blown look in his eyes that he was already thinking about you too.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You quizzed, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes danced back and forth between yours, searching your face for a hint of joking.

You could feel his heart skip a beat. “Really?” He asked, waiting for you to redact your words. You nodded. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as your mom and the pool boy,” you joked, instantly lightening the mood as he rolled his eyes, leaning forward and digging his face into the crook of your neck and making you laugh. You got off his lap, moving towards the birthday boy and saying your goodbyes with the claim that you had an upset stomach so Clay was driving you home.

When the two of you finally got out of the apartment building, Clay turned to you. He spoke with a clear tone now, “This is real,” his words coming out as a question in and of itself. “You’re not fucking with me?”

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing onto his jacket and pressing your lips against his, your body flush against him as his hands hesitantly wrapped around you. Your kiss quickly became hungry and passionate. You’d never kissed him before; usually opting to live vicariously through your friends. As your hands carded into his hair, his fingers fisted in your clothing, almost as if you would float away from him.

Clay broke away almost breathlessly, his lips moving to press against your neck. “I want you,” he groaned, making you moan in response. As he pulled you towards his car, you knew the two of you would finally be relieving some long-time festering tension.

[arvandus]

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta.  You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face.  You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed.  You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note:  A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder​​. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar.  Some looking to win romance.  Some looking to win money.  While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends.  Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band.  It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched.  You checked your phone for messages but found none.  It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up.  It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response.  Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up.  A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point.  You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now.  Sometimes it was them.  Sometimes it was you.  But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best.  At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date.  And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing.  Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians.  Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din.  Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs.  Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage.  All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club.  Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch.  Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was.  Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips.  He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans.  He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing.  The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star.  The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck.  It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This.  This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out.  You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people.  But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new.  And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump.  Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed.  But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel.  Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away.  Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble.  His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral.  To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze.  You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis.  “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons.  He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly.  “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down.  “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles.  “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow.  “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’.  You know who I’m talking about.  If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done.  But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened. 

Watching him from a distance was one thing.  But actually meeting him?  Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body.  “No, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention.  You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage.  No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him.  The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at.  And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you.  You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance.  Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift.  The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins.  You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him.  Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time.  Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did.  Only rarely did he linger for a drink.  What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you.  He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep.  It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten.  You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured.  You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit.  He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him.  No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him.  In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied.  “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied.  Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass.  Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip. 

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar.  “Duty calls, friend.  Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him.  Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later.   You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight.  A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred.  “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold.  “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned.  “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl.  It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat.  Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi.  He had a way of handling drunken idiots.  But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him. 

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind.  Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face.  A well-placed kick to his shin.  Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder.  The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort.  You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips.  But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare.  “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered.  “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.  His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission.  For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good.  Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him.  “Hey, fuck you man!”  He shouted.  But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables.  Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse.  Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess.  The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had.  But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded.  “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine.  But next time ask for one of my bouncers.  Or Hizashi.  Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin.  “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents.  “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay.  Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.”  She crossed her arms.  “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand.  I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.  “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better.  And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before.  “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love.  I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

 Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

 “And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment.  I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi.  “Get her a fresh drink.”  

 “Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

 She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

 “Thank you.” You replied.

 Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

 You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now.  “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

 “Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath.  Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display.  Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied.  There was a long silence before he spoke again.  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then.  Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely.  The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked.  “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking.  The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.  

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown.  How long had he noticed you’d been coming here?  Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment.  You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh.  He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused.  Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time.  I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True.  I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice.  You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin.  “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.  This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective.  Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.  He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought.  It felt natural.  Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself.  After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face.  His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri.  You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own.  Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life.  You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory.  He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed.  “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed.  “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look.  “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink.  “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation.  You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now.  You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him.  “How about you?  Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No.  No special someone.  Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand.  Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.  

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him.  Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched.  If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned.  Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there?  What if you were wrong?  

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter.  The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy.  It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations.  Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.  

He was interested.  In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned.  Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind.  It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most.  You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.  

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers.  Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin.  That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment.  “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club.  Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day.  How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement.  But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could.  “Leave me the keys to the place.  I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug.  He placed a set of keys on the counter.  “Don’t tell Nemuri, though.  She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left.  You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze.  Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space.  He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile.  “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you.  “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips.  You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own.  Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass.  You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head.  “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid.  Used to mess around on it.” He explained.  “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails.  You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing.  “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head.  “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them.  Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat.  He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty.  The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him.  The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C.  Everything else will center around this.”  He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space.  “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys.  Like this.”  Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm.  “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.”  He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out.  Then, he removed his hand.  “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried.  The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured.  “Let’s try it again.  Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol.  It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness.  You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience.  “It’s okay.  If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it.  You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit.  And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop?  How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay.  Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys.  “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his.  His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land.  Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said.  “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval.  “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time.  The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled.  “Good.  Now, for the other hand.  You’ll start one octave lower.  Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect.  Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys.  “Like this?”

Shouta nodded.  “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand.  The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you.  You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap.  His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his.  The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod.  “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily.  “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No.  Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him.  He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them.  You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this.  The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes.  To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly.  The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake.  You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down.  And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys.  All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen.  His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.  

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys.  His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable.  But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted.  But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting.  Finally, he spoke.  “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now.  “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you.  Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results.  Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need.  Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did.  It was obvious you did.  Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him.  He needed to hear it.  A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you.  At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own.  You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.  

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs.  This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing?  How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence?  And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties.  The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation.  His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps.  Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock.  Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements.  “You better stop that…” he warned.  

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end.  But you didn’t care.  You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction.  In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck.  His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw.  There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap.  The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control.  But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back.  “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath.  With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel.  He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance.  The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered.  Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit.  A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage.  With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release.  Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you.  With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching.  Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer.  You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly.  “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers.  The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake.  Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched.  Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.  

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure.  Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch.  His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs.  The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips.  Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him.  But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh.  “Much.”  You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you.  “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans.  “As much as I like that idea, no.”  He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap.  His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place.  “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.  “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms.  “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.”  You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered.  You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access.  “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind.  Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes.  He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was.  You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

 You couldn’t wait.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), pain/wounds, mild violence.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Barnes lashes out in his grief.

Note: So, it’s not over but most of you guessed that :)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The sun cast a sardonic light on the cold winter morning. The first flakes of snow fell the night before but glistened as they melted away with the unexpected bloom of light on the horizon. The men began digging at dawn for the interment, a pit to be unmarked and unseen. The woman would be buried as any servant was; without any formality or fanfare.

Lord Barnes dressed in black, the sole attendee of the service. He had dragged a priest from the castle chapel to say some ordained words. The men climbed out of the six-foot hole as the cart was led over by two others, the wooden box atop it.

They lifted it, lifted her, and maneuvered it down into the grave with ropes. The holy man recited his verse but the duke did not hear them. He was only torn from his own grief as he heard footsteps on the crisp grass. He looked over as the foreign baron came to stand beside him, his dark eyes ahead of him as the men began to shovel dirt onto the wood. The sound was harsh in the early hour.

“Go,” Barnes growled, “you aren’t welcome here.”

“Well,” Zemo said, “how is that? After all Werner did for you; for her. I should like a proper farewell.”

“You didn’t know her,” Barnes hissed.

“Oh, I didn’t, but are you so sure that you knew her so well?” Zemo challenged, “you knew what you wanted from her--”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barnes lifted his chin and turned to face his foe, “I will not tell you to leave again.”

“I owe you no obedience, my lord,” he said flaty, “I think you’ve misunderstood that entirely. The ground we stand on is even. I am beholden to you for nothing. Given that it was my physician who saw to her comfort in her last hours, I’d say you--”

His voice was cut off by the hand at his throat. The duke throttled the Baron with his only hand and backed him away from the grave as the dirty continued to rain down. He marched him across the grass as his blue eyes burned with a selfish sort of hurt.

“I am not stupid. I know you came to rile me and you’ve done just that so go! Go before I put you down beside her,” Barnes shoved him away so that he stumbled.

Zemo stood and touched his throat as a rare glimmer of anger flashed across his features. He raised his chin and fixed the fur collar of his cloak. He nodded as he set his jaw and peered past the furious duke.

“She is free now,” Zemo said, “from you most of all.”

The baron turned away and strode from the green. The duke turned and watched the diggers as they kept at their work. A lump lodged in his throat and he lowered his head. He could not deny Zemo’s words, in fact, they sank so deep his heart ached. He knew as all did that her death was bloody on his hands.

🏰

Lord Barnes watched from the window as the line of carriages rolled through the castle gates. He was smug at the Baron’s premature departure but he didn’t truly feel any better than he had the day before. He expected the knock at the door and he was not surprised by who drew him away from the window.

The door opened before he reached it and his sister blustered into the chamber. Rebecca snarled as she came to face him, of the few who could match his own temper. Her nostrils flared and hardened her soft features as she glared at him.

“You’ve ruined it!” she spat, “you’ve ruined it all! He’s gone and it’s all your fault, you dunce!”

“I ruined it? You really think you could have trusted him? I merely saved you time and gold,” Bucky scoffed as he shrugged her off.

“You are so conceited. Don’t you realise we need this alliance? It’s much bigger than your little maid!” She barked, “oh, all this just to fu--”

“No, no! Shut up!” he spun and pointed at her face, “you don’t speak of her. Your or anyone else.”

She reeled and chortled. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She licked her lips sourly and shook her head, “Better yet, I will not speak to you again. You have until the end of the day to leave the capital.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m serious,” her brows arched, “Samuel agrees with me. You will go and you will not return. Go back to your castle and be alone and bitter as you always wished.”

Barnes huffed and mirrored her own fury, “fine. I told you, I never wanted to come here.”

“So it is my fault now?” she snipped.

“No, your majesty,” he said dryly, “how could anything ever be your fault?”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Oh, queen’s are so powerless,” he rebuffed, “how every woman in the realm must pity you.”

“You’re a bastard,” she sneered.

“We both share the same blood, the same flaws,” he slowly walked back to the window, “you will see in the end that I did you a favour. That man cannot be trusted.”

“Oh, do get over yourself, brother,” Rebecca snapped and the slam of the door marked her exit.

Lord Barnes stared down at the wintery grounds then up at the grey sky. It was due time he went home. To be alone. For good this time.

🏰

Flickers of light skimmed beneath your eyelids. Distant memories, dwindling dreams, and unheard words. 

The pain came first. The agony down your left arm and hip, the way it rippled through you like a crashing ocean against the shore. The ragged breaths grew to groans as the ground moved beneath you, rattling like your bones and your head. The noise of horses and wooden wheels in the dirt. The smell of leaves and oak. The feeling of life come back to you.

You could not move your left arm, it was bound and even if it was not, you couldn’t have lifted it. Your left leg was in similar shape and your entire body was bound in pain. The confusion laced your mind and kept you from thinking too deeply as you realised you were in a box, the darkness broken only by the thin wisps of light between the hammered boards.

“Hello?” you called, your throat dry and sore. It hurt to speak and your lungs squeezed terribly.

You bent your right arm, your shoulder straining as you did, and hit the lid. It did not budge and you hit it harder. Your uncertain strikes turned to a steady and frantic pounding as the blackness began to suffocate you. You had to get out. You would die in there. Or were you already dead. You realised what you lay in; a coffin, and your stomach dropped like a boulder.

The wheels stopped and the ground stilled. You were on a cart of some sort and footsteps tramped into the dirt and murmurs stirred outside. There was a thump on the lid and suddenly it lurched upward as it was pried off. 

Swathes of light flowed in and blinded you. You stilled and stared up as a figure stood above you and another appeared at the other side of the casket.

“Ah, finally,” the accented tone slithered, “I feared the dose was mistaken.”

You blinked until Baron Zemo came clear to you and shielded your eyes as they watered. You gasped as another shattering pain overtook you and gasped at the sheer torment. The other man, thin and tall with lines around his eyes and across his forehead peered down and reached to check the bandages around your left arm.

“She cannot sit in the carriage but we can arrange for her to recline in there, yes, my lord?” he asked as he felt your forehead, “there is no fever. She is past the worst of it.”

“We can arrange it,” Zemo nodded, “do get her a blanket. We really should have done so before we nailed the top on.”

“Yes, my lord,” the tall man hopped down from the cart and returned with a thick fur coverlet. Zemo tucked it gently around you and as he brushed your arm, you cried out.

“I… I should be dead,” you rasped, “how--”

“A trick. On the gods, on fate… on your Lord Barnes,” Zemo smirked, “oh, do not fear, he hasn’t any idea of your miraculous perseverance. Let me assure you he is most miserable to believe you dead.”

“Why?” you asked as the lid of the coffin was moved away and you heard others moving around. The stench of the horses made you shudder and brack back the scene; the clopping hooves, the roaring crowd, the pulsing of your heart, your maddened laughter.

“You know, I never desired anything more from Lord Barnes. What happened between us was an act of war. We were soldiers but he could not see it that way. I am an understanding man but I am not without reason. If he cannot be civil, why then should I?” He said smoothly, “I came to your kingdom to serve my own and I cannot do that with him snapping at my throat, so I will go home.”

“But why--”

“Patience,” he bid as he lifted a gloved hand, “I could not have factored you in if I tried. You are the most unexpected creature. What you did… well, that sent a very clear message to me, one that I heard.” He looked around and clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees, ”I will not claim it to be entirely selfless in my deed, in fact the idea of the deceit does more for me than it could ever do for you. To think of Lord Barnes in his misery, that pompous man.”

“What--Where are we going?” you asked weakly as the wariness crept up on you once more.

“The Tower Zemo,” he said plainly, “in my homeland. You should recover there and then we will decide what to do with you.”

“What to--”

“Nothing too nefarious, I assure you. I should like to avoid the depths of Barnes…” he sniffed, “I don’t expect you to trust me, lady, you would be a fool to and you do not seem one to me. Foolishly brave and perhaps obstinate but not a fool.”

“I--how am I to thank you?” you croaked.

“Don’t do that just yet,” Zemo rose as men approached and suddenly the coffin was slid off the cart.

You were carried around the side of a carriage and set down again. The men worked carefully to remove you from inside the casket and you screamed as they did. Zemo spurred them on and apologised for your discomfort as they transferred you to the lid of the coffin placed to stretch between the seats of the carriage.

The tall man draped the fur over you again and checked your splints and the layers of bandage hidden beneath the loose wool gown. He called for some water and helped you drink. Then he was handed a chest and stirred around for a vial.

“This is Werner,” Zemo said as he sat on the empty part of the bench and the carriage door shut, “he did see that you survived and that you died in the eyes of your master.”

“Oh… thank you,” you looked to Werner as he urged you to drink from the vial.

“Just a sip, miss, for the pain,” he bid.

You did as he told you and reclined again with a grumble. He sat opposite Zemo who watched you with a cryptic expression.

“It will be a long journey,” he said, “and likely longer for you. It would be best if you kept calm and did not stress yourself. You are still… fragile.”

“I feel it,” you closed your eyes as fatigue shrouded you.

“You would,” Zemo said, “sleep is best for it, isn’t that so, Werner?”

“Sleep numbs the pain,” Werner assured, “sleep lets the body heal itself.”

“And sees the time through,” Zemo yawned, “besides, what else is there to do?”

Your breath eased along with the pain and slowly you sank back into the void. You let it embrace you as you forgot about the Baron and his odd physician, about the Duke and the life before. You welcomed sleep as you had death and yet, you were relieved to be alive.

[teawaffles]

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 7, Part 2

“Mr William James Moriarty?”

Having been politely addressed by his full name, William responded with a gentle smile. It could even be called divine: strangely, the sight of it quietened Kevin’s tumultuous heart.

However, there was still the matter of the live bullet. In place of Kevin, who was yet unable to organise his thoughts, Andy frowned.

“William. Why are you here?”

“That isn’t the right question to ask, now is it? Rather, how did I find out that this terrible sight was entirely of your making? — I think that’s an appropriate question.”

“This is, all made up……?”

Kevin absorbed those words, and then called out to Andy.

“What’s the meaning of this!? Was this all contrived by you!?”

But Andy shoved him aside, as if he found his presence galling.

“Poppycock! This young man doesn’t know what he’s saying! You used that gun to murder Helena — that’s the undeniable truth!”

“Guh……”

Kevin groaned. Andy’s words had cut to the quick, and the resultant guilt instantly plunged him into despondency. But as he hung his head, William asked him a question.

“Mr Kevin. How did that gun come to be in your possession?”

“What’s this? You’re an outsider, so don’t butt in.”

“Lord Andy, please stop talking for a moment. Well then, Mr Kevin: what’s your answer?”

At William’s dignified voice, even Andy, who’d been about to make a complaint, fell silent. Kevin’s gaze landed on his revolver in the old man’s hand.

“That…… It was given to me for use during the game. At the time, I thought it was a toy. After that, I got embroiled in a fight and lost it, then picked it up again.”

Then, William posed him another question.

“When you picked it up, how did you know it was yours?”

“Huh? You didn’t have to ask that: the gun has a card with a number attached to it.”

“I see. So you knew from the number on the card.”

William looked at the number 8 written on it.

“In that case, if a malicious third party were to take that card off your revolver and tie it onto a real gun, would you have noticed that?”

“……Huh?”

At that significant remark, Kevin looked at the gun once again. He shook his head.

“No, it would be impossible for me. I wouldn’t have noticed. After all, that toy looks exactly like the real thing.”

“That��s right — and Lord Andy used that fact to switch your gun with a real one.”

“Wha……!?”

His deduction had left Kevin speechless. Right away, Andy refuted the idea.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“The reason has been eloquently illustrated by the bargain you tried to strike earlier. You wanted to drive Mr Kevin to ruin by falsely accusing him of the murder of his child — and on top of that, you wanted to steal the profits from his business.”

“W-What malarkey is this?!”

William ignored his howls of rage, and continued.

“You probably drew up this scheme when we proposed this game. Because it uses guns that look just like the real thing, you could stage an accident in which one accidentally fires live ammunition. Moreover, the toy guns are marked using cards tied with string — making it easy to swap one for a real gun.”

Kevin paled.

“Then, was Lord Andy aiming for me to lose my gun?”

“Indeed. You thought that you’d lost it of your own accord, Mr Kevin, but that’s not the case: at some point, Lord Andy deliberately knocked into you, or did something similar in order to get you to drop it. After which, you found Miss Helena — perhaps Lord Andy found her beforehand, and led you to stumble across her. Then, he got you to shoot her. After that, he blamed you for the murder in order to sow guilt, such that you would act exactly as he wished. That’s the entirety of his plan.”

“…………”

Yet again, Kevin was speechless at that horrific scheme William had so eloquently described. However, Andy — who was now under suspicion — clenched his fists as he trembled all over.

“Kevin-kun, don’t listen to him. Everything he said is no more than speculation. It might sound like I did it, but there’s no proof, none at all.”

“——Then allow me to make my statement.”

Suddenly, a cheerful voice could be heard addressing them from above. Then, a man jumped down from a tree beside them.

He landed gracefully on his feet, and bowed politely to the three men at the scene. From his blindfold, Kevin realised who he was.

“……Mr Herder?”

“Indeed. For today’s game, I have been entrusted with the duties of both explaining the game and refereeing it. My name is Von Herder. I hope you may pardon me for startling you with my sudden intrusion.”

After introducing himself once again, Herder turned to face Andy.

“Well then, I have an important report to make with regards to the matter you’ve been discussing thus far…… After Lord Andy got separated from Mr Kevin, he picked up the dropped gun, untied the cord, and retied it onto a real gun he had concealed on his person — that, I personally witnessed. That may come across as a contradiction, seeing as I’m blind, but I’d appreciate it if you could let that slide.”

“Although he took on the role of referee, I asked him to pay particular attention to both of your movements,” William added.

“Hold on — this Herder guy is one of your men, isn’t he? Then he could very well be spouting lies to match your story.”

Andy was quick to raise his objections, and Herder cocked his head as if he were troubled.

“Right where it hurts, huh. So you’re saying that a testimony from one’s own circle is inadmissible. Moreover, when the guns were being handed out, we can’t rule out the possibility that pure bad luck resulted in a real one being mixed in with the others.”

“That’s right. So your statement can’t be used as evidence.”

Andy cracked a victorious grin, but Herder continued.

“However — from what I recall, Lord Andy: when you swapped the guns, you put Mr Kevin’s revolver in your breast pocket. If you were to leave it concealed in the undergrowth, there was a risk it would be found, which is why you kept it just in case. Well, if you had left my precious item on the ground like that, you would be guilty in a different sense.”

“………!”

Instantly, Andy’s face tensed up. If what Herder said was true, that meant he had another toy gun hidden on his person. That, would be physical evidence that the guns had been swapped.

Although he’d tried to proclaim his innocence, Herder’s observation left him no choice but to give up. Exasperated, Andy groaned.

“I should’ve been more careful……. Did you see through my plan from the start?”

William nodded openly.

“We specifically furnished a game that would aid you in laying a trap for Mr Kevin. In short, Lord Andy: this game was a stage to prove your malice.”

A stage to prove his malice. Upon hearing that, Kevin thought back to the “plan” Albert had spoken of at the start.

“Even without this game, you would’ve found some other way of coming for these two members of the Curtis family, now wouldn’t you?” Herder added.

“Two? So it wasn't just me they were after — but Helena too?”

Kevin looked at the girl in the distance. She still lay crumpled on the ground. He’d been worried for her safety for some time now; but for some reason, William and Herder just calmly stood where they were, with no sign of concern for her. Perhaps they had taken the rational approach, inferring that it was already too late — or maybe there was another design at work…….

For a moment, Kevin detected a sense of incongruity in their attitudes. But William spoke up, and his attention shot back to the conversation.

“Mr Kevin’s ruin, and Miss Helena’s death. The conspiracy to bring about these two ends has continued since the attack on the department store the other day.”

“Since that incident?”

“Yes: Lord Andy hired men to raid the store.”

Then, William raised two fingers.

“He had two objectives. The first, was to damage the store’s reputation by staging a disaster there.”

Kevin readily agreed with that view: ever since that catastrophe, customers had kept their distance, and he’d even been forced to close up shop as a result. As for the second objective, Helena, who’d been caught up in the incident, had given him a hint about that.

Sensing that Kevin had also come to that conclusion, William waved his fingers as he continued.

“Next, his other objective was to kill Miss Helena. In all likelihood, it was due to his involvement in her father’s disappearance — in fact, she holds an important piece of information regarding that case.”

“Eh!?”

Yet again, an astonishing fact had been brought to light, and Kevin found himself sinking deeper and deeper into confusion.

“That case…… Lord Andy was involved? What’s more, Helena knew?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you really think I did all that?”

Again, Andy’s face turned red with rage, but William paid him no mind.

“From the time he first met you and your business partner, Lord Andy wanted to destroy you both, and take away your profits if he could. He first set his sights on Helena’s father; Lord Andy probably thought that if he were to vanish, then you, Mr Kevin, would also withdraw from the scene due to your timidity. However, you took him by surprise when you resolved to continue the business. Hence, in order to bring about your ruin with certainty, Lord Andy resorted to this act of violence.”

“Shut your gob! You’ve just been saying whatever you pleased! This is nothing more than speculation! If you’re going to spout all this nonsense, then bring out the evidence!”

Andy stamped his feet as he yelled.

Certainly, as he’d protested, they had no way of presenting evidence for this missing person’s case — because the girl who was supposed to be their key witness, had had her life cut short right over there.

However, William glanced at the fallen girl, and spoke in a serene voice.

“Understood. Well then, let us have her make her entrance.”

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: I wanted to write something cute tee hee. Lmk if you guys want a part two to this because this was supa fun to write and I might continue it. Gender neutral reader by the way!

Word Count: 2,089

Warnings: College drinking

---

Mickey entered the lecture hall with a bounce in his step. It was his third class of the day and by far his favorite. Well, second favorite. A good runner up alongside his film class. As soon as he passed through the doorway with his folder in hand, his eyes fell to where you sat in the middle of the lecture hall. 

You were writing in your planner, five minutes early to the class as always. Mickey approached and realized you were clueless about your surroundings. Students would shove past to find a seat and you didn’t even give them hum in response.

Mickey grinned at this. He crept up behind your hunched figure and grabbed both of your shoulders, shaking them violently. 

“RAHH!!” He growled. Instead of a scream, Mickey earned a hard glare. You furrowed your eyebrows at the boy, not saying a word. “Really?” He said, exasperated. 

“You messed up my planner. I was writing something.” 

“Seriously. Not even a squeal?” Mickey dropped into the seat next to you. 

You cracked a smile, “I saw you coming. I thought about acting surprised but... I like making you work for it.”

“I’ll scare you one day, I promise you that.”

“Oh, I bet you will...” You chuckled, turning back to your planner. 

Mickey’s smile grew wide, watching your precise yet comfortable mannerisms. His glance lingered until he felt a small hand tap on his shoulder. 

“Mickey... you’re in my seat,” The film student turned to see Halley with a hand on her hip. His face drew back into a look of confusion.

“What? This isn’t third grade, we don’t have assigned seats.” 

“Maybe not but I like sitting next to (Y/n). They take good notes.”

You turned your head to watch your friends bicker. It was entertaining.

“Then I will use that to my advantage,” Mickey said and turned back to face the front. 

Halley huffed in frustration. Once she realized that Mickey wasn’t going to move, she rolled her eyes and grabbed Mickey’s shirt collar. The fabric squeezed his throat, making him jump up in surprise. Halley took her place quickly before he could do anything else.

Mickey placed his hand around his throat, glaring at the girl in front of him. “Jesus Christ son of Mary... You’re brutal...”

“Don’t mess with me, Mouse,” Halley said, not giving him a second look.

The sound of bells rang from campus meaning class was to begin. Any seats near you were taken, so Mickey was forced toward the back of the hall. He dropped his head in defeat once the professor entered.

“Did you really have to do that?” You whispered. “I mean- ...it was funny don’t get me wrong but he wanted to sit next to me.”

“And I want to pass this class,” Halley said. You pursed your lips. “Besides, this adds for a nice build-up.”

“Build-up?”

“For when he finally gets the guts to ask you out. This makes him want you more.”

“He does not want me!” You gasped. 

“Yes he does,” She grinned. “He’s staring at you right now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. If I’m right, you have to come to the Delta Theta party tonight.”

You glared at Halley, “That’s Mickey’s frat house. No way. You know they get rowdy.”

“Just look!” 

You rolled your eyes, complying, and took a tiny peek at the back of the lecture hall. There sat Mickey, his head rested on his hand and looking right at you. 

The boy was in a dazed state, his eyes falling onto the back of your head in the minutes prior and he had forgotten to pull them away. Your hair was gorgeous. It fit your head perfectly. You had a really nice neck. 

The wave of your hand snapped him out of his trance.

Shit!

Mickey sat upright in his seat. He totally just got caught. Shit! Shit! Shit! His sudden movement scared the living daylights out of the students next to him. Realizing he caused a scene, he dropped his shoulders in embarrassment. Just relax, he thought. He was staring at you like a creep. No problem.

He waved back. There, that was good. You took it well. Now you’re looking away. All is well.

If he could, Mickey would have slapped himself silly on the spot. This wasn’t the first time he was caught drooling over you. All of his friends and frat bros wouldn’t let him drop it. Not since the first day of school. They could tell that his crush on you grew bigger as time went on. They would remind him of that.

And hell, he wasn’t the only one who thought you were a sight for sore eyes. He could specifically recall Randy Meeks scheming up a plan to ask you out, but the little weasel never got the courage. Other people have thought and tried but you always turned them down.

Mickey never bothered asking you out on a date, despite his strong feelings. He considered himself smooth and confident up until the idea popped in his head. What if you turned him down?

Now, a year had passed and as he feared... he was in the friend zone. He couldn’t be happier about how close you two were... but he wanted more. 

Mickey rubbed his face in exasperation. He needed a chance, he thought. Staring at you, waiting for results, won’t get him anywhere.

Since Halley’s assumption was correct, you were coming to the party. You mentally cursed her eyes that sat in the back of her head. The sound of the party blared through the wooden door in front of you. It was fine. Just a party. You don’t go to parties, but it’s fine.

You creaked open the door since it was left slightly ajar, and looked over the sea of dancing college students. This was unlike anything you’ve been to in months. At best, the most action you’ve seen was the tame cocktail mixers that sorority’s hosted.

Pushing through the crowd you made it to the backyard of the frat house. There was a pool and a few tables set up for drinks, drinks, and more drinks. Some people were even swimming. 

You scanned the crowd in hopes of finding one of your friends. Halley was nowhere to be seen, great. You let out a sigh, turned back to the sliding glass door where you had entered but stopped dead in your tracks.

Mickey stepped through the glass pane, also looking around. His hair was messy but cute and he was wearing a t-shirt that was a little tight. It squeezed the biceps you didn’t know he had. 

That was a lie. You knew very well that he had muscles.

One of his friends approached for some awkward greeting and he grinned. He smiled his toothy smile that made you melt. He was so casual yet sexy.

Goddamn you, Mickey. 

Oh no! He was coming this way! You placed a hand on your head and looked around viciously. You desperately needed to act casual. Nearby sat a table of shots. You snatched it and downed the liquid. It burned your throat but it managed to calm your nerves. 

“(Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice called out. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.”

“Neither did I,” You clapped your hands together. “Halley convinced me.”

“Awesome...” He smiled. Damn that smile. “You wanna dance?”

This is where you felt every pulse, every organ in your body freeze in motion. Dance? Did he just invite you to dance?

“Uh-”

“If you don’t want to-”

“No! I mean, yes... I do!” You smiled sheepishly. “Let’s dance...”

Mickey nodded in satisfaction and gripped onto your hand to drag you back into the frat house. On the way, you snatched another shot off of a table for some liquid courage, feeling the tension release from your muscles. A warm feeling spread across your chest.

On the outside, he was keeping it cool, smooth, as he always was. But the instant the word “dance” tumbled out of Mickey’s mouth, his heart was pounding a mile a minute. A part of him wished he was not sober right now. It would make this a million times easier. But he feared he wouldn’t enjoy it as much if he weren’t. 

The lights in the living room had dimmed since you first arrived. The music had definitely become louder but it was darker, the only light drawn from a lamp and a rainbow disco ball on the floor. You and Mickey were able to see each other’s faces clearly, only since the two of you were squished in the crowd of dancing college students. 

The colors on your face flashed from red to green to blue in the room, igniting a flame inside of Mickey. Your eyes shined a different way with each color. The rainbow surge that danced on your skin was breathtaking. You were breathtaking, he thought. 

“I can’t really dance that well,” You said, now realizing the mistake you made. 

“What?” Mickey yelled. The music was too loud.

“I’m terrible at dancing!” You matched. Mickey laughed, dropping his head next to your ear, his fingers touching your elbows to bring you closer to him.

“Let me show you,” He said normally. If the room wasn’t so loud, you wouldn’t have given this a second thought. But hearing his deep voice, his breath hitting your ear, break the deafening sound of music made you shudder. You nodded, looking back at him with those big eyes. 

Mickey’s hands traveled from your arms down to your hips. He pulled on the belt loops of your jeans to bring you closer to his body, “Is this okay?” You bit your lip and nodded once more. “I’m going to guide your hips...”

His large hands rested on a respective hip bone and rocked them side-to-side to the beat of the music. The song was a medium pace, a consistent beat to follow. Perfect for this moment. You looked down to see his waist matching the speed of yours, but never made contact.

“See... Easy.” Mickey said. 

He loved touching you. His hands were melted to your lower body. Everything about this felt just right. The spinning lights, the music, the lack of space between the two of you. Everything was loud and nonstop but at this moment all senses excluding sight and touch were lost. Mickey expected you to reject him before he got this far. But you didn’t. Could that mean something? Were you okay with him touching you like this?

The film student inclined his head instinctively, your own was tilted upwards for perfect leeway. Your smell was potent. Intoxicating even. It lured him in. Mickey found his nose nearly pressed against the tip of yours. 

“Holy shit, (Y/n)! At a FRAT party?” Randy Meeks slurred, landing his hand on your shoulder. “This is like seeing Bigfoot..... or some shit-”

You guys jumped away from each other, snapping out of whatever was about to happen. Mickey’s moment of ecstasy was shattered. By Randy fucking Meeks. A drunk Randy Meeks.

“I know,” You chuckled nervously. “What a surprise.”

“I totally-” Randy hiccuped between words- “Meant to ask you this sooner.... but we need to go see the next Alien movie. It’s the third out of the franchise.... and I know you LOVE sci-fi.”

Little did Mickey know, you felt the same side effects of that moment. Although you loved Randy’s geekiness, this just wasn’t the time. You wanted to shoo him away but here came another obstacle.

“(Y/n)! There you are...” Halley squealed, drink in hand, “I thought you’d never show.”

“Here I am...” You said in a sarcastic sing-song voice. Mickey was the only one who noticed your tone.

“Come here, I need to tell you something!” Halley said and yanked your arm. “Sorry Mr. Pink, but I’m taking them with me. See ya...”

“Just... glad you know the reference,” Mickey called after you two, which neither heard. He stuck his hands in his front pockets and glared at Randy. “Really?”

“What?”

“I was totally-” Mickey snapped but stopped himself from yelling. He pressed his hands against his face. “Never mind.”

Mickey ditched the geek, threading a hand through his hair. He stood in the backyard frustrated. He wanted more than anything to dunk his head in the glowing pool in front of him. But instead, he snagged a shot of tequila off of the table, letting the drink burn his throat.

So close. He was so close. 

[elriell]

Hey! I really appreciate the question and your willingness to hear my side of things, so I hope you don’t mind if this is a little lengthy reply but I feel like to give you a genuine idea it has to be ❤

Obvious: Easily perceived or understood; clear, self-evident, or apparent. Predictable and lacking in subtlety.

I’d recommend two posts that will go in to more detail on some of the overview points I am going to make, I 100% think they are important to what I am about to say. Here is the amazing post about why specifically it is Elain’s book, and this is my general post about why I think Elriel is endgame in itself and setting up for the next book. But I will try to summarise in to more concise points.

Right, so start with the set up/parallels between the stories as they stand thus far, leading up to ACOSF what we had in front of us;

1) Finally seeing Nessian POV. 2) Wings&Embers a very tension filled sexual chapter. 3) Emerie being included in Cassians chapter which caused a stir.

4) Set up the conflict for next book. (Nesta’s recovery/being banished)

VS. 

1) Finally seeing Azriel’s POV + Strong Elain implications in the 2nd Bonus.

2) A sexually driven chapter with tons of written parallels between Nessian/Elriel

3) Gwyn being included in Az’s chapter and stirring up fans. 

4) Set up the conflict for the next book. (Disobeying Rhys, Blood Duel, Az’s recovery)

They are so similar it is uncanny, and when an author says its obvious, then she clearly isn’t going to be sweeping the rug out from anyone, this is obvious.

“Nesta loosed a shuddering sigh and slid down the wall until she was sitting against it. Until she drew her knees to her chest and stared into the dimness. Still the silence raged and echoed around her. Still she felt nothing.” (ACOFAS)

“Azriel tucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight. To let the frost in his veins match the air around him. Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all.”  (ACOSF)

“He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra. Hurled it hard enough that the splash echoed off the buildings flanking the river, ice cracking from the impact. Ice instantly re-formed over the hole he’d blown open. As if it, and the present, had never been.” (ACOFAS)

"Look, I … ” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.” (ACOSF)

Azriel is exactly where Nesta was back in ACOFAS.

“He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.” (Bonus POV)

“Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he’d find himself on his knees, begging her for a touch, for anything.” (Wings & Embers)

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.” (ACOMAF)

OR

“So, yes, I was jealous of him—because it will always be easy for him. And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish.”

“I get jealous sometimes. I’d never begrudge you for your happiness, but what you two have, Rhys …”

"The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.”

Paralleling Elriel’s story, actions, words against that of the main two couples is well, lacking in subtlety.

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent.” (Bonus POV)

“It hit him in the gut so hard he could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back into his head,” (Wings & Embers)

“Except him. He could see it, feel it. That first afternoon, he’d looked at her—not at the face and the body that human men marked, but her—and he had seen it all.” (Wings & Embers)

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.” (ACOWAR)

“Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.” (Bonus POV)

You get the point though, parallels. Plenty of them...

Sarah set up conflict for them by reiterating the Blood Duel and forbidding them from seeing each other, not to mention Elain’s ties to the current plot as it stands with the Death Troves. Everything circles around them going forward.

She set up Elain breaking free and coming in to herself in Feysand’s POV which would have no need if she wasn’t going to be playing a central role in the next book.

We know SJM loves Azriel at the minute, she spoke about him frequently before ACOSF in her lives and that we would be setting up his journey for the next book... 

If she hadn’t made the comment about it being obvious I might even understand some doubt because she loves a good GOTCHA moment, (Rhys/Rowan etc...) but the obvious couple is the one that has been built for 5+ years, the one that has been paralleled to the main couples, the next Archeron sister in line. 

I don’t really grasp how it can been seen any other way... Gwyn is not obvious, half the casual readers didn’t pay an iota of thought about her role with him and even say shipper-readers have had to dissect what is 3, 4 maybe scenes vs. the plethora of Elriel ones. 

A handful of moments which can easily be explained as something friendly is not obvious, not me and not too many.

I wanted to keep this as short as possible or I would be pulling out quote after quote, but for sure check the linked posts out or even head over to my pinned post for a materlist of things!

I would love to know from you, what makes you doubt, is there a specific scene or thing? Please feel free to share your opinions back to me!  ❤

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]

"Smells good and feels nice Warm to touch and mostly good to mention Like sunny days it's warm and light Now it's time to release the tension…"

Omar – "Best By Far"

"Salud!"

Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?

Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.

"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"

Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.

The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.

He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.

"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's like, three—"

"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.

"Five?" Disa asked.

His eyes went to hers.

"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.

Disa's lips quirked.

"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.

Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.

"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.

Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.

"We got this, Erik," Disa said.

"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."

She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.

The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.

Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.

"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.

Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.

"Small world," she said touching on his arm.

"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."

"It's cool. We're cool."

"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.

The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.

Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.

He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.

"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.

Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.

"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.

Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.

When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.

"Erik?"

Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.

Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.

They were alone.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said.

"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."

"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."

"I'll be here."

She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.

"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."

Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.

"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.

Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all good, Erik."

She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.

"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.

Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.

"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.

"Wait… what?"

"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."

Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not out of your league," he said.

"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."

"Just friends?"

"Friends… oh, don't pout."

She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.

"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."

She chuckled.

"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."

"I won't forget."

She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.

"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.

Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.

"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"

"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.

"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."

Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.

"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.

"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.

"Black women," Disa said.

Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.

"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."

"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.

Alexis slapped his arm.

"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"

"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.

"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.

"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.

"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"

"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"

"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.

Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.

"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.

"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.

"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."

"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.

"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.

"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."

Erik burst out laughing with a few others.

"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"

"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.

Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.

"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"

"As always," Alexis added.

"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."

Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.

"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.

"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.

Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.

"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."

Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.

"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.

His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.

"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."

"Damn," Samir said.

"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.

"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.

Svetlana's husband jumped in.

"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."

"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.

"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.

"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.

Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.

"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"

"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.

"Matthew?" Svetlana said.

"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.

"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."

"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.

All eyes turned to him.

"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.

Svetlana looked shell-shocked.

"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.

"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"

"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.

"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.

"He's right," Yamilet said.

"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.

"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."

"I love my wife," Matthew said.

"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.

The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.

"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."

"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"

"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."

"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.

"That's not a preference," Disa said.

"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.

Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.

"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."

"Um, Disa..."

Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.

"Turn on your TV," Karen said.

Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.

"There!" Karen said.

On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.

"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"

"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.

"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.

"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.

Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.

"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.

Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.

"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"

"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.

"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.

Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.

"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.

Frightened eyes watched the TV.

Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.

That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.

He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.

Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.

Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.

"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand back.

Chapter 6 HERE.

###

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[warlordgab]

LuNa analysis: Emotional and Intellectual chemistry

This is a special edition meant to help a friend explain this aspect of Luffy and Nami's relationship as potrayed in Oda's works (excludes the anime adaptation). It's no something truly new, it's more like a summary of multiple analyses made in this blog and other places.

The first time we mentioned this particular subject in this blog, the idea was to showcase the difference between "sexual tension" and the concept of chemistry.

Shallow fans sometimes used both terms interchangeably as if they were the same thing. Well, they're not.

Chemistry refers to the natural connection between two persons, a common feeling between two characters that leaves a impact strong enough to move their hearts and stimulate their minds. Needless to say, it's something complex, sometimes subtle, but very appealing.

It's not something tied to sexual attraction, and it's definitively not a mere infatuation. It's something much deeper than that...

However, some popular newcomers to the One Piece community mistake this concept with "dynamic." They may focus on character(s) they grow fond with, and then claim their dynamic is a sign of "chemistry" because of how much they like it.

The "character dynamics" would refer to the way characters work with or against each other within the story. While chemistry is about how the characters bond with each other throughout the story.

But then, how does LuNa showcase actual chemistry? By relying on more than one kind of chemistry.

We've seen it before, the development of a bond that grows naturally through mutual trust/faith, with the most importat trait being the capability of regulating the partner's emotions.

This kind of chemistry is marked by emotional support producing a remarkable attachment. In such a relationship, the distressed person feels comfortable enough to express their anxiety, grief, and helplessness to their partner because said partner is capable of providing with relief, comfort, and/or hope.

It's probably starting to sound familiar, right? LuNa fans would certainly think of Arlong Park and the pass of the hat, a gesture that provided Nami with the relief and hope she needed to stand up and keep going.

But, we have the moments from Skypiea too:

When she was overwhelmed by fear and doubts, Luffy does something similar, but this time is to remind Nami that she's the companion of the future Pirate King, and as such, she has nothing to fear. It was so effective that it led to a remarkable character moment from Nami, and her brief skirmish with Enel, in which she drew courage from her captain. That creates enough confidence for Nami to open her heart when there's something troubling her. Remember Water 7? After learning the truth about Robin's desertion, and shortly after missing the train Robin got in, Nami didn't seem distressed at all. In fact, she got up determined and unwilling to give up. But, how did she act when she got the chance to explain the truth to Luffy?

She and displayed the helplessness, frustration, and sadness she truly felt when she got to Luffy.

A smilar scene plays out when we get to Zou. Sanji was taken away, and while Nami seemed ok and even elated at the fact Luffy and the rest are back, is when she's in Luffy's arms that she once again expresses how helpless and anguished she feels...

This is how emotional chemistry looks like! It's not about meaningless flattery, flowery words, nor a mere infatuation. It's about growing attached to one another through a strong companionship, mutual trust/faith, offering support/comfort when needed.

Now, true chemistry occurs when characters affect each other in meaningful ways. And Nami also has an effect on Luffy. When Oda wrote the Strong World movie, we get to see how she affects her captain. When Nami got no other choice but leave a message in which she seemingly doubts Luffy's strength and capabilities, Luffy reacts this way...

This shows how much Luffy values the perception Nami has of him.

Another perceptive reader explained the difference between this situation and Ennies Lobby. During that massive rescue mission "Luffy is angry at Robin for not worrying about her own safety." In Strong World, the idea of Nami not believing in him is something Luffy takes personal. And as explained in multiple posts, we later learn Nami never stopped believing in Luffy, and the idea of Luffy hearing about it was pretty embarrassing to her.

Well, what about Intellectual Chemistry?

This is a tricky one, because most people think is having a similar level of intelligence. But, even in real life, it's pretty likely potential partners have different degrees of education, so they're not always going to perfectly click or match in this regard.

Then, how people can develop this kind of chemistry under such circumstances? One of concepts of intellectual chemistry is the capability of challenging each other's perspective and beliefs on subjects and matters relevant to both persons.

LuNa fits the second bit, for the greatest challenge each character's perspective has is the other's...

...Nami’s character from the very beginning had a very clear distate for pirates and had trouble trusting others. Her perspective served as not only a contrast to Luffy's idealism, but also as a challenge Luffy and his ideals had to actively overcome. This kind of chemistry covers other aspects that, even people who are not fond of LuNa, could see and mention. For example:

Unlike Zoro, Robin, and others crewmates who, more often than not, go along with Luffy's course of action without questioning their captain, Nami is usually the one who challenges Luffy's decisions. It makes sense given Nami's role, as she herself explained in Weatheria...

While Luffy is the one who chooses where to go, Nami is the only one can get him where he wants to go. She seeks to provide Luffy with the  guidance he needs to survive his journey. She’s the compass leading Luffy towards his adventures.

Now, Intellectual Chemistry not only consists of challenging each other’s perspectives, it’s also about openly discussing each other’s ideas with the right mindset, not because you’re trying to win an argument, but as a mean to learn more about your partner, and as a result, you get to better understand that significant person and both parts work together as a team.

In this regard, it's true Nami is one who questions Luffy the most, but  she doesn't actively try to change his mind, instead she attempts to get Luffy to rationalize his choices.  And once Luffy voices out his reasons and/or motivations for doing something, she offers her assitance and full support. We see one example in Skypiea:

At first, she questions why Luffy is making such a great effort to climb the beanstalk and fight Enel a second time, Nami even urges him to stop and flee with her. She keeps pushing until Luffy clearly states why he's not running away.

Nami could easily run away on her own, but as soon as she understands Luffy’s reasons, she stays, and they’re able to work together to ride the beanstalk so Luffy can finally defeat Enel.

This is not one-sided either. If we go to the Dressrosa arc, we got Nami communicating Luffy her plan of splitting into two teams to keep Ceasar and Momonosuke away from Doflamingo. 

And Luffy not only fully supports her idea, he even follows it up with a mission for the team that stayed at Dressrosa.

Another possible example could be one particular scene from the Zou arc. Luffy’s original intent was going to rescue Sanji on his own...

...until Nami reminds him how much he needs her and her navigation skills to keep going. Luffy accepts the reasons she gave him, and alters his original plan accordingly.

We can find other moments to showcase this aspect of their relationship, but to make things short, we can sum it up like this: when their different perspectives clash, they challenge each other’s ideas to the point of gaining a better understanding of each other, and end up acting according to that understanding, they display Intellectual chemistry.

Bonus: Physical Chemistry?

I wasn't going to include this one, but given a japanese fan brought it up ages ago, I decided to leave a couple of scenes that may fit the concept.

That japanese fan based his comment on Strong World, the movie written by Oda. To make it short, physical chemistry doesn't necessarily means "sex" either, it really comes down to how comfortable a person feels with their partner. However, the details and quirks in this particular kind of chemistry vary from people to people. Just like it can vary from writer to writer.

We often mentioned in this blog certain moment in Fishman Island, where Nami had no problem with Luffy wrapping himself around her...

...she indeed bickered with Luffy, but it was about Luffy's wanting to venture through a dangerous route rather than their physical closeness. A nice way to show how comfortable she feels around him. In contrast, she doesn't pull any punches, or thunders, when punishing people for pervying around her. Something that remains consitent even in the Wano arc (at least in the original source: the manga) Regardless of whether or not these count as “physical chemistry,” we can still appreciate how Oda crafted a solid emotional chemistry, and intellectual chemistry as well, in the way he wrote Luffy and Nami.

[ikeromantic]

Unexpected Gifts

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, approx. 2000 words of fluffiness. This scene occurs in the midst of chapter 12 and features Motonari as well. 

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Mad Dogs

Motonari sauntered past the innkeeper with a grin. The man clearly knew something was going on, but he just bowed and went back to wiping down tables and ordering his staff around. The pirate had to wonder what a man like him thought about the rough men filing through his entrance, carrying crates of gunpowder, firearms, swords, daggers, and other implements of war. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Maybe the world had finally gone mad. Fitting, considering his current allies. Only in a mad world would the demon monk, the disgraced captain, and the traitorous kitsune be allies.

He carried just one package, a wooden box. So lightly burdened, Mouri bounded up the stairs. He could hear the little chatelaine ordering his men around, telling them where to set what and how. For such a naive little girl, she could get real bossy. He kinda liked it.

Motonari made it to the top of the stair just in time to see one of his men make a grab for the little Oda princess. The deckhand pinned her up to the wall, leering like she was a dock-front whore. 

“Want to tell me where I can put this,” the deckhand grabbed at his crotch suggestively.

She glared at him furiously, but her legs were shaking. “Through the rolling hole of a cheerio,” she spat. 

While neither Motonari or his men had any idea what that was, it was clearly an insult. The deckhand drew back to slap her, but Mouri caught his arm first.

“Whaddya think yer doing? Didn’t I tell ya to set tha boxes down and go?”

The deckhanded nodded. “Yeah, but boss, she said -”

He didn’t get to finish. Mouri let go of his hand and punched him in the throat. Hard enough to hurt, not enough to kill. “I didn’t ask fer an opinion.” His men took the hint and grabbed their friend, exiting quickly.

When they’d gone, the spicy little princess sagged against the wall. “Thanks Motonari. I was worried for a second.”

“Ya should still be worried,” he grinned. He closed the space between them, pushing her back against the wall, hard. 

“M-motonari. If Mitsuhide sees you, he will kill you.”

“The fox ain’t here, is he? So what’re you gonna do about it?” Motonari lowered his head to her neck, inhaling the smell of her. It was no wonder the kitsune warlord lost his mind for this girl. She was smart, stubborn, and she felt like heaven against his chest. Plus there was something sweet about her. A gentleness absent in most. It appealed to the darkness in him. 

The Oda princess considered a moment and then with a breath, slammed her head into Motonari’s jaw. It hurt. He let go with a laugh. “That was good. Not good enough, if I really wanted ta hurt ya. But good.”

Her hands shook as she straightened her clothes. “So what, you were just trying to freak me out by being a creep?”

Mouri wasn’t familiar with that word exactly, but he got the meaning. It only made him grin wider. “Sure did. Yer smarter than ya look.” He shoved the box toward her. “Take this.”

She eyed the box with distrust, but took it from him. “It’s not full of, like, poisonous death toads or something? It won’t explode when I open it?”

“Nah, but that’s a good idea. Have ta remember that.” Motonari watched her, curious if she would take what he’d brought.

The princess carefully opened the box as if she didn’t quite believe it was safe, but once the sunlight hit the polished metal within, she gasped. Inside, lying on a stuffed cotton, a matched set matchlock rifle and dagger. The design was slimmer and lighter than the usual matchlock, and the metal was engraved with tiny flowers, which also decorated the knife hilt. 

“Motonari . . . “ she looked at him with wide eyes, wavering between shock and pleasure at the unexpected gift.

“Don’t ya look at me like that. Had ‘em lying around the boat. And ya need ta be able to protect yerself.” The pirate shrugged uncomfortably. 

She set the box on the table and hugged him. “Thank you. That was very nice.”

Motonari tensed. “Yeah. Ya better let go before yer fox shows up. Seems ta be the jealous sort.”

The princess dropped her arms and stepped back. “Still. I really appreciate it.”

“Ya can stop thanking me.” He turned away, unsettled. He hadn’t expected quite that reaction. “I’ll have tha boys bring by more powder and shot later. Be ready.”

Then he left, passing Mitsuhide in the hall. The kitsune gave him a flat stare. Clearly, he didn’t trust him, but then, Motonari didn’t trust himself either.

***

Mitsuhide watched Mouri hit the steps at a near-run, hurrying as if he was escaping something. And his face was red, gaze distracted. Strange.

The door to the his room was open, and the smell of gunpowder wafted out. Mitsuhide stepped in. His little mouse was bent over a wooden box on the table. She turned when he came in and hurried over to him.

“You’re back!”

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wider than normal, even for her. “Did I surprise you?” Mitsuhide studied her. Mussed hair, slightly disheveled kimono, nervously fiddling fingers. Something had happened and she was trying to hide it. Silly mouse.

“N-no! Of course you're back! I just, I thought it would take longer.” She glanced back at the table then rushed forward to take his arm. “Look, Motonari’s men came today with more weapons. Are these what you were expecting?”

Mitsuhide let her divert his attention, curious what her end goal was. She showed him the crates of tanegashima, the swords and daggers, and armor. Her words spilled out in an anxious flow, repeating herself and stumbling through descriptions of the delivery.

Finally, she ran out of things to say and stared at the floor. “So, uhm, that looks, ah, about right?”

He took her chin in his hands and gently raised it to look at him. “The delivery is fine. You are not. Tell me what happened today.” 

“Nothing?” She blinked up at him, schooling her features to stillness. 

It might have been convincing if not for the way she shifted on her feet, and a glance back toward the table. Mitsuhide let go of her and turned back to see what the box was and why it seemed to concern her. 

What he found surprised him. 

A delicate kaiken and a slim-looking tanegashima. Both bore an imprint of flowers, delicate sakurasou blossoms. Mitsuhide lifted the matchlock. The stock was polished maple, the steel barrel rolled from thin metal sheets by a master. This was no common weapon. It felt light in his hands compared to a regular matchlock, and a little small. A tanegashima made for a woman.

“Did Motonari leave these?”

The chatelaine nodded. “He gave them to me.”

“Before or after manhandling you?” Mitsuhide watched her reaction carefully. 

She looked down. “After. He said I needed to be able to protect myself. He had to stop one of his men from . . . well, anyway, nothing happened. I didn’t want to mention it.”

Because he, Mitsuhide, could not keep his calm when it came to her. He felt a mix of guilt and jealousy. If anyone should give gifts to his little one, it should be him. And that flower . . . not that she would understand. But Mouri had to know that he would. Bastard. 

Mitsuhide set the weapon down and went to her. He took his little one into his arms and held her tight to his chest. “You must not hide things from me, little mouse. I want to know everything about you. Everything that happens to you. Even if you think it doesn’t matter, even if it might be . . . upsetting.”

Her arms twined around him, pulling her even closer. He could feel the beat of her heart in time with his own, and the rise and fall of her breath. It made him feel so frail for the first time since he’d taken up his place as the left hand of the Oda forces. Small in the face of this love that he held. Fragile in knowing how many ways it could break.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you right off. I just didn’t want you to worry.” She looked up at him. “I want you to know I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me when you go off to do what you need to. I can handle myself around men - even ones like Motonari.” 

Mitsuhide held her and let her words sink in. It helped, a little. He still wanted to smash the matchlock and snap the knife. Throw them in a gutter. Bury them. Along with the man that brought them. 

“I can tell you’re still angry with me,” his little one murmurred. Her voice was muffled against his chest. He could feel the tickle of her breath, the movement of her lips. 

“Never with you, little one.” He stroked her hair. 

She snuggled into him, her nose and chin pressing. “Then . . . at Motonari? Nothing really happened. One of his men got a little handsy and Mouri stopped him before I had to.”

Her voice was confident, certain of her skill. Mitsuhide had done everything he could to impart to her the ability to protect herself in exactly such situations, but she’d never really been tested. Maybe he worried for her unnecessarily. But he couldn’t help it. “Perhaps you should come with me when I run errands - just to be sure. I don’t like the thought of another man laying his hands on you.”

“Mmmm, now you sound almost jealous. Are you, Mitsu?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t help the way he growled the word, nor the surge of possessiveness he felt. 

She kissed the hollow just below his throat. “You shouldn’t be. There is no one in this world for me but you.”

“I know,” Mitsuhide grinned. “You promised to stay by my side, remember?” He sat down, pulling her into his lap. She fit against him perfectly. “But other men see you and desire you. And bring you tokens of love.” 

She giggled. “The gun? You can’t think Motonari - I mean - no - just no. He thinks I am some stupid little girl that is going to mess up your mission.”

“And you believe that means he does not also wish to bed you?” Mitsuhide’s eyes flashed gold and hot in the afternoon light. 

“I hope not.” She glanced over at the box. “If it bothers you, I can just get rid of them. I don’t need my very own gun. Any of the ones from our stockpile will do.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “No. Then he would know it got to me. He would see it as a little victory. No - you should keep them and use them. They are fine weapons.” He ran a finger along the curve of her ear. “Just remember that even if you carry a weapon with his sakurasou, it is my bellflower that engraves your heart.”

“Sakurasou? Is that his clan symbol?” She closed her eyes, enjoying his light touch. These moments were his and his alone. Seeing her in pleasure like this. 

“No. But he meant to express his desire for you. And that I would see it and know. He is testing me.” Mitsuhide smiled, and it was a wicked grin. He leaned down to place a little row of kisses along her neck. “Perhaps I should leave my own little message - and mark -” he nipped the skin just under her ear.

“M-mitsu! You already left a mark!” She pointed to the fading love bite half covered by her collar.

“Not obvious enough.” He kissed her forehead. “Maybe I should put one here?” Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Or here?” 

“Ah! No! D-don’t you dare -”

“Or maybe a ring of them all around your neck.” 

His little mouse looked worried. “You can’t be serious. Mitsuhide - I might die if you do that. My heart would burst from the teasing alone!”

He laughed, feeling at last better. “I couldn’t risk that.” She was his, and the whole world would know it once he finished this mission. Mitsuhide promised himself that he would make her his wife and she would bear his name, his children, and his mark. 

“Good,” she smiled up at him. “But . . . that doesn’t mean you have to stop kissing me. I really liked it when your lips were - here - and here -” she pointed at spots on her neck. Then she got a mischievous look in her eye and brushed a hand over her breast. “Here too.”

“Mmmm, I see. Perhaps I should make a study of these spots. Compare your reaction when I kiss you elsewhere?” He let his hand caress her side, slipping down to her belly. 

“I support that research.” She shivered and her eyes took on a hungry light. 

“Then let’s begin.”

Next: The Greatest Harm

***flower meanings gotten from here

[quissum-ego]

A Look At Whip It (2009) Through A Trans Lens

** A preliminary note: throughout this post, I will be referring to Bliss with he/they pronouns, both out of respect for Elliot Page, as well as the fact that it feels right for the character. You’ll see why. Thank you for understanding! (:

I rarely make my own posts on Tumblr, but this feels important enough  to deviate from that streak a little bit, since I think this is something more people should be talking about. Now, as some of you may know, Whip It is a 2009 comedy-drama film directed by Drew Barrymore. The film is an adaptation of the 2007 novel Derby Girl (a.k.a Whip It) by Shauna Cross. Both the film and the novel follow the life of Bliss Cavendar, a Texas teen pursuing their newfound roller derby dream behind the backs of their parents. While I am by no means saying the novel or the film intended for Bliss to be trans, as a trans masc person myself, I cannot help but pick up on the similarities. Let’s dive right in with some quotes from Cross’ novel.

There are a couple instances throughout the text where Bliss expresses a dislike for his given name. 

“ [ ... ] Bliss is not gonna cut it (I’ve been telling Brooke that for years.)”

Bliss’ struggle with his mother-given name and his complete awe at the fact that people (specifically the roller derby girls) so freely adapt an alternative name really hit home with me, personally. His feelings towards his birth name mirror the way myself and many of my trans friends feel, and these feelings were especially strong for me when I was around Bliss’ age. It is apparent that he has wanted a different name to better express himself for years, something that his mother looks down upon. 

On a similar note, there are multiple instances where Bliss wonders who he really is, and how he can find and reclaim his own sense of self. 

1. “I suddenly wonder what else I have in me that’s been stunted by too many years of pageant participation.” 

Bliss would have little-to-no chance to explore how he wants to present himself when around his mother, but the world of roller derby slowly begins to open that door. Leading a double life that his parents don’t know about becomes his ticket to exploring aspects of himself that otherwise might have been pushed down.

2. “In an effort to shake off the pink-suit residue and reclaim my personal identity [...]”

Bliss resorts back to what he feels most comfortable in (graphic t-shirts) in an effort to “reclaim [his] personal identity”. Instead of the traditionally feminine ways that his mother has come to expect of him, Bliss finds comfort in his personal identity that is the exact opposite. 

3. “Who are you [...]” “[...] I’ve been wondering that my entire life.” 

Bliss struggles with his identity, and obviously has for as long as he can remember. 

4. “You don’t even know me!”

“Bliss, you’re only sixteen. You don’t even know who you are.”

“I know I’m not Miss Bluebonnet [...] I know that much.” 

Bliss emotionally retorts to the fact that he may not know who he is with the fact that he knows he is not a pageant girl. The identity he has found through roller derby triumphs over the Miss America cage Brooke has tried so hard to secure. He knows who he is, and she can no longer dictate that for him. 

In the final two passages, Bliss’ parents begin to come around to the idea of him playing roller derby (an identity of his that feels like an ongoing metaphor for being LGBT). 

“But you - you’re Babe Ruthless.” 

“[...] she’s not only giving me my skates, but my freedom.” 

In the end, Bliss’ mother accepts that he has come to be “Babe Ruthless”, and in giving him his skates to compete, she is giving him freedom. Brooke has finally accepted that Bliss may not be the person she believed him to be, but she wants him to be happy regardless. 

“Not that Earl would ever say it, but I’ve always had a feeling he would have loved to have had a football-playing son. I think me playing Roller Derby might be the next best thing.” 

Earl would have loved to have a sports-loving son, and Bliss sees his love for roller derby as the next best thing. He is, in his own way, the son Earl never knew he had. 

The film adaptation of Whip It offers many great moments that carry this theme of roller derby being used as a metaphor for Bliss being trans. 

After dying his hair blue before an important pageant in what feels like an act of defiance against his mother, Bliss is saddened to return home from the hair salon with it all washed out. When Earl notices the family coming home, he exclaims, “Dang it, girl, what has gotten into you?” to which Bliss replies with, “Just defective, I guess.” 

Bliss feels defective in the world of beauty pageants because it is so opposing to who he is, and the life he wants to live. All he’s known thus far has been a complete 180 from himself, rendering him to feel out of place. 

When Bliss first sees the derby league out in Austin, he is instantly enamored. His wish to live as freely as they do and express himself away from his mother is what drives him towards wanting to join the league. 

After the game, Bliss expresses that the league are his new heroes. Maggie encourages him to be his own hero, to go out and live freely. 

The film evolves into Bliss leading a double life. His parents believe he is studying with an SAT prep group, while in reality, he is training and playing with the roller derby league. One life where Bliss has to practice for pageants, study, and be who his mother wants him to be, and a second life where “Babe Ruthless” can follow his heart and be himself. The more Bliss embraces his inner Babe Ruthless, the more confident he becomes, both on the track as well as in school, as he finally begins standing up to bullies. 

A key moment in the film comes when Bliss’ parents discover his roller derby promotional poster, and his secret double life becomes a lot less secret. The dialogue throughout the scene feels heavily trans-coded, particularly as Bliss cries out for his mother to “[...] stop shoving [her] psychotic idea of 50′s womanhood down [Bliss’] throat”. Bliss explains how he knows his parents wouldn’t have accepted the life where he feels he is truly himself, and the confrontation ends with them parting ways, and Bliss temporarily running away. 

After reconciling with his parents and agreeing to participate in the pageant, Bliss initially believes his roller derby dreams to be a thing of the past. On the night of the pageant, however, Bliss’ father warms up to the idea, and seeks out Bliss’ teammates. They all arrive at the venue of the pageant to surprise Bliss. 

When Brooke (naturally) disagrees with Earl’s change of heart, he expresses that he “[...] can not taking losing the chance for (our) kid to be happy.” 

His parents make it to the game, and end up coming around to the fact that this is who Bliss is, and perhaps who he has always been. After the match, Bliss meets up with his mother to talk with her. 

She comes to terms with the fact that she can’t change what Bliss is going to do in life, and he expresses that he needs to know she can accept him. She admits that it will be hard, but ultimately she will try, which is all that Bliss truly hoped for. 

The film closes with Bliss’ mother reading his pageant speech and putting away the custom gown (perhaps accepting that this chapter of their lives has closed), Earl putting up a Babe Ruthless sign on the Cavendar’s front lawn in support of their kid, and Bliss sitting atop the Oink Joint, seemingly at peace with this newfound joy in his life. He has found himself, and found what he truly loves doing, and he now knows that he has people in his life who support him through and through. 

All in all, while I am aware this is just one way to interpret the film, I wanted to share my thoughts because this has made his film truly special to me. If you haven’t already, give the film a watch. It is more than worth your time. I’d love to hear your thoughts, if you picked up on any of the same themes as me, or what you thought if this post ended up encouraging you to watch the film.

Thanks for sticking around and reading to the end. You’re the coolest. (~:  

[stevesharrlngtons]

it’s just what you do.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”

word count: 6.0k

a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:

You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.

As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.

“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.

“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.

“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.

You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.

Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.

“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.

You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.

You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.

Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.

And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.

“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.

Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.

You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.

“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.

You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.

The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.

“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.

“I do, but do you need me for something?”

You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.

You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.

“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.

You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”

You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.

You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).

Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.

You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.

“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.

You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.

“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.

You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.

“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.

You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.

“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.

“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”

You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.

“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”

“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.

“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.

“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.

“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”

“Do you really think that’s fair?”

“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”

Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”

You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”

“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee

You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”

Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”

“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”

“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.

“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.

“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”

“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.

You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.

“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.

“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.

“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.

“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.

You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.

That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.

As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.

You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.

Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.

“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.

“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.

“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass. 

Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”

“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.

You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.

“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.

Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.

Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.

See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!

“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.

You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.

Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.

“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.

The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.

“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.

“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”

His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.

You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.

Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).

“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.

Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.

Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.

You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.  

You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?

You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.

“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.

Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.

And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.

“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.

“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.

“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.

Peter was likely already planning his escape.

“That’s what I said.”

“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”

And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.

Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”

Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.

“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.

“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.

“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.

Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”

“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”

“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”

“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.

“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”

Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.

“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.

“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”

Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.

“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”

“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.

“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.

“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.

“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”

“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”

“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.

“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.

And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.

“You’re so fucking mean.”

You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.

“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.

“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.

“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.

“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”

He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.

“Roman, move your hand.”

“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.

You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.

“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.

“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”

“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.

You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.

“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.

“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.

“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.

“I never touched.” He swore.

“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”

“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”

You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.

He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”

“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.

“Baby…”

“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.

“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”

Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.

Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.

“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”

“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.

“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.

“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.

You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.

“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.

“Baby, hey--”

“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”

Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?

But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.

He just says:

“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.

“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”

Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.  

“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”

“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.

“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.

“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”

“How about we call it a draw?”

“I think I can handle that…”

“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.

You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.

You push him again, with more strength this time.

“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”

“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.

And fucking Roman, he just smiles.

“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”

“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.

“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.

“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”

“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.

“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.

“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.

“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”

“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.

“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”

He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”

“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”

“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.

“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.  

“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”

Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.

“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.

He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.

i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol

[free-pool-trash]

folklore - isaac lahey {9/?}

Hey lovlies ✌🏻💕 sorry this part took so long something wasn’t sitting right with me so I rewrote it like 3 time 😫 but don’t worry I figured it out.

It’s all angst from here I’m afraid crew

👁💧👄💧👁

Pleasssssse let me know what you think, im hanging by a thread here 😭💕

Word count: 5.1K

Warning(s): fluff at the start :), a whole bunch of swearing, blood, mentions of death, let me know if I missed any! <3

Masterlist

taglist (open): @makeusfreefromthisfandom​, @cece-lives-here ​, @chocolate-raspberries​, @belsandthings​, @dancing-tacos-23 , @truly-dionysus​, @britty443​, @tanyaherondale​, @furiouspockettoad​, @yunsh-17 , @random-thoughts-003​, @gloomybrieyxb​​, @linkpk88 ​, @big-galaxy-chaos​ , @im-a-stranger-thing ​​, @its-evita-here , @pad-foots , @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy , @bookswillfindyouaway ,  @what-the-hap-is-fuckening​, @awkwardnesshabitat​, @pieces-by-me , @wreny24​, @marveloucnco , @babypink224221 , @bookish-bucky @alexa-rae-dreamz , @thebookisbtr , @nxstalgicnxbxdy , @cloudy-zoey , @booknymph02 , @tairisceana let me know if you’d like to be added <3  (i had to remove some because tumblr wont let me tag them 💔)

The next morning came by all too quickly, you’d barely gotten any sleep. Yourself and Isaac spent the whole night talking, just like you used to before the tone of your lives had changed drastically.

There was so much you needed to get off your chest, and of course Isaac had a lot to say too so that’s what the pair of you did- put everything out on the table.

You did a whole lot of talking, laughed a lot, cried a little and for the first time ever during one of your and Isaac’s late night chats there was an incredible amount of shared kisses. Those little perks of being a couple were something you could definitely get used to.

Your fingers drew circles on Isaac’s chest, the boy laid there, contently looking down at you. Your head was comfortably tucked against his shoulder, turned up at an angle so that you were still face to face.

He noted how your eyes glinted in the morning sun, watery due to lack of sleep. It was crazy to him; the effect that you had. He swore he could be on fire and all it would take to put him out was one of your reassuring smiles pointed even vaguely in his direction.

Realistically, Isaac knew he should’ve been sad- heartbroken, even. His father had just been quite brutally murdered, he should be a mess, but he wasn’t.

Maybe it had something to do with the years of trauma the man had inflicted on him or maybe it was Isaac’s new supernatural status, whatever the reason for it, Isaac wasn’t mourning the death of his father.

Instead, all he could think about was how warm your body felt against his.

“It’s morning time.” He smiled at your murmur, the smile widened when you pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone.

Isaac hummed in acknowledgment and squeezed your leg that you had thrown across his stomach. “Yeah.”

You moved your chin to rest against his chest, eyes looking into his, “We can stay here if you want. We don’t have to go to school.” You suggested but Isaac knew it was more of a plea when he saw the hopeful grin growing on your lips.

“Nah I gotta go in. I have lacrosse practice.” He spoke out, his voice low and grumbly from how tired he was.

You scoffed jokingly, pushing yourself up so your lips were hovering over his, “Lacrosse huh?”

His eyes were hooded now as he glanced down at your lips, his hands moving to grasp your waist, “Mhm.”

With a smirk you ghosted his lips with your own, you could hear his heart beating through his chest and you could feel how badly he wanted to connect his lips to yours.

“Well then I guess we better get a move on.” You whispered against his lips, pulling away abruptly and hoping out of the bed, strutting to the bathroom with a sway in your hips as you knew he was watching.

A look of disbelief was painted across his face as he shouted through the walls, “Out of all the things that have happened this week that was the most fucked up!”

*

You were going to kill Scott when you got your hands on him. Seriously could he have been anymore obvious?

“Scott! What the hell are you doing.” You whispered from the bleachers, knowing he could hear you.

The boy whispered back, determination clear in his voice, “There’s another werewolf. I need to find out who it is.”

He must’ve smelled it off him. So much for keeping it a secret.

“Scott stop, I know who it is.” You panicked, by the time the words left your mouth both Isaac and Scott had sent each other flying through the air.

As you made your way down from your spot on the bleachers to separate the commotion happening between your two baby werewolves, you noticed sheriff Stilinski and a few deputies making their way across the field.

The sheriff’s gaze was set on Isaac and you found your feet matching the older man’s pace in a silent race to get to the boy in question.

Unfortunately, since you were unable to use vamp speed, the sheriff had beaten you in the unspoken race. His hand had wrapped around Isaac’s bicep as he attempted to lead him away.

When you realised what was happening, you threw caution to the wind and began jogging, not even sparing Scott or Stiles a glance when they called out for you to stop.

Once you were close enough you reached out, successfully grabbing Isaac’s wrist and stopping him and the sheriff in their tracks. “What’s going on?” You demanded, looking between Isaac and the sheriff.

“They think I killed my dad.” Isaac told you quietly and you couldn’t stop the look of utter disbelief that appeared on your face as you moved to stand between Isaac and the sheriff.

“Are you kidding me?” The sheriff sighed with exhaustion at your shout. He knew it was going to be a long day when he saw his son and Scott marching toward the already escalating scene.

“Look, kid. He’s a suspect we have to hold him.” Sheriff Stilinski had been making arrests for a long time but he was sure the look you were giving him was the most venomous he’d ever seen.

“A suspect? Why? What’s your proof?” You shot out, eyebrows furrowed and fangs ready to spring from your gums.

Maybe it had something to do with the night of the full moon looming but you were finding it extremely difficult to keep your anger in check. After yesterday, you were almost certain if your rage got out out of hand there’d be no stopping you.

“We, uh, have reason to believe that Isaac had motive to kill his father. That’s all I can tell you.”

You scowled at him, easing up only slightly as you felt Isaac interlocking his fingers with yours from behind you. “That’s bullshit! He couldn’t have killed his dad because he was with me.” You lied smoothly.

The sheriff raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “With you?”

“Mhm. At my place.” You continued, ignoring the squeeze of warning you were getting from Isaac.

“Look, we have an eye witness account saying that Isaac fled his home, followed by his father and your name never came up.”

Letting out a cynical laugh you all but squared up to the man, “Yeah? And where do you think he fled to?” You asked challengingly.

You would’ve said more if Stiles hadn’t shoved himself in between yourself and his father, sporting a fake smile on his face as he started to ramble, “Hey guys! How we all doing? Good? Good. That’s really great to hear. (Y/n) can I borrow you for a second?” Stiles prompted you, nodding his head rather aggressively in an attempt to get you to stand down.

“No.” You and the sheriff spoke simultaneously, shocking Stiles.

“Young lady, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what you’re saying. Being an accomplice to murder is a serious offence.” He told you sternly, clearly wanting to give you an opportunity to back down and walk away.

“(Y/n) come on.” Scott pleaded from behind you and you could feel the anxiety seeping off of both Stiles and Isaac.

Stiles laughed nervously, also trying to give you a fighting chance of walking away, “She’s not an accomplice! You’re not an accomplice, right?”

He fixed you with a confused look and repeated, “Right?”

“No I’m not an accomplice because Isaac didn’t kill his father!” You rebutted angrily through gritted teeth, the boys surrounding you terrified of the look on your face in that moment.

With a hard look, sheriff Stilinski took your arm in one hand and Isaac’s in the other and pulled the pair of you towards the police car, “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to take you both into holding.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” You heard Scott exclaim desperately from behind you, his voice two octaves higher than usual.

Carefully, you began to whisper quietly under your breath so that only Scott and Isaac would hear you, “Tonight’s the full moon. I’m not letting them put him in a holding cell alone. Call Derek. Come get us out.”

You didn’t glance back at Scott to check if he heard you, you simply kept walking ahead and complied with the sheriff as he placed you into the car, beside Isaac.

*

“Since we’re technically in prison and you’re technically part k9, does that mean you’re my bitch?” You wondered out loud, looking across the holding cell at Isaac who sat (moping) on the bench.

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m mad at you.” He grumbled and you pouted from your spot on the floor.

“It was a serious question.” You whined.

Isaac groaned, completely disregarding your question, “You’re insane? You know that don’t you?”

“Rude.” You complained, leaning your head back against the cold bars of the cell.

“No seriously. You shouldn’t be in here with me.” Isaac grumbled yet again.

“Ok, first of all, you shouldn’t even be in here in the first place because-“ you paused, took a deep breath and looked at the camera adjacent to yourself and Isaac on the wall outside the cell before shouting, “He didn’t fucking do anything!”

You had to force yourself into calming down as you felt your anger causing your heart rate to rise rapidly, you took one more deep breath and then continued what you had been saying.

“Secondly, and in all seriousness, the idea of you being in here on your own makes me feel physically sick, especially since it’s your first full moon and all this crap with the Argents going on… I just wanted to be with you.” You admitted sheepishly, picking at the sleeves of your jumper to avoid his gaze.

Isaac’s heart beat picked up at your words but you couldn’t say anything as yours had too, with a soft sigh he muttered, “You don’t have to protect me.”

“I know. I know you don’t need protection, you never have. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t strength in numbers right now.” Isaac was quiet for a second before speaking up again.

“Hey, babe?” You looked up at the sound of his voice, he was giving you a soft smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah?” Isaac was shaking his head in disbelief, he let out a short chuckle and made his way across the cement floor and slid down beside you.

You watched him fondly and couldn’t help the roaring laugh that left your mouth when he leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “I’m definitely your bitch.”

*

Before either of you knew it, night had fallen and you’d begun to feel antsy. Your chest grew heavy with each noise or set of passing footsteps. You paced the cell restlessly, wringing your hands together and doing your best to disregard the feeling of dread swelling up inside of you.

It wasn’t long before Isaac was holding his head in his hands, his knee jutting in the same restless manner that you were pacing.

Growls were rising from the back of his throat and you wouldn’t lie, it was making you more than a little nervous.

You slowly approached him, proceeding with extra caution you reached out and tugged on his sleeve, hoping the action would bring him a sense of familiarity and not startle him.

Isaac’s head whipped around, his eyes glowing amber when they landed on you. “What’s happening?” He asked in a growl.

As gently as you possibly could, you moved your hands to Isaac’s cheeks and did your best to ignore his changed features.

“It’s the full moon. How are you feeling?” You kept your voice quiet, again trying to accommodate his heightened senses.

Isaac only screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw tightly, “Like I want to rip apart everything I see within a fifty mile radius.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at the holding area door, helplessly wishing Scott would come rushing through the door.

Isaac’s face seemed, for once, not to be comfortable in your hold as he began to growl and attempt to break out of your grip.

“No, no, no. Isaac, hey. Look at me.” The wolf reluctantly stopped wiggling and fixed his gaze on yours. Your eyes were now blazing purple and you felt your own composure slipping from your grasp.

Another gutteral sound left Isaac’s throat, his clawed hands digging into your hips for some kind of leverage. “Just keep looking at me alright… God, I don’t actually know how to do this but, uhm, just think about something that’ll keep you grounded, ok?” You told him frantically, speeding through your words as you heard the approaching footsteps of someone who was definitely not Scott or Derek.

The boy in front of you nodded his head just as the door opened. No, it didn’t open, it was practically pulled off its hinges. Effectively ruining the progress you’d made with your moon crazy boyfriend.

The man who walked in was dressed like a deputy but the gushing wound and arrow sticking out of his leg gave him away as a fake. As well as that, the gun he was pointing at Isaac gave him away as a hunter.

“Oh shit.” It was your turn to growl when Isaac broke out of your grasp. He pulled the cell door clean off, and set off towards the hunter.

Immediately, you ran behind him but before you could stop the two from killing each other, something else caught your eye. And your nose. It had taken over all of your senses, actually…

The blood leaking from his leg had you frozen on the spot, your mouth watering and mind unable to focus.

By now, Isaac had tossed the hunter aside and you weren’t sure when, but at some point Stiles had entered the room and your boyfriend was now attempting to attack your main food source.

“(Y/n)! Little help here?” Stiles cried from the floor and you tried your best to pull yourself together.

It didn’t take too much strength for you to restrain Isaac, you had one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other around his torso, successfully holding him against your chest.

You hadn’t noticed how hungry you were in the moment, you needed to eat before someone would need to restrain you.

Pushing the hunger away you tried your best to get through to the new wolf struggling against your grip.

“Remember the thing that keeps you grounded! What was it? Tell me about it.” You tried to prompt, however as soon as Isaac attempted to respond a resounding howl filled the room.

The sudden noise had caused Isaac to cower against you. His body shook against yours, reluctantly you released him from your hold, allowing him to curl up in fear against the nearest wall.

Derek stood at the head of the room, his aura screaming for command as he glowered down at Isaac before turning his gaze to you and Stiles.

“I’m the alpha.” The Hale stated pompously.

With a questioning laugh you motioned towards the mess of the room, Isaac in wolf form shaking and whining like a kicked puppy, a mercenary bleeding and unconscious on the tiles and a very rumpled up Stiles.

“What you are is a grade A ass. Where the hell were you?” Derek stiffened at your agitated tone.

The man in question cleared his throat, his authority slipping away in the presence of your glare, “Scott & I went to scope Isaac’s house.”

“And that took you six hours?” You scoffed, kneeling down next to Isaac and running a gentle hand through the scared boy’s hair.

He whimpered at your touch, only quieting down when you transferred as much calming energy as you could manage to conjure up onto him.

It was getting harder to ignore the blood lust you were feeling, the smell of blood and Stiles’ racing pulse were beginning to cloud your mind. It wasn’t the usual hunger, though. It felt far more violent. Almost as if you’d never be able to get enough no matter how much you consumed.

“I need to leave.” You stated, standing from your spot beside Isaac and fixing Derek with a hard look, “Take Isaac somewhere safe.”

“Wait hold on, where are you going?” Derek asked sternly.

“To find some blood before I start ripping people’s throats out.” You responded bluntly, not waiting for his reply, you used your speed to leave the sheriff's station.

You found yourself in the woods. Close to the old Hale house.

There was a certain scent, you couldn’t quite place it though. It was metallic, but unlike the blood you were used to, it smelled stale.

But still, it was captivating your senses and you needed to get to the bottom of it. You couldn’t decide what was more overpowering, your hunger or your curiosity.

Impatiently, you made your way through the darkened tree line, following the scent until it led you to the building you were oh so familiar with.

The Hale house stood before you, menacing as ever and reeking of old blood.

As you walked up the porch steps, the rotten stairs creaked with every shift of weight. When you finally placed your hand on the door you realised your mistake.

What felt like a billion bolts of electricity shot through your body the second your palm met the door knob.

All of your breath left your lungs as your body hit the floor. As your legs and arms seized and convulsed on the forest floor, having rolled down the porch steps with the force of the shock, a voice sounded from out of the shadows.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here…” The voice was old and scratchy, something like a worn out vinyl, a record that had been played so often that some of the tunes now came out as a painful drawl. “Come on, let’s get her rigged up.” The man demanded and you writhed against the many pairs of hands that began dragging you to what you assumed was some kind of van.

Your vision was blurry as you attempted to get your bearings, sitting up in the van after the doors had been forcefully slammed and you were left alone.

“Le-“ You attempted to heave out words, your attempts were fruitless though as your lungs were still devoid of any oxygen.

Frustration seemed to give you the strength you needed as you finally regained enough control over your body to yell out, a very enraged, “Let me out you bastards!”

A cynical laugh came from the head of the van, “She has a lot of spunk. You’d know she was a L/n.”

“I’m going-“ You rasped yet again, fighting against the shackles that had been placed on your wrists at some point, “To fucking rip your stupid throat out! With my teeth!”

As threatening as your words were, your wheezy, out of breath voice let you down.

“Now, now. No need for that.” He spoke, only for a voice you recognised to cut him off.

“I’m starting to think this wasn’t the best idea.” It was Chris Argent. You forced yourself to move as close to the front of the van as your shackles would allow.

“What exactly do you plan on doing with an innocent seventeen year old, Mr.Argent?” You drawled, the electricity almost completely out of your system, your lungs finally working at their usual capacity again.

When the hunter didn’t grace you with a response, and you figured you couldn’t do much else right in the moment, you decided you’d poke the proverbial bear.

“You tried to kill my boyfriend tonight… it’d be a real shame if I had to retaliate.”

“Shut it.” Chris said, his voice unamused, bordering on nervous.

Bored, you clicked your tongue, “No, I don’t think I will. Anyway, unless you want me to go into graphic detail about how I’m going to disembowel both of you when I get out, tell me why you’re kidnapping me.”

The old man chimed in then, “Because you, little girl, are an abomination.”

“And you, old decrepit asshole, are getting on my last nerve. Give me a straight answer before I make you give me a straight answer.” You tugged violently at the chains, loosening them from the metal wall, to convey your point.

“Brute force will get you nowhere, little wolf.” Wolf? There was your opening. They didn’t have a clue about you.

Deciding you couldn’t give away your only edge, you played into their delusions, “Where was that a few hours ago when you sent a hitman to put down a seventeen year old boy who's never done anything worse than miss an assignment?”

He scoffed then, “No matter how sweet you think you are. You wolves are all the same. You’re all killers.”

A laugh left the back of your throat, “Are you senile or something? Last time I checked you hunter dickheads were the ones killing people.”

“That’s enough, we’re done talking.” Chris asserted, you couldn’t see either of the men you’d been speaking to but you could imagine their clenched jaws at your statement.

With a smirk you kept talking, “You killed, what was it? Oh yes. All of the Hale’s. Cora was only a little older than me at the time, Kate torched the house five years ago so that would have made Cora twelve years old when she was burned alive.”

You paused for a second, allowing your anger to seep off of you and onto them. “Tell me… what monstrosities could a twelve year old girl have committed?”

“This is your last warning.” Chris grumbled and you ignored him yet again.

“All of these broken morals lead me to wonder; what would precious Alison think of all of this? Maybe I’ll ask her at school on Monday.” You tormented the men, readying yourself to make a break for it as you felt the van slow down.

Quietly, or as quietly as you possibly could, you freed your wrists from their shackles. Shakily you stood up and then you waited.

When the door opened you fixed the two men who were looking at you in mild shock with a smirk, “Hi.”

“How did you… those shackles were doused in mistletoe.” At the old man's shock your smirk broadened. It was something you had found out from both Damon Salvatore and Deaton. Mistletoe only weakened wolves, not vampires.

With a coy shrug you shot them a wink, “I’d really love to stay and chat but, I have homework.” With that you began to run, but the older man caught your forearm before you got a clean break.

And normally, his amount of strength wouldn’t have been able to stop you, what was really hindering your movement was the dagger he had logged in your abdomen.

Your eyes were wide and you let out a pathetic squeal of pain when he twisted the knife in your stomach, his voice was menacing as he spoke, “You’re not going anywhere.” He spat out in your face, hand firm on the dagger.

“Yes. I. Am.” You seethed through gritted teeth, containing the blood that was filling your mouth.

Using whatever strength you could muster, you threw the man away from you and took off running, the dagger still lodged in your abdomen.

When you were sure you were far enough away, you fell to your knees.

Taking a shaky breath you looked around the street you’d landed on. You weren’t sure where you were and your phone was lying abandoned on the floor of the woods. It was times like this you wish you had a howl.

Then as if it was some incredible mirage, driving down the street was a light blue jeep. “Stiles!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, dragging yourself to the edge of the road.

“Stiles! Stiles please!” You cried out, letting out a breath of relief when the jeep stopped only a few meters from you.

Within seconds Stiles was sprinting over to you, sliding the rest of the way on his knees and cupping your face with a terrified expression, “Y/n!? What hap- hu- oh dear god!” He tried his best not to gag when he noticed that you were literally impaled.

“Ok. Ok. No what happened? Wait no. Right not important.” The boy rambled and you let him lead you as he picked you up from the dirt and placed you laying down across the back seat of his jeep.

Stiles drove like a madman to the hospital, wincing when you’d whimper and muttering apologies when you’d let out a cry.

“I think you would’ve been really proud of how I handled that situation.” You jested weakly from your spot, Stiles looked at you briefly in disbelief.

“What? By getting stabbed?” He shot back.

You offered him a faint giggle, “Nah, you shoulda heard me, Sty. I was such a snarky bitch.”

“So that’s how the stabbing thing happened. Got it.”

Only a few more minutes passed before you’d arrived at the hospital. Stiles had practically dragged you in and you couldn’t help the mewls of agony you were letting out as he passed you off to Melissa.

“What the hell happened?” She screeched and all you could offer in response was a blood filled cough, causing Melissa to nod her head in understanding, “Right. Questions later.”

*

Aimlessly you looked around for something, anything.

You were in complete darkness, but your body stood tall and seemingly healthy, no sign of any kind of wound.

A dull, yellow light shone in the distance. Cautiously, you took a step forward and it was only then that you knew where you were.

Under your feet, which were devoid of any shoes or socks, wet leaves crunched under your weight and you found yourself, yet again, standing in front of the Hale house.

It looked how it usually did, sad and decolate. However, what was unusual was that dull light shining through one of the partially melted windows.

Humming sounded from the home, hitting your ears in perfect pitch. It brought a wave of calmness over you, tranquilizing your fears as you twisted the knob that had once sent you into a horrific shock.

The rotten hardwood cooled your feet as you shuffled thoughtlessly through the house which you used to view as a home away from home.

“You put up a great fight.” A deep voice spoke from inside the lit room.

The voice was unmistakable, but you knew that there was only one explanation for why you were hearing it. For as long as you could, you wanted to hold onto your naivety.

“Who's there?” You called in response while small steps carried you closer and closer to the room.

The voice let out a chuckle, “I think you already know.”

Finally, you arrived in the room. Confronting the voice you knew all too well.

“Good to see you again, sweetheart.” You saw his face then, standing charred and battered like a fallen angel was Peter Hale.

The sob that fell from you was impossible to stop, you didn’t waste another second, you threw yourself at the man in front of you. A teary smile found your face when he welcomed you with open arms, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you cried into his shoulder.

“Quiet now, no more tears.” He said, pulling away from you, his thumb brushing under your eye gently, sweeping the falling teardrops away.

With a sniffle you looked at your surroundings before returning your gaze to Peter, “Am I dead?” You asked meekly.

Oddly enough, you felt accepting of it. Liked it, almost. It was quiet here- wherever here was.

“Temporarily.” He answered, guiding you further into the room. It had a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and two wooden chairs sat vacant underneath it. “Have a seat.”

Doing as told, you sat down on the chair opposite Peter. “Where are we?” You questioned, the silence, although peaceful, was overwhelming.

Peter gave you a small grin, gesturing to the room around you, “Purgatory.” He answered simply.

He stared at you then, a look in his eyes you recognised but, for the first time since you’d turned, you couldn’t feel it. It was something akin to sadness. It held love too, though.

“The next part is the hardest. When you wake up you won’t have a clue how you got there. You’ll be starving and all you’ll want to do is start tearing people apart.” He explained and your stomach dropped.

You were going to wake up and complete the transition, you’d be a fully fledged vampire and all because of some stupid knife wound.

“I won’t remember being dead?”

Peter shook his head, “You’ll remember this part, not the actual passing over part though.”

A tear slipped from your eye and you forced yourself to take in a shaky breath, “Passing over to where?”

Peter shrugged, “Don’t know. I’ve never gotten that far; too much unfinished business.” He tried to lighten the mood, but he realised there was no use as he noticed your breathing pick up and your eyes fill with tears yet again.

“You’re strong, you’ll be perfectly fine. You are my beta, after all.” He soothed, moving his chair so it would be next to yours.

You let out a croaky laugh at that, “I haven’t been strong. I’ve been drowning ever since you bit me, I haven’t done much other than fight with myself.”

“Not true. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Keeping Derek under control is a job not everyone is up for, but you’re doing it like it’s nothing. Although, you’d be doing a lot better if I had gotten to you before Derek ripped by throat out.” He muttered the last part, obviously not happy with your trip to Mystic Falls.

“Damon told me you used to drink together.” You recalled with a smile, distracting yourself from the future of impending darkness.

Peter laughed at the memory but didn’t speak.

The dense silence returned, not for long though, distantly you heard shouts. They were more like pleads really. Or were they screams?

“Y/n! Can you hear me? Y/n! Y/n!”

Softly, you turned your head towards the doorway, the hallway light was turned on now too, “Someone’s calling me.”

Peter stood up, a heavy grief filled sigh falling from him as he offered you his hand and pulled you to your feet when you took it. “It’s almost time. But not just yet, there's one last thing you need to do.”

“What is it?” You asked, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Peter pulled you close, placed a kiss to the top of your head then began guiding you, arm tightly wrapped around your shoulder.

He answered you solemnly, blue eyes sparkling with unwanted wisdom, “You have to say goodbye.”