#if you’re looking for something you can *do* right now— explore your options and what’s possible on this timeline

[kkpwnall]

in light of the election news, i would like to encourage everyone, and especially queer people to carefully consider any legal processes or medical procedures you’ve been thinking about, and the fact the inauguration is just over 2 months away. that’s not a lot of time, but it is time.

the republican party has made it explicitly, painfully clear with project 2025, and with the dobbs decision to overturn roe, that queer rights to healthcare and marriage are on the chopping block. we don’t know how quickly they’ll start to block access to things like name and gender marker changes, or gender affirming and reproductive surgeries. it’s a lot easier for them to enact policies that say “no more name changes / surgeries” than it is to say “you have to change your name back / get your tits and or dick sewn back on”

i’m not saying to do anything drastic, but if you’ve been thinking about it, if you’ve been on the fence about it, if you have the time and you have the funds, this is your sign it would be better to do these things sooner rather than later

[wannabespiderman]

Instructions unclear, sent a bowl of chocolate cereal.

Bucky Barnes x reader

You get your grumpy old man a smartphone. Chaos ensues.

.

.

.

Bucky suspiciously inspected the black rectangle between his fingers. “That’s not the phone I had in mind.” Of course, he had probably been thinking of a damn rotary phone when you suggested he needed something to keep in touch with people. You knew he had this weird relationship with modern technology, he was very wary of everything electronic and if he didn’t get the hang of it immediately he would just get frustrated. On the other hand, if he was able to figure it out himself he was openly proud of it, telling you how easy it was. You always had to walk the fine line between something enhanced enough that it was actually useful these days and simple enough that he wouldn’t become grumpy and pout about it while talking your ear off at how ‘the simpler times’ were called that for a reason.

A Smartphone was very very risky. Sure, you could’ve found an old flip phone or a Nokia brick but those things just hadn’t survived the test of time and according to your very professional opinion as his partner and self-proclaimed emotional support nuisance, this man desperately  needed to stay in contact with the few people he would call his friends.

Despite your worry you put on your most supportive smile and turned the phone in his hand so he held it right side up. “Try it at least, okay? It’s cool.” You tried to assure him. He didn’t have to do a lot, you already set it up for him and downloaded all the apps you deemed necessary, helpful or fun, you even turned on the accessibility option so he could navigate his phone with one hand since the metal one wouldn’t work on a screen and would probably also leave scratches, so all that was left for him was to explore his new toy. You guided his pointer finger to the side of the phone and let him press the little button which made the screen turn on. Bucky gave you an unsure glance before turning his attention back to the phone in his hand and just kinda…stared at it until the screen turned off again. For a moment you didn’t know what was going on until you realized that with Bucky, specificity was key. You shook your head to shoo away the previous confusion his behavior caused and shuffled closer to him. “Do it again.” You encouraged him. Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly.

Oh no.

You held your breath, waiting for him to potentially hand the phone right back to you and suggesting that writing letters would be enough. After what felt like a minute he finally pressed the button again and you quietly released your breath. “Great! Now you just need to drag your thumb gently over the screen and you’re good to go.” Bucky slowly followed your instructions and you could practically feel the pride radiating off him, his eyes lighting up. Still, he tried to play it cool. “Huh. That was easy.”

Not specific enough.

You looked at your phone and tried to make out what exactly Bucky had sent you. It must’ve been a picture of his face, right? You thought you could see the brown of his hair in this blurry mess but on the other hand it could also be…maybe a bowl of chocolate cereal? Some Chili, maybe? No, there was definitely too little red for it to be Chili.

The man recently learned how to text like a normal person, more or less, but you didn’t know he also kind of figured out how to send pictures. His picture moved upwards when another blurry mess appeared in your chat. You squinted your eyes at the new picture, it was mostly white with some grey stripe in the middle. You gave up, no way you could figure out what the hell that one was.

Bucky…what is that? You typed out. The next message he sent you gave you move questions than answers.

I need a new phone. That was impossible, his smartphone was less than three days old. Sure, it could’ve cracked but you were sure he would’ve told you about that.

What’s wrong with your phone? Maybe I can help? You suggested. You didn’t have to wait for an answer too long.

Yes, please. You quietly chuckled to yourself, half amused by his struggles, half compassionate of them. You decided it would be best to talk to him face to face so you raked your fingers through your hair a few times to hide the fact that you’ve been hanging around in your bed for the last few hours and clicked the video call option on your screen. It rang and rang and…rang…until finally your screen lit up, or dulled down because all you could see was darkness with a touch of a chestnut color. You should’ve known that this would happen.

“Bucky, it’s a video call.” You informed him and watched as he pulled the phone away from his ear and instead looked at his screen, his brows furrowed like he always did when he lost a fight against technology. “Oh…” He grumbled.

“So, what’s wrong with your phone?” Bucky pressed his lips together, his eyes looking anywhere but at his phone.

“Bucky?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Bucky let out a sigh and wiped his face with his right hand but you could see the slight blush forming on the apples of his cheeks.

“Was anyone going to tell me that there are two cameras? Why the hell would anyone need two?” You saw him lean against the headrest and turn his head to the side with an annoyed expression. Your heart melted a little bit, you couldn’t help but find it endearing at how clueless he was when it came to things that were common knowledge to you.

“James, stop pouting.” There was a tone of amusement in your voice even though you tried to feign sternness. Bucky’s head shot back towards where he could see you on the screen in his hand and blinked a few times as if he was trying to comprehend what you just said. You never really called him by his first name and his reaction made you clench your jaw and hold your breath so you wouldn’t burst out laughing.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You asked innocently and batted your lashes towards your camera. Bucky narrowed his eyes but couldn’t suppress the little smile that was tugging on the corners of his mouth. You grinned triumphantly, happy that you could at least lighten his mood a little bit. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” You finally said and playfully scrunched your nose. “So was that it? Did you have a problem taking pictures because you tried to take them with the outer camera?” Buckys smile slightly faltered but he chuckled nonetheless.

“Yeah, I guess. Sorry to be a bother with all the…you know, modern stuff, I-“ You cut him off immediately. “Don’t you dare apologize for that, you’re still learning and I’m happy to help. Hey, I’m very proud of you for making it work with the phone.” Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly but you could see his eyes soften. “I try.”

You continued talking to him for a while about nothing in particular until you decided that you both needed some rest and hung up. It was merely twenty minutes later, you just settled down and closed your eyes when your phone vibrated. A message from Bucky. You curiously opened the message to see if he had any more problems but instead your lips curled into a big, bright smile.

He sent you a picture, this time you could fully make out what it was, a photo of a shirtless Bucky laying on his couch, his eyes crinkled as he wore a proud grin with the caption I figured it out!

__________

Tag list: @lunaroserites

[ageingfangirl2]

A Hell Of A Promotion - Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano (Tokyo Revengers)

When you bump into the big boss, his attitude annoys you. Until he offers you a promotion, you can't turn it down. What exactly did you sign up for? Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano x Female Reader (SMUT) Bonten timeline.

*SMUT, Fingering, Oral, Blow Jobs, Degrading Names, Office Sex*

Word Count: 4603

It had been a long day and it was only 1 pm. You were walking down the sidewalk not looking where you were going, annoyed that your lunch break had been cut short. When you didn’t notice the dislodged slab until it was too late and you tripped. The coffee in your hand flies out in front of you, and your eyes widen in shock as it spills down the suit of the man directly in front of you.

This wasn’t any ordinary man, no, you recognised the white hair and menacing black eyes anywhere.

‘What. The. Fuck!,’ he growls, his voice deep.

You had just spilt coffee on the dangerous boss of Bonten Manjiro Sano.

‘I’m…so…sorry…’ you stutter, knowing your fate was sealed.

He looks at you with a glare that could cut through steel. His eyes narrow as he takes in your appearance, from your now dishevelled hair to your slightly coffee-stained blouse. He steps closer, invading your personal space as he towers over you.

‘You clumsy little fool. Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? It's worth more than anything you own, I bet. And now its ruined because of your carelessness,’ he grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him, ‘what are you going to do about it, hmmm?’

His grip tightens slightly as he waits for your response, clearly expecting more than a simple apology. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, a predatory gleam that sends shivers down your spine, even as your heart pounds in your chest.

‘Err let me get it cleaned for you,’ you offer, voice shaking.

He scoffs, releasing your chin and steps back. His haze rakes over you dismissively, ‘cleaned? Are you kidding me? This suit is beyond repair. The stain is too deep and the fabric is delicate. No amount of ‘cleaning’ will fix it.’

He reaches into his suit pocket and the breath catches in your throat thinking he’d pull out a gun and shoot you, but instead, he pulls out a business card and extends it towards you with a knowing smirk.

‘Here. Take this. It’s the number of my tailor. But don’t expect any favours, you owe me big for this.’

Mikey turns on his heel. Over his shoulder he adds, ‘And maybe next time, watch where you’re going before you ruin someone else's day.’

‘You don’t have to be such a jerk,’ you mutter.

He stops abruptly, whirling around to face you once more. His expression darkens as he stalks towards you, all the colour leaving your face realising you’d fucked up royally. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks in a low menacing growl.

‘A jerk? Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. I’ve been called worse things than that,’ his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist tightly as he yanks you flush against his body. You can feel the hard planes of his muscles through his shirt, the heat radiating off him in waves when you expect him to be cold.

‘But let me tell you something. When someone spills their drink on me, they damn well better show some respect. And right now, you’re not nearly showing me enough.’

You can’t help but look away from his intense eyes, not aware of your thighs clenching involuntarily. But Mikey notices your reaction and smirks wider, pleased by your obvious attraction despite your attitude.

‘Looks like someone is enjoying the view,’ he chuckles darkly, the sound sending another shiver down your spine, ‘well go ahead and indulge. I won’t judge…much…’

He leans in again, his warm breath ghosting your ear as he murmurs, ‘In fact, why don’t we take this somewhere more private? My office isn’t too far away, we can discuss repayment options for my suit…and perhaps explore other ways you could make amends.’

He tilts his head to the side waiting for a response. You usually weren’t this daring, but the air crackles with tension, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

You bite your lip, ‘I know where the office is, do you not bother to learn the faces and names of those beneath you? I’m the secretary at the main desk.’

He raises an eyebrow. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as understanding dawns, ‘The secretary, huh? Well, well, well. How delightfully...convenient.’

He takes a step closer, backing you up against the nearest wall. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, caging you in as he looms over you.

‘I must admit, I hadn't pegged you for the type to play hard to get. But I suppose that's part of your charm,’ his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, ‘Tell me, little secretary...are you going to make me work extra hard to get what I want from you? Or will you give in easily, like the good little toy you seem to be?’

You shuffle nervously on the spot, knowing there is no way out of your current situation other than to comply, ‘I guess I did ruin your suit, and technically you are my boss and I do like my job…’

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam at your words, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs in a low, seductive tone, ‘Is that so? Well then, I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement,’ One hand slides down your side, coming to rest on your hip possessively, ‘You'll help me out of this predicament...and I'll ensure your position remains secure. Everyone wins.’

He nips at your earlobe teasingly before pulling back slightly, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that steals your breath, ‘So what do you say, my dear secretary? Ready to seal the deal?’

You nod your head and utter a single word, ‘Yes.’

A triumphant grin splits his face as he hears your agreement. Without wasting another second, he grabs your hand and starts leading you swiftly down the street towards the towering skyscraper housing his company headquarters.

‘Excellent choice. You won't regret it, I promise.’ His voice drips with sensual promise as he guides you inside the lobby and towards the elevator bank. Once the doors slide closed behind you, trapping you alone together in the small space, he pins you against the wall with his body, one hand sliding up to cup your cheek while the other grips your hip firmly.

‘Now then, where were we? Ah yes...discussing terms,’ He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more. As the elevator pings its arrival at the top floor, he breaks away with a smirk.

You pout, ‘how have you not noticed me? My desk is the first thing you see when you walk out of the elevator.’

Mikey chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he holds you close, ‘Perhaps I've been too focused on running the empire to pay attention to every little detail...like the woman who's been sitting right under my nose all along.’

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand trailing down to weave into your hair as he gazes into your eyes with a newfound appreciation, ‘But now that I have, I intend to make the most of it.’

The elevator doors open, revealing the sleek, modern interior of his office. With a final squeeze, Kenny releases you and steps back, gesturing grandly for you to precede him inside, ‘After you, my dear secretary. Let's discuss those...repayment terms in private.’

You notice that his assistant isn’t at her desk and frown, ‘Where’s Mia, she likes good gossip.’

He laughs, a rich, velvety sound that sends a shiver down your spine, ‘Ah, poor Mia. She's been transferred. Thought it would be good for her to spread her wings, so to speak,’ he winks suggestively, though you weren’t sure if she was dead or alive.

‘Besides, I prefer my interactions with you to be...unfiltered,’ he steps closer, his presence dominating the space between you, ‘Now, about that repayment…’

He closes the distance, claiming your mouth in a hungry kiss that leaves you gasping for air. When he finally pulls back, his eyes burn with a fierce, carnal hunger, ‘I believe a demonstration of your dedication would be in order. On my desk. Now.’

He takes your hand, guiding it to the bulge straining against his trousers, ‘Feel that, sweetheart? That's what happens when a man gets excited. And trust me, you're the cause of it,’ he grins wickedly, ‘Now, are you going to continue stalling, or are you ready to prove your worth?’

Without waiting for a response, he spins you around and pushes you onto his desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, ‘Let's start with a little exploration, shall we?’ His hands roam over your curves, mapping out the contours of your body with a possessive touch.

You gasp against each touch, ‘How exactly is this repayment?’

Mikey leans in, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he speaks in a low, husky tone, ‘This, my dear, is merely the beginning. A taste of what's to come,’ His hands slide lower, deftly unbuttoning your blouse and slipping inside to caress the soft skin beneath,

‘Consider this an investment in your future. By satisfying my desires, you're securing your place here...and maybe even earning a promotion,’ he laughs, nipping at your earlobe, ‘Of course, there may be certain...tasks assigned to you in exchange for your loyalty.’

He pushes your blouse off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. His fingers dance across the lace of your bra, toying with the delicate fabric, ‘Now, let's see what other secrets you're hiding under that prim and proper exterior.’

‘What kind of promotion, I’m not complaining sir, I’m just a little confused,’ you say honestly.

He smiles, a cold, calculating expression that belies the heat simmering in his eyes, ‘Oh, but you should be proud. Proud to serve such a powerful man as myself,’ he trails a finger down your cleavage, tracing the curve of your breasts, ‘As for your promotion...let's just say you'll have access to more...exclusive areas of the company. Areas where only a select few are privy to the inner workings,’ his hand slips beneath your bra, palming your breast with a firm grasp, ‘You'll be handling sensitive information, making crucial decisions that could shape the future of our empire,’ he

leans in, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispers, ‘And of course, there will be certain...personal duties required of you. Ones that demand your complete devotion and obedience.’

You gasp loudly and arch your back against his touch, ‘you mean the other executives? I heard a rumour that you’re all psychopaths.’

Mikey laughs, a deep, mocking sound that echoes through the room, ‘Psychopaths, hmm? Well, perhaps that's a bit dramatic. We're simply men who understand the true nature of power and aren't afraid to wield it.’ His hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your skirt.

‘And yes, you'll be working closely with them. They'll expect the same level of...dedication from you that I do,’ he grinds his hips against yours, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, ‘But don't worry, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Ensuring you meet their expectations.’

He pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he studies your reaction, ‘Now, are you prepared to take on these new responsibilities? To become an integral part of our inner circle?’

Through the warm haze enveloping your body you manage to get out one last bit of attitude, ‘Do I get a pay rise, sir?’

Mikey grunts, amused by your boldness, ‘A pay rise? My, my, aren't you a greedy little thing?’ he Slides his hand further down, cupping your mound possessively, ‘But I suppose if you perform well enough, I might consider sweetening the deal.’

He presses two fingers against your clothed sex, rubbing slow circles that send jolts of pleasure through your core, ‘However, I expect complete discretion. No one can know about our arrangement. Your loyalty belongs solely to me.’

You hum, ‘So will I be servicing the other executives sexually or simply running tasks?’

He smirks, his fingers still teasing your sensitive flesh, ‘Ah, the naivety is endearing. In this world, lines blur easily. Your services will be demanded by all of us, in whatever form we desire,’ he leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘You'll learn to adapt, to satisfy each of our unique tastes.’

He pinches your clit gently, sending a spark of pleasure-pain through you, ‘As for me...well, let's just say I have very specific needs. Needs that require constant attention and gratification,’ he grinds his erection against you harder, the friction sending a wave of heat through your veins, ‘You'll be servicing me frequently. Very frequently indeed.’

You nod feverishly, ‘I look forward to finding out your specific needs sir.’

Mijey hums, pleased by your eagerness, ‘Good girl. I have a feeling you'll fit in nicely here,’ he slips a finger beneath the elastic of your panties, delving into your slick folds, ‘Now, let's explore these needs of mine, shall we?’

He thumbs your clit in time with the thrust of his finger, pumping in and out of your hole, ‘I want you dripping wet for me at all times. Ready to fulfil my desires on a moment's notice,’ he curves his finger to stroke your G-spot, applying just the right pressure to make your toes curl, ‘Can you handle that? Being my plaything, always available to sate my cravings?’

You grip the front of his shirt and throw your head back panting, ‘I can try.’

He groans approvingly, his need spiking at your eager response, ‘That's it. Show me how much you want this,’ his fingers move faster, plunging deeper as he pinches your clit harder, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.

‘I'll teach you to crave my touch as much as I crave yours. To beg for it, plead for release,’ he captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, tongue invading, claiming every inch as his own, ‘You'll be addicted to me, body and soul. And I'll make sure you never forget whose cock is filling you, whose fingers are stroking your pussy.’

He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he stares down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, ‘Now, let's see how quickly you can learn to please me. Strip for me, Slowly and get on your knees.’

You get off the desk, your legs feeling like jelly, but do as you’re told, removing each item one by one until you’re down to your birthday suit. This whole situation wasn’t normal, but there was no denying how much you were enjoying this. You get down on your knees and chew your lip keeping your head bowed, ‘I’ve never actually sucked anyone off before sir, I’ve only seen it in videos.’

He eyes you hungrily, drinking in the sight of your naked form, ‘Don't worry about doing it 'right' there's no script, no rules here. Just follow your instincts, and surrender to the moment.’

He steps closer, towering over you as you kneel on the plush carpet, ‘Look at me, keep eye contact,’ he reaches down, wrapping a hand around your throat in a gentle yet assertive grip, ‘Breathe for me. In and out, nice and slow.’

He leans in, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he whispers, ‘You're so fucking beautiful like this. A pretty little toy, just begging to be played with,’ he squeezes your throat slightly, watching your pulse flutter, ‘Now, open your mouth. Wide.’

He guides your trembling hands to his belt buckle, helping you undo it with impatient fingers. Steps out of his pants, freeing his massive erection. It throbs in the cool air, already leaking precum, ‘See what you do to me? How hard you make me?’ he wraps a hand around the base, giving himself a few strokes.

‘Now, put that pretty mouth to use. Suck my cock like you mean it,’ he tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer until the head of his dick brushes your lips, ‘Take it deep, choke on it if you can.’

You lick the precum before taking him slowly into your mouth, not used to being filled this way.

Mikey groans as your warm mouth envelops him, head falling back in bliss, ‘Fuck, that's it. Just like that,’ his hands tighten in your hair, holding you steady as he starts to rock his hips, pushing himself deeper into your throat.

‘Take it all, baby. Relax your jaw, breathe through your nose,’ he pumps faster, relishing the way your throat constricts around him, ‘Goddamn, you were made for this. Made to choke on my cock.’

He looks down at you, eyes dark with lust, ‘You love this, don't you? Love being used, degraded, treated like a set of holes for me to fuck,’ he yanks your head back suddenly, saliva connecting your lips to his dick.

‘Tell me how much you love it, Beg for more,’ he demands.

You look up with tear-filled eyes, ‘I love it…I need more…please use me…I’m nothing without you using me.’

He smirks wickedly, loving the desperation in your voice, ‘Nothing, huh? Just a set of holes for me to ruin?’ He shoves his cock back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat harshly, ‘Then take it, whore. Take every fucking inch.’

He holds your head still, slamming into you relentlessly, grunting with each thrust, ‘Such a good little cocksucker. Milk me dry with that slutty mouth,’ he angles his hips, grinding against your face, smearing precum across your cheeks.

‘Fuck, I'm getting close. Swallow it all, every last drop,’ he ruts into you wildly, chasing his impending orgasm, ‘Here it comes, bitch. Fuck!’ he bursts down your throat with a guttural moan, flooding your mouth with his seed.

You try your best to swallow every last drop and continue sucking slower waiting for him to come down from his high. He exhales shakily, chest heaving, ‘now you clean me up,’ he gently pulls out of your mouth, letting his cock slip from between your lips with a pop, ‘use your tongue and lap up every drop you left.’

He watches intently as you obediently start cleaning him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, ‘That's it, be thorough. Make sure you get every bit of my essence off your face.’

He steps back, allowing you to stand and finish the task.

‘Once you're done, get on the desk. Spread your legs for me and present yourself like a good little slut,’ he walks away and around his desk to take his seat, leaning back in his chair as he waits for you to comply.

You quickly clean yourself and get up with shaky legs, using the desk behind you as some support. Of course, Mikey wasn’t going to help you. You walk around the desk and manage to sit on it directly in front of where he sits, you spread your thighs and use your hands to support yourself. Mikey rolls the chair forward and runs a finger down your inner thigh causing your legs to tremble, ‘beautiful’ he murmurs.

He dips his head, dragging his tongue across your slit teasingly, ‘I’m going to feast on your sweet cunt.’

He laps at your folds, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, ‘Let me hear those pretty moans as I devour your pussy,’ he seals his lips around your clit, sucking hard as he slides two fingers inside you.

‘Ahhh... oh god... yessss... please don't stop…’ you arch your back, pushing your hips against his face as he eats you out intensely. Your hand's fist in the desk as pleasure crashes through you, ‘More...Mikey...please...I'm so close…’

He growls against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you, ‘Come for me then. Drench me in your juices as I finger-fuck this greedy cunt,’ he pumps faster, curling his digits to hit your G-spot with ruthless precision.

‘Shout louder, let everyone hear what a shameless slut you are for me,’ he scissors his fingers, stretching you deliciously as he continues his assault on your sensitive bud, ‘Come on, give it to me. Scream my name as you fall apart,’ He nips at your clit sharply, sending you hurtling towards oblivion, ‘Now, Cum NOW!’

‘AHHHH!!! MIKEY!!!! OH MY GODDD!!!’ Your entire body convulses as an earth-shattering orgasm rips through you. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers as you squirt all over his hand and face. You collapse onto the desk, gasping for air, your skin flushed and tingling all over, ‘Holy shit... that was... incredible…’

He licks his lips, savouring your sweet nectar as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your fluttering hole. Sits back on his heels, admiring the sight of you sprawled out before him, thoroughly debauched, ‘Look at you, utterly spent and satisfied. All because of me.’

He wipes his face with a handkerchief before tucking it away, ‘But we're far from finished, pet,’ he grabs your ankles, pulling you roughly to the edge of the desk, ‘I'm nowhere near done with you yet,’ he lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your soaked folds, ‘Ready for round two?’ he asks with a wicked grin, knowing full well you have no choice but to submit to him again and again.

‘Yes... I'm ready... I'll always be ready for you…’ You pant out, your body already aching for more despite the mind-blowing orgasm you just had. You spread your legs wider in an invitation, completely surrendered to your will, ‘Take me, Mikey. Ruin me’

Mikey smirks triumphantly at your complete submission, revelling in the power he holds over you, ‘Good girl,’ he grips your hips bruisingly tight, positioning himself at your entrance, ‘Brace yourself, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for days,’ he slams into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat.

‘FUCK! Still so fucking tight after all that,’ he growls and sets a punishing pace, pounding into you mercilessly, ‘This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be claimed, owned, used for my pleasure alone,’ he reaches down, rubbing your clit roughly as he rails you, ‘Scream for me, let me hear that pretty voice as I split you open on my cock.’

‘AHHHHH!!! YES!!! JUST LIKE THAT!!! HARDER!!! USE ME MORE!!!’ you scream out in ecstasy, your nails raking down his back as he ravages you. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, urging him deeper as your pussy clenches greedily around his pistoning shaft, ‘OH GOD...YOU FEEL SO GOOD...I LOVE YOUR COCK...I'M YOURS...PLEASE DON'T STOP!!!’ You babble incoherently, lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, completely consumed by the primal act of being taken so forcefully.

Mikey groans loudly, feeling your walls flutter and spasm around him as he drives into you with reckless abandon, ‘That's right, take it all, you filthy whore,’ he crashes his mouth against yours in a rough, dominating kiss, swallowing your screams as he fucks you senseless.

‘You were made for this, for being used as my cum dump,’ he breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with a sadistic gleam in his eyes, ‘I can feel you getting closer, can't you? Your cunt is squeezing me so tightly, begging for release.’

He slaps your ass hard, leaving a bright red mark, ‘Well, beggars can't be choosers. When I fill you up with my seed, you'd better milk it for all it's worth. Every last drop belongs inside this greedy little hole.’

‘YES!! FILL ME UP!! I WANT IT ALL!!!’ you wail, your body shaking uncontrollably as another massive orgasm builds within you. The intensity of his words, the sting of his slap, the relentless pounding of his cock - it all pushes you over the edge, ‘OH FUCK... I'M COMING AGAIN!!! MIKEY!!!’ your pussy spasms wildly, gushing around him as you come undone once more under his brutal domination.

Mikey snarls in satisfaction as he feels your climax crash over you, milking his cock for every ounce of pleasure, ‘That's it, squeeze me dry, you insatiable slut,’ he pounds into you furiously, chasing his own release as your velvety walls rip through him.

‘Fuck, here it comes…’ With a guttural roar, he slams deep one final time, erupting inside you in a torrent of hot, thick cum, ‘TAKE IT! EVERY LAST DROP!’ he grinds against you, ensuring his seed coats your insides thoroughly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

‘Thank god for birth control. If this is what you're like, what about the other executives?’ You somehow manage to speak, panting and voice hoarse.

Mikey smirks, a dark glint in his eyes, ‘Oh, they're nothing compared to me. They might think they're powerful and in charge, but they don't have the same...drive. The hunger. The thirst for absolute control. They can never match up to what I am capable of. And you, my dear, are going to see that firsthand.’

You shudder slightly, both aroused and unnerved by the intensity of his words. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he talks, like there's a darkness lurking beneath the surface that could consume you entirely if you let it. Yet, the thought only makes you wetter, your core throbbing with need.

‘What do you mean? What exactly are you capable of?’ you ask breathlessly, your heart racing as you await his response, simultaneously dreading and craving whatever twisted desires he may unleash upon you.

Mikey leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, ‘I'm capable of things that would make even the most depraved minds recoil in horror. Dark pleasures, forbidden desires, the kind that can only be satiated by those who dare to embrace their inner demons.’

He trails a finger down your cheek, his touch chilling despite the heat of our bodies entwined, ‘With you, I can indulge in these vices without restraint, safe in the knowledge that you crave them just as much as I do. Together, we'll descend into the depths of depravity, lost in a world where pleasure and pain are indistinguishable.’

He pulls back, his gaze piercing and intense, ‘So, are you prepared to surrender yourself fully to me, to become my willing plaything in the pursuit of these twisted delights?’

‘As long as I still have a job, I think I can adjust,’ you answer, not sure if it was out of honesty, fear or lust.

Mikey chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, ‘Oh, you'll have a job alright. One that suits your...unique talents. And if you ever think of leaving, well, let's just say I have ways of making sure you stay put.’

He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, ‘Now, let's get cleaned up and ready for round three, shall we? I've got a few toys I want to introduce you to,’ he winks, a sinister promise in his eyes.

[wintersera]

Can you make a fic about vampire!karina? Her fangs in supernova mv got me dizzy😵‍💫

not so much of a fic but maybe a short little imagine/drabble thingy? cause yk yuh eslayyy

tw: blood 😰

anyways she looks like a little brat here it’s actually driving me a little insane CAUSE HOW DOES SHE LOOK SO CUTE WHEN SHES WREAKING HAVOC IN THE STREETS (and in the sheets ifykwim)😭

the typa vampire girlie to be so desperate to feed on reader bc shes so pretty and shes so so hungry ;;

lets say one day you woke up in the middle of the damn night, had a singular thought- the thought being explore the forest, at what? 2am. what a great idea 😭

so you prepared essentials in a backpack; some food, water bottle, a torch, lighter, batteries and thats about it.

you weren’t too big of a believer in the supernatural, you thought the concept of it was cool yk, warewolves and vampires- all that interesting stuff that you’d see in movies and books. obviously all that stuff was fake, so really, coming across a vampire wasn’t on your list of ‘what to do and encounter at a forest’. and now you’re aimlessly wondering around in the butt fuck of nowhere ignoring the obvious signs as to why your ass should NAWT be in the fucksss forest at this ungodly hour. you could’ve chosen any other time but naaurrr,,,

anyways, as you were strolling around without a care in the world, you heard the snap of a twig and something rustling around in the bushes. it could be a bear, or a man… the idea of that was worse by tenfold.

was the right option run back home and go back to sleep, yes! did you do it? NO, you know what you did? move towards the bushes… any reasoning? “what if its a cat? the cat distribution system could be in my favour today” :]

WRONG.

out from the bushes came a pretty tall girl. she bared her teeth at you, a clear warning so you could back up before anything bad happened. yet you stood there observing her instead. ngl you were pretty terrified none the less, pretty girl with sharp fangs that could rip through your skin. you were convinced she wasn’t real, maybe she was a hallucination??? idk bro maybe you were on shrooms or something.

“what are you doing here all alone in the woods pretty girl?”

tbh you were pretty shocked to the point of not being able to talk, so you stood there.

“aww too scared to speak? that’s okay, come with me” she grabbed your hand, grip pretty tight since she didn’t know how strong she really was. now all of a sudden you’re in an empty cabin log “dont be alarmed but… im hungry- can i get a bite? just a little. i promise i’ll only drink a little” you thought this was a big ass lie but let her bite you :( she’s so hungry.

her sharp fangs pierce into your neck, moaning at how good you taste. she couldn’t help but to embrace you as she was savouring your blood. the pain only lasted for a mere second before your body was engulfed in warmth, you thought that maybe you were gonna pass out but you were fine. i guess she figured out how nervous you were, your body tense and everything?!?2)2! she pulled back “i’m sorry did it hurt too much? it’s okay i can make it feel better” kissing your neck and whispering how happy you made her “i’ll return the favour” trailing bloody kisses from your neck down, to your collarbone and further down. ngl you thought it was pretty hot at how messy and how inexperienced she was at this. her hands would be all over you at first, on your tits mostly playing with them through you clothes “feel any good…? c-can i still taste you?” you nod hesitantly, but it did feel good though!

maybe because you were her first victim, she didn’t know what in the hells she was doing :,( obviously as a new vampire spawn she was trying her very best to make you feel good after she fed off of you. ripping your clothes off with ease, she wasted no time :] she made sure that every inch or your body felt good— leaving bloody stains wherver she kissed you, yes shes a messy eater 😭 the blood is all over her mouth leave her be-

after a long time of being kissed and having your boobs played with, she finally takes off your panties- soaked ofc! and blushes at you, looking up with her darkened puppy eyes,, awww how cute ;; you give her a slow nod and she just goes for it. so desperate and needy to make you feel good, she wouldn’t be lying if biting you made her so turned on. she fr eats you out like you were her last ever meal on earth 😊 like she gets so pussy drunk, lapping up all your juices, sucking and licking your clit so harshly earning a whimper from you.

she just thinks you taste so good,, your blood, your pussy? her heads spinning from your scent,, ouh girl she’s feeling dizzy, but that only drives her more insane. gripping onto your thighs, digging her nails into them. she wants more- moaning loudly as she continues to eat you out vigorously, her tongue circling around your clit so fast that it brings you to tears- are you sure she’s inexperienced bc this feels way too good “mmmhf is.. is this good? does your pussy feel good pretty girl?” that sentence alone brings you towards your climax- thighs squeezing together, essentially trapping her inbetween your legs 🫣🫣

so know if you’re ever feeling bored, you’d know where to go to find a certain specific desperate vampire waiting for you in the log cabins at 3am 🤩

IGNORE IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES PLEEKKKK 🙏🙏🙏🙏

[wosoragebaiter69]

the heart wants what it wants

alexia putellas x fem!reader

request: here & here

A/N: tried a diff writing style in this one, i think i like it better.

TW: swearing? (idk if it’s considered but i see other people doing it)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

National camp, you hated it. Nearly everything about it sucked. Keyword, nearly. It means you got to see her. The captain of Spain, and the captain of Barcelona. You know it’s probably not a good idea to fall for your ‘enemy’ but how couldn’t you? Faded pink hair, absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Who wouldn’t love that.

It would be easier if you weren’t so devoted to your own club, Real Madrid. The biggest rival of Barcelona. But that can be put aside for the little bit that comes with National camp, even if friend groups are very much seperate.

You wait as the rooms get announced. For who knows what, you get paired with Alexia. Olga sends a sly smirk to which you immediately slap her on the arm.

“Don’t you dare say a word Carmona.” Is all you say before lugging your bags and taking a keycard, heading towards the shared room.

“The bed on the window alright for you?” She asks, you nod.

You miss the way that she’s slightly nervous, and blushing. Too focused on trying to keep your own feelings at bay.

After unpacking everything, you’re laying on the bed staring at the ceiling, daydreaming which soon turns to actual dreaming when you fall asleep.

You’re woken up by a soft voice telling you that dinner is ready and to go down to everyone. It’s Alexia, you blush again looking away. Nodding before getting your shit together and moving on.

You walk down splitting from Alexia and going to sit down at a table with Olga, Ivana and Athenea.

“Don’t give me that look Olga.” You sigh as she smirks.

“I will make you do laps.” You threaten.

“You would not! I saved you a plate, look here.” She slides a plate over which you accept in thanks before turning to small talk with the girls.

Something which somehow goes unknown to everyone at your table, Alexia is watching. Receiving teasing from her own friends.

“Alexia, just ask her out already. My God it’s getting annoying of you two just blushing and staring at each other all day.” Jenni says to her friend, while they may be exes there’s still a lot of respect.

“I don’t know Jenni, she wouldn’t feel the same. We are captains of rival teams!” The dark haired spaniard rolls her eyes.

“Alexia.” This time it’s Misa. “I’m on the same team as her so let me. She says she has a crush but only Olga knows of it. And apparently it’s someone from another team. That’s all I know, but I did see Olga smirk when your rooms were read and then Y/N hit her whispering something.” She shrugs.

“If that doesn’t scream, my best friend is roomed with her crush and now she’s hitting me for pointing it out behaviour. I don’t know what is. You have until the end of camp to do this or I will ask her out for you myself.” The goalkeepers outburst surprises Alexia but she nods anyways, thinking that maybe tonight she’ll tell you. Maybe.

After dinner, and all the players are sent back to their respective rooms or to play games in the common area. You find yourself wondering around the hotel. Thinking about upcoming games and literally everything in between that.

After an hour or so of exploring different areas, finding a gym, swimming pool and jacuzzi you make your way back to the room where Alexia is pacing around.

“Penny for your thoughts?” This seems to get her out of the trance and she immediately looks up, blushing lightly. Is that a blush? You wonder.

“Lo siento, it’s nothing.” Your eyebrows light up in surprise.

“Well, if you need anything I’m right here.” She nods slowly, as if considering her options.

“Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask.” She looks down nervously at her hands, fidgeting with them.

“Go ahead.” You answer lightly with a small smile.

“I was wondering… maybe you’d wanna go on a date?” Your eyes open wide, this wasn’t what you expected at all.

“Uhh, y-yeah! Sure. Like… romantic right?” You stutter as she relaxes and nods.

“Yeah, like that. Maybe when we have time to explore, the day before the game? We can find a place.” You nod.

“That sounds amazing, it should be fun.” After the conversation ends, you immediately message Olga the news. Who is… screaming in text messages.

- - - - -

Unable to keep a smile of your face for the next few days, it seems the team is doing alright given certain circumstances. Alexia does take you out on that date and it ends with a kiss that makes you feel like a high schooler experiencing their first love. Cheesy, but true nonetheless. The team hasn’t found out yet but the respective friend groups teased both you and Alexia relentlessly, which only resulted in blushing messes and stuttered words.

Sometimes, a little bit of encouragement and fate can work wonders.

[urinarythreatinfection]

may i ask for headcanons for crocodile x child reader where crocodile's daughter joins the strawhats post alabasta?

and the next time they meet in impel down, well. that's not even his daughter anymore. that's his son now.

thank you very much for the open requests!

(from @77v77)

Bet. My first time writing a trans character so I hope it turned out okay. I'm still not used to headcanons so this honestly came out more as a fic, I'm really sorry about that. If you want a redo I don't mind, sorry. I got kinda carried away with a storyline and it turned out like this.

It's Good To See The New You

Crocodile x FTM!Child!Reader. 1562 words. Author isn't trans but trying their best. Feel free to correct if I messed up. (D/N) Is deadname.

This is how your life is, you’ve accepted it. You’re the daughter of someone powerful, strong, rich, you should be happy; but you aren’t. These dresses aren’t making you happy, the people fawning over you aren’t either, even the small amount of attention you get from your father doesn’t truly make you happy. It’s only when something happens, something that was supposed to be negative, that you get a glimpse of what can be your happiness. How could you let it pass you by at that point? Call yourself your father’s daughter, you don’t let opportunities like this just leave. Of course, maybe daughter isn’t something to describe you anymore.

“Take me with you.” Is what you say to Luffy when he’s leaving.

“Hm?” He looks at you, recognizing who you are, and scowls slightly.

“Take me with you, I want to go with you.” You repeat and it only confuses him more, Luffy doesn’t like being confused either.

He thinks you’re trying to pick a fight at first, but when he realizes you aren’t he calms down a bit.

“I just beat up your dad, why do you wanna come with me?” He asks you.

“Because I want to. So let me on.”

“Wha- Don’t give me orders!”

You two end up getting into a small argument, call it childish but you aren’t used to being argued with by anyone other than your father.

Of course, it ends up working out, Luffy lets you on.

Robin even uses you as an excuse to get on as well, your partner in crime.

Luffy’s a little upset he kind of didn’t get as much of a choice as he’d like, but he got over it once Robin worked her charms. (Using her hands to help them make stupid jokes)

As for you, it took a while for you to warm up to them even though you’re the one who got on.

Something just still didn’t feel right.

You felt better than before, of course, but not as good as you’d like.

It’s only when Nami helps you pick out clothes that you realize that you’ve never truly chosen what you’ve wanted.

You were given options of course, but those options were picked from what your father wanted.

When you were looking at dresses Nami noticed you looking unhappy.

“You don’t have to wear a dress if you don’t want to, you know. You can wear something else.” She says casually.

In her mind it was just a fashion tip from one woman to another, something simple.

But to you it was so much more.

From then on you took things into your own hands.

Not just bossy with the things you’re given, but exploring to find your own choices.

You started dressing differently, which might seem so little but it felt so much bigger to you.

Time passes and it was the best choice you’ve ever made, it helped you become your true self.

The crew was confused at first, Sanji was even devastated, but it passed.

Sometimes Sanji still laments, but it’s more just because he was happy to have another woman to fawn over.

He gets over it, you’re happier this way.

You even get the privilege of not having the privilege of Sanji’s over-the-top affection.

Everything is so much better, so much brighter that you almost forget what your life was like before you were truly yourself.

That’s until you meet your father again, a reminder of who you were.

You know it's not his fault, he never bossed you around or told you you couldn’t be your true self.

He just wanted you to be someone that he could have confidently as his child, someone unbreakable; and that's what you were.

An unbreakable broken person.

That’s how you could describe him too, in the state he’s in.

Chained up and defeated, it makes your heart ache.

Even if he wasn’t the best father he was still yours.

He almost doesn’t recognize you at first, glaring at you until it clicks who you are.

“...(D/N)?” He calls to you and you almost flinch from the sound.

It brings shivers up your spine, even if you know it was from ignorance.

You don’t want to respond, not wanting to acknowledge that previous you; but decide it’s time to face it.

Crocodile himself, your father, isn’t the enemy that kept you captive.

“..Father.” You say to him.

“(D/N) you, what are you-”

“That’s not my name” You interrupt him, and it makes him pause.

Not your name?

How isn’t it your name? He named you himself!

“What are you talking about? I figured you joined that Strawhat’s crew but you changed your name for it? Were you..” He trails off, feeling hurt.

Were you that unhappy with him?

Why else would you change your name if not to try and get rid of your past?

You must be ashamed of him, he sure is.

Got beaten by a brat and ended up in a prison getting mistreated by people he could kill in a heartbeat, if only he had the chance to.

“Father.” You catch his attention, snapping him out of the trance of negativity he put himself into.

“It’s not you, if that’s what you were worried about.” You reassure him, and he scoffs.

“If not me what else? You sure seem a hell of a lot brighter now that you’re not with me.” His heart aches.

Despite not wanting to admit it he did have a soft spot for you.

You were his daughter, the small light he had in the darkness, whether the choice to have you was his or not.

“..It’s (Y/N).” You say quietly and he perks up, looking at you closer.

You look different, more different than he realized at first.

“You’ve changed.”

“I know.” There’s a silence.

Crocodile isn’t one to pry, he didn’t pry even when you were his daughter.

“Are you happier?” He asks you, like a sentimental fool.

Your eyes go wide, but they calm as you smile.

“I am, I’m so much happier.”

“Good. Make sure you stay on the other side of these bars, too, (Y/N).” Your father says and your heart clenches.

You’re happy, but sad at the same time.

Here you are, your true self with friends that care about you, meeting your Father again.

This should be happy for you, there shouldn’t be anything bad about this.

Despite that, you feel like crying; and look down.

Because you’ve gained so much, but you’ve lost being your Father’s daughter.

He still cared for you, and you him.

He helped you with your hair, gave you the luxury he grained, treated you with the respect you deserved, he even changed your diapers sometimes when you were little.

Even though he didn’t need to.

Crocodile loved you as much as he could in and in the way he knew how.

So the thought that you’ve lost that love, it hurts.

You don’t want to go back to being his daughter, you don’t want to go back to being a daughter, but you don’t want to lose being his child.

“Hey, don’t give me that look.” You hear him say, and you look back up.

“I know you and how that face you make when you're about to cry. Even if you’re different know you’re still my..” He trails off and you hesitate.

“Son.” Your heart drops, fear overtaking you at the thought of him rejecting you.

“My son.” He says and your vision blurs.

“Jeez, you really don’t listen don’t you? That a Strawhat trait, or did you get it from me?” He says with a sigh as tears roll down your cheeks.

“C’mon, stand up straight. You’re my kid, act it.” Something he would always say to you when you felt insecure.

It never did much other than help you put your mask back on.

But now those words empower you.

More than when they were said by the savior of Alabasta, the fearsome Crocodile.

You nod and wipe your eyes, you can’t cry now.

“That’s right, one of us has to be free." He looks down at himself, weak from mistreatment and seastone.

"Maybe it’s better you than me.” His chains clink as he moves.

“I am free, I feel so free. All the time.” You say, laughing a bit.

It shocks Crocodile, he hasn’t heard you laugh like this in so long.

He'd thought you'd lost it from age, just as he did.

You haven't laughed this freely with him since he could hold you up with one hand.

The sound of his son sounds so much happier than his daughter.

He wishes he knew sooner, maybe he could’ve even given you different life skills.

Too late for that.

“Are you gonna stand here all day looking at your old man? I doubt you’ve come to free me.” You shake your head.

You don’t even have his key.

Your ears perk up at crashing noises, it’s time for you to go.

You look back at your father, eyes clear and bright.

“I’ll be going now, Dad.” You say with a smile and he bites the inside of his cheek to hold any emotion in.

“Go get em, son.” Crocodile says with a chuckle.

You go off and he sits in his cell.

He wonders if this is how you felt, trapped with him and in a body you didn’t feel was your own.

Maybe this is his retribution, his punishment for his wrongdoings.

If there’s a God out there.. he hopes that they keep that punishment to him.

It wouldn’t be fair to drag someone he just met into his problems.

You deserve your new life.

He’s just happy he was able to see a glimpse of it.

That was it. Hope that was good. I'm not trans but I just based it off of what i've seen and maybe how I would feel if I were trans. Hope that works. I don't know why you made yourself anonymous but put your @ but I'll assume maybe it was because you wanted me to tag you so here @77v77

[bullet-prooflove]

"I dream of this life, with you" ❤️

It’s on a lazy Sunday morning in bed that Omar realises he wants to take the next step in your relationship. You’re cuddled up into his side, your thumb lightly tracing circles across his abdomen. His lips brush over your forehead and you make that sweet little noise, the one he knows means you’re happy, content.

“Do you ever think you’d wanna make this permanent?” He says softly, his fingertips tracing languid patterns across your shoulders. “Getting a bigger place together somewhere in Queens or Brooklyn.”

“Queens is closer to your mom.” You murmur, your lips brushing over the hollow of his throat.

“That’s why I was thinking Brooklyn.” He says half seriously.

He hasn’t spoken to her since the last time the two of you went over there, you’d tried to broker the peace, it’s your way but he still can’t forgive her for what she’d done, what she’d tried to do.

He’d gone to the bathroom to wash his hands and come back to find you excusing yourself due to a ‘work emergency’. He had known you weren’t on call that night, and if that wasn’t a sign that his mother had done something, the watery eyes and your tense shoulders would have been a giveaway. He’d offered to give you a ride, but you already had an Uber pulling up outside.

It hadn’t taken long to get the story out of his mother. She wasn’t ashamed of what she did, in her eyes she’s simply looking out for her son.

“I told her the truth.” She says as she sets the table. “If she can’t bare your children she needs to let you go. She’s a lovely girl Habibi, but she’s not for you, she’s not someone you can build a future with.”

He’d walked out then because what his mother had done, it was beyond cruel. He had told her your history in confidence as a way to circumvent the inevitable grandchildren conversation and she had thrown it in your face.

It was the next day you had tried to end things with him.

“She’s right.” You say quietly as you play with the sleeves of your white sweater. “You deserve someone who can give you a family and I… I can’t do that.”

“Hanna, I don’t need that.” He had told you, his hands reaching out across the table for yours. “If it’s something we decide we want in the future we can explore our options, fostering, adoption, surrogacy, a family doesn’t have to look the way my mother thinks it should.”

“Omar…” You begin but the look in his eyes makes you trail off because there’s such earnestness in them. He means what he says, starting a family doesn’t have to mean getting pregnant, so long as he’s with you he doesn’t care how it happens.

“You are enough for me.” He tells you, his thumb chasing over your ring finger. “What we have right now, that’s enough for me.”

Your voice draws him out of the memory, you’ve propped your head up on the pillow so that you can read the expression on his face.

“How about I go make us some coffee?” You suggest, your lips brushing over his bare shoulder. “And you can start looking up listings on your laptop.”

His entire face lights up as it dawns on him that you’ve just answered his question.

“Are you saying that you want to move in together?” He murmurs, his hands threading through your hair as he draws you close.

“Were you serious?” You ask him as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “About what the future looks like for us?”

“You know I am.” He tells you, his thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek. “Any future I have, I want it to be with you.”

Love OA? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

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[redroomreflections]

Gentle Hands Chapter Six

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha suspects Reader is in an abusive relationship and tries to convince her to leave

6/10

W/c: 3.5k

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Warning: Domestic violence

"Y/N,” Dr. Lisa gives you a look of concern as she passes you the stack of multicolored pamphlets.”You have several options to consider at this stage of your pregnancy, which is around eight weeks LMP. Firstly, you can continue with the pregnancy and explore prenatal care options. This involves regular check-ups and taking care of your health for the well-being of you and the developing fetus.”

She notices the look on your face, only pausing for a millisecond before she continues her spiel. It’s all the same. You’ve heard it before.

“Alternatively, if you're unsure about continuing the pregnancy, there is the option of discussing and considering abortion. Abortion procedures are available, and we can provide you with information on the different methods, their implications, and any potential risks.

It's important to take the time to think about what feels right for you. If you have any questions or concerns about either option, please feel free to ask. Your well-being is our priority, and we're here to support you through this process. Have you thought about any of this?"

Your heart is pounding in your chest, drowning out everything she’s said thus far. Clutching the pamphlets, you feel tears welling up. You just want to go home, lie down, and forget about everything. Making decisions is exhausting, especially when there are too many options and paths to choose from.

In moments like this, when you're supposed to be the responsible adult, you feel alone. The tiny life inside you, almost eight weeks old, is the size of a raspberry. Trying not to think too much about the pamphlet's pictures, you worry about making the wrong choice and question if you're even fit to decide. It feels like someone left you in charge, and you need to figure out if you're up to the task.

“Y/n,” Dr. Lisa’s voice is more pressing now.

“Y-yeah,” You shake your head. You furrow your brows, trying to clear your mind of the fogginess as you think for a second. Your mouth suddenly feels cotton-filled. Your tongue feels thick. This is all too much. “I’ve thought about it but-”

“It doesn’t have to be a decision made today,” Dr. Lisa informs you. She gives you another once over, noting the fading bruises on your face. She must be judging you. She must think you are some basket case. Another young girl with no clue what to do. Another young girl who is only good at opening her legs. “Y/n, if you are in danger…”

“No, I’m not,” You say with such conviction her mouth closes with a snap. “I’m not in danger. I’m fine. Things are fine.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince at this point. “I’m not really in the position to take care of another baby. My baby. My daughter. She’s not even two years old yet. I know what you must think. That I’m stupid or something but this isn’t how life is supposed to be for me.”

Dr. Lisa listens attentively as you express your conviction. With a calm and understanding demeanor, she responds, "I hear you, and your feelings are completely valid. It's important for you to express your concerns and fears. Pregnancy and parenting bring about significant changes, and it's okay to feel overwhelmed. It's crucial for us to work together to find the best solution for you and your situation."

She maintains a supportive tone, "There's no judgment here, and it's not about thinking you're stupid. Life can be unpredictable, and everyone faces challenges. What matters most is your well-being and making decisions that align with your circumstances. Let's discuss your options further and explore how we can navigate this together. Your feelings and thoughts are important, and we'll work towards a solution that feels right for you."

“I left my boyfriend,” You almost whisper. “He wasn’t the best. It took me too many years to figure that out. He was controlling and abusive. We weren’t careful. That’s how we got Kaia. I don’t regret her. I don’t regret having her. She’s the best thing in my life. Another baby? Right now when I don’t know up from down? It feels irresponsible. It feels overwhelming. It wouldn’t be fair to Kaia for her to finally receive all of me and eventually give it to another child too. You know? My head is so messed up I don’t know what to think but the other option…”

Dr. Lisa listens compassionately as you open up about leaving Keith and the challenges you've faced. In a supportive and understanding tone, she responds, "I appreciate you sharing that with me. It takes a lot of strength to recognize and leave a situation that isn't healthy. Your concerns about another baby are completely valid, especially considering everything you've been through."

She continues, "It's important to prioritize your well-being and the well-being of Kaia. Your feelings of responsibility and the overwhelming nature of the situation are completely understandable. Let's explore your options together. Whether you choose to continue with the pregnancy or consider other alternatives, we'll work through it step by step. Your emotional and mental health is our priority, and I'm here to support you in making decisions that align with your needs and circumstances."

She’s supposed to say that. You don’t think she truly cares. It’s kind of mean of you to think when she’s showing you that she’s genuine. You go over the options again, her voice fills you with a bit more clarity as you go over your options. Why isn’t this any easier?

******************** Kaia toddles across the waiting area floor, with Natasha closely trailing behind. As soon as the little one spots you, drool and all, she dashes toward you on wobbly legs. You bend down, lifting her into your arms for a warm hug, finding comfort in that familiar baby scent.

"Everything okay?" Natasha inquires. Her hands are tucked in her pockets, and her non-threatening expression exudes a calming presence. It's needed, and despite the past few weeks, you can't help but wonder why she came, why she chose to rescue you. What does it all mean?

"It's fine," You nod. Natasha studies your face, observing as you bury your nose in Kaia's soft baby skin. The little one giggles, clutching your jacket for stability as you start walking.

Natasha follows without pressing for answers, patiently waiting for you to share. "I'm not ready to go back to the tower yet," you admit as you buckle Kaia into her stroller seat, met with minimal protests.

"We can walk," Natasha suggests, pulling her cap a bit lower over her head. And so you do. Side by side, you walk the streets of Manhattan.

You struggle with your words, opening and closing your mouth in the hope that the right ones will surface. The potential scenarios play out in your mind – a single mom of two, financially strained, grappling with decisions that were, until recently, out of your reach, like what to have for dinner (it was always Keith’s choices) or how to manage your finances. Even what to wear. Today, it's a simple NYC t-shirt and soft black leggings – you might look disheveled, but that's exactly how you feel.

"I have pictures," you mention, tapping the breast of your jacket to indicate the inside pocket. "Ultrasound. They had to do it for records and stuff," you explain, sensing Natasha's patient waiting for you to share more. "I haven't looked at them," you admit. "I'm scared. I know what the right decision is, the logical thing to do. If I put my feelings aside, I know that keeping this baby is the last thing I should do."

"And yet," Natasha encourages.

"And yet, I couldn't bring myself to schedule the procedure," You sigh, shifting your gaze down to Kaia, who's holding onto the handle, watching the passersby. “What would you do?” You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the annoyance of the people walking behind you. “If you were me. If you were here in this situation what would you do?”

“I don’t think that would be helpful,” Natasha shakes her head. She shifts her eyes away. “I cannot have children—courtesy of the Red Room. My perspective and my life choices are different. I don’t think I’m the best at these things.”

“Right,” You nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Natasha says. “Don’t let any of that affect your decision.”

“Okay,” You speak so softly. You tap your fingers against the stroller. Thinking. “I understand Natasha,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a moment, staring down at Kaia, who smiles at you back, your thoughts swirling. Finally, you look back up at Natasha."I appreciate your honesty, and I don't expect you to have all the answers. I just... I need to figure out what's best for my daughter and this new life growing inside me," you confess.

Natasha places a comforting hand on your back, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern. "Whatever you decide, know that you're not alone. You have people who care about you, and we'll support you through this. Take your time, and when you're ready, we can work through the next steps together."

You take a deep breath, feeling the need for comfort and a familiar place. "Natasha, I think I need to head home," you admit, a slight vulnerability in your voice. "Well back to the tower. I just want to be with Kaia right now, maybe have a little cuddle session, and perhaps watch a movie together." You suggest.

Natasha nods understandingly. "That sounds like a good plan," she replies. "Take all the time you need.”

******************* An hour later, you reach the Avengers Tower, skillfully dodging paparazzi and the press. In the elevator, heading up to the 54th floor where the Avengers' lounge awaits. Kaia, tired and on the verge of naptime, babbles in her seat, tugging at her hair soothingly as she tries to stay awake.

You stand incredibly close to Natasha, relishing in the warmth of her body heat as you watch the light ding as you pass each level. You step out before Natasha, pushing the stroller deeper onto the floor.

Natasha breaks the silence, "So, do you want to watch TV here? Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," You decline, unconsciously resting a hand on your belly. "We can sit here."

Unstrapping Kaia, you lift her into your arms. She settles for a moment, her attention caught by Wanda on the couch. However, your steps come to a sudden halt as you realize Wanda isn't alone. Your parents are there, in the flesh, and you pause in surprise.

"Mom?" Your breath catches in your throat as you lay eyes on your parents for the first time in years. Your mother stands first, cautiously approaching you. "W-what are you guys doing here?"

"Hi, baby," she greets you softly. Concern etches her features as she gives you a once-over, her gaze lingering on your face and then on the toddler in your arms.

"Hi!" Kaia grins widely at the new visitor. It's then you remember Kaia's never met your parents; they only know her through infrequent photos you've sent. The last one was sent longer ago than you can remember.

"Mama," you swallow thickly. "This is Kaia. This is my daughter." Tears spring to your eyes as your voice breaks, overcome with emotion. You have so many questions. How are they here? Why are they here?

Kaia, not shy in the least, warmly reaches for your mother, her eyes lighting up.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," She coos, making silly faces that prompt giggles from Kaia. In that moment, you feel a sudden emptiness, the vulnerability of the past months replaced by the embrace of family.

Your dad joins in, closing the gap between you to hug and kiss you. The world feels a bit woozy as you grapple with the unexpected reunion. There's a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, and you can't help but wonder why they are here.

Wanda, sensing the need for family time, excuses herself with a kind smile, leaving you alone with your parents. You almost ask her to stay but hesitate. Instead, you decide to address the pressing questions with your family.

As Natasha starts to leave, you catch her attention. "Nat, could you stay a bit?" you ask.

Natasha nods understandingly and settles into the seat beside you.

“This is-” You begin.

“The Black Widow,” Your dad introduces himself. “I’m Mac. This is my wife Regina.” He waves between the two of you.

“Nice to meet you both,” Natasha shakes their hands.

“I know you’re wondering why we’re here,” Mac begins. He glances at your mom before looking back at you. “Keith called us very concerned about you running away from home. Says you took Kaia in the middle of the night and refused to come back.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a mix of shock and confusion written across your face. "Wait, what? Keith called you?" You glance at Kaia, who's blissfully unaware, still playing in her grandmother's arms.

Taking a moment to process, you continue "I didn't run away. I left because... things were just unbearable. I couldn't stay there any longer. It wasn't safe for Kaia or me. I needed to protect her."

Your voice quivers with frustration and desperation, seeking understanding from your parents who have suddenly reappeared in your life. "I didn't know he'd call you. I didn't want you involved in all this mess." Your gaze shifts between your mom and dad, hoping they can see the weight of your situation and the reasons behind it.

Regina emits a thoughtful hum, her expression betraying disapproval. "I've never liked Keith," she admits with a furrowed brow, her protective instincts kicking in. "Did he do that to your face?" she asks, eyeing the marks with a growing sense of anger.

Feeling a pang of shame, you nod quietly, lowering your head. The weight of the acknowledgment hangs in the air as you brace yourself for your mom's reaction.

“Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you come home sooner?"

You look up, meeting your mom's gaze. "To be quite honest I didn't think it was that bad.”

Regina’s eyes widen in disbelief, disbelief etched on her face. "Not that bad? Sweetheart, these marks on your face... it's not okay. You shouldn't have to endure this."

Natasha, who has been quietly observing, steps in. "Sometimes, people in such situations underestimate the severity of the abuse they're facing. It's not uncommon for victims to downplay the harm they're enduring, especially when it's someone they trusted."

Still grappling with the shock, Regina turns her attention to Natasha. "And who are you in all of this?" she inquires, a touch of skepticism in her tone.

Natasha introduces herself, "I’m a friend of y/n. I've been supporting her through this difficult time."

You nod, adding, "Natasha's right. It's hard to see the full extent when you're in it. But now that I'm out, I realize how bad it was. I couldn't let Kaia grow up in that environment."

Regina’s expression softens. "Oh, sweetheart. I wish you had reached out sooner. We're here for you now.”

“Thanks,” You nod. “How long are you in town for?”

“Not long,” Mac responds. “We came to check on you and see if you’re ready to come home. Your room is still there for you. Of course with the little one it might be a tight fit but we’ll work something out.”

Your confusion lingers as you process your dad’s words. "Come home?" you repeat, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. The idea of returning to the familiar comfort of your childhood home stirs conflicting emotions within you.

You glance at Kaia, who is happily sitting with her grandmother, adding a layer of complexity to the decision. The thought of your parents falling back into their roles, and taking charge of decisions, is both tempting and nerve-wracking. It would undoubtedly be easier, but you aren’t sure if it aligns with the newfound independence and resilience you’ve discovered.

"I appreciate the offer, Mom. It's just... I hadn't planned on coming back home," you admit, your gaze shifting between your parents. "It's not that I don't value your support, but I need to figure things out on my own, for Kaia and myself. I hope you understand." your nervousness seeps into your words, unsure of how they will react.

“I can’t say that we do but,” Your mother sighs. “We will be here at the Hilton.” She nods. “For now I want to catch up with my baby and my grandbaby. You have time to make a decision.”

“Right,” You nod. “Excuse me for a second.” You stand from the room, knowing Kaia is safe with your parents, as you rush to the kitchen. The air feels thicker than before, and the need for some clarity becomes almost overwhelming.

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha quietly follows behind her presence a comforting anchor. You feel a hand on your back, a gentle touch offering both support and understanding. The unexpected contact prompts you to voice the swirling thoughts in your mind.

"Why do I have to make everything so hard?" You sigh, the words escaping in a mixture of frustration and self-reflection. The kitchen becomes a temporary sanctuary, and as you take a deep breath, Natasha's voice offers a reassuring response.

"It's not about making things hard, you’re entitled to your feelings," Natasha says calmly. "You're navigating a difficult situation, and it's okay to feel torn.”

“My parents are here,” You rest your head atop your arms on the counter. “Keith called them because he thought they would be on his side.”

Natasha's expression tightens in thought. Probably not good ones.

"I see," she responds. "It's unfortunate that Keith took that route. But remember, you have the right to make decisions for yourself and Kaia, regardless of how others may perceive it. Your well-being is the priority here."

“You’re always so understanding,” You raise your head to look at her. “I don’t know if I can say thank you enough.”

“It’s no problem,” Natasha takes a breath. “We all need someone right.” She shrugs.

“Right,” You nod. You have more decisions to make. Lucky you.

---> next part

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Choosing Peace Pt. 11: Despair (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: No. This is part 11 of the multi fic.

Summary: Actions, even when misconstrued, speak louder than words.

TW: None

Word Count: 2.3k

Previous | Next

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Spike spent his days helping you research your curse. To seek a way to set you free would mean a chance for him to be part of your life. For far too long your only companion has been silence and emptiness, and he would give anything to replace those themes in your life. He didn’t have a full plan, just a gut feeling. He didn’t know for sure but he believed you were both close to a break through, at least he hoped so for his sanity. Spending your days searching book after book was getting tiring. He had to do it for you, for him.

You both worked diligently to find some missing link, some type of information that you had skipped. You became engrossed in an old leather-bound book while spike searched for possible books that could contain the appropriate way to break your curse. You take a pause. Joy bubbles in your chest. Disbelief drowns your thoughts. So many years of searching and finally, finally, you were given a partial answer on how to break the curse.

“I found something!” You exclaim.

Spike rushes to your side. You quickly read that an oracle must be consulted. You identify the place, the time but were unsure about what question to ask. As you go further down you find that your curse, since it was caused by a lover’s anger, can only be solved by a lover’s desire.

You wondered what that meant. It seemed too easy. As you keep reading you find out that you have to ask who your soulmate is. Only then will you find the key to break the curse. You grimace. Why did it have to be a lover? Why couldn’t it be a potion. Love is a sensitive topic, a non-issue if you will. But now, it was the only issue. Identify the soulmate, find them, and be free. Simple. Too simple.

You sat back frustrated. Spike, at your side, was excited and giddy.

“You found the answer. The key.” He exclaims.

“It seems too simple.” You mention.

“I think you’re just jaded. Give it a whirl, see where you end up.” Spike encourages you.

You sigh and close your eyes. You envision your life without the curse with a lover, maybe a family… and it all seems too surreal, too out of reach. You decide against the oracle and soulmate solution.

“I’m not doing it.” You announce.

Spike is surprised, “Why not, love? The worst thing that could happen is that it leads you nowhere. It’s worth a shot.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll keep looking for something more realistic. Right now, I need a break.” Without a another word you get up and leave the Magic Shop.

The Scooby gang witness the exchange. They are surprised at Spike’s investment in your life, your lack of interest in this new lead, and confused as to why you chose to walk away.

Your breath is labored, your thoughts in disarray. What if this was the answer? What if all you need is a mate? Someone to partner with? It surely can’t be that simple. Your pace becomes a jog, a sprint, a run. You don’t know where you’re going but you’re going. You’ve lived with this curse so long that the idea of living without it is scary, unknown. You need space. You need time to think.

Spike, back at The Magic Shop, sits back on the chair next to where y/n sat. He is confused, enraged. It’s selfish of him to want her to break the curse. Almost evil to want this more than her. He had plans, a future with her, and she was resistant to exploring her options.

“You think she’s scared?” Willow asked Buffy.

Buffy was dismissive of the whole situation, having her own thoughts about the curse.

“If she breaks it, does that mean she will age?” Xander pondered.

Buffy eventually chimes in, “Spike, you seem very invested in this.”

Spike turns to her, trapped. “She’s a friend. My only friend.” He digs in deep to hurt Buffy.

The conversation is dropped. Due to it being daylight, Spike is trapped at The Shop. He uses that time to formulate a plan on how to approach you, how to convince you.

Night falls and Spike is alive and on the move. He will find you no matter what. He looks at all the usual places. Your house, his crypt. Nothing. He eventually finds you at the look out, alone and confused. He slowly approaches you.

“Love…”

You don’t move but acknowledge him. He steps closer, cautiously.

“Spike, I’m afraid. It’s been so long, I don’t know how to be a human anymore.”

Spike reaches for your hand and gives it a soft squeeze. “Poppet, your compassion and empathy make you human. Not your mortality.”

You turn to look at him, tears in your eyes. He is surprised. He has never seen you this vulnerable. He pulls you into a hug and holds you tight. You break down and hold him as if he’s the only other person in the whole world.

You both stand in silence while the night air is filled with your sobs and sniffles. You look up at him, desperate for an anchor.

“Will you stand by me?”

“Always.” He says as he places his forehead against yours.

Spike was internally a whirlwind of emotions. Always there for her. Always self-sacrificing. He hoped that one day it would pay off.

The next morning you’ve decided to go through with finding the oracle. You’re mapping out your journey, making sure you’re ready for any tests. Spike observes you from afar, hopeful that you’ll find answers, and maybe -just maybe- a way to be free.

You spend the rest of the day psyching your self up for your journey. You remind yourself that you’re there to explore not to commit to any answers. Any lead is a good lead.

You try to sneak out of the house. Wanting to have this for yourself. Spike is waiting for you on the porch.

“Thought you could slip by me?” He says as he snuffs out his lit cigarette.

You sigh, defeated. You knew there was no way to dissuade him. You both embark on your journey. A treacherous walk up a hill, a shimmy in between rocks, a descent into a cave. You come upon a portal, a gateway to another dimension. Invisible to the naked eye but tangible to those who are connected to the super natural. You take a step forward and so does Spike. You stop him.

“No. I have to do this part alone. Wait for me.” You say as you walk into the portal.

Inside there are ornate ceilings, white walls and marble floors. You look around.

“Oracle, I come with a question.”

A form appears. A golden being with closed eyes. “What do you seek, traveler?”

“I… I need to know who my soulmate is.” You wait impatiently.

The figure stalls, breathes in and answers your plea.

The sound is deafening. The answer is not what you expected. Your mind is in disarray. Before you can ask for a follow up, to question his answer, you’re pulled back into the real world. You land on your butt with a loud thud. Spike is standing a few feet away. He hurries to hold you up. You stand there, awestruck and confused.

“Well?” Spike prods.

You shake your head, afraid to give him an answer. You start walking back the way you came. Spike holds you back by your arm.

“Did you get an answer or not?” He is impatient and scared.

“Yes.” You whisper.

Spike can tell it’s not what you wanted. He is perceptive and can read that you don’t want to elaborate. He nods and starts following you back to the beginning of your journey. The lack of expression on your face has him worried. Did the oracle not say his name? Was this all for naught?

You walk in silence. Deafening and loud. You’re in disbelief and upset. How will you handle this? How will you contend with this new information? You didn’t dare tell anyone. This was yours to keep.

Spike was suspicious and unnerved by your silence. He desperately wanted you to have said his name, to have confirmed that he was your soulmate. Yet, nothing. He decides to not push you, to let you process. That night he decides to stay in his crypt to give you space.

As he sits watching TV, not really paying attention, a knock is heard at his door. An odd occurrence since no one ever knocks. He gets up, hoping it’s you. He opens the door to find Buffy. Shy and vulnerable. He doesn’t have time for this. He plans on shutting the door, but she lets herself in.

“Why not me? When did you stop wanting me?” She asks.

Spike is taken aback, speechless. Before he can answer she is pressed against him, face tilted and eyes searching.

“Is it y/n? Is she better than me?”

Spike takes a step back, appalled by the closeness. He can’t do this, not tonight. She grabs him, holds him against his will. He stands there planning his next step.

As soon as Spike leaves you decide to wander the streets searching for something, but you didn’t know what. After a while you realize that you don’t want to be alone. You find yourself at Spike’s crypt. Addicted to his presence, in need of his attention. As you walk in you see Buffy and Spike pressed against each other. You’re shocked but not really. Spike turns to see you, fear in his eyes. Not this, not now.

You turn around without a word. Of course, Spike would seek respite in Buffy. They were meant to seek each other out. You never knew why but you knew they couldn’t stay apart. You fooled yourself into thinking that there was space in his life for you. It is for this reason you didn’t bother with love. It was never real. You pretend to not feel as you run back home.

Meanwhile Spike fights to get free from buffy.

“So, it is her.” Buffy says disdainfully.

Spike growls in frustration and runs after you. He catches up to you as you enter your porch. He reaches for you, but you turn to him.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You say with a bite.

“It’s not what you think.” He pleads.

“Spike, what you do is none of my business.” You try to be defiant, distant.

“She came to me. She wanted me. I was trying to get away.” He begged.

“Like I said, it’s none of my business. You chose, and I respect that.”

“Choose? I choose you. Always you.” He steps closer while you take a step back.

“I’m glad you can always go back to Buffy. I feel it’s best you stay in your crypt from now on.”

“I can’t do this with you Spike. I have too much going on.” You say with disdain and walk into your house slamming your door.

Spike is speechless. He stammers, begs. He basically gets on his knees.

“Don’t do this. It’s not what you think.”

Spike is left alone, in despair, in disbelief. He is shattered into a million pieces. His eyes prick with tears. He withholds a sob. He doesn’t let himself feel, he’s too vulnerable. Anger overtakes his sadness. That damned slayer. Always ruining things for him. That sick and twisted bitch. He is overflowing with feelings and all of them are a form of anger.

He stalks back to his crypt, hoping that the slayer is still there. Fortunately for him, she is.

“Kick you out like a dog?” Buffy taunts.

He is enraged and violent. He lunges after her making sure to hurt her as much as possible. However, Spike is no match for Buffy. Buffy makes sure to put him in his place. She is smug and full of herself.

“Don’t fight what is already done.” She walks towards him. “Now that your little fantasy is broken, are you ready to come back to me?”

Spike breathes in deep, choosing his words correctly. He may not be able to hurt her body but he can hurt her ego.

“The only reason you’re here is because you feel like shit, and hurting yourself by giving yourself up to me makes you feel something. You feel like an outcast, and you’ll never belong. Not anymore.” Spike spits out, bloody and bruised.

Buffy bites her lip. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew she could beat him into submission if she wanted to. As she thinks about forcing him into being hers, it dawns on her how she is acting. Her reactions are evil and full of hate. She has turned into the monster in this story. She has sunk as low as she can be. Not only does she feel like dirt, she finds ways to bring herself down even more. She steps back and runs out of the crypt. She is in disbelief of how Spike has dragged her down into his pit of despair.

Spike lays in his own puddle of blood, broken and lonely. Tears stain his face as sobs echo in his crypt. He has lost the one good thing in his life. He was so close to salvation and now he’s back to square one. He knew he didn’t deserve y/n but he didn’t have to lose her this way. He hurts not only for his situation but also for the pain he caused you. How will he redeem himself. Having a soul wasn’t enough. Now in your time of need he wasn’t allowed to comfort you, to hold you. He knew cold and lonely nights await him. He knew that despair and anger were going to be his companions. He wondered if he would ever get you back.

[oldestenemy]

So Polaris it is.

The wizard is not keen on dealing with Coleridge again—though they believe he is finally free of whatever Old Cob did to addle his poor brain. It doesn’t matter. He is a sour memory at best. He is the drawing echo of the Black Hole, the thunderous warnings of the Astral Guardians. He is a living reminder that they are naive enough to overlook traps when desperate. Worse still are the words that come out of his mouth, not the denial of help—they don’t care about that, he can drink himself to death on Polaris for all they care—but the solution he offers. The captain they should seek out. The world he is exploring.

“Something about an asteroid—”

“—comet.” the wizard corrects Taylor, voice monotone and empty.

Azteca.

They have to go back to Azteca.

“Wizard?”

Their gaze slips from Taylor to Duncan, eyes flickering—brown—gold—back. They can barely even hear him. It’s just screaming. It’s all screaming. The key is gone, the key is gone and Azteca is as good as dead, is burning and blistering under a hailstorm of glass and rock for the rest of time and—

—are they crying?

Normal tears, heat and salt, still following the path carved out for them by bitter Shadow.

“We’ll need a ship.” They manage without their voice cracking, pulling their hood up in an attempt to regain any semblance of control, of composure. “There is no key for Azteca, the doors aren’t an option—”

“—Aye, my vessel can be spared a one-way trip—as stated my skyfaring days are over.” Taylor hands them a glowing piece of some sort of crystal. “That’s connected to the fountain on board, it’ll take you straight there. Still docked in the ice floes, but I imagine you’ll manage getting her back in the sky alright. Nothing compared to our journey through the Starfall Sea.”

The wizard nods again.

They don’t know what to say.

Grief roils in their gut, mingling with guilt and old anger they feel, for once, too young to carry.

“Oh and if you see our dear friend Old Cobb—let him know he’ll always drink for free at RataTiki!”

A huff that might be a laugh, might be a noise of derision, “I’ll tell him.” the words come out in triplicate, starlight like blood on their tongue. The wizard swallows hard, shakes their head. “Enjoy the rest of your life, Captain.”

Somehow they suspect he hasn’t got much of it left.

~*~

Duncan keeps his mouth shut until they make it onto the ice where Coleridge’s ship is…less docked and more crashed. Though the wizard thinks Taylor was lucky to make it this far at all, considering the state the ship had been in when they’d found the wreck on Crescent Beach.

“Remind me why we walked here instead of using the crystal?”

The wizard doesn’t answer.

They climb the carved ladder on the side of the ship, hauling themself onto the deck. Sure enough, in the center of the upper level, by the helm, there is a fountain carved of the same crystal, spitting fine streams of what looks like, mana?

Interesting.

They wonder if there’s something like this on Baldur’s ship.

They’ve never seen so, if there is.

The wizard has, admittedly, never piloted a ship of any kind. But how hard could it be? They see sigils carved into the ship in a handful of places, at the helm, across the sides where they had stepped on board—the magic in them is different, but it’s still magic. It still feels like it would respond were they to step into place, pour energy into it.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you.” It’s not a question, and the wizard looks back at Duncan with a dead eyed smile as their only response before pulling their hood back over their face.

They do not trust themself to talk seriously right now.

They do not trust their ability to hold onto the pain.

Faking apathy is the best they can do.

“And you would? Know what you’re doing?” They raise an eyebrow he cannot see from under the hood. But their tone likely gets the point across.

“Sometimes the advantage of nobody being willing to put up with you is having to listen to Nolan Stormgate speak for more than thirty seconds.”

That…doesn’t really answer their question.

“Why would that help?”

Duncan just gives them a look. “Seriously? You’re choosing a weird time to play stupid. Just move—take care of making sure nothing hits us.”

The wizard does not move.

“What would talking to Nolan help for?”

“Did you think the name Stormgate was just for show?” He asks, pushing past them to the helm, “Remind me again how you made it this far.” There is less venom in the words than they would have expected, but it is still there. He traces some part of the circle with his boot and it lights up immediately. “I mean it by the way—if we’re headed into debris from Xiabalba you’re gonna need to put something around us, this ship will be lucky not to crash into the nearest mountain before we even make it into the sky.”

Well.

If that was what needed doing.

Part of them is hesitant to let Duncan lead—but it’s either that or waste time trying to figure out the ship on their own. They’d helped with the wards on Baldur’s ship before, so that at least, they could manage.

The worst is on the way.

But there will be time to brace for it.

Read the whole series here <3

[reduxulousoctopus]

X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).

I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.

Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.

--

“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.

Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”

No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.

Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.

When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Morph winces.

“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”

“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”

From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”

“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”

“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”

The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”

“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”

To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.

Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.

Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.

How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?

Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.

“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.

He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.

“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”

Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.

“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”

Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”

“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.

“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”

Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.

“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”

The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.

“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”

Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”

“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”

“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”

“Who else knows?”

“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”

At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.

“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.

Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.

“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.

Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.

“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”

Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.

He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.

Badum-tch.

Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.

Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.

Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?

“Morph. Look at me.”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.

“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”

From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.

It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.

Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.

One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.

The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?

Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.

Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.

If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.

Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.

The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.

But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.

He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”

As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.

“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”

Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…

He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.

That’s real enough for him.

[jaeyunverse]

the death hoax

pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader

genres: superhero/supervillain au

wc: 1060

warnings: profanity, mentions of death, jaemin and y/n are morally grey characters (??) but i’m not sure if that’s how they can be described

summary: na jaemin was supposed to be dead, except he’s standing at your door with a favour he wants to ask of you.

note: this was originally written for enhypen but i thought of switching things up!

masterlist

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“I’ll die after I cash in that favour you owe me.”

Rolling your eyes, you opened your door wider and allowed Na Jaemin to come inside. Noticing the large suitcase rolling behind him, you raised an eyebrow.

“Is that why you’re here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead taking his sweet time to survey your apartment. Appearing satisfied, he turned to face you and said, “Kind of. You don’t seem surprised to see I’m alive. Why?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t die at anyone else’s hands,” you answered and plopped down on your couch. “I know you want me to kill you someday.”

He blankly stared at you for a moment. Then, a mischievous smile broke out on his lips. “True.”

“Besides,” you said, surfing through Netflix to find a good movie to watch. “Your cover story was horrible. No way did Torch manage to burn you alive. He can’t even wash his ass properly.”

“Maybe my fake death would have been more believable if you hadn’t faked yours first,” Jaemin pointed out and took a seat beside you. Removing his shades, he continued, “You’re the only superhero capable of beating me. Our battle would have gone down in history as one of the greatest.”

Averting your gaze from the television, you glanced at your nemesis to find he was already looking at you. “Electricity manipulation versus elemental control,” you mused. “I can’t lie, I’ve seen better in movies.”

“Well, there’s my immortality and your self-regeneration to consider too. I can’t die, and you can’t be killed. That would have made one hell of a fighting sequence.”

You paused, thinking about it for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. We could have made BuzzFeed’s Top 10 of the Century.”

“Top 3.”

“Now you’re just pushing it.”

Jaemin gave you a pointed look to which you shrugged. Sighing, he said, “I won’t beat around the bush. I’m here to ask you for sanctuary.”

“You wanna live with me?” you deadpanned.

“Till I can find a new planet to move on to, yeah.”

He must have seen the uncertainty on your face because he clarified, “I don’t want to stay on Earth anymore. My home is gone and there’s little one can do to make the next several thousand years of their life more interesting. Exploring the universe to search for ways to strip myself of my immortality seems to be a productive way of spending my time.”

“You got bored of terrorizing Earth so you copied me and faked your death. Then you came to my house so you’d have a place to stay while you planned the remainder of your life and hunted for ways to die. Did I get it all right?”

“I can’t possibly plan my entire life; it’s too long. All I want to do right now is decide what my next destination should be. Hopefully, it’ll lead me to the weapon I seek. And if you’re still alive by the time it comes into my possession, I’ll return and you can deliver the death blow.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m flattered, but you know what I mean.”

“Come on, Y/N, say yes,” Jaemin urged. “You owe me a favour.”

You eyed him skeptically and weighed your options.

Lee Jaemin, better known by the public as Thunder, was a supervillain. You, Phoenix, on the other hand, were a superhero. He was an immortal from a planet that had long been destroyed by extraterrestrial forces which were now extinct, while you were just a human (okay, part-human) from Earth.

Under normal circumstances, the two of you would have been arch nemeses. He was the bad guy who had to be defeated, and you were the representation of all that was good.

Except, you didn’t want to be good. Being gifted with powers wasn’t something you had asked for. Much to your displeasure, you’d been given the responsibility to protect the human race against all sorts of evil from the moment you showed signs of elemental control and rapid self-regeneration.

Over the course of your work, you’d realised not everyone was worth saving. Faking your death to escape your duties may have been completely selfish, but you didn’t give a flying fuck. You’d done enough.

Besides, the other superheroes could take over for you—Torch, apparently, already had.

Lee Jaemin had proved to be an unlikely ally. During the times he wasn’t causing havoc, he was a fun person to be around. He seemed to share a lot of your notions and views—something you’d found rather shocking at first.

No one except you knew the truth about him. As far as the world was concerned, he was just an ill-fated super from Earth who had lost his way.

“Before I say anything,” you began, “why did you fake your death? You could have just disappeared.”

“Closure,” Jaemin replied. “The residents of your planet needed to know I was gone for good. I didn’t want them to wonder when I would come back—to fear the kind of horrors I was planning in my absence.”

You snorted. “Weird to see you being considerate after causing so much pain and suffering.”

“No.” Jaemin’s eyes darkened. “I never wanted to hurt innocents. They were just casualties. Sacrifices for the greater good.”

This was definitely not part of the many notions you shared. “Maybe that’s what the people who invaded your planet thought,” you bit back. “Maybe they thought your kind was just an obstacle standing in the way of their greater good. Maybe that’s why they had no qualms exterminating everyone you cared for.”

Jaemin’s jaw clenched, electricity beginning to cackle at the tips of his fingers. “Do you or do you not accept my request, Y/N?”

You stared him down. “On one condition: you take me with you when you leave. I’m done here.”

“I’m not forming the fucking suicide squad. Besides, you’re only human.” If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “You won’t make it.”

Letting a small smirk tug the corner of your lip upwards, you answered, “Did you forget what you said, Jaemin? I can’t be killed. You’ve witnessed the things I’m capable of. If there’s anyone who can make it, it’s me.”

Jaemin tilted his head to the side. Scrutinized you. Thought about the pros and cons of bringing you along.

“Deal.”

[king-bumis-armpit]

Hey! If you are still looking for maiko prompts.

You could write a sour zuko finding out that Mai and kei lo broke up. I like imagining ways for him to find out and what his reaction would be.

And I’m always a fan of stories where Mai runs away when zuko is banished, or try to smuggle herself into his ship.

Anyway, have fun!

Put a Ring on It

Part 2 is out now: read it here.

Summary: Kei Lo buys an engagement ring. Zuko freaks out. 

“I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. He had well and truly lost her. He had lost her to another man.

Author’s Note: This idea was given to me by a lovely anon! If you have any Maiko fic ideas that you want me to write, send them my way! And thank you, if you already have <3

Gene Luen Yang wants me to believe it took Mai and Zuko 3 years to get back together. Ha! I spit in your face, good sir. This fic will do it in one! (I’m kidding, I’m kidding… mostly. I hate the comics but I’m sure Gene’s a decent fellow.)

This fic takes place 8 months after the events of Smoke and Shadow, vol 3. It’s canon compliant up to that point, and canon compliant with Korra, but I know nothing about the comics that chronologically happen in between so it might contradict those. For the purpose of this fanfiction, marriage proposals in the Fire Nation are the same as modern proposals with an engagement ring. 

Also! Happy (late) Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! You’re the best!!

Zuko made his way quickly through the rain, hood pulled tight over his head. He was out with only a few plainclothes guards today, hoping to maintain some anonymity. It was only a week until the Feast of the Mother of Faces, and Zuko had yet to find a suitable gift for his own mom. He wanted to get her something especially nice since they had been apart for so many years. He was pretty sure his last gift to her was a macaroni necklace, and figured he had to at least up his game from that.

His uncle had given him some recommendations of places to shop, and the first of which was a small but well-known jewelry store in the Caldera. As he slipped inside, he noted that the place was nearly empty except for the store clerk. His guards would be watching the door from a tavern across the street, and were instructed not to check in unless he spent over an hour in the building.

The spectacled shopkeeper looked up at his arrival, “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“I don’t think so?” Zuko replied. “I’m just browsing for a Feast of the Mother gift.”

“Ah,” the man nodded in understanding. He gestured to the wall to Zuko’s right. “We have a lovely selection of necklaces and pendants that might be suitable. Prices are listed on the tags. Let me know if you have any questions or if you would like me to remove any items from the case.”

Zuko smiled and gave the man a slight bow. This was shaping up to be easier than he expected. He looked through the glass at the different options. He noticed some that were similar to pieces he recognized from his childhood. There was one in particular, a gaudy and ruby-encrusted flame, the size of his fist, that reminded him of something his father would buy. Best to stay away from those. There were some cloth chokers, similar to one that Katara occasionally wore when she was in the fire nation. He wasn’t quite sure they would be his mother’s style, but perhaps he should send a memo to Aang. (For a monk, who swore off material things, that kid sure bought a lot of gifts for his girlfriend. The thought made Zuko smile.) 

Then, he caught sight of a delicate silver chain. Most women in the Fire Nation preferred gold, but Zuko knew one woman who hadn’t. 

— —

“Silver matches my knives, Zuko. The aesthetic of it all is very important to me.”

Zuko snorted. They had decided to explore the numerous palace basements, and had come across one of the many treasuries, nearly all of it gold. Mai had immediately protested the lack of her favorite metal.

“Well gold is the emblematic color of our nation, so most of the royal jewelry is gold. You’re going to have to get used to it eventually.” Zuko blushed when he realized the implication of his words.

“Oh? Why is that?” Mai asked, fixing him with a satisfied smirk. 

His cheeks were burning, but he decided to play it cool. “I plan to put a golden crown on your head one day… if that’s alright with you.”

Mai kissed his cheek, and then his nose, and then his lips. “I think that’ll be alright. One day. But I really would prefer silver.” 

He cupped her cheek with his palm and guided her in for another kiss. That was the last room they managed to explore that day.

— — 

And even though they were no longer together, Zuko thought about her more than he cared to admit. He leaned in to examine the silver chain. It carried a small charm, about the size of his thumbnail. The charm itself was also silver, fashioned into the shape of a plum blossom. A wine colored garnet– again, a favorite of Mai’s–  was nestled in the center of the flower. Zuko felt his heart seize. It was perfect, but not for the person he was supposed to be shopping for. 

He contemplated buying it anyway. Maybe he could stop by Mura’s after this and place an order for a bouquet. Surely his mom would want flowers. And if Mai was there, he could give her the necklace. What’s a gift between friends? 

The sound of the door opening broke his reverie. The rain had gotten heavier since he entered the shop, and the new customer had practically flung himself into the building, allowing the door to slam behind him. 

The shopkeeper seemed slightly irritated by this noisy appearance, but nonetheless asked him the question he had asked Zuko. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

The man removed his hood, and Zuko felt his muscles turn to ice. It was Kei Lo.

“Oh yes please!” He gave a good natured smile, all cheerfulness and boyish charm as he swaggered up to the counter. The universe was taunting Zuko. Of course he couldn’t buy a ridiculously expensive present for Mai. She had a boyfriend. She had made that quite clear when he last saw her eight months ago.

“What are you looking for?” the man asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Zuko noticed how Kei Lo shuffled, seeming nervous. “I– I’m here to buy an engagement ring.”

Zuko was going to be sick. He was going to throw up. Right on the floor. Right in front of the store clerk. And right in front of Mai’s soon-to-be-fiance.

“Congratulations!” The storekeeper seemed to have fully gotten over irritation and beamed from ear to ear.

“Thanks!” Kei Lo said sheepishly. “I haven’t asked her yet, but we’ve talked about it before so I’m confident she’ll say yes.”

Zuko took several deep breaths and forced himself to quietly turn and face the display case once again. Kei Lo obviously hadn’t noticed him yet, and he knew that any interaction between them would be a disaster.

“Have you discussed ring preferences?” the older man asked.

“No, but I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. 

As the two walked over to the ring cases and discussed the pieces, Zuko’s thoughts began to spiral. How had this happened? He had well and truly lost her. Mai, his soulmate, his best friend, his plum blossom. He had lost her to another man. Except…

Except he hadn’t yet! Kei Lo hadn’t asked her yet. He could buy his own engagement ring from a different shop and ask her right now! Or he could run there and ask her without one. 

“Prince Zuko!” He heard his Uncle’s voice in his head, echoing the wisdom of the past. “You never think these things through! You had no plan! You could have died!” Then he said something about ice and chasing the avatar. The exact words were hazy, but the sentiment was clear. He was too impulsive. 

He needed to wait and collect more information. Then he could form a plan and– and then what? If Mai wanted to marry Kei Lo, then he knew he had to support her. He wanted her to be happy more than he wanted his own happiness. But when he spoke to her in the Dragonbone Catacombs she herself admitted that she didn’t like Kei Lo as much as she had liked him. He cursed himself. He had driven her away and broken her heart twice! Now she was scared to trust him. But if he could just convince her to give him one more chance, he could fix it. He had learned how painful it was to live without her, and he would not repeat his mistakes.

His heart ached to imagine Mai in a wedding dress at someone else’s side. Even as a kid, when he pictured his wedding, he pictured Mai as the bride.

— — 

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Little Azula tugged at their mother’s sleeve. “My friend Mai is here and we want to play a game with Zuko! Please! Ty Lee is sick, so we need another person.” Zuko rolled his eyes. He considered Mai to be a shared friend since they all used to play together at Ember Island, but lately Azula had been calling her “my friend Mai.” It made him angry and he didn’t know why.

Ursa patted her daughter’s head. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you think, Zuko?”

He crossed his arms. He remembered what happened last week with the apple. But if Ty Lee was sick then Mai was alone with Azula. What if his sister was teasing her? Or telling her lies about him? He needed to intervene. “Sure. I would love to play with you Azula.” His tone of voice did not match his words, but his sister didn’t care.

“Good!” Azula grabbed his hand and marched him into the fountain garden. Zuko knew that this couldn’t possibly end well.

Mai was sitting under a tree, twirling a knife. She looked up at their approach and raised an eyebrow, “I thought you went to get mochi.”

Azula shrugged. “I changed my mind. I want to play a game.”

Mai looked at Zuko with great trepidation. He couldn’t blame her. Last time Azula said those words, he had tackled her.

“No firebending this time, Azula,” he ordered.

“Of course not,” Azula agreed. “We’re going to play wedding. I’ll be the officiant and you two will be the couple.”

It took all of Zuko’s discipline to not stare at Mai and search her face for a reaction. He heard her sigh, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Well,” Azula prompted. “Come here.” She made Mai and Zuko stand facing each other while she launched into a monologue about the rich culture of the Fire Nation. She went on for a while and Zuko was so bored that he almost forgot to be embarrassed. When Azula wasn’t looking, he noticed Mai yawning. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And naturally,” Azula carried on. “Fire bending comes from the breath. In order to symbolize the joining of flames, the couple will now share a breath and share a kiss.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Azula, I don’t think we should do this,” Zuko protested.

His sister smirked. “Why not? You don’t want to kiss Mai? She’s not pretty enough for you?”

Zuko saw red. “Mai is really pretty! You take that back right now!”

“If she’s so pretty, then kiss her!”

Mai cleared her throat. Pink dusted her cheeks, but aside from that her expression remained neutral, “Can’t we just pretend?”

“What do you mean?” Azula asked. 

Mai shrugged. “Like this.” She leaned slightly closer to Zuko and kissed the air. 

“That looks ridiculous,” Azula said.

“That’s weird. I thought you said you were better than Ty Lee at everything.” Mai’s words made no sense to Zuko, and apparently they made no sense to Azula either.

“Well yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Mai smirked, “I bet Ty Lee would be able to pretend. She’s more creative and she has a better imagination.”

Azula was irate. Zuko knew first hand that people were not allowed to be better than her at anything. “I have an idea,” she replied. Zuko shuddered, that was Azula’s scary voice. “Next time, Ty Lee can be the bride. I bet Zuko would kiss her.”

For once, Mai’s facade cracked. Her face scrunched up and Zuko was afraid she was going to cry. “No!” Zuko cut in. “I don’t want to play this game with Ty Lee.” Azula huffed, but Mai looked up at him hopefully. He took her hands and kissed the air like she had. “I now pronounce us husband and wife.”

“Hey!” Azula pinched his shoulder. “That’s my line.”

Thankfully he was spared a confrontation by the arrival of his mother. “Zuko! Azula! It’s time for dinner.” She caught sight of Zuko and Mai’s clasped hands and smiled. “You’re welcome to stay too, Mai. I can send a servant to your mother to let her know.”

Mai politely declined, and Zuko was sad to see her go. That night, he thought for the first time about what his wedding might be like. He imagined hands entwined with own, slightly colder than his. They were soft except for the side of her index finger and thumb where she gripped her knives.

— —

Zuko caught himself staring at his own hands, and tried to shake off the memory. Since that day, he couldn’t help but picture Mai as his bride. It was almost involuntary. But if she had truly grown to love Kei Lo, then he would have to get over it. His mouth tasted like ash.

Zuko pulled his hood down, to the point where it hung in his face obnoxiously, and he walked over to a display case of bracelets that was closer to the rings. He tried to appear nonchalant as he looked over the merchandise, but he listened to the other two men intently.

Kei Lo was in the middle of speaking. “I walked into her shop one day on a whim. She was so beautiful. I asked her out on the spot and the rest is history.”

The older man smiled. “How lovely! I met my husband at work as well. He came in to buy a gift for his grandmother and he kept coming back. Eventually, I asked him out because I was worried he would bankrupt himself spending so much money here.”

Kei Lo laughed. “Wait, he bought something every time he came in?”

“Yes,” the shopkeeper shook his head. “I think he felt guilty for wasting my time. But we’ve been together for thirty years at this point and I don’t consider any of them wasted.”

“Wow! My girl and I have only been together for seven months.” Kei Lo replied. Zuko huffed. That was wrong. He and Mai had been dating for nine months at least according to what he learned from Ty Lee. Kei Lo really should know that.

“What’s her name?” the shopkeeper asked. Zuko shuffled close still, pretending to admire the bracelets in the sale section. Unlike the others that were behind glass, these hung from artful stands. He allowed his fingers to graze a band of beaded obsidian.

“Her name is Machi,” Kei Lo answered.

Zuko spun around, but his sleeve had caught on the stand and the entire thing toppled over, making a terrible noise and scattering bracelets across the floor.

“I– I– I’m so sorry,” Zuko’s face burned hotter than the sun. 

Kei Lo looked at him stunned. “Zuko?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. With the scar and the name, he put it together. “Fire Lord!” He bowed at the waist, and– for a moment– Zuko was worried the man would lose his glasses. “My deepest apologies. Had I known it was you I would have helped you pick something out for your venerable mother–”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Zuko reassured him and the older man rose from his bow. “I’m sorry. I knocked over your display stand and the bracelets–” Zuko righted the stand and began to gather the fallen items, but the shopkeeper would not have it.

“Oh no!” He rushed over to help. “You do not need to clean my shop, Lord Zuko. Thanks to you, my husband and I were finally married under the law.” 

Zuko smiled, “I’m glad. But still, let me help you. It was my fault after all.”

Kei Lo clapped a hand on the shopkeeper’s back. “I’ll help too.” 

The three of them quickly subdued the mess. The shopkeeper noticed a few damaged pieces which he took to his back room for repairs. Zuko made a note to send the man compensation. 

While the store owner was removing and cataloging the damaged pieces, Zuko and Kei Lo were left alone. Kei Lo broke the silence. “So… How’s Mai?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko answered honestly, and the awkward silence descended once more.

Zuko felt relief course through his body. After making a fool out of himself, he could finally take it in. Mai and Kei Lo had broken up. Kei Lo was engaged to someone else. Kei Lo thought that Zuko and Mai were talking.

The first part was wonderful news. Zuko felt it was safe to assume that Mai had dumped Kei Lo. When he released Kei Lo from the prison, the man had made it abundantly clear that he was with Mai to stay. Besides, the thought of Mai sending him on his way made Zuko very, very happy. The only potential concern was that the breakup had happened a long time ago, at least seven months. And, in all that time, Mai had made no effort to see him. For all he knew, she could be with someone else too.

“Umm…” Zuko did not know a subtle way to ask what he wanted to know. “Have you heard if Mai is with anyone right now?”

Kei Lo shook his head. “To be honest, I’m surprised she’s not back with you. She was normally so… neutral, I guess. You know how she is. But when she talked about you, a light would enter her eyes. She would go on and on…”

Zuko felt a spark in his chest. “Really?” He could hear the pathetic hope in his own voice. “She seemed so hesitant to trust me again. I thought she hated my guts.”

“No,” Kei Lo smiled wistfully. “I take it you don’t know how we broke up.”

“To be honest, I thought you were proposing to her.”

Kei Lo let out a raucous laugh. “HA! Agni, that’s why you bumped into the bracelet stand. Were you spying on us?”

Zuko laughed along sheepishly. “Kind of. I really did come here to get something for my mom, but when I heard your request… Part of me wanted to run to Mai right then and make a grand declaration.”

“I would have paid to see that. Front page news: The Fire Lord’s Shocking Proposal.”

“Yeah,” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing I didn’t.”

“Well, I was going to say that after all the stuff with the Safe Nation Society, Mai and I had a talk. I told her that if we were going to keep dating, I needed to know that she was over you. She has this one portrait of the two of you, and she keeps it in her dresser. I told her to get rid of it or I was gone. She made her choice.”

Zuko remembered that painting. He had one very similar to it in his own room that he kept on his desk. His was in ink and hers was in color. 

And then he remembered that he should probably express some sympathy for Kei Lo. “It seems like it all worked out for you in the end though. I wish you and Machi the best.”

Kei Lo nodded. “Thank you. I’m so glad I found her. I was really upset when Mai and I broke up, but it all seems so trivial now. For what it’s worth, I think you should reach out to Mai. See if she still has that painting.”

“I think you’re right.” The two men shook hands. If Zuko had learned anything from this experience, it was that he didn’t want to wait anymore and risk Mai moving on completely. He needed to find her and apologize and beg for her to come back. 

When the store owner returned, Zuko purchased the plum blossom necklace.

Endnotes: I’m open to writing a part two where Zuko gives Mai the necklace if people would be interested. (I mean, I might anyway even if you all aren’t, lol.) But I wanted to get this out close to Mother’s Day since I made up the Fire Nation version of Mother’s Day for this fic. And, a big HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to all the moms!!!

Also, I couldn’t get into it in the story, but Kei Lo is that guy who falls for his barista, right? He went on like one date with Mai and then decided she was his reason for living. So I thought it would be hilarious if that’s how he met his next girlfriend! And then he could ambiguously say that he met her at the shop where she works which is also how he met Mai. Anyway, it was a funny head canon that made me laugh.

Thank you again to the anon who suggested this! I hope I didn’t make it too silly. I love putting our dramatic boy in ridiculous situations. Also, I plan on writing your other idea as well at some point, but this one demanded to be written immediately <3

PART 2!

[eggluverz]

NOT A WEIRDO STALKER.

PART 5. a stalker or irresistible? [the end]

PAIRING. blade x f!reader

SUMMARY. modern au. you’re minding your own business as a research assistant and college student just trying to vibe. blade is a new team member who is somehow convinced you are trying to stalk him after all your chance encounters together. so maybe he’s a little obsessed with himself, but you find it cute anyway.

NOTE. final part!! a very short and sweet smau and it was a fun little way to explore this very chaotic story with blade :3 hehe i really enjoyed this whirlwind of a mini series and thank u all for reading!! i miss blade already t.t so def expect some more for him soon xx sof

“Have you decided what to watch yet?” 

A deep voice that sounded almost hoarse from having just woken up made you lift your head from your phone. Your new teammate and friend sat beside you on the sofa, a safe enough distance away so that you couldn’t accidentally make contact with him without meaning to. Even though Blade was sitting, his presence still took up the whole room. With his long dark hair and piercing red eyes, he was someone you couldn’t miss. 

There was no doubt in your mind he could fend off whatever was at your door. Even if it was the biggest of stray cats. 

You nodded. “I’ll go with what Dan Heng suggested! Great British Bake Off.”

Blade folded his arms over his chest. A look of annoyance crossed his face as he huffed. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were downturned, almost looking like a pout. “Why Dan Heng?” 

You tilted your head sideways. “Because he was the only one who answered the poll…” 

“I answered.”

“With a show that wasn’t an option to begin with!” you laughed, lightly nudging his arm with your elbow. “That basically doesn’t count as a vote.” 

“Wow.” He rolled his eyes but his stance softened at the brief contact. Blade unfolded his arms with a sigh, leaning back on your sofa and putting his right arm across the head rest. “Very politician of you.”

You crinkled your nose. “Fine, we can watch The 100 another time. When it’s not five in the morning and pitch black and scary.” 

“So there’ll be another time?” he mused. 

You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you, his stare unwavering. Was that too presumptuous of you?

Blade basked in your silence. He was in his element. With his arms outstretched and his legs wide, he manspread on your couch, his knee softly pressing against your thigh. It was warm on your bare skin, even through his sweatpants. You never liked manspreading. You always thought it was rather rude. But why did it look so attractive when Blade did it? 

“There doesn’t have to be another if you don’t want,” you said with a huff, unsure if he was teasing you or if the prospect of movie nights was really something he wasn’t very keen on. You hoped it was the former. 

“Let’s see how tonight goes first.” Blade looked mischievous, a challenging smirk on his face as he gestured you closer. You moved so that you were leaning back on his arm. “Not that there’s anything you could do that would make me not want more.” 

“Oh really?” you said, amused. “From claiming I’m a weirdo stalker to finding me that irresistible?” You paused. “Why were you so sure I was one anyway?”

“A stalker or irresistible?” 

“You know what I meant,” you laughed, pleased he didn’t shoot down your flirting like you thought he would. 

He shrugged, tapping his foot against the floor. “Well, I just started noticing you around everywhere the past few months when I’ve never even seen you before. In the same classes as me, same apartment, same lab…” 

“That does tend to happen when we’re both in the same major living in the same complex,” you said matter-of-factly. “The lab though— I’ve been in that since my second year. You just joined now. So you were the stalker in that scenario!”

Blade rolled his eyes. “Then you get my number and ask me to dinner…” 

“I told you already! I saved everyone’s number not just yours!” You were exasperated, cheeks puffing up as you defended yourself. “And the dinner thing really was just me trying to show my gratitude—”

He held his hand up, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m only joking now. You don’t need to explain yourself. I get you weren’t secretly obsessed with me.”

You were more amused that he ever thought that instead of genuinely offended, but it still felt nice to have that cleared up. “Good.”

“Maybe now I wish you were though,” Blade whispered under his breath, surprising you. But you didn’t let your momentary shock allow Blade to take control of the entire situation. You wanted to contribute to it as well. 

You threw his earlier words back at him, eyes crinkling into a smile. “We’ll have to see how tonight goes first.” 

He nodded, pleased with your response. “We got a lot riding on tonight then, huh?” 

“It seems so.”

“Then let’s make it count.” 

taglist: @kissingkzuha @kaedear @yevene @vernith @yelshin @ceylestia @karma-gisa @elijahcrevan :) <3

[wexhappyxfew]

Margie and Benny in the camps screams the prompt “you can rest now, you’re safe”. Love your stuff!!!

HI SWEET ANON!!! margie and benny in the camps absolutely screams 'you can rest now, you're safe'!!!!!! thank you for the love and support omggggg!!!! <33333 it means so much!!!! :D this prompt was just so. them. like insanely them. i haven't written a whole lot for these two....they've been hidden in the background (and are very much a duo that snuck up on me), but i've wanted to explore them more recently, especially when i put out this duo as a prompt option - and i can't say how excited i am to do more for them!!!! please enjoy!!!

always, always, always

(a/n): margie and benny you are so special to me, margie and benny you are so special to me. this was just ....i am so insanely soft for these two right now. just two people who are in a situation they couldn't entirely control, yet are living on, in the best way they can, despite it. the yearn, the ache, the want. sobbing. absolutely sobbing.

You can rest now, you're safe. You can rest now, you're safe. You can rest now, you're safe. You can rest now, you're safe. You can rest now, you're safe.

Hearing it more times than she could even count, she took double that to convince herself that she actually was. Her entire body ached, everything hurt, she felt like she was sick with three different types of illnesses that all made her head ache, her nose run and her stomach feel crummy, and to even shift her head made her dizzy.

Convincing herself she was safe on top of that took every ounce of energy left in what she could call her body. She was so thin, so sickly, she wondered how she had even survived to this point - how she had even made it.

After getting separated from Lieutenant Bradshaw, Lieutenant Carlisle, and Kennedy, she was sure she'd be gone for good until she'd run into that German family and they'd all but kept her locked in that room until the Germans had come for her.

The only thing keeping her grounded in her spiral of thoughts was the gentle hand that slowly ran down from her sweaty forehead, over her tangled, dirty-blonde hair, before starting over again, and repeating that same motion over and over as she lay there with tears in her eyes, staring at the ceiling of the bunk above her. She could hear things going on around her, quiet voices - staying soft as if being loud would bother her - and the clang of pots and sloshing of water.

Someone was cooking.

The smell made her queasy.

"How's she doing, Benny?" she heard Bucky's voice say somewhere above her. She could imagine him - hands on his hips, that cold and detached look on his face.

Bucky Egan cared for all of the crew - of course, in his own way, that is - and it seemed now, in this camp, that was heightened and when one of the crew was down, he'd make sure someone paid for it.

Somehow.

"Okay as can be for now, still burning up," Benny whispered quietly from somewhere right next to her, his gentle touch that had previously been moving across her head, gone - please keep touching me, keep me grounded, keep me alive, please, "that soup ready yet?"

"Hambone's almost done." Bucky said firmly, his voice a bit louder than Benny's making her grimace the slightest bit. Bucky hesitated it seemed before his next statement. "She say anything yet?" The room grew a bit quieter at that notion, and she heard a small, grieving sigh escape Benny.

"No." Benny whispered, "Not yet."

What was Margie supposed to make of all this?

What she had seen, what had been done to her, what she had experienced, what she had been forced to be told?

Forced to say?

Her slow, shallow breaths were the only consistent part about her entire feeling right now. And it even hurt to breathe. She heard Bucky walk away, and the hand brushing across her head returned, slow, smooth and ethereally gentle.

With what the past week had been, she couldn't remember a touch as gentle as this. There was something in her where she couldn't get the words right in her mind. She couldn't get her brain to string a coherent sentence together that would make sense in this moment. And trying to say something in this moment could be pointless.

"You can rest now, Margie, you're safe, we gotcha." Benny whispered quietly as he continued to brush his fingertips over her sweaty forehead and over her hair. We gotcha, she repeated in her head, a few times over to convince herself it was true. We gotcha.

Somewhere between 5 seconds and 15 minutes had passed, with Benny's hand still slowly smoothing back her sweaty hair, when she began to smell something reminiscent of food, and her senses seemed to come to her.

"Mind grabbing her a bowl?" she heard Benny asked someone; there was a following mumbling and shuffling of footsteps. Lying there made her feel almost worse than if she was actually sitting up and acting normal - and that was the thing right? She would try to act normal, like nothing was bothering her, that whatever she had just experienced had never happened and she'd try and play it off. Because that's what she usually did and she was usually pretty good at it. But lying here now, she couldn't muster that inside herself.

"You should eat, Margie." she heard Benny whisper from somewhere above her head again. The thought made her want to vomit, but she knew she did need food - just from the way her body and mind ached, and her stomach seemed to scream out for some sort of food.

"I'll help you sit up." Benny said, and she felt his hands move to her elbows. And almost as if on instinct, she flinched, turning to look up at him with wide eyes, her heart racing as she tried to control it by holding her breath, but was miserably failing.

Something behind his gaze flickered in a saddening way that made her want to go back and act like she was fine, just so she didn't have to see that shift in his eyes. But lying there, looking up at him, she knew she couldn't go back, she couldn't change a damn thing. Benny had shifted back a bit, his hands hovering just over her arms this time, his gaze steady on her own, his body evidently tense.

It was so painfully different than the last time they'd seen each other, since being back in Thorpe Abbotts. She'd been so….different. In more ways than one. And noticing that change in herself hurt more than anything.

Staring at Benny, who was staring back at her made her think that he was definitely seeing a different person from the Margie Harlowe back at Thorpe Abbotts. That made her want to be sick.

"You okay?" he asked her quietly, his voice barely above much more than a trembling whisper. Margie stared at him there on the cot, frozen in place. Her entire body seemed to go into a panic just at his questioning, at his worry. She slowly nodded. She wasn't convinced of it herself, but she nodded despite it - for Benny and for the food. He continued to watch her as she saw someone else come into her line of sight.

It was Lieutenant Bradshaw.

A part of Margie wanted to breakdown at the sheer sight of Lieutenant Bradshaw right then and there - her glorious face, covered in grime and scars, her hair pulled away from her normally bright face, her eyes still holding light despite their dulled nature in a place like this. Annie Bradshaw seemed to have that effect on people - you saw her and wanted to breakdown with sheer relief that she was right there alongside you.

"Here, Benny," Annie said, handing the bowl of soup to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in that comforting and confiding way she always seemed to do when she could read a situation as easily as she normally did. Margie watched Annie look towards her, a far-off look in her gaze that made Margie's insides twists.

"Hey, Margie," Annie said, stepping forward and crouching beside the cot, "you doing okay?" Margie stared at Annie and tried to nod; it was admittedly a fair attempt at being confident in herself and her emotions, but staring at her command pilot made tears well in her eyes.

"C'mere Margie," Annie said, leaning forward and slowly helping her sit upright, gently touching at her shoulders and arms to help her sit up, "there you go." Annie smiled, weakly. "Sometimes you just need a good sit-up and a warm meal." Margie watched as Annie looked to Benny and nodded.

"And no doubt, you have the perfect person to be here and make sure you get your fill," Annie said softly, looking back to Margie with another one of her gentle smiles, reaching forward to squeeze Margie's hand, "you're safe, Margie." Annie's smile saddened - she had the most beautiful smile and seeing it fade hurt Margie's heart.

"Please know that."

Margie blinked away her onslaught of tears and managed a weak nod. Annie squeezed her hand extra tight before glancing at Benny and giving him a knowing look. Margie watched as Annie slowly stood to her feet, and smiled at her again.

That smile could win the war in Margie's eyes.

Slowly, Lieutenant Bradshaw faded back again to the group, getting her own fill of soup and settling in to her spot at the table. Margie looked towards Benny in the chair pulled up beside the bunk she was in and immediately noticed the grip he had on the bowl of soup and the quiet look on his face.

"It's not bad." Benny said with a small smile growing onto his lips before disappearing, "The soup. That is. It's….there could be worse."

He attempted another smile and Margie could feel a sense of comfort overwhelm her being - the realization that she was surrounded by people that wouldn't let her get hurt nor even hurt her. She wasn't back in that room, she wasn't there, she was with the people from the 100th who were like family. She was with people that cared. She was sitting right there with Benny. She was safe.

Watching Benny made her feel a jolt of guilt suddenly - he was sticking his neck out for her, trying to get her to feel better and more comforted in anyway and all she could do was sit here and stare, motionless.

Looking to Benny again, she watched a small smile grow encouragingly onto his lips and she couldn't help herself - she managed a small smile back. Sure, her face was a little more hollow, her eyes sunken in, cheeks gaunt, but she could see a fondness grow in Benny's eyes - just knowing she had smiled a bit.

Margie looked down at the bowl of soup, wringing her hands together in her lap, and slowly nodded. He was right - there was so much more that was worse than a bowl of soup.

For a moment, sitting there with Benny across from her, the matter of a week changing her into this new enigma of a person, it was almost like she was meeting Benny again for the first time - with that charming look in his eyes, that warm smile, his easy-going comfort that was like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself on a stormy day.

But he was still Benny DeMarco.

And he was still sitting there in front of her.

Still looking at her like she didn't feel like a completely different human being.

"Here," Benny said, stirring the soup with the spoon, before pulling some of it up into a spoonful and holding it out towards her, "let's just get some of this in you." Margie watched him and slowly nodded again, parting her lips the slightest bit and allowing him to drop the soup in her mouth. Whatever it was, it really wasn't horrible. That or she was just more hungry than she had originally thought.

Benny sat there with her, in that quiet and content silence, listening to the general chatter and clanging of dishes and people behind them in the bunk room, spoon-feeding her the soup until it was virtually gone.

Margie took down the last spoonful and then looked to him, her body feeling the slightest twinge more alive than she had been just a few minutes ago. She watched him turn back to the table behind him to place down the empty bowl, before he turned back to look towards her again and smiled.

Ever since she had tumbled in here, clinging to Major Cleven's jacket, tripping over her feet, in hysterics, reaching blindly for comfort, Benny had been there. Immediately by her side, now gingerly smiling, watching her like she was a precious being, like she didn't look like she had just been six feet under. Eyes welling with tears, Margie wrapped her arms around herself and bit back her lip.

"Margie…." Benny whispered softly. She could tell he wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her, let her know he was there, but the last time that'd happened, she'd flinched and he had retreated, looking defeated and deflated all at once. Looking up at him, Margie nervously tucked her lose hair behind her ears and met his gaze through her red-rimmed eyes.

"Thank you, Benny." she whispered quietly, her voice sounding dead to the ears - he still smiled.

God, Benny DeMarco would always look at her like that wouldn't he?

It seemed at the sound of her voice - she was actually speaking, she could actually get her thoughts coherent for once - that the realization made his entire body freeze. Margie did want to reach out towards him - she yearned for a touch that she knew wouldn't hurt her - but her thoughts would trail back to her past week of life and she'd retreat into herself, wishing she could cocoon her body into a ball.

And it seemed he wanted to do the same, watching her with such a desperate and pleading look - but he seemed to be thinking the same - she'd flinched the last time. He would hesitate. Margie stared at the space between and then looked at him again.

"Truly." she whispered, her voice sore, "Thank you." Benny's hands twitched, like he was about to reach out just to try to find a way to hold her. But he held himself, he watched her and slowly nodded, jaw slightly slack.

"Always." he said quietly.

Always, always, always.

And when someone said always - Margie believed them. Despite this war, this death, this terror, the grief, the horrors of it all, the blank promises of safety or normalcy or life - she would believe them.

She would believe him. In him.

Always, always, always.

[honourablejester]

Heart: The City Beneath

For reasons, I’m assuming because I’ve been watching actual plays of various ttrpgs lately (Legends of Avantris playing D&D 5e, Nobody Wake the Bugbear playing Mothership, several others), I was recommended a video on a game called Heart: The City Beneath. Just a basic overview video, themes, tone, talking the game up a bit. But it sounded interesting, so I went to look up what the 9 playable classes were, just to see what kind of ideas we’re working with, you know?

And. Just from that online write-up. There was one particular class that caught my eye enough to go buy the actual game. Now, having read in more detail, there are several other classes that also sound really cool, but I still want to talk about the thing that caught my eye.

The Vermissian Knight.

Now. I would not ordinarily go for a very martial class when magical-type classes are an option. It’s just not usually how I roll. But the classes in Heart are all very, very setting-related, and all very, very weird, and the thing with the Vermissian Knight …

Okay. The setting for this game is Heart. The, well, City Beneath. There is a mile high surface city called the Spire, and then there is a vast living beating realm of something beneath it, called Heart. It is alive. It may be an extradimensional benevolent parasite. It might be a god-cocoon. It might be a seed of terraforming fuel. It might be a lot of things. But it’s definitely alive and weird and warps reality the further down into it you go.

The city above it, Spire, was run for ages by arrogant elves. And at some point, those elves decided that the city needed a mass transit system. A railway network, called the Vermissian. Right? But it wasn’t working, it was a lot of infrastructure, and funding was complicated, and power supply was an issue, and they wanted a way to hook the whole thing together and power it mystically. Right? So, what did they do? What does any arrogant race sitting on top of a magical weirdness bomb do when they suddenly need power? Yeah. They decided to core down into the Heart Itself, this mystical, weird-as-shit, possible god parked under their city, and they decided to hook their mass transit passenger network right the fuck into it.

It went, as you might imagine, horribly wrong. The reality-breaking weirdness of the Heart smashed up through the transit network of the Vermissian and nearly corrupted all of Spire above, save that the warding glyphs on the transit tunnels kept it confined. Within the system, time and space and reality got smashed and thrown about higgledy piggledy, and batshit monsters crept about the tunnels. The entire network was cut off, the stations abandoned, and Spire did its best to pretend there was never an attempted transit project to begin with. Just shove the whole mistake behind some condemned signs and pretend it never happened, boyos!

But the network is still there. The tunnels, the trains, the monsters. It’s hidden in Spire, but down in the Heart, the stations stand unguarded. Stuff leaking out. And people venturing in.

And the Vermissian Knight, as a character class, is someone who seeks to understand and patrol that network, to explore it and protect people from it. The class is built around armour, armour built from scavenged parts of eldritch trains. And the class builds …

Okay. In Heart, all characters are doomed. It’s a whole thing. This is not a long-form campaign sort of game. You will not last. Your character will die. So levelling is … you’re not building towards power, you’re building towards a climax. You’re building towards a spectacular end. Not necessarily death, but something that will take your character very dramatically off the board. And the Knights. Their Zenith Abilities, their capstone, dramatic ends, should they survive long enough to reach them. They can either bind themselves to a landmark, potentially a station on the line, or they can become a techno-organic titan, a biological perpetual motion machine that stalks the Heart and can be summoned by your surviving party as a deus ex machine, OR …

Or they can cast a death rite that summons the last surviving Vermissian train to tear its way through to them and crush them under its wheels, while also wiping out anything else in its path. Like. Your last, taking-you-with-me stand as a Vermissian knight is summoning a hell engine from a warped extra-dimensional transit network to plough through your enemies.

That. That is just so cool? Just. That whole concept. It’s so cool.

There are other classes in this game, and they are also pretty cool, don’t get me wrong. The Deadwalker, a person who died and came back haunted by the personification of their own death, able to potentially slip into the afterlife while living and bring people along for the ride. The Deep Apiarist, a person so determined to fight against the living chaos of the Heart that they have allowed themselves to become colonised by a megaconsciousness of order-inducing bees, in the most body-horror way possible (the bees go in through your nose and convert at least one of your organs to wax and paper to inhabit your body)(the Sunless Sea vibes are so strong with this one). The Hound, a group of mercenaries aided (and potentially possessed) by the spirits of the cursed survivors of a massacred army once sent to invade the Heart. The Junk Mage, magic addicts that eat scraps of power and make bargains with eldritch entities. There are a lot of cool classes in this game.

But the train knights. Just. The train knights. The image just enchants me. A cursed railway network, a twisted tangle of tunnels and weirdness, and the armoured paladins who seek to explore, understand, and protect those who encounter it.

I love it so much. I’m not fully sure why, what it is about that concept, that image, that so bowls me over, but …

I wanna play a train knight. A gnoll train knight, seeking enlightenment. Answers. I’m down here, in this strange, twisted place, because I want to know. What is it down here, in the Heart, that could do that to our network? What actually did happen to the network? I want to explore and I want to know.

(The Calling system is what you’re down in Heart looking for. Your class is what you are, your calling is what you want. There are five options: Adventure, Enlightenment, Forced, Heartsong, Penitent. You came for adventure, you came for answers, you came because you were forced to, you came because the Heart itself called you, or you came because you fucked up very badly and this is the only way to make up for it. Each calling gives you story beats that you can choose from along your quest for a suitable climax, and they’re really cool, and many of them encourage you to act, shall we say, incautiously. You’re not going to survive this, honey. Nobody comes down here who’s sane or sensible and likely to live long. So do something mad and dangerous and interesting with your time here. I actually really like that part of the system a lot).

Yeah. A Vermissian Knight, seeking Enlightenment. I would totally play that.

This is a boss-ass game, you know that? The setting is really cool.