#i wish she could have been able to challenge her fate instead

[koipalm]

Yay! A fellow Mai Zenin Fan!

And I wholeheartedly agree! She was done so dirty with the whole death thing.

Not only did it basically says that Mai’s way of coping of not wanting to be strong and just wanting a normal life is wrong!

Like Hello?! Why is the narrative blaming Mai for how she copes?!

Not only that but they literally have her turned into a sword! The narrative literally Objectifies her!!!!!

GAHHHH..... AHHH..... H........ HHHH...... .H........ IT LITERALLY FUCKING OBJECTIFIESIT LITERALLY FUCJING OBJECTIFIESR HER I IDDNT EVEN FUCJING THINK OF THAN ANON I DIDN.T. I DODNT EVEN THINK OF THAT..... OHHHHHWW MAN....... OH MAN.... OH MAN

HHHH OKAY BUT IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT A LOT RIGHT LIKE. ive been debating with myself if the narrative condemns mai for her desire to not be a sorcerer right. because on one hand, her death is treated as an intense turning point and she's made out to be a martyr (reminding me of haibara) and in the end shes able to let go and encourage maki to keep moving forward in her own ideals.

HOWEVER. despite (im assuming here) maki wanting to change the jujutsu world like gojo so that sorcerers who dont want to fight can still live, and despite a great deal of blame being placed on the current jujutsu system.... it is still baked into the foundation of the world itself that mai would have to die in order for maki to reach her full potential. IT JUST FEELS.... redundant in a way, i guess? although this doesnt necessarily demean mai or her position, it still requires her sacrifice to the jujutsu world and the narrative. like in the end, if she left to be a normal human, by natural order of the world of jujutsu kaisen it would mean that she would be inhibiting her sisters progress.... and to be honest, im not sure that kind of mechanic helps the case. maybe if the whole 'twins' dynamic didn't exist the way it does in jjk it would be different, but at the moment, it feels like there is a lot piled up against her.... and im not saying it might be completely true, but it FEELS LIKE that since mai could not/didn't want to fight like the other sorcerers, she had to die to help them

[seramilla]

Sometimes Carmilla forgets Sera's as powerful as Lucifer, not that she undermines Sera, it's just that the latter uses her powers very scarcely. So at one of their dates when a crazed sinner(either incredibly high or just has personal beef with Carmilla) lunges at them Sera nonchalantly snaps her fingers, poofing the sinner away and continues to talk about whatever she was talking out earlier leaving Carmilla confused until she remembers her akwardly tall wife is literally the most powerful thing in the universe right after God themself.

Not many Sinners are dumb enough to ever challenge Carmilla directly, or even approach her on the street, for that matter. Unless they're another overlord, it's downright unheard of. Most of the people in Pentagram City who have been in Hell for any length of time understand the hierarchy; they know any of the overlords could remove their spines in the time it takes to blink if they step out of line.

The only exception to this being newly dead souls, or ones too stupid or under the influence of illicit substances to be able to think clearly. That's what happens one day when Carmilla and Sera are just out for an early evening stroll. They're close enough to Rosie's neighborhood that they should be relatively safe -- except the random person that tries to attack them must not have gotten the memo.

Maybe they have some of their faculties about them, at least, because they don't immediately go for Carmilla. Instead, they turn their attention to her companion: the tall, delicate-looking angel walking beside her, chatting nonchalantly without a care in the underworld, laughing at Carmilla's admittedly awful, corny jokes.

The vision of a body launching itself at Sera catches Carmilla's eye. In the time it takes to draw a breath, her claws are already out, ready to strike. Her instincts are honed and lightning fast, after years of battle and making a stand here in Hell; she's ready to defend her wife at all costs.

She almost does. Except, with a snap of Sera's fingers, the Sinner is suddenly gone, with a poof of silver cloud vapor, followed by a few sparkles of light just for effect. Sera's hair rustles from the air disturbed by this person's passing; that's how close they'd been before he disappeared. Any evidence of the Sinner's presence is simply not there, as if they'd never been threatened at all.

Carmilla blinks. She blinks again. There had just been a person there, fangs and claws out, not more than a hair's breadth from raking against Sera's supple skin. The fact that they are now nonexistent does not quite catch up with her brain for another couple of seconds. She looks at where the person had been, and then at Sera, and then at the blank ground again.

"What?" Carmilla squeaks.

"What do you mean 'what?'" Sera asks.

"Where did they go?"

"I teleported them, of course."

"Wait...that's something you can do? They're not dead?"

"Of course not," Sera responds, as if the answer should be obvious. "I didn't see any need for that. I teleported them to your friend Zestial. He can sort them out. We're busy having a nice time, aren't we?"

Carmilla blushes. "Yes..."

Carmilla looks at Sera, smitten. She really is more dastardly and diabolical than Carmilla gives her credit for. Zestial won't be happy when he learns what that Sinner had tried to do to them...they may have wished that they had died again, after all, by the time Zestial is through with them. He's good at giving his victims a fate worse than death.

"Carmilla? Are you coming?"

Carmila hadn't noticed Sera is farther ahead on the street than her now. She jogs to catch up.

As usual, her angelic wife is always so full of surprises. Carmilla can't wait to become more acquainted with how that beautiful, mischievous brain works in the years ahead. Oh, how she's missed Sera, so.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Someone asked me lately about Elfhild, Théodred's mom, and I'm procrastinating from other things so I wrote a ficlet (600ish words) about her. The summary of my Elfhild HC is that she was a musician/maker of instruments who was chosen to marry Théoden. They did eventually fall in love, and she was thrilled to be pregnant. But toward the end of her pregnancy, she was given some foresight into her impending death in childbirth. So I wrote this about how things went for her after she had that premonition, which she didn’t share with anyone else. Anywho. Here it is, the impulsive product of procrastination from other things!

***************

Elfhild thought first to tell her son all the most important things he would need to know about his life. That duty would always have to come first, but he should take care to find a refuge from the burdens of that duty. That history and tradition were valuable, but he needn’t be afraid of trusting his own instincts. That he would face many challenges, but if he treated others with kindness, he would have many allies to help him. She rushed through her lessons, determined to give him all the wisdom she had about how to make his way in this world that he wasn’t yet part of.

As time grew short, she decided many of the most important lessons were ones he would need to learn on his own, and so she began to tell him instead about herself, sharing things he might not ever hear otherwise. The words to songs that she had written just for him. How gazing at the stars and picking out shapes and figures in the night sky brought her peace and calm after difficult days. That she was proud to have a skilled trade that could have supported her in comfort even if she hadn’t simply been passed from one noble family to another. That although she loved his father deeply and would choose Théoden now without hesitation, she still wished she had been given the choice back when it mattered most. 

The end came ever nearer, but she always had more yet to say. Even as she struggled with aching joints and sleepless nights and painfully stretched skin and a constant burning in her chest, she begged him to stay with her for just a little longer. To let her endure the discomfort so that she could finish telling him all the things she needed him to understand. That she was infinitely grateful for the months they had shared. That she loved him above all else. That she wouldn’t regret giving her life for his. That none of this was his fault. Even if he could never remember what she said, she hoped that he would somehow still know in his heart that she had said it. And so she kept talking, resting a hand gently where she guessed his head to be and praying that the sound of her voice would reach his little ears. She talked to him until she no longer had breath to form her words or fill her lungs or keep her life. 

It was nearly forty-two long years before she would be able to speak to him again, and still she regretted that it was so soon. She wanted more for him, and the news that he was expected shortly brought her joy and sadness in equal measure. 

She took up an anxious watch, uncertain how to recognize someone who had spent his entire existence beyond her view. Someone whose history and fate were yet a mystery to her. Someone who would now be a man, tall and strong and proud and so different from the glistening infant she had barely glimpsed through the haze of her final seconds of life. But when he came at last, she knew him in an instant by the easing of her heart. The feeling of wholeness again. And when she called his name and he turned in her direction, she saw the light of recognition in his eyes, too. I know your voice, he said. Somehow I’ve always known it. 

The sound of his own voice was deep and warm and so much like his father’s, and she wept to hear it for the very first time. And then she sat by his side, this beloved stranger who had once been a part of her, and she held his hand and smiled and listened while he told his mother all the most important things she would need to know about his life.

***************

So those are my Elfhild thoughts. If you've read my Théodred stories, you’ll see that huge parts of his character directly reflect the stuff Elfhild expresses to him here (in some cases, he literally echoes her almost word for word) because he really did hear her, even if he never could have articulated it as such.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Viciously Violet”

Clea Strange x Female Reader

Request by @anonymous

Hello Morning/Afternoon/Evening! I was hoping you could do a Charlize Theron × Female Reader. It is her character Clea Strange (from Doctor Strange: Multiverse Of Madness) So Y/n works for Dr Strange as his apprentice and has secret feelings for his wife Clea Strange. But one day while Dr Strange was on a business trip and Y/n was left behind since she wasn't needed, she is invited by Clea to play a game called Truth Or Strip whereby you ar asked a question and if you get it wrong or you refuse to answer a question you are forced to strip, but things slowly take a turn and they end up having sex. Please, hope you are able to do it <3

cw : 18+ // smut // infidelity // angst

since it wasn’t specified, i hope you wouldn’t mind that i took the angsty route with this one. also there probably are many other Clea(s) in other universes but let’s just ignore the fact for the sake of angst :3

────────────────────

It is both a boon and a bane. An endless cycle of torment, wounded and cured only to be gently maimed again.

There are plenty of fish in the sea, so why? Just why did you end up falling for her? A married woman, the wife of your mentor no less. Oh but there is only one Clea, beautiful, beautiful Clea with bold eyes and kind heart, who certainly is not yours. She will never be yours, forever unattainable. She does not know it of course that you harbour feelings for her. As challenging and agonising as it is, you make sure of it. After all, you do not become the apprentice of the former soccer supreme by being nothing.

Since when exactly they have begun thriving, you do not know. Perhaps, the seed of these fluttering feelings, that will get out of control in the mere presence of the woman, is planted in your heart following that fateful day. She has rescued you from the inevitable tumble down the stair. Inevitable that is, has she not intervened. Given as she has, you come out unscathed apart from your sorry little heart, it seems. You have been carrying a few too many things in your arms, one stacked upon another to the point that they obscure your vision. In your reckless haste to get to the foyer of Sanctum Sanctorum, you fail to see the beginning of the staircase.

One, one misstep is all it takes to send the whole trajectory of your life into complete chaos. Instead of meeting the same fate as the things in your hands and quite possibly suffering from a few broken bones, you are effortlessly pulled into a firm body by an arm that has captured your waist in a snug hold. Looking down, you see purple, and your own fingers holding onto the forearm of your saviour for dear life. Wisps of snow-white hair softly caress your cheeks as you seek the all too familiar face of Clea, subsequently being held captive by those enchantingly green eyes.

Then, follow days wherein you spend the better part of your waking hour reminiscing about the heart-throbbing little moment atop the grand staircase, glorying in the ghost of her touch. A smile or a trickle of attention from her, such as a simple “Good Morning”, will undoubtedly have your heart doing giddy somersaults. Whenever your line of sight is intercepted by a figure well cladded in violet attire, your gaze will linger on her for a beat too long, perpetually in awe of the way it hugs her body in all the right places. It is only admiration, a woman appreciating the beauty of a fellow woman; so you have reasoned in the beginning with no one but yourself.

And then, one day, you walk in on your mentor and his wife sharing an intimate moment. The kiss has been nothing too serious, merely a peck on the lips: a quick greeting between a husband and a wife. In that very moment, inside you rears the head of something ugly, and you have caught yourself wishing that it was your lips embracing Clea’s and your hands book-casing her hips rather than her husband’s. It has served as an eye opener for you to stop lying to yourself. The realisation has been not so much a surprise as a simple fact, which you have decided is time, to finally acknowledge. After such revelation, a pang of heartache accompanies you every time you lay your eyes upon the picture perfect power couple.

In then comes a smile from her, whether directed at you or not, and all the negative thoughts will be immediately dispelled. Such is the predicament you have found yourself in, tortured unknowingly, albeit relentlessly, by one drop dead gorgeous disaster.

Despite being a double-edged sword, the feelings that you have for Clea are sacred, and so, you treat them as such, embracing them close to your heart along with the woman herself. You have sworn silently never to get in the way of her life. If you must carry your feelings to your grave for her to have her happily ever after, then without hesitation, you will.

Such big words, you have said. Then, a request spills forth those dangerously tempting lips, and like a poisoned coward, you become all weak-kneed and lily-livered.

“I have plenty of time on my hand and with Stephen away, no one to keep me company. Indulge me, won’t you darling?”

Darling? Darling?!

She seems intent on giving you a cardiac arrest.

“I- alright. Why not?”

Have you known beforehand the kind of entertainment that you are being asked to indulge her in, you wonder if you will have agreed to it.

The game that Clea has insisted on playing with you has started out innocently enough for you to believe that it truly is a harmless activity. Her questions that she demands you to answer, although challenging in nature, are a walk in the park for you, given that you are well versed in a variety of demanding topics as an apprentice of one fastidious sorcerer.

It is only when she switches to more scandalous questions that you lose your winning streak, and along with it, one after another of your clothing pieces.

“How many people in this room would you be willing to hook up with?”

“But there’s only the two of us in here.”

“And?”

“I- uh I- I don’t know?”

“Strip it is then.”

So, goes your jacket.

“Who is the most inappropriate person you’ve ever had a crush on?”

You are unexpectedly stunned into silence since it has hit a little too close to home.

She has taken your silence as a refusal to answer, and just like that, your socks are the next to go.

“What hook-up scene from a movie or TV show would you like to recreate?”

“If you could cheat and no one would ever, ever find out, would you?”

On and on and on it goes, the following far more outrageous than the previous, and before you know it, you are left in nothing but your undergarments.

Are you truly, terribly bad at coming up with good questions, or does she just have an absurd amount of confidence, you no longer know. She has rarely got an answer wrong, not to mention, hesitated to answer the sordid questions that you have to desperately rack your brains for. The very few errors which she has made in answering your questions barely make a dent in her clothes. You find it ridiculously unfair that compared to your simple outfit, her elaborate attire has more pieces of clothing to it.

“Are you taken?”

The question as it is has twofold meanings, and although you, too, have separate answers, you decide upon the affirmative.

“Yes.”

“By whom, or shall I say with whom are you taken?”

You level her with a glare that screams irritation, or at least, as close to it as you can manage while barely clothed.

“What gives you the impression that I am not taken by someone?”

“Oh honey, you’re an open book. Are you honestly so foolish as to believe that I haven’t noticed yet?”

You blanch.

“Now, onto my next question…”

This is it. Doom is about to befall you and it is no one’s fault but your own. Of course, she is going to know. How can you be so naive? She is Clea after all. What an idiot you are! Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Fucking idiot!

Oh beautiful, beautiful Clea, she is going to be repulsed by your feelings. By you.

“How long have you been sleeping with Stephen?”

“I- what?!”

“I’m not blind. Even if I were, with the way you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, well…” One hand makes an indifferent gesture. “…you get the gist.“

“I- I don’t. You’re getting it all wrong.”

“Haven’t I made myself clear? You needn’t act all innocent. I’ve seen the way you looked at him, eyes full of longing like a love-sick puppy.”

Clea looks you straight in the eyes, sapphire green eyes narrowing dangerously as if she is seeing something in you that you do not even know exists.

“You must think you’re one perfect pretender.” The warmth from before all but gone, her voice is all ice and razor sharp as it cuts through your flesh. “You’re not. You don’t even come close to being good enough.”

So, this has been her intention all along. To interrogate you for allegedly spreading your legs for her husband. Does she really think so lowly of you? But then again, she is not entirely wrong, and yet, she cannot have been more wrong. My word, you want to cry! Oh how you want to cry! But not here, you tell yourself, not right now, not in front of her.

“I- I don’t feel like playing anymore. Please, excuse me Mrs. Strange.”

“Now, now, we’re just getting started. I can’t allow you to spoil my fun. Sit back down.”

You do not. Ignoring the warmth that is pooling in your eyes and fingers that are grasping your bare forearm, you scramble to your feet, struggle to get your hands through the sleeves of your shirt. And then, suddenly, none too gently, you are shoved into the couch.

“I said sit back down.”

Oh. Oh. Not once during your stay at the Sanctum Sanctorum have you heard Clea using such tone, dripping with dark, dark venom, much less being at the receiving end of it. Alas, it hurts. Your heart hurts. It hurts like a bitch.

“Just admit that you’re sleeping with my husband or strip. Why are you making it so difficult?”

She has your knees pinned between her thighs while she remains standing, looming over your frame that is haphazardly sprawled across the velveteen cushion. You are helpless against the tears that are beginning to cascade down your cheeks, and as a last resort to shield your broken, vulnerable self from the woman, who, in contrast, looks too good to be true, you keep your face hidden in the crook of your arm.

“Oh, so I’m the one who’s making it difficult?” Amidst a violent downpour of tears, your voice comes out pathetically broken, but you just cannot find it in yourself to care anymore. “If you’re not blind, if you’re truly as observant as you’ve so boldly claimed, then you would have known that it was never your husband whom I’ve been pining over, rather naively might I add.” Words boil down to choked sobs, and it is but a whisper when you manage to speak again. “Why are you doing this to me? Whatever did I do to deserve this? If you despise me so, simply say it to my face.”

You hear the rustling of fabric as she shifts, sits beside your body on the couch, and then, you feel the gentle crawl of fingers on your forearm before they go to lock around your wrist. There is no force in her touch; she is not urging, merely holding. Whether you wish to lay yourself bare for her to scrutinise, or keep to yourself, the decision essentially lies in your hands. You cannot help but appreciate her thoughtfulness even in the midst of a dispute. Eventually, you let her carry your arm away. Selfish though it is, a part of you want her to witness the damage done by her actions.

Tears make your vision as good as murky; you can barely discern a look of concern and remorse on her face with a shadow of- is that hopefulness?

“Do you have feelings for me?”

“Isn’t it obvious, but more importantly, am I allowed to?”

“Please, I need to hear you say it.”

“I have feelings for you.”

As per her plea, you find yourself uttering your terrible confession. No sooner have the words left your lips than your breath follows suit, for all too unexpectedly, the lips of Clea, smooth and so unbelievably soft, that you have certainly believed will forever be beyond your reach, have captured your lips in a warm, delicate caress.

The effect is both immense and immediate; melting into the kiss like a scoop on a cone, all the tension ebb away from your limbs, rendering you utterly helpless beneath her touch. It is a tamed kiss, all tender and tantalising, hopefully a promise of what is to come.

When she departs, she does not stray too far. It is while having your faces a whisker away from each other’s, that you ask.

“Is it wrong of me to like you?”

A kiss is dropped atop your cheek, and from there, she answers.

“Like me, please.”

“I like you, Clea. So much so that it hurts.”

“Let me heal you. Let me chase your pain away.”

And who are you to refuse her wishes?

Along with the interweaving of fingers beside your head, lips map every inch of skin; starting from your forehead and ending all the way down your ankles, nothing remains untouched by those lovely lips as your body is drenched in delicate kisses.

Unfortunately, the rain on your parade is your very thoughts themselves that keep reminding you of the gut-wrenching reality that whatever this is, is but transitory. It is only a matter of minutes before you will be thrusted back into your plain old life, your miserable plain old life with no Clea in it. And so, you cry. You cry while having her mouth attached to your breasts. As pleasant as it feels, the pleasure is overshadowed by the pain.

“I will never be yours. I will never be yours, Clea.”

Clea, oh sweet sweet Clea is instantly on you, peppering your face with candied pecks, lulling you with hushed tones and honeydewed whispers, all the while the gentle pads of her thumbs caress your tears away.

“Shh darling, oh my darling angel, in this moment in time, you are mine as much as I am yours. Rid your mind of unhappy thoughts. Focus on me and me alone. Can you do that for me, my angel? For your Clea?”

You give a silent nod which is not a lie per se. Even though you are not confident in your ability to keep the unsavoury thoughts at bay, you will try. You will do that for her, your Clea.

In fact, you learn, once her mouth descends upon where you are needing her the most, that forgetting everything else is not as hard as you have initially thought. Time seems to stop, by the time her lips close around the little bundle of nerves. Nothing but your own heartbeat greets your ears, frenzied and feverish, as one wicked tongue subjects you to a sweet suffering. Submerged in such toe curling sensations, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, thighs trembling helplessly under the relentless assaults of the thick muscle on your tender insides.

A head full of lustrous lily-white hair bobbing up and down between your thighs is truly a sight to behold, and your fingers sink into the smooth strands upon feeling digits slipping inside your core while your sensitive little nub is kissed and suckled by her hot, ravenous mouth. You have surely believed that you cannot fall for her anymore than you already have, but you are proven wrong when she reveals herself once more to your hungry gaze after feasting upon you like you are the rarest delicacy. Lips dewy with your juices, chin coated in a sheen of your essence and pupils blown wide, she looks positively intoxicated, every bit the epitome of Eros.

In the meantime, despite knowing all too well that you are flying too close to the sun, you do not worry about the melting of the wax. If you end up descending into your downfall, at least, you will be falling after having achieved the seemingly unattainable. So, you spread your wings wide and soar high into the sky towards your bright, beautiful sun. But alas, your wings do not melt. If they do, the fall is prevented by a pair of arms that wind up around your waist, pulling you into luxuriously toned laps.

Perched atop her thighs, your lips collide. She trail hers down your neck, suck the little notch of your throat, but it is on the soft swell of your left breast that she decides to leave a lingering bruise.

“A keepsake. Only fitting to leave it on your throbbing little heart, don’t you think, so that with every beat of your heart, you will be reminded of me.”

“You say it as if I could ever stop thinking about you.”

A reply does not come. Only a hum escapes her lips, which softly kisses your sternum, as her face nuzzles your breasts.

“Oh my sweet, sweet angel, don’t you know that I love you?”

There comes your downfall condensed into three little words, and along with it, thorny vines twine round your heart. They squeeze, squeeze until the veins burst, squeeze until the heartstrings snap. You hold the woman of your dreams close all the while, so impossibly close to your chest, beneath which your heart begins breaking into a million little pieces, as silent tears seep into the crown of her head.

────────────────────

[rosiesdisneydrama]

Persona Tales (Better AU Name Pending)

[This au idea includes stuff from P3, P5R (which was my intro to Persona even if I haven’t quite finished it yet), DT17, and PKNE. Double Duck may be referenced, but I’ve never had the chance to read those and have only read what other people have mentioned about it.]

First off, the Persona 3 PC in this is Kotone Shiomi. Igor is unhappy about the end of her story and wants to do something to help her. He’s seen the life/happiness that the other Wild Cards had found in their lives after their respective adventures and wishes he could have seen the same thing for her.

And, after a lot of careful thinking, he thinks he has an idea of how to pull it off. But there are a few hitches that he knows he needs to work around.

Firstly; he needs to find a way to make the Great Seal self-sustaining so that he can get a hold of Kotone’s soul without destroying the thing that she’d given her life to create in the first place.

Secondly; he needs to create a new body for her since her original is long gone. (In the Japanese burial tradition of cremation too.) And being brought back as a ghost wouldn’t really help with living the life she’d missed out on.

Thirdly; he can’t just drop her back in her own world because she’s been dead for a while by this point. And the world isn’t really built for someone to come back from the dead after roughly a decade (probably more).

He needs to find someplace new to let Kotone have the chance to live the life she never got to have. So he uses his connection to Velvet Rooms, the plane between the Mind and Matter, to seek out a new world for his plan. Somewhere that has a connection to the same plane but is different enough so that she can (hopefully) avoid a similar ending.

It takes a bit, but he eventually settles on one that is close to the world Kotone came from while still different.

It’s not a perfectly peaceful place, but it’s full of wildness and wonder and things that would have been impossible in the universe she came from. The rules and its connection to the Collective Unconcious are different too, but there are some similarities that he hopes will allow Kotone to not feel too out of place there.

(He can tell that this world will have things happen in its future. Things that a Wildcard would be able to help with. As both a player and a guide.)

Now, he needs to find someone willing to help her find her footing in this new world.

Making use of his Near-Omniscience, he searches the world for someone who would fit the bill. Preferably, someone of a compatible Arcana. Perhaps even another Fool, who could learn to act as another Wildcard.

(Philemon and Nyarlathotep’s game didn’t exist in this new world, but the tools could still be used for good.)

Since the fate of the world isn’t at stake, he doesn’t really need to follow his usual rules to find a Wildcard. Which means he can shop around more to find someone to take the challenge. He doesn’t need to pick a blank slate, he can find someone more experienced/worldly to take the job.

He makes a list, carefully going over his options as he goes.

But, of course, since there’s so much freedom of choice it’s surprisingly hard to settle on a single person. So many who slot in well that he can’t figure out which one to actually choose.

He decides he’ll just ask, instead of making the decision for them.

He picks one at random, connects to them in a dream, and readies himself to actually ask/pitch his request.

.

Donald Duck is a teenager who's just finished high school and is still trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life. Adventuring with his family is fun, but he's not sure he wants to do only that for the rest of his life. (And being a secret superhero doesn't exactly pay the bills.)

As such, he's following grandma's suggestion of taking a Gap year to get some work experience and to figure out what he wants to do for his future. Uncle Scrooge has kind of helped by offering him a few places he owns that need extra hands, but Donald's still thinking about which ones he likes better.

(He doesn’t want to pick one that’ll end in him having to deal with someone sucking up to him to get in Scrooge’s good books or anyone that’ll be a jerk because they think his uncle would pull favorites in a job. He thinks Uncle Scrooge gets that since hasn’t been pushing for him to take any one of them particularly hard.)

(Or Uncle Scrooge was waiting until he’d gotten his hands on a specific one for Donald to do. Either could be true when it came to his Uncle.)

Right now, however, he's very confused about this strange (but honestly rather pretty) room he’s found himself in and the stranger with the really pointy nose and bulgy eyes sitting in a chair in front of him. He thought he was just heading to bed before wandering around for places that would be hiring tomorrow, but now he's here and that looks like a contract of some kind on the table and he doesn't know what's happening.

Thankfully, the weird man doesn't leave him in the dark for too long.

The stranger introduces himself as Igor and says he's there to request Donald’s help. One that he's free to turn down if he's not interested.

Mr. Igor explains (loosely) that something bad happened to someone he was helping/watching over, and that person was hurt badly. He wants to make it right by giving them the chance to start over, in a new place that won't have the same problems that got them hurt before and he’s thinking of having Duckburg be that place. But they'll need someone to look out for them and help them find their way. They also have special powers that might make the transition a little harder, because it’ll probably make them homesick and they can’t go back due to the thing that happened to them.

And he wants Donald to help.

He says that he'll give Donald some stuff to make it easier (something that’ll help him understand them? Donald’s not sure what that means), but he's not just dropping a random person on him and leaving. There are some more details/explanations thrown in before they're done.

Mr. Igor says he'll give Donald two weeks to think about the offer/request. And he's free to turn it down.

(That gets emphasized. Which is kinda of nice, most people don’t make it an option for him.)

He’s given a blank tarot card (at least, Donald thinks it’s a tarot card. It’s way too tall to be a playing card) which Mr. Igor says will appear in the “Conscious World” with him, so he’ll know this wasn’t all just a really strange dream. And he’ll talk to Donald in a week to clarify anything he wants to know about and then the week after that, he’ll come to find out Donald’s final answer. There’s a loud ringing of a bell, which sounds like the Wake Up bell on a ship to Donald, then he’s jolting up in bed just a few minutes before his alarm clock is supposed to go off.

And, sitting on his bedside table, is the same blank card from his dream. (Which means it wasn’t actually a dream…)

[heyxmissxjude]

the cells | jude & xavier

@xavier-lennon​:

Unlike most, Xavier had managed to underestimate the severity of this event. When others were speaking about the cancelled lottery, when they were trying to make sense of the rumours they heard, even when it became clear that the slaves would be punished, Xavier had followed his usual routine. He was convinced that those days would be uncomfortable but ultimately bearable. It was not more than a few hours in that he realized how wrong he had been. Stripped of his sight and hearing, Xavier had been left with his own mind. It was almost embarrassing how little it took for him to break himself. He was sucked into a darkness which had started long before he came to live on this island. He was reminded of a time where he not only experienced but indulged in human cruelty. He was reminded of the lives which he had taken and a strange certainty that he too should not have been here anymore. Every beating that followed, though not physically challenging, served as fuel to this self-destructive fire.

And he was not ready for more. Even when they were finally returned to their cells, it did not feel like the punishment had stopped. The majority of the slaves seemed to have fallen straight asleep or found comfort in being with one another. Part of him wished he could be there for the others too, but instead he was quiet with himself again. Yet fate had decided that this loneliness should not last. Xavier recognized the woman and was surprised that she chose to speak to him of all people. “There’s not an end to this” His voice was raspy and quiet, but there was no doubt that he believed to speak the truth. Xavier respected her concern, her attempt to give him strength. Maybe on a different day, he would have been able to show his appreciation more strongly. “Not for me, this won’t end”

.

“Nothing is permanent, love,” she countered gently, daring to take a step into the cell and take a seat next to Xavier.  The professor recalled their first meeting, his seeming recalcitrance towards her simply for her position on the island.  She may have had a title and more privilege than most, but they had more in common than he believed that first meeting.  “Even when it seems like there’s no escape and no end.  I once thought the same, yet here I am.  Free from hell - or at least usually.”  It was a poor attempt at a joke, but it was true enough all the same.  “I’ve been here off and on for over a decade now.  These things don’t last forever.  Neither does your position here.”

[noiranamnesis]

Tender wounds of transgressions past offer whispers for silent retreat, to maintain fragile distance, yet she remained in place. Neither wilting beneath his presence nor meeting him in challenge- instead merely observing without pretense of expectation. To expect of the Emperor is to ensure disappointment. Words of advice shared once the garden's purpose was revealed. A warning only partially heeded in favor of seeds of hope she could never quite discard. Yet for once she finds she is able.

Give me your hand.

Rarely one to deny his wishes, she is nonetheless surprised by her own steadiness, unable to sense even the faintest tremor. A reflection of acceptance entrenched in remnants of blind devotion or perhaps a silent tolerance of fate earned by way of his carelessness. It is a question she can not ask herself, having abstained from her reflection since she first found herself back within Rome.

i did not yearn to see it on limp fingers. if you had been stronger, sooner, you would have awoken to see yourself wearing it

How shameless an admission, she thinks. Implications of moonlight visits while she was deep in slumber rouse feelings she fails to suppress, her attention falling to his hands. Large and calloused with little variation from memory save a familiar band of gold adorning his smallest finger. A piece of him stolen for herself despite unspoken boundaries- the final act in a string of thefts so graciously forgiven...

Not a single phrase is uttered as calloused fingers brush against her own, Marinette's palm left empty in favor of sliding the metal band into its former place. A token of tenderness which pulled the air from her chest, throat constricting as she tentatively met his gaze. There is something explicit in the way he addresses her now, another piece she wishes to stow away so others may never catch even a glimpse of it. Of a confession she often declared long buried beneath frozen ashes in Gothic territory- a pitiful attempt to spare herself.

Tracing his jaw in a featherlight touch, Marinette pondered his demand for grace in lieu of feigned riddles. A seemingly fair trade, yet she was unsure how he may fare against such brevity. "...I see this as your profession of love." Her words were but a whisper, her nose gently brushing his. "That I am yours as you are mine." Subdued nerves simmered beneath her skin as she seized her opportunity, capturing him in a kiss.

Wary of the ever shifting tides of his demeanor, she wished nothing less than to convey her feelings through tenderness. To soothe jagged scars upon his mind so he might further accept a love separate of respect laced with fear- even if only for a fleeting moment. Despite best intentions, however, she felt her resolve giving way to eagerness, tangling her fingers in his locks whilst slowly deepening the kiss. A mere few beats passed before she snapped to present, a deep flush staining her skin as she broke away.

"I have no token I can give you-" Such words were spoken between gentle kisses pressed upon his face and lips. Memory of a lapis necklace she once offered briefly came to mind though she was unable to recall if it ever left her chambers. Likely taken by someone in the palace if not, a thought which faded in an instant, "aside from myself."

eyelids half closed. he takes two steady breaths, attempting to regulate stimming, impending emotion riling within him. days, weeks, months have led to this moment where she has returned in the vicinity of the palace. a place that had once been their shared home, although they had experienced greaty different lifestyles during their joint time here. commodus, feared and awed by all, while she had been but a wallflower - for the most part.

only coming to the attention of others seemingly when commodus would direct for her to be. when he would instruct that her own garden was created, sheltered, so it may be closed off and private to the rest of the world. how he would seek her out after battles, climbing into a bathtub with her so that the water would soak his skin, and her hands would touch bruised flesh. she had behaved as many a thing to him. a friend. a listener. a wife.

" if i had forgotten your request, you would not be here " within the four walls of this residence. home. in rome once again. how he would have looked at her cold figure, sprawled against the snow and ignored her. he would return to the space again, when the landscape was bare, and the air, cool with lingering scent of ash from the bodies that had burned. and he would have found her. blue faced, and rigid.

he steps forward, choosing to close the distance between them. " give me your hand " it is an instruction. always a command that is best not refused. and most with sane minds would not refuse the emperor. even if it meant at risk of the unknown. of being victim to a sudden impulsive decision from him for sheer violence. " i did not yearn to see it on limp fingers " he tells her. " if you had been stronger, sooner, you would have awoken to see yourself wearing it " the ring that had been his but she had taken for herself. stolen, he should say. perhaps she would agree it had been stolen from him. or perhaps she would lie, brazenly, as she has before, to say that it was merely borrowed with the intention of being returned.

his hand, larger than hers, has slipped off the ring he has kept but belongs to her. removing it from his pinkie, so that he may place it - as delicately as he can - upon her finger. " you understand what i say with these acts " the air has shifted. tone, slightly changed. with a pang of...

vulnerability?

" - with the saving of your life. the giving of the ring "

" i wish you to see it as what it is. i do not wish to be responded to with ignorance. the idea that you will reply to me, and say you simply see it as gold "

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 1) [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti x female reader

Part 2 here

(A/n): Okay okay I know I have some requests yet I decided to write something super indulgent. I'M SORRY! This past week I've just been writing so much angst *looks at inbox* AND MORE ANGST TO COME I really need that dose of Vitamin F(luff) 😭

===========================

Noctua's Heartbeat (Diluc)

For a man who had the whole world in the palm of his hand

With looks, fame and all the wealth he could demand

But what stole away his breath was something not to be bought

For it was merely the calming presence of your living and beating heart.

Your heart was a dignity born for empathy, so beautiful and magnificent with the kind of charm similar to white Cecilias blooming across Mondstadt's fields. Diluc would watch from afar, admiring their glow. It shines without reservation, blissfully unaware to a fault that he couldn't help but feel afraid knowing how the real world would simply pluck you from your roots and shape you in the way they wanted to. People who were tainted souls with tainted soles roaming from the shadows, constantly trampling on other's beliefs before leaving them to rot.

Ah but of course, Cecilias are wildflowers. No matter how many times they were stepped on, they could still withsand any force nature throws at them. Whether it'd be raging storms or scorching heat from the summer sky, you were the same through it all. Love. You were in love. You were in love with the wind, you were in love with people, you were in love with the world and everything that lives in it.

And so, Diluc wonders if that was the reason why everything suddenly began to shimmer.

He treaded on a path fated for loneliness while longing for the dawn to appear out of the night horizon-- where emotions once frozen until you came in to melt the ice. He blocked his heart but you tore down those walls. Diluc swore to never feel if it meant protecting himself and yet you held onto his shattered pieces tenderly, dearly, blowing the love of life and teaching it how to beat again.

Your heart was like a fountain of all the hopes he abandoned years ago and the dreams that no one had the courage to envision, cleansing everything within it's reach and freshening them anew. You were a being so in tune with your emotions that it sang through all that you did, laughing despite your obstacles and shedding tears when overjoyed, a single drop it was but still held the depth of the entire ocean. Diluc vows to protect you for your heartbeat was also his own. He'll gladly lay down his life because losing you deemed far worse than any death he could imagine.

~xx~

The other eye of Pavo Ocellus (Kaeya)

The knight's shining armour serves only as a disguise

When beauty from the surface is one's own demise

He used it to protect himself, decorating his words with pretty lies

But unmatched when facing against your truthful eyes.

They say the eye was an open window to a person's true colours. If that were the case then the painting inside him must have been an unsightly one.

Every once in a while the people of Mondstadt would speak about their Cavalry Captain's eyepatch, whether he was injured after being sent out on a mission or if he wears it for the sake of image. No one knows, it was rather unsettling, why someone would cover their eye despite not being injured. Secrets? Perhaps. Kaeya was known to be a man shrouded in mystery after all.

Your gaze was his Death After Noon. Sparkling upon the surface yet with the tasteful allure so captivating that it was almost dangerous. Just one glance and he was intoxicated, eventually leading to a slip of the tongue, revealing what was buried deep within his contaminated essence. Kaeya hated that you had the uncanny ability to see through his mask. Your innocence so contrasting, he felt like looking into a mirror, reminding just how much of an ugly person he truly was in comparison.

But mirrors are easy to break, no?

The thought delivers a sinister smile on his face. Pitiful-- is the state where you were. Pitiful-- it's what he is. How could he think of such things when all you offered was kindness? Unlike Kaeya, you were an honest person, always wearing your emotions on your sleeve and unaware of the devil's vicinity. He was tempted by the invite to crush you and run away like the coward he was meant to be. However as he stares deeply into your eyes he realized they weren't made of glass. They were gems. The most precious gems hardened by the pressures of experience.

In the shine of thine eyes resides the stars and the moon as if stolen from the Abyss, leading to the edges of the universe that was blessed within your mind. The look of curiosity filled with rich hues all held by a soulful stare while they pierced through the armour shaped around his heart. It was your ability to recognize beauty amongst the most wretched of things that he fell so hopelessly in love with you because for the first time someone had seen him-- his flaws and his faults, his abyss painted darker than black but loved him despite it all. As he drowns himself in the world of your gaze, Kaeya prays to never be the one who will steal away those stars or moon because they looked the most beautiful on you.

~xx~

The Winged Nemesis who flew towards the Sun (Xiao)

He looks at your face as if he saw spring for the first time

An unsual encounter, wondering how could something be so sublime

The yaksha stands upon the corpses while reaching for the sky

Seeing the sun in your smile that he wishes to fly

Xiao has dealt with the cards of death and won through many of it's games. But his life was a gamble as the karmic binds may one day bring the same fate that was done upon his comrades-- insanity, murder and corruption. So he swears an oath to his god and himself, ensuring the darkness only he could bear does not seep into the light.

A gust of wind sways in when you pass by, he was struck by pensive bewilderment because happiness was a feeling unknown to him. It was the expression you made whenever you greeted him good morning. The complexion you had while charging through life's challenges. And the face you wore even during the times where there was no reason to smile. Xiao has felt the might of the sun for her light will never be exstinguished by his darkness, he could only succumb to it.

But you were not just the sun, you were the flowers that bloomed beneath her heavenly sky and the birds that chirped upon those earth-like trees. You were a whole new world he didn't dare to touch because dreams were delicate and his cursed self would only devour them until nothing was left. Still, the mighty sun shines through it all, stretching out her rays like a welcoming embrace until the universe had been revitalized, giving birth to new life after winter's storm.

If pictures told a thousand words then he had a thousand reasons and more to love you. Xiao witnessed the sweetest joy decorated by pink petal blossoms dancing around him, the one who pulled him out of his spiraling trance of darkness. The breath he takes no longer felt suffocating and instead was replaced by the smell of nature's greatest gifts: you. Stay away, he says, because there were times where you shone so brightly that he had to look elsewhere. Your rays burned him and he thinks it might drill holes into his wings. Painful it may be but if the splendor of spring could only be admired after the harsh cold snow, then maybe pain and love were only two sides of the same coin.

A world without the sun--such unfathomable thoughts--is a death he does not wish to deal with.

~xx~

A song she sings for the God of Wind (Venti)

Man lives by the power of the tongue,

Whatever Man speaks is aligned with Man's choice.

Hearken when she talks for her words are to be sung,

Because not only was she lovely but so was her voice.

-Venti

There were many reasons why Venti loved music. The freedom to express oneself when words weren't enough, allowing one's spirit to flow out of their mouth and be with the wind. It was the feeling he had when he listened to you because your voice was sweeter than any song he sang or played.

When you speak it was as if the world around you danced, bringing them to the mercy of your stage. Like standing upon the soft grass while letting the sparks of dandelions dust against his own skin, Venti would close his eyes as he hears you speak-- it was you, just you and that was all he needed. He swears that no one in the world could sound as living as you did because it was the words you say that stole his heart away.

The vibration in your tone was fleshed with kindness yet so sure and firm to the point it could even bring a god to his knees. If he were a sailor then you were the siren, enchanting him with your bell-like voice and bringing him to a territory where he can never escape from. It was the spell of your divine song, his Carmen Dei, that tricked the trickster. Venti did not mind as long as he was able to feel the blessing amongst his ears.

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Royal Flush

Hello my deers!  Here’s a quick ficlet courtesy of late-night thoughts. Something sweet and silly because it’s a mess out there.  Enjoy!

Summary:  Tired of losing to Shikamaru at Shogi Temari brings something new to game night.  

*

**

Royal Flush

**

Temari groaned aggravatedly while Shikamaru just chuckled at her frustration.  

“I don’t understand how you keep winning.  We’ve been playing for years, you would think by now I’d have you all figured out.”  She pouted annoyed.  

He shrugged as he started to reset the Shogi board. 

 “Have to keep you on your toes somehow.  Now would you like to start or should I?”

“Actually I have an idea.”  He watched curiously as she disappeared into her room and returned with a small pouch.

“We've been playing your game forever, today I want to play one from Suna.”  He looked intrigued as she pulled out a deck of elaborately illustrated cards. 

Bringing this game to Konoha to play against Shikamaru had actually been Kankuro’s idea. For years now she'd forced him and Gaara to play Shogi against her to improve her skills so that one day she’d actually be able to beat Shikamaru.  He suggested that instead of trying to beat him at Shogi they should play another game. It originated from Suna. A game that he and Gaara could never win against her. The idea was pretty inspired and she gleefully imagined that future in which she finally beat the Genius Nara.

Shikamaru nodded as Temari explained how to play. The rules seemed simple enough.  

“I think that I get it.  Why don’t we make it… interesting?”  He suggested as he took time to study the various cards.  

Temari peered at him curiously.  “What do you mean?”  

“A bet, the winner gets a… prize let’s say.”  Shikamaru replied in his typical lazy manner. 

Temari carefully considered his suggestion. Shikamaru was a shrewd strategist. He only entered into situations in which he knew he could win.  That all too smug look of self confidence across his lips was annoying but distracting all the same.  

They’d played countless games of Shogi and not once had he proposed a bet.  She knew him too well.  He had something up his sleeve.     

Temari leaned into his space, her face coming closer to his. 

“Is that right?”  She breathed her voice dropping to a whisper. 

“Just a friendly wager.”  He certainly knew how to get and keep her attention. 

Temari worried her bottom lip, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by him.   She contemplated the potential consequences.  

“Sure, I’ll gladly take your money. When I win, 10,000 Ryo.”  Shikamaru could sense the underpinnings of nerves in her response. 

He didn’t balk at the amount and simply nodded. “Fair.”  She was surprised at how easily he agreed to the stakes. 

Temari’s eyes sparkled with excitement.  This afternoon had certainly taken an interesting turn. “And you Mr. Nara, what could the great Shikamaru possibly want from me?” 

He took a moment to contemplate the question but the look in his eyes changed to one of mischief.  This got Temari’s interest. 

“Anything I want?”

Temari knew that he was presenting her with a challenge. And damn if she wasn’t curious.  He’d never be cruel or ask her to do anything embarrassing. What was the worst that could happen? 

“Anything.”  She replied, sealing her fate. 

“Well I’m not interested in money.  There are very few things that I actually need…”  She paused waiting for his response.    

“So if I win I get a kiss.” 

He might as well have shouted his response.  

Temari’s eyes widened at the wager wondering if this was some sort of odd joke but his expression hadn’t changed.  Could this be some sort of strange strategy?  A way to distract her?

“My kisses are worth far more than 10,000 Ryo.”

He grinned at her response.  Troublesome.  

“Then double it or choose any amount you wish. This is your game right? What’s the likelihood of me winning anyway?” 

He was baiting her, she knew this.  But she agreed.  

“Fine Nara, you have yourself a deal.  Don’t be upset when I walk out of here with all your money.” 

“We’ll see Princess.” 

That damn nickname.  There were only specific times that he dare use it with her.  He must be really confident.

Temari dealt the cards with sheer determination on her face.  Winning money and taking him down a notch would do wonders.  

But so would a kiss.  

She shook those thoughts away and focused on their game.  

They were silent as the cards were traded back and forth.  Neither one backed down, strong, stubborn competitors to the end. Even Temari had to admit that she was impressed at how easily he seemed to pick up the game.  Not that she’d ever admit as much.  

 They were evenly matched till the final hand.

“Last hand Princess, if I get this one I win.”  He looked far too pleased with himself.    

“We’ll see.”  Temari watched as Shikamaru studied his hand, his expression revealing nothing.  But his doe-like eyes were determined and sure.  And it caused her to smile.  

Temari glanced at her own cards schooling her appearance.  She’d somehow gotten the best hand possible.  No other arrangement of cards could beat it.  

“I win,”  Shikamaru announced and placed his cards face up. 

Temari studied his final hand.  They were certainly high cards, a winning set if she herself was not holding the hand that would win.   

A beat of silence passed before she spoke.  

“You sure did.”  Temari replied, settling her cards face down back into the pile.

“You’re not mad?”  Shikamaru was surprised by her calm response. 

Temari tried to look unaffected.  “Can’t win them all.”  She shrugged, gathering the cards together. 

She glanced up at him her eyes steady and clear.  “A deal is a deal Nara.”

Temari took a deep breath before shutting her eyes and felt him come closer.  His calloused hand gently cupped her cheek before rubbing his thumb against her lips.  She attempted to calm her rapid heartbeat, hoping that he hadn't noticed how her breath quickened.  

It was finally happening.  

“I can’t.”  Temari’s eyes shot open hearing his resigned sign.  She stared at him disappointed and confused.  

“I want you to kiss me because you want to kiss me. Not because of some stupid bet.”  Shikamaru confessed refusing to look at her. 

“Oh.” 

He looked saddened and apologetic. “I’m sorry Tem, this was a dumb mistake.  I’ll head out.” 

Before he could leave Temari reached over the discarded cards and grabbed ahold of his vest bringing him forward.  Taking the situation into her hands 

“Trust me, I want to kiss you,”  Temari admitted honestly.  She could have easily won, taken his money and ended the night.  That wasn’t what she actually wanted. 

Before Shikamaru could understand what was happening her lips were on his. Gathering his wits he pushed aside the game to pull her into his lap. His arms found their home around her waist. 

New and delightful, kissing Temari was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.  It was something that he hoped he’d experience time and time again.  All he wanted to do was live in this moment. 

When they separated with his arms still around her Shikamaru gazed at her curiously.  He could have never anticipated this.  

“Next time you want a kiss, just ask.”  She teased him with a grin.   

That was a relief. He'd rather not wager his entire life’s savings. But for a kiss from her it just might be worth it. 

“No promises.”  He smiled at her sweetly, before he pulled her into another heartstopping kiss. 

Temari had never admitted defeat before.  Never thrown a fight or accepted a loss.  This time though, wrapped in his arms, with soft kisses pressed against her lips she never felt more like a winner. 

Next time though, she was taking him for all he had. 

*

**

If you want the dirty version of this read Chapter 5 of Stalemate.  Not exactly the same but you get the idea.  Also, I based the amount of Ryo to Yen, so Shika was about to lose at least  $200 USD for a kiss lol (worth it) Take care babes!  I love you tremendously.

[buckyownsmylife]

Count the Shadows - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky wants you to sit on his face.

Warnings: smut, a more dominant reader than I’m used to writing, pining!Bucky, all of the good stuff, second hand embarassment

A/N: so... this is a gift to @navegandoaciegas. She gave me the idea for the Graveyard series ending, and that actually inspired me to keep working on that fic that was supposed to only be a oneshot and then became the pride of my eye. I hope you don’t mind that I’m dedicating this to her 😅 It also allowed me to explore some new kinks that might be appearing thanks to her writing and so really, I felt like this had to see the light of day. But really, if it weren’t for @world-of-aus, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ and @awesomerextyphoon​‘s support, I probably never would have had the courage to publish it, so thank you guys so much!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Friday nights at Stark tower meant that something out of the ordinary was about to happen, and I’d already grown used to it, after being a part of the Avengers for the last two months. However, that didn’t mean that the prospect of a night planned by Tony Stark didn’t bring me a hell of a lot of anxiety, to the point where sometimes I’d catch myself wishing for a simple recon mission to take me away for the weekend. 

Despite all of my fears and discomfort, I’d been lucky so far. Not once had his attentions turned towards me, and he never even so much as called me to dance with him during one of the raves he liked to organize, so I was able to slip by unnoticed, seizing the opportunity to drink the good (expensive) booze and talk to my friends before retiring for the night.

By Wednesday that week, it was clear that the same couldn’t be said about the next event he’d be hosting.

“Say, Y/L/N, have I thrown you a welcome party?” Was my rude awakening on that fateful morning. Until his arrival, I’d been happily whipping up some pancakes for the supersoldiers and Sam, my morning run partners. The moment his question was processed in my brain however, I froze on my spot, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, now, don’t give me that look. When have I ever thrown a bad party?”

Bucky choked on his coffee, and I immediately was by his side, lightly tapping his back to help him. “I guess this answers your question,” I joked, but with a serious face. Unfortunately, Tony simply rolled his eyes, too used to Bucky and I’s “antisocial behavior”, like he usually described, to give us any attention. “Okay, so maybe not bad, but if you’re going to throw a party using me as an excuse, I have at least one request. And it’s a dealbreaker for me.”

Something in my words truly interested Tony, because instead of brushing me off he actually turned to face me, raising his eyebrows in expectation. “So what you mean is that if I don’t give you what you want, you won’t join the party?”

I nodded, standing my ground. “That’s right.” Next to me, Bucky stood straighter in his chair. 

“Neither will I.” That brought a smile to my lips, and I turned to hug him quickly. 

“Thanks Buck,” I whispered in his ear, relishing in the way he always held onto my embrace just a second longer than I expected. It was always like this with us. Ever since I first noticed just how touch-starved the super soldier was, I’d find little excuses to touch him. And if I ever doubted my first assumption, the way he always chased away my warmth for just a second longer was enough to prove to me that I was doing something right.

“Very well,” Tony said after clearing his throat to regain my attention. “What’s your request?”

“Only the people who live in this tower can be invited.” I was expecting a lot of fuss from the billionaire, but surprisingly, all I got was a disappointed sigh.

“Figured as much. Okay, big shot. But here’s the deal: you’ll have to stay the entire night and participate in every game we decide to play.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my coffee. That sounded fair. “It’s a deal then! All you have to do is be here on Friday night, capisce? Don’t be late.”

I should have known something was up back then, but as it were, I was just happy that I was able to stop him from filling the Tower with people I didn’t know. Not only would it help to keep Bucky relaxed (and perhaps even allow him to enjoy himself for once!), it’d also help to keep myself relaxed. 

I’d never been one to enjoy big crowds, and I especially didn’t want to celebrate joining the team with people who weren’t even a part of it. It made sense. So when Friday night rolled around, it found me in a way better mood than I expected. I even accepted Nat’s suggestion and let her pick my clothes. I was feeling so great, in fact, that I felt bolder, brave enough to accept to wear a satin red dress with a deep neckline that seemed to be able to attract every man’s attention upon seeing me. 

Even Bucky seemed drawn to it. And I couldn’t deny that knowing I held that sort of power even to a man of his caliber, a man that attractive, made me feel even braver. But with braveness comes stupidity, and I was brutally reminded of that fact by Tony’s smug face when I heard the dare he had for me.

Listen, I would have never accepted the idea of fucking truth or dare if it wasn’t for this stupidly sexy dress. I mean, the powers that clothing can have… They can make you blind with clout. That’s the only way I could justify what happened next.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I argued, much to Tony’s (and the rest of the team’s) amusement. Each and every single one of them looked at me with barely contained laughter, with the exception of Bucky, apparently.

“Careful, sweetheart… The dare’s already on and that wasn’t very sexy of you.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I very carefully thought out my gameplay here. I could very well retreat to my bedroom and go to sleep. But then again, this whole night had been so fun, and Tony had been really nice to abide by my wishes to only invite people that I knew…

“Fine. I’ll spend the rest of the night being as blunt as possible as I hit on you guys. After all, this is probably the only way you’ll ever get to hear me talking dirty, huh?” And with a wink in Tony’s direction, I resigned myself to face the challenge ahead. “So, let’s get on with this orgy, shall we?”

Bucky’s P.O.V.

It’s not that I was jealous. Of course, I wasn’t jealous. It’s just… hearing her say those things in front of everyone else made my blood boil like nothing else. I knew it wasn’t my place to feel this way. It’s not like she owed me anything, much less attention. As much as I wanted, she wasn’t mine, or even close to that.

Despite being head over heels in love with her, I still hadn’t gathered enough courage to even ask her out for a cup of coffee - or anything else, for that matter. And the worst part was that everyone but her seemed to know about my feelings. Which made this whole night even worse, since I was pretty sure Tony had done all of this on purpose.

So I had to sit through a lot of “Oh, please fuck me”, and “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed,” none of which were addressed to me - and those were the least graphic ones. I couldn’t really blame her, since I hadn’t spoken a single word from the second this whole dare started, but still, I was sulking, and I knew it.

In fact, I was so lost inside my own head, that I didn’t even realize what had happened when she asked “Do you want me to sit on your face or what?” (which I’m pretty sure was directed to Sam) until a heavy silence took the place of the animated chatter that had been going on. Imagine my surprise when I realized everyone was staring at me.

“What?” I asked, my heart already beating out of control, looking from one face to the other in the hopes of grasping what I had lost in the conversation.

“You just said you wanted Y/N to sit on your face,” was the response I got, from no other than Sam himself, and if my heart had been pounding on my chest only seconds before, now it felt as if it had stopped altogether.

“You’re crazy,” I tried to joke, trying with all of my might not to look at the woman who was staring at me. I could feel her gaze on my face. It burned and I ached to look, to see what sort of expression she was wearing, but my anxiety was just too strong - stronger than my curiosity ever could be.

“I wish I was, man. But you literally just answered ‘Please sit on mine’ when she asked if she could sit on my face.” I was going to die. I was sure of it. My face felt so warm, there was no way I wouldn’t just spontaneously combust any second now.

The worst part was, I knew Sam was telling the truth. Because those were the precise words I thought the second that I heard the offer leave her beautiful lips. And now I didn’t know what to do.

“Fine, your room or mine?” She broke me out of my self-deprecating thoughts, surprising me so much that I automatically raised my eyes to meet hers, finding her looking down at me with a mischievous smirk on her lips. Was she joking? Was this part of the dare?

The room erupted on laughs and I forced myself to join them, praying to whoever was available up in the heavens that they would let me be and thankfully, soon enough, the conversation smoothly transitioned away from me and my stupid malfunctioning. Y/N didn’t look in my direction again, which helped with my task of trying to get my breathing pattern into a normal one once more, and in a half hour people were breaking up into small groups and going back into their own rooms for the night.

I figured it was safe to do the same. So I got back to my bedroom’s floor with my hands buried deep in my pocket, trying to figure out what the hell had happened that night, when the door to my room suddenly opened and a tiny hand wrapped around my wrist, hauling me as best as they could into my own living quarters.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Bucky looked beyond surprised as he stared down at me with his mouth hanging open. I was tempted to tease him about letting flies in if he stayed like that, but I didn’t want to make this any more difficult for him than it clearly already would be. To be honest, I also had no idea how I’d been able to move that mountain of a man.

“What are you doing in my room?” Oh, right. That’s what he was concerned about. Fair enough.

“I wanted to show you something.” By the way he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally being able to say anything else, it was clear that it wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but then again, he obviously wasn’t expecting me to be in his room. 

“W-What?”

I grinned, immediately curling my fingers on the edge of my dress before promptly pulling it over my head and sending it flying across the room. Bucky’s jaw dropped, and it only made my smile grow bigger as I quickly got rid of my bra before finally doing the same to my underwear.

“What? Did you think I would let you suffer?” The poor thing, he didn’t seem capable of answering at all, eyes the size of plates as he stared at my naked body, practically drooling. I ran my hands over my breasts, cupping them slightly before trailing further down.

“Did you think I’d let Sam learn what my pussy tasted like? Or Steve? No, no, no, James. This is for you and you only.” Burying a finger inside of me, I made sure to let out my loudest, most pornographic moan as I slowly thrusted it once inside of me before raising it to his face.

“See how I’m soaked? I always get like this when I’m near you.” Bucky actually whimpered, knees faltering for a second as he reached out to grab a hold of himself with the wall next to us, and I laughed before raising a challenging eyebrow in his direction. “What are you waiting for? Get on your knees.”

My breath hitched as I watched the mountain of a man before me literally do exactly that, hypnotizingly staring at the space between my legs before slowly meeting my eyes with a look of pure need in his perfect face. Jesus. How the fuck was I supposed to control myself when he was looking at me like that?

I had gathered the sense that Bucky wanted me, that much became clear tonight, but I had no idea the extent of his desire until just then. Until he looked at me with pupils dilated from under his stupidly long eyelashes, breath coming out from his open mouth like he was desperate for me, desperate to taste what I had to offer.

He looked like he would do anything I asked him to in that second, and the feeling of power that thought gave me left me horny as nothing else. So my first order of business was to command, “Eat me.”

The second the words were out, it was clear that was all he was waiting to do what both of us so clearly wanted. Two strong hands grabbed me from behind and with that grasp of my ass, he pulled me to him until I was in fact seated on his face, wholly dependent on his muscular body to keep me up.

“Oh God,” he was the one to whisper, and a shiver ran through my body as he licked my pussy from clit to hole before diving in as if he was determined to rid me of all of my wetness - knowing fully well it was an impossible task.

Bucky Barnes didn’t need any guidance in the art of eating pussy, that quickly became clear to me, but I still felt the need to grab a hold of his hair just to help keep myself grounded into the reality of this moment. The way he moaned against my cunt at the action, the vibrations running through my body and making me tremble on top of him, certainly didn’t make me regret any part of my decision. It was clear he liked that sting of pain.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

I was having a hard time believing this was really happening, even though I had Y/N’s completely naked body on top of me, her cunt spread open by my own tongue, her juices covering every inch of my tongue. I couldn’t even convince myself to close my eyes to fully enjoy her taste, too preoccupied with memorizing every little thing about this moment. 

And the second she opened her eyes to find me already looking up at her, I was particularly glad for my decision, if only because I got to witness the delicious smile that took over her beautiful face before she grinded her pussy against my lips.

“Fuck, you look so good like this. I could get used to this.” A jolt ran through my body at the implications of what she was saying. Before I could even fully process it, I was already responding with the only thing that occupied my mind then, “Please do.”

If I thought I would scare her away with my desperation, a delighted giggle immediately managed to calm my nerves. “Do you always say what you’re thinking?” She asked, still rubbing herself against me, so it took me a while to be able to moan against her wetness an honest, “Yes.” When I did though, the vibrations managed to be exactly what she needed to gush her release onto my waiting mouth, making me growl in excitement. She was so fucking sweet. My cock was so fucking hard it hurt, but all I could think about was how much I wanted to pleasure her, how much I never wanted this night to end.

Unfortunately for my plans, she decided to climb down from me, eyes drinking my kneeling position while she caught her breath for a bit before she threw herself on my bed, feet on the mattress so I’d get a perfect vision of her perfect pussy. Hypnotized, I didn’t even notice I’d gotten up and approached her until her voice broke me out of my reverie.

“Would you like to take a picture?” I knew she was joking, but there was no way I’d miss the slightest possibility of getting at least a permanent reminder of this night, so I answered as truthfully as possible yet again, “Of course. Would you let me take one?”

I was expecting her to laugh it off and move this along, but once more her answer surprised me. “Only if you promise me you won’t use it to jerk off to.” The confusion must have been clear in my expression, because she quickly added, “That’s what I’m here for.”

My heartbeat picked up as I struggled to process her words. “D-Does this mean you’ll want to do this again?” I watched as a small smile grew on her lips and she sat up on the mattress before reaching out to me.

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

Another moment of silence as I struggled to accept that this was real, that this was really happening. 

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t contain my delighted giggles at the lovestruck expression on Bucky’s eyes. But my need for him was growing deeper every second, so while he stared I reached out for his jeans, quickly managing to unzip them and push them down until I could wrap my hands around his member.

“Jesus, you’re so hard.” Even without any actual stimulation, apparently just giving me pleasure was enough to get him ready for me. I could barely wait to feel his cock inside of my pussy.

“I-I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered while climbing on the bed and settling between my thighs. “I’ve been dreaming about this for the longest time.” Gosh, could he be any more perfect?

“Well, it’s happening now, James. Please, please, fuck me. I need your cock in me.” His lips looked wet from our earlier activities, and my gaze immediately fell on them when he gasped at my words and the feeling of his cock rubbing on my pussy. When I positioned the head and pulled him closer to me, signaling what I wanted, he followed without any resistance, his entire body trembling as he struggled to keep himself up with both hands on either side of my head.

“You’re doing so great, baby. God, it feels so good to be with you like this.” Apparently, Bucky grew tired of fighting against his own body, since he allowed his massive frame to fall just over mine, resting his forehead on mine.

“Fuck.” Hearing the word whispered so close to me, his warm breath dancing over my skin, while he was effectively about to do just that, felt incredibly arousing for something so small. “It’s like I can’t get close enough to you.”

In the search to feel more connected to me, he finally started thrusting, and then it was like I’d forgotten to speak altogether. Only able to hold tight to those shoulders that tempted me for so long, I struggled to keep the moans and whimpers inside so I could continue to hear the little breathless whispers that he was releasing, almost like he was speaking to himself…

“So wet…” It all only made me more desperate for the enchanting man on top of me, so beautiful, and yet so insecure of his own allure. I hoped after tonight he’d start understanding just how attractive he truly was, at least to me.

“Bucky…” I managed to whisper, calling out for his attention and earning it when his eyes snapped open to meet mine. “Bucky, kiss me.” I needed to feel those lips against mine, to have that one sweet gesture of entwinement that we still hadn’t shared. Apparently, he felt the same need, because in a second, he was onto me, mouth slowly prying mine open so his tongue could explore yet another part of my body that now belonged to him.

By then, he couldn’t contain his moans anymore, and I was grateful that I was still able to keep mine low so I wouldn’t miss the symphony of whimpers and whines, especially after he pulled away to catch his breath and his eyes met mine.

“Fuck, darling…” Each sound from his lips made my pulse grow quicker, my body warmer, that incredible high closer and closer to me. And still, because I needed to tease him, I found myself saying, “For someone who was so embarrassed about the team knowing you wanted me, you surely can be loud.”

Bucky hid his head on the crook of my neck, making goosebumps rise all over my body as he rubbed his nose against my skin, breathing me in. If I thought it was a gesture of shyness, his next words assured me that wasn’t the case at all.

“I want them to hear. I want them to know I’m yours.” The confession had the fire of desire burning brighter inside of me, and my hands slipped around his back, certainly leaving nailprints behind.

“Oh, is that it? You’re mine now, James?” The thought thrilled me to no end, but I needed him to say it, not only because I wanted to be sure there was no uncertainty in his feelings for me, but also because it made me even weaker for the soldier and the dominance he had over my body.

“C-Can I be? Please?” There was so much vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes that the only answer I managed to give at first was the connection between our lips again, pulling him down to me so our bodies were completely glued to one another once more. My fingers buried in his locks, I pulled on them when I needed to gather some air, and finally give him an actual answer.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Hell fucking yes. We’ll be the hottest couple on Earth.” A shiver went through my body at the realization that she truly wanted this, that she truly wanted me. A sound escaped my lips before I could realize, and in fact, I only noticed it because she broke me out of my reverie by saying, “You know, everytime you whine, I have the overwhelming urge to just tie you down to this bed and give you a reason to do so.”

Shit. This woman made me weak. And the moment I lost control of my own weight, she took advantage of it, inverting our positions so she was the one on top, while managing to keep my cock nestled deep inside of her.

“Do you want to cum, sweetheart?” Hearing the filthiness that spilled out of her lips only made me hotter and hotter, my hands flying up to hold her waist as she began to ride me. “Tell me just how badly you want it. Say it, or I’ll leave you right here, right on the edge of bliss, and I’ll cum on your thigh instead.”

I heaved loudly, trying to force my own tongue to work, but the sight of her breasts bouncing with her movements was too hypnotizing. I would never regain full control of my body again, I realized, for as long as she wanted to keep me around. But instead of feeling lost, like I did when the Winter Soldier took over, all I could feel was peace.

She wanted me. She wanted my body, my soul, every part of me. Despite every missing piece, every scar. Everything anyone had ever done to me, everything I’d done to so many. And I’d gladly give it all to her, forever.

“Please, please let me cum, ma’am.” The name left my lips before I could realize, but it made her smile. And right then, I knew I’d done the right thing. Her movements picked up, her hand searching mine to guide my thumb to meet her nub, and as soon as I started rubbing it, she gasped in the most melodic of sounds.

“Cum for me, James. I wanna feel you cumming inside of me.” Jesus fucking christ. I didn’t have a choice, my body reacting to her calling like she was a siren and I was helpless. I felt helpless. It wasn’t difficult to see that I liked it, though. I liked being under her control. I liked how she pulled me apart and held me in place all at the same time.

“If you don’t take your thumb away, so help me God.” Her voice broke me out of my thoughts, realizing her chest was heaving with the effort to breathe properly now that she’d reached her climax with me. I smiled sheepishly before adjusting on the bed, right when she climbed down from my body, and a whine escaped my chest despite my better wishes, making her look at me with an amused smile.

“I’m sorry, I just… I kinda miss you already.” Her smile grew bigger, her eyes twinkling under the moonlight as she leaned over me to kiss me, and I couldn’t help it. I just had to hug her closer, have her falling on top of my chest just so I could invert our positions and kiss her some more.

“I want something that’ll show them I’m yours.” I admitted once she pulled away to gather her breath, and her eyebrows rose in surprise, but also interest, I could tell.

“Like a collar?”

“I was thinking more like a love bite, but I don’t mind.” Her giggle was the most adorable sound in the universe, I was sure of it. 

“Baby, I’ll let you fuck me in front of them, if it’ll help your insecurity,” she soothed me, and the thought of having everyone see us together, fully understand that I belonged to her, electrified me. “You’re mine now. You can be damn sure if anyone tries to flirt with you, they’ll have to deal with me. And I’ll make sure they know I’m yours and only yours if they try to chat me up.”

The thought made me smile, and I laid back on the bed and pulled her to rest against my chest, my hand instinctively coming up to play with her hair. “I can get used to that.” We stayed like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s presences, relishing in the comfortable silence between us, until I felt the need to break it.

“Can I kiss you again?” I felt her smile against my skin, before she pushed away to reach for me and connect our lips once more. God, I don’t think I’d ever get used to knowing I could have this anytime I wanted. “One more,” I begged when she pulled away, and she pretended to think for a moment before shooting me a mischievous grin. 

“Only if you come fuck me in the shower.”

The only thing I could think to say in response, as I watched her strut in the direction of the bathroom, was “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

[vyneyard]

love's arrows

a study on love at first sight and how it relates to vyn's character

first things first, we have to get a major misconception out of the way. yes, vyn believes in love at first sight, he says so himself, right in the first level of the second episode of his personal story. one of his students asks him about it, and vyn spells out his exact thoughts on it. i will quote precisely what he says:

context - vyn explains love at first sight from a psychologist's point of view to his student, making it sound akin to an illusion

student: falling for an illusion... is love real then?

vyn: love is an emotion that cannot be quantified and measured. what matters is what you truly feel. when passion fades away, you will know true love if you still want to be with that person.

student: professor, do you believe in love at first sight?

vyn: personally? yes, i do believe in love at first sight.

student: really? i thought someone as rational as you wouldn't believe in such an... illusion.

vyn: being an illusion or not does not mean it should be discredited and dismissed. also, feelings of love are not rational to begin with. i am only human as well. however... when it happens to me, i would step back to make assessments instead of jumping at the chance. it is worth the wait to see if everything is really just a mirage, or is indeed real.

student: there's a way to find out? can you tell me how?

vyn: it is nothing hard. all you need to do is take the time to observe. observe their attitude and views regarding certain things, especially life-concerning matters. one's reactions more or less tell of their true character.

now that we are all on the same page, we can clearly tell the meaning of vyn's words. what he declares in this dialogue is his entire love philosophy - it describes the way in which he relates to love and to mc in very direct and bold terms, laid out for the player to see. not only does vyn believe in love at first sight, but he also has a plan in regards to how he is going to handle his newfound feelings of adoration. the reason why he keeps questioning mc's principles and beliefs, why he is interested in her hobbies and opinions, why he invites her to spend time with him, be it at art galleries, polo matches or merely in the comfort of his own home; it is all because he wants to get to know her, and he wants her to know him as well, in order to establish whether a relationship would be beneficial to both of them.

vyn richter is an analytical and rational man, that much is true. he is a perfectionist, seeking knowledge and reassurance in the world of facts. he appreciates when things are certain, and he lives his life with the need to be aware of every possible outcome, at any given time. however, this does not mean that he is not in touch with his feelings, or that he does not believe in love - i believe that a bunch of players do not notice this about him, believing instead that he only relies on science and reason. truthfully, vyn is perhaps the most introspective out of the entire cast of characters - he conducts psychological reports on himself in order to be aware of his current state and feelings, after all.

the next question would be "what made vyn fall for mc?", which has a quite simple answer. after the conversation with his student, vyn has a flashback to his first meeting with mc, back when he challenged her to remove a card from the house of cards, without having it collapse. after she expectedly fails, he asks a simple question: whether she would have still tried to remove a card, after having known the outcome. much to his surprise (or delight, rather), mc responds like so:

mc: the only constant in the world is change. and so, so what if i knew that the cards would collapse? i could always pick a different card. maybe the outcome would change. even if i drew the same card again, the outcome might be different depending on how i remove the card, right? i believe that we shape our own fates.

mc's words moved vyn at the time, and they still do, especially her last remark. this paragraph will contain spoilers for vyn's backstory, so in case you are not aware of his origins, and do not wish to know before finding out yourself, i suggest skipping this section. the ability to shape one's own destiny is something vyn longs for. having been born in a royal family, his life had been laid out in front of him before he even had the chance to choose for himself. although he left the Kingdom of Svart, and supposedly cut ties with his family, vyn is still plagued by the thought that he has no control over his fate. when mc reassures him that she believes in change, she believes in the power of choice, vyn is awestruck. it is all he has ever longed for: a person who would understand his stance and his hardships.

the wish to be known is what starts burning under vyn's ribs that day - the possibility that someone might be able to grasp all of his intricacies and beliefs is laid out right in front of him, materialised in the form of mc. and so, he falls. hard.

then why is he so hesitant? another question with a fairly simple answer. vyn believes in love at first sight, and even has an optimistic and idealistic view on love:

vyn: love brings light and hope into your life. love lifts you up. true love can come at any time, even without you knowing.

the next paragraph will contain slight spoilers for vyn's relationship with his father. they are not as grand as the previous ones, but if you still do not wish to know before experiencing the story yourself, i suggest skipping. if vyn has such sweet and bright perspectives on love, and if he has such a well-crafted plan for approaching mc, why is he so uncertain sometimes? because he is scared, and it has to do with his family. his father had gone through the same thing - he fell in love at first sight with a woman, and yet their relationship fell apart. vyn observed this, and he kept witnessing his father's regret and shame throughout the years. he does not wish to go through the same tragedy, so he desperately fights against following his father's steps. when he falls for mc, the fear of losing her, of ending up alone, scarred and sorrowful, makes him reluctant. even so, her words of encouragement, her belief that one can craft their own fate, push him forward.

he becomes more confident over time, wishing to make her fall for him. his possessiveness has roots in those same feelings: vyn does not want to lose mc when he barely started gaining a grasp on her. so he becomes jealous whenever a threat, as small or irrelevant, appears. he becomes grumpy, angry, cold whenever another man shows the slightest hint of interest, not because he thinks that he owns mc, but because he wishes to be with her, to be the only one she sees, in the same way she is the only one he cares about. so he fights - he fearlessly fights for his chances with her, he defends her in front of everybody, he learns new things and skills just for her, for a sliver of her affection and attention.

in conclusion, vyn loves mc carefully, with studied steps. he never takes reckless decisions when it comes to her, because since the first moment he saw her, she became the light in his eyes, the only one worth all the effort. it is either her or nothing, and vyn is not going to risk his chances - not after witnessing his father's destiny. vyn will be different; he will be better. all for mc.

[professorspork]

Floating Array Anon here! Those are all really good points! And I'll concede that "weapon" was probably not the best term to use. I just think there's a really interesting debate to be had about the moral implications of creating (or raising) a sentient being for a specific purpose, especially if that purpose involves violence and death. There's a conversation somewhere in there between Penny and Pietro that I really want to see, since Pietro might blame himself in a way for his daughter's fate.

Oh, absolutely! [And here’s that Floating Array post, for those of you just tuning in.]

Part of what’s interesting here is that the show has encouraged us not to think of Pietro that way, because Ironwood is right there. I was going to make a “Penny has two dads” joke about it, but the crux of it, really, is that she doesn’t. She has one boss, and one dad. Whereas Ironwood consistently talks about her like a tool to be used (“Penny is completely under my control”) or a robot as unfeeling as he is (“If there is no Mantle then there is no reason for you not to work with me”), Pietro unequivocally thinks of her as his daughter. That’s what he tells the kids-- “my daughter’s told me so much about you.” Obviously the big crowning moment of this is in Amity, when he straight up says he does not care about saving the world, he doesn’t want her in danger. He wants her to live her life. But that wasn’t an eleventh hour first-time admission. He’s been consistent about this as long as we’ve known him. I’m thinking about his conversation with Ruby in Worst Case Scenario as a sort of prime example. He frets over “what people want to do to my girl,” and then explains:

Pietro: When the General first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration. Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul. Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. 

Every time Pietro talks about Penny in terms of what she can do, her purpose... it’s voiced through other people. The General wanted defense technology. Ruby’s the one who calls her a protector; he just agrees. 

The moral quandary Pietro needs to reckon with isn’t that he made a weapon and called it a girl (see: Rhodes and Cinder), or that he raised a girl and called her a weapon (see: Marcus and Mercury Black). It’s that he was asked to make a weapon, and instead he raised a girl, and now he buries his head in the sand and despairs when she and everyone around her still talks about her in terms of violence and utility. Penny believes she’s not a weapon, most of the time, but she’s a little shakier about what she is, instead. And no wonder, because Pietro’s been dodging the question since day one. He delivered the opposite of what was asked for and then let himself pretend that’s not what happened. Ironwood asked for a thing-- a thing that would stand between Atlas and the darkness, a thing that could protect people... ostensibly so PEOPLE wouldn’t have to get hurt. But Ironwood isn’t squeamish about this because of human cost, he’s intent on it because of efficiency. What’s better, squishy soldiers or an army of combat drones? A dozen tiny Huntsman or one fuckoff giant mecha? Of course he greenlit the Penny Project; it’s all the benefits of a human combatant-- the improvisation, the discernment, the ability to prioritize-- with, as far as he’s concerned, none of the risks. There’s no death for a thing that can be rebuilt, and no pesky feelings to deal with. As far as he knows.

But the problem is Pietro made a person instead, and loved her. But everyone else still needed and expected her to be something else, because that’s what was commissioned. And I don’t know that Pietro knows how to process his own hand in that, and how poorly it went, without framing it as regret for making her, which he absolutely doesn’t. So what would coming to terms with that look like, instead? If Pietro were to blame himself, he’d say something like “I never should have let them use her like that.” But she was made to be used-- he would never have had a Penny to lose in the first place if he hadn’t agreed to make a military asset. There is no scenario where he could have woken up one day and made himself a daughter; he’d never have gotten the funding or materials. He must learn to accept the chicken with the egg. How does he square his complacency with the Atlas war machine with his pride in what he did in spite of it? How does he make amends to someone he doomed by making, when she became so much? I don’t know. That’s not an easy question to answer. Ozpin’s had thousands of years to dwell on it and he still hasn’t figured it out.

Because the thing is, Pietro’s waffling over her purpose got Penny’s sense of identity caught in the middle. She’s getting mixed messages. So many of her most important conversations are about her struggling to figure out if her experience is universal or only her burden to bear. Ruby (and to some extent, Winter) must reassure her over and over: no, that’s normal, everyone feels like that, your emotions are relatable and also valid. She feels so much guilt-- for not being optimal, or for not following orders. She wasn’t able to single-handedly keep the Grimm out of Mantle and therefore ensure everything else could go as planned; she wasn’t able to save Fria; she stole Winter’s destiny from her. If she were what they made her to be, surely she wouldn’t have failed, right? It’s why it’s heartbreaking when she pulls Ruby aside in Refuge:

“I was the protector of Mantle, but now, I am much more than that... and I wish I was not.”

But the thing is, if they bring her back-- and this is one of the many reasons I believe they have to-- she won’t be.

Finally.

This has been the goal all along. Ruby outwitted Ambrosius because she was desperate to get Penny out from under the burden of her terrible purpose-- to do what she’s ordered to, to be at the beck and call of those who outrank her, or die trying. And then Penny went and sacrificed herself anyway, which: of course she did. Because she was taught it was all she was good for, if you want to be mean about it, or-- or because she thought it was the right thing to do, if you’re forgiving. It’s the same thing any of her friends would do, if they were in her shoes. I’m giving you a head start. That’s what love looks like; it’s the choice heroes make. Isn’t it?

But to get at the root of the problem, we have to rewind back further. Penny was reactivated the first time not because Pietro wanted her to be (though surely he did), but because she had a job to do. The contract wasn’t finished; Ironwood wasn’t going to give up on his fancy new toy just because it fell apart. But now? There’s no more Mantle to protect. Atlas has fallen. And beyond that-- her friends don’t need her to be the Maiden, either. That’s a mutable title, and one that has passed her by; they still have one, even with her gone.

So this next time around... she’ll have the chance to process why she made the decisions she did, and to move past it, because she’ll know how much she’s worth to them. Not the Penny Project, not the Winter Maiden, but Penny Polendina.

Which is to say: they don’t need her, they just want her. 

They want her. 

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Cal Kestis x Reader (Continued 4) The Proposal

OG Request: can i request that you write some cal kestis since you haven't written him in so long? how about one where the whole mantis crew helps him propose to the reader? it can even be like a part 4 to the "training" series lol

Author’s Note:  I am SO sorry at how long this took me to post.  I got hit with writer’s block so bad, and this week, I ended up getting sick. It’s been tough to find time and energy to write, but again, I am sorry at how long it was.  I do hope you enjoy it!!!

   "I've never seen you like this," Greez commented, lifting a brow skeptically.  He planted his hands on his hips as he watched Cal make a cup of caf.  It was a task the young jedi had done many times without fail since he was the definition of balance, but somehow, he had managed to spill his cup on the counter.

   Cal lifted his brows only slightly as he tried to act casual.  “What do you mean?”

   “What’s got you so worked up?” Greez asked.  “You seem off...Not quite sure what it is…”

   Years of training had given Cal Kestis the ability to hide.  He’d hidden from the Empire for so long on Bracca.  He had concealed his identity without issue until that fateful day when he rescued his coworker and friend- an event that began quite the adventure.  Still, even so, he hadn’t been able to conceal his nervousness from the Mantis pilot.  His gaze flickered to Cere, who was quietly sipping her own cup of caf from the dining booth.

   Her amusement at the interaction was palpable.  Cal could see the slightest smile on her lips which she hid behind her mug as she took another sip, eyes trained to the table in front of her.

   What would she say if she knew the truth?  Would she be so amused?  As worried as Cal was that his mentor would disapprove of his choice, he was running out of time.  This wasn’t something he could conceal. 

   “The truth is…” he paused, running a hand through his orange hair.

   “What?”  Greez prompted.  “What is it?”

   “I’m…”

   Cere lowered her cup, the soft clink of the material against the table catching Cal’s attention.  “You’re going to propose to _________.”

   Cal gazed at her, lips parting in surprise.

   “Very perceptive of you, Greez,” she continued, eyes flicking to the pilot.  “To have caught that something was going on with our Cal.  However-” she met Cal’s gaze coolly “-the nervous excitement was coming off him in waves.”

   Cal exhaled, shoulders lowering as he braced himself for some sort of sagely warning about the path he was choosing, but Cere merely smiled.

   Greez's jaw dropped straight to the floor. "You...you what?"  He chuckled quietly at first before bursting into joyful laughter as he approached Cal.  “Congratulations, kid!”

   He smiled appreciatively at the support, but shook his head.  “She hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

   Greez shifted his stance, resting a hand on his hip.  "What, you think she'll say 'no'?"

   “Yes, I mean...no...We’ve talked about it, but I just don't know how to do it.”

   Cere surprised him further by rising from the booth.  “Need some help?”

   He tilted his head.  “You’d do that?  But I thought…”

   “The order is gone, Cal,” she replied.  “As members of this crew, we’ve already done some things the Council would have disapproved of.  I think after all these years of sorrow, a little joy is something we need.”

   Cal nodded.  “Thank you.”

   “So wait,” Greez shook his head.  “You want our advice?  On how to propose?  A former monk and a lonely pilot...what could go wrong?”

- - - -

   “Hey there, uh, kid.”

   You smiled, dabbing at a few beads of sweat that glistened on your forehead.  “Hey, Greez.  How’s it going?”  You gave your arms a little stretch, holding back the groan that threatened to spill from your lips at the dull ache.  Cal had assigned you to an arduous training session all afternoon.  It was unexpected, but you were up to the challenge.  Upon returning to the Mantis, you found no sign of your boyfriend, or Cere for that matter.  

   There was only Greez, who averted his gaze nervously.  You got the distinct feeling that he was hiding something.  Something big.

   “Everything alright?” you asked, testing the waters.

   “Alright?  Uh, yeah.  Yeah.  Everything’s alright.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Is everything alright with you?”

   You fought a smile as he fumbled his way through the somewhat defensive response.  “Yeah, I’m done with training for the day.  I’m just looking for Cal, actually.  Have you seen him?”

   “Yes, I mean, no...I may have seen him…  He went somewhere.”

   “He did?  Did he say where?”

   Greez fell silent then, and you raised your brows incredulously at him.  The stubborn pilot wasn’t going to talk.  Your suspicion grew, especially when his nerves seemed to spike even more.  With a shrug, you headed back toward your bunk.  Cere wasn’t anywhere to be found either.

   What if there was a new development with the jedi order?  Even though the holocron containing the location of force-sensitives across the galaxy had been taken care of, the Mantis crew had not lost hope that someday the jedi would return.  Perhaps something had come up.  Still, you weren’t sure why that would mean that both he and Cere would need to discuss it elsewhere.  It wasn’t like Greez couldn’t be trusted.  Or you.

   As you changed out of your training clothes, your hand brushed over the hilt of your lightsaber.  You gripped the handle and removed it from your belt before doing so with the second saber you had constructed some time ago.  The weight in your hands no longer felt foreign and unsettling.  The sabers had become part of you.  They were not just weapons; they were tools.   They were tools to defend those you loved and to usher in peace when the time was right.

   You set them down and continued changing into your gear.

   For years, you’d heard stories of the jedi old.  You’d never imagined becoming one.  You’d never imagined to have a mentor as young and handsome as Cal.  And you certainly never imagined falling in love the way you did.

   The thought was bittersweet.  You mourned for Cal and all that he had lost, but you were so glad to have found him.  He was glad to have found you too.  You could feel it every single day.

   A knock on the door to your quarters pulled you from thought.  “Yes?”

   “Hey,” Greez said, poking his head in.  “He’s waiting for you.”

   “He’s...waiting for me?”  You watched as he disappeared from the doorway before shaking your head.  “This day just gets weirder.”

- - - -

   Greez had followed you off the ship and stayed close behind as you picked up on Cal’s trail.  He insisted that he was not supposed to give you any hints- only that you were supposed to reach out with your feelings and find Cal on your own.

   “Is this some sort of training exercise?” you wondered aloud.  “Because I already finished training for the day.”

   “Sorry, kid,” Greez shrugged.  “It’s not for me to say.”

   “But of course.”  You smirked.  “It’s never that simple.”  You let your eyes slide shut as you reached out with your other senses.  You took a deep breath, inhaling the lovely scents of the forest- leafy greens and even something sweet, like blossoms.  There was a damp feel to the soil beneath your shoes.  More clearly than the other things you felt, you sensed the familiar presence of Cal.  He was nearby.

   As soon as you began walking in that direction, Greez uttered a “woah.”

   You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.  “What?”

   “You jedi never cease to fascinate me,” he said.  “You know where he is without even a hint.”

   “It’s automatic at this point.”

   “So, you...you two really love each other, huh?” he ventured.

   You smiled and uttered a quiet, “yeah.”   

   The two of you walked through the forest.  A familiar tingle in your feelings let you know that someone was just ahead.  It was Cere.  You’d recognize that presence anywhere after traveling with her for so long.  She sat in the center of a small clearing, legs crossed and eyes shut.

   “This is a training exercise, isn’t it?” you whispered under your breath at the sight.

   Cere’s eyes opened, and her lips turned up in a smirk.  “Cal’s waiting for you.”

   “So I hear.”  You wanted to shake your head in amusement, but if it was indeed a surprise training session, Cere was acting as a mentor, so you instead gave her a nod of respect.  “Is there anything...Is there...What is my task?”

   “That is something you will have to find out yourself.  I wish you luck.”  And with that, Cere rose from her seated position and gave you a nod before stepping aside.  Greez stole a look and shrugged, immediately going to join her.  

   All the while a strange anticipation was growing in you.  Part of it was curiosity on you part for this next step in your training, and part of it you chalked up to be Cal’s emotions mingling with yours.  Even though you had no idea what was going on and why, something about the situation made you feel exhilarated.  Like something amazing was about to happen.

   You continued on your way, shooting your teammates one last curious look before vanishing farther into the forest.  The tingling feeling changed.  It was soon the distinct feeling that you got whenever Cal was nearby.   You knew it before you saw him that he sensed your approach, but when you finally stepped into the clearing where he was waiting, you weren’t expecting the sudden drop of his heart.  It was so sudden that you halted for a moment, thrown off by the swift shift in emotion.  Nervousness.  What did he have to be nervous about?  You were the one being tested!

   “Cal?” you ventured.

   “___________,” he breathed out.  It was like he struggled to breathe for a moment.   You’d never seen him this way before.

   “Is everything alright?” you asked, voice ticked up with concern.

   “Ah, yeah,”  He nodded, glancing down for a moment.  “____________, I need to ask you something.”

   As soon as he said that, your own heart dropped.  It was nervousness at what you suspected was coming next, but it was a good nervousness.  You immediately shifted, hands going over your heart as Cal walked over to you.  There was a small part of you screaming to not give into the hope, just in case it wasn’t what you thought.  Before the seeds of doubt could take root, Cal got down on one knee in front of you.

   Bright afternoon sunlight poured in through the treetops, dancing along his skin with each gust of wind that shook the branches above.  His eyes were fixed on you, glinting with a light you’d seen in him many times when he looked at you.  It was love.  Adoration.

   “_____________,” he said, gently twining his fingers with those of your left hand.  “I love you.  As a jedi, I never thought I’d be able to go down this path….but here I am, and I’m so glad that I can.  You’re the only one I’d want to go with.”

   “Cal….”  you murmured.

   “Will you marry me?”

   Even though you’d realized the words were coming, they still hit hard.  Your vision blurred with tears as the emotions welled up within you.  “Yes, I will.  I love you, Cal.”  And you pulled your hand from his only to wrap both your arms around his neck and plant a loving kiss to his lips.

   Cal kissed you back passionately, leaving you with one last peck before he pulled away to take your hand again.  His eyes darted up to meet yours before they focused on your finger as he slipped a ring on.  Your tears hadn’t stopped.

   “Cal, I’m so happy.”  Then, a chuckle escaped your lips as you wiped your eyes.  “I was wondering what all this was about.  I thought it was a training exercise.”

   “That was the idea,” he said with the shake of his head.  “We thought it’d be more of a surprise that way.”

   “‘We’?”

   “Cere and Greez helped me out.  I knew I wanted to put this ring on your finger, but I wasn’t quite sure how.”

   “Thank you,” you called over your shoulder, and you were amused when Cere and Greez emerged from the brush.  “Really, this was a lovely surprise.”

   “I’m glad you thought so,” Greez said, clasping his hands together.  He glanced between the two of you curiously.  “So, when’s the wedding?”

[hyperfixatedimagines]

The Moon & her Star: Ch 1

Summary: Long before Zoya, another girl from the wrong side of town fell for one of Julien’s posse. Unfortunately for the girl, she had fallen for Luna La and not noble O.

A/N: This is the first chapter in a series I will be writing. Please let me know your thoughts. I’m currently accepting requests as well. Hope you enjoy.

(Y/n) was no stranger to the excess and glamour of the upper East side’s elite. Though (y/n) didn’t belong to the exclusive club she had always had the displeasure of their company. Thanks to (y/n)’s grandmother, the head maid to the oldest of old money in New York, she had secured a full scholarship to Constance.

Freshman year was rough, (y/n) wanted so desperately to fit in with the beautiful, glamorous, and rich circle of students. (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to be on Broadway. She was going to be a star, at any cost. But freshman year- she got sidetracked trying to network herself into the right circles. The head girl, Julien, got the leading role in Heathers without even auditioning. That year (y/n) learned that money always won over talent.

Sophomore year was better…. with a noteworthy exception.

Everything seemed to be going well for (y/n). She had friends, theater rejects and scholarship kids like herself but friends nonetheless. She was steadily getting better roles, from background extra to understudy. A star on the rise.

(Y/N) had even managed to secure a leading role in the spring musical, and the only thing she had to do was first help Julien prepare for her role as Juliet. Julien didn’t understand anything about Shakespeare, and promised she’d let (y/n) have the next role. Juliet was personal to Julien, but she never revealed why. (Y/N) didn’t press further, all she needed was one role. One leading role and then no one would be able to deny that she was the true star of the theater department.

Tutoring Julien was easy enough. Julien wasn’t mean like her minions, Luna and Monet. (Y/N) and Julien’s friendship, or partnership rather, was a secret matter that (y/n) didn’t care to bring to light.

Whether it was fate or bad luck, Julien’s minion Luna found out about them and read Julien the riot act for daring to converse with such a lowly individual. Julien forced Luna into being their silent accomplice. Luna agreed, apparently knowing how important the Juliet role was. However, Luna insisted she coordinate the meetups so that no one that mattered caught the two of them together.

On a few occasions, Luna even joined the two. (Y/N) hated when Luna would watch, because she never just watched. Luna didn’t ever take criticism well, even if it wasn’t directed at her. Any time (y/n) gave Julien a piece of feedback Luna would swoop in and say the exact opposite. Of course Julien would only listen to Luna’s praise, it was the easier pill to swallow.

Fearing Julien would let her go and abandon the promise made, (Y/N) confronted Luna during the next session.

Luna La was not about to let some backwater trailer trash tell her to butt out. So what began with harsh words turned to pushing and hair pulling.

And it ended with Luna on the floor, (y/n) on top of her.

With (y/n)’s face just inches from her, Luna realized just how beautiful (y/n) was. Luna stared at (y/n)’s lips, suddenly aware of just how soft they looked.

(Y/N) hadn’t planned on falling for someone in high school, especially not at Constance, and especially not for a bitchy spoiled girl like Luna La.

But it happened.

It happened in the theater building’s basement on a normal Tuesday evening.

It happened just moments after calling Luna a jealous bitch.

It happened slowly, as (y/n)’s lips met Luna’s.

The first kiss was tender, tentative…..and tragically over just seconds after it started.

The two girls heard footsteps coming down the stairs and separated so fast they had to catch their breath. Julien entered the room, only to see Luna and (Y/N) on opposite sides in complete silence.

Luna and (Y/N) we’re terrified Julien would know the sinful act that had transpired but in her blissful ignorance Julien merely thought they’d gotten into an argument.

The session went on without a hitch. Julien was surprised that Luna hadn’t given any comments regarding (Y/N)’s feedback.

It was then that (y/n) could finally bring herself to look at Luna for the first time since their kiss.

Their eyes met, both terrified of the feelings they knew were brewing inside them. Luna excused herself, and walked out without another word.

Luna stopped showing up to Julien’s tutoring sessions.

(Y/N) would turn the opposite way anytime her path crossed Luna’s.

It went on that way for weeks.

Until opening night of Romeo and Juliet.

(Y/N) had gone backstage to wish Julien luck. To her public dismay, and to her secret joy, Luna was there.

Julien exited the dressing room for a brief second, leaving the two alone for the first time since their kiss.

(Y/N) didn’t know what to do. So she did what all terrified teens in love do, she tried to run.

But Luna reached out for her hand and stopped her.

The words came out of Luna’s mouth like vomit, uncontrollable. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“Neither have I.”

The two stared into each other’s eyes, silently begging the other to be braver.

The echo of footsteps cut their moment off too soon.

Luna let go and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

The door opened and Julien walked back in with the rest of her gang of heirs.

Surprised to still see (y/n) there, Julien addressed (y/n) simply as an extra.

(Y/N) wished Julien good luck and walked out before she lost what was left of her dignity.

Winter break came and went.

The spring musical neared and the only thing (y/n) could think of was Luna La’s peach lip gloss.

Forbidden stares in class, stolen glances as they passed each other in the halls, it was torture for them both…even if they couldn’t admit it to themselves.

Julien, true to her word, opted out of the spring musical. So auditions were to start on Friday.

(Y/N) should have been over the moon, but instead she found herself wanting to be in Luna’s glow instead.

(Y/N) couldn’t focus, and she knew she’d fail the audition if she couldn’t get her act together.

So the evening before auditions (y/n) forced herself to practice in the theater building basement in a last ditch effort to pull herself together.

“I thought I might find you down here.”

What was once a voice laced with acid had become music to (y/n)’s ears.

Luna stood at the bottom of the staircase, anxiously fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. All I know is I haven’t been the same since…..” Luna stared at (y/n), unable to name their sacrilegious act.

“Since what,” (y/n) pressed.

Luna crossed the distance between them. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

(Y/N) sighed. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you either. I can’t even focus for my audition…. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment and I’m going to screw it all up because…”

(y/n) was unsure if she could bring herself to say it, out loud.

Luna bit her lip. “Because?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you again.”

A wave of relief, and fear, washed over Luna. She wanted (y/n), and couldn’t lie to herself about it anymore…. but there was no way in hell she’d risk social suicide to date (y/n).

“We can’t.” Luna wrapped her arms around herself.

Cruel reality had finally set in for (y/n).

“Of course, I was stupid to think a coward like you would take a chance.”

Luna’s arms fell to her sides, fists balled. “I’m not a coward. I just can’t risk my future over someone like you.”

(Y/N) straightened her back, indignant. “Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean,” Luna said with a sigh.

(Y/N) stepped closer. “I don’t, so why don’t you enlighten me.”

“Fine, you’re a broke nobody from the wrong side of the cliched tracks.” Luna mirrored (y/n), stepping closer to her.

(Y/n) had stepped in Luna’s personal space, daring Luna to challenge her.

“I’m not a nobody. I’m gonna be a star one day and I won’t have time to waste on petty, airhead heiresses like you.”

Luna grabbed the collar of (y/n)’s shirt. “Who are you calling an airhead?”

The scent on peach lip gloss hit (y/n)’s nose, and it suddenly set in just how close Luna was. Her eyes darted to Luna’s lips…tantalizing and only inches away.

“What are you going to do about it?” (Y/N) dared.

Luna tightened her grasp on (y/n)’s collar and closed the gap between them. “This,” she said just before her lips crashed onto (y/n)’s.

Sophomore year was supposed to be the year everything changed for (y/n)….and with Luna La now in her orbit it certainly would be.

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.