#i think this is why grace is so distant from the others. she's just silently absorbing this information

[museumofunnaturalspectacles]

adding onto the part of Grace's Guilt, i think the excerpt supports your theory that she was a witness to the abuse or, at the very least, is knowledgeable about what amber is going through.

the wording of it initially made me believe that grace was also a victim of this abuse. considering that her presumed parents joe and rebecca are in on it, it wouldn't be surprising if she was going through something similar prior to pat's affair becoming known and they all had to move into the same house.

but this post made me realize that, perhaps, "her story" is in fact her telling other people the horrific abuse that amber went through. let me explain!

throughout the story, we see forum goers react differently to what other users tell them about amber and the accompanying photos of her abuse. there are 2 different reactions that can be generally categorized into: acceptance and denial. screenshots are respective of this behavior. (Reality Priest is ironically categorized into "denial.")

(this starts at 170 to 173, then resumes between 195 and 202)

the "acceptance" group would include this cheer person and the ones who visit or maintain Inside 3dwi.scr. they acknowledge that the "errors" occurring with amber exist, and extend this same attitude to the disturbing photos that are mentioned. they basically talk about the abuse amber went through and normally encourage others to look into it.

the "denial" group are people, such as PLawler and Singer, deny the existence of game amber's "errors" and the photos featuring the real(?) amber's abuse. they discourage others to look into it or outright censor the efforts to do so, while stating that they are fake. they'd know the most, right?

the forum reacting to the disturbing side of 3dwi is practically parallel to what it would have been like for grace, the witness.

grace comes forward about the abuse amber goes through, but people don't believe her. even if given proof, they dismiss it on the grounds that it's too disturbing and should not be discussed. (this correlates with the topic practically being banned on the forum.) it's too horrific for it to really happen!

after all, it doesn't look like that on the outside.

why is grace always looking away?

im not entirely coherent rn as i never am but something that makes rounds in my head is the fact grace is always turned away and staring down/into the horizon, and very notably we dont see her really interacting with the other "workers"

and even when we do, she's still turned away and hanging her head low.

joe has to put a chair floating off the ledge to talk to her

and yet, even though something is clearly wrong with grace, no one in universe ever talks about it. the only mention we get of grace in any capacity is this on inside 3dwi

(screenshot also could be evidence to the pat in the simulation theory which i havent looked into, i wana focus on the name 'grace's guilt' moreso for now)

to me this kinda means grace has witnessed something, more than experiencing the abuse herself. if my theory/interpretation of amber being an affair child of rebecca and pat is true, and considering grace is one of the kids (not mentioned in PJR formation) and also the *tallest* of the three kids im inclined to assume the following

grace witnessed something. either that, or she made a few connections (being the oldest/having the most capability for understanding) and knows what amber is going through. but grace is a kid herself and cant do a lot. she has a lot of guilt about this, and she may or may not have brought it up to her parents. either way, it results in a talk given to her and holland

(but holland is just chillin. regardless of if they know about any abuse happening im inclined to say theyre too young to fully understand intellectually. all this is probably just making the poor kid feel bad :( )

after this talk (and the ban on GoodKid) we have the red amber explanation, and then the user comments,

and right afterwards

grace is standing at the shore, staring into the bottom of the ocean. she turns her head and looks around in the water

why is she the last character we see and not amber or pat?

[badgrammerlieshere]

Fire

Just thought I would throw this together. It has not been double checked :p

The flames dancing in the fireplace hardly filled the ever-cold room with any warmth. It was puzzling why the servants continued to stoke the flames as nothing would ever take away the biting cold that nipped at your bare feet and naked shoulders.  It had been hours since he had left. The minutes before, we were showered in a skittish energy. Aegon had sat on the bed, the sheets disarray a picture of past activities. The tension in his shoulders was evident with every small movement. For a man so eager for war you knew he feared it so. You had come up behind him and wrapped your arms around his sturdy figure. Aegon had taken his shaking hands and pulled you from behind him and into his lap.

“You needn't go” you had said curling the small pieces of hair that always lay near his brow.

“A king belongs on the battlefield, everyone knows that” he replied a smile not meeting his eyes as he caught your hand in his own pressing a small kiss against your wrist.

“The King belongs here. With me. You are vulnerable outside of these walls Aegon.” A real smile spread across his face this time. Aegon leaned forward pressing his forehead against your own humming softy.

“Sounds as though you worry for me. What would your mistress Sylvie think?

“She would think me very foolish.” You exclaimed moving from his lap towards the privacy screen at the other end of the room. The mention of your true nature only stood to remind you of your position in this room, this castle, this world. You and Aegon were nothing outside of this room. Just a boy pretending to be a king and a whore playing the part of a dutiful lover. Fastening the ties of your dress you took a look outside of the barrier. Aegon had resumed his distant posture. Though you had no marital ties to one another he hadn't lied you did worry for him. Aegon was never built for war. He had a softer underbelly that was easily exposed.

“Can you promise me one thing?” your voice shook him out of his stupor his hand outstretched as he beckoned you closer.

“Anything.”

“You will call upon me tonight?” you blushed at the pleading tone in your voice. To make such a demand of a king was ludicrous. Aegon also appeared shocked at your question before standing off the bed and drawing you close to his chest. His arm snaked around your waist.

“How about you wait for me? No need to waste time calling for you. Remain here until I return.” He unhooked one arm from his place behind your back and cradled the side of your cheek. Brushing over the smooth skin. A broad smile found itself on your face.

“If that is what you desire, my grace.”

That had been hours ago the sun had long set since then and the palace had been deathly quiet. Hoards of soldiers had been sent to fight. Servants had made themselves scarce and quiet. With only a few reappearing to stoke the flames of the unnecessary fire. A cat sat in the middle of your lap. Sleeping on the job. Only the distant thumping of wings attracted your attention. A dragon. The army. The battle. They had returned. Aegon. You hurriedly rushed for the door at the great upset of the cat which disapproved of its bed suddenly moving. You opened the door only slightly looking for any moving bodies there was loud chatter in the throne room. Aegon often retreated into his cups late into the night but he could never forget you. He had asked you to stay. Hoping perhaps that he would soon be appearing at the door you slowly closed it shut and awaited his arrival. But it never came. It was only until the castle fell silent once more did you made your move. With meager steps, you slunk about the corridors grasping with hope that you would encounter a head of silver hair and a playful smile. Eventually, you found yourself in front of the small council chambers an unusual place for Aegon to end up but perhaps there was an emergency meeting after the rooks rest.

Pushing the door open you were greeted by a dark room. No fire was kept stoked but in the center of the room in the chair of the king a man with silver hair sat.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth in a whisper. And his head jerked up to look at you. He hadn't expected to see you or anyone for that matter.

“What are you doing here.” he stood and prowled around the table.

“I was waiting…for Aegon.” At the mention of his brother Aemond looked away facing the small chart of battle plans laid on the other side of the room.

My brother will not be needing a whore tonight. It will do you well if you head home. Your services aren't needed here.” His answer was curt and short. “Perhaps if you are lucky you will find a man to spare you a coin on the way home.” His answer filled you with a sickly feeling that hit the pit of your stomach. It wasn't often you found yourself in the presence of Aemond. Often Aegon had such a need for your company that he rushed you into his chambers without a moment to spare. And while the young prince had frequented the brothel he often found comfort in the company of your mistress.

“Where is he? Before I take my leave that's all I wish to know.” You moved slowly behind Aemond trying to catch his gaze. While it was true Aegon could be cruel he would never abandon you like this. The only time in which he had cast you aside was the night of his father's death. And since then you had scarcely left his side.

“Arent whores supposed to be agreeable. I've said leave.” Aemond finally turned to face you. “Aegon is indisposed.” A small smirk graced the prince's face. Which only further fueled the small pocket of hate and worry in your heart.

“Have you done something?” The words took to the air before you could fully process them and from the look on his face, they shocked him as much as you. Aemond quickly schooled his face.

“You speak of treason.”

“It's only a question.” Your fear of what the answer was pushed you to grasp for answers. What had happened to Aegon? Only this morning he had been in your arms. Now his presence was a mystery. Aemond’s lack of answer made the flurry of nerves erupt in your body.

“You have, haven't you? Though I'm sure it was nothing but an “accident”. Your hate consumes you Aemond. It makes you foolish.” The bite of your words through themselves into the air.

“Don't pretend to know of my hate.” Aemond stepped closer to you putting his hand against the hilt of a dagger at his hip.

“You're not quite as hard to read as you think. Your thoughts soak through these layers you wear. Not to mention my madame has a penchant to talk.” At the mention of Sylvie, Aemond recoiled and with it, you took another step forward. “Kinslayer. That's what they call you in the streets. She tells me of your guilt and remorse, but I see none. Besides what's a brother when you've already killed a cousin?

Like a flash of light Aemond had you turned your back to his chest as he placed his dagger against the soft hollow of your throat.

“You will do well to hold your tongue when you speak to me or it shall be your last words.” He pulled you closer to himself and traced his eyes across the slope of your nose.

“A shame your beauty was wasted on him.” Disgust was evident in your eyes as you eyed Aemond.

“Don't bother my prince. I'm not sure my age would appeal to you.” He roughly pushed you away looking embarrassed.

“Leave.”

“What of Aegon?” The thoughts of your young king still swirled. The One-eyed prince looked up and surveyed your worried expression before saying nothing and turning back to the board of war details. It was an obvious dismissal. You would get no answers here. With that, you turned and left the room.

[keisobe]

── ˖ ∿ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎… (𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝟐)

⭑𓂃・ random headcanons of the sully brothers

characters. neteyam sully + lo’ak sully

notes. this was a little fun thing to write about and it mostly came out as word vomit, so i’m sorry about that ! enjoy reading tho ❤︎ + not proofread

neteyam ⸰ֺ ࣭⭑𓄹

since he mostly hangs out with his parents to do some patrolling around pandora or hunting whenever he’s asked to— neteyam barely has time to chill. but when he does, he collects different types of stones and gems to make meaningful jewelry. he would be stuck in his tent for hours just arranging beads and stones together while thinking of the person he’s making it for. neteyam made one for neytiri, tuk, and kiri (his favorite girls). when he gifts it to them, he explains each meaning of certain stones/gems and why he chose them. one of his other hobbies is to sleep within the forest. of course, he would look for possible threats before he lounges in the leaves and falls into a deep slumber.

when kiri and lo’ak venture around pandora, neteyam is left with tuk. he loves to take care of her. he’s always holding onto his baby sister or is always sitting at eye level with her to speak to her as a sign of respect. neteyam carves out wooden dolls for tuk as well, he would spend a lot of time making the tiniest details and making sure that it was perfect (and safe) for tuk to play with. he’s even made a replica of the sully family. she probably has over dozens of wooden dolls and she forces neteyam to play with her. of course, neteyam plays with her and takes it very seriously.

neteyam is very popular within the omatikaya clan. a lot of the elderly folks and adults love to swoon over him, complimenting him whenever he comes by. this also means that he would be asked a lot of favors, which he doesn’t mind at all. neteyam is always walking around carrying heavy baskets filled with food and essential material all around the village. many other young girls crush on him as well. their mothers would go up to neteyam and basically play matchmaker so their daughters could have a chance with him and become his mate in the future. upon hearing this, neytiri tells all the village people to stop pestering neteyam all the time (she threatened some of the women that day as well). overall, neteyam is just hopelessly popular and wants to pay gratitude to the people he cares about.

personally, i see neteyam to be a subtly hater of the sky people, especially those who he’s unfamiliar with. whenever spider would visit their village, he would be a lot more distant and quiet (he’s a bit suspicious of his intentions at times). he has heard all the horrid stories from his mother and he made a silent vow that he would be more cautious around sky people; especially towards spider, knowing he’s the son of quaritch. it took awhile for neteyam to warm up to norm and the other scientists, but he eventually trusted them and now, he would occasionally visit their lab to study or watch over kiri when she wanted to see grace. neteyam just prefers to be with his own people and tends to be cautious on who he really trust, especially towards humans.

loves storytelling. neteyam has many things to share to anybody and everybody around him is always so curious about his adventures and accomplishments. occasionally, he would huddle with the village’s children and share amazing stories about the things he’s done with his family. when the sully family sought sanctuary from the metkayina clan, the sea children would be so curious about the forest and he couldn’t help but share all the traditions they have. neteyam loves to share his personal stories and share the tradition and culture of his clan whenever he has the chance.

while also being raised by spiritual traditions, neteyam learned more scientific knowledge. he was mostly taught by his father, going into the lab to study how the body works and what to do when an emergency happens. neteyam would sometimes be at the lab reading a book about physiology or curiously looking over how humans can transport themselves into an avatar (the sky people love it when he’s there). neteyam loves knowledge and he’s thankful to share both his mom’s spiritual background and his dad’s marine background. but one thing that really encouraged him to study was when jake told him the story before he became one with his avatar: how jake became paralyzed and how his life spiraled downhill when he was a human. through jake’s story, he vowed to protect his family by learning basic medical skills like cpr and learning the signs of shock.

lo’ak ⸰ֺ ࣭⭑𓄹

voice impressions is his humor. i feel like he would be into watching old movie films and pick up on character accents he likes so much. he even references movie scenes at times (neteyam doesn’t understand any of them, at all). lo’ak would even mock his family, replicating neteyam’s lecturing and tuk’s whining. the sully’s won’t admit it, but he’s pretty spot on with his impressions. the only person he’s really scared to impersonate is his father, being yelled at over a joke isn’t something he looks forward to (but jake secretly wants him to).

sneaks out, like all the time. when it comes to na’vi culture, everybody sticks together all the time— no privacy is left for anybody. being an outcast and all, lo’ak would venture alone into the forest and have some time for himself. he would either train by himself or just explore the forest to find new things to discover. lo’ak always comes back with cool stories so he tells his siblings about them (expect for tuk, he knows she’s a total snitch). neteyam and kiri discourage his independence because he might end up being in danger, so they sometimes secretly accompany him without lo’ak knowing.

has had a few crushes here and there within the omatikaya clan. since neteyam is a lot more popular, all the girls he had a crush on would infatuate over neteyam instead— so he’s very bitter about that. luckily, lo’ak could get over it pretty easily, he’s not always strung on someone especially when they don’t like him back. he’s mostly mad at neteyam for being a “lady magnet” (neteyam disagrees but he honestly feels a little honored to be called that).

as a teenager, lo’ak can be unfiltered with how he feels. so lo’ak has a foul mouth. whenever he’s injured, he throws in a fuck or two. when he’s frustrated, he’ll say shit or bitch. jake tells him to “watch his mouth” but it’s honestly his fault lo’ak curses like a sailor. neytiri highly discourages his bad language and tells him that a warrior’s last words shouldn’t be “demon language”. that really hit a nail for lo’ak, so he doesn’t curse as often.

takes a camera with him. lo’ak isn’t very awkward when it comes to taking photos and tends to keep photos of the scenery of pandora. he also secretly loves to keep memories of all the small moments with his family. in his section of his shared bedroom, lo’ak has a bunch of photos hung with all his favorite memories and the rest (mostly family photos because he’s shy) is kept in a box he leaves under his bed. he denies that he likes to do “mushy” stuff but obviously, he loves it.

play fights with kiri. growing up together, they always fought over the stupidest things. whether it be over a toy or when one sibling is annoying than the other. kiri and lo’ak are the closet with one another and why not settle your problems by throwing it down a bit. they would find a more secluded area in the forest so neteyam or their parents would not break them up. but neteyam always finds a way to locate them and tells them to stop before dad catches them. sometimes neteyam just sits around and keep tabs on who’s winning because he gave up playing the “responsible big brother.” lo’ak doesn’t hold back when it comes to kiri, he would pounce at her and wrestle her on the floor if he needed to.

© 2023 keisobe – please do not copy any of my writing and repost or translate to other sites.

[blacksodoma]

Echoes of Forgotten Gods - Chapter I

(loustat alternative universe) You can find another chapters and more in here.

Warnings: grief and loss, emotional manipulation, sex content. Chapter I - The Meeting of Shadows

      Children should never pay for the sins, desires, or frustrations of their parents. Yet the imbalance of the world means that invisible scars are carried for generations, like an incessant curse.

      The great Lioncourt mansion was haunted by these curses—the weight of its glory and the destruction of its own members. Through the silent halls of Manoir de la Jonquille, Lestat ran fearlessly. His mother always told him there was nothing to fear because the blood of the old gods ran through his veins. He was free, as a prince should be.

      But freedom always comes at a price, and parents know that. Some choose to pay so their children can walk in the sunlight; others prefer to leave them far from the light. It was in the shadows of the ruins of Pointe du Lac Castle that Louis walked cautiously, praying for any change that might give his life meaning. He thought everything would be fine once his family left France and moved to Italy—a fresh start in the south, where they could be happy and prosperous again. But just like at the end of Pompeii, some wept in the ashes as darkness swallowed reality, and others dared to fly away. Now, for Louis, there was nothing left but memories of a home covered in dust. The name Pointe du Lac was all that remained.

      The letter arrived shortly after, from Auvergne. A longtime friend of his mother, killed in the eruption, sent her condolences. She said they could return to France to live with her. Her husband had many boys being trained as great warriors, and they would be more than welcome. Weeks later, Gabrielle was waiting for them with a warm hug, while her ill-tempered husband stood beside her.

      “How you’ve grown!” Gabrielle exclaimed, running her hands over Grace’s face. “Your eyes remind me of your mother’s. I’m happy I’ll still have a reminder of her sweet soul here with us. Come, I’ll show you the house!”

      As Gabrielle introduced the rooms and explained the history of the mansion, Louis couldn’t take his eyes off the many paintings and statues scattered everywhere. Ancient gods, nymphs, warriors, and myths adorned the red walls, surrounded by golden frames. The Manoir de la Jonquille felt like a silent storyteller, and the fact that he couldn’t understand all its tales made Louis uneasy. His father had never taught him to love artistic expressions; he used to say it was a waste of time, a joy reserved for fools or women.

      At the back of the mansion was another house, where the young men sheltered by the Marquis d'Auvergne lived—future warriors, raised for a purpose unknown to all.

      “Usually, the boys stay in that house, but you’ll stay with us,” Gabrielle said. “If you want to become warriors of Auvergne, you’re welcome to try! But for now, I’ll raise you as my own children.”

      After Gabrielle’s lengthy reception, Louis finally arrived at the room he would share with Paul. It was comfortable, but what caught his attention the most were the windows overlooking the indoor garden. At its center stood a beautiful peach tree. I can’t wait to see it in the spring, he thought.

      “Do you remember her children?” Paul asked, unpacking his belongings.

      “No. I don’t think we ever met them.” In fact, we barely know Gabrielle.

      After a few restless hours of sleep, Louis decided to walk through the gardens surrounding the mansion. Caught between agony and happiness, he felt the nature around him transporting him back home—a place that now felt distant, wrapped in stories he didn’t know. If only the trees could tell stories like my mother used to.

      “Louis!” Grace’s voice pulled him back. “Gabrielle wants to show us her art gallery.”

      “Why?” Art had always seemed frivolous to him.

      “She said it’s the place she goes to when sadness finds her.”

      Despite finding the invitation meaningless, he followed his sister back to the mansion. Gabrielle suggested they could learn to paint if they wanted to, and she laughed at Louis’s disapproving look as they entered the room.

      “Believe me, Louis. For quiet people like you, this can be a way to whisper to the world.”

      “True artists don’t whisper; they scream,” a deep voice sounded from the corner of the room. “If you’re not brave enough to shout, then the sword will suit you better.”

      Louis turned, intrigued. The boy who spoke had a magnetic presence. Just one look was enough for Louis to realize that this boy was not a fool, nor someone frivolous as he had imagined. But why would he defend this ‘fool’s joy’ without even looking at him?

      “Lestat, please,” Gabrielle sighed.

Lestat. The name echoed in Louis’s mind.

At least look at me. Louis thought.

And he did.

[yawnzbf-shifted]

⚝ LOVE?

An artist who used to paint his muse, answers the questions of a curious journalist

600+ words

“I heard you only paint those whom you love, is that true?” the journalist asks away in awe as she admires the only unfinished painting among a clutter of finished pieces, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Though it was the very same muse for all the paintings, each of them varied from each other. It was almost impossible for her to grasp how and why they seemed so different?

Maybe it was the brushstrokes that made the difference or perhaps the lighting? She questioned herself. Even with these complications, one thing was clear whoever it was captured in those creations could only be described with one word- ethereal.

Ms. Julia was so absorbed in the sightseeing, she didn’t realize that she had unintentionally crossed into the artist's personal space. The said artist looked up, a small smile playing on his lips.

“ah miss Julia, an interesting question indeed. It is true I only paint those whom I have loved. You see love is a very amusing emotion- at least for me and to understand that very thing I immerse myself in the act of capturing it on canvas,” yn explained with a distant look in his eyes.

 

The journalist notes it down in her notebook hurriedly. Prying eyes of the artist take a notice of this as he settles back down by his most recent- unfinished piece.

“There is no need to hurry miss, if you want I can wait for you to jot it down before I continue” yn offers feeling bad for the corporate worker.

“oh! Mr. Ln, I wouldn’t want that, I’ve already prolonged my stay here for the interview. But if I may dare, could I ask why this unfinished painting is kept along with the finished ones?” Julia expresses her curiosity.

Yn remains silent for a second too long in thought of how to answer the question. Julia suddenly feels as if she crossed the lines once again by asking her client a personal question.

“If you don’t want to answer that’s fine by me! Sir!” she utters out panicked.

“It isn’t as if I don’t want to, rather I find it difficult how to answer your question miss” yn answers which somehow calms the journalist’s nerves down.

“then, maybe is this person the one whom you love?” she urges after all every person who knew about artist yn’s paintings had only seen one face over and over again until yn stopped.

A smile immediately graces the artist’s face, maybe even the mere thought of those memories.

“yes, these works you see miss Julia were made for the person whom I loved” yn replies.

“Loved?” Julia repeats in question.

Oh.

Oh.

“I’m sorry Mr. Ln. I was insensitive, is- is he dead?” She asks away feeling her heart break for the other.

Until, she hears laughter- pure and genuine. Yn’s laughter filled the studio, echoing like a melody that resonated with a bittersweet harmony.

“No need for apologies, Miss Julia. Your concern is appreciated, but no, he’s not gone.” Yn stops abruptly to catch his breath then continues.

“its just that while I was painting this unfinished piece you see, I realized that I had fallen out of love with my muse”

 Yn continued, his expression a mixture of introspection and acceptance.

Julia, absorbing the unexpected twist in the narrative, listened attentively as Yn shared his thoughts. “The unfinished painting embodies not just the enduring nature of love but also the vulnerability of human emotions. It became a mirror reflecting the changes in my heart, and I decided to leave it as a testament to that realization.”

Silence erupted between the two as the only noise that could be heard was the record player playing a melody.

“Is there anything else that plagues your mind missy?” yn teased.

“ah, no sir. I think I have troubled you enough today and it’s time for this interview to end as well, don’t you agree Mr. Yn?” yn smiled at the gesture as he lead his guest to the door.

Bidding her a farewell.

[aikaterini-drag]

Chapter 13 Aching

Summary: Bucky is devastated at the way he treated Grace. While she, deals with his decision to hide his true intentions from her and leave her behind.

Warnings (this chapter): regrets, emotional Bucky, separation feelings, Tony Stark sass is here to make up for the sadness.

Find more chapters of the "Fading Scars" Series here ♡

Three hours had passed. Three excruciating hours since James had deceived and forsaken Grace. Three hours in which he couldn't rest nor free himself of his rueful conscience. Guilt was ripping him apart from the inside out. A boulder thrown at his face would have been better than the mental anguish he was experiencing.

Restless and consumed by anger, he raked his hands across his face in a futile attempt to erase the traces of his torment. He shook his head vigorously as if by sheer force he could expel the haunting memories that clung to him.  Clasping his hands together, he concentrated on the mission ahead of him, the only welcome substitute for his broken reality.

"You shouldn't have left her behind," Steve's voice broke through the silence as he approached. Clad in his signature navy blue suit, shield slung across his back, he settled beside Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Couldn't agree more. You made her cry," Sam added, joining the conversation.

"I didn't want to hurt her," Bucky said and swallowed heavily.

"Last time I checked, lying to someone is the main cause of pain," Sam said despite Cap's gentle nods to keep it low.

Bucky breathed out and looked at him. "Simply staying quiet would have sufficed, Sam."

"I'm not one to stay silent," Sam quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Remind me, why exactly are you helping me?" Bucky addressed him and set his mouth into a thin line.

"Ask him," Sam said, pointing at the Captain. "He believes in you. And if Steve believes in you, then I support you too."

"Sam..." Steve said, curving his lips in a proud smile. "Now can you two stop bickering?"

Bucky just sighed. "I'll stop. Hydra is my primary concern."

A brief silence hung in the air until Sam spoke up again. "So, how do we track down Silas? We're navigating without a compass, flying blind."

"We can start attacking every Hydra base I know. There are at least six potential facilities," Bucky suggested.

"What makes you think this is worth our efforts?" Sam said with skepticism.

"Silas needs a base suitable for his dirty work," Bucky said. "He needs fortified facilities, medical rooms, torture chambers..."

"Do you think he has injected the serum by himself?" Steve asked, not excited at the idea of fighting against another super soldier.

"No. He won't risk it." Bucky exhaled. "He won't hesitate to use other test subjects, though. That serum is unlike any other serum ever created. It's impossibly strong, wicked even, formulated to poison the human body and mind. There's a high possibility that the person will lose his sanity after taking it. No human is strong enough to bear its power."

Sam's brows knitted. "And where does Grace fit in all this?"

"They're family, hence Silas wants to test it on her and analyze its side effects. That monster wants to sacrifice his daughter for the sake of a stupid experiment!" Bucky said with a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Steve ground his jaw. "We'll get him. Let's start by infiltrating some of the possible Hydra facilities."

"I agree. I'm sure we'll eventually find some clues," Sam said. "What's our first location?"

Bucky cleared his throat before saying, "Hydra's Laboratories in North America.

▪️▪️▪️

Grace gazed outside the airplane window, her thoughts distant, lost in the vast expanse beyond the glass. Sunlight filtered through puffy clouds, casting a warm and inviting glow on the landscape below. Rolling hills and lush valleys passed by, a vibrant tapestry of nature's splendor. But her eyes remained vacant, her mind consumed by a storm of emotions that no view could dispel.

She groaned and shifted on her seat, evading the intruding sunlight that hit her eyes. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes but she wiped them away and curled up in her seat with a heavy feeling in her chest. She should have known better. James was trained in the art of misleading people. And she was such a fool, melting into his arms, completely disregarding the signs until it was too late.

It irritated her that he had taken a personal risk so he could keep her safe.

Alarms were ringing in her mind because, despite his actions, she was worried about him. What if Hydra recaptured him? What if they tortured him beyond saving? What if she never saw him again? The fear of his absence, of never setting eyes on him again, clutched at her heart, refusing to loosen its grip. She attempted to push these thoughts aside, but they clung to her consciousness relentlessly.

The soft sound of boots clacking against the floor brought her back from her silent thoughts, followed by a soft hand cupping her shoulder. Grace cringed at the sudden touch and readjusted her position at the sudden disturbance. Her gaze met that of a woman draped in a tactical ensemble, vibrant crimson hair framing her face like a fierce halo. The piercing green of her eyes held a hint of mischief, and her lips were painted a deep red.

"Natasha?" Grace uttered, her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

"Grace Landon, I was hoping our paths would cross again," Natasha replied, her lips curling into a warm smile.

"How long has it been?!"

Grace exclaimed, springing from her seat to embrace her in a swift, heartfelt hug. Natasha had been a constant presence in her life during the time when she was tasked with guarding her and her mother against Silas. They had grown close and turned into good friends.

"Over four years," Natasha answered, her tone carrying a sense of both nostalgia and regret.  "Grace... I'm so sorry about your mother. I—I failed—"

"Natasha, don't blame yourself for my mother. You did everything you could to keep us safe."

"I wish I could have done more." Natasha didn't have the heart to meet her eyes. She felt sorry for not being able to protect Grace's mother and for going on with her life when the poor girl had gone through so much on her own.

"I've never forgotten you all these years," Grace confessed, her voice a brew of gratitude and affection.

Natasha's eyes met hers, her demeanor softening. "Is that why you disappeared without a trace?"

"I'm sorry..."

Natasha sighed. "I thought you were dead ..."

"As you can see I'm still... I'm still out of power. What about you?"

"I've been following orders, going on missions."

Grace smiled. "I'm proud of you. You joined the Avengers. You seem to have found your place. And I'm sorry again. I should have kept contact with you."

"I understand," Natasha said. "It's all in the past now."

"James put you up to this, didn't he?" Grace said, a harsh breath escaping her. "Ah... even saying his name makes me angry."

"Barnes did this to protect you," Natasha said after pondering for a few seconds. "He's a good man."

Grace's frustration resurfaced. "I don't care. He shouldn't have agreed to this plan. Turn this jet around. I want to see him."

Natasha's tone was gentle but firm. "I can't do that."

Grace let out a bitter laugh. "This isn't fair. I'm being dragged along against my will."

"Bear with it for a little while." Natasha peered at the way her face had paled and for a moment there, she was vexed. Damn it, Barnes. The young spy was insecure about all this, but Steve had also agreed, so she had to follow the plan.

Grace rubbed her throbbing temples and asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"I'll let you know soon."

"That's not an answer."

"Grace, please try to be patient."

"I can't be patient. I've been manipulated into something I don't want."

Natasha's resolve wavered. "Alright. We're headed to the Stark Tower. New York."

"The Stark Tower?"

"Yes, you're to stay there until further notice." Natasha hesitated but continued, "I'll be there with you, providing whatever assistance you need."

Grace forced down the sickening feeling in her gut and exhaled. The Stark Tower represented safety and luxury, yet its walls felt like a gilded cage, confining her freedom. And Natasha wasn't staying with her just to make friends. She was there to guard her in case something went wrong.

"Will he ever return?" Grace muttered, her throat tightening.

Natasha didn't reply and that was answer enough.

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 12]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: M Chapter Warnings: some anxiety, some talk of sex, some anxiety around sex Proofread: no beta we die like men Taglist: @envyspinebender Chapter Summary: You have a chat with your mom, who admits that she wants to dress you and your boyfriend up all fancy. Later, Viktor makes you a little hot under the collar, and you silently stress about it.

Not long after you agree to skip the gala in lieu of going on a proper date, your car arrives to take you back home. You and Viktor pack your bags tightly into the trunk, and fall comfortably into the back seat.

It’s warm once you’re inside, away from the sharp winter breeze that nips at your heels and whistles past your ears.

Your driver is quiet on the drive, and a little piece of you is saddened that you weren’t able to run into the old man that had taken you to the academy for the first time. He’d been so kind and boisterous then, and again when you’d met him for a second time.

You wonder how his granddaughter is doing.

—

You pay the driver the money you owe once you pull up in front of your childhood home, making sure to also leave a generous tip. He’s nice enough about it, offering you a smile and a tip of his hat, while Viktor fetches your belongings from the trunk. Not so much as a goodbye as he peels away, though.

You wonder if perhaps you’ve been spoiled.

“I wonder if I should do a grocery run while it’s still light out,” you say, thinking out loud while you walk into the house.

It’s significantly more welcoming than it had been the day before, with clean floors and a palpable warmth that hadn’t been present the previous day. Even just a few steps into the front hallway, and you can feel the difference in the air: no longer is the mood muddied and anxious and downtrodden.

The crackling of a fire, your mother’s humming from another room, the crinkling that your boyfriend is making in the closet. You feel hopeful.

You feel content.

“There’s a lot in the pantry,” Viktor replies, taking your coat as you slide it from your shoulders. “If you don’t want to cook, that’s fine. I saw quite a few snacks stockpiled when I last checked.”

You raise a curious brow at him.

“When were you in the pantry?” you wonder, “Mama made breakfast this morning.”

Immediately, colour rises to his cheeks, but not in a way that makes him look shy. If anything, his expression screams sheepish, if not a little guilty.

“I- eh-” he flounders for a moment.

You quickly kick off your boots and tiptoe over to him, wrapping your arms around his slender waist in an attempt to comfort him.

“I’m not mad or anything,” you assure him, stretching up to press a kiss to his chin. “If there’s anything in this house that you want, it’s yours. You don’t need to ask, okay? What I meant was when did you have time to look for snacks?”

His shoulders sag the moment you explain yourself, and he slides his hands down your sides, to your hips. “I was up in the middle of the night,” he explains. “I’m used to having something to eat past midnight, so…”

You kiss him again.

“Maybe we should make something before we go to bed, then. So you don’t have to go scrounging around in the dark.”

The slightest of smiles graces across his lips, and he leans down to carefully knock his head against yours. A strange display of affection, you think, but welcomed nonetheless.

“Let’s go-” you begin, only to be cut off by a sudden, distant call.

“Is that you, darling?” your mother’s voice comes from further in the house, interrupting whatever moment you were about to have with your boyfriend. The two of you share a miffed look with each other, and take a few steps away.

“I’ll go see what she needs,” you murmur. “Why don’t you get started on lunch?”

With a nod, he departs down the hallway, passing your mother’s study, leaving you to collect yourself for a couple of seconds.

Then, slowly, you follow him, stopping before you get to the kitchen.

Your mother is tucked up behind her grand mahogany desk - a wedding present she’d gotten from your father. She’d often joked with him about how the newlyweds weren’t supposed to be the ones giving gifts on the occasion, and your father had replied to her the same way each time.

Is it a crime to want to spoil my wife?

As a child, you’d always crinkled your nose at how gross and mushy the two of them were. Stupidly in love with each other, only growing more and more fond as the years went by and their lives changed. You hadn’t understood such a thing back then.

But now?

Now, you look at that old desk, covered in papers and graphite sticks while your mother pores over it, and your heart swells.

You understand why your father wanted to give her everything.

You understand the love he has for her. 

The devotion, the attention, the enamoration. The patience, and diligence. 

You understand.

“What’s got you looking so soft?” your mother teases from further in the room, eyeing you curiously where you lean in the doorway.

“I’m not soft,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“You are,” she says again, with a quirk of her lips. “You’ve got a tender shine in your eyes, you know? Ever since you brought your Viktor home, you’ve stared after him like-”

“A lovesick puppy?” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

But to your surprise, your mother shakes her head.

“Like you’re basking in the warmth of the sun for the first time,” she corrects.

Heat immediately rises to your face, and you glance away from her. Searching for something, anything, that might change the subject.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk about your relationship - on the contrary, you want nothing more than to shout from the rooftops how dearly you love him. And your mother obviously knows it, with the way she gently ribs at you.

You want to tell her about him. 

You want to tell her how beautiful and brilliant he is, how he’s loved you and taken care of you over the years, how he’s been a constant source of support and happiness in your life. How he’d single handedly cured your loneliness, and filled your heart with affection.

But despite your desire to open up to her, you only find yourself clamming up. 

Anxiety filling your chest and digging its cold fingers into your ribs.

Why?

“What are you working on?” you ask her, in an attempt to move the conversation elsewhere. You stare down at the copious papers she has strewn about, covered in graphite dust and smudges and fingerprints.

She doesn’t appear fully dissuaded by your efforts, but she at least humors you and takes the bait.

“They’re sketches,” she explains proudly, spreading a couple of them out across the desk for you to better see. “For the winter gala. You and Viktor will need adequate clothing, and as you remember, I said I would love to make something for the two of you.”

You stare down at the various gowns she’s designed so far, each one more exquisite than the last.

“These are…a lot,” you admit, and from the corner of your eye, you can see her face fall slightly.

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you’d still want to work on these after…” you pause for a moment, casting your gaze downwards, “...after Papa went into the hospital. Vik and I figured you wouldn’t have the wherewithal to deal with sewing entire outfits, so we…well. Mama, we’re not going to the gala.”

You wait with bated breath for her to say something, to chide you for wasting her time or to scold you for not wanting to put yourself out there.

Instead, and much to your surprise, she just takes your hand.

“I figured as much,” she sighs. She then sorts the drawings out again, bringing a couple newer ones to the top of the pile. “Which is why I made these instead.”

The dresses she shows off are significantly simpler than the previous ones. Less poofy, and more…flowing and form fitting, with intricate drapes and pleats to delicately fall across your figure.

But they’re still dresses.

“Mama-”

“I know, I know, you said you aren’t going to the gala,” she sighs, patting the back of your hand, “But it would still be nice if the two of you went on a date together, yes? Your father and I booked an evening at that lovely restaurant - the one with the hotel, across from the theater?”

Your eyes widen. “The really fancy one? With the garden in the middle, and the hanging lights - the expensive one?”

Your mother nods.

“The very same,” she confirms. “We booked it months ago, as an early anniversary present to ourselves. And when we found out you and Viktor would be attending the gala together, we decided to stay the night there - give the two of you some privacy at home, and whatnot.”

She smiles coyly at you, and your face is so hot you fully believe you’re about to combust.

“Mama,” you squeak, beyond embarrassed, which only earns a boisterous, amused laugh.

“Relax, dear,” she chimes, and rearranges her sketches once more; bringing to the top a fully sketched piece, coloured and blended with her favourite oil pastels.

Soft powder blues, satiny fabrics draped expertly over soft gossamer.

It’s beautiful.

“With your father having gone through so much recently, there’s no chance he’ll be recovered enough for us to go,” she explains sadly. “But it’s already been paid for, and the meals are custom ordered. It would be useless to cancel now.”

“You’re sure you want Viktor and I to have this?” you ask, your mind immediately filling with images of her friends and their partners who might appreciate the experience more fully.

“Of course,” she replies. “You’re young and in love - what better date than to spend an entire night together? Eating fancy foods and then lounging around in a candlelit room, quietly reading or sharing a lavender bath.”

You’re about to set on fire again.

“You just want to dress us up all fancy,” you grumble, without a hint of malice.

The woman just grins at you, and begins to shoo you out of the room. “Of course I do!” she chirps, “Now go. Go tell your Viktor the good news, and bring me some of whatever you’re cooking.”

You snort softly and roll your eyes, and wander out of the room.

—

In the kitchen, you wander up behind your boyfriend where he stands at the counter, and slide your arms around his waist. He doesn’t tense or startle when you touch him, and in fact leans into you when you give him a squeeze.

He’s probably gotten an earful of your entire conversation.

“Everything alright?” he inquires, with an air of mischief in his tone.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?” 

He nods, and you groan, hiding your face in his back. You’re not so much embarrassed by the fact that you’ve been offered a night at a fancy hotel, as you are about the fact that your mother very loudly implied that you’d probably be having a lot of sex.

You’re mortified, really.

You’d never even spoken to Viktor about such things before, not even in curious passing when you were still penpals. Sure, your parents had never raised you to believe that physical intimacy was something to hide or be ashamed of, but it was…

It was awkward.

You have no idea how to even broach the subject.

Thankfully, he seems to sense that you’re in a state of distress - wiggling around in your grasp for a few moments until he’s able to turn around and face you. Though he might not call it facing you with how you continue to mash your features into his shirt.

A huff of air passes his lips, the barest of laughs.

“It will be fun,” he assures you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “A night out with just the two of us will be nice, even if we still have to dress up.”

You whine quietly, and finally peek up at him.

“Promise?” you ask.

“I promise,” he replies. He draws you into a kiss then, a slow, gentle touch to your lips, but deep. In an instant your knees are weak and wobbly, and the butterflies in your stomach explode into a raucous dance. You’re stricken breathless in mere moments as his arms tighten around your waist and his fingers press into the soft fat of your hips.

A thrill of desire shoots through your entire body, and you fist your hands around the material of his shirt.

You’re ready to melt into his touch, indulge whatever whims he might have. Your thoughts even go so far as to envision him pressing you into the counter - his hands sliding up under the soft cotton of your blouse, gripping and taking hold of you while he-

And then he pulls away.

With a satisfied, devilish little smirk, he parts from you; leaving you dazed and entirely too hot beneath your collar.

“Come,” he says, gesturing you back to the food he had been preparing. “Your mother said she wanted some, so we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

You grumpily grab a block of cheese.

—

Later that night, you can’t sleep.

It had already been late when you and Viktor had finally stopped working on your project, and gone to get ready for bed. Both of you had been yawning and nearly cross-eyed with exhaustion when you’d dragged yourselves upstairs, with barely enough energy to change your clothing before slumping down under the covers.

But now?

Now, you’re wide awake.

It must be well past midnight, if you were to guess. You’re not positive how long you’ve been laying there in the dark, staring up at nothing, but you know it’s been more than a couple of minutes.

Beside you, your boyfriend is soundly sleeping, mostly quiet and unshifting, though he does occasionally grunt and snore. It’s rather endearing, in your opinion - getting to see him during such a time. The way his cheek is squished into the pillow, mushing his lips together in a little pout. 

He’s adorable.

He’s beautiful.

There’s not an ounce of worry in his expression, when he slumbers.

You wish you could be the same. You wish you were able to sleep, and not have to lay there silently while your thoughts race and scream and fill you with an all-encompassing anxiety.

What are you even worried about?

The date?

You hadn’t been stressed about the gala; at least not like this. You hated crowds, and loud noises, and you hated having to jump through social hoops just to be recognized as an equal! In theory, a simple date with your beloved boyfriend shouldn’t be a source of worry.

What are you even worried about?

Perhaps it’s the after the date that you’re anxious about. The hotel, the night in together - the things your mother had implied.

Sex.

You know she’d only been joking. Probably.

Neither her nor your father had ever been shy about teaching you things while you grew up. They had explained it all in simpler terms, yes, but the moment you’d started asking questions, they’d had answers.

Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of, your mother had told you, at the ripe age of thirteen. It’s private, yes, but it can be a beautiful thing, when both parties want it. It’s okay to talk about it, and make inquiries. It’s important to know about what’s going on, and what you might be feeling.

You’d been beyond embarrassed, back then. Too utterly mortified to even fathom asking any of the questions you had now.

How would you know if you were ready? What would it feel like? What do you even do? And what about the expectations?!

You were no stranger to sub-par romance novels, filled with cliches of every name. You knew that sex couldn’t possibly be like it was described - mind-blowing and all-encompassing.

The only thing you feel, littered in amongst your physical desires, is stress.

Too many thoughts, swirling around in your head all at once. Too many questions, too many emotions, clawing at your chest and making your heart palpate wildly behind your ribcage.

What if he didn’t want you?

He kissed you like he wanted you.

He touched you like he wanted you, held you like you were the most treasured part of his life.

But what if he didn’t want you?

What if you did something wrong, and messed up?

What if you weren’t any good?

You bring your hand up to quickly wipe away the tears gathering in your eyes, not wanting to be caught in such a state. Viktor is, of course, still snoring beside you, completely unaware of your internal crisis.

You don’t think you’d be able to take it if you did something to screw up your relationship. It was still so new; all of it. You’d barely been together for any time at all, but you were also new to this.

You’ve never had a romantic partner.

You’ve never even really had friends.

What if you screw it up?

You know, logically, that you need to talk to Viktor about all the thoughts going on in your head. You couldn’t know for sure what he wants until you ask him, as much as your unhelpful brain likes to assume otherwise. You couldn’t know what he was really feeling until you mention it to him.

As embarrassing as it will be, you know it’s necessary. You know you’re going to have to bring it up.

Just…not right now.

Not while he’s so peacefully resting.

Perhaps tomorrow, you think, as the anxiety begins to crest again. Tomorrow, if you somehow manage to get enough sleep.

[tsukuyomii45]

obikonan for the otp ask

I've been thinking about them nonstop - they're one of my absolute favorites after ObiRin, thank you for asking this!! <333

ObiKonan (Obito x Konan):

1. Who most initiates PDA?

Obito initiates the most PDA. Usually he tends to turn up the heat between them with his hand on her waist, hip, or even tease her neck or the shell of her ear when he stands too close to her. He's the type that likes others to know that Konan belongs to him.

2. Any sleep habits either had to get used to?

Obito is a light sleeper, and Konan sometimes shifts around in her sleep, so Obito had to get used to her light, involuntary nudges.

3. Jealousy issues?

Definitely OBITO. He is jealous of her close bond with Nagato, and jealous of her irreplaceable love for Yahiko, but that's usually when his emotions cloud his senses since he does have an irreplaceable love for Rin.

4. What’s a Night Out for them?

Drinking together on the rooftop underneath a clear, night sky. They would leave Ame just to be away from the continuous rainfall, and spend time in a place where the weather is always clear. They would buy the most expensive sake brand and share it together, but they try their best to not get tipsy so that they could head back together.

5. What’s an evening in for them?

A hot bath together. Nothing better than having a private moment alone, where they both have a nice, long hot bath as they casually talk.

6. Double Date? Thoughts? Who?

No one. They love being alone together. They love their privacy. Being alone without needing to put up faces and just drowning in each other is what they want in their relationship.

7. Do they want (have) kids?

No, they wouldn't want to have children. The last thing they want is to bring a child into a world they both abhor.

8. Have an AU thought?

Personally, I'd like to talk about them in my Genshin AU. XD However, I have a modern AU idea in mind that I wish to turn into a fanfiction one day! :)

In my Genshin AU, Konan is fully supportive of Obito after Yahiko's death, and the two of them would have some flirty banters here and there, and they look out for each other in an unspoken way. They don't hate each other in this AU, but they tend to reminisce about Yahiko, and Obito tends to reassure her that no matter what, she won't have to ever feel so alone.

9. If they got engaged… who proposed? 

Obito proposed, and he'd propose to her in the middle of a fight in fact. Konan would question why he's been so distant lately (when it was Obito trying to prepare himself to pop the question), and then they get into their witty argument before he screams it at her face. XD

10. How do they deal with the other’s family?

Konan is graceful and elegant. Silent when she needs to be, and she has a noble demeanor. She lets out her wit at the right time, and she lets it be known that she is not some casual woman to be underestimated. The Uchiha will easily show respect for her because of how classy she is.

11. What is their love language?

Sex and sentiment. That's how they started out, and that's how it continues. Sentiment as in, leaving little things on their table or bedside that reminds them of the other. Could be a little flower, or an extravagant gift. Their bodies would do all the talking.

12. How Are there communication skills?

It ranges from flirtatious banters to stubborn arguments, to deep talks and mutual understanding and they always, always gesture with touches.

13. A little personal… but… Hot and Steamy or Soft and Tender?

Absolutely fucking hot and steamy. They always NEED each other.

14. How did they first meet?

We all know how they met here - Akatsuki, yada yada..

15. Why do they like each other?

Konan's genuine and elegant personality, and the beauty of Obito that reflects from being a broken man. They both have a mutual understanding about heartbreak from losing the person they loved the most.

16. Who cooks most?

Konan! She makes really good stews and warm food.

17. Morning rituals?

Showering together - well, making out in the shower before getting ready for the day.

18. Evening rituals?

Green tea and evening strolls.

19. How are they at parties or gatherings?

Heads would turn to them because of how classy they both look, but that's when Obito's possessiveness would emerge as he throws his jacket over her shoulders or keeps his arm around her waist.

20. Most cuddly? 

Both! Always in the dark, they love to hold each other closely because that's how their minds shut down, and it's only the two of them.

21. Movie Night?

Old movies so that they could just forget about it and fuck on the couch.

22. Who is the photo bug?

Konan loves to appreciate beauty, so she would take the most photos, but neither of them are extreme about it.

23. How well do they know each other’s favorite foods?

Given that the two of them have been dancing around one another before getting together, they are both observant about each other, down to the finest detail. So they know each other all too well.

24. What do their texts look like?

Flirting and mild sexting.

25. Parenting style?

Considering that both Obito and Konan are orphans, they would never want their child to ever lack in their emotional needs. Their child would have the most loving and affectionate parents - to the point where the bond between them and their child is the strongest. (See the headcanon about ObiKonan's child in the tag called "Under the Influence").

26. If they have kids, who named them? What would they name them?

Obito would let Konan do the honors of naming their first child. If they were to have a son, for sentimental reasons they would probably name the child Yahiko or some other strong name - If it were a girl, then the name would be Hana, which means flower.

27. Who brings home an illegal pet?

Neither. They're both too levelheaded.

28. Who takes the longest getting ready to leave?

Konan, thanks to her need to apply make-up and taking her sweet time to look as pretty as ever.

29. Who said I Love You, first?

Obito, again, in the heat of an argument, he said those three words which technically shocked them both, and then Konan said it back and they had the best make up sex ever since.

30. When did they realize they loved each other?

When they realized how much pushing each other way was torturing them and acknowledging that they just strongly wanted and needed each other. Their presence was the reassurance that fought their demons, and they were the only ones that understood each other the most and no one else can take their place.

[remayzinggg]

Witness

Portia who I’ve known since seventh grade, turns 16 today. It wasn't until some time had passed that I noticed myself seated comfortably on their living room sofa, fixated on a photo of my friend's family. A smile stretched across my face as I absorbed the genuine happiness reflected in their eyes. It’s like a testament to the great happiness they shared as a family. Rising from the couch, I head outside into their yard. A lot of her friends are here to celebrate her birthday which made it more enjoying. I don’t know any of them because I can’t see their faces well. It’s a fun-filled day where all of us partake in exciting activities. Her birthday is well-prepared by her parents, from activities, designs, foods, and even the guests. It’s not even her 18th birthday yet everything feels so grand. Her family works tirelessly to ensure every guest is welcomed and entertained, leaving no room for boredom. I find myself involve in the joy of watching them dance and sing, until a sobering moment of reality interrupts me. Many unanswered questions have begun to plague me and cause me to doubt my existence. Why didn’t I experience any of this? What have I done in my past life to not have a family like this? Everything feels so questionable every time I start to compare my life to other people’s life. I become sad about it and start to make myself better by gaslighting myself that it’s fine. “Soleil, don’t you want to dance?” Portia asked while I am in the middle of my thoughts. I'm glad she interrupted me because if I think about it further, my thoughts could go deeper. “Let’s go! I just had to finish my drinks” I answered happily. In that moment, the music becomes the rhythm of my heartbeat, synchronizing my movements with an effortless grace. My body moves with a freedom with no worries or constraints, each step of my dance is like a reminder of being alive. “Happy birthday, Portia. Thank you for inviting me. I hope you’re happy” I said to Portia while bidding my farewell. “Thank you for coming, Soleil. Keep safe going home!” she said. Venturing to their house, I harbored a quiet hope that someone might offer to accompany me home, for I was utterly drained from the party. My feet are aching from dancing. Thankfully, I am used to doing things alone. Eventually, I arrived home unscathed. Upon my return, my beloved dog, attuned to my presence, greeted me with an affectionate nudge, affirming that despite the weariness, I was where I belonged. “It’s already late. Why did you still go home?” my mom asked at my back which is an indication that she just got home too. “The party lasted for like 4 hours. Where have you been?” I asked. “Nothing. I just meet some friends” she answered and went straightly to her room. Our relationship was distant, lacking any effort to connect or share with each other. It's as if we were strangers coexisting under the same roof.

Time has flown by swiftly, and we are now graduating in high school. Taking charge of my own preparations, I independently purchased a dress, as my mother couldn’t join me for shopping. The program is already starting. Portia’s family is already here in the venue while my mom is still not in here. Despite my name being announced, my mother is nowhere to be found. I stride onto the stage alone, disregarding the curious gazes and hushed whispers around me. It's a familiar feeling of disappointment, yet one that doesn't catch me off guard. Celebrations have never been my mother's forte, she prioritizes work over any celebrations. When I took my seat, my teacher inquired about my parents, casting a sympathetic gaze my way. But I refused to be seen as a subject of pity. "She's at work, ma'am," I replied, even though it wasn't true, she didn't have work today. I went home with my medals and saw my mom sitting in the sofa like she didn’t do anything wrong. Despite my desire to remain silent towards her, I couldn't resist posing a single question. "Why weren't you there?" I inquired, maintaining a calm tone. Her response came without meeting my gaze, "I had important matters to attend to," she explained. What is it? What is more important than your daughter’s graduation? Why can’t you even say sorry? I wanted to ask more but I keep them to myself to not make things more complicated. I just answered “Okay” and went to my room. The desire to express myself loudly overwhelms me. I feel an urge to unleash my frustration by destroying things around me. The ache of sadness consumes me, and I yearn to escape it, to feel nothing at all. Despite my efforts to hold back tears, they begin to flow freely, a sudden and unstoppable downpour. Unexpectedly, my dog bounds onto my bed, seeking to provide comfort in the midst of my sadness.

While finding a spot where I can calm my mind, I saw Portia’s dad buying some random things. He’s taking so much things. Are they going to do a charity? I wanted to approach him and ask but I chose to step back and continue my search for what I was originally seeking. I found a good coffee shop where there is no a lot of people. Upon stepping inside, the delightful scent of coffee greeted me warmly. The quiet ambience of the café suggested it was an ideal spot for students like myself to study or unwind from stress. It has a book corner in every side. After an hour of enjoying the peaceful setting, I decided to roam around. It was then that I noticed Portia's father once more, he is busy loading his purchases into a nearby car that didn't belong to their family, as I recognized all their vehicles. My curiosity urged me to observe discreetly without attracting attention. I saw a girl in the driver’s seat. Simply bidding her time until Portia’s dad finish what he’s doing. I think I have already seen them together before, but I didn’t mind because I thought they are just being casual. That's when I noticed Portia's mother observing them as well. Her expression is indiscernible from this distance. What's happening? It's not my own family, so technically it shouldn't concern me, but it involves my friend's family. Despite this, I should head home now, overthinking has worn me out.

"Soleil! I was so bored this weekend. We should have gone out," Portia whispered while the teacher was lecturing. I'm relieved we didn't, given what I've observed. Yet, who am I to jump to conclusions? It could simply be my imagination fueled by too many K-dramas. Perhaps that person is just one of their relatives. I hesitated to ask, fearing she might misunderstand. "We could go after class," I replied instead. "We can't. I have a family dinner out of town. They always choose places far away," she replied. See? How could anyone in that family be cheating when they seem like the most perfect family I know? I've known them for about six years. "Alright! Enjoy your dinner," I replied. The class ended, and Portia had already said her goodbyes. "Soleil, I think your mom is dating someone," one of my classmates said, coming up to me. "It's okay, she's single," I replied calmly. In truth, I wasn't bothered, she's free to date whoever she wants. I grabbed my bag and left the school, heading home.

As I wandered through our village, taking in the sights of our neighborhood, I unexpectedly stumbled upon a scene that seemed to provide the answers to my recent questions. There, I witnessed Portia's father locked in an embrace with another woman. Weren't they supposed to be having a family dinner? Is this what I've been suspecting – infidelity? My heart raced, and I hastened home. I felt the urge to inform Portia, but I was unsure how to approach the situation. Should she confront Portia’s father and expose his deceit? Or should I keep silent, preserving the fragile facade of their family? I feared it could lead to significant conflicts.

Days turned into weeks, and I struggled with my conscience because of my secret's heavy burden. I watched Portia's family go about their lives, not realizing the chaos that was hiding under the surface. However, I couldn't bring myself to break their calm and expose the unpleasant realities I carried within.

One evening, I was sitting by myself in my room, buried in my own thoughts, when all of a sudden, a text message erupted through the silence. I opened my phone and read the message with nervous fingers, and as soon as I did, something hit me like a hammer. I had an awakening that was so shocking and profound that it gave me the chills. The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning striking a completely dark sky: I had prosopagnosia, the confusing inability to identify faces. Everything clicked into place, even the numerous instances of social awkwardness and the ongoing difficulty remembering acquaintances' identities. The person whose presence threatened to tear apart the fragile web of our lives—the same person I had caught a glimpse of with Portia's father—was none other than my mother. This understanding came over me like an ocean of injustice, leaving me gasping for air and finding it impossible to believe that I had been so completely unaware of the intricate maze of lies that surrounded me. A gap of unbelief and pain was left behind, and our family's entire foundation was torn apart by a betrayal that went deeper than any sword. How could I have missed the reality that was there, hidden under a layer of familial trust? That was the question that kept echoing in my head, tormenting me with its hidden cry for clarity.

When morning arrived, I wasn't sure what to do when I got to school. I made a choice with shaking hands and a sorrowful heart. I wouldn't have to watch in silence while others suffered. I'm going to face my mother and Portia's father. "Soleil, I got a new phone from my dad. And she bought my mom a new car," she grinned. Looking into her eyes and seeing the innocence mirrored in those familiar features, I hesitated to tell her the truth because I know there are some truths are better left unsaid.

I carried a truth inside of me that had the power to tear apart our lives, but I choose to carry that burden by myself. Portia, naive and oblivious, was unaffected by learning of her father's wrongdoings. I silently protected our world's peace while shielding her from the harsh truth.

My hidden burden became a lifelong friend, curled up in the corners of my heart. It threatened to separate us, but it also kept me connected to my loved ones. Even with the deep wounds of treachery, I found solace in the warmth of friendship and the quiet sharing of knowledge. There is, I thought, sometimes a certain solace to ignorance, a kind of paradise where joyful ignorance protects us from the hard realities that lurk in the shadows.

[celestialking]

Risky Business

◇ NSFW~ 18+ only ◇ Minors/Ageless blogs DNI◇ You will be blocked ◇

Pairing: Sapnap, AFAB!Reader

Written: February 14, 2022

Warnings: afab, implied sexual messages, choking, mutual masturbation?, dreams real name once, one or two degrading names, 

Your phone vibrated, gaining your attention. It was a friend. They needed help with saying something incredibly flirty, inappropriate, yet not looking so desperate at time. "Give me just a moment to think," 

A fluffy cat interrupted your thoughts, however. She jumped onto the counter where you had been sitting for the past hour. Patches purred, knocking your phone to the side. "Desperate for attention, are you?" You giggled giving up. The sweet feline graced you with her presence for a few more moments before running off at the sound of a door opening. 

More than likely, she assumed it was Dream. It was not. Sapnap had started to come down the hallway. 

"Morning," 

"Night?" You questioned. 

He glanced towards the back door and sure enough it was pitch black out still.

"It's 2 am," 

"Still night, why are you up?" You questioned, picking up your phone. You typed out your message to your friend hitting send. 

"Valorant with Punz, pussy needed to be carried," he said smugly. 

"I'm sure," you watched him get his cup of water, his phone chirping from his pocket. "Alright well I'm headed to bed," you waved goodbye. 

As soon as you reached the entrance of the hallway Sapnap choked on water. You flipped around. The poor man was tomato red, hitting his chest to clear his airway of liquid. "Jesus Sapnap, drink slower," he just shook his head, setting his phone on the counter. "Alright well goodnight," he just held a hand up shooing you away. 

You bumped into Dream outside your door. "Might wanna be ready to call 911," his eyebrows shot up in concern. "Idiot choked on water," you clarified. Dream chuckled, relieved, petting patches. She squirmed out of his hands jumping to the ground. 

"Well, i’ll go check on him, night," 

"Night," you climbed into bed. 

Dream and Sapnaps distant conversation faded away eventually, and you could hear them go to their respective rooms. What a weirdo you rolled your eyes. 

As you lay in bed about to fall asleep you suddenly heard a whisper of your name. You sat up confused. Had you imagined it? There it was again but that was no whisper it sounded more like a moan. There was a noise from Sapnap's room. Hesitating you moved closer to the wall. There was a slick noise.  You could hear Sapnap panting, then "Oh fuck baby just like that," you moved back. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was getting off in the other room. A muffled whimper of your name caught your attention, so you moved back to the wall. 

This was so wrong. You shouldn't be listening in like this, but it was your name he was moaning. 

"Fuck," Sapnap breathed. "Feel so good" you could hear the sheets rustling a bit. 

You could only imagine; The Texan writhing in his bed, desperately thrusting up into his hand. "(Y/n)," he whined. His noises only twisted your stomach making you clench your thighs. 

Holy fuck that's hot. 

His cries increased in volume, the last cracking. Sapnap had cum calling out for you. You heard him move around, then his door opened. Your heart lurched, had he known you heard? You were relieved to hear the door of the bathroom open and shut. You pulled the blankets over yourself. How were you supposed to recover from that? 

It wasn't until the next night that your friend decided to let you know that they never received your message. You frowned at their claim, moving to your texting app. "No, I swear I sent it, it's right-" You stared at your phone in shock. You had sent the message meant for your friend to Sapnap. "Hey, I gotta go," you left the call. 

You could feel your cheeks burn. 

Had he read it and that's what happened last night? Slowly you began typing out another message. This time to Sapnap on purpose. You sat on your bed silently. And god had silence never been so loud. Your heart was pounding, ears straining over the blood rushing through you to hear the little chime of his phone. He must have had his phone on silent. 

"Holy shit," he gasped. 

You glanced down at your phone seeing the read receipt. It wasn't long before you heard him groaning and whining, fucking his own hand. You couldn't help but squirm. It would hurt right? Hesitantly your fingers moved underneath your pants, touching yourself. 

As you succumbed to your lust you let out little pants of his name, whimpering into your pillowcase. The sound of him reaching his peak made you release as well. The sudden orgasm making your head pound, dizzy from the pressure of cumming. You lay breathless in your bed, slick covering your fingers. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to send another tomorrow. 

This went on for a few days. Neither of you saying anything the next morning. Sapnap out of fear of the messages never being for him, and you the guilt of getting off to your friend jacking off to you. 

At least nothing was said, until this morning. Dream scrunched up his nose at you when you stepped into the kitchen. 

"You good?" 

"No, no I'm not," he huffed. Sapnap rolled his eyes assuming his friend was just being dramatic. He shoveled some food in his mouth, to which he immediately regretted. "The next time you two hook up, can you be a little quieter," Sapnap choked on his food, coughing. You snapped your eyes to Dream. 

"We didn't hook up!" You gasped. 

"Yes you did. You both were literally calling out each other's names," he shuddered. "I live here too you know," you could feel Sapnap's eyes laser focused on you. Choosing to ignore him you took a jab at a Dream. 

"My bad Clay, I'll choose your name next time," 

The blonde sputtered, unable to think of a response other than screaming "What!". Satisfied you walked back to your room. Once out of sight you bolted embarrassed. Well. Sapnap knew now. Should you talk to him? Maybe ignore it? Ignoring sounded good. That sounded like a plan. A plan that would maybe have worked. If there wasn't soft knocking on your door. 

"It's me," you heard the familiar tone of Sapnap's voice. Reluctantly you opened the door. 

"Heyyyy," you said awkwardly. "How did you- how- good morninggg," 

Slowly he tried moving into your room, you sighed, opening the door more for him. 

"We need to talk," You shuffled away from the door, letting him shut it. "Were those texts on purpose?" He asked softly. You couldn't make eye contact, not with the way he was looking at you. 

"Not the first one but-" you slowly sat on your bed. "But I heard you the first night and couldn't help but send more," you trailed off softly, beginning to chew on your lip. Sapnap had moved closer, standing in front of you. His fingers tilted your chin up. 

"And you were such a needy slut that you couldnt get up and come ask for what you want?" You whined at the name. "Hm?" 

"Msorry," you whispered. 

"No, you're not," 

No you weren't. 

"What is you want then? Hm bunny?" 

"Want- want you to touch me," 

He tilted his head grinning. "What was that bunny? Can't hear you," you repeated your sentence a bit louder. "If you can't speak up, I'll leave," 

"Please touch me," you cried. 

"Don't worry baby, I'll show you what you were missing," he pushed you back on the bed quickly moving up with you. "All you gotta do is be good for me baby, you can do that can't you?" 

You nodded, feeling his lips press against your throat. Your hands moved down to his shorts, but he was quicker. "Nope," Sapnap pinned your wrists by your head. "Keep your hands to yourself bunny," he moved down your body tugging off your pants. "Just want a little taste first," he hummed. 

Sapnap spread you open, immediately pushing his tongue into your hole. You squeaked, surprised. You could barely breathe once he settled into a rhythm. Sapnap really knew how to use his mouth. You attempted to hold back a loud moan gaining his attention, he pulled away. 

"Don't worry about Dream. Once he realized we had some stuff to talk about he decided to go for a drive," 

Sapnap pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before diving back in. Your hands flew down to his hair. You came undone as he suckled on your clit, crying out his name. You trembled in his grasp, as his tongue overstimulated you. He continued until his lips were slick with you, cheeks pink, and needing to breathe. 

"Need to be in you," he mumbled. Sapnap threw his shorts off, not even bothering to remove his shirt. He rutted his cock against you, gathering your slick on him. He grasped your legs holding the open as he pressed the tip against your hole. 

"Fuck," he groaned pushing in, your warmth sucking him in more.  "Feel so good around me," you squirmed, gaining his attention. "Need something baby?" he grinned. 

You couldn't bring yourself to form words instead whining. You grasped his hand pulling it towards your neck. 

"Aw you want my hand around your pretty little throat?" He chuckled lowly. You felt his fingers slowly wrap around, squeezing lightly. 

"Does it make your little brain go dumb and fuzzy?" Sapnap cooed, slowly thrusting into you. "Don't worry bunny, I'll take care of you, show you what you were missing, my cock is much better than your hand right?" 

His words were just muddled hums to you. The way his cock had begun to pound into you combined with his hand around your neck was heavenly. His hips snapped against yours. 

"Take it so good," Sapnap growled. 

His fingers squeezed a bit harder then removed themselves from your neck. Sapnaps hands moved to your hips, grasping them harshly. You wouldn't be surprised if they bruised your sides tomorrow. 

"Gonna fill you up bunny," he grunted. 

You gasped and whined as he drilled into you. You barely had time to warn him as you clenched around him, cumming. His thrusts faltered, cock twitching. 

"Fuck," Sapnap gasped, his cum spurting into you. He fucked a few more times into you before slowly pulling out. Sapnap took a moment to admire your breathless form, trembling, and dripping his cum.

Reminder: DNI = Do Not Interact

If you are a Minor/Ageless blog, Do not follow. Do not comment. Do not reblog. Do not like. DO NOT INTERACT.

Either add your age to your bio/pinned, message me in private, or DNI.

[starks-hero]

I Missed You

Pairing: Stucky x Fem!Reader

Request: Hi! Could you write something about Stucky coming home after a mission to find their girl crying on the couch, late at night. They are worried, initially, but relax after she shows them a video on her phone of a cute dog or puppy? - anonymous

Summary: After one long and tiresome mission, Steve and Bucky want nothing more than to go home and cuddle up with their girl.

Word Count: 1,424

Warnings: fluff

Steve and Bucky laboured up the stairs towards their apartment, their shoulders brushing. Every single muscle ached and Steve couldn’t bite back a groan each time he was forced to put pressure on his left foot. 

They didn't say much, they were too tired for conversation. They just wanted to get home, change out of their gear and then crawl into bed with their girl.

As both men reached their door, Bucky all but collapsed against the wall as Steve fumbled with the key, lazily dragging it across the wood till it slipped snugly into the lock.

Bucky's eyes were closed but a tired smile tugged at his lips at the thought of you waiting for them on the other side of the door. He wanted to hold you so bad. To just gather you up in his arms and fall asleep with your hand gently running through his hair until the latest mission was nothing more than a distant memory.

He titled his head lazily and glanced at Steve. The blonde's expression told him he felt the same way.

As the door opened, both soldiers almost tripped over each other's feet as they hurried inside, Steve softly closing the door behind them. Bucky sighed dramatically as he was surrounded by the comforts of home, earning him a half-hearted glare from Steve.

“Quiet down, Buck. It's late.” He reminded him. “She's probably asleep.”

Bucky nodded, scratching at his beard as he followed Steve into the living room. The television was still playing lowly in the background and the boys glanced at each other questioningly. Soft smiles replaced their confused expressions when their eyes landed on the couch. Amidst the darkened room and the heaps of blankets and pillows, they could barely make out your form.

Bucky wasted no time in stepping towards you with Steve hot on his heel. God how they'd missed you.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky hummed gently. “Hope you don't mind that we made it home a little earlier than expected.”

The playfulness in his tone died out immediately as he neared you. The light illuminating from the television proved to be just enough for Bucky to make out your tear-stained cheeks and his heart almost stopped.

“Doll, what happened?” He immediately rushed to your side, hand hovering over your back as he looked you over for any sign of injury. Steve leapt forward at Bucky’s worried tone and joined you both on the couch. You frantically wiped at your eyes, trying to hide your tears as both men seated themselves on either side of you.

“Stevie, Buck-”

“It's alright, Sweetheart. We're here.” Steve comforted gently, arm wrapping around your waist as he carefully guided you into his side. “What's wrong?”

You breathed out a quiet laugh as you wiped away the last of your tears. Both Steve and Bucky were staring at you intently.

“I just missed you both,” you mumbled and you heard the boys breathe a sigh of relief. Bucky moved closer and gingerly kissed your head as Steve held you.

“We missed you too, Baby.” His hand comfortingly ran down your back, his nose grazing your jaw.

Steve placed his own kiss against your cheek and you smiled. You were sandwiched between them both, exactly where you wanted to be.

“You want to tell us what's got you so upset?” Steve urged gently, raising his eyebrows and smiling softly. The same way he always did when either you or Bucky were having a bad day.

You shook your head and waved your hand dismissively. “It's stupid, Steve. Besides, I'm fine now, it doesn't matter.”

“Hey now, don't talk like that. If it's upset you then it's not stupid. Not to us.” Steve's tone was soft and encouraging.

“Steve, I promise, I'm okay.”

Before Steve could pry any further, Bucky cut in, gently nudging you in the side.

“This wouldn't be the reason for those tears, now would it, doll?” He held up your phone for you all to see, the screen still paused on the video you'd been watching before they'd gotten home. Bucky seemed slightly amused but Steve was still staring at the screen in curiosity, confused as to what about such a wholesome video had made you so upset.

You snatched the phone from Bucky's hand and he let you. Any other day he probably would have held said phone just out of your reach, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes or press up against his chest to retrieve it. But he knew better. Now wasn't the time. Not to mention that if he did Steve would probably make him sleep on the couch as punishment.

You held the phone in your hand and refused to meet either of their gazes but Bucky was quick to snap you out of it.

“Y/N, you know you can talk to us. However simple or stupid you may think whatever's upsetting you is, you know we're here to listen.”

“Always.” Steve agreed.

You grumbled before giving in. You knew neither of them were going to leave you alone until they were sure you were okay.

“I've just been feeling down since you guys left for the mission last week.” You confessed and both men glanced at you sympathetically. “I missed you both, tonight especially. So I tried to watch some cute videos to cheer myself up and-” you glared at the adorable shepherd puppies currently gracing the phone screen. “It didn't help.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve started gently once you'd finished. “We told you to call if you needed us. Even just to talk or fall asleep with us on screen.”

“I didn't want to bother you when you were on a mission.” You admitted sheepishly and both men chuckled slightly at your words.

“Mission or not, it doesn't matter. You're our priority. Always.”

Steve released you slightly from his hold so that Bucky could pull you into him. You sighed against his shoulder. The horrid feeling that had settled in your stomach the moment both Steve and Bucky had walked out the door a little over a week ago was already dissipating. This was exactly what you needed. They were exactly what you needed.

“Why don't we take this to the bedroom?” Bucky suggested as he noticed your head contently lulling against his shoulder. He scoffed as both you and Steve turned to him with an expression that asked ‘really?’

“I meant to sleep.” He clarified and Steve couldn't help but chuckle.

“Sure you did, Punk.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond but you ended the argument before it could start with a quiet, “Sleep sounds like a good idea.” You threw in a yawn for good measure.

Bucky wordlessly nodded to Steve and they smiled. Bucky readjusted his hold on you as he lifted you from the couch and into his arms.

Steve switched off the television and assured the house was locked down for the night as Bucky carried you to the bedroom. He gingerly placed you down before stripping and clambering in next to you, his aching body almost sinking right into the mattress.

A cool mental hand settled on your waist as you rested your head on his chest. Steve wandered into the bedroom a few minutes later, smiling softly at the sight of you and Bucky curled up and already dozing off.

He kicked off his boots and pants and pulled his shirt off over his head. Sliding in behind you, he slid an arm over you, resting it just over Bucky's stomach. You were perfectly encased in-between them both.

“Steve, Bucky?” You mumbled their names quietly just as they were on the brink of sleep.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” Steve rasped and Bucky hummed against your temple.

“Can we get a dog?”

You could feel the chuckle that shook Bucky's chest at your request and Steve cracked a tired smile, shuffling closer to you.

“Think about it, that way when you two are off saving the world I won't be so lonely here on my own.” You rambled on drowsily.

“She makes a compelling case, Stevie,” Bucky smirked, cracking open an eye to glance over at the blonde. He couldn't keep the amusement from seeping into his tone.

“We'll talk about it in the morning, Baby. Just get some rest for now.” Steve yawned, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to silently put an end to the conversation.

“That's a yes.” Bucky clarified and Steve harmlessly jabbed Bucky in the gut, electing a fond chuckle. You smiled, just glad to have your boys home.

tag list: @miraclesoflove​​ @doozywoozy​​ @bakerstreethound​​ @kealohilani-tepise

[emperor-palpaminty]

Are you still taking requests?

What about a very jealous Crosshair or Echo pre-relationship and their brothers egging them on?

I haven't done echo in so long shdkdjsk!!! Baby BOOOOOY!!!!! Also he has actual prosthetic arms and legs because I am gonna pretend like he can change them out for formal events

warnings: major simping, pretty dresses, I cannot write anything else apparently, also mentions of wine (i don’t even like wine smh)

Echo wasn't a jealous man. Really, he wasn't.

At least, that was what he told himself when he watched her walk into the room, dripping in silk. The senator held her head up high, hair piled on her head, shoulders rolled back as she moved down the stairs, hand gently resting on the railing as she moved down. The train of her dress followed, pouring down the stairs.

He didn't bother hiding the way he sucked in his breath- she was glistening.

Crosshair laughed in the comm. "Someone's got it bad, huh?" Echo barely managed to get a hiss in towards the sniper.

"Boys," Hunter warned. "Keep your eyes out. We're here to make sure the senator stays alive." From a distance, Echo saw him perched at the roof, watching the exterior of the building. "Tech, anything?"

"Nothing yet." The clone muttered into the comm. "I'm watching all signals bouncing in the room."

“I’m keeping an eye out on visuals inside.” Echo skimmed the room, tearing his eyes away from the graceful senator. “No unusual activity.”

“I’ll bet you’re watching.” Crosshair’s snark was just as effective through the modulator of the comm. 

“Shut up.”

“No, you.”

Echo gnashed his teeth. “Di’kut.” 

“Hut’uun.”

“Boys!” Hunter hissed. “I will make you both hug and make up if you both don’t shut the kark up.”

“A fate worse than death.” Echo mumbled, drawing his eyes back to the senator, which wasn’t hard to do. She was currently talking very calmly to a man, smiling at him and his aid, bowing her head politely. Even so his heart throttled and twisted angrily, irritated at himself. 

Crosshair snickered, his visor illuminated in the distant moonlight as he shook his head. “You’d rather hug and make up with something else.”

“I’m going to-”

“I’m picking up on something.” Tech spoke up suddenly, exasperation seeping through the comm system. “High levels of sass.”

Wrecker broke out in fits of laughter over the commlinks, pealing through Echo’s helmet abrasively. “Ha, ha! That’s what I like about ya, Echo.”

Echo scowled but fought off the urge to say anything. It felt like he had just assimilated into the small group of clones, and he didn’t want to cause any rifts. He bit his tongue, turning his eyes back to the gala below. “Look at all of these people. You think they know anything about the actual war?”

“Who knows?” Tech mumbled softly. It was a hum over the comm, but somehow every brother picked it up.

There was a moment of weight. The comms were silent for a moment with heaviness, a bated breath, and none of them dared to say anything about the weight of the galaxy that rested on the shoulders of a few men.

Crosshair’s voice slithered between the cracks of the fragile quietness. “Let’s go back to teasing each other.” 

Echo wanted to agree, and he mumbled a half-hearted “Mm.” She looked up at him, peering down from the second-floor railing. She offered him a small smile, gentle, and it radiated, brighter than the lights and sweeter than any wine they were serving below. “You know,” He said, softly. “At least there is one senator out there who gets us.”

The others gave affirmations, Wrecker’s “Yeah, she does!” being the loudest out of them all. Echo grinned under his helmet as Hunter chuckled. 

“Guys, go easy on him.”

“Why?” Crosshair giggled in the system. “It’s so sweet, watching him make googly-eyes at her.”

“I don’t make googly-eyes.” Echo muttered, stepping away from the bannister after scanning the room. “I make... regular eyes.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” The largest clone rumbled, still breaking with laughter. Echo winced at the booming of his voice. “You keep staring at her from your watch point.”

“To make sure she stays alive.” 

At least... that was what he told himself. Just business, strictly business. Even so, his mind wandered to her, waning in its strict upholdings and tugging at the net he tried to use to constrain his thoughts of her- her airy movements, how she practically floated across the floor, her sleepy voice after being awoken abruptly by the Batch knocking on her door, or her ringing laughter that was fully free to run over him like waves. The net was broken and his soul was snatched away by her unwitting hands.

“Hunter to Echo,” The sargent’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “You see anything yet?”

Echo leaned back over the bannister, breath drawing in as he spotted a man coming in from the side door. “Yeah, I think so.” He hurried around, closer to the side door. “Someone came in from the side.”

Tech hummed in thought from the comm. “That’s odd. The representatives should be coming in from the main entrance.”

“On it,” Echo jumped up onto the edge of the bannister, balancing, watching and waiting as he perched. His heart thrummed as the senator turned, eyes sharp, landing on the man. She froze.

An obsidian barrel pointed out at her, and her eyes flickered up at him. Echo.

Echo’s chest flared with anger, heat, and he pounced. He landed hard on the perpatrator, metal legs digging into his back as they landed hard. Party goers gasped, turning and staring at the clone, shocked, eyes darting between Echo and the unconcious man lying on the floor, blaster knocked a good amount away by the impact.

Except her- her eyes only stayed on him. Echo hurried towards her and took her hand, pulling her away from everyone. “Let’s get you to cover.”

She nodded, following him, stopping to kick off those heels of hers and following him with bare feet. She raised a hand to her ear and said, softly, “Hunter, I’m alright. Echo’s got me.”

Echo almost stopped moving, and his blood ran cold. “You’re connected to our comms?”

“Of course.” A smile tugged at her voice, and Echo groaned internally. “I can hear you.”

“The whole time?” Echo grimaced as Crosshair cackled in the headset. Echo reached up to his helmet and quickly shut the system off, ducking into the designated safe room on the side.

She chuckled, pulling in the trail of silk behind her as he shut the door. “All of it. Do you really make googly-eyes at me?”

Echo mumbled under his breath, feeling a sudden gently thud on the sides of his helmet. She stood in front of him, hands resting gently on the cheeks of his helmet and lifting it up. “I don’t mind your googly eyes, Echo.” She spoke softly, gently, resting his helmet in her hands. “I quite like them, actually.”

She was close- the only thing between them was his helmet resting in her hands. Quietly, Echo moved his hands to cover hers, and his words propelled from his mouth, shattering in his throat. “I... I’m sorry. I wish I could see you some other way, but-”

Her fingers pressed gently to his lips, moving his helmet under her arm. The silk was cool under his gloved hands as he pressed his fingers to her dress. “I can’t look at you any other way, either, Echo.” He smiled, quietly, feeling her lips brush his chin. “I don’t want to look at you any other way.”

He felt nothing, just the silk of her gown and the magnetic pull of her warm lips to his in the small, dark safe room, and a chapped mix of a moan and sigh escaped his throat as he wrapped his arms around her. She smelled floral, like open spaces and free planets, somewhere far from here. She broke away, the absolutely spine-chilling hum a musical sound to his ears. 

“How is he?” Echo heard the tinkering of Crosshair’s laugh in the senator’s earpiece. 

Echo reached out, taking the comm. “Shut up, Cross,” He hissed, turning off the comm and wrapping his arms around the senator. She laughed lightly, lips meshing and dancing with Echo’s.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 8

Ch.1      Ch.2      Ch.3      Ch.4      Ch.5      Ch.6      Ch.7

It has come to a point where you can’t even pretend to yourself that you don’t care for her.

All the time you spend with Cassandra every evening has made certain feelings impossible to deny, though you are too scared to name them all.

You don’t name the smile you can’t contain when she excitedly pulls you to the armory to show you her collection of blades –and explains, in a very animated fashion, about the optimal use for each one. You don’t want to know what the stutter in your heartbeat means, every time she genuinely laughs, pale neck thrown back, nose slightly scrunched and all. 

And it’s not just Cassandra you grow a tad closer to.  

Bela comes to you whenever the two of them have argued and goes ‘Tell my sister’ this or that. Daniela is apparently not allowed within a twenty meter radius of you, but she approaches to poke and prod at you whenever she wants to annoy Cassandra. She never manages to do either, because the middle sister always swoops in, fuming, dragging her away by the hood of her robes like a kitten.

Lady Dimitrescu is the only one as distant as the day you first saw her –and it’s probably for the better. You don’t see her much, anyway, not with how Cassandra takes you to empty castle wings to have you all to herself.

Tonight is different.

After dinner, Bela leaves with her mother and you go to help the other maids present clean the table. But your lover steps in the way and grabs your elbow, instead, hurriedly pulling you along.

“Do not tell me you’re seriously thinking to make me wait longer.” she says.

Of course, you promised to watch a movie you found on your phone with her and she’s been buzzing with impatience since.

That is, until a certain redhead blocks your way. 

“Daniela, move.” Cassandra huffs. 

“What are you doing? Take me with you.” the younger sister replies, brimming with childlike curiosity. 

“No. Go bother Bela.” A shooing motion is made. 

“Bela’s no fun. I wanna come with you and Alexia.” she drops your name so casually it’s startling.

“Wait give me a moment to think about it –moment over. No.” Cassandra states, fast.

But Daniela shoots forward and grabs your arm like a koala. Your eyes go wide at the same time as Cassandra’s, for different reasons.

The brunette immediately grips her sister’s robes, none-too-gently. “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“If you don’t take me along I’m telling mother where you found that music player and phone!” Daniela answers, her hold enough to cut off your blood flow.

You send Cassandra a pleading look before they break your arms with how they’re tugging at you.

“On one condition.” the elder sister holds a finger up to her sibling’s face. “You sit next to me and you don’t move around.”

“…she’s warm, though.” Daniela says, all but pouting. “Mother says sharing is caring~”

“Find your own human.” Cassandra growls out as the three of you make your way to the main hall and the couch adjacent to the fireplace there.

“You and Bela have gotten the prettier ones!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Cassandra quite literally pins you to the arm of the couch with her body, to keep Daniela as far away from you as possible. Even as the movie starts, you can feel her sulking by your neck for not being able to touch you the way she wants.

You are not as focused on the movie as you are cute way she plays with your hand throughout its duration.

-

-

It’s getting harder and harder to remind yourself of what they are.

Especially when, ten minutes after the credits have rolled, Daniela is still crying over the death of the protagonist. Even Bela comes to the hall and asks Cassandra what she did to her.

By the time she’s done dealing with her sisters, your lover comes to you sporting a headache.

“We’re leaving this wing right now.” Cassandra says and that is about all the warning you get.

The next second you feel a rush of air and your stomach leaping to where your heart is supposed to be; Your eyes only make out a blur and an augur of black flies.

When she comes to a halt you crash into Cassandra’s side with a gasp. Your arm aches from the pull. The world spins for ten solid seconds.

She laughs by your ear. Low and satisfied as it is at your disorientation –it reminds you of drinking wine by a fire in the heart of winter— you can’t help but bask in the timbre of her voice so close.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in here?” she complains in that same quiet tone you love.

It is very cold compared to the more lived in parts of the castle, but your body is warm enough from your sustained proximity and the rush of adrenaline she always causes in you.

“Oh, well, I can bear it for a little while if it means we won’t be interrupted.” Cassandra trails off and lifts your chin with a chilled finger.

Your lips meet and slide together in a practiced tango. Her manicured nails run over your throat and shoulders, making you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.

Both of you are starting to get really into it when Cassandra walks you back into the nearest wall. It happens to be a window, covered by a flimsy curtain. You have half a mind to realize it’s probably been forgotten slightly ajar, judging from the frost that graces your shoulder, but you have more important matters to focus on, like the brush of her tongue over your bottom lip.

Until Cassandra braces her bare hand over the unseen opening, to box you in like she usually does.

And-

She shrieks.

She jerks away so powerfully her back crash-lands into the painting on the far wall, knocking it down with its frame broken. You’re left there still and mute, watching in frozen horror as her face distorts into pure, raw anguish.

“Shut it!” Cassandra screams at you. “Shut it now, now!”

Your nerves suddenly kick into overdrive and you pull the window closed like your life depends on it.

What just… happened...?

In slow, cautious steps, you approach her. She’s clutching her hand like a wounded animal, baring its teeth to hide its vulnerability. It is the first time you see her like this. Void of control, bent over in hurt. Gasping.

Something in your chest breaks.

You look at her hand, to find her pale skin nearly crystallized, grey and breaking apart —like cheap china, like weak porcelain— into flies that drop to the floor, faintly twitching.

You thought… you thought they could just control the insects. That dissipating into swarms was just a trick allowed by their mutation. But now you realize, the flies are her body.

All this time trapped under the looming terror of the daughters… and escape was as easy as opening a window on them.

“Cassandra…?” you ask in a wavering voice when the initial burst of rage leaves her form.

She looks up at you, torn, when you hear the heavy sound of heels rapidly approaching.

“Cassandra?!” a different voice calls, this time, deep and authoritative. When Lady Dimitrescu rounds the corner in her immense height, your instincts scream to run.

But one look at Cassandra makes you stay.

Alcina halts for a moment to take in the scene. Then her lips curl downwards and bladed claws extend from her gloves, easily half your body in length. 

Oh my… God…

“What did you do to my daughter?!” she demands and advances on you, but Cassandra gets in front of you before she can truly threaten your life.

“I brought her here, mother. It’s my fault.” she hurries to explain.

Alcina stares at you like she wants to crush you underfoot… but then softens, somewhat, at the look her daughter is giving her.

“Come with me. Now.” She says in a stern motherly tone that leaves no room for objections.

You clutch Cassandra’s uninjured hand, silently asking if she’ll be alright. She turns, looks at you for a moment, then nudges your head with hers.

“...I’ll see you later, Alexia.”

But, as it turns out... “later” is subjective.

 -

-

 In Alcina’s Private Chambers…

It is not often that Cassandra is reprimanded by herself. 

She has never before been the only one at fault. She’s used to having her sisters beside her while Alcina scolds the three of them… except this time they’re outside the closed door and she is there to face their mother’s ire alone.

She can’t stay still under that yellowish-grey, narrowed gaze. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her robes’ sleeve to keep occupied, while Alcina takes that deep, calming breath she knows heralds no good things. Ever.

“Cassandra. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

“Yes, mother.” She keeps her gaze downcast.

“Even if the maid didn’t harm you on purpose, she now knows your weakness. Yours and your sisters’. You were careless to allow this.” Cassandra feels anxiety rise up from the pit of her stomach and threaten to swallow her whole at that tone.

“I know, mother. Forgive me.” she replies quietly.

She wants to say that Alexia won’t use this knowledge against any of them, but she cannot bring herself to lie to Alcina. Because the truth is, Cassandra doesn’t know for a fact that she will not.

Why was that window open? Why?!

“You didn’t let me fix your mistake. I assume that means you will do it yourself?” her mother asks and Cassandra’s gaze snaps up.

What…?

At first, the temptation to chain Alexia up and watch as her blood drained from her lithe body had been sweet and strong. But now, at the thought of killing her –losing her— in whichever way, Cassandra is sick to her stomach. It is strange, because she feels like she is hyperventilating when she isn’t breathing at all and the world has tilted and—

Please don’t.

“Since when did you ever hesitate to kill, Cassandra?”

“…If.. that is what you ask of me…” she replies but she doesn’t sound like herself at all, not even to her own ears.

“How can I ask that of you and break your heart?” Alcina throws her arms up in exasperation. “I should have stopped this months ago but I thought it a fleeting fancy. I never imagined you would end up so attached.”

“I’m- I’m not-” she tries to protest, but her mother is having none of it.

“You’re not? You’re with her every day and she barely sports scratches anymore. Your eyes follow her everywhere when she’s in the same room. You instinctively lean closer whenever she comes over to refill your wine. Do you think I do not notice?” Of course. Of course she noticed.

Cassandra swallows, silent.

The memory of laying, too weak to move a single finger, on her deathbed along with Bela and Daniela pierces through Cassandra’s brain like a bullet. Her hand gives a violent spasm and flies break off to buzz frantically around her as she drops her forehead into her palm.

She’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and it’s just so difficult without her sisters there. They’ve always been together, since the very beginning.

They were born together, learned to control their powers together, they died together-

Alcina is on one knee in front of her the next millisecond, stroking her hair and gathering her into her arms.

“Shh, calm down, my love.” she coos. “I’m sorry to be so harsh on you. I only want the best for you three.”

Cassandra doesn’t talk because she can’t, because she cannot wrap her head around what that flash inside her brain was.

“Oh, my Cassandra. I will not harm the maid if it will harm you, too.”

She waits for the eventual ‘but’.

“But I cannot let this dalliance continue any longer.”

It’s probably for the best. Her mother knows best. It is true, after all, that she has not been acting like herself, lately. So, yes, this decision is for her own good.

But.

Cassandra’s heart has the same reaction upon hearing it as being exposed to sub-zero winter air.

[amerrierworld]

Cigarette Smoke

for the request: top carol/reader smut? Thank youuu

Summary: Carol needs to get out of the house and asks you to come along.

Characters: Carol Aird x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,579

Warnings: smut smut top!Carol you’ve been warned (you’re the babysitter... again.. and things happen, plus at this point the Airds have divorced~)

You watched as cigarette smoke curled around her head. She had the newspaper spread over her lap and a cup of tea in the other hand. Inhaling deeply, the end of the cigarette lit up brightly, and you could smell the smoke where you were sitting, cradling your own cup of tea.

Harge had picked up Rindy half an hour ago, and Carol had immediately rung you to come by, before the silence could get to her. 

You were no longer the babysitter- they didn’t seem to need you anymore now that they worked with two separate schedules, and so Florence would watch over Rindy when needed.

But Carol stayed in touch; she called, asked about your job endeavours, interested in your life. And she would tell you about her ideas; things she wanted to do and see, but never initiated plans to go through with it. She was stuck, and you didn’t know if you knew how to pull her free.

“Just going for the shopping, ma’am,” Florence announced as she headed out the door. You didn’t know if it was just because you were here, but her voice and demeanour were always very tight and constrained around you, like she didn’t approve of something that you couldn’t put your finger on.

Carol let out a shuddering sigh as soon as the door shut behind Florence, grey smoke blowing out from her red-painted lips. Her eyes finally lifted up and met your own as you sipped your tea.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked, nonchalantly, as she put out her cigarette in the ashtray. 

“Where?” you asked.

“Anywhere you’d like,” she said, folding the newspaper neatly. “I need some fresh air.”

You didn’t see any reason why not, so you got up as she went to slip on some shoes, grabbing a lightweight coat overtop her cream blouse. 

Carol pulled out of the driveway in the Packard with graceful ease, and you sank back in the passenger seat as you watched the landscape go by. 

Once in the city, Carol bought Rindy a new toy, and you got milkshakes at a small diner. She was awfully quiet, you noticed, and she popped the candied cherry in her mouth as her eyes glazed over like she was somewhere completely different.

“Carol...” you said, reaching over to hold her hand. The physical touch seemed to jolt her out of her zone and she looked at you like she saw you for the first time that day.

“Oh.. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she sighed, “I haven’t been very sociable, have I?”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” you said, squeezing her fingers, realizing her ring finger was missing a familiar golden band.

“No, no, goodness, please forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “Now tell me, what’s new with you?”

You smiled, and chatted for a bit as you finished your milkshake. Carol ordered some sandwiches and fries while you kept talking, and you were so enamoured by watching her eat -you had only ever seen her use cutlery, and here she was, licking the salt from her fingers and munching down on finger food- that you didn’t notice the time passing by so quickly.

Carol talked about some redecoration ideas for the house, recent drama in her high-class friend group, and how fast Rindy seemed to be growing when she wasn’t home. 

“I would love to come by sometime when you have Rindy again,” you offered, 

“Oh- I wouldn’t be able to pay you, darling.”

“No, not as a job. I just wanted to say hi to her again,” you smiled, “no fee. I’ve just missed her, that’s all.”

Carol seemed a bit startled, surprised by your interest in her and her daughter, but then that bloomed into a sweet, familiar smile, and you enjoyed the way she reached over and squeezed your hand this time.

“Oh, dear, look at the time,” she realized, “I should get you home.”

“I could just get a cab...” you began, but she was already waving her hand in dismissal.

“No, no. I asked you here, drove you around, forced you to go out in public with me. The least I can do is drive you home.”

You blushed, and waited patiently as she paid. It seemed so natural, to get up and help her get her arm in one of her tricky coat sleeves, and follow her out to the car, and get inside and be swarmed by Carol’s perfume when you both shut the doors. 

The drive back to your home went by far too fast. It was already dark by the time you pulled up to your place, and Carol took a moment to stop and look at you from the driver’s seat.

“Thank you for spending time with me, sweetheart,” she said softly, “I know I can be... difficult, especially with what’s been happening. With me, I mean. You’re a very sweet girl for coming when I called.”

“I will always come when you call,” you replied without hesitating. The blonde was startled again, looking at you in the dark, your eyes shining back at her.

The muscles in her neck tensed, like she was contemplating something. Almost like when her mind seemed to wander someplace else, but now it was fixed only on you. And then she relaxed- like she’d been defeated in some internal battle.

Your heart jumped at the change,1 and you were filled with sudden bravery. Then, you said,

“Carol. Turn off the car?”

Without a word, she followed your command, shrouding the both of you in complete silence and darkness. You could see her slightly in the light of a distant street lamp, and then you reached over and gently kissed her on the lips.

Her hands were still gripping the steering wheel so you pressed a little harder with your lips, tasting the waxiness of her lipstick. And then she inhaled sharply, before forcing your mouth open with her tongue, letting it slide along yours. One hand reached up to grasp your jaw, and she breathed you in.

You gasped into her mouth, feeling her touch like fire on your skin. You pulled away only to scoot over and push your door open. Then you whipped your head back to look at Carol and said, barely a whisper,

“Come inside?”

Carol stepped out the car before you even managed to get off your seat. While you were out in the open, she was respectable, holding her head high and smiling like any middle-class wealthy house-wife would. And then when the door shut behind you, she was on you, clawing at your clothes.

Her mouth tasted like cherries and cigarette, and you never realized a taste like that could be so intoxicating. 

“Bed?” she asked, pulling at your shirt, and you led her to your bedroom, where she promptly pushed you down on the mattress, making you squeak in surprise.

You wormed you hands up underneath her shirt, making her shiver as you explored her smooth skin. Her skirt was too tight for her to straddle you properly and she cursed in a low voice before shimmying out of it. 

Once free, you salivated at the sight of her stockings and underwear, and as she pulled the blouse over her head your face was right there to kiss her chest, hold her by the waist, and pull her closer.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she breathed. Her voice always got lower and raspier after she had a cigarette, which she did after the sandwiches at the diner. You mewled into her skin, feeling goosebumps break out over your body at her words. 

She got you up on your knees to help you take off the rest of your own clothes, carefully peeling each piece off of you, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. 

“Do we have to be quiet, baby?” she whispered, cradling your face to look up at her. You thought for a moment, and reluctantly nodded. You weren’t sure what the neighbours would think if they heard anything, and definitely didn’t want to cross that line now.

“Well alright then,” she purred, pushing you back on the bed. She straddled you, settling down on you comfortably. You felt the searing heat coming from between her legs, and you squirmed.

“No moving,” she said, because her eyes were fluttering shut at the friction from you moving underneath her. You stilled, choosing to run your hands over the smoothness of her stockings instead.

She leaned down and pinned your arms above your head, rotating her hips seductively, keeping her eyes on your face and a smile on her lips. Her lipstick was already smudged, you noticed.

“I realize I should have asked this first, but.. are you alright with this?” she asked, her thumbs rubbing over the pulse points on your wrists.

“Y-yes, yes, of course,” you replied, looking at the way her curls were loosening and falling into her face. 

“Good,” she grinned, and pressed a deep kiss to your mouth before moving down your neck, “because I have been thinking about this for a long time.”

She nipped at your collarbone and you squealed. One of her hands came down to press a finger to your lips.

“Shhhhh, baby. Quiet, remember?” she said. You gasped in response as her tongue ran down your breast, over your nipple, swirling around your belly button.

“F-fuck,” you hissed, grabbing at your pillows. Your body rose up again as she nuzzled you between your legs, right where you inner thigh met your pelvis. A tongue licked slowly up, collecting your wetness and sweat, and you shivered. 

“Carol,” you whimpered, reaching down to grab her hair. Immediately, she pulled your hand away and held it tightly over your thigh. The demand was clear, no touching. 

She lightly kissed your clit, and you bit your lower lip until you were sure it bled.

Then Carol pulled away and said,

“Best prepare yourself, baby girl. Don’t make a noise.”

Once she said that, you barely had a moment to register the words before her tongue and lips dove in, unforgiving and intense.

You gasped, almost crying out if you hadn’t caught yourself, the sound trapped in your throat. Your arms and legs shook as she held you down and attacked you.

It was deadly silent in your bedroom, the creaking of the bed and your heavy breaths the only audible sounds. You were whimpering, breathing in sharply through your nose to stop your voice from screaming at how she was working you up.

Then her hand let go of yours and a finger began rubbing around your opening, wetting the tip and pushing a finger in gently, but firmly.

“O-oh,” you sighed, which earned you a stilling of motion and a pointed look up through her lashes. You pressed your lips closed and willed yourself to stay quiet again. 

Her finger curled inside you and pressed against a swollen spot that had you seeing stars.

“Let it happen,” she whispered, pulling away for a short moment. Her lips suckled at your clit, and when a second finger pressed and curled inside you, the ceiling above you was replaced by swirling colours and a sense of complete euphoria. 

Your eyes were shut, trying to fill your lungs with air as you recovered from the intensity of your orgasm. Then Carol was there, kissing and licking along your neck. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her as close as possible, wanting to take her in, wanting to feel her as deeply as possible.

“Good girl,” she cooed, lips brushing over your ear. The rumble of her voice made you keen, and your body heated up again instantly.

Your exploratory fingers ran down her body and pushed inside her underwear. You heard her squeal softly and chuckle as you lightly rubbed her, and she pulled back.

“Just a moment, dear,” she said, grasping your hand, “here. Let me just...”

She removed her underwear, and laid back on the bed. You pressed up against her side, burying your head in the crook of her neck. 

“Wanna please you too,” you whimpered. Her hand ran soothingly over your back.

“Such a good girl,” she said, enjoying the way your body rolled against her again, “give me your hand, hm?”

She grabbed your hand, kissed your fingers, and then brought it down to her cunt. Her long legs spread a little more, and she guided your hand slowly.

“Press right here,” she breathed, holding your fingertips a little to the right of her clit, “and then rub a little- oh, yes.”

You followed her instructions as best you could, listening intently to the changes in her voice and breath. 

“A little harder, sweetie,” she continued, and you added a bit more vigour, working your whole arm. Her hips bucked up, and you smiled victoriously.

She leaned over and nuzzled your neck, nearly distracting you from your job at hand.

“Would you like to go inside?” she asked, a slightly desperate lilt to her voice.

You nodded weakly, watching your fingers rub over the most sensitive part of her, entranced by her convulsing abdomen muscles, her legs and her inner thighs becoming slick.

“Go on then,” she encouraged. You looked over at her beaming eyes, encouraging and needy at the same time. You reached further down and ran a finger along her opening like she did with you.

“I’m more than ready, darling,” she gasped, “two will be fine.”

You grinned, finding humour in her nonchalance as if she was ordering another sandwich at a diner. But then when you rotated your fingers and began pressing against her silky inner walls, she gasped and shook all over.

She bit down on the palm of her hand to stop from being too loud as you picked up the pace. Carol was trembling, pulling you down to kiss her continually, wet and sloppy. 

“That’s it,” she gasped, “God, I-I’m almost... shit.”

Her hand flew down as you fucked her with your fingers. She rubbed at her clit with expert precision, and that was the winning ticket. She whined into your mouth as she came, hips stilling and her body locking as she reached that peak.

You watched in awe as her eyes slowly opened at you, unfocused as she rode the last few pulses of pleasure, convulsing around your fingers.

The two of you laid there in content, sharing gentle kisses and breaths. She urged you to suck your fingers, grinning as you slurped her taste off your fingers before doing the same to her own.

“Sweeter than any milkshake,” she hummed, making you blush. She sat up a little, rearranging the pillows to relax a moment. You were going to pull away to give her some space, but her arm wrapped around you and held you close. 

She kissed you right by your hairline, whispering “beautiful” with soft endearment. You sighed and captured her lips again, addicted to every taste of her, every motion of her mouth and body.

Then she pulled away, but only to light a cigarette. The smoke swirled around her head again, and then she looked at you with those stunning grey eyes,

“Do you want to try?” she nodded towards the cigarette. 

“No,” you smiled, turning over on your side towards her, “I’d much rather watch you smoke.”

She laughed, and said, “alright,” before inhaling once more. 

[blzzrdstryr]

Galatea

Yandere(?) Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2410

CW: Panic attacks, hallucinations, slight dehumanization.

...and his creation was so beautiful: silent and non judgemental, pure and demure, it would endure any of his whims of love and passion.

Albedo looks calm as usual as he scoops the honey from the beehive, even though he doesn’t wear any protection; Bees are angrily buzzing nearby, but otherwise not attacking him. It would look strange to you if you didn’t know the answer: insects are not real. The alchemist created them, turning pure slabs of carbon, water and organic matter into tiny fuzzy bodies, as you watched the scene with wide eyes, one moment and a non-living becomes living. He commented on the whole process and while you tried your best to listen to him there were so many scientific terms and jargons in his speech that after some time you zoned out, preferring to observe the birth of insects instead.

There are bones and flesh and organs growing and fusing together. They writhe and convulse as blood starts to fill them. Whose body is it?

“Is this for examination too?”, you remember that Albedo was collecting honey several days ago, albeit in much lesser quantities, and when you asked what the alchemist was doing, he said it was for comparative analysis.

“Well, you could say that” alchemist looks at the full jar and closes the lid, “Previous analysis showed that this honey has the same compounds as the natural one in the same proportions and isn’t dangerous for consumption”. You nod, urging him to continue - even though Albedo isn’t the chattiest person, you noticed how talkative he becomes when you ask him for explanations.

“Smell and taste are usually dependent on the composition, but there is always a place for exceptions, so I decided to conduct another experiment, one that needs your help”

You raise eyebrows - alchemist, despite actually enjoying your company, usually didn’t disclose much of his work :“Is that so? How can I help?”

Small smile appears on his lips, subtle and controlled, “I want you to taste it”. He looks happy.

You have seen that smile long before. You can’t remember where.

You hate sweets, but there's something stopping you from declining. It's bone-deep and chilling, woven into every fiber of your flesh. You can’t get out the needed words, even if you wanted, with your lips somehow shutting tight at the mere thought. There's something stopping you from saying "no" to Albedo and you assume it's gratitude.

***

The honey turns out to be as sickly sweet as the one from the real bees. You frown, as you take another sip of tea, trying to wash down the saccharine taste from the tongue. Albedo sits in front of you and scribes something in his notebook, throwing occasional glances at you from time to time.

“It seems that we’ll need to keep this secret from Klee” you muse, no longer tasting the nectar on your tongue.

“Why so?” he asks, still writing - his handwriting is too small for you to see from this distance. You could stretch your neck to have a better glimpse, but it would be rude to do, so you refrain, curiosity still nipping at you.

“Well, you know what a big sweet tooth she is, and if she learns that your bees don’t sting...”

“But they do sting, just not me”.

“Why?”

“Bees were created with my will, so they just can’t. It’s against the nature of alchemical creation to oppose its creator”

You hum, processing the new information and guessing how far he would teach you that in your own alchemy lessons. You are far behind Sucrose or Timaeus in your studies, still stuck on basics, but Kreideprinz doesn't look displeased or bored with you. In contrast, mentoring you is something he really likes, judging by the rare smiles he allows himself to show. He proposed to teach you one day and you couldn't find it in yourself to turn him down.

You thought it was strange at first how the recluse seemed to favour you, but then as you familiarized yourself with a man you realized that he liked all things unseen and unheard before and your selective amnesia must be the one.

There are large gaps in your memory, but you can remember some small moments - peeking into a cave and plunging deeper into a forest out of curiosity, spending hours in the library, completely captivated by the book before you, feeling satisfied from finally solving an advanced math problem.

None of the memories include people.

It's an identity forming memories, Albedo theorized when you shared your concerns, experiences shape who we are, [First], and maybe that's why you retained them, they define you.

Were you as reclusive as him then?

A bit later you see what Albedo was drawing: a familiar bird and decapitated head. You are disturbed - how does he know my dreams?

***

Mondstadtians are weird, it’s the first time you leave Albedo’s lab and side, deciding to take a quick stroll around the city and look around. Some look at you with wide eyes, as if you just grew a second head before their eyes, some shamelessly whisper things to each other.

The knight that was assigned to look after you for the duration of the walk is no better than them. He also treats you like some sort of oddity, with all that persistent glances and hesitancy to interact with you.

What kind of person old you were to prompt such a reaction?

Walking along the streets of the city you can't remember any of it. Books that mentioned amnesia and other memory related issues stated that visiting once familiar places can help with overall recollection. Walking along the streets of the city you can't recollect any of it, memories slipping past your fingers like water.

You can’t remember the blue cloudless sky above, or the deep clear lake of the same shade or the gentlest breezes playing with your hair. You can’t recall the bright red roof tiles, or the giant windmills that dwarf other buildings, or the statue of the anemo archont overseeing the city. You can't think of once being among the other idle citizens, of praying and worshipping Barbatos, of participating in the windtrace or Ludi Harpastum. There’s emptiness where a familiarity should be, a dull ache rotting and festering at the back of your mind - I don’t belong here, I never did.

You don’t feel like a part of Mondstadt, not even a single part of you does. There’s an invisible yet unbreakable wall separating you from other people. You can smile and chat and be all polite and nice, yet there’s always a certain coldness and caution others treat you with. You want to be both accepted and left alone, feel loved yet be distant enough to avoid any emotional hurt.

Of course, there are people who managed to get close to you - Albedo and Klee, with the former one being your official caretaker and mentor and the latter being as bright as the Sun, you doubt there’s anyone that couldn’t fall under little girl’s charms, except acting Grandmaster Jean.

That must be why you act so warm towards them, why you decide to bare your soul and feelings towards them, no matter how scary it can be. That’s why you play with Klee, engaging her in less destructive entertainment than the fish blasting and that is why you never refuse Albedo in any of his requests, be it a quick walk on a sunny day or assistance in his experiments.

***

A familiar dream.

You see a giant owl, it's yellow eyes piercing right through you. It's a majestic creature, with snow white fluffy feathers and razor sharp talons. Bird looks at you with all knowing eyes, and then spreads its wings, soundlessly flying in your direction. You dodge it, still marvelling at its grace, as the bird continues its way to the giant head laying behind you.

You turn back still tracing the bird's flight, eyes then turning to the bodiless head. It has the face of an aged man with wise eyes, it's lips move silently chanting. There's something hypnotizing in the chant - listen to me and you will now, listen to me and I will tell you, listen to me and you will learn things that he doesn’t want you to know.

You take a step, hand outstretched to touch it. It burns your skin, and the world around you darkens, all sounds stop and soon enough darkness consumes the bodiless head too, leaving you all alone.

A memory comes.

You're absolutely naked and shivering with Albedo hovering above you. He says something but you can’t understand the words, liquid(?) in your eyes and ears. You hear Sucrose and Timaeus in the background too and how excited they sound.

You turn your head, catching the sight of slabs of pure carbon, bottles of water, pieces of lime and ammonia solution and the rest of organic and inorganic matter lying around you.

There are no thoughts and feelings - you are nothing but an empty vessel that needs to be filled.

"Timaeus, bring the blanket" It's Albedo's voice, “Sucrose, check.. [First]’s temperature. I will observe them”

“[First]?”

“It’s a fitting name”

The memory ends. You wake up.

***

You wake up to Albedo sitting near your bed. It's not a rare occurrence with him frequently checking up on your health, but the memories of previous dreams make you almost jump when you see his silhouette again.

"Uhm, hello?" you still sound husky from sleep.

"Apologies for coming here, I heard your whimpers and decided to check if everything was alright". His face looks as impassive as ever, but there's a concerned tone in his voice. He must be extremely worried then.

"I..” you start but then trail off, unsure what to say. Is the revelation that you dreamt even true? Aside from the strange coincidence and sense of isolation that loomed over you, becoming a bit unbearable with each day, you had nothing to prove your nonsensical conclusion: you are not real.

“I saw a dream, of me lying among the lime and carbon and water” Albedo gives you an intense stare, eyes and expression completely unreadable: “it wasn’t just a dream, was it?”

A moment passes and then another and you feel even more stupid with each second to just come to that conclusion, not to mention saying it outloud. And then the most unexpected thing happens: Albedo nods.

“Yes, yes it happened to you” he suddenly sounds tired, as if he admitted a dark, dark secret, that it arguably is. A shock goes through you, as you start to gasp for air - it’s one thing to speculate and guess, it’s completely different to hear a confirmation.

You can’t exactly remember what happens next - you think you broke down right there and then, as alchemist awkwardly tried to comfort you. He was explaining how and why he created you - he thought that your creation would give him answers he was looking for, solve his internal conflict, and then he started to wonder how different artificial life is from the natural one and that’s why he decided to give you memories.

It was hard at first, he says, to push back the existing ones back and replace them with new. Make you believe that you were born too. Memories were his favourite thing to do, he had a theory you see, that people are majorly products of their environment, and he wanted to prove that with you. That’s why he decided to mold you into a person with traits he usually finds valuable.

In the end you found yourself nursing a hot tea mug with a few drops of calming concoction dissolved in it. Albedo is lingering around in his own disquieted fashion, as you rethink your whole life - can it even be called a life anymore?

You glance at the alchemist fretting around you, frowning, and unsure what to do, the warmth and happiness you felt upon seeing him replaced by disappointment and confusion. Albedo isn't the one who you thought him to be, Archons, you're not the one who you thought yourself to be!

Suddenly the way all others interacted you became crystal clear - they treated you like oddity because you were one. You remember Klee and how she always seemed to love calling you her "bestest special friend". No way they don't know of your origin. No way they will ever treat you like a person.

There's an ache when you think about Klee also turning away from you; She is a sunshine personified right now, spreading her kindness and enthusiasm without even trying, but who knows what will happen once she grows up, will she have a problem with her peers because of you, or she'll adopt the general public's opinion of you? The thought is almost enough to send you into a crying fit again. You want to run far away.

"I want to travel" you finally say, there's no way you can integrate into society when everyone knows what you are and will always see it before who you are. You want to run away and start anew somewhere far, so the rumors will never reach that place and no one will look at you with that wide eyed stare again. You say what you think about this whole situation.

"Please, don't" he says and you of course stop, legs no longer listening to you, "I understand you are distressed right now, but running away isn't the solution"

"But I will never be able to truly connect with anyone, they know it, of my birth, right? The whole city knows about it, right?"

"I know that you want to feel loved, I… We are the same - before your creation I felt the same loneliness, I couldn't bond with anyone save for Klee, but interacting with you was far more pleasant than expected. Relationships are needlessly tiring and I never understood why people focused on them so much, yet now, looking at you I can understand them. I love you, [First], you are perfect".

You still again, now stunted by his words and sudden love confession. It's all so sudden and strange and confusing and you are too tired and too shocked to deal with this, so you decide to distance yourself. "I can't love you in return"

"But you will"

"Why do you think that?"

"It's against your nature to oppose me in anything"

Note: Galatea is an ivory statue created by Pygmalion, who later fell in love with it. The head in reader's dream is decapitated Mimir, a figure in Norse mythology who is known for his knowledge and wisdom. His decapitated head was reciting secret knowledge and giving counsel to Odin.

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop