#i'm so sorry you guys this is like 1900 words

[ziggymars]

mirror, mirror (18+) - cl.16

Charles Leclerc x Reader

winner from this poll

warning(s): sentences that would have gotten me lobotomized in the 1900s, terribly translated Italian AND French, established relationship, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv, cream pie, horn dog charles and awful writing probably, please don’t hate me im intimidated by the f1 fandom even though i am in it ..... also i didn't proofread the whole thing please forgive any errors, they will probably be fixed soon. minors pls DNI.

word count: 3.7k+

A/N: mama an inchident behind you ! I know I was going to post this like a month ago, but I'm going through it sis AND my computer ate the original so I had to rewrite this oop. i'm very sorry to everyone who was expecting timo, the mexico city gp had me feral so you get this monstrosity. don’t hesitate to send any dirty thoughts you have about charles, perhaps inspiration will strike and i will give you the gift of sinful prose. i'm nervous to post this but i'm going to anyways xoxo zigs

The first thing you usually hear that is a clear indication that Charles is home, is the purr of his engine pulling into the driveway. A sound that had quickly become one of your favorites. A cacophony that drove your neighbors completely mad, music to your ears. Next came the jingling of his keys, echoing in the foyer. Which was very clear to you from where you stood. Today you were faced in front of a ginormous mirror. It had just gotten delivered but the installation guys wouldn't be able to make it until next week; so now it was placed, halfhazardly, against the wall in the living room. Definitely not where it was supposed to go. It looked kind of nice there regardless, reflecting the warm glow of lights in your shared home.

You glanced over at the clock, a familiar anticipation bubbling inside of you. He had mentioned an interview with Max earlier, and you could only imagine how it had gone. The door creaked open, and you turned your head -- a warm smile spread across your face at the sight of him. There he was, looking so effortlessly handsome as he always does. "Honey, I'm home!" He chirped, once again, as he always did. Charles strode to where you stood, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment as his eyes fell on the mirror. "Wow, um.... that's huge," he said with a raised brow, astonishment clear on his features. He continued walking towards it and ran a finger along the ornate frame, your eyes following it the entire time "I didn't expect it to be this big."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his observations, you had thought the same thing when it came. "Neither did I." You said as you followed closer to him to wrap an arm around his side, head on his shoulder. "What do you think?" You asked, "I think it will look really nice in the stairway. Installation guys can't make it until next week though.”

Charles mirrored you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He tilted his head to the side as he studied his reflection and then he began to study yours. "I think it will look really amazing once it's put up. For now it takes up a lot of space, no? I guess that's alright." He said, the last part mostly to himself.

For a moment, you both stood there, caught in the sight of your reflection. There was something intimate about it, even if both of you were fully clothed. It captured your visage but also the energy in the room; remnants of shared memories and love. An idea came to him that made all of his cares about its current placement fly out the window.

"Do you want to try it out?" Charles asked suddenly, catching you off guard. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't you want to see how we look together?"

A warm flush spread across your cheeks and you ripped your eyes from his reflection to look at him for real as you asked "Together?"

"Of course. You know what I mean." He laughed and turned his gaze to look at you too, the intensity making your heart skip just a beat. "Please. Let me play with you, il mio cuore."

Your shoulders brushed as you turned to face him, your mouth opening to protest. You had two Cornish hen's in the oven that you desperately did not want to burn. It wouldn't have been the first time you nearly started a fire because of Charles' obsession with pleasing you. It was a protest that he didn't even let escape your mind before he was placing a finger over your lips to silence you. "Just turn it off, if you're worried about dinner." He knew without you even having to say it, he could smell the aroma from the kitchen. And while it did smell really, really good -- the pull to explore this mirror’s capabilities was too strong for him. Too strong to miss this opportunity.

You gave a playful roll of your eyes before you kissed the finger pressed to your lips, a sigh of “Fine.” slipping through the space around it.

Too excited to wait even a moment longer, he gives your ass a light spank, saying "Hurry along." The commanding tone sending a shiver down your spine and a skip in your step as you did as he told; scampering to the kitchen to turn the oven off. It took you no time and even less to get back to him.

"Good girl." He purred and then pulled you closer to him by the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, maneuvering your body until you were both facing the mirror. Charles towered over you, his torso brushing against your shoulder blades. He ran one hand across your collarbone and then down your clothed stomach. "This will be fun, I promise."

"I don't doubt that," you breathed, goosebumps starting to rise in the wake of his fingertips as your eyes closed, "it's just a bit awkward, watching myself."

"No.." Charles cooed, his fingers gliding back to where they came from, tracing along the swell of your breast, the feeling of it causing him to take a sharp inhale. "You're beautiful, please, look at you."

When they found their way to your nipples, which were already pert under his touch, your eyes finally fluttered open. A soft, almost indiscernible grunt leaving your already parted lips. "You're so excited already, and I've barely touched you." He said, a cocky grin slipping to his lips as he pinched at one of them absentmindedly. You let out a quiet yelp and your back can't help but arch into the touch, "More, please." coming from your lips.

Nearly every time he heard you say that, he would oblige. Right now was one of those times. Charles slid his hand down, slipping it under your shirt; fingertips gliding across your flesh, "So soft." He remarked, his voice becoming more thick the closer his hand got to cupping around your breast. Where he kneaded, his fingers melding to your skin deliciously. You gave off another soft grunt, your thighs wriggling in an attempt to rub them together. "Oh, feeling needy today?"

You were tempted to roll your eyes but decided against it, not wanting to thwart any chances of getting what you now desperately wanted. He took notice of your self restraint so he rewarded you by snaking his hand down and into the hem of your spandex shorts, the ones he loved so much. Charles was met immediately with the feel of your already slick folds. "No underwear, mon lapinou?" (my bunny).

All you could do was nod your head and look at his reflection with a pleading look as the pad of his middle finger circled in the slick you produced. "Use your words." His voice was a gentle coo urging you on.

"No underwear." You confirmed with a shaky voice "Please, Charles, you're driving me crazy."

"You drive me crazy all the time," he said "perhaps this is payback." The same smirk glued to his lips from before as he moved his finger up and down gently against your clit. "Fine," he huffed "I'll give you what you want though." It was partly for you, but also selfish reasons. He was eager to watch the show you were about to provide for no one but him; the thought of it intoxicating him relentlessly.

Without another word, he's tugging your shorts down and allowing you to step out of them before he dramatically, and honestly, a bit comically threw them to the side. Not giving a single care to where they went, tunnel visioned on nothing but making full use of the mirror.

Next, Charles started to pull the leather arm chair that was skewed beside the couch to sit in front of the mirror; patting his legs with a look to you. “Take off your shirt and come sit on my lap.”

Finally finding courage and clarity through swirling vestiges of lust, you purred a simple "Yes, papà."

Something you didn't call him often. Something you saved in your back pocket for when you really wanted to rile him up. A special treat, for a very special man.

One "Oh, Gesù Cristo." (Jesus Christ) and you knew it had worked. Perfect.

Charles' pupils blow wide and stuck to your hands that were now removing the last remaining piece of clothing. Your eyes, however, were settled on the wet patch that had formed on his shirt, almost the very instant that you had called him the name he loved so much. "Do you like what you see, papà?" You asked, metaphorically poking the sleeping bear.

"Love what I see," he said, beckoning you closer "but I'd love to see what you look like with my fingers inside you a little bit more, come here. Please." Near the end of the sentence, his voice was almost a whine. Giving away just how much he wanted to feel your body against his. You weren't cruel, and to be fair you wanted this just as bad as he did. So you were doing as you were told for the second time this evening. You clambered to settle in his lap and he was quick to adjust your legs. Spreading them impossibly wide with rough hands, your breath already beginning to bait at the implication alone.

Then Charles did something that left your cheeks burning; he spread apart your folds. His mouth fell open as he gazed at the sight in the mirror, admiring your beauty. “Look at that," he swooned, "so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.”

Feeling sheepish from being so exposed, you tried to turn your head and bury it inside the crook of his neck but there was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen. With his other hand he grabbed your chin, not hard enough to actually hurt you but hard enough to make you look; forcing your gaze to where his fingers held open his prize. "See? What did papà say?" He said, his tone scolding yet still warm "So pretty."

Your hips wriggled in his lap, a futile attempt to grind back against the now achingly hard length that was flush against his stomach. Trying to urge him on, to do anything else besides continue to wordlessly look at you like he was going to swallow you whole.

"I'm speaking to you, mon lapinou." Charles tsked, his index finger now circling around your entrance, "don't be rude."

Realizing you didn't have another option, you couldn’t be shy now that you had opened this can of worms with one simple name, you managed to parrot him “So pretty.” Followed by a choked and begging “Please, touch me.”

“Good girl.” He cooed, simple and sweet before he was plunging one finger into your depths; a soft, languid moan falling from your lips. If your vision had been any more clouded, you might have missed the way his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound alone.

Charles’ grip tightened on your chin, keeping your focus steady to where he was now slowly, but surely drawing his finger out, and then back in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Enough to give you what you want but not getting ahead of himself just yet. His eyes dipped closed for only a moment as he leaned forward to pepper gentle kisses to your shoulder. When his eyes open he had to still all of his movements for a moment, genuinely fearing he might cum in his pants at the very sight of you perched in his lap. Your lips parted, legs spread, arousal dripping down his wrist. It was enough to make him weak.

You let out needy whines, hips bucking against his hand, urging him silently. Charles chuckled and obliged, slowly pumping a second digit into your tight heat. “That’s it, ma belle. Let me make you feel good.” He purred, his accent becoming more evident the more he lost himself in the sight. He watched, ever intently, entranced by the way you fell apart under his touch — filthy, breathless moans tumbling from your lips like a leaky faucet.

Charles’ deft fingers continued their filthy dance, pumping in and out of your dripping core, his thumb coming to circle your throbbing clit. Your breaths come in short and labored gasps, chest heaving as you started to lean back against him, pleasure washing over your body. Your hips began to stutter and he made the executive decision to remove his other hand from your chin so he could use it to press them back down against him — spreading your thighs even further. “Oh fuck!” You gasped, a choked moan as he was able to pump his fingers even deeper. Your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, head falling back to his shoulder. He tilted his own to capture your lips in a searing kiss, tongue immediately dipping into your warm mouth to taste your sweetness.

Charles fingers continued to work, curling them just right. He stroked against the sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars. A loud and wanton mewl is ripped through your throat, forcing you to pull away from the kiss so you could throw your head back against his shoulder. Obscene wet sounds filled the room as he began to finger-fuck you even harder, reveling in the way your smooth walls fluttered around him. Finally, you manage to pick your head up from his shoulder so you can look into the mirror. Blood rushes down between your thighs as the scene before you comes to view.

A third finger came to play and you were a goner. He reveled in the way your smooth, velvety walls pulsed around him. You became a whimpering mess, your mouth falling open as he met your gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark and you could see he was holding himself back from just shoving you onto the floor and fucking you into oblivion. It made your eyes roll back, a slow moan of “Charles!” accompanying it.

“You’re close, I can tell.” He says, his voice course but somehow also boastful; knowing he’s the one who knows how to make you come undone like this, writhing in his lap like a first rate whore. One of the ways he can tell is now, how your moans grow even louder, higher pitched. Your hips started to buck against his hand frantically as you babbled “Yes, yes, yes!” over and over in his ear.

“That’s it, amore.” Charles encouraged you, voice husky in your ear. He gritted his teeth, “Cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on, that’s it.”

It was enough for you, it was always enough for you. To hear him commanding you to cum. Like a sleeper agent only activated by a carefully constructed phrase. So with a loud and keening cry, your entire body seized. Thighs clamping around Charles’ wrist, a gush of liquid splashing against his hand and soaking his fingers. It dripped down the leather chair and onto the floor. His eyes widened in shock — you had never done that before. Charles could practically feel his chest swell with pride, satisfied smirk etched on his face. The puddle on the floor in front of you serving as a physical reminder to him of just how well he had done.

Somehow he managed to keep himself composed, grunting as he continued to pump his fingers, coaxing every wave of your orgasm. “Jesus, fuck! Baby!” He growled in appreciation, never ceasing his fingers movements until you were collapsing back, breathlessly, against his chest.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips. You could only watch, mesmerized, when he sucked them clean. A deep moan rose from his throat that reverberated around his fingers. “Delicious,” he said, pulling them from his mouth with a satisfied hum. Charles can barely even hold himself back now, his cock straining against fabric as he stared at the ethereally erotic display before him. You panted, legs shaking from the orgasm he had given you. "Enough of that, mon cherie. I need to be inside of you."

He doesn't give you any time to respond before he is standing, and in one swift motion bending you over the side of the chair. Your face is pressed into the cool leather, your gaze stuck on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. You didn't mind it being stuck there now, the aftershocks of how good he had made you feel helped your guard come down. And now all you could do was stare at him in the mirror, Charles missed it because he was quick to push both his pants and boxers down, settling himself behind you. You arched your back further and wiggled your hips, a giggle escaping as you presented your glistening pussy for him. He let out a low groan, hands roaming over your ass and up your back. "Fuuuck, look at that." Charles said, taking a moment to admire the view, slowly stroking himself a few times.

Positioning himself behind you, finally, he rubs the tip of his cock across your slick folds, teasing at your entrance. And then without warning, he sheathes himself fully inside of you with one powerful thrust. A long and low moan escapes both of your lips, a sweet symphony of soprano and tenor. Your hands grip onto the leather arm of the chair, trying to ground yourself into reality.

But it's hard. Really hard. Especially when he starts to set a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Setting a primal pace that leaves the both of you gasping in pleasure. His pelvis slaps forward against your ass with each and every powerful thrust -- each one driving you forward just a little bit more. Your eyes are half-lidded now, heavy with lust. But you will them to stay open. You can see everything in the mirror. The ecstacy etched in your furrowed brows, the bounce of your ass with every jolt of his hips, and his muscles flexing subtly as he fucked into you at a relentless pace. Hands down the hottest thing you had ever been privy to witness.

Another thing you're keen to notice is the way he's so focused on not losing himself. For a man so ready to fuck you in front of a mirror, it sure seemed like he couldn't handle it anymore. Evident by the way his head was thrown back, curses of your name tumbling from his lips over and over. Your eyes begin to roll, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the knowledge that you were the one who made this usually so confident and domineering man feel like this.

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, his head comes back forward, his hands gripping tightly onto your ass now. "You like this, non?" It comes out with a quiet grunt "You like when I fuck you like this?"

When you're not answering as quickly as he'd like, he's suddenly bringing one hand down to slap against your ass harshly. You let out a yelp that turns into a pathetically pleasured whine, "Yes, Charles! Feels so good!"

Charles rubs his hand along where it had previously struck, soothing the angry flesh. "Good girl," he cooed through gritted teeth "milking this cock so good." One of his hands abandons its grip on your ass to reach and rub tight circles against your clit. It sends cascading shockwaves of bliss pulsing through your bones. Determined to make you cum again, he says "Come on, baby. Cum all over this cock," Charles can feel you tightening around him, your moans growing more insistent and drawn out "I want to feel you." He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

He leans forward and loops an arm under you to palm at one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers as he pounds into you. The new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside of you. His thrusts grow even more erratic, teeth grazing the sensitive skin against your neck -- rapidly chasing his own release. The thought of him cumming, the look on his face, it was too much. You cried out his name and your walls rhythmically pulsed around his cock as you came for the second time this evening. It was his Achilles' heel. Charles' snapped his hips one final time, burying himself deep as he possibly could. There was a long and low grunt that bellowed from his throat as he emptied himself inside of you, both arms wrapping around your middle to hold you close to him.

There was a long moment where the both of you just stayed like that. Your heart rates coming back to normal, still joined together. "You are incredible. The sounds you make, how you take me..." Charles' praises you softly, his thumb running along your swollen lower lip "c'est magnifique. I love you." He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before he pulls out, slow and careful. Watching as his release trickles from you, a wolfish grin spreads across his lips, but you're momentarily displeased. A whimper bubbles from your lips, wishing he could just stay inside of you forever.

You unfurled your body from it's position across the chair, trying to keep your thighs clamped together as best as you could, "I love you, too."

Before you can even blink, Charles is by your side, giving you his arm so he could walk you to the bathroom. He was sweet like that. Always making sure that he took the best care of you after he had done sacrilegious things to your body.

Together, you made your way down the hallway. Albeit, you had to practically waddle to ensure you didn't spill on the floors you had just so meticulously cleaned hours before.

"Maybe we could just keep the mirror there?" He looked over at you to suggest, cheeky grin in tow. Amusing suggestion from someone who just said that it was taking up too much space.

You laughed and then grimaced, your hand flying between your legs "Please, don't make me laugh right now, Charles."

[birdiewritessometimes]

Hello, can i request for draco x reader where draco is madly in love with the reader but the reader likes someone else. Draco always tried his chances but reader always rejected him. One day, the guy that reader liked chose the reader’s best friend instead of her. Draco is the only one who comforted her and eventually they both end up together

After all this time

A/N: Hiii! I'm so sorry for the wait! I adored this request, and I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! <3

Summary: Draco has been in love with you for a long time, will he finally get you when no one is there to comfort you after a heart break?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Themes/warnings: fluff, bad friends, heart break, longing, pining, lovesick Draco, kissing, if there is any more, please let me know x

Word count: 1900-ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

Draco’s infatuation with you had started around fourth year. When he had seen you in that beautiful silver gown, your hair up to show off your neck and shoulders, he had been quite literally floored. He remembered how he had felt bad for his date, Pansy, because his eyes had been on your gracious figure the whole evening as you had danced with one of the Durmstrang boys. The grass had just turned that particular shade of spring green when he had worked up the courage to ask you on a date. He had caught up with you as you had made your way towards the castle after a lesson in care of magical creatures. Your hair had glistened in the spring sun as it swayed in the wind. Your usual group of friends weren’t around you, making it the perfect opportunity for Draco to ask you out. He had strutted up to you, his usual air of arrogance around him, trying to hide his nervousness behind a façade of bravado.

“Y/n” he said to get your attention, you had turned around, a quizzing look on your face, “how about I take you out on a nice date to Hogsmeade next weekend?” He had suggested, a small smirk on his face as his eyes sparkled with hope.

“Oh,” you had let out, a sympathetic look on your face, “I’m sorry Draco.” You had said. Before you could’ve said anything else he had let out a loud, laugh and a quick ‘never mind’ before darting away, not letting you finish.

That was the first time Draco had asked you out. He thought it was the last as well, but boy was he wrong. He found himself trying his luck every now and then. But every time you had said no. You always had the same explanation; you liked someone else and it wouldn’t be fair to him. He understood that he really did. What he didn’t understand was what he didn’t understand was why you couldn’t give him a chance to prove to you that he could treat you a million times better than anyone else at Hogwarts could. You were now both in your sixth year and Draco’s feelings for you hadn’t subsided one bit. In fact, they had just become stronger. He found that you became more beautiful as time ticked on, that smile that he liked so much became more vibrant with each summer and his heart beating faster with every look at you.

He was seated in the library; it was a quiet afternoon in mid-December. To anyone who didn’t know him it seemed like he was studying hard, various leather-bound books scattered around the wooden table. To anyone who knew Draco knew that he was probably to busy staring at you. You were sitting on a table with you best friend across the little secluded part in the library. The two of you were talking about something which was making you frown increase the longer the conversation went on. He swears he didn’t try to listen in on your conversation, he just happened to be within hearing distance.

“He asked you out? And you said yes?” You asked, your voice breaking as you spoke. Draco could feel his heart sink as your voice sounded increasingly sad with each word you spoke.

“So, what if I did? Honestly, y/n, he isn’t your boyfriend.” Your friend said back in a snarky voice. Draco felt his blood boil, because who was she to talk to you like that? Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to go over there to tear into your so-called friend for speaking to you like that.

“No, I just thought-”

“You thought what, that I would pass up a chance with him just because you like him.” Your friend interrupted you, her voice cold, a vindictive smirk on her face. Draco had never wanted to wipe a smirk away from someone’s face as much as he wanted now. Not even Potter could tick him off like this girl, that was supposed to be your friend, was doing right now. He saw the heartbroken look you had on your face as you stood up and excused yourself. Hugging your books to your chest you headed out of the library with hurried steps.

Before Draco could react, he was on his feet, walking after you. His own books under his arms. He didn’t care about putting back the library books. He burst into the corridor, gaining a few apprehensive looks from the students lingering there. His heart was beating rapidly as he looked around for you to no avail. Listening intently, he heard your soft sniffles from a deserted corridor to the right. Approaching the corner slowly he peaked around the corner and saw you sitting against the wall, your books still clutched tightly against your chest as tears streamed down your face. Seeing you look so sad made him want to go back in the library and tear your friend a new one. But he slowly rounded the corner, walking carefully towards you. Hearing his footsteps, you looked up at him. He felt his heart break and blood boil simultaneously when he saw you so sad, so broken against the cold stone floor.

“Not now Draco.” You mumbled, your voice fragile. He continued to walk towards you until he was right beside you. He slid down the chilly stone wall, his arms embracing you to let your cry into his chest. He rubbed your arms and back to give you some comfort and warmth.

“Shh, I’m sorry, princess.” He mumbled as he gently rubbed your arm while you cried into his chest. You sat like that for a while, you sobbing, him rubbing your arm in a comforting way. He was gently rocking you side to side as a way to calm you down. If anyone had asked Draco about his romantic life, he could’ve never had predicted that he would comfort the girl he was so desperately in love with for a heartache she suffered from another guy, but here he was, and he would do it again in a heartbeat.  

“Do you want to tell me about?” He asked gently when you had calmed down slightly. He could feel his heart beat hard in his chest at the look you were giving him, your eyes big and vulnerable as you looked up at him in his arms. Your hand came up to wipe your tears from under your eyes.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you.” You said, your usually soft voice now hoarse. He smiled gently down at you. The thought that you looked good in his arms crossed his mind as he watched you intently. What he would give to be able to hold you like this all the time.

“Don’t worry about it, princess, I want to hear you talk about anything and everything, even if it is about another guy.” He said softly as his thumb came up to caress your cheek. You looked at him, stunned at his admission. He smiled at you; a gentle smile people rarely saw.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good guy, Draco?” You mumbled softly. He was sure you could feel his heartbeat now, there was no way you wouldn’t be able to. He felt his heart swell from your words. He was so in love with you it was painful. Any complement from you and he could feel it echo through his whole body.

“I might’ve heard it once or twice.” He said lightly, making you let out a hoarse chuckle. It made his smile widen into a full, broad smile.

“There’s that beautiful laugh.” He said while tucking a strand of your soft hair behind your ear. He saw how your cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink, if he was standing up, he was sure his knees would fail him as you looked up at him, your eyes wide, a blush dusting your cheeks. He was smiling broadly down at you, making you smile slightly back up at him. Without thinking he placed a kiss on your forehead, which felt so incredibly natural to him. He looked at your face again, you looked stunned but slowly a small smile made its way onto your lips.

“Thank you for being there, when no one else was.” You said softly. He was looking into your eyes, those eyes he found so incredibly beautiful.

“Always.” He breathed out as his eyes flickered to your soft looking lips. He saw how they parted as you let out an exhale. His eyes flickered up to yours again as his heart was beating out of his chest with nerves. He could hear the background noise fade as he sat there with you in his arms. He noticed how close you were now making him feel how his blood was rushing through his veins as his eyes was mapping out your face.

“Please kiss me.” You whispered. Draco felt his heart stop for a moment before his hand found your cheek, caressing it softly. He slowly leaned in, embracing the moment as he thought his heart would beat out of his chest. The moment his lips met yours everything stopped. His heartbeat, his nerves, his breath, he thought he might’ve died and gone to heaven. Your lips were softer than he ever could’ve imagined as he kissed you slowly. You kissed him back immediately, your lips tentative and gentle. His hand moved to the back of your neck, to caress the soft skin there making you let out an appreciative sound against his lips. This is how he realised that he did in fact not die, that this was reality. When you broke apart after a while you were sitting there, smiles on your faces as you looked into each other’s eyes. When Draco had opened his mouth to say something you had placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

“Before you say anything I would like to say something,” you said softly before continuing, “I’m sorry for always rejecting you, you are amazing, Draco, if you still would like, I would love to go on a date with you, as long as we go slow.” You finished, a vulnerable note in your voice as you looked up at him. A wide smile spread on his face as his arms circled around your waist hoisting you up in his lap, making you let out a laugh in surprise.

“Slow is fine with me as long as I can keep kissing you.” He said, the smile still etched on his lips. You nodded shyly, a blush on your cheeks as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Yes, Draco had been infatuated with you since your fourth year. Yes, he is madly in love with you. Yes, waiting for you was worth it. (and yes, he did go and tear into your so-called friend when you had finished kissing).

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 9

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major, brief oral (f. receiving)

Word Count: 4,208

A/N: Here's Ch. 9. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

As Dean walked up the winding garden path towards Y/N’s hotel suite, he felt his long day start to fall away from him. His meeting at lunch had not gone well. 

He was attempting to put together a multi-layered deal between Winchester Shipping and Lumber, The Northern Rail and Freight Company, and Clearwater Pulp and Paper Mill in Maine. Ideally, if it worked, all three companies would benefit from a combination of lowered costs and guaranteed contracts. 

His lunch meeting had been with the vice president of Northern Rail and Freight, Byron Temple. Temple wouldn’t budge on the overinflated prices they wanted from Winchester Lumber for transporting their lumber from North Carolina up to Maine. 

Dean was trying to make it work, but Temple’s attitude and arrogance made Dean want to punch the guy in the mouth twice in the span of a single, hour and a half long meeting - didn't really bode well for a business partner. He was hoping the president and the board of the company would be more reasonable and less mulish.

But as he approached the garden doors, the anticipation of an evening with Y/N pushed the terrible meeting out of his mind. He opened the doors wide and walked through, only to pull up short as Y/N called to him from the bathroom across the suite.

“Dean? Close your eyes!”

Dean frowned and smiled at the same time. “What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Please?”

He gave an indulgent sigh, and shut his eyes, covering them with his hand.  “Alright. They're closed.”

He could hear the rustling of fabric and realized she must be wearing one of her new dresses. It made his smile deepen to know she was so excited to show it to him that she had him closing his eyes like a child at a birthday party.

The rustling settled and he heard her take in a big breath. 

“Alright, you can open them.” She said quietly.

He dropped his hand and opened his eyes slowly. His indulgent smile dropped away too, and he was left staring, dumbfounded.

The dress she wore was a deep, sapphire blue, silk taffeta. There were tucks and ruffles all over, and all he could think was that she looked like a confection, like something sweet and iced, and delicious. 

And though he didn't know very much about women's changing fashions, he could also see that the dress was stylish without being gaudy. It was draped perfectly on her naturally rounded curves, accentuating her soft figure. The dress enhanced her stunning beauty rather than overpowering it. 

Lowen really did do extraordinary work. 

He stared wordlessly, and his frown seemed to worry Y/N. She looked down at herself and smoothed her hand down the skirt of her dress.

“What's wrong?” She asked, turning slightly, clearly trying to work out the reason for his frown. 

Dean felt bad, and smiled, shaking his head. “No, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Nothing's wrong. You're perfect.” 

He took two strides forward to reach her, gripping her elbows and pulling her close. He lifted her chin with his knuckle and shook his head in wonder.

“You are never anything less than stunning, no matter what you're wearing, but…” 

He stepped back an inch so he could study her from head to toe before cupping her cheek and pulling her back into the circle of his arms. 

“But,” he continued, “you were made to be covered in satin and lace.”

He dropped his lips to hers, slotting his mouth against her and pulling a wholly satisfying whimper from her throat.

She breathed rapidly, shaking her head, as he broke the kiss. “I don't know if anyone was ‘made for satin and lace’, but the dress is very beautiful. So, thank you.“

He nuzzled his nose just behind her ear. “Mmm…” He moaned softly at the scent of jasmine and roses that hit him. His hands dropped to her waist and he pulled her tight against him, slightly crushing the taffeta of her skirt against his legs. 

He rested his forehead on hers. “So, how badly do you want to go out this evening? I could just pull this beautiful dress off of you again and we could stay in.” He said, low and gruff.

Y/N giggled lightly, but shook her head and stepped out of his grasp making him moan again.

“Uh uh.” She said, wagging her finger at him. “I was promised a tour of New York, and Janet, our poor maid, spent almost an hour getting me into this dress and forcing my hair to look like this.”

She patted her hair, piled high with loops and curls. She nodded her head towards the plush green chair in the corner. “Had to be done just right so that I could properly wear that hat.”

Dean turned to see a truly enormous hat sitting on the cushion of the chair. Y/N picked it up and moved to the big wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room. Looking in the mirror, she began to position the hat on her head. 

She had two long hat pins that she used to stab the hat into place. It looked like it was made of silk, with a fairly flat crown and a very wide brim. Both the crown and the brim were weighed down with big blue and green flowers and the whole hat was shot through with dark blue ribbon.

Y/N adjusted and readjusted the hat on her head before dropping her arms and snickering at the reflection that showed her drowning in the monstrosity.

She turned back to face Dean and held her hands up to frame her face. Her grin was wide, and an answering smile quickly spread across his face. 

“What do you think?” She asked with laughter.

Dean shook his head. “I think Lowen is an excellent dressmaker, but he needs to hire a new milliner.”

She chuckled and reached up to take out the pins that held the hat in place, pulling it off her head. 

She looked forlornly at the pathetic thing. “What should I do? I have two other hats, but they're just as bad.”

Dean grabbed the thing from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Oops, it blew away in the wind.”

Y/N’s laughter was rich and bright and Dean felt it in his whole body, like stepping into a patch of sunshine.

He lifted her pretty, creamy white, wool coat from the coat stand by the door, and helped her slip her arms into it before lifting it over her shoulders.

Y/N pulled on her gloves, and hooked her elbow around his arm. She threw him another bright smile. 

“Alright, good sir. Lead the way to New York City.”

***

Y/N was having the time of her life. New York bustled and moved at a surprising pace, even in the late afternoon and into the evening.

For the first little while they simply walked up and down the busy sidewalks. Dean pointed out the store windows that were decorated for Christmas, and Y/N stopped to ooh and ahh over all of them.

Eventually they made their way to Pell Street for supper. As they stood outside the restaurant, Dean gave her an impish smile. 

“So, I thought we could have Chinese food for dinner. I'm gonna guess you've never eaten it?”

Y/N's eyes grew large and she shook her head. “No, never.”

Dean held out his hand and pushed open the door. “Then it's an adventure.”

Y/N's head was on a swivel as they entered the warm space. Everything was decorated in gorgeous hues of red and gold, except for a large painting of a slinky green dragon adorning the far wall. On the other walls, hung beautifully framed pictures of strange, but intriguing shapes made from thick black ink.

Dean led them to a table in the corner and a young woman appeared beside the table almost instantly. 

Her smile was warm as she gave a slight bow. Then she lifted her hand to indicate the menu that hung on the wall above a long counter. 

“Please take your time to tell me what you would like.” Her voice was soft and her accent was one Y/N’d never heard before. It was lovely.

Y/N read over the menu and then smiled shyly, confessing to the woman. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure what to order.” 

The young woman smiled back and gave another small bow. “Of course, Miss. I can please suggest the Chop Suey. Many Americans order this and enjoy.”

Y/N nodded, having no idea what that was, but she was on an adventure; she should be adventurous.

“Yes, thank you. That sounds wonderful.”

With a nod to Y/N their waitress turned her attention to Dean. He didn't bother to look at the menu when he ordered. 

“I'll have the Char siu on rice, please. And a bottle of Baijiu for the table.”

The young woman gave another bow and left their table. 

Y/N looked at Dean and shook her head. “You've been here before.”

Dean nodded. “A few times. The food is incredible, just wait.”

The girl was quickly back at their table with a brown crockery bottle and two small glasses.

Dean poured a small amount of the clear liquid into the bottom of the glasses and raised his for Y/N to clink against. 

“To adventure.” He said with a wink. 

“Adventure.” Y/N agreed. Before she could drink, though, Dean held out a hand towards her. 

“Small sips. It's strong.”

Y/N was incredibly grateful for his warning when her itty-bitty sip still left her lips tingling and her throat burning.

The food came quickly and it was every bit as delicious as Dean had promised. The flavors were quite different from what she knew, but the blend of vegetables and spices was incredibly satisfying.

After dinner, they walked some more, looking around Chinatown for a little while before Dean hailed them a hansom cab back to 15th Street. 

They got out of the cab in front of a massive five story building made out of beige stone. Ornate moldings and sculptures framed dozens of windows. 

On the ground floor, the windows held displays of shining, sparkling jewelry along with gold and silver housewares, like large platters, goblets, place settings, and other very expensive accouterments. 

Above the main doors, gold painted letters declared the name of their destination.

Tiffany & Co.

Y/N walked ahead of Dean through the front doors and her jaw dropped. The space was wide and open. Large display cases housed countless shelves filled with more glittering, shining things. Everywhere she looked was another priceless piece of handcrafted silver and gold, household decorations as well as fine porcelain and sets of china.

As they walked further into the room, Y/N could see the smaller, glass and cherrywood counters, displaying rows and rows of stunningly beautiful pieces of jewelry. 

Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, opals, pearls, onyx and jade shone from every corner of the room. But more than anything else, there were diamonds. Large, small, rose cut, square cut, French cut, pear-shaped - the diamonds seemed never-ending. 

Y/N snapped her jaw shut as a slim man in a finely tailored suit approached them and gave a practiced smile. 

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” 

Dean nodded. “Yes, thank you. I realize you're closing up shop soon, so we'll be brief.” He lifted a hand slightly, indicating Y/N. “I'm looking for something more to adorn this already beautiful lady with.”

The salesman nodded briskly. “And what are we hoping to adorn today? Neck, fingers, wrists, ears?”

Dean looked down at Y/N. “What do you think, sweetheart? Maybe a bracelet?”

But Y/N was shaking her head. “Dean, you can't buy me something from here.” She whispered quietly.

Dean raised an eyebrow and then turned back to the salesman. “Would you give us a moment, please?”

“Of course.” He said and moved off to busy himself elsewhere.

Dean looked back at her, but before he could even ask the question, Y/N was answering him. 

“Because everything here looks like it costs a small fortune!” She swept a hand around the room. “It's too much.” She finished in a small voice.

Dean shook his head. “Do you see anything you like?” 

Y/N gave him a look that said he was being ridiculous. “That is not the point.”

Dean shrugged. “Actually, it is the only point. So, a bracelet?” 

When she didn't immediately object again, Dean called the employee back over.

“So, I do think we'll go with a bracelet.”

For the next thirty minutes they went through countless pieces. Y/N liked them all and couldn't make a decision, mostly because they all seemed far too extravagant to sit on her wrist.

But finally, not wanting to annoy or bother the salesman any longer, (though he was the picture of professional politeness) she chose a double strand diamond bracelet with a fairly large, teardrop ruby in the center. 

They took her wrist measurement and got a sale slip ready.

“Do you have an account with us, sir?” The salesman asked. 

“Yes.” Dean said with a nod. “Winchester.”

A light of recognition entered the young man's eyes and he smiled broadly. “Oh, yes, Mr. Winchester. I haven't had the pleasure of serving you, yet, but we're so happy to have your business once again.”

Dean nodded. “Of course.”

He passed Dean the slip to sign. “The bracelet will be sized and ready tomorrow. Where would you like it sent?”

Dean signed his swooping signature. “The invoice can be sent to my residence on Riverside. But the bracelet should be delivered to The Rialto on Devlin. Room 17.”

“Very good, sir.” The employee said as he gave a final smile which Dean acknowledged with a nod. 

“Thank you.”

As they left the lavish store, Y/N's thoughts were very crowded in her mind.

I shouldn't have let him do that. What's going to happen if I don't stay? They didn't even say a price. I have no idea how much that bracelet cost. Why did they recognize Dean's name so quickly? Exactly how often is he buying women expensive jewelry?

Her thoughts were swirling like the soft snow that had started to fall. 

Dean tucked her hand into his elbow and hailed another hack. “I have one more adventure to take you on before we head home. Think you can manage it?”

His smile was warm, and Y/N shoved the thoughts aside. Yes, adventure, boldness. That's what these two weeks were supposed to be about. Not worried thoughts and a racing mind. 

She shot him a grin. “Absolutely.”

***

“Skating?” Y/N asked before biting her lip.

Dean raised his finger. “Not just skating, skating in Central Park.” He pulled her towards the wide expanse of ice. 

He frowned. “Wait. You do know how to skate, right?”

Y/N shrugged delicately. “ A little. Not well. I haven't skated since I was a little girl.”

Dean gave her a wink. “Well, don't worry. I won't let you fall.”

He brought her over to a bench before walking off, calling back to her. “Wait here.”

He returned minutes later with two pairs of rented skates. Sinking to one knee in the snow, Dean lifted Y/N's foot, unlacing her boot and pulling it off before replacing it with her skate.

Y/N blushed, hoping her cheeks would just look rosy from the cold. There was something very intimate about Dean brushing his fingers over her leg and ankle, letting her feel their warmth through her very thin stockings. It felt especially intimate in this very public setting. 

As always, of course, Dean noticed her reaction. He smiled at the way her breath hitched and she knew he was trailing his fingers down her calf so slowly, on purpose. 

She squinted at him, accusing, but he just grinned and quickly laced her skate. 

When they were both in their skates Dean stood up and took her hands as they stepped onto the ice. He held both of them, skating backwards as she tottered forward like a deer on new legs.

“Wonderful! You're a natural!” Dean teased as she gripped his fingers in a vice-like grip.

“Ha. Ha.” She said in humorless tones, though a smile curved her lips. Several times she nearly crashed to the ground, but Dean saved her every time. 

She watched the other skaters enviously as they looped around them, gliding like graceful fairies with wings. But Dean pulled her focus back to him. 

“Don't pay attention to them. You're improving every minute.” 

That was a little bit true, the longer she was on the ice, the more steady she became, but she was still far from graceful. The two of them skated shakily for a little while, Dean spinning her around a few times, making her laugh dizzily. 

As she slipped towards the ground for the fourth or fifth time, Dean caught her and lifted her a foot off of the ice, turning her into another dizzying circle, forcing a slightly undignified squeal from her throat. They ended the spin with her clutching his arms, as they wrapped around her waist, both of them laughing happily.

“Winchester!” 

Dean's attention was caught and he looked up, searching for the person who'd called him. 

About twenty feet ahead, Y/N noticed a plump man, a bit older than Dean, waving at him. She heard Dean's slight groan even as he lifted his hand in greeting and smiled unenthusiastically at him.

He spoke out of the side of his mouth to Y/N as he straightened up and tucked her arm modestly in his elbow. 

“I'm so sorry. This could get very boring.”

The man approached them and Y/N could see he wasn't a lot more steady on his feet than she was. She wondered if Dean could catch them both if they fell. 

“Winchester, funny seeing you here, of all places.”

Dean nodded and smiled much more convincingly than before. 

“Bradford. Good to see you. What brings you out to the park this evening?”

Dean probably regretted asking the question when Bradford launched into a speech detailing his complete medical history. He talked non-stop for nearly ten minutes about his health over the last several months, including the fact that his doctor had prescribed him daily exercise.

He patted his rotund stomach. “Doctor Shefford says, best thing I could do would be to lose a pound or two. Or ten!” He said, chuckling happily at his own joke. 

Dean smiled indulgently and that was when Bradford seemed to realize there was another person there, his gaze landing on Y/N with happy surprise. 

“Oh, and might I enquire as to the name of your lovely companion?”

Y/N smiled at Bradford, liking the odd man in spite of herself.

“Yes, of course.” Dean said with a nod. “This is a friend of mine from out of town, Miss - Taylor.” 

Dean stumbled ever so slightly on the false name. Bradford didn't seem to notice the hesitation at all as he tipped his small bowler hat slightly. 

“A pleasure, Miss Taylor. I do hope you're enjoying your stay in New York.”

Y/N smiled pleasantly, trying not to dwell on the name. “Thank you, sir. Yes, I am very much.”

Dean seized upon the opportunity. “Though, I daresay the day's excursion is beginning to wear on you, is it not?” He looked back at Bradford. “If you'll excuse me, Bradford, I must escort Miss Taylor back to her hotel.”

Y/N sold the excuse with a delicate yawn behind her fingers. “Yes, please forgive me. It was so nice meeting you.”

Bradford waved away her worry. “Oh, of course. Nothing like some bracing exercise to tire one out. My doctor's told me so.” He reiterated.

“Yes, very true." Dean nodded. "Sound advice. Take care, Bradford. And Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, Merry Christmas!” Bradford shouted as Dean pushed Y/N forward on her skates, practically carrying her across the ice.

When they got to the bench again, Dean looked back to see Bradford skating away, hands behind his back as he glided off, a little shaky.

“He seems nice.” Y/N commented. “How do you know him?”

Dean shrugged. “We just belong to the same club. He is nice enough. But I can only take him in short intervals. He inherited his father's money a long time ago and I think he's just very bored.” He tossed her a smile. “If you really wanna keep skating, we could wait a few minutes and see if he's gotten his fill of exercise.”

Y/N shook her head, her smile soft. “No, it has been quite the excursion, we should probably head home. Or back…to the hotel, I mean.”

Dean just nodded and made quick work of divesting them of their skates and then leading them the short distance out of the park. He hailed them a final cab for the night and helped Y/N into the seat.

They rode quietly for a while, and Y/N couldn't pinpoint why she felt off. It had been an amazing evening, she should feel content and happy.

After a few minutes, Dean leaned close to her and spoke quietly. “Sorry, about the…uh, Miss Taylor. I wasn't sure…” He cleared his throat. “I mean I know nothing is…nothing is determined yet about your future. So, I wasn't sure if you'd want to use your real name. Or…but, I should have asked earlier.”

In reality, she was just a girl using a fake name to hide her shame, sitting beside a man who’d done all of this countless times before.

Y/N shrugged but admitted to herself that the clandestine nature of the fake name was what was throwing her a little. But It was also the expensive bracelet from a jewelry store that knew Dean by name from his many former visits.

Both things were sharp reminders that her happy little picture of domesticity with Dean was just a fabrication. 

But she didn't want to examine these things. She wanted to pretend they weren't true. So, she tried to push the thoughts away and shook her head. 

“No, that was smart. Quick thinking. It seems very unlikely that, if I…if I go home in ten days, that anyone from this life will have cause to seek me out, or to inquire about the name of your brother's governess. But all the same, it's probably best if they don't know my real name.”

Dean nodded and silence descended again for several blocks. Y/N kept trying to ignore the troublesome thoughts churning in her mind, but they were starting to make her stomach hurt. Finally, she looked up at Dean. 

“Kiss me.” She demanded in a very small voice.

Dean didn't wait to be asked twice, pulling her against him, and then sinking deeper into the shadowed recesses of the jostling carriage. 

He kissed her hard and deep, like he was stamping her, branding her with the scorching heat of his mouth. She whimpered and he swallowed it down whole, sucking on her tongue and consuming every moan he created. 

His hands roamed over her, undoing the buttons on her coat to slip his hands inside. But he growled slightly as he met the barrier of her satin taffeta.

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes!” 

Y/N gasped out her laughter just as the driver called to them. 

“The Rialto.”

They sat up and Y/N tried to rebutton her coat and fix her slightly disheveled hair.

Thank god for a private entrance, she thought.

Dean paid the driver and then lifted her to the ground, pushing her forward even quicker than he had on the ice. 

She was giggling and panting all the way down the garden path and through the French doors into her suite. With the doors barely closed, Dean immediately began littering her room with her strewn clothing, pulling it frantically from her body while she puffed out stern warnings not to destroy her brand new dress.

When he finally had her naked, he dropped to his knees in front of her, fully dressed, coat still buttoned; he didn't even pause to remove his leather gloves. 

He simply pushed her thighs open and immediately began to feast on her. Almost instinctively, she lifted her leg over his shoulder; the fine, soft wool of his coat was smooth and sensual against the back of her leg.

A long time later they laid side-by-side on the floor, with Dean finally naked too. He'd simply yanked down the thick blanket from the bed to cover them. Y/N laid her cheek against his warm chest and sighed deeply.

She gripped his hair tightly as he pulled her apart with his mouth. When her legs got too weak to hold her up, he simply lowered her to the floor and continued.

Y/N's body was cushioned by the plush rug beneath her, but her back ended up slightly rug-burned from twisting and writhing on top of it as she cried out her ecstasy.

She was incredibly appreciative of Dean's ability to force all her churning thoughts and worries into the back of her mind. She squished them into a tiny closet there and left them alone - for the night at least. 

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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Dean Fics Only:

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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[anadelaney79]

Sorry

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Words: 1900

Warnings: Masturbation. Fingering. Cursing. Sex (p in v). I don't know what else, I'm really bad at warnings.

A/N: This is my first time writing Syverson and I feel really insecure about it, but I enjoyed doing it very much so, that's all that matters, right? As usual, I'm really sorry about all the spelling mistakes, as english is not my main language.

Title: Sorry

You walk downstairs barefoot and throw your shoes on the floor as soon as you reach the living room. Sy is sitting on the couch, staring at the screen, legs wide open, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands frantically clenching the buttons on the joystick. "Mike! don't get distracted! We just lost.." he tells to his son, visibly upset. Right at that moment, your son turns to look at you and opens his mouth in surprise. "Mom! You look beautiful!". Sy turns to you too and his gaze meets yours. His jaw clenches and his eyes trail down your body from your face, down your neck, your breasts, and stops at the slit in your dress. He tosses the joystick aside and a deep sigh rumbled in his chest. "That dress? Really?", he tells you, standing up.

You are wearing his favourite dress, but you don't look at him. You are still angry. Very angry. That's why you are wearing that dress.

You bend down to put on one of your sandals, taking special care that your cleavage is exposed to him.

"Dinner's in the fridge, you just have to heat it up." You say as you begin to put on the other shoe. Sy grabs you by the waist, preventing you from losing your balance. The mere contact of his huge hands on your body forces you to close your eyes, to control those impulses that tells you to kiss him furiously and forget about everything.

Not this time. This time he acted like a jerk. Well, maybe not that much, but you're really mad, and you don't want to give in.

You straighten up and remove his hand from your body. "Thanks, I'm fine" you say, with the firmest voice you can find inside your chest.

"Come on, sugar, don't be so hard on me" he whispers, lowering his head to look you in the eyes. His fingers gently caress your jaw and you close your eyelids. The horn of your friends' car sounds outside and you come back to reality, forcing yourself to get out of there.

"I'll be back late. Don't wait up for me. Mike, remember to brush your teeth" you tell your son as you grab your bag and open the front door. You walk through the doorway feeling Sy's eyes burning on your back, but you don't turn around.

"No kiss goodbye? It usually takes about 10 minutes for you two to get your mouths off each other while I wait for you in the car" your friend tells you, laughing. "Start the car, I'll tell you on the way".

...

It's late, and the place is crowded, dark and very noisy. Too noisy. The colorful lights are hurting your eyes. You're not used to these kinds of places anymore. You approach to the bar and ask the bartender for a beer. "Beer? Honey, you can do better than that" he tells you, winking at you. He starts making a drink by mixing the content of some bottles that you would never know what they are. "Just give me a beer, I don't usually drink stuff like that" you tell him. "You should. You deserve to drink something that goes with you. You are too much for a simple beer." You roll your eyes and sigh. Shit. You don't feel like the bartender flirting with you. You don't feel like anyone flirting with you.

The thing is that you would like to be at home, in the comfort of your bed, with your head resting on Sy's chest, firm and warm, listening to his agitated breathing after making love to you.

You turn your head and search for your friend. You see her, still talking to a guy, laughing like there is not tomorrow.

"What's your name?" the bartender's voice brings you back to reality. "Look, I'll just ask you for a beer, I don't drink things like that and I don't want to start today" you tell him, forcing a smile. "Honey, try this and you'll see. It's my gift to you" he slides the drink looking at you, waiting for you to drink it. You doubt. You don't want to drink it. You do not feel like it. You told him several times that you didn't want it to. "You should learn that the best way to woo a woman is not to make her do something that she doesn't want to do" Sy's voice is heard over the music, above your head. "It's called respect, kid. Give me two beers." The bartender looks at him and looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging.

However, you don't turn around. You feel Sy's warmth behind you, his back inches from yours. He rests his hands on the bar, caging you, like if he is marking that you are his and no one else's. You look at his hands, enormous, tightened on the wood of the bar. "Where is Mike?" you tell him. "He's at my parent's" he replies. "Why did you come?" you ask. "Because I'm sorry. And I don't know how to prove it to you", his voice is serious. "You don't have to prove it, you have to apologize, as simple as that" you tell him.

Sy rests his forearms on the bar, lowering his body so that his head is level with yours, and whispers in your ear "I'm really sorry".

You feel how your entire spine shakes, and he knows it. He straightens up again as the bartender slides your beers over without a word, looking at both of you as if he's afraid that Sy will hit him. "Thank you" you say as politely as you can, and that's when Sy's torso leans against your back. His hips press against your ass, making you feel his hard erection through the thick fabric of his jeans. "I miss you" he whispers again. "I miss you so fucking much", his voice is so depp that sounds almost animal.

You move your hips, pressing your butt a little more against his cock. "I miss you too" you reply. His lips go down to your neck and kiss your skin softly, shivering. He lowers his mouth to your bare shoulder, biting into it. "Fuck! Sy...", you tell him, and it's not because he hurt you, but because he knows exactly what his teeth on your skin do to you. "If you're going to wear that dress, you have to know that it has consequences, sugar".

You try to turn around, but his hand on your waist doesn't let you do it. "Stay like this" he commands you. One of his hands goes up your thigh, opening his way through the slit on your dress. His fingers slide through the thin fabric of your underwear, quickly sinking into your moisture. "Sy, not here…" you mutter, but you know you don't care. You know you want it. Better than that, you know you need it. "Ush.." is all he says as his fingers trace a circular rhythm over your clit.

You look around. Nobody is watching: there is not enough space for anyone to see what Sy is doing to you there, in front of everyone. You look like a couple that is just waiting for their drinks. "Do you mind if I apologize like this?", he lets out the words between his teeth, very close to your ear, continuing to massage your clit as he only knows how to do it. As you like. As you need. His fingers move from your clitoris, then sliding inside you, then stroking in circles again that wet and excited spot of your body. His tongue tangles in your earlobe, and you feel a wave of pleasure going through you. "Sy, I'm about to… I'm so close..." you try to explain, your breath chopping the words. You can't finish the sentence. An orgasm runs through your entire body, making you tremble all over.

With your orgasm still reverberating through your body, one of Sy's hands comes down and you feel him lift your dress from behind. "Sy, what the…?" His erection pushes and slides between your folds with a simple thrust. "No one will know. I'll be quick, don't worry. I couldn't last long even if I wanted to" he chuckles. He moves smoothly, as he grunts and groans and lets out a few unintelligible curses in your ear, just for you to hear. You tighten your fingers on the bar and look around once more. There is a guy talking to his girlfriend next to you, turning his back on you. On the other side, a group of men tries to talk to a group of women, laughing and yelling. Everyone is too busy doing their thing to notice anything that you both are doing.

The music vibrates around you as you feel Sy's thrusts slowly filling you up. He barely moves his hips, but he reaches deep into your womb over and over again. His hand returns to your crotch, massaging your clit. "I'll make you come with me" he swears, and you know that when Sy makes a promise, he keeps it.

The whole situation turns you on to a level you didn't know existed. Everything starts to spin around you, as if it was dancing to the music. Your legs can hardly support you, immersed in a huge tremor. "Got you" he says as his grip around your waist tightens. "How the fuck... can you be so hot… I love you babe… I want to fuck you forever... in every posible way... I don't think I can ever get enough of you… I want to fill you with my cum..." he says between breaths and moans, as you squeeze around his cock rhythmically, contracting for him, giving him another of your orgasms. "That's it, that's it baby..." he whisper. You rest the back of your head on his chest, and he lowers his to kiss your exposed and vulnerable neck. His fingers tighten around your waist and as his teeth clench fiercely in the curve of your neck he releases himself inside of you, filling you completely with his thick, hot cum.

As he tries to catch his breath, he rests his chin on your neck, occasionally kissing it softly. "That will leave a mark" you tell him. "I know. But don't worry, sugar, it's legal if your husband made it" he replies, and you know he's smiling.

"Did the bartender serve you yet?" asks a boy who has just arrived at the bar. Still inside of you, Sy turns to look at him, and answers "Oh, yes. He's a very kind boy, you don't know how much he helped us."

[blurglesmurfklaine]

okay so you've written a lot already about javid wartime letters. the people (me) want to know what you think about post canon era love letters and javid. if you want to share?

I don't actually know a ton about the late 1800s/early 1900s (the WWII obsession comes from what is probably some form of undiagnosed mental illness, rather than a general wealth of knowledge, but i digress)

but good GOD i am obsessed with this idea now????

Because the thing about Javid--and like, a huge part of why we're all so feral through COUNTLESS iterations of them--is that they're good friends, they just click. And something about the people you click with is that you just want to BE with them, you just want to TALK to them??? You know???

So like. Letters. (i'm not making any sense but bear with me, rabbit with me, all the other animals with me) My brain is already cooking up The Scenarios. and sorry but they are your problem now

Davey is the guy really good at convincing people to join the cause, he's got the Mouth wbk but when it comes to his feelings??? (Honestly, we don't even see him verbalize them that much in the show?? He literally just shakes his head and walks away after the rally and then the next time we see him all is well) Idk maybe he's better at writing them down, just word vomiting because it's not like a persuasive essay, where it's very structured and organized and you can list reasons??? And feelings don't always Make Sense and i can see Davey Taking Issue with that lmao. SO MAYBE Davey secretly writes letters to Jack--never meant to be seen by the light of day--it gets into the wrong hands somehow idk don't ask me about logistics, and one day he just gets a reply like a letter in his mail FROM JACK and it goes on from there and they're writing these letters to each other but Don't Talk About It and there's Tension and don't ask me for details all i have is Vibes

The second Scenario i have devised in my head is: Davey goes off to college somewhere far away and Jack is like "bitch if you forget about me i will end your ass" so Davey sends letters from college and Davey's something of a poet himself and Jack's like "wow i really miss Davey. I forgot how smart he is. I wish he was here. he's so handsome. Oh Shit"

The last Scenario in my head is where they start writing letters to each other because of canon-era-typical homophobia and in a way it's safer than them being seen Together All The Time and they're just so in love is DISGUSTING and yeAh

This was convoluted as hell, my bad, but overall: VERY MUCH IN FAVOR OF LETTER WRITING IN GENERAL LIKE HELL YEAH LETS IMMORTALIZE OUR LOVE IN INK THAT WILL LONG OUTLAST US

also. I just like hearing them Talk To Each Other ya know?? ANYWHO if you have thoughts about it I too would b eincredibly interested 👀

[neverwalka1one]

Magnus Protocol 22

We open to Lena giving Gwen shit for [checks notes] running away and not dying. Lena, you're really not going to beat those 'worlds worst boss' allegations. Your only hope is that Jonah Magnus is out there somewhere, because holy crap lady.

Seems that Lena is now interested in recruiting whatever Eye-induced nightmare saved/claimed Gwen as well... mmm. Good luck. Watch out for the tape recorders.

I do want to see Lena up against Ink5oul - I mean, would it be a Phil Coulson vibe, the middle manager that shouldn't be scary And Yet Everyone Falls In Line?

Sorry 'bout the demotion, Gwen. At least you now have less chance of running into Mr. Bonzo. Unless that is what was following you a few episodes back. If that's the case... well. RIP.

Augustus! Long time no hear! What historical lunacy do you have for us?

Ah, another real person. The guy who invented the EEG, despite the fact (or at least strong impression) that he 'knew nothing about mechanics or electricity' per one of his peers. Encouraging. Giving very strong 'mad scientist and his wife' vibes. The early 1900's were wild, yo.

I do not think the corpus callosum is where the soul sits, but hey, what do I know. Here's what I know - maybe don't electrocute it, mkay?

Whoop, ocean theme again, that's not getting horribly ominous. Are dead people gonna talk again? Is this guy responsible for the dead people talking thing?

... please do not put a telegraph in this guys head.

Sir.

Sir, Do not... why are you putting a telegraph in this guy's head?

THAT IS NOT A GOOD REASON.

You're going to give this guy a seizure, typing away into his head.

OMG, WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT, A GRAND MAL SEIZURE! Dumbass. You are a hazard to society.

Omfg and you're a psychopath, please never talk to people.

So. Um. Sir. SIR? If your wife can understand telegraph signals by sound alone without having to stop and decode it... why the everloving hell didn't you ask her what she was hearing AT THE TIME? How did this not occur to you?

Oooooh, Sam is angry, and asking the real questions here. Yeah Alice, why haven't you left? Can you leave? Can anyone here really leave?

... Wow that sounded like Alice was trying to get back together with Sam. Honey. Dragging your ex into governmental mini hellscape maybe isn't the most romantic vibe, but I'm also the wrong person to ask, IDEK.

Nonononono not the breakroom again augh the echoes stooooooop

Ceeelia stop trying to get Sam back to the Institute stuff please do not Sam is a tiny shrimp and needs protect...

... WHUT.

I mean, miss 'complicated immigration status' you did NOT just 'stumble across' the names Jonathan Sims and Martin Kartin Blackwood. MA'AM. I JUST WANT A WORD.

Please please please start the next episode in Scotland where they have to go track down the boys looking at good cows, okay? For me? Please? LET THEM BE OKAY. AUGH.

[thehearthwolf]

The Doll's House

Word Count: 7405

genre: horror/supernatural

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Creator Chose not to Use Archive Warnings (sorry, I'm not the best at knowing what to tag, so I'm using AO3 tags) There's blood.

Summary: Three friends come across a doll as they fix up their "new" house.

If you would rather listen to the story, it also is on YouTube.

“Why did we buy this house again?”

“Because it was a good price and we’re fools.”

“Okay but why?” I said, gesturing to the wall which now housed our second rusty pickaxe. Finding the first one was a little creepy, but it was stuck in a stump outside, so it made a little sense. This one. This one was stuck in the wall. In one of the closets. Inside the house.

I made a mental note to never go into the basement ever again. I did not need to find myself face to face with a pickaxed killer.

“Uh, he missed in his murder attempts?” My roommate Steve guessed, shrinking behind me. Which was hard for him as Steve was a tall guy with muscles larger than my head. He would have looked intimidating if it wasn’t for his large innocent eyes. Instead, he gave the impression of a rather large puppy.

Turning my head in disgust, I asked, “Why you gotta say creepy shit like that?”

“Because, Dan, it’s creepy. And it makes sense.”

“If there was a murder here, by law, they have to tell us.” A woman came walking in, her arms full with a large box. She was a tall, striking woman; her long hair tied up into a ponytail. But unlike Steve, she was intimidating. She adjusted her glasses with one hand, the other doing just fine holding the large box on its own. Her resting face looked that of someone who just had their dog insulted. Nice person though. Just a scary face.

“Meryl, just because it’s a law doesn’t mean people will actually do it. It’s like that, ‘fifteen minutes and we go home’ rule in college. Especially since we bought it off of the family itself. I bet they’d have no clue.” I said, rolling my eyes.

The three of us had bought this house dirt cheap. The people who were selling it were distant relatives of the previous owner, so they knew little about the place other than the man never actually lived in it for long. It needed a lot of repairs and was sold as is.

I didn’t particularly mind as I wasn’t afraid of a little work, but this was starting to get ridiculous. So far, we had found three, very real looking, dolls, a really creepy photo from what we’re guessing as the early 1900’s, leaky bathrooms, lights that refused to turn on, creaking stairs when no one was on them, and we had only just started cleaning. Not to mention the old-style wall art everywhere that felt like a judgement on my tastes of decorating as a whole. But the kitchen was nice.

Steve shrugged. “I never said he was successful.”

Pinching my nose, I sighed, “Again, not helpful.”

Meryl came over. “Another pickaxe? Jeez, how many did this dude have?” Placing the box down at her feet, she grabbed the handle. As she was wiggling it, the tool started to get free.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I yelped, aghast, “What are you doing?”

Meryl gave me a look from behind her wired glasses. “I’m removing it from the wall, so we can, ya know, get rid of it.” She went back to pulling at it. I rushed forward, placing my hands on the handle to stop her. Glaring, she gave me ‘The Look.’ Her annoyed face. I gave a small, involuntary squeak.

“I-” It came out as an octave higher than normal. Clearing my throat, I tried again, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, what could be on the other side of that wall? Eyes? Bones? The dead?”

“A doll?” Steve added.

Meryl rolled her eyes. “Who’s not helping now?” She said, “Dan, you’re being dumb. Let me remove the stupid thing.” Moving me to the side, she gave a giant tug. The pickaxe surrendered its hold on the wall, along with a burst of wind, causing Meryl to stumble.

Silently we all stared at the new hole in the wall. From what I could see, the only thing inside was just normal drywall. “I-Is someone going to get a closer look?” Steve asked. I turned, wide eyed at him. He motioned for me to go forward. Shaking my head, I pointed him to the hole. He took a couple steps back. “N-No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Oh for crying out loud. I’ll do it.” Meryl snapped. As she went closer, she mumbled, “What a bunch of wimps.” She glanced down the hole. “No, nothing- wait, I do see something.” Shoving her arm in the space, she said, “Gah, it’s down there all right, but I think I can get it.”

I grabbed my head. “Meryl, what are you doing? You leave whatever it is inside that wall. We don’t need-” I stopped. Too late, she had successfully pulled it out. “You gotta be kidding me.” I groaned.

Another doll.

The paint on her was peeling off; her purple dress covered in dust, ripped up and full of holes. What was once pristine brown hair, now was a ball of knots and ribbon. One of her eyes was permanently closed.

Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You had to say doll.”

“Leave it in the wall. Leave it in the wall.” Steve chanted in panic. I nodded vigorously.

“Stop being wimps. We’ll just put her with the rest.” Meryl said, grimacing at the old toy. “And maybe call a clairvoyant.” She added.

Nodding, I said, “Let’s burn it. Just in case.”

A small noise came from behind the bedroom door. All three of us jumped, screaming. A black cat came trotting up, meowing some more.

Giving a heavy sigh of relief, I said, “Fluffy. You scared the life out of us.” The cat just stared at us. Steve gave him a pat on the head.

“Well, now that you scaredy-cats are done, I’m going to continue unpacking.” Meryl said, picking up her box.

I stared at our new creepy collection. “What about that stuff?”

“You can take it to the garage.”

“Me?” I spluttered.

“Yes, you. Take Steve with you if you’re so scared.” She said walking out of the room.

We stared wide eyed at each other with neither of us moving. “Guess we better get this over with.” I whimpered. Steve nodded vigorously; his mouth shut into a thin line. The cat now clutched tightly to his chest.

Groaning, I picked up the two things as if they could turn into a mob of spiders at any moment. Quickly shuffling down stairs, I tried to get this ordeal done as fast as possible. Steve followed closely, his feet nipping at my heels.

The garage was in a dire need of cleaning but in terms of repairs, it was fine. Cobwebs littered the ceiling. Only half the lights were working, casting a dim glow. The place was filled with boxes, as this was the safest place to store them as we fixed up the house. In the back corner were six barrels full of junk that we found or needed to toss.

Steve shuffled his feet at the door, still holding the cat. I gave a half smile. “Do you want to stay by the door?”

“Yes, please.” He whispered. Grinning apologetically, I continued on to the garbage by myself, now with a rock in my gut.

The cans were getting close to overflowing. I could just see the old photo from earlier, faded but the people in it were just visible. Three people stood proud, a man and two women with a child on one’s hip. The women looked to be almost exact copies. Both having chubby sort of cheeks, their hair done in curls, and wearing the classical dress of the 1900’s. Sisters is what we assumed. The man was probably a husband of one of them, of which we had no clue. He had a strong jaw and cold eyes. A pickaxe by his side. Made sense. A creepy pickaxe man, in a crazy pickaxe house.

The little girl, on what I guessed to be her mother’s hip, was cute. She was pretty young, no older than five. Part of her hand was in her mouth, a little blurry from the movement. In her other hand was a doll. She wore a cute frilly dress, with lace all about it. It matched that of her owner.

For the most part, the photo wasn’t actually creepy other than it just sitting here in this house over a hundred years later. I had watched a lot of scary movies to tell me to just throw it away. But if I was being honest, my gut was telling me to burn this house to the ground and just build a new one on top. Steve had been the one to point out that wouldn’t necessarily make the ghosts and bad luck go away.

Sighing, I tossed the pickaxe and doll in with the photo. With the toy staring up at me, the hair on the back of my neck rose. I grabbed for the photograph. Stepping into the light to see better, I stared intensely at the little girl. The doll. The rock in my stomach turned into a boulder. It was the exact same doll in the picture, only in better condition. Going back, I grabbed the toy to compare them. To make sure. Two little grey eyes stared up at me with the same expression of nothing.

Wait, wasn’t one of the eyes closed?

Tossing the thing with a yelp, I shuffled backwards. Dolls sometimes will have one of the eyes stick, yeah, no big deal. I rationed with myself. There was no way there was anything wrong with the toy. It could even be a different one. Maybe the previous owner was a collector and just so happened to store dolls in walls for the fun of it. Yeah, the previous owner just wanted to mess with us.

“Dan? What’s wrong?” Steve called out from the door.

The toy looked up at me with its blank expression. Shivering, I wondered if I should tell the others about my find or go put it back in the trash, never mentioning it again. Rubbing the stubble on my chin, I took one tentative step forward, my breath coming out in white puffs.

Wait. Why is it so cold? It’s summer.

A small cracking noise broke through the silence, as if an explosion went off.

“What was that?” Steve called out, panicked. He came inside the garage, cat now gone, and grabbed the back of my shirt. We stared at the toy in mute horror together.

A fissure appeared on the doll’s face. Move. The sweat that was once dripping off of me were like icicles as her face slowly broke. Move. The gap on her face grew wider by the second. Move. White smoke started to spiral out. MOVE. The smoke was formless. But it was not long before it took shape.

Three hapless figures floated next to each other. They all considered each other, two of them dissipated back into smoke, raising up through the ceiling. The remaining one’s features started to form into more of a clearer person.

A young woman stood before me. Her face was round, soft, but her eyes were sharp and cold. Full of rage. I knew that face. After all, I had only just seen it. She was the women in the photo. Except for the eyes. They were the man’s. She must be the daughter, all grown up. Instead of a little frilly dress, she wore what I imagined to be the wedding gown of her time. It was ripped, the ends matted with something. Mud? Blood? I could not tell in her ghostly form. As for the top of her clothes, I knew for a fact that it was covered in blood as her neck had an opened wound across it. There was no debate there.

Tilting her head, she considered me. Her lips curled into a crooked smile. Rasping out, she said, “Marry?” Her voice sounded as if someone ran their nails down a chalkboard. Steve screamed. With a jolt, I was finally able to move. Stumbling backwards, I blindly fumbled for the garage door, pulling my friend along.

The ghost followed suit. Extending out her hand, she tried to grab a hold of me. It was matted in what I could only imagine as the same substance as that on her dress.

“Marriage?”

“N-naw, thanks, but no. No. I really- Don’t think- No.” I stumbled over the words; my mind hazy.  I was able to get to the door. The handle wouldn’t move. Locked. I slammed the garage door opener frantically. It made a groaning noise but did not move. Shit.

She hissed, “No?” Barring her teeth, she appeared in my face. “No?” Screeching, her hand lunged at me. Steve and I scattered. The cold wind ruffled my hair, as I felt her arm just went by.

Slamming into the boxes still left for us to unpack, I dearly wished that we had parked at least one of our cars inside. Even if the doors wouldn’t open, driving through it would give the desired results too.

Running toward the back, I glanced behind. There was no ghost lady following me. Swiveling around, I frantically searched for her. Steve was by the garbage, with no one by him, and there was no glowing in the dark corners either. She had just vanished.

Searing pain bloomed in my abdomen. Turning my head, I could just see the dead woman behind me. My vision started to blur. The roomed changed around me. Lights disappeared and reappeared elsewhere.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look what me and Cynthia made you!” A little girl in a purple frilly dress came running out to the man covered in soot. His eyes were sharp, cold. But when he saw his daughter, they lit up. He watched as a piece of paper covered in a child’s drawing fluttering in the little wind that her running produced. Grasped firmly in her other hand, a doll.

The girl and the doll were identical in every way. The frilly dress, the black shoes, even the curly hair. The toy was very well loved but despite this, it was pristine and clean. Not a hair out of place nor a shoe unshined.

As she ran to greet the man, I looked around. Behind her stood our house. The paint was bright and clean, with the windows clear and the shutters correctly on their hinges. The porch had a brand-new feel to it, with it being a shiny white color and there were no wood planks missing. The only thing that wasn’t there was the garage, which had to have been added later in time. Staring at the house one last time, I turned back to the little family reunion.

Running up to her father, the girl lifted up her arms. The man smiled sadly. He said in a thick Southern accent, “Now, now Doll, I can’t carry you. I’m too dirty, we wouldn’t want to get your nice dress ruined, now would we?”

Bending down on one knee, he laughed as she puffed out her cheeks. Gently taking the piece of paper, he smiled greatly. “My, what is this? Is this a picture of the family?” The girl nodded shyly. “Why, Doll, this is absolutely amazing! It’s almost like a real life photograph. There’s you and me hand in hand, with Cynthia. Not to mention your mother and your Aunt Amelia. Look! You even got her smile right.” The caricature he pointed at showed a stick with a frown on it.

            A muffling sound could be heard. It sounded like a scream. I looked around. No one was outside besides the two in front of me. On the porch was the mother? Or the aunt. I couldn’t tell, but she looked fine, she just stood there. Nothing strange had happened. Shaking my head, I turned back to the little family.

“Absolutely perfect. What superb skills my favorite child has!” The father said, beaming.

“Daddy, I’m your only child.” The little girl giggled.

“Dan.” I heard someone say my name. More words came after but I couldn’t hear them clearly. I shook my head again, trying to pay attention.

Grabbing his daughter’s hand, he started walking toward the house and said, “That may be, but the statement still stands.”

“Dan! Wake up!”

Gasping, my eyes flew open. My garage was back. Hovering over me, Steve was pressing his hands on my lower body. The pain had been dulled during the vision but now it was coming back in its full fury.

“W-what happened?” I stammered out.

Steve shook his head. “You screamed out when crazy ghost lady stabbed you with her hand, then you just went limp. I was afraid that you had-” He took a shaky breath, “that you had died. So I grabbed one of the pickaxes and started swinging it at her, and then she just screamed and disappeared.” He nodded toward the weapon laying by his side.

“You killed her?” I asked, impressed.

“No. I don’t think so. I think that, for whatever reason, she doesn’t like that thing. Thankfully there are three of us and two pickaxes so we could-” Steve spat blood on my face. His eyes widened. A glowing ghost hand protruded out of his chest.

“Die. Like him.” The woman sneered out from behind, snatching her now red hand away. Steve’s body fell with a thud, his eyes staring unblinking at me.

“No!”

Grabbing the pickaxe, I swung at her. Her body froze, a line slashed through her. Slowly she descended into a white smoke, sinking into the floor.

Gasping for air, I grabbed Steve’s body. “Steve.” I whispered, pressing my hands onto his chest. “Come on bud. We gotta go.” He didn’t move. I shook him gently. “Come on.” I said, tears streaming down my face. “Steve.” I choked out. Clutching his body, I sobbed.

Sometime past before I finally got up. I had to get to Meryl. Before that ghost did. I had already wasted so much time. Setting Steve down, I sniffled. Leaving him here in the garage felt wrong, but it was unrealistic to move him elsewhere. So I settled for laying him against the wall.

My body screamed in protest as I slowly got up. There was no time to waste to get to Meryl, and I couldn’t call her as I left my phone in my room to charge. Limping toward the door with pickaxe in hand, I hoped dearly that the door was unlocked with her disappearance. Much to my happiness it was. First bit of good luck I had all day.

Climbing the stairs, I yelled out, “Meryl! Meryl, help!” A soft ‘what’ could be heard from her bedroom. Limping as fast as I could, I threw myself into the room. Her back was to the door, and didn’t even look back at me when she spoke.

“I’m not falling for it. Whatever you and Steve are playing.”

My heart squeezed in my chest at the mention of his name. Choking out, I said, ��Steve’s dead. We need to leave. Now.”

Meryl whipped around. Her eyes widen as she looked me over, focusing on the pickaxe in my hand.

“What the hell happened? What do you mean Steve’s dead?” A pause. “What’s with the pickaxe?” She asked slowly.

I shook my head. “We were attacked. There are ghosts. Actual ghosts, Meryl. And they are not Casper.”

“Oh.” Was all she said. Just a small ‘oh.’ She didn’t move. There was no indication that she was going to come with me at all. She just stood there.

“Okay.” I said, dragging out the word. “Ready to go then?”

That rose her from her stupor. “Right! Yes. Let’s go. But, uh,” she turned around, “let me get my phone.”

I stared at Meryl. She was acting really strange. I knew that hearing about ghosts being real and killing your best friend was a lot to take in. But this reaction was not the one I expected for Meryl to take. That’s when it hit me.

She thinks I killed Steve.

I placed my face in my hand, groaning.

“What’s wrong?” Meryl asked quickly.

I moaned, “You think I killed Steve. That I went crazy and killed him with a pickaxe.”

Silence. Followed by a “Yep.”

I blinked, taken back by the blunt response. “Didn’t think you’d give an honest answer.” I said. She shrugged.

“Well I-” But what she was going to say, I never found out. She paled as she gasped out, her breath coming out in puffs. Shuffling away, she pointed behind me.

Whipping around, I came face to face with an older woman. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun. Her pale, wrinkled, round face stared at me with no emotion. Her dress grey and fancy. Everything was in perfect order, not a hair out of place. Except for her chest. A dark stain covered where her heart would be.

I opened my mouth, but my best friend, the bride of hell appeared behind me. Startled, I gasped instead, dropping the pickaxe in my hand. Damn it! A smile crept onto her face, her teeth rotten and holey. Wailing, she slammed her hand in my shoulder. I struggled to throw her off. My hands went right through her, leaving small lines in her form. Still, she remained unmoving, her body slowly reconnecting itself. My vision started to blur again. The lights increased; the room faded away.

The little girl, now a teenager, sat on the front porch, tears streaming down her face. She looked down at her doll. Despite the many years she had the thing, it still remained clean and perfect; not a thing out of place. She no longer looked like the doll, her hair was now pulled up into a tight bun, the same as Aunt and Mother. Her dress just a pale cream.

She looked darkly back at the kitchen at the now raised voices. I hate it when they fight. When he disappeared to who knows where. It upsetted Mother. And when Mother is upset, I’m the one who gets it.

I stepped back at the sudden thoughts running in my head. They weren’t mine. I turned my attention to the girl. Were they her thoughts?

Quietly striding out of the house, Amelia regarded her niece in silence. It wasn’t until the girl heard her mother shout out, “You worthless piece of shit!” Did she notice the cold woman standing there. Quickly, the girl wiped her face, hoping the woman would ignore her.

“What are you doing?” Amelia looked down and saw the doll in her hand. Her eyes turned dark. “Why do you have that?” She hissed out. Marching over, she snatched the toy out of the girl’s hand. “You will never find a suitable husband if you carry that thing around!” Snarling, she tossed the toy into the woods near the house. The girl screamed out, she lunged forward to go get it, but the older woman grabbed her arm. Ignoring the protests, Amelia pulled her back inside.

“You want to be free of this?” She gestured to the arguing couple. “Find a good husband. A rich one.” She snarled in the girl’s ear.

“Now, time to be useful for once, Doll.”

Screaming could be heard. But why was the girl screaming? Grant it, her aunt was no picnic but to scream? I groggily opened my eyes. The face of an angry woman stared back.

Right. The girl is a ghost and wants to kill me. I thought dully.

“Dan! Dan, wake up!” A voice yelled out.

I blinked. Where was that coming from? Sounded from behind me. Wait-

My brain finally had downloaded the first thought. There were ghosts. And they wanted to kill us. The vision I had this time must have had me gone for only a minute at most, but the vision itself felt longer. Snapping to, I turned to see Meryl backed into a corner with what I assumed to be Mother dearest. Meryl would grab various things out of the boxes spewed about, and threw them at her. But they would just pass through the ghost. She didn’t even seem bothered by it. Meryl needed the axe.

The only reason I had not fallen to the floor this time is that my Ghost Bride still was holding on to me, keeping me on my feet. She lifted her hand up and tried to brush my hair, but her hand went through me. I shivered.

Focus.

Swiveling my head around, I tried to look for the pickaxe I had stupidly dropped. My skull screamed in protest but I continued.

After a second of looking, the weapon appeared to still be by my feet. I couldn’t fully tell where specifically as there were five of them.

Groaning at the spinning room, I kicked the pic in the direction I hoped Meryl to be. “Meryl! They don’t like the pickaxe.” I yelled out.

Without hesitation, she lunged for it. But mother dearest anticipated what Meryl was doing, as I had just shouted out what she needed to do. Mother grabbed my friend’s shoulder, slamming her into the ground.

Meryl didn’t even miss a beat as the second she hit the ground, she rolled back onto her feet and lunged again. This time it was successful, as she grabbed the hilt. In one swinging motion Meryl slashed through Mother causing her to disappear into the ground.

Twirling around, Meryl now set her sights on releasing me. Black clouded the edge of my vision. I could feel blood trickling down my leg. Meryl side stepped around us to get a better position. The ghost followed Meryl’s movements with her head.

The Bride hissed out at Meryl, “He’s mine.” To which my friend replied with a pickaxe slashing her body in half. Just like before, she disappeared through the floor. Without her holding me up, I started to fall. If it wasn’t for Meryl grabbing me, I would have face planted into the floor.

Setting me down, Meryl shakenly pressed her hand on my shoulder. “What the hell, Dan? What was that?”

“The quick rundown is that those ghosts came out of the wall doll, I think three in total? It’s that family we saw in that portrait we threw away. The bride killed Steve, and the mother tried to kill you. I don’t know where the aunt is, and I don’t really want to. I keep seeing what I assume to be the bride’s life flash before my eyes every time she stabs me with her hand for whatever reason, and honestly this sucks ass.” I huffed out. Swaying slightly, I leaned against Meryl.

“Okay.” She blinked at my explanation. “All right. How does this pickaxe work? Did I get rid of them forever or-?”

I shook my head as minimal as possible. “It only stops them for a couple of minutes? I’m not sure on the exact time.”

“Okay, I can work with that. Is the doll still intact?”

Thinking hard, I said, “I think so? It was only the face that broke.”

Meryl nodded. “Based on Hollywood, we need to completely destroy the doll. They’re connected to it so if it’s gone, then they should go away. We probably will have to burn it.” She looked around, frowning. “Lighter. We need a lighter.” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “I- uh- I think we have a tiny blow torch thing in the kitchen? That thing that Steve used to make those dessert things?”

“Sounds like a plan.” I said softly. I tried to nod but the room spun at a sickening pace and I immediately stopped.

Meryl gave me a concerned look but didn’t say anything. I must have looked terrible but she kept quiet to not make me panic. But I knew I was dying. Wasn’t too hard to figure out with two new holes added to my body. If it wasn’t for Meryl I would probably be freaking out and wondering about the great beyond.

She placed me gently against the wall and stood up. Grabbing her bedsheet, Meryl started to rip them into long strips. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back.

“Dan, don’t close your eyes!” Meryl appeared in front of my face. I blinked in shock. She had a bunch of the bedsheet strips around her arm. She must have been real quick with ripping them.

Wrapping them around my wounds, she tightly tied them to me. The pain of her makeshift medical wrap woke me up slightly but the world still had a fuzzy grain to it. Holding onto the pickaxe with white knuckles, Meryl was constantly looking around checking for ghosts. Once she was finished patching me up, she glanced in the hallway to check if the coast was clear.

Grunting, Meryl said, “Up ya go Dan.” Gripping my arm around her shoulder, I leaned heavily on her. Ever so slowly, we walked together down to the kitchen. It was an awkward fit as Meryl had to try and keep one arm decently free.

The kitchen was one of the best kept places in the house. It was pristine white and had marbled everything.  It was spacious with tons of cupboards stuff full of cooking utensils we would tell ourselves we would use but never do. It had relatively new appliances that worked properly and the electric wiring was actually up to code.

Overall, an excellent kitchen. The only problem I currently had with it was the ghost standing in the middle. She had a stern, round face, her grey hair pulled into a tight bun on top. Wrinkles covered her face and hands. Her dress was proper and clean. Staring at us as if we had dishonored not only her, but her cooking too. This must have been the Aunt.

We both regarded each other in silence. Our breath coming out in white puffs. The only sound was that of Fluffy eating in the corner. Shuffling her feet slightly to the left, Meryl half took half dragged me along to the closest drawer. The Aunt just stood there. The drawer opened. No reaction. A hand enters. Still no reaction. Shuffling noises are heard. Again, the Aunt does nothing. The hand retracts from the drawer with no lighter. The Aunt smiled. It was an unpleasant one.

Meryl whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Do you know where we put the blow torch thing?”

A pause.

“Um, yes.”

“Well?”

I swallowed loudly as I remembered exactly where it was. “Funny story.” Meryl turned to me with a stern face. “It’s actually still packed up. In a box. In the, uh, garage.” I whispered that last part out as I realized my mistake.

“Great.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “So we have to go to the garage then?”

I gave a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Meryl shook her head and said, “Dan, you’re fine. To say that you are alive right now is a miracle in of itself. Besides, we need to be in the garage anyway.” Clearing her throat, she said in a louder voice, “Sorry, wrong room, we’ll just go now.”

The Aunt glared at us and took a step forward. “I think not.” She said.

Meryl swung the pickaxe wildly behind her, dropping me to the ground. Two vaper shapes hung frozen behind us. The Mother and the Bride. Adrenaline started to kick in as I shot to the side, out of Meryl’s way as she advanced on the Aunt.

Unperturbed, the dead woman casually flicked her hand at us. Instantly the kitchen became alive. What random stuff we packed in the drawers came flying out at us. Pencils, a ball of rubber bands, various sized wrenches, among other things. The items that worried me the most were the plastic and metal forks, and knives all flying about. With the three of us living together we had collected a stupid amount of utensils. How or why, I will never know, but I regretted it a little now.

Throwing my one arm over my head, I dragged myself to the cupboards by the cat’s food dish. I grabbed the underside of Fluffy, pulling him toward me to get him out of the way. He made a murr sound but allowed me to take him, the food now gone. Together we huddled in the corner, trying our best to remain unharmed. I was failing. Miserably.

Meryl was not having a better time than me. She definitely was the one to draw the shorter end of the stick. Multiple little cuts appeared all over her face, arm, basically any exposed part of her body. Luckily for her, her glasses were at least able to prevent her eyes from getting stabbed. But that wasn’t too big of a comfort with a million little push pins flying around.

Swatting away all the flying objects, whether they were little or large with her arms and pickaxe, she advanced closer to the Aunt. But the ghost did not move, showing no signs of terror of the weapon in Meryl’s hands.

With a few more steps until she reached her goal, two forms of white smoke came out on either side of Meryl from the walls, both advancing on the other. The smoke became the Mother and the Bride, with their arms out, ready to spear their target. Meryl didn’t notice, her focus solely on the Aunt, who was also mirroring her family’s movements. I tried to scream out in warning, but it was too late.

The mother and daughter both stabbed Meryl’s sides simultaneously, freezing her in place, her eyes wide in shock. The pickaxe fell from her hands. With no danger now, the Aunt stepped forward and smiled with sickening malice. Lurching forward, my arms flailed out, desperately trying to reach Meryl.

Please. The Aunt raised her hand once again. Please no. Slowly, so painfully slowly, did her arm reach for Meryl’s chest. Not again. Not Meryl. Please. My thoughts screamed out to no one.

Meryl barely made a sound. Just a soft groan. Her head jerked a little when the hand was removed. Staggering forward, I grabbed at the air, trying but not quite being able to reach her, ignoring the two ghosts still holding her up. The Aunt’s lips moved, saying something. I couldn’t hear her. There was just ringing in my ears. My brain chanted, not her, please, not her.

“Dan.” Her voice was quiet, but it ripped through my body as if a bomb had gone off. “Dan, run.” I blinked, not comprehending. “Go to the garage.” I could barely hear the last of her words as her head fell, not to get up again. The women smiled at the body before dropping it. It hit the ground with a weak thud.

            The three ghosts turned their heads toward me. I shuffled backwards. The Bride smiled at me, but there was no warmth. No love. My insides burned looking at them. Gritting my teeth, I gave Meryl’s body one last look before limping out of the kitchen.

I was alone.

Angry tears fell from my eyes. Everyone that I had held dear had been taken from me. They were going to pay. Anger fueled me. Slamming the garage door open, it echoed across the space. A black blob skirted pass me into the room. Fluffy. I gave a tiny smile.

I went to the pile of boxes labeled ‘kitchen’ ripping open the top one. It was full of plates. Gritting my teeth, I shoved the box out of my way. The noise of shattering plates filled the room as they broke across the floor. But what did I care? I just continued on, onto the next box, and the next. Until I found what I needed, I was not going to stop.

Fluffy hissed. Whipping around, I saw smoke pouring from the ceiling and walls. The vaper swirled into three shapes. Angry faces appeared and soon the rest of their bodies. The women of the household had finally appeared before me. They floated there, regarding me with undisguised disgust.

They drifted forward. Glancing around for a weapon, I instead scooped up the cat. Holding it out, I yelled out, “Stop! I warn you!” To add to my threat, Fluffy snarled. The ghosts paused for a second, confused. Taking advantage, I moved backwards. The ladies had composed themselves over the shock of me using the cat as a shield. They did not seem to be affected by cats quite like mummies. Watching me, they spread out, flaking me on three sides. My only option was back. Away from the boxes. Banging against the garage wall, I cursed. Nowhere else to go.

Fluffy jumped from my arms, fur all spiked, hissing. The ghosts watched the feline warily, still unsure of it. Using that bought time I frantically looked around the barrels, trying to find something to fight with. A pvc pipe stuck out from the trash. Grabbing it, I swung at the Mother. It passed through her with no effect. She stared at me unamused. I dropped the pipe, backing up once again.

“All right, let’s try again.” I grabbed the next thing sticking out of the trash barrels, a wood stick. Out came a rusty pickaxe. I could have cried. Another pickaxe. Grinning, I noticed that damn creepy doll just inches away. Her face gone, broken apart. An idea suddenly popped in my head. Without looking at the ghosts, that were probably too close for comfort, I slammed down the tool, crushing the doll. A scream escaped the white women, they lurched, holding their heads.

The old lady swung out her arm, smacking me across the room, the pickaxe flying from my hands. Groaning slightly, I got up. The ghosts were starting to recover slightly, but they looked a lot paler even for them. I limped as fast as I could back to my weapon. The Mother lunged at me, snarling. Swinging the pickaxe, she disappeared into smoke screaming.

Lurching back to the doll, I went back to smashing it to pieces. I kept at it. Over and over. If I saw any amount of silver in the corner of my eye, I would swing the pickaxe frantically, chasing them off.

I screamed out at the sudden pain in my already damaged shoulder. Turning my head slightly, I could see that the Bride had stabbed me once again. The room started to swirl once more.

On the mantel sat the doll. It was dirtier than before, but still was in decent condition. Having it spend a couple nights in the woods when she was a teen did not help the doll’s condition over the years. Picking up the toy, the woman placed it inside the unfinished closet. The house was going through some minor changes to help the place look better in the future.

As she closed the closet door, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She loved the way she looked in that white dress. Her hair tied up, with a veil loosely falling down. The dress was her mother’s. Simple and white. Nothing expensive. They never could have afforded expensive. But not anymore.

The thoughts of the Bride once again popped in my head. Gritting my teeth, I tried to wake up. I did not need this. Opening my eyes, I was still in the memory. I tried kicking a chair but my leg just went through it as if I was the ghost. Sighing, I turned back to the memory.

The plan was simple. Marry him. Then kill him. Joseph was rich. Richer than she could ever hope. Somehow, she was able to catch the eye of the wealthiest person in town. She first started to notice him snooping around her house a couple of years ago. When she turned twenty, she caught him slinking around the corner just below her bedroom window. He stammered out that he fancied her and had only wish to speak with her. Their courtship was a little rough in the beginning, but it had smoothed out toward the end.

He was older than her by quite a few years. But that didn’t matter. Only his money. She’d be rid of him soon anyway. It was Aunt Amelia’s plan of course. To marry him in order to get them out of there. Then they could live their lives in comfort. She could even find a new husband. Become even richer.

Be free.

But there was one slight problem. Father wasn’t in on the plan. Mother and Amelia said not to tell him. He was rather fond of Joseph; they got along very well. The two of them would constantly head out into town and ‘bond.’ It infuriated her.

The door was thrown open, and in walked the twins. Aunt Amelia as stern as ever and Mother with a bored look on her face. She sat in the chair closest to the exit. Unconcerned with her surroundings.

Amelia walked up to the bride from behind and placed a cold steel knife in her hand. “Don’t mess this up.” She hissed in her ear. The Bride nodded, holding up the weapon to examine it. It was thin and long. Perfect. A cold smile crept on her face. She couldn’t wait.

“What is that?”

She spun around. Standing at the door was Father. He stared at the weapon; brow furrowed.

“Father.”

“Get out Ronald.” Mother snarled. Amelia stood behind her, glaring.

“Not until you tell me what that knife is for.”

“To kill Joseph.” The girl answered.

His eyes widened. “No-”

Mother took a step and stood in front of him. “Tonight, we can have it all. We just have to get rid of him.”

Father stared coldly at her. “No. Not this way.”

“In that case-” Amelia pulled out another knife from the folds of her dress and lunged. A pain welled up from my leg.

Gasping out as the memory released me, I sunk to my knees. Looking over, Fluffy was clinging to my leg, his fur all fluffed out, eyes wide. In the fear of the ghosts, he had clawed at my leg. I patted his head. “Good kitty.” I whispered.

Anger gripped me. I wasn’t going to let them treat me like the father. They weren’t going to win. I turned toward the Bride, glaring. She took a step back as if I had stabbed her with the pic, shock on her face. I walked back to the doll, unopposed.

With a renewed fury, I swung the pickaxe as hard as I could, pounding the toy into dust. The ghosts screeched even louder. The Aunt screamed out, “Why? Ronald, why?” Her cry did not make me pause. I didn’t even look. I kept going. Until nothing was left but broken pieces and dust.

The screaming had stopped. Turning around, I saw the ghosts slowly evaporate. Their mouths opened. No sound came out, they were frozen. Their whitened forms turned ash grey. Bit by bit, they disappeared. Grey smoke crumbled down into the ground. After a moment, they were gone.

I fell down on the floor in mute shock, tears staining my face. The pickaxe still in my hands. For a brief moment it glowed. Screaming, I tossed it away. Smoke billowed out of it. Two new ghosts emerged. This time it was the Father, and some unknown guy with him.

He was younger, had short brown hair, and in a suit like the father. Blood covered most of his clothes. The man looked vaguely familiar. As if I was looking in a mirror. A small memory emerged from some unknown place in the back of my brain, about a distant uncle being killed on his wedding day.

The Father looked the same as he did in the memory, now with a small hole in his chest. Some of his fingers were missing too.

Bowing to me, the Father said in a scratchy voice, “Thank you,” before disappearing. The younger man just nodded as he faded away, the room along with him.

The world turned blissfully dark.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

@hyperfocusedcloneshipper sorry i took so long on this, chapter 4

Ty stepped inside, and the door locked behind them. Edgar noted that Ty hadn't touched the door, but that it also didn't lock the second that it was closed, so it didn't lock on its own - someone must have locked it from outside a moment later.

edgar is an observant guy. im not sure why i threw in this detail otherwise.

Ty began, pulling out a measuring tape,

from where? fuck if i know. hammerspace

Edgar raised his eyebrows. "Buy a guy a drink first, Ty." Ty rolled his eyes. "You sound just like Mike sometimes, you know? I've heard him make that same joke before at least three times. Shirt off."

imagine trying to flirt with someone and they just go ugh you sound like your boyfriend

Edgar unbuttoned and pulled his shirt off, making sure it didn't turn inside out, before carefully folding it and setting it down.

CHARACTERIZATION. i firmly believe edgar is the kind of guy who makes sure his shirts dont turn inside-out when he takes them off even if hes just throwing them into the hamper immediately

"You do know the man better than anyone, I believe, save perhaps me." "I'm pretty sure I know my Mikey-bear better than you, Ty." Edgar's smile was thin and cold. "Ah, yes, I meant no offense." There was a twinkle in Ty's eye as he said this.

guy who meant ALL THE OFFENSE POSSIBLE

I only mean to say that we've done some very extensive research on the man.

ty keeps pressing this point because its the ONE THING so far that has caused Edgar to have a strong emotional reaction. that reaction has been cold bitchy anger but

"I think my knowledge of him is even more 'extensive'." His polite smile didn't match his tone. "Are you trying to scandalize me, Edgar?" Edgar couldn't see Ty standing behind him as he ran the measuring tape around his chest, but the tone was enough for him to hear the smirk.

why is Ty talking like a high society lady in the early 1900s

"If I was trying, Ty, you'd know it." "Mmm." Ty noted another measurement and slipped the tape lower, around Edgar's stomach. "So why don't you try, then?" "Some things are better kept private."

"why dont you try" is a very funny thing for him to say in this moment. edgar made a flirty comment and ty got so horny that he got distracted from trying to emotionally manipulate him

"So, in other words, you're having trouble backing your boasts up," Ty said dismissively. "I suppose that makes sense. It fits with the method you chose for attacking Base." "How's that?" "Indirect action. Poking and prodding. A thousand little jibes, each engineered to perfection to unbalance your enemies." Ty wrote down the measurement and brought the tape even lower. It circled Edgar's waist, just above the waistband of his slacks, Ty's fingers brushing the top of his hipbones. "In other words, Panther, you love to tease, but you aren't so experienced with action as you would like people to think, are you?"

it sounds like Ty is daring Edgar to kiss him not gonna lie. also people went insane over Ty's fingers brushing Edgar's hipbones and god do i agree. its a very good region of the body

Neither of them missed the fact that it was Edgar's left hand, Ty's left arm. That the wedding band was still there.

good line but why did i mention that it was Ty's left arm??? not only is the specifics of which arm it is unimportant but also because they're facing each other touching his left arm means he's crossing his hand across Ty's body which is weird it shouldve been his right arm. you fucked it up past me

"I suppose they can," said Ty. He shifted away slightly, pretending the movement was him adjusting his clipboard to his other hand. "But I do like to think I've gotten quite a bit better at reading people. Part of the job. You can get dressed again now, by the way."

Ty is the one to back down from their shameless flirting. point to Edgar!

Gold Ty, the duplicate newly assigned to work with iterations of Mustardseed,

thats a mistake, it should say duplicates of mustardseed since the narration is now vaguely from tys pov. also these two paragraphs are a shameless exposition dump and im sorry i couldnt find a better way to establish that we'd be dealing with a single ty here

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been doing, but it wasn't exactly that. It was something close to it, but not quite the same. He wasn't probing Mustardseed's personality to figure out how to keep him line. He was probing him for the fun of it. Because he thought it would be amusing to find out the sorts of things that might make him break.

oh, Ty, you little son of a bitch, somebody needs to tell you what a crush feels like

Edgar was tougher than Mikey in that regard. Ty thought about the challenges that had flashed in Edgar's eyes from time to time. The smirk that never seemed to fade, even when he had been angry. The cold implication behind his warm tone. The bait, the little insults.

"he's actually smart, unlike Mikey, how can i not fuck him?"

He thought about his hands. They were soft, and his fingers were long. He moved them with a certain dexterity. The sort of hands that gave one an advantage as a pianist, or as a surgeon.

people went CRAZY over Ty thinking about Mustardseeds hands. i agree that thinking about somebodys hands is one of the gayest things you can do. also, i hate the line "The sort of hands that gave one an advantage as a pianist, or as a surgeon," because it should NOT say surgeon but i couldnt work out what it SHOULD say. i wanted him to mention two trades that having dextrous hands would help with, with the first being something gentle and the second being something dangerous, and that was the best I could come up with. its bad.

He thought about the wedding band on his left ring finger. It had been cold when it touched his skin.

obvious metaphor is obvious :) the wedding between mike and edgar is a block against Tys affections, limiting whatever warmth there could be between Edgar and Ty

Gimme directors commentary for Two Liars Lying To Eachother please!

its been a while since ive thought about this fic in any capacity lksajdaskdfld lets see if it still holds up! directors commentary for chapter 1, i'll be doing the others separately later :D

Each of his hands was cuffed to one of the table's legs, somewhat restraining his motion. He hated it; he preferred being able to fidget.

autism edgar but this also isnt the sort of autism i tend to see him as having? idk the idea of edgar stimming is very weird to me

That was a somewhat good sign. He took another glance at the large, mirrored wall of the room, which he had no illusions was reflective on the other side. The only question was whether anyone was in the viewing room to catch his knowing glances.

theres an XKCD about how fun it is to occasionally announce "i know you're listening" to an empty room, because if you're wrong nobody will ever know and if you're right it will freak the HELL out of them. thats basically what Mustardseed is doing here.

According to Michael, he had traded himself in to the compound in exchange for catching Mustardseed - for catching me, Edgar thought, smiling faintly.

seamless exposition, me. i had to establish that this Edgar was Mustardseed, but the narration is roughly tied to his view of things, and Mustardseed doesn't think of himself as Mustardseed, just as Edgar, so the narration couldn't call him Mustardseed.

The door swung open and in came Ty Betteridge. He was a few years older than the last time Edgar had seen him, back when he'd killed him inside of Tier Two on the night Base was formed,

...wasn't that Hunter? or did it become Edgar that killed young!Ty in the post-72 timeline? i am confuse

Well, I appreciate making me feel like a criminal after you plucked me out of the middle of my normal day.

hes so bitchy and for what?

If you're worried about unpredictability, why does the cowboy get to roam free? He's been rather hard to keep under control, in my experience.

i wanted to make it clear just how bitter Edgar is towards all members of Base, so of course five seconds into this conversation he tries to fuck Michael over

Ty's grin was somewhat predatory.

this fic is 90% me looking for different ways to describe smiles. Ty and Mustardseed are both very smiley.

They called you OVEdgaR,

i think im the only person who capitalizes ovedgar that way

"With my husband, yeah." Edgar smiled and raised his left hand to show off the simple wedding band. "Mm. Congrats. Mike told me he wasn't married to you, how odd."

I FORGOT HOW DISMISSIVE TY SOUNDED HERE. he cares of course but

Base Mike and Edgar aren't married.

i try to be very precise about the names characters use for each other, because i think its a very quick way to characterize relationships. Mustardseed always refers to them as "Base Mike" and "Base Edgar", while Ty refers to them as just Mike and Edgar, or possibly Mikey and Edgar, depending on context.

"Hm. You're much less trouble than the Mikes; each one of them ties so much into their name. It's a little exhausting keeping track of them, to be honest." "Well, I never really had trouble with it, but I suppose it is easier if you care about him." Edgar smiled like he hadn't just thrown out the barb. Ty laughed. "I care about Mike Walters more than you can imagine, Panther." Ty grinned, waiting to see if Edgar would respond to the pet name. Edgar kept his face neutral and pleasant.

Edgar definitely won that exchange :P its important to me that Edgar feels like he's in control of the conversation even though he very clearly isnt in control of the situation, because that's the vibe he gave off in ep 84.

Moving on… you established a campaign of terror against Mike's base in an attempt to free yourself and your… husband… from their control. Is that right?

Ty is reading these questions off his clipboard and the prompt on it didnt say "husband," it said "OVER Mike." HOWEVER the pause before saying it was something Ty probably did deliberately to keep up his veneer of indifference.

"I'd rather not put Michael through any more undue stress. He's had a hard couple of days, especially with all the strain you've been putting on him."

this is so funny to me, because it IS another barb, but its also sort of Ty trying to guilt-trip Edgar like thats gonna work??? :P

I have a lot of sympathy for Michael too, but as far as I know, he's never had anyone threaten him at gunpoint to stay in Base.

i'll be honest, he probably has. Michael's seen some shit

"I am sorry for your situation, Edgar, I really am. But you do keep pulling me away from the questions, and the sooner we get these done, the sooner we can get you out of those cuffs and moved to your quarters."

this is a very Ty Betteridge thing to say. like yeah, im sorry that YOU keep delaying me from getting you comfortable. hes so...

So he was listening when Michael and I were talking.

reading it back, i feel like i didnt give the audience enough credit. they probably could have picked up on these little jabs and maneuvering tactics without me having to point them out. anyway yes, ty is doing this interview only half for actual information gathering reasons, the other half is just to waste edgars time as a form of basic psychological warfare

Your Base may be rudimentary, but I believe that you are a smart man, Edgar.

i keep pointing out the little jabs and not having much to say about them, but theyre still so good to me. "i know all your friends are stupid but i didnt think you were too"

"Sometimes smart people do dumb things in the heat of passion." "And is that the only reason you made those thirty-two duplicates?" "It's the only reason I'm going to be telling you."

i'll be honest, i have no idea what i was hinting at here. i think canon at one point suggested there might have been an ulterior motive to the Mustardseed escapees, but i didn't make any sort of plan for what that might be. if i had to retroactively justify it, i'd say Mustardseed's future scouting told him that the escapees would be consolidated into MW, and that MW's existence was important to his plans somehow.

"I've got all day, Ty." Edgar smiled across the table, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

i just ctrl+f'ed and the word "smile" appears 7 times in this 1k word chapter.

[dlaurellance]

I was going to just post a few facts about Laurel, but this turned into a huge ass bio. I realized that there were too many details needed to really sum her up in something small, so.. enjoy the novel below the cut.

Let me just say too before I start that all of the stuff mentioning Sara was worked out with Kae, the mun playing her, so everything was agreed upon and plotted out together bc that’s what happens when your character’s life intertwines with someone else’s :)

Dinah Laurel Lance grew up in New York with her sister Sara, and their parents, Dinah and Quentin Lance. Laurel was a relatively serious little girl. She was level headed, she was determined. Their father was a cop, and their mother was a teacher. Laurel initially wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a cop too, but over the years she decided that being a lawyer was a better route for her. She was set on that as her career path, and nothing was going to get in her way. As she grew up, Laurel had taken numerous fighting and self defense classes, as her father wanted to be sure she could defend herself if that situation ever occurred.

Her relationship with her sister was good. They were close for years. Laurel could remember their days playing in the snow, playing dress up, playing with dolls, and pretending they were older with their dream jobs. Naturally Laurel often felt a lot of responsibility; she was the oldest, she needed to set a good example, even though there was only a few years between the two of them. It was why, although she was reluctant, she would help Sara fight bullies. She would do anything for her sister. But part of Laurel held a bit of resentment— being the oldest was hard sometimes, and she had her days where she wished Sara would just disappear. 

She never thought that Sara would actually disappear though. After word got out that her sister and her troublemaker friends had gotten into a boating accident, Laurel wasn’t sure how she felt. She was sad that her sister was gone, probably dead. But she was more angry that Sara hung around those people in the first place. Laurel turned to alcohol to help her deal with the loneliness and grief and anger. She wasn’t drinking heavily, just a few glasses whenever she started to feel down. As she finished up school, she also put her focus more into training, the exercise was good for her. Not only that, but sparring against other people was how she got her anger out the best. 

When a few of Sara friends were found alive, Laurel was seeing red. How dare they live? She wanted them dead, she felt like that’s what they deserved. The night they were all back in New York was the night Laurel decided she was going to get justice for her sister. In the dark of night, she killed them. She didn’t have any guilt or remorse for her actions. All it did was make her feel powerful. She felt like she had avenged her sister’s death by killing them, since they were the ones she was with.

Laurel couldn’t help herself. She found herself out and about at night, trolling the streets looking for criminals. One night, her trainer caught her. Instead of turning her in or trying to stop her, he joined her. That was when she realized that this wasn’t his first rodeo. He was a vigilante, and Laurel was inspired. She dubbed herself the Black Canary. Laurel chose ‘Black Canary’ as her name as a nod to her sister. Sara had a canary growing up, and while the bird occasionally drove her nuts, she would always remember how much Sara loved it. Laurel’s cat ate the bird after Sara let it out by accident. The dead bird ultimately inspired her, because it was a reminder of her sister, and it being dead was representative of her goals, eliminating those in the world who had done her, her community, or her family wrong. The two of them were constantly going after people they thought needed to be taught a lesson. Whether their targets ended up hurt or dead, they didn’t care. He and Laurel ended up becoming more than a vigilante team, he also ended up being her boyfriend. They were together for a few months. Her skills got significantly better after he trained her more after hours. He has skills that he would never explain how he learned, but he made sure to teach her. But after a fight against someone in the field that left him in critical care, he ended up passing a few days later. Laurel turned back to the bottle, drinking more than she had before. 

With a job as a DA, Laurel needed to keep herself together. But the worse she got, the less competent she became at work. Eventually, they let her go. She was no longer a DA, she was was unemployed and her parents were not impressed. So Laurel just continued on as the Black Canary, trying to rid the world of the terrible people in it. After a night of fighting while she was drunk that ended in a gunshot wound to the abdomen, Laurel hung up the Black Canary suit for a little while. She sobered up, and she went back to school. Flash forward a little while. Laurel is finishing up with a new degree, she’s still struggling a bit with sobriety, and suddenly it turns out that her sister is back, ALIVE. Laurel didn’t know how to feel. She was angry because Sara was alive and never called. She was angry because she blamed Sara for her problems. She blamed her for the alcohol addiction, which carried over to her blaming her for losing her job. 

As she opened up her flower shop, Laurel continued to struggle. Sara being back gave Laurel a reason to go back out as the Black Canary. She was mad, she needed an outlet, and fighting crime seemed like a good way to find some release. She couldn’t bring herself to be on good terms with Sara. Try as she might, it just wasn’t working. But eventually, she caved. Being angry was exhausting, and after a tearful reconciliation, Laurel was ready to move forward. She started putting more effort into her sobriety, and her business was flourishing. She continued her night job as a vigilante, and for the first time in a long time, Laurel felt content. It was like things were the way they were meant to be. 

Nobody knew about her night job. She wanted to keep it that way. People around New York were aware of a woman in black running around killing and injuring people, but they could never catch her. They could never ID her. The new addition of a mask to her leather jacket, bodysuit, and fishnets was enough to conceal her identity. As the days and weeks passed, Laurel quickly became aware that she wasn’t the only person running around in a mask. She was frequently finding herself engaging in hand to hand combat, and fights involving numerous weapons.

There was one person in particular she had been after for weeks. They’d had a few close encounters, but they kept getting away. It was infuriating. He had a gun, and so did she, but it just never seemed to amount to a win. One night, she noticed they weren’t completely alone. But what she wasn’t expecting was while she was scoping out the scene from a distance, seeing another person dressed as a vigilante on the other end of the gun he held. Laurel got closer, and shortly after he fired and turned around, she threw a knife straight into his chest. He dropped, and Laurel went to investigate the person who had been shot. She never thought it would be Sara, but it was. Laurel broke down in tears, holding her sister’s lifeless body in her arms. 

No more than a week after Sara was buried, Laurel was trying to push it out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about it. She just threw herself into work, and poured her energy into fighting and running the shop. 

A month later, there was an explosion at the laboratory near her flower shop. Laurel wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but she had let out a scream as she heard the blast. She felt a wave of what she could only describe as strong energy washing over her in that moment. She didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t think much of it until the next time she came face to face with Sara’s killer. She was mad, she wanted to end him. And when she opened her mouth to speak, instinct took over and she screamed instead. But it wasn’t a normal scream. It was.. different, it was almost magical. It was enough to knock him down. So she got closer and tried again, letting the screams out at him until he was dead. She quickly took to the internet that night to look up what it meant when someone randomly ended up with powers, and she realized she had become what people called a meta-human. Using her newfound powers was exciting, and Laurel felt so, so powerful. 

Almost a year passed since she lost Sara, and Laurel started to think back about things Sara had told her after the reconciled. She remembered hearing about a special pit that could resurrect her. It took some work, but she eventually brought Sara’s body there to be brought back. She wanted her sister back, it wasn’t fair that she was taken away from her. She wished he had remembered the pit sooner than this. But it was better late than never. The woman who came out of those bubbling waters though was not her sister. It looked like her, but she was different. She was a monster. She tried to help Sara remember, but it didn’t work. 

Sara had told her about a friend, a magical friend. Back when she told her, she thought her sister was full of shit. But after accumulating powers of her own, she realized it wasn’t so far fetched. She went through some of Sara’s things, and used the resources she had to track the person down to restore her soul. And ever since, Laurel has been trying to make sure Sara’s okay. She doesnt want to see anything bad happen to her again. Laurel hasn’t told Sara yet about being the Black Canary, nor has she told Sara that she knows she was going out as a vigilante too. 

Laurel’s life is crazy, between her work at night and keeping busy with the flower shop. But she is content. She sometimes misses being DA, and wonders if she’d be able to get back into that. It wasn’t like she had been banned from everywhere forever, she just got fired from that DA office. And as long as nobody finds out she’s a criminal herself, she’s all set.

Despite being viscous and hot tempered at night when she’s out running around in a mask, everyday Laurel is actually relatively kind. She’s more fair and just during the day, and she’s smart, she’s determined, and she is a hard worker. She can be rather manipulative, and she’s good at getting people to bend to do what she wants. She has a lot of love for her friends and family, and is ridiculously protective. 

So, there you have it. That’s Laurel. I pulled bits and pieces of different versions of Laurel and mushed it into one person and ended up with this. She’s.. something else tbh, but please love her. If anyone wants to plot, just give this a like or just hmu!

[marchtothefuckingsea]

Not a Witcher - Geralt of Rivia

Another witcher fic, since people seem to absolutely LOVE these! I really like writing them too! I really appreciate all the support and feedback on my last two fics, thank you so much :)

Also merry christmas! The holidays aren't really a great time for me, hence the no holiday themed fics in case you were wondering, sorry! hope you guys are having a good one though :)

Enjoy!

My Masterlist, if you are so intrigued. I have a couple of other Witcher fics on there as well as some other things that might catch your eye!

Hurt/Comfort, a slight bit of angst, fluff, a bit of argument, no usage of y/n.

x gender neutral reader!

Word Count: 1900

Summary: Ready always jumps in front of the bullet for Geralt, despite knowing he's a witcher, a supernatural being that can heal much more quickly and sustain more serious injuries than any human. This time, they take too serious of a hit, almost losing their life.

"Ready?" Geralt cast a sideways glance at me as we headed out of the tavern. I nodded.

Talking to some of the locals the previous night, I had discovered the location of the mage we had following for weeks now. She was supposed to be an incredibly powerful sorceress, only second to Yennefer of Vengerberg. But while Yennefer was really neither good nor bad, this mage was definitely bad, wrecking havoc where ever she traveled though she somehow remained nameless. She was rumored to have taken down a witcher at some point, and though both Geralt and I had our doubts about that one, we still proceeded with extreme caution.

Earlier last night, after discovering her current hiding place, Geralt had insisted I stay behind.

"If she's really as powerful as they say then you're going to need all the help you can get!" I had argued.

"Not from you." He said flatly. "There won't be much you can do."

"I could be a distraction. Even just another threat that she has to worry about so you can get in a killing blow, I don't know!"

"And get yourself killed? No." His voice rose slightly. "No." He repeated.

"You really don't have a say. You act like I don't have my own two feet to walk on and follow you there." I snorted. "I'm just as capable as you are."

"You're human."

"And? I'm just as well trained as you are, I may be lacking in the supernatural aspects but I know how to handle myself."

He growled, a low, rumbling sound that came out of his chest, turning away from me. "You're not going. That's final."

"If I can't travel with you I'll just trail behind, then I'll surely get myself killed." He was stubborn, but I knew just where to hit to get my way.

"Fine." He snapped. I smiled smugly, patting his shoulder. "Thanks."

In the low light of the early morning, we set off in the direction of the rising sun, out into the forest. Her place wasn't far from the village, according to the townsmen we had spoken to the previous evening.

As we entered the forest, I could still catch a whiff of tension from our argument last night.

Geralt halted. There was a seemingly abandoned cabin.

"I think this is it." He said lowly. I nodded, agreeing silently. I felt the strong magical energy crackling through the air around us. It only increased as we drew closer.

"Stay behind me." He muttered.

"What? No, we're equals in this remember? I didn't come along for you to fucking protect me. I'm here to fight alongside you." I hissed under my breath.

He uttered a frustrated grunt but didn't argue.

I was about to move forward when his large hand gently gripped my shoulder. I turned my head around and his yellow eyes met mine. "Be careful." He said lowly. I nodded, moving forward again with him by my side.

We made it half a dozen paces forward before we were both knocked onto our asses by a gust of wind. Shrill laughter cut through my eardrums.

"I'm not that easy to sneak up on, you know." The sorceress appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a shit-eating grin on her face. "You really underestimated me."

Beside me, Geralt growled before hauling himself up to his feet. I followed suit.

"And you must be the wicked witch of the west." He said sarcastically, dusting himself off.

He pulled out his sword, swinging it around a couple of times like it was nothing.

Pretending to stumble on my feet, I swiftly pulled out a throwing knife I had concealed in a hidden pocket on my tunic.

Another blast of wind swept through me, stronger this time, and somehow only affecting me and leaving the witcher beside me untouched.

I grunted as I was all but slammed against a nearby tree, my knife slicing into my side. I grunted,, pushing myself back onto my feet. My ribs suddenly ached terribly and I was sure they would be bruised and ugly by tomorrow. I could feel the warmth of my blood spreading below my tunic.

"The trees have eyes!" She giggled.

I quickly scanned the clearing and I suddenly noticed the runes carved into the trunks of the trees around us. "Fuck." I cursed under my breath.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Geralt quickly glance down at me, taking note of my condition and how I was hunching over.

I attempted to stand up straight before clenching my teeth and deciding that I couldn't. He could worry about me later, we needed to get rid of this bitch.

No longer worrying about stealth, I abruptly whipped my hand around to yet another of my stashed throwing knives, quickly aiming and tossing it right at her. It spun through the air before coming to a complete halt mid-air and dropping to the ground with a dull thud. She grinned.

I caught movement in my peripherals. I swung my head around in time to see what had previously appeared to me a rotting log rise up out of the ground with an ominous cracking sound. I instinctively started backing away before I heard the rustle of leaves.

In that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. I spun around, seeing a powerful shockwave of energy surging towards us. No, straight for Geralt.

"Geralt!" I shouted, but I knew, even with his inhuman reflexes, that he wouldn't be able to dodge the fast-moving wave.

The invisible force blew leaves out of its path as it headed straight for him. I had no time to think twice, nor would I have. I threw myself at him, catching him off guard and crashing into him, effectively shoving him out of the way of the blast.

Leaving me right in the path of destruction.

That strike had been meant for a witcher. Not an ordinary human.

I suddenly felt a wall of pain crash into me as I was sent tumbling to the ground across the clearing. I cried out.

It felt like every single bone in my body was shattered. Broken. Every muscle was torn apart and painfully stitched back together again.  I drew in a ragged breath as I faintly heard the creaking of the tree-creature, much nearer this time. My vision was blurry and all I could see was a shape moving towards me. I weakly pushed myself back with my hands, whimpering.

My sight grew dark around the edges as I curled into myself; a weak attempt at protecting my battered abdomen. With great effort, I sucked in another wet breath, my eyes starting to flutter shut.

Everything became dark and silent.

I briefly woke to a floating sensation, all my senses muted. I forced my eyes open for a split second to see a dark figure, and beyond that, the forest canopy, before they drifted shut and I faded out once again.

I awoke, blinking my eyes open. The lights were dim, I saw a faint yellow glow off to my right.

Everything that happened rushed back to me in an instant. I panicked, pushing myself onto my forearms and up off of the bed I had been laying on. My eyes darted around, desperately trying to recognize my surroundings to no avail. My breath quickened as fear gripped me, coming in painful gasps.

I stumbled off of the mattress, leaning heavily against a nearby wall as my ribs screamed in protest and my legs threatened to fail me. I didn't make it very far before a coughing fit overtook me and I doubled over, dropping to my hands and knees. I hastily brought one hand up to hug my ribs as white-hot agony rolled through me. I tasted blood on my tongue.

I faintly heard footsteps and I tried to force my coughing to a stop, huddling against the wall as I attempted to quiet my desperate gasps for air.

My attempt was futile, however, as another cough ripped through my raw throat, followed by another, and another.

An arm wrapped around my chest, supporting me. I tried to scrambled away, only to press myself against the wall instead. I was cornered. I faintly heard them saying something but I could not make it out. Attempting to look at them was no use either, my vision was uselessly blurred, barely able to make out shapes and shadows in the low light.

As the coughing subsided, my arm gave out and I had no choice but to lay limply in the unknown person's arms, desperately gasping for precious air.

"Shhhh." He murmured. "It's okay. You're okay." I immediately recognized him. Geralt.

I curled further into his arms with a strangled sob, a mixture of pain and relief, my chest still heaving.

After a few moments, I regained the ability to breathe and see almost normally. I struggled to sit up. His arms tightened around me. "Stay down." He rumbled. I tensed, feeling him gently shift his arms underneath me picking me up with ease before laying me down on the mattress and situating the downy pillows. The entire time my teeth were clenched in agony. "I'm sorry." He said softly, a tone I had never heard from him before.

Grinding my teeth, I forced myself into a sitting position as he sat on the bedside. He gave me a concerned glance before it all melted away, replaced with anger. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He growled. "You almost died."

"I-" He cut me off.

"You've done this far too many times and this time you almost got yourself killed." His voice grew dangerously low. He was furious.

"What?" I managed to rasp out.

"You always try to be the hero." He ground out. "Always jumping out in front of me and trying to save me? Are you suicidal?"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I just-"

"You're human. I can heal far quicker than you. I can recover from injuries that you cannot." He let out a frustrated sigh. His anger was dying out and was replaced with..concern?

His hair was loose, he ran his hand through it before uttering a "fuck" and turning away from me.

"How long was I out?" I asked timidly.

"..two days." His yellow eyes turned back to me. "I'm serious. You almost died. I had to give you one of my potions."

"A potion? I thought they couldn't be used for humans?"

"Shouldn't." He corrected me, carefully taking my hand in his and rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. "In certain amounts they are not deadly."

He eyed my weary gaze. "What was I supposed to do? Your only other option was death."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just remember that you're human." His voice was softer now, but stern. He didn't say it in a belittling way. It was a simple reminder.

"I know." I murmured. "Just wanted to protect you." Drowsiness was starting to set in.

Geralt saw this, pushing himself back onto the bed and leaning against the wall, he gently pulled me against his chest. I winced. "Sorry." He mumbled.

"'s okay." My eyes started to drift shut.

I felt him press his lips to my hair.

"Rest, little fox."

[a-tale-of-legends]

I just woke up and went " okay what's the history of Poké Balls and how old his Drayden", so here we go! Please note that a lot of this is based on my own headcanons for the specific dates when certain events happen.

Let's get the general basics down. The invention of Poké Balls as we know it came from Johto with the use of apricorns, which is shown in pla with some extra ingredients.

The modern PokeBall, the one that trainers use in modern day, was invented in 1925( this isn't a headcanon, it's there in Bulbapedia). The modern PokeBall and the ones made in pla are not the same. I mean, clearly, but it's best to make this distinction now.

Now that we got that out of the way, let's move into Drayden. He had mentioned during his childhood ( key word: childhood) pokeballs didn't exist during. Now this kinda supports my theory that different regions were introduced to pokeballs at a different time. We know that Kanto and Johto had already got it locked down due to their natural access to apricorns to make the pla version of PokeBalls, and Hisui, by the start of PLA, have only recently started to use it more. We don't know much about Hoenn's history, sadly. Unova, as far as we know, didn't have access to apricorns back then. So maybe they were introduced to pla pokeballs later.

This might apply to both versions of the pokeballs, cause when you really think about it, Kanto kinda holds the monopoly on that, next to Hoenn with Devon Corp. 1925 , when the modern PokeBall was created, could have capped the fastest production and selling of PokeBalls ever. I say this because, in another hc, pokeballs would have had to exist before 1970, since that's when Opal and Mustard battled. And with Silph Co, I'm honestly inclined to believe that.

And this is where the math comes in! Some hc( and non hc) dates you need to know:

PLA takes place from 1868-1872. The pla pokeball was most likely invented before then, in Johto ( maybe a different variant due to different resources in Johto but I digress).

The modern PokeBall was invented in 1925 ( not hc)

The conversation between Iris and Drayden when he mentions pokeballs, at most, happens right after bw. This is because Iris is already champion here in that convo. So, nearing the end of 2012, since that's what I hc that's when bw takes place, or at least 2013. I'm not sure if these dates will be brought up but juuuuust in case it does, here.

The time between the beginning of pla and the time of the creation of the modern PokeBall is 57 years. Given how PLA pokeballs might have been created before then, we'll say 57+( not a big plus. Laventon did say that pokeballs are a recent creation in pla). If Drayden is purely talking about the pla pokeball ( as by 1925 and onward the modern PokeBall would be mass produced and sold everywhere), then it would probably be somewhere between those years where he was born. I don't think Drayden is that old, so I'm not gonna say he was born around pla. No. I am going to say he could have been born around the early 1900s, which, and I kid you not, make him about 112 years old by 2012( hey look 2012 did come in for something!). What. Opal is 88 by 2020, and Drayden over here being 112, the buffest man alive, in 2012. What the hell. I guess this kinda feeds the headcanon that Drayden, at the least, has some longevity to him. Like damn.

No could I be wrong about all of this? Absolutely! I didn't mention Kalos' PokeBall factory, or the fact that the Isle of Armor had a natural supply of apricorns. So what about them? How do they fit here? And honestly I don't know. Even with the information given to us plainly, there're still so many variables to take into account that can flip this entire theory on its head. But I guess that's part of the fun haha. I hope I was able to get my ideas across well, and sorry if it turned out to be a complete mess. But I hope you guys had a good read as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[1863-project]

So, the other day I was playing through my Pokemon Black copy, and naturally I made my daily detour to Anville Town to see what train would pop up on the turntable that day (the type is determined by the day of the month, so it's always a surprise to see which one I'll find), and lo and behold they show me an old train! (iirc this one still runs in Pastoria City's Safari Zone)

Here is the entire description, plus a close up of the train (courtesy of our friends at Bulbapedia):

I don't have as much knowledge of trains as you do, but perhaps if you could tell us a bit about that train and/or it's real-life inspirations, then we might be able to date how long the Battle Subway's been around? I believe that this dialogue implies that the Battle Subway may be as old as this model. And, if it is old enough, then our beloved submas may not be the first ones to have run this very cool facility :0.

// The route gates in this game also give us interesting tidbits of information, and I happened to stumble upon an interesting detail- that being that the Battle Subway was established by a Rail Fanatic who also liked to battle (or something similar to that, I forget the exact wording and I cannot find any of the Route Gate text online :<).

The singular "Rail Fanatic" is a rather interesting choice of words considering twins currently run the Battle Subway, don't you think?

Anyway, thanks to all of this corkboard and yarn talk I just have a hunch that in game canon, the submas didn't actually start up the idea of the Battle Subway. I'd appreciate some of your insights on the matter if you're up to respond :>!.

Thanks! (and also, sorry for making another massive ask I guess I just can't help myself haha ;w;)

Aaah, yes, I will be DELIGHTED to take this on for you!

I'm pretty sure that's definitely supposed to be the old car they use in the Great Marsh, looking at it more closely! But it does resemble a lot of our older subway cars here, too, which delights me. In particular, in color, it looks like our Redbirds!

The Redbirds were built between 1959 and the early 1960s, but they were given their red paint scheme in the 1980s to combat graffiti. They were retired by 1993, but there are still a lot that serve as maintenance vehicles for the MTA, and quite a few still exist in preservation as well!

Or, if you want to go older...before things went underground, the elevated lines often had old wooden cars.

(link to read about these guys)

The three separate companies that make up today's MTA quickly figured out that steel cars worked better, and that was that, but the old wooden ones are awfully pretty. Here's an example of an early steel car:

(Some of these guys served for a long time - from 1915 until 1969!)

Now, for that other information...holy SHIT, am I interested in knowing who that Rail Fanatic was. And given that we have a lot of historical cars that could fit the description of the old one in Unova, that gives us a wide date range! It could have been there from the beginning - the early 1900s - or it could have come in later, but that text absolutely sounds like it's saying the Battle Subway predates Ingo and Emmet themselves. I now absolutely know what I want a Unovan Legends game to be about, oh my God. Will I get this game? Probably not. Will I fantasize about getting it anyway? Of course I will.

Seriously, though, thank you for that information. I absolutely have to know more now and I am...so curious about who this person was. An ancestor of theirs? A former boss they worked for who they took over for when that person retired? Someone entirely unrelated to them from one hundred years ago? The possibilities are endless.

[daylightmikaelson]

𝑊𝐻𝑂 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑌𝑂𝑈?

pairing || kol mikaelson x human!reader

warnings || angst, reader turning into vampire, kol being selfish

description || after falling in love with the reckless mikaelson, thoughts go by and you and kol have an argument about the future. but kol had a way to keep you… forever.

a/n ll the setting is around the 1900s before Kol got daggered. hi, this is unedited so I'm sorry if there are any typos.

LOVING AN ORIGINAL VAMPIRE, was not something you planned on doing in your life. It was an accident really, but once you placed your eyes on him, there was no going back.

Kol Mikaelson always loved the beauty of murders and executions. It was literally his definition of a hobby. One day, Kol found you all innocent and stupid, walking alone in the middle of the night. His first intention was to feed on you, but when he saw the beauty in your eyes, he somehow held back.

It was weird for him to hold back on a kill, which was why he was angry, not knowing what was wrong with him.

Wanting to meet you, Kol flashed down from the rooftop, facing you. with his signature wicked smile plastered on his face.

"Well aren't you an enchanting beauty. I'm Kol."

"I don't need any more useless men in my life." You walked past him, completely oblivious to what he was.

"Now, why would you think it's smart to walk alone, in the middle of the night?" Tired of his voice and antics, you kept walking, but all of the sudden, he flashed in front of you, making your heartbeat pound faster at his not-so-human-like actions.

"You're a vampire?!" Your father always told you stories about vampires, witches, and werewolves, but you thought they were fantasies to scare children.

Kol looked at you with confusion. He was taken off-guard when you knew about his species. "You know what I am?"

"My father used to tell me stories about you guys all the time. I was never scared, more intrigued."

Kol decided to take you out for a drink, knowing you were not scared of him. Little did he know, from that night, his life changed forever because you made it better for him.

༻❁༺

Now it brings you here today, sitting in a bed that you and Kol share, your mind wandering to many scenarios of how you were really soulmates, or not.

All of these scenarios kept having bad endings or resulting in you becoming a vampire, which was something you did not want to happen.

As you were still stuck in your thoughts, the door opened, indicating that Kol was home. Trying to put on a straight face for him, you wiped away any tears that were on your face and greeted him with a smile as he walked into your guys' room.

"Hello, my darling, how are- wait, love, are you alright?" Kol flashed in front of you, examining your face and body, frantically searching for any injuries, noticing the tear stains on your face.

"Are you hurt? Did someone do something because I will be more than glad to-"

"No, Kol, I'm not hurt." You took in a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you were about to say next.

He noticed your tense posture and now he was more worried than ever.

“Love, tell me what is wrong.” You looked up to meet his gorgeous brown orbs, his expression making it harder for you to tell him.

"I-I don't think we can be together anymore." Your sudden choice of words made Kol's heart drop. He didn't know what made you say this.

His first impression was assuming that you were compelled, so he grabbed your face lightly and scanned it, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Are you compelled?"

"No, no, it's not that. I'm on vervain. It's just, you're immortal and I'm mortal. I'm going to eventually die and you will be going on another 1000 years without me."

Kol looked at you with anger. He wasn't mad at you, but more because of the fact that your mind was wandering to places that seemed absurd to him.

When he looked at you, the uneasiness started to kick in, not sure how Kol was going to react.

"Please say something," you pleaded, waiting for a response from him. He only stared at you, his eyes full of pain and anger, but soon, his gaze went back to the floor.

"Why on earth would you ever think that?" his voice was soft, yet stern. Looking back up at you, the tears that were starting to well in his eyes made your heart drop, even more, making you feel worse.

"Think about it. It's the most logical reasoning. You're a vampire, I'm a human."

"No, I won't let this happen. I won't." Kol stormed out of your room, slamming the door shut. Soon, you laid on your pillow, sulking in the regretful events.

༻❁༺

Kol went out to God knows where to try and figure out the situation he was in. You, on the other hand, were still on your bed, reading a book hoping to drain time until Kol came back home.

Soon enough, you heard the door open, revealing a very tipsy Kol. You could tell he was on a little ripper spree and it angered you, knowing he does this when he was either mad or sad, but you knew it wasn’t the time to lecture him. The possibility of him lashing out was very likely.

“Kol?” You whispered lightly, not wanting to provoke anything further. He sat on the sofa, staring into the wall in front of him, making you slightly creeped out.

"I figured out a way to solve our little predicament," Kol replied suspiciously calm. You tilted your head, ready for him to reply, but nothing was said.

The next thing Kol did was a shock to you and quite frankly made you angry. Kol bit into his wrist and put it to your lips, making you drink his blood. It was no use to escape since his vampire strength overpowered your human strength.

"Darling, I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do." Within a second, Kol snapped your neck making you see nothing but darkness for the next second.

Around ten minutes went by and you gasped for air. The feeling in your body was erratic as your head started to spin with your emotions rolling all over the place. Kol sat next to you and when you woke up, he was holding a barely alive woman in his arms.

"Kol, did you just kill me?" He simply nodded nonchalantly as if it was nothing.

"The daylight ring should be no problem since I know a witch, but you need to drink now, love in order to complete your transition." However, you didn't want to complete your transition. You always wanted to live a human life and Kol even knew that and now, that decision was stolen from you.

"No, I'm not going to complete the transition." Kol looked up swiftly and stared at you as if you were crazy. Letting go of the almost lifeless human, Kol sped towards you as your faces were merely an inch apart.

"Yes, you will complete your transition and you will drink that blood right now," Kol tried to compel you, but he forgot that you drank vervain as a human, and that was still currently laced in your body.

"I'm still on vervain, genius." Kol's eyes widened but soon recomposed himself as he was intent on making you feed.

"Listen to me, you will feed."

"Yeah? Well, you should have thought of that before you made me take away my option of living as a human. You messed up Kol, looks like you're going to lose me sooner than you thought."

"I did this because I love you, Y/n. Can't you see that? I. Love. You."

You wanted to listen to him, you really did, but what he did to you was unforgivable. His word for consent was now severed once he fed you his blood. The undesirable feeling of wanting to live was now gone, knowing that if you fed, you will become immortal and the thought of dying sounded better.

"Goodbye, Kol. I'll see you soon...one day."

a/n: AHHH sorry for that angst, but there is a possibility that I will make a part two depending on if you guys want one.

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

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A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

[arielsodyssey]

Hi again. At first, thank you for a long and thorough answer. It's always nice to speak to an educated and intelligent person and to have a good discussion. I think I should clarify a few things as I didn't do it in my previous message.

I'm sorry if you feel targeted by my emotions here, that wasn't my point to talk about you specifically, it's just I often see people who talk about communism who never actually lived in a communist country.

I'm talking primarily about Ukraine, as I live here my whole life and I have a lot to tell about it. My parents and our relatives also lived here, so I really have a perspective of life here for past several generations. And we're not some kind of rich guys, no, just some lower and middle class people.

Can you please also tell where are you from? So I also can get your context. Because what you told about 80s being the highest standard of living here is just not true. Of what I heard from my parents (and not only them) that was the time when the Soviet economy started to stagnate and move to its collapse, as the deficit was ubiquitous. You couldn't just go and buy some really simple stuff like clothes you need, you had to know someone who could procure it for you. If you're really interested, I can tell you more life in soviet union from inside.

What I am trying to tell you is that now even poor people in our country have a higher standard of living than 40 years ago.

I see what you're telling me about the communism itself as a theory. And I agree that there are good things there, but only in theory, as history showed us it just doesn't work on humans on a large scale (like state-wise). There are very good examples for comparison in Eastern Europe. Like, take for example countries like Poland or Czech Republic, they were under soviet influence but not under their direct rule. And now there's higher standard of living there than here. Or another one, the Baltic states (Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia). They were only occupied by the soviets in 1945 (thus they had more time to develop themselves) and they are much more developed countries now then any country that was in soviet union for all time of it's existence.

Another thing I want to mention is that I'm not defending capitalism here. It's shit and we can really see it now. What I'm trying to tell is that communism will not solve all our problems (like, we tried and it was awful). We as society have to invent something new.

Another point you made about soviets uprising Russian economy and society. Let's not forget as it was like one century ago, and there were also many other countries even in Europe which were as you told peripheral, poor and unequal. Take Scandinavian countries, for example. Of what I know from thier history, they were really poor and underdeveloped in 1900s, especially Norway, as they only got thier independence. And we can look at them now, being probably one of the best countries to live in. And there were no communist rule in that countries! But they still did it, didn't they?

After all these words I want to tell that I won't unfollow you just because we don't agree on some points. I see you're a nice person who is ready for proper discussion, so we both can enrich each other. Have a nice day!

Hi anon, I'm happy these asks haven't become contentious, and no, I have never lived in a socialist country (I was born and raised in the United States). I'm also very interested in your perspectives and experiences, however, your claim "that now even poor people in our country have a higher standard of living than 40 years ago" just isn't reflected in the statistical data:

The first graph shows a tremendous drop in gdp from 1989 to 1999, with mild gains in 2000 and 2001; the second shows income inequality more than double between 1988 and 1995; while the last graph shows life expectancy drop from 70.5 in 1989 to 67.3 in 1999, while fertility rates dropped from 1.99 to 1.3 during that same period. These figures were pulled from a source which, as far as I can tell, appears to be very pro capitalist (not because I'm trying to be unbiased- I don't have access to an interlibrary system right now and I had a hard time finding free academic papers which didn't use 1991 as their start date for analysis).

Similar graphs I've looked at have shown a nearly nonexistent unemployment rate in 1991 balloon to double degits in the mid 90s, and today that figure still sits at around 9%. I'm sure you're aware that the country's population has been declining rapidly, and when you factor in high death rates, low birth rates, and economic migration in search of better job opportunities, it becomes easy to understand why.

Do you think that maybe your perception of socialism/ capitalism may be in some ways influenced by Ukraine's lack of self determination under the Russian dominated USSR? Because this is absolutely a valid criticism, and one of many criticisms I have of the USSR. When I reference marxism, socialism, or communism, I'm not talking about building a time machine to return to what was, I'm talking about learning from the missteps and mistakes of the past while building off of what worked, in the hopes of building a better, more equitable, post capitalist society in the future. Which is something I think you want too, since you mentioned your disillusionment with capitalism.

And learning from/ building off of the mistakes of the USSR is something Cuba has been doing as well. It unfairly gets compared to the United States, though even then it has favorable comparisons (lower infant mortality rate, higher doctor to patient ratio, etc.). A more fair comparison would be the other Caribbean island the US obtained in its war with Spain, Puerto Rico (where my family is originally from), which had an 11% unemployment rate in 2020, 43% poverty rate, and an inability to restructure its crippling debt or procure emergency relief in the face of natural disaster (see: hurricane Maria). Economic migration from the island has become so pronounced that there are now more Puerto Ricans living in New York than in Puerto Rico.

Before dismissing marxism as a "failed" relic of the past, it's important to remember that capitalist governments fail all of the time. It's also important to remember that these revolutions typically occur in the poorest and most thoroughly oppressed and exploited countries within the capitalist system. Expecting them to immediately compete with rich European and North American capitalist nations (which became rich by exploiting them) is an unfair comparison.

Instead of focusing on gulags, foreign domination, or whatever other negative associations you have with the USSR (many of which, again, I would consider fair and agree with you on), why not focus on the issues you see with capitalism, and potential solutions towards solving them? Because really, that's what Marxism is all about- pointing out the problems with capitalism and looking for ways to fix them. Do you think the people should have a say in the economic development of their country? Do you think they should have control over its resources? Do you think they should have a voice in their workplace? Do you think everyone should be able to have a dignified life? That no one should be poor, starving, living on the streets, or forced into sweatshops or other dangerous and exploitative conditions to survive? If you answered yes to all of these, you're probably more of a marxist than you realize.

If you really want to know what Marxism is about, you should probably start by reading Marx and Engels (wage labour and capital is a good introduction). I try to be thoughtful and thorough in my replies to asks on tumblr, but honestly, I have my limitations and it's taken me a very long time to reply to these.

[immortal-enemies]

this would probably be an unpopular opinion but i don't understand how everyone seems to sympathise so much with grace

yes, tatiana was abusive and she didn't deserve to have the kind of childhood she did - but does that really make her "a great character that needs a redemption arc" though? She's done a lot of awful things (explaining in detail is tiring but i think we all get the gist lol) and not everything was because she was simply forced to. This one is based on personal preference but i really don't think she has that much of a personality either.

something common I see is "she would be a lot more loved if she was a man" and while i agree, i honestly think she would also be criticised a lot more by the fandom. So many of the m characters have the "they're terrible because they had a bad childhood/was abused and didn't actually want to be awful" trope and the fandom is critical of them (as they should). But why is it different with grace?

I'm not trying to invalidate other's opinions but i just find it hard to agree with her getting a redemption arc. I'm fine with people liking her character, I guess it's more of when they try to justify what she did and excuse her actions? also sorry this is so long 😅

Hey!! Absolutely no problem!! This was, for lack of a better word, interesting to read.

Alright, I'm sorry that this took so long to answer, but I was considering exactly HOW I was going to answer.

So, I'm turning this ask into a ask/rant. Under the cut is my current, unedited, written at 12:00 am, honest opinions on Grace and ig Tatiana, keep in mind that I am, I guess, “anti grace blackthorn” so this isn’t full of defenses for her, quite the opposite, in fact. Read at your own risk (fair warning, it’s long), but since no one will probably read it anyway, idk.

Yes, after CoI that is an unpopular opinion. No, I don't understand it much either. To a certain degree.

One of the things I think that people seem to forget/overlook/ignore is that, despite everything, Grace still had a choice. She decided to give in and spend years abusing a young boy. Tatiana is abusive, but that will never change the fact that, at the end of the day, Grace still had a choice. And yes, I understand why she did it. She was in a horrible place, mentally and physically, but she still decided. No amount of arguing will change that fact. It's her life, it's her choice.

Yes, she did do horrible things without needing to. Her power in to compel/control men. She didn't have to kiss Matthew and use it as some sort of blackmail, but she did. She actually had no reason to other then some personal reason. She could have made Mathew forget. In CoI Grace claims that Matthew would have forgotten the kiss anyway, so why do it in the first place?

That's one of the problems I have with how CC wrote Grace. She had to make the one girl abusing a boy be because she didn't want to show her young female audience that they can be abusive too. Women can be just as abusive as men, and TSC is an awful example of that. Looking at all of the abusive characters who were like that simply for their own possible benefit, the ratio of men to women in that is completely off balance. Not saying it has to be equal, but I'm fairly certain Grace would be the only female character abusing a male character for her own personal gain, while adding a character to her (yes, I also agree that she has none.) not necessarily a character to look up to, but she's not that in canon either.

Now, a point on Tatiana: Tatiana is a character who was driven to be crazy by severe trauma, grief and mental illness, and is portrayed as one of the main villains of the series because of what those factors led her to become. It's also used as a plot point that "she could have reached out to anyone in her family; they were willing to help." So you're telling me that she's the villain because she didn't reach out to the people who, in her point of view, murdered her father, husband and son? ESPECIALLY in the 1800-1900's? That ain't it. We all know that the Shadowhunter families, and Shadowhunters in general, are not responsible for this, but when you look for someone to blame, especially in a horrific mental state, that could very easily be the only thing you hold on to. To be clear: I'm not defending her. Going back to my Grace point, she DID still have a choice in who she became, but I hate how people go "UwU Grace" and then "Tatiana is the bad one 😡" when they're very similar.

Now, onto your last point: gender.

Yikes, touchy subject in fandom.

Yes, if Grace was a man, she would be much more liked from the beginning. But also, if she was a man, then the Grace stans probably wouldn't BE Grace stans, and would hate him relentlessly and criticize and hate. One of the main reasons that people excuse her so much are because she's a girl who's abusive to a boy!! And like, boy's can't BE abused. ESPECIALLY by women, right? I mean, THEY'RE always the abusers!! (/s)

Something else: Christopher.

Alright. This isn't very big, but people praise Grace for not controlling Christopher in CoI. That's horrible. You don't praise people and say "UwU so cute couple goals!" at the fact that she didn't do something absolutely awful to him.

A general criticism of YA is how, in general, m/f relationships are portrayed in a kind of stereotypical/abusive way? Like, you have the guy who, in absolutely NO way can call out/say ANYTHING negative about their female love interest, and are often portrayed as afraid of them. That's... Ew. And then you have the girl who is a badass mf who gets some sick pleasure out of scaring the "love of their life"? Ew. But it's also always said that that's what a relationship should be, and I'm not saying that that's what young girls are going to look up to/expect a relationship to be like, but fiction does affect reality. And honestly for a while I was genuinely terrified at being in a relationship because I didn't want to treat a guy how these girls in YA do. That was mostly unrelated, but I thought of it while thinking of a response to this ask so it's gonna be included.

Anyway, it does beg the argument: what would I have done in Grace's position? What was she supposed to do in such a difficult situation? Well. A mere year ago I would have said "I wouldn't have done it" but know that I would if I was broken down enough, especially at the age Grace was when she got her power. But now, I can easily and honestly say, that I would not agree to anything Grace did. If I was put in her position, I would venomously refuse.

There was more I wanted to say, but like, no one is reading this anyway do like-