#if you had a pocketwatch in your fucking eye you would feel it too

[mansionfreaks]

hey clockwork :3c does your pocket watch eye tick? if so, does it get annoying? (also, may i be the 🧪 anon owo)

its in my eye but it also isn't? i can feel it . all of the copies of it tick at the exact same time .

[tevcrozier]

star of the show

Writting request from @transdrowcavalier, about her character Elkantar being hypnotized by a stage magician, compelled to dance, forced to remain stiff as a board, throat fucked, and enchanted to be the hypnotists wife.

contents: cataplasy, throat fucking, identity erasure, forced to dance, mindless hypnotism

The other women compelled to rise up from the audience stayed focused on the pocketwatch he swung. Minnitra, a muscular drow woman, was his current focus. Thalorin, an elven hypnotist, was showing off his magical abilities, assisted by his enchanted pocketwatch. Sylrie, a human wizard, drooled, her advanced mind out of reach. Beside the two of them, Elkantar, the powerful drow psionic, stared fascinated at the swirling pocketwatch's swing.

“I think Minnitra is too proper for someone as silly as you, don’t you agree?” He smirked.

Her smile stayed blank and delighted. “Yes!” She giggled.

“Which means that can’t be your name,” The elf continued. “I think Minnie is perfect. Simple, sweet Minnie. None of that harshness. No need to fight anyone. You don’t care about swords or armor. All that drow piety, Lolth, none of it matters much at all. Feel it slip out of your brain. No thoughts, no fear. There’s not need to waste time on any of it. That isn’t what you like.”

Minnie’s face tightened for a moment as though trying to resist, but the hypnotist swung the watch higher, catching her eye again. Her jaw slackened. “That isn’t what I like.” She agreed.

“You like dancing. You like cleaning.” He gently traced a finger along her jawline. “You’re my silly doll, aren’t you? You’re just a stupid, bimbo toy who needs to serve your real master. Forget Lolth. Forget your house matron. It’s just me now. You don’t think. You’re a mindless little toy.”

Minnie nodded dumbly, vacant eyes blinking adoringly. 

Elkantar watched this like it was a dream. She knew, on some level, that eventually, that Thalorin would reach her. He’d play with her mind like he had Minitra- Minnie, her already entranced mind corrected. Still, she made no attempt to move. She swiftly had their attention broken once again by Thalorin speaking once more.

He was standing a bit away from his subjects, back to the audience. The pocketwatch chain dangled from his breast pocket. “I admire the resistance you put up, Minnie. Repeat after me, ladies.” He sounded so proud of himself. “I love to perform for Thalorin. I don’t know how to think for myself.”

Her tongue moved without her permission in unison with the other women, but with no resistance. “I love to perform for Thalorin. I don’t know how to think for myself.”

The audience cheered and laughed. She flushed under the attention.

“I’m glad I was able to put on a little display for you all, but now, I’m about to do something very special. When I snap my fingers.” He raised his hand in preparation. “You’ll all become my mindless, empty dollies.”

Behind Thalorin, the crowd went silent when he snapped, watching with bated breath. Any fringes of consciousness in the entranced women disappeared like a cut rope. The women stood frozen at attention, staring blankly ahead. Even Minnie’s dreamy smile disappeared. They were hollow, mindless shells. He pointed at Elkantar and gestured for her to step forward, which she did mechanically.

“What’s your name?” Thalorin cooed, moving to present the muscular drow to the audience, who cheered.

“Elkantar.” The message meant nothing to her. It passed through her empty mind. He could have told her anything and she would have responded with as much passion. He could have changed her name, like he did Minnie, could have rewritten every part of her.

“I have a special task for you, Elkantar. What a lovely name. Can we have some applause for Elkantar, everyone?”

The audience seemed to agree, cheering and clapping. She didn’t react. The elven hypnotist’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “I need you to belly dance for me, Elkantar.”

The magic lights dimmed around the other women, standing like sentries, focusing purely on Elkantar. Music seemed to emulate from thin air, but it was probably just one of Thalorin’s magical illusions. She began to move with it, letting the rhythm magically guide her body. She spun gracefully, gyrating her hips and belly. The entire time, her face was impassive. She simply moved under her master’s orders.

“Freeze.”

The word echoed through her mind. The drow stopped mid-dance, balancing only because of her martial dedication to Hexlor. She stayed as rigid as a statue. The audience ooh’d their amazement. Her enthraller began to slowly clap, approaching her slowly. She didn’t react. Nothing mattered except for the command. Her dance was forgotten. Her home was forgotten. There was just freeze.

“Let’s change the tune.” Shimmering lights dashed from his finger tips. “Elkantar. You aren’t a drow at all. You’ve been terribly mistaken. You’re a chicken. A stupid little hen, clucking around.”

The instant he said it, that’s all she knew. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her master whispering to the other hypnotized women.

She arched her back, scratching a foot at the ground. She clucked, scrambling about on stage. Her arms formed ‘wings’ flapping helplessly. The crowd cackled with laughter, which hardly registered. They did not matter. All that mattered was Thalorin’s commands.

“All right, you can stop now. That’s enough.” He chuckled softly. “Quiet down, everyone. Elkantar: stand at attention. It’s time for our next trick, let’s get set up.”

She did exactly that, taking her place where the other women used to be. For a moment, there was a flicker of realization that they were gone. Within seconds, that concern disappeared, as they emerged from the back carrying a table. They placed it center stage without expression, walking mindlessly back to stand beside her once the command was over. The audience could see the line of women staring vacantly ahead, slack and ready to receive commands.

“Thank you, ladies. Thank you. Elkantar, come lie down.”

She marched forward, doing as she was told. She laid down on the table, breasts pointed at the ceiling, staring blankly above. Elkantar dimly registered the feeling of being lighter than air as she was magically levitated, floating to be closer to the hypnotists platform. Beside him, Sylrie, the human wizard, maintained her spell, holding the drow in the air. She stared ahead without recognition, drooling slightly.

“With the help of my dear assistant Sylrie, we’ll see if Elkantar can handle being the star of the show.” The hypnotist said with a flourish. The crowd shouted and laughed as he snapped, magically releasing his belt. His pants fell to the floor at the same time as Elkantar’s fell away. The elf climbed on top of her, fucking her lifeless throat. She didn’t resist, letting herself be used like a fleshlight.

With a shuddering moan, Thalorin released, cumming on her face. The audience went wild. He lifted her stiff hand towards her own face, smiling. “Wipe it up, and lick it off, while I set up for the finale.”

She eagerly did as she was told, desperate to suck down every last piece. She was so focused on it, the drow didn’t even notice her body moving. She slowly stood up, and walked back beside the others. She did not focus on moving her legs. The spell did it for her.

“Thank you all so much for coming.” He preened under the audience’s wild cheers. “Let’s give it up for our volunteers, shall we?”

The women bowed in unison. The audience hollered for them.

“Don’t worry, anyone. I’ll let them all go on their merry ways, forgetting this whole fiasco. Unless we stumble into each other again, that is.” He winked. “Well… almost all of them. I think I’ve become a bit fond of my lovely Elkantar. But the rest of them are free to go.”

He waved a shimmering hand, and the other women rigidly marched off the stage, going back into the audience like nothing had happened. Elkantar remained by his side. He pulled her closer, rubbing a hand over her hips. He pulled her in for a kiss, and the curtain fell to the audience’s claps and jeers.

Behind stage, she grinded against him as he thrust into her, over and over.

“You love being a wife. You want to be a mother. You long to mother my children, don’t you?” Thalorin whispered. “You’re my loyal, happy wife.”

“I love being a wife.” Elkantar agreed. Her brain didn’t even try to resist her hypnotist. Everything Thalorin said to her may as well be divine truth.

Thalorin cackled, brushing some of his new wife’s hair out of her face. “That’s lovely to hear. I believe you have to fulfill a wifely duty now, this carriage is a mess. Clean it.”

[cloudninetonine]

A past that still haunts me

A/N: Hey guys, it's me (ya boi) I'm back with my still current hyper fixation Genshin Impact and a vent fic because I've been really stressed and well, it's hard living in my house :) It's a hurt/comfort fic because they always get to me and I needed to make something for myself

I am willing to do aftermath where the boys confront the abuser or do scenario but with different characters

Synopsis: You’re not a damsel in distress, you never have been and you never will be, but, well, sometimes you need a hero to rely on and that’s okay

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli and Childe

Warnings: Hints to past abuse, confrontation of abuser, violence, mentions of blood, threats, foul language

It had meant to be like any other menial day of an adventurer: sign in with Katheryne, complete your commissions, sign out with Katheryne with your payments - done and dusted.

But that wasn’t how it went, no, far from it - archons, so damn far from it.

“Thank you once again, (Name)” Katheryne’s smile was kind like usual, holding that familiar feeling of gratitude as she handed over your remission within a marked package, hand returning to the desk’s polished surface once you had taken it graciously, sending her a beaming grin back. “The Guild really appreciates your work ethic when it comes to the Ruin machines, it’s hard to come across adventurers who want to handle them anymore”

You sent her a shrug as you placed away the box “Can’t blame them really, they’re a hard bunch to handle- I was terrified of them when I first started too, but I had my vision to help me out, a lot of these folk only use there pure determination to eradicate them, gotta admire that!”

She laughed along with you politely “Have a good evening, (Name), I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

“Of course you will!” You backpedalled away from the guild reception, throwing the woman a polite double fingered salute as you did “Ad astra abyssoque as they say, my fair lady!”

She parrotted back her usual phrase before disappearing into the building, you walking further down the path of the city for your final activity for that day.

Of course, you didn’t reach that far, after all, it wasn’t that menial day you had expected, that you had wanted. Life was cruel sometimes, so incredibly cruel for no justified reason just for the sake of it all and you wished, archons, you wished you could rewind the clock and stop yourself from bumping into the body, to save yourself from all the repressed trauma bursting forth like a flurry of butterflies, well, more like moths, disgusting, ungodly, monster moths that aimed straight for the face.

“Sorry!” You yelped, too preoccupied with gathering your pocketwatch you had dropped in the stumble to see who it had been, after all, you were on a schedule and you didn’t want to be-

“(Name)?”

...late.

All of a sudden, time didn’t seem to exist, or maybe it was moving way too slowly from that horrid spike of adrenaline that shot into your bloodstream as soon as the voice registered.

You hoped to the Archons that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t, but did the gods hear your prayers?

“Oh Archons, it is you! It’s been such a long time!”

Of course, they did, they just didn’t care to listen. Ignoring the cries of your people were in fashion to them these days.

They stood there with a smile so excited it almost seemed to tear their face in half, with eyes sparkling with recognition after so many years away from them, they opened their arms welcoming you into their embrace like it was something just so normal for the two of you like you would come bounding to them like a lost puppy who had finally found their master.

The fear of your abuser dwarfed in comparison the pure feral rage and loathing to think that they even deserved to be breathing in the same space as you.

People were looking, of course, they were looking, you knew what they were doing, being bright and jovial, bringing others attention towards you both so that whatever scene you caused would be your fault like you were the bad guy. It was old tactics, of course, you wouldn’t dare do anything when you were younger, you’d just push through it, but this wasn’t old times, this wasn’t younger you, scared, smaller you afraid them, this was you now, a warrior, unwavering in battle, a person who smiled in the face of danger, who laughed at the pitiful fights that 2- no- 4 abyss mages brought to you!

To hell what other people thought, you’d stomp their head into the cobblestone if they had so much as poked you.

“Come here and give me a-”

You took a step back, mustering the deadliest face you could, but you wavered, it was only natural, no matter how much you could try to hype yourself up, this person was your first true experience of real-life nightmares, the first person to bring you true pain, no matter how many ruin guards, hunters, millachurls, mages- anything you faced, nothing could prepare you to face your first fear:

The fear of your older sibling.

“If you fucking touch me I’ll stab you-” The growl cracked nearing the end, you were always an angry crier but you were not about to fall back to this- this monster. “In front of all these people, I won’t hesitate”

Their face dropped followed by your stomach, though, the food you had for lunch sure did feel its way up your gullet.

“What’s with your language? We haven’t seen each other in four years and this is how you treat me? Your older sibling?” They laughed in disbelief because onlookers would think they were shocked, I mean, how could you speak to family like that? But they didn’t know, they didn’t know the words they had told you, the insults, the threats, those tight grabs, those beatings- they didn’t know, so they obviously didn’t know that the shock came from the fact that you had stood up to them.

You licked your lips to get rid of the dryness, but the problem you faced was that your mouth had dried out along with them, as did your throat.

Don’t let them turn this on you, don’t let them get the upper hand, you were better than them, so much better.

“You’re not my fucking sibling” You spat, feeling the air vibrate around you, a sudden shine from your cloak hinted you to the cause “You haven’t been for a long time, don’t fucking try that shit with me”

There it was, that familiar enraged spark, that look of hatred on their face, the thing that warned you about what you said had been the right thing to set them off, that they were just as easily triggered by the smallest act of rebellion just like when you were kids.

Of course, they hadn’t changed.

Evil never did.

They took a step forward but you didn’t back off, just hardened your resolve as they leaned in menacingly, as though their stupid little intimidation tactic still worked after all these years.

You told yourself it didn’t but you knew deep down that wasn’t completely true.

“Don’t speak to me like that, (Name)” Facade gone, they showed you what they really were, what they were really like after all, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that, you show me fucking respect”

Respect?

RESPECT!?

Oh Archons, you were angry, no, seething from the thought that they ever deserved respect.

That pathetic piece of shit, that gruelling pleb, mere gum on the bottom of your damn shoe-

You’d kill them, right here, right now.

You felt the familiar materialisation begin to form in your hand when another voice called out, a familiar loving one that nearly made your throat swell from relief.

“(Name)?”

Diluc

He could sense the tension. Of course, he could sense the tension, Diluc had faced this tension so many times before, he was practically the one that owned such a vibe anytime Kaeya even breathed near him for a second longer than necessary.

But being the one to witness it, to see you, the usual awkward, goofy sweetheart stare at another with such overbearing malice made him uneasy, caused his stomach to churn in ways he didn’t like, set him off in a way that was only reserved for the most chilling on moments.

Diluc wondered what exactly this stranger had done to warrant such a reaction from you.

“(Name)?” The redhead called, glancing around the many citizens of Mondstadt that watched the exchange with intrigue, guard and worry, eyes focused on the scene of this foreign stranger and fuming you, hand poised by your side with weapon particles dancing on your palm.

When Diluc finally made it over, his form seemed to curl protectively around you, hand landing on the small of your back delicately while keeping face with the person, eyes narrowed dangerously but still holding an air of civilness.

A true gentleman, even when you were close to merking some rando.

“Is there a problem?”

The stranger straightened immediately, backing up a few steps with their hands up in defence, sending Diluc a charming smile that the man could see through crystal clear.

“No problem, no problem at all” They glanced back at you, seemingly friendly despite his partner’s obvious ill intent that radiated off you in waves “Isn’t that right, (Name)?”

Diluc saw you tense up once again, the buzz from your Vision rising in volume with your obvious anger as you tightened your first, ready to just screw your weapon and go for the throat.

“If that is the case” The noble’s hand softly pressed against your back, gently but coaxing, knowing that conflict in the middle of the town centre would just bring the knights to meddle in affairs that they had no business attending “Then we shall be going”

“There’s no need to leave, after all, my sibling and I were just chatting”

He paused, shouldering a questioning glance your way but at the sight of your unruly expression, he pushed down his enquiries and once again began coaxing you away from the scene. Angel’s Share had already been open for a while, meaning the usual folk would already be settled in, but the storage room was sure to be a good place to chat and to calm you down, all he needed to do was get you away.

“We already had plans” The side glance had the stranger- your sibling, biting their tongue, brows furrowing in a known annoyance as the two of you began your way towards the pub, you still vibrating in anger. “Good day to you”

The two of you had made it a few feet when they called out once again “Don’t worry, (Name), I’ll see you again real soon”

Diluc’s arm tightened around you faster than you could react, tugging you away quickly “Diluc-”

“No, (Name)”

“Stay out-”

“Not here” Sharing a look, he softened at the shine in your eyes. “You’ll just attract the knights' attention”

You didn’t care, no, not one bit. If the knights had dared to interfere at that moment, they too would have been caught up in your blinded revenge, thrown aside or slashed down without single care just to finally eradicate the bane of your existence and you didn’t care about what consequences you brought about, you just didn’t and you made sure to tell Diluc that, as soon as you had the privacy of Angel’s Share’s storeroom, pacing up and down while he stood off to the side against the wall, watching silently.

“You had no right to get in my way!” You snapped, voice shaking from the pure emotions you were releasing “I finally had my chance, I was finally going to do it! They deserve to end by my hand, by my decision, after the years of torture they put me through! They deserved it! And you got in my way! How could you get in my way! I-”

Pushing off the wall, he slowly advanced towards you, carefully, hands out like he was approaching a wounded animal.

“I understand you’re upset-”

“I’m not upset!” You cried at him, stopping mid-step before dropping your head and tightly, grabbing your hair in your hands “I’m not upset! I’m angry! I’m so fucking angry! And I deserve to be fucking angry! I-”

The sob ripped through your throat despite you trying to hold it back, tears finally gathering in your eyes and rapidly falling down your cheeks “You should have let me kill them! I should have had the chance to rid the world of their evil! It’s not fair! It’s not- it’s not fair, I-”

You didn’t bother to fight him when his arms finally wrapped around you, just fell against him as you wept. The pent up rage, fear and sadness from years of repression taking its toll as you cried, your partner whispering sweet words as he raked his hand through your hair gently and leaned his head against yours.

“I’m sorry” His hand held your cheek fondly, ruby red staring back into your own eyes with a softness that made you melt “I didn’t know this meant so much to you, but if you’re willing to tell me, I’ll listen. I’ll always listen”

With another choked sob, you leaned into his hold “Please just hold me for now”

And he did just that.

Kaeya

The captain had promised to meet you at his office, a simple task really but with the lingering presence of Jean and the words ‘There’s so much work that needs to be done’ leaving her lips he bolted, hoping to catch you by the Guild and drag you to Angel Share for your date. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help her, it was just he had already promised you this night and Eula could have always taken his place with paperwork, her threat of “vengeance” as she liked to call it could wait for another day.

It was also due to the fact he had no intentions of filing any paperwork for as long as he could avoid it, but that was his secret to be kept.

Being the perspective man he was, he could tell straight away he had walked into something tense, surveying the surrounding people of Mondstadt who looked on in concern, the unbridled rage upon your face, the obviously intimidating lean that the stranger held over you- something was wrong and he knew he had to put a stop to it.

“(Name)?” You glanced for a single moment before your furious glare had returned to the stranger, another flag waving right in his face as he approached, “My dear? Who might this be?”

Before you could snap, lip curling in disgust, the stranger stood back to their full height, switching quickly with a fake charming smile that practically mirrored his own, holding out their hand towards him “(S/N) (Last), (Name)’s older sibling. it’s nice to meet you”

Kaeya’s smile widened and despite the glare from you that was now focused on him, he shook your sibling's hand in-kind “Kaeya Alberich, (Name)’s partner-”

He made sure to tighten his grip with his last words “And Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius”

Successfully, as he always was, Kaeya held back the smug, mocking grin that itched to climb onto his face when the neck of your sibling bobbed nervously, forehead reflecting the afternoon light as sweat gathered on their brow.

The man hadn’t obviously threatened them, surely, Kaeya was smarter than that, but then again, he could still present himself as a threat, a good one and well, his title was a menacing one when it came to the right moment. ‘Try anything and not only do I have the authority to kick your arse but the power to put you in a place many didn’t dare even step’ shortened into an innocent sentence with only 8 words.

“Cavalry Captain? That’s quite impressive” They laughed off, tugging away their hand awkwardly when Kaeya continued to keep a firm grip, his present eye focused solely on your siblings face. They glanced over to you “Quite an achievement for you, aye (Name)?”

You growled, “I’ll show you an achievement-”

Kaeya’s arm had wrapped around your waist not a second later, tugging you tighter to his side as the two of you turned, the man throwing your sibling a smile over his shoulder.

“As nice as it was to meet you, (S/B), we must be going”

And then without another word Kaeya dragged you away, heading in the direction of your home instead of Angel Share tavern, feeling your pure, unfiltered anger the whole way along with the citizens as they parted ways, rushing off from your rage.

It was only when you had returned to the sanctuary of your abode did you snap, jerking away from your boyfriend with angered strides and beginning your seething lecture towards him, moving up and down through the living room while he ventured off into the kitchen, grabbing 2 glasses and a bottle of wine.

“How dare you Kaeya! How fucking dare you! Do you have any idea what you were doing back there!? What was even happening back there!? So much for being the most observant man in Mondstadt because you seemed pretty dense to me the whole fucking time!” Your hands raked through your hair as you yelled, trying so hard to hold back the tears “I didn’t need your damn help, Kaeya! Nor did I fucking want it! Know to stay out of someone's business when it isn’t wanted!”

Logically you knew what he had done, you were smart like that and you knew Kaeya long enough to know what he was doing but your rage, fear and sadness blocked out everything in that moment, made you blind to reality, made you only think irrationally and Kaeya didn’t blame you for that. He could never blame you for that.

Though, it did hurt him to see you in this state.

“Wine?”

You gawked at him for a moment, staring at him with shock and confusion as he held out a wine glass towards you, another held in his other hand and a sweet smile plastered on his face, before your moment morphed into rage, grabbing the drink from his hand and tossing it towards the wall, the red wine splattering over the wallpaper and glass shards falling to the floor.

“Well, that was a waste-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Kaeya!?” You cried, not even bothering to hold back anymore as the tears fell and your voice cracked, hand pointing accusingly in his face “Is this some kind of joke to you!? Huh!? Am I a fool in your eyes!? Some sort of blubbering idiot!? Why must you- why do you-”

The second glass was placed on the dresser by you both, Kaeya’s hand coming to hold your cheek fondly while the other came to grab your hand that dangled in the air, still poised at him “I don’t think you're either of those, my dear, in fact, I think you’re one of the brightest in the whole of Teyvat, nevermind Mondstadt”

You hiccuped “Then why-”

Brushing away the wetness from your cheek, he brought your hand to his mouth to place a fond kiss on your palm “Because you mustn’t cry, (Name), don’t waste your tears on someone like them”

“I’m not crying, I’m-”

He shushed you gently and you finally relaxed, falling into his embrace with a heavy heart “-I’m not, I swear-”

Within the familiarity of your home, you wept in his arms, exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the scenes that had transpired that day, ready to just curl into yourself and try to block the flooding memories of history. Although, having Kaeya at that moment helped more than he could ever know, having him to rely on made it all so much easier to cope with that day.

“Tell me what ails you and I’ll listen” Brushing back some hair, he pressed a kiss to your head.

“Can..can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Of course, my dear”

Zhongli

He had sensed the incoming danger like it had been revealed in some sort of premonition. Maybe it had been a skill he had acquired after his long, eventful life, maybe it was his connection to Liyue and his citizens, but for some reason, as he sat before Iron Tongue Tian as the man recalled his tales of ancient Liyue like usual, Zhongli knew that the crowd that was forming around Wamin Restaurant had something that he need urgently attend, especially when even Tian paused his story to glance around the corner of the restaurant building to see the commotion.

When the archon had finally borne witness to the scene, he paused within the crowd, surveying the surroundings carefully. You were the centre of attention, along with another stranger, both glaring at one another with anger and disgust, though your own anger seemed to double compared to the other’s, seeing as your weapon was slowly materialising in your grip. Zhongli could also see Guild Master Lan making her way down the steps leading to the Guild reception, a worried expression on her face glancing between you and the approaching Millelith.

Zhongli made his decision, politely pushing through the crowd until he had finally made it by your side, hand being placed gently on your arm “(Name)?”

Both you and the stranger glanced at him, but he paid no mind to them, only held eye contact with you when Lan appeared by your other side, glaring at the stranger with a hardened gaze.

“Are you harassing my guild member?”

Before the stranger could respond, the Millelith had also popped in, glancing between you and them “Is there a problem?”

Zhongli had taken up your view when Lan began her take, she had borne witness for much longer than he had of course and he was certain that you were in no state to talk to the guards. Your eyes were glazed with hatred, pupils pinpricks in a sea of (E/C) and your hands were shaking, balled into fists.

If anything, he needed to try and calm you down first.

“Get the hell out of my way, Zhongli” Your teeth ground together, words shaking with anger “Don’t push yourself into my business”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t do that” He tried brushing your cheek but you jerked away, glaring at his hand before glaring back at him, in no mood to be coddled “I don’t want you to do something you’d regret”

“Trust me, I won’t regret this one bit”

Zhongli held his tongue for the question that almost rolled out, knowing now wasn’t the time for inquiries when the stranger’s voice rang out, condescending and snarky as they addressed you.

“Still need people to protect you, aye (Name)? Of course, you’re still the same pathetic bitch from years ago”

You were lucky for your reputation around Liyue, for the picture of the kind and caring adventurer that had swept through the town from your years of living here because had it not been for that, you pushing aside your boyfriend and materialising your weapon to aim it at your sibling’s throat would have had you in cuffs that instant.

Lan grabbed you, tugging you away as you screamed “I’ll show you pathetic you fucker! Let me go!”

The Millelith didn’t wait to drag your sibling away, much to their cries of dismay, one sending Lan a nod while you continued to fight against her, crying out in frustration.

“Kid, you have to calm down-”

“Calm down!? No! Get the hell off me!”

Zhongli watched as you finally broke away, huffing and puffing up a storm before glancing amongst the crowd, staring at their worried and concerned faces, your own eyes tearing up before you looked away pushing past the crowd to find somewhere to be alone.

When Lan went to call out for you, Zhongli raised his hand, the two sharing a look before the archon made his way after you, his longer legs keeping a steady pace to which he could catch up to you, just beyond the bridge that led into Liyue Harbour. There were no people where you stood, just the lush green plants and great mountains of nature, a perfect place for you to let out your frustration without the prying eyes of the citizens.

“(Name)-”

“Leave me alone!” You cried, curling into yourself with your back turned to him “I don’t want you here, Zhongli! Nor did I want you back there! I didn’t need your or anyone else's help!”

You knew he was here from a place of concern, and deep down you begged that your words didn’t harm him in any way, but currently, you didn’t care, you didn’t want to care, you just wanted to be numb, numb to the flashbacks of your horrid past and numb to the feelings that were dragged along with them.

“My love, please, return with me to our home, I will brew some calming tea-”

“Tea? Tea!? Does it look like I want any fucking tea?! I couldn’t care any less about some fucking tea, Zhongli!” Spinning around on your heels, you scowled at him, not bothering to hide your rushing tears “Don’t you get it!? I want to be left alone, I-”

Two gloved hands gently encased your face, your angered expression morphing into one of shock as your partner stared down at you with glowing eyes filled with a deep-rooted love, affection, worry and so much more that you couldn’t put into mere mortal words. At that moment, everything felt as if it had melted away, only you and him were in this world, nothing else, just the two of you.

And you felt as though your heart had been lifted from the pressures of this life.

“I do not think it is best for you to be left alone” His baritone voice was always so calming, so serene and in your sane moment, you finally felt its effects “I wish to stay with you, so please, let me stay”

With a whimper, you grabbed onto his forearms and leaned your face into his hands, tears continuing to fall as your eyes fluttered shut “Okay…”

“They have hurt you deeply, haven’t they?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me the details?”

“I-...” Sharing eye contact once again, you whispered “Can- can you just...hold me for now? Please”

Moving his hands from your face, he engulfed you in his arms, leaning his head against yours “Of course”

Childe

The Harbinger had just left the Northland Bank, hell, he was just about to make his way down the spiral staircase but when hearing the commotion, he paused, something in his gut telling him to check just before and he was glad he did.

Glancing over the elevated walkway, he felt a fiery pit roar in the depths of his stomach, eyes narrowing dangerously at the scene; you were snarling in some other person’s face, their own face nothing short of disgust and a crowd that only seemed to grow by the minute.

Who the hell did this person think they were? Did they even know who you were? To stand so close to you, with a look of threat on their face like you weren’t about to kick their arse? Like he wasn’t about to kick their arse? How did this insignificant speck of dross not know your connections with him, the 11th Harbinger? Or did he know and was just trying his luck?

“Seems like someone has a death wish” And a death wish they had indeed.

Ignoring the perplexed glance from his subordinate stationed outside the building's entrance, Childe made his way down the steps, murderous look stitched on the whole way to the circle of civilians, the mass parting ways for the man that was Tartaglia and continuing to watch the moment in silence.

“Who the hell are you-” You both turned towards him, you in shock while the stranger stared in confusion until Childe’s hand wrapped around their collar, tugging them closer to look down at them with a deep-rooted disgust “-And why the hell are you harassing my partner?”

They fought against him, obviously, they did, but the surprise came when you saddled up next to him, grabbing his arm “Stay out of this, Tartaglia”

What? It hadn't been your request, no, you were always one to finish your whole fights you weren't "A damsel in distress after all!" no, you were so much more, so much greater but that look on your face, murderous and downright cruel- he just couldn't believe his ears.

Childe stared at you in shock while the stranger struggled, throwing him a dirty look in their attempts “Yeah, this is between my sibling and I”

Childe straightened in surprise, feeling embarrassment flood his system. Had he seriously just grabbed and threatened his lover’s family member? Oh, Archons, his judgement had been clouded by anger at the look of the scene, I mean, why would your sibling look at you that way-

“But it’s really no surprise that you still need to be babied, (Name), how shameful”

His eyes widened but not a moment later had you tackled your sibling, the crowd crying out in alarm as you threw back your fist and crushed their nose under the weight of your punch. “I’ll show you fucking shameful, bastard!”

There was shouting and a glance showed the oncoming Millelith marching towards the circle.

Being Fatui always did garner the attention of the guards nowadays, especially for him, who had tried to lure out the attention of their Archon by summoning an ancient god that nearly drowned the entirety of the harbour, so it was no surprise that they seemed to hurry in the pursuit when they noticed his appearance at the scene. However, lucky for him, your reputation as a great adventurer preceded you and throughout Liyue you were seen as a trusted and well-liked individual, meaning whatever trouble you got in, containing his meddling or not, was usually waved away due to the trust of the people.

So, without another thought, Childe tugged you off of your bloodied sibling and held you close, even as you thrashed violently, shouting at him to let you go.

“What is going on here?” A guard called, slamming the hilt of his polearm into the ground as he surveyed the area, eyes landing on the sibling before following the small trail of blood to you, still fighting against your boyfriend with threats falling from your lips “Was there a reason for this brawl? Who started it?”

As your sibling raised themselves on their forearms, they scowled and opened their mouth to respond, only for Childe to put in. “It was them, sir, they were the one that started it, (Name) was merely acting in self-defence”

The Millelith scowled at him, raising a brow and once again looking you over “Is that so?”

He addressed the crowd soon after “Is this what happened?”

And as expected, they all glanced over the sibling, then to you and piped up in agreement. It paid to be a hero, it seemed, the whole harbour returning the favour of years of helping out the community.

“If that’s the case, please come with us” The sibling cried out, anger and fear laced into their voice, trying to argue for their innocence only for the guards to grab them, hauling them away to archons know where while Childe did the same with you, slowly dragging you away from the scene and back into the bank, you screaming and cursing the whole way until you had made it to his office, finally managing to push him off and storming to the opposite side of the room practically seething.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Tartaglia!?” You cried, throwing out your arms in exaggeration “I didn’t need your fucking help! And why the fuck would you pull me off them!? I had them right where I wanted them and you fucking did that! Are you a moron!?”

“You had a sibling” He breathed, watching as you began to pace, muttering in an angered state “And you didn’t tell me”

“-after all these years I finally had the chance to end their pathetic excuse of a life and you just got in my fucking way! I’d waited too long for this moment and you fucking ruined it! How dare you, how fucking dare you-”

“(Name), why didn’t you tell me you had a sibling!?” He cried, walking up to you and grabbing your wrist to stop you “I was ready to kill them right there! And why are you talking about them like this!? They’re your family aren’t they-”

“They are not my fucking family!”

The scream echoed through the room, chilling Childe to the core as you ripped your arm from his grasp, running your hands through your hair before gripping it so tightly it felt close to being ripped from your head. But you didn’t care, no, you couldn’t, you were so angry and you needed something to keep you grounded, to keep yourself from losing yourself and getting lost in those haunting past memories.

The Harbinger felt his chest squeeze painfully as the tears fell down your face, red rimming your eyes and cheeks wet as you sobbed, chest heaving from trying to breathe “Family takes care of you! Family thinks of you in the highest light possible! They love you for who you are and they love you no matter what! That bastard hurt me, made me feel worthless and they refuse to believe they could do no wrong and I hate them! They are the bane of my existence! They are not my fucking family! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I-”

Arms were around you instantly, Childe’s face pressed into your hair as you wept, grasping onto the lapels of his suit and shoving your face into his chest to muffle your cries.

“I’m sorry” He whispered, his own eyes shining slightly “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive. Please, don’t cry”

“No, I’m not crying, I promised myself I wouldn’t-” You hiccuped “I wouldn’t waste any more tears on them-”

Then you broke off into more wails, your boyfriend holding you close and letting you continue to cry in his arms, warm and comforting until you were finally reduced to whimpers, leaning into him heavily as the remaining adrenaline in your body began to wear thin when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Will...will you tell me about it?”

You sniffed “Later...just hold me for now, please, Ajax...”

His arms tightened protectively “Anything for you, my love”

[savingprimrose]

Hey there, I see youre asking for prompts and I had this idea a few nights ago: the survey corps soldiers are in a mandatory ball or smth like that for the military, and Levi sees the guys that hires him to kill Erwin all those years ago and he gets super pissed (because if he hadnt entered the corps he probably would have been sentenced to death for all his crimes, and then this rich guy plots to kill a high ranking military and a few years later he is free and partying like nothing ever happened.) Everybody sees he is in a sour mood, and Petra aproaches him to ask why and comfort him, whether he tells her what happened or not.

Anon, I'm so sorry it took me months. 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

I hope you like it!

READ ALSO ON AO3

Levi Ackerman hated going to Mitras for precisely two reasons.

One, he hates the rich, snobby people of the upper class.

And two, he hates parties.

And just socializing in general.

Talking to people makes his head hurt. And one of the main reasons that the Scouting Legion even goes to Mitras is, well, for number 2. And if number 2 is the reason why they’re being summoned to the capital then most likely number 1 is involved as well.

And well, you could say that Levi Ackerman will be having the worst time of his life. Thinking about schmoozing up to the rich - and expecting to dance with them with his two left feet - is making him wish he’d be eaten alive by a titan instead.

Levi sulks at the edges of the ballroom, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. He fishes out his pocketwatch from his coat pocket and curses under his breath, he’s only been here for literally 30 minutes and yet he feels as if he's been stuck in this cursed place for all of eternity.

Erwin has left him to go talk with Zachary and the other commanders, Hange is talking the ears off of some noble about titan research and hoping to get much-needed funds for the next expedition, while Mike and Nanaba are having the time of their lives - drinking and dancing.

And his whole squad is missing. He hasn't caught sight of them since the moment they stepped through the threshold of the palace.

"I'll go and fetch us some drinks, Captain."

Eld had said 30 minutes ago. He hasn't returned since.

"And I will get us some snacks."

Oluo had said right after but knowing him, he's probably trapped some new recruit in a corner and started flirting with them.

Levi wonders where Gunther and Petra are. They went off to dance around the same time Eld and Oluo excused themselves. He stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck in search of them, quickly spotting Gunther on the other side of the ballroom, headed towards who he thinks is Eld.

Petra, on the other hand, is still missing.

Levi sighs and lowers himself back on his heels, slipping his pocketwatch back in his coat.

He decides to hunt down his squad - just so he can bid them good night. He's not needed here, anyway. And his headache is killing him.

Levi opts to find Petra first since he already knows where the boys are. He makes his way around the perimeter of the ballroom, looking this way and that for the familiar flash of sunset-colored hair.

He thought it would be easy to spot her from across the room with her hair but that has proven itself difficult with the number of tall people around and it pisses him off. He has gotten elbowed too many times in one night for his liking and Levi clenches his jaw tight.

Fuck tall people.

He decides to get some fresh air before trying to look for Petra again. He is nearing the balcony when he hears a familiar giggle behind his back and whirls around only to collide with yet another tall person who can't even be bothered to look at where they're going.

The collision caused a vein to pulse in his temple, making his headache even worse than it already is.

"Pardon me. I didn't see -"

The man stops mid-sentence upon seeing Levi's face and Levi has never wanted to kill a person so hard in his life than this very instant.

“I see you’re still alive, Levi,” Nicholas Lovof smirks, looking down his long nose at him.

Fuck this tall bastard most of all.

Levi’s blood begins to boil, “I see that you're out of prison you crusty old piece of shit."

Lovof laughs and Levi felt his hands twitch by his side, itching to punch the older man in the face.

“There’s nothing money can’t buy, Levi.”

Levi balls his fists and grits his teeth, doing everything he can not to slip the dagger out of his waistband and slit the bastard’s throat open right then and there. Levi hates how money makes the world go round. If he did not join the Scouting Legion he would've been thrown in jail for all the crimes he's committed and for all the people he's killed.

He would probably even be dead by now.

Lovof sneers, “What? Nothing to say to that, street rat?”

“Get out of my sight,” Levi seethes, each syllable laced with hatred and disdain. His hand subconsciously moving to the dagger at his waist.

Lovof's eyes dart to the movement of Levi's hand and his face breaks into another shit-eating grin, “You can’t kill me. You can’t even kill Erwin.”

A growl rises at the back of Levi’s throat just as a delicate hand wraps around his elbow, stilling his movement.

“Captain! There you are!”

His eyes fly to the hand curled around his elbow and he instantly knows who it belongs to. Levi watches as the hand slides down his forearm to cover his right hand and take it away from the dagger’s hilt.

He lifts his gaze from it and locks eyes with Petra as she squeezes his right hand with hers, “Dance with me."

She then turns to Lovof with a smile plastered on her face, "Excuse us, sir. I believe my captain owes me a dance."

Lovof smirks and raises his wine glass at him in a mock salute.

Levi nearly lunges at the old man but Petra squeezes his hand tighter to restrain him before leading him away from Lovof and into the throng of people in the middle of the ballroom waiting for the string quartet to resume playing music. The quartet begins playing a soft melodic piece that Levi thinks is more aptly played at a wedding.

“You know I don’t dance, Petra,” Levi nearly growls, still angered from his run-in with Lovof.

“Indulge me,’ Petra says as she transfers his right hand to her left and places it on her waist. She does the same with his other hand and leads him to sway alongside the couples beside them. She loops her arms around his neck and feels how tense his shoulders are. She gives him a small smile, one that he doesn’t notice as he is still adamant in glaring daggers at Lovof’s back.

Petra sighs as she leads him along in the dance. She knows that her captain hates social events but she has never seen him so close to stabbing a person in front of hundreds of people.

“Captain. Talk to me,” she whispers as she caresses his nape with her thumb, the gesture surprisingly tender and intimate and it catches Levi’s attention - his gaze finally drifting back to hers.

Levi relaxes a fraction as she continues to knead at his neck.

“That bastard should be rotting in prison,” He grumbles, hands tightening around her waist.

Petra nods, encouraging him.

”He’s -” Levi swallows, tries to contain the anger rising up within him, “He’s the reason why Isabel and Furlan are dead.”

Oh.

Petra knows about them - about Isabel and Furlan. They were Levi’s family before joining the Scouting Legion. She knew that they died in their first expedition outside the walls but that was it - that was all her captain has told her.

Levi sighs and proceeds to tell her the rest of the story, of how Lovof tracked them down and gave them a job to kill Erwin all in exchange for health care for their friend Yan and citizenship above ground.

“The Scouting Legion was coming for us whether we accepted the offer or not.”

Levi takes a deep breath and stops their slow dancing while the couples around them continued on, “Citizenship on the surface was all we ever wanted, Petra.”

He opens his mouth to continue but closes it again, realizing that they look like fools - standing in the middle of the ballroom while couples around them danced.

Levi takes Petra’s hand then and leads her away from the merriment and out into the balcony. He lets go of her and leans against the balustrade, tipping his head back to stare at the star-studded sky.

"They told me to trust them and that they will make it out of that expedition alive, that we will finish doing the job together and live the rest of our lives above ground.”

Out here under the starlight, he is more open, more vulnerable.

Petra remains silent and lets her captain tell his story uninterrupted. She is content listening and just being there for him - whenever and wherever he needs her.

She tips her head back as well, admiring the way the stars glittered against the pitch-black sky as Levi continued.

“I trusted them.” Levi swallows, "But they died, anyway. I -"

There's a tremble in his voice and Petra sneaks a glance at him and the look on his face shatters her heart.

Levi bows his head and whispers, “I couldn’t save them, Petra. I couldn’t give them the life they wanted.”

A moment passes in silence before a laugh escapes Levi's lips - mirthless and hollow.

Levi turns to face her then, "But no regrets, remember?"

She searches his eyes and wonders how he truly feels. He says these things but his eyes say otherwise.

Petra gives him a small, sad smile, and nods.

"Yes, captain. No regrets."

[vanessadoofwasmygayawakening]

2nd chapter of my gay mlb text fic on ao3!

1st chap be found here

Chapter 2: some good good lukanette content

be crime do gay

Monday, Sept. 14th 8:14

 

LuckyCharms: AAAAAHAHAHAHHAAA

LuckyCharms: never in my life have I ever been more grateful to be bi

cats_meow: wassup

LuckyCharms: two words. Hot. Boy.

cats_meow: ok that makes sense

cats_meow: what's the name

LuckyCharms: yk the shy girl, Juleka?

cats_meow: yeah 

cats_meow: what about her

LuckyCharms: Hot Boy™ is her brother

LuckyCharms: But I'm too afraid to ask for his name 

LuckyCharms: because

LuckyCharms: anxiety

LuckyCharms: so I was hoping one of yall know his name

pocketwatch: lmao yeah

pocketwatch: thats luka

pocketwatch: yeah hes cute

jasontodd: but arent you aro??

pocketwatch: im not blind

pocketwatch: hes hot if youre into the lip piercings and shit

LuckyCharms: Oh god he has lip piercings-

mimekinnie: yeah

mimekinnie: really enhances the kissing experience 

mimekinnie: he always moans when you touch it with your tongue

cats_meow: ….

cats_meow: how would you know??

mimekinnie: sorry that was my boyfriend 

mimekinnie: luka is one of his exes

mimekinnie: they dated last year

mimekinnie: according to marc luka is a senior

LuckyCharms: good to know

LuckyCharms: I wouldn't feel comfortable if I was dating a sophomore

LuckyCharms: like Juleka is

 

cats_meow > teenturtle

 

cats_meow: im in trouble

teenturtle: what's wront 

cats_meow: lmao wront

teenturtle: shut

teenturtle: srsly tho wassup

cats_meow: the redhead in GSA

cats_meow: just said something in the groupchat

cats_meow: like

cats_meow: marinette was talking about a Hot Boy™

cats_meow: you understand

cats_meow: but

cats_meow: like

cats_meow: hot redhead said that lip piercings enhance the kissing experience

teenturtle: oh worm??

cats_meow: but his boyf actually said that not him himself

cats_meow: but like

cats_meow: for some reason it gave me a little jolt

cats_meow: idk how to explain it

teenturtle: lmao you have a crush

cats_meow: i do not!!!

cats_meow: just because i always feel something wonky in my chest whenever i look at him doesnt mean that i like him!!!

teenturtle: alya is sitting next to me

teenturtle: she says that this one is def "more than just a friend"

cats_meow: tell alya she can go fuck herself

cats_meow: but thanks ig 

teenturtle: yw :)

 

be crime do gay

Monday, Sept. 14th 8:20

 

LuckyCharms: okay so thank yall

ratgina_george: yup  

mimekinnie: go get yo man!!!

cats_meow: you can do it bestie!!!

pocketwatch: @cats_meow ohmigosh your back!!!

ratgina_george: yeah where were you :)

jasontodd: cough it up :)

cats_meow: well if you insist ;)

cats_meow: nino was having a crisis so i went to help him

cats_meow: i thought yall had the luka/nette problem covered

mimekinnie: !!!!!!

mimekinnie: perfect ship name!!!

mimekinnie: lukanette!!!

LuckyCharms: ADSFGHKFVDHDGD

cats_meow: hey youre back wassup

LuckyCharms: I thought everything was going so well,,,

pocketwatch: not ominous at all

LuckyCharms: I walked up to him!!

LuckyCharms: I had everything planned in my head!!

LuckyCharms: I even introduced myself!!!

ratgina_george: well that's good right??

LuckyCharms: …..I stuttered 

jasontodd: LMAOOOOOO

jasontodd: nettie

jasontodd: that's a big oof

jasontodd: what did Hot Boy™ do??

LuckyCharms: he smirked

LuckyCharms: and in the sexiest voice I ever heard

LuckyCharms: said

LuckyCharms: "Nice to meet ya, Ma-Ma-Marinette,,,"

LuckyCharms: "My name's Luka."

LuckyCharms: but then the bell rang :(

pocketwatch: thats an oof

mimekinnie: ill make sure youll have another chance to talk

mimekinnie: dw

LuckyCharms: hey bestie :)

LuckyCharms: what does this mean :)

pocketwatch: yeah theyre not gonna give you an answer

 

mimekinnie > sad_emo_boi

 

mimekinnie: hey luka

sad_emo_boi: yes my love <3

sad_emo_boi: no homo tho

mimekinnie: ew of course not

mimekinnie: but yk the short asian girl with gray eyes that walked up to you today??

sad_emo_boi: you mean Marinette? 

sad_emo_boi: shes cute

sad_emo_boi: yeah

mimekinnie: shes having straight panic over you

sad_emo_boi: oh nice

sad_emo_boi: what can I do to give her more straight panic

mimekinnie: join GSA

mimekinnie: keep calling her ma-ma-marinette

mimekinnie: she likes that

mimekinnie: have your lip piercings and your ear piercings in

mimekinnie: maybe the eyebrow for good measure

mimekinnie: also

mimekinnie: smirk

mimekinnie: like

mimekinnie: everytime you catch her looking at you

mimekinnie: that's how I got her to date me for a couple months

mimekinnie: before she decided I was too young apparently

mimekinnie: but you wont have that problem!!

mimekinnie: cause you're a senior!!

sad_emo_boi: ……

sad_emo_boi: you wanna talk about it?

mimekinnie: no not really

mimekinnie: aNYWAY

mimekinnie: marc says to use your tallness to your advantage

sad_emo_boi: done and done

sad_emo_boi: also

sad_emo_boi: hi marc!

mimekinnie: he says hi back

mimekinnie: just promise me

mimekinnie: you'll make her flustered

mimekinnie: this is my only source of entertainment now that theres school

sad_emo_boi: I promise

sad_emo_boi: see ya later 

mimekinnie: wait

mimekinnie: before you leave

mimekinnie: meet at lunch to discuss how me and marc can seduce boy?

sad_emo_boi: always.

 

be crime do gay

Monday, Sept. 14th 8:43

 

mimekinnie: It has been done.

pocketwatch: as if that's not ominous as all hell-

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak midwinter {17}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: Coming in close to the end!

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Aelin didn’t know how long she and Lucy had been in that room, but she knew that she was cold, achy, and terrified. It took a while for Lucy to notice. She was a curious one, and pretty independent, so she could make herself comfortable in most places, especially once they had food. But, now, Aelin was running out of comforting conversation topics to have with a toddler as anxiety and fear thrummed through her veins. 

The food they were given hours ago had made her sick, although she tried to keep everything down, for Lucy’s sake. Meanwhile, every horrible outcome of what was taking place outside of the four concrete walls she sat inside had her heart beating faster. 

“Ae Ae,” Lucy began, and Aelin looked over at her, trying her best not to cry.

“Yes, Luce?” she replied, quietly. 

“Dada,” Lucy whispered, her lip wobbling, but before she could cry, the door was unlocked, and pushed open.

Aelin quickly snatched Lucy up as she stood and held the toddler tightly in her arms. 

Cairn stood there, looking as deadpan and serious as ever. “Come with me.”

“Where to?” Aelin asked, not moving a step.

Cairn showed no emotion. “Come with me, or I’ll lock you in here, again. It’s your choice.” 

Aelin hated that she didn’t hesitate. Instead, with Lucy in her arms, she followed Cairn out of the little room and through the winding hallways. 

The rest of the building wasn’t any better than the little room they had been trapped in. The stone walls continued, and Aelin didn’t feel comforted at all as they followed Cairn through the narrow hallways. Lucy was whining, which didn’t comfort Aelin either. Aelin should have been the one to comfort her but her own nerves were spiraling out of control.

Their walk seemed to last forever, but eventually, they came to a door. Lucy clung to the neckline of Aelin’s dress, and Lucy was grateful for it, it was the only thing that was keeping Aelin connected to reality.

Even though that reality was horrifying. 

Cairn pushed open the door and gestured for Aelin to enter. She was smart enough not to fight back or be stubborn, even though she so desperately wanted to both be stubborn and fight back. 

Maeve knew it, too, judging by the horrific smile on her red-painted lips as they entered. Aelin, Lucy in her arms, stopped just inside of the door with her chin raised high. 

“Mrs. Whitethorn,” Maeve crooned, as Cairn shut the door behind them. “How are you enjoying your stay?” 

“Food is shit,” Aelin said, plainly. Lucy’s whines had turned into a silent cry, her face buried into Aelin’s shoulder. “Is my husband on his way?”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “To the old train station, yes. In fact, he’ll be leaving that ungodly mansion of yours shortly.”

“Whatever you’re asking him for, he won’t give it to you,” Aelin said, shaking her head, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was wrong. For his wife, and his niece, Rowan would give Maeve whatever she wanted. 

As her dark eyes lit up, Aelin knew that she knew it, too. 

“I plan to test that theory,” she said, at last, her nails clicking on the hard desktop she sat behind. “Cairn.” 

Lucy was being removed from Aelin’s arms before she could even have a second thought. The second she was in Cairn’s arms, she was wailing. 

“No!” Aelin cried, taking a step forward to fight for her niece back, but a gun was cocked, and Aelin froze. 

Maeve didn’t hesitate as she pointed her pistol at Aelin’s head. “One more step, and you die, which would just be awful for all of us, wouldn’t it?” 

Aelin put a protective hand over her stomach, then looked at Lucy, who was being held by Cairn at Maeve’s right hand side. Aelin couldn’t help the tears that lined her eyes as she listened to Lucy cry. 

“Edward!”

The door opened and a man Aelin had never seen before entered the room and took Aelin’s arms behind her back. 

“Fuck you!” Aelin yelled, spitting at Maeve.

The woman snorted and set her gun down on her desk. Then, she nodded her head, and Aelin was hit in the back of the head, the rest of the world going dark around her. 

~~~~~

“They’re late,” Lorcan grumbled, his hands opening and closing at his sides. 

Rowan pulled the pocketwatch out of his breast pocket. Lorcan was right. It was two minutes past. 

“They’ll be here,” he snapped. 

Gavriel stood just behind them, watching the other side of the old abandoned platform, waiting, calmly. Fenrys was there, too, his jaw locked. They had left Aedion at home, watching and waiting in case anything happened there. Lysandra was with him, along with a hysterical Natalia. 

Just as Rowan’s patience was running short, he saw them coming. A sleek, black car was driving up, followed by one that was nearly identical. Rowan had no doubt to whom the cars belonged to.

No one moved, no one said a word as those cars pulled up to the other side of the broken tracks. 

They waited for a moment, and Rowan was about nearly to combust as the door to the first car opened and Cairn came out. He ascended the platform, and met their gazes as he approached.

Alone.

Before Rowan could open his mouth and spit out a retort, Cairn said, “Maeve sends apologies. She couldn’t make it, she was otherwise occupied.” 

“Where are they.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Rowan’s voice was low, calm. He didn’t want to even start thinking about where Maeve’s attention was.

“Depends which one you’re asking about,” Cairn replied, simply. 

Rowan froze, and it was Lorcan that growled, “Stop dancing around the subject, tell us the fucking conditions so we can get on with it.” 

Cairn stared at them, perfectly happy with Lorcan’s outburst. It’s why he let the silence ensue before saying, “Mr. Whitethorn comes with me.”

Gavriel’s shoulders tensed as Fenrys snorted. Lorcan had begun to say no, but Rowan interrupted them all, saying, “And Lucy and Aelin come back?” 

“I have Lucy in the car,” Cairn replied, simply, and when he didn’t go on, Rowan asked, “And my wife?” 

Cairn just smiled, slowly. 

“Well?” Rowan asked, after Cairn said nothing. 

“Lucy comes back to you now,” he said, quietly. “Aelin will be sent back to the estate when Rowan is safely delivered to Maeve.” 

“No,” Lorcan breathed, even though Rowan knew it hurt him to say it. “We find another way.”

“Lucy needs to be safe now,” Rowan said, quietly. “And Aelin needs to be safe now. I’ll be fine, and I’ll figure something out, but they need to be home, where I know they’re okay.” 

Lorcan stilled, but Rowan said, “Bring Lucy to Lorcan and I’ll come willingly.” 

“That undoes everything that we’ve fought for so far,” Fenrys muttered.

Rowan closed his eyes, knowing full well he was thinking of Connall. But Rowan wouldn’t have another death on his hands. Not his niece. Not his wife. He was done watching those he loved die, those that his family loved die.

He was over it.

Done.

Cairn waved a hand and the door to the second car was opened. A man in a suit came out, carrying Lucy, who was looking around with big, round eyes. The moment she spotted Lorcan, she began to cry, scream for him, but the second Lorcan took a step toward her, a gun was pointed at him.

So he stilled, and waited, even though it killed him to do so. The second Lucy was in his arms, though, he was clinging onto his daughter for dear life. 

“Dada.” She wept his name, and if Rowan had any sort of hesitation, Lucy’s little voice pushed him over the edge. Without looking back at his men, he took a step toward Cairn, then another, and another.

Before anyone could say anything otherwise, Rowan was shoved into a car and being driven away from the abandoned train tracks. 

Toward his aunt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[babylooneytoonz]

Warning: Mild SMUT, Non descriptive SMUT.

Trip Mines & Broken Hearts [Tommy Shelby x Reader]

Part-3

Quick link to read the other parts here.

You were still grieving, so Tommy made it a ritual to try to visit you once a week, when he could, to spend time with you. Sometimes he bought you flowers— your favourites, yellow tulips; sometimes he bought you pastries and chocolates & sometimes he just came empty handed but you really didn't mind. All you were thankful for, was his company.

But each time he visited you, your heart sank. Each time, he had a new injury, sometimes a gash over an eyebrow, sometimes, you could see that his shoulder was slightly hunched, limp so you would fix it for him.

That day, your lungs felt like they were about to explode, like they were on fire.

Your palm felt sweaty, and Tommy's skin felt warm against it.

"Stop, Tommy, I can't fucking run anymore—" You panted, finally stopping underneath a large oak tree over the hilltop. Tommy finally let go off your hand and you leant back against the bark of the tree, resting your head against it as you tried to calm your racing heart and steady your breath.

"Come on, it wasn't even a mile," Tommy chuckled, a playful grin plastered to his face. You just scowled at him, wanting to swat it away but he dodged your hand and moved away.

"We could have just walked, what was the whole point of running all the way up?" You shook your head.

"You would have missed the sunrise then, love."

Tommy slowly turned you, fixing himself behind you and then you saw it— the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your eyes on.

The pale sunlight slowly bloomed over the horizon, the bright yellow ball of fire slowly rising, colours of orange and pink exploding in your eyes. It was magical— beautiful. You fell back against Tommy, who locked his hands around your front to hold you, the back of your head resting against his chest, a weak sigh escaped your lips, "this is beautiful." He hummed in response to your words, his chin now resting against your shoulder.

Another chance to live.

The start of a brand new day—

With Tommy—

"You think this is beautiful, love? I think its got nothing on you."

In that moment, you were thankful for the fact that it wasn't morning yet, and the sunlight was bleak and it didn't illuminate your face. Had it done so, Tommy would have noticed your face turn two shades redder, just like a ripe, red tomato.

"Stop with the flattering, Mr. Shelby, no one's ever said that to me before. I really doubt it." You rolled your eyes, resting backwards against his hard chest.

"They're crazy if they bloody didn't." He suddenly grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers against his; you could feel his rough, matted skin; one of the lasting byproducts of war; as he tugged at you and pulled you to the tree. You both sat down underneath it, you snuggled against his front, sitting between his legs, your faces still cocked towards the sun that had slowly begin to rise.

"The Sun's almost up, Mr. Shelby, does it mean you have to leave now?" You absentmindedly asked him. Maybe he was even more absentminded than you were because you noticed that he did not reply. When you snapped your neck towards him, you saw that he was looking at your hand, that was still in his hand.

"What are you thinking?"

"Hm, what?" He looked up at you, and then gave you a smile, "It's nothing, love."

"Liar."

"I'm not."

"I don't believe you."

"You're very irritating," Tommy commented, leaning forward, placing his hand on your hair, slowly, yet reluctantly moving your hair away from your shoulder. You shuddered at his touch, his fingers felt strange against your bare skin around your neck, but you liked it. "Fine, I was just thinking."

"Spill it."

The hand that was on your neck moved away, and a tiny whelp escaped your lips, almost involuntarily, causing you to almost bite down on your tongue, hoping Tommy hadn't heard it. But of course he'd had, and he was smirking.

"I was thinking, well, your beautiful hand looks empty, like something's missing."

Although you were starting to follow his subtle hints, but you didn't want to imagine things and later, find out that you had just been imagining it. So you didn't reply.

"I was thinking, once the war ends, I'll put a ring to it—"

"Tommy—" You breathed, your heart thumping wildly against your chest.

"But till then, I wanna know you're mine."

He leaned forward, slightly, breaking a blade of grass, toying with it slightly before he took your hand and tied the blade of grass to your ring finger.

"You do realize you're an idiot, aren't you?" You chastised him, instantly feeling him stiffen so you immediately spoke again, giving him a soft smile, your hand moving up, your fingers running inadvertently through your hair, "Idiot because you've not kissed me yet. And yet you call me yours."

That was the day you experienced it all — your first kiss, your first everything.

You didn't get a chance to speak any further for in the next few minutes, Tommy had pushed you to the ground, his body spread over yours, propped up on his side as he softly kissed your lips. It was a warm feeling and that was when you experienced this weird, alien feelings, and now you knew what it felt like — feeling butterflies inside you. His lips were soft, unlike his hands and his kiss was slow, gentle yet every ounce of it screamed passion.

It didn't take much time for the kiss to turn into something much more — much more raw, much more animalistic. A new, sudden desire erupted inside you and you seemed to love feeling like this. Tommy's hands were now moving all over your body, brushing against your breasts, sometimes cupping the bulge of them and sometimes, wandering lower than that, his finger trailing against the fabric of your dress over your stomach.

"I'll stop if you want me to, love."

The thing was, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to feel how it felt like being with a man, not just any man, but rather, the man that you were in love with with, completely.

"I don't want you to stop, Tommy."

Your voice was a whisper, and you shuddered underneath his touch.

"Touch me, Tommy," you whispered, and your words sent him into another world altogether, where there was no war, no blood and just him and you. He pressed his lips to you once more, but this time, he was rough, more passionate, biting and tugging at your lips, his tongue in your mouth, dancing with your tongue.

This time when you pulled back, licking your lips to relish his taste still lingering on you; he had no smile on his face, just a hot, burning gaze in his eyes which you knew was going to end in something beautiful, between the two of you.

He leaned forward, his lips pressed to your ear, as he whispered your name in his thick, Brummie accent.

Your bodies touched, his hands feeling you all over and you curled your fingers into his tousled hair, a sudden ecstacy filling you, while your bodies moved in sync with each other, your moans filling up the air.

It was you and Tommy, alone, on top of that hill that early morning—

That morning, all alone under the pale sunlight, the chirping of the birds and the cool early morning air, dew sitting fresh on the leaves of the tree; you and Tommy rode each other's high until your passions finally exploded.

But now, it felt like nothing but a distant memory. Something that happened a long time back. Things had changed a lot since then. The world had changed; and so had the people. Somewhere, down the lane, the boy you'd loved had changed too, he'd become a man, and you'd grown up. However, what hadn't changed was the feelings you had for him, the love you felt for him and the way you missed his thick voice, his cocky jokes and his hypnotizing blue eyes. You had the box, a small wooden box, hidden safely in your closet, buried under piles of clothes and inside the wooden box was the withered blade of the grass, the one that Tommy had marked you with— as his. Although you both had moved on, in your respectable lives, he was now a feared gangster and a politician, a famous man, and you were just you, a married woman now, both of you had a piece of each other with each other, to remind you of him, and him of you.

A blade of grass and a little set of icy blue eyes just like him—

And, a silver locket, the one that Tommy hung his pocketwatch with.

[A/N- Again, thank you to the lovely GIF makers for the ones I used. And to the readers, feedback is most welcome. 💕]

[heli0s-writes]

Surprises

Summary: You and Bucky babysit the Barton clan. Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Silliness, little angst at the end. TW: Mentions infertility.

Bag of Tricks One-Shot Masterlist

You are surprisingly good with kids.

When you visited the Barton farm for the first time, all of Clint’s kids loved you. After the initial excitement over Captain America, Thor, and Auntie Nat, they always came back to you. You’d be plopped down on the couch, flipping through the channels, and Clint’s daughter would find her way into your lap with a picture book.

To be polite, you had read it to her the first time, accidentally becoming very invested in the Lorax’s plight for environmental justice and the next thing you knew, your voice was loud and booming, rising and falling with the cadence of each line. The boys had shown up, too, clapping and cheering at the end and requested another book.

Clint never let you live down reading his kids four books that evening. And building a blanket fort. And rolling yourself up in the blanket and hobbling after them.

The next time you returned, Lila had moved onto chapter books, and you were happy to help her read those as well. She had a lot of questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs, and you would answer them to the best of your ability. She knew quite a lot for a 2nd grader, so you ended up asking her quite a few questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs as well (who the heck knows how to pronounce Deinonychus anyway?)

At the end of the night, she was curled up in your lap while you braided her hair. You were glad she fell asleep because it was quite honestly a travesty that all 7 braids were different sizes and shapes.

“You ever think about raising your own kid?” Clint asked later that night. “In this business? Pfft.”

So, you settled on being the Barton’s babysitter when they needed one. And on one dark October night, you enlist Bucky Barnes’ help.

-

“Can you braid my hair while we watch the movie?” Lila asks as she settles in next to you on the couch. Cooper and Nate are down on their bellies in front, squished pillows underneath them to soften the hardwood flooring.

“Lila,” You sigh, “You don’t remember this, but last time I braided your hair… you looked terrible.”

“It’s okay.” She giggles, “It just feels nice!”

Bucky is on the other side of the couch, gaze attached to the slasher movie you had been told specifically not to put on for the kids. With a slight kick to his knee, you ask him for help with your eyes. Lila doesn’t know, but you can’t braid worth a shit—most of what happened to her hair last time had a lot to do with sheer dumb luck. And it was still a travesty.

She might say that she doesn’t care, but you know any eight-year-old girl cares about what their hair looks like. Even if it’s just a night in with her brothers.

He sends you an annoyed look back, because you dragged him to bumfuck middle of 80 acres of nowhere and he’s watching Planet Terror with a bunch of children. Barton is going to skin his ass when he gets back.

“Bucky, can you braid?” You whisper as Rose McGowan fires her fucking machinegun leg and the ricochet shudders through the T.V.

“Yes.” He replies.

“Help a girl out, man.” You motion to Lila, who has now covered her eyes as red sprays from an enormous wound. Bucky grimaces at the way your fingers have separated three locks. Already it is a tangled mess and you haven’t even started.

“What are you trying to do? Give the kid dreadlocks?” He scowls, slapping your hand away and scooting over so that she’s now mostly in front of him and you are squished and diagonal, pushed away by his shoulder. In mere minutes he makes short work of the herculean task you had tried to take on.

It’s a perfect fishtail braid, and he’s even used strands of her hair to wrap around the elastic neatly. You stare open-mouthed at him as Lila pats the back of her head and happily squeals at what he’s done. Bucky grunts in reply and then sinks back into the sofa, crossing his arms.

“I gotta turn this off. This can’t be good for the kids.”

--

“EARTHQUAKE!” You scream, grabbing the edge of the dinner table and rocking it so hard all the pieces of the board game fall over. Cooper is out of his seat, throwing his hands up in the air as he yells, “CHEATER!” And Nate looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Lila could care less, still enamored by her beautifully weaved locks.

Bucky puts his face in his hands as you expertly dodge the metal dog and thimble piece Cooper is throwing at you. It’s bad enough that you had been massively in debt to the bank but shaking the board because you were losing is a new level of low. The kids chase you around the house and throw pillows at you when you climb too far out of their reach. Pastel strips of Monopoly money lay scattered all over the house.

Bucky hisses your name as you perch on the hutch in the dining room. “Get down from there! Christ!”

Nate tosses a cushion up that you swat away easily. Cooper throws a cookie that you catch in your mouth. “I’ll die before I come down.” You mutter, “Stupid, capitalist, Monopoly-monocle’d, pocketwatched motherfu—”

A pillow to the face muffles the rest of your complaint and Bucky points at you in a silent scolding. Thank God he has good aim because if the Bartons come home from date night and little Nate was calling someone a motherfucker, Laura would skin his ass.

“You are terrible with children!” He whispers when the kids leave the room to find something else to do.

Slowly, you climb down and pat his shoulder. “My favorite part about kids is the part where I give them back to their parents.” You admit. “I didn’t think they’d take this long.”

From the corner of the dining room, Nate and Cooper rush forward screaming at you. Pillows are raised high above their heads as they leap and pummel you with the fluffy squares. You shriek and fall down and make a huge show about it—something about melting and turning green and flying monkeys. It’s all too much, but the kids love it and tell you it’s what you deserve for being a cheater.

But then Nate and Cooper yelp as you snatch their ankles in your hand and stand tall, holding them upside down. It’s easy to forget that you have super-human strength because you certainly don’t look like it. But it’s on display now as you spin around on your heels and take the boys circling with you.

Nate’s head misses the corner of a wooden chair by centimeters and Bucky thinks he might fucking faint. Lila takes this opportunity to try and jump on your back to save her brothers, but she’s just a fraction too slow and your arm crashes into her instead, sending all three siblings tumbling and you as well.

Bucky sighs severely as he stands over the mess in the kitchen. One adult (tentatively labeled), three children, rubbing their heads and limbs, pouting like babies. There is a swelling mark underneath Nate’s hairline and he rubs it gingerly, whimpering when his fingers touch it.

You run to the refrigerator for an icepack before he can burst into tears.

-

Forgiveness is earned after three hurriedly made root beer floats—extra whipped cream piled so high that it overtakes the entire glass and the kids stick half their noses in it to try and lick some off. You slump heavily in a chair and dig a spoon into your own glass of fizzing cream and soda.

A single cherry is plopped on top of the bubbles. Bucky peers down at you, licking the syrup off his finger with a smirk.

“I guess you’re not so bad with kids.” He says, glancing over at where the three previously dour Bartons sit, now giddy with cheer as they slurp their desserts. Cooper has stuck his finger in his glass, scooping up the last remnants of sweetness before turning over and eyeing Nate’s half-full container.  

You throw the cherry into your mouth and grin, “Yeah. I’m kind of a miracle worker.” And then your tongue pokes around in your mouth and you shut one eye as if in intense contemplation. When you stick your tongue out again, the cherry stem has been tied into a little knot, glistening with spit.

“Woah!” Lila yells, “How’d you do that?”

“I wanna learn!” Cooper rushes forward, peering at the stem between your fingers, and then all three kids are screeching, “me too!” and jumping in circles around the table. Bucky puts both his hands up when you start explaining what to do because he—an actual, reasonable, adult—does not think teaching three kids to tie a cherry stem into a knot is a good idea.

Before he can do much else, the Barton children are shoving each other and arguing. Then they break out into laughter and take off into the living room. All Bucky hears next is screaming and the sound of six feet jumping on every cushion there is. They tumble, wrestle, run, and in general act like little hazards. Nate screeches at the top of his lungs—just because, apparently.

Bucky takes your spoon from your mouth and scoops a big chunk of ice cream for himself, resigned to getting skinned. When Clint and Laura come home and find their kids cracked out on sugar at—he checks the clock—good fuck, half past midnight, they are going to kill the both of you.

The spoon is still in his mouth when he mumbles, “You are terrible with kids.”

--

“Huh.” Clint says when he enters the living room and finds all five of you settled in comfortably with the children sound asleep. Laura’s cheeks are a bit peachier than you remember and there’s a lazy little smile that graces her features as she peers down at her children.

“Sorry—they fell asleep during the movie and I didn’t have the heart to wake ‘em up.” You say with a sheepish grin, tilting your chin up and watching him upside down.

“That’s okay, kid.” Clint grins, hand on his hip. “Jeez, you really wore ‘em out. What’dja do?” He gives Bucky a curious look but doesn’t say much else. The two of you are sharing a blanket in the middle of the floor, heads propped up by one couch cushion. Lila is to your left with her head on your arm, fishtail braid bursting apart, strands of hair flaying about around her head like a halo. Cooper and Nate are on the other side of Bucky, mouths open and snoring softly.

They’re even changed into their pajamas, teeth brushed and everything.

Slowly, Clint picks up Lila and Cooper and Laura does the same to Nate. They go upstairs to put the kids to bed while you and Bucky peel the blanket off, quietly making your exit.

Before you can reach the car, the front door swings shut and Clint is stepping out with his hands tucked in his pockets. “Hey.” He calls, “Thanks for the night. Laura and I haven’t been out alone in months.”

“Don’t mention it.” You beam. Behind you, Bucky scoffs just enough for you to hear.

“You sure you don’t want any kids? You’re damn good with ‘em.”

Bucky snorts louder, kicks the dirt beneath this boot and puts his hand on your shoulder, “Her favorite part is giving ‘em back.” He announces before you clamp your hand over his mouth. His eyes twinkle under the moonlight as Clint waves goodbye and retreats into his home. The screen door clicks quietly, and you watch the yellow glow of each room turn off until the cabin is just an afterimage against the darkness.

“You think brushing twice was good?” You mutter with a sigh as Bucky pulls out of the dirt driveway.

“No, which was why I suggested mouthwash.”

A silence passes before you suck on your teeth and say, “Hey, check it out.”

Peeling your lips back, you show him the cherry stem from earlier in the night, now neatly tied with another knot next to the first one. Bucky scoffs and snatches it from your teeth.

“I swear to all fuck, how you got them fooled is beyond me. Fuckin’ Planet Terror, then shaking the goddamn Monopoly board, and then teaching fuckin’ kids how to tie--” he throws the stem back in your face, “and then ice cream at midnight.”

“Hey! They had fun!” You cry, dodging him.

“They threw up!”

You cackle, because they did all throw up, and it was really funny. Bucky groans and rolls his eyes because you would absolutely be the worst mother. Your kids would grow up in the most chaotic household. But, he thinks, they’d be loved. So maybe you wouldn’t be the worst. You also had them help you clean up the house and were firm with them when they didn’t want to. Bucky feels a smile grow on his face. Maybe you are good with children.

“You’re pretty responsible, Buck. You think you’ll ever have kids?”

It’s a quiet question. Suddenly your demeanor is sullen as you turn to gaze out the window, peering at the full moon and he knows where your mind has wandered to.

Clint has something the rest of you can only dream about. You might crack jokes about being terrible with children, but it’s no secret that domesticity is something you long for. A baked apple pie in the windowsill, running under summer sprinklers, hanging the sheets up to dry, dancing through the living room barefoot, kind of life.

There are mobiles of stars and paper airplanes in your dreams, swaddling cloth with giraffes and moons. Gerber Baby food jars and baby-proofed corners. There are nights when you think about what the gene experiments did to your body and all you can do is stare silently.

The irony of you being so good with children is not lost on him.

A warm hand clamps itself over yours. Bucky links his flesh fingers through your smaller ones, holds onto the wheel with his metal hand.

“Nah.” Bucky says, “My favorite thing to do with kids is give ‘em back.”

A short laugh escapes as you grip his hand tighter, letting the moment pass on by like it always does. Usually you ride the wave on your own, crash on your own, and awaken the next morning in disarray on your own. But this time, his warm hand is holding you steady as the pain crests and ebbs away.

“Hey.” You say, rubbing your thumb over his in a surprising show of affection. Bucky feels his heart pick up a faster beat as you worry your lip with your teeth. Then, because you’re always full of surprises, you stick your tongue out where the cherry stem has collected another knot. “Check it out.”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling, genuinely joyful sound as he squeezes your hand. “You’ll have to teach me that some time.” He jokes-- anything to keep you from looking so sad.

Your lashes flutter as you blink slowly in contemplation. Bucky’s heart picks up again when you turn to him and shyly say, “If you pull over, I can teach you right now.”

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Last Laugh (Inglourious Basterds Imagine)

Warning: Very angsty/graphic/more bloody & dark than usual w/ heavy mentions of death, please don't read if you're sensitive on that ;-;

Requested by @cass-danvers

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee

Let me know if you wanna be added to the Basterds or OUATIH taglists! :)

Their boots stormed through the deep mud. They faced the scorn of the wind, and the beating rain against their numb faces, a chill striking in their bones. The basterds had one mission, and one only at that moment: Find you. You had been missing for a month. You were sent on a mission, alone. Something you could, and should have been able to handle on your own. You could, and should have been back in a week... But the basterds knew you, and knew you would have been back in less than that. But you weren't. A month passed. Rumors spread among the nazis.  They divulged those rumors, hoping to be spared by the basterds. It was too late.  The basterds were done waiting and wondering. You wouldn't have gone AWOL. You weren't a fucking deserter. You didn't have it in you. You wouldn't even have gone rogue... Not without saying goodbye. This was different. It was wrong. It all felt like an impending tragedy, in their guts, in their bones... And they were right. You were hidden somewhere in the shadows of a mountain, and the darkness of a forest, held hostage by nazis for three weeks. They held you on charges of being a traitor, being armed, and being part of conspiracies against the NSDAP.  They interrogated you not for your former charges, but for being a basterd. They wanted to know where you came from, whose scalps you had around your belt, where you were going, and most importantly, where the basterds were. You denied everything.

You denied every single thing. You bore the pain. You shed the blood. You burned through your throat with screams. But you never said a word.

You never would give the enemy the last laugh, even if it cost your last breath. You were starved, you were thirsty. You were beaten black and blue. You were half blind. One of your eyes was swollen shut. The other had red blood and rain running into it ceaselesy.

The drops of rain mixing with your blood and forgotteness, dripping onto the mud below you. A nazi held you by the hair on the back of your head. One last question... Your answer was unexpected...

  You smiled. Even if no one heard it, you'd have the last laugh.

The nazis saw then what you’d seen... But they wouldn't let the appraoching basterds have you back. If the nazis couldn't see the blue sky again, neither would you. If the nazis couldn't get the answer from you,  neither would the basterds. So the one gripping your hair pulled out his knife, stained with weeks worth of your blood. He dug it deep into your abdomen, and pulled it up to your chest, until you heard the sound of gunshots.

He fell. Blood pouring down from his forehead... Your face became wet with red rain and tears, as blood trickled down the cracked, splintering corners of your lips. Blood poured down your chest and abdomen. You were stunned for a moment, hardly even feeling the pain anymore... "Y/N!" You fell onto your side, you smiled weakly, vaguely seeing the outline of your basterdized vengeance. Suddenly, in spite of weeks of inhumanity, endless blood, and the chilling wind, you felt warm. You felt someone’s compassion, and care. You turned, looking to the sky... Between you and the thundering grey clouds stood Lieutenant Aldo Raine. He held you desparately in your arms. As the basterds took down your murderers, he held on to you... It was clear there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do... It was too late. He was too late... You died slowly, and silently. It was too much...Too cold, too bloody... A speechless death... You shivered, sputtering on your own blood, unable to give Aldo your last message: The reason you were mercilessly held for so long... Aldo's heart was shattered. He set his knife, his gun, and his guard down. You were just a kid... Just a fucking kid... He shouldn't have sent you out alone. He'd already lost Andy, Michael, and Simon in the past year, in a botched ambush...he couldn't lose you too... He looked down at you, your eyes seeming to scream 'don't forget me.' He gulped, and spoke with a low, soft voice... The last words you'd hear deserved to be gentle. "It's gonna be ok," even if they were a lie... You struggled to speak, but you couldn't. Aldo knew that. "No...don't talk..." he lied to himself this time, hoping you had a chance.... Even the slightest sliver of a chance, and he'd take it. But you were done lying and denying. You weren't making it out of it. Not this time.

"Look at the time..." You managed to murmur, before breaking out into a crackling, broken, suffocating cough. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion... You went limp, there in his arms... The world seemed to fade away. The present revenge was in the distant past. You were gone... And Aldo cursed himself silently... He thought he'd never understand your last words... He'd never decipher them. He'd never understand the urgency in your eyes as you took your last breath. "Y/n..." Smitty murmured, broken. Aldo closed your eyes... A single tear falling on your face, lost with the rust colored rain drops.

The basterds had gathered around. They took you away... That was all they could do then. It was dark when they got back... They couldn't send you home... It would be desecration to send you to Germany. Wicki shook his head, "What about Y/n’s family?" Hugo shook his head. He knew what it was like to be a traitor. He knew you. "No family."

Donny nodded... He hadn't said a word since they'd set out to find you. He was covered in the nazi's blood. But it did nothing to take your blood of his mind. "Her family is here." Omar murmured through his silent tears, "It’s us...It was always us..." Hirschberg sighed in defeat, and said the words everyone was too pained to say, "And we weren't there." That night, everyone drifted into their tents, one by one... Slowly, and silently. Only Aldo stayed outside all night, unable to sleep, unable to take his eyes off the lost basterd...  Unable to forgive himself as he muttered incessantly through the night, in spite of the impending sunrise, “Just a fucking kid...Just a kid...”

The next day, the sky was blue. The clouds were bright, like piercing white paint.  The birds were unusually silent. The flowers were in full bloom in a hidden meadow that you yourself had shown the boys once... It seemed like life times ago... And that was where they buried you, among the countless flowers, as numerous as the lives you yourself had avenged and saved... Far from war. Far from pain. Far from blood. Far from forgotteness... The boys stood around, giving final, speechless goodbyes. Unforgiven tears falling, still covered in the nazis' blood. Smitty killed the nazi that took your life, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough because he'd never hear your laugh again. It wasn't enough to Donny, because you'd never pitch a torn up baseball at him again, while shouting 'think fast!' with the brightest, cheeriest smile of all the basterds. It wasn't enough to Omar, because no one would ever race him to pay off their debt to Aldo. It wasn't enough to Hugo. He had no one else to share traitorous stories with...no one else would understand. It wasn't enough to Wicki. There would never be anyone to number the stars with him, and help him fall asleep. It wasn't enough to Hirschberg. There was no one to hide his boots.... Consequently, no one to be by his side and get chewed out by Aldo for being late for the millionth time... And it wasn't enough to Aldo, because he just lost one of the best goddamn basterds the world had to offer. It wasn't enough because he'd never get your blood off his hands. It wasn't enough because he'd never unsee your eyes... He'd never forget your last words... "Look at the time..."

It wasn't enough, because even if the sun was out, and the sky was perhaps the brightes blue it had been in a long time...the world was already less bright without you in it. "Look at the time..." One rock... Two rocks... "Look at the time..." Seven rocks laid over the grave. Seven memories. Seven basterds. Seven memories. Seven soldiers fighting on in your memory. That night, the basterds sat around  a fire, beneath the stars Wicki looked at with a hopeless sigh of emptiness... Donny had been quieter than usual. Hugo surprisingly spoke more. Smitty broke down, when it was all said and done. Omar ran every memory of you in his mind, denying that there would be no more. Hirschberg stared into the fire, quietly dissociating. Aldo finally spoke up, interrupting the ringing sound of the crickets’ weary song. "Last thing Y/n said was to look at the time..." Wicki had been sitting by Aldo, putting the last of your things in a box that would be sent to the OSS. Your dogtag. Your weapons. And the last of your belongings: A pocketwatch. He looked to Aldo, and repeated, "Look at the time?" Ald nodded as he looked into the fire, "Yeah..." Wicki instinctively opened the locket, and looked at the watch within. The glass was cracked, and if he knew you, he knew you'd never let anything happen to it. It wasn't right... It was a gift to you from your love, who was taken from you, days before your wedding, and murdered in a nameless hellhole, all for their faith. Then, you became a traitor, a conspirator, and a runaway. A runaway basterd that had taken down nazis responsible for it all... Until you ran into the basterds... That watch was all that you had left... Wicki held it reverently...it was all they had left of you.  The face of the clock was crooked. "Aldo. Look at the time." Wicki put the watch in Aldo's palm. Aldo narrowed his eyes as he looked at it. He used the tip of his knife to carefully pry to glass off, keeping it one piece, and then removed the face of the watch. The back was empty. The gears were gone. The chain was bloodstained. There was a thin, narrow strip of paper folded carefully. Aldo took the paper out and unfolded it carefully. He read it, and reread it... It was a mission... Possibly their last one. Operation Kino. He passed it around to the boys. Each one read it, carefully, word for word. You gave up your most prized possession, your dignity, and your life for that goddamn piece of paper, after all. They owed it to you. The paper came back to Aldo. He held onto it tightly as he stared at the fire. "We doin' it?" Hirschberg seemed to break an eternity of silence. Aldo nodded in silence...

Donny murmured, "We fuckin' owe it to Y/n, kid." So it was agreed... The basterds took on one last mission, for you, your memory, your honor, your name. You'd died a slow, painful, silent and seemingly meaningless death. Virtually alone until that final moment. That last breath. But the basterds marched to a tavern in the small town of Nadine, they did something they were unaware of: They gave you the last laugh.

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Chain[gun] Reaction

Slim Pickens, well he does the right thing And he rides the bomb to hell Yeah, he rides the bomb to hell

He was young, young and full of promise and potential and all those words the recruiter used to soothe the raw wounds left behind by a yellow letter delivered to the front door of a once happy home.

Whirl, young and bright with eyes like sunshine and a crooked smile, signed his name and soul away in memory of his mother- who loved her son more than she ever loved her sky, even thought it was her sky that sealed her fate.

His father watched with dim and dead eyes as his only son, his bluebird boy, packed his bags and hugged him tight.

“I’ll be fine, Pop- don’t worry, I’ll come home, okay?”

He didn’t know, oh he didn’t know how his future would change with this decision- He had no idea the sound of gunfire and the burn of toxic words and liqour would become lullabies as he watched his unfamiliar claws pretend to be gentle.

And it was brutal, and it was cold. And it broke him and remade him and broke him again as he learned to bare his teeth first in a snarl and then in a manic smile he never knew he possessed. And with orders ringing in his ears and bitter apathy brewing in his heart he pushed and pulled and dragged himself over finish lines and end points that seemed to be farther and farther away from him- flagpoles moved once a month, once a week, once every other day.

If he only knew how he’d be betrayed by the system he served, if only he knew how his midday sunshine eyes would be broken and dimmed and warped from their almost childish dubloon wideness into the narrow slices of molten metal sighting down the barrel of a gun.

And his father gave weak smiles with honest joy as his son looked back over his shoulder as he walked with the graduating crowd; looking back with a lopsided grin like an angel with aircraft wings had done once upon a time so long ago and an artisan filigree heart broke when Whirl smiled.

If only the golden son had known he would set with a flash of fire and a comet’s trail.

And then his father couldn’t smile anymore.

Whirl stood solemn in front of the grave, not feeling the pats to his shoulder, the affectionate squeezes to his arm. He refused to look at the pity in officer’s eyes when he declined reenlistment, refused to see the worry in the eyes of his fellow Corps members when he fell silent for hours. Then days.

When he finally could hold his head up, his father’s shop looked back at him  with dusty windows and a door that still creaked if it opened too wide. And so he began to repair- the building or himself, he couldn’t tell.

The feel of gold and silver and platinum between his fingers, the casual catch of his lower lip with his teeth in concentration, the gentle ticktockticktock of seconds and minutes and hours fluttering away like crows from a carcass; a rustle of dark feathers and bluegrey hair in a loose tail down his back.

They called him an artist, they called him a master. They lauded his new work, they cooed over cogs and wheels and carefully designed faces coated in a countdown to the end of days.

He wondered if he would outlive these creations, when his father didn’t outlive his own.

If he only knew he would not only outlive them, but outlive the memory of his father’s legacy as it was laid to rest.

The Dead End, for him, had it’s draws. Dens of debauchery masquerading as bars or ‘spas’ and any kind of company for the right price. Whirl, his hands curled in his pockets, often wondered to himself why the streetlights didn’t glow red like a warning like in all the old holovids his father used to watch from a gilded age.

It was a thrown bottle that let the Devil’s eye turn to him. A thrown bottle, a mocking laugh, the word “coward” slung coldly at him by a face he only half remembered...

And then his knuckles were coated in blood that wasn’t his own. Once again a sneer painted his face, shattered his crooked grin and darkened his sunshine eyes and he released the shirtcollar of his target to watch them hit the floor facedown with a wet sound like old meat on a butcher’s counter. He looked over his shoulder with his eyes on fire.

“Who’s fuckin’ next?”, he drawls out in a voice made rough by silence and mourning in equal measure; a raven’s hiss of Nevermore, a crow’s caw from the gallows.

Something in him gave up on kindness. Something inside of him broke down like clockparts in a housefire and his cogs ground themselves apart as he rebuilt with fistfights and binges, with questionable company of any and all kinds.

“You were an Aerial Corps prodigy.”, mused the Enforcer of the week, “You’d be... useful, to us.”

He spat on the Enforcer’s shoes, squinting through a busted cheek and grinning with a split lip, “Get fucked, fuzzman.”

“It would be wise to show a little respect.”

“Fuckin’ earn it then, pissrag.”

More bruises, more cracked bones and weakened joints. Nineteen and lost, twenty and cracked like church windowglass and he grunted in muted pain as he laid on his back in a bare cell for an overnight in solitary.

He ignored his father’s voice chiming in the back of his mind, asking him what his mother would think.

He ignored the memory of her laughter his mind called forth against his will.

The cell door opened; hours early, at hours questionable, and he turned his head and made a noise of confusion. The medic beside the Enforcer smiled with nothing behind it, empty as Whirl’s eyes had become, and nodded once.

“That’s the one.”

Whirl sat up slowly, curses and vindictive words dancing on his tongue before a heavy fist flashed across his face and slammed his head into the wall the bench-turned-bed was mounted against.

He wouldn’t wake up until he smelled antiseptic- and he’d wish beyond wishing he hadn’t woken up at all.

When he awoke, his vision blurred and swam and his arms burned like hellfire as the numbness in his face flickered like radio static. He tried to speak, to scream, but the medics around him simply frowned and shook their heads as they loosened the straps holding him down.

He was eased up into a sitting position, and told in flat tones he had ten minutes to gather himself and leave the operating theatre.

“Op-erat-ing?”, he rasped out, before he raised his hand to hold his throat; and he froze solid at what answered his movement.

Ragged and matte-dark, hard steel with a three-point claw on the end. Panic rolled over him in tidal waves and threatened to drag him under as he held his new arms out in front of himself and nearly screamed.

They had taken his hands.

He looked frantically around at the passive and disinterested faces around him before he caught his reflection and his raw voice howled out like a hurricane. A blank patch over one eye with heavily stitched lacerations leading out from underneath it. His chest shuddered and hiccuped, and he felt the covered eye burn like fire as the other leaked viscous red in a thin line.

“Do not worry. Once the removal injuries have healed, there will be no more pesky things such as tears or foolish bickering outbursts.”

Whirl looked up. The surgeon smiled as they pulled gloves soaked in blood off their hands. Their functioning, real hands.

“We have fixed you, Whirl- that is your name, correct? We have repaired all of the flaws in your character with science and scalpels.”

That smile unchanging as horror flooded the channels panic had work into Whirl’s soul.

“Once you are healed, of course; then, you will truly be a Model Citizen.”

Whirl flew at him with a snarl, those claws cinched around the surgeon’s throat and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until the screaming stopped and the doctor’s hands dropped to hang at his sides. Limp, and twitching; and the surgeon gurgled as he was dropped.

Whirl looked up at his reflection one more time before security wardens burst into the room and grabbed fresh prosthetics; ignoring Whirl’s screams and howls as they dragged him out of that sanitized white light.

He was thrown out by three Enforcers, tossed out into the back lot among dumpsters of medical waste and they laughed as he struggled to push himself up to his knees. The sun was setting, his sun was setting, and the sluggish red tears from his remaining eye burned as they trickled free.

He’d learn, later, what was severed and taken. His means of expression burned away and sliced free of his mortal coil. Model Citizen. Emotionless wreck. They knew the way to cage a bird was clip his wings- but they didn’t have to take his ability to cry.

He staggered to his feet, his steps uneven and crooked as he tried to operate with only one half of his vision. He sobbed out for help, he reached out for aid and was met with disgusted looks and threats of further violence and those words chased him and chased him until he stumbled onto the streets that would take him home; take him back to safety and seclusion and softness and-

And fire. And brimstone. And nothing left but a burnt family photo and a pocketwatch from a destroyed desk.

One day, it would be found by a young boy with sunshine eyes. And he’d ask where it was from, and call it beautiful; and Whirl would smile weakly like his father once did to a smiling new pilot and be unable to find the words to explain what it was, what it meant.

Whirl sobbed; on his knees and broken in ways he had no way of knowing yet, he sobbed. He sobbed like a lost child, like a scared boy, like a pilot under fire. He sobbed like a mourning husband and a confused son.

His eye leaked viscous red; there was pressure, there was pain.

And then, there was nothing. There was blank days and a back alley apartment. There was a tiny sting and a heady flight. He was a pilot again, without needing a plane as he stared at nothing and bounced from job to job and came closer and closer to giving up.

And then They found him.

“Sounds like you wanna die.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ do- I don’ exactly look the fuckin’ picture of privileged livin’, do I?”, he snapped.

The man who sat down next to him; dressed in the green of militia’s and murder smiled through his laughter and clapped a hand on Whirl’s shoulder.

“Forty two percent chance you’ll get your wish, kid. And at the very least- you get out of this shithole and three square meals a day.”

“Yeah, and forced sobriety.”

“I don’t care how high you fly or how deep you sink in a bottle as long as you know which way to shoot.”

Whirl looked up, the patch over his scarred blank space slipping slightly, “...A’right, I’m interested.”

“Welcome to the Wreckers; lemme call my ride and we’ll get started.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

And now, years and bullet-shells and nightmares in the future, Whirl stands at a kitchen counter and chokes on air as his lungs seize and fall still. He smells it, that too-clean stench of medical tools and antiseptic and just washed floors and the light is too bright.

Ratchet swears, realizing he hadn’t changed clothes after a day spent teaching the new doctors dropped in his lap by the university (good kids, good hearts, but almost too gentle for the job) and he calls for Perceptor, he calls for Drift.

Whirl doubles over; he gasps and hiccups and screws his eye shut as newer, better, safer prosthetic hands cover ears that still ring like a battlefield song is playing on repeat.

He feels Perceptor’s cold hands on his shoulders, hears Drift call for the dining room light to be “Shut off dammit!” and he exhales a sob.

He opens his eye. There is pressure, there is pain, there’s a crimson dot on the floor like a scope’s laser sight.

He still, after everything, after healing, cannot cry.

[writtenbynath]

The Greatest Fan

This is a story about a man visiting a pro-domme to play out one of his greatest fantasies. My apologies to Henry Cavill, who did not ask for this.

It wasn’t a particularly unusual request, Octavia mused as she read over the online negotiations again. She was actually very glad that he had found her; she would be respectful of his fantasy roleplay, help him make it come alive. Fuck, it was a really hot scenario and she would just enjoy it along with him. She sighed, happy that she could use her time and skills to help others live out their fantasies like this.

His fantasy was about a video game: the Witcher. There were books about the same characters and the same setting, but Octavia had never read them. She had seen the game and tried it, but it was not to her taste. She had however watched the recent Netflix series. Still, she was confident she could help him feel like he was Geralt of Rivia, captured by a sorceress and being “tortured” in a sexy way that stayed within his limits.

What was funny about all of this, was that he signed his messages with the name Henry. That’s the name of the actor who played Geralt in the Netflix series. Octavia had seen an interview with him before the series came out, in which the actor confessed that he applied for the role because he was a fan of the games and the books. This client was clearly also a big fan if he chose that name.

For a moment, she looked around her little studio. The bed was neatly made, the chains and cuffs were ready, and she had the little stepladder so she could actually reach the ceiling hook. She was wearing a long gown that wouldn’t look wrong on a sorceress from the video game and the room was comfortably warm. She put the laptop away and put the kettle on, because he should be here soon.

The knock on the door came just a minute early, which made sense. He was very eager in his messages as well. 

“Come in,” Octavia called out from the corner of the studio. “Would you like tea or coffee?” She could hear the door opening and the man coming in behind her as she made a cup of coffee for herself. There was a moment of silence and then the rustle of him hanging his coat on the rack beside the door.

“You can lock the door with the knob, so we won’t be disturbed.” Octavia said as she turned to face him, with her cup of coffee in her hand. The tall, darkhaired man who reached out and locked the door was in fact Henry Cavill, the square jaw was unmistakable. Octavia’s breath hitched for a second, but she quickly composed herself. She had promised absolute discretion, as she always did to her clients. “Coffee?” She asked as casually as she possibly could.

“Yes, thank you.” He smiled.

She motioned to a seat by the coffee table and made him a cup, taking the time to calm the beating of her heart. It’s funny how actors always excite us, she thought to herself. His messages had clearly shown her that he was a human being and a geek, just like she was.

When she brought the cups of coffee to the table, he lingered by the seat, waiting until she put the cups down. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Henry.” He cordially shook her hand.

“I know…” She momentarily let her eyes roam over his massive shoulders and his bulky arms. Then she sat down and sipped her coffee. “I’m Octavia. Please, make yourself comfortable. I mean, before we make you uncomfortable, like we discussed.” She chuckled.

He laughed and shifted awkwardly in the seat. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve never actually done this before.”

She dismissively waved her hand at him. “I’m sure you’ve done scarier things in your life. This doesn’t involve helicopters, at least.”

He laughed heartily. “This is a different kind of scary.”

“It is, I get that.” She nodded. “I’ll walk you through what is going to happen.”

He picked up his cup and seemed to relax a bit.

“First, you and I are just going to sit here and go over some things, just rehashing what we’ve been messaging about.” She explained quietly. “Then, I would like to hypnotise you, to see how that feels for you, and as preparation for the actual scenario. After that, you can undress and go to the toilet or whatever else you need before we begin.”

Sipping thoughtfully, he asked: “What do we need to go over?”

“Let me just summarise.” Octavia closed her eyes, to help her remember. “You will be playing Geralt of Rivia, and I will be an unknown sorceress who has used a ruse to capture you. We’ll put you in reasonably comfortable chains and I will ‘torture’ you with sexual touches and with a magical spell that will make you faint. I’ll do my best to keep the dialogue in character, but I’m afraid you know much more about the setting than I do, so let’s try to focus on what you and I are doing together, not on the story of the Witcher. I will grope you through your clothes, but I will not remove any clothes, that is your choice. Anything you’re still wearing when we begin, stays on. I will not slap, hit, pinch or bite you, but kissing, grabbing and some shoving is allowed. And mind games, you specifically asked for this because you wanted to play a strong-willed character who is forced to surrender. The scenario ends when you submit, which you will endeavour to communicate clearly. Is that correct?”

Henry blushed. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

Without remarking upon his apparent embarrassment, Octavia continued: “Because Geralt is likely to struggle and ask me to stop, and I will want to continue, I need you to pick a special word that will signify that Henry needs me to stop roleplaying for a moment. You can use this for example when the bondage or something I said is making you uncomfortable. When you say this word, I’ll stop and ask what you need. It’s best to pick a word that doesn’t belong in the Witcher world, but that you have no trouble saying. What is your safeword?”

For a moment, he thought about it and then grinned. “Superman.”

“I like your sense of humour.” Octavia chuckled.

He set the coffee cup down on the table. “So now, you hypnotise me? To make the 'Faint’ spell work and to help me get into character?”

She beamed at him. “Your enthusiasm is wonderful. Do you have any questions or remarks so far?”

He shook his head. “You addressed them in writing. I’m very curious to try this.” He gave her an expectant look, as if he was waiting for her to reveal a pocketwatch and swing it in front of his eyes.

Octavia briefly considered standing over him and asking him to look deep into her eyes. But there would be time for that. And this new plan forming in her mind would be far more effective. “Please sit back in the chair and close your eyes,” she said.

He folded his hands in his lap as he did so.

She allowed herself to stare at this man’s beautiful face as she spoke softly. “I would like you to imagine that you’re in the makeup chair, preparing for a role. We both know which role, although you don’t have any lines to learn now. You’ll have to improvise and go by what you know of the character. I just figured that being in the makeup chair, sitting passively while someone else does things to your head, is probably a familiar feeling to you.”

She got up and softly touched his face and massaged his head in admiration. “It’s so easy to allow your thoughts to drift, thinking about how to act like Geralt, how to sound like Geralt, while someone else is busy preparing you for the scene to come. There is nothing else you need to do right now, but sit here and let me work my magic on you. It’s relaxing really, to know that you’re in good hands and that everything is going according to plan.”

His shoulders started to sag, and his head lolled in her hands. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his hands unclasped and fell to his sides.

“Your sinking deeper into hypnosis is also exactly according to plan. Your passive, open state of mind is precisely what we need right now. You can just let every word I say guide you deeper into this relaxing space, so that I can prepare you for the scene.” She allowed a moment of silence while she continued to caress his temples and his hair.

His breathing was visibly slowing and his face was relaxing, his jaw becoming slack. As she observed how he was slumping in the chair, she noticed a bulge growing in the crotch of his trousers.

Pleased, she continued in a dreamy tone: “There is one very important thing I want you to know, Henry. In this space we’re creating here together, during this scene we’ll be playing together, your arousal is wanted. It’s the very purpose of what we’re doing here, and that knowledge is liberating, isn’t it? Isn’t it easy to allow yourself to feel how my every touch excites you? Your body expresses your sexual feelings so much more naturally now that you know that your lust is welcome in this space.”

There was a quick flutter in his eyelids as his legs shifted in the chair to make his erection more comfortable.

She carefully let go of his head, letting his chin sag down against his chest and sat back down in her own chair. “In this scene, the sorceress is going to torture Geralt with sexual pleasure, so your arousal and your expression of it, is instrumental to the dramatic tension.”

He bucked his hips in the chair and Octavia had to catch her breath as she saw the bulge jerk under the fabric of his trousers.

“The other thing instrumental to this scene,” Octavia continued quickly. “Is the sorceress’ magical spell. Throughout the scene, whenever you hear me say the word 'Faint’ you instantly feel its effects. It starts in your body. Your muscles become weak and your legs falter, when I say the word 'Faint’. It’s as if your body suddenly becomes too heavy for you to hold upright. And whenever I say the word 'Faint’ you also feel this dizzy sensation in your head.”

She could notice minute quivers and twitches across his body every time she repeated the word. “Whenever you hear me say 'Faint’, you momentarily feel as if you’re actually going to faint. You lose track of what you’re saying because your head feels all fuzzy and faint. But the thing is, the spell only lasts for a few seconds, and then you’re able to shake off the effects. So whatever you’re feeling now when I say the word 'Faint’, you’re going to have to squeeze all of that into just a short time period, and that just intensifies the effects of the 'Faint’ spell, doesn’t it? Why don’t you take a deep breath and process all of that?" 

For a moment, she just watched the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. Then she changed the tone of her voice to make it more upbeat. "And I think we’re done with your head. Now is the time to come out of the makeup chair, get up, put on the costume and do the actual scene. Take your time to come all the way up and out of the chair. I’ll be here when you’re ready to move on to the next part.” And she leaned forward in her seat, waiting expectantly.

His hands moved first, tired of limply hanging by his sides, fingers twitching and then quickly going up to rub his face. He let out an audible sigh and then stretched and shifted in the seat. “That was…” He licked his lips. “That was something.” Then he finally looked at her.

She smiled, almost closing her eyes. “You’re very good at this hypnosis thing.”

He shook his head. “That’s my line. Yours is: Thank you, you’re welcome.”

“Cheeky…” She giggled. “I can tell you have no experience being dominated.”

He laughed and gulped down the coffee left in his cup.

As soon he put the cup down again, Octavia gave him a sly look. “I’m going to have to test it, of course.”

A frown. “Test what?”

She raised her hand in the air, the open palm towards him, as if casting a magical spell on him. “Faint!” She commanded.

His eyes slammed shut and his head tipped over backwards as his arms dropped down and his shoulders drooped. He sagged in the chair only for a few seconds, and then he came to his senses. 

Octavia waited with baited breath to hear what he might say.

Henry coughed as he composed himself. “Rather amazing, that…” he mumbled as he sat up and rolled his shoulders.

She chuckled. “That’s your mind at work, I just say a silly word.”

“Don’t say it again until we start.” He pointed at her.

She held up her hands in the air. “Of course.” Then she gave him a more serious look. “Does it need to be adjusted? Is it too much? We can tone it down, if you prefer.”

He massaged his forehead for a moment, hiding his face behind his hand. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” He took a deep breath and looked around the studio. “What’s next?”

She rose from the chair. “You undress as much as you want. Then we put you in chains. And then we begin.” She took the coffee cups and cleared them away.

He started to take his shoes and socks off, and then his shirt and top. Octavia leaned on the counter in the corner, watching him with a grin. He paused for a moment, looking at the bulge in his trousers. Then he turned to the bag hanging on the rack beside his coat. 

“Not very charming…” He said, only half to Octavia.

She gave him an approving smile. “I’m rather enamoured, actually.”

From the bag, he pulled a pair of loose slacks that looked like they could be used for yoga or martial arts training. He quickly dropped the trousers he was wearing and pulled the slacks on, revealing his simple, black underwear only for a moment. Then he folded the clothes he was wearing and placed them on the chair.

She walked over the chains and cuffs to pick them up. “Have you ever been chained up to the ceiling before?”

“Funnily enough, no.” He stepped up and held out his left arm so she could put the cuff on it.

“You might want to close the strap yourself. It’s rather tough leather and I’m not actually very strong.” She helped him put both cuffs on and let him close the straps. Then she climbed up on the stepladder to attach the chains to the hook in the ceiling. “The cuffs and chains and this hook are all strong enough to carry your weight, but I would advise against hanging your full weight from your wrists. You might injure your shoulders. Better keep at least one foot on the floor at all times.” She came down again, put the stepladder away and looked up at his hands.

He was attaching the chains to the rings on the cuffs himself, without her help. When he was done, he gave her a goofy grin. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

Octavia sighed with a smile. “Don’t worry. This is not the first time a partner has done my work for me. Your enthusiasm is very reassuring." 

"Is there some sort of signal to make it start?” He asked, as he moved his arms, just to test how much room the chains gave him.

Octavia drew up close to him and placed her hand on his crotch. “Is this still ok? Do you want to go through with this?”

The chains rattled as he started from that unexpected touch. At first, his eyes widened, but he didn’t move away. Catching his breath, he replied: “Yes, I do. But thank you for checking.”

She stood there, holding his gaze as she slowly stroked her hand up, over his abs and his chest to his neck, and then she cupped his jaw. Her voice dropped back into that dreamy tone. “Isn’t it funny how sometimes it feels like the whole world falls away? It’s like there’s only you and me standing here, and nothing else. It’s like your vision narrows until all you can see is my eyes. Look deep into my eyes and let it happen. Just take a deep breath and sink deeper and deeper. It’s so easy, isn’t it?”

His eyes glazed over and his breathing slowed, he was standing so very still as he stared at her, unblinkingly.

“It’s so easy to stand here, let your legs just do that for you as your mind sinks deeper. I just need your attention for a moment, so focus on my words. Just like you did a moment ago, in the chair. It’s so easy to let it all happen again. Just focus deeper and that’s when you can just feel yourself… Drop.” She moved her hand to the back of his neck and tipped his head forward.

His eyes closed and he swayed ever so slightly as he listened to her.

“When you wake up in a moment, we’ll start. While we’re both playing our roles, you’ll always remember underneath that you can say the word 'Superman’ to make it all stop, should you need it. But when you wake up, you’re Geralt of Rivia, and I’m a sorceress you don’t know. You’ve been looking for Yennefer, she sent you a letter telling you to meet her here in these ruins, but something knocked you out, you can’t really remember what, and in a moment, you’ll wake up. There are still some lingering magical effects of whatever knocked you out, because you are aroused, and my every touch only turns you on more. But you are chained up. The chains cannot be opened or broken, there is no way for you to free yourself. Your only hope is to convince me to free you somehow. Perhaps there is something I want?” She stroked down over his chest for a moment and then stepped away, letting him stand there on his own.

“Allow your thoughts to drift for a while, gather up the things you need to be Geralt, his voice, his mannerisms, the way he thinks. Take your time, actually wait a little longer than you need, I also need a moment to get into character. But when you wake up, we start. It’s your move.” She walked over to the counter and quickly drank some water. In her mind, she went over what she could say or do that would draw the scene back to this room with the chains, so that the roleplay wouldn’t get bogged down by her lack of knowledge of the setting of the Witcher. She leaned on the counter, her back turned to him, thinking. Until she heard the chains rattle as he moved.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good.” She said in her best evil villain voice as she walked over to him.

His eyes looked different now, there was an intense look in them. And his voice was much deeper and darker than before. “You didn’t kill me.”

“Of course not, Geralt.” She laughed. “You are worth so much more alive.” She drew up close to him and laid her hand on his chest as she looked up at him. She enjoyed touching him, she could feel the tension in his muscles and the perspiration on his skin.

He didn’t back away, he just stared at her. “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.”

With an irreverent smirk, she said: “You will address me as Milady.”

He rolled his eyes and looked away. “If you know who I am, you also know I’m not one for etiquette.”

She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “You will address me as Milady, and you will beg.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she rubbed her leg against his crotch.

His eyes closed and he stuttered, unable to form words. His face reddening, he stepped away from her, and as he did, the chains pulled his arms up.

She followed, staying close, and ran both her hands over his skin. Soft, light touches in sensitive places on his sides and abdomen. 

It made him shudder. He tried to turn, but looking up, he realised it would tangle the chains, and pull his arms up even further. He took a deep breath, undergoing her touches for a moment, tensing up. Then he used his leg and shoulder to push her away.

About five feet away from him, she composed herself, and licked her lips to show how much she had enjoyed that instant of violence. “You think you’re stronger than me, Witcher? You still don’t realise how helpless you are.” She raised her arm, her open palm towards his chest. “Faint!”

The chains rattled as his knees buckled. His eyes widened, crossed and then closed as his head lolled on his shoulders. He recovered quickly however, standing there, leaning to one side so he could wipe the sweat off his forehead with his hand. The bulge in his slacks moved and strained against the fabric.

She gave him an amused grin, showing off her teeth and tongue. “Surrender to me, you know you want to.”

He rolled his shoulders and huffed to her: “What I want is…”

“Faint.” She interrupted him, moving in closer so her hand touched his chest.

He shook under her touch and his legs faltered. His eyes rolled up and his head toppled backwards. His cock squirmed visibly and his hips bucked.

She embraced him and held him close as he blinked and breathed heavily, and she rubbed her hip against his crotch.

“What do you want?” He asked hoarsely, without opening his eyes.

She dug her fingers into the skin of his back as she pressed her chest against his. Her breath on his skin gave him goosebumps as she whispered: “I want you to feel. Feel how much you desire me. Feel that desire growing inside you, writhing like an animal in heat. You are helpless to stop it. You are helpless against my power. And you will beg me for release.”

His lips quivered for a moment, before he opened his eyes and answered: “Please, Milady. Release me.” His voice was low and flat and there was a defiance in his eyes.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” She clenched one arm around him as her other hand travelled up to the back of his neck and buried her fingers in his hair. She balled her hand to a fist, grabbing him by the hair, and she could feel his neck muscles stiffen in response. With him struggling like that, she couldn’t pull him in for a kiss on the lips, so she planted a long, wet kiss on his neck instead. 

Her lips and tongue on his neck definitely moved him; he shook and struggled in her arms. Panting, he tried to move his head, but his hair was just long enough for her to get a good grip. He was however still noticeably stronger than she was, and he managed to straighten up and steady himself.

With her lips brushing his neck, she whispered: “Doesn’t my kiss make you feel… Faint?”

It was as if he melted in her arms, his body slumped against her as his knees bent. She followed through by pulling him in closer, and kissing him on the mouth, her tongue penetrating his lips. She caressed and massaged the back of his head with her hand as she leaned back to let his limp body rest against her. When the kiss finally ended, she rested his head on her shoulder.

He groaned as his feet moved to find sure footing before he steadied himself again. When he looked at her, his eyes still had this intensity, but something about it had changed. There was something in the way his mouth was still open and his breath was still ragged, a yearning. “I beg you…” His voice was so low that it died away.

“That’s better than your first try, at least.” She smiled and let go of him, backing away to get a better look at him.

He shifted on his feet and moved his hips, but his cock remained prominently visible in the slacks. The chains rattled as he rolled and stretched the muscles in his shoulders and neck, trying to make himself more comfortable.

She crossed her arms and stared at him, just out of reach. Behind her fierce eyes, her mind raced to formulate a hypnotic monologue. “Isn’t it funny how a moment of reprieve doesn’t actually calm that animalistic lust roiling inside you? Now that you’ve tasted submission in my arms, even for an instant, you hunger for it even more. It’s stronger than you, you can’t control it. You want to surrender to me. You need it. You crave it. Feel that.”

A grunt. He shook his head, making the chains rattle more, as if he was trying to shake off the effects of her magic. The look in his eyes softened, as if he was confused by how much her words affected him, as if the struggle was becoming more internal. His chest rose and fell noticeably with each ragged breath, but he chose not to speak.

“You can feel that, can’t you?” She said, nodding at him. Then, wondering if it would even work, she raised her hand into that same magic spell gesture again, but this time, she aimed it at his crotch. 

His eyes followed her hand with obvious anticipation. 

She cupped her hand, as if to grab his cock. “Can you also feel this?” And she squeezed her empty hand, about three feet away from his crotch.

A sharp intake of breath. His eyes widened and he shuddered.

She grinned widely. “You want me. You yearn to be under my control.”

He lowered his eyes and turned away in the chains. “Please, Milady.” His voice was breathy and gravelly. “I beg you to stop.”

She moved in close and placed her hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Why would I stop now?” Her other hand fondled the bulge in his crotch.

He shuddered, his breath quivering. His eyes didn’t seem to see her, something was going on behind them.

She reached up to grab his hair again, and was surprised to find that his head followed every nudge she gave it this time. As she turned his head so she could hold his gaze, his hips bucked and his cock jerked against her other hand.

He gasped. “Release me, I beg you.”

Her hand holding his hair, she shook his head. “Oh no no no no…” With a cruel grin, she let go of him and backed away. 

The chains rattled as he tried to follow, his arms flailing after her. His eyes were hollow and full of longing now. “Please?”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “That is not how this works, Geralt. I can’t just make it stop. The spell has been cast and that desire inside you will keep growing until it reaches its culmination. You will submit to me. Neither you nor I can stop it now.” She reached up with one hand to touch her own lips, taunting him.

He stuttered and groaned, returning to the place where the chains were the most comfortable. His chest swelled with each gasp and his muscles twitched under his skin. He gave her a desperate look.

“Are you trying to speak? Is something wrong?” She laughed. As he opened his mouth to reply, she raised her hand once more. “Faint!”

His eyes rolled up before they slammed shut. He swayed on his feet and almost fell forward. Then he blinked heavily and caught himself. His fingers grasped the chains and he pulled himself up to a standing position again. With his eyes still closed, and his voice all throaty, somewhere between Henry’s and Geralt’s, he uttered: “Please take me, Milady. I beg you. I am yours.”

Octavia quickly moved in and reached up to unhook the cuffs from the chains. He immediately dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs, burying his face in her skirt. She caressed his hair, thinking feverishly about what he might need now. 

She cooed to him. “Hush now, Geralt. You are mine. Your body is mine and your mind is mine. No more thoughts. No more desire. No more will. Nothing. Only the relief of surrender. ”

His arms slumped down to his sides and his chin fell to his chest.

She looked at the bed and then back at the huge man kneeling at her feet. She laid a hand on his arm and spoke in a reassuring tone: “Now, you take my hand and stand up. I’m going to guide to the bed where you’ll lie down. It’s so easy to do exactly as I say, Isn’t it?”

With his eyes closed, he took her hand and rose to his feet. He blindly followed her to the bed, and let go of her hand as he slowly laid down on his side.

She patted him softly on the shoulder. “Take a rest here now, Henry. You can lie here as long as you need. I’ll just get you a glass of water, but I’ll be nearby the whole time.”

No other reaction came from Henry except for his quiet breathing.

Octavia walked over to the counter and poured two glasses of water. She walked back and set one of them down on the bedside table. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed, beside his legs. She sat there for a moment, nursing the glass of water, looking around the silent room. Another happy customer, she thought to herself.

[icyharrington]

Fever Dreams (Michael Langdon X Reader)

im just gonna go ahead and apologize for the fact that i literally did not proofread this at all bc im tired as fuck and have to wake up so fucking early tomorrow. i had so many technical difficulties writing this so i sincerely hope y’all enjoy reading this lmao

plot: (slight au taking place pre-apocalypse, in which miss robichaux’s academy integrates with the hawthorne school.) you can’t stand michael langdon. michael langdon wants nothing more than to get under your skin.

warnings: fem!Reader, intercourse, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, school uniform michael 

word count: 3.1k

i.

“This is the best day ever,” whispered one witch to you, her eyes widening as a gaggle of fresh-faced men in well tailored uniforms strode into the dining room of Miss Robichaux’s academy.

“This is stupid,” you said bitterly, stabbing a fork into your food. “Integrating Miss Robichaux’s with Hawthorne is going to do nothing but distract us from the real important things.”

“Depends what you consider to be important,” said another witch. “I haven’t gotten dick in over a year.”

You rolled your eyes. You were the top witch in your class, and it was often whispered amongst your peers that you were next in line to become supreme. There was no way you’d let a bunch of testosterone-filled man-children get in the way of that, no matter how badly Cordelia wanted to be “inclusive”.

From the corner of your eye, you could see a man approaching you and your classmates. You refused to look over, taking a bite of food and staring blankly at the white wall across from you with as unfriendly of an expression on your face as you could manage.

“Ladies,” came a smooth voice, and you indulged yourself in a single discreet glance just to see what the guy looked like. He was tall, with well styled blond hair framing his face, which even you could admit had some top quality bone structure. He gave a small smile, but you could tell even through his polite demeanor that he was quite confident.

“My name is Michael Langdon. Thank you for welcoming us Hawthorne boys to your school,” he said, and you didn’t even have to look at your classmates to know that they were flustered. Stifling another eye roll, you turned your attention back to your plate.

“Hi Michael,” said the girl next to you, her voice breathy. She wasn’t even attempting to seem calm, which irritated you even further. The last thing this guy needed was an ego boost. You watched from the corner of your eye as he bowed slightly at the hip, his hand extended for her to shake.

He cleared his throat, and the girl on your other side nudged you slightly to get your attention. You looked up, and realized he was offering you his hand now. You just stared at it like it was a foreign object, hoping to piss him off.

He cocked an eyebrow at you and ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

“And you are?” He said. You were pleased to hear that he had the tiniest twinge of annoyance in his voice. Typical attractive boy, getting his ego bruised the minute a girl didn’t fawn all over him.

“(Y/n). I actually happen to be the top of the class here, and I don’t intend to let your kind get in the way of that.”

His lips turned up slightly on one end as his eyes surveyed you, and he crossed his arms in front of his flawlessly pressed blazer. “My kind?”

“Yes. Your kind. Men.” Maybe you were getting a tiny bit carried away with the bitch act, but something about this Michael Langdon character made you want to put him in his place. You had the feeling he was used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

“Quite a backwards attitude to have in this day and age, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you said coolly. “But it’s the truth that women are superior in the art of witchcraft. So unless you need a tutor, I have no interest in interacting with you.” You stood up with a flourish, your chair screeching noisily against the wooden floor, and started on your way out.

You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder, though, to see his reaction. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, an indecipherable expression across his face as he watched you. If you didn’t know any better, though, you might have even thought he was smiling.

ii.

It was a Saturday afternoon and you were practicing divination, your worst subject, in the living room. You’d asked one of your classmates to hide a series of objects throughout the room, and you were stuck as you tried to figure out the location of the final object, an old-fashioned golden pocketwatch.

You rubbed your temples and looked towards the ceiling, mumbling to yourself as you tried, unsuccessfully, to lift the fog in your mind.

You were so wrapped up in focus that you hardly noticed the sound of dress shoes crossing the wooden floor, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a voice mere inches away from you.

“Is this what you’re trying to find?”

Your eyes shot open, only to find Langdon standing over you, a smug grin on his face as he dangled the watch out in front of him. Jumping to your feet from the couch, you snatched the object from his hand.

“Who told you where that was?”

“Nobody,” he said, pleased to witness your frustration. “Well, besides myself. I AM the top of my class in divination, you know.” There was a twinge of mocking to his tone, and you shot him a scowl.

“What are you even doing here?”

“What, am I not allowed to stroll the halls of my own lovely school?” he said, looking at you with mischief glinting in his piercing blue eyes. “The walls call out to me. I’m always hearing my name, echoing in and out of every corner.”

He stepped closer to you, and you scoffed. “Do you happen to excel in clairvoyance? Because those whispers might be all the thirsty girls at this school having wet dreams about you.”

He chuckled. “Does that bother you?”

“Why the fuck would that bother me?” you snapped, gathering your bag from the ground and swinging it over your shoulder. “Other than the fact that no one here gives a shit about witchcraft anymore, just about getting dicked down.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been particularly interested in any of the girls here.”

“And I should care... why?” you brushed past him, huffing something about personal space issues under your breath as you tried to made your way to the door. Something, however, kept a hold on you, and your feet remained planted to the floor as Michael took a step closer to you.

“I think you’re jealous, (y/n),” he said, smirking again as he watched your face contort into anger. “Of the way I’m desired. Of the way I can have anyone I want. I can fuck a different witch every single day if I wanted to.” His voice was soft, seductive. Something swirled in the depths of your stomach as he spoke, but you ignored it.

You gaped at him, disgust blooming through you as you made another attempt to get away, in vain. “You really are a pompous dick.”

“Maybe,” he said, lips just inches from yours. You flinched, readying your fist at your sides to pummel him should he try anything. “But you, my dear, are a bitter bitch.”

With that, the hold on you broke, and you hurried towards the door. “Go fuck yourself,” you said, seething, not bothering to look at him.

“You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

You knew it only fueled him when you gave him a reaction, but you couldn’t help it; flicking your wrist, you sent a book on the coffee table flying at his head, missing by mere centimeters as it slammed against the wall.

He only laughed, a low, deep luscious laugh that you knew you’d hear in your dreams.

Fucking asshole.

iii.

Lustful moans filled the air alongside the sound of skin slapping together, raw and vulgar, and you panted words that didn’t exist as the faceless man behind you thrust inside your walls.

The paintings on the walls watched you, the supremes of long ago casting shameful gazes upon your naked body.

You didn’t care.

There were hands on your body, hundreds of hands, some hot as embers and others cold as snow, and the all-white room seemed to stretch for miles and miles, the door evading you further with each second coaxing you closer to orgasm.

Michael, Michael, Michael, you thought, or said, or whatever it was, you couldn’t be quite sure, but your eyes were rolling back into your head now, lolling all the way until you could see the inside of your skull, and your brain, slimy and gray.

The world went white, but the man kept thrusting in you, taking you over, and you noticed a droplet of blood fall from your nose and onto the pristine, empty expanse of the ground.

AVE SATANAS, said a booming voice, and in that moment you came, harder than you ever had in your life, gasping for breath as your body convulsed with electrically charged pleasure.

When you woke up, it was past midnight, and you were drenched in a cold sweat. There was a throbbing ache between your legs, but you ignored it, begging the universe to let you fall back asleep undisturbed.

In the morning, you weren’t able to recall much about the dream, but there was no way you could forget the name which had repeated itself throughout like a taunt against your sanity.

Michael.

iv.

You were bothered enough by your dream that you opted out of the outing Cordelia had planned for everyone the next day. Her plan was to show the new students some of the most important magical landmarks around New Orleans, and you’d actually been pretty excited to go. Now, though, you’d much rather stay in your room and far away from Michael.

Whether or not your dream meant anything, he irritated you, and you didn’t feel like being put in a bad mood for the umpteenth time this week. So you stayed back, reading in your bed for a while, before you decided that you’d get something to eat from the kitchen.

Wearing only a skimpy tank top and shorts, you always feeling far too warm in the New Orleans heat, you rifled through the kitchen cabinets before deciding to have some Cheerios. You didn’t have much of an appetite at all, but you needed to eat something, so cereal was your meal of choice. You poured a bowl and headed back to the dining room, enjoying the fact that you had the usually chaotic house all to yourself.

Well, that’s what you thought, at least. You nearly dropped your bowl of cereal onto the ground in shock upon entering the dining room and seeing the last fucking person you wanted to see standing there, a bemused expression across his face.

“Michael,” you exclaimed, stopping in your tracks, all at once feeling extremely exposed in your revealing sleepwear. You put the bowl down before wrapping your arms around your prominent cleavage, embarrassment flooding your body as his blue eyes scanned your body not-so-discreetly.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a smile. You had a sneaking suspicion that he knew you’d stayed home to avoid him, and so he, too, had decided to stay back to give you an unpleasant surprise.

The only difference between the two of you, though, was that he was wearing his uniform, impeccably ironed and suited perfectly to his frame. This only increased the flush in your cheeks, and you avoided his gaze as best as you could. “Michael, why are you here?”

“Wasn’t feeling up to the trip,” he said, bored, taking a step around the dining table to come closer to you, dragging his toe lightly on the ground as he did.

“Bullshit,” you said, backing away just slightly. “You stayed here so you could fuck with me.”

“Now what would ever make you think that?” He tilted his head to the side pensively, eyes searing into yours, and you felt your stomach drop. “Silly little witch. You really think I care that much about you?”

“Oh, please. It’s so obvious that you wanna get under my skin.”

He took another step towards you. You backed up again, steadily, keeping your eyes on him as your breaths drew shorter.

“And have I?” He asked, looking down at you, and it was then that you realized how much taller he was than you. You swallowed nervously, taking another shaky stride back as he cornered you even further, your back coming closer and closer to the wall with each step. “Have I gotten under your skin?”

You shuddered, remembering the dream, and suddenly you felt powerless, like he could wipe out your existence at any given moment. You knew he liked you to feel this way, utterly helpless, and your brain screamed at you to react. To throw him across the room with a single flick of your hand. But you didn’t.

“I think I have,” he said, coming closer, and you were startled by a thud as your back hit the wall behind you. He had you cornered now, so you just stood there, looking at him like a deer in headlights.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you said, fists balled at your side, but you had no intentions of using them.

“Hm? And what are you going to do about it?”

His lips brushed your cheek, sending a harsh chill down your spine. Your throat defied you, letting out a soft whimper, and then his lips were on yours. Without a moment’s hesitation, you kissed him back, unable to resist him as he consumed you. Your hair stood on end at his touch, his hands grazing down your hips and onto your ass, squeezing greedily.

He hummed in your ear softly, his hand reaching up to grip your neck. “See, isn’t this what you wanted all along?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply; he lifted his knee up between your legs, smirking as you gasped at the sudden contact. You rocked your hips forward, hissing at the feel of his dress pants between your thighs, and he kissed you again, hungry and authoritative.

He wrapped his hands under your bare thighs, hoisting them up to wrap around his waist, and once he had a proper hold on you, he turned around and tossed you onto the dining table. You pulled him towards you by the front of his shirt, connecting your lips with his and sliding your tongue between his teeth.

He pulled off your top and didn’t waste a second before roughly groping your breasts, leaning forward to suck one nipple hard while rolling the other between two fingers, occasionally applying a jarring pinch. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach, clearly eager to get to the real action, your breasts flattening against the cold wooden table as your bare feet grazed the ground. He pulled your shorts and underwear down in one go, leaving you entirely vulnerable and naked in his presence. It made it worse that he hadn’t undressed himself at all, but something about being so submissive to him turned you on more than you’d care to admit.

He massaged both of your ass cheeks, spreading them apart and reaching one hand under you to slide between your slick folds. “So fucking wet for me,” he muttered, digging his fingernails into your skin, causing you to whine slightly.

“Since you’ve acted like a bitch for the duration of us knowing each other, I have no choice but to treat you like one,” he said, gripping your right ass cheek before giving it a hard, firm slap. You surged forward, but he yanked you back towards him, giving you another slap on the other cheek, harder this time.

You moaned, and he gave you another spank. “You like being treated like a bitch? Huh?” He asked, grabbing a fist full your hair and yanking it back. “Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes, Michael, fuck,” you grunted, your words separated with each spank he gave you, each one harder than the next. You were sure your ass would be covered in his hand prints for the next week, but you didn’t care.

He paused, and you could hear the tell tale sound of him unzipping his pants. You bit your lip, knowing what was coming next, and you wanted so badly to turn around and see his cock. You stayed put, though, knowing not to act without his permission, and within moments you felt the head of his dick rub itself along your slit.

“Beg me,” he said, letting his dick sit just against your entrance. You squirmed slightly, and he placed his hand on your lower back to hold you still.

“Please, Michael,” you said, hardly aware of the words leaving your mouth. You just wanted him inside you, wanted him to own you. “Please fuck me. I’ll be good from now on, I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”

He rubbed himself against your wetness again, painfully slow, and without warning he slammed himself inside. You gasped, shocked at his massive length, but he did not give you time to adjust before committing to a quick, intense pace. Thrusting inside you ruthlessly, you grasped at the edges of the table to hold yourself steady, a string of expletives leaving you as he fucked you hard and fast.

One hand yanked your head back, hard, by the hair, while the other wrapped around to grip your throat, your hips bucking back to meet his thrusts as you panted desperately, shouting incoherent words as tears filled your eyes and dribbled onto the wooden surface of the table.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” he said smugly, stopping mid-thrust. “Beg me to cum.”

“Please, Michael,” you said, voice cracking, cheek resting against the table and palms flat on either side of you. You’d never felt so degraded in your life, but you loved it. “Please. Let me cum, I’ll be good, I swear.”

He finished his thrust, filling you up and making you cry out, and it wasn’t long before your walls clenched around him and you came, bursts of white-hot light in front of your eyes. Only seconds later, he had your hips gripped hard in his hands as he hurried to finish, and you could only imagine how beautiful his face might look on the brink of an orgasm.

He let go, grunting with each breath, his warmth flooding up inside you. You laid there, trying to recover as he tucked himself back into his pants, seemingly unbothered by the whole interaction. You, on the other hand, knew you wouldn’t be able to sit for a good week; it was well worth it to you, though, and as you re-dressed yourself, you hardly could bring yourself to mind the cocky way he smirked at you.

He looked as if he was about to speak, and you shot him a playful, yet slightly annoyed glance as you pulled your top back over your head. “Don’t even say anything,” you said, and he laughed.

That night, you dreamt of Michael again, but this time, you liked it.

[the-quiet-winds]

I Know I’ll See You Tomorrow (part one)

well, here’s the final installment of tiny kat au. at least for now, that is. @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i could come back to it at any time, but don’t worry, there will be other AUs... ;)

trigger warning for violence throughout the whole story

[Part 1: Should We Go Ahead, Should We Turn Around]

a trip to the highlands, as suggested by one of the people in town jane happened to talk to, sounds like a perfect way to take on jane's newfound freedom.

one month after her bout with the sweat, she is finally dealt a completely clean and fresh bill of health from the physician, after weeks of bedrest, not being allowed to leave the house, and, to her utter dissatisfaction, limited time with katherine, out of a lingering concern for the young girl's health.

so, another month later and once jane is completely healthy and feels strong enough to do so, they set off for the north country.

the trip is scheduled to take several days, and the first two go as smoothly as can be expected. they stop each night with local noble families who have agreed to accommodate them, and are welcomed with open arms.

it’s only on the third day when things start to go badly wrong.

they're nearing a river, jane listening as katherine adorably babbles a monologue of everything they see, when the carriage hits a bump and slows to a stop, the right side of the carriage sinking lower than the left.

after she makes sure katherine is alright, jane steps out to speak with the carriage driver, who is standing by one of the front wheels.

"we might be stuck a while," he says, and points down.

the one directly in front of them is completely shredded, busted and broken from the rough terrain under their feet.

it wouldn't be such a problem if the right wheels weren't both half-submerged in the mud of the riverbank.

the carriage driver thinks for a moment, then comes to a decision.

“there’s a nearby town not far from here. I could take the horses to fetch a new carriage and be back before nightfall. or you could accompany me, but we would have to come back for your belongings anyway. it is up to you, lady jane.”

“how far away is this town?” jane asks.

“an hour or two. as I said, I would certainly be back long before nightfall. perhaps you two could take your lunch here by the river while you wait?” he glances down at the mud. “or perhaps slightly further along, where there’s less mud.”

jane looks back to the carriage. “i should probably stay here,” she decides. “keep katherine safe.”

he nods. “of course, lady jane.” after a moment of thought, he reaches for his satchel and pulls out a long, sheathed dagger. “just in case,” her murmurs, pressing it in her hand. 

jane looks at him for a moment, and he mumbles out something about thieves. she tucks it in into one of her boots, not wanting to scare katherine, and he takes off on a horse.

“mama?” katherine asks curiously, sticking her head out of the carriage. “where’s he going?”

“to get a new carriage, love,” jane gives her a gentle smile. “he’ll be back in a few hours. in the meantime, why don’t you get that basket of food out and we’ll make a picnic of it?”

katherine brightens up at that, and before long the two are sat on jane’s travelling cloak as an impromptu blanket, tucking into the bread, cheese and cold meats that their last host had supplied them for the journey.

katherine, nibbling on a piece of bread, shifts closer and tucks herself under jane’s arm, pressing herself flush against jane. 

“i love you, mama,” she mumbles, not looking up. 

jane presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. “i love you too, kitty-kat.”

they find ways to pass the time, sitting by the river, playing katherine’s imaginative games, and jane telling fantastical stories.

but jane’s pocketwatch begins to concern her. the carriage driver should have been back by now.

jane tries to keep up the jolly atmosphere for katherine so she doesn’t worry, but the light starts to fade from the sky even the young girl seems to notice the inevitable.

“isn’t he supposed to be back soon?” katherine asks, shivering slightly as the air grows colder. jane doesn’t need to ask who ‘he’ is.

“he’s probably just caught up with something, sweetheart. i’m sure he’s on his way.”

katherine doesn’t quite seem pacified with the answer, but it’s all she’s got, so she has to go with it. 

but time continues to creep by until it’s well and truly dark. jane pulls out the lantern and lights it, bringing a small amount of light to the clearing. 

she hadn’t been expecting to stay out her so long, and her traveling cloak was mud coated from the picnic, but she clasps it back on. 

katherine approaches her, small and shivering. “i’m cold, mama,” she whispers.

“come here, love,” jane opens her arms and katherine flies into them. jane settles them against a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing, katherine curled up in her lap and leaning against her. she can feel the little girl shivering violently and so she pulls the cloak around her daughter more completely, almost wrapping her up in it.

jane brings a hand to katherine's back and begins to rub warming circles, slow and smooth.

she keeps the fire lit, an eye on the carriage as the last bit of sunlight melts into the darkness of night.

it's only a few moments later when she hears a flurry of footsteps, horses hooves, approaching from behind before stopping.

someone walks towards them, and jane is just beginning to turn around when the tip of a sword is pressed to her neck.

"hello, pretty lady," a thief murmurs, a smirk nearly audible despite the scarf covering most of his face.

jane stills suddenly, eyes wide, and the thief speaks again.

“don’t worry, i won’t hurt you, as long as you cooperate. you should be more careful, a proper lady like you alone in the woods at night. all sorts of undesirables out here at this hour.”

it’s in that moment jane realises that he must not be able to see katherine, bundled up in her lap under the cloak, and she makes up her mind to keep it that way.

as he moves closer, the tip of the blade presses a little tighter against her throat, and her breath hitches in her lungs.

"now if you just sit there, we won't have to do anything messy, yeah?" he taunts, gesturing for his men to approach the broken down carriage. he twists the tip of the blade just enough to catch the locket she wore, with a tiny picture of katherine inside, under his blade. "and i will be taking this," he murmurs.

jane has to stop herself from grabbing the locket herself as the thief lifts it over her head, opening it and examining the miniature portrait inside.

“this your daughter?” he asks, a small smirk on his face. “cute little girl. nobody’s going to want a portrait of someone else’s child, though. this locket, however? it will fetch quite the pretty price.” He stows it away in the leather pouch on his belt and jane forces herself not to react. if she stays still, then katherine might sleep through the whole messy affair. clothes and belongings can be replaced, but jane would rather die before katherine was placed in any kind of danger.

the thief is a bit surprised at jane's passiveness. usually taking something as personal as a locket with a child in it pulled forth some sort of resistance. maybe it was the blade at her neck or something else that was holding her so still and quiet...

that thing is revealed to him not even a moment later, when the cloak the woman was wearing moved.

and out popped a messy little brown head of hair, identical to the girl in the portrait. 

"good morning, darling," he croons.

katherine, still sleepy and bleary-eyed, freezes at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. she turns slowly to look at the man holding a sword to jane’s throat and her eyes suddenly widen, terrified and panicked.

“it’s okay, kat,” jane whispers hurriedly, arms keeping katherine bundled against her to hopefully make her feel safer. the thief smiles.

“yes, little one, you listen to your mother. everything’s going to be just fine.”

there's a low rustling nearby, and katherine turns just enough to see men jumping in and out of the carriage, carrying bags and satchels full of all of their belongings. 

katherine gives a tiny whimper and presses herself closer to jane. 

the thief looks at her carefully, and in one fluid movement, he sheaths his sword, yanks katherine from jane's grip so they are both standing, and pulls the sword out and presses the blade to her neck. with a sadistic smile, he looks at jane.

 "we're taking her too. pretty thing for a pretty penny.”

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13@tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel@idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

[whats-the-story-tc]

22nd of January, 2020

"The One with the Madhouse and Her Eyes"

[LONG POST]

Another day, another flannel. Huh. All I needed is to complain.

Last night, at about 11:30 PM-ish, my cousin (who lives with us) came in, and we had a good long talk about what I'm planning for the future. When I mentioned the A level Literature thing, and that I'm scared of it, but I found it important to add that "my teacher is a fantastic person", so the only reason I was scared is my own abilities. Which is quite right. But on to today, the proof to my statement.

Pocketwatch Friend needed to talk to V, so there we were again, seeking—but this time, finding. She stood in the huge bunch of people in the part of the corridor designated for teachers, as with the second term starting soon, everyone is going slightly mad and needs to talk to everyone all at once. When we showed up, V greeted us with a "What can I help you [the plural] with? I don't have any time by the way, but what can I help you with?" Then I backed away, outside the glass door separating the teachers' area from the other half of that floor and let them speak. Later, when I saw V leave, she was visibly quite moody.

We spoke about her, Pocketwatch Friend and I. She brought how scared she was of V at first, like I was, but when she was taking an exam and V was very kind to her and tried to comfort her with things like "It's okay, I forget what the examples of this and that are, too...", she grew to love her. My case is quite the same although a little different.

Lunch break after fourth period, in front of our classroom. V is listening to people from the other class in our year recite their poems, I'm waiting for my friends. As we gather up and talk, and V is alone, she comes up to us with her personal schedule in hand to tell us the bad news—when our classes will be. Tuesday 5th, Thursday 3rd, Friday 7th-8th double. Yes, you've read that last one correctly. They put a double lesson of an important subject into the time slot where all the school celebrations are and where it gets cancelled most of the time, so basically, they ensured we will get fucking nowhere with the curriculum. V wasn't at all happy about it (she explicitly stated she didn't ask for this), even though she tried to be in good spirits for our sake and even grinned as we spoke to her. But when I looked into her eyes, I could see how tired she was.

Her eyes are a bit cat-like when she's tired or not feeling well, that's something I noticed. Her gaze is very sharp and kind of intimidating at first glance, but if you look long enough, or know her well enough, you can see all that weight of whatever's wrong in them. This is why I used to be so scared of her, because the piercing look is all I saw. But when she's feeling well, you can see all that wisdom and all that beauty I never really saw before I met her properly, in class. Now that is what got me sold on her, long before I even realised it. I have never met someone so beautiful before. And I might never will.

And now, something(s) that absolutely had my jaw on the floor and my heart pounding in the best way. The title of this blog has never, ever been more fitting.

New schedule for the new term. New teacher coming in for foreign English (from now on I'll just say foreign English and V's English to help differentiate), everything is a mess and not even the teachers understood what was going on around them, much less us. So some of us, in absolute hysterics because of the buffoonery going on, just went to V as soon as we saw her, as she was nearest. She made this face of "oof" when Debate Friend told her about some changes that were made. Then I asked her about the new teacher. She was the only one who knew this is a whole new guy, then told us "but don't storm your homeroom teacher. She's really not doing well." And there they were again. The concerned eyes. It was just a short look, mostly directed at me, but we understood immediately.

I kept on fuming the whole German class through, then immediately headed towards the teachers' lounge with some of my friends, to look for my (now ex-)foreign English teacher. Poor thing didn't even know our classes with her today got cancelled. She then went along to hug me and say "I won't teach you anymore", which threw me off, as I thought she hated my guts in the past 3 years. I'm gonna miss her a lot, and it's a shame our group got taken away from her, which neither us, nor she asked for.

But onto V. As we were waiting by the stairway leading up there, my homeroom teacher and V were walking there together. They may have just met on the way, but I honestly think V accompanied her on purpose, because... that's her. She would do it to anyone in a heartbeat. Plus, V is kind of our surrogate homeroom teacher mainly for this reason—to help the actual one, as she can't deal with everything all at once alone. Later, as our homeroom teacher came to us with "Don't ask anything", then proceeded to tell us everything that was wrong, V walked by briefly upstairs, shooting us a look. But as I was walking home, ranting to my Dad over the phone in tears from frustration, as the situation really was that chaotic, something else also happened. I'll just translate what Pocketwatch Friend texted me when I asked her to tell me. (Don't worry, she knows about the blog, though she's never read my posts as of yet. She knows I'm writing to you guys about this, and she consented.)

"I'm going down the stairs, there's [a girl from our year], [friend of ours] and Art Friend. I'm telling Art Friend that you spoke to [ex-English teacher] and she doesn't know what's really up, when V comes down the stairs with her cute little hat and looks at us. She shoots a small smile so maybe she can brighten the situation and joins our little circle, then says 'Don't be nervous, okay?' [...] Then I added that we're fine, but this uncertainty is a bit concerning. And that not even the teachers know what's going on. Her face lights up, I could almost hear her mentally yelling 'Finally someone normal!' #noego I can't exactly remember what happened then, but that much I know that after a short exchange she looked back at me/us from the bottom of the stairs saying that 'Don't stress and TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES'"

She then proceeded to tell me that she finds her cute and now she totally understands me because to her, V is like a big sister she can't wait to ask how her day was and if she could help her with maths. She really does understand the love part, too, though, and tells me every time she wishes she could help. (And called what I wrote about V after Friday beautiful, as I showed her the more private part you guys didn't get to see.) Though I think my case is just a step or maybe two less platonic than hers is, as I actually call it love, it's probably still just more of an extreme case of admiration.

But like... how could I not admire (or love or whatever this is) her? How could any sane person not? I called myself a guardian angel yesterday, but... I'm a demon compared to her. I'm in awe of her kindness each and every day, I really am. Hence the title. "All the little ways she cares."

I have no idea what I'd do if she was the one they swapped out without warning. But if we're going with the demon metaphor... I was frustrated and angry today. But then, I'd raise hell. For her? Without question.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[heart-ruled-moved]

@rxll-the-dxce ll From here

“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Kazuichi-kun.. Y-You are a fine mechanic a-and inventor.”

His stammer had eased a lot since they’d become closer friends, and though it still lingered in his speech, Hideaki was far less nervous and agitated in Kazuichi’s company than than before. Both of them had come so far, and now the Strategist respected the Ultimate Mechanic highly, for continuing to stick up for him despite their setbacks and issues.

Of course, he wasn’t that unobservant. From right away Hideaki could sense that this gift that Kazuichi had, inparticular the date he had chosen to give it to him was more than enough of a giveaway, had a much, much deeper meaning than just friendship. Was he.. even allowed to feel more than that? Until recently he hadn’t even known what friendship felt like, but this? This was.. was what Tanaka had punished him for. This was forbidden, taboo. He couldn’t simply admit that he felt the same way could he? That easily?

And what if Kazuichi just denied it and brushed off the gift as being one between friends? What would he do then?

Trying not to get his thoughts tangled in his head, and pushing away any worried emotions threatening to bubble forth,  Hideaki turns his gaze quickly to the box. Scarlet eyes widen as he admires the intricacy of the lid and sides, the careful attention to details and the proud, shiny finish of the varnish. It’s gorgeous, absolutely delicate and beautiful. Not something he ever deserved - it would have to stay hidden at Hope’s Peak to have any chance of survival.

But gods he would treasure it!

“This…. This is…”

He cant form the words. But Hideaki very carefully touches the box’s lid and feels along the sides. Finding where Kazuichi pressed to trigger the secret drawer and testing it himself. He’s awestruck, mouth hanging open a little as he inspects every part.

“It’s the perfect size for m-my logbook..” he confesses, a small laugh. “And then..”

He takes out the pocketwatch that Kazuichi gave him last time. It still ticked gently, soft and calming. And Hideaki placed it carefully into the secret compartment.

“Now I know that it will be safe….Th-Thank you, Kazuichi-kun I… I don’t even know where to begin w-with how grateful I am..”

Now it was his turn, wasn’t it?

Carefully, Hideaki reached for his gift. Now hesitation gripped him, as he wondered if his friend.. well.. more than friend perhaps, would even like it. A small black box tied with a grey paw-print ribbon that he found whilst looking for the gift. It’s not much, but he’s done his best.

A silver earring, bedecked in cogs and springs, he’d noticed the love for clockwork Kazuichi had after all. The mechanic’s own earring looked more like he’d just hammered a nail through his ear (he hoped that it was fake), so this would be a fun change. And beneath it? Hideaki blushed even more.

A simple. handwritten haiku.

“I th-think y-you.. w-were trying to say.. H-Happy V-Valentines.. r-right?”

🔧 - The mechanic gave a dismissive and unconfident shrug at Hidekai’s first comment, though he has neither the focus nor the courage to argue with him right now about how useless it was to call him any good at inventing when Miu Iruma was in the same building. 

He could feel his mouth run dry, his heart thundering against his chest louder than he thought he had ever heard it before. While he had stayed up most of last night making this for him out of a burst of passion, he hadn’t really thought this through....what the hell had he been thinking? Didn’t matter what he felt, there was no way Hideaki would feel the same way, right? Not with amount of times he’d screwed up and thrown him into panic attacks to add to his already messed up life...he was lucky he could still be his friend at all after all that.

If he was lucky, maybe Hideaki just wouldn’t read this like that....just as a gift between good friends. Fuck, he wasn’t aware his hands had started shaking. His nerves were really starting to get to him. Thankfully, he was still able to finish the demonstration of the true intent behind the gift. 

And god, the look on the other boy’s face makes this whole thing worth it, regardless of what would come next. Kazuichi was able to even shake his nerves a little as he replied: “Yeah...that’s what I was thinking too...about your logbook, I mean.” His expression softened at the watch he brought out of his pocket, giving a shaky sigh “I’m...really glad you got so much use out of that. Makes me happy to know I didn’t screw up for once.”

But his heart began beating faster again as he saw Hideaki reach for something himself. He’d tried to think of a number of things he could have said if things went wrong today, but...god, he wasn’t prepared for this at all. The earring did get an excited smile out of him for a few moments, already eager to try it out.

Hideaki’s blush went right over his head, eyes completely fixed on the Haiku he had written for him. It’s only a piece of 3 lines, and he knew he wasn’t that smart....but he was pretty sure he understood now.

“H...Hideaki-kun...” He stammered, looking up with a reddening face as their eyes locked for a moment. He didn’t want to leave him hanging, but he suddenly felt like he had forgotten how to talk all together. Everything around him was fading and unimportant - focused only on the person in front of him. He was so nervous, it felt like he’d be sick - but he couldn’t let this slip by. He’s a damn coward, but he was probably only going to get one shot at this.

“I...guess you....you feel the same way, huh?” he made a pathetic attempt at a nervous laugh, tentatively reaching to touch the tip of Hideaki’s fingers. “I-I...I’m sorry I keep messing up all the damn time. That’s why I never told you. I mean....that I like you. And...not in the way guys usually ‘like’ each other.” Heart was beating even faster now, and he tried not to make it as obvious that he was shaking. But he had to keep going. 

“I...want you to be happy. So if you don’t feel like putting up with my dumb ass and the other times I’m probably going to screw up....don’t feel like you have accept what I’m saying. Not to bring up bad memories...but I remember what you said about your brother when he found out about this kind of stuff so....if you’re not ready, that’s fine too. I’ll pretend this never happened. But....I’d really like to.... ” He could barely make eye contact again, knowing there was no going back after he said it - and he couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to interlock his fingers with his  “I’d really like to give this a chance, if that’s alright with you...”

[kingofthewilderwest]

Haddock’s 2003 FMA Liveblog Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

I went to bed at a nice, normal time. And then 1:30 came around, my brain screamed “SURPRISE TIME TO WAKE UP” and uhhhhh it’s now 3 AM and I need to occupy myself for a little bit of time before I’m sleepy enough to return to the realm of happy unconsciousness.

Episodes 41-42

Ep. 41 Holy Mother

The central theme of this anime: The military sucks.

Yeah. Like that’s actually going to happen. “Don’t fight.” We know how shit like this actually goes down.

Bradley: Kills Martel inside Reverse Pinocchio. Blood splurts. Cut to: Extremely happy, energetic anime opening song with kids playing.

It would be a lot easier on everyone if Mustang knew something of what was going on, ya’ll. I don’t care if Hughes was like “You can reach the top while I investigate this privately.” At this point this is a hazard. A hazard.

There’s caution to keep people safe. There’s caution to keep yourself safe. There’s caution if you’re unsure of information. There’s caution if you’re investigating dangerous information. There’s caution if you’re uncertain you can trust someone. And on and on and on. But then there’s just caution for not the most well-written reason and seriously I keep feeling like this is sort of the latter, a semi-contrived reason for Mustang to be kept in the dark this entire anime.

Indie that’s rude.

Okay so racial relations in FMA 2003 versus FMA 2009. This could be like, a dissertation topic. I’ve been talking a lot about the difference with friends ever since I saw one semi-disrespectful post of FMAB talking about how it handles racial tensions, essentially saying that we’re supposed to believe one random, old woman (Shan) that the Ishvalans know that not all Amestrians are bad... whereas here in FMA 2003 Scar calls out the military’s discrimination against the Ishvalans to Ed in conversation and we’re supposed to understand believe what his point is. I 1000% understand the post, but don’t agree with that post.... but if we went into all the reasons why I don’t agree with its oversimplification of racial representation and voice in the shows, it really would be a dissertation right here and right now. Anyway. Now, while it is true that FMA 2003 shows a lot more of the perspective of the Ishvalans and gives a lot more straightforward of a minority voice, which is damn NICE, while FMAB focuses about the Ishvalan War more from the Amestrian side... FMAB is farrrrrr from without minority voice and complexity and meaningfulness and respect, too. FMAB does a very heavy job of calling out the Amestrians for what they did in the Ishvalan War as wrong and baseless, too - even if upper command (and Envy) started it, Riza points out that she and her fellow Amestrians carried out the bloodshed with their own hands. Watching the fourth OVA gives a lot of voice to people like Heathcliffe and wow. FMAB gives a lot of purpose to Scar’s motivations, too, from the start of wanting to kill State Alchemists out of well-understood revenge... to pulling him into a focus whereby he wants to rebuild Amestris’ Ishvalan population as he can. But where I think the BEST way to talk about the difference between the 2003 and 2009 racial messages in these shows isn’t that the minority voice is or isn’t given respect and time (because really, really, both *do* - let’s talk manga Miles, and Scar, and Scar’s mentor, and...). But what 2003 shows the Ishvalans saying is, “The military is shit. They destroyed us. We have the right to be angry. You can argue we have the right to fight back.” And while there’s a whole, whole, whole, whole, WHOLE lot of truth to 2003 and how things happen irl... there’s something really powerful about 2009. 2009 says, “The military is shit. They destroyed us. We have the right to be angry. But that DOESN’T mean we have the right fight back.” And that wraps into one of Arakawa’s biggest, most widespread message throughout all of her manga, from start to end: All humans are important. All souls deserve to be treated with the utmost respect as human beings. It doesn’t matter if you’re a suit in armor. It doesn’t matter if you’re a frog chimera. It doesn’t matter what your race is. It doesn’t matter who started the bloodshed... you should be the one to end it. You are a human, human is good, and the best thing we can do is help each other. FMAB is about breaking out of the cycle of “an eye for an eye.” Now FMA 2003 is showing, through Ed’s reactions and so forth, the conflict he has with the idea of “Eye for an eye,” suggesting also it’s not a good thing. But it’s really in 2009 where the message sparkles... because Scar becomes not someone with a vengeful purpose who wants to create a pure Philosopher’s Stone from military lives. But Scar is someone who goes from someone with vengeful purpose for what the military has done to him... to trying to be the better person, the HERO, who fights back and gives back when no one else would before. And fuck man. Scar and Scar’s brother are the damndest heroes in FMAB. There’s so much to be said about the pros and cons of racial representation in each show, 2003 versus 2009, but both really try to speak to important messages of minority discrimination, genocide, and the horribleness of what it is. NEITHER ARE BAD!!! XD But damn if 2009′s message of “Revenge is not justified. We will treat all humans as humans” is fucking wicked good. Like. Enormous applause to the Ishvalans for being the better people? They are the true heroes. They are the TRUE heroes of FMAB.

In FMAB 2009, Scar prevents an entire city (entire COUNTRY) from being used as an effective transmutation circle creating a Philosopher’s Stone. In FMA 2003, Scar is the one seeking to make an entire city into a Philosopher’s Stone. Interesting contrast. Sad not to have my hero Scar here. A complex antagonist in the 2003, who, from another framework could act as an antihero (the best antagonists imho are those whose perspectives could be written as “good guys” because they have understandable, human motivations)... but nevertheless, not a hero of the tale as in Arakawa’s final work.

Took fukkin long enough for Heart Eyes Motherfucking Horse Boi to find out. Thank you, Reverse Pinocchio, for acting with more sense than Markiplier and Virility Redux.

One beautiful moment with Al in the manga at Liore is when he pulls stuff out of his loincloth in public in front of his father, much to Hohenheim’s dismay and embarrassment. And here we have Armor stuffing his bro’s pocketwatch into his loincloth. I mean, it’s a fair place to carry things, buuuuut there is something to said it looks bad buddy. XD

I can’t judge talking military cats because we do like, have Jerso in FMAB.

Okay Bishie Boi I give you permission to kill a certain murderous State Alchemist Fucker. Go get Kimblee. Go get him. Martel hasn’t killed him yet. You. Please. Kill him. I don’t like Kimblee. Get Kimblee.

It’s so damn refreshing and applause-worthy to see full rooms of dark-skinned POC in an anime let’s be real.

Also not showing the eyes of ANYONE in the military during these scenes? Really good, chilling effect.

The name avoidance is getting really old homunculi pals.

Also love how many women are very prominent in the 2003.

GO SCAR GO. GO SCAR GO! BISHIE BOY, KICK KIMBLEE ASS!! GO SCAR GO SCAR GO SCAR GO!!!

.....that accidentally almost sounded like a Dr. Seuss book up there. Just need a little meter and rhyming and...

Dude there’s a fucking dragon on the end of that that is LEGIT.

You brought the kid back. You brought the kid messenger back. You brought the kid messenger back to Liore. KEEP THEF UCKI :ENW:EOGIN KEEP THE FUCKING KID IN SAFETY AWAY FROM LIORE IT’S A WAR ZONE YOU IDIOTS

Gotta respect how long Kimblee’s hair is in this anime.

[Camera angle constantly spinning around Kimblee and Scar while they’re talking] I get that you’re trying to make this dramatic but hell if that isn’t too much and somewhat dizzying.

Badass Al and his perfect-and-rapidly-drawn transmutation circles!

This anime had suchhhhhhhhh a slow start but finally we’re getting someplace. Not entirely well-joined together everywhere but we’re finally getting to Serious Shit and I appreciate it.

Al saying he’s hollow and not meaningless is a nice callback to when he was questioning the validity of his own memories, saying that if he weren’t human, then it wasn’t worth living. Exact opposite message here and thank. V good. This v good.

They get a lot more of Al’s intense and very real badass side down in this anime.

Sayin’ it like it is. Bruh, respect.

Yeah there’s lots and lots of good content rn.

“Can you hear it? The countdown to your death?” And this is why nobody likes you Kimblee. Fuck you.

Is this the part where we have Scar use his arm or something to change Al into a Philosopher’s Stone or whatever the hell it is that is the first stage of Al not being armor?

YES.

YES

YES YES YES MY WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED.

Are you.

Are you fucking kidding me.

Die already Kimblee you fuck

Well that’s gotta be traumatic to Ed

Dramatic shots of doom.

This ain’t gonna end well. Also we’re suspiciously close to the end of the episode with no resolution... I planned to watch ONE episode tonight but that might not be what happens eh.

Oh look the episode just ended.

Yeah fuck that we need at least just one more.

Ep. 42 His Name is Unknown

I’m v suspicious Scar ain’t gonna live through this. Hopefully also Kimblee. Kimblee needs to Be Gone (TM).

Aka “This is how the writers don’t have Al die right here and now.”

DING DONG THE WICKED WITCH IS DEEEEAAAAAAD!!!

Okay but Scar. Ishval’s Top Model. Bishie Boi. He’s like. Walking around so calmly with so little sign of pain. BRO YOU ARE MISSING AN ARM. And don’t you DAMN tell me “It’s but a scratch” or “It’s only a flesh wound.” Like I could Monty Python caption you right now you fucker and I shouldn’t be able to do that.

Oh hey look my liveblogging is showing my true swearing colors. Rawr. I’m a swearer. I like swears. FEAR ME AND ALL THE SWEARS.

(I usually censor myself a lot on tumblr for Things Like Swears BUT AIN’T NOT HAPPENING NOW YO).

Is.... is ANYONE going to do ANYTHING about Scar’s recently lost arm?????????? HE LOST A LOT OF BLOOD. LOTS OF BLOOD GUSHED OUT WHEN HE TRANSMUTED IT OFF. AND YET EVERYONE IS SO CASUAL ABOUT THIS. Let’s talk about Al’s survival chances. Let’s talk about how to change Al so he doesn’t go off into a bomb. Let’s talk about the Philosopher’s Stone. Let’s talk about your past history with Lust. HOW ARE YOU CONSCIOUS AND WHY AREN’T WE CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR GODDAMNEDFUCKINGSHIT ARM.

At least have him pass out or something.

Nope we’re just going to stand around and stare at each other and be like “You’re not my brother’s girlfriend” and shit and not care about your lack of armness apparently.

Hey new intro. The music definitely has the same generic rocky upbeat flavor of the other intros in 2003, but I like this one the best. The intro also shows us not one but two separate shots of Roy so that’s even better. And even bestest, we just keep pulling in that photo of Horsing Around in the background again. We just keep sneaking that in. I really wish you WROTE Horsing Around better but HEY we get the PHOTO <3 <3 <3

So all that’s good.

Yesssssss finally in this anime you are having ROY MUSTANG ***DO*** SOMETHING. Finally DO something. (whispers) and yes, of course Riza is here, I love you two together

But seriously how long does it take for you to WRITE MUSTANG DOING SOMETHING ABOUT THE SHIT GOING DOWN IN THIS FUCKING STORY

(whispers) Wife

Good for you, Alex.

“There’s no such thing as a military that doesn’t have corruption or evil in it.” I love when villains have damn truthful lines like that shit.

He’s really pretty in this shot.

Okay for all you mention Roy being the Hero of Ishval in this moment between Archer and Roy, and then there was that one scene waaaay back in Flame vs Fullmetal where we had Roy get a bit of a flashback to the war, and then I guess that ONE scene where he thought about doing human transmutation...... you really haven’t taken advantage. of. this. character. AT ALL. In this anime. You’ve really left him to sit by for dozens of episodes in a row. Develop this shit. Even if you plan to develop this shit down the road, this is just another example of uneven scaffolding in your writing. I went into this anime particularly because I was curious about the interesting Roy shit you were thinking about writing, and yet I feel like you’ve given me very little to work with? I mean. He’s present. We’ve had a FEW interesting moments with him, primarily at the start. We’ve seen him do some things like suppress the Ishvalans before they rebelled, and stuff. It’s not like he’s absent and you could critique my critique. But he still feels sooooo underutilized. He really feels underutilized. Develop all that trauma shit content and his ambition being the Fuhrer and his past with Ishval instead of just touching it here and there and referencing it in scenes and then being like “La la la and now all Mustang is gonna do in this episode is look suspiciously at people but not do anything active about the shit going all around him.”

So we’re SLIGHTLY paying attention to his arm, but still having an extended conversation about Lust instead.

I mean I don’t care if the arm got cauterized and there’s just a stump there, you still lost a lot of blood and there’s shock and trauma and shit. You are hanging in there way too good bud. THAT IS AN ARM.

That looks cool. And we know exactly what those symbols are.

Oh cool another arm gone AND YOU ARE STILL CONSCIOUS.

Now, after just a little gasping in pain and sweating, I’m going to stand up and calmly explain the history of my arm. COME ON SCAR ADRENALINE ONLY GOES SO FAR *YOU* *HAVE* *NO* *ARMS*

No one would even guess this is the screencap of a man who has literally just lost both of his arms.

In 2003, he loses both of his arms. In 2009, he uses both of his arms and destroys Bradley’s.

Yes, Indie. Tell Roy about your mother homonculus. At least do it for the sake of integrally including Horsie IN THE MAIN FUCKING PLOT MORE.

HOW DID SCAR DROP KIMBLEE FROM THE TOP OF THE BUILDING HE HAS NO ARMS HOW DID YOU CARRY HIM HOW DID YOU DROP HIM.

WHY ARE YOU STILL RUNNING AROUND.

Okay seriously how many times are you going to injure this guy and still have him be “relatively” okay? Because several gunshot wounds to his shoulders didnt make him lapse into unconsciousness either? At least he seems to be in legitimate lasting pain now? Not like that’s a GOOD thing to be in pain, but at least he’s not like, running around?

You should be like delirious tho bud

Seriously are these last two episodes “How many times can we injure Scar” like wut

Take that back he’s stood up and is waltzing around again wtf

I hate how the feels you get from this scene are 1). Scar is dying, 2). Scar is doing this for his brother [sob] and not... “we’re mass killing thousands of low-ranking soldiers and turning them into a Philosopher’s Stone.” Like something about that’s just wrong. Feels, good? But....

Power trio

This still is the most badass moment with these blokes tho:

[sigh] Mustang is just such a better character in FMA 2009 / the manga.

[whispers to Al] No it’s not. #1. Philosophers’ Stone. #2. You’re armor.

:)))))))))))