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aftqrglow · 3 years

Text

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence.

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table.

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you.

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back.

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky.

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said.

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual.

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

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#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #marvel mcu

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

stay gold.

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. blond!jk being a good boy? idk. that’s literally it. wc. 3k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, ofc. author note. this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun. Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.

Sure, there are the downsides. All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone. There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office; the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though. He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes. He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless. Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you. Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.” It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door. Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch. Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”

Did you? Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond. He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair. Brown, red, orange, blue. You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely. (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters. It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck. He looks so good you want to devour him. (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place. Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused. “That’s a yes?”

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap. Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple? You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug. You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,” you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth. You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air.

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you. Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair. Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue. That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek. This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,” he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine. Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions.

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on. Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel. (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to. (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them: soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper. He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep; you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips. You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed.

Knowing each other was easy; loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different. New. Special.

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin. Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal.

“Baby,” he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box. (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips. (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.) It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz. “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.” It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get. It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek. You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome. Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered. That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do. I just—” The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit. He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail. The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants. “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,” you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.” He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness. Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops. A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though. Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?” An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat. Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth. There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you. You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king. This is just fun, different and exciting.

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck. “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful; his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still. As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much. The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch. He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine; every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked. Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.

“Good?” Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico. Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,” you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls. So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.

There’s something happening. A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him. It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional. It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils. It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much. He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger. When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth. Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love; know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be. Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him.

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin. It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth. It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him. It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.

“Baby,” he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock. Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,” you grumble, searing his insides with just one look. (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—” A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles. He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now. He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face. It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him. You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?” It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,” he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch. It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be. The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant; he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit.

“R-really?” Of course you don’t believe him. He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks. (He deserves that.)

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first. The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck; he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in. “Really.”

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does. In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful. In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips. In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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glassesandswords · 3 years

Note

hi ness <33 i was talking about levihan to my friend (who became a levihan stan kinda bc of me HAHA i literally talked her ear off with levihan HAHAHA) and she literally told me that "sheesh you levihans are so keen with details" and she told me that people can't cheat/lie to us because then we'd all have the receipts we need XD because we are THAT detail-oriented when it comes to levihan HAHAHA

Lmao, I relate with you on talking my irl friend's ear off about Levihan, anon, I think she wants me to shut up at this point but she's also kinda curious about the forest scene now.

You know, sometimes I think we, Levihans, are WAY into the nitty gritties of the details. No interaction been left unanalyzed- we literally have metas for everything they've ever said at this point, just to prove that there's something more than friendship there. Which is not a bad thing, I myself have written a meta on how I personally feel the Levihan forest scene has more romantic nuances than platonic (linking it here if you are interested), but, honestly, does it all really matter in the end?

No matter what excellent canon evidences you have for your ship, people are going to ship what they feel is a good ship. And ships are very subjective. I, for one, cannot bring myself to ship Eremika even if I acknowledge it is canon. Simply because I just don't feel it. Fleren all the way, bitches (/j).

Levi and Hange are two fictional characters (unfortunately), and their relationship, no matter how much you and I personally believe is canon, is technically still open to interpretation.

And I think there's still a kind of beauty to it. Romance might not be everyone's cup of tea, so people who want to view them as platonic soulmates, or the ideal bffs can do so too. Yams is not forcing one label on them, so you can take it however you like. Of course, there's nothing wrong in screaming LEVIHAN CANON in the Levihan tag, or your own personal space that you share with your friends who think the same. You can send the metas to those who are interested to know more about why we think so.

But sometimes, some people don't want to ship them romantically- because they either have different ships that they are more into, or they personally don't see it, or if they just don't like romance in general. And that's fine too.

After all, a lot of people read stories for escapism. And a huge part of stanning a character or a relationship is to bring you comfort and relatability by making you feel for them. To see a part of you, or your ideals, reflected in them. And if people don't have the agency to mould fiction into something that suits them, then how different would fiction be from reality?

Anyway, sorry for going off on a tangent, your ask made me think about stuff. Levihan is *chef's kiss* tho, so I don't blame shippers like us wanting to dig into every single detail lol

#TLDR: I relate to you anon #ness rambles #levihan #asks #hange zoe #levi ackerman #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk ships #ships

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twiceasfrustrating · 3 years

Text

Absolutely Nothing

I said I wouldn't post my new fic until after SWBQ is done, but I want to begin posting it before S4 drops. It won't update consistently atm, but it's there... I will only be posting the first two chapters to Tumblr. Everything else is going on AO3 because Tumblr is not longfic friendly.

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Main Character, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, Solomon, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Original Angel Character(s)

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, Trauma, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canon is like a vampire, it can't enter this house unless I let it, Emotional Baggage, Lies, Manipulation, Ships not intended but I'm not stopping you

Summary: War is not unknown to the three realms, but that does not make them any less a tragedy of strategy. Though relations between the three have never been favorable, they have never truly gone to battle with each other. At least, not until now. The heavens have been planning for a long time and have finally decided to execute their machinations. Now it is time to see how every piece will play out this bloody battle.

A/N: These tags are for the overarching fic, not the first two chapters. Only Lucifer, Simeon, Micheal, and Gabriel show up in the first two chapters.

Chapter 1: I Will Not Go With You

“We’re heading for a war,” Lucifer warned, “and I want you to come with me.”

Simeon solemnly blinked a few times before closing his eyes. The weight of the choices laid before him pricked at the edges of his mind. He’d known this was coming. He’d known for a long time that this question would eventually be asked of him and for just as long he’d known what his answer would be, “I must decline.”

“Why?” Lucifer spat out, “Simeon, you have to know what’s about to happen. If we don’t fight then Lilith-”

“I am not stopping you from this rebellion.” He opened his eyes and looked to the pages stacked neatly in the corner of his desk, carefully flipping through the avalanche of writings he’d collected over the years. Somewhere, buried deep in the pile, he vaguely recalled his moment; where his brother would ask him to do the impossible. He’d hidden it away from prying eyes, afraid that others would find it and interpret it as he had. Though, even if they had read it and understood what the contents were, it was nigh impossible to change the events that were foretold.

He pulled the page from the pile, taking care so the others above it would not collapse onto the delicately inlaid wood of his desk, and perused the contents held within. The paper was so old that it had begun to grow fragile to the touch and discolor at the edges. Simeon desperately wished that time had chosen not to show its touch on this particular relic he would rather have forgotten about. It was frightening how long he’d known about this day and he would rather pretend he was shocked when Lucifer had come to him. Sometimes, having a glimpse into what would eventually be was a cruel reality.

That brother, who would come in need of his fellow, will find no quarter. So shall he return with hands left empty, but convictions emboldened by the forge of his stature. He shall take with him those who share his resolve and lead them to where metal sings and cries. Blood shall be shed but on one side, though the cost of the blood spilled shall

It was an old, short paragraph he wished he could forget. Though he could never truly put it out of his mind, because he knew it was left unfinished and his mind and pen longed to see the end of the story. However, his heart and will would prefer not to know every detail of this particular future. For so long, he’d clung to that final shall and hoped that not knowing the entirety of the story would somehow keep it from unfolding. However, his pen only put the stories to page. He was not responsible for the events that inspired him to write.

“You will have to make do with those who are already on your side. No one else will turn their back on Father for your cause.” It was the only warning he could give. In those words he hid the message that Lucifer should tell no one else. If war was approaching, then it was better he have the element of surprise.

Lucifer could only stare at him in disbelief, “Is that your answer?”

“It always was.” He placed the paper face down atop the pile, “I cannot aid you in this, Lucifer.”

“Then you would fight against me? You would condemn Lilith in the same way as our Father?” His voice shook, the rage building inside of him clearly beginning to boil over even as he tried to contain it.

“I will not betray my family.” Simeon’s face remained unchanged as he pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. Despite the malicious aura that began to circle around his fellow Seraphim, he approached with an unguarded stance until they were only an arm’s reach away from one another. No matter how upset Lucifer may become, Simeon would not fear him. Though, he did fear *for* him, “You and she are still of my kind and that means I will not meet you on the battlefield.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the declaration. This time, it was his turn to fear for the other, “You can’t stay out of this. You know they won’t allow you.” If he did try to remain on the sidelines, Simeon would still be seen as a traitor. Not in the same vein as him and his siblings, but a traitor nonetheless, “I won’t ask you to fight if you really refuse to lift your blade, but you can’t stay here.”

“As much as you and Lilith are my family, so are Micheal, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. I cannot leave them.”

“Simeon…”

Simeon’s lips pulled back into a smile and he let out the shortest of laughs, “You worry far too much, Lucy. You are aware that I am still a Seraphim, are you not? Even if I do not step onto the battlefield, I do not believe I am in nearly as much danger as you are putting yourself in.” He wanted to reach out and touch his brother one last time as the fear of the unknown overtook him, but he kept his hand within his own space. He did not know what would happen at the end of all of this, but he knew it would not be the same and reaching out to hold onto what they had would only pain them both.

Lucifer looked over the other angel’s shoulder, toward the pile of papers where Simeon had placed one face down. Countless writings that revealed the future to their author and Lucifer did not envy that gift. Others often wished to know what would be, but he had seen far too many times the burden placed on Simeon for having such a skill; the amount of times he had been made to see both grace and tragedy was carved on his face, just behind that smile. That is why, despite knowing that whatever was on that page was related to this very discussion and his ultimate goal, he would not pry. It was not as if knowing the future allowed it to be changed anyway.

“We’ll still be on opposing sides, you know?” No matter how much Simeon proclaimed not to betray his family, that was an unavoidable truth.

He nodded, “I am aware.”

“And you refuse to go against your family?”

This time his confirmation was wordless.

Lucifer took in a deep breath, “Then once the battle begins, I believe we can hardly be considered family anymore.”

Large blue eyes shot up to look at his pale face. It seemed that Lucifer had said something Simeon hadn’t expected, “What?”

“You will not betray your family, but you know they will not allow you to remain neutral in this. As soon as the drums of war beat, it is fine to stop thinking of me as your brother.”

There was a long moment of silence before Simeon could reply, “You cannot ask me that.”

“I am not asking. I am stating a truth,” one that would hopefully allow Simeon a way to follow his morals and gain some leniency if he continued to insist on this path, “I refuse to be your brother from that moment on.”

“Please... you cannot ask that of me.”

“I am not asking anything of you. I am simply stating where we will stand.” And now he needed to leave before the hurt welling in Simeon’s eyes tugged at his heart anymore and shattered his resolve.

He dipped his head in a polite bow, “Thank you for your time, Simeon. I do hope we may speak like this again.” He turned on his heels, refusing to truly look at the other angel again. His only goal was the door, where he opened it wide and stepped through the threshold.

“Lucifer! Wait!”

It took far more will than Lucifer would ever care to admit as he shut the door behind him without saying another word, and even more to walk away.

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

Chapter 2: Traitor

“How long have you known?” Micheal nearly growled as he stared down Simeon where he kneeled. His pale blue eyes ran wild with rage and it was clear he was just barely holding himself together. That was to be expected after everything he had just been through. Lucifer was unapologetically his favorite brother so it was unimaginable the distress he was in right now as he came to terms with having lost a member of his family. They had been like two halves of a whole, and now they were fractured.

“How long have I known what?” Simeon asked, feigning ignorance.

“That Lucifer would lead a rebellion against Father!” Micheal’s voice raised so loud that the room literally shook around him.

“Calm yourself, Micheal,” a melodious voice shushed him and lithe hands rested on his shoulders to hold him steady, “We’ve lost enough of our siblings today. There is no reason to lose yourself and risk losing another.”

“You would call him our brother after that disgraceful scene, Gabriel?” The disgust in his voice was clear and overwhelming, “He knew this would happen and refused to warn us or lift a finger. Everything we lost today is because of him.” Simeon had to know about today. He was blessed with the gift of prophecy and spent his time writing what was to come. If he had simply shared whatever he knew about today, Micheal knows they could have prevented the rebellion. He knows that he could have convinced Lucifer to stay somehow. Instead, he was left to face his own brother on the battlefield. He could still recall the cold eyes Lucifer had looked at him with as if they barely knew one another. That sight would never leave the darkest parts of his mind.

“You are blinded by your pain, Micheal.” She removed her hand from his shoulders and moved to stand over Simeon, “He is clearly as much our brother as ever. If he were against us he would have joined Lucifer, but Father has deemed that he is still worthy of his halo. Is that not enough for you?”

Micheal chuckled darkly before answering, “Uriel nearly lost an arm and he’s one of the lucky ones.” Even with so few numbers on their side, the rebellion had a gifted Dominion that made the most of their small force.

“And everyone harmed will heal, but we gain nothing in dividing ourselves further, and our brother has already been punished for his transgressions.” She took a knee before Simeon, reaching out her hand and running her fingers through his silken hair, “Will you not put our brother’s worries at ease, Simeon?”

Simeon knew the threat in those words. As kind as Gabriel pretended to be, she was someone he feared far more than Micheal. Not because she was stronger, but because she knew exactly how to most hurt those who upset her. As such, he had no interest in declining her wish, even if what she was asking for was for him to show his shame.

He took a deep breath before unfurling his wings behind him. They shimmered golden in the neverending light of the Celestial Realm, a blessing bestowed upon him by their Father that reflected his very essence. Every angel had such a blessing; different colors, shapes, a range of sizes, and lays of their feathers all differed from angel to angel all dependent on their Father’s grace. That included how high in their Father’s favor they were, and it was obvious at a glance just how out of favor Simeon had fallen. His six beautiful wings, the blessing afforded to all Seraphim, had been reduced to a simple two.

Gabriel’s eyes filled with pity for him but Micheal’s face twisted in glee and disdain, “Is that all? You betray us and all Father does is reduce your rank.” The laugh that left his throat was so dry that it sounded like it hurt, “You must really be beloved to get off with such a light sentence.” If it was up to Micheal himself, Simeon would face the same punishment as Lilith.

“Still your anger, Micheal. As you can see, Father has spoken.” She raised to her feet once more, her nails pulling painfully at Simeon’s hair as she stepped away from him, “Simeon is still of our kind and as one of our subordinates it is our duty to shepherd him.”

A wicked smile crossed Micheal’s face as he continued to look down on Simeon and his now unsightly form that marked his betrayal, “You may be correct, Gabriel. It is only right that we guide lost sheep, especially those of our own flock.”

#obey me #Absolutely Nothing #mine #obey me simeon #obey me lucifer #hosted on AO3 #obey me michael #obey me raphael #original character

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karanoid · 4 years

Text

about top joe discord

LET ME ADDRESS A FEW POINTS:

There has been many fear and anxiety regardless the top!joe discord I made. I understand how it gives my discord a bad reputation. Somebody has kindly reached out to me to ask me addressing several points, which I’m now gonna clarify:

1. I am racist, I asked why, and they said mostly because of my dismissive behavior to people who called me out for drawing yusuf adorned in gold jewelry which made their friends feel unsafe. So, I am a muslim and was raised in a muslim household and community. I am fucking brown.

I didn’t say it because you don’t need to know that about me. What bothers me is how some people feel the need to come to my inbox informing me “maam yusuf is a religious muslim who prays 5 times a day and do all the supplementary prayers all while he drinks alcohol and fuck nicky in the dailies, he wouldnt be wearing gold maam no maam.” as if I didn’t know any better. so please, now don’t do that. If you care so much about the littlest details like wearing gold then you’ll also call out yusuf because he draws living beings and drinks champagne. yes it’s true muslim men are forbidden from wearing gold AND silk but let’s not forget, nothing in the comic and movies imply yusuf has ever been religious. It’s easier to see nicolo as religious because he was a fucking priest. Yusuf was a fucking merchant, it’s easy to see that he’d be less faithful because he would have been travelling and seen many kind of people to broaden his horizons and not contained to a little bubble of hyper religious community. However, let me remind you: whether yusuf AND nicolo are religious or not is entirely UP TO THE AUTHOR/ARTIST. It’s totally fine to make him religious and if you can respect it THATS GREAT, I ALSO LIKE HIM THAT WAY, but please remember it’s not even canon and hey sometimes I just draw things because I like the aesthetics. Also please, do not harass writers for getting a thing or two incorrect, even white people cannot get christianity correct, even between two muslims could be a disagreement whether this fic’s yusuf is problematic or not. I wouldn’t even expect anything more and THAT’S OKAY. Just don’t be an ass to muslims of color in real life and don’t fall into the believe that it’s a religion of violence. you can say that greg made him that way bc he knew nothing better but hey, I have no problem with that. again, it’s fine to make him religious, I’d be delighted but it’s ALSO fine to make him not religious.

2. I think that people only write Top!Nicky out of political correctness. OKAY. I apologize for this. I thought like this because I have accounts telling me that they were pressured into writing top!nicky or they wanted more readerships so I make a BIG assumption. I realized this is only a small part of switch and top!nicky fics and the big bulk of this must be out of genuine care. So yeah, I apologize for thinking that people only write top!nicky out of political correctness. I think writers should be allowed to write whatever they want. Yes this includes top!Nicky. And in whatever kinks they want it. However, this still doesn’t change that the discourses do scare people away from writing top!joe. Write top!nicky however you want, but stop vague-blogging about top!joe. racism isn’t inherent to top!joe and you can always remind people to be mindful with their writings but discouraging people from writing top!joe is not the solution.

3. Top!joe is racist and people in the discord are racist. Okay, I am gonna touch several aspects why top!joe discord is considered racist: (1) because I don’t like to switch them, therefore I am racist. Sorry that’s not how it works. I have a clear preference and that’s just how I roll. Besides, a lot of people in the discord (including me) think either they switch (because they are 900 yo) or joe just doesn’t like bottoming. I’m not the kind of people who refers to reality for fiction I consume but people who prefer to top or to bottom exist (2) i want to be away from accountability and responsibility. Nope. The reason I made it is because I wanted to gather people with same interest as mine.

4. I paint Yusuf as aggressive and the whole discord like him being an aggressive top. I think this is the only reason why the discord is seen in a negative light. Because wow what a coincidence that someone vagueblogged my discord at the day I celebrated about Nicky suggesting 20 years and wrote a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry. And beside someone made the WRONG assumption that we are focusing on Joe’s anger and violence (what). Okay, I don’t know how to break this down. But I will try. First, yes I was overjoyed at the news. Because I’m one of the people that do not like feral!nicky headcanon. I liked it at first bc it was funny but then it was twisted into Nicky being cold. So I don’t like it (lol), I still like it though but like I don’t seriously think that way. However, I never liked the idea that Nicky suggested higher than Joe. Because then his character just doesn’t click with me, there was a cognitive dissonance for me because joe clearly says nicky’s heart overflows kindness, you can see nicky as a medic in the credit montage. Also, from their body language and from the way the movie set em up, I think Joe is the one who suggested higher and I am glad to be proven right. Second, I did write a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry at Booker. People agreed with me, so I was not alone. But the reason I wrote that post is not because I wanted to paint yusuf as aggressive, but because I’m tired at people who think Joe shouldn’t display any negative emotions. I think it’s out of character. I do NOT think Joe is aggressive. That is NOT his wholeass personality. If you looked at my tog art tag, never once I portrayed Joe as anything aggressive. If I do, please show me. Third, people are conflating this with my post where I reblogged with a comment that implies aggressive Joe isn’t racism. Okay in this, the context is IN BED. It’s Joe being aggressive in BED. It’s literally BED ROLES AND FANTASY. I don’t even have a particular scenario in my head when I reblogged that, the original post clearly refers to bed roles with manhandling and kinks etc. like, why would you spank someone in public? Lastly, about the discord, NOPE, most people in the discord agree that Joe is either a GENTLE DOM or SERVICE TOP. But in my opinion, if someone likes Joe as an aggressive top (again, bed roles baby) I really don’t think it’s racism. It’s just... projection?

anyway, back to joe’s emotions, these are posts from a moroccan man (paragraph #7) and a brown woman whose posts I agree with. Let’s be real, people of color are expected to shut up in favor of white people’s fragile feelings.

Now, about racism in fandom. I understand the concern because muslim men are painted as violent and aggressive. You know what I will never forgive those radicals for taking away innocents lives and to leave a lasting damage in how muslims are perceived in the west. However, you have to keep in mind, Joe in the movie is far from being stereotyped. I mean, Gina and Marwan practically greenlit him? Now, you might have concerns that writers are gonna turn him into a walking stereotype which is... okay, I understand that concern. But the solution is to communicate this ‘hey I think you make him too stereotypical in this etc etc’ not “write more top!nicky AND shame top!joe” because again, top!joe is not inherently racist.

also some people mentioned that they hope I recognize racial bias in the ship. dude, that goes without saying, all aspects of your life will be influenced by racial biases. however, this kind of thing is not specific to fandom/shipping. Like I said I’m fucking brown, friends and families with facial features that cater to white expectation are treated better. I did say at the bottom of this post, yeah I did notice why it’s always a brown character who’s always openly mad. And that’s in itself a form of racial bias. Racial biases affect everyone, white or POC, it doesn’t matter. But I got an issue with how people think this is racism. like how convenient, if by falling to racial biases mean you are a racist then what about those white people who created this racial biases in the first place? and I noticed the persons who got the audacity to cry about everything in this fandom is white?? I mean okay, they don’t know what I am, but not everyone is comfortable with sharing their private information like ethnic group, faith, etc. what if they really don’t want to share it? Because like you said, racial bias, whether good or bad will affect me. Now, I don’t know what white people are feeling, I’m not white. However, based on my interactions with them. We’re all just people sharing same interest, it could be they fall into racial biases, but all we shared about are just regular HCs. Even people making a conscious effort to combat racial bias still in essence fall for racial bias. You just cannot escape it.

According to this post, fandom assumes that the bottom is the proxy of writers, I don’t think this is applicable to everyone but let’s just say it’s true and people tend to write about their projection better so I’m gonna assume the racism part comes from the fact that..yeah I do think the bottom usually gets more fleshed out as a result of them being the writers proxy, so somebody posted this in the discord which I agree because yes I do think there’s a lack about yusuf’s background especially when it comes to crusade era:

but since I know most writers aren’t muslims, to me it’s not so much about racism but they simply know nothing about it, and not always out of ignorance either but in this climate, if you get a thing or two wrong you’d get harassed. so *shrugs* I understand the reluctancy. But here’s the thing, this is not about top/bottom issue but because most of the fandom are white so they have more freedom in writing the white character. Anyway, plenty of people have projected themselves into yusuf already, the whole “top/bottom” thing in this fandom is not even a thing. Yes, some writers project on the bottom so if you prefer bottom!joe that’s fine, somebody in the discord is doing a research and it turned out top!joe wasn’t even a CLEAR majority in JULY. So clearly they got their share already?

so please, let’s stop with the vitriol. if people are preferring top!joe it’s clearly because of different preferences. it’s not that deep. it’s the same way with how some people are preferring top!nicky. But we’re being driven out based on a hypothetical scenarios? like what do you want? for us to cease existing??? don’t be ridiculous.

I know people won’t listen to me. So this is my suggestion: LETS JUST IGNORE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE. LET’S ALL JUST AGREE TO DISAGREE.

#discourse #the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

Text

Men who I think would be soft for their baby for no other reasons than because I want them to be, in no particular order but still numbered ten to one because I like countdowns...

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Part two —> part one here

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This one’s for you @activist-af, no Finn and Kol erasure here Lottie

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10. Raleigh Becket

A really good man who is a little too impulsive at times and has pretty much no sense of self preservation and always seems to get himself into worsening situations

Is so fucking soft for his baby that it’s insanity

His baby is in no way the same kind of super soldier he is, she’s literally the softest baby in the world, and he’s just so careful with her

Like he follows her around the compound and just makes sure she’s okay

Eats every meal with her, shares a room with her, literally does pretty much everything with her just in awe

So many cuddles before and after a mission, lots of reassurance, kisses her entire face everywhere at least twice and has to get practically dragged away

Endures so much teasing from his partner

I don’t care if his character is suited for a dominant female you can’t change my mind on this one this man is soft as fuck

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9. Ambrose Spellman

A reformed radical warlock who has been locked in one house for a hundred years and is itching to go on a self-destructive bender after cleaning up his family’s messes for years

In absolutely no position to be in a committed relationship but I don’t give a single fuck

He would follow his baby around like a damn puppy when finally free of the Spellman residence

Oh she wants to go to witch school? He’s tagging along

She wants to go travel? Lead the way

The park, carnival, movie theatre, cafe, literally endless places he would follow her

Would read to her as she falls asleep and tell her all his little bits of knowledge on things that he collected during his time stuck in the house

A soft man that is final

——————————————————————————

8. Richard O’Connell

Cannot survive a normal, mundane life because it’s “too boring” for a man like him and would risk it all for a mummy invasion even if it means that he dies in the process

But by god he is so fucking soft I just know it

Keeps her safe at all costs even when she pouts at him and makes him take her with him when he travels

Refuses to leave her side when they go abroad because his track record with ancient curses is not great and there’s no way he’s letting some gross ass mummy hurt her

*dramatic gasp* HE ACTUALLY REFUSES SOME DANGEROUS MISSIONS FOR HER???

Does the thing where he leans into her hand when she touches his face and like kisses her palm

Definitely sleeps curled around his baby and wakes up at the slightest noise ready to hurt any intruders

I would literally do anything for this level of soft

——————————————————————————

7. Finn Mikaelson

A one thousand year+ original vampire who has absolutely zero sense of self preservation and actively seeks death because of how much he hates himself and would gladly bring his family down with him because mommy said so

Doesn’t quite fit the full dominant image but I don’t care he fits the soft part 1000%

Would bring her with him when he goes to see his family and is always wrapped around her the whole time

Endures all the teasing that would come with that for her because she’s?? Just?? So?? Cute and perfect???

Literally a thousand years old and would still absolutely crumple for his baby in SECONDS

If she cried it would literally be game over

There would be two people crying

He would be crying MORE than her

Epic date night planner, meticulously detailed, would pay so much attention to the things she likes and picks up on even the smallest clues

God he’s so soft I want one

——————————————————————————

6. Clint Barton

Largely pushed aside Avenger who has been evil in the past and appears at times to miss the evil a little too much

This one doesn’t even need an explanation, I’m literally right and this one has proved himself countless times

This man is the love of my life so yes: I am biased

Badass, sarcastic, cold archer Avenger by day; soft, caring, gentle man by night

Goes home, soaked with blood and sweat, and pulls his baby into the shower and just sags into her arms

Lives for her fingers in his hair after a long day

And bubble baths with her

Has gotten in trouble countless times for skipping important meetings but does not give a single fuck about it

Teaches her archery and doesn’t yell once (which is a feat pointing to his softness because once he tried to teach Nat and they yelled at each other the entire time)

HE IS SOFT, CASE CLOSED

——————————————————————————

5. Bellamy Blake

Incited a radical uprising in a highly dangerous and sensitive situation for really no reason at all other than the fact that he wanted to be the de facto leader of something

As per usual, I don’t care about canon characteristics this is my world I can do whatever I want

Every bone in this man’s body is a protective one

Yes, every single one (No, I’m not sorry about this)

Does not take shit from anyone about her, has definitely shut an entire group of people up for talking about her badly

Gets so nervous when she does anything even remotely dangerous and when she does he’s stuck to her side like glue

He’s so touchy and talks so quietly to her, not because he doesn’t want anyone to hear him call her his baby but because he just literally can’t bring himself to raise his voice he’s that soft for her

Does everything in his power to make sure she’s comfortable which is by no means easy in the slightest

So many forehead kisses that it’s almost barf worthy but he doesn’t care because she loves it and that’s all that matters

The radical leader is a fucking puddle of softness for his baby and that’s final

——————————————————————————

4. Loki

A trickster god who always teeters precariously on the edge of good and evil and no one ever knows which side he’ll favour at any given moment

Except when it comes to his baby then he’s good duh

Tiptoes around her because he would definitely be the type to go for a baby who jumps easily and he’s loud and kind of clunky so he’s always just slow and gentle

So much gentle teasing and giggling like oh god it’s tooth rotting sweetness

He takes her hands and just puts them on him, like his chest and cheeks and jaw and arms

Anywhere he just wants her touching him all the time

He rests his chin on her shoulder or head and reads whatever she’s reading or watches her go about her hobbies, kissing her cheek in between

This girl would never work a day in her life she would be ridiculously well taken care of

Would burn down a city for her with little provoking

As soft as butter for his baby

——————————————————————————

3. Kai Parker

Bringing back the “needs a therapist, not a girl” but sprinkle in a touch of volatile daddy issues that has created a man so hyper reactive to every negative situation whose only solution is to lash out because he figures no one loves him anyway

But sweep all that aside because fuck it, I don’t like it

He would worship his baby 110%

Is the type of man to let her do his nails and put as many face masks as she wants on him

Can’t sleep without her literally on top of him

He so clingy and touchy, loves when she grabs his hand, internally screams whenever it happens

Has for sure killed for her that isn’t even a question it’s just a fact

“He didn’t do anything” “he looked at you” “but Kai” “but baby”

Would do it again

I DON’T CARE: HE’S SOFT FOR HIS BABY

——————————————————————————

2. Jasper Hale

A literal once upon a time confederate soldier who made child soldiers for his dom-vamp girlfriend because he was “in love”

This man has ripped so many heads off so many bodies but I don’t give a single fuck I know he goes home to his baby and just picks her up and does not put her down

Face it, his family is rich, he doesn’t have to do anything, naps are definitely a big part of his routine and he’s always just snoozing with her on the couch, pulling her onto his lap and pulling a blanket off the back and they’re just asleep

Goes out for dinner with her, makes it through maybe twenty minutes, the entire time he’s waiting for it and then boom, the puppy eyes, game over, they’re home in minutes

Has skipped so many family functions

Will make any excuse to just go the fuck home

Sometimes he doesn’t even make an excuse he just fucking leaves

He’s touchy too I just know it look at that face the man lives for contact

The verdict is in-- 100/10 SOFT

——————————————————————————

1. Kol Mikaelson

Perhaps the angriest, most volatile, I-hate-the-world-and-everyone-in-it, thousand year old+ original vampire who has been stomped on so much and died so many times that he has no true sense of the world, trust, and love left

Oh GOD this man, this FUCKING MAN

THE SOFTEST MAN HOLY SHIT

I don’t even care what y’all think about this one Kol is so damn soft

This man is the inventor of cuddling

And he doesn’t give one single fuck about where and when I just know it

Family dinner? The witch market? CHURCH??

It doesn’t matter, he’s pressed against her

Oh god this man is protective

Maybe a little possessive too

I don’t care

His family calls him unpredictable so hey he may as well live up to it and burn down a bar or two or twenty for his baby

Shows her all of his witch things and rambles about them all

Is always pulling one of his shirts or hoodies over her head

AGAIN BUBBLE BATHS I JUST KNOW IT

He likes washing her back and just getting to be alone with her

He likes it even more when she washes his hair like he just sinks to his knees and closes his eyes and gives into it

GOD MY HEART IS BEATING SO FAST FOR HOW SOFT KOL IS

——————————————————————————

#Kol mikaelson #loki #kai parker #bellamy blake #jasper hale #ambrose spellman #finn mikaelson #clint barton #hawkeye #raleigh becket #rick o'connell #the originals #the vampire diaries #the avengers #twilight #pacific rim #the mummy #the 100 #the chilling adventures of sabrina

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help-i-need-a-cool-username · 3 years

Text

I started rewatching Soul Eater and you want to know what its done to me?!?!!

4 episodes in and im like i really wanna read fanfic for this show. I read the entirety of Ao3 and FF.net IN TWO DAYS

I went digging through tumblr tags and blogs FOR ANOTHER TWO DAYS

I finally find time to go back to watching it. I watch eps 5-24 IN ONE DAY. I am once again dying to read fanfic. You know when u read fanfic and then go back through it all with low standards? Ya i did that day 2 of #1 so i cant even do that. I resorted to reading wiki pages just for glimpses of new content

My brain did not shut up about this show for ANOTHER TWO DAYS. I regressed back into my pacing-for-HOURS-while-thinking-about-a-specific-show/book days

I would like to mention i saw this show for the first time 2 years ago and it did not do this to me. Just watching the prologues did this to me and gave me a fascination for the partnerships

I start thinking about canon!Soul and all this fanfic!Soul and reach the conclusion that Soul can achive the slightly better personality of fanfic!Soul by getting older and maturing some. I somehow start thinking of a AU(?) where Soul gets thrown back in time to the start of the anime. And its just other characters thoughts on 17 year old Soul/Death Scythe Soul. BUT WAIT THERES MORE

I start thinking how i dont want to send him back in time by himself and my brain picks Tsubaki to go back with him for no other reason than shes my fav. And then i was like should i send all the weapons? And i decide no bc thats a lot of characters and i still havent decided wether or not future!characters are swapping places with past!characters and i dont want miesters bc at some point i want a past!Maka and future!Soul team up. Then my brain back tracks to why would/what would happen that would allow just Soul and Tsubaki to be sent back. This STARTS the headcanon landslide i create of the main 7's futures

So first i decide to disregard what little i know of Manga canon and make Tsubaki a Death Scythe too (bc i literally cannot conceive the idea that a pairing as genius as Black Star and Tsubaki dont achieve that) so that Soul and Tsubaki have special Death Scythe training they undergo together and therefore thats why they were hanging out just the two of them. Then i start trying to figure out how they would interact and again idk how for some reason my brain goes "oh Soul would be really sweet but really awkward if she was pregnant" and then my mind took that thought and ran with it

So anyways now Tsubaki is married to Black Star but they dont tell past!characters that and they have 5-6 kids. I have planned out the disaster of their engagement-bachelor party-wedding festivities as well as their kids' early lives but to explain all that i might as well actually attempt to write a fic (spoiler alert: BS's bachelor party was the most stressful day of Soul's life to date and even tho BS is actually a young dad hes surprisingly really good at it and wants even more kids than Tsubaki does which no one expected INCLUDING ME). Past!characters find out when she runs and throws up in a park/hallway trashcan and when asked if shes okay Soul goes "its just morning sickness" and leads half the characters to (stupidly) believe he's the dad solely because hes not freaking out like the rest of them. Later on they see Soul's contact photo in Tsubaki's phone and its a pic that Maka sent her of Soul with his niece sitting on his shoulders at a amusement park and they're both wearing sunglasses. Do i actually know the real relationship between Soul and Wes? No! I just found the idea of Soul having a niece who adores him and thinks hes the coolest uncle ever which totally chokes him up when he thinks about it too long to be too cute to disregard on the fact i dont know canon.

So anyways Soul Eater IS RUINING ME and if anyone wants more details on the events ive mentioned i will gladly not shut up about it

#hinacu se #soul eater #soul eater evans #tsubaki nakatsukasa #tsustar #time travel au #i have way to much of TsuStar life planned out #and like nothing on Liz Patty Kid #Maka and Soul still live together but they arnt dating #BS proposed the first few times before he was even old enough to get married #ya i see him realizing hes into Tsubaki and immdeatly asking her out like this boy has suck little impluse control #so ofc hed propose like a thousand times #when i was trying to figure out when TsuStar happened (i made a whole timeline i told u it was a landslide of hc) i wrote ''but NO puberty #had to go and hit BS like a truck'' AND I LAUGH EVERYTIME I THINK ABOUT IT #and i have like nothing on the Soul timeline outside of Wes and his daughter and his personlity growth #like how would 13yr Maka and 16yr Tsu and Liz react to a Soul thats not only taller with a deeper voice but is more open in emotion and #stance and who displays slightly territorial behavior but whos also kind of a gentleman (aka these kids think opening doors is chivalry)

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yellow-r-o-s-e · 3 years

Text

it's all unscripted

Word Count: about 2000

Pairing: romantic Lumity, platonic Blight siblings

Characters: Amity Blight, Edric Blight, Emira Blight, also brief Luz Noceda, Eda Clawthorne, and Owlbert

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Episode, Takes Place Immediately After S02E08 “Knock Knock Knocking On Hooty’s Door”

Warnings: Crying, Anxiety, Bits of Implied Perfectionism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Author’s Note: I literally cannot stop thinking about Amity in this episode. She went through such an emotional rollercoaster, poor girl.

Summary:

Luz was in love with her.

The revelations still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart.

They were even dating now, which was unimaginably cool.

She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away as she got further from the Owl House.

This—sneaking back home and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part. It should be, at least.

Read it on ao3 at the link below, or click the Read More button to read on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33079672

Amity still felt dazed and jittery when she arrived in front of Blight Manor. Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud, crunching against pink and red pine needles. The concrete steps in front of her house loomed, looking colder and more threatening than she remembered. As she pulled her hood lower over her eyes, her fingers trembled.

It was fine. She could do this.

A headache had snuck up on her. Her forehead and eyes felt like they were burning, and she had a lump in her throat.

Still, she’d had a fantastic night. Nothing could take that away. Luz was in love with her, and they were dating. The memories still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart. She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away.

This—sneaking back in and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part.

She turned to the palisman beside her.

“Thank you....” What was his name again? Edalyn had mentioned it, as she was insisting that he should fly Amity home to make sure she was safe, but then Luz’s hand had lightly brushed against Amity’s shoulder, and Luz’s gorgeous face had been right there, so close, and all of Amity’s thoughts had fizzled out to make room for sparkly giddiness.

“Thanks, little friend,” Amity whispered. The wooden owl seemed satisfied and flapped his wings. Then he took off, headed back to the Owl House, where his family was waiting for him. Luz was probably, hopefully, still thinking about her, and she’d be happy to see her little owl friend return safe, and...

A few pangs of inexplicable jealousy surged through her before she wrestled them away. She grit her teeth. This wasn’t how she was supposed to feel. She had been so happy a few minutes ago, it shouldn’t have evaporated this fast.

She closed her eyes and counted down from ten, bracing herself to move forward through the clearing. When she reached ‘one,’ she held her breath and sprinted until she made it inside. She shut the front door as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall.

Then, with no warning or reason, the electric glee came back full force, making her feel unsteady on her feet. She blushed, biting her cheeks to stop herself from smiling, or worse, squealing with joy. That wouldn’t end well for her. Luz’s words echoed in her mind. As much as her instincts tried to dissect the events of the night, as hard as she searched for any downsides or sources of negativity, she still felt like she was floating.

The good feeling lasted a few seconds before it was replaced by guilt, which didn’t even make sense.

“I need to get back home. My mom is going to kill me,” she had said, out loud, like a complete idiot. She had meant to say it to herself, but then Luz was alert and looking at her seriously and oh… oh no. She’d ruined the moment.

“Not…” Amity swallowed. “Not literally. I’ll be fine.” Needing to do something with her hands, she gave Luz a thumbs up.

“Are you going to be…” Luz’s voice was so soft, Amity felt like her heart was cracking.

“It’s totally fine…” Amity laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

“Because, earlier, she did try to kill me, literally, and I don’t want you to be in danger because of me, and-”

Amity groaned, trying to shift her focus to current issues, like getting up the stairs without being caught.

It would be so much easier if she could just feel all of her emotions at once, Amity thought, making her way down the empty hallway. If it was all at once, she knew she’d be feeling overwhelming happiness twinged with only tiny amounts of negativity. Unfortunately, the sheer amount of emotions were too much for her to handle, so they took turns crashing over her in waves.

She managed to slip upstairs unnoticed, and her hands were shaking when she silently opened her bedroom door, but she was pretty sure it was more from the leftover thrill of the night than fear of being caught by her parents.

She closed the door behind her and saw herself sitting at her desk, scribbling at a homework problem.

“What?” She blinked, confused.

The illusion of her dissolved into mist, and she suddenly realized that her brother was sitting next to her desk, looking directly at her. She froze, unable to speak.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

“We didn’t know where you went, but mom came to check on you, and I figured you didn’t want to be caught,” he said in explanation. “You’re welcome.” He smiled.

That made sense. Amity was pretty sure she should feel grateful for the save. Unfortunately, any gratitude she felt was more than cancelled out by the fury that he was in her room, perceiving her, drawing out the already too long night. Ideally the night should have ended twenty minutes ago, when she had still been with Luz.

“Hey, Em, she’s not dead,” Edric spoke into a shimmering circle, no doubt sending some sort of illusion to carry the message to their sister.

In a matter of seconds, Emira burst through the door, out of breath.

No no no no no, she hadn’t planned for this. She didn’t know what to say to them, hadn’t even figured out how she was feeling. She just wanted it to be tomorrow already, so she could be standing next to Luz at school, and everything could be bright and shiny and wonderful again.

“Oh, hey there Mittens,” Emira said, making finger guns. “Glad to see you here. Not that we were worried or anything-“

“Where were you?” Edric interrupted. “You freaked us out. Em was on the verge of telling mom-“

“No, I wasn’t.” Emira leaned against the wall, faking nonchalance. “I’m not a snitch. It was all under control, and I trust you.”

Edric stuck his tongue out at her.

“I’m sorry,” Emira said, “which of us said they thought they saw her get eaten by a worm demon?”

“Oh.” Amity finally found her voice, and their gazes snapped toward her. She slid down to the floor, trying to escape their gazes. “No, he’s right, that did happen.”

“What?!”

“Are you okay?”

And then the twins were talking over each other, pressing for more details, and Amity couldn’t quite breathe, and-

“You’re overwhelming her!” Emira chided. “Look at her face.”

“Like you weren’t also-“

“Shush.” Emira gently nudged her brother aside, sitting down in front of Amity. “Mittens, baby, can you tell us what happened?”

“I’m not a baby,” Amity grumbled. Why wouldn’t they leave? She just wanted to be alone, for Titan’s sake.

Emira rolled her eyes, and Edric shoved her gently.

“Mittens, teenager who is very wise,” Edric said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, um…” Amity tried to think back through the night, searching for an understandable place to start. “Well… you see…” she swallowed. “I…”

And then, she broke down sobbing.

Edric reached out a hand toward her, waiting until she nodded to pull her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“I know! That’s the problem! It’s not…” Amity hiccoughed, frantically rubbing at her face. “It was good. I’m just stupid. I don’t know why-“

She let out another sob. She was pretty sure she was getting snot all over Edric’s shirt. Good. That’s what he got for annoying her when she wanted to be left alone.

She made several attempts at speech that all came out garbled.

“Take your time,” Emira said.

“Luz-” Amity sniffled again. “Luz thinks I’m cool.”

Edric laughed at that. Amity tried to glare at him but still couldn’t stop crying.

“She’s so cute.” Amity sniffled, out of breath. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“That,” Edric cleared his throat, trying not to laugh again. “That sounds very difficult. How will you ever survive?”

“Shut up,” Amity grumbled, pushing him away from her. She stood up and flopped face-first onto her bed.

“We’re…” she had meant to get it over with, to say “we’re dating” and let the twins react over enthusiastically, but anxiety overtook her and her throat dried up.

"I'm sorry," Emira said, not sounding sorry, "but what does that have to do with being eaten by a worm demon?"

"Luz's dumb bird-worm thing kidnapped me," Amity said with a small laugh, grateful for the subject change. Then, she felt her face go bright red. She couldn't very well tell her siblings about the Tunnel of Love, or she'd be teased for the rest of her life.

"Okay..." Emira sat down next to her, and she fought not to hiss at the intrusion of her personal space. Emira must have sensed her discomfort, though, because she stood back up immediately. "And then?"

"Things... happened. And then Luz asked me hnnmnnmnm," she buried her face in her pillow.

"I didn’t quite get that." Emira said. Even without looking up, Amity could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Luz..." Amity took a deep breath. It was fine. She was okay. It wasn't going to become any less special if she said it out loud.

"Luz asked me to go out with her." It was silent for a second, and she savored the words.

"Woo!" Edric held out a hand to high-five her, and she tapped it lightly.

"Congrats!" Emira said. “No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“You did say yes, right?” Edric asked.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, throwing a pillow at him.

“Someone’s avoiding the question…”

“Yes!” she said. “I said yes, okay. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Hmmm,” Emira tapped her finger against her chin, and Amity groaned.

“Fine,” Emira said, “because we love you so much, and we’re so proud of you, we’ll let you sleep. Just this once.”

Emira grabbed her brother by the elbow and dragged him out of the room, shooting Amity one last smile before closing the door. Finally, she was blissfully alone.

Memories swirled through her brain again. Luz’s hand squeezing hers. Luz’s horrified expression when Amity had tried to fake a smile but couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. Luz’s nervous laughter as she told Amity how much she liked her. Luz’s knee bumping against hers as they sat face to face, theoretically trying to decide what being girlfriends meant, but getting too distracted staring at each other to finish the conversation. Luz kissing her cheek and looking at her so sincerely as she told her “fly home safe.”

Amity’s heart thudded in her ribcage. She might combust if her siblings found out about how stupid in love she’d acted tonight, but she was going to explode anyway if she didn’t tell all the details to someone immediately.

Resigned, she sat up, and crept out of her room. Her siblings were still standing in the hallway, whispering excitedly. Edric noticed her first, tapping Emira’s hand to get her to look.

“Mittens?” she asked.

“I’m feeling every emotion,” she admitted, “and I can’t sleep, and I need you to come back actually,” she mumbled, not meeting their eyes.

“Sweet,” Edric said.

It wasn’t even a teasing remark, but Amity still blushed. She was screwed, she knew. Still, with their eyes on her, the hurricane of emotions that was tugging at her felt a little less heavy and a little more manageable. She was lucky to have them as her siblings, not that she’d ever tell them that.

“Aww, is she too in love to sleep?” Emira asked.

“Shut up,” Amity said, blushing even harder.

“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up. It’s your turn to talk,” Emira said. “Tell us everything.”

#lumity #the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #knock knock knocking on hooty's door #fic tag #my fic #amity blight #edric blight #emira blight #blight siblings

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psychemeanscure · 3 years

Text

PART 30

They are in the middle of a topic with her parents about the time Zilo finally convinced her to experience the Nightclubs of Mexico for the first time where she ended up knocking out a drunk stranger humiliating a girlfriend in front of a whole crowd and of course, who would rather talk about it proudly other than the inviter himself yes it is. She cannot believe that her foster parents will actually invite the young Alcaziar. If only she knew he’ll be much closer to them than now, she wouldn’t rather have introduced him back then.

“You did that, mi hija? If It was me, I would also do much than that. You did a good job, honey...”

A grand compliment from her mamá followed by laughter around her for she can only think of a silent grudge in mind, stern look wishing to throw Zilo on its own grave. ‘Aish. This dimwit.’

Including, the prudent man who’s chuckling beside her. “I can’t argue more. If you could only saw what happened that time, I am the proudest. She did a good job indeed.”

She’s lying if it didn’t make her fluster because she did that she needed to hide her bashfulness by glancing her dinner plate instead. Though not long before a realization slip into her. A sudden frown which came so easily, a piercing lobe ready to kill someone in an instant. “Wait, what?! You were there?”

He can only purse his lips in-between, learning how deadly her stare at, taking a bite of his steak instead. He was busted. How table shifted in a snap that it was his turn to get cornered yet not wanting to face his defeat, he restrains his composure, reminiscing the moment he witnessed everything right in front his eyes. An unbothered Jang Taeyoung responds to her.

“Uhm, including you dancing your surprisingly infamous moves after smashing someone with a bottle. Yes, I was there.”

She can only torture her own spoon and knife. Fisting both of it as if literally choking the man who’s currently talking to her. She’s been holding enough. If not because of her parents’ presence, she can definitely make an outburst already. But enough is totally enough. Processing every single detail that had been unwanted to her knowing for years and would possibly still if this dinner would have not happened in the first place. A deepening exhale she needed to ponder, a bloodshot eye obligated to stay hidden. A masking coldness finally responded onto his belated actions. “Let us talk.”

A pure emphasis of three syllables she firmly put into words at last. “Honey? Is there’s something wrong?”

That subsequently noticeable to her parent’s eyes. “Uh. Mamá, I think a little misunderstanding is---“for Zilo trying to cover up, ended up being jolted by the harsh dumped she did with her utensil. Turning to face her parents with a subtle smile. “No. Nothing serious, mamá. It’s just that I and Taeyoung here, needed only to discuss something important. Isn’t it?”

Coping how she wanted it to be for so he played along, curving the same decisive smile as her. “Yes! yes, it is. Actually.”

“Oh, is that so? Then you better be.”

Giving her foster mom another of her smile, she responded. “Definitely, Ma. So, if you’ll excuse us please.” Before turning a glare attention to the one she assumed accomplice. “Including you.” Gulping for his safety, he tried to defy. “Wait what? Sis, me? Why do I have to be drag as we--- Ah, ah, ah. “

But it was too late, for Zilo been literally dragged by Sung Eunyoung already. Pinching his ear as he has been towed with them outside. “O-Ouch! It hurts, eh?” finally releasing from her hold, he complains eventually while rubbing his now red ear. “Shut up. You owe me otherwise. And when did my mom become your mom, huh? Ugh.” Bringing her arms crossed as she targeted the two of them this time. “Now,” her first word, eyeing between the currently grumpy youngster and Jang Taeyoung who remained cool on his own, tucking both hands in its pockets.

“Care to explain to me what was happening, huh? You, two?”

“Hey! Don’t ask me, you ask him.” the swift defense of Zilo indeed, the moment her sight stop at him by which he’s been answered with her piercing stare. Jang Taeyoung, needed to blow out an air. “I was supposed to, alright.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to when I said I’d like to tag along.”

“Then, why didn’t you?”

A smirk came to him flawlessly. “Well, you teased me. You even dared to decline my request so… might as well make use of it against you, right?”

“Seriously?” shrugging off, he beat her by his words. “I told you, you never know.” For she can only groan in frustration. “And you knew about this.” Passing her accusing anger to Zilo instead. “Hey, I just learned about him few days ago as well!”

“I’m not buying it.”

“I swear, Sis. The last time we’ve talked, I don’t have any idea at all. Cross my heart, I’m innocent. ---- Hey, back me up!” a matter of truthful excuse from the youngster himself actually as he intended to ask Jang Taeyoung even to prove his innocence. Just to be ignored. “Well, except for being chess buddies. Yes, he is telling the truth.” butting a different back up instead.

“Damn it. That’s a foul!”

Just to receive the smug face of his brother. “Chess buddies? And few days ago, you texted me--- yah! You, dimwit! Come back here!!”

She cannot continue her sentence anyway for Zilo taking the chance to escape, sprinting back inside her parents’ home. “Mierda. Yah! You still owe me, you cul---“for she dared try chasing, only to be gripped by her loco. “Let go…”

A warning she hoist to convey. Just to simply responded by a chuckle. “You’re laughing?” a sarcasm she needed to voice out. Shaking his head with quirkiness, he replied. “Screws on you. Like who’s talking now?” a playful parallel he wanted to tease. “Tss. Shut up and let me go.” A consecutive warning, she obliged to embark yet rather felt the rubbing circles of his thumb on her hand. Before she knew it?

She was already trap by the softening sight she least expected. “I’m starting to doubt, Sung Eunyoung.” Stared by the globes that seems to dive into the depths of her soul. He succeeded.

“What really beat you into anger,” he went to caress her shoulder. “was it because I was late to tell you about it?” chills of his touch that just flows onto her veins so naturally. “Or was it the fact that I intended to scratch you with my presence?” coming closely as he lifts her chin up, “Admit it, Eunyoung...” filling the last space between them, he continued.

“You waited for me.”

And it was a statement. ‘He doesn’t know.’ Of course, he doesn’t. How can he when he’s been absent to her all those years. Drown by the trances of their long stares. Dazed by the concealed feeling screaming to break free. Not until she has been reminded by one sensible thought in mind.

‘He played to me. He played to me, otherwise.’ Fighting the last pride of herself, she avoided his gaze. Averting her face to look sideways, she retorted. “I bet Zilo told you that nonsense.” Denying the truth for her own.

“He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Liar.”

“You are.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Jang Taeyoung.”

“Am I?”

For to shut her eyes, is her last resort. “Enough.”

“You sure?”

“Jang Taeyoung.” The piercing coldness innate her. But too late as Jang Taeyoung already towering over her. Caged by his emanating presence, admitting her obvious defeat. She has lost. “Look at me, Eunyoung.”

But she didn’t for the next thing she knew, it was his softest touch waking her up to reality, once again meeting the eyes of the man who creates chaos of her whole being. The reason of her vulnerability.

“All along, I thought it was the guilt that holding you back to me when it was actually you waiting for me.”

The drizzling rain, answered for her. It was too sudden that Jang Taeyoung needed to dragged both of them to a nearest shade. Except for the fast downpour of skies, it was their heaving hearts that’s left in deafening silence. Stuck by the sight of his intertwining hold which only help her unrevealing emotions to surrender. Is she ready though?

He needed, to look at her. Right before a chime from her parent’s doorstep broke it. Just as how she glanced to the person behind it. “Mamá.” Pulling away from his hold, leaving Jang Taeyoung halfhearted.

“Mi hija, Taeyoung. I think both of you should need to continue your conversation inside. It’s raining cats and dogs already.”

They had to look at each other for a while before turning back to her foster mom. “Sure, Mamá. We’ll follow. “Smiling to the both of them, “Alright, then.” Her mom answered.

“And oh! I already ask our housekeeper to clean a room. This rain might stay long. The three of you should better stay for the night. Zilo already went up first as well.”

Reminding them another, before finally deciding to go back inside. Entertaining their unresolved tension once again, she broke the silence. “W-we…” for she had to clear her voice the moment she’s been stare by his awaiting lobes. “I think we should go back inside.”

As quickly as her words, she turns her back to go ahead of him too late for his gripping hand swiftly taking her wrist, making her go back close to him. “Hear me out tomorrow. Will you let me?”

His straight request as all she can do is agree.

“Okay.”

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anemonenemerosa · 4 years

Text

The Spare - Chapter 12

Here we go! Thank you, @lumosinlove for the SW-verse!

Chapter 12

Out of precaution, Regulus decided to sneak into Malfoy Manor through the kitchen window. He scoffed at the thought that everyone always assumed he was a model son. Sure, he kept his head down, all appearances and he was once very eager to please his parents but that didn't mean he hadn't a rebellious streak.

Sirius often got caught trying to sneak out the house... through the back door... too obvious. Idiot. But he learned over time. Regulus, on the other hand, learned to pick locks and sneak out of windows quiet early on. It was much stealthier and more unsuspected from the obedient, quiet kid.

Around 16, Regulus did this very often, trying to live a little under the thumb of his parents and while pretending not to. Sirius was bold, brave and often getting shit for it. Regulus was collected and sneaky. His escapades went unnoticed. It was all about the right balance. He asked to go out often enough to be considered normal. His parents said no more often than not and Regulus just had to ask for events he was not really interested in. When they said no, he would obediently stay at home and just sneak out to the stuff he actually wanted to go to. Unsuspecting.

He went to several high school parties and concerts, albeit hating crowds, because that was what teenagers did right? What they enjoyed. Regulus did not enjoy the drinking, the stuffed rooms and the gross drunk make-out sessions. Maybe he was born as snarky old man, always been more of a Waldorf, in need for his Statler.

Once in his room, Regulus showered, changed and was just in time for Lucius to take him to practice.

The mood in locker the locker room was disgustingly cheerful. Several Death eaters were reciting their favourite slurs against Sirius and all the “faggots”, how they called queers, in general, accompanied by hollering, whistling and applause.

Regulus thought of Sirius, of Ben and Mateo, how kind and loving they treated him, and it took all his badly patched up self-control to keep his expression blank and polite. This is not right.

He did not return to the shire this evening. Instead, he spent a long time running in the neighbourhood of the Malfoys, trying to sort through the last days.

When he collapsed exhausted into bed this evening, he came to the conclusion that there was actually no way he could get through the mess in his very own… The psychologist-thing was meant as a joke at Thanksgiving, Black…

oOo

The next evening, he nervously rang the bell besides the name tag Hayes/Alves, not knowing whether someone is even at home but he was let into the building and a moment later he found himself unable to knock on the door to their flat. These people owed him noting, why would they even let him in again after he practically stormed out yesterday?

The door was yanked open anyway and a relieved looking Mateo pulled him inside. “There you are, we were worried!”

“What? Why?”

“You were rather upset when you bolted yesterday” Jo provided from the kitchen, a spoon in her mouth and an almost empty can of ice cream in her hands.

“Hey, there you are!” Ben chimed happily, stepping out of the bathroom in his pyjamas and towelling his hair.

“Are you guys mad?” Regulus blurted suddenly, “You don’t know me, I stormed out yesterday after all you have done like an ungrateful asshole and you are actually happy that I'm back?”

“Sure.” All three answered as one, baffling him completely.

“Why?” He was almost desperate, “You have absolutely no gain from me being here... I am just a rookie so no one will buy my secrets from you, I am rather rich but you have nothing to properly blackmail me so what do you want?!”

“Are you serious?” Jo asked after a short silence.

“No, that’s my Brother, I am Regulus.” he answered absentmindedly. Ben and Mateo snorted but Jo just looked puzzled.

Regulus looked back, similarly puzzled. “Sirius Black, the famous, freshly outed, Captain of the Gryffindor Lions?”

Still nothing but a furrowed brow... “NHL?”

'Yeah, yeah, heard of it but hold on, your full name is Regulus, like your real name? And your brother is, in fact, named Sirius, that’s not a fake, too?”

“That is your Question? And no, its Sirius Orion and Regulus Arcturus Black, actually.” Jo anything but shrieked, joining the other two hobbits already shaking with mirth by now.

“Ok, that’s - that’s just bad, I'm sorry” she wheezed after a few minutes.

“I always thought these were aliases… I see that I need to revaluate my bad-name categories.”

“Alors, I call you Josephine from now on?” Regulus was met with a surprisingly deathly glare that sent Ben and Mateo straight into another fit.

A grin started to tuck at the corner of Regulus’ lips but there were still pressing questions.

“Jo, you have no idea of the disaster that went on? You didn’t even check Twitter?”

“Nah, I don’t frequent social media. While I prefer to limit my direct interaction with other people, assholes accumulate there and throw all their bullshit around, guarded by the anonymity of the internet. I think a dentist appointment is less annoying.” The grin tucked again. This weird mixture of slang and hoity-toity wording was just gold.

“But you do watch ice hockey?” He was not sure why that was important for him. Maybe to find out, what she knew about him, maybe because to find out more about her.

“Sometimes yeah. For me you are Reg, the rather giant dude that slept on our couch, that prefers his tea bitter and gross and does not say thank you. The guy with the enjoyable dry humour and good taste in literature that luckily balances his abysmal taste in movies.”

At that Regulus laughed, too. He didn’t know, why exactly but he felt giddy with the idea that these were the first people who wouldn’t define him through hockey and his family. That although they knew of his profession, here was just Reg, not Regulus Arcturus Black, Son of Orion Black, number 72 of the Snakes. Maybe I can have this, after all.

Is this, what Sirius had with his team, with Remus? Another pang of guilt let the laughter die in his throat, his eyes welled up. Not again…please.

But there was no time to recompose himself. Quickly, he was shoved onto the couch, wrapped in the chicken-blanket and surrounded by these idiots caring for him for some reason he still did not understand.

For the third time, his walls broke. Where there even walls by now? Regulus felt rather leaking with emotions.

But of course, he could not keep it in around them and spilled all his life to the three of them, not in as much detail he told Mateo in the hospital but also not keeping his role of Sirius’ outing to himself. Once all was out, there was a tense silence... of course there was, he just told the gay couple in front of him that he forced his brother out to be tormented by a crowd of imbecile haters on the internet.

Regulus was sure, his little excursion into a happy family ended now. Just as he guessed on the first evening here but instead of scolding and disapproving, cold glares he found himself hugged by Ben, again. He gives good hugs; his brain supplied uselessly.

“It’s a shitty move to out someone Reg, there is nothing to sugar coat.” Ben sighed.

“But what they did with that information and how the people online reacted is not your fault.”

Regulus said nothing, just closed his eyes and buried deeper in the shoulder of Ben, who practically sat on his lap to reach the height for such an embrace.

“But your feelings were hurt, too at that time and a lot of people used you. Fuck your family. You know what, I’m your mom now!”

Regulus just continued crying silently into Ben’s Shoulder, Mateo’s hand rubbing slowly over his back, chuckling at Ben’s statement.

“Mother hen.”

This showed what he had suspected for a while now, proof that his parents were not just a little strict. That something in his childhood went horribly wrong and he has no idea what to do with that information except crying it out.

When he calmed down a bit, Ben and Mateo got up to make some tea and finish dinner while quietly talking in Portuguese. So, it was something he was not meant to understand. His stomach knotted uncomfortably.

“Reg?” Jo tried quietly, she had not reacted in any way so far. He had even forgotten that she was still perched on the carpet beside him and somehow, he dreaded what was to come next.

“Hm?”

“Earlier, at the door, as you said that you do not know of what use you are for us as we cannot even blackmail you... you were not joking?” He shook his head, new tears threating to well up. How were there still tears left and what happened to his composure again?

“You really expected us to just care for you as long as we could gain profit?” There was no accusation in her voice just sadness and concern. He shrugged his shoulders; did he think that? No, but this was the only form of interaction he knew, everything always came with a price, an expectation.

The next thing he felt was Jo not practically but literally perched on his lap, straddling his hips, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her cheek against his temple. He knew already that, opposite to her brother, Jo was not the touchy feely type with strangers.

He was not considered a stranger anymore, after a day?

“I don’t know if there is anything one could say to make it better, so I will just keep my mouth shut and hug you until you believe that we like you and care for you. Just like that. As long as it will take.” She wiggled a bit to demonstrate getting comfortable.

There was nothing sexual about the embrace although they were pressed together from shoulders to hips und she just wiggled in his lap. It was completely opposite to the girls that approached him at the parties he sneaked out to. These were eyeing him hungrily, like a trophy. Some of them (very drunk, to their defence) even told him how similar he looked to Sirius… and how sexy they found his brother. He shivered a bit at the memory and gladly went back to reality.

“You might die of old age while waiting.” Regulus lifted his head to check the effect of his attempt in humour on her face but she just tucked his head back, giving a soft huff.

“Nah. 'M convincing but probably need to excuse myself to the bathroom or the fridge in between”

He closed his eyes again, wrapped his arms around her waist and relished in the hug without questioning why this hug felt different, more intimate than Ben’s or Mateo’s.

After an undefinable amount of time, the men came back with plates of Vegetable Quesadillas and Guacamole.

“Comfort Food, my avozinha’s recipe.”, Mateo commented

Instead of answering his question for cutlery, Ben met his eyes, pointedly grabbed a Quesadilla, dipped it in the guacamole and shoved the whole thing in his mouth without breaking eye contact.

Reg snorted with laughter.

oOo

Of course, Ben spilled more than just a little on his shirt.

While Ben and Jo were cleaning the dishes and Ben, Mateo came over with a fresh cup of tea.

“Hey” Reg lifted his head. “I’m talking now as your fried -or co-mom, apparently- that just happens to also have studied medicine” he nodded for Mateo to continue.

“You went through a lot. Not just lately. And you struggle to cope.” Alors, the poker face seems to be gone…

“I do not say that you are weak, you are not! But you might want to consider the help of a therapist to sort through your feelings and your past. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of knowing your boundaries and taking care of yourself. I do not want to talk you into this, you need to want that for therapy to help. So, take you time to think about that, if you need. You can always come to us to talk but no one here is a therapist so we can only help you so far. OK? We are not disposing you to a shrink. Our door is open for you but you might want to have different type of help.”

Reg sat the in silence after this speech, hand running through his hair and rubbing his neck.

He had thought about that, more and more serious since Thanksgiving but hearing it and having the confirmation that he was welcome here …a thought formed in his brain, shortly followed by his usual determination.

"I want this to stop. I want to get better." He looked at Mateo and was met with his signature genuine, warm smile.

"You have a team therapist, don't you? It might be the fastest way to an appointment."

Reg grimaced at the thought of Dr. Slughorn. Generally well-meaning but when in doubt always humouring Riddle.

"I wouldn't trust him with taking the trash out." Regs grimace it met with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you want me to help you find someone else?" Mateo asked carefully and after a relieved nod from Reg, continued. "OK. Good, this is really good. Now for the next part."

Reg furrowed his brows

"Ben and I talked, and we want to offer you to stay here for a while after All Star, out of the clutches of your family. Of course, you have to go to practice and stuff but maybe it would be healthier for you to feel less controlled, less suffocated by them. We would find something else for you to sleep on than the couch, of course." Mateo joked.

Reg blinked at the guy in front of him in disbelieve. Encore: What the hell? "You would do that? Let me stay?"

"Yep. We are your moms now, after all." Ben all but yelled over from the kitchen.

This isn't a fever-trip. This is a dream, and I hope that I will not wake up too soon.

This night, he spent in Jos bed.

"The couch is lumpy so we will share that bed. I'm not ruining my neck for you." Was her announcement before she marched off, Reg in tow.

He was led into the room, expecting a bedroom and was greeted with a little bureau.

"Erm..." Was all Reg could say.

"Well I only stay here during semester breaks so it's mor like a multi-purpose room." Jo seemed to miss the point entirely.

"But there is no bed?!"

She gave him an odd look and... folded a mattress out of the closet? "You've never seen a Murphy bed?"

"Obviously."

A little while later Reg squeezed himself beside Jo in the double bed. How does such a small person take up so much space?

“Won't it fold up in the night and swallow us whole?" The thought made him nervous, but he was greeted with the Hayes™ way of soothing. Bullying into feeling better.

“Not with your fat ass in here. Sleep or I send you back to the couch.”

They did not sleep for a long while.

Instead the talked a lot like on the first morning that felt like years ago although it has been just two days. In these days, his life was turned inside out, fortunately. He liked this version better.

The more they talked and bantered, the more Reg understood, that she really did not calculate her moves but just did what seemed the honest, right and fair choice… which is why she was horrible at the midnight chess match: Not thinking a few steps ahead and no intention of sacrificing figures or threatening enemy figures… irritating and endearing.

Also, she had quite a lot of very good burns but apologised every time afterwards. Hilarious... too nice for her devilish mind.

The next morning, he woke up around four, with Jo's back tucked against his side. He had slept about two hours, not able to sleep any longer anyway but he stayed in bed, secretly enjoying the feeling of a warm weight beside him.

Thoughts about his brother were still omnipresent in his mind but right now, other thinks demand his attention. Reg was pretty sure that he was falling for Jo.

He had had one or another crush in school but what he felt now was magnitudes stronger. Coming to think of it, his feelings about Ben and Mateo were also magnitudes stronger but... different. The idea of the girl he just met not being within an hour driving distance, once she returned to Boston, left a weight on his chest, accompanied by an unfamiliar longing.

But that was not the point... everything would be OK with that point. The point was, it's not the same as he heard all the other guys in school, in the locker room talk about girls… he didn't get off imagining her naked, or both of them having sex, he never thought that about anyone, actually, and was convinced the boys boasting about how they want to hit all these girls and how they got horny every time some girl with a too-short-to-be-comfortable skirt walk by, were just exaggerating… or were they not? Was there something he just didn't understand, hadn't experienced yet? It's not that he hadn't had sex before and it was nice enough, but he never quite understood why people would go absolutely nuts about this past-time exercise. It was basically wanking with extra steps.

Hell, Reg felt not even aroused by Jo's ass pressed to his thigh in her sleep but he was very sure that he wanted to hold her close, feel her skin under his hands, her body pressed to his, to kiss her and be definitely more than friends with her; And he had absolutely no idea how to explain this to her and still hope for a chance of dating her eventually... This was not what people were looking for in a partner, was it?

He groaned... was there nothing simple on this world for him?

But then again, Jo was different, that's why he liked her, she had this no-bullshit attitude that let her stomp on several feet regularly. She was the only person he knew that would most likely appreciate if he just spoke his mind about the situation and have a balanced, rational and decidedly calm discussion about their feelings. He silently laughed. The thought about such a conversation was ridiculous but fairly simple. Maybe this would be easier than he first thought. He was not sure on what terms they would end but the situation would be evaluated and free of misunderstandings at the end.

He would talk to her after All Star, after facing his brother and trying to... what?

oOo

Telling Lucius and Narcissa that he wanted to stay elsewhere for a few nights went smoother than expected. After a short call with his mother she agreed to give him a bit of freedom. After the outing, his parents seemed to be eager to keep Reg as the good son. So, Walburga was in kind of open for some little claims. Of course, she wanted to know where he was staying so he pretended to need alone-time after the shock of his brother's outing and booked a hotel room until All Star as cover. He was definitely not risking his Mother taking this very fragile attempt of escape away from him.

Reg quietly packed a bag with clothes to take with him directly from the airport after All Star and spent his waiting time at the airport on the phone with Mateo, looking for a therapist. He would meet Dr. Bones close to the Hospital, Mateo worked at, next Thursday.

The flight with Snape was horrible. Reg tried to keep his thought about Sirius at bay, not checking social media at all but Severus kept sneering about Queers in general and Sirius. He laid open all the information he could dig up out about Remus and even announced proudly, that he forwarded it all to the commentators of the red carpet

Oh… merde. C’est pourri! They are in for a shit-show.

But Reg would not have to opportunity to contact Sirius before that.

#the spare #lumosinlove sweater weather #mentions of forced outing #mentions of abuse

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s Daughter: Prologue

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (soon), The Winter Soldier X Reader, Bucky & Reader, Natasha & Reader

Summary: Born to a Head of Hydra, you’re groomed from a young age to be the kind of leader the organization desires. Only time will tell if true monsters are born or bred.

Warnings: Literally all of them. 18+ only and please read with caution if you’re triggered by violence of any nature.

A/N: I talked about this fic for the first time almost a year ago. Then again a couple of months ago. A lot of you were excited for a super dark fic but I still had to sit with it. Then, as always, @wonderlandmind4 whipped my ass into shape and here it finally is.

I haven’t detailed out the TWs because, honestly there are a lot. This is a violent dark world as we’re deep into Hydra. The series, even this prologue, has plenty of moments of softness or where the good side of humanity shows - but again, Hydra. So please be mindful.

Also, this is a reader fic but she’s done a little different. I won’t say much more than that but I’m interested to see what y’all think.

TAGS ARE OPEN

You’re eight years old. Your mother’s sobs snake through your open bedroom door - Mummy would always leave it cracked for you. Papa though... you can hear his hand strike Mummy’s face even in your upstairs room.

“Please. Eric,” she begs through her sobs.

“Shut the fuck up,” Papa growls. She always makes him so angry…

Her scream feels like glass shattering in your chest. You don’t know why you run from your room, why your small feet pound down the stairs. You do know he’ll be furious with you, somehow that doesn’t matter.

“No Papa!” You scream as loud as your tiny lungs can manage, placing yourself squarely between him and your mother.

His eyes sear into your matching pair. Rage and hatred so hot you think you may combust, a word you’d recently learned - Mummy had been proud when you told her about it. You’re afraid… But you won’t move. Instead, you lift your chin higher, will your back straighter.

“No baby,” Mummy’s trembling hand on your shoulder feels like a burden rather than a comfort. “Go back-”

“Catherine,” Papa lowers his hand, his expression shifting.

“Eric, she’s just-”

“Was I speaking to you?” His tone isn’t red hot any longer, it’s cool as ice. A shiver crawls up your spine.

“No I… I just…”

“Come here, Catherine,” he opens his big palm and smiles at you, that warm Papa smile that makes you think of holidays and tickle fights. You step toward him, your mother’s hand limply slipping from your shoulder. He envelopes your small hand in his own and turns you to face Mummy.

She seems to shrink, hands rising to hide her face. “Don’t.” Papa orders in a smooth tone. Immediately she obeys, eyes glued to the marble floor.

“I want you to look at her Catherine.” You do… but… it’s just Mummy. Hurt and crying and scared, you don’t like it. After a moment you look away.

“No. Look at her.” You know it’s not a suggestion. Slowly you force your eyes back to her cowering form. The moment drags on long enough for you to name all the colors in the bruises in your head.

“What do you see?”

Confused you turn to Papa, “Mummy?”

“That’s who you see. What do you see?” Looking back at her you squint your eyes a little trying to see something else, like those funny books where you see different things when you shift your focus. No matter how hard you try though the image is the same.

“What do we have no use for, Catherine?”

Oh…

“Weakness.” That’s why Papa would never crack your door to let the light in. Why there was no checking for monsters under the bed or being afraid of spiders. Hydra had no use for weakness.

“Exactly. This is weakness. Are you weak, Catherine?” At this your mother’s eyes shoot up, burning hot enough to rival Papa’s earlier look.

“No.” You know the right word even if you don’t know if it’s the truth.

“And what will you do to prove that child?” You look up to your father’s face for understanding.

“I… anything, Papa.” When his eyes meet yours, a smile lifting his lips you feel afraid of him, truly afraid, for the first time in your short life.

“Good,” he nods toward your mother, “hit her.” The words are said as if they’re nothing as if he told you to eat your broccoli or drink your milk…

“Wha-”

“You said anything,” there’s a sinister rumble in his voice. Yeah, you did but… you look to Mummy hoping she’ll help you understand but her eyes are on the floor once more.

“Catherine,” Papa grabs your chin turning your face to him, “someone who cannot uphold their word is worse than weak, they’re a coward. You have a chance to prove yourself here and now. Are you weak? Are you a coward? Or are you worthy of being a daughter of Hydra?”

Your hands curl into small fists, “I am not a coward,” even you knew that was a very bad thing to be.

“Prove it. Show me how we treat weakness.”

Maybe it’s your father’s steady gaze, your mother’s unwillingness to look at you, or perhaps this darkness always lived in your bones, just waiting to come out. Regardless of the root of it, you take a step toward your Mummy, the woman who left your door cracked and cut your crusts off when Papa wasn’t looking, the woman who kissed your scabby knees and dried your tears…

You raise your fists… And you hit her. Over and over again with your ineffective child’s fists, you reinforce bruises from your father.

Your mother… does nothing.

You’re eleven and your mother flips the light on in your room, waking you. Groaning you try to hide your face in your pillow.

“Baby,” her soft voice whispers. “Wake up,” she shakes you gently.

“What, Mother?!” You snap. She hadn’t been Mummy since that night…

She’s used to the tone you take with her by now and isn’t the least bit phased. “Something’s come up. We need to go.”

You sit up and glare at her, “Go where?”

“The airstrip.” She’s grabbing your clothes, stuffing them into a bag.

“Why?”

Her eyes settle steadily on you, “Your Papa’s orders. Would you like to call him and ask-”

“No,” you’re immediately up and changing. She should have just led with it being Papa’s orders. Stupid as always.

You make it to the driveway before you pause.

“Where’s Mason?” Your driver was nowhere to be seen. If Papa wasn’t here he always wanted Mason to be escorting you both for protection, he’d been very clear about that.

Mother slams the trunk shut. “He said just us.” She doesn’t look at you. “Get in.”

You do, but doubt rises. She was up to something, you could feel it. As you head in the opposite direction of your usual airstrip your doubt turns to certainty.

Looking at your Mother you note her rapid breathing, her white knuckles, the pulse thrumming in her neck. Fear. Weakness.

“What exactly are we doing, Mother?”

Silence hangs for a few minutes before she speaks. “You deserve better than this Catherine. I should have done this years ago… should-”

“Papa doesn’t know where we’re going does he?” Your fingers fiddle the pager in your pocket. Mother says nothing. “Does he?” Your tone is the same cold one Papa uses when he asks something he knows the answer to. Pride tingles in you just a touch at the realization.

“No. Listen to me, baby,” her eyes flit to you, holding more determination than you’ve ever seen in them. “I know this is hard for you to understand but… your Papa… he’s a bad man.”

Papa wasn’t bad. He was strong and brave and honest. All the things you wouldn’t expect her to understand. The weak always misunderstand strength, that’s what he told you. You don’t argue though. Your index finger presses the buttons. Papa would find you and sort this all out.

“We-Hydra… this isn’t right.” She says nothing else.

A half-hour passes before you pull into an old overgrown airstrip. There’s a small single-engine plane waiting, though there’s no one else in sight. Mother pulls up beside it and kills the engine.

She gets out but you don’t move. When your door opens you don’t even react as her hands grab yours, your eyes glued on the dash.

“Look at me, Kitty.”

“My name is Catherine.” You say through clenched teeth. Who did she think she was, trying to take you from Papa…

“Look at me.” Her tone is steely, it surprises you enough to cause you to jump a bit.

You turn to her. She’s kneeling on the ground by your door, looking up at you. It makes you think of that night Papa made you hit her.

“I’m sorry, Catherine.” Your brows knit in confusion. “I’m sorry I let him make you think that being kind is being weak, that love is weakness. It isn’t.” Her trembling hands cup your small face.

“I love you more than anything in this world, that’s the only way I’ve made it through this. I don’t expect you to understand this now but when you’re away from all this evil you’ll learn. We’re going to be happy, baby. Please, please just come with me.”

Something flutters in your chest. It’s not the disdain you’ve grown used to feeling for her nor is it anger. It’s the feeling you still get sometimes when she makes your favorite dinner or lets you stay up reading or… when he hits her… maybe… she was right.

“Mum…”

A bright smile bursts across her face. “It’s ok to be scared, baby. We can be scared together. We have to go now though.”

You glance at the plane, “Can you fly that?”

You’ve never seen this side to your Mother. “There’s so much you don’t know about me, Kitty,” with a wink she stands and steps aside to let you get out.

No sooner do you than the sound of screeching tires hit your ears. Her eyes meet yours, terror filling them.

“Run!” She grabs your hand and drags you to the plane.

Regret squeezes your heart tight, “I’m sorry, Mummy…”

She offers you a weak smile as she flips switches to start the plane’s engine. “It’s ok. I love you, ok?”

“I… I love you.”

The plane starts to jerk forward. “Get in the back and buckle up, Catherine. Now.” Her eyes are glued forward.

You do as she says, stiffly sitting in a seat, holding your breath, unable to sort through the storm in your mind.

It was true you realize, with unsettling certainty, you loved her. She was your Mum. Always gentle with you even when you weren’t the same back. But Papa… did you love him or fear him? Did you want to run from him? Was she right? Nothing made sense.

“Buckle,” she barks glancing back at you. Automatically your hands move to lock in the seatbelt.

The engines roar to life causing the old plane to shudder. Suddenly it jerks forward and you feel a bit of your fear slip away. If you were moving you could get away, maybe not forever but at least until Papa had time to cool off.

Gunshots ring out and you scream, hating yourself for it.

“Get on the floor, Kitty!” Mum yells back at you.

You fumble with the belt but free yourself after a moment, falling to the floor. More shots ping against the metal but you can still feel the planes forward motion. As long as you could keep- A small explosion at the front of the plane draws out another scream.

Smoke fills the cabin and you cough, feeling the plane stop. You should have known better than to ever hope.

“Mum!” You cry out, smoke stinging your eyes. She says nothing, but you suddenly feel her arms wrap around you. Despite the smoke, you force your eyes open to look at her. Her face is covered in soot, red snakes down the side of her face, and tears carve a path under her eyes - from the smoke or sadness, you can’t know.

“Always remember that I love you. Always remember that you are more than this. Always remember that evil won’t always win.” She pauses, coughing. “Promise me, you won’t ever forget, my girl.”

“Mummy,” you say, your small voice cracking.

“Promise me,” there is power in her words now.

“I promise.”

“You’ll be better than all of them as long as you remember. I swear it.” She wastes no time after that. Her hands, sure and strong pull you toward the door, forcing it open just as you see flames begin to lick into the cabin.

Some part of you knew what would play out as soon as you both made it outside. You knew you must have known. Even so… It all shocks you.

Coughing and gasping for fresh air Mum drops you onto the ground as gently as she can. Hands immediately pull you away from the plane, you know these hands. Papa.

There’s a small grunt from behind you as you know someone else pulls Mum from the plane too. Desperately you try to turn to her, needing to see, but Papa holds you steady, inspecting you.

“Are you hurt?” He asks you. You don’t know if you hear more concern or anger in his tone. You shake your head no, eyes finally opening fully.

His eyes are a dark green storm. There is no love in them, no compassion.

It hits you then that he doesn’t care if you’re hurt because he loves you because you’re his daughter. He cares because you are his. His concern was nothing more than an owner wanting to protect his property. Something in you goes dark at this realization.

He nods, gripping your upper arm so hard you know bruises will be there come morning and drags you across the tarmac. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mason with Mum in a chokehold, bringing her in the same direction.

“Here,” Papa… no, Eric - he was no Father and certainly no Papa - says in an emotionless tone.

Mason throws Mum to the ground in front of him. She falls on all fours into the dirt, coughing and gasping for air. Before you can think of going to her Eric throws you into the dirt beside her. You try to catch yourself, the heels of your palms skidding on the rough earth, stinging with pain. Mum throws herself around you immediately, your back to her chest.

“Lie,” she whispers so low in your ear that you almost miss it. You nod, wanting her to know you heard, even if you don’t understand.

Any breath she’d managed to catch all gushes from her as the sound of a boot crashing into her ribs sends you both tumbling over. She doesn’t even make a sound of pain you notice.

Guilt floods you. All this time you thought she was weak. No one who was weak could take the beatings she did and continue to rise up, day after day. No one who was weak would have taken this chance or even still had the willpower to do so. Your mother was the strongest person you knew.

Her arms release you, “Get behind me, Kitty.” You do as she says, crawling behind her legs as she rises up.

“Catherine,” Eric barks, “stand up.” Tentatively you glance up at your mother’s defiant form and rise, standing just behind her.

“Come here,” he snarls. Mum grabs your arm as your feet move to obey.

“Do not think of touching her,” Mum’s tone drips with rage.

With a few long strides, Eric closes the space between you. He grips Mum’s chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“And what will you do to stop me?”

You don’t understand the slow smile that crawls across your mother’s face but there’s something sinister in it.

“Did you forget, husband?” She asks, her tone honeyed. In a flash she has him on the ground, a garrote appearing from nowhere, almost managing to slit his throat but he stops the cut with his hands, blood pouring from the wounds.

“You wanted to marry a Spider,” she growls these confusing words.

“Kitty,” you meet your mother’s ferocious gaze, “run.”

You do, without hesitation. Past the burning plane you make for the fence, knowing you can scale it, just wanting to do right by your Mum - even if it was only this once. Just as your small deft fingers grip the wire, rough hands grip you, pulling you down.

With all your might you try and hold on. When you’re forced to release you turn feral, kicking, screaming, biting, clawing, anything you can muster but Mason doesn’t loosen his grip. Bit by bit he drags you back to where Eric and Mum wait.

For an instant you still, seeing Mum crumpled on the ground. She’d had the upper hand how… It didn’t matter, she said run. You begin to fight once more, desperate and wild.

“Catherine,” Eric sighs, almost bored. “Please, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

You’d almost never disobeyed this man. Even at only eleven, you realize it was because you were so scared of him, of what he could do to you. Right now though, you feel possessed. You don’t care.

When he grips your chin to look at him, fingers sticky with his blood, you spit in his face with all the force your mouth can muster. You don’t know why. But it felt so good, powerful.

Any surge of pride you felt flees when the back of his hand cracks across your cheek so hard you see spots. Mason drops you to the ground dazed. He’d never struck you, not like that.

“Do you think that was brave, Catherine?” That cold tone making you shiver as he tilts your face up. You say nothing, just meet his eyes refusing to waver. A moment of rage flares across his features, warping them, he hits you again sending you tumbling to the side.

“No!” Mum croaks from behind.

Eric gently kicks you, rolling you onto your back so you’re staring up at him. If feels like you’re looking at a stranger, a monster that had been hiding in plain sight for so long.

His scuffed wingtip rests lightly on your throat. Pointlessly you grip his shoe, trying to keep him from crushing your windpipe.

“Stop this!” Mum screams. You try to look at her but the pressure increases.

“It wasn’t brave. It was stupid. There’s a fine line between the two.” He stares at you as though you’re a bug and not his daughter. “Your mother thinks she was being brave. This is where dangerous miscalculations such as that land you - beneath the boot of those worthy of bravery.” He hovers for a beat more before lifting his foot.

You roll over on all fours, coughing and gasping to fill your lungs with air.

“Do you understand, Catherine?” You don’t answer, don’t look at him, just try to breathe. He sighs, “You will.”

He grips you by your hair pulling you to your feet. Still, you scrabble against his hold, trying to break free. His free arm wraps around your torso, holding you flush against him. The fingers in your hair holding your head in a tight forward-facing position.

“Look at her, Catherine.” You do. She’s bloody, battered, but in her eyes, there is still defiance.

“It’s gonna be ok, baby,” she says in a hoarse voice.

He releases you and nods to Mason. He steps over handing something you can’t quite see to your would-be father. You stay frozen in place staring at Mum, unsure of what to do.

Grabbing your hand, Eric forces something metal and heavy into it. Even though you know what it is - have been taught how to use one, how to disassemble it, what the parts are called - you don’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe this is a bad dream and you’ll wake up if you just don’t look.

Mum’s lips are moving, if there are words coming you don’t hear them. But you think you know what she’s mouthing, I love you. It’s ok. I love you.

“Please,” the sob burbles from your lips. “Please, no.”

“What do we have no use for, Catherine?”

“Please, pa-papa. Please.” Hard metal presses against the back of your skull. Your heart which had been rabbiting in your chest stills.

Fear flashes across Mum’s features before melting into a warm smile. She nods, mouthing, It’s ok, once more.

“No.”

The hammer behind you clicks back.

“If you do not value your life over that of this scum I have no use for you. Chose Catherine. Weakness, or strength.” You pull the hammer back on the small gun.

Knowing he may kill you if you say the words out loud you move your lips to make two words clear, So sorry.

“I love you, always.”

They’re the last thing you hear before you pull the trigger.

You’re 15. The person beneath your fists is starting to resemble a pile of minced lamb rather than the girl she is. Absently, you wonder if your mother had to do this.

Lifting her head in your hands you slam it against the ground until the crunch hits your ears. Standing you step away, turning your back on the lifeless body.

Madam B meets your eyes, giving an approving nod before turning and striding out of the room, effectively dismissing you and the only other girl left.

“I think you fractured that one,” Natalia gestures to your left hand. “You’re not going to be able to get that tight enough on your own.”

Ignoring her you try to get the wrap to stay in just the right spot but your left fingers aren’t quite following your commands.

“Cat, just give it to me,” Natalia rips the bandages from your shaking hand.

As she winds the stretchy fabric around your hand she glances up at your cheek, keen green eyes studying you. Feeling exposed you turn away.

“Didn’t see Irina get you in the face. Been too long for it to be from the last time-”

“Let it go, Nat,” you push past her as soon as she’s done, pulling your ballet flats from your locker. Your two-month stints here were something of a refuge, you didn’t want to be reminded of your life was outside of this.

“Stubborn ass,” she grumbles in Russian.

“You’re one to talk,” you toss back.

The two months pass too quickly, as they always do. You count down the days until you can return. The Red Room was better than the hell of home - of him. There you were strong, you were feared, you were formidable. Under your father’s roof, you were nothing.

Two more months and you return. Per the schedule, you report directly to ballet.

When the fourth girl crumples around hour five, Natalia looks to you, a smug expression on her face. Neither of you ever faltered. Since the age of 11, the two of you had always been the last ones standing, the victors, the marble ones.

Not today though.

Her smug expression shifts to concern when she sees the grimace on your features. Each movement causes your body to scream, each breath a struggle. You know you’re going to drop sooner rather than later.

Sure enough, within the hour you hit the floor.

“Get up,” Madame B barks. “Up!” The cane stings across your spine. You try but your legs falter.

“I-I can’t.” Another lash.

“Then you crawl out of here, and I do not see you stand for the rest of the day.” Two more lashes. “Go!”

You’re too tired to feel shame as you crawl on hands and knees from the room and down the hall to the lockers. Nor is Madam B’s order to not stand a hard one to follow, even as you shed your clothes and make your way to the showers.

The water is so hot it almost stings but you relish the way it feels on your body, forcing warmth into the places that thrum with pain. You sit with the water at your back, your head to your knees until you hear someone else enter.

It doesn’t really matter who it is, you intend to sit here until they make you leave but you look up anyway, shocked at who you see.

“Natalia, what the hell?!” There was no way she broke, no reason for her to be here.

“What?” She shrugs, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth. “It was boring without you.”

For some reason, this makes emotion bubble up in you. Immediately you press your face into your knees again to keep from crying. Such childish nonsense.

Natalia lays her hand on your wet hair. Slowly you swallow the lump in your throat and look up into her face. Sometimes, it was hard to study her - it would be easy to take the two of you for sisters, though you wondered if it was looks or demeanor that cast that illusion - right now was such a time because her face showed concern you couldn’t bother to feel for yourself. It was as though a different you, from another life, was looking at this version with pitty. You hated it.

“Get off me,” you push her back and uncurl your body to scoot into the cold tile wall. Natalia just sits on the wet tile in her ballet gear, eyes glued to your torso, a slow rage building in her. When she speaks, her green eyes are almost black.

“Who did this?” She doesn’t bother to hide her accent, the English words coming with a distinctly Russian lilt.

Protectively you cover yourself as best you can, hiding the dark purple bruises blossoming across your right ribcage that had made it so hard to breathe earlier and angling your legs to shield the fingerprint bruises peppering your thighs. You feel so small.

“Catherine…” You ignore her, willing her to go away. The Red Room was the place you didn’t have to think about him.

“It was him, wasn’t it? Your father?” Natalia’s voice is a low rumble.

“Eric,” you correct her. You still called him Papa to his face - the one time you didn’t you hadn’t been able to move for a couple of days after - but you couldn’t bear to allow her to think of him as your father.

She turns her head and spits before asking, “Why do you let him do this to you?” You turn a wicked glare on her but she doesn’t flinch. “I’ve seen you kill a grown man with your bare hands, Cat. You’re like me! You’re marble. If a man is foolish enough to strike us he should come away bloody.”

“The Devil doesn’t bleed,” you say your tone flat.

“The Devil is just a man,” she says, sliding down the wall beside you, “and all men bleed.”

You let her wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you in. Slowly you sink down until your head rests in her lap. She runs her fingers through your hair, a soothing gesture, a gentle gesture. It’s too much. Silently you begin to cry.

A few more girls come and go. None say anything and none linger. You two were not the first to breakdown in the showers and you wouldn’t be the last. When the last of them are gone Natalia speaks again.

“I’ll graduate soon.” You knew this, though the thought fills you with dread. Would you still come even after Nat and the others graduated? Would you graduate the same? You doubted it.

She takes a deep breath before continuing, “When I do, I’ll come for you.”

“And do what?” You scoff.

“We’ll figure it out. He can’t-”

“He can,” you cut her off. “He can do anything he damn well pleases.”

“He’s not god, Cat. Your fa- Eric isn’t-”

“You’re right,” you sit up and look at her. “He isn’t god. He’s the Devil, and you have no idea just how much power he-”

“You could tell me.” She’d asked before, years ago, but you told her you never wanted to talk about your life outside this place. Most of the time she honored that request.

“He’s got enough pull that he can treat the Red Room like a boarding school, that should tell you enough.”

She looks away, shaking her head, a scowl etched on her face.

The door slams open. You both exchange a look, knowing it shouldn’t be another trainee.

“Get up!” A rough Russian voice barks. Both of you move instantly to obey, the movement sends pain shooting through your bruised ribs and you double over. Natalia turns to you.

“Eyes front!” Another voice commands. “Move out.” Natalia begins to move but you can’t manage it, still trying to force your lungs to work. The man tilts your chin up with the butt of his rifle.

“Is the little princess deaf?” His hand cracks across your cheek. He doesn’t hit near as hard as Eric, you remain standing. “I said move.” Not wanting to risk a strike with that rifle you comply and head out of the locker room naked as a newborn.

Madame B waits for you both in the training room, two sets of gear on the ground before her. She eyes you with clear disdain as she gestures to the gear.

“You have ten minutes,” she turns on her heel and floats from the room.

Quickly you get into the heavy winter tactical suits. Neither of you speaks as you take stock of the simple provisions and weapons in the duffel. Each of you grabs a knife and a flashlight. She takes what looks like a poncho in a little plastic pouch and you take a space blanket. There is little food but you split it evenly between you, filling your pants pockets, unsure if they’ll be taking the bag from you. By the time you’re done you hear the foots steps of Madame B’s return.

“They’re waiting out front. Go.” You grab the duffel, expecting her to stop you. When she doesn’t you both march out in silence.

The helicopter ride is frigid, short, and utterly silent. When you finally land it’s on the vast frozen tundra, twilight making everything seem alien.

“Get out. Whoever makes it back moves on.” That’s all you’re told before the copter lifts up and away, leaving you and Natalia standing in a wasteland.

The area around you for miles is flat, frozen, nothing. Far, far, in the distance, you think you spot a copse of trees. Clearly, that will be your best bet for now, not that it mattered much - it was clear that this wasn’t something you were both meant to walk away from.

“I wondered why they never made us fight. I just thought they saw no point. But this... this is worse.” You look over your shoulder, her bangs whip in the wind as she stares into nothing.

“Come on,” you say shouldering the bag. “We can make it to those trees before it gets too dark.”

The trees you saw are sad scraggly things that provide little to no shelter from the howling winds. Still, you both manage to fashion a bit of a break from bits you find on the ground and hacking at low branches. Huddling close behind your sorry shelter you assess your supplies - which included a map, marking your location.

To make it back to the Red Room on foot would take at least a week and a half if not two weeks. Even if you closely rationed your supplies you’d run out in half that time - there was enough for one of you.

“When dawn comes, you go,” you tell her after you realize. “Take it all and you should make it ok.”

“What?!” Natalia stares at you in horror. “No! There’s some way, we’ll figure it-”

“Nat,” you sigh, “there isn’t another way. Clearly only one of us is supposed to make it back and I’m already struggling. You have a chance to-”

“I’m not doing it.” The fierce determination in her gaze reminded you of a night years before and another impossible choice. Quickly you slam the door on the memory.

“You have to. I can’t live with myself if you don’t make-”

“So I’m supposed to live with it?!”

You can’t help but smile, “I won’t die out here, Natalia.”

“I’m pretty sure if I leave you in the goddamn tundra with no food or supplies you’ll-”

“He won’t let me die.” You sigh, “It would be a wasted investment.” You weren’t sure how keen you’d be on living when he found out you’d lost, let her live, and had to be rescued but you didn’t care. Natalia was your friend, the only real friend you’d ever had, and you would not let her die.

“There’s likely a tracker on these clothes somewhere. Once I don’t move for long enough someone will come for me.” She studies you quietly. “You’ll make it back, graduate, and be fine.”

“No,” she says matter of factly, settling back down beside you.

“Excuse me?”

“Net. Ora. Non. Nein. Méiyǒu-”

“I get it,” you cut her off before the dead languages start coming up. “I assume you have an alternative plan?”

“Of course I do,” she smirks. That was Natalia, clever as a fox.

“If they will come for you there’s no need for me to waste my precious energy and trek all the way back. I wait and they take me too. Easy.”

“Except, they may not be taking me back to the Red Room, if my father-”

“And if he shows up I can prove to you that even the Devil bleeds. I see no losing here.”

She was wrong about that but it wasn’t the worst idea. You weigh the possibilities in your mind.

Eric was not going to bother to come to this desolate local to pick you up, even in the helicopter. Likely he’d send someone for you, two to four people at most, one likely a medic. You also can’t imagine they’d be too heavily armed since they were assuming they’d be retrieving a half-dead girl. This could work.

“We may have to put up a bit of a fight,” you tell her.

Her smile broadens, “I hope so.”

It takes them three days.

To say you were both comfortable in that time wouldn’t be accurate but it honestly could have been worse. Other than the harsh elements it was almost like a holiday or like the sleepovers you’d seen girls have in movies. You ate, talked, shared a bit - though you never told her about your mother or Hydra or anything that may get her killed. When you heard the grumble of quads you were a shade disappointed.

Instead of meeting the crew head on you wait where you’ve been camping. Forcing them to come to you. The team speaks loudly, unconcerned about who may be listening. Looking at Natalia you hold up four fingers. She nods in agreement.

“Catherine?” A woman calls into the trees. “Are you able to hear me?”

“Over here,” you say, rising from your crouch. The woman studies you, clearly surprised to see you in such good nick.

“We’ve been sent to collect you.”

“Excellent,” you say in an unbothered tone. “We’ve been waiting for someone to come.” Natalia rises up beside you. The woman glances back to the two men with her - the fourth must be with the quads. They freeze as Natalia and you move forward.

“Is there some kind of problem?” You ask as the two men fan out.

“Not for long,” she says cooly.

Natalia takes the man to the left. He’s surprised by her speed and in moments blood gouts from his neck. The woman raises her gun only to find your own knife planted in her temple before you rush the second man.

He fires off a shot at Natalia, she dodges as you sweep his legs from under him. With his focus now on you shes able to come at him from behind. He rights himself, pivoting to attack her but you land a hard blow to his chest - clearly, they will not risk causing you harm. As he gasps she’s on him, her thighs locked around his neck and within seconds a blade protrudes from his eye.

She jumps from him before he collapses and plucks the weapons from his body like a strange little carrion bird. You do the same to the woman before you both move to the first man.

Peeking from the copse you see the fourth person, a medic as you expected, prepping a few things in a small trailer behind one of the quads, ears covered by large muffs. When he sees the two of you walk out, a little bloody and armed he staggers back before pulling a gun.

“Don’t,” you say on a sigh. “Unless you’d like to join the others back there.”

“You should be-”

“Half-dead,” you cut him off, “I know. Can we skip to where you were supposed to transport me?” He looks between you both and drops his weapon.

“Back to the Red Room.” Your eyes narrow as you take aim. His hands shoot up, “I swear it! It was the closest place we could triage you before transporting you home. We thought you’d be severely injured.” You lower your weapon and the man relaxes.

You nod, “Toss your gun.” He does so, Natalia grabs it, tucking it into her waistband. “You wait two hours before you head back and-”

“Knock me unconscious at least…” He looks mildly ashamed. “If they know I let you go…” Well, he wasn’t wrong. You nod to Natalia and she heads toward him as you keep him in your sights.

“One wrong move-”

“No tricks. I at least have a chance of staying alive this way.”

He goes down fast. Maybe someone would come for him and the others, or maybe they’d leave them to rot and he could make his way wherever. Either way, you had little hope for the man.

Neither of you under the illusion that you could run, you leave him the medical quad and double up on the other. Whatever waited for you at the Red Room you’d handle.

It takes several hours to get back. Seeing the terrain you shuddered to think of Natalia making the journey alone.

Madam B stood in front of the manor house, arms crossed. When you and Natalia dismount she takes you in. You almost think you see her upper lip twitch, in a smile or disgust you couldn’t know. After exchanging a look you both follow her inside.

She leads you to the sparring room, a place where you’d taken more than a handful of lives over the last few years. This didn’t bode well. Two left and only one should have returned. There was no way they’d expect you two to fight to the death now…

You’re distracted, trying to work out the logistics, you don’t clock the shadows moving. Natalia does. Pushing you to the ground she takes a hard blow to her abdomen. She staggers and you hop up grabbing and pivoting her away.

The assailant’s next blow grazes your shoulder. As they bring their arm back you grab it, yanking them off balance. Natalia, recovered, clocks them hard in the jaw, sending them back. You advance with a punishing kick to the solar plexus and they stay down.

There’s no time to think. Five other figures emerge from the shadows.

All you can think about is keeping her alive. It makes every movement, every choice, easy. Whatever it took.

Natalia and you had been training together since you were 11, you knew the other’s flow as well as your own, could read her body language like a well-worn book. Yes, you were outnumbered but it didn’t matter. Like marble dancers, you perform a brutal ballet until you’re the last two standing.

In the back corner, Madame B watched, her stern expression lit by the single bulb that hovered in the space. The lights flare up. Back to back, you both blink rapidly trying to adjust.

“That was lovely,” Madam B says, her face a mask of contempt. She pulls a gun from her waistband, “But only one can-”

Earlier, guns would have been too risky, you could have shot Natalia. Now though, you had a clear sight. In a flash, you pull out the pistol you’d taken from the woman earlier, and shoot the gun from Madam B’s grasp.

“Enough,” you growl.

“You insolent little-”

“Enough!” You can feel Natalia tense behind you. “The game is over. We both returned. It’s done.”

“So the little princess thinks she can give orders now?” She spits. “You’ll never be a Widow.”

You hadn’t been watching her hands. Bad mistake. A knife materializes from nowhere and buries itself in your thigh. The instant your aim falters she comes for you.

Her strikes are quick and calculated, focusing on where she must have seen your bruises the other day sending waves of fresh pain through you. In nothing more than a few beats you’re sure you feel a rib snap. You cry out, the sensation of the bone under your skin awful.

Natalia won’t be able to fight back against Madam B, you knew that. It was part of the conditioning the girls underwent, it was how they were kept in line. There was just you and this woman who, you suspected, didn’t give a damn if you died.

The hatred that pours from her feels as though it’s been brewing for some time. Absently, as she pummels your body, breaking it methodically, masterfully even, you wonder what you’d done to make her feel this intensely. You’d been a good student, obedient, vicious, strong…

Suddenly she’s pulled back. You don’t even look just take the reprieve to try and breathe through the pain, your rib throbbing with each shallow breath you manage. Finally, you pull your focus to the scuffle happening a few feet away from you.

Natalia…

You stare at her as she headbutts Madam B, sending blood gushing down the woman’s usually pristine features. Despite the successful blow, Natalia looks like she’s going to vomit, her expression pained.

Looking to the left you see the gun you’d dropped.

Willing your shaky hands to still, forcing a breath, you aim and fire.

The stillness that follows is terrifying. You don’t dare look at Natalia, too scared the bullet hit her and not Madam B. Then you see the red bloom on the woman’s right hip. A painful breath escapes you in relief.

Standing on legs you force to be steady you stalk toward them, pushing Natalia behind you. Madam B falters, then falls, gripping her wound. Her cold eyes land on Natalia.

“You’re going to pay for that you little whelp.” Gripping the barrel of the gun you slam the butt across her face sending her sprawling.

Something dark slithers to the surface. You feel it spread, swelling to fill your chest, slowing your heart rate to a steady thrum, clearing your vision to something clear and terrifying.

Madam B tries to gather hear bearings lifting herself up on one arm. Before she gets far you kick her hard in the ribs, not even feeling the screaming pain in your own now. Your boot rests against her long slender neck, applying just a bit of pressure, gun aimed at her forehead.

“She will pay for nothing. Are we clear?” Your voice is calm, almost bored.

“You do not-”

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” Your foot presses harder causing her to cough.

“Natalia will face no repercussions for what has happened here or on your misguided test. She followed my orders,” it was a lie but you knew it would have the proper effect, “so if you’d like to punish someone that would be me. Though,” a bit more pressure, “I don’t think you hold a high enough rank to truly enact any kind of punishment.”

“You little cunt,” she hisses.

“How tasteless Madam, I expected a higher caliber of insult from you.” Just a bit more pressure and she begins to squirm despite the gun leveled at her. “I’ll ask once more, are we clear?”

“Yes!” She rasps, eyes wide.

“Fantastic!” A slow sinister smile crawls over your face as you remove your boot from her throat. She sucks in a breath and moves to sit up, your boot meets her throat once more resting lightly.

“To be clear. If I find out any action has been taken against Natalia, I will come and personally skin you alive until you beg me to end your miserable life.” Her expression was all the answer you needed. You step back and she rises slowly, never taking her eyes off of you.

Slow clapping comes from the doorway. Madam B’s posture straightens despite her injuries. You and Natalia turn to see the source. When you do your blood runs cold.

“Behind me, Nat,” you whisper as Eric comes into view.

“That was a spectacular performance my darling!” His green eyes are crinkled with what seems to be a genuine smile. There’s nothing of the devil inside showing now. In his well-tailored navy suit and cream shoes, he looks like any well-heeled London businessman.

Pride rolls off of him in waves and you curse the little flutter your stomach gives. You hate the part of you that still, despite everything, wants to please him.

“Don’t you think that was exceptional, B?” He bellows laying his hands on your shoulders.

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you, Papa.” He whips a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes a bit of blood from your face. Turning you to face the others he rests an arm across your shoulders holding you close. Your skin crawls.

“I have to admit, B, you haven’t slowed much at all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Clayton.”

“Please, B, Eric is just fine.” You feel rather than see his gaze land on Natalia. Tension floods your body.

“And you,” he walks forward a few steps, bringing you with him. “You were clearly born for this. Just outstanding. I have no doubt you’ll serve Catherine well in the future.” Desperately you beg Natalia to look at you, to understand how sorry you are, you’d never have her serve you never-

“Thank you, sir,” she bows her head slightly. When she meets your eyes there are so many questions you can’t answer.

“Sadly, we have to cut this short. I have an early meeting. Thank you, Natalia, you’ve done so well.”

“Yes,” you hold her gaze, “thank you.”

“Always,” she nods.

Eric turns you both away, leading you out. In spite of yourself, you lean into him for support, the adrenaline fading leaving your body aching.

“Oh, and B,” he turns back. You don’t have to see him to feel the shift, to know the devil was peeking from behind the mask. “If you don’t uphold your agreement with my daughter, you won’t have to bother worrying about her threat. I’ll simply sell you for parts.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before whisking you out of the house and into the waiting chopper. You never see the Red Room again.

You’re 17 and the sounds from the party downstairs keep you awake even with the door closed.

Though you weren’t entirely sure what was happening downstairs, the snippets of vile conversation, boisterous male laughter, and the distinct sound of someone in pain made your skin crawl. Even though you’d already scrubbed yourself raw after Eric had left you in your room - telling you he didn’t want to see your face until noon tomorrow - you were tempted to get back in the scalding water. Your burning arms begged you to reconsider, any more scrubbing and you’d likely be a bloody mess, that wouldn’t sit well with, Eric.

It made you miss the Red Room. Nights there were so quiet, you never worried about who may come into your room or hear things you’d rather forget. It was, despite its purpose, relatively peaceful in the late hours. You hadn’t been back there in years and doubted your return would be welcome if Madam B still presided over the place.

Finally, you give up any hope of sleep. Settling your headphones over your ears you busy yourself with reading, drawing, some of your lessons. In fact, you complete most of the week’s assignments by 3 am. Only then do you pull your headphones from your ears, listening for any sign of the party. It seemed dead silent.

Your stomach growls. When Eric had left you, he hadn’t given you time to grab food from the kitchen and none had been sent up. Despite its persistence, you consider ignoring your hunger. But the thought of not eating until the afternoon…

Silent as a shadow you slip from your bedroom door. Every few feet you pause, listening for any sign of activity below. Hearing nothing you head down the back stairs, furthest from Eric’s master rooms, making sure to avoid the two spots that squeak.

The kitchen is ransacked and the smell of liquor and cigars hangs heavy in the air. Wrinkling your nose you open the refrigerator slowly, searching for anything you can bring up with you. Grabbing some roast beef, cheese and gingerly picking up a bag of crisps you turn to head back up. A groan coming from the front stair makes you freeze.

Barely breathing you listen, stealing yourself for Eric to walk in and the hell that would follow. Nothing happens for several moments. Another low groan makes your hair stand on end. This wasn’t Eric.

You don’t know why you set the food down and walk the short distance to the entryway. All you can think is that maybe someone was hurt and maybe you could help.

The sight that meets your eyes forces you to cover your mouth in order to keep from gasping in horror.

A man is chained to one of the columns that support the second story landing. The metal links run from the column to a collar around his neck. It’s not long enough for him to lay down so he leans, sitting up, against the plaster - which you note is coated in smears of blood. In fact, the floor is covered with speckles of it and other fluids.

Bile rises in your throat but you force it down.

Bruises are appearing all over his naked form. “Your turning violet, Violet!” The Willy Wonka line echoes in your head. You almost laugh at remembering a children’s movie in a time like this. Were you hysterical?

Once more the man makes a pained noise, body shifting. Something on his left side catches the dim light. When you realize what it is, your jaw drops.

Until this moment you could have convinced yourself that this man had angered Eric in some way, or possibly misstepped - some wayward agent being punished- but now…

You’d only seen him fleetingly when you were 12. His work was mentioned in the history of Hydra Eric had you read. It had seemed impossible that one person could have done so much and you disliked the thought that you’d been fed a children’s tale.

“Papa,” you’d been incredulous, “this isn’t real. This Soldier is impossible. I want the real story.” Eric had smiled at that.

“No? You don’t think he’s real?”

“Of course not!”

“We’ll see.” The next day he’d brought you to work with him.

“I have a surprise for you.” Instead of the button that took you to his penthouse office, he hit another and a panel opened revealing many more sub levels. Selecting one the elevator carried you both down down down.

When the doors opened the harsh fluorescent lights had hurt your eyes for a moment. You weren’t sure you wanted this surprise.

You seemed to walk forever before he finally reached the right door. Much to your chagrin, it just led to another long hallway.

Finally, he beamed down at you, “Ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, just wanting to get this over with.

He opens the final door to a large room with a cage on the other side. In it sat a man.

“Soldat!” Eric barked. The man jumped to attention, long hair hanging loose and a silver arm on his left side. Your father may as well have just shown you proof of the boogeyman, you’d have been less shocked.

Now here was that same man, The Fist of Hydra, chained in your foyer. Beaten and broken in a way you understood far too well.

Slowly his eyes slide open, meeting yours. Your heart lodges in your throat.

That day, he’d had a mask and goggles on, you’d never even thought of what he looked like. Perhaps you expected just a blank mask, empty eyes, but no.

Those eyes… They were screaming.

His tongue flits out, licking dry cracked lips, breaking the spell you’d momentarily been under. Getting your breath and heart rate under control you glance in the direction of Eric’s rooms, hoping he was passed out drunk.

You hold up a finger to indicate you’d be right back, hoping he even understood, and silently make your way back to the kitchen. This was stupid. So stupid. What was possessing you to fill a glass with water from the pitcher in the fridge, to grab the roast beef and what was left of the bread? Why were you doing this? Even as you make your way back to him you’re berating yourself.

The Soldier’s eyes track you with unnerving intensity. When you approach his whole body tenses as though he actually feared you. It was almost a comical thought. This man assassinated JFK, why in the hell would he fear you?

Because you’re Hydra, something in the back of your mind whispers.

Kneeling an arms reach away you hold out the water. He eyes it warily. Understanding you take a sip before holding it out once more. Now he grips the glass in his flesh hand, drinking deep. When he finishes you hold your hand out for it. He gives it back.

You push the bread and meat toward him, your stomach growling loudly. His head cocks to the side, listening. You forgot how hungry you were.

He gestures for you to go first, his expression soft. Shrugging you grab a couple of thin slices of meat and a piece of bread, folding it in half you take a massive bite, almost groaning in pleasure at the taste of food. When you swallow he does the same.

Finishing your half sandwich you pick up the glass, indicating you were getting more water. He nods, making another sandwich.

In the kitchen, you not only fill the glass but you grab the chocolate digestives too, they were your favorite. And, for good measure, you fill a second glass with milk. Something in your head still screams danger, but you just don’t give a damn.

When you sit back down, you notice he left you half the meat and bread. You try to get him to take more but he refuses, though he does take the water. This time he drinks slowly as you finish your last two sandwiches.

As you chew your last bite you notice how his eyes keep falling back to the milk. You smile, setting it between you. Gingerly you coax the biscuit package open, praying it’s not too much noise. It’s a success and you pull three biscuits out, holding them out to him. He takes them, though, he doesn’t eat them.

You take your own biscuit and bite in, savoring the taste. Then you dunk it into the milk so it could soften the biscuit just enough. He watches you like he’s studying some strange practice. When you finish your first you gesture for him to do the same by holding up a thumb and covering your heart like you were swooning. You’d swear he almost smiles.

He does exactly as you did, taking a bite then dunking. Your brows raise expectantly, clearly wanting to know his take. Now a small smile does lift his lips as he holds a thumbs up. It takes effort to not giggle, the situation was bonkers on every level, but what in the hell was normal in your life.

The two of you make it through the whole pack. He eyes the now biscuitless milk. Picking it up you offer it to him. He shakes his head. You make an overly exaggerated pouty face and push it in his face. Again he smiles, finally accepting it.

Once it’s done he puts it in your waiting hand. You nod, turning to go to the kitchen once more, doing away with the evidence. A metal hand grips your wrist. Fear jumps in your stomach until you look at his open expression. He swallows hard, brows knit, as though he’s focusing intently on something.

“Thank you,” he croaks in a low whisper. Immediately your heart begins to race. You’d honestly thought he couldn’t speak, there was something worse knowing that he could, knowing that you didn’t hear him do so all night despite everything that clearly happened here.

A noise from the sitting room makes you jump, the glasses, nested together, slipping from your grip, shattering on the hard marble tile.

“What the hell?” A garbled voice asks. The Soldier’s hand is still on your wrist, both of you frozen by fear as Eric stumbles into view.

The laugh that tumbles from him is nothing less than sinister. Your stomach flips.

“Like father, like daughter. You have a taste too?” Even from four feet away you can smell the whiskey on him. “He’s good.” His eyes note your wrist in The Soldier’s grip, “Or did he have some of you?” Another blood-curdling laugh, The Soldier lets go of you.

“I can’t blame you Soldat,” Eric grabs your arm pulling you to him. “She’s quite a well-bred bitch, isn’t she?”

“Papa,” you try to pull away, “stop, please.” It’s useless you know.

“What? Don’t want me to join in on the fun?” He throws you to the floor in front of The Soldier.

“You like to watch Soldat?” He asks before pinning your arms down. “Of course you do,” he sneers, “if I say you do.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at The Soldier, just will your soul into that distant place, just wait it out. Except the sound of metal snapping and the feeling of Eric’s weight being lifted from you bring you careening back into your body.

Gasping you sit up, scurrying back until your hand meets a shard of the glass you’d stupidly dropped earlier. A cry of pain shoots from your mouth before you can think to stop it.

With one hand The Soldier tosses Eric to the side, his head hitting the corner of the bottom stair. Cradling your hand you stare at the prone form of your father, the bit of blood trickling from his head, wondering if the devil could die so easy - until The Soldier blocks your view.

Crouching before you he takes your bleeding hand in his, examining it.

“First-” he clears his throat, “aid?”

“Kitchen,” you answer in a disconnected voice, looking around him at Eric.

“He’s… Not.” Ah, not so easy then. “Let me help?” You nod and let him help you up.

He follows you into the kitchen. You pause at the cupboard where the silver and linens were kept.

“There’s a tablecloth in there you could use. If you want to cover up.” You point to the right door. He nods and get’s a crisp white cloth out. Turning your eyes from him as he wraps the tablecloth around his waist you watch the blood steadily pool in your hand. You only know he’s done when he presses a white napkin into the pool with steady pressure.

“Kit?”

“Under the sink.” He looks behind you locating the sink and gently guides you in that direction. You stop by the island holding the cloth as he directed. After shuffling around in the cabinet he finds the kit and pulls it out.

“Here,” he turns the water on. You don’t even flinch as the flow hits your wound. He grabs a few more napkins and turns the water off, gently drying your skin holding the fabric tight until the bleeding slows.

“Might need to stitch it,” he says. You just shrug. He nods. Releasing your hand he grabs your waist lifting you up to set you on the island.

It’s strange how efficiently he works to stitch and bandage your hand. Even more strange is how gentle he is. When he’s almost done you look back toward the stairs.

“Still unconscious,” he says.

“How do you know?”

“Can hear his breathing, no change.” Methodically he erases any trace of the mini-medical service he provided. You just sit dazed, wondering how he can hear Eric’s breathing from here.

When he’s done you feel obligated to tell him, “When he wakes up he’ll take us both to task for this.”

He shakes his head, “Doubt he’ll remember. Can make it look like he slipped in a bathroom, makes sense being so drunk.” It’s actually a pretty good idea.

“But you’re not…”

“I can just go back before he’s conscious.” The thought makes your stomach clench. “Show me the right bathroom.”

You lead him up the stairs to the other side of your large Kensington home where Eric’s rooms were. The corner of the vanity was actually sharp enough to account for such a head wound.

“Ok, I’ll take care of it.”

You hover as he retrieves Eric, bringing him into the bathroom. He presses the wound into the corner of the vanity to leave blood in the right and reopen it. Eric, to your surprise, doesn’t wake. Painstakingly, he positions Eric as though he collapsed there. It was almost art.

Even so… you couldn’t help but be afraid.

“He’s going to know,” your voice cracks, so pathetic but you can’t help it. “when he wakes up he’ll have my-”

“No. Where’s your room?” Unconcerned you lead him to it, blessedly on the other side of the house. He looks around the hall outside, seeming to make calculations.

“I’ll stay right here,” he gestures by the door. “If he wakes and comes here I’ll take care of him.”

“You can’t, he’ll-”

“He shouldn’t…” He clears his throat again, you realize he speaks like someone who’s not used to doing so. “He shouldn’t do that to you…”

“He does what he wants. You should know that.”

The Soldier shudders and looks away, “Different.”

Suddenly a million questions flood your mind. Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he fight back? Why let them do that to him? But you know the answers already, know they’re similar to your own. There’s only one thing you don’t understand.

“Why did you help me?” He looks surprised.

“You helped me.” He studies you. “What’s your name?”

“Catherine.”

“You’re a good person, Catherine.”

A bitter laugh breaks from somewhere deep inside you.

Good.

He didn’t know that at eight you’d beaten your own mother right where he’d been tortured and raped tonight, he didn’t know that you’d killed her years later after she tried to save you from this. He didn’t know that you’d beaten girls to death with your bare hands and murdered people and felt nothing for any of it. He didn’t know the depths of darkness bred into you.

The laugh shifts into a sob, you try to hold it down but it comes anyway. With a thud, you hit your knees, the carpet stinging a bit.

This was absurd. All of it. The goddamn Fist of Hydra telling you that you’re a good person after you ate chocolate digestives, after stopping your father from…

“Fuck,” you choke out. He sits on his knees across from you, reaching out his flesh hand. You take it, holding so tight it aches until you stop crying.

With burning eyes, you finally look up into his. They’re grey-blue, though far from cold. What had Hydra done to this creature?

He helps you to your feet, and you release his hand, somewhat regretfully.

“I’ll keep watch. I swear, I’ll keep you safe.” He looks toward Eric’s room, “Even if only for tonight.”

“Ok,” you nod, turning to enter your room. Something takes hold of you, stopping your motion.

Before your mind can protest you fling your arms around this man’s torso, holding on so tight. Tentatively his own arms wrap around you. A clear tremor shakes him but you don’t let go.

No one had ever done what he had. All your life his men had known what he did, to your mother to you, and no one stopped him. Not a damn one had ever dared or cared enough to try. Until this Soldier.

“Thank you,” you breathe. He looks a little dazed as he nods in acceptance.

“Sleep well, Catherine.”

For the first time in years, you actually do.

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

Tag List

(If you’re tagged it’s because you’re in my permanent tags or my Bucky tags. Please let me know if you’d like to be removed from this series.)

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @this-kitten-is-smitten @nighttwingg @handplucked @jewelofwinter @whiskeywinter89

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #dark fic #dark bucky fic #hydra #natasha and reader #natasha romanoff #the red room #The Winter Soldier x reader

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alphaofdarkness · 4 years

Note

not me here for the oc ask ! can't wait to answer the ones you asked me, tomorrow i have my exam and then i shall live again haha ! but now i'll ask you 1, 2, 17, 18, 19, 20 and 31 — i know, it is a lot ( you don't have to do them all 💕) , but i really want to know something more about your wonderful babies and Dany ofc ! I missed her sm during this semi-hiatus 🤧💕💕💕 hope you're doing fine, sending you lots of love 💞💕💘

@carmenio Edgy!! 🥺 so happy to hear from you! ✨ I love these kinds of asks, especially on my many, many OC babies! I hope these answers are good and interesting to thee! I’ll present more info on Dany to some way, some how cause I love her 😭💖

I have gone and included the other questions you asked as well! 🤗 Let’s dive in! 😳

1. Gone and Answered Here ! UwU

2. Do you have a personal favorite among your OCs?

Personal favorite is often shown in the one I draw the most lol, which for a long time was Danielle LWW, but just because she was also my wolfsona at the time. After I made my own personal one I think I went onto Sam for a good while, also eventually going to Dany from Bsd!

So a tie between two beautiful girls, Sam is definitely my favorite LWW Oc, she is just precious and the one I hold the most and most always feel terrible and bad when I put her through it TM.

Also Dany is my self insert, U//w//U, she has definitely allowed me to slowly self love and allow me to appreciate myself, especially the parts of me I didn’t think to much about or consider so appealing, I think? She has definitely been changing gradually into more of myself since I first came up with her almost 2 years ago! Watch me slowly knock her down to my height of 4′9″, let her have her 3 inches for another year maybe lol.

My dearest Atsushi agrees lol ✨🐯

17. Any OC OTPs?

👀 lol yesss~ so many and so many crack ships too, which I'll answer next 😂

I’ll just go on and list them off, plenty more of them but~:

DanyJay

SoraYama

LidiaTom

AlikLucy

IsabelleKayla

AlexanderIsabelle

DarkwolfmonJatomon

JatamonRaiwolfmon

EarthamonHounmon

HumaamonWolverimon

And lastly TakaSam is the one I have definitely drawn and thought of the most! They are the top OTP and just best trope of Childhood Friends to Lovers trope, also filling in that trope of Oblivious to both of them but everyone else 🙄. While SoraYama may have been the OG Couple in my story, my love and warmth for TakaSam is unmatched TwT.

It is wild cause I always draw anguish between them as could-have-been-lovers-had-it-not-been-for-death, but recently been drawing them purely happy and content. Total sweethearts, the love everyone wants, excluding possibility of being old friends or not!

18. Any OC crackships?

L o l, I never seem to focus on the main couples because of this specific thing.

I’ll again just go off in list an maybe add a trope or something to get an idea of them:

DanyYama: Rivals, Constantly arguing, and can be petty as heck, but oh the potential and just possibility of opening up after the traumaTM 👀 also the couple that is always in your face about being in a relationship.

DanySora: Sparing partners, the sass and stubbornness, BiPan solidarity 👀

DanyLidia: Pure, wholesome, best friends and so much hugging and lifting from the tol to smol, the nature love vibes

SamJay: Wholesome, soft, healing together from traumaTM, protectiveness, also their Digimon were lovers and married in their previous life, what does that make us? 😳

SamDany: Mostly sibling-like relationship, but damn they have that Sun and Moon tropes?! How can you not possibly ship them!

SamLula: Shy and Confident, Bisexual/Lesbian solidarity 💕✨

JaySora: Opposite of the DanyYama tropes, why are our partners constantly arguing, can they please stop, pure and soft together.

DanyTaka: Digimon Au specifically, Oh you and I are the voice of the revolution? We are rallying up the troops together? Oh boi my Digimon feels love for yours, am I falling for you or are we falling together? Depression buddies but also each others hope and spirit boost ;;w;;

Any of the Warriors with the Sins: A whole lo t of mess, and just not healthy ... but I can already seen fandom people sayin g otherwise~

LustWrath: Spicy, no strings attached kind of deal.

WrathEnvy: ...Oof um, not healthy, kind of manipulative, we are devils there is nothing but toxic vibes.

PrideWrath: Rulers, King and Queen vibes, Yeah we are toxic for each other, f*** off.

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

Definitely Darkwolfmon! I am sure I explained in the first question why, but again I consider her to be that other half of me, the part of me I never discovered or the parts that essentially fill in the gaps within me. She is my precious partner Digimon and has honestly come a long, long way since I first created her. I believe sometime in 2009-2010, so almost 11-12 years since. She was the first ever OC of mine and is one I hold closest too in my heart.

For the longest time, even too now, I have always wanted her to just manifest at my side. Go on this journey of life together. While she might not be physically here like my child-self would want, she is still in my stories, my imagination, my inspirational drive. I think that is definitely more than enough, I don't know where or who I would be without having created her. I probably wouldn’t have a whole tale of OC’s and stories to tell if it wasn't for her.

I am more than grateful and thankful that I am who I am because of this lovely Oc of mine. I can only hope to have her at my side for the rest of my days!

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

Most, if not all, my OC’s can sing! Their voices and tones vary, to which I cannot give a straight answer on how I headcanon most of their voices right now ^^; I will say that Danielle has a British accent to her voice as well as Spanish speak, and Sora has a Russian accent to her voice, so may be just lightly deep, but not to much.

I will definitely go with my Bsd Oc/Self Insert Danielle Mika Mason, however! Because I have gone and done a thing on how she would speak in her Japanese and English Dub! Other than me also being her voice, her Japanese VA would be Yui Ishikawa, same VA of the queen herself, Mikasa 💕 English VA would be Barrett Wilbert Weed, with an English accent, good Veronica from the Heathers! You can have a listen to her here in this post!

Dany is meek when it comes to her singing, she will often be caught humming and softly singing something, but quickly tends to stop around others. She is often back and forth with how she sounds and often shuts down when she hears someone she considers better than her. She just needs some encouragement and a gentle push from someone she really cares about. When she does feel the push and genuineness from someone she will sing her heart out. But of course prefers to sing for only that one special person~ can ya guess~ 🐯

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really).

Oh boi! I literally have moodboards to add to this! I pick Samantha, or Sam!

She would totes have a Tumblr blog, and Instagram! You always look forward to see what she post and just feel an instant calmness and warmth when you see it! She is always tagging her things appropriately, a soft and warm spring like layout that is shades of yellows, golds, orange, white; an occasional blue and teal as well! She would reblog anything of her aesthetic, golds, yellows, dance and ballet related things (may even post videos or poses of herself in practice and dance related things), cafe shops, sweets and desserts, warm night lights, cats, lots and lots of cats and felines of all shapes and sizes! Her best friend/boyfriend, Takaru always cameos in her stories and posts 💖

She would also reblog or spread awareness of any issues happening in the world, marking them and making her own voice heard as well. In spur moments, you may see her not tag things, but will likely go back to name things accordingly. She would also reblog anything of Bi Pride too!

28. Your most dangerous OC?

Hmmm,,, my most dangerous Oc, I am taking the notion that they are just plain dangerous and likely of evil intent in their actions. Because plenty of my Oc’s on their own are dangerous in their own right, such as the Legendary Wolf Warriors, who have a great power at their paws. They can be destructive in their actions if they lose control or use it for the wrong intentions, which they wouldn't do of their free will.

I will say Danielle and Sam are the strongest of the seven, because of their powers of Darkness and Light, respectively. Their souls created the others, so the other Warrior’s power does not match theirs. They can definitely be lethal together if used for the wrong reasons or if they are under the control of a Human or Deadly Sin.

Which leads me to say that the most dangerous of my OC’s with the worst intentions and evil thought processes that makes them dangerous is likely the Deadly Soul Sin Pride, or Mikka Penelope King/Pride as her solid name goes.

She is definitely the most sinister of the seven sins, even worse than Wrath, who you may figure would be the worst. She has a calculating mind and is very precise in her actions and ways of manipulation. She has a poison within her veins that is just as deadly, capable of blinding others or even killing without remorse or care. While she may be a ghost like entity in my stories, a person/digimon holder in my Digimon College Au, she has enough power to influence people to fall under pride and vanity in the most dangerous level possible, heck even possess them if she wishes. That makes her stronger, as well as the other sins. Does not matter if she is dead or fades away for a while, her influence remains and if it does, than she can exist for a long as she desires.

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure

Lol I saw cinnamon roll and instantly had a list of ocs ready, honestly any child OC I have is instantly a cinnamon roll and to good and put for this world, please treat them all kindly!

Current top Oc’s that come to mind are Haruko Mason-Nakajima, along with their nameless sister/pup! They are the sweetest babies ever and love them so much. Too good and pure, especially nameless pup with her love for tigers; she wants to grow up and be like her sibling and papa 🥺🥰 You can see the post on them here!

Next up is my precious flamey boi named Alik Azure Mizuhara! A next gen. LWW, son of Sora and Yamato! A little sightless boi with the softest heart and warmest empathy for others. Very much like his mother in likeness and pure curiosity of the world’s secrets and tales. His father worries for him a lot, but gradually learns to trust in his ability to guide himself. Don’t worry too much about him, he is very smart and knows how to care and guide himself!

Thank you so much for the time and questions you asked me Edgy! I had so much fun with these and gave me a chance to gush about my dearest OC’s! I do hope you find them of interest! 🤗🥺🥰

May your day be beautiful and amazing!! 🥰✨💖

#alpha's art #alpha howls #oc ask questions!#long post #the legendary wolf warriors #bungou stray dogs #bsd oc #danielle mika mason #carmenio #edgy is passing by... ✨

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

Castle - Henry IV x Reader (The King)

Hail To The King - but if it wasn’t at all platonic

...? Do the Mendo tag squad even want in on this? I’ll tag ya’ll anyway... @mandy23b @happyskywhale @wltz-bby

Author’s Note: I caved. I caved. But also the discord server thread for him had the subject line “Bed Me Your Majesty” So I don’t think you can blame me. ALSO - As this film was pretty much fanficition of fanfiction of what really happened... I’m writing fanficition, of fanfiction, of fanfiction...! 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Honestly, it’s literally just artistic licence!

It’s more a talked about relationship; I didn’t go too detail heavy.

TL;DR: If Shakespeare wrote fanfiction on history, so can I!

Disclaimer: Following The King on plot here / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: Too many people in this Kingdom have big, big plans - but you just want things to stay as they are. You can’t ask for more than you have, considering for your entire life you’ve never wanted anything else but him.

Words: 4985

Warnings: sexual connotations / mild swearing

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Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

Oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

I'm headed straight for the castle They wanna make me their queen And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean I'm headed straight for the castle They've got the kingdom locked up And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut Straight for the castle

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You couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. Well you could – you supposed your parents had never had anything but blind ambition for you; as their only child. But you thought your father ought to have known better than to push such an agenda. He’d been a King’s Guard before you, and been proud to see you – as his daughter no less! – take the mantle from him as Henry ascended the throne. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen combat before that – Henry’s insistence to drag you around the Kingdom had seen you in many a battle. To him there was none more worthy. To your parents, since his wife had died, they clearly saw an opportunity; swapping your armour for dresses and your sword for children. As if he didn’t have six already. You wouldn’t have it. “I am his King’s Guard – forgoodnessake! Do you have any idea how much Mary meant to him – to ME!? I cannot take her place and nor WILL I!” “Y/N, please, he needs a Queen.” It would sound better if they were on their knees begging you, instead your parents’ tone was more coercive. “Henry doesn’t need a queen – and even if he did, the council would never class me as suitable for him!” “There are ways and means of getting what you want.” “What you want!!!” You shook your head, taking a few significant steps back, “I won’t become a pawn in some political manoeuvring for you-!” You shot an accusatory look to your father, “And YOU ought to know better.” “As if he would mind, you’ve known each other nearly your entire lives, you grew up together-” Your hand moved over the hilt of your sword – and half of you wished you were meeting them in amour and not something so casual. A mistake on your part. “Stop. Before you even think another word stop.” You gritted your teeth, “I will not be party to this. I will not allow you to solicit it to him. And both of you should be careful talking about this here! People have been executed for less.” Your mother placed her hand on your father’s shoulder; “You would threaten us, Y/N?” “If I must.” You turned your body defensively, “I’m leaving – and you should too. I will have the guards escort you from the castle.” Then, because you should, you bowed, “Good day.” You supposed what you were really most scared of happening was people finding out that you and the King weren’t just close friends anymore. You’d been interested in him your entire life; and your parents were right, you had grown up together. You knew about as much about Henry as it was possible to know – and a lot you wished you didn’t. A feeling you believed was probably mutual. People were coming in and out of your life constantly – in no small part due to battlefield deaths. And you were up here in the Castle now. You’d moved around with him for years before the idea of ‘King’ came to mind. And now here he was – but you also knew your place, and it was not as his wife. That thought alone was preposterous; and you would have thought his entire family to forbid it – and he’d been told as such, right around the time you possibly could have fallen in love. You’d both been much younger then. You scoffed, pulling your sword from its sheath as you reached the training ground – about the best way to let off steam right now – it wasn’t ever a fantasy you indulged in. One of those stupid early-20s conversations when Henry asked when the hell you’d give it up and get married – and you’d punch his arm and say ‘Marriage? Me? Really? I thought we knew each other!’ You planted your feet in a solid stance, balancing the blade correctly in your hands, you took a deep breath and cut through the air – before long you were moving in step and sparring with yourself. Your look probably couldn’t have read more angry. It wasn’t just that your parents had suggested it; it was how much you knew such a suggestion would play with your feelings, and they knew too. There was a moment once where you thought you were over him. And then again when you had to be over him. Maybe you’d just conditioned yourself – but there was no better conditioning than loving her too. Mary was his whole world, and she was a literal angel. If there was anyone in this world that could calm him down, and be a good influence, and stand by his side, and be suitable then it was her. You’d met your fair share of women who had wanted to be in her position – but they all had a major problem with you; she never had. Your presence in his life didn’t scare her – and in fact your love for him didn’t either, because she knew that alone would have you keep Henry safe. He was your best friend, and a lot of the time you felt your only friend; with time she became that too – but a couple of years ago Mary had passed away. And your King was now a single man. That had never factored into things for you; suddenly six children didn’t have a mother – and a fairly absent father. King first, father second. That sometimes left you, as King’s Guard, trailing around after 6 growing children. And where at first you’d found them shadowing your every step annoying, and your skills with kids awkward at best – now you loved them as if they were your own. The eldest boys were old enough to begin swordsmanship lessons too – and if you were honest with yourself those points in your week might just have been the ones you looked forward to the most. The problem was, her death had added a new element to your relationship with Henry – and you didn’t know what or whom had started it, yet you did know it was dangerous. An affair? With your King? In your position? The number of men you were surrounded by daily, constantly looking for just such ammunition to throw you to the streets – or worse, were insurmountable. Which almost made it exciting. But you weren’t so sure exactly what it was… he was hurting, and you were a comfort – you supposed. You got to live out your wildest fantasy as a (dangerous) dream come true. Still, you thought to yourself, rather you than anyone else – and constant female companionship kept those you would deem less worthy out of his bed. Before you even started on those trying to find him a suitable second wife. He wasn’t one for having it – and you wouldn’t trust to hope that it had anything to do with you; but that he simply could never marry again after her. Still, your face often said it all when people tried to present their daughters to him. And you were sure the way Henry and yourself glanced to each other sometimes did you no favours in getting in anyone’s good books. That wasn’t something you particularly cared about either. Truth was, you liked where you were, right now. You didn’t want to marry him, you didn’t want to be Queen (for a start a list of conspirators against you would be longer than your arm from the very second Henry slipped a ring onto your finger, if not before), you didn’t want children and you didn’t want to bare him children. If you could help it. That was always an outside possibility – probably about the only thing that that kept you out of his bed as often as you’d quite like to be there. That and knowing your duty came first – not only would pregnancy make what was happening fairly obvious, but it’d lose you your position as King’s Guard – and they’d have to take that from your dead body. The sound of your blade slicing through the air caught you a little off guard as your swings became vicious. Now you were just letting your emotion get the better of you, taking a deep breath you tried to reign it back in; but that only made things worse. Afterall – hadn’t you come here to vent a little? You turned into your next strike, power to your overhead cut. But you struck steel and not air. Henry’s arm didn’t buckle despite the way he was holding the training sword; although you could already tell the quality of yours had put a nick in it. “What did the air ever do to you-!?” You backed up, and inclined your head to him; he was still your King after all. “Nothing. There’s just a lot on my mind.” You kept your eyes to the floor for a moment, and sheathed your sword. “I see you dismissed your parents without so much as a welcome from me.” You raised your eyes to his curiosity, how did he even know they were here? Who had gone ahead and told him? “Yes. For good reason.” “Oh. What could that possibly be?” You folded your arms, confident enough to say it to Henry’s face, “They want to cook up some convoluted plot with the council, which ends with me marrying you.” Not one emotion crossed his features for a number of seconds before he blinked, and then laughed; “I’m sure the court would enjoy hearing such a proposal.” “Do not give them any excuse to come back here and attempt it!” He twisted the steel through his fingers, “Would that be my decision, I cannot stop them from coming to court – and if they would so propose such a thing,” You cut across him; “Very well, but I would like to attest I want no part in it.” “…It wouldn’t exactly be un-agreeable.” He finished. “Henry.” Your look was sharp, “I cannot marry you. This is ridiculous, I don’t know why I even mentioned it.” You covered your eyes for a moment and sighed “Forgive me. It’s just…” He shook his head, “I understand your sentiment. Although with my council perhaps you should speak softer.” But the King looked amused, “I believe you are due a meeting today, are you not?” “That’ll make everything better.” You fell in step with him as you exited the training field; “But yes. We are. I’m sure I’ll have much to report on.” “I’d trust yours over anyone else’s…” That made you roll your eyes, “Then I might ask why you have them around.” “You know very well I don’t have a choice in that.” Though you offered no comment, your smirk probably told him everything. “As long as your mind is sound, your Majesty.” He nudged you, which only made you laugh “My mind? You’re the one that needed to clear her head.” “Indeed. I should check in with the children at some point before the meeting also…” “Yes.” Henry nodded, turning to you again – his mouth opened, but you held your hand up; “Please, I know what you’re thinking. But I cannot be a mother to them – I will not replace Mary. I cannot replace her. It would feel too much like betrayal…” you subtly glanced about to check you were indeed alone as your voice lowered, “Whatever we have, it is not marriage material, and you should not opt to see it as such just because it might get the council off your back. This is me, Henry, they are not my biggest advocates. And besides I would rather your children didn’t hate me for it too-!” “So you will not even consider it.” “NO…” You backed away, prepared to run off to your next engagement, “And neither should you.” But he reached out and caught your wrist before you could, because he could read all over your face that your emotional attachment to the situation was causing your thoughts to run wild; “Then it will never transpire. You should not have to worry about such a thing. Or marriage in general. In truth, you know that I am still grieving her… If what you are really worried about is anyone discovering us, that’s foolish. We’re careful – and you more so than me. Everything will be as it is meant, Y/N. Now…” He let you go, “Please, I wish for you to enjoy the rest of you day – even with your meeting – and we shall discuss this later.” You bowed again; “Yes, your majesty, as soon as my duties for today are done, I shall return to you.” Henry smiled gently, turning away from you to walk in the opposite direction, “See that you do.” Then paused and called you back; “Oh, Y/N.” “Yes?” You immediately paused your jog to twist back to him. “There are a great number of country estates that I could move your parents to. I believe that would alleviate the situation. A barter, if you will. Put a stop to this before it begins. As you may imagine, I would not want this weighing on the mind of my King’s Guard any more than it should.” You nodded, “It… sounds agreeable.” “Then you will not mind me summoning them back?” “No.” “Very well. Then we need not talk of it any longer.” He nodded, and then continued on as if he had never turned back. You smiled shaking your head gently – sometimes he was quite unfathomable. “Thank you!” But Henry held his hand up with a wave – don’t mention it. ***

There was once a time, when he was a little younger, before marriage and children, and becoming a King, when even you allowed the thought of you and he becoming more than fantasy to linger around. Yet even after those things, when he actually spent time on a physical battlefield, rather than the political battlefield he now found himself on, it wasn’t a feeling easily shaken; maybe kicked to the side but never truly gone. The problem was the line between friends and almost/never lovers had always been blurred. Back when you were kids you didn’t know what you were feeling. He was your best friend, sometimes he was the brother you never had, sometimes all Henry was to you was your King – and you the one charged with protecting his life. Maybe he was all of them – but even being intimate with him now you never felt that it was meant to be. Quite the opposite, and yet it was somehow allowed to happen… But sometimes all you could think about was praying together before these battles; hands entwined in prayer in front of you, eyes closed, foreheads touching – whispering well recited Latin. in nomine patris et fili et spiritus sancti And the apparent scandal, or not scandal, of sharing his tent. That was really to make sure he slept – you were one for staying awake and listening to his breathing. Still were. But you didn’t really trust anyone – his life was more important to you than anything else. But you’d never really told Henry that, outside of making it sound like a duty-bound sentence. As far as sleeping with him went, the closest you thought you’d ever get was on the hard ground next to his makeshift camp bed. When his hand would dangle over the edge and you’d have to resist the temptation to reach out and hold it. When your light sleep was burdened with strange vivid dreams, and you were always anxious that you’d wake with his name on your lips. You could probably both brush that off – but the embarrassment of why would have always weighed on your mind.

But he knew. He must have. For Henry to even contemplate ruining what you had by making it more than it ever had to be. He was alone and hurting, and you had always loved him. You had a feeling he loved you too; perhaps not in the same way – perhaps he didn’t feel the desperate yearning you always did. The need to repress everything on something that would never work. But he did. Henry must have; that first kiss wasn’t an accident – and maybe you should have pushed him back and told him that it wasn’t proper and never would be. But you were weak, and you craved him and you were desperate to feel his lips on yours once. Just once! So you didn’t, and with his hands in your hair the words out of your mouth would never have been stop. Henry never used his position over you – but you knew that it wouldn’t even matter if he did.

“Bed me your majesty” was never a phrase that spilled from your lips, but you knew you felt it. You knew you stared at him sometimes and thought it – and you thought Henry probably knew that too, because sometimes all it took was the way you looked at him. Maybe you should whisper it to him, when you felt so fragile and you trembled under his fingertips. It was at least exciting to think of the way he’d react to it. Not another soul in this castle had ever seen you look so delicate as he now had, and that was something Henry liked to keep to himself with a little smirk. But, obviously, he’d be wrong to think that would be normal – you’d always been the very definition of strong woman. Better believe that extended to every facet of your life. Apparently, that was even more exciting.

The morning light wasn’t pale when you awoke. That already meant problems; usually you’d slip out of his room as soon as you could. Not for want of actually wanting to leave him, but needing to. Safety first. You were greeted by the brush of his lips to your forehead and without any walls up, you allowed yourself to smile. You didn’t want to say words yet, just lay together like this. Everything was calm this morning – the only sounds from outside, bird calls and dogs barking. And you almost allowed yourself to fall back to sleep – before what you knew would happen if you were found here panicked you, and you sat up. “Shit, I really should go.” He reached out for your wrist and you found yourself immediately dragged back into the sheets. Henry wound his arms around you, pressing kisses into your skin; shoulders, neck, down your arms and to your hands. You couldn’t help but giggle gently to yourself – but you also knew better. “No no…” You rolled over, lips to his, “I’ll be late for the pre-council meeting… And the servants will be along to bathe and dress you soon, I cannot be here!” His sigh was grumpy as he opened his crystal blue eyes; narrowing them against the harsh light – “Damn your meetings.” “Occasionally I would like to…” You breathed, kissing him again, before grazing your lips to his shoulder and stumbling from the bed, pulling on your breeches, boots and shirt – tightening the cord across your chest, and threading your sword belt around yourself. Doing your best to neaten your hair before pulling it back and off your face once more. “I will see you later, at your side, when we all assemble to hear from the Archbishop.” Henry groaned; “Again!?” “I’m afraid so!” You grinned, moving back around the bed to kiss his face once more – to which he chuckled. “Go. Leave me!” “I’m afraid I must, my King. Until later!” Although you didn’t miss his call of; “You look so beautiful when you’re flushed!” and you could have cursed him right then. By the time you reached the chambers in which the council gathered, they’d already started and you were red for two reasons. It earned many questions, that you could quickly dismiss. After all, you had run all the way here. And you were a swords master – what did they think you did all day, stand around in ceremony like they did? You had to practice if you were to defend him properly! That at least shut the majority of them up, leaving a few suspicious. It hardly mattered to you though; perhaps they knew, perhaps they’d guessed, you were the only female here and certainly the only one that Henry kept consistent companionship with… But you’d been around long enough to know everyone’s secrets – heck, their secrets had secrets. At least you only had one. Although it was a big one. Still you sat around in armour on occasion, and a sword constantly. So you’d like to see anyone try to say anything about it. They might just find the blade at your hip run through them. You were capable, and they already knew you liked to threaten… If they came for you you highly doubted they would be kept around, or even alive if Henry so happened to get word (he would, you’d make sure).

If you’d ever thought there would be something to worry about, you were there now. His children were grown up, and a few of them off and married themselves. Thomas was on the council, and damn good at it – you were always impressed by his level headed judgements. Hal… wasn’t, but had been. And he was off wherever he wanted to be – you hoped he was just being a young, reckless and rebellious teenager. Half of you wasn’t sure it’d wear off; it certainly didn’t stand him in his father’s good graces. Hal became Henry’s new favourite thing to grumble about. There were times that you’d dragged him back to the castle kicking and screaming just keep the King quiet. That didn’t earn you a whole lot of love – but Hal at least still respected you, and that helped you get between them and cool them both off when necessary. Henry’s health was waning – it had been for a while, and he’d been through just about every major illness you could get, but had survived. You wanted to be around him now to look after him, as much as you did anything else. That instinct made you a lot sharper, he didn’t have a lot of time to waste and there were plenty in the Kingdom who wanted to waste it. Standing beside him and giving them filthy looks, or scoffing, or rolling your eyes; sometimes just unable to keep harsh statements from coming off your lips. And you were sarcastic too, especially to the council. Truth was you’d had enough of the bullshit and deceit. The decent thing would be for them to stop manipulating Henry and his thought process; people thought he was out of his mind at the best of times, the council only served to make it worse and pretend that it was all your King’s doing. You saw right through all that in various stages of contempt. Thomas and yourself were walking the corridors of the castle after one such meeting and as the sweetest of Henry’s children (and perhaps the most apt), often chided you for the kind of comments that you made to unsuspecting subjects, or the council. (Though you were sure he might understand why you’d make them to the council.) “Oh, Y/N, why are you so cruel and mean and sarcastic all the time? It doesn’t make you friends!” You would only ever laugh though; “Thomas you’re so sweet-! And I don’t do it to make friends, I do it to protect your father, especially NOW!” “Well, I certainly worry about it!” “No need. I’ve been doing it a long time.” In fact only his entire life. “I’m not sure that excuses doing it worse. I’m concerned for your wellbeing.” You sighed softly and smiled; “Okay… If it makes you feel better, I will tone it down.” “Thank you. It would.” “…Only for you mind.” You raised your finger to let him know you were deadly serious about that. “Well. I’m sure others would also appreciate it.” But he beamed, and you thought that maybe for that alone, you could probably tone down your scoffing at everyone else’s ludicrous decisions on what to do next. Though, you were sure on occasion Henry and yourself would still catch each other’s eyes thinking exactly the same thing. Idiots-! So you couldn’t help but smile back at that; “I’m proud of you, you know? You’ve come so far in such a short space of time, you’re responsible, you’re not yet that old. You’ll go far Thomas; I hope you realise that... and I hope you’re proud of yourself.” He acted bashful for a second; “Oh it’s… nothing really. Not like you.” “Oh yeah?” You leant back slightly and folded your arms, “And what, pray tell, is the difference between you and I?” “You’re on the council… and you have seen and won many a battle. You’re… as close to my father as it’s possible to get.” You inclined your head; “My prowess on the battlefield is really the only reason I am here…” You touched the hilt of your sword, “I am only on the council because I am King’s Guard, I have very little input into everything, and…” you paused, knowing for fact that Henry had always been an arms-length sort of father, “…I’ve known your father since we were both very small. He trusts you as much as he does me – I know this to be true.” And you did, the King often talked of how proud he was of Thomas. You thought it was an all-around good sign, but how exactly you got him to show the affection that came with it, you weren’t sure yet. “Thank you…” He also paused for a second, before hugging you, it was a warm, tight hug. And considering the very nearly professional context of your attire, it caught you off guard. You stiffened for a minute, eyes wide, before returning his arms around you. You tried desperately hard not to be overcome with emotion, but you almost welled up; remembering vividly back to when the best Thomas could do was cling to your leg, begging you not to go to a meeting that he himself was now avidly involved with. He let you go, still smiling, “I bid you good day, Y/N.” “And you, Thomas.” As you would for his father, you bowed gently to the Prince and watched him take off down the corridor, smile still on your face. You only turned around when you heard the clearing of a throat behind you. Standing leaning against an entrance way to a higher corridor, was Henry himself. You had no doubt he’d probably heard that entire exchange. But you couldn’t help but smile at him too, and jogged up the set of steps to join him. “Are you waiting for me?” “I was watching the world go by, but I heard the two of you and decided I best collect you, after this morning’s escapades.” Henry gave you a hard look and you hoped he might be joking. “Thomas does a good job of chiding me himself, I don’t need it from you also.” “Ah, but I am the King. And therefore…” You leant against the other side of the doorframe with a scoff, indicating he wasn’t about to get away with saying such a thing. From here you could see through the high windows into the gardens below, and as Thomas crossed the grass several of the dogs chased around his feet. Henry watched your smile grow with a shake of his head; “He’s probably right. You should tone it down.” “Oh? Are you only saying that now because you’re older and wiser? Because there was a time when you used to not only agree with me, Sire, but laugh along.” “Yes, well. Older – perhaps wiser. But I feel that I should probably mention it.” “Save your words, I’ve been like this for years – Best believe I wouldn’t stop now. Force of habit.” “Well if you’re around, and I no longer am, you may well have to change.” “I believe my reactions save you from endless boredom. And, hush - don’t say things like that… How am I supposed to live my life without you!?” It was something you considered, obviously, but never ever wanted mentioned. “I rather think you’ll manage quite well… They depend on you, Y/N. They may not say it but they do.” “Whom? Your council? Your sons?” “The Kingdom.” “Oh.” You hesitated, with a blush, “I… see.” Although currently you weren’t sure how much the Kingdom would really be thanking you for that – considering their views on their King. Afterall, it was not just your job to defend him – you would lay down your life for Henry no matter who he was. He leant across the about foot gap between you and held your chin between his fingers before brushing his lips to yours. You blinked a couple of times; “That was… unprofessional. Especially out here!” “Don’t you ever get tired of worrying?” “No. Especially not now they’re so grown up.” Still, you stole a second kiss before he pulled away. He looked back to the castle grounds; “Thought that would make it more exciting.” “Well, if I would be so bold as to suggest something to entice you away from your duties today, my King.” Henry turned to you, eyebrow raised – but his smile turned into a gentle smirk, and instead of asking what you meant he simply said; “Entice me.” You smirked, a little more seductive, as you claimed that gap back, face so close to his you could feel his breath, and body almost touching his you could hear his heartbeat. Your eyes flicked slowly from his lips to his eyes and back. And for once you decided to brave the sentence you’d been dying to say for a long time. “Bed me, your majesty.”

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Thank you for reading!! 💙🙏💜

#Halseyyyy once again!#The King (2019)#Henry IV x Reader #Ugh that's a weird tag to write #I mean he did /have/ illigitimate children so it's not like this kinda thing /couldn't/ have happened #161 #Thea #another favourite OC of mine #Couples that slay together stay together #I think I prefer them platonic to romantic (as envisioned)#but I do like this one #What is with all the minimal editing?#I just kinda added description here and there but...#I dunno everything is kinda going along nicely #I like that #The King

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