#like the lines double up in places but its Extremely Intentional

[ghostedglitch]

why's it always me trying to do things my blorbos would do? why can't they simply be more like me, huh?

here are sollux and karkat wearing my clothes. there is assuredly more where that came from.

completed march 22, 2024

[odesofmeddea]

house of the dragon viewers who, mostly, are avid shippers of canonical incestuous uncle-niece marriage being so collectively repelled by the mother-son intercourse on-screen they cry and throw up begging for the harrenhal arc to end is so incredibly stupid, i'm not even sorry. daemon's arc this season is the best thing that could've happened to his individual narrative... he's the character who is not very vocal about, or easy with exteriorizing, his inner turmoils and anxieties. what harrenhal haunting does is forcefully dehisces those very intimate things out. although there's an obvious preternatural compulsion toward daemon's more malevolent impulses - as in the horrid compulsion issuing either from the place or the place and alys-entity's converged powers that might as expose and explore as pervert his resentment for rhaenyra and viserys and the simultaneous yearning to be unconditionally loved by them and by his mother into its extreme violent manifestations, - we still get to see way more human aspects of him becoming bare. things unuttered like guilt and sorrow, and regret no one believes him capable of - rhaenyra, laena, and little jaehaerys; fears, vulnerabilities, and the deep sense of emotional disorientation, trauma, and loss that the fandom's manichaean reading aggressively denies him. viserys' favoritism culminates in the decollation of rhaenyra that he himself is perturbed with not because he maniacally harbors harmful deadly intentions on her behalf but because there's an ugly wound that viserys, the family and patriarchal society as inevitability caused him and that alys' (or harrenhal's) influence is exacerbating through manipulation of his tattered psyche.

daemon dreaming his mother - whom he lost at too young age of three to actually establish any substantial proved relationships with - in this sexual role and womb-oriented denouement, in which he is only temporarily full of filial bliss before the ghast at consummation comes over him, is not some sui generis daemon-perversion but a part of his social and psychic character constitution and its study. alyssa's words might as well have been a self-consolatory projection he kept nurturing throughout his life: at least for his dead mother (whom he couldn't really know; dead being void, void being fillable) he was the most beloved, superior, and irreproachable one - the way that he wasn't for viserys and isn't always for rhaenyra, but wishes he was. viserys himself admitting to alyssa favoring toddler daemon most likely fortified this believe and necessity of that believe for daemon.

still, he is genuinely uncomfortable with every single apparition he's been subjected to face so far, and is not deriving a near sexual rapture (as does aemond at having aegon personally maimed) from seeing little rhaenyra accusing him of leaving her and stitching the head of the child he ordered to decapitate, nor rejoicing in the throne room after having her killed. he is not pouncing aroused (albeit he was, at first) on the figment of his bleeding mother to repeat the coitus - even if most of it is psychosexual, daemon is very obviously suffering from the horrors that are self, in situ, but are reflected through the doubles (rhaenyra, aemond) and the other (alys, alyssa).

it's breathtaking what they're doing with daemon this season. his line with alys is on par to the said. it's the best current new pairing in the show, with its own indefinite charm, albeit the pairing potentially being a sinister one. daemon is quite intimately drawn to alys despite the suppressed sense of something eerie in her omniscience. and i find it so interesting and captivating i almost wish it would never end... may daemon targaryen be haunted by his witch-fiend-friend forever!

[rose-reaper]

A Tank Player's Essay

For those who want to read this in its entirety, know that my thoughts are all over the place but with enough time to structure I might just send this as a letter to Blizzard HQ or something.

Over the course of Overwatch 2's 2 year lifespan I've concluded several things as I've played off and on again with your lovely game has gotten me slowly but surely more and more drained of my sanity. I've learned over the years that your intent with 5v5 as opposed to 6v6 like it was in Overwatch 1 has not only been detrimenting this game's health as a whole but has made playing the role of tank not fun at all because every other role has made it their sole mission to counter the tank than to work together and makes swapping unskillful. The recent changes with DPS and all of the projectile sizes has been one of the biggest changes that makes tanking almost impossible. Some tanks like myself like to play aggressive, but unfortunately can't because there is only one of us per team thus making engangements not fun and dare I say extremely stressful.

To address the biggest issue, playing a tank has never felt more detrimental ever. One mistake and the entire team crumbles faster than a twitter user's emotional stability. Even if the tank is slightly out of line and out of position, everyone on the enemy team locks in and focuses the tank and mows the rest of the team down. This has never been as big of an issue in 6v6 than it has in 5v5.

When the DPS buff to reduce healing by 20% on shot targets arrived, I was on board with it because DPS had been unfortunately sitting in the back burner feeling like a cosmetic role like Tank was (if you weren't playing Mauga). Especially since by the time you reloaded your weapon the enemy had magically gained HP in between reloads. With the debuff, you can no longer gain health in the middle of combat behind a shield like before thus making natural cover a nessessity.

With this in mind it makes playing out in the open a lot less ill advised and while that is a good thing, it unfortunately has come with negative side effects especially for tanks as I'll put in bullets bellow:

• Tanks with no shields (aside from Orisa) of any kind have to play more passive than ones with a shield and it doesn't fit the design philosophy of certain heroes like Junker Queen, Zarya, Mauga, Doomfist, and Wrecking Ball for examples.

Junker Queen is about being agressive and healing off of bleed damage with Carnage and Gracie and should be rewarded for playing into the passive she has built in. Zarya gives bubbles that help protect herself and others and gives her bigger lazers to fire at her enemies the more they're hit. Sounds like a really cool combo waiting to happen right? Unfortunately unless you're willing to play open que (personally, ew) you will never have these interactions ever in a match.

• Tanks with shields in mind like Reinhardt, Winston, Sigma, Ramatra have shields with the density of Walmart brand paper plates and can be countered by side stepping. By the time you melt through the shields of one in a match, the tanks have nothing else they can do aside from fall back and reset. Even if there is a slight chance of winning an engagement.

A lot of people who are against 6v6 will say, "We don't want double shield to come back." And while that is a valid concern, Blizzard you have already done away with that. Any shields that do exist don't stand up as long as they would before. Orisa has been reworked, Ramatra's Shield only lasts for a few seconds and Sigma's shield isn't nearly as strong as it was before.

• Counterpicking the tank is easier than just getting better at a role that you currently play. Team Comps swap heavily to counter one Tank.

To paraphrase Emonng, "If a Winston wanted to dive a Widow, all they have to do is get a reaper to AFK on the Widow and the Winston can't do anything about it."

On top of all of this, we have one character I swear is my Achille's Heel and that is Zenyatta. His Discord orb gives an incoming 25% damage increase on a target which means anybody who has the discord orb is taking 25% more damage while the target is in line of sight. That incentivizes anybody who is told about the orb to focus fire the target to kill them faster. Now, imagine this stacked on top of the debuff DPS has. Might as well leave the Tank for dead at that point.

To give all you math nerds something to work with, as of looking at the wiki, Bastion's default damage in recon form does about 125 damage per second. With Zenyatta's discord orb on the target, it becomes about 156 damage per second. Now that's just in recon form. In turret form that's 360 to 450. On top of that that's 20% incoming healing reduction on top of that. So in a scenario like that, you're just asking to get melted if you're simply existing as a tank let alone any other hero.

With all of this built on you'd think it couldn't get worse, but oh sweet summer children it does. With the projectile size increase you'd have now things that hit you that normally wouldn't. Like if you're behind a wall and there's a javalin from an Orisa thrown. If you're close enough without peaking you can get yanked out from cover. Not only that but there are some shots that hit but shouldn't that do some of the same stuff like Bastion Grenade sticking when it shouldn't, Soldier 76 Helix Launcher hitting when it shouldn't or even Kiriko's kunais hitting when they shouldn't.

With all of this in mind, you'd think the role is extinct. Fortunately Tank mains are about as stubborn as rocks and will continue to keep trucking in spite of the difficulties but I know they would like to see some changes. So I propose a few changes that'd make the game healthier for everyone.

• Revert the DPS passive and overall Projectile size back to the way it was before and I mean all of them. •Give us the second tank back for 6v6. Tanks will feel like tanks again and you have built a happier, healthier game by doing this.

With these changes, the community would be less worried about counterswapping and more worried about just being better at the game.

[ride-thedragon]

WE CRY TOGETHER/ UNITED IN GRIEF : DAEMON AND RHAENYRA TARGARYEN AND THE GRIEF THAT CONSUMES THEM.

So, under a post I made explaining why Nettles is important to Daemon's character arc and story, more than one person has called me sexist for using Rhaenyra’s grief as a reason they drift apart. In the same post, I described both Daemon and Nettles' grief as a reason they became close, but its easier to use the first part for the idea that someone is sexist.

I'm not going to say I'm not or that I don't have biases when I consume media. What I will say is that for the sake of the story and world, I try my best to be objective. That being said, a big issue of mine is when people try to underplay Rhaenyra’s grief for the sake of the narrative that the Maesters are biased. We enter the story knowing that they are extremely sexist towards her and consistently hold her to a double standard.

However, the idea that her grief was one of the things they exaggerated and made up is unfair to her and where she was at the time. People use emotions to discredit women, so while I understand the aversion to talking about it because of the way it's weaponized in the text, discrediting it is a disservice to her character.

This is a woman who has just lost four of her children in the span of months during a war where her rightful claim is being challenged and usurped. She just lost her firstborn son and just reclaimed her rightful place as the head of seven kingdoms. She's the first woman to do it as well.

So, just maybe because she's been undermined and called emotional all her life, something we see in the TV show and Book, she hardened herself to rule past her grief. Maybe she rightfully believes that the second she steps out of line, emotionally, people will undermine her rule and inheritance of the throne.

Imposing taxes made people call her Maegor with Teats. She has an understanding of it from the time she's named heir.

Obviously, she's still grieving her children, so she lashes out, something we see with Viserys in episode two. She isolates herself, something we see in episode two, three, four, and six when things become hard and she becomes paranoid like in Episode ten with Daemon. She laughs when she sees Maegor II dismembered in front of her, again because she is grieving, and I assume for the first time in a while, it isn't her loss to grieve. It isn't right, but it's understandable if that's what happens.

She also pushes Daemon away when she's stressed, I don't think she doesn't trust his intentions in Episode 10, I think she's a scared person who was just betrayed after learning of her father's death, knowing that she should've inherited the Kingdon after her father died and didn't, so she's paranoid and is remembering everything her father said to her while grieving and is being safe rather than sorry. I assume she also understands that Daemon is impulsive while grieving, he sleeps with her about a week after his wife's death so she isn’t too off. She doesn't think he is the Daemon we see him being . She thinks he wants to fight a war at any cost, even through undermining her. That's exactly why she was chosen to be the heir over him in the first place.

Then after they return to Kings Landing, she starts listening to someone who feeds her worst impulses, someone who doesn't want her to succeed clearly, especially when Rhaenyra is laughing at and putting hits on kids while taxes the people.

She also has an established relationship with violence when she has to do it, like with the boar or Vaemond. She understands the political landscape of the world she lives in and uses it to inform her decision-making. She also understands when violence is necessary. I don't think in the show she's going to go after Nettles the way she does in the books. I have a whole theory as to why.

https://www.tumblr.com/richardsthridnipple/716875921930518528/just-in-case-people-forget-what-my-platform-is-i?source=share

Rhaenyra is intelligent and understands the power she has, but she at this time is a grieving mother who's been betrayed by people she's known her whole life for less. She doesn't need to be and more than likely won't be the person we know now.

NEXT UP IS DAEMON.

Mr. I can't regulate my emotions here, meets a girl who doesn't have a known Targaryen ancestor, who tames her Dragon in a unique way and who is crushed by the lost of the same son he just lost. So they bond over that grief. In a way, his wife just cannot facilitate right now.

It is established that when Daemon grieves, he becomes impulsive and irritated. He lashes out like at Laena’s funeral with Viserys or after losing Viserys and his unborn kid. After Rhaenyra talks about the prophecy, something her father trusted her with as heir and states that's why she knows it, he strangles her at the implication that the brother he cared for deeply didn't trust or want him as heir. Something Rhaenyra acknowledged when he let her go. He also sleeps with and marries Rhaenyra days after Laena dies. I'm not saying he didn't love Rhaenyra. It's just a strange thing to occur back to back.

Another thing Daemon does is protect the people he loves when he feels out of control or if they are put in danger. It happens with Vaemond and on Dragonstone when he's exercising his power to secure the castle or throughput every interaction with Viserys. That's what he does.

So when his wife sends him away with the girl, or maybe he chooses her, we don't know for sure, he forms a relationship with her very quickly, in whatever nature you may think it is and visibly lashes out when he thinks her life is in danger. He lashes out at the assumptions and the harm Nettles is put in, ensuring her safety even at the cost of his life in this moment and does not return to Rhaenyra’s side after she send for him.

I want to note that the idea of the assumptions comes with the fact that in the decree, she basically says that Daemon isn't acting out of his own free will, that Nettles used spells to seduce him. It's plays into another thing Daemon does when people observe him. He either plays into it or finds the absolute worst way to disprove it. See episode 3, where he runs into an open field and gets shot with arrows because Viserys wants to help him win his war.

He also more clearly doesn't like when people he loves observes him and draw true conclusions. When Laena and Viserys call him out, he immediately gets harsh and defensive. And right out now, after being away for about 4 months and not finding Aemond, he seems to be enchanted by Nettles 'company instead of doing his duty. A clearly accurate assessment. So he acts out.

I don't think the way it's established in the books is disingenuous to the Daemon we see in the show, or really in the book.

All this to say, they both are allowed to do everything they do. They shouldn't do a lot of it, but they are entitled to their reactions when these versions of each other interact with each other.

A big note here would be that it's okay to express grief but not at the cost of others. Daemon strangling Rhaenyra or Rhaenyra ordering hits on a child is not okay.

Now, what we have after all of this is a grieving Rhaenyra trying her best and a grieving Daemon wanting to be acknowledged and not alone while doing it.

By the end, they have different needs that don't align with each other, so they grow apart, outside of each other.

Another thing I see with the whole argument is the discrediting of Nettles' emotions. She's grieving a leader, upset by the fact that she just killed a bunch of people, and from what we see, doesn't have a lot of people comfort her. So much has happened, and she has no one to talk to about it. Baela is with her traumatized brothers, grievingher fiance, and Addam is in the Dragon pit. The others are celebrating their win.

So, if Daemon takes an interest in her and starts grieving with her, it doesn't seem like something she'd turn away from. Especially when they are grieving a lot of the same things, and Daemon would understand how she feels about the war.

Anyways, to close this off, every single character is entitled to their grief and the way they cope with it. To discredit it because of the way it's portrayed is a disservice to these characters. As readers, we should be able to analyze and take way these things from our favorite characters, even when it upsets us because they deserve nuance.

The Daemon and Rhaenyra we see in the first season are not the Daemon and Rhaenyra that descend on King’s Landing. And they are not the same characters we say goodbye to. They change and grow for better or worse. And if they are your favorites, accept it or read fix it fanfictions to cope like us regular people. But don't disavow everything that happens when they change after life altering events.

And don't call me sexist, especially when it comes to my girls. I adore my girls past their worst actions. I'm not a moral person when it comes to their actions. I actively support women's wrongs. The women of the dance are my baby girls. I'm not the one when it comes to them.

[starseedfxofficial]

Relative Vigor Index: Ninja Strategies for End-of-Day Traders The Relative Vigor Index: Ninja-Level Insights for End-of-Day Traders Trading, they say, is a bit like dancing. Some days you’re graceful, other days you’re stepping on your partner’s feet and wondering why you signed up for this in the first place. One tool that can help turn that awkward shuffle into a smooth groove is the Relative Vigor Index (RVI). If you've ever looked at this underrated indicator and thought it was just another confusing squiggle on your chart, it’s time to pull back the curtain and reveal its hidden power — especially for End-of-Day trading. So, grab your favorite trading mug (the one that says "I survived another market crash"), and let's dive into this next-level strategy that separates the pretenders from the pros. What is the Relative Vigor Index, Anyway? Imagine trading indicators as your teammates in a big, nerve-wracking quiz competition. The Relative Vigor Index is that silent genius who doesn't always raise his hand but knows every answer. It measures momentum based on the closing price relative to its range, helping you identify whether bulls or bears have the energy advantage — and more importantly, who is running out of steam just in time for you to enter a well-timed trade. Think of it like analyzing how vigorous your favorite athlete is toward the end of a game. You know when a soccer player starts huffing and puffing — and you’re just waiting for that dramatic moment when they flop on the field? That’s the RVI showing you who’s about to burn out in the market. Why End-of-Day Trading is Like Getting VIP Access Most traders get their thrills during the adrenaline-pumping middle hours of trading. But End-of-Day (EOD) trading? That's where the real magic happens. Why? Because it’s when the dust settles, the drama fades, and the market reveals its true intentions. End-of-Day analysis gives you all the perks of trading without the heart palpitations of staring at a screen for hours (and missing out on life’s finer things, like coffee or pretending to hit the gym). The Relative Vigor Index thrives here because, at the end of the day, you want to assess not just where prices have moved, but how strongly they moved. The RVI gives you a clear picture of the day’s momentum, helping you step into the next day with a strategy in place — instead of relying on hope or horoscope readings (no offense to Pisces out there). Hidden Formula Only Experts Use Let’s get a bit nerdy, shall we? The RVI works on the principle that closing prices tend to be higher than opening prices in a bullish market. What does this mean for you? Well, the RVI formula smooths out those price movements over a set number of periods, kind of like a chef whisking the lumps out of batter — leaving you with a nice, smooth indicator line that’s easy to interpret. But here’s the kicker: Smart traders combine the RVI with a signal line (a moving average of the RVI itself) for added precision. This means fewer false signals and more confidence in your decision-making. Think of it like driving with a reliable GPS — sure, you could just follow the road signs, but why not have that extra guidance? The Forgotten Strategy That Outsmarted the Pros A little-known ninja tactic with the Relative Vigor Index is using it as a confirmation tool for trend reversals, particularly for End-of-Day setups. Most traders rely heavily on the Moving Average Convergence Divergence (MACD) or the Relative Strength Index (RSI), and while those are perfectly capable friends, they are also extremely popular, which means every Tom, Dick, and rookie trader is basing decisions on them. Here’s where RVI swoops in like an underappreciated superhero. Instead of crowd-following, you use the RVI to confirm what your other indicators tell you. When the RVI and its signal line cross above zero, it can act as a double-check for a bullish move. It’s like looking both ways before you cross a busy Forex street — and isn’t that exactly what saves your metaphorical life? How to Predict Market Moves with Precision Everyone wants to predict market moves, but let's be honest — no one wants to do it by staring at red and green bars until their eyes cross. When using the Relative Vigor Index for EOD trading, a brilliant move is to look for divergences. If the price is making higher highs but the RVI is making lower highs, something fishy is going on. Consider it the trading equivalent of someone forcing a smile at a party when they’d rather be home watching Netflix. It’s a divergence in energy. The price may look like it’s on a high, but the momentum isn’t there to back it up, signaling a reversal may be just around the corner. But Wait... Here's Where the Real Magic Happens Humor aside, let’s talk strategy. To use RVI effectively for End-of-Day trading: - Set Up Your Chart: Overlay the RVI indicator and set it to a 10-period setting to get the best of both world—short-term sensitivity without noise. Pair it with a signal line. - Combine with Support and Resistance: Let’s face it, there’s no point in knowing momentum without context. Plot your support and resistance lines and use the RVI to help confirm breakouts or false breakouts. The RVI is like a bouncer at a club, letting only the legitimate trends in while rejecting the riffraff. - Check for Divergences: Use EOD RVI readings to look for divergence with price action. This is a strong cue for a possible trend reversal. It’s like the market giving you a heads-up, but in code, and you’re the decoder. The Forgotten Strategy Most Traders Overlook Another often overlooked use for the RVI? Using it with the End-of-Day stochastic crossovers. Most traders depend on the stochastic alone for overbought or oversold readings. However, when paired with the RVI, you get a more nuanced view of whether that stochastic level is meaningful. It’s like pairing chocolate and peanut butter — each good on its own, but exceptional together. How RVI Saved One Trader's Week Meet Alex, a trader who was having one of those weeks. You know, the kind where even your dog is giving you side-eye for making bad trades. Alex was focusing on his usual mix of indicators, but he noticed something odd — while the MACD signaled a sell, the RVI was painting a different picture. He held on, trusting in the RVI's end-of-day analysis, and avoided a potential loss that would have pushed him into "trading-from-the-couch" territory for a week. Expert Insights: According to John Smithers, a veteran Forex trader, "The RVI is one of the most underrated indicators. When it shows momentum waning near significant price levels, it gives an edge most traders simply miss." Similarly, Lisa Granger, a technical analyst, adds, "End-of-Day trading with RVI allows you to distill the noise and focus purely on genuine trend strength." Summary of Key Elite Tactics - Use RVI as Confirmation: Always pair RVI with other indicators for trend confirmation, especially in End-of-Day setups. - Look for Divergences: Momentum divergences are a strong indicator of potential trend reversals. - Pair with Stochastic Crossovers: This overlooked combination gives a clearer picture of market strength. - End-of-Day Is Prime Time: Using the RVI in EOD trading helps you avoid the noise and make confident, well-timed decisions. Your Move, Traders The Relative Vigor Index isn’t the flashiest player in the world of trading indicators, but it brings a unique insight into the true strength of market momentum. By incorporating the RVI into your End-of-Day trading strategy, you get a better sense of which trades are ready to dance and which are about to trip over their own feet. Don’t let those common pitfalls sweep your profits away. With a little humor, a dash of patience, and some RVI analysis, you might just find that the end of each trading day feels more like a victory lap than a sigh of relief. Happy trading! Your Next Steps Ready to elevate your trading game? Check out some powerful tools and community support: - Latest Economic Indicators & Forex News: Stay on top of market-shaking events. - Forex Education: Expand your knowledge with exclusive courses. - Community Membership: Get daily alerts, expert analysis, and more. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Madelyn Cline

full name: Kaia Waverly

nickname(s) / goes by: Kaia / Kai

pronouns & gender: cis woman || she&her

sexuality: bisexual (lesbian-leaning)

birth date: August, 25, 1996.

birth place: Avalon, CA.

arrival to merrock: June 2024

housing: bungalow at the coast/pier

occupation: surf instructor / treasure hunter

work place: NA.

family: Seychelle Hutchinson - mom (AUS), Mark Waverly - dad (CR)

relationship status: Single Pringle

PERSONALITY

Kaia is extremely fortunate in the fact that she has dumb luck. It's usually this dumb luck that helps her get out of last-second obstacles. Kaia is also good with thinking outside the box; this makes her able to catch onto things that many others may not have thought about, or quickly brushed over. Another aspect that helps her with her line of work is that she knows a little about a lot; Kaia grew up with the ability to quickly get the hang of a new skill or activity, and thus she was easily bored - but, due to this she knows a wide range of info at a scale that can pertain to numerous topics. She's athletic, having had her fair share in sports growing up; soccer, volleyball, softball along with surfing and dance. She's always looking for new experiences and adventures, and is definitely someone who holds some pretty interesting stories. Kaia can easily build connections with others, but is used to keeping people at an arm's length due to the dangers of her job as well as the constant traveling. Her main goal in life is to experience and learn as much as she can about the world around her; as well as just to have fun and live every moment to the fullest. Kaia is super impulsive with her decisions, and this is due to the fact she is easily bored. She has good intentions, but is honestly chaotic in her actions. Is secretive by nature, and good at calling another's bluff; though she doesn't give the impression she's being secretive. Just overall, very fun-loving and here for a good time; always a 'why not?' type of vibe. She's just got her guard up cause of her past with her dad as well as her job.

WRITTEN BY: Ellie (she/her), est.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content warning: passive neglect

For as long as Kaia could remember, she was living a double-life. Originally from Avalon, CA - the girl was always split from her mother's condo in Sydney AUS, and her father's shack in Tamarindo CR. Whilst with her mother, Kaia's days were filled with spa treatments and art galleries. With her father, Kaia was always fighting against his job for his attention.

The only times she's genuinely "won" was when the activity took them to the shore. It was through her father that Kaia learned how to dive and boat; also gaining vast knowledge of the ocean and its inhabitants. The love for the water grew to be a constant in both places; both her parents loving to surf. It was amusing to her, that the one thing that ever brought her parents together was the only thing that made her feel centered; like she could breathe.

It was high school when her father ultimately stopped with the beach trips. His job just fully took over, but there was a rift that grew between them. As Kaia grew up, she started to see the extremely hard-to-reach side of her father that drove her mother away; the expectations too high for Kaia to reach in order to gain any sort of attention from him.

By the time she graduated high school with high honors, she was used to her father not showing up. He didn't care for her full ride scholarships, or that prestigious colleges wanted her.Instead of cutting ties and giving up like her mother did, Kaia tried to reach him by delving deep into his work. It was so much so, that she specialized in marine archaeology as well as oceanography in her studies. It was through her research for her thesis, when she stumbled upon a forum regarding an old map for Pirate Benito Bonito's treasure in Cocos Island. Her thesis then surrounding the lost treasure.

Maybe it was how her father scoffed, or maybe it was the discouragement from her preceptor that really had her drilling her life into solving the mystery after all. What was taking years for experts, only took Kaia about two weeks to solve and track down.

The amazing part wasn't having earned her father's attention or proving anyone wrong. It wasn't even how other doors began opening up for her in Costa Rica due to donating the treasure to the CR National Historic Society and Museum. It was the thrill and how similar solving the mystery was to how Kaia could breathe on a surfboard.

Since then, Kaia has been accepting quests from the wealthy, only to turn around and give it all to the museums and researchers. Recently, Kaia was caught straying from the original plan and running off with an artifact she feels is the key to a map she's been separated from. Due to this, she has been on the run and has decided to lay low in Merrock; taking on a cover job and assimilating to the small beach town way of life, to keep up the charade.

[beforecolin]

INFILTRATING THE HITCHCOCK KICKBACK

an active letting go of getting a glimpse 

at the moment of grammalepsy. esa cosa allá

total enjoyment. extreme seriousness. a 

rejection of understanding. a performance 

of the double dutch regression 

that positions a precultural configuration 

on the outside of an ironized (romantic) 

subject. EMMA HAUK writing impossibility 

over and over THE IMPOSSIBLE THE 

IMPOSSIBLE over and 

over THE IMPOSSIBLE.

friendliness with the bombastic philistines 

as a disdainful elitist caricature 

of a radical peasant movement. these works 

bare witness to a rehearsal of the gestural 

significance of the material, a dotted line 

that traverses the nomination of duchaump’s 

readymades and the exnomination of dubuffet’s 

position of discovery: Full of the same wind

qui est le vent de l'art brut, et aussi mon 

vent, the disappearance of dedication to the truth 

of romanticism as it appears in the form of 

an exaltation: THE INTERMINABILITY OF speech scroll ( 

banderole phylactery the en joyment of SIGNIFIERS 

as they caress her breasts, (who wanna come test the 

undressed?) detention for tricking the substitute 

teacher into thinking she was two phone 

shawty, a joke about a conversation i had 

with a friend where i promised him i wouldn’t 

do any painting UP AGAINST the fact that 

painting is a necessary next branch in the bifurcation 

of exhaustion that is my own life’s investigation 

into the process of discovering the gesture 

through mark making, and the invention of the mark 

through a combination of the gesture and other deus 

ex machinas that infiltrate this hitchcock kickback

in search of a new verism of the informal

enacting an inversion of the horror vacui 

that drives compulsive pareidolia 

while avoiding any celestial panacea

adamic gaucherie, caught between death 

and a porcelain zone of dismemberment 

at a time IN WHICH redemption encircles 

the lozenge of primal baptism 

and that’s why motion is cool - squeezed the aluminum 

tube so hard the damn thing cracked up

an inverted acknowledgement of humility 

amidst a calculating form of play, working its way 

back from literature and the literary, the dialectics 

of self immolation as a séance with the inner circle

that is blowing in the same bare place

medium: oil and coarse molding paste 

on brown shipping paper. and not to think 

of any misery in the sound of the wind,

in search of the searchingness of the gesture 

a liberation from and deliverance to a 

self-conscious position, pick pocketing pool sharks 

picket fence profiteering. inner experience as a betrayal 

of the sword swallower, a ruse in hopes of discovering 

the gesture. these works can be seen as a triptych 

with one of the pieces itself a diptych, man made 

matterfest, splatter test. tattered? yes. from paranoiac 

to pareidoliac voyeurism from the position 

of an impossibly neutral third party 

presiding over the proceeding that short circuit the game 

hopscotch across an assortment of tessalated intentions 

with the rules scrawled as the excavated [thick 

impasto (extension)] with Spoerri in love with knowing 

the absence of the beginning of the record: PICTUREs 

OF THE PROCESS LOOK WAY BETTER than 

the thing you thought you was making, that thing 

over there, between the materiality of the sign and a 

a new significance of the material, which is the sound 

of the land, these works (plays) are a staging 

of their own conditions of impossibility 

Lleno del mismo viento, the site at which 

the binding substance that maintains the cluster 

of descriptive features is dissolved. attention 

for asking facetiously not to be seen (like 

this): i’m whooped decent, disposed, le vent 

à venir. In the sound of a few leaves,

a call addressed to the outside 

of the signification of matter made manifest 

que está soplando en el mismo lugar desnudo: 

el emporio celestial de conocimientos 

benévolos evidence of an obsession with the seizure, 

the place} in time] in which the idiolectic gesture 

exceeds an anticultural freedom of movement 

hardening into radical decoration, repurposed static 

pastische of manifestation in an attempt 

to disinter the exquisite corpse, a concession 

to the gew gaw of confessional trinkets 

a humiliation of early netherlandish painting 

as a rite of passage, a self conscious fabrication 

en hommage à faultrier and bram bogart

[mapofthesea]

poly!maknae line x fem!reader

genre: SMUT. Like SO MUCH of it. They’re all fuckin’. Porn with very little plot tbh

word count: 8.3k

summary: having gone years since your last real relationship and subsequent satisfying fuck, you decide its finally time to put yourself back out there at the club. For some reason, this club is full of sexy men-who all happen to be taken. As soon as you’re about to give up on men for the rest of your life, your night takes an extremely lucky turn. 

warnings: swearing, dom!maknae line x sub!reader, reader experiences some self-doubt, boys are poly and all in love with each other, use of pet names, name calling but y/n is into it, specific smut warnings: unprotected sex (simply don’t do this irl please), oral (male and female receiving), some mxm, face fucking, spit, spanking, praise kink and degradation kink at the same time, maknae line are fucking hung, dacryphilia (but very slight), double penetration, Taehyung loves readers tits, bi!maknae line, cum eating

an: I don’t proofread so if there are typos that’s why. As always, this is mature content so if you are under 18 and/or uncomfortable then please do not go beyond the cut! 

“You should really go catch a dick. Maybe that would make you less of a bitch.” The teenager pops her gum as she leaves, a loud complaint about ‘shitty customer service’ spilling to her friends as soon as she catches their gaze. 

As much as the girl was annoying-demanding a refund for a dress that had clearly been worn-her words did hold a small modicum of truth. How long had it been since you even had a satisfactory hookup? Your last long term relationship fizzled out about 2 years ago, and a few months after that you gave up on the dating scene altogether. There’s no denying the fact that you’re a bit lonely, and a lot horny, and that there’s an easy way to fix those problems if you’re just willing to put in some effort.

So you find yourself at a club for the first time in probably four years, the bass pulsing through the sticky wooden floors. A group of giggling girls pushes past you, forcing your body further into the writhing mass of dancing bodies. Your heels pinched your feet as you walked, but they made your legs look good, so you soldier through the pain to make it to the bar. The prices make you cringe, but you haven’t flirted with anyone in so long you need the liquid courage. You order two drinks, intent on sitting at the bar to get your bearings before going to well, catch a dick. The height of the stool makes you struggle to get into it, extremely out of practice when it comes to balancing in heels. The chair shakes under you as you try to settle into it, finally planting your ass down ungracefully. You puff out a breath, already feeling downtrodden about the night and looking forward to swallowing down the alcohol set in front of you. Just as you gather one of the glasses into your hand, a voice sounds from your side. 

“Excuse me, uhm,” you turn toward the source of the noise and thank the heavens you’re already sitting down. The man speaking to you is tall and built in all the right places, strong shoulders you want to sink your teeth into drawing your eyes upward until you reach his defined jawline, the plump of his pink lips that stretch into a boxed smile. His body is wrapped in a simple black button up with a subtle pattern, leaving only the top button undone to give you a glimpse of smooth skin and a chunky gold chain around his neck. Devastatingly handsome brown eyes peer down at you and you wonder when you got so fucking lucky. He seems to be alone, this perfect man, and he started a conversation with you?

He licks his lips, eyes darting pointedly down to your cleavage-thank god you chose this low cut dress- and then back up to meet your gaze. Sparks of excitement thrum over your body as he leans against the bar beside you. 

“Can I ask you what you’re drinking? It looks quite...delicious.” The deep timbre of his voice burns you from the inside out and you nod dumbly.

“They’re called electric lemonades. They’re definitely among the things I find...delicious.” You hope that you haven’t completely missed the mark in attempting to flirt back. In a different setting you would have cringed at the words, but tonight you were operating only on the desire to get fucked. The man cracks a smile and extends a hand your way. His fingers are long and adorned with rings, and you shudder at the thought of how they would probably feel inside of you. 

“I’m Taehyung,” he adds as you shake his hand. “And thank you for the recommendation...” he looks at you pointedly and you get the hint to provide your name. The feeling of his warm hand makes your voice waver as you answer him. 

“Thank you, Y/N” His hand ghosts up your wrist, giving it a small squeeze and holding on as he grabs the bartenders attention. Your heart is thrumming erratically; trying to decipher what the contact means, if your night was really going to be this easy. He turns back to you, fingers dancing on your delicate skin as you catch a whiff of what must be expensive cologne. Your head fills with lust, abandoning rational thoughts as words bubble out of you. 

“You, I think you’re-” Taehyung smirks at your stuttering, cocking his head to the side as you speak. “I think you’re really hot, and I- do you wanna get out of here?” You blurt, face flaming at the cliche you resorted to in the heat of the moment. Taehyung’s smirk morphs into a full blown smile, pearly white teeth on display. 

“Oh, Y/N. I would love to, but I’m actually-” His eyes slide over your head, gaze locking onto something, someone, behind him. Your heart stops, world crashing  in on you from overhead. 

“Oh god, no, I’m so sorry,” you scramble out of his grip on your wrist, all but leaping off of the stool to get away from him. His handsome face twists in what must be disgust of your desperation. 

“Y/N, wait, you don’t have to-” He speaks after you as you leave, drinks latched between your palms as you hurry away from the bar, desperate to find a new spot to sit and collect your mind. 

As busy as the club seems to be, you find a small booth table squeezed toward the service door that leads into the kitchen. It’s dark and secluded, the leather of the seat smooth and cold against the bare skin of your thighs. Heat still simmers at your core from your encounter, and you down an entire drink in a few gulps, welcoming the burn of vodka and sting of sour lemon juice to wash away the embarrassment of being rejected. Still, there were a lot of people here, and although you doubted you would find another as hot and captivating as Taehyung, you weren’t ready to give up just yet.

“I told you I don’t have time to talk right now!” You jump at the person who seemed to have materialized from thin air sitting at the other end of your booth. His hair is shaggy, pieces hanging around his eyes in a tantalizing fashion, the beginnings of a mullet type style evident by the long cut.  His short sleeved shirt shows off an arm of impressive tattoos you’re desperate to have a closer look at. 

“Holy shit!” You exclaim, hand clasping over your chest as your empty glass clinks against the full one. You don’t think he even heard you, dark eyebrows furrowed as he presses his phone against his ear. His free hand is digging harshly into his thigh, clearly annoyed at whoever was on the other end of the call. 

He glances your way at the outburst, a frown marring his handsome features. Your stomach dives as you process just how handsome this stranger is too. Did all the hot men in the area flock to this club tonight? His eyes don’t leave yours as he finishes up the call with a curt goodbye and you squirm in your seat at the attention. The desire to down your second drink burns in the back of your throat but you suppress it by scratching at the back of your hand. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” the man speaks and you catch a glimpse of his shining lip piercing. He extends a veiny, tattoo covered-hand across the table and you catch a glimpse of a delicate sliver chain around his wrist that likely costs more than five months’ worth of your rent. You extend your hand slowly to his own, hoping he can’t feel the way your hands are clamming up. 

“Jungkook.” He states simply, shaking your hand two times before dropping it gently back to the table with a deceptively adorable smile.

“Oh, hi. I’m Y/N. And it’s okay, really. I just didn’t notice you were here when I sat down...” His piercing eyes are still stuck on your form, eyebrows quirked in what now looks more like amusement. Your face flushes at his attention and you're worried that the heat will begin to melt your makeup off unintentionally. “I just, ah, hope that you’re okay. That sounded like an intense call?” 

He grunts, fiddling with the bracelet. “Been on worse calls. And at least this one brought me some good fortune.” For a moment you assume he means whatever business he must be in, but the way he licks his lips tells you a whole different story. You squirm, in utter shock at the way your evening has shaped up. “M-me?” You finally stutter, once again proving why you hadn’t been in the game for a long, long time. 

Jungkook’s eyes scan you, crinkling with a genuine smile that makes your stomach backflip. The hand you shook previously takes your own again, running a gentle line over your palm.  “Yes, you, pretty. Don’t know why you’ve secluded yourself to the furthest booth in the bar, but I won’t complain if it means I get to be the one to entertain you.” He cocks his head in a way that has no right being so attractive, and you feel your insides start to liquify. 

“Oh, thank you. I think you’re pretty too...” you deliberately dance your fingertips over his, hoping the teasing touch does a lot of talking for you. Jungkook’s eyes narrow in on the gesture, glazing over with what you believe is lust. Your heart kicks up in excitement, feeling like you had finally cracked the proverbial code. His grin widens and you feel your heart stutter at the way he suddenly grasps your hand between both of his own. “The things I would do to you, if only...” his face shifts, and you’ve done enough time in customer service to know it’s a look of disappointment. A shard of sadness strikes right through you as you wiggle out of his grip, quickly grasping your drink and downing it ungracefully in an attempt to wipe out the shame in your gut. You vaguely register Jungkook’s voice calling after you, but you power towards the dance floor, hoping to get lost in the press of sweaty bodies. 

Alcohol and embarrassment are an interesting comorbidity, and the ache to get away from the gazes of the two men you had already met persuades you to weave further into the dance floor. You don’t know the lyrics to the song that’s playing but the beat vibrates through the floor and straight into your blood, encouraging you to rock your hips. You’re vaguely aware of the heat of bodies around you as your eyes slip shut, vodka finally doing the job you wanted it to. Something loosens in your chest, a feeling not unlike taking off your bra at the end of a long day. A body presses in close behind your own, a hand skating over your side to rest just above your hip. The two of you rock along to the music and you look down to see the hand on you looks strong and capable. Your heart and pussy lurch at the same time and you dare to spin around as you rock your hips to the music. 

The man attached to the hand had to have just walked off of a runway. His eyes are rimmed in smoky eyeliner, even with his plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth you can see a hint of gloss. His hand tightens on your waist, seemingly pleased with your ogling. You lean closer to his warmth, linking your arms around his neck to pull him down to your height. He takes the bait easily, slotting his head next to your neck and ghosting a hot breath over your skin. A shiver escapes you, exasperated as the music changes and the man makes a point to press his hips forward into your own. An unbidden groan slips from between your lips and you swear you hear him chuckle. 

You move just as boldly as he is, rotating your hips forward pointedly. His hands wander to tease the curve of your hip before resting firmly on your ass at the same time he nips at a spot on your neck. 

“I’m Jimin, by the way,” his voice is devastatingly husky and low right in your ear. It makes you shiver, digging your fingernails into the lean planes of his shoulders.  “Y/N,” You answer back with a push of your hips further into his own, happy that the tight jeans he had on confirmed the bulge you thought you felt against you. A shuddering breath punches out of you and Jimin notices, nudging his nose firmly against the lobe of your ear. 

“What’s a beautiful thing like you doing out here alone?” He husks. 

“Tryin’ not to be. But I keep hitting on taken men, apparently.” Jimin abandons the spot at your neck to peer down at you, pretty eyes narrowed in to your own. Your veins thrum under his attention. There’s something in his stare you can’t explain, a quality so captivating that you don’t have it in you to look away. 

“Well, what a shame for those guys. You’re such a pretty little thing, I can’t imagine turning you down...” he smirks in a way he must know makes your knees weak, hands taking another generous handful of your ass. You pitch forward into his chest, the fabric of what you assumed to be a simple tank top feels silky and cool under your cheek. Jimin’s chest rumbles with a pleased hum, lips ghosting over the sweaty hairs on your forehead. 

“Fuck, baby. Should we get out of here?” 

Your heart jumps at his words and you nod immediately, the desire to hook your legs around his waist and let him carry you out of the club replacing all of your usual concerns. You settle for clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he begins to move the two of you out of the crowd. People part easily for the two of you and before you know it you’re in a much quieter and cooler spot. Your fingers finally unlatch from his shirt and find a place on his jawline instead, hesitating for a second before pulling him down and kissing him. You feel triumphant when he falls into your rhythm, biting playfully at your bottom lip before weaving his tongue inside of your mouth. Desire is burning in your stomach and you squirm against him, desperate to get the fuck out of here and onto doing what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

“Hey, what the hell!” Someone exclaims, obviously in close proximity. You jump, narrowly avoiding biting down on Jimin’s lips as you both turn toward the noise. He keeps you close in his grasp, arms tight over your waist- possessive in a way that makes your stomach clench. 

“Oh, hey guys. This is Y/N.” Jimin grins, nodding his head in a loose gesture towards you. Your stomach knots and flips with anxiety as your drinks threaten to make a reappearance. 

“Y/N, this is Jun-”

“Jungkook and Taehyung. Yeah, I um...” you trail off, wide eyes still in disbelief of the fact that your two failed endeavors are standing before you and seemingly are friends with Jimin. 

Jimin puffs a breath that ruffles your hair. “Wait, is she- she’s the same girl you guys were talking about? And they’re the guys you mentioned earlier?” 

The two other boys nod along with you, and despite the growing feeling of horror in your gut, you can’t help but feel hot under the gaze of all three of them. Jungkook locks his gaze on Jimin’s arms wound around you and his lip curls into a smirk. He moves in closer to your body until you can feel the heat radiating off of him. The tattooed hand you were so enamored with comes to tuck a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. 

“I really wish you would have stuck around when I called after you earlier, babe. Just lucky you found your way to Jimin.” His eyes dart to your lips and your heart pounds out of your chest. Every one of your senses heightens; the feeling of Jimin’s arms around you, the scent of Jungkook’s cologne, the way your vision is swimming with desire. 

“You can kiss him if you want,” Jimin offers, splaying his hand against your waist in encouragement. Your eyes go wide and you hear a throaty laugh- Taehyung- at your stunned expression. 

“Here’s the thing, Y/N. What you didn't let Jungkook and I get to is that we’re dating. Us, and Jimin. His eyes have gone a shade darker than they were at the bar and it makes your pussy clench. “So if you’d like to have all three of us. We’d all certainly like to have you.” 

You swear you forget how to breath as his words land and process, but the way your knees physically weaken is evidence enough of how you’re feeling. 

“Yes! I uh, yes. To all of it. Y-yes. Please.” Taehyung smirks, running his sinful tongue across his lips, and before you know it you’re all moving towards the door. You feel hazy in the best way possible as Taehyung and Jimin go to collect a taxi and Jungkook hangs back with you, attacking your lips with his own. The cold press of his piercing pulls a gasp from your mouth as he devours you in a kiss even nastier than the one you shared with Jimin. You’re more than happy to get lost in it, allowing Jungkook to guide you until you’re at the taxi, squeezing into the back seat with the other two boys. Jungkook settles you on his lap, holding you steady around the waist as the car starts and gets you back to their apartment. 

It’s a race to get up to their unit, and you can barely keep track of who is touching you where as the four of you ride the elevator up several stories. 

The inside of the apartment seems nicely decorated and clean, but you only have time to glimpse the living room before the three men are pulling you into a bedroom. 

“Look so fucking sexy, baby. I thought we’d lost you after you left me at the bar like that...” Taehyung shamelessly eyes your body, hands working underneath the fabric of your dress at your thighs. 

“Can we get you out of this?” Jungkook presses in behind you, pulling your hair to the side and playing with the delicate zipper on your dress.  “Yes, please.” You nod emphatically, head tipping forward to allow Jungkook more room. The gentle skim of his fingers on your back raises goosebumps and makes your nipples perk. 

“Shit.” Taehyung swears loudly when your dress slips down, leaving you bare aside from a simple pair of underwear. His lips immediately attach to your nipple, sucking with a fervor that your ex never came close to. Jungkook’s calloused fingers dip into the waistband of your panties and rub the soft skin at your hip before pulling them down your legs. You can feel your arousal smearing down your thighs with the movement, sure that there’s already a mess between your legs. Before you can open your mouth to defend yourself, Jimin appears, shirt already gone, to claim your lips again. 

Taehyung nips at the sensitive skin of your breast, leaving a mark that will be blooming in purple by the morning. He laves the spot with his tongue, humming against you as he helps himself to the expanse of you. Jimin lets up so you can both heave a breath. His eyes are much darker than they were on the dance floor, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver through you. He smirks, laying a possessive hand on top of Taehyung’s head as he continues to leave a path of marks on your torso. 

Your stomach hums with anticipation as you watch the two of them. The simple touch speaks volumes to the closeness of their relationship. Jimin grips your chin with his free hand, tipping your head upwards until you make eye contact. 

“You gonna be good for us?” You’re already nodding, and he lets out a dark chuckle. “Good little slut, letting us do whatever we want to you. Isn't that right?” A whine rips from your throat, as Jungkook’s hands find a new home in between your legs, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your body pitches forward, forcing Taehyung to back off as you move. 

“S-sorry,” you stutter, embarrassed at the way you bent over for them so easily. The feeling washes away as your angle brings you level with Taehyung’s cock, clearly strained against the fabric of his linen pants. You swear your mouth waters at the sight, itching to have him in you. Jimin’s hands find a home on your lower back, the gentle touch grounding you to the absurdity of the situation. 

Jungkook groans at the sight of your bared pussy, his hand immediately spreading your folds. You moan in tandem, eyes rolling at the pleasure.  “Shit, she’s so fucking wet.” He’s clearly speaking to the men around you, and the idea makes your cheeks flame. The squelch of your juices fills the room as Jungkook pushes a long finger inside of you. The stretch makes you gasp and quiver, having been embarrassingly long since you had anything inside of you. Your hands flail wildly until they land conveniently on Taehyung’s waist, just inches from his waiting cock. 

“Feels good?” He asks, latching his hands around your wrists and not so subtly inching them toward his cock.  “Wanna suck your cock,” you blurt the words as soon as your hand grazes him and are immediately rewarded with triplet groans from the men. 

“Go ahead, baby.” Taehyung encourages you as you find the zipper to his pants, struggling as Jungkook slips another finger inside of you and begins opening you up in a slow burn. You puff a breath when you finally get a look at Taehyung’s cock, heavy and flushed in your hand, with a prettily colored tip and strong veins under your thumb. You rub your thumb over the head and Taehyung groans, canting his hips forward into your touch. Anxiety stirs in your stomach at his size and your lack of experience, and your eyes widen at the prospect of trying to hold yourself up while being fucked on both ends. 

“Wait, I-” the words punch out of you, loud enough that the room stills. Jimin’s hands move, encouraging you to stand back upright as three concerned faces materialize in front of you. 

“Oh god, this is so embarrassing.” You groan, shutting your eyes tight. 

“We can stop!” Jungkook insists, voice surprisingly high strung. 

“No! No, I just.” You open your eyes again, licking your dried lips. “Its been a long time since I...you know. And I just, maybe we can move to the bed so I don’t like, fall?” Your eyes dart between them, expecting them to laugh or maybe tell you to just suck it up, but instead a low coo spills from between Jimin’s plush lips. 

“Poor girl, you haven’t been fucked in so long you’re worried you won't be able to handle us? Come on.” He leads you the few steps to the bed, laying you down with your back on the cool comforter. His pretty hair falls around his face and your hands are immediately in it, relishing in the soft feeling of his locks between your fingers in a way that grounds you to the moment. All you can focus on is how handsome he is, and how lucky you are to have found yourself in this situation. His lips descend on your own as if he can read your mind, grabbing at your waist with both capable hands. The kiss tastes like alcohol and you can't get enough, welcoming his tongue inside of your mouth in a messy swap of spit. Your noses squish together, as close as humanly possible to one another, until a sharp moan throws you out of your rhythm. Jimin lets up when you stop, leaning to the side casually to let you get a glimpse of the other two boys. The moan belonged to Taehyung, who had apparently stripped down while you were kissing Jimin, who was at the mercy of Jungkook’s hand on his cock. Jungkook had rid himself of his clothing as well, and you couldn't decide where to look first. 

Taehyung’s neck was on display, the muscular column inviting you to take a bite out of him as Jungkook works his deft fingers along the impressive length of his cock, all while his other hand grinds slowly against his own. 

“Aren't they pretty?” Jimin’s sinful voice snakes into your ear and makes you shiver. His hands deftly work down his own pants and boxers, and you’re given a hint of what he has to offer. 

“P-please, Jimin, want you.” He chuckles at the words but obeys you, quickly slotting himself between your legs. With no barriers between you, you can feel the thickness of his cock against your pussy, the girth of him taunting you. 

“As much as I wanna dive into your pretty little pussy, she deserves some more attention, don’t you think?” A knowing smirk graces his features as he lowers himself to your stomach, skimming the skin of your stomach with his tongue. The trail he leaves is electric, sending shockwaves of arousal right to your core as he gets closer. Your hands find a home in his hair again, happy to scrape against his scalp with a gentle pressure as he finally settles between your legs.

A stream of air against your clit makes you whimper, hips bucking off of the bed enough that he loops an arm over your stomach to hold you down. 

“Fuck, Jimin, please!” He giggles from between your legs and you think you might die before his mouth even touches you. Taehyung and Jungkook have turned their attentions to you, and the sight of them both hard in front of you is enough to make your head spin. You close your eyes, and as soon as your head drops back onto the bed, Jimin makes his move. 

Maybe it's just because it had been so long since you had someone eat you out, but the first touch of his tongue brought you spiraling toward an orgasm. Your hands tighten on his locks and he groans as he laps at you, circling your clit with his tongue in perfect little circles. The noises that escape you don’t feel like your own as you rush embarrassingly fast towards cumming. Your vision blurs with tears, and you cum without a warning. A pleasant humming fills your mind as Jimin continues to eat you out, lapping up whatever you give him with a fervor that makes your toes curl. Wet tears roll over your cheeks and into your hairline, mixing with the sweat that was already there. 

So lost in the pleasure, you barely notice that Jimin had stopped until your hands drop form his hair, limp at your sides. His lips and nose are glistening with your juices, and the sight of him makes you gasp. 

“You came so fast, baby. Were you really that deprived?” You lean into the attention and nod, whining to him when he coos over you. “Such a pretty little pussy deserves attention, doesn't it?” You know he’s relishing in your submission, but you’re more than happy to fall into it when you feel so safe. 

The bed dips above your head, and you know that it’s Taehyung and Jungkook finally joining you. You crane your head backwards to find them both staring raptly at your figure, the heaving of your chest as you recover. 

“Think she's ready for a dick?” Jimin asks casually, as if you’re not right under him. You whimper, nodding your head emphatically. He finally casts a gaze back down at you, smiling with genuine kindness. After a second he leans away, allowing cold air to wash over your body. A small feeling of alarm washes over you as he backs up, and your eyes dart around as he reaches into the bedside table a few steps away. The silver packet shimmers in the low light, as as much as you admire their willingness to be safe, you shake your head petulantly. 

Taehyung’s face hovers over your own in an instant, eyebrows furrowed as he examines you. You know he’s looking for signs of distress; assessing if you need to stop, but all he sees is your pouty lip and teary eyes. 

“I wanna-” you gulp down a swallow. “Wanna feel you raw. Please. I'm on the pill and I’m clean.” You plead your case to the man above you, knowing well that they’re all listening. “I just wanna feel you...” you try again when no one says anything. Then, Taehyung’s face lights up in a smile that would seem evil if you didn't know any better. 

“Hear that, guys? Our pretty little baby wants us raw.” Excitement passes through your stomach when you see how this is going. 

“If that’s what she wants...” Jungkook chimes in, pretending like his cock didn't jump and throb at your words. Jimin comes back to you, hands empty, and grasps the meat of your thighs, hoisting them up so that they’re bent at the knees. One hand drops, and you assume he’s going to play with your pussy, but it instead comes down harshly on the juncture of your ass and thigh. 

“You nasty little thing. Want all three of us to cum in you? Fill up your little pussy like you’ve been waiting for?” The gravel in his voice makes your pussy clench and he sees it, chuckling darkly. 

“What do you say, guys? Wanna cum inside her?” A collective groan of agreement falls from everyone but Jimin, who is busy lining himself up with your soaking entrance. You heave a breath in anticipation as Taehyung and Jungkook move to flank your sides, eager to have their hands on you. “We’re all clean too, baby. Nothing to worry about.” Jungkook suddenly assures you, tracing a gentle line down your arm closest to him. 

At your nod, Jimin presses forward, beginning his descent into you. The stretch is already unbelievable, much more intense than your tiny vibrator. He reads your body well, taking his time to enter you as you gasp and writhe. Taehyung and Jungkook do their best to soothe you, helping to pain morph into pleasure as Jimin is finally fully inside of you. 

“Holy shit, you feel so good.” His voice is airy with pleasure and it inflates your ego just a bit. He begins a steady rhythm, splitting you open with every movement of his hips. A gasp stutters out of you when you realize just how big he is, tears brimming once again at the pure pleasure he’s giving you. It doesn't take long for him to increase his pace, fucking into you so hard that you’re pushed further onto the bed, tears spilling freely. Jungkook and Taehyung have each taken the liberty to attend to one of your nipples, pinching and licking at them as they please while Jimin wrecks you. 

“Look so pretty when you cry, baby. Sweet little crybaby letting me ruin her pussy, huh?” Jimin’s words add fuel to the fire in your stomach, and you cry even more as he hits a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. 

“I’m getting close, Jimin-” your voice is stolen from you as Jungkook takes the opportunity to work two large fingers over your sensitive clit, heightening every sensation into a burning desire in your stomach. 

“I’m cumming!” You’re impressed the words even make it out before you feel like you’re floating, cumming around Jimin’s cock. Neither him or Jungkook let up as you scream their names, hands scrabbling for something to anchor yourself. White spots cloud your vision, and as the sensation passes you realize that your whole body is trembling. Taehyung’s planting kisses on your collarbones, murmuring things you can't quite understand yet. Jimin and Jungkook’s eyes are glued to your pussy, and you can feel it fluttering with the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, gimme a turn.” Jungkook is suddenly on the move, practically shoving Jimin- who was still hard- out of the way. Jimin doesn’t protest, his chest heaving from effort as he lays down next to you on the bed, immediately stealing your attention with a kiss. 

“You are so hot, you know that?” He says, brushing stray strands of hair out of your eyes. “Crying like that got me fucking harder, somehow. Shit.” You almost feel bad that he’s still hard, but Taehyung steals your attention quickly with a kiss of his own. Jungkook’s hands dance on your thighs, admiring the red marks that Jimin’s hand had made on you. His hand comes down on the opposite cheek that Jimin slapped earlier, relishing in the way you whine into Taehyung’s kiss. He lands one more on each side for good measure, and you moan so loudly that you have to pull away from Taehyung’s mouth. 

Jungkook takes the moment to tease his head against your slick entrance, and you nod fervently to tell him you’re more than ready for his cock. He’s somehow longer than Jimin, the impressive length a bit imposing as he begins to slip in. Despite just having orgasmed, he still stretches your entrance considerably. Taehyung groans along with you, sitting up for a better look as he wraps his hand around his cock. You can see now just how needy he is, the tip red and leaking. You reach for him absently, trying to keep your eyes on Jungkook as his face twists into pleasure. 

“Think she wants you, Taehyung.” Jimin interjects, warm hands enjoying caressing your side. Your mind is fuzzy with desire, as Taehyung finally gets your cues and props himself up. The sight of his cock makes your mouth water, and you open it to him with no hesitation. Perhaps wisely, he sneaks a look down to your pussy, where Jungkook had started a slow and satisfying rhythm inside of you. As if he knew the exact timing, Taehyung shoves his cock into your waiting mouth at the exact same time Jungkook ramps up his speed. 

Stuffed on both ends, you moan, surprised and delighted at how well the men worked together. Jungkook’s pace is punishing, relentless with the way he batters your pussy like it’s made for him. Lewd groans spills from him in a constant stream, and paired with the way he stretches you, you would be screaming for the whole building to hear if not for Taehyung’s cock. 

You focus on him as well as you can, relaxing your throat to let him fuck your face as he pleases. Your gag reflex threatens to make an appearance but you fight through it, enjoying the burn of your throat expanding for him. Taehyung is surprisingly perceptive to your needs and speeds up his thrusts just enough to make you feel wonderfully numb, spit seeping around his cock. The wetness drips down your chin onto your chest, but you are far too gone to find it embarrassing. Jungkook is lost in his pleasure, hips moving at an inhumane speed that scrambles your brain and sends shockwaves through your pussy.

“Pretty fucking girl, slobbering on my cock. Lettin’ me fuck your throat like a whore while Jungkook fucks you. Just a good little whore, doing whatever we want you to do, huh?” You nod at his words as best as you can, the mixture of sweat, tears and spit making your neck feel stick, but it’s all worth it when Taehyung produces the deepest moan you've ever heard. 

Jungkook mirrors him, letting out a string of high pitched whines. You choke around Taehyung’s cock at the movements and he lets up, allowing your wrecked voice to fill the room alongside Jungkook’s. With Taehyung out of the way Jungkook leans forward and leaves a bite on your neck, gasping as you feel his release fill you. The warmth makes your eyes roll back, satisfied to finally be filled with someone’s cum. 

Jungkook continues to buck his hips as he cums, laying his head down on your chest as Jimin captivates him in a kiss of his own. You’re entranced by their embrace, watching the way their tongues slip against each others as Jungkook rests on your chest. A happiness settles inside of you, not even bothered that you didn't come, as Jungkook lets out an airy giggle. He stands up and finds the strength to pull out of you, eyes glued to the mess he made inside of you. 

His cum rushes out and you clench to keep it in, loving the heavy feeling inside of you. Jungkook swears, pushing his sweaty hair back off his gorgeous forehead. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty with your pussy filled.” You’re surprised to hear Taehyung say, as he rounds the bed. They fall into their natural rhythm again as Jungkook finds his place, cuddled into Jimin’s side as if they’re watching a show. Taehyung’s eyes glint with something you can’t explain as he works a hand over his cock. 

He sees your questioning gaze and smirks. “Had to stop fucking your mouth cause I only wanna cum inside of you.” His hands find your hips, massaging the flesh there with reverence. “Flip over.” His sweet playful tone is gone, replaced by a hard dominance that churns your stomach. It takes a second to get your muscles to work, but soon you’re on your knees and elbows, head buried in the soft comforter. Taehyung groans, clearly enjoying the change in scenery as he gropes your ass. His fingers split open your pussy, watching Jungkook’s cum seep out of it. 

He takes a swipe across your pussy with his tongue, sending a moan stuttering out of you. “Tastes so good, but I can't wait to be inside of it.” 

“Please fuck me, Taehyung. I need you so bad.” You whine. The desire to have another load of cum inside of you overtakes any decorum as you shuffle your hips back against him, hoping it will make him act faster. 

“You greedy little girl. Already been fucked twice and you can't get enough?” He teases but you can hear the hitch in his voice, the way the heavy head of his cock traces against your exposed folds. He takes extra time to run the head of his cock over your engorged clit, extra sensitive since you didn't cum with Jungkook. Without warning his cock is sliding into you, pushing through the wetness of Jungkook’s come and your arousal. 

By far the thickest of the three, Taehyung’s cock punches the air out of you with the new angle. Your manicured nails grip the comforter in anticipation, and before you know it Taehyung is pounding into you. You feel like you will never catch your breath again with the way he’s moving inside of you, deconstructing your nervous system piece by piece. You’re vaguely aware of Jimin and Jungkook next to you and you turn your head in curiosity. 

Jungkook, despite his tiredness, has his lips wrapped around Jimin’s cock, eyes closed in pleasure as he bobs his head. The sight sends a ripple of pleasure straight to your core, tightening around Taehyung so much that he slaps your ass in appreciation. Jimin’s eyelids hang low but open, dangerous eyes boring right into your own as if he could read your mind. The hand that isn’t propping him up is resting gently on Jungkook’s head, and even with the momentum from Taehyung’s thrusts making your vision blurry, you can tell that Jimin’s face is the picture of sinful pleasure. 

Taehyung’s fingers seek out your clit and your instantly clench around him, your walls spasming as you fall into sensory bliss, all but drooling into the fabric below you. 

“Love this greedy little pussy, baby. So lucky we met her-” a hitch of his breath accompanied by his hips stuttering. “Come on, cum for me so I can fill you up.” His fingers somehow move faster, strumming your clit in a way that makes your toes clench and your stomach unravel. You cum with a force you didn’t know possible, gushing around Taehyung’s cock in a sticky mess. He thrusts only a few more times before spilling inside of you, slapping your ass again for good measure.  Your ears ring, happy with the numbness of your world. You can tell there are several hands on you, but who they belong to is a mystery. Taehyung’s cock leaves you and you whine, immediately missing the weight of him inside you. His cum spills out behind him and you feel like you could cry as the fullness slips away from you. You try your best to voice it as your body collapses onto the bed, but you can’t tell if they can even hear you let alone understand you. 

The edges of your vision return, fingers and toes coming back to life. You finally make out the hands on your head to be Jungkook’s, who is laying down next to you, staring at you as if you were made of stars. He’s speaking lowly and you smile when you finally make sense of what he’s saying.

“Good girl, now there you are. Hey.” The soft tone he uses makes you feel at ease. “Can you tell me what you were just trying to say?” His eyebrows furrow cutely and you try so hard to focus on his question and not the way you want to kiss him so badly. It takes your mouth a few moments to catch up to your brain, and you finally wade through the happy haze of your orgasm. 

“I said that I-” you wince at how wrecked your voice is. “I don’ want all the cum to slip out of me.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your admission, perhaps expecting you to have much more PG thing to say. He recovers quickly, allowing a sexy smirk to break through. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook says, and for a second you’re still confused, until the man he calls upon is taking his place. His makeup still looks impeccable, and this close up you can see the details in his irises. He says nothing, and you aren’t sure exactly what he heard, so you just start again. 

“I want to-”

“Have all the cum stuffed back into you?” His words shock you despite how lewd the entire night had been. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright? That last orgasm really took it out of you, sweetheart.” 

Your heart jumps at his consideration, but there’s still a fire burning deep in your stomach that you know he could be the one to put out. You turn your head just enough to see that his cock is still hard, leaking precum against his toned stomach.

“Yes, I’m sure. Please. Please. I promise I’ll be good. Wanna make you cum. Wanna have you all in me.” Jimin’s eyes darken immediately, and his strong hands maneuver your pliant body back onto your back. A surge of confidence runs through you at the animalistic desire on his face. 

“Gonna get you all filled up, baby. Our perfect little cum dump. Lettin’ us all take our turns with you.” He spreads your legs, examining your puffy pussy lips and the remnants of cum that leak from you. He gathers up what he can with his fingers and shoves it back into you. You shudder at the intrusion, beyond sensitive to his touches. 

“”M not gonna last long, baby. I’m so fucking hard.” He whines, palming himself as he gets to where he needs to be, settled between your legs snugly.  “S okay, just want your cum.” You assure him sweetly, feeling the weight of the night as well. You weren't even sure you had it in you to cum again, but you knew you wouldn't end the night satisfied without having them all spill inside of you. 

Jimin wastes no time after your reassurance, and his cock slides right in as if you were made for him. The lubrication makes for an extremely easy glide. Every move he makes strikes pleasure in your pussy, the sensitivity of the muscles making your orgasm build with surprising speed. Jimin can feel you clenching around him and he gasps, knowing your tells after seeing you cum so many times in one night. He presses a nimble finger to your clit, and that’s all it takes for you to cum again. A slow simmering orgasm that makes your legs shake as you gasp, latching onto Jimin’s arms for support. He joins you not long after, giving a few short thrusts to make sure that he fills you up deep. 

He drops his full body weight on top of you and you relish in the secure feeling, his cock twitching while still inside you. The shake in your legs finally stills, and Jimin pulls out of you, careful to minimize the amount that slipped out of you. You closed your legs instinctively although you were exhausted beyond belief. As the adrenaline wears off and the sweat begins to dry you shiver under him. Despite the heat of his body, you were definitely in need of something else to cover you. When he feels you shiver he plants a kiss on your forehead before sitting up and pulling aside the comforter on the bed before leading you underneath the layers of warmth. He slips in right after you, wrapping his arms steady around your figure. Your eyes threaten to slip shut, but the absence of the others nags at the back of your brain. 

“Went to get clothes and water,” Jimin explains as if he can read your mind. His head barely lifts from your shoulder as he speaks, and the low hum of his voice against you soothes the very last of your frayed nerves. Seconds later the door glides open, a now-dressed Taehyung and Jungkook with bottles of water and fabric bundled in their hands. 

You and Jimin both take a water bottle, and the other boys settle down on the bed. Suddenly you realize the bed isn't quite big enough for all four of you, as Taehyung’s limbs sprawl overtop of Jungkook’s. 

Jungkook waits until you drain half the water bottle, and then shuffles the pile of clothes in his arms. 

“They’re uh- they’re my clothes, but I. Figured they'd be better than your...dress.” He blushes, gingerly holding it out to you. The sight makes you giggle, but you thank him, and pull the shirt on over your head while you're still in the bed. Feeling like you could trust your legs again you slip out of bed and pull on the boxers and sweatpants he gave you. The shirt falls to your thighs and the bottoms he gave you only fit because of their drawstring, but the enveloping warmth and comfort made up for the size difference. 

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You whisper your thanks, scared to ruin the comfortable low hum of conversation between Taehyung and Jimin. It's easy to slip back under the sheets, wedged between Jimin and Jungkook. Taeyhyung takes the other side of Jimin, barely having enough room for his body at the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he reaches an arm across Jimin to reach you. He gently places a hand on your arm, rubbing gently at the skin there. 

An odd wave of emotion crests over you and your eyes well. “Thank you, by the way.” 

To your complete embarrassment they all coo at once, squishing in closer to you. You all smell like sex and sweat, but the embrace is so sweet that you have to remind yourself it was only a one night stand. 

“We should be the ones thanking you, Y/N. Believe it or we don’t usually do...this.” Jungkook admits. He’s facing your back but you can imagine the blush on his cheeks as he speaks. The idea shocks you and a sound of disbelief punches out of you. 

“It’s true,” Jimin pokes your ribs gently when he sees the look on your face. “We’re pretty picky. But you...” He stops himself, seeming to be afraid of saying too much. A teasing glimmer of hope sprouts in your chest with the implications of his words. Was it too soon for you to suggest doing this again? Or just hanging out like normal people? There’s no denying that you’re wildly attracted to all of them, but does that mean its worth pursuing? “We can think about it in the morning.” Comes Jimin’s gentle voice. Taehyung nods from behind him, and you can tell that his exhaustion is catching up to him. You have no idea it was when you left the club with them, and certainly have no idea what hour it is now. Jungkook grunts his agreement into your neck, and you hope he can't sense the way your heartbeat speeds up at his proximity. 

“Well still, thank you. And good night.” You murmur, nestling into the surprisingly soft pillow. Your eyes shut, and sleep is just inches away, latched between the two men closest to you, when Jimin begins to wiggle. 

“Shit, guys. Let me out, I need to piss.” Triplet sighs follow his demand, and you all laugh as he flips you off on the way to the bathroom. 

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[povlvr]

1. Fuck It, What's The Worst That Could Happen?

Pairing: Biker Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You had a decision to make: Netflix & a bottle of wine or a dive bar with a reputation for violence & occupied by a biker gang?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Violence, alcohol consumption, smut ...ish

A/N: I prefer giving my female reader an actual name rather than Y/N.

You were discovering being new in a small town had its drawbacks, no matter how many times you refused it, it was inevitable that your boss would sign off on the transfer & you would end up here, here in the middle of nowhere, no friends, no family & absolutely nothing to do on a Friday night. Contemplating your options, you concluded they consisted of either Netflix with a bottle of wine for the fourth weekend in a row or sit at the local bar & try to make a friend whilst not getting murdered. You’d heard stories from your new colleagues about the only bar in town when you suggested an after-work drink so if you remained unscathed it would be a successful excursion & a much needed change of scenery from the four walls you had been trapped in each night for the last month. Going from living in the city that never sleeps to the dusty half abandoned town you found yourself in you were desperate for some excitement, fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

Like everything in your life at the moment your apartment was bland, cream walls, light floors, nothing on the walls, nothing on the sides, just an empty shell you’d been provided by your company to ‘ease the transition’. It felt temporary or more accurately you needed it to feel temporary in the hopes it would be a quick assignment & then you’d be home in New York where you belonged, most boxes were still unpacked hidden in the spare room. You had every intention of giving it a go once the transfer had been confirmed, the chance to start fresh, explore a new place, your life packed up in a U-Haul van but the endless road on the trip to the hellhole you find yourself in left you hollow, with no one waving you off & the daunting task of starting again overwhelmed you, so your mind did what it always did; deny & compartmentalise your feelings. You convinced yourself you were going to be here for 6 months then back home, home to no-one.

Shaking off the looming thoughts plaguing your mind you peeled yourself off the sofa & set about choosing what to wear, it proved a difficult task, the fine line between wearing something that could draw unwanted attention to yourself & nice enough to make a good impression on anyone you did meet was on a knife edge with your limited wardrobe. You settled on your favourite leather skinny jeans, a lace black body, & leather jacket. Double leather seemed a bit extreme, but kind of appropriate for a bar that according to your new colleagues is home to a motorcycle gang.

-

Entering the bar you could see where you went wrong with your outfit, a band tee with a pair of light wash denim & your converse would have sufficed for this place, nevertheless you walked with confidence through the crowd to the bar, practically all eyes on you, the stranger, fresh meat. The atmosphere seemed friendly enough despite the staring, the floor was a little sticky from years��� worth of beer spillages & the windows blacked out but there was a typical Friday night buzz of people relaxing & enjoying themselves.

The redhead behind the bar let out a low whistle as you sat on an empty stool.

‘Honey, you will be in a lot of trouble if you come in here looking that hot.’

‘Yeah I may have slightly overdressed in hindsight.’ You sheepishly admitted whilst closing your jacket around your exposed skin.

‘I take it you’re new around these parts? I’m Nat, what can I get you?’

‘Is it that obvious? I’m Florence, I’ll have a glass of white wine please … large.’

Nat busied herself with your drink & you twisted around on the stool observing the busy bar, a figure approached in your peripheral vision & stationed themselves next to you at the counter, returning your gaze to the beautiful fiery bar tender she passed you the glass containing more than a generous serving.

‘Are you meeting someone?�� she enquired as you settled your bill, eyes wide at the price she was charging you.

‘Are you taking pity on me & not charging fully or something? That can’t be right.’

‘Sure is honey, gave you the good stuff too. Figured someone who looks like you do wouldn’t settle for the house white.’

‘Don’t let me go wild if that’s the case, I’m from New York & you couldn’t get a glass of water for that.’ You said laughing, it was a sound you hadn’t heard in quite some time, ‘and no I’m not meeting anyone. I don’t actually know anyone in this town yet.’

‘Well, you do now, I’ll give you the rundown of the town & where to go, where not to go, what to do. You need anything I’m your woman.’

You had heard of southern hospitality but never midwestern, in fact you’d heard they were very unwelcoming of newcomers to their small tightknit towns, but here was this gorgeous woman showing you a kindness unlike any other & it brightened up the cloud that had been solidly stationed above your head since you arrived in town.

‘Thank you Nat, I’ve been spending my nights with Netflix for company so any help is appreciated.’

A low voice interrupted ‘I can help you with that toots’, the gentleman to your right who had been loitering next to you made his presence known, he attached himself to your arm in a very unwelcomed exchange breathing his whiskey soaked breath down at you.

‘Carl', I told you I’d only let you in if you didn’t cause trouble.’ Nat harshly warned.

‘Not causing any trouble here, just talking to the pretty lady.’ He pleaded.

The pair were staring daggers towards each other as you studied the man who had attached himself aggressively to your limb, his greasy lank hair clung to his mottled clammy complexion, his clothes worn & tired, filth lodged in his fingernails, the sight rendered you queasy at the thought of him touching you more. The longer their stare down lasted the more uncomfortable you got in his grasp, you were used to sleezy men hitting on you but them laying hands on you was a whole different matter, initially you froze in shock but as the reality set in on how brazen he was you got angry.

‘Please let go of my arm’ you said through gritted teeth.

Bucky sat at his table in the shadows, surrounded by his crew his eyes hadn’t left you since you strutted into the sleepy bar awaking something he’d not felt in a long time. His brief time in the military sharpened his ability to assess situations, he was especially quick to assess you, confident, clearly from a place far from here, no ring & from the lack of looking around or checking your phone not here to meet anyone, you were alone. It was inevitable that the person approaching you would do so, usually Bucky would send one of his crew to rescue whichever poor woman had crossed paths with Carl but was studying you, he wanted to see how you would react to him. After all, in Bucky’s head you don’t walk around clad head to toe in leather without being to handle the unwanted advances from men. The same head to toe leather that got his blood pumping & his trousers tight at the very sight of you let alone the bulge he was now sporting at the thought of lying you on his bike, peeling the leather off your sticky skin & eating your pussy until you drenched his seat. Seeing the bold move Carl pulled by laying his hands on you was enough to get Bucky out of his seat, jaw clenching with an overwhelming urge to protect you, his associates stood in unison looking to see what stirred their leader; Bucky gestured for them to sit & they watched with intrigue as he approached the situation from behind ready to put Carl in his place.

‘Now now toots ignore her, we can have a real nice night together.’ You could see Nat trying to stay to keep an eye on you but getting more & more patrons shouting out orders, you calmly nodded in her direction to let her know you would be ok. She relented, but not before you notice her eyes dart behind you & a look of recognition flash on her face.

You’d known Men like Carl your entire life, they think women are there to cook their dinners & warm their cocks, they think they have the right to touch whatever they like & women will just take it then think themselves lucky for the attention. You were none of those women, you were a New Yorker & made of sterner stuff.

You felt the presence of someone behind you, the one Nat acknowledged & the look that set hold in Carls eyes said enough to know they were bigger than him, you used the moment of distraction to stomp your stiletto down on to Carl’s foot resulting in him screaming profanities at you, much to the amusement of the person behind you.

‘Do not ever touch me again, do I make myself clear.’ You spat at him whilst removing you embedded heal from his foot.

‘You fucking bitch, you fucking whore, you broke my fucking foot.’

He had already begun to swing for you when the words came out of his mouth, Bucky swiftly moved to intercept making sure to guide you behind him, he was lightening quick & you had already braced yourself to be punched. He caught Carl’s fist in his, whilst cupping the back of his head with the other hand & slamming it on the bar. The wall of muscle you were facing completely rendered you mute, safe to say Carl lost a tooth or two & slid down to the floor knocked out, Carl was swiftly scooped off the floor by two men you had not previously noticed & carried away as you processed what had just happened.

‘Seriously Bucky, there are fucking teeth on my floor & I’ll have to clean up the blood.’ Nat barked, clearly not intimidated by the giant man who was now staring at you.

‘You shouldn’t have let him in in the first place Natasha, he has no respect for women & will harass them until someone gets hurt.’ His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke to your newly acquired friend. He was a vision, warm brown hair cropped short, a rough beard you could tell was a recent goatee, a complete solid wall of muscle towering over you.

‘Are you ok?’ his low velvet voice was hypnotising, he was careful not to touch you hovering his hands around you but never on you, he began darting his eyes around you to check for any injuries. You were mesmerised by him, his eyes blue as the Indian ocean, everything about him warm as a summers day just from the way he looked at you, the concern on his face increased with your silence.

Managing to shake yourself from his trance you nodded at him, ‘yeah I’m ok, th-thank you for helping me.’ His smile at your response set your whole world on fire, you never wanted anyone to look at you in any other way again. You had just seen him knock someone out, yet you hadn’t ever felt safer in someone’s presence.

The two men who had not so graciously thrown Carl out of the bar returned to the scene, the two of you lost in each other’s eyes, Steve, Sam & Nat exchanging amused expressions with each other, seeing Bucky smile was a rarity but the grin plastered to his face looked like it had been now permanently etched in his visage.

‘Hi.’ He said to you in a shy smile.

‘Hi’ you repeated back.

‘I’m James,’

‘I’m Florence.’

[slasherholic]

synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

 You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile. 

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter. 

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom. 

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa. 

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable. 

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped. 

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs. 

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question. 

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table. 

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for. 

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open. 

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out. 

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn’t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a 🍋 with Rook and Deuce, romantic please.

Ohhh, I see we have a rarepair request 🤔 How unusual!

(The best part of writing any romantic Rook piece is that I can literally just write him as normal and it can easily be interpreted as romantic by default just because of how he acts. Oh, Rook... Never change 😂)

Order Up!

When Deuce sprinted, he became one with the wind.

It was not unlike the sensation of riding on a Magical Wheel—ripping through the world at a breakneck pace. So fast and so furious that the sun and grass and sky became one. Hair flying in his face, wind crackling and roaring in his ears, blood singing, his feet losing all feeling.

He was floating, he was flying, he was free.

“TIME!!” Vargas called—and Deuce gradually slowed to a halt, his inner tailwind dying down. “Good time, boys! Take a break and grab some water before our next set!”

“Yes, Coach!!”

Deuce doubled over, resting his hands on his kneecaps as he caught his breath. Some of his bangs stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps—he wondered if his eye makeup was still in place, or smudged. (If it was the latter, Riddle would not be pleased with him.)

A sudden chilling sensation at the nape of Deuce’s neck disrupted his thoughts. Cold, frigid—like a block of ice against his flushed skin. A feathery voice caressed the shell of his right ear.

“Bon travail, Monsieur Spade.”

“GAHHH!!” Deuce screamed like a maniac and bolted upright, arms flailing.

He knocked the bottle offered to him out of the hand of his assailant, and into the air. Up, up, up it went, momentarily catching the light of the sun before falling down.

Deuce, too, fell back—having lost his footing during his panic. The wind returned, roaring loudly in every pore of his body.

The bottle, and Deuce, racing to the earth.

And then came the firm support on the small of his back, the hand that expertly plucked the bottle from the sky.

Deuce stared at the world turned on its head, help up by a dangerously deep dip. A rich, velvet-lined laugh drifted to his ears as he was slowly eased onto his feet.

“I hope you’re unhurt!” Rook trilled with the tip of his cap. “Mes excuses—it was not my intention to startle you!”

“Oh, it was just you, Hunt-senpai... No problem, I just, uh... wasn’t expecting you to come talk to me. Did you need something?”

“On the contrary, Deuce-kun! I simply wished to commend you for your athleticism!”

“You... what?”

“I was so enthralled observing you make your rounds on the track field. Why, it was as though I was watching an angel take flight to the heavens themselves!!”

Rook sighed longing, throwing his arms out. “Alas!! Even you were not immune to the hubris that felled Icarus... For the closer you drew to the sun, so, too, did you draw closer to meeting your untimely demise...!! But nary did you plunge into the waiting ocean or the earth below, but into my arms!!”

“... I understood none of that.”

Rook beamed in spite of the confused response.

“Suffice to say, I was touched by your marvelous performance! You must be sure to replenish your energy after such intense exercise!” Again, he offered his bottle. “For you, Monsieur Spade! Drink up!”

“Oh, thanks!” Deuce accepted it with a tired smile.

It didn’t occur to him to ask what exactly he was putting into his mouth until he had already taken a large swig from the bottle. Water, perhaps—extremely chilled, to the point where it made his teeth chatter. At the same time, the drink boasted a tangy, sour zing, perfumed with the faint aroma of citrus.

As if reading his mind, Rook chirped, “It is water infused with the essence of lemon, refreshing and rich in electrolytes. Mon roi favors it as a pick-me-up!”

“So that’s what it is. I’m not used to this, but...” Deuce wiped away at a bit of it that had dribbled down his chin. He smacked his lips together, spreading the tartness across his tongue. “It kind of does feel invigorating.”

“Fufu. I’m glad to hear it.”

TWEEEEET!!

Vargas’s shrill whistle cut through the field.

“One more minute!!” their coach bellowed. “Then I’m expecting to see you boys hitting the track again!!”

“That’s my cue.” Deuce took another sip before handing back the bottle. “Thanks again for the water, Hunt-senpai!”

“De rein. I’m happy to be of service!” Rook thrusted a hand into the air, laying the other over his heart. “Monsieur Spade... Deuce-kun!! I implore you, spread your wings once more and show me the true breadth of your beauty!!”

“You got it! I’ll do my best, so please watch over me!”

The huntsman’s eyes creased. He said something, but Deuce couldn’t make it out over the second blow of Vargas’s whistle. (Surely it was Rook wishing him luck?)

“Fufu. You would ask me to watch over an angel? What I would give to have you watch over me in return.”

The first year jogged toward the starting line, the taste of lemon lingering on his lips. So sharp, so acidic—it was difficult to believe that someone as sweet as Rook had produced it.

But when life gives you lemons, he supposed that Rook turned them into lemonade.

[leoneslover]

Lollipop ⊹ ۪ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ

Buddha(snv) x reader(fem!)

Prompt: I wonder if his lips taste as sweet as the candy he eats...

Warnings: NSFW!suggestive, semi-public, oral fixiation, biting, spit swapping, food play?? (Just toying with a lollipop).

A/n: this is EXTREMELY self-indulgent and I am not sorry for it. Buddha got me down bad ngl 🤕🤕

· • —–٠ ⊹ ★ ⊹ ٠—– • ·

You watched intensely at the god in front of you, the silence between you two thick with tension, though you weren’t so sure of what kind. The whole ragnarok situation got everyone pretty uneasy, and you weren’t an exception at that, fidgeting in your spot as you waited.

He wasn’t really looking back at you, his back against the wall, staring to his side at the other end of the hallway, waiting as well. And you’d be doing the same, if it wasn’t for the lollipop that he kept rolling in his mouth. For some reason you just couldn’t keep your eyes away from it. The sounds of the little stick clashing against his fangs as he toyed with it seemed to pull you in a trance.

The fact that he was pretty handsome as well wasn’t helping at all. You’ve never really got a chance to interact with Buddah in the past, you’ve seen him a couple of times sure, maybe even made eye contact once, but that was really it. But now he was standing in front of you, an indescribable aura around him as he lazily pulled the candy out of his mouth. Cherry red glistening as he rolled it in between his fingers.

It was almost hypnotizing, the way he slowly brought it back towards his mouth, tongue coming out to give it a couple of tentative licks, his fangs poking out slightly as he slid the lollipop down his flat tongue. You could feel your own mouth going dry, heat going up your face at the lewdness of his actions. His lips puckered up as he just kept playing with the candy, that was now almost completely covered with his spit, making it glisten in the light of the hallway and staining his lips with a shiny red tint.

“Do you like cherries?” He broke the silence suddendly. His voice taking you out of your little trance, just to find out he was now staring at you right in the eyes.

A shiver ran down your spine, his gaze lazily hinting at something as he offered you a small smile. And even though you felt pretty embarrassed (for both staring and from his earlier actions), there was something about him that made you relax a little, as if he was giving you the green light to play along his teasing game if you wanted to. And oh how you really wanted to.

“Did nobody ever tell you to not play with your food before you eat it?” The double implication of your words hanging heavy in the air as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, before laughing lightly.

“Hmm probably, but I can’t really remember...” he trailed off, getting off the wall and slowly making his way towards you, “but I know you’re not supposed to answer a question with another question, right?”

He stopped right in front of you, taking the lollipop back into his mouth as he waited for your next move. You smiled sideways, looking up to him with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I suppose you’re right” you leaned back into the wall, and as you were going to reply with something else, he interrupted you by taking the candy out of his mouth again with a popping sound.

“Want some?” He offered you with a glint of playfulness in his eyes, barely masked by the glasses that rested low on his nose bridge. You rose a brow, a little confused as to what he was offering you exactly. But curiosity got the best of you, giving in once more to his little teasing game.

You nodded, and he smiled. An almost mischievous expression as he got even closer to you, leaning down until your heads were lined up. His intense gaze bored into yours, and you thought he might just go and kiss you, the mere thinking of it being enough to make your heartbeat pick up speed. However he just stayed there, calm as ever, as he brought the lollipop up to your mouth-

Oh-

His cherry stained lips curled into a different smirk as you parted your lips for him, letting him push the candy into your mouth as he watched intently. It was sweet, as sweet as a lollipop could be, and you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was the one sucking on it before. Your breath hitched as he held the little stick for you, gaze traveling down to where your lips were sealed around it.

You licked around the candy in your mouth, playing with it as it’s sweet strong cherry flavor coated your senses. He didn’t say anything, just stared as you repeated some of his earlier ministrations yourself, a bit of drool pooling at the sides of your mouth from all the licking and sucking.

His eyes shot up to your eyes again, just to find out you were already staring at him, and that you have been all this time. Softly, he popped the candy out of your mouth, now staring in awe at your shiny lips.

“So pretty..” he hummed, voice low as he got even closer, a hand coming up to cup your face, thumb traveling down to your lips, pressing against them as he swiped it through the mix of sticky melted candy and saliva. “Who knew you could look so pretty, (y/n)-chan~”

You felt your own face getting warm at the situation. The way he pronounced your name having you weak at the knees, even though you didn’t really remember telling him your name right now.

His breath was tickling your face, and as he placed his other hand in the wall behind you, right my your head, trapping you against him, you couldn’t help but to start feeling a little hot all over. He pulled your lower lip down slightly, just enough for your mouth to open a bit so he could finally plant a kiss on them.

His own lips were wet as well, sliding perfectly against yours in a kiss that seemed to scalate pretty quickly. You closed your eyes and gave in to kiss, letting him take over as he shoved his tongue in your mouth, the taste of cherry combined with his own flavor erupting a pleased noise from the back of your throat. The hand that cupped your cheek slowly slid down the side of your neck, ghosting over your chest and finally stopping to get a grip of your waist.

He broke the kiss, giving you a break to catch your breath as his own fanned over your mouth, heavy breathing sounds being the only thing that broke the silence between you. He smirked, placing another shorter kiss on your lips before bringing his other hand down. He placed the lollipop back against your lips, and you didn’t think twice before taking it back into your mouth, cold and sweet against your heated tongue.

He didn’t hold the stick for you this time, letting you do as you pleased as he placed his hand on your hip instead. His head hung low right next to yours, breath tickling your neck, lips ghosting over your pulse point in hopes of getting some sort of reaction. And he did, not missing the way your breath hitched and how you tilted your neck for him, giving him more access.

He placed light kisses all over your jaw, slowly moving down as he switched for deeper kisses this time. Eventually you could feel him sucking on your skin, open mouthed kisses in search of your weak spot. You placed a hand on his shoulder, a light moan finally escaping your lips as you tried your best to not lose it right there and then. The hand that was holding your hip softly made its way under your shirt, warm fingers traveling towards your lower back to press you agasint him, only your shoulders being supported by the wall behind you as he held you in place.

His fangs grazed your soft skin and you shivered, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at the sensation. And like always, he noticed. He did it again, purposely this time, and then again, dragging them with a little bit of pressure all the way from your jaw to almost your collarbone. You moaned, a little louder this time, almost dropping the lollipop that you were still holding in your mouth.

Encouraged by your reaction, he bit down softly on your weak spot, immediately soothing any posible sting with his tongue. But you just moaned again, nails now pressing against the bare skin of his shoulder were you placed your hand earlier. He bit down again, harder, and the feeling of you involuntarily rolling your hips upwards against his had him groaning agasint your skin.

He continued to nibble and kiss on your neck, definitely leaving a couple of marks that you were going to have to worry about later on. But you didn’t really care right now. You didn’t really care about anything else right now. Not even about the fact that you were in the middle of a hallway, where anyone who were to pass by could clearly see you. Or about how you were supposed to be patiently waiting for... who were you even waiting for?? You forgot, clearly, and your head was too busy with what was happening to remember.

He raised his head slightly, enough for his breath to tickle your ear as he spoke, “I think we’re gonna have to continue this later darling, if you still want to~”.

You frowned, a little confused. Why did he had to stop now, just as you were getting to the good part. You were going to reply, but he suddenly stood up, letting you down against the wall again and taking the lollipop out of your mouth to place it on his once again.

The sudden noise of steps being heard in the distance was all the answer you needed as he stepped back into his previous spot across from you, not before gifting you a playful smirk that promised more fun for later.

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Madelyn Cline

full name: Kaia Adrian-Saylor Waverly

nickname(s) / goes by: Kai or Kaia

pronouns & gender: she/her; cis woman

sexuality: Bisexual

birth date: August, 25, 1996.

birth place: Avalon, CA.

arrival to merrock: 2 weeks ago

housing: apartment in Historical Downtown

occupation: Treasure Hunter / Malibu & Co Surf Employee

work place: Malibu & Co. {treasure hunting is freelance}

family: mother & father { divorced }

relationship status: Single-Pringle

PERSONALITY

Kaia is extremely fortunate in the fact that she has dumb luck. It's usually this dumb luck that helps her get out of last-second obstacles. Kaia is also good with thinking outside the box; this makes her able to catch onto things that many others may not have thought about, or quickly brushed over. Another aspect that helps her with her line of work is that she knows a little about a lot; Kaia grew up with the ability to quickly get the hang of a new skill or activity, and thus she was easily bored - but, due to this she knows a wide range of info at a scale that can pertain to numerous topics. She's athletic, having had her fair share in sports growing up; soccer, volleyball, softball along with surfing and dance. She's always looking for new experiences and adventures, and is definitely someone who holds some pretty interesting stories. Kaia can easily build connections with others, but is used to keeping people at an arm's length due to the dangers of her job as well as the constant traveling. Her main goal in life is to experience and learn as much as she can about the world around her; as well as just to have fun and live every moment to the fullest. Kaia is super impulsive with her decisions, and this is due to the fact she is easily bored. She has good intentions, but is honestly chaotic in her actions. Is secretive by nature, and good at calling another's bluff; though she doesn't give the impression she's being secretive. Just overall, very fun-loving and here for a good time; always a 'why not?' type of vibe. She's just got her guard up cause of her past with her dad as well as her job.

WRITTEN BY: Noelle (she/her; any), est.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content: passive neglect.

For as long as Kaia could remember, she was living a double-life. Originally from Avalon, CA - the girl was always split from her mother's condo in Sydney AUS, and her father's shack in Tamarindo CR. Whilst with her mother, Kaia's days were filled with spa treatments and art galleries. With her father, Kaia was always fighting against his job for his attention. The only times she's genuinely "won" was when the activity took them to the shore.

It was through her father that Kaia learned how to dive and boat; also gaining vast knowledge of the ocean and its inhabitants. The love for the water grew to be a constant in both places; both her parents loving to surf. It was amusing to her, that the one thing that ever brought her parents together was the only thing that made her feel centered; like she could breathe.

It was high school when her father ultimately stopped with the beach trips. His job just fully took over, but there was a rift that grew between them. As Kaia grew up, she started to see the extremely hard-to-reach side of her father that drove her mother away; the expectations too high for Kaia to reach in order to gain any sort of attention from him. By the time she graduated high school with high honors, she was used to her father not showing up. He didn't care for her full ride scholarships, or that prestigious colleges wanted her.

Instead of cutting ties and giving up like her mother did, Kaia tried to reach him by delving deep into his work. It was so much so, that she specialized in marine archaeology as well as oceanography in her studies. It was through her research for her thesis, when she stumbled upon a forum regarding an old map for Pirate Benito Bonito's treasure in Cocos Island. Her thesis then surrounding the lost treasure. Maybe it was how her father scoffed, or maybe it was the discouragement from her preceptor that really had her drilling her life into solving the mystery after all. What was taking years for experts, only took Kaia about two weeks to solve and track down.

The amazing part wasn't having earned her father's attention or proving anyone wrong. It wasn't even how other doors began opening up for her in Costa Rica due to donating the treasure to the CR National Historic Society and Museum. It was the thrill and how similar solving the mystery was to how Kaia could breathe on a surfboard.

Since then, Kaia has been accepting quests from the wealthy, only to turn around and give it all to the museums and researchers. Recently, Kaia was caught straying from the original plan and running off with an artifact she feels is the key to a map she's been separated from. Due to this, she has been on the run and has decided to lay low in Merrock; taking on a cover job and assimilating to the small beach town way of life, to keep up the charade.

[caffeinatedseri]

Dead Apple Light Novel

Recently, I decided to buy LN 5, Dead Apple, purely because I’m a sucker for all of BSD’s light novels, so this post will revolve around what I took away from this novel. 

Dead Apple is Canon

Since the story jumps around in the timeline a lot, I had originally thought that Dead Apple took place outside of canon (especially with Atsushi’s flashback). 

However, a particular part of Asagiri’s afterword stuck out to me:

Now, allow me a moment to discuss some of the particulars of Dead Apple. Chronologically, the story takes place after the second season of the anime — in other words, after the war with the Guild, which puts Dead Apple somewhere between the ninth and tenth volumes of the manga. 

The novel also ended up affecting the main story in numerous ways, and I’m sure this new experience will continue to influence my future work as well.

It’s not unusual for a light novel to insert itself into the main timeline (see 55 Minutes which takes place in the 10th volume), but it’s nice to have confirmation that the same applies to Dead Apple. 

Of course, just because a work isn’t canon compliant (see BEAST), doesn’t mean that it has no potential for further analysis or it doesn’t bring any added complexity to the main plot. Regardless, this post serves as somewhat of a precursor to my other posts concerning Dead Apple since I have a tendency to talk about it a lot, and I’d like to establish a basis for a lot of my posts. 

Differences between the Movie and Light Novel

In the afterword of the light novel, Hiro Iwahata (the author of this LN) said:

“Furthermore, I worked on this book under Asagiri’s supervision, meaning there are several lines in certain scenes that differ from the movie. It might even be fun comparing the two!  Nothing would make me happier than the fans enjoying this novel alongside the movie.”

As per Iwahata’s request, I went into the light novel, looking for differences between it and the movie. However, the novel is surprisingly, almost identical to the movie (maybe not surprising considering it is a “movie novelization”).

Because the differences are so miniscule, I believe they hold an even greater significance, since Asagiri must have wanted to change these specific details for a certain reason. 

Some of the differences I talk about might be unimportant, but I did my best to catch everything that was changed from the movie.

1. The movie doesn’t mention SKK as a part of the Dragon’s Head Conflict, but the novel says, “Some fought under the alias Twin Dark.” 

This probably means that SKK became a pair either before the Dragon’s Head Conflict or during (although I’m pretty sure that the “organization” they destroyed over night was Shibusawa’s organization).

2. When Dazai says that he would’ve continued killing people in the mafia if it weren’t for Oda, Atsushi has little to no reaction in the movie; I would describe it as maybe a hesitant or concerned feeling.

In the novel, Atsushi has a more outward reaction.

““Huh...?!” Atsushi was baffled. He had no idea whether that was true. What did Dazai mean by that? (...) The melancholy Atsushi felt from Dazai had disappeared, and Dazai continued to speak in his usual lighthearted manner.”

Not only does he react verbally, but the novel also adds an inner monologue (mainly for Atsushi) that can’t be portrayed as well in movie format. 

To me, this change highlights how Atsushi sees Dazai purely as a good person; he reacts in such a startled manner because he believes that Dazai is too good of a person to be in the mafia killing people (which we know Atsushi hates). This trend reoccurs throughout the story, of Atsushi turning a blind eye to Dazai’s “bad side.”

3. This one isn’t at all the movie’s fault, but the novel gives a lot more clues as to what the “dead apple” and the dagger in the apple motif represents.

The first time it appears is when Kunikida and Tanizaki meet the Special Division’s agent, but they find out that he’s already dead.

“It [the apple] was, without a doubt, a simple fruit... save for the fact that there was a knife sticking out of it as if to condemn the taste of sin. A blade had been driven into the symbol of original sin. A dreary, ominous aura, oozed from the ripe fruit like venom. 

Throughout the novel, it seems to associate the “dead apple” motif with Fyodor pretty strongly, especially since this paragraph ties in Fyodor’s ideals nicely with the symbolism of the apple and dagger.

The apple represents sin, the very first sin — which you could interpret as sin at its purest — while the dagger represents the condemning of such sin. However, the apple can also potentially symbolize life, while the dagger stabbing into life can mean death. 

Fyodor’s ideals revolve around “removing the sin” of ability users (represented by an apple in this case) but he does so through manipulation. The dagger is associated with stealth and deception, which is fitting with what Fyodor does to “remove the sin” of ability users.

However, he’s also taking the lives of ability users in this process, hence stabbing the apple, coincidentally committing another sin in his attempt to relinquish all sin.

4. In the “Snow White” Oda and Dazai flashback, everything is identical to the movie (word for word), but there is some additional narration.

“It was an alarming sight — Dazai sounded like he was in a trance. It was as if he was ignoring all this world had to offer while in pursuit of something else.”

I’ve talked about this particular scene before here, but the gist is that Dazai was discreetly talking about himself while referring to Snow White. 

Dazai joined the mafia because he believed that the violence (or true human nature) would give him a reason to live, but we already know that this kind of thinking was flawed.  Thus, this line most likely means that Dazai was ignoring all of the “good” qualities of the world while pursuing a reason to live, which inevitably wouldn’t work. 

5. Right after the flashback, when Dazai takes the pill, the novel really sells the act of “Dazai walking towards his death and going to the evil side.” 

Personally, this scene in the movie felt more open to interpretation after you’ve seen the ending. You could say that Dazai took the antidote and said “Being on the side that saves people is more beautiful,” because his plan is to continue living to save more people. 

However, the novel throws away any possible double meaning with this paragraph:

“Dazai then reached for the pill with his bandaged hand, neatly picked it up, and slowly brought it to his lips — just like Snow White and the sweet, poisoned apple. The venomous red-and-pure-white-pill disappeared inside his mouth.”

After Dazai’s tangent on how Snow White could’ve committed suicide out of despair, the narration compares him directly to Snow White. With the added venomous pill stated outright, it only further cements the idea that Dazai’s actually committing suicide here.

I don’t particularly like this change, because it feels like this moment was set up entirely just to divert the audience’s expectations, rather than it be a standalone scene that makes sense when considering the rest of the story. (It might not necessarily be a change, possibly just a rough translation from movie to novel). 

6. When Atsushi wakes up from his nightmare, there’s some additional inner monologue:

Everything’s okay. I’m not the same person I was when I lived at the orphanage. I have friends. I have a place where I belong — the Armed Detective Agency. Things are different now.

The anime (and in turn the movie) tends to downplay the effects of Atsushi’s trauma — probably due to the limitations of anime — but regardless the novel portrays it much better with how Atsushi’s trauma affects practically every aspect of his life. 

7. I thought Fukuzawa’s ability only gave his subordinates control over their abilities, but the novel says:

“Yukichi Fukuzawa and his skill, All Men are Equal, a peculiar ability that allowed him to suppress and control his subordinates’ skills.”

Does this mean that Fukuzawa could control and suppress all of the agency’s abilities? It could be a weird translation, but it seems oddly specific.

8. This detail isn’t actually a novel exclusive, but it is an extremely small detail that I missed while watching the movie, so I figured I would add it here too.

“the phantom’s notebook had the word Compromise written on the cover. A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.”

Considering how abilities act as the shadow to every character in this story, this is a nice detail that shows how Kunikida’s inner desire is to compromise, because carrying such heavy ideals is undoubtedly a burden. However, because he holds onto his ideals so strongly, it becomes his biggest weakness AND his biggest strength.

9. There’s a super small detail added to this scene with Dazai, Fyodor, and Shibusawa. When Dazai suggests that Shibusawa could be saved by an angel or a demon, the following exchange occurs:

“Hmm... Maybe an angel?” Dazai picked up the skull on the table. “Or maybe a demon?” “It’s obvious what both of your true intentions are, if you ask me.” The third man mirthfully cackled and took the skull from Dazai’s hand.

In the movie, Dazai doesn’t pick up anything, so as a result Fyodor doesn’t take anything from Dazai either. 

Because Fyodor walked into the scene after Dazai suggested that an angel or demon would save Shibusawa, I strongly suspect that this was foreshadowing future events in which Fyodor does “save” Shibusawa by giving him his memories back.

The novel adds more to this foreshadowing by having Dazai pick up the skull before it’s taken by Fyodor — essentially having Fyodor take the cards out of Dazai’s hands and put them in his favor. 

It’s also worth pointing out that the skull is also the object that Fyodor uses to revive Shibusawa into a supernatural ghost of some sorts at the end of the story.

10. This may be just a difference in translations but in the movie, Shibusawa refers to Fyodor as “Demon Fyodor-kun”, whereas in the novel Fyodor is called “Fyodor the Conjurer.” (Ango uses the Conjurer title as well).

In western esotericism, a conjurer is a person who summons supernatural beings, like spirits, demons, or God.

This slightly changes the connotation of Fyodor’s title from a inhuman being of pure malicious intent to just a human who summons these otherworldly beings. This idea also aligns with Shibusawa’s revival, since he’s some sort of supernatural ghost that was “summoned” by Fyodor. 

11. Skipping past the parts where Kyouka and Akutagawa regain their abilities, and Chuuya talks to Ango in the government facility, (since they have little to no changes between the movie and the novel) there is a somewhat significant detail changed in Draconia once again with Dazai and Fyodor.

In the novel, this glowing ball of energy from the movie is actually described as an apple: 

The two lights melted into one and spun until they formed a juicy sphere. They had produced a single apple — a juicy, poisoned apple red as blood.

It birthed a skill — and an extremely powerful one at that — the ability to absorb. Every last crystal adorning Draconia’s walls was sucked into the apple with intense force. Ten — a hundred — a thousand — two thousand — every last one was greedily devoured by the apple...

The apple swelled as it absorbed the numerous crystals until the red light became hotter than the surface of hell.

Since the “dead apple” motif aligns with Fyodor’s character, we can assume that the apple is representative of sin, and sin is associated with abilities, as Fyodor believes.

This strange poisoned apple is made of abilities and has an ability (the ability to absorb), and it commits a sin (greed) in its devouring of other abilities; it’s also hotter than “hell”, which is a very specific connection that leads me to this idea:

My theory is that a normal apple represents life, while a poisoned apple (or dead apple), indicative of a stained, impure life, represents sin. Fyodor believes abilities are akin to sin (what a clever rhyme), therefore all of their lives are sinful.

12. This is arguably the most insignificant change of this entire post, but I feel obligated to put it here regardless since it was different from the movie. When the Special Division detects the singularity of Shibusawa’s dragon form in the novel, it says:

“Abnormal values for singularity are increasing! They’re twice — no, 2.5 times higher than they were six years ago.”

In the movie, the number is five times higher instead.

Why did this number change? Is it significant? I honestly have no idea (I’m surprised I even caught this), but it’s there and I had to document it anyways. 

13. The novel adds this narration for Shibusawa when he gets his memories back and he’s in the orphanage’s room with Atsushi:

“Shibusawa clearly recalled the events from six years ago. Fyodor had enticed him to go to the orphanage where he tortured a young Atsushi... until Atsushi fought back and killed him.”

There’s two things to take away from this: Fyodor had known Shibusawa for at least six years, and Fyodor had been planning the events of Dead Apple since at least six years ago. 

I find it hard to believe that Fyodor’s plan was thwarted by Dazai, because of how Fyodor demonstrated his ability to plan ahead in the main series, but I’m not sure what the long term effects of this plan could be. If Shibusawa succeeded, then it could’ve aligned with the DOA’s goals, but once again I don’t think Fyodor’s plan was actually foiled.

14. Super minor once again, but right after Shibusawa gets revived, the last sentence of chapter 5 is,

“Nobody would ever see the smile on Fyodor’s face.” 

Honestly, I think this was just added to create an ominous tone, but it’s a nice detail regardless.

15. As the red fog spreads across Yokohama, there’s a good part of exposition that connects the “dead apple” motif to Fyodor once again:

“After the red fog devoured the earth, the planet would undoubtedly look like a floating red apple from space. There would be no humans left on its surface, nor any signs they ever existed. It would be a true paradise, and with that, the Dead Apple would finally be complete. A dead planet covered in red fog — that was what Fyodor had planned and sought out.

Nothing other than death could wash away the original sin of man, so it was only fitting for the sin, which started with a fruit, to end with one as well. 

It’s pretty long, but I like the way this passage is written, more specifically the last part since it fits well with the sinful poisoned apple idea.

It also aligns with Fyodor’s ideals of creating a true paradise, free of ability users. However, if Fyodor had planned to have the Earth covered in fog, that could mean that his plan was actually stopped by Dazai and Atsushi in the end.

16. Shibusawa has a few additional lines of dialogue when he talks to Atsushi in their final fight.

“The dragon and tiger... I see now why they are called rivals.”

The dragon and tiger have their roots in Chinese Buddhism, but to go further into that topic would make this already lengthy post even longer.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, though. I’m not blaming you for what happened.”

This line is a brief moment of weakness for Shibusawa, which is interesting in contrast to his strong will to kill Atsushi. Just as Atsushi learned to accept the past and the tiger’s ferocity, Shibusawa shares the same attitude by separating the blame from himself to just simply accepting the past for what happened.

17. In the aftermath of the last fight against Shibusawa, Atsushi and Kyouka meet up with Dazai.

Kyouka asks, “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” which prompts two different responses in the movie and novel respectively.

In the movie, Atsushi says, “Just as Shibusawa was able to forget that he’d been killed before, I think Dazai can put his past behind him again. But this is fine.”

In the novel, Atsushi says:

“... I could probably seal away this memory just like how I’d forgotten I’d killed him before. But... I’m okay with this.”

I interpreted Kyouka’s question in the movie to be questioning Dazai’s loyalties, as he did betray everyone, and Atsushi responded in Dazai’s defense because he trusts him.

However, the novel does change Atsushi’s response to focus on himself rather than Dazai, which in turn changes the implications of Kyouka’s question. 

Kyouka seems to be asking Atsushi whether he was okay with killing Shibusawa, and Atsushi responds by acknowledging that he did kill Shibusawa, and that’s okay. (a very clear development from the beginning of the story when he believed it was unnecessary to kill anyone, and he didn’t want to kill anyone)

18. In the epilogue, Ango talks about the underlying motivations behind the “Dead Apple” case. This change could be attributed to translation differences (like many others in this post), but the connotation does slightly differ from movie to novel. 

In the movie, Ango says, “How is a man like Shibusawa, so intelligent that others look like alien creatures to him, to act, to be destroyed, or to be saved?”

In the novel, Ango says:

“Perhaps the two of them [Dazai and Fyodor] just wanted to get a glimpse of someone like them... Perhaps they wanted to see what he would do and how he would meet his demise... or perhaps how he would be saved.”

The movie simply poses a broad question of what would happen to Shibusawa, a person alienated from the rest of society. 

The novel changes this to focus on Dazai and Fyodor’s perspective — two irredeemable aliens from society just like Shibusawa — executing this grand scheme out of curiosity to see what would happen to someone of the likes of them, and if there’s a possibility for redemption.

19. This is the final difference on this list, and it’s quite a large change. In Fyodor’s monologue at the very end of the story, he has a completely different tone from the movie to novel.

In the movie, Fyodor says, “But in order to end this world, rife with crime and punishment, I do need that book.”

The novel says: 

Glittering high-rises and stately brick buildings stood side by side in this port city with its countless citizens who struggled against crime and punishment. “I think I’ve taken a liking to this city myself..”  Fyodor took a bite of the apple in his hand, and the juicy nectar ran down his delicate fingers. “You’d all better be on your best behavior until next time.”

The reference to the book may have been removed for consistency with the main series, as the book is a part of the DOA’s plan (or more specifically Fukuchi). 

It also seems like Fyodor has grown fond of the city, and no longer wants Yokohama to be destroyed, so it’s still possible that his plan deterred from what he had originally intended.

Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure why crime and punishment was mentioned, or why there’s such an ominous tone to his ending statement, but that’s up to personal interpretation. 

That concludes the long list of extremely specific and minor differences between the Dead Apple movie and light novel! 

Overall, I would say it’s worth checking out the light novel if you don’t have a strong grasp of the Dead Apple story, because it definitely presents the small intricacies of the plot in a more comprehensible way. 

On a side note, the manga adaptation has a lot of noticeable differences from the movie and light novel, mostly with the addition of entirely new scenes (which you can read @buraihatranslations​ — what a shameless self plug). I would highly recommend reading it as those extra scenes are very amusing, to say the least without giving any spoilers.

Honestly, this post was a lot longer than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Thank you for reading!

[caw4brandon]

Tis a Small World of ACCA 13

Amidst the sea of "Fine” anime, manga and light novels to watch or read. I like to find things that, from the outside. Looks deceiving. Like say, a rather plain trailer or cover but with a bopping song or with a cool art style that peaks my interest and awareness to shoot for the dark.

I like Anime that surprises me both positively and negatively because I believe, it teaches us things about unpopular stories and plots that has potential to be realized which could place it in the Cult Classic Category. By that theory, this is the part where I talk about stumbling across this one song, [Shadow and Truth by ONE Ⅲ NOTES] that caught my attention and, after a very quick search. I discovered that the song is the opening for the Anime;

- <ACCA: 13-ku Kansatsu-ka> by Ono Natsume -

Or just, ACCA 13...follows our main character, Jean Otus. From the kingdom of Dowa. The second-in-command of the Inspection Department of ACCA who was tasked to travel around the kingdom to inspect the 13 state branches of the kingdom.

As he makes his rounds, Jean uncovers some frightening rumors that would disturb the peace of the kingdom, with him playing a crucial role to it all. As the episodes progress, we learn more about what makes the kingdom of Dowa tick, what local problems do they have in their respective states and what their state leaders think about the rumors.

We also follow Jean’s younger sister. Lotta Otus who manages the Celebrity Mansion Condominium. We also follow her daily, relatively normal school life while experiencing second-hand sweetness with her eating some of the most popular and delicious looking desserts and breads in the kingdom.

Other than Lotta, the supporting characters are just as beautiful and charming. From the silver foxes of the head leaders in ACCA, to the named officers, and friends of Jean. Such as Jean’s superior and love interest. The Korore Branch Chief, Mauve. 

A tall, intelligent, mature and beautiful woman with long luscious blue hair who allied and kept in contact with Jean on his journeys. Developing reliable intel instead of making hasty action to choose a side surrounding the rumors.

Eye candies aside, the world of ACCA provides a more Noir feel to its peaceful environment with monotone colors and sleek character designs. All respectfully beautiful and portrayed by a cast of extremely talented but niche voice actors within the Seiyuu industry. Atsuko Tanaka, Hiro Shimono, Kenjirou Tsuda, and Aoi Yuuki.

- Stay Cool, Smoke Another Cigarette -

That said, the world and story of ACCA 13 is rather slow and relies heavily on its hook by introducing the wild mystery of the disturbing rumors with Jean listening and gathering information through the characters he meets as well as unveiling the true intentions the characters.

A lot of what happens occurs in meetings at bars, restaurants, back allies and hotel rooms. With Jean listening and comprehending between the lines with the people he meets. It requires close attention to some of the dialogue that is spoken as well as piecing the sequence of events that happened in-between that lead to the finale.

With its overarching plot, ACCA 13 provides a small world tour around the kingdom of Dowa. Experiencing the different vibes and culture of every state while consuming the state’s richest exports in commerce as well as solving the many unique problems and complaints of each state.

From the ghetto parts of Suitsu, the frozen tundra of Birra, the laid back countryside of Fãmasu, the glorious city of Furawau and others. Each state represents a part of Dowa which makes up the shape of a bird. Some parts represent the Head, the Tail, the Chest and so on which is very similar to how the real Japan is in its respective prefectures. 

Attempting not to get into spoilers, let’s just say that Jean has quite a number of allies in high places to help him deliberate his stands which determines the fate of the kingdom. Aside from Mauve, Jean is best friends with Niino Crow, a reporter who lives a double life as a private detective with his loyalties shrouded in shadow. Compared to your typical high action mainstream anime.

ACCA 13 requires patience. Its slow in build up and despite its aesthetic. There really isn’t much to get around to peek a new comer’s interest to watch the show. But perhaps, that’s its intention. A rather basic show that is less about the action, the deeper meanings but more about secrets, vibe checking and of course, the eye candies. Making it a potential Cult Favorite. 

- Use your Eyes to Perceive the Way -

While it is a struggle to form a good case for why one should watch ACCA 13, I should start with its run time. Which is rather harmless with only 12 episodes and an OVA (Original Video Animation) ACCA 13 doesn’t overstay its welcome. It provides progression which lead to its finale but with results that is never as clear as it should be since, to my knowledge. Its a show about politics in a fictional country.

Nothing is what it seems in ACCA 13. Individuals could be deceiving by their looks, their actions and their reasons. Its up to our hero, Jean to figure things out and play his cards right to solve the potential time bomb that threatens the future of the kingdom. 

As the inspector, Jean has to stay unbiased and unfazed from what he was told in order to deduce the true intentions of the other state leaders and determine them from a political perspective and as an inspector that is vowed to the highest laws of the country. 

Anime is a media that caters more towards fiction or metaphorical iconography but some of its authors love to translate reality or mature themes into fiction which, was what ACCA 13 tried to do. In a time where things need to happen quickly to keep the audience hooked. ACCA 13′s shallow show of politics, truth, lies and secrets under the backdrop of a beautiful and diverse country gets shun to the corner by its consumers which, I won’t fault anyone for.

Politics is a tough subject and it’s not as black and white as we assume it to be and ACCA 13, just like the subject itself is complicated. It is unfortunate that viewers would look past it because it doesn’t fit in with the typical conventions of popular Anime compared with its other competitors. This post is not meant to say “Go watch ACCA 13! You’ll love it!”  because, that’s not my intention. I'm aware that its not for everyone.

What I want to show is that, Anime is more than just insane action, illustrative romance and questionable concepts. Rather, Anime can take a boring subject and make it as interesting with its aesthetics and lack of supernatural elements. As bland as it was, I got hooked to click to the next episode to see how it ends. Because what you see and hear, 

It's never really what it seems.

Thanks for reading

- Caw4B -