#it would be both wrong and a massive insult

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember Day 11: Stepcest (once more)

Welcome to day 11 where we return to stepcest with a little bonus. Anyway, some of you may ask why we're doing this kink again. It's fully because I get a lot of similar requests from y'all, so I decided I would choose at max 2 fics of the same kink. It's the way I like to do things.

Length 2K

Swan x Mreader

There was a knock on your door; you sighed, wanting just five minutes of peace. Since you’d got home, you had received none of that. Instead, your parents left you in charge of your stepsister Swan when you wanted to go out with friends. It wasn’t often that you came home after all.

You open the door, “What do you want?” you ask, turning your head to look at your TV.

“Can you drive me to my friend’s Halloween party?” You turn your head back to Swan and notice her outfit, a black bunny suit that left little to the imagination. Her breasts bulged out, nearly spilling out of the top, and the high cut of the suit showed off her thick legs.

You consider your options, your mind filled with thoughts of Swan going to a party dressed like that. Without a doubt, she was trying to get attention; it was how she had always been since you met her.  Swan notices your staring; the cogs in her mind begin to turn as she moves her eyes up and down your body and sees your growing bulge. “I can make it worth your while.” She says, placing her hands under her arms and raising her breasts. The smirk on her face tells you how confident she is you’ll agree. Having only known each other for a few years, you never really developed a strong sense of family. Still, you knew it would be wrong to accept. “C’mon, you’ve always liked staring at them, and here I am offering them to you.” Swan tugs at the top of her bunny suit, making it flop over, revealing her bare breasts to you. As the only barrier holding them back falls, they drop, jiggling as they come to a stop. You stare at them; they are massive, Swan’s tits are topped with light brown nubs.  She reached for them, rolling them between her fingers as she waited for your answer.

“Alright, fine. Come in.” You tell her. Swan smiles and shuts the door behind her before walking to your bed and kneeling. She reaches up, pulling at the waistband of your pants teasingly.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy to convince you,” Swan says, hooking her fingers around your underwear so she can pull both garments at the same time. “Let’s see what you have, big brother.” She says mockingly, like an insult meant to make you feel bad about having your stepsister give you a titjob. Swan’s cocky attitude disappears as she pulls down your pants, and your cock smacks her forehead. She leans back, letting it slip off her head. Her eyes follow your cock, and she hesitantly reaches for it. Grabbing it, Swan strokes your cock slowly, moving from base to tip. She feels your pulse through your veins. Swan gulps as her eyes wander back up to you. She scoots closer and places your cock between her breasts. It’s hot, and your musk surrounds her. Swan gathers her saliva, and she dribbles her spit onto your cock. It rolls off your shaft and between her tits.

Swan’s eye moves between your cock and your eyes before she presses the soft mound together around your cock. The tip pokes through the top, amazing Swan as she slowly begins to pump your cock. You groan as you enjoy your stepsister’s tit around your cock. As it becomes slick, she speeds up and drops more of her spit between her tits. They start shining as her spit moves to cover the beautiful mounds. “Cum already!” Swan says a mixture of frustration and want. The longer this went on, the more she wanted your cock, she was trying so hard to push it out of her mind, but it was a losing battle. 

“Why don’t you suck on it then? Then I’ll take you to your party.” Swan grumbled but agreed quickly. As she moved your cock between her breasts, she leaned down and kissed the tip. Instinctively, she licked her lips. Precum had stained them, and she got her first taste of you. She felt something inside her stir, some kind of hunger. Swan went back for more; she stuck her tongue out and lapped at the head when it poked out between her breasts.

Swan could feel herself getting wet as she tasted more of your precum. Her mind became fixated on your cock; she let go of her breasts, letting them bounce as she took your cock in her hand and began stroking it. She bobbed her head, letting her tongue run across the tip of your cock. She reached down, moving the bottom of her bunny outfit to the side, and began toying with her clit. Swan’s moans gave you more pleasure as her throat vibrated. You were on the edge of cumming, and Swan knew it. She felt your cock throbbing in her mouth, and she was getting desperate for your cum. You were her stepbrother, and she wanted you more than ever. She looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking you to cum in her mouth. You saw her pretty face begging for it, and you didn’t hold back. You grabbed the back of Swan’s head and pushed her to the base of your cock before cumming. She tried to fight you at first, putting her hand on your thigh to push you away, but as she got a taste of your cum, her body gave in, and her mind followed. Her grip softened, and she leaned in. Swan’s eyes became half-lidded as she continued to gently suck your cock, drinking every drop of cum you had to offer.

Seeing your stepsister like that turned you on, keeping you hard. Swan was still playing with herself, her hand slowly moving between her folds. You place your hand under Swan’s chin and tilt her head back. She opens her mouth, showing you how she drank everything. “Let’s keep going.” Swan nods, standing up slowly. You reach toward Swan and grab one of her breasts, squeezing it as you push Swan onto the bed. She moans softly as she feels your hand roughly grope her tit. She looks at you with needy eyes. You take a close look at Swan, noticing her beauty for the first time. You lean in and kiss her. She welcomes the kiss, wrapping her arms around your neck as she pulls you in closer. You climb over Swan, moving your hands to her thick thighs, gripping them tightly. Your cock twitches against her wet slit.

Swan whimpers through your kiss as she feels your cock rub against her. “I want you,” she says weakly. You want her, too. You spread Swan’s legs and rub yourself against her slit. You were driving yourself and Swan crazy. You align yourself with Swan’s entrance, looking into her eyes before pushing past her lips and moving inside her. You both moan; as wrong as it is to be having sex with your stepsister, it feels so right. Connected to the young woman, you bury yourself inside her. Swan pulls you closer to her, pressing her lips against yours as your cock twitches inside her. “You’re so big,” she whines, reaching one hand down to her cunt. “You’re going to break me.”

You’re buried deep inside Swan. Her breathy moans fill the room as she grinds herself against you. As much as you were stretching Swan, she was loving it. You begin pulling out slowly, her walls refusing to let you go. You push back in slowly, hitting her womb. Swan wraps her legs around your waist, using her legs to try and push you deeper. Her warm core makes you crave more from your stepsister. You pull out again and thrust in faster than before. Every thrust that follows becomes faster and faster until you reach a good pace, your bodies clapping together. Swan’s tits bounce and jiggle as you drive your cock inside her. You attach yourself to one of her breasts, your tongue circling her nipple as you drive your cock deep into Swan. She grips you tightly, whining as she feels your cock crushing her womb.

“So good!” Swan cries out, the tension in her body building as you continue to drive your cock into your stepsister. You felt at home inside her and never wanted to pull out. Swan felt similarly; being filled by your cock felt right to her. Part of her wondered why the two of you had never done it before.

The tension in Swan’s body slowly built with each thrust. It tensed around you, and you could feel her nails digging into your skin. You could feel your orgasm coming, too. Your cock began to throb inside Swan. “I’m going to cum,” you grunt as you continue thrusting.

“Inside, please inside.” Swan mumbles before she can even think. Unable to hold on any longer, you drive your cock inside Swan, unleashing waves of cum inside her pussy. You paint her walls and fill her womb. Swan cums; the feeling of your hot cum pouring inside her was too much to handle. Out of breath, the two of you remain still; you look up and meet Swan’s gaze. You lean in and kiss her. Swan accepts it, her grip loosening until you pull away. You move in and kiss her neck as your hands squeeze her thighs. She didn’t want this feeling to end. “Don’t pull out.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” you respond. You revel in the pleasure Swan’s body is giving you; her cunt squeezes down on your cock, trying to milk you for more. You kiss Swan’s neck, marking her body with hickeys. “You’re not going to that party tonight.”

“I don’t want to go anymore. I want my big brother to keep fucking me,” Swan says, her voice filled with lust. You smile at her and give her a kiss. She smiles back,  “From now on, you’re the only one I want to have sex with.” You pull out slowly and push back in at the same pace. Swan moans with a smile as she feels your cock moving inside her again.

“I’ll make sure of that,” you tell her before you begin your second round of lovemaking. You and Swan continue into the night. Eventually, you stripped her of her bunny outfit and left marks all over her body. You don’t know how many times the two of you came; all you do know is that each and every time you came inside your stepsister. You slept together afterward, Swan lying on your chest with your cock still inside her.

When morning came, you both understood you had to keep this hidden from your parents. While they were gone, you enjoyed being together to its maximum. Your attraction to each other only increased as time went on. It was difficult to keep your hands off Swan, and she couldn’t resist either, giving herself to you anytime you got close to her. It was no surprise that within a month, Swan was pregnant with your child. The amount of time you and Swan snuck off to fuck, it would’ve been a miracle if she wasn’t. She was happy, though, gladly carrying your child. While your parents might’ve been mad, more so when she claimed not to know who the father was, they weren’t going to abandon her. Considering the apartment you were staying at during the semester was close to the hospital, you offered to have Swan stay with you. They quickly accepted your offer, and it gave you the chance to spend more time with her. You were going to be one big happy family with Swan, and that began with a great sex life. The two of you continued your trysts while she was pregnant; you even proposed to her after one of your explosive nights. More than a stepsister, Swan was going to be your wife.

Epilogue

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (viii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal, the passage of time, panicking,

A/N: omg guys new banner reveal. i put a flower on that man because i felt like it. personally thrilled that we have made it this far because that means it's only 2 more chapters to 10 and then we're in double digits. also unsolved drabble requests are very welcome and encouraged please ily THANKS BYE

Previous part || Series masterlist

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Inside the room, the air is thick with dust and the scent of aged metal. The walls are lined with dark wooden beams, their surfaces weathered by time, and the faint smell of oil and rust lingers in the air. 

“It’s a haunted clock tower,” you reply, walking up the stairs, floorboards creaking generously under you. 

“I got that,” he retorts, “but what the hell is it supposed to haunt? All the search results were just some kids' show.”

In the center of the room stands the massive, intricate clock mechanism, the gears and cogs slowly gathering rust as the years have passed without maintenance. Moonlight through the giant clock face casts a faint glow into the dimly lit room.

“I’m surprised you checked the internet,” you tell him, “I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was an undercover agent for 80 years. I know how to use technology.”

“You’re also older than the concept of time, so you can see how that may confuse some people,” you reply, taking a tour around the room. “Second, I’m surprised you checked the internet.”

“You already said that.”

You stop in your tracks, hand on your chest as you say, “Yes, but you’re researching things now? For our show? That’s real sweet, babygirl.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he continues to climb up. “It was one Google search.”

“It’s one more than what you’ve done in the last 3 months,” you say, eyelashes fluttering comically at him before your demeanor returns to normal. “Anyway, there’s no like, ghost sightings here, per se–”

Bucky comes to a halt only two steps away from his door. “Then why are we here?” 

“It’s still haunted, Bucky,” you chastise. “That doesn’t always mean ghosts. Maybe it could mean orbs. Or shadow people, like from the hospital–”

“Not a thing.”

The clock creaked and groaned, the hands inching forward, their motion sluggish and uneven, as if the gears hadn't been properly oiled in years. With every tick, a loud whine echoed through the tower, vibrating the air in the otherwise silent room.

“Ooh, maybe we’ll find our doppelgangers.” Your eyes shine. “What would you do with yours?”

“Nothing.” Steve met another version of himself once and immediately beat the shit out of it, if that was anything to go by.   

“Not even a date?”

His eyebrows knit together, eyes creasing. “Why would I date my doppelganger?”

“Who’s gonna know you better than yourself? But the more important question is, would you fu–”

The noise from the clock grows more intense with a final, desperate groan before it comes to a jarring halt. 

The ticking stops abruptly, leaving an unnatural silence hanging in the air. The hands remain frozen at 9. 

Both of you are left staring at a now defunct clock. 

“Clock died ‘cause of your stupid question,” Bucky comments, voice dry. 

“Just say you don’t like modern philosophy and go.” 

“Oh I’m going alright. Two hours and all we’ve gotten footage of is stairs, trash and a washout Big Ben.”

“Don’t insult Kinley Clock Tower like that,” you scold. “You’re gonna piss it off and it’s gonna haunt us for the rest of our days.”

Bucky gives you a flat look. “By doing what.”

“Showing you the wrong time wherever you go.”

“Devastating,” Bucky responds, not sounding fazed in the slightest. “Right, so nothing haunted here?”

“Maybe it’s haunted by the failure of proper clock maintenance.”

Bucky’s eyes sweep across the largely empty room one last time. “Other than that toolbox, place’s empty. Chalk this one up to bullshit and let’s go.”

You let out a deep sigh at the thought of a wasted evening. “Fine, but that means we have to find another idea for a video.”

“Use one of the reserves.”

“We’re gonna have to, if we can’t find anything by tomorrow.”

Bucky’s heavy footsteps echo through the staircase. “That is a problem for tomorrow-you to deal with.”

You let out a scoff, following behind. “Tomorrow-us.”

“No,” he replies thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I got it right.”

Whatever. You counted tonight as a win the second you managed to get Bucky out of the compound without having to lie out of your ass. He even threw in a Google search worth of research. And he even told you the batteries on the cameras were all charged. Small steps for a regular co-host, big step for Buckykind everywhere. 

The elevator stops at his floor and he gets out, sending you a two finger wave on his way out. 

Should I walk you to your door?” you throw in at the last minute, the makings of a smile on your face. 

Bucky casts you an indignant look. “Why?”

“Chivalry, baby.” You grin, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Didn't they literally invent it in your era?”

Bucky flips you the finger instead, not bothering to dignify you with a response. Your laughter subsides as the elevator closes on you with a ding.

Bucky sees a faint light in the hallway, and figures Steve’s slightly ajar door is its source. In between trudging back to his bedroom, he drops a quick knock on it.

“Come in,” Steve calls, voice deep from the sleepiness starting to set in. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies from the doorway. “Shoot got done early.”

“Where’d you go?” he asks, laying down his book beside him. 

“Kinley Tower,” Buck stands with his arms pulled over his chest, leaning against the doorway. “Place was a dud. Nothing to see.”

“What about other things?” Steve asks, curious but still casually indirect. “How was it?” 

Bucky shrugs. “The same. Bounced right back, like nothing ever happened.” 

“You still don’t know what Nat was talking about?” 

“No,” Bucky replies, scratching the back of his neck, before hesitantly saying, “Should I be asking? I don’t know if we’re-- y’know.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re friends by now, Buck.” Steve smiles briefly. “Wouldn’t hurt to check in.”

Well, Steve may be sure, but Bucky wasn’t. Then again Steve only had 1 best friend for over a hundred years until he met Sam, so how the fuck would he know. 

Still, Bucky gives a curt nod, glancing around Steve’s room for any notable changed but coming up empty handed. 

“You wanna tell me why there’s several charges on my card for tarot websites?” Steve picks up his book again, thumbing through the pages.

“Wasn’t me,” Bucky grunts. 

“Seems a bit suspect after you did an episode on witchcraft,” Steve speaks without lifting an eye from his book. “Could just be me though.”

It catches him by surprise. “You watch our episodes?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Yes? Every last one.”

“Oh,” Bucky mumbles, finding everything else in the room infinitely more interesting all of a sudden. 

“Looks like it’s doing you some good,” Steve continues, turning back to his novel. “It’s nice to see you out and about.”

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Bucky gives him a look that could be seen as peeved if the blond hadn’t known him for as long has he had been alive.

Steve hides a smile. “Nothing. Left some apples on your nightstand. Eat it if you’re hungry.”

It forces Bucky to try to catch onto Steve's train of thought. Sure you hung out occasionally after work, but it wasn’t like you were hanging out on a friends basis. Bucky definitely would know if you were, because it would be a laborious task to even get him to consider leaving his bedroom. A thousand elephants would not be able to make him go do things that friends do. 

So he stares at him for another whole minute waiting for a follow up, a clarification, but Steve makes no other comment, only turning the page of his novel. 

Bucky finally leaves silently, shutting the door behind him.

Sure enough, there are apples and a fork on his nightstand. They were good too, crisp like Steve had gotten them from the market just today.  

By eleven Bucky’s already in bed, eyes straining as he watches this woodworking guy on YouTube teach him how to make a dovetailed box. For no reason. And just because he heard Sam mention offhand that he needed a place for all his keys doesn’t mean Bucky was making it for him.  

From: co-host 

how about we take a road trip down to washington to go meet my dear friend

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

what friend

From: co-host 

mr quatch himself

From: co-host  

first name ‘sas’

From: co-host

i’m talking about bigfoot

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

yeah i got it 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

when 

From: co-host

well we’d have to start at 4am

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

fuck no

From: co-host

How about Sunday 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)how about something within a 5 mile radius 

​​From: co-host

How about your mom

Bucky switches his phone all the way off and tosses it onto the bed beside him, smothering his face into the pillow. 

He’d deal with your nonsense tomorrow. 

And probably fill the gas tank for a trip to Washington. 

Bucky’s eyes snap open when the cold air hits his face. He keeps his window shut all the way,every single night. 

He blinks several times before his eyes adjust to the darkness of his surroundings. 

“Bucky?” a disembodied voice comes from beside him.

His head whips to the side, making him realise that one, he was standing, and two, he had no idea how long he’d been standing for. 

Only, he finds you next to him, looking disoriented like you’d just been shaken awake from a nap.

“Where the hell–” your voice trails off as you take note of where you’d landed up. 

In front of him, mechanical gears whine as they scrape against each other in a desperate attempt to move.

He peers down at his clothes; the same black t-shirt, jacket and cargo pants he distinctly remembers changed out of nearly an hour ago. 

“What the fuck,” Bucky snaps. “Did you bring us back here?”

“No,” you say, face rigid, solemn. “I swear I didn’t. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Bucky’s shoulders loosen. “No, I was asleep.”

The wind rustles by, and everything looks exactly the same as when you left it nearly 3 hours ago. 

“We’re back at Kinley,” he tests it, taking a step forward. “What just happened?”

“This is weird, right?” you put forth, clearing your throat. “I definitely was going to send you a text about the next video idea, and the next thing I know you’re in front of me. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Bucky pinches the inside of his arm. The skin comes back red and stinging.

“No, it’s real,” he murmurs. “Unless this is a weird fuckin’ dream that I’m having.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you showed up in his dreams either. He just doesn’t remember any of them being so… vivid. 

“I’m in the physical realm, I can feel that,” you talk so quietly it’s like you’re speaking to yourself. “It’s not your dream. I’m here too.”

He checks his phone. 

9:05. 

Bucky opens up his messages, finding none from you tonight. His YouTube history similarly didn’t have the video he was watching earlier today.

Bucky clenches his fists and releases them, before taking a deep inhale. “Okay. We just had a strange fuckin’ flash forward into the future because of… I don’t know what. But we never left, and now we’re going home.”

“Yep.” You nod in confirmation, but the camera levitating behind you wobbles with uncertainty. “So– do we recreate what happened or…?”

“No, let's just leave,” Bucky debates, running a hand through his hair. 

You take a step towards the stairs, holding onto the bannister as you make your way down. 

Bucky holds up the flashlight of his phone as he follows, throwing another look behind him. 

“Having a shared flashforward… could say it’s soulmate shit,” you give him a quick glance, but the grin on your face is unsure, and he knows you’re trying to shake it off. 

“It’s a carbon monoxide shit.” 

“You can be carbon mine-oxide.” 

Bucky wordlessly shoves past you as he walks down the stairs, leaving you to follow with another stupid laugh. 

The car ride back brings with it some air of normalcy, so does the elevator ride. 

Bucky once again gives you a two finger wave as he gets down at his floor. 

“Offer’s still there if you want me to walk you to your room,” you call. “I may be delirious, but I’m still chivalrous.”

“Go to sleep,” Bucky carps, shaking his head, banishing the slight lift in the corner of his mouth. 

The faint light in the hallway makes him falter. 

He sticks his head in anyway. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey,” Steve smiles from his bed, book in hand. “You’re back.”

Bucky glances around the room. “Did we talk earlier today?”

“Only when you texted me for my Netflix password.” 

“Nothing after that?” Bucky hesitates from asking him outright.

“No. You okay?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Just had a weird dream,” Bucky dismisses, forcing his face to relax. “See you around.”

“Left you some apples if you’re hungry,” Steve calls, as Bucky shuts the door.

He crawls back into bed, eyeing the clock suspiciously. 10:30. 

He closes his eyes, wills himself to sleep, knowing that this glitch in the matrix was only temporary and tomorrow, you’d be at his damn door, forcing him to go to Washington with you. 

Bucky’s eyes fly open when a draft of wind blows past his cheek.

“You’re fucking shitting me,” he growls, taking in the stupid tower again. 

“Well, fuck,” you exhale from beside him, in the same clothes from that evening. “I think we’re stuck in a timeloop.”

Of all the things to happen to him. Has he not suffered enough.

“Fine. Alright,” Bucky recalibrates, voice short, running a hand through his hair. “What now? How do we get out?”

“I don’t know, let me just consult with my vast experience in timeloops.”

He throws you a look so dry it would have crops withering. You don’t seem to care at all. 

“If I had to guess from the movies I’ve seen, we either gotta solve a puzzle or one of us has to reach self-actualisation and turn into a good human,” you postulate, arms on your hips as you survey the room. “We both know it’s not me, so is there anything you want to share with the class?”

If your release was contingent on Bucky working through his issues, you’d be here for a century at least.

“We keep coming back here at midnight,” Bucky elects to focus on other things, tilting his head towards the clock. “Is it because we left at 9 instead of 12?”

“Maybe,” you consider it. “We can stick around, I guess.”

It wasn’t a bad place to start. You’d have to trial-and-error your way out of this one. 

“We’ve got…” he pulls his sleeve back to look at his watch “...two hours and fifty five minutes.”

You shrug. “We can check out the rest of the tower to see if we missed anything.”

“Fine,” he relents slowly as if still weighing his options, only to come up with nothing better. 

The next level is at least a few flights of stairs below and if you thought the room with the clock in it was barren, there was nothing here for you except spiders and dust bunnies.   

“Maybe we have to clean it up,” you suggest, nose scrunching. “Maybe the tower’s super mad that everyone’s disrespecting it.”

“That's a stupid reason.”

You spin around, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Take that back. We just said maybe it doesn't like being disrespected.”

Bucky grumbles a few choice words under his breath, none of which reach your ears. 

There's nothing along the walls of the tower, nor on the ceilings. The intermediary floor and the ground floor come up empty as well. 

By the time you've confirmed that you’ve exhausted all possible leads with nothing to show for it, Bucky’s memorised the layout of the place. 

11:58.

“2 more minutes,” he tells you.

“All right,” you say, rubbing your palms together. “Experiment one. Let's go.”

Bucky keeps his eyes peeled.

11:59.

He doesn't even fucking blink, and neither do you as the seconds count down on his phone. 

12:00. 

He exhales, looking up. 

A cold wind blows past his face. 

When he hastily looks back at his phone, it reads 9pm once more. 

“Damn it,” you curse softly. 

Bucky’s growing anger resonates in a rumble in chest. “What kind of twisted shit is this?”

“It's fine,” you hold your hand up, breathing out. “I have a few more ideas.”

Bucky carelessly gestures for you to go on, and you point at the big clock.

“That thing stopped working at 9,” you hint. “We'll have to fix it. Get it working again and then we go back.”

“You know anything about fixing clocks?”

“I worked at a toy shop near a watchmaker once,” you offer. “That's gotta count for something.”

“What the hell, sure,” Bucky gives up, throwing his arms up. 

He only had experience taking apart the old leather strapped wrist watch his parents got him for his 11th birthday, and Steve’s pocket watch that he inherited from his asshole dad. He’d dismantle it carefully, methodically piece by piece, learning the insides and out of each device, so that if and when they stopped running, he'd know exactly what was wrong just by holding it up to his ear.

That didn't necessarily transfer here, but it couldn't be all that different.

Turns out it's very different and you both had to resort to watching several videos before you even began to attempt to fix it. 

He retreats the toolbox from the corner, grateful that at least you didn't have to waste a good half hour going looking for tools to fix a fuckin’ clock.

“There's no signs of life in the mechanism,” you say, reading from the phone. “So I guess we start with the most basic shit.” 

He only lets out a noise in acknowledgement, before you both spend time dusting away at gears and checking for broken parts. When nothing seems bent or misaligned, you move onto the next step. 

And that's when the fun actually starts. 

“That’s not how you oil a gear.”

“Sure it fuckin’ is,” Bucky comments, careful making sure the grease reaches every nook and cranny.

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Bucky doesn't take his eyes off the machine, and instead raises his left hand up, clenching it into fist and releasing it, leaving the soft shifting of all the plates to prove his point. 

You scoff. “What, just ‘cause you have a metal arm you're the world’s leading expert in oiling mechanics?”

“It means I’ve got some experience in taking care of them.” 

“I’ve seen you put that thing in the dishwasher, don’t even try with me,” you warn. 

Busted. He usually got away with lying flagrantly about his arm, but apparently you pay attention to him and the fact that the Wakandan tech only required a wipedown every once and a while. 

“I do woodwork, I know how to oil things,” he switches seamlessly over to the next lie. 

The tools rarely needed any maintenance and he really didn't have to do much with them yet, considering how high quality they were. But he has an idea of what he could be doing, and that's what counts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “How come you’ve never made anything for me?”

“I don’t like you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Bucky continues squeezing oil into axles without sparing you a glance. “What do you want?”

“What can you make?”

“Boxes.”

“Make me a box then.”

“No.”

“Bitch.”

Bucky smiles to himself, turning the gears to see them move smoothly.

You dust off cobwebs from the pendulums to get it swinging again, you use your powers to stare at the crank until it rotates on its own to wind up, and to the best of your estimation, make sure the weights are raised to the right heights. 

The whole affair takes nearly 3 hours and towards the end, the both of you are hurriedly rushing through the motions, placing aside the need to argue to just get the damn thing done in time. At some point, telekinesis keeps the pendulum swinging. 

“Did you check everything?”

“Yes.”

“Everything.”

“Yes, Bucky.” you sigh. “All major pieces are working. The clock should move.”

Proof of your word, the clock starts ticking again. It goes from 9:00 to 9:05 without any hitches, and then continues on without interference. 

“Hell yeah,” you cheer and Bucky heaves a sigh of relief.

“Come on,” he urges under his breath, checking his phone again.

2 minutes to go.

“I love the passage of time,” you state unnaturally loudly. “I've never been more grateful for the passage of time.”

“Don't jinx this.”

1 more minute.

“That's not jinxing, it's good lu-”

Bucky feels a cold breeze swipe across his cheek. 

He inhales sharply. 

“Fuck.” Your stomach drops to the ground. 

In the blink of an eye, everything you'd managed to get done in the last 3 hours had gone right back to the way it had been. Dusty, unmoving and dull. 

Bucky robotically checks the time on his phone. 

9pm.

His fingers rub his temples. “What's the next plan?”

“We must have not done it right,” you reason quietly, taking a step towards it. “Something's wrong.”

“The thing was moving, I think we got it,” Bucky sighs irritatedly. 

“Well, we gotta try again,” you turn to him sharply. “You don't have to be here but I'm gonna do it.”

Bucky raises both his eyebrows at you, and you stare back with equal determination. 

“Fine,” he forgoes. “I'll look downstairs.”

It takes less time this time around. It gives you half an hour to check if it is moving again, and you watch the hands move from 9 to 9:05 to 9:20 with no problem.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time turning the intermediate room inside out in search for other clues. 

When he finds nothing there, he trudges back to the clock, finding you fingers crossed but confident that you'd done it.

“This is it, baby,” you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We're getting out of this.”

“Here's to hoping,” he says in a tone that lets you know he isn’t convinced, watching his timer countdown from 30 seconds.

“No hoping. There's nothing to do. We're leaving,” you declare. “I've never seen a clock work more beautifully in my life.” 

Three.

Two.

One.

Bucky holds his breath. 

And a wind blows past his face.

The machine resets to the way it was. 

“All fuckin’ right,” Bucky mumbles, expiring a breath deeply. 

“It's fine,” you say, forcing a smile. “I've got a few more ideas.”

Cleaning the floors doesn't work. 

Reading up about the clock tower in  detail and honouring its legacy in an earnest ceremony doesn't work. 

Fixing it for a third time doesn't work either.

“I'm takin’ a nap,” he informs, back against the wall. “I'll deal with this shit again when I wake up.”

“How can you even think about sleeping right now?” you ask, using your powers to pull the damn clock out of the wall. It changes nothing.

“I've thought about sleeping through much worse,” he grumbles, eyes closed. 

“I'm beginning to think you have an iron deficiency.”

“Literally a supersoldier.”

“Vitamin D deficiency,” you revise. “Can you step into the sun or do you just like, start hissing and burning?”

“We’ve never gonna find out, ‘cause we’re never making it out of tonight,” he hums, eyes closed. 

You go still, clock hovering mid air. 

“You don't think we're getting out?”

“I think we're fucked,” Bucky mumbles, yawning as he makes himself as comfortable as old wooden floors would allow him to be. “Y’told me yourself, we tried all the big plans. There's no puzzle. We're trapped.”

The clock lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

“Careful,” he warns, wondering how cozy the floor would be if he just slid down and laid there. “Wouldn't wanna break the fuckin’ thing that put us in this mess to begin with.”

“Fuck,” you breathe out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bucky opens one eye to peer at you. “What?”

“What do you think, Bucky?” you fire back. “We’re stuck in a timeloop for eternity because we’ve tried the most obvious options and we’re still here.”

“Could be a lot cleaner, but this ain’t the worst place to get stuck for the rest of your life,” he tempts, arms crossed behind his head, feeling a dull strain in his neck. 

“We’re gonna be stuck here forever,” you say, dawning horror in your inflection. “I’m gonna be stuck with you for the rest of eternity.”

“So much for chivalry,” he says wryly.

“We need a new plan,” you digress hectically from the other side of the room. 

“Here's one. I get some sleep, order some pizza in the next loop or two and–”

“No.”

“Fine, Thai works too. Whatever. Then we-”

“You don’t get it,” you snap abruptly. “Jesus Christ, this is literally my worst fucking nightmare. Either help or leave.”

He pries both eyes open at the sudden shift in your tone. He’s used to you snapping at him for his bullshit, and the favour was usually reciprocated, but not like this.  

Your back is turned to him, but he can tell you’re breathing heavily as you check out the new gap you've created in the wall where the clock was, before turning around and lifting the entire machine in the center of the room. 

“Hey,” he calls, voice gruff, slowly pushing himself off the floor. 

You throw him a look, continuing to move pieces of newspaper and tools and check under it. 

He watches you curse under your breath, lifting things too high and dropping them down a little too hard without flinching even once. 

“Look,” he tries again, a little louder. 

You flip the machine upside down, fully intending on taking it apart and putting it back together as if it was going to make a big difference.

“Grab the wrench. Or don't, I don't give a–”

Bucky grips your shoulder with a call of your name. It’s enough to get you to pause from sheer surprise at how close he suddenly positioned himself, considering it was a well known fact that Bucky hated people in his space. 

“Listen to me. We’re going to get out of here,” he instructs, voice much more muted than you were used to. “But you have to calm down.”

You take in a deep breath, before it leaves in a shaky exhale. Whatever you’ve got levitating gently drops onto the ground.

“You’re panicking. I would be too if I wasn’t dead inside,” he notes, hands still on your shoulder firmly. “Do whatever you need to to get it out of your system. It’ll be easier to focus after that. We'll be out of here soon enough.”

“You seem awfully sure.” Your mouth curls into a half smile, but it drops as quickly as it came up. 

“We’ll figure something out.” His shoulders rise and fall. “Got all the time in the world.”

You swallow the thickness in your throat, giving him a small nod.

“‘M sorry,” he says, eyes intense, and you know he’s talking about the nonchalance he showed earlier. “I was bein’ a prick.” 

“Honestly, you being a prick is, like, the most normal part about this.”

“...thanks.” 

“It’s fine, I could use some normal.” You brush it off with a slight smile. “You’re right. We should get some food. I’m hungry.”

“Alright,” he says, eyeing your features for a second more. “But you’re buying. Payback for making me clean up every floor twice.”

“Prick.”

His conversation with Steve from earlier that night comes back to him, the same time you take another breath to shake off the antsiness. 

Bucky lifts a eyebrow to look more natural. “You still sure it’s me who needs self-actualisation? ‘Cause it sure seems that you’ve got a whole lot to talk about.”

You half-scoff, half-laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’ve got issues?”

“Just using your words.”

You watch him for a second, like you’re thinking about saying something. He tilts his head at how contemplative you look, only for you to open your mouth and ask,

“Say, do you think emotional baggage is hot?” you wiggle your brows. “‘Cause if you do, I’ve got a whole lot of it.”

He groans out loud, neck craning as his head drops back. 

“Also,” you pose a bit more curiously, “you gonna let go of me any time soon or are we about to slow dance?”

Bucky’s hands immediately drop from your shoulder, taking a step back. “Fuck off.”

“I could, but I’d just respawn here in three hours.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a bit relieved that you looked a lot less in distress. 

You'd spent two loops doing a deep dive into timeloops, coming up with more possibilities to try out.

Leaving the building at each hour did nothing. 

You spent 1 loop eating dinner and reaching out to scientists you knew on how to break out. Those who replied either said they weren't real, told you stuff you'd already figured out, or blocked you.

You even spent half a loop painstakingly combing through footage from earlier in the night to figure out if you'd fucked with anything by mistake that you were yet to correct, not noticing it so far because it had been so minor or mundane. 

“Oh shit, I just noticed something,” you gape, pointing at the screen

Bucky pulls the little monitor closer to his face. “What?”

“You’re looking at me so much in these,” you remark, voice relaxing immediately. “What's up with that?” 

“Maybe because you’re the only one talking,” Bucky fires back, irritatedly putting the camera back down, “and it’s not like there’s anything else to look at here.”

“So defensive,” you comment. “Just say you think I’m cute and move on.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut me up yourself, coward.”

To be clear, Bucky didn't realise he was looking at you that much. And now that you’ve pointed it out, he can’t really argue because he is doing it a lot more than he realised he was, even unconsciously sometimes. 

“How many more timeloops till you run out of these lines?” he questions instead.

“How many more timeloops till you stop being a handsome son of a bitch?”

The clock tower may be cold, but he feels too warm all of a sudden. 

“I swear, if this doesn’t work, I’m throwing the clock out the window,” you say, powers forcing the hands to speed through every hour and second at 2x speed. 

Bucky doesn’t even look up at you from over his phone. “You throw it, you’re fixing it again.”

You stop trying to spin the hands when one of them creaks. 

A few loops in and the growing frustration from the both of you manifests into tension that is palpable. 

You'd spent a loop or two outside the tower so you didn't drive yourself insane. Without fail, you'd end up right back up watching the clock every single time the world outside struck 12.

Bucky’s done his fair share of attempts. Jacket on, jacket off. Holding the camera, being the one who led into the room, the one who led out. 

Mainstream movies, obscure movies, video essays, podcasts. 

“I don’t fuckin’ get it. What are we missing?” you pour over the options again, frustrated. “We’ve done everything. We’ve done combinations of things.”

“There’s something we’re missing,” he says, staring at the moon through the face. “Some detail.” 

It's not like you can physically keep track of every variable. Everything resets the second it strikes 12, no matter what you changed. 

“I think–” 

He sends you a glance.

“Maybe if we–” you try before you stop altogether.  

Bucky just stays quiet because at this point you've exhausted every option you can think of, to no avail. 

He knows you don't want to say it. 

But it's time you start accepting that you're well and truly stuck. 

“Should write Maya an email,” he tells you. “Tell her we quit.”

You give him a smile, knowing it would never even make its way to her.

Still, you pull out your phone and let Bucky peek over your shoulder as you start typing, helpfully suggesting curses as you went. 

____

You absentmindedly tinker with the machine, able to take it apart, fix it and put it back together by heart and in no time now.

“What was the last mission you guys did?” you inquire, rotating a gear between your fingers. 

“Something small,” Bucky replies, voice steady. “Think it was just a recon in Detroit.”

“Do you miss it?” 

“No,” he says resolutely. “Everyone got tired of them a long time ago, but we stick around, just in case.”

You spare him a glance. “When was the last time you actually relaxed?”

Bucky considers it for a second. “Wakanda. Wasn't exactly a vacation though.” 

“New question. When was the last time you went on vacation?”

He raises an eyebrow, head twisting to look at you. 

You place the gear in its place before picking up the oil dropper. “Don’t answer if you don’t wanna.”

He turns his head back to the ceiling, and all the spider webs lining it. 

“Couple of years before I got drafted, my family took a day trip to Convey Island.” he reveals, voice low. “We were supposed to hit as many rides as we could but my sister was aboslutely fuckin’ taken by this damn steam engine they had running. Everyoe got sick of it after the second time so I stuck around with her. Must’a ridden that thing 5 times before she finally let up.” 

You have half a smile on your face. “Did you like it?”

He can't really remember. He can't even remember if the rest of his family was actually there, or whether it was just him and Steve and Becca, or it was just him and Becca.

“I liked that she liked it,” he decides.

You nod, wiping a gear before putting it back, snickering lightly.  “Was the last vacation you took really in the 1930s?” 

He exhales a laugh. “Steve and I went to the Canyon once. It was near a mission location. He told me I'd been dyin’ to go there as a kid. I don't remember that, but he fuckin’ dragged me there by the collar. Not sure if that really counts– we were both bleeding pretty heavy for it to be a real holiday.”

“Steve would say it counts.”

“Steven’s never taken a vacation in his life.” Bucky snorts. “I don't think he physically knows how to relax.”

“I don't think I've ever seen that man sit still for more than a few minutes.”

“Fuckin' rich coming from you. How many jobs have you had? A million?”

You exhale a laugh. “Something like that.”

You push the pendulum with your finger, watching it swing back and forth. 

“Where’d you stick the longest?” Bucky asks, hands supporting his head as he lies on the ground. 

You take a second to think, picking up a gear you’d already cleaned, wiping it down again.

“When I just got out of Leviathan, I used to wait tables for this elderly lady who ran a bakery. Mrs. Mullens,” you say finally. “She was kinder than anyone else I'd met till then; gave me leftovers that didn’t get sold that day, and enough money to get on my feet. I must've been there, what, a year? Year and a half? I think that’s the longest I’ve stayed.” 

“Why’d you quit?” He does his best to not sound too intrusive. 

“One evening she slipped keys into my pocket and told me I could stay in the room above the cafe if I wanted. Realised I’d been there too long, so I left the state the next morning.”

Bucky’s eye twitches as he turns to look at you. “She gave you a place to stay and you skipped town?”

“Yeah.” You half-shrug. “Staying in a place too long feels– suffocating. I don’t know. Just knew it was time to leave.”

Bucky looks at you strangely, mind inadvertently trying to piece together a bunch of information. 

Working on a hunch, he tests, “You got family out there somewhere?”

“I was literally created in a lab,” you deadpan. “I don’t have a family. Unless you count test tubes.”

“It doesn't have to be mean literally.” He arches an eyebrow. “What about Nat?”

“Nat’s a friend.” you disclose, holding a cog up to check for any stains, “The Avengers aren’t my family the same way they are for you. They’re great, but it’s just another job.”

Oh. 

“Right,” he says, settling back into his position, feeling a frown on his face.

“I haven’t really found what you’re asking me about,” you add, and he knows you're trying to be kind.

He isn't sure what he thought the team was to you. He isn't sure what he feels about the new information either.

“What��s it feel like?”

“What?” he asks distractedly. 

“Having people like that,” you clarify. “Maybe if I know what it feels like I’ll know when it happens.”

You’ve all but asked the most emotionally constipated man on earth what family feels like to him.

So reasonaly, Bucky blanks. 

Literally every single interaction with the dead and the living exits his mind. 

And so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, 

“Silent blenders.” 

And then he cringes. 

“Is that the name of a movie or…” you trail off.

“No. They got me blenders that don’t make a sound. It was a nice gift,” he mumbles. 

You wait for him to provide even a little more context. He instead shifts uncomfortably. 

“Okay,” you allow, looking back down. “Silent blenders. Got it.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second more, and his head starts throbbing.

Instead, he dodges. “Guess you’re not gonna stick around for too long then, huh?”   

“Well, yeah,” you answer, like it was the easiest thing in the world.  “I was always going to just bounce after this was done. I thought you knew that.”

“Right,” he repeats. “Where you headed next?”

“Who knows?” you mull over. “I could go anywhere. You got any reccs?”

He doesn’t really have an answer for you. Bucky can’t imagine packing up and leaving again. Living life never knowing when he can finally take a seat. He’s spent so long wrestling with the turbulence of having multiple identities that he clings to what little semblance of stability he can find.

But a tiny voice in the recess of his mind whispers to him that maybe the reason he's stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you can’t. 

He has a half formed hypothesis. And then soon comes to the conclusion that he really has no business deriving theories about you like that… but he’d be lying if he said he didnt store it in his head for later. 

He also doesn't know why there's a strange churning in his stomach, a deeply uncomfortable feeling that he hasn't really felt in years. It makes him want to get up and leave. 

“Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gonna leave eventually doesn’t mean we’re not friends.” You snap him out of his first great attempt to understand human emotions other than annoyance. 

He hums. “I wouldn't call us that.” 

“You’re right, we’re star crossed lovers.”

“I feel bad for the next person who has to deal with you.”

You laugh, swinging the pendulum into motion and wiping your hands down. 

You’d taken turns sleeping in two of the time loops, keeping watch while the other rested for a while.

Only when you're asleep does Bucky fully comprehend how quiet it is in there. 

The clouds cover the moon. The floorboards don't make much noise even as he walks around.

He's lost track of how many 9pms it's been. 

He doesn't know why it’s lingering in his mind like this. Probably because he had only thought of her a couple of hours ago. 

He knows you suggested it as a joke but he can't help but wonder.

What if it was actually him keeping the both of you here?  

He really thought he'd made amends. He'd been living as peacefully as he was able to. And yeah, he's a dick, but he wasn't outright evil.

Or so he thought.

Maybe he hadn’t repented as hard as he’d needed to. 

“Becks,” he calls quietly. “If you can hear me– I'm sorry.”

No one responds. You don't stir. 

He forces himself to exhale and continue, “I know you'd hate what I turned into, but I'm tryin’ here. I promise.”

He wishes a damn piece of paper would give him a sign on what to do, or at least tell him there was no coming back. That he should probably resign himself to his fate. 

“You should've had someone who coulda shielded you. Given you a chance to be a kid.” He swallows down the stone in his throat. “I know you're mad, Peanut. I'm really fuckin’ sorry. You deserved a whole lot better.” 

And then he waits, and waits some more, ears straining for anything– a giggle, a scrape. He doesn't know what he expected, but he gets nothing. 

Only a draft blows through the window. 

A shiver runs through you, and you curl into yourself, but thankfully you still don't wake. Bucky has no idea how he’d explain this to you anyway. 

Still, he quietly makes his way towards you, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across you carefully, watching as you relax again.

He blows out an exhale, watching the minutes tick by. 

“Do you think we’re gonna get old here or do we reset every time the loop resets?” you ask aloud.

“Our clothes kept regenerating with us, so I guess we keep resetting too.”

You hum. “Damn, we can’t even grow old together.”

Bucky adds nothing, only turning to you with a deadpan expression.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” he counters. “No old person jokes this time?”

“There’s no fun if you're expecting it,” you sigh.

“Incredible,” he replies, monotonous. 

There’s silence. He hears wind rustle through the room. 

You sit up, and he can feel your eyes boring into him. 

“What?” he asks again.

“Does it upset you?” you ask somberly. “When I make those jokes?”

“No,” he replies. “They’re fine.”

“And when I keep using pickup lines on you– does that make you uncomfortable?” you continue, however, much to his surprise. 

He turns to you with his eyebrows lowered. “Since when does that matter?”

“It matters,” you say quietly. “I knew it annoyed you, I didn’t know they made you uncomfortable.” 

He stares at you for a long while, before settling on, “They don’t.”

“Sure?”

“I don’t care.” He looks ahead. “I’ll tell you if they do.” 

“Okay,” you relent. “If you say so.”

He shakes his head, feeling a strange sort of feeling settle in his chest. He can’t say he hates it, but he would rather not deal with it.

“Bein’ in here’s making you weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “The fuck does that mean?”

“You know what it means,” he asserts. 

“I’m being totally normal, you’ve just refused to hang out with me so you wouldn’t know what that is.”

“I see you every week.” 

“For video shoots.”

“We hang out otherwise,” he scoffs, suddenly feeling very offended. “We literally went to the store the other day.”

“To buy batteries,” you emphasize. “For the video shoots.”

“We’ve gone to the park,” he exclaims, sitting up. “And we eat lunch together sometimes. And we watched that stupid fuckin’ movie in theatres at midnight twice because you lied the second time and told me it was another one – what was it called? Metropolis?”

“Megalopolis,” you say, amused at his outburst. 

“That. Garbage fuckshit. And we’ve taken the cat–”

“Alpine.”

“I know her name,” he hisses. “To the vet. And that’s all in the last month.”

“Jeez, you keep a journal every time we hang out? What are you, obsessed with me?” you ask, trying to bite back a shit-eating grin. 

“Point is,” he grits. “We hang out.”

Fuck. Turns out, maybe Steve was right.

“Tomato, tomahto,” you dismiss. “You’re so obsessed with details. You could’ve just said you’re in love with me and moved on instead of bringing out the whole Excel sheet of every minute we spent together.”

“I hate you,” he groans, dropping back down.

You laugh. It makes the corner of his mouth curl up, just a little.  

“What’s the time?” he asks, blowing out an exhale from his nose.

“Like 11:30?,” you sigh.

“That’s all?” He wants to groan again. 

“Does it matter? We’re stuck here forever. We can get more takeout in the next loop.”

“You’re paying.”

“I paid last time, asshole.”

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Tomato, tomahto.” 

“Touché.” 

You spin a gear in the air, waiting for the hour to pass.

It suddenly hits him. Something that you'd shown across episodes of witchcraft and haunted hospitals. 

Something you showed literally three minutes ago. 

If this worked, he’d probably hug you and your stupid, chaos incarnate self.  

“Come on, let’s get this clock fixed,” he grumbles, getting back up on his feet. 

“What?” 

“I think you’re right,” he says, sticking his arm out to help you up. 

“Huh?” you blink at him. “I know the footage is gonna get erased again, but I need you to say that into the camera once for me. And state that you’re of sound mind and body while you’re at it.”

He sends you a look. “Come on.”

“I fixed it already, Bucky.”

“What’s the time?” He ignores you.

“Nearly 12,” you tell him, checking your phone. 

“Need you to be precise.”

“Why?”

“Humour me,” he says calmly. “Details are for losers, remember?”

“11:57 and 32 seconds.”

He manually winds the big arm up, the short hand still following. Until the seconds ticker matches the time you were calling out, down to the last second.

“What are you doing?” you enquire curiously, peeking over his shoulder.

“Making it match real time,” he tells you. “Properly.”

He checkes gears and pushes pendulums and everything works like it’s brand new. You’d gotten real good at this. 

“11:59 and 43 seconds,” you call.  

Bucky closes his eyes, forcing his breath to remain steady. It’s the first time that evening he’s had more than a sliver of hope. 

“57 seconds,” you say quietly, voice tired. 

And then there's silence. 

He doesn't have the energy to open his eyes and find the machinery back to scraps. 

But eventually he does. And when he opens it again, you’re still standing there, near the machine. Not the entrance of the room. 

The clock reads 12:02.

He turns to you, calmly saying, “Let’s get out of here.”

The drive back home is silent, apprehensive with tension tight as a stretched rubber band. Like if you breathed too hard, you'd find yourself back in the dark room. 

You step in the elevator together, pressing the buttons for your floor and his. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s the fear or the fact that you've now spent several hours together when time didn’t make sense, but the ride up is slower than usual. 

Bucky stands with his back pressed to the wall of the elevator, eyes closed, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“It never occured to me,” your voice is quiet. “It’s the one thing I didn’t think of because I was so focused on getting out.”

“Didn't think of it either.” Bucky’s shoulders shrug, eyes closed. “Not your fault.” 

“Kinda is.”

“I would've realised earlier if I paid attention,” he counters. 

You stare at him. 

“Are you done or should I keep going?”

You blow out an exhale. “This game sucks.”

“Don't play this shit with me. It's the one thing I'm good at.”

The elevator dings, creeping open on his floor.

He stays right where, back pressed against the wall, unmoving. 

“It's your floor,” you inform.

“I know.”

The door waits a few seconds before it closes.

It finally reaches your floor, opening with a bright ding. 

He watches you step out, casting an unsure look towards him.

You gesture awkwardly, “Do you need anything?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes still closed. 

“What are– oh,” you stop all of a sudden. “Is this your way of walking me to my door?”

Bucky’s face doesn’t betray any expression. “See you later.”

You fight a smile, raising two fingers to give him a wave. 

He gives you a small nod as the door closes on him, reaching forward to press the button to his floor again.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist </3

Next part

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), human!fem!reader, dumbification, fellatio, mindbreak, two dick!sukuna, making out with sukuna’s belly mouth hehehe, degradation, multiple cock worship, true form!sukuna, mentions of flirting with death, smothering, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day seventeen [ ryomen sukuna + dumbification ]

“My, I think I’ve truly broken you now.”

his voice was thunderous; and surrounded you— engulfed you in vibratory baritones that would’ve melted any thoughts you might’ve had— had your brain still harbored the capacity to produce any. the autonomous luxury of thinking for yourself had long been fucked out of you, and you were left with muscle memory. base instinct.

“You act just like an animal now, a bitch who’s always in heat.” the grin the curse wore was evident, even though you couldn’t see his face. he was proud to have destroyed who you had been, and created a living, breathing sex toy in your place. both, massive cocks obstruct your view as their weight lays across your face, and you drag your lips, parted and drooling, over every ridgid vein. you could suffocate under their heat, Sukuna’s raw musk, and the idea alone excited you. “Yip for me, wild bitch.”

your eyes roll back in your head, and you mewl for him, gurgling against his skin. even his insults had become intoxicating. he could make you cum by telling you how worthless you were, and how little you mattered outside of draining his balls, and your cunt would tremble and weep for him all the same. you let out a pathetic, half bark, kissing your way down to his heavy balls, smashing your face into them, smothering yourself in his stench. the smell of sweat and cum that clings to the rough hair and salty skin.

“That’s a good girl,” with a hand heavy on your head, he pushes your face deeper, allowing you an inch closer to asphyxiation. your feet slip out from under your butt, kicking slowly, “You’ve been fucked so dumb, haven’t you? Stupid girl, you can’t even feel that you’re about to suffocate between my legs. Do you even care anymore?” he purrs, the crimson in his gaze wild and looking down at you with impish delight, “Look up at your master, fuck meat. Watch me smile as you teeter on the edge of death.”

your legs are the only things that try and protest your smothering— sliding against the gritty ground, but your arms hang, hopelessly at your sides. and though you choke and garble against his gnads, you can bring no oxygen into your lungs, your eyes start to water as they flicker up the length of his mighty torso at him. the mouth that splits his stomach is grinning wider than the one on his countenance, baring sharp teeth.

“Your glassy eyes trying to focus on me while you struggle for breath makes my cocks hard.” he chuckles, smearing your face against the dual bases, a growl rumbling as you choke on him, “To think that you’d been the brightest, young thing your village had to offer me, and now not a single thought lives behind those dazed eyes. I’m afraid I’ve turned you braindead.” he chuckles, and it sounds like unfiltered malice. “You’re not even alive anymore, not truly. You rely on my cocks to live now, don’t you?” his fingernails dig into your scalp, prying you from his groin, and you sputter and choke on the influx of oxygen that burns your deflated lungs. your mouth slack, tongue hanging out, and drool leaks from the tip of it, but all you can taste is his musk. the scent of him that he’s bedaubed your countenance in. “You’re not living if I’m not inside that fragile, little body, gaping your greedy holes. Am I wrong?”

but you shake your head, hanging limp in his grasp, before he laughs and releases you; your face smears against his abdomen, meeting the mouth there, and the lips part to allow the fat tongue to slither out. you, too, push your tongue closer, and the curse’s muscle dominates your smaller, weaker one, coiling around it, before filling your entire cavern with its girth. the imposing length of it ensures that he can taste the inside of your throat when he pushes you flush against his belly, your cheeks scraping the harsh, sharpened teeth. you’re half convinced that he could probe all the way through you with that wicked, thick tongue of his, but he’s simply being merciful by forcing you to gag and cluck as it bulges against your windpipe.

“You worship every inch of me, and take me in every hole like you’re the bravest little whore. But in reality, I know the truth.” he grins, bestial and depraved, and runs his thick, calloused fingers through your hair, leaning back to watch your mouth and gullet decimated by yet another organ of his. “You’re just too stupid to care if you choke to death on my tongue, and too greedy to mind the sensation of my big cocks tearing your ass apart.”

[dream-with-a-fever]

in defence of ginny weasley (ft fleur delacour)

never thought i would feel strongly enough about this topic to comment on it, but the ginny bashing in this fandom is just insane so i thought why the hell not. ginny seems to get hate for everything under the sun from being being a mary sue who can do no wrong in anyone’s eyes (meaning she’s boring and uninteresting as a character) to being a nasty bully responsible for hurting those around her (??? and they’re both completely contradictory statements btw). when the latter is brought up, ginny’s “terrible” mistreatment of fleur is always front and centre. ‘she’s nasty, she’s cruel, she is a jealous bully etc!’ and i just feel like we should put on our thinking caps and actually take a step back for a fucking second. people may disagree with me, but i think ginny’s reaction to fleur was totally understandable — and reminder, she is a TEENAGE girl, (not to mention both mrs weasley and hermione held fleur in the same regard but no one seems to focus on that side of things).

now in the books, we do see ginny mocking fleur, calling her ‘phlegm’ behind her back, imitating her gait and elegance, expressing her annoyance at her newfound presence in their lives.

let’s look at why she might have reacted that way. first of all, in general, we see that the w are a very humble and welcoming family; they don’t have much but what they do have, they are more than willing to share with others. their financial circumstance plays a massive role in how the characters in the wea clan react and interact with others (as seen with their refusal to accept money from harry etc). their sense of pride in that regard is also quite prevalent. we see that when harry first goes to the burrow, ron is slightly embarrassed by his home, painfully aware of the way many people in the wizarding community view/judge them. when harry goes on to say it’s best place he’s ever seen, we immediately see how touched ron is. ginny is the same in that sense — embarrassed that she has second hand robes & books etc, but at the same time she, like ron, is fiercely protective of what they do have, and what they as a family stand for. they are also very protective of people they love inside and outside of the family (see, ron with ginny, mrs weasleys with all of them etc).

this is relevant because one of the reasons ginny and in turn mrs weasley, have a problem with fleur is the way she talks to them. despite them inviting her into their home, fleur makes her distaste clear even if it is in small ways. she says it’s boring at their house as there’s nothing to do, she often talks disparagingly about how things are done in the weasley household, she loudly mocks celestina warbeck (who mrs weasley loves to play at christmas time) and insults her, she speaks badly about tonks several times etc. her words and mannerisms are also viewed by some (ginny etc) as very pretentious and arrogant — also rather posh, a sign of her family’s wealth (which might have been a sore spot for ginny also).

now don’t get me wrong. i love fleur as a character. i think she’s really cool, charming and brave, and i wish we got to see more of her honestly!! i think she makes a lovely contrast to the other younger characters, and i think she undergoes some nice character development in the books we do see her in. it’s also very clear to me, that when she acts the way she does, it is never out of malice or cruelty— it comes from a place of openness and honesty — which often comes across as quite blunt. it’s a cultural disconnect in many ways; when she inadvertently insults people throughout the books, i think it’s pretty obvious she isn’t trying to hurt anyone’s feelings. but i also think it’s obvious how this attitude might annoy those around her.

calling ginny is a big bad bully for disliking fleur (in the beginning), when her behaviour towards the weasley family would make anyone a bit frustrated, is a bit far. not to mention, her individual treatment of ginny is understandably annoying - ginny complains that fleur is very condescending when speaking to her (‘you’d think i were about three!’).

there’s also the fact that ginny is bill’s little sister. he is her favourite brother (as seen from the way she respects him and his opinions, looks up to him - she wanted to go to hogwarts ever since bill went!). ginny having a reaction to her brother’s new girlfriend is very normal - he’s her big brother! all his attention is now on his new girlfriend - who ginny finds to be full of herself, patronising & annoying. part of her may also be worried that fleur will end up breaking his heart in the end — because she’s protective of her brother.

add the fact that her brother and old crush and basically every man ever is drawn to her because of her godly beauty (as a part veela), her and bill’s wont to shower each other in public displays of affection (who wants to see their brother doing this!?) and the fact that ginny always gotten along with tonks (the person her and molly had in mind for bill’s future partner) has always treated her kindly and as an equal, and therefore would much prefer as a sister-in-law — it’s not that surprising that ginny feels the way she does towards fleur.

nevertheless, do i think this is something ginny would grow out of? yes, of course. we already see changes in their relationship in the final book. besides, a lot of this stuff is surface level, as ginny and fleur don’t know all that much about each other — i think fleur’s love for bill (especially shown in the hospital wing after he’s been attacked by greyback) definitely changes the way ginny regards her. i also like to think that they grew closer as they got older, as with age comes maturity, and with maturity comes understanding. i also feel that fleur was someone who really stepped up when it came to supporting the weasleys after fred’s death, something that ginny would have appreciated. i see them having a nice relationship later in life.

ANYWAY, this was an exceedingly long rant for which i apologise but i have often seen people talk about how nasty ginny is to fleur, and i think it’s so unfair to not look at the context which leads to her being a little frustrated at her future sister in law. plus, she is allowed to dislike someone who she does not get along with and who she finds unpleasant to be around. we all have people like that in our lives but god forbid ginny does…not to mention, ginny is never openly rude to her EVER, and she’s allowed to voice her frustrations to her friends/family. the fact people call her an outright bully for this is just insane.

people on here will defend so many other dubious characters but the second a teenage character with good intentions makes a mistake / doesn’t act perfectly (i.e ron, ginny), they are suddenly the epitome of evil in human form, i mean get a grip, honestly. also one last quick thing(!!!), i do note some people blame jkr for writing her female characters this way, as we’ve seen the way she seems to frown upon conventional/typical displays of femininity (lavender and parvati being seen as ‘silly’ girls with frivolous thoughts, cho chang as overly emotional - despite having a very rational reaction to the death of her boyfriend, fleur as overly feminine and therefore less serious/intelligent). her heroines are women who often conceal or discard these more feminine traits — and i will say that despite loving these characters very much, i do think some more nuance here, could have been very beneficial to the story, and to the message being sent to young female/female identifying readers. there is strength in femininity, and rejecting feminine traits does not make you more or less a person.

okay, rant over. if you actually got to the end, bless you, if not — well, that’s totally fair (lol). also please don’t kill me in the comment section if you disagree. this is just my two cents. ok that’s all.

[nameless-jamie]

MY OUR HOUSE

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

A/N: AHHHH! First one of this series! Let's gooo. Please read the PA x Jamie Tartt series first, so you'll get it! I hope you love it, hardcore fluff!

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Yup, they finally did it. Jamie Tartt and Y/N, his trusty assistant have been together for over a year now. They’ve been through the awkward stages—the miscommunications, the unresolved tension, the late-night talks about feelings they hadn’t yet fully admitted. But they were solid now. The days of pretending they were just an assistant and her prickish football player boss are over. As a couple, they’d found their rhythm and pulse together. How, you ask? Well, that happened a year ago and it's a totally different story. Now they are the happy couple, that everyone predicted they would be. And though they didn’t have it all figured out all the time—Who did?—there was a certainty now. A warmth in knowing that they were on this wild ride together. No matter what.

Currently, they have one problem, though. Jamie and Y/N were tired. Tired of commuting between Jamie's huge bachelor mansion and Y/N's small flat. So, today, they were taking a massive step. After weeks of debating where to live, they were finally choosing a place to call their own.

And it all started like this: Y/N stood in the middle of Jamie’s house, looking around with a mixture of disbelief and a lack of affection. She could see the effort Jamie had put into this space, making it the perfect bachelor pad—though she wouldn’t call his million-dollar mansion "homey," it was very much his—but there was something about it that felt cold, empty even. A place that might look good in a magazine but never felt lived in.

"Honey, I love you, but your place is a fucking nightmare," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. It wasn’t criticism—just an honest statement. She loved him more than anything, but the house… not so much.

Jamie, dramatically clutching his chest like she’d just insulted the very foundation of his existence, gasped. “Babe, you take that back. My place is well nice!” His grin was infectious, but it didn’t quite convince her.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, an exhale slipping from her lips as she glanced around. "Jamie, it looks like a footballer’s bachelor pad exploded and no one cleaned it up."

Jamie scoffed. "It’s modern. S’called style."

Y/N crossed her arms, her lips forming a playful but pointed frown. “It’s sterile, and way too big for one person. How do you even live here?” She gave the room another glance. “It’s like a showroom for nothing.”

“Modern,” Jamie repeated, more to himself than to her, before shrugging with a little smile. “And, it’s... practical.”

Y/N chuckled, her shoulders softening. “Yeah, for someone who’s single and ready to mingle.”

That made Jamie smirk...the perverted kind. "Nah, I'm taken...still ready to mingle, though...If you're up for it." He said with wiggling brows.

"Nope, not until we fix this commuting situation or this Playboy mansion..."

Jamie grinned. "S’pose I should get someone to move in, then."

Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Well yes maybe. D'you have someone in mind, yet?”

They both paused the air between them thick with the unspoken. Moving in or not? She knew he wasn’t wrong; they’d spent months now navigating their relationship—learning each other’s quirks, arguing and laughing, and eventually learning how to move forward from it all. They've known each other long before that, even lived together for like a week (scratch that, that was a nightmare). But this? This was a bigger step.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Jamie, we’ve been dating for a year," she continued, her voice a little quieter now, but firm. “We spend almost every night together, but neither of us wants to live in the other’s place. What does that tell you?”

Jamie blinked. "That you should stop bein’ stubborn and move in with me?"

Y/N groaned. "Jamie!"

"What?!"

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes. "It means we should get a place together. Something that actually feels like ours. Not just a place that’s convenient. Not just your empty bachelor pad."

Jamie’s grin faltered slightly, just for a second, as if he was still trying to figure out how to reconcile her vision with his own. And then, slowly, a warmth spread across his face. She wants to go all in, he thought. It wasn’t just the cheeky grin she knew so well of him; it was something more vulnerable, something real.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly, his voice taking on a quieter, more sincere tone, his heart full. “Yeah, we should. I would love that, baby.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, surprised at how deeply those words resonated. This wasn’t about the perfect space, the perfect decor, or the perfect house—it was about the two of them finally deciding to make a space for themselves. Something that belonged to both of them, something that could hold their life and their future together.

The house-hunting process was… a disaster at first.

Jamie hated anything that didn’t have state-of-the-art amenities.

“Babe, the shower pressure is shite,” Jamie had groaned when they toured a particularly swanky house, clearly unimpressed with the plumbing.

Y/N wanted a place that felt warm, lived in, and a home that would make them feel grounded. Jamie? He had other priorities.

Y/N hadn’t even blinked while looking through another very steril, very fancy home. “Jamie, this house has zero personality.”

Jamie had flashed her a sheepish grin, clearly not understanding what she meant. “It’s got everything, baby.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “It’s a showroom, not a home. Where’s the character?”

They had almost given up.

And then, as if by fate, they stumbled across a house just outside the city. A little larger than what Y/N had imagined, but perfect in every other way. The second they walked in, there was an overwhelming feeling of comfort. The high ceilings, the natural light that poured in through every window, the spacious kitchen that was begging to be used—it felt like the kind of place where their lives could unfold, messy but beautiful.

They stood in the living room, not speaking for a few seconds, just taking in the space.

It was perfect.

Big, but not ridiculous. Warm, and welcoming. It even has a freakin' garden.

“Sooo,” Y/N finally said, voice soft and a little teary-eyed. “This one, yeah?”

Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he looked around, letting out a long breath. Finally, their home. “Yeah. I think so. That's the one.”

And for the first time, Y/N realized they weren't just talking about the house. They were talking about the future they were building together.

Jamie’s voice broke the silence, low and teasing as his fingers traced patterns over her waist. “Loads of space,” he murmured, looking around at the open floor plan. “For all your books. For all our shoes. For me trophies.”

Y/N laughed, but it wasn’t just the usual teasing. There was something more in her heart, something deeper. She was happy. She shot him a knowing glance. “You mean your one trophy?”

Jamie gasped in mock disbelief, hand dramatically placed over his chest. “Babe. Unbelievable.”

Y/N grinned. "Anything else?"

Jamie grinned devilishly, eyes glinting. “Loads of space for babies.”

Y/N paused. Her heart skipped, but she kept her voice steady, not letting her emotions fully spill out just yet. “Jamie…”

“Oi, I’m just sayin’,” he teased, stepping closer, his hand brushing her side. “Reckon we could have a whole little team, yeah? Tartt FC.”

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of his words settling over her like a promise. "Let’s move in first before you start planning a whole squad, alright?"

Jamie smiled back, but there was something so warm in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t help but feel everything fall into place.

“Deal.”

The first night in their new house was chaos.

Jamie had insisted on carrying Y/N over the threshold in some grand romantic gesture, but it was more of a comedy show than a scene from a fairytale. He’d almost dropped her because he misjudged the step, and they both ended up laughing, tangled up in each other in the doorway.

“Babe, you’re movin’ too much!” Jamie said, panicked, as they teetered dangerously on the edge of disaster.

“Jamie, put me down before we both die!” Y/N gasped, laughing through the ridiculousness of it all.

But eventually, they made it inside, safe and sound, only to find that the unpacking wasn’t much less chaotic. Jamie was distracted by his attempt to get the TV working, while Y/N took on the bulk of the unpacking.

“Jamie, love of my life, what are you doing there?” Y/N called over to him, already knowing the answer, but indulging him anyway.

“Setting up Sky Sports,” Jamie muttered, eyes glued to the TV. “Priorities, babe.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself. “Your priorities should be helping me unpack so we can actually sleep in a bed tonight.”

Jamie shrugged, looking at her from over his shoulder. “We could just sleep on the couch. Wouldn’t be the first time we did it on a couch.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Jamie Tartt, if you think we’re spending our first night in our new house on the couch, you’ve lost your mind.”

Jamie grinned mischievously. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. S’not like we’d be sleeping much anyway.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was affection behind the sarcasm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie teased, stepping toward her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “You love it. Babe, we gotta break in the new bed, yeah?”

Y/N sighed dramatically, but her voice was laced with nothing but affection. “Unbelievable.”

Jamie laughed softly, leaning in to kiss the top of her head, a gentle smile resting on his lips.

By the time they finally got everything done, bed built, things unpacked, it was late as hell.

They collapsed into bed—their bed, in their house—and just lay there, soaking it all in.

Jamie turned his head, watching Y/N’s beautiful face in the dim light.

"We did it, baby," he murmured.

Y/N smiled, reaching over to lace her fingers with his. "Yeah. We did."

Jamie squeezed her hand. "We’re gonna have a good life here, I promise. I love you so much."

"I love you more, honey." Y/N hummed, then turned her head. "You still thinking about your very own Tartt FC, huh?"

Jamie smirked. "'Course I am."

Y/N rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "You really want a bunch of little Baby Tartts running around?"

Jamie smirked. "Babe, who wouldn’t want that?"

Y/N snorted. "The world isn’t ready."

Jamie laughed, tugging her down so she was flush against his chest. "Reckon we should start practicin’ then, yeah?"

Y/N laughed, swatting his arm. "Go to sleep, Jamie."

Jamie kissed the top of her head, grinning against her hair.

"Yeah, alright. But tomorrow," he murmured, "we’ll start scouting for the team."

Yes, Y/N knew exactly what he meant by that...

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 3

A Homelander x F!Reader fic

A/N: 1more part to go, I've be going on a 4 day trip on wed so I should post the final part next wk, thanks everybody for reading here is part 2 (there's a link for part 1 there)

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

tags: child death mention, depressive, dark, kidnapping, stocklhom syndrome, HL tw.

word count: 4.4K

Part 3-- Fields

Months.

You’ve been here for months.

You aren’t quite certain of the timeframe but you kept track of the full moon, how often things faded and re-emerged, you’re sure half a year of your life has vanished slower than ever before, for weeks you find yourself holding on, now you aren’t sure why? This body of yours grows heavier around his arms as you sat there in that massive corner booth listening, as he squeezed your jacket as if to remind you he had a hold on you… or to make sure you were okay, you hoped.

Several months have passed and you can’t help but wonder how you ended up in this Chinese restaurant having dinner with your captor.

Homelander’s visitation continued to be more sporadic, your time seems of less importance these days, you find yourself painfully alone, no matter how pretty the tapestry, how interesting the films have become, how delicious the food is or how the forced expansion of your music taste as they feed you an eclectic collection from japanese city pop to medieval folk rock albums changed the fact that you were alone. It had been endless weeks since you last saw a human being beside Homelander.

You stared at that steel door, its presence tempting you, mocking you, insulting you.

You pressed aimlessly at the panel hoping it would break or force somebody to emerge to tell you off– just the sound of a live human would be enough to fill this emptiness inside you even if it was for a short burst. The library elevator had been locked and no amount of pulling would get it to break, your voice, your sole company, birds would come and sing ‘hello’ but as pretty as they were they flew away at the sight of you.

Everything was perpetually quiet.

At least when the sun still lingered.

At night you couldn’t even sleep this awfulness off, your brain trapped you in a different nightmare.

The only time when this house wasn’t submerged in silence was in your slumber.

Ghost lived here you’ve come to accept.

“Every night I have the same nightmares” you spoke to a squirrel one morning

Cries of a baby you can never find, as you wake up, dazed and exhausted you hear the faintest cry and all your mind has tried to do these past few weeks and months have been to move on but ghostly cries forever remind you of the emptiness left in your arms, ghost hoping to crush everything within you, but when the sun is out you tell yourself that your baby boy is gone, you accept it. 

Every night before bed you recite a fresh mantra ‘you’re okay now, that in the future perhaps you could finally become a mother, that the embers still burn inside you, your love is there but is not wrong to move on’ but your nightmares won’t let you move on from a pain you couldn’t forget.

You pray to whatever god you believed, or used to believe for dreamless slumber, each night the thought of sleep frightens you, making you wish for death for it was kinder.

The only peaceful slumber comes with a blond catch.

In your arms he’s both small and larger than life, light and heavy, his lips pursed on your sensitive skin, his quiet moans and mewls send shivers down your spine yet bring you an animalistic primal comfort that tap in a primitive part of your motherly brain, his scent fades and returns the next time reeking of oatmeal and chamomile, as your nose sinks on his hair and he wraps his naked hand around your waist itching to crawl higher, to hold your breast much like a real baby would you forget he is grown, picking his fingers and letting them hang on your own, in this times were you drift away from boredom– you sleep peacefully. Wondering if there was safety in this? The world’s most powerful man held against your bosom, nothing could hurt you here– not even the nightmares. Afraid of him you supposed.

Homelander looks up with glassed eyes, licking his lips as he pops your nipple out his mouth, blissed out, so happy it colors you with envy– that’s the only smile you know it's 100% genuine, you seen all his earlier movies it certainly been refined but his smile is disturbingly faux… convincingly sold, nevertheless as he nuzzles you and giggles softly into your chest that you learn what his truly looked like.

When was the last time you smiled like that? You wondered.

You hand caressed his face cleaning a loose drop off his chin.

“You want me to stay tonite?”

It’s been almost 2 weeks since he stayed more than a couple hours, you don’t know what to say, he still fills you with fear but as the afternoon glow colors the tapestry and the night creeps closer and closer you want that safety… just one night without nightmares.

“Please stay…”

Homelander smiles and squeezes your sides, forcing you into a hug, he begins talking and is not a conversation you can follow or wished to but is music nowadays– the sound of another person, it's the sweetest music you’d ever listened to, searing banalities into your eardrums, but its sweet… something to make you forget that by morning he’d be gone and you be left alone with nothing but ghosts and thoughts.

“Can we switch positions?” Your arm has grown numb under him.

He grumbles pouting like a child, but he’s happy to oblige, the TV plays quietly in the background you’re unsure how much longer the tape has, but he stares at you as he sits straight waiting for further instruction, while you fix the pillows.

“I just want to be the little spoon…”

Homelander eyes light up–literally. It doesn’t last long and his lips curl dropping on the bed with eager eyes, your grimace is internal but you crawl into padded arms.

“Promise me you won’t leave in the middle of the night…” you say so quietly, he stares at those pretty eyes of yours and those thick dark circles under your eyes allowing himself to caress your cheek– until morning…”

“Ryan is off on a camping trip with one of his buddies… I can stay the whole weekend.”

“Weekend?”

“It’s friday, Y/N.” He says as if that was obvious.

Your eyes open so wide it hurts your face, but you nod furiously, a part of you dies, whatever self-respect you had is fading as the only thought consuming you is that for at least 2 days you’ll have company.

“I’m surprised you let him go”

“I have a few men watching him from a distance, and I can fly and check up on him at any point” he says through gritted teeth.

“It’s nice that you trust him. Must make him feel like a big kid… My parents never let me do such things…”

“Why not?” He asks, watching you with genuine surprise as your body loses resistance, sinking into him.

“They worried too much… always sheltering me… watching over me…” You missed them, you missed a world of people, now those obnoxious actions of the past warm your heart but you don’t let it be seen– He’s lucky to have you.”

You stayed in his arms until the credits finished rolling.

“Kill the feed!” Homelander shouts startlingly you stiff, he waits in silence grinding his teeth, jumping out of the bed almsot throwing you off the mattress, once his cape unfastened he turns back to you– what? you think i'm gonna lay down all night in this?”

You just watched him as he moved around your room entering your closet as you shook off the scare, and procuring an oversized t-shirt grumbling to himself about ordering some loungewear, you watched him undress with your heart creeping up your throat, squeezing the duvet as your worst nightmares tease an entrance to reality, with each thud of his suit and clanking of gold your heart rate doubled in speed, he who had very much avoided touching most of you, could very much do so and you’d be powerless to stop him, he turns around throwing you a look of disbelief making you wonder if ‘mind-reading’ was a unpublicized skill of his.

Without his suit… he seemed more human than he had any right to be, his bright orange undies peeking under the old t-shirt with a pulled neck allowing you to see a handful of chest hairs creeping up, Homelander left you in the room heading out, his eyes examining that all cameras were in fact turn off and so were the microphones, stopping by a tacky painting of kittens in the hallway, tapping on the thick frame carefully.

“I was thinking I should have this place redecorated” He said loudly, his hand stroking the frame– bring it into the 21st century… What do you like– farmhouse chic… art deco? Altho your house was a mix-match of things.”

You jumped off the bed and followed him keeping distance as you tried to suppress your trembling hands.

“You’ve been to my house?”

“I was curious about you… you’ve been here 5 months and the doctors are surprised you haven’t… lost your mind.” He turns to you– altho you’ve been playing the music twice as loud as before”

“Is lonely in here…” You look away trying to figure out the best words you ought to say– you haven’t visited me in weeks”

“I told you. I’m busy– I have a movie… we are doing some re-shoots… the studio feels like they need a new direction and we needed a new post-credit scene so it ties up with The Deep’s next film and–” he bites his tongue– I should call… I’ll have a phone installed… but what can I do to make your stay here less lonesome.``

“Keep me company… at least downstairs I could see the other girls…” You look down– are they okay?”

“That whole thing has been shut down. No need for it to continue if I have you.” 

He didn’t expect to see that beam of light in your eyes, but then those lips of yours straightened for something sinister came into your mind.

“What happened to them?” Faces that were still fresh in your mind spoil– are they okay?”

“Who knows…” he shrugs with genuine indifference– oh don’t make that look! I didn’t make the order, I simply told them to close shop… I can find out if you want.”

Staring into his eyes for what could’ve been an eternity but you never answered, which seemed to please him, he stretched his hand asking for yours and in that darkened hallway he seemed to be its only shadow, you obeyed afraid of displeasing him punished with abandonment for another endless loop, his fingers are always so warm and soft around yours. 

“You don’t sleep very much do you? I used to sleep a lot when they left me alone… which wasn’t often” He squeezes your hand pulling you closer– you can talk to me, Y/N. I want to know…”

“You’ve been to my home… you should know why I don’t sleep much…” 

“I can’t… imagine what you’ve been thru… If I lost Ryan–”

“I accepted it. I think it just wasn’t my time or his time…” You cut him off– I don’t know ‘bout God’s plan or nuthin but I just accepted that maybe one day it be for me but not yet.”

Homelander gave you a half moon, glad to see how strong you’ve been, glad to know you could withstand his abuse… you continued to be a challenge.

That night you both laid in bed, cradling him in your arms watching him mumble loudly in his sleep, his eyes shifting wildly, you watch him fight in his nightmare as you thought of your own… of those women and the bottles, how your signatured had doomed them, you bit your lips and watched him until exhaustion ate you up.

Waking up with a kiss from the sun without ever experiencing a single nightmare, not even their faces haunt your sleep.

It made you ill to be so relieved.

He kept you company, watching movies and eating popcorn, lounging around forcing you to read books to him, you thought that this would all you two would do-- just lounge around and pretend you weren’t growing bored.

“Wanna go out for dinner?” 

Your ears perked up.

“I’ll go and tell them to get us some clothes, and we can go have dinner.”

“You mean outside?”

“Of course silly… you’ve been good, I think you deserve it.” He jumps off the couch, heading towards the metal door dragging his feet– you like chinese. I saw you had lots of take-out menus.”

“I would love to” You ran after him, hugging him– can we get Ice-cream too… afterwards?”

“I could always go for a milkshake.” He kissed your cheek– be a good girl and go get ready would ya?”

He faded into the other side, hearing those metal doors slide open filled you with joy, you had your chance, you were good, you did all that Homelander wanted of you, you listened to his endless ramblings and you gave him what he stole you for without complaint, and now he rewarded you, the gods had finally heard you.

This was your chance.

You would run to the cops, you would hide in the sewers, you would run until your feet were stumps if you had to but you would get out of here, away from him, away from his dollhouse.

You were so focused you didn't even register his sudden kiss until you started to undress in the bathroom, you touched your cheek wondering about why he'd done so.

You did as you were told and as your hair dried he came back bearing clothes from this century entering the bedroom as you stood covered with nothing but a towel, he came in an orange t-shirt and a navy jacket his sight on your face as if he had manners. It took you a few seconds to realize these were your clothes, washed and ironed, he threw them in the bed lingering for a few seconds before returning you some privacy.

“You look good” You smile feeling weird in your own clothes, nothing but a band t-shirt and your best jeans, he handed you a jacket that was definitely not yours but a matching one to his own– they told me there’s this bar you liked quite a bit”

“The Loose End?” you smiled, they knew you there, the bartender knew you by name, the regular waitress Liz knew you too, if he took you there you could find a way out– they’re cheap and the nachos are great… and they have live music every weekend.”

“It’s a date then.” 

For the first time you crossed those steel doors, those wall held a boring room, a set of desk littered here and there alongside filing cabinets, a young man in a lab coat handed Homelander something while you looked around everywhere this whole setup was nothing but a repurposed kitchen, a storage close, and the entry hall, two large windows let the light in allowing you to see the driveway, and more evergreen forest, there were no houses just road and bushes indeed this location was as desolated as initially suspected. Leaving through the front door you spotted a pair of bikes parked on the side, while the garage was closed. A random man dragged a trolley filled with peonies, your feet were trembling as you stepped on that welcome mat, the air was so chilly against your skin, so refreshing on cracking lips.

Grass… trees… clouds… nowhere to run, you looked at the bikes but never did you look for their keys five seconds ago.

“Are we getting an Uber?” You looked at him.

He took you by the waist, not giving you an answer before jumping straight into the heavens, there was a town to the east, a highway near it, before your words could leave your body, he pressed your face against his shoulder, it's a whistling sound singing in your ear as an insanely heavy weighted blanket slammed against you, this song kept playing cut abruptly by honking, your feet hit the ground and you could’ve sworn you’ve died he lets go of your head messin with your hair as you parted from this tight embrace, looking bemused.

“Am I alive?”

“There’s not a safer vehicle in the world than me.” He chuckles– you’re fine.”

Blinking hard you looked around and immediately recognized the street peeking from the end of the alleyway, your old apartment was 20 minutes from this place, you started moving without him.

Your neck snapped back as he took your arm, forcing you still.

“The restaurant is that way.”

He held your arm so tight your fingers tingle from numbness, interlocking elbows as he forced you into the street, to passerbys you were just another nameless couple, nobody gave you guys a second look, the afternoon light was beginning to fade behind tall buildings, you look at strangers pleading for them to notice something was off only to meet discomfort and indifference, people minded their business and in the busy street you two failed to stand out, you knew every street and in your silence you hoped to see familiar faces but nothing but strangers surrounded you both.

Both stopping at the entrance of a chinese restaurant, you’re sure you’d ordered from here before, the place is loud and there’s a TV set on the sports channel, it smells of fried rice and oil and you can hear the cook shouting in cantonese, he never lets you speak and the waitress is too busy talking to her coworker to care just telling you to sit anywhere you like.

He sits you in a booth on the corner away from the window almost hidden but able to see a good chunk of the people, the tv plays in the back but you can’t see it, your face is obscured by a beam, the more you look at the decour it strikes you as cheap and busy, lights dim and there wasn’t many people inside no doubt he picked this place for a reason.

“I feel like egg rolls and sweet and sour pork… you want noodles or rice?”

“Rice… with chicken… and…” You glance at the menu– scallion pancakes…”

Time moves like a dream, you count the exits, the number of waitresses, you hear the phone used for take-out orders but from your spot you can’t see the phone, you see the paper sign saying ‘toilet’ which could lead to an unseen exit, maybe into the kitchen, but as the entree arrived you knew you couldn’t run to your old home, you could run to the nearest metro station take the train anywhere, the direction made no difference you just had to find a cop… anything to save you.

As you force yourself to chew it dawns on you how Homelander has not spoken, turning to see him and he has a dry smile in his lips, his sight focused on the table on the furthest end of the room, the party grew louder you assumed they caught his attention annoyed by their presence or something in that vein.

Dishware clank and people spoke and baseball played but his attention was on them alone, you swore you could’ve run and he wouldn’t notice.

“Are you okay?” You spoke with the meekest tone you could muster– is there something wrong with the food?”

He scoots in his seat moving closer to the edge of table, this boot could’ve sat a party of five with ease so he left you with a lot of space and for a moment you felt as if he was about to just walk out but instead he looked at the empty spot then jerked his head towards the direction of the party.

“Is there a friend of yours there…?” You try to remain bubbly, finding his demeanor uneasy.

Following him you take his former spot but he doesn’t leave the boot, and then you see it.

The big thing he was staring at.

She was so thin that it looked bigger than it should, she was a tiny frail thing and the bump protruded out of her stomach violently. She sat back down, her grin so big and her laugh so chirpy as she rejoined the group.

The group too engrossed in each other to notice… to notice the crying woman on the other side of the dimly lit restaurant.

He seemed the same, his hair was the same, his beard was the same, his shirt was the one you bought him last christmas and he looked… happy… happy as he kissed this woman you’ve never seen, holding her hand, caressing her stomach, she didn’t need a name for you to despise what she meant, there it was your ex-husband who shouted at you about not being ready to be a father, your ex who showed up late to the funeral and didn’t stick around to comfort you, who never made it to the hospital visits more than twice, here he was happy.

Looking at a young thing carrying the baby he did want.

Just like he never looked at you.

“Am so happy you’re having a little girl!” The older woman who sat across from him said– after everything that happened I'm just elated for you Eric.”

You heard your mother’s voice with so much clarity.

“After Y/N I never thought I would find somebody but I think she would’ve been happy for us. I’m just glad you guys are doing okay after everything…”

“It’s hard but you are still family and we can be happy for you and your sweet little girl”

You watched him comfort your mother, the way he talked about you as if he meant it.

When did he ever mean it? Did he find remorse in his heart after you were gone or was it to brush away the accusations.

‘Who would you run to?’ that voice in your head asked, your family was right there, your dad, your mom, a mutual friend of you both, your ex– they were all there but they didn’t see you, the more you focused on their words, the way they mentioned your name as if it made them feel icky.

“I was thinking of naming her after Y/N, I know she meant a lot to Eric and had we not met at that support group–

You ran off the booth, rushing to the bathroom, you’re sure somebody looked at you as the plates rattled, Homelander gave you a glance but didn’t follow you.

Slamming the door behind you, in that ugly cramped bathroom you screamed into your knees, every fiber of your body recoiled, tightening around your chest, you stayed there until your own sobs hurt your throat and your eyes itched from salt.

Staring at your swollen eyes and red nose you washed away what you could, nausea still lingered robbing you off your appetite.

The door opened and there was no red, white and blue suited supe, just a hall with faded pictures and a storage closet, walking not knowing what to find, not wanting to be seen.

He was still in the booth, happily waiting on you with a bag of leftovers propped on the table.

“Let’s go home…” You whispered, your throat hoarse.

“Home? Where is that?” he grins

“Home… take me home… please…”

He stares at the party who are now sharing their final drinks and readying to leave.

You sit on the edge pushing him into the booth, forcing him to pay attention to you and not those behind, maybe it was because he was Homelander that you kissed him, that you had the attention of a more enviable man than Eric ever was that you kissed him in front of him  and your family, maybe it was because it felt good, his thin lips soft and delicate against yours, it was  quick thing, his shock was palpable in the nervousness of his kiss was cute, but it felt good… for once something felt good again.

“Let’s go Homelander… I don’t wanna be here anymore…”

His lips pressed against your cheek before lifting himself, making sure to cover your sight as you both left the building turning away from the window as the party began to gather their things, he stopped for a second after walking for a few minutes.

“I just need to text Ashley something before I forget… work stuff” You didn’t care.

He typed slowly with his index instead of his thumbs which made you cringe a little.

“All good. You sure you don’t wanna go watch a gig, we don’t have to go back home.” He said softly.

“My tits hurt.” His eyes light up at the lie– unless you wanna have a sippy in the toilets before the show stars to help me out here”

“... I… I do…” 

If he blushed any harder he’d be a stop light, you smiled unable to stop chuckling at his stupid face.

“Didn’t peg you for the kind of guy to get freaky in the bathroom of a dingy bar… guess America’s son does have a real kinky side to him.”

“You have no idea darling… do you have a kinky side perhaps?”

“Fuck me.” Her stomach popped into your head, his hand caressing her bulge played on loop, his disgusting smile, all of him played all around you, memories of his touch burnt your skin, everybody had his disgusting mug on their faces– and find out.”

He took your hand and started walking faster, throwing away the bag of takeout into the lap of the first homeless person he’d seen.

The woman looked at Eric as he said goodbye to your parents, her phone buzzed, turning around to hide her screen, a text message from with a receipt for 25,000 dollars deposited on her account, as well as a doctor’s appointment booking.

She signed with relief.

“Understood.” she texted back.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Hater? I hardly know her

Barbies: Dorlene x you (more so Marlene and you dating and Dorcas lusting from afar)

Word: 1.6k

Summary: Dorcas hates you and your girlfriend but is it actually hatred or just misspelled horniness

Warnings: YOU WEAR A SKIRT AND GREEN LACE UNDERWEAR no genital or gendered pronouns or words used though, you flash a crowd and shake ass, Marlene is Marlene, Dorcas is pissed you guys are so hot, you and Marlene are very comfy with pda, tabletop dancing, broom closet shenanigans, I sleepy I think that's it, definitely not inspired by Lunch by Billie I don't even know where you would get that idea from you're crazy you're acting crazy rn

Dorcas hated you. And your stupid girlfriend, Marlene. At first, she just thought you were both pretty and then she realized how fucking annoying you both were. Was it truly necessary for Marlene to flirt with her during quidditch practice? Did you really have to wink at her every time you made eye contact? Not to mention the fact that you two were so far down each other’s throats all the time she was shocked either of you knew it was day. She hated that you were both so attractive and knew it. You both needed the strongest serving of humbling she has ever prescribed. Dorcas decided that’s exactly what she would do, humble y’all bitch asses.

Every time Marlene flirted, Dorcas insulted her. As harsh as she could. She snarled at you every time you looked at her. However, this seemed to backfire. Her rudeness seemed to make you both like her more. Marlene was even more flirtatious and you tried multiple times to start a conversation with her. She hated the both of you with a strong passion.

You and Marlene picked up on her bad vibes. You both just assumed that you had done something wrong. Your attempts to rectify the problem only seemed to make it worse. Marlene wasn’t a quitter. She decided you all would become friends or more if it was the last thing she did.

With the latest quidditch win under the Slytherin’s belt, Dorcas was excited for the following party. Barty had triple her excitement, he loved parties. The crowd gave him attention, unlike his father, and booze. Barty also liked kissing his boyfriend in the dim lighting. Evan enjoyed parties in the way someone might enjoy baking; it’s nice every once in a while, gets tiresome if frequent, and you get a treat at the end. While he didn’t get a cookie at the end of every party he did get an extra cuddily Barty. Pandora enjoyed them less. They were quite loud and she preferred to stare out the giant glass wall to watch the fish. If Pandora’s enjoyment of parties was in the basement then Regulus’ enjoyment of parties was in hell. He hated them. Too loud, too many people, too much B.O., terrible music, and stupid people became stupider with alcohol. Normally within the first hour Regulus and Pandora had snuck off to the Black Lake, party be damned.

Dorcas was enjoying her time at their party, glad her hard work in practice paid off. She danced with Evan and Barty. There was a massive grin across her face. Until she heard cheers on the other side of the room. Not an odd thing, usually means someone did a fancy trick with their dancing or someone fell, but something about these cheers made her uneasy. Dorcas scanned the crowd, snagging on the two heads over the others. You and fucking Marlene. Dorcas was a hater through and through. As a verified hater, she knows if you want to do it right you have to see your victims’ highest point so you can bully them as it happens.

Dorcas left Barty and Evan, weeding through the crowd. Eventually, she was standing right up against the coffee table you and your girlfriend were dancing on. It was sickening how good you both looked. People shouldn’t be more attractive just because they were standing on a piece of furniture. Marlene was standing behind you, her hands traveling more than they should in such a public space. Your arms were stretched over Marlene’s shoulders, your back pressed to her chest with your head thrown back. One of Marlene’s hands was resting just under your belly button while the other was on the side of your neck. Marlene’s head was turned to your neck. All the while both your hips were moving with the beat.

Your position reminded Dorcas of a vampire and their lover who is also into biting. She snarled at the thought of you both enjoying this. As if she sensed her hatred, Marlene's eyes shot open, meeting Dorcas’ immediately. Dorcas clenched her jaw and tilted her head up. Dorcas saw a flash of Marlene’s grin pressed to your neck before she pulled back. You pulled away from each other, somehow dancing apart was more attractive than together. Dorcas didn’t think much while watching the both of you prance on top of your lofty 16-inch tall coffee table. Well not much other than ‘fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou’.

With the new song, you both seemed to regain your lust for one another, meeting each other in the middle of the table. Your hands were grabbing and pulling each other, hitching the hems of clothing up just an inch. Dorcas wasn’t sure which one of you she hated more. Marlene with her band shirt and tight leather shorts. Or you with your stupid short skirt, and shirt that was very shirty. Dorcas was losing her vocabulary that’s how bad your dancing was, defentily wasn’t Marlene’s ass peaking out the bottom of her shorts.

Before Dorcas’ mind could catch each of your movements you were bending over right in front of her. Marlene flicked your skirt up, though it was already very revealing. Marlene leaned foreward and rested her elbows on your back before dropping one hand to sit in front of one elbow while her other hand held up her face. Marlene made a bored face while she shook back and forth from your hip movements. Dorcas wanted to be better than the boys cheering and screaming behind her but your ass was fully in her face. She glanced, not stared, fine she glanced for a long time. Dorcas commited the image to her memory.

You had on green lacey underwear. It made her eye twitch. Even worse, it was a little difficult to see with all the shaking but she noticed a slightly faded hickey to the left, and on the right side avoiding the hem of your underwear was her jersey number. Drawn around it were tiny little hearts that looked eerily similar to the ones she saw Marlene doodle on her page.

Unfortuentually Fortuneally, it ended quickly. Marlene stood up. She slapped your ass. Dorcas noticed how for a split second she squeezed it. You took this less as an offense and more as a signal, standing up and spinning around. You glanced down at Dorcas, winking at her before pulling Marlene in to you. You must've gotten bored with dancing because you jumped off the table. You helped Marlene get off the table before you both dissapeared into the crowd.

Dorcas returned to where she left Barty and Evan, finding them making out next to a wall. Dorcas gripped the back of Barty’s shirt, pulling him back. Barty whined. Dorcas sighed, slipping between the two of them.

“I just got flashed.” Evan groaned.

“Someone I know?” Evan asked. Dorcas shook her head.

“It unfortunately was a little hot.” She muttered, hoping it got drowned out by the music. Barty sloppily patted her shoulder in sympathy.

“The worst kind of flashing,” Barty said, a little too loud in Dorcas’ ear.

With the party slowly dragging on, she started to notice the lack of you and Marlene. Dorcas wanted to judge you vocally to your face how could she do that with you not here? She assumed you both left, maybe flashing a whole crowd was enough for one night. Dorcas watched in disappointment as a rowdy student flung a glass vase at the wall. She sighed as she left the commonroom to get a dustpan, already envisioning someone weilding a shard as a weapon. Dorcas swung the broom closet door open. She froze when she saw you and Marlene.

Marlene had your back pressed against the wall. Her lipstick was smeared across your mouth and neck. Dorcas glanced down. Marlene’s hand was shoved down your green underwear, the fabric bunching around Marelene’s wrist. Dorcas let out a deep sigh, ignoring you both staring at her. She reached around Marlene pulling out the broom and dustpan.

“You can join.” you whispered. Dorcas paused, slowly flickering her eyes to you. She thought about it more than she should’ve. A quiet moment passed before she quickly spoke up.

“Ew, no.”

“You sure? We can go to not a broom closet.” Marlene offered, her hand slowly slipping up to your belly button. Dorcas stared at you both.

“Are you guys serious?” She made a snarl but the more she thought of her jersey number on your right ass cheek and Marlene’s hands traveling on her body the more she started to lose her strength.

“Deadly.”

“No, I’m Marlene.” You smacked Marlene’s shoulder. Dorcas shivered at Marlene’s bad joke.

“You’re absolutely insane if you think I’d ever sleep with you dickheads, I do have a few standards.” Dorcas said, rolling her eyes. Marlene grinned at her. You stared at her with those stupid convincing puppy eyes.

“Would you join if we said pretty please with sugar on top?” Marlene asked. Dorcas reached out and bonked her on the head with the dustpan.

“Pretty please with sugar on top?” You flashed Dorcas your pretty smile that made her give you the answers to a test months ago. Dorcas stared up at the ceiling letting out the groanest groan of all time before meeting eyes with you both again.

“I’ll consider it.” Marlene quickly raised her hand for a high five, your skirt falling back down. You shook your head. Marlene switched hands, and you happily high-fived her.

”Hey Cassy, why did you-“ Barty paused as his head popped over the edge of the door. He looked between you three. You awkwardly waved. Dorcas patted his shoulder, handing him the broom and dustpan.

“We’ll talk. Soon.” Dorcas said, winking at you on her way out the door. She shut it behind herself, pushing Barty back towards the commonroom. Dorcas most definitely did not hear Marlene squeal as she left and she was most definitely not cut out for the hating business.

[riongeee]

I’m sorry you have sprung me back into my mild interest in Sebek. I’m sorry I have to dump my ideas here

Your recent post has reminded me of how I feel about Sebek and the Dia 3. I might be wrong, because tbh I’m not that good as social situations so if I’m wrong correct me.

So, we know that Dia3 are like a little family, so he’s always somewhat out of place. Like to me, he comes off to Lilia as a “Bauls Grandson/Silvers Friend” and Malleus as “Silvers friend/Guard.” He feels a bit different than how they treat each other.

It’s weird, as he’s, like acknowledged, but not really ever that close to the others like they are to each other.

For Lilia, it feels odd but natural, as it seems like he just really pranks him, but he does, in my opinion, acknowledge him as his own kind of dude, though their relationship isn’t really son father like Silver and Lilia, but he’s still treated (mildly-) like a friend. Like how your friends parents treat you, where they’ll take care of you but you’ll never be as close? It’s a bit weird, because someone (other Sebek Zigvolt blog) mentioned that Lilia might’ve only convinced/was convinced by the fact that Baul is his old friend and Sebek was friends with Silver, and not the fact that Sebek stood out on his own, which would suck for Sebek.

For Malleus, It’s even weirder, but the best I’ll say is it’s like a younger sibling trying to praise the older one that is his idol, even though I’m pretty sure Malleus mainly views Sebek as a guard and Silvers friend, but I can’t make a really big opinion since most interactions are just Sebek praising him. (From what I’ve seen) It just feels like Malleus is close yes, but not really, as he more or less views him as a “younger brothers friend” vibe to me.

Silver is the closest, and to me they’re like brother and younger brother. They’re close, but constantly fight, (it’s one sided lol, Sebek views him as a rival, while Silver is just like “chill.”) and it’s actually kinda sad, because it feels like Sebek tries to be better than him to prove himself, but always loses. (Expect in height. He wins that one.)

On that last point, I think (read somewhere) that he’s a late bloomer, so for some reason, I headcanonned that Sebek is so spiteful, because of Silver always coming before him. Because hear me out, Silver is a human, and Sebek is half, and they lived in a place that despised the both of them. The “shame” he must feel when the human gained his powers and abilities over him while they lived there (I’m pretty sure Silver gained his power when young) because at least Sebek is half fae, and somehow always got beaten by a human. Like imagine how much he got bullied for it over the fact that he’s probably bullied for being mixed. Poor boy.

Anyways thanks for letting me have my thoughts I’ll probably make them all in one blog post later but thanks.

P.S. His own Wiki insults him, I just want to give this guy a hug.

“A livewire who, in his zealous eagerness to be a retainer worthy of the great Malleus, often expends a great deal of energy to accomplish very little.”

Anyways thanks bye

Omg, your ideas? Beautiful. Your brain? Massive.

I swear people don't get how much I like Sebek as a character/just Sebek.

What you said sums up so much of what I think is the issue(not really but kinda) with Diasomnia dynamics.

I just want to add on a few more of my little brain worms to this. Sebek treats him being around Malleus like a job, which I think really inhibits how close he can get with Dia 3. They all see eachother as family and treat eachother accordingly, yet Sebek always mentions how he will be/is Malleus' guard.

I feel like it really sets a boundary that Diasomnia don't really try cross. Which is really interesting because there's something to be said about Sebeks insecurities on being half human and feeling less than as a result. So he subconsciously doesn't let the Dia 3 in.

As for the Dia 3 themselves, what you said pretty much sums up my thoughts too :')

Lillia is distant and only took him in due to Baul and treats him warmly but not 'family warm'.

Malleus is nice enough but as you said distanced due to their positions. Which is probably sad for Sebek to watch Silver despite also being a future guard being treated more warmly. I see Malleus as more of an 'older cousin who hangs out with the older kids instead of you' vibe idk.

Silver is nice. However, he doesn't understand what Sebek is feeling so he can't help really. The comparisons between him and Sebek must also drive a really big wedge in the potential for a closer relationship.

Overall, it leads back to the main issue in which Sebek is treated like an outsider by people who are dear to him. Exacerbated by already feeling like an outsider due to being only half fae.

Lastly, my personal closing thoughts, I really dislike when people boil down Sebeks character to 'loud, shouty dude' and say that's why he's not close to Diasomnia. (Also, the wiki insulting Sebek is actually devastating, Sebek support groups need to rectify this for the poor guy).

[onyourowndaisymae]

hiii could i request a fic/headcannon thingy with the OM brothers and the dateables trying to impress the mc's older sibling? tysm have a great day :))))))

obey me characters meeting and trying to impress your older sibling

hi anon! i hope this request is what you were looking for! i tried to keep it in character for who would actually try to impress your sibling vs. who would just roll with the punches and see what happens. i hope you enjoy!

prompt: you're hanging out alone one night with your partner. a knot twists in your gut. you know he can tell something is wrong, but it seems he's waiting for you to say something first. eventually, you crack, sitting him down in preparation for what you've got to say. he watches you nervously twist your fingers together for a moment before finally speaking your mind.

"do you think you could... meet my older sibling?"

you fill him in on all the details, explaining how your sibling has grown more and more insistent the longer you've been together. he laughs and asks why you were so nervous. well, you see, your sibling isn't exactly the most friendly with anyone you've dated in the past, and you're a little nervous they might, y'know... hate your boyfriend?

Lucifer

interesting.

well, it's not like he's going to worry about it. lucifer has been alive for millennia, met more people than he can count. he is absolutely certain that your sibling will like him. he'll be on his best behavior, bring a gift for good measure, show them just how committed you are to each other. it'll be easy.

at least, that's what he tells himself to stop the incoming stress migraine.

this proud demon needs your older sibling to like him. it's not like they have any say in the relationship, sure, but what if their opinion sways yours? what if your sibling disapproves of him, and you yourself slowly start to grow tired the flaws your sibling finds in him?

he swings from cocky to stress-addled every day until he finally meets your sibling. behind his stoic face, his nerves are starting to get the better of them-- mammon catches him before you both depart and gives him a quiet pep talk to soothe his anxieties. somehow, it works.

but lucifer didn't need any help either way. at the end of the day, the morningstar is a perfect gentleman. he's amazing with your sibling-- attentive, polite, even a bit funny when the mood strikes-- and by the end of the night, your sibling praises your choice in partner. there's a massive weight gone from both of your shoulders as you return to the devildom hand-in-hand.

... not that he was nervous or anything in the first place.

Mammon

he's the great mammon! of course they'll like him! no, his hands aren't shaking, he's just... cold! yeah! it's freezing over here! look over there-- he's totally not distracting you from that terrified look on his face, because the great mammon is not scared of anything!

lies. he's terrified.

he knows that he's a scumbag. as much as he denies it when his brothers toss around insults, he knows there's a long list of flaws written for him and him alone. you, in your infinite kindness and love, might have grown to overlook them. but your sibling? nah, he couldn't sell himself twice. your sibling is going to see right through him.

but the great mammon is not going to give up without trying, hell no! cue an absurd training montage as mammon tries to prepare himself for this meeting. he won't let you see what he's doing-- shoo! shoo! you'll throw him off! you're gonna be so impressed, babe, you'll swoon when you see how cool he is!

the loud music and louder crashing noises coming from behind his locked door do not make you feel any better.

mammon's saving grace is this strange charisma he has. it's what got you interested in him from the beginning, despite his bad attitude and mixed signals. it's honestly what's kept him alive thus far-- if he wasn't charming in his odd, mammon-ish sort of way, there's no way lucifer wouldn't have chopped him up and sold his bones to make furniture by now.

he spends the night trying to impress your sibling in grand, over-the-top ways. this, in and of itself, is charming. it's like watching an enthusiastic puppy wipe out on the hardwood and get up to try again over and over, never once losing the childish optimism behind its big, dumb eyes. at least, that's how your sibling described it.

they ultimately develop a pitying fondness of mammon. he's trying so hard that you can't help but find it endearing, y'know?

Leviathan

this man is scared. shitless.

levi tries to get out of it, then gets mad at himself for being a bad partner, then spirals and thinks they won't like him anyways, then worries that you're going to break up with him because his sibling will hate you and think you're too good for him-- he agrees, but still, he can't bear to see you go--

you're going to have to talk him off the ledge of an impending panic attack at this point. remind him that regardless of what your sibling thinks, you love him. it calms him just enough to get through the rest of the conversation.

honestly, it would be wise of you to wait until closer to the meeting to invite levi, because every single day since your conversation is a unique form of emotional hell for him. he's grieving a relationship that hasn't even ended yet-- he's just certain he's going to screw things up with your sibling.

lucifer has to step in at some point and have a talk with him to make sure he doesn't, y'know... explode into a million pieces in the hallway at RAD or something. he gives him some advice on how to make a good first impression and sends him on his way. that poor guy is so anxious that it's starting to wear off on other members of the house.

when the day finally comes, levi makes absolutely certain that he is as presentable as possible. freshly showered, surprisingly well-dressed (well, by levi standards), and ready to get this over with.

he's... stiff at first, no doubt. he's honestly starting to give your sibling the wrong impression...

somehow, some way, an interest of levi's comes up. maybe it's an anime he likes, or some obscure sea creature he knows a lot about, or something else entirely. but a switch flips in him. leviathan lights up the room as he passionately rambles about whatever interest of his is the current topic.

your sibling, with their initial negative impression of him, ultimately approves after he stops being so damn awkward. it's not like they bite, y'know?

Satan

satan takes your worries in stride and assures you that everything will work out in the end. he feels an unfamiliar hum of what must be anxiety in his chest, but he puts it aside to keep the conversation going.

he addresses a lot of his anxieties with logic. he is smart, well-spoken, attractive... there shouldn't be much about him that puts your family off. yet why does he still feel on edge?

poor thing has yet to learn that many emotions, like love and anxiety, are at times completely and utterly irrational.

he goes to his safe space-- books-- for help. he revisits his favorite "meeting the family" moments in his library and uses those for inspiration. these scenes in the books are never awkward. the protagonist is always suave and perfect, walking through every social situation with practiced grace. that's the energy he aims to channel into meeting your sibling for the first time.

he does his best primping to make sure he feel confident enough to make it through the night. there's a good chance he'll have to shoo asmodeus away, who just adores watching his older brother get all dressed up for a date! satan's just a little embarrassed by the amount of effort he puts in. he's trying to seem effortlessly charming, y'know? anyone knowing just how much work he put in really ruins the effect.

he relaxes a bit when you're by his side. it's a good reminder what this evening is really all about-- you, being proud enough of him as your partner to introduce you to your family. regardless of how things go, you're the most important part of this whole thing.

what can i say, he's charming! satan's very well-spoken and down to earth. your sibling likes him a lot, commenting that you and (the fake name you gave satan, since, y'know, his name is satan) your partner seem like a wonderful pair. he has to agree himself, too.

there's a chance that you might hear them doting over you if you exit the room-- nothing brings people together quite like the things they love.

Asmodeus

asmodeus laughs in the face of this challenge. ha! ha ha! silly you, don't you remember how charming he is? no need to worry, mc. he'll win them over in no time.

asmo needs everyone to like him so much, all the time. this is especially true for your older sibling. clearly they mean a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't be so nervous about this upcoming dinner. he can't imagine a world where he doesn't win your sibling's heart by the end of the night.

he's genuinely not worried about it in the slightest... until someone makes an unassuming little jab at him. he's telling everyone about the dinner he's so looking forward to, boasting about how he'll have your sibling wrapped around his finger by the end of the night for sure.

maybe it's mammon tossing in a snarky "let's hope they don't find you obnoxious", or satan mumbling a "oh yes, because charming a family member to make them like you is totally boyfriend material", or even levi mumbling something about how people don't usually find narcissism very likeable. regardless of who makes the comment or what it actually is, it cuts deep.

now. we know asmo. under that thick, thick layer of narcissism is someone who is deeply vulnerable, scared, and terrified of rejection. doubt starts to creep in. is asmodeus himself all charm, no substance? do people not actually like him? are all of his accomplishments a product of manipulation?

he decides one night, in a quiet, tear-stained panic, that he will not charm your sibling. he will show them the most genuine version of himself he can muster and hope that it's enough for them-- that it's enough for you.

even without his powers, asmodeus passes your sibling's test with flying colors. he genuinely just likes being around people, and they like him too-- even when he's not using his powers, he still has this magnetic charm that makes you fond of him. this is especially true when he's not putting up airs or going the extra mile to make everyone swoon over him like usual.

there's a massive weight lifted off his shoulders as your sibling bids you both farewell and asks to do this sort of thing again sometime soon. that's approval, baby!

when the evening is over, you best believe he is absolutely going home to rub his success in his brothers' faces. serves them right for making him worry!

Beelzebub

immediately very nervous about the food situation. in the devildom, he can eat whatever he wants. but on earth?? he can't!! what if he gets you kicked out of somewhere, or his stomach starts growling, or, or--

you have to reassure him that you've got a backup plan in case of emergency, and that you'll make sure he doesn't starve. after all, you don't have the funds to clean up a mess like that on earth. only with your reassurance can he focus on what the meeting actually entails.

family is everything to beelzebub. he's honestly really happy that you love him enough to introduce him to yours. so rest assured that he will do everything in his power to ensure he makes a good first impression.

he spends a lot of time at the gym to work off his nervous energy. this teddy bear just really loves you so much and wants the night to go just how you want it that sometimes it makes his hands shake a little.

there's a good chance that he goes to belphegor to ask for advice. belphegor is famously unhelpful with these kinds of things, but he does pass along a good nugget of wisdom from underneath a thick blanket-- "they love you already, right? just show their sibling why. be yourself or whatever that corny ass saying says."

the execution could use some work, but at the end of the day the sentiment still stands. be yourself, beel, because you're a sweetheart!

and a sweetheart he is the entire meeting. bonus points if your older sibling has a dog or children-- he's fantastic with those. kids love to climb all over him like a jungle gym. a little foot to the stomach or side doesn't phase him one bit.

he's also just very kind and thankful to your sibling for making the time to meet him, as well as thanks them for taking care of you growing up. he's just really happy things turned out this way. of all the millions of different timelines that could have happened, he's glad he's in this one, with you, watching the sun set and enjoying an evening with those you love the most.

Belphegor

belphegor, in all honesty, doesn't really care what your sibling thinks. what're they going to do, march down to the devildom and split you up? demand you break up like a controlling parent? he doesn't have the energy to worry about such inane bullshit.

like a lot of things with belphie, he finds himself caring explicitly because you care.

you want your sibling to like him? fine. he can't promise prince charming or anything, but he'll give it a try for you.

he doesn't really do a whole lot of mental prep. he's lucky in that way-- less strung out and anxious about things he can't control than some of his other brothers. he does, however, physically prepare more than any of the others.

by that, i mean he practically hibernates a few days before meeting your sibling. he knows one of his biggest flaws is how often he sleeps, so he's hoping he can get enough sleep to fend it off for one day.

one major advantage belphegor has is his sense of humor. this man is funny. his jokes are dry and snarky, easy to miss at times; if your sibling has a sarcastic sense of humor, they think he's hilarious. if, for some reason, his jokes don't land, he'll tone them down for the night. you'll get to hear all of them on the way home, though.

the evening ends as belphie's energy truly runs out. he leans into your shoulder and fights hard against his dropping eyelids. if your sibling asks, he mumbles something about being anemic and tries to force himself to wake up. this is your cue to wrap the night up.

your sibling walks away with the impression that belphegor is a bit of a shithead (correct). whether or not they say this with affection is another thing entirely. regardless, though, he's a shithead that loves you and makes you happy, so really, what more can they ask for?

Diavolo

there are two concurrent thoughts happening when you share this information with him.

one part of him is already sure that your sibling will approve of him without a doubt. he's royalty, after all-- he's got amazing manners, he's well-spoken, and very respectful of anyone he meets. these are some of the most essential qualities to making a future king.

the other part of him is very invested in your sibling liking him for one main reason: diavolo absolutely intends to be your family one day and he wants to establish a good relationship with his in-laws from the jump.

he doesn't spend nearly as much time preparing for anything as he does dreaming about how the meeting will go between stacks of the most boring paperwork in all of the three realms. this man craves domesticity because it was so limited as he grew up in the castle. he wants dinner with in-laws, visiting your aging grandparents, waking up early to attend your niece or nephew's soccer games. he's selfish in that way and he knows it. he wants everything with you.

unfortunately for him, diavolo cannot change certain things about himself to blend in better in the human world. most notably, he's massive. it's certainly a bit off-putting to even the most open minded people when you walk in hand-in-hand with goliath. hopefully your sibling doesn't comment on it.

but diavolo's booming laugh and high-beam grin are sure to enchant the most stubborn of older siblings. there's a certain electricity in watching him let his hair down, abandoning the weight of the "future king" title and spending the evening not as a ruler but your partner. he's effortlessly fun and charming. you find yourself enchanted with him again by the end of the night. he's really incredible, huh?

diavolo is already asking to do this again soon as you guys say your goodbyes. with those hopeful eyes staring at them in anticipation, how could your sibling ever refuse such an attractive offer?

Barbatos

... is there any universe in which your sibling wouldn't like barbatos? look at him. he's perfect.

the only issue i could see arising here is if your sibling is very animated and finds your partner quite stiff and humorless. a shame, because barbatos has a sharp wit and sharper tongue-- but i digress.

barbatos is not anxious about this meeting. this is mostly because of who he is as a person. anxieties roll off of him like water off a duck's back. he's comforting in that way. it helps that his hands are always busy.

he spends the night before making the best cake you've ever tasted, along with a few other offerings, to the meeting. he's not worried about making a bad impression, of course, but he's not opposed to greasing the wheels a little either.

he looks wonderful when you go to leave. there's an air of sophistication around him at all times, and yet when he's of-duty, you notice something else about him: a sense of ease as he takes your hand. a small, almost humored smile pulls at his lips. in that moment, you know there's nothing to worry about.

and of course, you're right. barbatos is a true gentleman. he strikes a perfect balance between offering his help and letting your sibling flex their hosting skills. truly a perfect houseguest.

the only dubious moment comes when your sibling, after barbatos once again wows with his effortless perfection, calls him an angel. the demon's lips quirk into a small smile at the irony, just for a moment, before thanking your sibling and continuing the conversation. your sibling seems to notice the strange reaction but thankfully does not press further. he does bring it up on the way home, though-- that smile returns, this time intentional and humored as the corners of his mouth turn upwards. angel. how interesting.

diavolo bypasses the butler immediately and asks you how the meeting went, knowing barbatos won't provide him with the juicy details he wants. you hate to disappoint his highness, but the evening went swimmingly.

Simeon

simeon is an angel of the lord. hand-crafted by god, built as an ideal specimen, he does not fret over the opinions of many.

then why, pray tell, does he care so much about your older sibling liking him?

there is a supernatural charm about him. even the most irritable of people soon find themselves fond of the angel. in that regard, he's grateful. but he doesn't want to rely on his blessing. he wants your sibling to like him for who he actually is. their approval quickly becomes a symbol of prosperity for your relationship-- if your sibling somehow took issue with him, then that must be a sign from Father that your love wasn't made to be. he trusted in the heavenly plan, after all.

that trust did come with a lot of nausea, though. this angel did not like the idea that someone could think you shouldn't be together.

his mood in the coming days is a little off. he's less quick-witted, a bit more distracted, just generally sort of out of it all. it starts scaring luke and solomon. the vibes in purgatory hall are completely off when simeon's not in a good mood like usual.

he spends the night before baking with luke to make some treats to bring to the meeting. he's hoping that your sibling has a sweet tooth-- if not, he's screwed.

simeon, of course, has nothing to worry about. he's just so damn likeable! he's sweet and polite to everyone, no matter how abrasive your sibling may be. watching him interact with them makes you fall in love with him all over again.

your sibling likes him. of course they do. he's wonderful to them and to you all day. if they particularly like him, they might even mention that he's a keeper-- bonus points if it's in front of him. that'd make his whole month.

Solomon

solomon doesn't really care much about the whole "meeting the family" dance other couples have to worry about. he's been around your much longer than any other human could hope to live. that sort of existence doesn't foster a family or long-term friendships. he doesn't really have anyone that matters enough to him to gain their approval of your relationship, so, in a sense, he doesn't think about how important meeting your older sibling is to you.

when you explain it, he sort of passively agrees to the meeting. he'll try his best, stay on his best behavior, yadda yadda, but there's no part of him that would be heartbroken if something came up and you had to cancel. he just doesn't have those strong familial attachments that you do.

he doesn't seem very invested in the whole thing-- that is, until you say you're worried your older sibling might not like him, seeing as how they haven't been fond of anyone else you've dated.

oh. oh. so that's a challenge, is it?

solomon will not be losing, in that case. you best believe from this moment onward that he's putting in maximum effort to get your sibling to be his #1 fan. his social skills are a bit rusty at times-- that's why many call him "devious" and "off-putting" and "a menace to the three realms", whatever that's all about-- but he'll brush them off and prepare to charm the shit out of your older sibling.

when the meeting finally comes, he's all smiles. if they knew him better, the kindness would make him seem like a wolf in sheep's clothing, all razor sharp teeth as he lulls you into a false sense of security. it's not that he's trying to be manipulative or anything. solomon just has this way about him that makes everything he does seem at least a little shady. but you can tell that he is actually trying to be friendly and kind, even if it is just for the sense of satisfaction that comes from winning.

he'll tease you on the way home about how you doubted him from the beginning. your sibling likes him, so what were you so worried about, silly? solomon would never let something like that slide.

that night, you catch his expression shift when he thinks you're not looking-- just for a moment, there's a sense of real, genuine relief on his face from knowing that he made a good impression.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

If I have to deal with brain rot about this absolutely awful man, so do y'all! Really looking forward to playing Dead Money so I can torture you with more.

Dean Domino (Fallout: New Vegas, Dead Money DLC) NSFW Headcanons

Is the King of Swing good in bed? Complicated question; he's too selfish to say that he is with any confidence. It depends on the day, frankly. He was a massive slut back in his prime, and he's perfectly well acquainted with how to show you a good time when the two of you are in bed together. Whether or not he cares enough in that moment to bother to make you cum is an entirely different matter. There are days he wants to show off, wants to hear you tell him how good he is, but there are also plenty of days where he'll happily use your body to jerk himself off and won't think for a second about your pleasure beyond what it'll do for him. On days like that, he wants you wet/stretched enough to take him, but that's all he cares about.

I've discussed this with folks a bit in replies on other posts, but I think it's very worth elaborating on: he would be so fun to dominate. He'd be the world's most petulant, bratty sub, and so confident that you wouldn't be able to break him, that he'll stay cool and in control of the situation, no problem. However, he's sorely mistaken. Dean Domino is a brat who was made to be broken. Tie his ass up and beat him a bit. Edge him until he literally cries. He insists he won't beg; prove him wrong. It's the sweetest sight you've ever taken in. I've never met a single character who needs to have his cock slapped like a million times more than him. And honestly, I think if you gave him the full routine and then treated him completely neutrally over the proceeding few days, as if nothing had even happened, he'd beg then, too, desperate to experience what you made him feel again...though not without a lot of petulant bitching first. How dare you act like you can drag him around by his prick, just because you absolutely can if you do it right...?!

Any ongoing relationship with Dean is going to be a constant power struggle. As insecure as he obviously is, he's forever rearing to "put you in your place" in a litany of ways; talking down to you, insulting you flippantly, all the nonsense you see from him when you interact with him in-game. If you don't push back at him (or show him where his place is, per the previous point), he will absolutely walk all over you, including sexually. Maybe that's what you're into. He doesn't really care all that much as long as he's getting whatever he wants out of you.

Biter. Always has been. Used to get a kick outta fucking actors and actresses and just covering them in bite marks and bruises that would be incredibly difficult to cover with makeup, because he likes attention and he's possessive, even of toys he doesn't particularly want to play with anymore.

Almost never takes off those goddamn sunglasses (because, in my mind, he thinks they make him harder to read...plus, he has super light-colored eyes, and once he's traveling the desert, he's constantly blinded by the sun), but one of the rare times you can guarantee he'll remove them is when you're giving him head. He wants to be able to see every detail of you worshiping him with your lips and tongue.

Obviously he's big into degradation, which is clear in the way he speaks to you, about you and others. He can, however, be persuaded to be rather sweet (though still entirely self-aggrandizing) when he's in a good mood. He'll tell you how gorgeous you look...on his cock. What a pretty voice you have...why don't you sing for him some more so he can hear how good he makes you feel? Every compliment also has to basically be a positive comment to himself, as well.

Leg and ass man. He makes some comments about Vera that hint at this, but he's not usually quite so tactful about it. Will openly grope you in public, both to embarrass you a bit and because he doesn't care enough to hold back when he feels like touching you.

Really enjoys a giving you a good cum facial. He finds it just the right mix of disgusting, dominating, and possessive. If he can find a way to force you to keep his cum on your face, he will. Even better if someone else sees you that way.

[physalian]

10 Plot Premises That Never Get Old

There’s a great many lists out there complaining about the worst and most overused tropes in fiction. I want to pass the mic to tropes that will never get old. The love-to-hate ones, the knife-twisting ones, the shipping fodder.

1. Killing the character who knew too much

Or, the “Maes Hughes” effect. Your story centers around a massive mystery or conspiracy and one lone character is unfortunately not genre-savvy enough to remember that the phrase “the early bird gets the worm” ends in “but the second mouse gets the cheese”.

This is the character who has unraveled the partial, if not entire truth, coming to a shocking realization moments before their untimely murder. Usually, they’re alone. Usually, this death rocks the remaining characters, sometimes for the entirety of the remaining plot (see FullMetal Alchemist). Usually, they become genre-savvy at exactly the moment they realize there’s no way out of this. Conveniently, they’re never on the phone with the right person, or there’s never any cell service. They didn’t write their findings down or didn’t hit record.

This whole entire tragedy is only a tragedy because this character made the wrong choice that is also the only choice this character would have made.

2. The enemy of my enemy

As OSP once said, anyone can be a minion, even the presumed Big Bad. Whether it’s a serialized cartoon with well established sides of good and bad or a single movie, having two entities that loathe each other reluctantly and bitterly join forces to deal with an even Bigger Bad… that’s the good stuff.

Either the villain has been minion-ed, or the good guys and the bad guys’ enduring battle of morals is interrupted by a wild card third party that insults them both or threatens the world both sides are trying to save in their own ways.

This is *not* a redemption arc. This is the temporary alliance that usually terminates once the threat is dealt with (see: Transformers Prime, or ‘Marabounta’ from Code Lyoko). Extra points if they’re age-old rivals who fight better together than the hero does with the rest of their team. Extra extra points if they both realize this and firmly deny that it happens (and even more if the villain tries to exploit the hero with this fact later on).

3. The redemption arc

***Emphasis on the word ‘arc’*** The ones that span 56 out of 61 episodes (see: you know the show). The ones that cost the redeemer their ideals, the friends they thought they had on the wrong side, maybe a limb or two. The ones that start with a villain so convinced they’re right, only to slowly question everything they’ve come to know and, without shedding their entire personality, do the right thing and still survive the process.

This is not redemption equals death. This is not a half-assed heel turn at the very last second—that’s a button mash impulsive act for shock value. This is taking a character almost all of the heroes have given up on trying to save, someone they themselves have nearly written off, and deciding to try anyway. This is a character deciding to do the right thing even if it doesn’t ever redeem them at all. This is a character whose whole life ahead of them is spent doing better than what was done before, and we love them for it.

4. The haunted ashes of a fallen empire

This one is a bit more tricky to define but think Prometheus of the Alien franchise, or Xerxes from FMAB. These are characters in the present exploring the ruins of a civilization that never should have fallen, but did due to the Big Bad they either created or tried to imprison. This is those characters looking around at what used to be, and making history repeat itself whether they’re genre-savvy or not.

These are the glaring red sign posts telling the heroes to turn around every step further in *or else* and they do it anyway. Or, these are the heroes who know exactly what happened and in their own hubris, are convinced it won’t happen this time to them.

5. The Most Dangerous Game

The originator: An island owned by a big game hunter who has evolved into hunting humans. The trope: Powerful and/or incredibly skilled character in any other situation is trapped in the confines of a dwindling clock matched up against the very antithesis of who they are and what they represent, but who is also just like them.

I just love seeing characters who are normally incredibly competent and rarely fazed, tripped up by the horror of being hunted by someone just like them who lost their humanity. So many juicy existential questions arise, so much angst. Double points if the character has a firm no-kill policy or extremely picky morals and has to wager tossing them aside to survive.

6. Stranger in a strange land

Whether it’s a character in a foreign country trying to learn and respect the ways of the people who saved them (see: Last Samurai, or Avatar '09), or an alien who crash-landed on Earth and struggles to assimilate and not get caught by the government (see any PG 13 alien adventure movie), a time traveler to the past or the future (Outlander, Back to the Future), either drama or hilarity ensues, often with a heaping helping of socio-political commentary.

It gets kind of troublesome when the writer is a white guy taking all the wrong messages from throwing his white guy protagonist into a land of the ‘savages’ (see uhhhh all variations of Pocahontas). But then you have strange lands like Wonderland, or Narnia.

7. Magical Otherworlds

Speaking of Narnia and Wonderland—magical hidden otherworlds. They can be incredibly blandly executed sometimes, but some of our most cherished stories come from living vicariously through Harry Potter or the Pevensie siblings. In this case I’m specifically talking about complete otherworlds, not hidden-in-plain-sight otherworlds (see: Percy Jackson) because of the complete freedom and creativity you have in geography, history, and world mechanics.

The possibilities are endless! Double points if the otherworld is a metaphor for childhood adventure and living without adult responsibilities (see: Peter Pan), a world in which we know, no matter how cool the world is, the protagonist was never meant to stay there. They must always inevitably, inexorably, return home and take what they’ve learned there to live a better and profound life.

8. “I know you’re in there somewhere”

Is it done to death? Yes. Is every situation different because it’s completely dependent on the relationship between the characters involved? Also yes. Tends to overlap with a redemption arc, but more often a hero-turned-temporary-villain. The drama! The angst! The shipping fodder! (see: many, many anime, too many to count)

This trope also has some uncertainty to it. You never know if the confrontation will be a success, if the character in question will commit some heinous act to wrack them with guilt later, if they even want to be saved, or if they really were saved and not just faking it. Either we get a POV of the stricken character’s battle in the mind or are left watching on the edge of our seat as unknowing as those trying to save them, and sometimes, rarely, they’re just not salvageable.

9. On the Run

The base has been discovered, the ship has been overrun, the house has burned down, the government is on the hunt. The hero team is forced apart with only the clothes on their back and what they can carry with only one or two others and loses all contact with most of their team, scattered to the wind. They leave a trail of sketchy motel rooms and diner take-away boxes, or they sleep in their car, or are forced to hide out in old bases that the villain definitely knows about but wouldn’t bother checking, built in a bygone era with a friend that’s no more.

Everything they ever knew has been called into question. The character they find themselves stuck with wasn’t their closest buddy on the hero team, but both forge a newfound respect for each other in this new unknown. Poignant conversations are had as one keeps watch in the dark so the other can sleep, and yet doesn’t, as they mourn the passing of the life both knew and vow to take it all back in their darkest hour.

10. The Thing

As in, a mysterious entity or illness has invaded the story and knowing which characters are infected and compromised is impossible. This entity either bodysnatches other characters and can be expunged, zombifies them, or kills and replicates them (see many zombie shows, iterations of The Thing, or “Croatoan” from Supernatural). This entity is a sickness slowly spreading throughout the town or the base or the ship and the heroes (or villains) realize far too late that something is very, very wrong.

This entity brings characters to their breaking point, paranoia making them do very bad things in the name of survival, killing off characters the audience knows is clean, but their murderer doesn’t, for extra knife-twisty fun. This entity brings a morally devout character near to ruin as they almost cross a line trying to do what’s right. This is an entity where, even when it’s defeated, is never really gone for certain… is it?

[plexiglyph]

Hell or Not?

Something that I find noteworthy about Helluva Boss discourse (less so Hazbin, but sometimes there too) is that far too many people have gotten the wrong idea about my preferences when I do criticism of these shows. Unlike what some may think, I don't actually have a problem with Stolas cheating on his wife and being an absent father, or Blitzo being death for hire who regularly screws people's lives up.

My complaints lay in that the show goes out of its way to morally absolve these characters for having these features. Many of these qualities end up getting brushed away or set up as complicated matters with justifications aplenty, both not inherent to their nature as a person and not something they can be fully accountable for, and it would be mean to do so as it would be insulting their personal situation more than it be anything they do of their volition.

None of these characters own their negative attributes and the way way they interact with these parts of themselves whatsoever. Stolas doesn't accept being an absent father. Despite being a grown adult, he doesn't 'own' this quality about himself or take responsibility. There's always a 'reason' for every single negative attribute and soforth, nobody ever just acts a way because they've discovered it's part of their nature and they enjoy it, despite every single one of them being in hell for a reason, either as a natural denizen or having earned a spot there.

This results in every character being slowly turning into a caricature of how they were originally presented to us back in Season 1. Blitz is just an angsty misunderstood guy (discount the massive death count) and Stolas is just a very misunderstood gay guy in a society that won't let him kiss dudes (discount how unbelievably powerful and privileged he is, easily able to keep his side piece hidden if he so much as cared to even a little bit, especially since Stella doesn't even have magic by which she could catch him cheating. He has infinite power by which to cheat and basically do anything and everything he could ever want but he doesn't use it, because it makes him more tragic). The only ones that don't have this treatment are the villains (unless they're going to be turned into allies of the protagonists or protagonists themselves).

Even though everybody's in hell, far too many good guys are way too good and can have their actions absolved of themselves by looking at their situation, and the only morally grey situations are power imbalances in relationships and angsty flings (Bee & Vortex, etc). Villains like Mammon get hit with the 'actually for REAL evil' beam and are the only ones that seem capable of actually acting like they're a powerful being IN HELL, unbounded by conventional morality, because the narrative has deemed him a villain and so he operates under an entirely different ethical system in the writing of the show.

I mentioned Alistor at the beginning because (and I have seen no spoilers so this is purely my prediction), I believe he will get this treatment as well as time goes on. There will be situations, prior engagements, and so-on that will explain his actions later and greatly reduce his moral ambiguity, or it will be portrayed as necessary for his situation/mission to cushion him from his actions. This has just been a pattern I'm noticing for every character so far.

[vodika-vibes]

The Sentinel

Summary: After surviving the Purge, you fled to Takodana to rest and recover. And after Maz kicked you out of your depression (literally) you ending up working for a Trandoshan named Cid for Maz. And through her you met what used to be Clone Force 99.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x Jedi!Reader

Word Count: 2807

Warnings: Mentions of Suicidal ideation (Reader was a sentinel who was at the temple when the Purge happened and she blames herself for what happened)

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So I had an idea, and I wanted/needed to put it down. I'm not sure if I have Hunter's personality down, but I hope I didn't butcher him too badly. So if anyone has any comments as to that, it would be greatly appreciated.

Hunter is staring at you.

Again.

You know it. You can feel the way his gaze is drilling into the back of your head.

Honestly, the fact that he’s walking behind you, rather than in front of you, is something of a miracle in and of itself. Maybe that’s why he’s glaring at the back of your head.

Whatever, you’re not a jedi, it’s not like you’re able to read his mind to know what’s bothering him.

(You are. You were. When you think too hard you can remember the scent of blood filling the halls of the temple, and the burning, searing, unending pain that is Anakin Kriffing Skywalker cutting your arm off-)

“Hunter, will you stop glaring at me and just get up here, please?” You ask, cutting off the blood stained memories with an ease that would have worried you, if you thought about it for too long.

“You seemed more than happy to lead,” Hunter replies, his voice low and annoyed, as he steps next to you.

“I was happy to lead because I didn’t want to hear you bitching at me.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.

“Bitch-” He sputters and glares at you fully, “I wasn’t bitching at you. I was reminding you that you needed to pack an extra battery pack for your blaster-”

“Yes, because I’m an actual child and would have forgotten something so important.” You interrupt.

“You know, I’m starting to understand why you and Cid get along so well.” Hunter says through gritted teeth.

“It’s because we have such magnetic personalities.” You snip.

“It’s because you’re both massive-” He cuts himself off before he can finish the insult, “We shouldn’t be far from the rendezvous point,” Hunter says instead, “It’s probably best that the contact thinks that you’re in charge.”

“Thinks?”

He leans into your personal space, and if you hadn’t been a sentinel once upon a time, you might have been intimidated. “Thinks.” He repeats, and then he leans back, and motions for you to take the lead, “After you.”

You grind your teeth, and spin to continue down the man made path. Sometimes you wonder how Hunter would react to hearing that you were a Jedi. That you had survived the purge.

And then you remember that the men you’re traveling with are Clones, and you get a chill. You don’t trust them to not shoot you on sight if they knew. Even Cid isn’t aware of your former affiliations, since you don’t trust her to not sell you out to the first bounty hunter who threatens her.

“Relax. This is no different than any other mission,” Hunter says, his voice closer than you thought. And your skin prickles as anxiety blooms in your chest.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and arch a brow, sending a prayer to whatever entity listens to the prayers of a former jedi that he thinks your anxiety is about the mission and nothing more. 

“You’re tense, and anxious.” Hunter says, “Relax, or the contact will think something is wrong.”

Oh, he’s so much more annoying than Master Drallig ever was. And you used to wish death on your former master when he was at his most annoying.

You regret that now. You’d sell your left arm (not flesh one, not the metal one) to hear his annoyed drawl one more time.

You purse your lips, “Thank you, mother.” You say instead, “Any other pearls of wisdom?”

He smiles, it’s a nice smile, “Sometimes I want to throw you off a cliff.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes I want to throw myself off a cliff, so you’re not special.” You counter, perhaps a bit too honestly based on how his expression falters.

“You-”

“We’re going to be late,” You interrupt, as you start walking faster, “Keep up, Hunter.”

He falls into step slightly behind you, and you can feel his stare on the back of your head again. At least he’s not glaring anymore, you suppose.

“I don’t actually want to throw you off a cliff,” Hunter says suddenly, as the pair of you slow to approach the clearing where you’re supposed to meet your contact, “Maybe push you into a lake, but I don’t actually want to hurt you.”

“Not to worry, I’m sure I can get you to change your mind on that.” You pause just outside the clearing and change the subject, “You have the information for the trade, right?”

Hunter stares at you for a moment, but he accepts the topic change gracefully, “Of course I do.” He tilts his head, “I don’t hear anyone in the clearing though.”

“We are a little early,” You reply thoughtfully as you glance at the chrono embedded in your prosthetic. “By about half an hour.”

“We are,” Hunter agrees, his gaze flickers around the clearing, and then he focuses on you, “Which means we just have to wait.”

You hum to acknowledge his words. Something feels…wrong.

After the Purge, you tried to cut yourself off from the force. It just hurt too much, all the pain, all the darkness, all the death…but even as you did it, you knew that it was a fool’s hope.

The Force can’t be cut off anymore that you could cut off your eyes.

And ignoring a warning from the force is just cutting off your nose to spite your face.

You don’t sense any immediate danger, just a massive feeling of be cautious that you would be foolish to ignore. So, slowly you head into clearing, your gaze scanning from one side to the other.

There’s nothing.

Even Hunter, who’s the most cautious of the clones you’ve ever worked with, doesn’t seem to be terribly concerned. So, you push your concerns aside as paranoia.

45 minutes later, your contact finally arrives.

He’s a rather squirrely looking Rodian. He speaks quickly, and his hands flutter anxiously, as though he’s afraid that if he stays still for too long something terrible will happen. 

The deal happens smoothly, with you taking the lead on gathering the information that Cid needed, and trading your information. And your contact flees from the clearing as quickly as he arrived.

“He was certainly nervous,” Hunter says slowly, his nose scrunched as though he smelled something disgusting. 

“Well, information broking isn’t exactly legal in this day and age,” You offer as an explanation, “I mean, it wasn’t legal in the time of the Republic either-”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s gone. He smelled awful.” Hunter grumbles as he rubs his nose, “Ugh, so bad. I don’t suppose you have any of your perfume on you, at least that smells good.”

You shoot him an odd look, “I don’t wear perfume. I don’t wear scented anything since I’m working with you.”

He pauses, and it must be a trick of the light, because you swear his face darkens slightly, “That’s…kind of you.”

“Not wanting to send you into sensory overload isn’t kind, Hunter. It’s literally the least I can do.” You fold your arms over your chest, the feeling of danger was still there.

“Well, I appreciate it all the same.” Hunter says, “You don’t seem like the type who would care.”

“Rude-” You stop mid-sentence as the force screams a warning, and you move, lunging forward and tackling Hunter out of harm's way, just as a gunship riddles the clearing with gunfire.

The pair of you tumble behind a large rock, and duck down for cover as the gunfire continues.

“Kriff,” Hunter ducks his head, “Who the hell is shooting at us?” He glances at you, and his expression sours when he sees you pulling a pastel pink compact out of one of your many pockets, “Seriously?”

“Shut up, it has a mirror.” You flick it open and lift it slightly, angling the mirror so you’re able to see the reflection, “And no one thinks twice about women carrying make-up.” You adjust the way your holding the compact slightly, “Karking hell,” You swear, “It’s Imperial.”

“What?” Hunter snatched the mirror from your hand, ignoring your indignant noise, and he lifts it to look for himself. “...kriff.”

“I told you,” You grouse, as you take the compact back and shove it back into your pocket.

“Now is not the time.” Hunter replies irritably, he looks around, “We can’t outrun them. Not with them in a gunship.”

You lean your head back against the boulder, “We can jump.”

“What?”

You point to the side, “You said you wanted to throw me off a cliff, right?” 

“I didn’t mean it!” He snaps, “That will kill us as surely as the gunship.”

“No,” You sigh, “Hunter, there’s a river at the bottom, fast moving, but that works out in our favor.”

“Right, except we’ll either be killed by the gunship before we can jump, or hitting the water will kill us.” Hunter counters.

“It won’t.” You say, quietly, firmly.

He stares at you, silently. 

You’re calm, deadly calm. You were a sentinel once. You protected people for a living. You failed last time. You won’t fail this time. “I need you to trust me…and not shoot me in the back.”

“Why would I shoot you in the-” He stops, his gaze dropping to your hands, where a slender metal tube rests innocently, “You’re a Jedi.”

“Like I said, please don’t shoot me in the back, and I’ll get us out of this alive.” You say.

Hunter says nothing for a moment, the clearing filled with nothing but the sound of blaster fire, and then he nods slowly, “What do you need me to do?”

“So long as they’re not using ballistic rounds, I can get you to the edge, you just need to jump and trust me.” You say.

He glances at the saber again, “Alright. You give the word.”

You exhale slowly and twirl your saber between confident fingers. Your master’s words echo in your mind as you adjust your weight. You are a sentinel. You are the last line of defense between those who would hurt and those who would be hurt. You will not falter. You will not hesitate. Trust in the force, and all will be well.

And you move.

A yellow blade crackles to life, and you spin it expertly.

Hunter ducks out behind you, and you cover him as he runs the short distance to the cliff. You’re aware of him jumping, and you jump after him, twisting the force around you both in a protective shell just before you hit the water.

Hunter drags you up so your head is above the water, which you’ll be grateful for when you’re not distracted keeping the part of you from getting battered to pieces by the rocks in the water.

The pair of you remain in the water for 30 minutes, until you manage to use the force to propel you both onto the shore, near a small cave. Hunter has to half carry you to the cave, you were far more careful with his well-being than you were with your own, and you painfully sink onto a rock as he starts a fire using some sticks and grass he found near the river.

“Are you hurt?” Hunter asks, as he crouches in front of you.

“Bruised and battered, but I wasn’t shot,” You reply.

He looks surprised, and then annoyed, as if he’s just realizing why he wasn’t hurt, “I wasn’t battered at all.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

He pauses, and then sighs, “Thank you. For saving us and for keeping me from getting hurt.”

You smile at him weakly and lean against the wall, “Well, it definitely went better than the last time I used my saber, that’s for sure.”

Hunter doesn’t say anything for a moment, “Can I ask-?”

“I was a Sentinel.” You answer his unasked question, “My job was to guard the temple. I did a bang up job, as I’m sure you can tell.” Your smile is slightly bitter as you tap your metal arm.

“The Purge wasn’t your fault.” Hunter offers, though there’s something in his tone that suggests that he knows that his words aren’t much comfort. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“Oh, I know.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“Would you?” Your smile becomes something bitter, “I spent the first couple of weeks after the Purge on Takodana healing and trying to cut myself off from the force. And Maz…well, she shoved a boot up my backside, and hired me.”

Hunter sits across from you, “Suddenly so much about your personality makes sense. You must have been terrified to learn that you were working with clones.”

“A bit. I figured if you didn’t think I was a jedi, I would be safe.” You sigh, “I didn’t expect Maz to just let Cid have me for as long as she did.”

Hunter leans back against the wall as well, “If you want, I’ll tell Cid that we can’t work together. You’ll never have to see us again, if you don’t want.”

“Don’t worry about it. I actually like you and your brothers.”

Hunter lifts his head and smirks at you, “Yeah?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” You say wryly.

“Too late.” He lifts one knee and drapes an arm across it, “So, a follow up. If you want, you can join the crew of the Marauder. It’s only a matter of time before it comes out, you being a jedi. And Omega adores you.”

“What, just Omega?” You ask wryly, “Mister you like the way I smell.”

“Right, I was hoping you forgot about that.” Hunter mutters under his breath.

“Nope.”

“Fine. You smell amazing. It’s soothing. I also like the way you look, and I really like how pouty your lips are, especially when you’re wearing that bright red lipstick.”

“...you spend a lot of time looking at me.”

“Yes, yes I do.” He doesn’t sound the least bit ashamed about it either. “A lot more than you probably realize.” You stare at him, and he grins, “I like walking behind you. You have very nice…hips.”

“Right, I’m sure it’s my hips you admire.”

His grin widens, “You think it’s safe for the Marauder to come and get us now?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Yeah, probably.”

“Great. I’ll call them,” Hunter pulls out his comm and connects to the Marauder, and you hear Tech answer. You’re vaguely aware of Hunter giving Tech his coordinates, and giving a very brief rundown on what happened, but you’re not totally listening.

Instead you dig into one of your pockets, and pull your waterproof makeup kit out, pulling your lipstick out to apply more.

You hear Hunter stumble over his words for a moment as you apply the vibrant red lip paint, and you glance at him, and see that his gaze is locked on your lips. 

You don’t bother to hide your slightly smug grin, as you put your make-up away, and then you walk over to him to peek at his comm. Voice only, probably so his brothers don’t worry when they see him looking like a drowned tooka.

Hunter glances at you, and then to your lips, and then he focuses his attention on the comm again, “So, do you have our coordinates?” He asks the comm.

“I am looking, you appear to be in a ravine of some sort.” Tech says, his voice tinny over the comm.

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. Can you find us, or do we need to get higher?”

“Hm…a higher elevation would make this easier.” Tech says, but Hunter’s not listening, on account of the fact that you’ve just pulled him down into a kiss. He drops his comm as he presses his hand against the back of your neck, and you quickly catch it before it hits the ground. “Hunter? Hunter, are you still there?”

“I…uh…” Hunter blinks at you, a little hazy, and you smile up at him innocently as you press his comm back into his hands, “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“What happened? Did you hear what I said?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, I heard you. You need us to get higher.”

“Yes. Do that and then call back and I should be able to find you.”

“Right. Thanks Tech.” Hunter hangs up the comm, without taking his eyes off of you. “You’re trouble.”

You flash a downright angelic smile, “I thought you liked trouble?”

“Oh, I like this kind of trouble.” Hunter breathes out.

You hum, and lightly tap his lips with your finger, “Oh, good.” You stand on your toes so your lips are hovering just over his, “We should get climbing, Hunter. So Tech can find us.”

He groans, “You’re such a tease.”

You throw a grin over your shoulder, “I thought you liked it.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to complain.”

[lazykatie]

What could have happened AFTER the Castlecoming Ball (Part 2)

You can find

What could’ve happened at Castlecoming Week here (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

and

What could have happened AFTER the Castlecoming Ball here (Part 1, Part 3)

Ella leaned against Bridget’s door, her heart racing as she tried to process everything that’s happened. The weight of her friend’s pain pressed heavily on her chest. Slowly her back slid down the door until she found herself sitting on the cold floor of the dormitory hallway. She was supposed to be back home by now, but now is not really the time for her to worry about her stepmother. She needed to make things right with Bridget. 

With a deep breath, Ella prepared herself. She couldn’t afford to wallow in guilt; she needed to act. She needed to get her hands dirty. She needed to jump headfirst into this mess, the chaos she had inadvertently triggered. She needed to confront Uliana. 

Ella made her way to Black Lagoon, the air thick with an eerie mist that swirled and enveloped her like a dark cloak. Each step felt heavier as she walked on the jagged rocks, the sounds of water lapping against the shore echoing ominously in the silence.

“ULIANA!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the stillness. “ULIANA! SHOW YOURSELF!”

As if in response, a strange light began to glow from the depths of murky waters. A giant angler fish emerged, its bioluminescent lure casting an otherworldly glow across the lagoon. The fish’s enormous form seemed to part the water, revealing a stone path that led directly to its mouth.

Ella hesitated for a moment, the sight both mesmerizing and terrifying. Memories of Bridget’s tear-streaked face flashed in her mind—the pain, the betrayal in her eyes. She couldn’t let that be the last image she had of her friend. No, she owed it to Bridget to make things right. She prepared herself, and her resolve hardened. She couldn’t turn back now.

The fish opened its massive mouth, and Uliana emerged from its depths, her silhouette framed by the shimmering light as her crew followed her.

“How dare you, a mere peasant, call for me,” Ulaina sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Ella squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “Give it to me. The spellbook. The cursed item. Just give me what you used on Bridget. Do it while I’m asking nicely.”

“Easy, lass. It’s not like you can do anything about it.” Hook interjected, his tone dismissive.

“Don’t get me started with you, Hook. I’ll deal with you later,” Ella shot back, her anger flaring. Her fist clenched at her sides, and she could feel her pulse quicken as the heat of her frustration surged through her.

Uliana cackled, a sound that sent shivers down Ella’s spine. “If I don’t give it to you, what are you gonna do about it?”

“On second thought, Morgie darling, fetch the cookbook,” Uliana commanded. Morgie obediently retrieved it, her tentacles writhing with excitement.

“Why don’t you return this to Principal Merlin’s office, since you’re quite eager to get your hands on it?” Uliana tossed the book towards Ella, who barely caught it, her heart racing.

Ella opened the book and flipped through the pages, desperation clawing at her insides. She scanned each spell, searching for the one that had cursed Bridget. Finally, she found it, but her heart sank as she read the description. She can’t understand it. The spell only changed a person's appearance—nothing about personality or anything internal. 

Ella’s mind raced. This didn’t make sense. Bridget had always been the sweetest, most forgiving person she knew, never holding grudges, even when others mocked her for being too nice. She remembered the times when Bridget would laugh off insults with a lighthearted joke or offer treats to someone who wronged her. Bridget always said, “There’s good in everyone” or “You’ll always get more with sugar than salt.” This newfound anger, this darkness—it was so unlike her.  

Did she really mess it up? But Bridget wasn’t a resentful person before. Was it really just her fault? No, there must be something else. There had to be something more at play, something beyond the simple spell described in the book.

As the VK began to head back into their hideout, Ella murmured, “Where’s the rest of it?”

“Huh? The rest of what?” Morgie piped in, his tone a cutesy mocking one. 

“Where’s the rest of the spell?” She yelled out frantically, heaving loudly as her heart pumped fast.

“There’s nothing else. That’s all you need to bring back that desperate girl to her original form.” Uliana said, her voice laced with mockery.

“This can’t be! She’s already in her human form. You must’ve done something that messed with her head. She’s never mad at me like this!” Ella protested, desperation creeping into her voice.

Uliana turned to her crew, a sour expression crossing her face as she sensed betrayal in the air. She narrowed her eyes, scanning each member with suspicion. Could it be one of them? she thought. Loyalty is a fragile thing, easily swayed by fear or greed. She’s seen it before—those who claim to be allies, only to stab them in the back when it suits them. But she won’t let that happen again. The memory of her past betrayals flickered in her mind, fueling her resolve. They should know by now that crossing me has consequences. 

She then fixed her gaze back on Ella, a smirk playing on her lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, peasant. Are you sure it’s not you running off with your prince that messed with her head?”

The crew erupted into mocking laughter, their jeers echoing around the lagoon like a chorus of torment. Ella felt her cheeks flush with anger and humiliation, but she stood her ground. This was about Bridget, not her. 

“Enough!” Ella shouted, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. “You think this is a game? You think you can just toy with people’s lives and get away with it?”

Uliana’s laughter faded, replaced by a cold glare. “Mind you, we’re not here to play games, but to rule.”

She turned back to enter the angler fish while the rest of her crew followed her. “You’ve wasted enough of our time.” 

She blew her shell necklace. In response, their giant angler fish hideout’s mouth started to close. “Good luck with the giant eels,” Uliana said to Ella as the rocks descended with the hideout.

Ella narrowly escaped the eels as she hopped on the descending rocks, tossing the book first before diving onto the shore like a mad woman. She landed hard, her chest heaving as she lay sprawled on the ground, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her limbs trembling from the exertion. Dirt clung to her sweat-soaked skin, and her muscles ached from the desperate scramble. For a moment, she just lay there, eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears, struggling to process the danger she had just survived.

~~~

While Ella struggled to escape the giant eels above, another struggled beneath the surface of the lagoon.

“WHO DARES TO BREAK BRIDGET’S CURSE?” Uliana yelled angrily at her closest crew.

Each one denied with “I don’t even like her,” or “I wouldn’t do that to you, my goddess,” or “I don’t care,” But one, out of the four, remained silent. Hook processed what he had done, unsure why he had acted. For him, it was really just a spur of the moment, nothing else. Or was it? 

As he stood there, a flashback of their dance at the Castlecoming Ball flooded his mind—the way Bridget had looked at him, her eyes filled with warmth and trust. He remembered the softness of her hand in his, the lightness of her laugh as they moved across the floor. It had been a rare moment where he felt something—something he couldn’t quite name, but it lingered, stirring a part of him he thought long buried.

Was it guilt? Was it something more? Even he himself didn’t know why he had acted, but the memory of Bridget’s smile haunted him, leaving him more conflicted than ever.

“James, would you care to explain.” Uliana smiled with wide eyes that could kill.

Morgie and the couple moved aside as Uliana approached him. “I thought we had already established that you don’t have anything to do with that pesky princess.”

“I don’t.” Hook answered shortly, gulping.

“Then tell me, why in Merlin’s world is she back to her normal self?” She asked, her tentacle brushing his cheeks.

“I don’t kno—” 

“LIES!” Uliana accused firmly.

“There’s only five of us who know how to reverse it.” She paused, scanning the group. “These three,” pointing at Maleficent, Morgie, and Hades, “don’t like her enough to do her a favor.”

“But you, my dear, have been showing a lot of interest in her. Even danced with her during the ball. Was it really all just an act, Hook?”

Hook couldn’t utter a single word, also unsure where his loyalty lay.

Uliana took his silence as a no, "I guess you’ve made your choice.”

She inhaled deeply before she yelled, “THROW HIM TO THE EELS!”

Uliana’s other lackeys started to surround Hook as she blew her shell necklace.

“WAIT! Do we really have to do this, Uli?” Morgie interfered. 

She scoffed before saying, “ Loyalty isn’t gray like people, Morgie. It's black and white. You’re either completely loyal or not loyal at all.” She continued in a bitter tone.

“BUT—”

“NO MORE BUTS! THROW HIM NOW!” 

Maleficent cast a spell on the lackeys, freezing them in place.

“Don’t you dare, Mal!”

“I’m not,” she defended herself. 

“I just thought that we could use him to torment princess weirdo more,” Maleficent suggested, her eyes glowing green, signaling her psychotic tendencies. The thrill of watching Bridget squirm under their manipulation was far more appealing than simply eliminating Hook; it was a game, and she relished the thought of orchestrating chaos from the shadows, savoring every moment of the princess’s despair.

Uliana narrowed her eyes, contemplating Maleficent’s suggestion. Maleficent wasn’t always like this; she never orchestrated a plan, especially something that could harm Hook. Maybe she had a change of heart. Maybe this time, Maleficent had chosen to be more active in ensuing chaos.

“You think you can manipulate him to your advantage? That could work, but it’s a risk.”

“Every plan is a risk,” Maleficent replied smoothly, her expression sly. “But if he’s truly conflicted, we can use that to our benefit. He’ll be our pawn in this game.”

“Fine, but do it properly,” Uliana said to Maleficent as she exited the hideout with Morgie following right behind her.

Hook felt grateful to Maleficent. She always had his back, always diverting the attention from him whenever he needed it. However, he would never guess she would suggest he become their pawn. Their pawn. Maybe it was just his theatrics rubbing off on her.

He approached her. “Thanks for that, Mal. I know that I can count on you,” he said, placing his left hand on her shoulder.

Maleficent looked at the hand as if disgusted by it. Pushing the hand away, she said, “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no fun in making you eel food. Controlling you would be much, much more thrilling.” Her eyes glowed green again.

“Mal—”

“I already warned you before, so don’t even.” she threatened her ‘friend’, before leaving the hideout with Hades.

Hook couldn’t believe this. A wave of dread washed over him. He had underestimated Uliana’s wrath. He underestimated the depths of Maleficent’s cunningness. Maybe for once, he also needed to take his own advice: Trust no one, because even salt can look like sugar.

~~~

A/N: After a few days, I finally finished it. Don't really know if it makes sense, but I hope it does! Happy reading everyone!!!

[venvellan]

also my 'big' astarion hot take is that the people that go "he and fenris are nothing alike 🙄" are wrong and just want to have a unique opinion, cause there are so many blatant parallels between their stories that going through them now would be a waste of both of our time. their personalities are nothing alike, but it's a harmless comparison and built on a pretty valid foundation

it's also entirely reasonable to see astarion's flirtatious exterior, using his body to survive, and compare him to zevran in that regard

astarion as a whole is incredibly unique. he can still be fresh and groundbreaking and original while sharing some qualities with other characters. it's not an insult to see some of what we loved in the past reflected in him

and the da to bg3 migration was fucking massive so like idk, what do you want. he has some traits in common with two widely adored and admired characters of the franchise. what a nightmare

[lcandothisallday]

Hi sarah!! I was thinking what if you wrote Jeremy and reader being enemies to lovers but Jeremy never hated her, in fact he always liked her since high school and would try to impress her but it always went wrong which is why she thinks he hates her. Like him trying to show off in the gym at school and accidentally hits reader in the face with the ball and thats just how it all starts. 😮‍💨 That was alot but I think you could write this very well. If not, that’s okay too.

- 🌎anon

i fully didn’t do this request justice and it’s not edited properly so i apologize to all of you😩

Fool for you - Jeremy (WMCJ) x f!reader

You couldn't help your cringe as you entered your new gym. Money was tight so you had to downgrade which wasn't all that bad truth be told, but the sleezy men who kept staring at you and making crude comments as you walked by irked you beyond compare.

With a sigh, you put in your AirPods and play your music before you begin with the stairmaster. As you're climbing, from the corner of your eye you notice a man walking around with a massive bag and bottles of drinks that did not look FDA approved what so over.

You watched in curiosity as he stopped in front of every member, holding the drink up and promoting it like his life depended on it. It wasn't until you got a closer look at who the man was that your eyes widened.

"Oh hell no," you mutter under your breath, slowing down on the stairmaster. There he was--in all his odd hippy glory--Jeremy from high school, the same Jeremy that hated your guts and you never understood why.

You had always thought he was cute all throughout high school, his boyish charm, his curly hair and adorable dimpled smile--mixed with the fact that he was a basketball player, of course you had a little crush on him.

But he always made sure to show you he didn't feel the same. Emphasis on the show you part. There were countless times where you took a basketball to the head, had a drink spilt all over your school work, or simply teased beyond comprehension all in an attempt to embarrass you because he simply hated you.

When Jeremy finished up with one guy, he scanned the room for his next client victim when his eyes landed on you. His breath got caught in his throat as he watched you climb the stairmaster expertly, your thighs and ass taking the full work out.

With a deep breath, his nerves elated, he fixes his shirt by smoothing it down before he slowly begins approaching you.

Ironically, back in high school, Jeremy also had the fattest crush on you. He tried everything to get you to like him but it just continuously backfired because he was always so clumsy or tripping over his words, embarrassing not just himself--but you in the process too.

As you see the curly haired man approach you, you shake your head and immediately turn off the machine.

"Nope." you say sternly, your hand out to stop him in his tracks, cutting him off before he even got the chance to speak. His mouth was agape and eyes wide.

"I didn't even say nothing yet!" he exclaimed in defence. You scoffed and hopped off of the machine.

"I am not in the mood to get hurt today--whatever you're selling, I don't want it. You'll give me food poisoning," you mutter, shaking your head once again.

Jeremy's cheeks went red with embarrassment. "I wasn't uh...wasn't planning on selling you my detox drinks."

You roll your eyes and stare at the curly haired man with your hands on your hips in annoyance. "Is that what you do now?" you ask mockingly. "Given up on basketball and go around dressed like that selling detox drinks to gym bros?"

Truthfully, you didn't mean to sound that rude. You just weren't in the mood to interact with the guy that made your high school experience just a bit more unbearable.

Hearing your insult made Jeremy bite his lip and look down at his feet momentarily in shame. "Well I mean...wasn't exactly my plan...tore both my ACLs and didn't heal properly so I gotta make money somehow," he mumbled in response.

His response made you feel terrible. "Jeremy I'm sorry. That was rude of me," you apologize softly. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" he muttered sarcastically, causing you to frown.

"Look--you came up to me," you argued, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t get all sassy with me now,” you said while frowning.

Jeremy chuckled and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Look…it’s been a while right? we’ve both matured—so why don’t you come to one of my games?” he suggested. “We can catch up after.”

You look at him in question with a slightly raised brow. You couldn’t deny that the adorable and hopeful expression on his face made your heart flutter ever so slightly. Maybe he has grown.

“Sure why not.”

It’s a few days later and you follow the directions that Jeremy had texted you with the location of where the mini ball games were being held. As you approached the stands and took in your surroundings, you began to feel bad for him. Graduating from highschool, everyone thought he was enroute to playing in the NBA so seeing him have to resort to playing in small competitions to keep his passion alive was something that was a bit disheartening—no doubt the feeling probably worse for him.

When Jeremy saw you take a seat in the first row, his heart beat quickened. “She actually came,” he muttered in disbelief under his breath, not having expected you to show up.

Kamal overheard and chuckled. “That her?” he asked for confirmation, Jeremy nodding. “Bro…no offence but she’s outta your league.”

Jeremy groaned. “Don’t you think I know that?” he whined. “I can never impress her—believe me I’ve tried.”

Kamal smirked as he teasingly patted his friend’s back. “Guess you gotta be on your A game, huh?”

The game went rather smoothly with you watching Jeremy with a smile on your face. He managed to not make a complete fool out of himself and you were impressed to say the least. It was nice to see that he still had game. 

On the final play of the game, Jeremy had the ball. He glanced over at you momentarily, which was possibly the worst idea he could’ve done because his nerves got the best of him and with full force, as he went to take a three, it air balled and hit you right in the head.

Some of the girls in the stands also watching the game, snickered, one even whispering “that had to be on purpose,” to her friend.

With a shake of your head, you begin to walk off, not wanting to give Jeremy the satisfaction. It really did feel like he invited you under false pretences of a truce when in reality his whole plan was to embarrass you again. A sick joke.

“Y/N I’m sorry!” Jeremy exclaimed, running after you and stopping you in your tracks as he gently reached for your arms.

“That one actually fucking hurt Jeremy!” you exclaim, turning to face him which is when he noticed the growing bruise on your forehead. “I get it—you hate me! Does my presence around you evoke some sort of violent behaviour or something?”

Jeremy furrowed his brows in confusion. “I don’t hate you. Your presence actually makes me nervous—”

“Okay well if you don’t hate me then why are you always throwing shit at me?!”

“It’s on accident!”

“Every single time?!??”

Jeremy groaned, “I like you!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “I turn into a Damn fool around you! Can’t talk or walk or play ball—thought I’d grown out of it,” he sighed. “Apparently not.”

You furrowed your brows as you stared at him. He sounded sincere. “You have absolutely zero game you know that?”

“Only around you.”

You tried to keep a serious face but you couldn’t help your small laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you say with a playful shake of your head. “And the funny thing is I’m actually endeared by you which sucks because I genuinely think if I do something about it—I might end up dead one day with the way you are around me.”

Jeremy cheeks went red and he gave you a shy smile. “I’m hoping that isn’t the case. Let me take you on a proper first date. No basketballs around,” he breathed out.

You can’t hide your amused smile. “One date…to test the waters.”

Jeremy grinned, his hand coming up to access your bruise before his grin turned into a wince in shame. “M’ really sorry about this,” he mumbled.

“You’ll make it up to me.”