#or talking about how people's accents are impenetrable

[antimony-medusa]

Okay, as we're gearing up for Purgatory 2, I'm just gonna put out a plea that please remember that these people will be communciating past a language barrier (perhaps multiple language barriers), and for the European streamers it will likely be after midnight for them. In Purgatory 1 I saw a lot of people getting mad at the french and british streamers for imperfect communication while the streamers were on day 10 of sleep deprivation marathon, and it would just be wonderful if we could extend people a little bit of grace if people make mistakes, or don't pick up subtext, or miscommunicate, or get frustrated because of those things. Please.

[13uswntimagines]

Weight of the Sky (Alessia X Leah X Reader)

Summary: No one knew why you left the United States and stopped accepting call-ups to the senior team. Only the important people were informed that it had to do with your treatment by the coaching staff. But some reporter got ahold of the story, and a report that was never supposed to see the light of day. How do you deal with everyone suddenly knowing your deepest, most shameful secrets?

Warning: This fic deals with how people process trauma. There’s implied abuse, but nothing explicitly described or explained. Again, systemic abuse (physical, mental, and verbal) is what is dealt with in this fic, specifically how someone might deal with it (in healthy and unhealthy ways).

It wasn’t something you talked about. 

It wasn’t something you liked to think about. 

The people who were important to you knew something had happened. They knew why you stopped accepting call-ups to the senior USWNT a year ago, why you had fled the NWSL, and why you were so adamant about never stepping foot on American soil again. 

You didn’t feel the need to explain it to anyone else. To open the dark box you had buried so deeply so long ago. To rip apart the fragile stitches you so carefully constructed over your wounds. 

But as you stared down at the headline, it looked like you wouldn’t have a choice. 

Scandal set to dismantle US soccer: reports of rampant emotional, physical and sexual abuse at both the youth and senior level 

You didn’t want to read it. 

You wanted to shove your phone back in your bag and join your team out on the pitch like nothing had ever happened. 

It had worked for you so far. 

But the way your phone was buzzing told you that it wouldn’t work for you this time. 

That arriving late to practice so you had the locker room to yourself wouldn’t be the out you prayed it would. 

It was one of the best and worst qualities of the team you had left behind. Their stubbornness, especially when someone’s well-being was on the line. 

They wouldn’t give up when you had been the baby of the USWNT for so long with your first call-up coming at 16. 

It didn’t matter that you barely answered them most of the time now. 

With both you and Foxy playing for Arsenal, you knew that Alex, or Kelley, or Alyssa, or Becky were not above calling Kim or Jen to sort you out. 

To force you to face the thing you had run to Europe to escape 3 years ago. 

The things you had never told them about. 

“Have you read it yet?” You blinked up at the voice of your fellow American, as Emily sat down beside you.

“Just the headline,” You sighed, tossing your phone into your cubby and grabbing your cleats. “I’m pretty sure I already know what it’s going to say,”

You could feel her eyes on the side of your face, trying to peel back the impenetrable mask you always used to cover your emotions. You had known Emily long enough for her to be able to see past it. To decipher the barely visible tells littered across your features. 

You could feel the pity in her gaze, and it made you want to puke. You didn’t want it. You didn’t need it. 

“I didn’t know the details,” Emily said, her voice a pained whisper. 

It wasn’t that Emily hadn’t known about the abuse. She was your longest friend, one of the people who you had shared nearly all of your soccer experience with. She knew that things had happened, but you always breezed over it. You didn’t give out specifics. You didn't need to be viewed as one broken toy. 

You made a low noise of agreement. “That was by design,” 

She caught your arm, and you finally looked at her. 

“Y/n,”

Concern accented her blue eyes, and desperation lingered behind her irises. It was an unspoken question. 

A why that rang clearly. 

“It was better for everyone,” You muttered, finishing the knot on your boot and pulling the 2nd one up, answering the question she hadn’t asked with words. 

You knew she would have fought for you. She would have stood up to the people you had been too afraid to. It was safer if she didn’t know the full extent of what you had endured. If the complaint you had lodged was the only record of it. 

You wouldn’t put anyone in the firing line. Especially not her. 

“Did Leah and Alessia know?” She asked, so quietly you barely heard it. 

Or maybe it was just the blood pounding in your ears. 

You blinked at the question, looking away from the defender. 

Of course, your girlfriends knew, but they didn’t know. You had never gone into depth about your experiences in the youth system. You never detailed how it had followed you like ghosts until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Until you broke under the pressure. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to tell them. To let the words out during a million late-night chats over tea with Leah, or when you were so comfortable laid out in Alessia’s chest, her nails dragging up and down your back. 

They made you feel truly safe for the first time in your life. 

You didn’t want to give them a reason to not want you. To realize you were too… damaged to love. 

You cleared your throat, your cleats clicking in the concrete as it hit the floor. “You better get your boots on. We’re going to be late,” 

You didn’t wait for her response before you pushed yourself to a standing position, and headed out onto the field. 

You hadn’t spoken to your girlfriends since the article came out. You had spent a very rare night in your own apartment, ignoring their texts, and the calls that had followed. 

You were surprised they hadn’t staked out your apartment this morning, or been waiting for you when you arrived (admittedly late) to practice. 

You understood that you couldn’t ignore them forever. You didn’t want to. 

You just wanted enough time to gather your thoughts. Time to figure out how you were going to explain it all to them. You just wanted 3 hours of peace, before you would have to face reality.

Before you would have to finally deal with Pandora’s box. 

You snorted to yourself as you reached the locker room door. 

At least Pandora’s box had held hope with all of the bad things. Your box held nothing but pain and agony. Memories that had burned and sizzled the happiness you had finally regained. 

Experiences that were like bubbling acid, destroying everything they touched. 

You didn’t want them to destroy the word that you had rebuilt for yourself. 

You wanted to pretend for just a bit longer that you weren’t a poison that could only hurt the things you loved. 

Pretend like you weren’t about to lose everything. Like they hadn’t realized how… unworthy you were of them yet. 

*****

You felt eyes on you the second you stepped onto the pitch. Like tiny lasers, following your every step. Your every breath. Like they were waiting for you to break down. 

And for the most part, you ignored them. 

You painted your signature easy smirk across your lips and joined the midfield warmup line behind Kyra. It was also coincidentally the line furthest from your girlfriends. 

You focused on the drill, watching as Lia expertly weaved through the cones, the coaches passing her a ball every 3 cones to send into a mini-net. It was easy to let your mind sink into the familiarity of soccer. 

The field had always been your happy place, even when coaches were running you into the ground. It was a place where all that mattered was your skill. Your ability to ignore physical discomfort and pain to run circles around your teammates. 

It was why you lasted so long under Rory Dames, Paul Riley, and the rest of the USWNT coaches. They couldn’t break you on the pitch. Pain only fueled you. 

It’s what had driven them to… other methods. 

You pushed yourself through the line drills, forcing your legs to move faster, and your feet to take shorter touches, driving the pace of the midfield line higher and higher. 

“You know this is just warm up right?” Kyra panted as she made it through the final drill, both hands behind her head. “We still have an entire practice to go,” 

You shrugged, grabbing a water bottle and squirting a bit in your mouth as you waited for the other lines to finish. “Just feeling it today,” 

“Don’t feel it too hard though,” She said, side-eyeing you, trying to sound casual. “Pushing yourself won’t make it better,” 

You blinked at her, and the uncharacteristic seriousness in her voice. The young Australian was the last person you expected to read the article and then try to confront you about how you dealt with it all. 

“I’m fine,” You mumbled, squirting more water in your mouth. 

“Never said you weren’t,” Kyra said quickly, stealing the bottle from your hands, briefly glancing over your shoulder. “But you don’t have to be if you don’t want to be,”

You nodded stiffly. 

You knew that if you wanted to fall apart the team, and your girlfriends would be there for you. 

But you didn’t want to. 

It would make it real instead of just the bad dream you had convinced yourself it was. 

“I just want to play football,” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m over everything else,” 

Kyra hummed, her serious look shifting into an impish grin as she flipped the bottle towards you and squirted you with water. “Heads up,” 

“Must you always be such a pest?”  Leah’s voice appeared behind you before you could think about what Kyra meant, her arms wrapping around your middle and her chin resting on your shoulder. “Hello darling,”

Shivers ran down your spine when her lips pressed into the sensitive spot just below your ear, and your body tensed unsure if it wanted to sink back into her or flinch away. Your skin crawled in a way that it never had in her embrace before. 

You shoved the feeling down. 

It was ridiculous. 

Uncalled for. 

Not real. 

“Hey,” You said, painting a smile on your face and forcing yourself to relax back into her familiar hold.“The forwards aren’t finished yet?” 

“They were on their last drill when we finished,” She said, loosening her grip so you could turn to face her. “Less will be happy to see you. She missed you last night,” 

You noted the worry lines on her forehead and the crinkle between her eyes. 

You forced your lips to quirk upward into a teasing smirk despite how heavy it felt. “Just her?” 

“You know better my love,” Leah hummed, her blue eyes searching your face and her thumbs running over the skin under your training top just above your waistband. “We were worried about you,”

You could hear the honesty, the concern in her voice. The unspoken questions lingering in the air between you. 

“I’m ok,” You said, meeting her eyes. 

It was the truth. Right now, with the pitch under your feet, you felt alright. 

You felt almost normal. 

She nodded once. “Ok,” 

You appreciated that she didn’t press you. Didn’t point out the obvious cracks in your perfect mask. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to escape their probing later, but at least now she let you be. 

“You’re still coming home with us tonight?” She asked, her voice still soft, and you swallowed hard. 

Jonas blew the whistle just as the forwards finished their last line drill, calling the group to circle up before you could answer. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, gently extracting yourself from your girlfriend. 

“We should go,” You said, ignoring her question and the deep frown etched across her features. 

It should have bothered you how the knot in your chest loosened as you stepped out of her grasp. How your skin didn’t feel like it was on fire. 

Her and Alessia had always made you feel safe and it should have bothered you that Leah’s hands had reminded you of his. 

But you didn’t have time to be bothered. 

You pushed the feelings down again, forcing the lid on them shut. 

You hoped Jonas’ remarks would be short. That you could have the ball at your feet soon. That you could sink into the familiar peace soccer always brought you before any more emotions tried to force their way to the surface. 

A stupid article would not derail your practice. 

*****

You stayed at the edge of the group as Jonas explained the 3 on 3 drill he wanted you to do, watching his little whiteboard as he drew out the formations. 

It was easy to ignore the poorly concealed glances from your teammates (and Leah’s blatant staring). It was easy to force yourself to focus on the coach. 

It was easy to pretend your other girlfriend hadn’t edged her way over to you, her perfume surrounding you with the sense of peace you had been missing since the stupid article came out. Surrounding you like it had done since the two of you were at UNC together, and she was your anchor to reality, even when she didn’t know it. 

Alessia didn’t try to touch you, even as she leaned closer. 

“Be my partner?” She asked in a whisper, the words tickling your ear. 

You made a low noise of agreement, your fingers fidgeting at your sides. 

It felt like when you were in college again. 

Like every time you would come back from a national team camp, and have to reintegrate back into the team. How she would always inch over to you while Coach Dorrance explained drills. 

The two of you had been dancing around your feelings back then, and you had been convinced your heart and soul were too damaged to deserve someone like her. 

You thought her and Leah had finally unconvinced you. That they had finally washed away the feelings of hands you didn’t want and cracks that you feared could never be healed. 

You were wrong. 

When the news broke, you stared at the headline for hours. You were thankful that you had decided to spend the night alone for once. That your girlfriends were having a date night (something the three of you tried to do every once in a while) because the rush of uncleanliness that rushed over you and settled deep beneath your skin, leaching into your bones was unstoppable. It didn’t matter how raw you scrubbed your skin in the shower.

“Ready?” 

The nudge pulled you out of your thoughts, and you blinked at the blonde forward. 

You hadn’t realized that Jonas was finished, or that most of your teammates had already dispersed. 

“Oh, yeah,” You muttered, unsure of where you were supposed to go, or what you were supposed to do. 

Maybe you hadn’t been paying as much attention as you thought. 

Alessia’s lips tilted upwards, and she sent you a knowing smile. The one you hadn’t seen often since you were both in America. The one that used to greet you after bad camps and hard nights. 

“Come on then,” She nudged your arm with her shoulder again.“Steph’s our third,” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. 

Why hadn’t she picked Leah as your third?

She always picked Leah. 

You were the one who liked to play against your defender girlfriend. She was always physical, and it never failed to get you worked up. 

Alessia liked to play with Leah. Their banter always wound her up. 

You turned, glancing at the Australian defender already collecting a ball. Frankly, you were just thankful it wasn’t Emily. 

That would remind you too much of your time at UNC. 

“Alright,” You nodded, swallowing hard. 

You had no reason to feel this… off balance. 

No reason to be thinking about the things you had escaped. 

Alessia’s head tilted to the side, watching you. “We need to make sure we kick Leah’s ass. She’s got Viv and Lea. It’s unfair,”

You hummed again. 

This you could do. 

You let your brain slip into the safe place where all that mattered were tactics and the ball. The safe place where all that existed was the pitch, and none of the other noise mattered. 

“We’re faster, and we can outmaneuver them,” You mumbled, letting her guide you towards Steph. “It’s the team of Beth, Kyra, and Katie I’m more worried about honestly,”

While Leah, Lia, and Viv were tactically savvy, you knew you could outpace them. They were defensive-minded, and you were far more used to being an attacking midfielder than Lia was. You would use their defensiveness against them. 

Beth’s team was much more balanced. Though Katie liked to attack, she was a damn good defender. Kyra could absolutely play as a box-to-box midfielder and Beth was a lethal striker. 

Alessia made a noise of agreement, her hand gently resting on the small of your back. 

The comfort didn’t send pinpricks up your spine like you thought it would, but maybe that was because you were talking about soccer. 

Whatever the reason, you leaned into it, accepting the familiar comfort. 

Yeah, you could do this.

****

“It’s scary to see her like this,” Leah breathed out, glancing towards the door to the showers. 

You had waited until the rest of the team finished before you disappeared through the doors, with a promise from Leah and Alessia that they would keep everyone out. 

Emily and Lotte both joined in their vigil, forming a little circle of sorts with their chairs just outside the washroom.

Alessia sighed, running her hand through your hair. “Reminds me of our junior year,” 

That year had been brutal. 

The two of you were growing closer, edging past the line of friendship into something more. At least you had been until you attended the USWNT World Cup Qualifying tournament. 

After that, everything changed. 

You pulled away completely and looked like a ghost. 

Your eyes dulled from clear to a murky y/e/c like your soul had been ripped out. You were basically nonverbal by the end of the spring semester. It was all Emily, Lotte, and her could do to make sure you ate and got to practice on time. 

She didn’t want to go back to that. Ever. And she didn’t like how similar this felt. 

How easily you had retreated back into yourself and put all of your shields back into place. 

“The year Paul was an assistant for the senior team,” Emily nodded, sharing a meaningful look with Lotte and Alessia. 

Leah frowned.

She was clearly missing something.

“She would come back from National team duty and look like a shell,” Alessia explained gently. “We knew something was going on, but not what it was,” 

“Or how deep it went,” Lotte added, her eyebrows pinched together as she looked back at the door. 

Emily put a gentle hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. 

“He was her coach for the U17 team too,” Leah said, phrasing it as a statement instead of a question. 

She had read the article, and the full report, unable to stop herself even as the words sliced into her heart like razor blades. It was line after line branding the horrors you had faced from age 13 into her mind, as the reporter described the abuse you and your teammates had endured in excruciating detail. 

The worst was the photo that he had included in the report. 

Three words were handwritten in font that was left on colorful sticky notes around your apartments, telling her and Alessia how much you loved them. Font that was on every card, every poem you wrote for them. 

Font that spelled out Help me, please. 

A plea that hadn’t been heard for years, until an anonymous source had sold the story to the New York Times. 

“Yes,” Emily agreed. “He used to push her so hard during practice and the things that would come out of his mouth were vulgar, but I didn’t know about the other stuff. She only told me they were extra film sessions to help with her game,” 

Leah snorted. “She told us they were tactics meetings, and that he would make her play games she couldn’t win. She never told us what the punishments were,”

“It was by design,” Emily said, using the same careful tone you had used earlier, shaking her head. “I don’t think she’s ever actually processed what happened. She was too busy trying to protect everyone else,”

“She was a child,” Alessia hissed. 

The article said you were 13. Just a kid. You shouldn’t have to protect anyone. They should have protected you. 

The system shouldn’t have failed. They shouldn’t have to deal with the catastrophic fallout. 

“So was I. So was Mal.” Emily bit back. “She didn’t want what was happening to her to happen to us, so she didn’t fucking tell us. We could have stopped it,”

Lotte held up her hands, telling both of them to calm down. “She buried her feelings so she didn’t have to face them,”

They weren’t angry at each other, she knew. They were both fixers and they couldn’t fix this. Just like they hadn’t been able to fix this while the four of you were in college. 

She was just surprised Leah hadn’t snapped yet either. She was the most protective over you, probably because it had taken you longer to fall for her than it had taken for you to fall for Less. 

“And now she doesn’t have a choice,” Leah said with an eerie sense of finality. Like the matter of fact bang of a gavel after a judge made a ruling. 

The stupid Times writer made it impossible for you to continue to ignore it. He made it impossible for you to outrun it. 

“She’s going to try to pretend it’s fine,” Emily sighed, meeting Leah’s eyes. There was something… haunted hiding in their depths that sent a shiver down Leah’s spine. 

“And then completely implode when she can't,” Lotte added, mirroring the haunted look behind Emily’s orbs. 

They had both seen you at your worst, and they feared they were about to get the sequel. 

Leah dragged her eyes from Emily to meet Alessia’s. 

They knew the struggle you had with your emotions, even the happy ones. The cycles you spent oscillating between locking everything inside and shaking in the shower because you couldn’t stop them from pouring out of you and you were afraid of what you would do. 

They all knew about it. 

They had all dealt with it at some point. 

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Leah promised quietly, again meeting Alessia’s eyes. “She’s coming home with us, or we’re going home with her,”

“She will not be alone tonight,” Alessia agreed. “Or ever again,”

The three other women hummed, before a comfortable silence enveloped them, broken only by the sound of the shower. 

They didn’t have to wait long before the water stopped, and then it was only a few minutes before you came shuffling into the changing room, dressed in one of Alessia’s oversized hoodies and a pair of Leah’s sweatpants despite the warm temperatures outside. 

You looked small. Fragile.

Leah pushed herself to her feet the moment she saw you, only refraining from pulling you into her chest when Alessia placed a gentle hand on her arm. 

She learned in college that physical contact wasn’t always something you enjoyed when you felt this vulnerable. 

“Ready to go Darling?”

Your head bobbed, and you held your hand out for Alessia. 

Leah tried not to let it bother her that you had bypassed her. She knew it was just because you were familiar with how Alessia handled you when you were like this. You knew what to expect from her, while Leah’s reactions were more of a mystery. 

You didn’t want any surprises.

Not now. 

Not when you were feeling so vulnerable. 

Alessia took your hand and pulled herself to her feet, while Leah grabbed all 3 of your bags. 

“Lead the way then,” Leah sent you a very soft smile, gesturing with her free hand. 

Your head bobbed again, and you headed for the door, not even acknowledging Lotte or Emily. 

You didn’t have the mental capacity to address them anymore. Practice had taken all that you had, and you just hoped you could make it through the night with your girlfriends. 

You honestly just wanted to curl up in your bed and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

Maybe they would let you for one more night. 

*****

Dinner had been… quiet. 

Frankly, most of their night had been quiet. 

An eerie silence seemed to settle over any space you were in, suffocating and heavy, unable to be broken even by a soft soccer game playing in the background. 

You seemed to be… sleepwalking in a way. 

Your eyes were open, but you were light years away, lost in exactly what thoughts they weren’t sure. 

This was much worse than when you were at UNC. 

But Alessia and Leah both resolved not to push you. 

They let you pull away from them both while you watched a random men’s game, cuddled into the far end of the couch. They didn’t press as you stared blankly at the screen, only chiming in when they directly asked you a question. 

With the way the night had gone, they weren’t entirely sure you would join them in bed, afraid you would choose to sleep in the guest room instead. Alessia knew if you did, they would be keeping watch outside the door in shifts. 

But you didn’t. 

You had crawled in between them, still dressed in sweats despite the high temperatures in the house. 

Things were again quiet while Alessia scrolled through her phone and Leah read her nightly chapter. You steered clear of touching either of them at first, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended you. 

Then you shifted. 

You rolled over slowly, pressing your face into Leah’s stomach. 

She lifted her book to give you space, carefully winding her fingers through your hair with her free hand. Her nails dragged along your scalp, and you were relieved at the familiar warmth and comfort that spread through your chest. 

You never wanted to associate her or Alessia with the feeling of him on your skin. 

It was easier with Alessia. 

She had been there to pick up the pieces after each camp. She had been on ground zero for the fallout. 

Leah hadn’t. 

You only knew Leah from the time you played against her. 

This was also different. 

It was like an army of souls you thought you defeated marching their way back through your mind, reigning old wounds, and ones you had so long pretended didn’t exist. They ripped apart the careful stitches you had used to pull yourself back together and pried open the covers you had placed on the things you could not face. 

This wasn’t a new wound. 

It was stupid that an article. Words. Had reopened the festering relics you thought you escaped. 

Leah turned the page above you, seemingly oblivious to the anguish pulsing through you with every heartbeat. 

But you knew she wasn’t oblivious. 

Her and Alessia had been watching you all day, trying to support you in their own ways. You knew they wanted to help. All you would have to do is ask. 

You made the decision before you could overthink it, rolling away from Leah and staring pointedly at the ceiling. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you both about what happened,” You said, your voice far more shaky than you thought it would be, and you felt the women on either side of you pause. “I just didn’t know how. I’ve never really known how,”

You didn’t look at them. 

You knew that if you did, you wouldn’t be able to talk about it. The words would get caught in your throat, and just like all of the other times you tried, you would be rendered speechless. 

“We know,” Leah said, her book closing with a low thump. “We’re not upset with you,” 

“We just want to understand,” Alessia added, setting her phone down on the side table. “The things in that article. It went on for so long,” 

Her voice cracked, and part of you longed to turn over and pull her into your arms. To tell her that it wasn’t that bad. To pretend, just like you always had. 

You swallowed hard. You couldn’t do that. 

They knew the truth now, and there was no escaping it. 

“I didn’t know what to do. There’s not exactly a recourse for stuff like this in America,” You explained. You needed them to understand that it wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to stop it. 

It wasn’t that you liked it. 

You were just powerless. One of many cogs in an outdated machine. 

Leah shifted, sitting up and turning to face you, sitting crisscross on the bed, a deep frown etched across her features. “Even on the youth teams?”

You shook your head. 

There hadn’t been anything you could do until you got to the senior team. Until a certain forward recognized the signs and had been so… stubborn and unrelenting in her support. 

“Alex helped,” You sighed., picking at the edge of your sweatshirt sleeve. “She got me to do the report and had Coach Riley removed. Apparently, I wasn’t the first, nor the last,”

You owed a lot to Alex Morgan. More than you would ever be able to repay. She had been the only one to know the true extent of the damage the coach had done, and she fought for you when you couldn’t fight for yourself. 

It’s why you felt so guilty when you left the team. When you left her. 

“It’s why she visited so much in North Carolina,” She said, rather than asking as realization brushed across her features. “Not because she wanted you to play for Orlando,” 

“She was worried, and my Captain at the time,” You mumbled, unable to help the way your lips turned upwards slightly at the mention of the old fight between you and Alessia. The fights about Alex taking a 2-hour flight to visit every weekend. The fight you knew now was centered around jealousy and fear that Alex was trying to get you to leave her.

Leah’s eyebrows pulled more tightly together. “If Riley was gone, why did you stop accepting call-ups?” 

“Vlatko was a lot like Paul. And Roary,” Your nose scrunched at the mention of their names. They left a terrible taste in your mouth. “He doesn’t understand player health and wellbeing. He told me to play on torn tendons in my ankle or risk my spot,”

Leah’s frown deepened as she tried to understand the full extent of what you had endured. “So you gave your spot up,” 

You nodded once. 

Your greatest regret in this whole thing was that you had given up playing for your country. Given up the thing you dreamed about for your entire childhood. 

“I was too tired to fight him too. Especially when I found places and people where I didn't have to fight at all. People who treated me like an actual human, instead of a playing card to be toyed with,”

You finally met your girlfriend's eyes, the weight of your words. The weight of the choice you had made was not lost on either of them. 

“And you carried the weight of it all on your own,” Alessia said, shifting and laying a gentle hand on top of yours, effectively stopping you from unraveling the hem of your sweatshirt sleeve. 

You shrugged. Sometimes you felt like Atlas, forced to hold up the sky, but it was better than being forced to watch the people you loved hold it. 

“You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help, but we can’t if you hide things from us,” Leah said, joining Alessia's hand on top of yours. “So no more secrets, alright?”

You bit your lip, finally nodding. 

Old habits would die hard, but you had to try. 

For them. 

Alessia squeezed your hand, and you turned, rolling over so your face rested in its favorite hiding place against her chest, and Leah shifted to spoon you from behind. 

The smothering sadness around you disappeared, driven out by comfortable silence your girlfriend's breathing, and the feeling of them pressed against you. 

There was something else nagging at the back of your mind. 

Something else you hadn’t been ready to face yet. 

No more secrets, you reminded yourself. 

“Emma called me last night,” You admitted softly against Alessia's chest. “she wants to talk at the game against Chelsea,”

The coach had been very polite in her voicemail, leaving an apology you knew she didn’t owe you, and suggesting that the two of you have a chat. 

Leah hummed behind you, lips brushing your ear. “Do you want to talk to her?” 

“She’s probably going to try to convince me to play for the US again,” You said, ignoring the question she asked you. 

“And do you want that?” Alessia prompted again. 

Your shoulders lifted and fell helplessly.“If anyone could convince me, it would be her,” 

“That didn’t answer the question sweet one,” Leah said again, pinching your side. 

You made a low noise, finally pulling your face out of its favorite hiding place. 

You knew what your answer was, and you knew that Alessia and Leah would support you. 

They would help you hold up the weight of the sky, and it would all be ok because you would do it together. 

Article and all. 

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi, :)

Can you write soft degredation for Tommy Miller where he is doing that to female reader. Tommy is a soft dom and the reader is a sub <3

Omg so sorry for the wait luv u for being patient E xoxoxo BUT I ENJOYED WRITING THIS IMMENSELY I need him especially when he shows up in tlou hbo HNGHFFJNN also I did use some twang bc they Texan also my fav thing is when Joel gets Distressed and the accent IS OUT

Kink Bingo - Degredation

Little slice o’ heaven

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: >2k

Tags: Soft dom, Tommy Miller is a sweetie pie who luvs his lady, pnv!sex, SOFT SAPPY LOVEMAKING, slice of life, set in Jackson, fake innocent reader, light Degredation kink, general warm n fluffies and orgasms

You couldn’t help but worry every time Tommy went on a patrol. But he was extremely capable, everyone in the safe haven knew that. Joel and Tommy once took out over 20 infected on a patrol, including those ghastly clickers and near impenetrable bloaters.

You stoked the fire in your shared cabin with your love, stew cooking on the stove. He’d radioed he would be back soon. You frowned, the asshole had been gone for a week. But you stayed busy, tending to the kids of the community, teaching them the ways of this new life. Well a life they’d only know.

There was a niggling feeling Tommy liked to go on extended patrols with Joel so they could bond. Which considering how volatile they were at first it warmed your heart. Padding back over to the pot of beef stew you stirred the contents, eyes flickering out the window.

People milled around, kids playing. You never thought life would become so…normal. Heavy boots and the creak of the door drew your attention, Tommy throwing off his jacket, running a hand through his long hair. He toed

off his thick boots, eyeing you softly. You smiled, putting a hand on your hip and teasing, “Bout damn time Miller.” He grinned and strode toward you, sweeping you into a big hug.

He nuzzled at your neck, drawling, “Sorry sorry, there’s my girl. You know how it gets up at those ski lodges.”

You rolled your eyes and teased, “Yep, playing guitar and laying on those couches you love. Leaving your poor pitiful baby at home, slaving over this stove and caring for the snotty children.”

Tommy’s grin widened, dark eyes sparkling. He kissed your lips quickly, big hands caressing your waist. In that southern drawl of his Tommy laughed, “Oh you’re fine, needy lil’ thing.” You harrumphed and turned back to the stove, pointedly shrugging off your lover.

Tommy snickered, coming up behind you and rasping in your ear, “C’mon baby, don’t you play cold w’me.” You turned to look, face innocent, “I’m almost done with the food, go on and sit down. Mercer gave me a bottle of wine he pilfered at a resort down the way.”

Tommy gave your ass a light smack, stomping to the rickety kitchen table. A pretty little flower from the greenhouse decorated the center. The fire crackled in the background. You poured the stew into some bowls, grabbing a loaf of bread to soak up the hearty flavor. Tommy called from the dining room, “You better be nice after we’re all fed, been thinkin’ bout your pretty self.”

You blushed and ignored the obvious sucking up. Carrying the plates to the table Tommy groaned, “Damn baby that smells good, much better than that dried shit Joel n’ I been eatin’.” You snickered, “Figured you’d need something to warm up.”

The pair of you ate in bliss, Tommy updating you on his adventures and you talking about the rowdy kids at the school. Time caught up, and the wine was drained. Suddenly you felt tipsy and flushed, Tommy’s lids lowering. You knew that look. Pillowing your hand on your chin you hummed, “What’cha thinking about stud?”

He leaned forward, a hand on your thigh, dangerously high. You’d been wet since his scent filled the room again. For y’all’s age difference, Tommy was insatiable. He crooned, “What d’ya think, sugar?” You couldn’t help the little whimper emanating from your chest.

That damn Miller man had you hooked since you stumbled into Jackson, half starved and crazed. He was kind and patient, teaching you more survival methods. As a former reluctant FEDRA teacher he found you a spot for schooling the kids. But with a much less militaristic, fascist curriculum.

People made jokes about Tommy being too old, but you liked it. He was dominant, rugged, and oh-so-sweet under the rough and tumble demeanor. Tommy snapped to get your attention, humming, “You all spacey already honey? Don’t take much for ya’.”

You trembled and whimpered, “Need you Tommy.”

He grinned, squeezing your thigh. The man hummed nonchalantly, “Why don’t you put up the dishes and I’ll get us all set up in the bedroom huh baby?” You nodded obediently, standing on woozy legs. The wine definitely did not help. Gathering the plates, a fork fell, clanging against the table.

You yelped and jumped, Tommy already up and assisting you to carry the dining ware. He sighed, “Sorry sweets, didn’t mean for that, here.” He walked you to the kitchen and pecked your cheek, his stubble brushing your soft skin. Your mind was blank as you scrubbed and put up the dishes, eager to get with your man.

The bedroom was dim, a single homemade candle you had crafted with the kids dimming the room. Tommy had washed, curls cascading to his shoulders— dark eyes gleaming. The heady atmosphere almost made your knees buckle. The Texan crooned, “C’mon over here darlin’.” You gulped and crawled forward, robotically beginning to shuck off your clothes.

Tommy grabbed you and pinned your trembling frame to the bed, tutting, “I get to undress my baby girl.” You whimpered, “P-please Tommy!” He laid plush kisses on your lips and neckline, rugged hands pushing down your pants. He ordered gently, “Up now, know how soft ya’ get.”

He shucked off your thick sweater, gifted by him of course, and the dreary long Johns underneath. Next came the bra, you shouting at the chilly air hitting your nipples. Tommy chuckled, warm hands palming the tender flesh. You mewled, “S-sheesh baby, feel so good.”

“I know sugar, young hot blooded thing like you needs this. Good thing your old man knows what to do. My girl.”

You arched into his lean body, hands pulling at his thick clothing. Little by little his tanned scarred body came on display. You simpered, “I missed you, handsome.” A calloused hand caressed your cheek, Tommy murmuring in your face, “Missed ya’ too hun, sweet thing. Can’t get enough.”

Tommy slowly crawled on top of you, smiling down softly, but the dark gleam in his eye betrayed the benign look. You spread your legs and laid back, outstretching your hands to wrap around the man.

Your lover pressed flush against you, nipping at your jaw while he adjusted himself to mold to your needy body. His hot length slid against your folds, sinewy thighs flexing. You whined his name, running fingers into inky curls. The man gasped, swearing lowly, “Christ you’re soaked sugar, can’t help yourself can ya? All sopping from me steppin’ into the room, naughty thing.” You flushed and scrunched your eyes, moaning, “You get me so hot- gosh- Tommy!”

He laughed again lowly, “You haven’t sworn yet.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You wanted Tommy to dick you down, not question your word choice. You spluttered, “W-wha?”

He replied as if you were a dolt, “Obviously I haven’t banged the schoolteacher outta ya’ yet.” You batted his shoulder with a scoff, thrusting up against his cock to get back to the matter at hand. Tommy groaned, hand gripping into the bedding beside your head. He grunted, “Fine fine, so needy.”

You watched as a scarred hand guided his dick into your core, mouth agape in ecstasy. You whined, “Yeah- yeah, god Tommy!” His pretty lips fell atop your own as he slid the extent of his hot, pulsing cock inside of you. The pair of you kissed softly, tenderly as he began to move. The old bastard was right, you couldn’t go (too) long without being fucked.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, softly moving along with his movements. Tommy murmured, “Everyone knows your secret baby,” he licked up into your mouth, “Prim little girly likes gettin’ it from ole’ Tommy Miller.” You whined and clenched around him, eyes darting away from his smug face.

He gripped your chin gently, guiding your vision back to his face. Tommy teased breathily, “Ain’t I right honey? You love being my little slut hm?”

You cried out softly, pussy convulsing around his cock. Which was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing all the right spots. You shoved your face into his dampening neck, whimpering at it all. Tommy cooed, hand skimming down the middle of your torso to play at your swollen clit.

“S’okay baby, I know. Don’t have to tell me none.”

His calloused thumb swirled around your bud, sending a lick of fire up your body in a wake of goosebumps. Your fingers dug into his back, moaning his name wetly into the tanned skin. Your thighs clenched harder around Tommy’s slim waist, mewling, “S-shit yes, m’yours yours!”

He groaned again, fucking into your pussy harder, thick tip bumping that spot that drove you wild. Tommy rasped, “Thas’ right, whose pussy is this huh?” You blubbered nonsense, panting and writhing under his undulating movements, earning a sharp crack to your ass.

You howled, “Yours Tommy! Fuck- my pussy is yours baby!”

“Thatta girl.”

Crack.

You scrabbled at his shoulders, moving your lips back to hungrily gnash against your lovers mouth. You moaned and whined between frantic smacks, drool collecting on your lips. You tightened around Tommy, pleasure making the world spin. You cried into his smiling mouth, “Fuck I love you, fuck me so good, m’so lucky.”

“Mmm, I’m lucky sugar, fucking hell, get the sweetest doll in Jackson. Ain’t nobody taking you away from me.”

He fucked brutally hard after talking, proving his point that you weren’t going anywhere. You yanked on his curls, the swirling on your clit sending you to the precipice. Tommy gasped and nipped your lip as you whimpered, “Closeclose, oh god, fucking god, Tommy!”

He moaned, “Yeah, yeah baby, that’s it, come for me.” He pressed his forehead to yours, panting roughly, the bed creaking under both of your panicky movements. Your eyes crossed as you throatily howled a wordless noise, cunt clamping down on Tommy’s cock.

You shivered and held to him, tears pricking at your eyes, overwhelmed mewls escaping your drooling mouth. Tommy swore and pulled out, painting your trembling belly with white streaks. He heaved, “Sshshit! Oh baby girl.” You replied, “Yeah, yeah, s’good!”

You blinked slowly, orgasm ebbing away sadly, Tommy blindly reaching around for a cloth to wipe you off. He did so lovingly, cooing, “Such a good girl for me. Love you.” He tossed the ruined fabric to the side, flopping next to you. Tommy laid on his side, arm draped around your waist.

You turned to face him, tucking a stray lock of his dark hair back. A goofy smile erupted on your face, sucking in a breath before teasing in a hoarse voice, “You been getting jealous? Everyone knows I’m yours.” Tommy rolled his dark eyes, pulling you closer to lay kisses on the bridge of your nose and lips.

“Maybe. Young bucks’ll get sent to the woods if I catch them hawking you down again.”

Snuggling closer into the man you giggled, tucking a leg between his own. You sighed, “I’ll make sure to give the kids a warning. Fool.” He shrugged and held you tight, a warm light in this strange world.

[lsleofthelost]

Do you have any descendants headcanons? I’m new to your blog.

ugh like so many….

if u want me to do something about a certain character or relationship just send me another ask but since it’s like a general question i’m gonna take it as an opportunity to talk about the Isle of the Lost because i genuinely spend so much time thinking about what it’s like, i think it’s such a cool setting

it’s actually pretty big, you know, to be able to house all the villains, their supporters and other criminals from all these different kingdoms + it’s big enough that Maleficent can effectively banish someone

i began trying to describe where i think everything is but i realised it would be easier to draw a map, so here’s hoping i’ll actually do it, but the important point here is that there’s a residential area that clusters around the bridge and the dock where the barges come in and then deeper into the island, it’s a dark forest

and on the other side of that forest is where the Evil Queen was banished to

i always thought it was weird that EQ is banished but Cruella is her neighbour, so i hc that Cruella was also banished for a time and that’s why she also lives on that side of the island

she probably tried to saw off Maleficents horns, or pluck her wings or something like that

(but Carlos can move freely because he isn’t included in the banishment)

i think there’s a layer of Isle population that doesn’t lean into villainy, like they weren’t anyone famous or didn’t commit huge crimes, so they just try to stay under the radar and live as well as the conditions allow it, it’s easier and safer to affiliate with a gang but they try not to get too involved

the Isle was not just bare when they started sending criminals over, Auradon built the bridge are, the docks for their barges, a few roads and those two story buildings we see, with the intention that they would be like apartments for the incarcerated

what they didn’t account for was that there would be more people than apartments and that the big villains would take more territory than what was assigned to them

so that’s how we get people who’s beds are behind their stalls at the market, or those who sleep in a row of beds in one room

there’s no set currency on the Isle, it’s barter or contracted labour (but mostly it’s stealing)

when the Isle was first established, the barrier was focused on not letting things out, not so much on not letting things in

so far a while, the barrier would let magic in, but if they tried to cast a spell on someone outside the barrier it would just fizzle out

but doing magic under the barrier was extremely difficult and slow going, felt like trying to run in your sleep

the big magic users were able to transform their residences, which is why, for example, Maleficent’s place is reminiscent of her old keep

they could also summon some smaller objects from their old lives, like EQ’s mirror shard

those who couldn’t do magic, like Cruella, made contracts with the magic users, and they were able to transform an apartment into Hell Hall to the Isle and she was able to bring some of her fur coats over

it was pretty short lived, when Auradon realised what’s been happening, they tightened the barrier to be impenetrable, allowing the absolute minimum of magic in

this minimum is how we get Mal’s glowing eyes, or poisons being able to work

there’s a crazy mixture of accents in that place, since it’s people from all these different kingdoms now forced to live on one island

Isle slang is just a hodgepodge of different languages’ slang and borrowed words

each big faction probably has their own way of speaking, since that’s who they interact with daily, like those who surround the Queen of Hearts and her Cards all speak with a slight british accent and use Wonderland nonsense words

[knights-and-theives]

Knights thieves and the thing line between them.

Chapter one

Along the weaving beaches and ports of the sword coast passing the lush Forests and untouched emerald fields, through the canopy and into an opening the seaside kingdom of Oppidum Mare comes into view, it's towering buildings and famously impenetrable fortresses solidifying it's superiority to the surrounding area.

Weaving through the bustling streets of strong medieval homes and businesses, people of all flavours walk the streets, the city being a cultural melting pot like most cities of this magnitude.

As the buildings become more distinguished and are of higher quality, the quality of people changes too, with many high members of society like lawyers and grand sorcerers walking on the much fancier streets below them.

Coming up to the castle, the royal palace. A fortress said to be blessed with divine protection from the gods themselves, this place is the sacred home of the royal family and their forever loyal guardsmen, just entering the castle is a privilege not everyone has, just in the entrance alone, the sheer magnitude and grandeur of the architecture and design is astounding.

moving through the castles halls is quite surreal, it seems very quiet and desolate with the occasional maid or knight roaming the halls tending to their duties, then, down an offshoot hallway from the main hallway is a relatively ornate wooden door with a brass plaque on the door that reads "doctor Ozma Oxnard, psychiatric consultation" written in fancy lettering, the voices of both the doctor and his current patient can be heard through the door.

A young man lays in a satin, therapist style couch near the centre of the room, as the doctor sits in a fancy armchair that sits near the headrest of the couch, holding a clipboard and pen, With a cup of warm liquid sitting comfortably on a small table next to him.

"I just feel like I should be happier about it, you know?" The young man says dimly, he seems to be in his mid 20's with short and scruffy brown hair tipped with a dark green, his skin is a light hazel, appearing to be quite clean and well kept, he wears a soft green cloak made of a high quality cotton that neatly covers his shoulders and lower back, it has a laced connection on the front to allow adjustments to the tightness around the neck, the cloak also has a sizable hood professionally stitched on at the back of the collar, the hood is made of the same material as the cloak, under the cloak, He is wearing an olive green casual tunic and a pair of baggy trousers that are a complimentary light wood brown, that go with his very dark brown leather boots, the young man continues to stare blankly at the ceiling, as he continues to question his entire life.

"Well..." the man pauses. Taking a moment to think before continuing to speak "with the promotion like the one you are receiving, it makes perfect sense that you'd be anxious, Mr Ravenguard" the man speaks with a classy accent and talks with maturity and wisdom, the man looks to be in his early 50's his hair greyed and styled neatly, he wears a casual suit, with his shirt worn loosely, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie nowhere to be seen. His circle shaped wire frame glasses sit comfortably on the brim of his nose as he looks at 'mr Ravenguard' with interest and concern as he jots down a few notes as 'Mr Ravenguard' speaks again.

"I suppose... I just," He too pauses, thinking over how he should word his next statement. "it's so much responsibility, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, not yet at least..." His eyes squint slightly, as he recoils into the therapy couch slightly.

"Look." he says affirmatively as he sets his clipboard down, adjusts his glasses as he leans in toward him. "there's no shame in being afraid of your responsibilities, what's important is that you uphold them despite that fear, like I have said to you before, bravery is not the absence of fear, it is acting in spite of it" he talks to 'mr Ravenguard' with a soothing wisdom that seems to calm him down.

"huh... I guess you're right... I mean I've always had a similar mentality while working in the guard, being brave and whatnot, but I guess this is a different situation to try and apply it to." He sighs, his eyes looking more lively than before. "thanks Oz, you always have something wise to say. I feel better about it all now, thanks" he says, smiling.

"oh please, just doing my job Mr Ravenguard" he says dismissively, as he returns the smile, albeit softer.

"cmon, we talked about this, please call me Leo, calling me Mr makes me feel old... no offense" he looks at Ozma, who seems amused by Leo's comment. Simply rolling his eyes as he continues to speak.

"of course, Leo" he looks back at Leo with his amused expression, he then looks down at his watch as his expression becomes slightly somber, "ah... it appears our time is up Leo. same time next week then?" He asks.

"oh, yeah. that sounds good." he grabs a notebook from a side table, it seems to be barely holding itself together, many stray notes and various pieces of paper jut out at different angles, but despite its messiness, it seems very well loved and cared for.

"Lemme see here.." he pauses for a moment as he flips through the book to a new page, the page he flips to has the current date neatly written at the top and various times and duties written on the page.

"yeah, seems all good to me, next time I see you, you'll be talking to captain Ravenguard" he chuckles as he proclaims with slight pride and authority, all to ozma's amusement.

"It seems so" he smiles and chuckles slightly in amusement at Leo's behaviour. "I do wish you all the best in the promotion" he continues to smile softly.

"thanks" Leo smiles more gently at Ozma before gets up from the couch and gathers his things, consisting only of his notepad and pen, Leo then walks to the door of the office, as ozma sends leo off "goodbye leo" ozma says, still smiling.

"later doc" Leo waves as he leaves the room and closes it behind him, entering into one of the castle's many hallways, the interior walls of the castle are tall and intimidating, in fact, to leo the whole construct has given off an energy of strength and power ever since he's been here, Leo turns left and begins walking down the hallway.

'i should probably freshen up a little before bed huh?, I doubt anyone wants to see a post therapy Leo right?' Leo thinks to himself, mindlessly walking down the corridors as he twists and turns without a second thought showing just how accustomed he has become to living in the castle guard dormitories.

'It's kinda weird how they're called "dormitories" even though we aren't students... I should bring that up to Ga-' *thud*.

"Ow!" Leo is snapped out of his thoughts as he clashes head first into another person, the stack of books they were carrying, dropping to the ground unceremoniously in a mess of paper and disappointment.

"Oh!, I'm so sorry" the girl, speaking with a high appearing to be some kind of maid, dressed in a black and white dress, also wearing a frilly maid headband, it adorns her short silver hair that curls inwards slightly at the ends, leo catches himself before he looks for too long, the girl seemingly too preoccupied with gathering her books, he quickly gathers himself, crouching down and begins helping the girl collect her books "it's alright, really. I wasn't looking where I was going" Leo apologizes profusely.

"t-thank you for the help I-" as she looks up and gets a better look at Leo she cuts herself off, recognising him near immediately "Oh my goodness!" her eyes widened slightly behind her round rimmed glasses "Mr Ravenguard, sir!" She stands up quite quickly, her arms still occupied by her books, standing almost to attention in Leo's presence. while Leo stood in front of her still rather confused.

"I'msosorryforinconveniencingyousirishouldreallylookwhereimgoingamitalkingfasticanttellsorryagainillgetoutofyourway" The girl's speratic apologies fall on deaf ears as Leo looks terribly confused as he tries and fails to comprehend the speed of which she's speaking.

"H-hey, slow down!" Leo states in a, which makes the girl  down, but she seems to be embarrassed about this whole interaction. "okay, let's start with your name, okay?" Leo speaks a little more confidently, shifting his stance to appear more casual.

"oh! R-Right.." her face is slightly flushed "Emily Strauthorn," she says more normally than before, she puts her hand between them, intending to shake his. "at your service, Mr Ravanguard" her voice seems more calm and professional.

Leo extends his hand back with enthusiasm, "Lieutenant Leo Ravanguard... Although you already knew that apparently..."he trails off his sentence as he shakes her hand "it's nice to meet you" he smiles at her which in turn makes her smile back as she returns the handshake.

The handshake continues for an uncomfortable amount of time before Leo finally breaks it and Emily starts to speak, breaking the awkward silence between them. "I should uhm..." she pauses as she sheepishly sways her foot back and forth as Leo scratches his head nervously "get back to work huh?" Emily says as she readjusts the books in her arms "y-yeah" Leo says. Emily then reluctantly walks off. She turns to him as she walks away "it was nice meeting you too" she says as she walks off, her footsteps getting quieter before she turns a corner and vanishes completely.

"Weird..." Leo says quietly, more to himself if anything, as Emily is definitely too far away to hear him. Leo breathes a sigh of relief before he continues on his way, still thinking on his brief interaction with Emily.

As Leo walks through the castle he glances at the walls of the grand hallway looking at the many oil paintings of the past monarchs most of which Leo doesn't recognise they all however, look very similar, royal clothing, distinguished expressions, soon Leo makes it to the end of the painting hallway, taking a right into a less fancy part of the castle, the right wing.

From what Leo remembers, the right wing is one of the oldest parts of the castle, supposedly a part of the initial construction when it was built around 300 years ago, Leo couldn't remember the exact number. but despite it's historical significance, it's current use is the knights dormitories,  of course Leo never questioned it.

Continuing through the right wings more rustic, but still regal hallways he eventually reaches the dorms, and by proxy, his sleeping quarters.

The door to Leo's dorm creaks open to an empty room as he stands in the doorway his dark room a stark contrast to the bright hall behind him, he flicks the light switch as he enters the lights flicker on, they glow a dim yellow as the light pours into the corners of his main room, to call it a "living" room would be giving it too much credit, he feels his cheek muscles ache from forcing his smile as he walks into his room and closes the wooden door behind him. his main room is adorned in basic wooden furniture, the decor is bland and uninspired, the drab walls are lined with little to no decoration, if you can even call it that. A very accurate manifestation of his mental state,Leo always made sure his quarters were kept in near mint condition, but despite how clean and tidy his room was, it never felt like a home, not to him Anyway.

Walking through his main room Leo sits down on the end seat of his sofa before falling sideways onto it, laying down more comfortably, he looks up at the wall in front of him, looking above the mantle piece at the clock hanging on the wall, he looks at it from his sideways point of view and sees it's 10.02 pm.

"Mmm" Leo turns his head and groans into his pillow out of his newfound exhaustion "I should really get to bed before I... Zzzzz" leo proceeds to pass out from exhaustion.

(Thoughts?)

[glenrocklibraryteens]

Book Review: The Shadow Over Innsmouth

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by HP Lovecraft

Genre: Fiction, Science Fiction, Horror

Rating: 1/5 - This book is terrible. I hate reading it. The writing style is bad, and the content is worse.

Reviewed by: DS

The Shadow Over Innsmouth is a novella written in the end of 1931 by HP Lovecraft. Lovecraft is widely known to be a pioneer of weird fiction and cosmic horror, and is most famous for his Cthulhu mythos. However, his writing is plagued with issues concerning prose and extreme racism. There is no better example than Shadow Over Innsmouth.

The plot: Olmstead is travelling around New England when he decides to get on a bus to Innsmouth, a city that has a lot of stigma. He goes into the town and learns the dark secrets of how the town came to be. He then tries to escape.

A common technique of giving criticism is to place it in between two positive points. A positive: The book is surprisingly progressive for HP Lovecraft. In the beginning, Olmstead asks to take the cheapest bus possible. The ticket man he speaks to talks about Innsmouth and the main reason for the stigma towards the town: “…The real thing behind the way the folks feel is simply race prejudice” (Lovecraft 4). Lovecraft never mentions anywhere in other stories that the characters are racist, so to have someone talking about how they are is frankly astonishing.

The positives end here. The book has a ridiculous amount of bad prose and word choice. The use of “terrific” as a synonym to “horrific” (“terrific” became a synonym for “great” at the beginning of the 20th century, well before the book was written) and “ponderous” being used at all signifies how out of date his vocabulary was, even for the time. His writing in and of itself is very unpleasant to read. It really feels like he picked up a thesaurus from the 1400s, adapted all of the words from Middle English to Modern English, and plopped them in his book without care for the poor reader.

His writing style isn’t the main issue, however. Here is the issue: I hate the contents of this book. Even ignoring the fact that the Innsmouth people, who were created from humans and fish-alien-things, are clear allegories of Lovecraft’s fear of interracial relationships, there are still blatant issues with how characters are written. Zadok Allen, an old Scottish man, is portrayed as drunk. He is written in an impenetrable Scottish accent, a staple of Lovecraft writing non-white characters. All of the people with “normal” speech are racist. The book cannot go two sentences without mentioning how weird the people are.

Finally, the book is extremely boring. Reading this makes my bones hurt. The characters are exposition dumps, even the narrator, and the main action is bogged down by bad prose. The twist isn’t very shocking, and I frankly don’t care about any event or character. I have a very hard time getting through the book.

The final positive is that the cover is cool. 

Overall, I would not recommend Shadow Over Innsmouth to anyone except Lovecraft fans and dedicated horror readers. Don’t waste your time or money on this book.

[americxn]

Little Witch | James March x reader

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ As part of the coven, Cordelia sends you to the Hotel Cortez to carry out a favour for James Patrick March, who has promised to pay the coven handsomely in return for your help. However, in using your gifts at the hotel, you reveal more than intended, igniting James’ interest in you.  words: 4000k + (not proofread) 

                                                  .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

    “Hello?” You pivoted slowly, neck craned to take in the glorious room you found yourself stood in. Calling out again, you spotted the front desk at the back of the room and headed towards it, the red velvet carpet soft beneath your feet.     “Is anyone there?” You braced your hands on the cool wood on the desk, leaning forwards in a futile attempt to peer behind the door against the far wall of the reception that had been left open a crack.      Huffing, you slung your designer bag from off your shoulder and dumped it on the floor. Why the hell was nobody here? Surely Cordelia didn’t forget to notify the staff to your arrival.     The creaking of the door behind the desk as it swung open startled you and you looked up to see a short, stout looking woman with big glasses that framed her round face in an adorable manner.        “Hi, do you work here?” You questioned tentatively.       “Yes, I’m Iris. Sorry, have you been waiting for long?” She reached under the desk, pulling out a large leather bound book and flipping it open.        “No, it’s fine,” you paused, noting the book she began to flick through.        “I, erm, I don’t have a reservation or anything.” The sound of the little women flicking through the pages of her book stopped abruptly, the large room falling utterly quiet. You cleared your throat, the wailing and screaming filling the deepest part of your brain threatening to spill into your consciousness; Cordelia had warned you about this. That this hotel, this glorious hotel, was certainly not as pleasant as it seemed. And you had felt it the moment you stepped out of the Uber that had deposited you on the front steps of the building, could hear the suffering in the back of your head, people pleading and crying. An awful feeling settling over you, a warning and a promise. Stay away or die.      You steeled your nerve and forced the growing butterflies in your stomach to settle.      I know what I’m doing.     “I’m y/n, I’ve come from New Orleans. Were you not notified of my arrival?”     The woman started, a guilty red tinged blooming on her cheeks.      “Oh, of course, of course. Sorry about this,” she paused to gesture around the empty room. “Busy week.” An awkward silence fell as she seemed to notice the utter stillness radiating from the entire building, and cleared her throat, coming round the your side of the desk and beckoning you.     “Follow me.” You did, stooping briefly to retrieve your bag and sling it over one shoulder. The woman led you up a shallow set of steps set into the far wall of the room, and into an open hallway. A few turns later and you found yourself at a cozy looking bar, the room opening beyond into a generous dining room, with multiple sets of tables and chairs occupying the space.    “Liz!” Iris called, pulling your attention to her and the woman who walked out from behind the bar.    “This is y/n. I assume March will come and collect her soon, but who knows with that man.” The last part was muttered on a tired sounding breath. “Keep her company, will you.”     “Of course.” Liz, as Iris had called her, hurried to the other side of the bar and you took a seat at a barstool, thanking the receptionist as she walked away.       “Can I get you a drink?” Liz asked you, leaning both her elbows on the bar and gazing at you with curiosity.        Your mouth opened to respond, but you paused briefly as you remembered your unfamiliar surroundings and the undead man you were going to meet and closed you mouth, shaking your head.      “I’m alright, thank you though.” A small small spread on Liz’s face.      “You don’t need to be worried, you know, although I don’t blame you.” She pushed off the bar as she spoke, taking up a cloth and setting herself before a pile of glasses, picking one up and beginning to polish it. “That Supreme of yours would bring this building down with half a thought if anything were to happen to you, I’m sure.” You huffed a small laugh in response.     “It might take a few of us to pull off something like that but yes,” you paused, unsure of how much this person knew and how much you should let on. “But I can’t lie, this building feels miserable.” You explained with a small shiver as the hairs on your neck raised in agreement. Liz chuckled. “You’re not the first to say that.”      You smiled slightly, a smile that turned into a grimace as the incessant wailing in your head got a fraction louder. “They agree too.” You muttered quietly. Liz cocked her head, a stack on freshly polished glasses beginning to pile up beside her.       “Especially...” you paused, pulling out a tendril of your power from the bottomless well inside you and allowing it to follow the call of the loudest voice that had filled your ears since you first set foot in the building. “Mary.” The mention of her name was like a catalyst, breaking through any sort of barrier between you and the suffering spirits of the hotel and a series of horrendous images flooding your mind. “Oh god,” you grimaced at the blood and gore that was projected in your head, a snapshot from some time ago, on the eleventh floor in a room directly above you. Your nose crinkled in distaste as you blinked the images away. “Poor girl.”       “What a helpful little tool.” Liz mused, setting the half-polished glass and cloth on the surface of the bar and looking at you intently. “Who else can you hear?”      You paused again to listen, but a scuffing sound on the carpet from the hall outside the bar caught your attention and you turned in your seat, a mere second before a man stepped into view.       “Ah, yes!” The dark-haired man exclaimed as he clasped his hands behind his back. You couldn’t help the one eyebrow that you involuntarily raised at the sudden appearance of this man, as you took in his odd clothes, the dark pencil moustache and the accent that you just couldn’t place. He wore a scarlet handkerchief around his neck, a stark contrast to the white shirt he wore beneath a dark waistcoat. “Mary.” He hummed. “Such a pretty thing, but my god was she loud.” He barked a jovial laugh as he stepped further into the room. You took an unsure glance at Liz, who met you gaze briefly before going back to her glasses.      “Are you...?” You trailed off, trying to get a reading on the man but coming up short.      “James Patrick March.” He spoke proudly, his chin raised slightly as if he were addressing a room full of important people.      You tore your gaze from him, slipping off the stool and donning your bag once more. “Right,” you nodded, “I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You said as you walked up to him, confused as to why his presence filled the room with blessed silence, like a blockade to the screaming walls and voices that had swirled around your head just moments before. But you meant it. He seemed to draw you in, his little smile somewhat endearing as he held out an arm for you to take, which you did, and found, yet again, that he was impenetrable, that you couldn’t hear or see anything when you touched him.     Cordelia had warned you of him, had apologised for choosing to send you to the hotel and gave you a brief rundown of his history, of the terrible things he had done in this hotel, his hotel. But now, as he led you into an ornate elevator arm to arm, taking your bag from your shoulder and putting it on his own in a gentlemanly gesture, happily making small talk with you as the elevator door closed, the only vibes you were getting from him was that of a harmless teddy bear.      You had to suppress a smile as you responded to his question of: “I trust you got here easily? How long did it take from New Orleans?” And then getting caught in the flow of his own rambling: “I wish I could visit there. I only went once before getting stuck in this building. Exquisite food. Oh and even better music.”     You found it incredibly endearing.      The elevator doors opened and you allowed James to lead to into the hallway, peering up at him as he continued to talk.     “Ah, here we are.” He exclaimed, pushing open the door labelled ‘55′ and allowing you to go in before you. The room was decorated in an odd sort of outdated way which somehow managed to still be cozy and welcoming; red carpet, dark oak furniture and strangely shaped light fittings. There was a large table in the centre of the room, a bed pushed against the wall beyond that and a small sitting area to the right. Looking to the left, you spied a door, open a crack to reveal a clean-looking bathroom beyond.      James pulled you out a chair and gestured for you to sit before hurrying round the table and situating himself opposite you.      “I must say,” he began, surveying you as you pulled your bag onto your lap and began taking out the items necessary for the location spell that you were to perform for James. He continued, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the wood of the table, “it has been a while since I have had a run-in with a witch. And an even longer time since I’ve had relations with your coven.”     Pulling out two large candles, you met his gaze and smiled softly. “Well, I’m happy to help.” You said mildly, just wanting to perform this spell for him and leave. This hotel just didn’t sit right with you and you were hesitant to spend more time than necessary within its walls. The room fell into a somewhat awkward silence as you pulled out the rest of the contents of your bag: a large map of Los Angeles and a thin, cruel looking blade. You cleared your throat quietly as you spread the map upon the table, James retracting his elbows to give you space, watching your every move intently.      You placed a candle at each side of the map, lighting them with half a thought and a lazy flick of your wrist. The impressed expression that fell over James’ face caused a barely suppressed soft smile to spread over your lips, a strange of sense of satisfaction unfurling in your chest.      Palming the small knife, you met his interested gaze. “Did you bring a connection with you?” You had assumed that Cordelia had explained the spell to James, that in order for you to find what he had lost, you would need some sort of connection with it. If it were an object, you would need a small part of the item or to perform the spell at the last place it was seen in order to retrieve it, but, as Cordelia had explained to you, as it was a person that had gone missing, you would need some of their DNA, some hair, blood, even a finger nail clipping, just anything that you could use to tether yourself to the missing person.      “Oh, yes of course. Miss Evers!” He called, looking at the door behind where you sat. You pivoted as the door opened, beholding the maid that bustled in, a small child clinging onto her hand. Your eyes narrowed.      “Bring him over here. Yes that’s it.” He welcomed the oddly-dressed child into his arms. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, his thick head of platinum blonde hair glinting in the candle light. James ushered the maid away before looking to you expectantly.     “What am I to do with him?” You ventured, the boy’s presence making you feel uncomfortable. No child should be involved in witchcraft, especially in such a spell that you were to perform.      But then again, looking at the boy, you couldn’t tell if he was entirely human. A deeply unsettling aura rippled off of the child, whose head was turned shyly to rest in James’ chest.      “This is the closest thing I could salvage from her. They are connected in a way that I am not required to explain,” he offered a tight smile. “So please,” he jerked his head at the blade in your hand, “continue.”      You frowned, but did as you were told, dragging the knife across your palm, hard enough to draw blood, a practice that you were so used to doing, the sting of the blade cutting into you barely registered. Clenching your hand into a tight fist, you held your hand out before you above where the Hotel Cortez was located on the map and allowed three drops of your blood to splash onto the paper. Your stomach twisted at what you had to next, meeting James’ eyes and holding out your hand. “I need to do the same with him.” You muttered.      James, to your surprise, took the boys hand and held it out to you happily, forcing his palm open and holding it steady as you raised the blade and drew a deep line across his little hand. Even more surprisingly, the boy didn’t so much as whine as you put his hand into a tiny fist and held it above the map, allowing for a few drops of his blood to fall on top of your own.      “Thank you.” You said to the boy gently, releasing his hand. James lifted him off his lap, patting his head fondly and called for Miss Evers again who returned and took the boy out of the room.      “Go ahead, witchling.” He said, a curious glint in his eye.      “Alright.” You breathed, surveying the map before you before letting your eyes fall shut. “This shouldn’t take too long. Remind me of her name?”      “Her name is Elizabeth. She took off from the hotel eight days ago. I need her back here.”      Nodding, you let this information and the quietness of the room settle over you, holding your hands outstretched over the map. Scrying was a pain in the ass, but it was what you were best at. You reminded yourself of this as you began the incantation, readying yourself for the feeling of coming out of your being, of losing control of yourself.      With each word you spoke, you began to feel the sensation of being pulled out of your body until your conscious being was hovering above the table, watching yourself utter the incantation with your hands held above the map, James’ eyes glued to your face in wonder. Below your hands, the little puddle of blood began to inch itself across the paper of the map and you concentrated as your vision began to dim, chanting louder as the candles flared.      God this hotel.      It was an effort to focus yourself as the memories of suffering clouded your thoughts and an ache began to spread from one temple to the other. Glancing at yourself, you cringed as you face began to pinch, a small drop of blood forming and dripping from your nose. Your chanting became frenzied, hands beginning to shake where you held them above the table.     The blood continued to trail across the map and you grimaced at the worsening pounding in your head, watching as the muscles in your jaw clenched.      “Y/n?” You started, having forgot that James was present and began to panic as he reached out a hand tentatively. If you touched you, you would be pulled back into yourself and the spell would be broken.      “No.” The word formed soundlessly on your lips, blood dripping from your other nostril. The blood on the map began to slow its journey, beginning to pool itself back together. Just a few more moments and- “Y/n.”       James reached over and brought his hand onto your shoulder, and you were forced back into yourself, an irritated protest forming on your lips.      But as his hand settled on your shoulder, a flurry of images emptied itself into your head with such force that you jerked.      The images were of James, his face the same as it was now but in various outfits. James stood before a half-built building, an oddly shaped hat perched on his head, James laughing as he popped open a bottle of champagne before a crowd of cheering people. And there he was again, stood in a dimly lit room with red carpets and walls, a mutilated body sprawled on a table before him. In this picture he sighed, blood splattering his face and a series of sharp, wicked blades having been discarded at his feet. You were forced to endure a series of similar images, James’ grip on your arm tightly as you tried to expel the pictures in your head, but to no avail.     And then you saw yourself from James’ vantage point as he stepped into the bar you had been in hardly thirty minutes ago, Liz polishing her glasses before where you sat, your bag abandoned at your feet. This image was quickly replaced by another, of you and James sat at this very table, but you were both dressed in finery, you at one end and him at the other, large plates of food set before you as you sipped on your wine, James laughing at a joke you had made. Then you saw the two of you running through the hallways of the hotel, giggling like children and shouting as he chased after you as you both barrelled through the hallways before James caught you and pushed you gently against the wall, his lips finding yours as you both laughed breathlessly.      The scene changed quickly, and you were looking through your own eyes as James smiled down at you with teary eyes, your white lace-covered hand clutched in his as you made your vows to love him, a priest stood a few feet away overseeing the ceremony in the reception of the hotel.     And then a glorious feeling working itself into you as the next image appeared in your head: of you sprawled out on the same bed that was behind James now, mewling in pleasure as James’ head worked between your legs. Your fingers were gripped tightly in his hair, a white gown and light grey suit scattered in pieces around the bed he worshipped you upon.     Only when the vision snapped to you cupping your swollen belly lovingly, did you finally find the strength to locate your physical self and slip back into it, pulling away from James. As soon as his hand fell from your arm, the visions disappeared abruptly and you blinked as you stared at him across the table, his eyes creased in concern.       Letting out a shaky breath, you reached up and wiped at your face, your fingers coming away bloody and James stood hurrying over to you. You felt dizzy and could barely see straight as his cold fingers hooked under you chin and you were forced to look right at him as he tutted quietly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleaning up the blood that had expelled itself from both nostrils and from the corner of one eye.      Had he seen or felt anything? Had he meant to put those images in your head?     You breathing faltered as he met your stare, the images that you had seen appearing again in the back of your mind, of his head between your spread legs as your back arched off the bed.     You shook this images from your head and forced yourself into action. You reached up and pulled his hand from your face.      “It’s okay.” You said, the roiling dizziness that you had felt giving way to bone-deep exhaustion. “It happens. This is a hard spell.” You reassured him.      He surveyed you carefully from a few feet away, the newfound tiredness of the location spell evident in the droop of your shoulders, the dimness in your eyes.     You gestured to the map. “Where the blood had formed is where Elizabeth is. I don’t know LA that well. If I were you I would go there quickly, she might move somewhere else.” Your voice was hoarse.      “Yes.” He drawled, “thank you, dearest.” You smiled weakly up at him, pulling your candles to you and blowing them out before using your magic to encourage the melted wax to harden and stuffing them back in your bag. With a lazy wave of your hand, the blood on your blade was gone, the well of your magic pleading you to let it rest. You pushed yourself to your feet silently.      “Whoa.” James darted forwards, catching you under the elbows as your knees gave out when you tired to stand.       “Oh dear.” He muttered in your ear as your bag fell from your fingers and your head fell back into his chest. You groaned softly.       Fuck. I pushed too hard. You thought as your eyes grew too heavy, your head drooping forwards as your body forced you to sleep, to recuperate. Yes, you had definitely pushed too far.       A cold hand settled on your forehead and forced your head back, James’ muttered, “it’s alright, darling. Thank you for helping me,” being the last thing you heard before your body’s demand for sleep pulled you under.     

                                                   .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

    Your phone buzzing on the pillow beside your head made you stir. You peeled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, reaching out with a groan and picking up your phone to answer it, bringing it to your ear and mumbling a sleepy “hello”.      Cordelia’s voice filled your ear. “Y/n? Are you okay? The hotel rang me and told me you would be back later than expected.” Slight panic sharpened her tone, making you force yourself to sit up. Before you, you saw the table where you had performed the location spell, the map still spread upon it. You remembered the images that James had projected into you with a shiver. A quick glance at the time displayed on your phone notified you that you had only been sleeping for a few hours but had missed your flight.          “Erm yeh, I’m fine. I’ll order an Uber and just get the next flight home. I’m fine, Cordelia. I promise.” You softened you tone, knowing how much the Supreme feared losing any of her girls.       “Okay, message me when you get in your Uber, okay? I love you.”       You smiled. “Love you too.” Hurrying, feeling uncomfortable that you had been left to sleep in this godforsaken building alone, you used the bathroom quickly and then gathered your things.       You had made it to the door of the room when you noticed that the low table beside the door had a plate laid out on it, a sandwich and a large glass of water set beside a note. It was written in pretty cursive and read: 

“Y/n. I hope you recover quickly. Thank you for your help, little witch. If you find yourself in the area again, please do visit us. JPM.” 

    You smiled softly, placing the note back down before draining the glass of water and grabbing the sandwich, munching on it as you made your way through the labyrinth of corridors, stomach sighing contentedly as you quickly finished the sandwich off, stepping into the elevator that would take you down to the reception.  

                                                  .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

     It had been a few weeks since you had made your visit to the Hotel Cortez. Now, you sat at the kitchen table, slowly making your way through your ‘theory of magic’ homework and laughing at a joke Kyle made from across the table when Cordelia strode in.

     You looked to her as she said your name. “I have another quest for you,” she began, her mouth quirking up at the corners. “You’re requested at the Hotel Cortez.” You stiffened almost imperceptibly, stomach flipping in either dread or excitement, you couldn’t tell. 

    “James March requests your company for diner.” She smirked and Kyle let out a laugh as your cheeks reddened. You reached into your pencil case and chucked a pen at him. 

    “When?” You asked Cordelia who was barely suppressing her laughter.

    “Wednesday. And I have already booked you a flight.” Your mouth fell open as she turned on her heel and began to leave. “I suggest you start looking for something spectacular to wear.” 

    You fell back into your chair as she left, defeated. Kyle was giggling.

    Today was Monday. You had two days to find something to wear. You stood suddenly, a combination of terror and excitement knotting in your chest and stalked over to friend. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pulled him up.

    “I have two days to find something to wear.” His expression quickly turned from amusement to distaste as he noted the determined gleam in your eyes. “And you’re going to help me.” It was your turn to laugh at his groan as you dragged him from the kitchen and into your room, forcing him to rate each outfit that you pulled from your wardrobe.

[ashbrea381writings]

Flying Blind: Chapter 1, Bats in Paris

Four-year-old Richard Grayson glared at the girl in front of him. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was just six weeks older than him, and right now, she was taller than him too. “You’re gonna lose.” He taunted in heavily accented French, “I got super high scores and you can’t beat them!” “Don’t even think about it! I’m gonna win!” Marinette’s fists were clenched and her face red. “Just you watch!” The Dupain-Chengs and the Graysons shared an amused look over the heads of the children. “How are you doing?” Tom asked, chuckling about the children’s antics. “We’re good, we’ll be starting another tour this summer, then probably settle down for a couple years before moving on.” The two children started shouting even louder, causing them to be dragged apart by their exasperated parents. This happened every competition, for years.

***

Five years later, Richard stopped showing up to competitions. Marinette was annoyed at first, grumbling about him being a chicken who didn’t want to face her. At another competition, a month later, she heard one of the judges talking about the Graysons, making a sad comment about the loss of so many talented people, the wasted potential, an entire family of fliers just gone. Marinette stiffened in shock, her eyes wide as she processed what they had just said. Bolting to the locker room, Marinette yanked her hair out of it’s bun and changed back into her street clothes, hiding in the bathroom stall and crying. When her parents find her some minutes later, they make sure she isn’t hurt and take her home. “He’s dead… Dick’s dead.” She told them tearfully in the car on the way home. “All of them are.” Marinette stopped going to competitions after that.

***

Ladybug could feel the tension in her shoulders as she confronted the man before her, Chat a step behind and to her left. “If your Justice League doesn’t want to help, you could at least stay out of our city.” Her arms were crossed as she glared at Batman. “Why do you think the League wouldn’t help?” Robin asked, his accent strong but his pronunciation carefully precise. “We only heard of the situation recently.” “Oh? I called the League two years ago when our mentor gave up his memories to prevent Hawkmoth from getting something important.” Ladybug spat, letting her disgust show without letting it be bad enough that Hawkmoth could sense it. “I got told to stop playing games and they hung up on me.” “Who did you speak with?” Batman asked, pulling out a small tablet to take notes. “I don’t know, they didn’t say. Male, light voice in the baritone range, sounded way too cheerful until he decided I was lying, then he was just an ass.” She shrugged and gestured to the city around her. “‘Paris is fine, we would have noticed if something bad happened.’” She quoted in a near-perfect impression of Hal Jordan that made Batman frown. “Did you mean to do an impression?” Robin asked, somewhere between surprised and trying not to laugh when the girl his age was able to deepen her voice that much. “It’s accurate, I was there to hear him.” Chat chuckled, crossing his arms and shifting to lean on just one leg. “The guy continued to rant about children making prank calls and how he didn’t even know how we had the number.” “The fact that we had it at all should have told him the truth.” Ladybug scoffed. “Look, I’ve been doing this for four years. If you really wanna help, you’ll need to make sure you don’t fall victim to Hawkmoth yourself.” “And how does one do that?” “Mostly by repressing your negative emotions.” Chat shrugged, looking out over the city. “To be honest, it’s getting harder for Parisians to keep up their hopes. Our ages don’t help either, there are plenty who keep demanding we give up our Miraculi to older, more experienced people, but not just anyone can wield them.” “The personalities of the people wielding them must mesh well with the Miraculous, or it corrupts you and either causes you to become someone you wouldn’t recognize, or makes you very sick.” “That explains why you can’t pass them on, but why were you two chosen?” Robin tilted his head, moving forward a bit more. “We were the best candidates at the time. Our former mentor read our auras to make sure who meshed with which Miraculous and gave us a test to make sure we were the type of people to help others even when it’s not in our best interests.” Ladybug sighed and turned to look as a loud ‘bang!’ sounded from the direction of the Eiffel Tower. “Always the tower, I still don’t get it.” Chat sighed, prepping to take off. “Don’t ask me, Kitty.” Ladybug grabbed her yo-yo. “Stay back out of the fight unless you see a civilian in danger. You don’t know what you’re up against.” Batman looked like he wanted to argue, but the teen heroes took off in the direction of the Akuma that was currently pulling pieces off of the Tower and throwing them at the ground nearby. Batman and Robin found a spot just outside the action to observe. Other members of the Miraculous Team were already on the scene, moving civilians and calling out information to each other. Viperion split off from the action to intercept Ladybug and seemed to have a lot of information. Once they conferred for a few moments, a suddenly weary-looking Viperion gave signals to several of the team members. The Akuma was released, captured, and purified. With the Cure cast, the Tower was repaired and the Miraculous Team collectively shared quiet celebrations before separating except for Chat Noir, who’s Cataclysm hadn’t been used. “LB and the others are going to recharge, check in with their families after the attack, and meet us. I’m to lead you to somewhere private where we can talk more thoroughly.” Chat was brisk, seeming tired. “Your Snake friend… He spent a good portion of the fight observing and only really called out instructions for the most part. Why is that?” Robin asked as they started running across rooftops. “That’s his part. Ladybug is Creation, I’m Destruction, he’s Intuition. He watches the fight and uses his ability to make sure we do not fail when we cannot avoid it otherwise.” Chat answered vaguely, enjoying the verbal cat-and-mouse. “Are you going to tell us what his power is?” Batman asked, his exasperation audible in his voice. “The more information we have, the better we can plan and the more help we can give.” “I’m gonna let Viperion explain, he’s a chill guy, he won’t mind telling you. Besides, they’re all gonna be there and I think LB plans to give you two a rundown of everyone anyway.” Chat explained, dropping down into a small garden hidden between buildings. There was a small storage shed that Chat opened, removing a handful of chairs and a folding table. “I believe LB plans on bringing refreshments, will you help me set this up?”

***

An hour later, the rest of the team had assembled, with more than just Ladybug bringing snacks and drinks. There was something for everyone, although Batman chose not to eat. “So, a rundown?” “My powers stem from Creation, I create an object that helps us in the fight, purify the Akuma, and my Cure repairs any damage done by the miraculous during that specific Akuma fight. If too much time passes after the Akuma was purified, I can’t put it right.” Ladybug began, pointing to Chat next. “His power is from Destruction, he can destroy any one item he touches or a portion of a surface such as the ground or a wall. He can control how far the destruction spreads to a degree, it’s something we’re working on. Viperion has the power of Second Chance, he sets a timer and within that span of time he can reset to the beginning as many times as he wants theoretically. The problem is that he’s the only one who remembers what happened in the timeline he reset, so he has to be able to remember what to do so we can succeed.” “Is that why you suddenly looked more tired during the fight?” Robin asked, brows furrowing. “Yes. Seeing your friends get hurt over and over will do that.” The shaggy-haired hero sighed, shaking his head. “As much as I dislike seeing it, I know that I can prevent it as long as I still have my power active and as long as I’m able to give them the right information when we reset. I’ve gotten a lot better than when we started, but it helped when Chat started to realize I knew what I was doing.” His eyes sparkled with a bit of humor and Chat shook his head with a goan. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Chat asked, stretching. “Nope, never.” “Anyway.” Ladybug glared at the two boys, but it lacked conviction. “You’ll have to give me the rundown later of how many times we reset. Moving on, Rena Rouge, power of Illusion. Carapace, Protection, his shields are nearly impenetrable.” Ladybug pointed out each hero in turn. “Honey Bee, she can paralyze a person with her stinger, most of these have a duration and are usable just once for now. Pegasus can make portals to anywhere, again, once and there’s a time limit after using it. King Monkey isn’t here right now, but his power disrupts those of whomever is touched with an object he summons. We have one more teammate who doesn’t get involved often. Their name is Bunnyx, and they don’t show up much unless we really need them. They travel through time.” “So you have a time-traveler to come pull you out? Then why don’t they tell you who Hawkmoth is?” Batman demanded. “Because one: that’s cheating, and two: that’s not how they’re supposed to figure it out.” Came another voice from above before a blue, white, and pink blur dropped down behind Ladybug.

***

Note: The competition is for Gymnastics if anyone’s confused.

[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged!

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[f1ct1onalplaces]

New to You

a/n: Hello everyone! This fic is a reader insert and takes place in Caption America: Civil War. It follows you and your significant other, Wanda. She has no romantic interest in Vision in this fic, but I leave hints that Vis likes her. I did this because I may or may not make this a series. We’ll see. Anyway, this is gender neutral so if you see anything that assumes a specific gender please let me know. Enjoy!

Summary: You try to cheer Wanda up but end up burning something in the process and when you try again you're interrupted by an unexpected guest.

TW: little bit of violence, mention of death, language, angst, self-doubt, kissing

"Oh m'god, oh m'god, oh m'god," I say as smoke seeps out from the oven. Quickly, I grab the oven mitts, open the oven, and grab the pan of burnt brownies while my eyes water from the intoxicating fumes. I drop them on the counter before using the mitts as a fan to try and disperse the smokey air before the smoke detector picks it up.

"What the hell is going on here," I hear a thick Sokovian accent say from down the hall. I pay little attention to her chuckles as I continue to fight the smoke. My peripheral vision makes out her outline leaning against the door frame. From just that I know she's dressed in a black long sleeve, a black jacket, a skirt that stops mid-thigh, knee-high socks, chunky black heel boots, and her layered jewelry. Wanda's usual style. I give a sheepish grin and shrug as she pushes off the wall to make her way towards me.

"Babe, you know cooking isn't your best skill." I laugh.

"You don't have to tell me twice," I respond continuing to fan the gray air around us. "I just thought I could do something nice. Guess not." Wanda rolls her eyes at my obvious attempt for pity. She grabs the makeshift fans from my hands, ignoring my grumbling protests, and proceeds to do her own thing. Her hands raise as red power flows throughout the room, gathering the smoke together. Once it's all encased within her power she releases it through an open window.

"Now that wasn't so hard." She croons to me. I huff and stare at my charred brownies.

"Say's the enhanced superhuman." Footsteps thud against the concrete and stop directly behind me. Hands slip around my waist, loosely grabbing my hips as a kiss is planted to the back of my neck.

"Your also an enhanced superhuman," She says with chin resting atop my shoulder. I shrug.

"Yeah, but all I can manage to do is turn invisible and conjure healing abilities." I place all my body weight on Wanda as I lean into her. She presses another kiss to my neck.

"Yes, that may be true but that doesn't mean your useless. Y/n your a valuable member of this team, plus you train with Nat and Cap, making you pretty skilled in combat." Her attempt to cheer me up does the exact opposite when she uses the word team. Since the UN meeting in Vienna, the "team" has divided, resulting in Cap, Sam, and Bucky being made fugitives. I decide to change the subject.

"How are you?" I ask my girlfriend. I feel the movement of her shoulders slump as she lets out a sigh.

"Guilty, horrified, ashamed." She doesn't need to say why. My body turns until our eyes meet.

"It wasn't your fault." Her head shoves into the crook of my neck.

"Yes, it was. Y/n, people are dead because of me" I shake my head and run my fingers through her hair, doing my best to comfort her.

"No, it was Cap's fault. I'm not saying it was on purpose, but he froze and didn't act quick enough. You were just cleaning up his mess." Wanda groans in my shoulder before looking back at me.

"What would I do without you." I glance over at my brownies.

"Well, you definitely wouldn't have to deal with burnt food all the time." At this, she giggles, a sound that makes me weak in the knees, before resting her forehead against mine.

"But actually, what would I do." Her green eyes peer into mine and my answer is simple.

"I could ask the same thing." Wanda smiles and leans in as close as possible without our lips touching.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?" Warm air caresses my face, mixing our breaths. A smile spreads

across my face and then I'm rewarded with a smile of her own.

"Of course." Her lips press to mine. I tilt my head back, gasping at the feather-light contact. Our bodies press together, desperate to fill our minds with each other, riding the presence of our ghosts. My fingers weave into her soft locks and give a light tug, pulling a sigh from her lips. Wanda leans closer to my body, hands firmly grasping my back, causing the both of us to stumble back. We both come up for air before diving back in, rougher and heavier. My skin is searing with each touch, every graze of a fingertip against my neck or her nails following the shape of my spine are coals being thrown into a furnace. Hot and smokey. Soon her lips aren't on mine but on my neck. Her teeth skim the smooth skin below my ear, followed by kisses to soothe the sensitive area. I grip the hem of her shirt to ground my buckling knees and it isn't until my back hits the wall that I realize we never stopped moving. My hands finally loosen and slip beneath her shirt, digging into her waist. I'm not sure how far we would have gone if it weren't for the explosion. Jumping back from each other we peer out the window to see fire. Instantly, Vision appears behind us.

"What is it?" I ask, still breathless from a moment ago.

"Stay here please." Vision then goes right through the glass with his strange ghost abilities.

"Cool." I mummer under my breath as we watch him shrink with distance. Wanda tilts her head with a troubled expression.

"It's probably nothing," I say, "And if it is there's nothing Vision can't handle." Her expression stays the same. Browse furrowed, her swollen lips in a line, and blank eyes that show she isn't listening to me.

"Babe," I start but it's interrupted when Wanda spins on her heels, hands in motion with a knife. The knife is ripped from its original position by magic and shoots at a man. It stops mere inches from their face once we both recognize him. Barton flicks the knife to the ground, not a flinch insight.

“Guess I should have knocked” Wanda walks up to him with me right behind.

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” His elbow bends behind him grabbing an arrow.

“Disappointing my kids,” he says as he shoots one arrow to the right, spinning around and then one to the left. “I’m supposed to go water skiing.” Quickly, Barton grabs both our hands leading us out. “Cap needs our help.” He gives a tug to my arm, properly sensing my hesitation. “Come on.” I glance over at Wanda, raising my eyebrows in question. Suddenly a voice behind us speaks.

“Clint.” We all freeze. “You should not be here.” Slowly, we all turn around to see Vision, who looks as intimidating as I’ve ever seen him. My mind races to find a way to convince Vis on letting us leave and a way to do it without anything getting physical. Barton though goes a completely different route.

“Really? I retire what, for like five minutes and it all goes to shit.” My mouth makes an O shape as I watch carefully. Though Vision would never severely hurt us I can’t help but think of what he’s capable of. To be fair, I’m dating maybe the one person that can overpower Vision.

“Please consider the consequences of your actions.” Barton doesn’t even think about his response.

“Okay, there considered.” Then from the two arrows, he shot electricity comes out, holding Vision in his grasp, for the time being. “Okay, we gotta go.” Barton and I start jogging away, but it only takes seconds for us to realize Wanda isn’t following. “It’s this way.” She stands there looking down at her feet and tugging at the sleeve of her jacket.

“I’ve caused enough problems.” My heart breaks, remembering our previous conversation. We both turn back and I’m prepared to beg her to come with us. Even if she decides not to fight, just to get out of here. But, once Barton decides to speak I leave it to him to do all the talking and instead decide to grab her hand, letting her decide.

“You gotta help me, Wanda. You wanna mope you can go to high school. You wanna make amend you get off your ass.” Then it goes to hell. His face goes blank as we both look back to see Vision our of the electricity. I pull Wanda and me out of the way as Vis goes for Clint. I grab her shoulders, making her look me in the eyes.

“Wand, you have to make a decision. I don’t want you to feel pressured, but I’m going. You need to know that whatever you decide I’ll support you, but I can’t stay here and do nothing.” Her eyes are on me though I don’t think she sees me. The look that occupies her face has changed from doubtful to perfectly poised and I don’t think it was me who got to her. I finally turn my attention back to the other two and am not surprised to see Barton in a headlock.

“Clint, you can’t overpower me,” says Vision, and that’s when I realize the plan.

"I know," he pronounces, pausing to look at Wanda. "But she can." Wanda circles in front of Vision.

“Vision that’s enough, let him go, I’m leaving” Her magic is a sphere in between her hands, fingers constantly moving to keep it alive.

“I can’t let you,” he responds. Then, vision lets go of Barton As he loses control of his ghost abilities and is forced to his knees by red magic. Vision struggles to get up and the eye contact they hold leaves an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He sinks closer and closer to the floor.

"If you do this they will never stop being afraid of you." The words come out in between breaths that betray how close he is to losing. His words cause my fists to ball up, angry at the way Vision chooses to say this to Wanda. Trying to insert fear within her bones in order to keep her locked up. The only reason my fist doesn't find a place in his face is partially due to his impenetrable skin, but mostly because of the way Wanda responds.

"I can't control their fear, only my own." She pushes her hands down and with that motion goes Vision. Vision’s shoved down multiple floors, creating giant holes throughout the compound. Once she stops the house is silent with the eagerness to escape before Vision recovers.

“Oh.” Barton looks down. “Come on, we got one more stop.” I grab Wanda's hand, tugging her away from what she just did, and peck her on the lips.

"You did the right thing, no one is going to blame you." I decide to leave out the part about how skeptical I am about everything, but I know Cap would never start something he knew was wrong. So, if he needs help that's what I'll do. She nods in understanding and kisses me again to show she's with me. Our little bubble is popped when we both catch Barton staring.

"So, you two are, umm." I let out a snicker at his helpless confusion. Wanda smiles before answering his incomplete sentence.

"Dating. Yes." This time he laughs.

"Good for you guys. I presume it's pretty new?" We start to jog our way out of the building and to a van pulled just outside the gates.

"New to you," I say elongating the last word.

"Shit," I hear as we get into the van and buckle ourselves in. "I owe Nat twenty bucks."

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

how do you know what class you're in?

Your social class in the UK?

I think it’s really hard to define, and I honestly think most people in the UK “just know”- although I also sort of know that’s a stupid thing to say.

There are economic factors and there are cultural factors, and it’s also down to your family history. And there are classes within classes too- you can be upper middle class, or upper working class, for example.

The following is semi-serious, semi tongue in cheek, and I’d love my followers to chip in too!

Working class: Your family have traditionally worked in non-professional jobs. These might be skilled trades, service/hospitality jobs, “unskilled” jobs or casual work. These days, they might be self employed, but they would be unlikely to employ someone else. There are varying degrees of financial comfort, and these days, your family may own their own home but you’re not “wealthy”. It’s unlikely your family have assets or investments beyond one property and cars (if they are doing well). If you’re younger than about 35, you or your siblings might have gone to university, but no-one in your parents’ generation has. Your parents probably have a degree of debt beyond a mortgage (if they have one). You probably spent time in childcare when you were young because your parents had to work.

You probably speak with a regional accent and use dialect words. You also use words like serviette, desert, pardon etc. Someone in your family is really into football and supports a team that isn’t in the premiership- if they are into rugby then it’s rugby league unless you’re from Wales or Cornwall. Your female relatives are probably quite house-proud and take a lot of care over their appearances. You probably have a hobby, but it’s probably not one that requires a lot of expensive equipment.

Family and community are important to you- it’s likely you haven’t moved that far from where you grew up (unless you were really desperate for work). It’s possible the area where you grew up is pretty deprived, although it may be increasingly a victim of gentrification, depending on where you are from. Your family home may have been a council house or rented, and it’s very likely that your housing didn’t always feel secure.

If you celebrate Christmas, this was probably really important to your family and your parents might have gone a bit overboard with this, even (especially) if they couldn’t afford it.

At some point in your life, you’ve used the word “scab” as an insult- even if you didn’t know what it meant.

Middle Class: Your family have traditionally worked in more professional jobs. These may not require a degree (especially historically), but we are talking things like accountant, lawyer, doctor, teacher, civil servant etc. They earned a salary rather than being paid by the hour. Some degree of their assets were probably inherited, and they may have some investments e.g. shares or a buy to let property, but this isn’t the whole of their income (unless they are retired and have a decent pension too). Your parents owned their own home, and are/will be mortgage free by the time they retire. You probably had regular foreign holidays growing up. Your parents are likely to save up for big ticket items, rather than get into debt. You’re not the first generation in your family where people went to university. It’s very likely you had a stay at home parent for part of your childhood.

If you speak with a regional accent, it’s probably pretty soft, and it’s likely you don’t use a lot of regional dialect words. You call your midday meal lunch, and your evening meal dinner. If you go to the pub to watch a sports match, it’s more likely to be the six nations than a football game. But it’s equally likely you aren’t into sport at all. Your parents probably made you get swimming and music lessons growing up, and you may well have a hobby- possibly one that requires a bit of financial investment on your part. You like to think you have a sense of style, but you don’t like to look like you are “trying too hard”.

Your family probably don’t all live in the same place, and you may only see them relatively rarely. It’s likely your parents have friends from uni or NCT classes who to some extent take the place of family in your life. You may not have a strong sense of community and it’s very possible that if your parents live rurally, you might have moved to the city for work. You’re probably not very religious.

At some point in your life, you have sneered at someone for being a “chav”. It’s likely you’re quite insecure and there’s lots of things you don’t think of as “classy” and try to avoid.

Upper-middle Class: Your parents are pretty wealthy and almost definitely went to university. You went to a well known university. They likely went to private school and you probably did too (although not a super famous one). If you didn’t go to private school, you went to a grammar school, church school or the most sought after “comp” in the county (your parents probably moved house to get you in). Someone in your extended family or friendship circle owns a second home, or at least a really nice house in the country. You/your parents almost definitely have inherited wealth and assets, as well. You/your parents may just work in a well paid job, but they may also own a medium to large size company. You probably had multiple holidays abroad each year (and it’s very likely you went skiing). If one of your parents’ cars broke down, it would have been very easy for them to replace it, without needing to save up or get into debt, but you don’t have any fear of debt, either. It’s very likely you can get a job through “connections”. It’s likely they employed a cleaner and possibly a gardener, and maybe au-pair or nanny as well.

You speak with an RP accent, and you might have “pudding” after your “supper”. It’s very likely you play a team sport of some kind, probably rugby, cricket, hockey or maybe lacrosse. You might row, or ride horses, or sail. You’ve always been able to do whatever expensive hobby you like, and money has never been a barrier to progressing. You may well shop in charity shops, and brag about the bargains you find there. You may drive an “old” car, but it’s probably a 4x4, genuinely vintage, or quirky in some other way. You have inherited jewellery and possibly some home furnishings. If you’re talented in some way, (sport or artistic) you were probably given every opportunity to persue this.

Networking is important to you and you feel part of a community. You’re probably quite socially confident. It’s likely you know some of the people you work with socially as well. You probably expect to live a reasonably traditional lifestyle, and you’re less likely to be part of a “sub-culture” (unless you’re making a career as an actor or a musician). You probably observe religious festivals, but you don’t go regularly to a place of worship.

On some level, you probably think “poor” people bring it on themselves through poor decision making.

Upper Class: Historically, your family were rich enough not to have to work for a living, and someone in your extended family owns a very large amount of land. You’re related to someone with a title. You went to a well known private school and you may have boarded. It’s likely your family own multiple properties- some are rented out and some you live in. Some or all of these were inherited, rather than bought. You may have a “private income” of some kind. Your family may have had to “diversify” in recent years, and you may actually be working more than your ancestors did. You might have gone to a well known university, or you might have gone to somewhere like RAU. Your family own multiple cars, and one of them is probably a 4x4. It’s likely your family employed “staff”. At some point since the second world war, your family may well have had to sell off property etc- but your money worries are “how do we avoid selling off land” not “how do we afford to replace the washing machine”.

You talk like you are from the 1940s, and everyone you know has a stupid sounding nickname. You use your own form of impenetrable slang- probably specific to whatever school you went to. You’ve probably been hunting and you know someone who plays polo. You go to events like Royal Ascot, Henley Regatta, the Boat Race and Goodwood etc. You ski. You’ve been on multiple long haul holidays, and you probably went on a “Gap Yah”.

Everyone you know knows everyone else you know and you’re suspicious of people who you don’t have acquaintances in common with. You’ll get married, in a church (you are CofE and white) and having children is fairly important to you. You’re probably involved with some kind of charity work.

You pride yourself on not being a snob, because you got on well with the people you met in Africa, but you’ve never actually spoken to someone who grew up in a council house.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

The Senator and The Chiss

Until We Meet Again: Part 1/?

Thrawn x Senator!Reader, Female Pronouns

Summary: You are a newly appointed Senator of you home planet, trying your best to make it through Ascension week in one piece. Things take a turn for the interesting when you meet a Lieutenant of the Imperial Navy unlike any you have seen before.

Loosely based on an anon request.

A/N: I’m not exactly sure where this is going. I plan this to be a series of one shots revolving around this Senator!Reader. If your interested in reading more about her and Thrawn, feel free to send any request my way! And remember REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 2.6K

Ascension week was proving to be more exhausting than you had anticipated.

You understood what was expected of you and had mentally prepared to be on your feet for every day of the celebrations. But after only three days, the names and faces were starting to blur together until nothing mattered except going home and finally getting some sleep.

You clung to the sides of the ballroom, enjoying the moment’s peace while you could. You had long forgotten where exactly you were or even the host’s name. A twist of guilt resided in your stomach because of it. With any luck you could remain anonymous for another hour or so, as to not appear rude when you left early. The dress and hairpiece you were wearing, however, were making things difficult.

The wardrobe was ceremonial in nature, meant to mark you as a leader of your people. The dress was perfectly tailored to your figure with vibrant greens interwoven with golden and silver thread sewn together in a striking pattern. An elaborate crown was braided into your hair making it appear as if golden vines resided there blooming with silver flowers. It was a striking sight, meant to represented the life of your homeworld and the pride of your people.

Governor Lir had declared you a vision when you had arrived, assuring you were a testimate to Danu and would be the talk of Courscant.

You had thanked him, but knew his words rung partially false. Even when your aids had finished the final touches, you could feel yourself being buried under the weight of the dress. The metal vines poked and pulled at your scalp. You had almost tripped upon first entering the ballroom. If it weren’t for having Governor Lir’s arm, you would have fallen. It was obvious to any with a pair of eyes, and especially yourself; the dress was wearing you rather than you wearing it.

Perhaps you just needed practice. You had only been Senator of Danu for a handful of months and had just settled into your office on Courscant a few weeks ago. It would take time to adjust. But as you looked over the sea of people in the ballroom, all veteran politicians, military men, and various other powerful figures, it was becoming clear time wasn’t on your side.

You took a sip of your wine. Maybe you could convince Governor Lir you needed to rest. Surely he had introduced you to enough people for the evening.

You spotted him across the room, engaged with a handful of other Outer Rim governors.

It would have to wait. You didn’t want to be accidently sucked into another trade routes discussion, if you could help it.

You continued to walk until you came across a set of heavy curtains. They appeared hastily put up. Peaking out of one of the corners you could just make out the bright colors of some kind of mural. Most likely the host didn’t have time to finish it before the start of Ascension week. Regardless, it was exactly the reprieve you needed. Taking a quick glance to make sure you wouldn’t be seen, you ducked under and out of sight.

You turned to face the wall, not wanting to risk backing into wet paint. But, as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, it was clear such precaution was not necessary.

The mural was old, much older than any of the other paintings and portraits placed around the ballroom. The color was starting to fade, but their vibrancy would not die an easy death.

The entire wall was covered in what could only be an ancient star map. Circles and lines weaved along, connecting worlds and stars and planets together in a delicate dance. Each planet stood bodly on their own while still emphasising the importance of the lines connecting them to the rest.

You took a small step back, craning your neck to try and catch every brush stroke. It was then you noticed fresh paint along the corners. At first you assumed it was restoration, but as you examined closer, the darker, subtler color scheme told you otherwise.

A small sting of pain came to your heart. They were painting over it.

The rustle of fabric interrupted your thoughts. You turned toward the sound, an apology ready on your lips when they froze there in wonder.

A new party had entered your sanctuary, but he was unlike anyone you had ever seen.

He was alien, a rarity you had found at events such as these during your short time on Coruscant, but he didn't belong to any species you could name. His humanoid appearance and blue skin should have pointed clearly toward a Pantoran. But his face lacked the usual golden facial tattoos. More importantly his eyes weren’t the usual black or gold; they were a glowing red.

He stood tall exuding an air of confidence which left you transfixed. At first you thought he might be a general or even a prince. But, his uniform and plaque marked him as a Lieutenant of the Imperial Navy.

It felt wrong, somehow.

You blinked, suddenly realizing how long you had been staring. The only comfort you could find was that he had been staring back.

“I’m sorry,” you said, automatically. “Was this your hiding place?”

You held back a wince at your own words. Why would someone like him need to hide?

To your relief, he did not seem to take offence as his lip curled into a mildly amused expression. “No,” he said, in accented Basic. “I was merely hoping for a chance to admire the artwork. Though, it appears I have stumbled upon your hiding place.”

Your eyes darted down in embarrassment. “It was not my intention for it to be so. I just needed a moment to breathe and well…” You looked back toward the painting, and the same regretful pain tugged at your heart once more.

“I will leave you to it, then,” the alien said. He turned to leave, and a sudden panic took you.

“There’s no need,” you said, quickly. “Please, there is more than enough room for two and you may not have another opportunity.”

He paused a moment. His expression was unreadable as his red eyes gazed directly into yours.

You found yourself holding your breath, not even daring to blink.

Then, slowly, he nodded and took a place by your side.

You stood in silence, each allowing the other to observe the mural in peace.

It was actually rather pleasant. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you had a comfortable silence with someone.

“What do you know of this painting,” he asked.

His tone was surprisingly soft. If he hadn’t addressed you directly, you would have assumed he was asking himself.

“Not much I’m afraid,” you answered. “Judging by how faded it is and the subject matter, I would guess it was commissioned well before The Clone War.”

“That was my conclusion as well. You have a fondness for that era, I take it.”

You gave a small frown. “What makes you say that?”

“You were facing the mural instead of the entrance,” he said, not bothering to take his gaze from the wall. “For one reason or another, this piece overshadowed your desire to remain hidden.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the truth of his statement as your cheeks grew warm. “I suppose you’re right. In truth, I have a fondness for any era of peace in our galaxy’s history. The Republic was so for nearly a millennium…” You stopped then, a familiar lump forming in your throat. “Until it wasn’t.”

“And what of the Empire?”

You shrugged, swallowing the lump as best you could. “Too soon to tell.”

He said nothing for a moment. His eyes still remained on the mural, but you knew he had taken your words into serious consideration. To what end, you could only guess.

“What other thoughts do you have on the painting?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“What do you see? What do you believe drew you to it in the first place?”

He settled his eyes on your now, with just the same focused attention as he had the wall.

“You me aside from its use as an ideal hiding place,” you asked.

His lip twisted upward slightly. “Yes, aside from that.”

You nodded, and allowed yourself a moment to ponder the question. Your eyes wandered again to the mural, to the shapes and colors and the looming ridged strokes along the edges.

“I think it has more to do with the contrast of what is to come,” you said, thoughtfully. “A riot of color rebelling against the darkness.”

You turned your eye to his. They seemed to burn in the dim light. For a moment, you thought you might burn yourself. You looked away, suddenly feeling very small and childish in your explanation.

“But, I am no expert.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But your answer is telling, nonetheless.”

Your back stiffened, and you raised your chin a little higher. “Do you presume to know me Lieutenant?”

“No,” he said, calmly. “I would not presume to know anything without more data.”

“But you have come to some conclusions.”

“Theories.”

“Which are?”

You were standing even straighter now. You would not allow yourself to be intimidated, especially by a man you barely knew.

He paused then. Something in his expression faltered, as if taken by surprise.

A small swell of pride came to your chest. You had a suspicion surprise was a foreign emotion to the alien.

It only lasted a moment and the impenetrable mask reclaimed its place on his features.

“As I said, I cannot make any certain claims,” he said, carefully. “I can only speculate. But I believe I am correct in saying, you are much bolder than you allow yourself to be.”

You blinked in wonder, not knowing entirely what to say. Slowly, you regained control of your vocabulary. “I will take it under consideration.”

He gave small nod in acknowledgement.

Another silence fell between you. It was not as comfortable as the last one. A new tension was in the air. What it was, you couldn’t name. All you knew was your ears were growing deadly hot.

“For such an intimate evaluation of my character, it feels odd I don’t know your name,” you said, in a light tone.

“Then, allow me to provide a remedy.” He straightened to attention. “I am Lieutenant Thrawn, first weapon’s officer of the Blood Crow, Imperial Navy. And, you?”

You matched him, straightening your posture and holding your head high as if to present yourself to a King. “I am Senator Y/N of Danu,” you said, with a curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lieutenant Thrawn.”

“The pleasure is mine, Senator.”

The amused line had made its way back onto his lips.

It was a small change, but you instantly fell at ease making your next question easier to bear.

“Forgive me if I sound ignorant,” you said. “And please know I mean no disrespect. But, I do not believe I’ve seen a member of your species before. May I ask where you come from?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Thrawn assured. “I’m afraid you would not have heard of my home planet as it is not on any of your star maps. I can, however, tell you that I am Chiss.”

You felt your eyes widen. “Chiss?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of the Chiss?”

“Only stories, folk tales really.” You were gawking now, you knew you were, but it couldn’t be helped. “I wasn’t entirely convinced you were real.”

“Indeed,” he said. “And how did a senator come to hear such stories?”

“Danu is part of the Outer Rim, boarding Wild Space,” you explained, mentally shaking yourself out of your shock. “My family has employed a number of traders who have explored the Unknown Region looking for hyperspace lanes or even just new trading partners. They all come back with stories.”

“Which you were inclined to listen too.”

You shrugged. “A good story is a good story, it doesn’t matter where it came from or how true it is. Although, it appears some of them may be.”

“Perhaps,” he said, thoughtfully. “I would be interested to hear these stories. A small handful have been relayed to be by my translator, Ensign Vanto. I am curious what similarities and differences may arise after comparing them to another source.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “And I would be fascinated to hear the stories straight from the Gualaar’s mouth,” you said. “But before we begin, I have one more question to ask of you.”

“Which is?”

“What do you think of the mural?”

Thrawn paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You were able to deduce some of my character from the exercise,” you said. “It’s only fair I be given the same opportunity.”

Thrawn again, said nothing. Finally he nodded. “You’re quite right.”

He was quite a long moment.

You could see the wheels of his mind turning behind his eyes. You would have given anything to know exactly what he was thinking. But as was becoming a habit, you could only guess.

Another moment passed before he blinked smoothly back to reality.

“I believe you and I see much the same thing,” he said. “But our conclusions differ as to their ultimate meaning.”

You felt your lips purse at his rather cryptic answer. You were about to ask him what exactly he meant when the curtains behind you parted.

“Lieutenant Thrawn,” an older man snapped. “I’ve been looking… Oh, my apologies.”

He faltered slightly upon seeing you, but soon gained his footing as he stood to attention.

“No need to apologize, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “Allow me to introduce Senator Y/N of Danu. Senator, this is Colonel Yularen of the ISB.”

The Colonel gave a small bow in greeting. “An honor, Senator.”

“The honor is mine,” you replied. “In truth, I should be apologizing to you. It seems I’ve distracted the Lieutenant from his duties.”

“Only for a moment,” the Colonel said, in a good natured, but firm tone which oddly reminded you of your grandfather. “But, I’m afraid I will have to steal him away from you.”

“Of course,” you said, even if you felt a small prick of pain at the loss.

He looked to Thrawn. “Lieutenant.”

“One moment, Colonel,” Thrawn said, as he turned his attention to you. “I would like to continue our discussion at a later date. Is there a time and place convenient for you?”

“I will be attending gatherings every evening this week,” you said, trying to repress the sudden surge of excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “However, I will be in my office tomorrow afternoon, if you can spare the time.”

“I am certain I can. Until tomorrow Senator.”

“Until tomorrow.”

He gave a small bow and turned to follow Colonel Yularen back into the light of the ballroom.

You stood there a moment reeling from the experience. So many questions buzzed in your mind each fighting for your attention until they became a jumbled mess. He thought you were bold?

You shook the thought away, but it didn’t stop your cheeks from growing warm once again.

Perhaps it was too soon to tell, but you had a strange feeling you would be seeing much more of Lieutenant Thrawn than just your upcoming meeting. You weren’t sure what to make of the sensation that now beat fast in your heart. All you could do was wait and see what the galaxy had in store.

Taking a small breath, you step forward towards the light. Your dress felt lighter now. The crown upon your head did not pull and prod. Your steps were smooth and easy.

However this played out, it was certain to be interesting.

[musicallisto]

Congrats on 800! Can I please get a a vanilla milkshake for a male ro from the wayhaven chronicles?

I'm an infp and my enneagram is 4w3 (how would you rate being a 4w3?) My hogwarts house is ravenclaw and I'm a Taurus. Im 5'9 and I have long wavy black hair and brown eyes.

It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do I get really talkative and outgoing. I love reading, my favorite genres are fantasy and poetry. I also enjoy psychology, history and fashion. I adore adventures, witty banter, joking around and having discussions on different topics

I'd consider myself kind, empathic and smart. I love helping out and people come to me to vent or for advice and. I also love learning about new things and I've always got excellent grades without really trying. I can be quite dramatic and stubborn and I tend to be withdrawn at times. I get frustrated easily and I'm quietly competitive. I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic and I love being in love. I also have a way with words and I can talk my way out of any sticky situation!

Thank you very much, congrats once again! And I'm glad you finally did the accent challenge! The birds squawking in the distance added a very nice touch. Have a great day 🥰

thank you so much for your kind words (esp. about the accent challenge, I didn’t even realize you could hear the birds so much but I’m happy you enjoyed it)! I’m a 4w3 too, so I hope I understand your personality well - though from what you’ve described, we sound pretty similar in character! I must say that I think you and adam du mortain would make quite the nice pair...

Your first time meeting Unit Bravo is, thanks to Felix and Nate’s best efforts to put you at ease and start an agreeable companionship between all of you, pretty memorable. They are nothing but kind and welcoming from the very beginning... even Mason, in his so peculiar way.

But your relationship with Adam is a little less... warm; which is not to say that you don’t get along, but you are merely cordial to one another.

Truth to be told, you are a little bit intimidated by the vampire, by his ice-green gaze and his commanding silhouette, as though he were a stoic and impenetrable Army major... and with nine hundred years of life and war under his belt to boot.

Heavens, his eyes... were they always so bright and icy, or is it another of his vampire characteristics? And is it still only respect that you feel towards him?

The others, especially Felix, tease the both of you a lot about that so-called “tension” between the two of you. Tension that you categorically refuse to acknowledge, because it’s not real, and Felix is making things up, and there’s nothing weird or unsolved between Adam and you. Right?

But it’s true that you make one hell of a team when you’re partnered up together for rounds and nightly patrols in Wayhaven, or when you have to take on a mission for the Agency near the town. It seems as if you could understand each other perfectly, without the need for arguments or conflict...

Though Adam truly appreciates how well you express yourself. Your skill with words and negociation abilities have gotten you out of tricky situations before, and you always seem to rub people the right way, even when they’re a full pack or werewolves or other ungodly creatures.

And your eloquence reminds him of home, in a sense, or at least of all the times he’s traversed in his long, long life. It’s like you’ve always been there, by his side, even five hundred years before, murmuring exactly what he needed to hear in the crook of his neck.

Inevitably, after spending more and more time with each other on missions, he starts to let his skyhigh walls down as you progressively warm up to him.

A pretty important bonding factor is reading, because I imagine Adam is an avid reader, and he’s devoured books from all the time periods he’s lived through. Particularly classics and historical fiction, which give him a semblance of beloging to the worlds he left behind. So when he learns that you are a bookworm as well, he feels like the connection between you two has deepend. He’ll recommend you his favorite books and even tell you about the times he met some illustrious authors in the past.

It’s still the slowest of slow burns to actually give in to temptation and get in a relationship with him (I mean, this is Adam we’re talking about), but the sheer love you feel when you’re with him makes every second of the agony worth it.

He totally understands your need to be withdrawn every now and then - he feels that too, very often, and he needs some time alone in nature or surrounded by his work to recharge. He’ll totally give you whatever space you need, and always be here to give you a shoulder to lean on, or cry on should you need it, when things get rough.

He also appreciates your hopeless romantic side - contrary to what you might think, he is, in a way, kind of like that as well. Not that he’s one to make grand romantic gestures to express his affection, but he truly feels and recognizes the love and anguish he feels very viscerally, like a Shakespearian hero. But you’re here to help him externalize it all; even when he doesn’t find the words, or he’s afraid you might think it’s stupid of him to feel the way he does, you encourage him to ramble and get it all out of his system before he explodes.

He’s a bit clumsy on his feet, but if you want to share a dance, he’ll give in just for you. He’s seen countless waltzes and balls in his life, from the most powerful European courts to simple village festivities in his Medieval hometown, but nothing comes close to the peace and joy he feels when he holds you in his arms and tries his best to not step on your feet.

You’re all in all an absolute power couple, both when you’re fighting demons and just being domestic and fluffy together.

800 follower sleepover

[rpd-rookie]

Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: Chris Redfield has always been an honourable man but the things he's seen at Spencer Mansion leave him no choice. He must infiltrate Umbrella's French laboratory, whatever it takes, even if it means manipulating you. But how far he is ready to go?

Author’s Note: This fanfic involves a Post RE1 / Pre-Code Veronica version of Chris Redfield since it focuses on his trip to Europe that is mentioned in RE2. You will probably notice that I used the letter Chris wrote to his S.T.A.R.S. friends. It is actually what inspired this fan fiction in the first place. Gotta be honest with you, this fanfic made me shed blood, sweat and tears. I guess I rewrote it twice before coming to a rather satisfying version and I must have tear my hair out quite a few times when I was struggling with grammar. (BTW, tell me if you see some terrible grammatical mistakes so that I can correct them) Anyway, as usual, I hope you will like it. Please don’t forget to like/reblog and tell me what you think of it in the comment section.

Tags: Romance, Fluff, SMUT, Explicit Language, Manipulation and Treachery. Angst is come ;-)  

Also available on AO3

“Better failing with honour than winning by cheating, son”.           Chris could perfectly remember his father telling him those words. It was in 1990. Chris was a seventeen years old teenager finishing his Junior year, and they were driving back home from driving school right after learning he had failed his theory test contrary to that asshole Colin Monroe who had aced it thanks to a crib cheat hidden in his sock.       He could also remember that his father’s wisdom had barely consoled him on that day - despite what he had let him believe - and that it had taken him quite some time to swallow the bitter pill and even more time to admit that his father was indeed right and that he should live by this motto. Months actually. Plus a tombstone with his parents’ names on it.       Chris never regretted listening to his father. He never regretted promising him that he would do his best to become the man he would have wished him to be. That promise had made him the man he was today. A man who would never stray from the right path however tempting treachery could be. Someone loyal, upright and honourable. Someone his parents would be proud of.

And yet here he was, eight years later, a twenty-five years old cop, breaking the promise he had made his father and doing something so deceitful and selfish it would certainly make him roll over in his grave or wish he were still here to give his son a earful.     But today, it was not something as silly as his driving licence that was at stake. It was the justice he owned to his fellow S.T.A.R.S. members, those he had lost at Spencer Mansion and those waiting for him in Raccoon City. It was the security of god knows how many people. This time, Chris had a burden on his shoulders that was way too heavy for him to accept a possible failure. And as terrible as it sounded, he was ready to do something bad for the greater good, whatever the cost, whatever his dead father may think of him from beyond the grave.

                      “To my bestest S.T.A.R.S. buds,

           How are you all doing in that drab, old station? Hanging in there against old Irons? Me? I just got back from a date with a hot chick. Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella.            Europe is amazing. One month is in no way enough to even scratch the surface. Maybe I’ll extend my vacation for another six months.                Barry, don’t even think of coming join me. Wouldn’t want to make all the cute girls cry, yeah? So you just leave the babes to me.              Jill, if Claire tries to contact you, please let her know I’m OK.”

Chris put down the pen on his nightstand and took a look at his letter one more time with a proud amused smile. He knew that his friends, contrary to Irons, would get the hidden message behind that lame womanizer persona that was so unlike him. And hopefully, maybe the police chief would tell his friends at Umbrella his S.T.A.R.S. poster boy was nothing to worry about and just currently cruising for pussies in Europe.  

“Writing to your friends again?” Chris looked up to see you standing in the doorway to his bedroom. You looked very tired, exhausted even, judging by the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, your loosened bun and the way you were leaning against the framework. “Yeah, to give them a small update on my vacation.” Chris folded the letter and put it in the drawer of his nightstand; not very keen on letting you read it. “Tough day?” “You have no idea.” You dropped your bag at the entrance of Chris’ room and went to fall down on his bed, your head on his crossed legs. “Wanna talk about it?” Chris asked as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t say much. Professional confidentiality and all. ”         “I didn’t know working for Umbrella was like working for the CIA.” Chris joked, trying to tone down the disgust he was feeling each time he had to pronounce the word Umbrella. You smiled, too tired to laugh and glanced at Chris who was staring at you.            

God, why did you have to be so beautiful and so sweet and yet so not good for him? Why did you have to work for Umbrella? And how did he allow things to be that way between the two of you?

Chris could remember the day he had first seen you, the day he had chosen not be moral and honourable for once in his life.       It was almost a month ago. He had been in Paris for a couple days, trying to find a way to infiltrate Umbrella’s French laboratory, which was even more impenetrable than Zone 51, the lab being a real fortress (with automatic secured doors, CCTVs, guards and a severe ‘no visitor allowed’ policy) only accessible if you were the lucky owner of a white and red badge. And you had happened to be one.       Leaving the lab for lunch break, happy to finally feel the warm sun on your face, it hadn’t been your beautiful [h/c] hair loosely tied back in a high ponytail or your twinkly [e/c] eyes that had caught Chris’ attention (even though yeah he had noticed). No it had been that badge, that stupid badge carelessly hanging from the front pocket of your lab coat. And it had also been that badge that, unfortunately for you, had made him organise a plan to trick you and get his hands on it, that badge that had made you the victim of his very first treachery.  

Your meeting was – unbeknownst to you – the most unnatural meeting ever. Chris had calculated everything. When? Lunch break. Where? The nearby boulangerie where you used to be eating. What to say? “Désolé. Bonjour. Puis-je m’assoir avec vous?” which meant “Sorry. Hi. May I sit with you?” in French of course, because Chris had figured that playing the part of the poor American tourist with a terrible French accent trying to adapt in the city of love would be much more appropriate for the situation.       And it had worked. He had sit at your table, had exchanged a few words with you and had found you surprisingly friendly and adorable for an Umbrella employee.             But of course, as the majority of Chris’ plans, the meeting hadn’t ended up the way he had imagined (meaning him discreetly stealing your badge) simply because of a tiny detail he hadn’t thought of; you had forgotten your badge at the lab, leaving him no choice but to improvise and organise a second meeting that he had dared called a rendez-vous.

And here he was, weeks later, sharing your apartment and occasionally your bed and definitely bogged in a way bigger deceit that the one he had originally planned, one he knew he would not be able to get out easily.     And to answer the question, did Chris manage to get his hands on your badge? Well, yes and it was now safely hidden in his room to be used at the proper moment. If only he could shut his guilt away as well. Things would be much easier.

“What did you do today? Sebastien told me he barely saw you.” Sebastien was your other roommate. A nice redhead guy as well as a curious unstoppable chatterbox. “Oh, nothing interesting. I woke up early to jog at the Bois de Boulogne then I spent the rest of day wandering in the city.” That was half a lie. Yes, he had gone for a run at the Bois de Boulogne but he hadn’t spent the afternoon visiting Paris. No, he had spent his afternoon trying to reach the FBI from a phone booth in order to know if they had some news concerning Irons or the Mansion Incident. Unsuccessfully.           “If you want, we can spend this Saturday together. I’m sure I can show you few places you haven’t seen yet.”           “Aren’t you working this Saturday?” You were always working on Saturdays. “I need a day off to clear my mind a bit.” That didn’t sound like you. You were too much of a workaholic to prefer spending your Saturday playing guide to your American roommate. “Now, consider me worried. What’s up at work?” Chris asked, concerned not only because he knew something terrible could be happening at Umbrella but also because he couldn’t help but caring about you, Umbrella worker or not.         “Those last days have been a bit tough that’s all.” You wouldn’t tell him more. You couldn’t. For so many reasons.     “Well in that case, what do you think about me running you a nice hot bath?” You glanced up at Chris. He had drawn your attention in a very interesting way. “That depends. Will you be with me in that bath?” You asked cheekily.         “Do you want me too?” He smirked and you put your hand on his neck to pull him closer to your face. You pressed your lips softly against his; sighing in this kiss you had been dreaming about all day, as Chris brought you against his broad chest, his strong arms now holding you tight against him. You felt so safe in his embrace and that’s what you needed right now.        

Chris pecked you a couple times before laying one last kiss on your forehead with a tenderness that made you melt in his arms. “I’m gonna go run you that bath, okay?” You nodded. “Join me in ten minutes.”       Needless to say that those ten minutes were the longest you had ever experienced. Probably because they gave you plenty of time to dwell on the things you had experienced today at the lab, the things you had seen, the things you wanted to forget and yet couldn’t.           You got up and grabbed the bag you had left by the door to search for a small notebook that you opened with a desperate sigh. Then, you took the pen on Chris’ nightstand and started scribbling notes and drawings in it. A habit you had taken a few months ago and that somehow helped you from not cracking up.  

You guessed you took more than ten minutes when you heard Chris clear his throat by the door, only wearing a small towel around his wait. Goodness, what a sight.         You quickly closed the notebook as soon as you spotted him and put it back in your bag while he pretended not to notice. “Haven’t you forgotten something, mademoiselle?” He smirked and you giggled. “Have I?”     “Yes. I think there is a naked man waiting for you in the bathroom.” He joked and you approached him with a amused yet cheeky smile. You put your hands on his chest, feeling his muscles against your palm, as you looked up at his face with a mischievous look. “Is he hot?” “Right now, he is very hot.” He confessed, absolutely in the mood to play with you. “Better not keep him waiting, then.” You purred and you put your hand on one of the straps of your summer dress to gently make it slide along your shoulder.     That small sight of your naked skin made Chris hiss and unable to resist the urge to lay a trail of soft warm kisses from your neck down to your shoulder. You could tell the smoothness and the perfume of your skin were driving him crazy as his mouth soon started devouring you and muffled growls began vibrating in his throat.     His calloused hands roamed down your back, making you instinctively move your hips closer to his crotch, and he unzipped your dress. It dropped at your feet revealing your body that Chris gazed at with his brown eyes darkened by desire. They lingered on your breasts and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to touch them. He loved them too much for that. And so, his hands cupped them and his thumbs brushed your hard nipples. “Gosh, Y/N.” He breathing in, trying to calm his heart pounding in his chest “I can’t wait any longer.” Chris suddenly grabbed you and hoisted you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, which made you yelp.     Nevertheless, you instinctively wrapped your legs around him, making his towel fall to the floor. “Oops. That was not voluntary.” You giggled. So did he. “Right.” And he rushed towards the bathroom, with you in his arms, his lips devouring yours in a hasty burning kiss on the way.

He set you up on the double washstand and quickly locked the door behind him, giving you a brief view of his divine firm behind, though you liked the front as much if not more right now. “What are you looking at like that?” He smirked. Well, his chiselled chest, his carved abs and that big hard cock. What a silly question! But you couldn’t say that and so instead you urged Chris to come closer to you, spreading your legs to welcome him between them.   He obeyed but instead of giving you that lustful hug and passionate kiss you were expecting, he crouched in between your legs and remove your panties, kissing your smooth legs, from thighs to feet, as he did. You clearly knew where that would eventually lead but you moaned anyway when you felt Chris put your legs on his shoulders and burry his face in between your thighs. “I told you I’d help you relax.”         “What about the hot bath?” You tilted your head towards the bubble bath he had run for you few minutes ago.     “Oh don’t worry, we’re getting there. But first you know how much I like licking your pussy.” He winked and his tongue lapped your slit up to your clit without waiting another second. A loud moan escaped your mouth as Chris sucked your bud loudly, pulling it between his lips, and he looked up at you with a proud smirk before focusing his attention back on your pussy.     He was good, very good even, way better than any other men you had ever been with. He knew exactly how to please you. He knew where the tip of tongue had to swirl to make you shiver, knew the right spot to suck to make you moan and when to add his fingers to make you cry out his name - which was right now by the way. “Oh my god, Chris!” You mewled loudly as you felt one of his fingers entering you, his mouth still eating your pussy up. Your legs instinctively clenched around your lover’s head while one of your hand found its way in his short hair. Then you heard Chris hum in between your thighs as he kept on licking you and fucking you with his finger, adding one more in the process. You pulled his hair back, forcing him to look at you. “Fuck me, please. Fuck me now.” Chris complied and, after his tongue slid one last time in between your lips, he stood up to catch your lips in a new passionate kiss, making you taste your juices on his expert tongue. You could feel his cock against you, hard and slightly throbbing already, showing how impatient and aroused he was.       “Enter that bath, quick.” He ordered with a deep voice that made you shake against his body.

You obeyed and gladly let your burning body sink in the bubbly water, the lukewarm water cooling you off a bit (which wasn’t a bad thing). You were soon followed by Chris who entered the bath with a brutal eagerness that made the water waved a bit too much around both your bodies. “Don’t flood the apartment.” You giggled as you spread your legs to make him a place in the tub. “I can’t promise you that.” He confessed amused, as he grabbed his length in his hand to jerk it off a bit and guide it towards your begging entrance waiting for him under the water. He tickled your swollen clit with his tip before entire you almost smoothly making you draw a sharp breath.         “Damn, you’re so tight.” Chris growled as he took hold of the edge of the bathtub above your head to push himself deeper inside of you, enjoying your wet walls around his cock. “You’re fucking big, you mean.” You said with a painful hiss that brutally calmed his ardour and made him consider immediately pulling out of you. “Sorry. Am I hurting you?” He worried, aware his girth needed get some getting used to and afraid that he hadn’t given you enough. “No, no. It’s okay. Just give me sec.” You cleared your throat and adjusted yourself underneath Chris, spreading your lips with your fingers to welcome him the way you both desired. Hard, big and rough. “Okay. Good now.”           “You sure?” He asked, definitely not willing to hurt you. You nodded and pressed your lips against him to show him how much you wanted him right now. He got the message and started moving inside of you, slowly yet deeply for now.

You dug your nails in his biceps and started moaning; taking delight in feeling him going in and out of you. It was just the most divine sensation in the world. He filled you so perfectly. “Chris. Please. Faster.” You begged.             He complied and started pounding you more quickly, hands still on the edge of the tub, towering you with his muscular body to assert his dominance over you the way you liked it. But it wasn’t enough for you and so you wrapped your legs around him forcing him to go balls deep inside of you. Chris smirked, loving your initiative. “You like it deep and rough, baby?” You cried out.   “I didn’t hear you”   “Yeeess.” You whimpered with small tears in your eyes. He hammered you harder, spilling water on the bathroom floor, and you clenched your walls around him. “Oh god!” You yelled, out of breath.

He was relentless, so strong, so fast, so deep you could hear his body slam against your skin and echo the splashes of the waves in the tub. “Come here.” He lay on his back and urged you to come and straddle him. And so you climbed on top of him, admiring how handsome he was underneath you. “Guide me into you.” You did as he said and directed his throbbing cock to your wanting pussy, welcoming him again inside your wetness, Hands pressed against his pectorals, you immediately started undulating on top of him, feeling the pleasure coming back in your lower stomach.         “That’s it. Keep going.” He whispered, gazing at you.

Chris’ hands crawled up your body to reach your breasts and play with them a bit, delicately pinching your pointy nipples, as you kept riding him. You knew he loved groping them and you also knew how much he loved them in his mouth as well. Therefore you decided to bent over him a bit, just enough for his face to reach your chest, holding on to the wall in front of you with one hand to keep your balance. Chris smiled, understanding perfectly your little game, and pulled one of your tits to his mouth to catch one nipple between his lips and suck it greedily.       It was apparently very pleasurable for him (even maybe more than it was for you, and it was a lot) since he started humming and growling loudly. You enjoyed hearing and seeing him like this very much, so much you stopped riding him to focus on this spectacle.            

It didn’t last long though as you soon felt you lover’s strong hands gripping your ass to make you bounce on his cock again. “I so want to cum, baby. Please make us both cum.” His words made you shiver of excitement and you locked your lips with his as you started rolling your hips onto him again.       But it was certainly not enough for Chris since after few seconds he suddenly grabbed your hips to slam deep in your pussy and relentlessly pound you from underneath. You screamed his name and hold on tight to him. He was very rough, so rough you could barely breathe, but you didn’t mind at all.     Soon, you felt your face become so red and your bundle of nerves become atrociously sensitive. You knew you were ready to explode. “Chris. I’m gonna cum.” He put his hand on your clit to stimulate it and help you reach your release, his cock hammering you even harder than before.       You clenched your pussy around his throbbing cock, making him groan because of how tighter you suddenly were. “Tell me I can cum in you, baby.” He asked, panting. He was very close too. “Yes, cum in me.” You didn’t need to say it twice as Chris immediately growled in your ear, slowed his pace, and spread his cum in your pussy with a last animalistic grunt as you came undone on top of him, yelling his name, your powerful orgasm almost knocking you out.

You collapsed on him, incapable of remaining straight. “Wow. That was something.” He chuckled, exhausted and out of breath, and so did you.             “You’re okay?” You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows. What a ridiculous question. “No, I’m being serious, Y/N. Wasn’t I a bit too rough?” He asked.       “You were perfect.” You admitted before kissing him tenderly.           “AND SO FUCKING LOUD!!!” You heard shouting from behind the wall. You both looked in the direction of the noise, understanding that your roommate had probably heard everything but despite the embarrassment you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Poor Sebastien.       “Why don’t we get out of that bath and cuddle a bit in bed? The water is getting cold.” Chris offered.   “I’d like that very much.” You smiled and managed to leave the tub, using the little energy you had left in your sore body.            

As you dried yourself, you saw Chris head towards the door with a towel draped around his waist. “Where are you going?” You asked.   “Taking some briefs in my room. See you in your room in a minute?” He smiled and you nodded, impatient to spend the night in his arms. “Can you bring me back my clothes and my bag while you’re at it?”           “Sure.”

Chris closed the door behind him and headed towards his room where he put on some clean underwear and picked up your stuff as you had asked. But the moment he grabbed your bag and caught a glimpse of the black notebook he had previously seen you inside, he knew he would probably not join you as soon as he had told you.         He watched it first, hesitant, knowing perfectly well that what he had in mind right now was very bad. It was one thing to steal a badge, but spying on you, that was going too far. “No, Chris. No.” He whispered to himself. And yet, he grasped the notebook and opened it.   It was a diary of some sort judging by the numerous dates he noticed as he quickly leafed through it. And if it was a diary then it was indeed very private, intimate even, certainly not his to read. He thought about putting it back in your bag for a second, but what if something valuable to his investigation was inside that notebook?         “Argh, fuck.” He cursed as he went to the first page.

“May, 14th 1998

Today made me regret the time I was just the intern bringing Professor Rochois his morning espresso. Umbrella is asking more and more of me, and the pressure they put on us workers is driving me insane. But what’s worse is that I’ve got the impression they are not telling us everything, especially concerning the experience the seasoned scientists are conducting in the north wing. But I guess I’ll soon have answers to my questions since Professor Rochois said that he was genuinely impressed by my devotion and was thinking of promoting me.”

Chris frowned, apprehension knotting his stomach. That didn’t sound good at all. He needed to learn more about that even if the moment was far from convenient. You could show up anytime and catch him red-handed.         He turned a few more pages, rapidly skimming through some notes he would definitely read another day, until he spotted a weird drawing of some octopus-like creature. What the hell was that thing?

“June, 7th 1998

The NE-a parasite. A parasitic species indented to retain intelligence. It has been developed by Umbrella Europe for years. At first I thought it was just a revolutionary way to cure brain damage. After all, that’s how it had been advertised to me. But the more I study it, the more I believe Umbrella may be up to something else other than treating brain injuries or Alzheimer. I don’t know what and I’m not even sure I want to know.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His body was shaking and he could feel fear eating him up and he started imagining terrible things.   What if you were involved in the Spencer Mansion incident? No, no. You couldn’t be. And yet, Chris decided to have a look had the entries you wrote in July. He needed to reassure himself. One immediately drew his attention.

“July, 28th 1998

My superiors have been quite on edge lately, something to do with an incident that happened with the American branch of Umbrella from what I overheard. I don’t know what it is though, but I’m sure it must be pretty big because they doubled down security in the lab. The team and I have the impression we are living in a 1984 remake. The CCTVs are always recording and I sometimes have the strange sensation I’m being permanently spied on, even in the locker room. Maybe they have doubts about me because of the many questions I often ask about Project Nemesis.”

Project Nemesis? Y/N, what the hell were you working on in that lab?

[inkribbon796]

Egotober Day 11: Who is the Strongest in the Land?

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Prompt: Strong

Summary: There’s a bit of a debate in the Coalition. Who is the strongest? Silver’s superpower? Bob’s shields. Or Robbie’s magically infused muscles?

A/N: So, guess who saw the new Sanders Asides and already wants to make content? Me! Unfortunately for the plot I will have to wait until I can include the new pairing in so heads up on that.

Warnings: none

For years there had been a question between the heroes.

Who was the strongest hero? Unlike with Jackie’s speed, Roman’s imagination-based powers, or the fact that Logan was unbeatable in trivia pursuit games; the “strong” category had no clear first place winner.

If you asked anyone in the city there was only one name they gave: Silver. Mostly because he was able to lift cars and similarly heavy objects throw them an eyebrow-raising distance away.

Ask certain heroes like Joan and Logan or even King who were a bit more literal about the powers around them, and they gave a different answer: Bob.

Logan’s reasoning was simple: the veteran hero had impenetrable barriers. Blunt force objects, explosives, magical attacks, Dark’s aura, even Silver using his strength to rocket him across the fight like a huge pinball wasn’t enough to even crack the barrier. The only thing stopping the barrier was Bob’s stamina in maintaining said barrier.

Of course Marvin was one of the only people with a third opinion: Robbie. Before his zombification, for lack of a better term, Robbie had never really had a superpower. He had only some good sense — something interestingly hard to come by in the group — and he was a touch hardier than the average teenager. But after Marvin had been using more and more spells to reverse the after effects of his slight decomposition, the result was Herculean strength and more human mannerisms.

Today one debate turned into another and once again Bob and Mark were going to settle the age old debate, and before anyone knew it most of the heroes were standing in the garage and Logan was helping to rig several sensors to take measurements of how hard Silver was punching and how hard Bob or his barriers were getting hit.

Henrik was of course naturally fretting around Robbie, fully objecting to Marvin using the young man to settle the debate.

“Nein! You vill do no such zing!” Henrik argued.

“Relax,” Iplier tapped him with the back of his hand, “J.J you’d tell us if anything happened right?”

J.J nodded and signed a quick “yes” but was conspicuously not making his way to the betting pool to place a bet of his own. It kept Iplier from making his own since neither the time traveler nor the seer were making bets, they were sitting on either side of him, watching.

“Do you guys know who to bet on?” Dr. Iplier asked them.

“Of course the Host knows who will win,” the seer grinned between his narrations.

J.J gave a sign that the Host did his best to translate, “No bet on first attempt,” J.J warned him.

“I’ll ask you next time then,” Iplier joked, smiling. “We’ll make bank on it.”

Then the Host pulled a jar out that had two five dollar bills in it, a tapped note in Iplier’s handwriting read on the front: “TIE”. Each of the notes had a rolled up piece of paper that had the name of the person who had placed the bet and how much they placed. There was a huge grin on his face, “The Host suggests Iplier go and place his bet on the table.”

J.J shrugged and slipped a five into Iplier’s hand, his name tag wrapped around it. Thankfully the bulk of the group was too busy arguing to notice what was obviously the Host’s bet going up. But Virgil who was close by saw that Iplier was trying to sneak the jar up. Iplier then snuck back and Virgil carefully slipped his bet from Bob’s jar, which he had only chosen because Logan had placed a bet there, to the Tie jar. Then he went back to sitting a safe distance away. “A safe distance” that would eventually turn into sitting next to Iplier.

“Fuck ‘em up Robbie!” Ethan cheered from where he was standing.

Robbie gave a huge, warm smile.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my team?” Mark chuckled, giving his former apprentice a fake-offended gasp.

Ethan just laughed, his contagious giggling undercutting any actual vitriol that could have been in the words, “No, hahahah! Fuck you.”

Bob laughed, “Ooooh! He got you good!”

Mark rolled his eyes and lightly pushed him, “Come on, let’s go.”

Roman cleared his throat, he was in a huge puffy tutu that was white and red with glitter dusting it. He was in a tight red and white leotard with golden accents to it that were reminiscent of his usual outfit, along with a pair of white footed pants. “Well let’s begin, my bet won’t win itself.”

“Your wager was placed by bribery with cookies, compounding your already unsound logic,” Logan reminded him.

“Oh hush, nerdy Wolverine,” Roman ordered, and held an arm up. “Okay, Round 1: Silver Shepherd v. Gatling, to the victor go . . . the victory.”

“Smooth, Princey,” Virgil snickered.

Roman stuck out his tongue at Virgil and the anxious Side just snickered and rolled his eyes. “Well we have other rounds.”

The creative Side cleared his throat before announcing, “Ready. Set. Go!”

Roman brought his hand down as he said that last word. Mark shot off at full speed, too fast for most of the heroes to follow with their own eyes.

Bob brought up a barrier in time and the air around the other heroes popped most of their ears. Virgil whimpered in pain a bit and scooted over to get closer to Iplier.

Silver repeatedly flew around to get spread. The barriers never broke and Silver kept up the onslaught for another couple minutes before the wear and strain started to show on Bob’s face.

Usually in an actual fight the other heroes would have picked up the slack so Bob could hunker into his barriers and get a breather to grab his second wind. But this wasn’t a normal fight, it was a duel and the fight started to wear down on him.

The instant Silver saw it, he started taunting his friend. “What’s the matter, getting tired there?”

“How about you shut up, asshole!” Bob shouted and as Silver was racing forward again, he extended out the barrier and Silver wasn’t as braced as he should have been and slammed into it face-first, breaking his nose.

The barrier extended out, taxing more of Bob’s strength than he expected. The shield flickered and Silver noticed it immediately and struck, slamming into the barrier again and Bob’s concentration slipped, the barrier flickered again just long enough for Silver to speed through and knock Bob to the ground, pinning him in place.

Mark had a huge, smug smile on his face, “Hah! I win.”

Bob groaned, “Fuck!”

“Inconclusive,” Logan huffed. “The barriers were never broken.”

“But he was defeated all the same,” Host announced. “The Host doubts that Silver’s current opponent could get back on his feet to fight Silver so soon.”

“You didn’t even make a bet,” Mark shouted at him, catching his breath a little.

But at the Host’s huge smile, Silver looked back at Jackie who was now by the table, “Hey, what was his bet, cause that smile says he made one.”

“I dunno,” Jackie shrugged, “I stepped away to grab a coffee.”

“The Host was secretive about his bet because only five people would have voted against him,” the Host said.

“Of course we wouldn’t have,” Ethan agreed loudly. “You know what’s gonna happen.”

“But where would the Host get his entertainment from?” The Host smiled, trying to sound hurt but it didn’t work at all.

“You asshole,” Bob smiled. “Kay, Silv, you win.”

“Hey! That’s my job!” Roman reminded indignantly.

“Wooooo! Yeah, I’m the best, fucking suck it!” Mark shouted at Bob, talking right over Roman which made the Side even angrier, floating off the ground for a bit.

Bob shoved him a bit, sending him farther than if Mark had been standing like a normal person. “Ugh, you are the worst sometimes.”

Then Bob stepped aside and Robbie came to stand opposite Silver. And here was where Mark made his first mistake. He looked at Robbie, at the former apprentice he had helped train, and tried to figure out how to beat Robbie without hurting him.

Roman announced how, and Silver moved first. He flew towards Robbie but instead of knocking him over, the young man grabbed him by the arm and used Silver’s momentum to toss him to the side and make him slammed into the wall behind the zombie.

Henrik and Marvin dove out of the way, and Mark stared at Robbie with surprise.

“Yeah, get ‘im,” Marvin cheered after a moment’s shock.

“Alright, fine then,” Mark huffed out, deciding that he could afford to be a little rougher with him. Much to Henrik’s mounting horror, Mark began to try with more effort to pin Robbie down, but Mark’s earlier round with Bob and the fact that he’d been wasting time going easy on him for the first half of the fight.

So when Mark came flying towards him, trying to get around the back to pin Robbie down but the ensuing struggle looked more like a wrestling match and ended with Robbie kinda hugging Mark’s arms to his side and the superhero just floating in the air looking like a piece of board.

“Heya,” Bob smiled at Mark, “having fun there, buddy?”

“Shut up,” Silver tried to wiggle free but Robbie just hugged him harder, a smile on his face.

After about a solid minute, he let out a frustrated growl and just floated there in an angry huff. “How? Marvin what have you done to this guy?”

“That sounds like he gave up,” Marvin grinned, looking at Logan who looked thoroughly upset and put out. “Victory right?”

“No!” Silver called, struggling a bit more. “I’m not giving up.”

Then he admitted, “Yeah . . . fine.”

“Robbie win?” Robbie smiled at Marvin.

“Sure did kid,” Marvin cheered.

“Yay!” Robbie let go of Mark and he just floated there for a bit, pouting a little.

He did float out of range so Bob, hopped up on an energy drink and getting a little bit of a rest, could take his place. He smiled as he put out a little bit of a barrier. Bob was bracing for a hard hit like he usually was with Silver but when Roman called “Go” and Robbie slammed his shoulder against the barrier, Bob barely felt it.

Bob was used to faster heroes, and having a tanky type of fighting style, by necessity with his powers, he was unused to defending against that.

But Robbie wasn’t a fast fighter, strong? Absolutely. However he wasn’t even half as fast as Mark and Bob just rested his elbow against the barrier and leaned against it. It had been a hot minute since he’d fought someone he had enough time to rest with.

Mark and Wade were the first ones to realize what was going on.

“Well shit,” Wade said. “He’s not getting through that.”

“He could!” Marvin promised defiantly.

Wade gave Marvin a look, “You know he’s not.”

“Come on, he hits hard enough to do more than that,” Mark defended, if only to salvage his own wounded pride.

“Oh yeah, I feel something,” Bob agreed. “It’s just not fast enough.”

“He was going faster against Silver,” Marvin cut in. “I call a do over.”

“No! No! If I got tired after Gatling,” Mark called out, “that counts.”

“But that means it’s a tie,” Bob spoke up. “We can’t have a tie.”

“But oh yes, the heroes can,” the Host smiled.

“Yah weren’t e’en bettin’!” Marvin shouted at them.

“But yet the Host always wins,” the Host smiled, J.J smiled as well.

“So do we win?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

“Hey,” Logan turned to Virgil, “you placed a bet at the same time has me for Bob.”

“I changed it,” Virgil whispered, already pulling his hoodie up a bit higher.

“You changed your vote because you were aware of a more likely outcome,” Logan realized. “I applaud your insight.”

Virgil smiled a bit and the winnings were distributed amongst the four winners, J.J leaving this timeline as it was. Logan, Bob, Marvin, and Mark continued to debate between each other who would have won in an “actual fight” after the Host used his voice to bring in a bunch of donuts to distract the heroes from the fact that he had basically got away with the bulk of the winnings . . . again.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

SO HOW ABOUT THAT ANGST FOR KITTY/PIOTR EAST OF THE SUN, WEST OF THE MOON AU, HUH?????

YO SO YOU SENT IN “GOTTA STAY QUIET TO AVOID DISCOVERY” AND I STARTED TALKING ABOUT WATCHING THE X-MEN MOVIES TO COMPLAIN AND HERE, TAKE THIS, I DON’T KNOW.

If Kitty’s being totally honest here, and Kitty prides herself on being totally honest, she did not completely expect to live through this deal.  It’s not that she expected the bear to break his word--or at least, she would never have said as much to his face--but she’s heard stories before, of maidens and monsters and bargains, a year and a day of company traded for her family’s welfare.  And she wasn’t anticipating death, but also she would not have been surprised by dying, which she feels is an important distinction.

But when they came to the ice-bound palace, Kitty was as healthy as ever, if starting to go white and numb with cold, and the bear turned his great metal head to her and asked in a low rumble, “Are you cold, honored lady?”

“No, Lord Bear, I’m quite warm,” Kitty lied outright, because she prides herself on being honest but also is not an idiot.  She’s not entirely clear on the exact nature of the beast she’s sworn herself to, even after a full day in the palace, but on the off chance that the question was a test, she delivered the lie as steadily as possible.  The bear hadn’t said anything, merely observed her with his impossible blue eyes, glowing like stars imprisoned in his cold clockwork armor, and he had nodded and brought her inside.

Kitty’s spent the past several hours wandering the halls, since then, and hasn’t seen a single living thing, not even her host.  If he even counts.  Even riding on his back, on the journey to the palace, Kitty hadn’t been able to see even the slightest hint of flesh and blood under the armor, nor hear breathing or a heartbeat, or anything but the click and whir of metal.  A--something, a wisp of wind in the shape of a servant, brought her a cloak, so perhaps the bear saw through her lie after all.  The cloak is the finest thing Kitty has ever touched in her life, deep blue and lined with soft white fur, as warm as if it had been laid out in the summer sunlight, and she’s been rubbing her cheek against the collar absently as she walks.  There’s a crisp, clean scent to it, like the oncoming edge of a blizzard or a thunderstorm.

The cloak is good for Kitty’s nerves, in a strange sort of way.  Foremost, freezing to death has never appealed to her, as a way to go, and she’s fairly sure that the cloak wouldn’t have been forthcoming if her host meant to let her die of neglect, or throw her in some kind of dungeon, or add her to a collection of frozen maidens to decorate his castle, or whatever clockwork bears do with peasant girls.  More than that, though, the cloak alone must be worth a small fortune, immaculately well-made and perfect in all ways, and Kitty did trade herself into an uncertain future in this icy palace for the assurance that her family would be well-compensated.  Forget fixing the roof and buying new quilts--if this cloak is a sample of what the bear can give without a second thought, her family will be able to buy a whole new house.  

If she’s smart, and if she can keep being smart for a year and a day, Kitty might even live to see it.

The sky outside grows dark, and Kitty wonders if she should just pick a carpeted room and curl up under the cloak before it grows too dim for her to navigate the palace.  Some of the rooms even have furniture, although most of it looks untouched.  There was one a few doors back, on the left-hand corridor, with a couch in it that looked plush and comfortable, and it would be a huge improvement over the floor of her family’s cottage.

The return of the wind-servant makes her jump nearly out of her skin, but it comes bearing a lantern that glows with the same cold blue light as the bear’s eyes, and the wall sconces burst to life as it passes.  Kitty skitters to one side to let it pass, and it stops in front of her, invisible except for its lantern, and bobs there for a long few moments before Kitty rallies the nerve to talk.

“Um,” Kitty says, “do you want me to come with you?”  The lantern bobs toward her, and then further down the hall, and Kitty follows.  “Do you have food in this castle?” Kitty asks the lantern, for lack of a more obvious place to direct her questions.  “You’re made of wind and your master--is he your master?  Lord Bear seems like he’s mostly made of metal, so maybe you don’t have to eat, but I haven’t eaten all day.  If you have a kitchen, I could try to cook, but on the other hand I might burn something down.”  

The lantern, of course, doesn’t answer, except to keep leading Kitty deeper into the castle, lit by the cold blue magic of the sconces as they flare in its wake.  But after a maze of corners, Kitty sees warm golden light ahead, and the lantern floats into a room illuminated by a roaring fire.  It’s a dining room, Kitty realizes, but not the grand hall she peeked into before, set up as though to receive kings.  This is a private dining room, maybe for family, with a fire casting its warmth over the table and single place setting, and on the table rests a small banquet, fit to feed a dozen people with more individual types of food than Kitty’s ever seen.

Dazed, she allows another wind-servant to usher her into a chair, and it pushes it into the table properly, and more invisible hands begin to pile her plate high with a sample of everything, fill her glass with warm spiced wine, and it’s all absolutely amazing.  If this is Kitty’s last meal she doesn’t even care.  She eats some of everything, and rather a lot of a few things in particular, until she’s so full that her stomach aches and so tired she could fall asleep right in her chair.  But the wind-servant with the lantern returns, or maybe a different wind-servant with a different lantern, and Kitty sighs and stands up, pulling the cloak around her.

The lantern-bearer brings her back through the maze to one of the rooms she passed--one of the rooms she peeked at through the cracked door and immediately abandoned as too private to be investigated.  It’s clearly a master bedroom, with a magnificent four-posted bed piled high with blankets and soft pillows, and when the lantern stops at the open door and gestures as if to say after you, Kitty has to take a long moment and breathe before she can force herself over the threshold.

It’s a fine room, fit for royalty, with massive curtained windows and furniture made of dark wood accented with blue cloth and silver fixtures.  There is a low fire burning in the hearth, and the room is warmer than the rest of the castle, although not as warm as the dining room.  

There is a nightgown laid out on the bed, and the wind-servant sets down its lantern and scoops it up, holding it out to Kitty.

“I can dress myself,” Kitty says, and she’s proud that her voice doesn’t shake.  She takes the nightgown--soft, she notices a little numbly, and made of a nicely woven fabric that drapes over her arm and sways with her movement.  She doesn’t know enough to identify the fabric, but it seems warm, at least.  The wind-servant bows and leaves, and Kitty has reason to be grateful that the room is so chilled.  She can’t change slowly, no matter how much she wants to.

She keeps her socks on with the nightgown, because it’s too cold to take them off, and curls up on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with the cloak wrapped around her, on top of the blankets.  Kitty means to stay up, to see what’s going to happen to her, but--

As soon as Kitty settles against the pillows, the lantern left by the wind-servant goes dark.  The fire vanishes as quickly and completely as a candle blown out, and it leaves the room impenetrably black.  Kitty startles, and there’s a terrible weight on her limbs, as if she’s been frozen after all, and for a long moment she can’t do anything but struggle uselessly against the weight of what must be magic, her bargain locking her body into place better than any shackles.

Kitty has barely managed to slow her breathing from its ragged, panicked gasping when the door opens.  The lights in the hall must be gone, too, because she can’t see anything, not even shadow-on-shadow, as if she’s gone blind.  She strains to listen past the racing of her own heart and--

Heavy metallic footsteps, and the click-whirr of clockwork.  Kitty fights to speak, but whatever magic holds her prisoner has locked her tongue against her, strangles her when she tries to make noise, and so she listens to the great steel bear cross the room toward the window.

The sound of metal hitting the ground, one piece at a time, makes her heart stop.  There must be something alive under the armor, then, and she tries to be reassured by the solving of this mystery, but Kitty can’t really manage it.

It takes several minutes for all the armor to hit the floor, and then footsteps move back toward her, but--not a bear.  She can only hear two feet, and the figure sounds much smaller than the creature who carried her on his back this morning.  As it reaches the bed--he? the bear?--Kitty clamps her eyes shut and tries to look asleep.

She hears the figure move, and a hand reaches out to tug the cloak a little higher on her shoulder.  The hand doesn’t touch her, doesn’t even brush the nightgown, and Kitty tries not to hyperventilate.  He seems--kind, at least, for a given value thereof, but she’s still not an idiot, and she’s not sure she would have made this deal with a man, instead of a bear.

But he doesn’t lie down on the bed.  Instead, she hears a very soft scuffle, of cloth on stone, and--

Kitty lies there in the dark, awake, and listens to the breathing of the man who isn’t a bear as he settles on the floor beside the bed.  She doesn’t know if he falls asleep.  He doesn’t snore, and his breathing is steady, but no slower than it was when he was taking off the armor.  Maybe he’s lying there awake too, listening to her listen to him.

If Kitty sleeps all night, it’s no more than a light doze, and she’s awake when the man rises from the floor again.  He doesn’t touch her, just hesitates once he’s standing--he feels tall, she has the sense of being towered over--and then goes back to the window.  She listens to him resume his armor, and listens to the bear leave.  As soon as the door closes behind him, she blinks, and discovers that she can move, and realizes that there is silvery dawn light creeping around the edge of the curtains.

Curled up under the cloak, Kitty closes her eyes, and finally slips into unconsciousness.