#please please reblog this i spent so much time and effort making this from scratch

[hanasinbloom]

> "I'm not... going to run away anymore..." > "I promised him. So please... watch over me."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ — PERSONA! — ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 5

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You wipe the Commander's face and stand with the cup, brush, and blade. You go to the sink to clean it all up and put it away. As you do, you hear him shifting in the water. You've already set out his soap and shampoo on the ledge. The smell of it laces the air. 

You glance at the door, wondering if you should go. 

"You will wait and have a towel ready."

His order is taken as diligently as any other. 'Yes, Commander' and you take the bath sheet from the rack, standing by the wall and staring at your sleeve. He sighs as he lingers in water, drawing out the tension.

When he stands, water slaking noisily from his body, you come forward and open the bath sheet. He steps over the wall of the tub and waits. You wrap it around him and he finally clasps the top.

You recoil and move aside. He passes you and you roll up your sleeve to pull the stopper from the tub. You don’t return to the bedroom right away. You give him time before you near the door, head down.

“Would you like your tea?” You ask the floor.

He sits on the side of the bed. He reaches for the thick tome on the round table beside the wooden frame. He lifts the bible and flutters through the gold-edged pages. You listen to the noise but refocus on the cold hardwood.

“Even piety cannot outweigh the law,” he says, “did you chance a verse or two, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, Commander.”

He snaps the book shut, clutching it between his hands. He runs his thumb along the spine and leans forward. He stares at the cover then hurls it at the wall, making you flinch as it falls onto its pages.

“Tell me then, what did you read? Before?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe he truly cares. This is just what the men do. They play on their power, pulling the strings of the women they made into puppets. You won’t tell him of the cheap novellas that kept you company in a tub very much like the one in the next room or the fantastical tales of dragons and magic that first awakened your love of literature. 

“I am not the woman I was before. I cannot recall.”

He sits up and leans his head back, “you are just like every other woman. You say what will do you best, but never the truth.”

You don’t argue. He is right, but he does not admit why. That if you do speak honestly, you will be sent to the wall or worse.

“Or maybe you read nothing at all. Maybe you were the sort to watch a screen until your head turned dull. Or spent your time with a bottle of liquor…” he presumes as he scratches along his neck. “Certainly, there wasn’t much time for reading with a son to rear, eh?”

You try not to falter. Is it a lucky guess or does he know? He could. Surely, if he wanted to know who you used to be, he could find that out.

“Tea,” he orders bluntly and lifts his legs onto the bed, sprawling wide so the bath sheet slackens around his legs.

“Yes, Commander,” you affirm, twisting sharply as you fight to keep your nerves from boiling over. It is a test. One you must pass.

🌫️

The Commander dismisses you as he sits thumbing through the bible’s bent pages and sipping his tea. You leave him with the soft clasp of the doorknob behind you. You wade through the dark and down to the first floor. You resume your seat on the bench, drawing your legs up as you lay on your side.

It is stiff and uncomfortable. You feel the knot forming in your neck already but you are too tired to worry about it. You sleep shallowly, cramped and rigid, until you are awakened by the creak of the stairs.

You sit up with an effort. Your neck screams and your shoulder blades throb. You lean on the wall for just a moment as you muster the strength to stand. The pain is almost inhuman. You knew you would regret sleeping on the bench but you hadn’t much choice.

You rise and brace your hip without thinking as you face the Commander coming down the stairs. He wears only a robe in the pale light of early morning. It cannot be more than four.

“I called for you,” he stops on the middle step.

“Apologies, Commander.”

“Why are you down here?” He sneers.

“I… I did not know where else–”

“Hush,” he demands curtly, “you think too much and say more.”

You lower your chin in submission. You swallow your standard acquiescence and wait for further reproach.

“Upstairs. This house is frigid, I require another duvet. Find one.”

He goes back up as you hesitate to follow. You ascend, step by step, tamping down a whine as each lift of your foot zings up to your neck. You go to the narrow closet door and open it, revealing a spare blanket. You bring it with you and enter through the open bedroom door.

The Commander is abed already. You approach him and throw the duvet across the bed, grunting through your teeth. You tug the corners straight and he reaches to grasp your wrist. You pause, his touch almost stinging.

“You may sleep across my feet, like a dog,” he snickers, “it would do better than that bench for your decrepit bones.”

You stay still, not daring to rip your arm away from him, “Commander, I don’t mind–”

“It is not up to you. Go on, dog, take your place.”

He lets you go and you stand. Your eyes burn with humiliation as you sidle towards the end of the mattress. You put one hand down, then the other, climbing up on all fours like an animal. You lower yourself onto your side, back to him as you stare at the dark doorway.

“Just like a loyal old bitch,” he remarks as he jostles the bed, kicking you from beneath the blanket, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, Commander,” you force through your tight throat.

[youarejesting]

Sly like a...? Part 9

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.5k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

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Tonight you had decided to ask Hoseok what he wanted to eat for dinner. A quick knock on his always-open door and a peek inside showed him sitting on his bed. With his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees he looked young. He was staring forlornly at the wall, perhaps you thought he was feeling a little homesick. The city was much different from what he was used to. 

“Hoseok, hey?” You sat beside him the scent of fresh pine on his warm-toned skin. Waving your hand within his line of sight in an effort to gain his attention. The deer blinked, giving you a bright smile and a cheery laugh. 

“Sorry, I was lost in thought?” He straightened out his legs. You patted the soft comforter in front of you. 

“Shuffle your butt over here,” you spoke softly. He continued to face the wall and shuffled over, you pulled him to lay back against you, “Are you feeling homesick honey?”

“Yeah, I guess I miss nature. It’s just, it’s so bare” he muttered looking around his room, a desk with a laptop, a bed, and bedside tables he sniffed wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I miss it.”

“How about we get you some plants as many as you want, to fill the room, if you really want we can tear up the carpet and lay down grass instead,” Hoseok laughed as you described a tall plant by his desk flowers on his bedside tables and hanging pots from the ceiling. “You can call them, that’s why I got you this,”

He nodded taking the phone you held out to him, he dialed a number and placed it to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Hello my sister,” he said, relaxing as he heard the familiar voice. 

“Hobi!” She called through the phone, which seemed to cause a commotion on the other end of the phone as many voices could be heard, “what is it like in the city? Are they treating you nicely? Have you been eating?”

“It’s really nice and everyone is so fun and nice and we eat lots of food together,” he cheered. The family was talking happily and you grinned scratching Hoseok's head happily laughing with him. 

“We are going to decorate his room with plants,” you assured his family that he was being treated well, “oh! tonight is your choice for dinner so what would you like?”

“Unnie, Hobi likes Japchae and meat,” his sister giggled over the phone and you leaned around Hoseok and grinned. 

“What you think Hobi-ah? Sounds good?” You used their nickname teasingly but in hopes, he would feel more at home and at ease around you. 

“Mm, Hobi wants japchae!” He said cutely, making you laugh, you gently pushed his firm and warm body until he was sitting up enough to slip out from behind him. 

“Alright, you keep talking I will round up Jin and Yoongi and we will get to work cooking,” bidding your goodbyes to Hoseok’s family, you headed out to the kitchen. Yoongi was tying up his apron and Jin was playing video games with the youngest of the group. 

You decided against asking Jin as he seemed truly engrossed in playing his video games. Sorting out ingredients and finding a recipe Yoongi and yourself shuffled around the kitchen. There were moments where you reached over where he was cutting vegetables and your shoulders would brushed and just for a second you would hear a small purr. 

Jin lost to Jungkook and pouted, scuffing his slippers as he entered the kitchen, “Ya! The game likes Jungkook better!” He whined, with a grin on your face you pulled him into a hug. Arms wrapping around his tiny waist as you buried your face in the soft sweater he was wearing, it smelt sweet like figs and his ears twitched. 

“I am just happy you tried your best,” you praised him, as you felt the vibrating chittering in his chest almost like a purr but more like a rattle. He nuzzled your hair breathing in your scent. You got him to join in with the cooking. Your instructions interrupted by Taehyung who was complaining about being hungry.

Sliding between the two hybrids to get past, you got some ingredients from the fridge. You sat at the breakfast bar mixing the ingredients in a big metal bowl. Taehyung had been your neighbor for at least five years now and you knew his favorite foods. 

“Try this and tell me how it is?” you held a ball of rice out in a plastic gloved hand and he leaned in eating it. His eyes lighting up. He gave a deep mmh-mm of approval and his tail was smacking Jungkook in the thigh, the young boy looking at the offending appendage and swatted it away.

“Me too, noona” He smiled pointing to his mouth and you popped one of the Jumeokbap onto his tongue. He chewed it happily his cheeks puffed full, a purr filling the room loudly. You turned to Jin offering him a taste, he praised it with a thumbs up.

Carrying the bowl around to Yoongi you smiled, “You want to try one Yoongi?” He didn’t reply but leaned his head towards you eyes on the food mouth opened.

He let you put one in his mouth, and you pressed your ear to Yoongi’s shoulder, his purrs were definitely the quietest out of all the felines in the house, they were ones that vibrated deeply in his chest but didn’t make too much noise unless it was really quiet and you listened intently.

“I smell tuna!” Jimin grinned bounding over his long legs barely touched the ground and he smiled, “Me love, one for me”

You were trying to roll one but he had started rubbing his face on your jaw and neck impatiently, as he purred sweetly, “I am making it as fast as I can,” the words barely came out through your giggles his soft hair tickling your neck, his ears twitching at the sound.

“Here try this one,” he leaned in wrapping his mouth around the rice ball his eyes never leaving yours. “Is it good?”

“Mm very good” he hummed standing behind you his hands wrapped around your waist as you made one for Namjoon. He held out his hand and ate it, nodding before awkwardly shuffling around waiting for the food to finish. Hoseok exited his room smiling brightly, it seemed the conversation with his family had eased his loneliness.

Namjoon at dinner was a little scary all he could see was food and his deep purrs were so loud that it almost sounded like thunder rumbling outside. You brought up the question at dinner and watched them all choke on their food. 

“It is only natural, I am just wondering when and if you know your rut schedule so I can put it on the calendar and if you need any assistance during this time we can look for a suitable companion or items that can relief your needs.”

Jungkook was bright red and Jimin thought honestly, “I don’t need assistance but if when I am not in my room we could cuddle,”

“I also do not require assitance I will just be in my room,” Namjoon said with a small reassuring smile.

“I have never had a rut,” Jungkook said his cheeks never losing their rosey colour, “They gave us a hormone blocker every six months so we would behave, we just got really annoyed”

You nodded they all seemed to agree that they would be fine on their own in their room but you thought you would look into somethings as a fail safe. After your goodnights to each of the boys giving them a sweet kiss on their foreheads, you sat on Jungkook’s bed and told him more of the stories of the fox.

“In Korean legends, the Kumiho is often described as a terrifying and sad creature that strives to become a real human. It is said that a Kumiho can turn into a real human by eating 100 human livers or by marrying a human and living with them for 100 days without their true identity being discovered. There are many more theories on how they came to be but they…”

Once everyone was tucked in, you spent the night in the lounge. Searching the web for eligible companions and items that could assist the seven young men. You hoped they were all settling in nicely. A figure appeared in the hall, ringing his tail in his hands, you gave a soft smile, surprised as the figure came closer.

It wasn’t Jimin as you had first thought, it was Jungkook, you walked him back to bed and he whispered, “I am nervous what if I do something bad during my rut?”

“I know your true nature Jungkook, I know you don’t want to hurt any of the boys or even myself and when the rut passes well then you will be back to the old Koo we know and love.”

“Can you sleep in my room tonight?” He said and seeing your apprehension he added, “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Alright just until you fall asleep.” Not knowing how exhausted you were and how the bed was so soft and enticing. You had fallen asleep almost instantly, letting Jungkook pull you into his arms and nuzzle your shoulder.

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Tags:  @simplymemyself​​ @lolsiiike​​ @min2jeon​​ @notruercolors​​​ @luvaffaire​​​ @grazysf​​​  @ella-mella​​​ @lustremyg​​ @sonnymii​​ @moments-of-melancholy​​ @calling-dips-on-j-hope​​ @jiminiessipabo​​ @staerryminimini​ @afangirl91​ @halfway-insane​ ​​​​ (please make sure you have tagging setting on so you get notified when the story updates)

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[rpbetter]

Hey, can I get some advice on improving my descriptions / becoming more literate? I feel like I'm really dull when it comes to my writing and would like some advice! Thank you!

You absolutely can, thank you for asking! I apologize it took me a bit to get to this, tumblr didn’t show me notifications and I’ve been rather busy. Hopefully, I can offer some good advice!

Please, keep in mind that, as always, it is just my advice. If these things do not work out for you, don’t feel bad about it! You just need to find what does work for you. And, if you have anything that jumps out at you that you wish me to elaborate more on, or even that simply occurs to you more specifically to ask as you read, please, do ask! I am always happy to have those questions, of course.

Being more literate in itself can help. It can also be a hindrance, however, as we tend to compare ourselves to others negatively. I’d say not to do that, but it’s something you have to unlearn, not something you can simply stop doing. We’re taught a lot of self-criticism by comparison in both the educational system and our society. You’ve got learn to approach material you enjoy as just that, something you enjoy, not a standard you need to uphold. All writers should be unique, they’re all individual people! I think the death of a good many unwritten works hinges on that, honestly; the writer couldn’t live up to their own expectations, born of comparison to their literary heroes.

That being said? Read.

Read new and diverse things, and revisit old favorites. Learn as many words as you can in whatever way works best for you; through reading alone, through word of the day apps, or looking up novel words you run across/looking up words as you write to compare them to synonyms. I know, tumblr has gotten really nasty in recent years about writers who seem to have “regurgitated a thesaurus.” There is always a bad way to do something good, there are always excesses when you’re passionate about something. Don’t replace every third word with an exotic one simply because you think it looks better. Do replace words that are, legitimately, better in how they evoke the setting or mood you are going for. Remember that word flow is important, perhaps especially when it comes to descriptions.

If you do not tend to read much material that is description heavy, I’d suggest doing so. Try to find works that are still descriptive, but fit with the genres you like to both read and write the best to get you started, but don’t stay there exclusively. It doesn’t need to be something like...let’s say, Tolkien. Not to piss anyone off, I’m not anti-Tolkien or anything, but I could never get into his works, regardless of interest or effort, because they’re so description heavy, and in ways that don’t pique or hold my interest much. So, if you find that you are not into description laden works, that isn’t a poor reflection on you! It’s more likely that you simply aren’t into those specific works, you need to find something that is more of interest to you, personally.

If you do tend to read many works that are descriptive at all, take up a few of your favorites and pick some passages within them that you enjoyed the most. Ones that you could feel. When they described an outfit, you not only saw it, you saw the way it moved on the character, knew what it would feel like to touch it. When they described a setting in nature, you had a sensory experience there as well; you could smell the hyper-specific scent of wildflowers on a warm breeze, or the electric chill of a sudden summer storm moving in.

Ask yourself what does this for you so that you can experiment with doing it yourself. Is it the words, the word flow? Is it what the author isn’t saying, leaving the reader to automatically fill in with their own sensory recollections? There are so many ways of being descriptive in writing, as many as there are writers, and as many as there are things to be descriptive about.

So, it’s, again, a bit of a situation of finding what naturally pulls you into those descriptions yourself. While there are always good rules that can apply across the board with writing, it is a creative art. If you’re only following the rules others have set down, you can end up feeling negative about the process, yourself, and the product...or your readers/RP partners feel like the work is lacking or boring. Even when people can’t quite put their finger on something, forced work feels forced, unnatural, or lacking substance.

Diversify what you consume.

I know, I just said that thing about the familiar stories! Once you’re better able to identify what it is that stands out as evocative to you, though, you can better feel that in unfamiliar works. You can get a better idea of how language itself works as a living thing. Read some things out of your usual genres, ask for recommendations from friends or family who read, check out some older works, and even follow some blogs that post a variety of poetry quotes or full poems.

Reading song lyrics and a variety of other spoken-word style things like slam poetry and rap is helpful as well. They’re all doing the same here, evoking imagery and emotion. That is what you are trying to do as well! These formats, additionally, use highly evocative words to describe in a shortened way. They are great for realizing unique ways that familiar words can be paired.

By going outside of your usual bounds, you may encounter words, writing styles, and other descriptive qualities you hadn’t considered before. If you don’t, you still end up with a fuller grasp on writing itself. Everything is a potential learning experience if you are willing to approach it that way! Use it to play around with words and styles, Use this as experimentation, and realize that it is perfectly alright for it not to work out. That’s part of the exercise of finding what works for you; realizing what doesn’t work.

When you have some ideas of what makes you experience the things being described, practice. Pick anything. In fact, incredibly mundane, irrelevant things are perfect for this. If you can describe a sock in good detail, in a way that isn’t either inaccurate or boring, giving it relevance and life, you can describe anything.

Use ask memes and writing prompts, and write them out from your character’s perspective.

Even if you are not writing a first person account, it helps you to use narrative language that the muse might use, or that gives the reader a intuitive feeling for the muse. Don’t try to fill the whole thing up with descriptions. Sometimes, just simplifying is a good thing, and will help more relevant details stand out.

For example, I will often use things in the environment around my muse to help pair with, further denote, and give the reader a feeling for the muse’s emotions, psychological state, and so on. If that muse is in a hectic state, I’m not going to describe something in the environment that isn’t, like a peaceful meadow. I’m going to describe the seeming chaos of some ants in the grass taking apart their food, the erratic seeds or spores on the wind, or the clatter of an old farm truck on the roadway that breaks up the peace of the surroundings.

It’s a very different effect than describing the entire meadow in high detail, in ways that are perceptible to my muse and not, down to a blade of grass or a rock. It then takes over too much of my reader’s imaginative process and agency without giving them anything of nonnegotiable importance about the scene or the muse. Details that reflect a state of internal distress, like the ants, seeds, or truck, then fall by the wayside of this massive scene-setting I’ve done. And, as unfortunate as it is, if you are writing RP especially, your audience is looking for details that are pertinent and impactful. They’re likely to, intentionally or otherwise, skip several paragraphs of descriptions no matter how beautiful they are.

Since you just said “descriptions” and “writing” {nothing wrong with that, I just want to be sure I’m covering as much as possible that might be of help to you}, I’m not sure if you are meaning external descriptions or more internalized, character-driven ones, and not sure if you are writing only RP, only traditional writing, or a combination thereof.

As I said above, using descriptions that reflect things about the muse is useful and interesting, regardless of how or what you are writing. So, even if you were not meaning internalized descriptions, doing the things I’m about to talk about relating to this will still be helpful!

Internalized descriptions include things like: mood, thoughts, memories, and sensory perception.

To do these things any justice, you have to really know your muse, be able to experience things from their unique perspective and not just your own - or just what you wish the reader to experience through them.

If you didn’t have inspiration for the muse, you wouldn’t be writing them, but inspiration isn’t the same as knowing them as well, maybe better, than yourself. To do that, it is a process of learning and experimentation...and practice.

Those memes I mentioned above? Those are useful here, too! It doesn’t matter if it isn’t an ask meme you want to reblog, or if no one sent you anything from it; you can find a variety of memes, save them, and ask yourself the questions.

On sentence memes, or “starter memes,” ask yourself what your muse’s internal reaction to having that sentence said to them would be, how it might externalize (or not), and if these things are true, or just your perception/what you would like to have happen. If you’ve developed this muse from scratch or spent time learning them from canon, you should have some pretty good ideas as to how they’ll feel. Expand on that instinctive or learned idea. Does it change if a different muse or character type says this? Say it is an inflammatory sentence, something accusatory, derogatory, or pushy. Do they react the same way if a loved one says it instead of a stranger? How about a person who is obviously intoxicated, or a person who is under the influence of youth, so to speak? Take that, and write out two different scenarios.

On ask, or “headcanon/development memes,” pick a question and answer it yourself. Just answer it in depth. Now, have your muse answer that question. You may notice that the muse didn’t want to answer as clearly, is lying or omitting things, and/or had other thoughts generated by that question. If you didn’t already do it this way, answer the question again as a story in which your muse goes through those thoughts. Describe their emotions using words that carry the same emotional resonance, not all descriptions need to be lengthy if the right words, right word order, are found for optimum impact on the reader. Write out the thoughts they are having, just as messy as they are naturally having them.

Outside of memes, you have yet more options for helpful exercises that get you in touch with your muse and your writing.

Try out photography and inspiration blogs. Pick a some pictures that drew your attention, and write about them descriptively. Write out how the picture makes you feel, what it makes you think about. Practice not just describing how something looks, but how it would feel to be there. Using the same pictures, write as your muse in the same way. Put them in this scene to give their experiences. It helps you get a grasp on putting impressions and experiences down in creative ways that allow others to experience it the same way, and it helps you more easily step into your muse’s mind and experiences.

Seeing things through your muse’s eyes (through the lens of their life experiences, preferences, biases, emotions, and thoughts) is critical in giving authentic descriptions. To do more of this, you can practice in every day life. Even if you cannot write it out, or write it out yet, you can consciously think as your muse. If your muse was watching this TV show or hearing this song, what would they think? Don’t just answer as, “they would/n’t like it.” Answer as to why they would or would not, what it makes them feel and think. You can continue doing this with your muse’s impressions of different environments and people.

You can even simply contemplate an emotion and how your muse feels and expresses it.

Adding on underlying and overarching emotions to the mix as you go along; emotion, and thought, is complex. We very rarely are only angry, sad, or happy. We are very rarely only thinking of a single thing, and even rarer, thinking of it out of nowhere. It’ll help you identify the way your muse experiences emotion and thought, as well as how best to describe these things.

For example, I write a muse that can easily present as simply being quiet and angry. Additionally, as the character develops, his actions and general behavior can seem to not match well with his overall, genuinely kind nature. It’s necessary for me as a writer to identify where the anger comes from, what its components are; it isn’t just anger. It’s built on the things anger so often is; frustration, sadness, and fear. It gives the reader insight and helps delineate the muse’s expression of “anger.” When the anger is coming more from a place of insulation and protection than it is frustration, it presents differently.

I describe the sensation of the most obvious emotion, the anger, but also the underlying states that have led to it being apparent. How it really feels to be a wounded animal in a corner. I describe an experience or two pertaining to the emotional pain and fear, keep it relevant throughout the text in callbacks (what set him off is related to those experiences in some way, and during or after the experience of anger, those other situations are referenced again). Maybe it is an outright flashback, maybe it is less thematically stated. The descriptions I use, again, of his surroundings-not just his expressions, tone of voice, or movements-denotes that he is in this particular state of mind. He might notice similarities in the environment relating to a previous bad experience, since he is in that mindset, or he might be noticing things in a more critical way than he normally would. Things he might see every day are being processed as hateful in some way; garish or otherwise visually displeasing, might be seen as outright harmful, or even menacing. Bold colors, sharp lines, stand out. Things come into high relief and are painted in large swaths of color, the minute details missing suddenly.

Further, you can think of things that make your own similar state of mind so much worse in these situations. Is there a repetitive sound in the background? Is the person he is speaking with seemingly blowing him off in some way? Is he hungry, tired, thirsty, in physical pain? I then write those things throughout as additional, building irritants. 

Using your personal experiences isn’t a bad thing, I really wish tumblr hadn’t gotten into that mindset. Unless you really have written a 100% self-insert character, they shouldn’t experience things exactly as you do, no. However, you have a basis to go off of already when you are describing their inner life; your own.

Maybe you have never been so wracked with grief that you collapsed, but you have been caught up in a significant loss of some sort that you can build upon. If you can better imagine what your muse’s experience is, you can describe it not only better, but also in a way that reads as legitimate. It’s not a description of grief that you could have gotten from anywhere else, doesn’t have cliché lines in it about grief, such as, “though he was drowning in an ocean of loss, he knew he had to be strong for his friends, so, he put on a brave face.” (There are other issues with that, but that’s a whole other post!)

My point is, you have the tools of accurate inner life within you, and you should use them to build that accuracy in your writing. Again, play with the words and structure, make sure you are building the feelings or otherwise being immersive about them. Keep them throughout the thread, do not have a muse magically become the opposite of what you’ve described because it is no longer convenient, and do not forgo little reminders that the muse feels the way they do, no matter what their actions might be saying.

When you describe your muse’s actions that are being influenced by an emotion, good or bad, use words that evoke the emotion while describing those actions.

If the muse is very sad, do not use words that bring to mind vivacity and passion. Don’t use metaphors that bring to mind those same things. Your muse doesn’t slink like a jungle cat to the table when depressed, but they might move in a daze, like a shadow, or a have to put maximum effort into their every step as though heading to their own execution.

I don’t think anyone should describe, let alone to an extreme, every action their muse undertakes, but when you are imparting these things with emotional tone or thought processes, it really shouldn’t be done. It’s exhausting for you to write, and just as exhausting for your reader, who is very likely going, okay, we get it, she’s angry. Like the descriptions of the surroundings, try to keep it to important and telling actions. You needn’t describe your muse’s every eye movement, but if they are so embarrassed they’re having trouble keeping eye contact, or so annoyed they glare, that is a description you want to add.

Writers never seem to forget facial expressions or dramatic body movements, which is reasonable, considering how visual a species humans are, but quite often forgo tone of voice and word pronunciation entirely. These are great ways to denote what your muse is feeling. Consider how your muse speaks most often, whether they work at proper pronunciation and hiding an accent, or if they simply let their most natural speech flow. Then, consider how different emotions might impact that. I’m not talking about the only go-to many muns on tumblr have, the “my muse speaks -first language here- when angry” thing. I’m talking about your muse entering into any emotion strongly enough to drop crisp pronunciation, outright mess up familiar and easy words, stumble, stutter, or pause. Write emotion into your muse’s speech, and don’t keep it to adding things like, “said angrily.”

That’s telling, not showing, and is the death of descriptive writing of any sort.

Doing any of the above in a document is highly recommended. Not only are you less likely to encounter tumblr eating your drafts as you work on them, you have more freedom to open it up later and play around with the structure. Additionally, writing directly on the platform can be distracting in more ways than just the desire to dash scroll! It can make you feel like you need to be doing what you owe instead, need to be responding to messages, posted memes, comments. Taking it off site feels more like your own space and time for experimentation.

I know this was long, and covered many points (though, it could always use more). So, I’m going to kind of rehash some below!

For learning and inspiration:

read things both familiar and not in order to figure out what sort of descriptions speak to you, then practice doing them yourself

read a variety of works, not just books, and not just new books; oftentimes, the lessons in older books will stand out to you even more for using descriptions that are no longer common. Those lessons still hold, like the very act of using common, highly recognizable objects and settings to describe a person, place, or thing. In those cases, see what you can rewrite that would give the same feeling using things that are currently so recognizable

don’t count out things like music and poetry, they flow with emotion and it is imperative that they give emotion and setting in unique ways

use ask/starter memes, pictures, and even common situations occurring around you to experiment with both writing descriptions and getting into your muse’s mindset

think on your own experiences with your environment and emotions

consider how your muse’s perceptions may change based upon thoughts and emotions, and/or how you can describe the setting to reflect and drive home these factors

really get to know your muse by exploring headcanon memes, giving yourself a refresher on their canon (yes, even if you wrote it), and comparing and contrasting your experiences with your muse’s on the same topics

experiment with new words, their use, and their flow

seriously, practice! Outside of writing you intend for anyone else to ever see!

Things to Remember:

you are unique as a person, therefore, you are unique as a writer...and that is a good thing, you just need to find what works for you

describe things that are important in setting the scene in ways that are not just visual; be emotive, and pick things that have bearing on the immediate topic

don’t forget that your muse’s voice and spoken words use can, and should be, impacted by thoughts and feelings

just like you, your muse is unlikely to see the same objects in the same light under any manner of strong emotional influence

also just like you, who is saying something and in what context is extremely important in how your muse reacts internally and how that is presented externally; if your muse feels and reacts the same way no matter the other party, they’re a little cardboard and you’re not being descriptive or thoughtful enough

listen, if you just really need to describe something utterly irrelevant to live another second? That’s fine, but you need to make it relevant. Perhaps, your muse noticed the cracks on that rock because they’re in an altered state - be that by way of a substance, or an emotion

there is a reason why we use clichés, and I am not going to say they should never be used, just that you should try to be more creative with them, and they should always be viable ones that truly match the mood

the same is true of words, we have some words that are just so commonly expressive of sensations and emotions that they come up quite often, but again, try to find something similar if possible, and always make sure it’s still evoking the right thing

I repeat: get in touch with your muse, even if you do not write them from first person. The language you use as a writer to describe them and their world is better if it feels like them

no support for tumblr’s anti-wordiness, but huge support for optimizing word use for maximum impact

to that end, if you’re a RPer, even a fic writer, please know that your desire to write descriptively isn’t going to be appreciated by some people. That’s their fucking loss, and you are better off without them. You will find the audience that will properly appreciate what you’re doing!

I hope some of this helped to give you some starting points you might not have thought of!

[lettering-is-my-music]

finished making all Eeveelution Pokepens!!!!! super proud of myself for this. Not only did I make the pens but I made the Pokémon blanks from scratch!

These are made from the actual Pokémon trading card. They come in both fountain pen and rollerball.

(details of the giveaway for one of these pens will be on my Instagram tomorrow!)

(please reblog I spent so much time and effort on these i ruined so many shirts because I got resin on them)

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Jealous of a Kitten

Author's Note:

Hey y'all! So I was b l o w n away by the response to my last Loki x Reader oneshot, so I thought I'd give writing for him another go! I've had this fic in my drafts since literally last year lmao. If you end up liking it, I'd love a like, reblog, or comment to let me know! And if anyone wants to request something for Loki or any other MCU characters, feel free to send me a message and let me know! As always big thanks to @twentytwohearts for their help reading and helping out with this fic!

Y/N POV:

“Good heavens mortal, haven’t you got anything else to occupy your time besides pestering me?” Loki grumbled affectionately from his place on the sofa. He was reclined comfortably on the couch, back pressed up to my front as he rested in between my bent legs. My hands were tangled within his inky black locks, fingers lazily scratching through his hair as I braided small sections. I grinned widely.  

“Nope!” I replied cheekily, ensuring to overexaggeratedly pop the “p” at the end. “Cap gave me the rest of the day off from training, so you’re blessed with my presence all day, snowball."

The prince sighed melodramatically as he turned a page in the book currently resting on his lap. 

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it as a blessing pet” he remarked dryly. His tone was nonchalant, but I could hear the small smile in his words despite his clear efforts to seem passive. 

“Oh please, we both know you love when I ‘annoy’ you." I rolled my eyes with a giggle. Loki merely hummed in response as he continued to read whatever tome had caught his attention this afternoon. Deciding to mess with him a bit, I removed my hands from his now-wavy tresses. 

“Or maybe not?” I pouted, feigning hurt and leaning my chest away from his body. He stilled slightly with his fingers paused mid page turn. His back tensed just a bit, and I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to decipher whether or not I was serious. Though he only panicked a moment or two, it was enough to make me silently delight in having seemingly tricked the god of mischief. He huffed childishly, his hand grabbing mine quickly and placing it back on his head. 

My smile widened so far at his reaction I was almost fearful it may actually split my face in two. He didn't say anything, but was certain Loki could feel the satisfaction coming off of me in waves. Even though I'd known from the beginning, it was nice to be reminded just how content he was to be entangled with me for the moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but I knew something about the lanky god that most people didn't. 

He was a huge cuddle-bug. 

As stiff and regal as he presented himself most of the time, he never failed to make it known just how much he adored physical contact with me. I'd even go so far as to consider him touch-starved when we'd first met. I mean, it made sense. He was a prince and the only meaningful contact he'd probably experienced came from those that used to help him dress or bathe. The thought of him going for so long -- literally thousands of years -- without the affectionate touch of another living being made me genuinely teary. Once we'd established ourselves as a couple, he instantly became a constant presence at my side. It didn't matter the situation nor the company surrounding us, if he was in the same room as I was he would gravitate towards me. Whether it was a hand resting across the small of my back or fingers linked firmly through mine, he always found some way to initiate some kind of physical touch. I was more than thrilled at his open displays of affection -- even after months of time spent together I still felt the delicious ripples of electricity run through me each time his skin met mine. 

Moments like today's were rare. Days when neither of us had any obligations or work to be done, when we could just spend time with one another. Sweet, domestic slices of life when we could just cuddle close to one another and pretend for a moment that all the struggles of the world were gone. I sighed softly as we lapsed back into comfortable silence, both of us content to simply be in one another's presence. 

But, as always, no peaceful moments around here could last that long. 

Peter came bursting through the door, looking even more flustered than usual. Which, for him, was saying something. He was wearing his suit sans the mask, carrying a giant throw blanket, with his brown curls mussed wildly and eyes desperately searching the room. He spotted Loki and I fairly quickly. A brief look of relief passed over the young boy's features as he rushed over to where we laid.

"Hey guys, uhm I could use some help," he blurted breathlessly once he reached the couch. I chuckled, amused by the poor flustered teen. 

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Loki grumbled from his place between my legs. I didn't need to see his face to know exactly his expression. Clearly he was annoyed to have our peaceful moment interrupted, and I would bet money that he was scowling at Peter as a result. Frowning slightly, I pinched the back of his arm in reprimand. 

"OUCH," he exclaimed dramatically. His arm darted out of my reach, the other hand coming out to rub the sore spot childishly. "What on Earth was that for?"

"Leave him alone snowball, he clearly needs something," I scolded lightly. He huffed once more, settling back into my legs and turning his attention back to his book and grumbling inaudibly. I rolled my eyes. 

Peter's eyes went slightly wider as they darted between Loki and I. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the raven-haired Asgardian when he was actually behaving, and given Loki's current grumpy demeanor he seemed especially on-edge. I smiled brightly, hoping to ease his discomfort. 

"What's up Peter?"

His eyes darted back to mine suddenly, relief overtaking his face at the save.

"So I was just out, ya know like patrolling, and I was helping this old Italian lady. She was carrying all this stuff right -- and I obviously figured I would try to help -- but she didn't speak English. She was like kinda mad at first and she hit me a couple times, cause I think she thought I was trying to rob her, but eventually we got everything sorted and got all her stuff back to her super old car and --" Peter rambled, words slurring together with that inhuman speed that only teenagers could seem to muster. My brows furrowed in confusion and I lifted my hands up like a criminal surrendering. 

"Whoa WHOA Spiderling, take a breath man." I chuckled good-naturedly. The teen's face flushed slightly at my interruption. 

"Sorry. Right. Sorry." he mumbled. "Anyways, so I finally get all her stuff in her car, and she just leaned into me and patted my head. I was gonna swing away, but she handed me this and drove away." 

He gestured to the large blanket in his gloved hands. My brows furrowed. 

"Okayyyyy," I drawled, still confused as to the issue. "And you're mad she gave you an afghan because…?"

His eyes sparked with realization, mouth forming an 'O'. 

"Oh no, no that's not it. I mean that is pretty weird, like why would I need a blanket in the first place. Maybe she thought I looked cold or something, but --"

"Norns, child!" Loki interrupted. He shut his book with a snap, abruptly shifting positions on the couch so he was sitting upright. "Could you perhaps get to the point sometime this century?"

I slapped his arm disapprovingly -- he scowled at me, stubbornly scooting further from me in silent protest. I turned my attention back to Peter with a soft smile. I nodded at the red-faced teen, waving a hand in indication that he should continue. 

"Right. Sorry Mr. Loki. Uhm, so anyways, she gave me this and I don't exactly know what to do with it," he finished. He opened the chunky-knit blanket to reveal the smallest, fuzziest kitten I'd ever seen. The kitten was tiny, no bigger than my fist, fur matted and full of tufts of orange and white hair. As soon as Peter opened the blanket the small kitten blinked it's tiny eyes against the harsh light. Adorable high pitched squeaks came from the teeny cat, who was clearly displeased with the sudden disturbance to it's sleep.

I gasped, my heart practically melting at the sight. I stood suddenly, hands reaching out unconsciously and making grabby motions towards the adorable creature. Peter readily complied, gently transferring the mewling baby over to my awaiting grasp. I cradled the little cat delicately, blanket and all, against my chest and cooed soft, unintelligible words of affection. My hands instantly found a spot behind the kitten's ears and began scratching lightly. The kitten responded positively, nuzzling into my touch readily and purring loudly at the attention. My heart felt like it was positively melting at the sights, sounds, and feel of the small animal in my arms. 

"It's so cute," I gushed, though whether it was to myself or the guys I wasn't even sure. I finally managed to tear my gaze from the cat when I heard a quiet growl come from Loki's direction. 

He was in his same spot on the couch, but I could instantly tell he was annoyed, even without the little grumble. His posture was rigid, hands sitting atop his legs balled into fists, and eyes suddenly dark with anger. Only moments before his face had seemed soft, the sharp planes and angles relaxed as we'd sat together. Now his expression was stony -- the stern mask of irritation he so often wore back with a vengeance. I was momentarily distracted from the small creature in my arms. Twinges of worry and the impulse to comfort him planted low in my belly ran through me at the sight. 

"He is cute," Peter's voice interrupted, clearly oblivious to Loki's abrupt mood shift. "At least I think it's a he? Anyways I can't bring him home, May is allergic to cats and anyways I don't think they're allowed in my building. I was kind of hoping you could watch him for a while?"

"Absolutely n--"

"Of course!"

Loki's head snapped up towards mine as we spoke at the same time, his scowl deepening at my response. I furrowed my brows in confusion, slightly surprised at his aggressive reaction. Peter's eyes bounced from my face to Loki's -- the awkwardness radiating from him as he shifted from foot to foot. 

"Can you not just take it to a shelter or something of that nature?" Loki seethed, glaring at the poor teen. Peter was clearly flustered by the question -- red creeped up his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. 

"Well, see, I tried that! I did, but they told me he's too young for them to take -- cause he's just a baby -- and they can't take him," he stuttered. "Plus, they said they've got too many animals right now, and if he doesn't get adopted soon then they might have to...you know…"

I gasped, instinctively tugging the now-sleeping kitten closer to my chest. Loki shrugged, nonplussed. 

"So?" he questioned. "That is what happens to unneeded animals on this realm, yes?"

My jaw dropped and I frowned disapprovingly at Loki. I knew he could still be, shall we say, difficult at times; though he was definitely on his way to being 'rehabilitated', old habits die hard and he often still struggled with concepts like compassion and kindness. Particularly when it came to anyone or anything that wasn't, well, me. Even still, how someone could look at the tiny creature in my arms without feeling the warm, protective emotions that I did baffled me. 

"We are NOT sending this poor baby to be killed!" I stage whispered the last part, glaring at Loki and cradling the kitten protectively against my chest. "Good lord Loki, just look at him!"

I held the small orange cat down slightly, revealing it's angelic sleeping face to the scowling god. He glanced at the kitten briefly before turning his attention back to me and quirking a brow. 

"I have." he stated plainly, voice laced with poorly concealed contempt. I scowled at him and stuck my tongue out childishly before turning back to Peter. 

"Ignore him Pete, of course we'll take care of him." I reassured the flustered teen. Peter's young face instantly flooded with relief and he mumbled a muffled 'thanks!' as he rushed back out of the room. 

Smiling and chuckling, I turned back towards the couch where Loki still sat. His facial expression remained annoyed and he'd crossed his arms tensely against his chest. I couldn't help but giggle outwardly at his pout; he looked like a child who's toy had been taken away. Though I found his pouty face adorable, I still found it slightly infuriating that it was over the innocent little bundle in my arms. My obvious amusement only caused his scowl to deepen and he scooched over further from me as I sat in my previous spot on the plush couch. 

"Somebody's a bit crabby," I stage whispered to the still sleeping kitten. Loki scoffed. 

"I am not 'crabby' pet," he grumbled. "I simply don't understand your fascination with this little creature.”

I chuckled, the noise hollow and closer to a scoff than anything. I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the small kitten in my arms. He began to stir lightly, stretching out his tiny limbs and squeaking out the most adorable yawn before turning his attention to Loki and I. His small eyes appraised the two of us with a kind of innocent curiosity. Eventually he deemed us safe enough, and he began to slowly venture out from the confines of his blanket. As he tentatively explored my lap and the small section of couch that separated Loki and I, I felt my face split into a wide smile. Warm, happy feelings blossomed in my chest at the sight of the curious creature. 

"What's your name gonna be, huh?" I cooed to the small, exploring cat. "Are you a Tom or more of a Finn hmmm?"

Loki rolled his eyes, face never leaving his book. 

"How about blot?" he suggested plainly. His tone was even, controlled, and even though his lips didn't quirk up even the slightest bit at his suggestion I was wholly suspicious instantly. Sending a frown his way, I replied quickly. 

"Dare I even ask what that means?" I quipped warily. His eyes flashed momentarily to my face as he shrugged. Even with the briefest glance I could see the tell-tale spark of mischief in his eyes. Rolling my own eyes in exasperation, I turned my attention back towards the small tabby and ran my fingers across his back. 

"Hmm, what else?" I pondered out loud. "How about Tigger? You look a lot like Tigger."

The tiny cat purred louder at my words, curling around my hand as I spoke. Encouraged, I scratched his fur a little harder. 

"You like that huh? Alright, Tigger it is!"

 A quiet scoff came from the other end of the couch. To my utter confusion, Loki was still radiating complete and total annoyance from his place across from me. He sat tensely in the opposite corner of the couch with his boots tucked petulantly beneath him and his body angled as far from mine as gravity would allow. His head was bowed down slightly, his attention seemingly directed back to his book. Despite his best efforts, I could tell that he was only idly paying any attention to the words on the page. Gone was the smooth look of contentment that had graced his beautiful features mere minutes before; his face was once more a cold veil of poorly concealed contempt as he feigned reading. The look, though common to the rest of the world, was troubling to me. It’d taken months, but I thought I’d broken through the raven-haired god’s stony exterior. The sudden return of the stern facial expression caused pangs of concern and sympathy to prod at me from within. I reached a hand out instinctively to grasp his hand in mine, determined to display my silent support. 

Despite his ‘silvertongue’ reputation, Loki often struggled to verbalize feelings of anything other than contempt, rage, or disgust. I’d learned quickly that often he didn’t need me to attempt to discuss anything he wasn’t ready for -- rather it seemed the best way to comfort him in these times was a physical show of my presence and affection. 

This time was no different, and though his head barely moved an inch I could instantly feel the way he calmed under my touch. The muscles in his hand immediately relaxed as he moved to twine his long fingers between mine. His tense expression softened, although only fractionally as he grasped my hand. He turned his attention from his book slowly, deep blue eyes turning to meet my worried gaze. 

"Hey, talk to me snowflake," I demanded softly. "What's going on?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but a small mewl cut him off before he could speak. I glanced down and giggled lightly at the sight of the small orange tabby beneath us. The tiny kitten had wandered down the couch and was currently sitting mere inches away from our intertwined hands with a curious look overtaking his small face. Evidently he wasn't quite pleased to have the attention taken from him so quickly, and he reached a paw out tentatively to hover above our hands. Eventually deciding it was safe, the small cat placed a paw over the tops of our hands, eyes darting between Loki and I with a kind of content curiosity that made my heart practically melt. 

Loki, quite obviously did not share these feelings, and withdrew his hand instantly. His face was once more overtaken by a deep scowl as he snapped his book shut and swiftly stood. He turned curtly and exited the room without another word. My eyes followed him as he left, brows furrowed with concern and confusion. Tigger, meanwhile, was clinging to my chest by his tiny claws, his heart beating with an insane speed. He was clearly scared by Loki's sudden moves and general demeanor, and I cooed soft words of comfort to the small creature. My eyes never left the door though, thoughts of interest and concern overtaking my mind as I wondered what exactly had gotten into my raven-haired companion today. 

A few days later

Loki's POV

Sweet giggles filled the halls of the tower as I walked towards Y/N's room. A small smile overtook my features as the sound filtered through my ears. Typically I found midgardians irritating and their laughter grating, but as was almost always the case, Y/N was an exception. Y/N simply radiated happiness at every turn, and over the past weeks the sound of her infectious laugh had become one of my favorite sounds. Her mere presence had the uncanny ability to both calm and excite me at once, and I'd grown progressively more fond of my time spent with her in a way that baffled me and those around us.

In fact, the past few days had proven increasingly difficult for just that reason. Y/N and I had spent less time together as of late -- a fact that saddened and irritated me in near equal parts. For the past few days I’d found myself yearning for more time with my dear mortal, having been separated by the rather irritating presence of a certain small animal. Ever since the young Spiderchild had thrust a stray cat into Y/N's care she had been wholly and utterly enamored with the useless pet. She doted on the feline, which she'd dubbed 'Tigger', and spent nearly all of her time either caring for, amusing, or simply fawning over it. 

It was becoming rather taxing. 

At first, once I had begrudgingly accepted that the cat wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I'd attempted to simply ignore it and go about our time as usual. It was only a day or two before that notion was entirely dismissed. Each time I made such an attempt Tigger had made his presence unmistakably clear. The loathsome, needy thing seemed to share my desire to be near Y/N, and was constantly sitting on or pawing at her. And even the precious few moments in which it wasn't physically touching Y/N it took to mewling and crying until she gave in and picked it up. I hadn’t had a single moment with Y/N in which we were truly alone for days, and I was reaching my breaking point. 

As I finally reached Y/N’s room and entered, the smile that the sound of her laughter had put on my face immediately turned to a scowl. Inside the room was Y/N, beautiful as ever, sitting casually on her bed. The sight, which normally would have filled my stomach with a tiny stir of happiness, was marred with the unwelcomed addition of a certain small kitten. The wretched thing was sitting in between her legs, happily jumping and pawing at the toy she waved above him. She was looking over the stupid pet with such fondness in her eyes -- a look which I'd once thought was reserved only for me. Irritation overtook my senses at the sight, and I couldn’t help the scoff of annoyance that came from me. 

Y/N looked up at the sound, initial confusion turning to excitement as she realized my presence. My own feelings of resentment faded marginally at the sight of her beautiful features lighting up with a smile of genuine happiness at the sight of me. 

"Hiya Snowball!" she greeted me excitedly, rushing up from her place on her bed and striding up to where I stood. She tucked herself into the fold of my arms easily, her head resting comfortably against my chest and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I sighed lightly, my own arms winding around her relatively smaller frame and my face coming to rest against the top of her head.

"Hello my love," I murmured lightly into the crown of her head, placing a sweet kiss in my wake before burying my nose in the soft hairs there. She hummed softly in contentment, and we stayed in this position for some time. It could've been moments, minutes, hours -- I was never quite aware of the passing of time when I was with Y/N like this. I was wholly encased in the safe little bubble that only her presence seemed to create. I was surrounded by her: the unique scent wafting from her hair, the feel of her body melding against mine, and the soft thumping of her heart against my chest that provided the ideal background music for our calm moment together. I was completely entranced by our embrace, all feelings of irritation gone for the moment. 

But only for the moment. 

The sound of tiny cries and the feeling of a small body thumping and winding its way across our ankles broke through the peace we'd established like a freight engine. Y/N's chuckle vibrated low against my chest before she pulled herself out of my arms to peer down at the kitten. Annoyance seared through my body as she detangled herself from me and squatted down to scoop the needy thing into her arms. She stood up once more, cradling the spoiled little creature in her arms and scratching its face with her long slender fingers. 

"Someone wants a hug too, huh?" she cooed playfully to the cat. My frown deepened at her soft tone, the same tone she often spoke to me with -- the small, loving voice that had crooned to me during late nights or early morning moments spent wrapped in one another's embrace. The same tone that never ceased to comfort me or make me feel as if she was possibly the only person to truly love me. The sound that I treasured so dearly was now being directed to a lowly, disgusting animal. It sent a wave of rage through my entire being like a white hot flame. 

"Norns Y/N!" I snapped. "Can we not have a single moment without the presence of this...this animal?"

Her eyes widened as she took in my words, brows practically flying upwards in surprise and hands stilling against Tigger's face. Her wide eyes blinked a few times in complete shock as she surveyed my face carefully. 

"I'm sorry?" she questioned confusedly. I exhaled loudly in irritation, arms coming to rest across my chest in a display of my annoyance. 

"Does it not bother you that we've not spent a moment together, alone, since the creature was forced upon you?" I questioned, tone acidic and face a stone mask of anger. Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion briefly before a wave of understanding flooded her eyes. Expression softening, she set the kitten down lightly onto the floor before crossing the few steps required to reach me once more. Though her eyes held nothing but concern and understanding within the deep Y/E/C irises, her face had the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Well I'd ask if it bothered you snowflake, but it seems that may be redundant at this point," she replied to my earlier question with ease. Her soft hands reached up towards me and wrapped easily around the back of my neck. Almost of their own accord, my own hands found the curve of her waist and held her firmly. In lieu of a response I simply scowled in her direction. She chuckled lightly, and propped herself up on her toes briefly to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before she led me over to her bed and motioned for me to sit. I complied, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, and she ensured we were settled against the head of the mattress before she spoke again. 

"Loki, are you...jealous of Tigger?" she questioned. Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on her face. I felt my face flood with heat, and though I'd like to blame the color on anger I was certain she could tell that I was embarrassed. Though she was largely correct, I was struck with the ridiculousness of the statement as I heard it tumble from her lips. Glancing away from her expectant gaze I mumbled out a response, though I wasn't entirely sure what it was. 

Her gentle fingers moved slightly around my head, delicately stroking the skin of my neck and face until her soft palms rested against the sides of my face. She applied the gentlest pressure to my cheek, forcing me to look her in the eyes once more. I reluctantly complied. 

"Because if you are," she continued. "I'm sure I'd have to tell you just how insane that is. Outside of the fact that Tigger is a cat and you are my not-so-human boyfriend, the idea that there's anyone or anything I'd want to spend time with more than you is just completely inaccurate. He's a baby, and he needs a lot of my attention that's all. Since you haven't been coming around much I just assumed you were busy with other things lately -- never once did it cross my mind that I was the reason I hadn't seen you much." 

I felt my furrowed brows relax slightly. Stupid and petty as my feelings may be, I couldn't deny that hearing such reassurances straight from the one person I truly cared for had taken away a considerable amount of unease from my mind. I exhaled a long breath and shifted unconsciously deeper into Y/N's hold.

"Regardless I'm truly, very sorry that I made you think I was choosing something else over you. I would never want to hurt you like that, or make you feel like you aren't the most important person in my life." 

Her worried gaze was still locked firmly on my face as she spoke. Though the majority of my chest was filled with a feeling of relief from her admission, there was a twinge of guilt lurking deep within my stomach. I often forgot just how caring and gentle Y/N could be and this may have been one such occasion. Of course she latched onto the feeble creature -- was that not what she did with me as well? It was simply a part of her nature to care for the weak or disadvantaged. 

I frowned once more as my mind reeled with the realization of my own selfishness. Y/N clearly mistook my expression however, and I could see the guilt in her eyes as she spoke up once more.

"I can ask Peter if there anyway he can watch him for a bit, maybe just give us some time alone. Or maybe --"

"No." I cut her off abruptly once again. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she opened her mouth to reply. My own finger came up to her face fast as lightning to silence what would undoubtedly be more apologies. 

"Dearest, clearly the fault is not on your end in this case," I started, hoping to ease her mind. "We both know I often, shall we say, struggle with expressing my thoughts at times. Of course you wish to care for the kitten, just as you care for everything in your life. I was wrong to assume your affections were completely diverted and for not mentioning my feelings sooner. For both, I am truly sorry."

Her expression softened at my apologies, face relaxing under my hand as I spoke. She smiled a small grin of appreciation before thrusting herself forward and deeper into my arms. I let out a small 'oomf' at the force of her body attaching to mine, but regardless my arms wound their way around her frame and I cradled her to my chest. She sighed in contentment, and we stayed in this position for a few moments before I felt her chuckle against my body. I pulled my head back just enough to give her a questioning look. 

"I'm sorry," she giggled, face alight with mischief and glee. "Did the big, fearsome Loki just say he was sorry?"

However unintentionally I felt my face heat up once more, although this time it wasn't from anger. I rolled my eyes lightly before smirking down at Y/N's smiling face. 

"If I were you, I'd mark this day down in your memory, as it isn't likely to be said again anytime soon," came my dry response. 

I heard Y/N's melodious giggle from where her face was pressed against my body, sending delicious sparks of happiness across my frame. Outside of that, her only response to my statement was nuzzling deeper into my body -- a welcome action that I easily reciprocated. My eyelids closed as we settled ourselves into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in one another's presence. I hummed, utterly at peace with my current position, when I heard a tiny mewl from nearby. 

Opening just one eye, I saw a curious little face near mine. Tigger had evidently decided it was now safe enough to venture close to where Y/N and I laid. He was pawing hesitantly back and forth across my lap, eyes assessing me with tentative curiosity as he made tiny circles around my stomach. I chuckled at the feeling of his impossibly tiny paws kneading my lower belly as he settled into a lying position. Y/N opened her eyes at my amused chuckle and shot me a sheepish grin. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I can take him somewhere else. I think Peter's around, he'd probably watch him for a bit."

I shook my head, placing a small kiss to her forehead and placing a hand on Tigger's ears.

"It's alright love. I meant what I said when I was sorry -- he didn't do anything wrong, he simply wishes to be around you as much as possible. Obviously, that is a trait we both share, and I think I could expend a bit more energy in attempting to bond with Tigger." I answered genuinely. The kitten purred loudly in response, inching his body further up my chest until he was resting just beside Y/N's face. He closed his eyes sleepily, and curled into my body constantly as he slept. 

Y/N grinned widely, her lovely face alight with such genuine love and glee that I was taken aback at her beauty. She placed a sweet kiss to my lips in thanks before returning to her place on my chest. I closed my eyes once more, smile firmly in place as I lied quietly and revelled in the peaceful moment. 

Taglist: @grahoundart

[ask-de-writer]

In the Desert (1 part), a fantasy of Dirkhan in the Desert and Uman the Fat

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IN THE DESERT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover by Wind the Mama Cat

1474 words

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity including but not limited to art, stories, musical compositions, plays or anything else is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED.

///////////////////////

The nomad’s arrow thumped into Uman’s camel. That was an accident. He had meant the shaft for Uman. The beast gave an expressive groan and took off like it had wings instead of feet. Very few things can catch a camel that has made up its mind to run. Uman the Fat hung on and let the camel have its head. It easily out-paced his pursuers’ horses and settled down to a distance-eating trot.

Uman reflected that he was not much better off now than he was as a prisoner in the gem mines of Lusk. He earned that fate by being a mercenary on the wrong side of a civil war. He’d always earned his living by dame Fortune. Uman had been many things in his life: fortune hunter, thief, adventurer, mercenary soldier. The big adventurer had worked harder for his independence than most who labored for a living. In the process, he had earned and lost more than many would ever see.

On the first day of his flight from Lusk, he had the misfortune to run into a band of nomads. Even worse, they knew him from the recent civil war. Hence, the arrow flighted at him.

On the second day after his camel was hit, it began to stagger and show severe distress. Before noon, it pitched onto the ground and died. Uman gathered as much of his gear as he could carry and began to walk.

The Skrald Iden seemed even hotter once he was on foot. The heat caused shimmering mirages that made the stones waver and dance. Uman walked as long as he was able. At last, he came to the end of his water, and soon after, the end of his considerable endurance.

Uman drained the very last drop of water from his canteen. He shook it in futile frustration. He was about to hurl it away with an oath. Thinking better of his action, he contented himself with the oath. Rehanging the canteen by its strap, he averred to himself, “Never can tell, it might be useful again.”

Spying an outcrop of rock that ran from east to west, Uman hastened into its shade. “This will last until the cool of the evening. Travel will be easier then,” he thought, loosening his head-cloth and settling himself as comfortably as he could. He began a futile attempt at napping to save his energy for the evening and night’s travel.

He could not get comfortable. There were hard, lumpy little stones everywhere. Looking more closely, he saw that there was a layer of gravel under the cap of rock on the outcrop.

“This looks like the gravel they made me dig when I mined for gems in Lusk,” he muttered to himself, running some of the small stones through his fingers.” I wonder…”

Uman began idly scrabbling at the gravel to pass the time. He was about to give it up as a complete waste of effort when he found a pebble that looked different from the others. He licked it, to see better what it looked like. A brilliant blue winked back at him when he held the dampened stone in the sunlight. “I don’t believe it! This is a sapphire or I’m a eunuch!” he exclaimed.

Uman began digging at the gravel like a terrier digging for a rodent. With each new find, he exclaimed in delight and dug again. After a while, he rested from his digging. In his hands were five sapphires, three rubies and a beryl.

As he admired his finds he said, “This is a nice little packet. Still, I have to get out of the Skrald Iden alive if I am to enjoy it. I would trade the lot for enough water to get to Derkhan.”

Suddenly he froze. A desert viper had silently crept to within inches of his leg. “You spoke my name and I am here,” said a voice that rasped like dry stones within his brain. “Your bargain is acceptable.”

“Who are you? Where are you?” asked Uman in an urgent whisper.

“I am Skrald Iden and I am beside your leg,” came a reply like a slide of sand.

“There is a viper by my leg. Is that you?” inquired Uman softly.

“That is my form. I am the god of these waste-lands. If you honor the bargain that you offered, I will not bite you. I will guide you to water.”

“It’s a bit strange, conversing with a serpent, but I will follow you,” replied Uman with more confidence. He gathered his few possessions and stood up, saying, “Lead on.”

As he followed the reptile through a maze of tortured rock, he said conversationally, “I thought that Skrald Iden was the name of the desert.”

The reply in his brain was like a sere wind. “It is the name of the desert. This desert was named for me.”

Uman was tired, hot and thirsty after several hours of following the reptile. He was beginning to stagger some when a small building came into sight. It was made of a translucent green stone.

The building proved to be a small temple. As he entered it, he faked a stagger so that he could lurch against the stone and feel it with his hand. It had a cool, almost silky feel.

The altar was empty. The snake crossed the floor, found purchase on several inconspicuous projections and climbed onto the altar. It grew larger, until it had filled the top of the altar, arranged itself neatly and turned to stone.

The desolate voice spoke inside his brain once more, “Your bargain, man. Put all the stones that you have found into my mouth.”

Prostrating himself before the altar, Uman asked, “Are your fangs still poisoned? They look sharp.”

The arid voice inside his head replied, “I will not hurt you, man, if you do as I say. Water awaits your cooperation.”

Placing the stones into the god̓s mouth, Uman asked, “I know that you do not come every time that someone speaks your name. Was I just lucky?”

“Indeed you were,” replied the god, its scales turning from dusty brown to jewel-like blues, reds and pale green as the stones vanished from its mouth. “Most of my time is spent with my fellow gods. I look over my desert about once every hundred years. Those works needed to keep my land untamed were just finished and I was about to go when you spoke my name and thereby gained my attention.

“Even when I am not here, worship pleases me. Bring others to my temple. You will know where it is.

“Dig no more gems from the desert. They are mine.”

A set of certainties began to form in Uman’s mind. He knew the location of all the water-holes between the temple and Derkhan and the best routes between them… Then, he felt an absence and knew that Skrald Iden was gone. It was only a short way to the first water-hole. He filled his canteen and took a long, refreshing drink. “I don’t have to dig any more gems,” he muttered as he returned to the temple. Carefully dislodging small block of the green stone from the temple, he said, “An adventurer has to take what fortune gives him.”

For four days, he was sustained by his dreams of the wealth that the temple would bring him. He worked his way through the wilderness of stone and sand, going from water-hole to water-hole until he came to the caravan track that lead to Derkhan-in-the-Desert.

Uman glared at his last date as if it were the fault of the fruit, somehow, that it was the last edible thing that he had. It did not make a satisfactory meal. After that, he went hungry.

A day and a half of trudging the dusty caravan route brought him to Derkhan. Uman entered the city by the Gate of the Setting Sun. He made his way past the blank facades of the homes of the wealthy, passing the small shops and hovels of the poor. He pulled his head-cloth tightly about his face. There seemed to be more flies in Derkhan than in all of the deserts round about. Once he found the market-place, he sought out a trafficker in gemstones.

“I have borne this across half of the Skrald Iden,” said Uman with pride, holding out the small block of translucent green stone. You will find it worth your while, I think.”

“You carried it that far?” asked the gem dealer, taking the stone. “Jade is indeed be worth my while,” he said, scratching the rock with the tip his dagger, “but this is only soapstone.”

In the back of his mind, Uman heard the sound of laughter like the sliding of dry gravel and sand.

-THE END-

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This completes In the Desert. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make-up Assignment

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, coercion, breeding/forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Ransom Drysdale and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Ransom Drysdale + “No, not there, in my lap.” + breeding/forced pregnancy + Maybe dark professor ransom with a naive student? Like naive naive, too trusting as request by Anonymous

Your nerves were running wild. The way your heart dropped at the sight of your grade still resonated within you. You couldn’t fail this course and if you did, you had to wait over a year to retake it and that could mean an extra term entirely.

You couldn’t help but fidget as you watched Professor Drysdale read your paper over again. You wanted to know why he gave you such a low mark, a better explanation than the slanted writing on the last page. You needed another chance.

“It’s a well written paper but your thesis just wasn’t strong enough. It’s not what we discussed,” he set it down on his desk, “it’s about symbolism and yet you spend so much time on the literal descriptions.”

You twiddled your fingers and frowned. You couldn’t say you didn’t struggle with the essay but all that effort, the sleepless nights, and the hours spent bent over a library table had done nothing to help. Were you really that hopeless?

“Can I-- Can I make it up?” you asked, “please, I could rewrite it or do an extra paper--”

“I don’t do that,” he shook his head, “it’s not fair, is it? You had as much time and resources as every other student--”

Your eyes blurred with tears as you folded your hands against your lips. You bit down and sniffed back the wave of dread. It wasn’t impossible to pull yourself back up on your other assignments but it wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, come on,” he leaned forward, “don’t cry.”

“I’m not-- I’m sorry, I’m just overwhelmed,” you dropped your hands, “I really did try and I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Well,” he flipped the front page again and perused your introduction, “we learn from our mistakes, don’t we? Let’s go over it and it might put things in perspective.”

“Alright, I… okay,” you murmured and wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt.

“You can’t see all the way over there, come on,” he waved you around the desk and slid his chair back just a little.

You stood, slightly confused, and rounded the desk. You stopped by his shoulder and bent as his fingers tapped on the paper. He chuckled and pulled his hand back. He rubbed his thigh as he looked up at you.

“No, not there, in my lap,” he patted his leg.”

“What--I--”

“We have a lot to go over. You stand like that all night and you’ll hurt your neck,” he touched your wrist, “it’s fine.”

You scrunched your lips and stared into his eyes. It was… weird, surely it was wrong, but you needed to do better. You sidled in front of him as he pushed further back and sat carefully. He brought his arms around you and lifted your paper. His breath grazed your neck and slipped down the collar of your dress.

“Your structure is good, style too, but you need to make an argument you can support with more than… conjecture,” he began and his deep voice crawled over you, “there are several instances I can think of that would support the theme of regret but you didn’t really present them and when you did, the explanation just wasn’t there…”

You listened, or tried to as you felt heavy against him. You felt as if you were hurting him as you sat on him but he barely seemed bothered by the awkward position. When he shifted, you tried to lift yourself.

“Sorry, am I too--”

He dropped your paper and pulled you back down. Your ass met the bulge in his pants. Your head snapped up and you gripped the desk.

“Professor Drysdale,” you uttered.

“Shhh,” he slid his hands under your skirt, “you want another chance, don’t you?”

“Please,” you tried to stand and he held you down. He wiggled under you and groaned.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he rasped, “you sit in every man’s lap like this?”

His fingers pressed to the crotch of your tights and you took a sharp breath. You shivered as his other hand tanked your skirt out from under you. His fingers poked at your tights until the sheer fabric tore and he rubbed your panties as his breath hitched.

“Do you want the grade?” he asked, “or I can knock a few more percent off for inappropriate conduct.”

“Professor--”

“It’ll be quick, a fair trade,” his other hand snaked under you and he pushed down his zipped as he scratched against the nylon.

He brought his knees between your legs and spread them as he lifted you slightly. Frozen, you let him and it was only as he tore the whole in your tights bigger that you realized what was happening.

You stared at the circled number in red on the paper and gulped. He slid your panties aside and urged you down onto him. His tip met your entrance with resistance but he forced his way in and filled you completely. You whined and grabbed his hands as he gripped your hips.

“Wha--”

“That’s it,” he began to move you, “you don’t have to do anything, baby.”

You quivered and squeezed his hands harder. He leaned back and stretched his legs out as yours splayed out over his knees. He rocked into you from below and trailed his hand up the front of your skirt. He shoved his fingers through the whole and toyed with your clit as he sped up.

His fiery breaths surrounded you as the sensation of his fucking filled your core. Stunned and senseless, you could only let him use you. Even if you thought of stopping him, you didn’t have the strength. You were terrified. It was too late anyway.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, “mmm, you're so tight.”

“Please,” you begged as he wrapped an arm around your middle and bucked his hips wildly, “pull out, please, I’m not--”

He spasmed and muffled his moans as he came. You tried to push off of him but he held you down and kept moving, using you until he was done. He stilled and took deep breaths as he descended from the high but kept his cock buried in you.

“Why--”

“You’re so sweet,” he purred as he nuzzled your head, “you’ll make such a good little mommy.”

---

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[kryptsune]

🌼Yes I know I said I needed a break but here is my proof that I love what I do. I spent today and yesterday crafting a little drabble for Felldritch. I am unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {1/3}: The Madhouse

Chocolate colored walls surrounded her day in, day out, though chocolate was something one would associate with something pleasant. This room. Was not. All appearances led one to believe in the fastidious nature of this place. This containment. This prison of foul-smelling chemicals of an unknown substance. The scent of something burning followed by screams for mercy. No…they never heard that. No. This was not a place one would associate with something sweet. 

It was a facade. A simple show for those that did not know any better. A dull green leather sofa sat along the wall. The rivets bolting it down were just hidden by an ornate rug of ghastly reds and browns. Some unknown crimson stain that was never able to be washed out was just covered by a wooden table. A few books here and there slightly worn decorated its surface. They were books one would not make an effort to pick up. The Nature of the Mind, An Essay on the Success of Electrostimulation, CareGiving, A Safe Haven. All books that might lure one into a false sense of security about this place. This madhouse of screaming lunatics and suffering patients. Ruttledge Asylum… The home for the Mentally Tortured and Disturbed.   

A large wooden desk, a full coat rack, a diploma hanging just over some gaudy floral cream-colored wallpaper. Giant books filled with fancy penmanship. A ledger and a quill. Meaningless. Small details that had no value or purpose other than to be eye candy. A pale face watched it all from above surrounded in a golden frame, “Frisk… are you even listening?” Chocolate eyes flecked with ruby stared down from that pale face. Its lips moved expressing a lack of thoughtfulness. A dull tone of acceptance, “I’m sorry Dr. Ruttledge. I will pay more attention.”

The voice that came from that pale face was soft, almost a whisper. One would question if they were truly there, to begin with. A kind of lifelessness that illuminated the tribulations of the past, present, and future. The face that stared back, mahogany hair cut in places haphazardly sticking out, a bandage around a pale throat, eyebrows furrowed with despair. This was her… 

A young woman lay on a lounge staring up into the mirror that the nurses and doctor had placed there. They had claimed it was a means of self-reflection. To be able to see one's own progress and health improving. To her, however, it was a wraith. Every time she stared back at that girl she could see herself being whittled away.  Every question asked left her more and more hollow. No one believed her and why should they? Her experience was something out of a fairytale. Something that only the mad would conjure up, “Frisk I am going to ask you once more and I want you to respond honestly. Do you understand?” 

Dr. W. D. Silias Ruttledge owned this madhouse. He was the presiding caregiver and psychologist to those that did not have violent tendencies. The rest were thrown in solitary beating their empty skulls against dirty white padding. Only hearing the voices of others through a bolted latch in the door. At night she would hear them pacing or talking to themselves. 

He had a suspicious voice. One that was soothing in understanding but he didn’t take that tone with everyone. She always felt he was hiding something. Of course, he would just add paranoia to her list of ailments if she even exhibited such an accusation. His black hair was neatly combed where she could just see a streak or two of grey by the side of his skull. A crooked nose had a pair of golden spectacles perched lightly. She noticed it was a habit of his to pull them off and clean them with this handkerchief when he was beginning to grow irritable. A faint scar ran from the bottom of his left eye and she could have sworn also the top of his right. He was properly groomed, a high white starched collar resting below his chin. An ebony and cream waistcoat showed how successful he had been in his career. The finery of a medical professional.

A set of hazel eyes were kept focused on the clipboard he had resting on one leg dressed in black slacks. A lapel pin of a deer rested on the fabric standing out very minimally. It must have been his lineage she guessed just from his British accent, “Yes sir, I understand.” He tapped the quill he was using to write against the inkwell gently ready to write down any notes that may implicate her level of delusion. It was hopeless.    

“Frisk, can you explain to me how you got here?” He replied, moving in his chair to find a more comfortable position before reaching for his usual cup of tea and taking a sip, “I want a full and complete answer, no one-word responses today.” 

She just turned her attention back up at the doppelganger in the mirror, watching it speak but not feeling anything about what it was saying. It could have been a doll or a dead body for all she cared. That was how hollow she had become. Was there even a soul left within her? Her eyes fell closed before he even asked. It was a typical procedure. Everyday, “Yes, Dr. Ruttledge. I promise I will answer completely and honestly.” Even answering fully wouldn’t put any emotion behind it. A soft sigh escaped her, “I was found wandering the woods late at night nearly seven years ago.

He nodded his head, never once looking up at her, “Yes and why is it you have found yourself in our care?” His quill scribbled something down as she responded, “I was confused trying to remember what had happened to leave me there. Alone in the woods...” The writing stopped, soft scratching absent from crumpled parchment, “You were found exclaiming that you came from a world of monsters. That you needed to help and that you made a promise. A promise to free them from their underground prison.”

Frisk swallowed thickly, “Dr. Ruttledge please I-” He cut her off, listing off her supposed illness calmly. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, “You became hysterical and physically aggressive when you were found and brought here. You begged to be released. So that you could return to them. You continued to talk about these demons… skeletons, fish people, dragons, and goat beasts.” He removed his spectacles and set them down on his clipboard, folding his hands in front of him, “Now tell me, is this due to some trauma or hallucination that you have had? Do you still believe in these fabrications?” 

Her eyes fluttered open to look off to the side, “Frisk? Did you not hear my question?” She took a breath but did not respond to the question. She could just hear that soft sound of metal folding upon metal, “I see. We shall skip that question for now. Now... tell me about these friends that you talk about. That you confide in.” 

She stared as he sat calmly looking down at her. He never seemed to move positions except for maybe switching the leg he crossed. His attention was back on his notes, but only for a second, “Let’s start with your ‘Best Friend’. You seem to talk about him quite a bit.” Frisk felt her body stiffen. Of course, he would ask about him, “Frisk, I want you to talk about him.” She didn’t want to. She never wanted to because she knew what would happen when she did. 

“He was one of the first monsters I met. He helped me and watched over me… protected me. We became close friends. He saved me. I would have had to sacrifice myself to save them all. They all told me that it wouldn’t be the same if I was gone. He begged me to leave my mission behind. Save myself.” 

Dr. Ruttledge just nodded his head, “Yes, as we have discussed before. I must ask if your analysis of this… situation is correct. To me, it sounds as though you possibly had feelings for this demon. Which concerns me greatly.” Frisk shook her head before bolting upright, “He is not a demon!” He raised a brow before shaking his head, “Is? As in present tense. Oh, Frisk, I thought we had made progress today. We will continue tomorrow. Rest up, I will see you in the morning.” He rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on his desk with a soft sigh and opening the door. His gaze was locked on her, just waiting for her to leave his office, or the most likely reason: waiting for the nurse to “escort” her out. 

Of course, she was upset. He just called her best friend a demon. He was nothing of the sort, even if he was skeletal in appearance. His brother was not that way either. As much as she wanted to play the game to get out of here she wasn’t going to agree to that. Sans and Pap. They were her friends and family. Nothing would ever change that. Even as the nurse glared at her, grabbing her arm and leading her down the hall. 

She didn’t even bother to look around the room she was in. It was the room she had been in for nearly seven years. The soft clink of the lock reminded her that she was still a prisoner, regardless of her “ailments.” At least she had a small window to look out over the grounds. It was sad, really, to think that such a small thing was even worth mentioning. It was dark outside with the fire of the lanterns flickering back and forth.

Her hand slipped from the wooden frame only to make her way to the small bed she knew. All she could think of was her bed back in Snowdin. How she would cuddle under those warm covers, snuggled up with the boy's pet dog. Well, more like a wolf. Now she just laid there cuddling a plush she kept close to her. It was a rabbit. A white stuffed rabbit with little button eyes. She had painted them green one day with some of the paint from the rec room. A place she was apparently forbidden from for it would “worsen” her delusions. 

All she could do was close her eyes and try to rest, all while slipping into her memories of a better time. One that she wanted to return to. A place where she was loved and accepted. A place that withheld judgment. Home. She buried her face gently against the plush in her arms, her whole body shaking from the thoughts that clawed at her mind. It was at that moment she felt terribly alone and hopeless.   

Frisk could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on top of the thin blankets. A few soft sobs caused her to choke on what little words she could get out, “I want to go home.” Would they even recognize her anymore? She was broken. A fragile thing putting up a smiling face in the jaws of adversity. That tightness was starting to constrict her chest before she let it out. Trails of tears poured from her eyes as she fell apart, slowly struggling to take in proper oxygen. This place was breaking her. If she just admitted that they didn’t exist maybe they would let her leave. Maybe she could live a normal life, but that wasn’t the one she wanted.

A few hours later and she was shaken awake only to be greeted by an old frowning face. The nurse. Frisk didn’t bother to remember her name. She was a crotchety old crone that treated the patients like dogs. The cup in her hand found its way into her cheek, squishing against her face and forcing her to take it from those leathery hands. It was her medicine. The kind that would make her sleepy. It was a feeling she hated; not being in control of herself properly. She took the pills and hid them under her tongue as the nurse walked away. Normally they checked to see if they were swallowed, but they had never caught her not taking them before. 

She spit them out before tossing them through the bars of the window. There were worse things here then not taking ones medication. Tortures she had been subjected to even though she was not supposed to. That was when she noticed a sliver of light coming from the hallway. The nurse had forgotten to shut the door. 

All that was running through her mind was that she could be free. She could escape this place. Adrenaline was coursing through her as her feet flew toward the crack in the metal. A promise of freedom and escape. There was no one in the hallway. 

She grabbed some of her clothing. The same ones that she had been found in and threw them on. The striped shirt that she wore in the Underworld for so long they had thrown away a long time ago. Now all she was left with was the patient clothing now hanging on her shoulders and a pair of boots and socks. She hated being stuck in that sterile smock, but she couldn’t waste any time. 

She grabbed what she found valuable from her room before creeping down the hallway, passing a security guard easily. The spare keys were kept in the office as she snagged one from the drawer before rushing toward the door. That soft click of the key being inserted into the lock caused her heart to jump, as she stumbled out into the night. Where was the mountain? She could just faintly make out the silhouette of Ebott from where she was. 

Frisk ran as hard as she could and as fast as she could, stumbling through the trees, climbing rocks, and doing everything in her power to reach the summit. She knew where she had fallen; it was all rushing back. A branch caught at her cheek, causing a thin line of crimson to bead from the wound. Just a little bit more. 'Seven years ago she had been here,' she thought as she stared down into the open mouth of the mountain. So long ago. 

It didn’t matter… she was going home.

A simple jump and she had flung herself into the darkness once more. Only this time she knew what awaited her. At least… she thought she did….

[glaivenoct]

Swept Away

Relationship: Nyxnoct Rating: T Words: 2,124 Summary: Nyx plans something special for Noct on his birthday. Something better than sitting through meetings

Also over on (ao3). Please, pretty please consider to stop by a drop a comment or maybe give this a reblog if you enjoy? I appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts :) (I’m not late, Noct’s birthday is all weekend what are you talking about)

-

“Where do you think you’re going, birthday boy?”

Noctis nearly drops the notebook in his hands when he collides into Nyx, who he swear appeared out of thin air. Nyx, with quick, heroic reflexes, steadies him before he can stumble backwards in his startlement. A soft gasp and Noctis is tugged close so they’re inches apart, looking up into the suave, steel blue of the glaive’s eyes. The subtle curve of Nyx’s lips is far more captivating than Noctis could have prepared himself for, and it has his own parting in love-struck awe like a bad romcom cliche.

“Nyx, what the hell?” is all he can think to say in reaction. There’s a blush waiting to shoot from his neck to his ears, but he stops it short with a meager glare, forcing a little distance between them.

“Sorry.” Nyx leans close like he wants to kiss him but waits for some sort of permission. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Noctis glances over his shoulder and past Nyx for any crownsguard or citadel staff. You can never be too sure in these long corridors. When he’s sure the coast is clear, he turns his head just enough to give Nyx the okay and gets a kiss on the cheek. “You know where I’m going, hero.”

“That I do, and I’ve decided you’re not going.”

“You can’t do that.” Noctis snorts, prepared to step around Nyx and be on his way, but his path is blocked.

“Oh, but I can! What kind of lover would I be if I let my little king work on his birthday?”

“We went over this. I have a meeting.”

“Right. With me. Pretty sure it was supposed to go a little something like this.”

Noctis has nowhere near enough self control to stop Nyx from capturing his lips in a leisurely kiss. To not melt into the brief touch of fingers propping beneath his chin to tilt his head back to deepen it. To fight the urge of jumping right into his arms and respond accordingly to the tease of tongue and the graze and nip of teeth. Noct doesn’t even care that anyone could turn the corner at any given moment and see them.

He should care, though. He really should. He has a meeting, damnit.

But he still has to stop himself from whining when Nyx finally parts from him. Noct stares at him like the unreal man he swears he is sometimes, breath almost catching in his chest.

“There might be a few more finer details to go over.” Nyx says with the cock of his brows and a suggestive grin. “Y’know, in private. Where I can take my time.”

Noct resists the shiver fluttering through his spine at the insinuation. Straightens himself and clears his throat, ducks his head to stare at the notes scribbled on the open page of his notebook.

“We were supposed to do all that tomorrow…”

“And we will. But it’s your birthday, and you’re crazy if you think I’m letting you sit through meetings all day.”

Believe it or not, Noctis is a firm believer in not working on one’s birthday.

He recalls being six years old and all but demanding that his father’s birthday be declared as the king’s “Do Not Disturb” day. Being not much older and pleading with Cor and Clarus to take a day off for once, that he would look out for his dad just fine so they didn’t have to worry about a thing! The “As your Prince, I command you” line worked well enough on Ignis as they grew up together, and Prompto in high school. While he saved the more sarcastic reasonings for Gladio, claiming with a grin that he was only looking to get out of training.

There was less control when it came to Nyx. Noctis knows there were years where Nyx spent his birthday behind enemy lines, treated to makeshift dinners and celebrations around the campfire of their secret headquarters. Though it’s been years since such a thing happened, there was always the possibility. But if Noctis could help it, none of his loved ones were allowed to work on their birthday.

Noctis isn’t excited about the idea of spending his birthday stuck in meetings either. At the same time, he brought this on himself and felt obligated to face the consequences of his organizational blunders. He’s usually better than this. Or so he likes to believe, but he really should’ve looked at a calendar when he said “Yeah, Friday works.”

Rooted somewhere beneath that overwhelming sense of obligation, Noctis knows no one would dare to question him for rescheduling. He was the Prince and it was his birthday. How could anyone say no to that? They wouldn’t. And that was just it. Despite it all, Noctis takes his charity work seriously. Knows that the people he’s meant to meet with have been eager to brainstorm with him for a special project that’s been in the works months now. Prince or not, it didn’t feel right to delay the progress of the project out of his own selfishness. 

Plans with Nyx and his father and friends were set up for the weekend. He could tough it out this one day. It’s not like they were council meetings.

“Nyx, I have to be there…” Noctis insists, though the hesitance and indecision is clear in face and tone.

“No, you don’t.” Nyx insists with far more confidence and a smile that hypnotizes Noctis further to the thought of resignation. “Because Ignis agreed to take care of it in your place. Already has copies of your notes and everything. Said he’ll fill you in on everything later and schedule another day you can meet with them yourself.”

“But -”  

“He also said no buts. So did your dad. And me.”

“But -”

“Nope!” Nyx slaps his hand over Noct’s mouth, muffling an outraged yelp. “None of that. Don’t make me kiss you.” Noct narrows his eyes and huffs against the warm fingers, tempted to bite them out of spite. Nyx laughs as his hand is pushed away instead. “We’ll still do everything we planned to do tomorrow, Noct. But I wanted to do something special for you today too.”

“Special?” Noct tries not to sound too curious. 

“Well, I hope it’s special. What do you say, little king?” Nyx offers a hand to him. “Let me sweep you away?”

There’s not another dimension or universe in which Noctis has the heart to refuse such gesture. A dashing smile sprouts across Nyx’s face, accenting the hopeful kindness in his eyes and making Noct’s heart buzz. Nyx was like his emboldened knight, stealing him away from the confines of his responsibilities within the citadel. Off to their own fantasy land where the only thing Noct cares about is the press of his lips, the caress of his fingers, the scratch of his beard, and the dopey things Nyx says to make him laugh.

There’s not much else Noct could want on his birthday. He doesn’t need anything grand. Nyx being this adamant about it is already special enough for him. Meeting’s and guilt be damned. It’s his birthday! He bursts into a smile as he allows Nyx to take his hand and squeeze it.

“Everything’s taken care of?”

“Everything’s taken care of.”

“Then lead the way, hero.”

Nyx leads him with all the thrill of fugitive lovers on the run. Off to the sanctuary of his small apartment tucked discreetly into the city’s lower districts. He doesn’t let go of his prince’s hand until they reach the door, and each second he spends fishing for his keys and fiddling with the lock feels like an eternity to Noctis. It has him eagerly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

The first thing Noct notices when the door opens is the smell. Something that reminds him of the crisp morning air of a forest after rain with the faintest hint of syllelblossoms. There’s an incandescent flicker cutting through the abnormal darkness inside, and Noctis looks at Nyx curiously, waiting for an explanation. It’s all in the step Nyx takes out of the doorway and the gesture for him to enter first. 

Noctis only hesitates because he’s unsure if he’s prepared to face whatever sweet thought and effort Nyx’s clearly put in to this.

One step past the threshold and Noctis stills in that spot, taken aback at the pathway of tea light candles before him, paving the short route to Nyx’s bed. The two windows in the apartment have been covered up to minimize the amount of sunlight peering in. Ahead are spare sheets and blankets draped and hung strategically above the bed, enveloping it like a tent with a perpetually open flap. Old, white holiday lights Noct recalls bringing for the winter holidays are strung inside, turning the area into a cozy, golden cove. A blanket fort, he should say. A cozy, golden cove of a blanket fort. Noctis blinks, lets out a stunned huff and drops his notebook.

Meetings are the farthest thing from his mind now.

“I’ve got three movies picked out.” Nyx says just as Noct notices his armchair pushed aside near one end of the bed. On it rests the small TV that’s normally mounted on the wall. “They’re all ones you’ve mentioned wanting to see. Got all your favorite snacks too. Don’t tell Ignis.”

Noctis can confirm for himself that Ignis would not approve as soon as he spots the small table near the other end of the bed, covered in an array of junk food and sweets that have his stomach ready to grumble any minute now. 

Down the flickering path of soft candlelight Noct goes. He hears the door shut and Nyx following quietly behind him. The closer he gets to the bed, the wider he finds himself smiling, and the more he notices the plethora of pillows and fuzzy blankets stuffed inside. It’s more than Nyx has ever owned and Noctis soon recognizes that most of them have been hijacked from his own apartment. He moves one of the flaps aside to peek in further, noticing a folded article of grey clothing. A knit sweater. He picks it up and presents it to Nyx with the rise of one brow.

“Your favorite, right?” He asks. “Can’t give you a movie night without something to get comfy in.”

It’s one of Nyx’s sweaters. Noct’s favorite to steal and snuggle in after a shower or enduring the cold of winter and rainy days. Set out for him like a warmhearted invitation. Noctis could’ve tackled him then and there, pinned him to the ground and kissed every dose of gratitude into Nyx’s lips before the rush of it threatened to make his own heart implode.

“Nyx…” Noctis starts without quite knowing what else to say beyond it.

“I know, I know. Crowe said it was dopey. After she helped me set it up, but it’s still better than sitting in a meeting. Right?”

“Way better.” Noct rises on the tips of his toes to gift the start of many grateful kisses. “It’s perfect. Thanks for sweeping me away on my birthday.”

“Allow me to sweep you into bed next.” Nyx smirks and grabs him a sudden bear hug to topple into their blanket fort together. Noct’s stifled yelp turns into a string of giggles once he feels Nyx’s hands at his waist, encouraging the removal of his current shirt in favor of the sweater. 

In their own time, they settle down. After Noctis is comfortably down to the sweater, his boxers and socks. After Nyx finds the self control to pull away from his kisses to wheel the snacks closer and move the armchair with the TV accordingly. After they’ve worked through Noct’s indecisiveness on what he wants to watch first, and Nyx teases him for already knowing he’d end up picking sci-fi. After they’ve picked the snacks they’re craving most.

They meld together in their cozy fort, Noct’s back to Nyx’s chest, an arm slung around his waist and legs sloppily intertwined. Noct doesn’t care to move from the position throughout the entirety of the first movie, only wriggling every now and again throughout the second to stretch. Halfway through the third, when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he finally moves. Turns around completely so he can tuck his face into Nyx’s chest and escape the bright light from the TV.

Both arms come around him this time in another squeezing hug. Noctis smiles drowsily into Nyx’s shirt and feels a kiss atop his hair, drifting off to sleep on the thought of this being a birthday well spent. The best part being that it’s just the beginning. 

[onewaywardwitch]

Just A Typo (5/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: None I think

Word Count: 2213

A/N: I finally got a chance to write the next part! The feedback has been amazing so thank you to everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments. It really does make my day! Also I just watched Fantastic Beasts 2 and I have so many questions.

It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new routine. Alarm goes off, get up twenty minutes later because I pressed snooze again. Look for my keys which I somehow manage to misplace every morning. Then grab my morning hot chocolate and a bag of jellies on my way to the tower.

Each morning I made the effort to greet everyone I bumped into in the tower, and soon enough, it payed off. People that were previously cautious around me grew fonder. I was doing my best to not give anyone a reason to dislike me. It worked with most of the staff, but the Avengers themselves were a whole other story.

Tony and I grew close. He invited me upstairs often, sometimes to talk about work, others to just have a chat. It was nice to talk to someone other than Angie or Becca. I couldn’t help but notice that there was never any other Avenger around when I was there. When I mentioned it to Tony, he brushed it off, claiming they were on a mission or simply busy elsewhere.

From that moment on, I became determined to make them all less uncomfortable around me.

~~~~~

“Why do you have this need to make everyone like you?” Angie questioned me a few days after my conversation with Tony.

I scoffed at her and shook my head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would you think that?”

“Because you're literally making brownies for the Avengers that apparently hate you just to get them to like you,” she replied, eyeing me in my current situation.

My hair was thrown up haphazardly in a bun and the sleeves of my jumper were rolled up to my elbows. The flour that was supposed to be in the bowl was on the floor, but I was too busy trying to scoop out the eggshells that had fallen into the mixture to notice. I tried brushing some of the flour that was on my face away, only succeeding in getting egg on my face as well.

“No, I was just in a baking mood. I didn’t think there was any harm in making some for my co-workers too. It's not a big deal.”

“We both know those brownies are going straight to the top floor and nowhere else.”

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, hoping the Avengers would accept my peace offering. It was incredibly frustrating that most of them hadn’t forgiven me for the hacking incident and for some reason, I couldn’t accept that. That was why I was desperately trying to bake brownies while unbelievably close to tears.

“Please help me, Angie,” I whined. “I can’t make the food taste like actual food by myself!”

She chuckled at the state I had gotten myself into and began rolling up her sleeves to help out. I let out a sigh of relief, yet still unsure about whether or not this would work at all.

~~~~~

On one hand, I had hoped to just give the brownies to Tony so he could distribute them to everyone else. On the other, I knew that I needed to do this in person to have a chance at apologising properly.

The secretary gave me a quick glance before allowing me on the lift once they recognised me as a friend of Tony. Once in the lift, I attempted to fix my hair a bit. I had woken up late again and barely had time to get ready and grab the large box of brownies I finished making with Angie late last night.

The ding of the elevator caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. My nerves had increased tenfold and I resorted to mumbling reassurances to myself to try and calm down.

“Are you alright?”

The soft voice behind me made me whip around quickly. It was Sergeant Barnes, watching me curiously as I fumbled over my words. He definitely wasn’t the person I thought I'd be bumping into first. He seemed far more reserved than the others and was known to showing up to very few public events.

“I, ugh, yes I'm okay. I mean, I have these, ugh, brownies? I thought, well, I don’t really know what I was thinking,” I scratched the back of my neck, only now realising that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. “I know you guys are still annoyed about what I did, and I thought this might help make up for it. But it was stupid of me. You guys are superheroes, you probably don’t even eat brownies! But I don’t know what superheroes eat. Oh God, I've screwed this up completely, haven’t I? Sergeant Barnes, I am so sorry− “

“Bucky,” he cut off my ramblings as soon as he processed why I was here. He found my predicament endearing. I gave him a confused look. “Call me Bucky.”

“Right, sorry, Bucky. I just shouldn’t talk anymore− here.” I practically shoved the box into his hands as he looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite identify.

I rolled on the balls of my feet slightly while he glanced at the contents, a small smile forming on his face. He actually has a nice smile, why haven’t I noticed before− no! Stop it, you moron.

“I should probably just go,” I said slowly. Bucky lifted his head up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He cringed inwardly at how eagerly he replied. “Don’t you want to see the others?”

After a few moments of hesitation, I agreed to his suggestion. It couldn’t hurt to try apologising in person once again.

We found most of the Avengers gathered in the kitchen, chatting amongst themselves. Their conversation died down when they saw me. An awkward silence hung over us all before Bucky cleared his throat.

“Y/N brought us brownies.”

It was only when Bucky said it out loud that I realised how ridiculous it sounded. I was in the middle of working out the probability of my survival if I was to jump from the nearest window, when another voice spoke up.

“Yes! I'm starved,” Clint exclaimed, jumping up and heading towards the food.

I let out the breath I didn’t even realise I was holding in. Natasha was eyeing me suspiciously as I shot Clint a grateful smile.

“Oh man, these are great! Here, try some,” Clint said, thrusting the box towards the remaining Avengers who were now looking a lot less uneasy.

“They were supposed to have chocolate chips in them but I, er, ate them,” I said tentatively, but no one was listening other than Bucky. I noticed he was still nervous around me but tried to brush it off.

Wanda saw me standing beside him and invited me to take the seat across from her, which I accepted gratefully. Just as I sat down, Natasha quickly got up. Before she left the room, she whispered something to Bucky, who tensed immediately. I didn’t think too much of it as Wanda pulled me into a conversation between her and Sam.

~~~~~

Bucky, being the gentleman from the 40’s, offered to walk me back to my apartment. I was surprised at first, until I saw that I had spent nearly the whole day at the tower, and it was pretty dark outside. Not too keen on walking back alone, I gladly took him up on his offer.

We walked in silence for a bit, the winter wind not as strong as it normally would be. I took a moment to observe the man beside me as discreetly as possible. His dark hair was pushed back behind his ears, and every so often a few strands would fall into his face until he pushed them back again. He had kind blue eyes, much softer than I previously thought. I heard his story before, of course. But it was difficult to be intimidated by him after seeing how gentle and soft-spoken he really was, and I couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Hagrid!” I blurted out, my face turning a bright shade of red. Bucky turned his head in my direction slightly and raised his eyebrows. At least we weren’t walking in silence now.

“Sorry?”

“Hagrid… that’s who you remind me of. From Harry Potter. Y’know, the whole ‘gentle giant’ kind of thing? You both look scary, but you're softies on the inside.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blush, his ears tinged red. I smiled to myself at his reaction while he stuttered a reply.

“Thanks? Is that a good thing?”

I stopped walking and narrowed my eyes at him in thought before breaking out in a grin. “Definitely a good thing,” I agreed.

He accepted my compliment and nodded his head, continuing on our path home. But I couldn’t help but notice the small smile that graced his face after that.

“Tony said you were working on something new to prevent another hacking incident,” Bucky said in attempt to keep our conversation going.

“Oh yeah! See, I figured that if someone else is going to try hack into the tower, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like I did, right?” I glanced across to Bucky, who was focused on what I was saying. Not needing any reply, I continued on.

“I'm installing this new system that’ll basically send a virus to whoever is hacking you. So, while they’re hacking into our system, we’ll be doing the same to theirs without them even knowing. That way, we’ll be able to access everything they have and know where they are. And it’ll be impossible for them to get into our system at all now. They can try, but I've made it virtually unhackable. The only person who would be able to hack us now is, well, me,” I explained proudly.

Bucky nodded slowly, deep in thought. I could tell he was trying to process what I said, and I was about to explain once more before he spoke up.

“I don’t think ‘unhackable’ is a word.”

“Oh shush.”

~~~~~

Surprisingly, everyone was still in the kitchen when Bucky returned home. The box that previously held Y/N’s brownies was now completely empty, lacking even a crumb. Bucky was about to complain when Steve appeared at his side, a small brownie wrapped in some tissue in his hand.

“Here,” he said, handing his friend the food. “You're lucky to even be getting this much. Sam and Clint devoured the rest.”

Bucky was munching on the brownie happily when Wanda noticed his arrival. She nudged Sam, a grin forming on his face at once.

“Hey, Bucky, get your girl home safe?”

Tony looked up from his conversation with Natasha in interest. Bucky glared at Sam, who could barely contain his glee at having something to tease Bucky with.

“She’s not my girl. It can get dangerous here at night. I was just making sure she got home safe, that’s all.” Bucky tried to convince Sam with little success. He stared at the rest of the group. Wanda, who had immediately taken a liking to Y/N, was beaming at the soldier. Tony and Rhodey both appeared slightly confused at what was going on. Steve simply clapped Bucky on the shoulder, but Bucky’s gaze was fixated on Natasha, who had yet to say anything. She must have felt him watching her, as she sighed before speaking.

“Look, she doesn’t seem like a bad person, but I still don’t think we should be trusting her this soon. She spends half a day up here, and suddenly everyone approves of her? Are we forgetting the reason we met her? We don’t know her.”

“We know enough,” Tony replied, getting tired of Nat’s constant disapproval of the woman he had grown quite fond of. “Give her a chance, Nat. You might actually like her.”

She shook her head and caught Bucky’s eyes.

“Whatever you do, be careful.”

~~~~~

“Why does everyone think I like Y/N?” Bucky questioned Steve the following day while they were on their morning run. It had become a routine for the two. They enjoyed having the few hours to talk, and Bucky found it beneficial to have a constant every morning. His life had been a series of unpredictable complications. This gave him something steady to hold onto.

“You’re just acting different around her, Buck. A little more nervous. And you stutter around her too. You don’t stutter,” Steve laughed, his friend glaring at him.

“I don’t know, she’s different, but a normal kind of different. Not our kind of different. She’s gentle too. And nice, but for no reason. No one is ever just nice anymore. But she doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit either. She nearly lost it when Clint told her he still uses Internet Explorer.” Bucky chuckled at the memory of how frustrated Y/N got last night while trying to explain to Clint that Internet Explorer was completely rubbish. “But it doesn’t matter. She deserves someone who’d be good for her. She’s probably already got a boyfriend too.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Buck,” Steve remarked. “She’d be lucky to go out with you. Plus,” he picked up his speed, shouting back to Bucky, “she definitely isn’t dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, how do you know that? Are you sure? STEVE, ARE YOU SURE?” Bucky yelled at Steve as he chased after him.

Taglist (open):

(if there’s a strike through your name it means I couldn’t tag you)

@amybarter15 @imperialoath @throw-some-music-my-way @mamaraptor @marbleowl @lydklein1 @wantingtobekorra @alysawrites @uhholyhazza @ladymelissastark @sarcasm-n-insomnia @foxylupines @myrabbitholetoneverland @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @markusstraya @padfootormoose @worldofchoices @just-some-stuff-in-life @colie87 @catsandbooksinafarawayplace

[quasarkisses]

Spirit, Valor, and Knowledge Teaser

SVK is my original story. I’ve been worldbuilding for it for about seven years under the working title “heroes story”, which longtime followers have probably seen mention of at some point. It’s gone through several iterations over the course of that time and has changed a significant amount from the initial attempts.

The current manuscript is partially incomplete and will need to go through  thorough edits, but I’m hoping to release early chapters for beta readers later this fall or winter, with the goal of ensuring that the representation I’ve included is done as well as possible for a queer hick from the rural midwest. 

All characters and content are my original creations and are open to improvement. Feedback is appreciated and will encourage further content release.

Wordcount: 1.2k

_______________________

The cat was nosing in Theo’s paint again, bothering him for a scratch. He loved the insufferable creature, but damn if it didn’t seek affection at the worst of times. Careful to balance it properly, he set aside his pallet and rubbed Carnie’s ears. The wind blew cold even in the summer season, and Theo pulled his coat tighter around him, trying to keep paint off of it and the cat as best he could.

He took a moment to warm his hands in its long orange fur and look over what he had completed so far. The rough textures of the worn brick and concrete buildings of the city east of the commune were a good challenge; the crumbling asphalt road with its faded remnants of yellow and white leading outwards tested his skill at displaying perspective.

Mx. Jordanes had assigned him to sketch the same scene last year. More of the shoulder of the road had deteriorated since then, doubling the size of the pothole, and one of the telephone poles had rotted through in the spring. It had taken fifteen able adults to move, clearing the way further to the fourth stoplight down, where things became 4th Street territory. The stop lights still cycled through their colors, directing the ghost of traffic. Once, they had been the pulse of the city. Theo thought he might catch them all at different colors. Some red and yellow would really brighten up the scene.

He was putting down a base of orange on the furthest one when he noticed the change. A cluster of dots in the distance had come around a corner and were making their way down the road: two of them black and two of them gray. Two travellers, he assumed, being escorted to Slateset by 4th Life Strays, who claimed the 4th Street territory. The Strays were usually good about sending survivors their way, but as they came closer Theo could see the strange make of their clothes. The gray figures were bundled in swathes of cloth over every inch of their body, hoods pulled low over their faces, while the dark coated pair were marked at the shoulders, the taller one by red and the shorter by violet. They were packed too lightly for real wandering, but they didn’t look like Kings either. Certainly they wouldn’t have come through 4th Street if they were.

Theo painted his stoplights as he waited for them to come in calling distance of the barrier wall he was perched on, and began packing away his brushes for deeper cleaning.

If they were Darksiders he was as good as dead already. They didn’t look the type, no guns or bows as far as he could see, but Theo adjusted the hatchet hanging from his belt so the steel caught the light just in case.

“Hail!” cried the violet-marked woman, her dark face turned up to look at him against the sun. A long scar ran vertical on the right side of her face from jawline to cheekbone.

“Hello,” he replied. The wind picked up bitterly, and he had to raise his voice significantly to be heard. It was possible someone else from the commune would hear him and come to investigate. Carnie the cat didn’t care for his yelling or for the sudden cold and trotted off down the wall without him. “Did the Bosses give you passage through 4th Street?”

The woman’s reply was stolen by a cold gust. “We met no one on the road here,” she said, louder this time. “We are glad to see someone left alive. Are there more of you?”

“We’re all glad to be alive these days,” he replied, to avoid answering her directly. “Do you need food or medical attention?”

The woman shared a look with one of the hooded figures and discussed something between them. “Your company is all we would request. We have come from far away, and we have many questions as to how this place came to be in such a state. If you would come down and speak to us, we would be grateful.”

Theo weighed the risk. She didn’t talk like a local, she wasn’t lying about that. Their clothes, especially the gray cloaks, were exceedingly clean for someone who had been on the road for any stretch of time, and both she and her redmarked companion would freeze to death if they spent the night outside. They didn’t even have gloves. Still, they didn’t seem like Darksiders, and they had made no threat to him. If they had news from any distance the council would want to speak to them immediately. It had been more than a year since they’d had news from as far as the next state over, and there would be a hundred questions to ask anyone from further.

No, they hadn’t threatened him yet. It would be safer and smarter to test that before bringing them back to his home. “No, I’m staying up here,” he shouted. “Ask whatever you want, but do it from down there.”

They showed no sign of aggression at his refusal, though the women turned and conferred with her companions again. “What is the name of this place?” she asked.

Theo frowned. He leaned over, holding onto the ledge, just to check that his memory was correct. Below his feet in letters five feet tall, Slateset: The First Solar Supermall was proudly printed in bold emerald script. They’d taken down the plastic decals to clean and repaint only two weeks before. Mx. Jordanes had organized the effort, and Theo was still finding green paint behind his ears.

Maybe they were illiterate. Or, more likely, there was some obvious reason for the confusion that Theo was overlooking somehow. Either way, he said, “This is the Slateset Commune.” He pointed back the way they had come, then westward towards the mountains. “That’s all Fourth Street until you hit the residentials, and past us you’re in the King’s Republic.”

“Theo!” Still in his work clothes, Jack Kindley jogged over from the farmyard. “We heard yelling, you alright?” The barrier wall was set against a hill, leaving Jack only a few feet below him as opposed to the height he spoke with the strangers from.

“I’m fine Mr. Kindley, only there are some people here that say they’re from out of town.”

Jack’s face brightened with surprise. “Out of town? How far out of town?” He began to scale the wall next to Theo, heaving himself up by wrapping his arms around the edge, and looked down at the four travellers. “You come from out Kansas way? 73 still a bandit nest?”

The man with red on his coat answered them in a deep tone that cut through the wind like a knife. “We only came west recently,” was all he said.

Jack glanced to Theo, adjusting his grip on the wall. “They look like trouble to you?”

“Nah, I think they’re just odd. They came from 4th Street, though, and they said they weren’t stopped by any Strays. That sounds like trouble to me.”

The older man frowned and nodded, peering over the ledge again. “You guys got any weapons?”

The woman with the scar and her tall friend pulled out a large sword and an axe with a long, black blade. She presented it oddly, as if she were offering it up to be taken or showing it off, and the man did much the same with his blade. The hooded figures were supposedly defenseless. Jack seemed to think it as strange as Theo did, but he nodded all the same. “Alright then, guess you can’t shoot the place up. Let’s get you in where it’s warm.”

_______________________

I’ll likely post more teasers from throughout the book as parts become more polished. If anyone actually reads this far, thank you! Literally all feedback is good, my asks are open and anyone can dm me. The response I’ve gotten so far has me looking forward to putting out more original content in the SVK vein but please like/reblog/usual e-shilling etc if you enjoy it.

Thank you! 

[welllpthisishappening]

The Fine Art of Going Viral

Listen, hockey children are my greatest weakness. Cute hockey children who do not know how to actually skate are, somehow, even worse. Better? It doesn’t matter. Several different people sent me this video (heyo @optomisticgirl @shireness-says and @peglegsjones and...my husband) and @distant-rose listened to me plot this and I wrote 4.5 K of Matt Jones mic’ing up his younger brother at practice and turning him into a social media sensation. Emma and Killian are not pleased. 

The Rangers keep losing in OT and it’s going to ruin our draft pick, so I’m going to keep writing hockey fic to make myself feel better. 

“Let me get this straight, you mic’ed up your brother?”

Matt didn’t answer, which was, honestly, even more of an answer than actually responding to the question and Killian was only a little frustrated that he was kind of impressed by the whole thing.

“While he was at practice?”

More silence.

Killian lifted his eyebrows, a move that usually worked better than it had in the last five minutes of, mostly, one-sided conversation and the video was everywhere. It had thousand of hits and even more retweets and reblogs and Emma had already seen it picked up by several different news outlets and more than one Rangers blog.

David had sent him a link.

He hadn’t actually watched it yet.

“Matthew. I asked you a question, kid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt mumbled, the words barely that when he didn’t actually open his mouth very wide. “And I mean…we did it before practice. Technically.”

Gravity made sure Killian couldn’t shift his eyebrows anymore, but his mind latched onto we and it didn’t really surprise him that this was a group effort. The whole lot of them – next-gen Rangers as the tabs liked to proclaim them when they made it in the tabs and they’d all done a very good job of trying to keep them out of the tabs as much as possible – were impossibly close, even if they weren’t all that close in age.

Killian was dimly aware of a group text that was almost constantly dinging, updates and plans and he had been a little worried that Matt and Peggy’s phones were going to explode when Roland set up that game-winner in overtime earlier in the week.

He should have expected that Matt had cohorts.

He just needed to figure out who.  

“How?”

“What do you mean how?”

“I mean, how, Matthew,” Killian said, hooking his foot around the nearest chair in the kitchen and crooking his finger. “Get off the counter.”

Matt sighed – although if that was from the demand to get off the counter or the use of his full name again, Killian wasn’t entirely sure. As it were though, he was mostly focused on figuring out where his oldest kid had gotten enough video equipment to tape his youngest kid at hockey practice and how his middle kid inevitably fit into all of it.

And possibly Roland Locksley.

Or Lizzie Vankald-Jones.

He was fairly sure Henry didn’t have anything to do with it.

That was why they let him take Chris to practice. And pick Matt up from school. He was responsible. An adult. Some kind of quasi-cousin, almost-uncle, thing. He was, at least, some type of authority figure.

He wouldn’t have gone along with this.

“Now,” Killian said, voice low and decidedly paternal when Matt didn’t move quickly enough. He huffed, sliding off the counter with more drama than a thirteen-year-old should have possessed and his eyes widened when he heard the footsteps coming around the corner. “You might want to sit down,” Killian suggested, nodding towards the chair on the other side of the table as Emma moved into the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “This could take awhile.”

Matt winced.

“Mom—“ He started, shifting his weight between his feet and waving his arms slightly and his eyes still hadn’t returned to their correct size yet.

Emma shook her head. Matt’s jaw snapped shut almost audibly. “Where’d you get the microphone?” she asked, stopping next to Killian and he didn’t think she tried to lean into his hand when it moved to the small of her back, but it happened anyway and that was kind of nice.

Matt flushed.

“Matthew,” Killian muttered, working another disgruntled groan out of his kid and a soft laugh out of his wife. HIs eyes flickered up towards hers, a smile tugging at the end of her mouth. “Answers, kid.”

“It’s really not bad. It was just...well, we thought it’d be kind of funny. Did you—did you watch the video?”

“How’d you get the microphone, Matthew David?”

He’d never actually sat down, so it was incredible when Matt’s whole body seemed to just fold into itself, slumped shoulders and hanging arms and Killian was fairly positive his hair actually got longer, just so it could fall across his forehead. “You’re going to get mad.”

“We’re already a little mad,” Killian said, and it could not have been good for Matt’s teeth if he kept clacking them like that. The video was already all over the internet. “Chris is four. He should not be on the internet.”

Something, something gone viral or some other phrase that was absolutely horrible and disgusting-sounding and the whole video had lasted for nearly five minutes. They must have edited it, somehow.

God, he was really getting frustrated with how impressive the whole operation was.

“But—“

Killian shook his head deftly, Emma hissing when his fingers gripped hers too tightly and he mumbled a quick apology into the bend of her elbow. “I just—I don’t understand what would even go through your mind to do this,” Emma said. “And, seriously, how.”

Matt’s neck appeared to have given up on trying to support his head. “You keep asking the same question.”

“That’s because you’re doing a very good job of avoiding answering it.”

“If I say media training are you going to ground me?”

“Oh, you’re going to get grounded no matter what you say,” Killian muttered, Matt’s face paling slightly. “But if you want to dig yourself into an even deeper hole by making poorly-timed jokes, be my guest.”

Matt yanked his lips behind his teeth, eyes falling to his feet and Killian was fairly certain he heard him mumbled captain voice under his breath. It was difficult to hear when his shoulders were so slumped, though.

“So,” Killian continued, “it’d probably be in your best interest at this point to tell us several things. Why you did what you did. Why you thought it was even remotely a good idea after Mom and I have spent half a lifetime trying to keep you guys off the internet—“

“—Ru already yelled at me for that.”

“God, when did she find time for that?” Emma mumbled, half to herself and the scope of this entire project was drifting dangerously close to epic. “How are we coming in second in the disciplining our kid race?”

Killian’s laugh lacked a distinct bit of humor – mostly because he couldn’t get the phrase viral video out of his head. “Nothing about this entire thing makes any sense, that’s why. Lucas didn’t tell me about it yet.”

“Probably because she was too busy chastising Matt.”

“Well, all her hard work about media training-related jokes has clearly been for naught.”

Matt hadn’t gotten much of the color back in his cheeks yet, but there were bits of pink on his skin and he had one eye squeezed shut when he lifted his head up. There wasn’t an actual word for whatever noise it made. It sounded uncomfortable, like it was scratching at the sides of his throat. “And she’s really mad at Rol,” he mumbled, Emma’s shoulders rolling back quickly like she’d been shocked.

Killian was very glad he was sitting down.

They should have made some kind of flow chart for all of this. And named it Kids are the Worst or something.

“Oh my God, what does Roland have to do with it?”

“He’s the one that posted it. More followers.”

Killian cursed, Emma rolling her whole head back so she could stare at the ceiling like that would help. “Of course, of course,” she grumbled, starting to pace a small semi-circle and glancing at Killian. “Should we be getting updates from Roland Lockley’s social media pages?”

He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what it comes to, then I think we’ve crossed a line we can’t retreat from, love. I’ll give you very good odds that he’s getting glared at by Gina now, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a very good point.”

Matt was silent again.  

“Ok,” Killian sighed, dragging his hand across his face. Matt hadn’t blinked in hours. “You’ve still got questions to answer, kid. And how did you get Chris to agree to it? I’m very curious about that.”

“Incredibly,” Emma amended. She moved half an inch to her right, letting his fingers tug lightly on the back of her shirt and Matt made a noise that was distinctly un-human when she perched on Killian’s thigh.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder.

“That’s not even fair,” Matt grumbled. “You’re double-teaming me.”

Killian didn’t have to see Emma’s smile to know it was there. “Must be because you’re such a scoring threat. Dad’s going to keep using your full name if you don’t tell us the truth, kid. Who got the microphone? Roland’s on the road, so…Dylan? Lizzie…somehow? Leo? Was it Leo?”

“Mom, Leo is eleven. That’s like asking if it was Mar.”

“Was it your sister?” Killian asked.

“Henry,” Matt mumbled.

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. He tightened his arm. “No!”

“Swan,” Killian muttered, a soft reprimand because they were being authorities and he wasn’t all that pleased he was wrong. He hadn’t actually watched the video yet.

Emma clicked her tongue, the ends of her hair brushing over his cheek when she rolled her head. “Ok, ok, I’m—just, honestly, Henry? Really?”

Matt nodded seriously, suddenly looking a bit more confident than he had now that he’d given up a 27-year-old for getting sound equipment to mic up Chris during hockey practice. Chris was four. Chris could not really skate.

It was probably a fairly hysterical video.

“Henry,” Matt promised. “He—I don’t know, he knows someone who works somewhere and it was—you’ve really got to watch the video. C is—he’s so bad at skating. And he talks all the time.”

“Matthew.”

“It’s true!”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Did you take the video?”

“No.”

He couldn’t wave his hands when he was trying to keep Emma from falling onto the kitchen floor and Matt couldn’t seem to stop moving and the whole thing had dissolved into farce much quicker than Killian expected it to. They should have brought Peggy into the kitchen too.

Maybe Chris.

Chris really was not the best skater in the world.

“Matthew.”

“Ok, that part was actually Leo, but that’s only because he’s got really good hand-eye coordination and he could hold his arm steadier than me and—” He cut himself off when he noticed the look on Killian’s face. And, presumably, Emma’s face. She was better at the face thing than him. “He met us at the rink.”

Killian had no idea what to do with that.

“Leo Nolan, who, as previously discussed, is eleven years old met you at Chelsea Piers because you what? Asked him to help film your brother on the ice? Why?”

Matt blinked, eyes darting between Emma and Killian more than once. “I just…I just explained. His arm is better, but don’t tell him that, he never shuts up about it anyway.”

“That’s not an answer, Matthew David.”

Emma groaned, letting her head fall back until her hair was everywhere. Killian didn’t tell her to move. He was too busy trying to temper his frustration and control his breathing and—

“We spent a very long time trying to make sure you guys didn’t get headlines. Tried to keep you out of the spotlight and that’s obviously going to change some now with you playing, but Chris isn’t there yet. He’s a little kid, Matthew. He gets what you got. He gets to be…” Killian bit his tongue when he tried to say the word normal because it had never really been normal, road trips and tabloid-invented nicknames and Roland Locksley was setting up game-winning goals in OT now, so the headlines seemed inevitable, but none of them had ever gone viral before and he assumed Mary Margaret had not appreciated her eleven-year-old kid taking the 7-line crosstown to get to the Piers.

Some of the texts he’d been ignoring on his phone were probably from her.

And David.

“Your brother is four,” Killian repeated, voice dropping low and fingers curling around Emma’s hip. “What was the point, Matthew? To play him as a joke? He shouldn’t be the best skater in the world yet.”

Matt got paler. That was, honestly, also impressive. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows furrowed and he almost had the gall to look annoyed, which was actually more surprising than the Henry thing or the fact that this had been a group effort and his eyes were barely more than slits when he looked at Killian.

He looked exactly like Killian.

A few seconds before checking someone.

“I wouldn’t ever do that to C,” Matt whispered, but with an intensity that left little room for doubt even from a slightly angst-filled teenager who turned his younger brother into an online sensation. “Never.”

Killian tilted his head – and he couldn’t actually glance at Emma when she was still sitting on his leg, but he felt her tense and they both knew that voice. That wasn’t a lie.

“I wouldn’t,” Matt repeated. “Not to C. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t a joke, it was—you really should watch the video, Dad.”

Killian opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but his head snapped to the sound at the front door and the slightly nervous knock and it had only been a matter of time. Emma’s shoulders shook when she laughed.

“It’s open, Henry,” she called, not bothering to look away from Matt and it took a few seconds for the footsteps to make their way into the kitchen.

He’d taken his shoes off.

“Hey,” Henry said, dragging out the word until it felt like an official statement from front office. Matt was very preoccupied with the floor again. “So, uh…Gina called me.”

Emma laughed again.

“And how’d that work out for you, exactly?” Killian asked knowingly. Henry gritted his teeth.

“Not great, honestly. So, uh…I’m here to apologize. In person. Like a grown up.”

“A grown up, huh?”

“Something like that. Did you watch the video?”

“No,” Matt answered despondently, and Killian clicked his tongue at the sound.

“We didn’t,” he said. “It’s been a little hectic here, you see?”

Henry hummed, taking half a step closer to Matt like there was strength in numbers or extensive video plans. “I’m sorry you guys didn’t know before Rol posted it. That’s—well, apparently there’s been some discussion about that too, but, uh…you should really watch the video. It’s not heinous.”

“High praise.”

“It’s not, Killian. It’s—“ He took a deep breath, exhaling it with enough drama that Killian wondered if, maybe, they’d overreacted slightly. He needed to cal Robin. And answer David’s texts. And ground his kid. “It’s really actually pretty nice, but Matt and I didn’t think Rol would be some kind of social media celebrity, so really it’s his fault and—“

“—It’s because he’s so popular on Instagram,” Matt grumbled, eyes widening when he realized he’d rejoined the conversation.

Killian’s eyebrows were going to be stuck in the middle of his forehead.

“No practice,” he said, waving the hand not still wrapped around Emma’s middle when Matt opened his mouth to object. “I can’t do anything about yours because the United States will probably kill me if you don’t show up, but nothing with me. Nothing with the team. No going to Tarrytown, no film. If I see a tablet in your room in the next two weeks, I’m pulling sticks out of there, got it?”

Silence.

Except Henry breathing. He sounded very nervous. Gina must have yelled very loudly.

“Got it?”

Matt nodded.

“Good,” Killian said, turning his attention back to Henry. “I can’t do anything about you, you’re not actually our kid.”

“And I get the very strong impression you’ve already been reprimanded enough,” Emma added.

Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m going home after this. That’s—well, that wasn’t really up for debate. I think she and Robin want to talk to me and Rol together.”

“How’s it feel to be thirteen years old again?”

“As weird as you’d expect it to be.” Emma hummed, and Killian didn’t have to move to know her lips had quirked up slightly. Matt was still frozen to the kitchen floor. “And,” Henry continued, “you should really watch the video at some point. It’s…well, I doubt it’s going to go anywhere now, but it’s not as bad as you think it might be.”

Henry’s phone buzzed, as if it had been waiting for a lull in the conversation and he snapped his jaw when he saw the name on the screen. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered, clapping Matt on the shoulder. “Listen, I know we messed up, but it’s…seriously, Toph is pretty entertaining on the ice. You know he never really stops talking.”

“So we’ve heard,” Killian said.

“Right. Well, he got McDonald’s out of the deal after practice, so, trust me, his psyche hasn’t been messed up or anything.”

“Sure.”

Henry sighed – and Killian knew he resisted rolling his eyes again, but his phone was also ringing incessantly now and it was suspiciously quiet in the rest of the house. He was fairly certain Peggy was eavesdropping at the other end of the hall. “Am I allowed to see your kids again?” Henry quipped.

“Obviously,” Emma muttered. “Plus, you’re the only one who ever actually volunteers to babysit.”

“We do this again, though, and we’ll actually ground you,” Killian warned.

Henry grinned. That felt wrong. And…not.

What a weird day.

Peggy ran into the kitchen, colliding with Killian’s side and yanking on Emma’s hair, a mess of limbs and words and Henry’s smile got louder when she jumped towards him. He lifted her up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry promised, pressing a quick kiss to Peggy’s hair. “I got to go, kid, but I’ll see you day after tomorrow, right?”

“What’s the day after tomorrow?”

“We’re going to take pictures on the High Line,” Peggy cried. Directly into Henry’s ear.

“If I don’t go deaf before then, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Killian echoed. “Alright. Go, before you lose practice privileges too.”

“I don’t think that’s really an option.”

“You want to test it?”

“I mean…”

Killian laughed. “Exactly.”

And he had every intention of watching the video, he did, but life was life and Chris had another hockey practice and Matt had made the U14 team and they couldn’t keep him from that practice even if Emma was very quick to point out that maybe suggesting the United States was going to kill was us wasn’t the best move and Peggy had some book report due that, apparently, required glitter.

And a trip to the High Line.

And, suddenly, it was a two days later and Chris was still an internet star and Killian hadn’t seen the video, jogging on a treadmill with Ariel a few feet away and several TVs on and he had to grip the sides of the stupid thing to make sure he didn’t fall off.

Because his kid was on the TV in front of him – speaking words that were incredibly familiar.

“How is this still being talked about?” Killian asked, Ariel laughing from her own treadmill and she didn’t slow down when she wiped the sweat away from her face.

“Cap, are you kidding me? It’s the cutest thing in the world.”

“What?”

Ariel stopped running. She nearly fell on the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, did you not watch it yet? Killian, this has been not he internet for a millennia!”

“Ok, that’s not true at all.”

“Days! Actual days!”

He rolled his eyes, hitting a few buttons until the machine under him slowed and the video was still playing.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.”

The mantra echoed in Killian’s ears and his brain and, possibly, his heart because Chris was counting every time he skated and it wasn’t really skating. His blades came off the ice whenever he moved, more steps than gliding anywhere and he’d taught him that, and told him to count when you move so it’s easier the very first time he’d gotten on the ice and the realization that it had stuck made his breath catch audibly.

Ariel laughed. She was sitting on the treadmill now.

“Told you,” she muttered, eyes flitting back to the screen when Chris kept talking. He really never stopped.

“I’m going to have a nap.”

“No, Chris, you can’t just lay down on the ice.”

He laid down anyway, stick still clutched in his hand and head flat on the ice with his legs splayed out wide. Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever sound he made.

God, he hoped he wasn’t as close to crying as he felt.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.” He bobbled slightly, keeping his balance with the blade of his stick. But he didn’t fall down. “One, two, one, two, I did it! I did it!”

“Oh, I didn’t hear that part before,” Ariel mumbled, glancing at Killian with slightly glossy eyes. “Did you tell him that?”

Killian nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing anymore, only a little frustrated when the video cut off, but that was the nature of TV and he jumped when he heard Emma’s sneakers behind him.

She was holding her phone.

“Reese’s finally wore me down and got me to watch the video,” she explained with a shrug. “You know he falls over at one point and just decides to…crawl on the ice?”

Killian’s laugh flew out of him, smile stretching across his face on instinct and—“Ah, shit we’re going to have to apologize to Matt, huh?”

“Eh, I mean…there was still the filming thing and Rol’s incredible social media presence.”

“It’s because of his Instagram and Scarlet’s dog,” Ariel reasoned. “Also, don’t tell Scarlet that.”

Emma saluted. “I think we’ve established a solid parental base for turning our kids into internet celebrities while also acknowledging that it’s pretty goddamn cute. Here,” she added, pushing her phone towards Killian, “look at this.”

“Watch out everyone!” He didn’t even try to stop. He crashed over, approximately, three kids, two sticks and collided directly with the boards. “I win!”

“Oh my God,” Killian muttered.

There were more footsteps. Of course there were. “That was my favorite part,” Ruby said, leaning against the open door of the gym and Ariel rolled her eyes at their disregard for the workout schedule. “Did I apologize yet for not instructing any of your kids on how to use the internet?”

“I don’t think that’s really your fault, Lucas.”

“Eh, Scarlet’s been a dick about it.”

“That’s doesn’t surprise me either,” Emma muttered. Chris was still running into the boards in the video.

“Seriously, do not tell him about the dog,” Ariel said again. Chris mumbled something else, a string of words Killian was fairly sure he understood, but desperately needed to hear again and maybe they should really apologize to Matt. “Oh, no, what was that part?” Ariel asked. “Was that what I thought it was?”

Emma rewound the video.

That was a very old sentence.

“I’m going to go so fast. Matt fast. Like Matt.”

“God damn,” Ruby said, a catch in her voice and Emma’s head fell onto Killian’s shoulder. “That’s the cutest thing i’ve ever heard. I mean he shouldn’t have put it on the internet, but—“

“—He’s thirteen,” Emma reasoned.

“Yeah, yeah, young and whatever. Cap, you’ve got to teach that kid how to go fast.”

Killian wrapped his arm around Emma’s waist. “It’s a work in progress, Lucas.”

And it was – two weeks later, after the grounding and the lack of film and there hadn’t been a single tablet sighting in Matt’s room the entire time because the video was cute, but it was also agains the rules, all four of them standing on the ice in Tarrytown with sticks in their hands and one, two on their lips.

Peggy refused to be kept off the ice.

“You’ve got to keep your feet on the ice, C,” Matt called from the other side of the rink, standing in front of the goal with his weight resting on the front of his skates. “You’re going to fall over otherwise.”

Chris, very promptly, did just that.

Killian rolled his eyes, ignoring the shouts from the peanut gallery of cell-phone sporting family members in the stands. He looked at Emma instead, a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth.

“One, two,” she yelled.

Killian skated forward, tugging Chris up by the jersey with his name and number on it because that was just how it worked and it took them a moment to get him back on his skates. “Alright,” he said, crouching down and brushing some of the ice off the fabric. “Matt’s right. You’ve got to keep your blades on the ice. Here,” he added, holding his hand out, “move your hands down your stick. Try and follow Pegs because she’s got the right rhythm, ok?”

Chris nodded – as if he understood the word rhythm in regard to skating – and Peggy beamed at the compliment. “I can do it, Dad.”

“I know you can. Just…if you fall, don’t lay on the ice, ok?”

“It’s cold.”

“I know that too, kid. That’s what I’m saying.”

Killian ducked his head, a quick kiss to his son’s cheek and squeeze of his shoulder and Chris didn’t seem to appreciate either of those things.

“C’mon,” Matt groaned, swinging his stick like he actually played goalie. None of them were wearing pads. “You’ve got to take the shot, C!”

“Just follow me, Toph,” Peggy said, the smile lingering on her face as she started drifting towards the blue line and Chris only stumbled a little.

They moved slowly, Killian still crouched at center ice, and it was far from the best goal he’d ever seen. It wasn’t even really a shot, Peggy mock-screening the net and getting in Matt’s way and he didn’t try to move. He stood stock-still with his legs wide open and a five-hole that was more like a twenty-hole at that point.

Chris pulled his stick back though, just enough power to get the puck to move and Killian had a very strong suspicion that he saw Peggy’s wrists move. She knocked in.

Directly through Matt’s legs.

And it didn’t matter.

The cry they both let out as soon as the puck crossed the goal line made it seem like they’d won a gold medal or a Cup or something better than both of those things combined, tossing sticks in the air and jumping up and Chris kept yelling I did it over and over again.

Matt moved quickly – far quicker than Chris ever would, honestly – bending his knees and catching his brother around the middle, all limbs and shouts and—“What a shot, C,” Matt grinned. “You did great!”

It took them awhile to get off the ice, all three kids complaining and whining and that probably shouldn’t have been a good thing, but the video had been deceptively cute and it wasn’t trending anymore, so that was probably for the best. And Killian knew Emma had recorded the whole moment as well, but that video never saw the light of internet day, something that was just theirs and them and a collective unit that was better than hits or social media presence and eventually, years later, when Chris had hung up his skates and Matt had gotten even faster on the ice, he flicked his wrists right in front of the net at the Garden, tipping the puck in five-hole against a goalie Killian never knew the name of.

And Chris had shouted, the phone in his pocket buzzing because they’d never gotten rid of the group text.

[dragoninthecloud]

Cold Front - Wrap up

Last bit of Cold Front for @ao3bronte <3

Little bit of Ladynoir interaction, little bit of Marichat snuggling.

Start - Previous

-~-

Chat Noir bounced across the rooftops on his way to meet Ladybug. He was feeling great! He’d spent all afternoon yesterday and as much of school as possible wrapped around Marinette, saying hugs were the best medicine. No one had really commented, given how much closer they had gotten in the last few months which had involved more physical contact anyway. In fact, most everyone had been sympathetic, thinking he was just a clingy sick person because of his lonely home life, and went out of their way to give him shoulder pats and hair ruffles. It’d been nice.

Nino had been glad he’d found someone else to be his cuddle buddy, and Alya kept aww-ing at him and trying to film him, “as a good mother should” she kept saying. And Marinette had seemed happy to let him, leaning in to him more and more as the day went on, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk without someone else around. Which was why they were meeting now.

He landed on the warehouse roof that was their meeting point today and saw his Lady leaning against the stair housing, rubbing at her arms. He whistled as he walked towards her, not wanting to startle her and be thrown off the roof like the last time. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hey there. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m feeling purr-rity good Bugaboo. I bribed Plagg with extra cheese to make my suit thicker until I’m completely better and it seems to be helping.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea. Why have we never done that before? I’ll have to ask Tikki if she can do it too. I’m freezing right now.”

She did look cold. Arms wrapped round her, huddled as close to downwind side of the building as she could get, and shivering slightly with a red stain across her cheeks and nose. He stepped forward and opened his arms to her, and she practically jumped in to them to wrap herself around him.

“Ooooooooh. Warm kitty, gooooood kitty,” she purred as she rubbed her face against his chest.

He laughed and started to shuffle her backwards until she hit the wall, then arranged himself so he was blocking as much of the cold as he could, pulling her arms from around him to curl them up on his chest. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” She rested against him a moment and he thought he heard her teeth chatter before she seemed to shake herself and look up at him.

“So. Before we start, I need to say something.” She looked nervous, eyes darting over his face and tiny wrinkles between her brows. He wanted to smooth them away, but when he started to loosen one of his arms she shivered violently, so he pulled her closer instead. She took a big breath, then let it out slowly.

“I need to apologise to you. I don’t know how much you remember, but I broke in to your room and invaded your personal space when I knew you were sick multiple times. It was wrong of me, and I feel like I took advantage of your feelings for me too, when I was trying to make you feel better, but it doesn’t matter why I did it because it was wrong. I’ll understand completely if you hate me or need some time to think things over and want me to back off or-“

She stopped when his lips pressed softly against hers and they stood like that for a moment. When he pulled away he studied her face. Her lips were still parted mid word and she had glassy eyes leaking thin tear tracks down her cheeks. He ran his thumbs over them, then let his hands rest there to frame her face.

“Nothing to forgive lovebug. If you hadn’t come over to check on me, then I’d probably have collapsed on the way back to bed, or get there but not have covered up, and I’d have been even worse off than I was. And Nino wouldn’t have shown up so early either, so it’s fine. And please, take advantage of my feelings for you whenever you feel like it. I’m all for you looking after me whenever you want.”

He grinned down at her, and got a small, shaky lip twitch back. He bundled her closer again.

“You are one of my closest friends, both in and out the suit. You are welcome in my room whenever you want, for whatever reason. I trust you, ok? Nothing’s ever going to make me not trust you.” He paused, tipping his head side to side a few times as if in thought. “Save teaming up with Hawkmoth, but I’m sure we could work that out somehow if you did.” He rubbed her shoulders a few times when that got a slight chuckle out of her. He let his lips rest on the top of her head which he realised was overly warm as he let his hands drop down to hold hers.

“Everything’s ok Bug. Everything’s going to be ok. But I think we should maybe move this back to your place, hmm? You’re both freezing and roasting. I think I got you sick.”

She hmmed against his shoulder where she had was rubbing her nose, but made no effort to move away. He sighed.

“C’mon Bug, let’s get you home.”

He carefully picked her up, one arm holding her firmly round the waist as he got her arms to hold on to his shoulders. She held on tightly and tried to bury her face further in to his neck as he started them bouncing gently across the rooftops back to the bakery.

~~

Chat landed on her balcony the next night and swung his bag off his shoulders. Marinette had missed school today, which wasn’t surprising given the fever she’d been running when he’d got her home last night. Luckily (or not, he still hadn’t decided), the noise of him getting Marinette through the trap door and on to her bed had woken her parents, who had come to check on her and found her laying on top of her bedsheets running a high fever. When he’d tried to visit at lunch today he had been turned away with some of Sabine’s homemade steamed buns and more soup. Since he was only just over his own cold, they said, they didn’t want him to re-catch it by going near Marinette.

So he was here as Chat to look after his bug. He crept towards the trapdoor and listened carefully before cautiously peeking in. The main light was off and the door to the main room was shut, but a small light was by her bed, showing her sitting up and staring at a pad of paper. He knocked quietly and smiled as she lifted a hand vaguely in his direction without moving anything else, and he took that as an invitation to enter.

He swung himself down and landed next to the bed, letting his eyes adjust before dropping the bag he’d brought next to her.

“Hey,” he whispered as quietly as he could, remembering how much his head had hurt. She grunted, waving her hand again. He chuckled as he crawled on to the bed and settled down next to her, lifting his arm in invitation which she accepted, fitting herself against his side. “What’re you drawing?”

“You,” she slurred as she tilted the pad so he could see the rough sketch of him as Adrien in the middle of a fencing pose. She lurched forward with a hacking cough before flopping back again with a groan. Oh his poor bug.

“I’ve got throat sweets and liquid medicine and some of those things you squirt on your pillow to clear airways if you want to try any of them? And crackers to help scratch your throat, if you need to?” he told her gently as he rubbed her arm.

She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly and slumped more against him, but then dropped her drawing things and made a grabby hand at the bag. He pulled it closer and took the things out, and she fished out one of the liquid things and broke it on a handkerchief which got tucked under her pyjama’s strap.

“So I’ve been dying to know, when did you figure me out?”

She shrugged again, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “When I got home Saturday, after you sneezed. Tikki heard Plagg when she was washing, and was mad at him for dropping you in the river,” she said, talking slower and slurring things more.

He chuckled quietly at that, shifting her slowly so she was laying on the bed instead of him, snuggling against her back to keep her wrapped in his arms.

“I think I suspected,” she murmured, and when he looked her eyes were starting to droop. “Why I called you kitty.”

He hummed at that, and let it set off the purr in his chest and he heard her sigh. Simply having her near had helped him feel better, so he could only hope that him being here would help her

They still needed to talk. He wanted to know where they stood now, how this changed things both good and bad. He wanted to talk about the kiss from last night, and all the little kisses she’d given him over the weekend. He wanted to know if he could keep holding on to her when neither was sick anymore. He needed to know if she’d maybe, hopefully, want to be more than just good friends now.

But it could wait till later he thought as he started to tug her blankets up. He then bit his lip and tried not to wake her up as he silently shook in laughter at his next thought. He tucked the blanket under her chin, to stop her from getting a cold front.

-~-

So that’s it. This is now finished, as far as I’m concerned. I MAY write a few bits from Marinette’s POV, but I’m not entirely sure yet. I have other things that are floating in my brain that I want to poke at a while to see what they do.

Thank you to everyone who’s read this, liked it, and reblogged it. You’re all amazing <3

-~-

Start - Previous - AO3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXX

Warnings: dark elements, dub/noncon (fingering)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The king has some fun.

Note: Hey, it’s me again. I wrote this chapter after work in the brief interlude between soul crushing shifts. Hope you enjoy.<3 

Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

After Priskham, the progress continued to Lord Stark's lair at the Iron Tower and continued on to Lord Barnes's hold of Brooks's End. The castle had been abandoned for two centuries before him as its former family had been extinguished for their part in a plot against the Rogers' Dynasty in Western Uprisings. You suspected its history loomed in the mind of its current keeper.

The king was as diligent as ever but since your first night upon progress, you had done better to let him his desires. You didn't dare pretend at sleep again and when he made a request, you took it as an order. And Barnes, well you avoided him as you could, for his sake and yours. Not that he would look at or talk to you.

To mark the first full day in Brook’s End, Barnes arranged a feast. The wild boar, for which the locale was famous for, was served roasted with a medley of vegetables, and endless wine and ale. The king had a hand in the event; he bid that Barnes take a seat of honour upon the dais for his efforts. Steven sat in the middle and you were thankful to have him as a barrier.

You sat quietly as you ate. You didn’t have energy for much else. Travel, the king, the court; it all piled up. You listened instead as you awaited dessert, eager to retire for the night. There was to be no dancing as no band could be acquired but there was little outcry at the announcement.

“A final stop at Drissot and we can make for Shell’s Harth.” The king said gaily. “Asgard does seem most eager to have us and I’ve never the pleasure of visiting, even when that witch was alive.”

“King Thor did write of a tournament. Do you think it wise to partake?” Barnes asked dully as he rubbed his finger along the rim of his goblet. “It could be a scheme. A pointed lance could be easily disguised or a sword conveniently confused.” 

“Always so paranoid, my lord,” Steven teased. “Besides, it might have been a few years since my last, but when have I ever been felled at a tourney?”

“Never, your highness,” Barnes answered. “But that was among your own people.”

“I would be more concerned with a taster to guard my plate,” Steve countered. “And my queen’s.”

The king reached blindly to you and ran his hand over your skirts. He didn’t look away from Barnes as he gripped your leg through the fabric. You swallowed and looked down at his hand. He didn’t rescind it as he continued to talk.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Surely,” Barnes answered with a cough. “I was thinking… we might send an ambassador ahead of us. He shall need a party as well to see him safe. Perhaps a mole or two…” He paused and you felt the shift in your hem; the king’s fingers on your thigh as he gathered your skirt slowly. “To attain a preview of the Asgardian court?”

“Hmmm,” Steven said thoughtfully. He carried on tugging your skirt up, up, up, until it was past your knee. You tried to catch the hem and he yanked it sharply. A warning. “I suppose it wouldn’t be ridiculous.”

You stared at the king’s hand as it moved. You followed the brocade along his arm and tried to glance his expression as he kept his face to his companion. The tables below were unable to see past the long cloth hung over yours; the crest of the king beside that of Brook’s End. Steven slipped his hand past the satin and Barnes cleared his throat.

“And we should, uh…” Barnes’ voice was stunted and looked at each other. His gaze sent a thrill through you as his eyes rounded. He blinked and gulped and turned his attention to his goblet. “We should, um, keep an eye on his brother as well. Prince Loki is known for his spies; for having his ear… to the, uh… to the ground most anywhere he treads.”

“Oh, yes, I was not keen on the rodent.” Steven snarled. 

The king shoved his hand up until it met your vee. You squeezed your thighs around him and he pinched you sharply. You squeaked as he forced your legs back apart. He began to rub you with two fingers. You gritted your teeth and tried not to show your discomfort to the people.

Barnes was silent. He emptied his cup and placed it on the table with a hollow clunk. Steven did not relent. The nobleman sighed and shifted in his chair.

“Your highness,” He hissed. “I do not think this… appropriate.”

“Why, this is my feast, is it not? You did declare in my honour?” Steven taunted. “And I find myself rather bored without a band and so I must entertain myself.”

“Then do excuse me,” Barnes insisted as he made to rise.

“No, you shall stay. We are not done talking,” Steven purred as he swirled his fingers and you gasped. You grabbed the side of your chair and pressed yourself to the tall backrest. 

“Please, Steven, she is your queen. You would humiliate her in front of her own court.” Barnes remanded. “Is that the only reason you sought to wed her? To spite her for her denial?”

“Denial? She is mine,” Steven chuckled. “Look at her. She’s trembling, isn’t she? Always so receptive.”

“Don’t do this,” Barnes’ whispered. 

“Who can see but you?” Steven challenged. “I do wonder why it should disturb you so. You did not protest when it was Rose you brought to me. When you did see her to my chambers. Or the one before that… Was it Laura? Lana? Even when it was Eleanor, you did not flinch.”

Barnes’ nostrils flared and he gulped. He reached for his goblet again and found it empty. Then he grabbed the ewer and swore as he found it dry as well. He tossed it back on the table and sat back heavily. He crossed his arms and glared at the king.

“Don’t look at me, look at her,” The king ordered. “Look at that face. Do her lashes flutter? Her eyes roll back? She bites down and you can hear her breathing through her teeth. And she is wet. I can slip inside…” He paused as he pushed his fingers past your entrance and his palm against your clit. “So easily.”

“Steven…” You begged as you touched his wrist. “Please…”

“Do you think she begs me to stop or to cum?” Steven looked to you with a smirk. “Do you think it matters?” He turned back to Barnes. “She is my wife, my queen; mine to do with as I please.”

“Why are you doing this?” Barnes growled.

“Because I can.” The king sneered as his fingers worked faster inside of you. “Because, my lord, I want you to recall this whenever your eyes stray to her; whenever they linger on her as they are want to do; whenever you have those lewd little thoughts that do darken your eyes so.”

Your hands went to the table as you clutched the wood. You struggled not to cry out as you leaned forward into his hand without thinking. Your feet arched in your slippers and the crowd blurred in your vision; a streak of colours and voices. You shook your head as the ripples began to spread along your flesh. As the familiar prick started in your core.

“So watch, my lord, and remember who is king and who is subject,” Steven spat. “Who holds power over…” He paused as you spasmed. You sat back enough to cause the chair to wobble and held in a sob as you came. “Who.”

He slipped his fingers out of you as you tried to steady your breath. He lifted his hand to the light and admired the glisten before he licked them. Your head spun as your eyes found Barnes through the haze; he was livid and pale. His nails were sunk into the arms of his chair and his jaw was squared.

“I have never forgotten, your highness,” He said.

“Good,” Steven smirked and tugged your skirts back down over your legs until it fell upon its own weight. “See that you don’t.” He sat up and glanced around the chamber. “Shall I call for more wine?”

👑

You were to be at Brook’s End for a week. Three days in and you found the place unbearable. The king made it thus. He wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were screaming and he hadn’t grown any subtler in the presence of his host. Only half a week before you set out to the final stop upon your tour; until you would be on your way to your sister.

That day, you spent apart from the king. You and your ladies read from a poetry book, explored the east wing where portraits hung along the walls, and attended your prayers and meals together. For a time, you forgot the king and his favoured lord; although you wondered if his preference was very fervent anymore.

And then you were to return to your husband. You lingered with Marion in the corridors but knew you could forever. You clung to her as she bid you farewell and watched her go. Your guard was silent as you led him through the halls. You hated his thin, unmoving lips and his bushy brows. You missed Dolan. And Marion. Should you mourn them too?

You stood outside your doors for a moment. You looked over to the guard as he took his place opposite the king’s. They didn’t seem to notice you. As you stepped forward, they opened the doors for you and you stepped inside. The king was there, at his desk. He didn’t lift his head as you entered.

“My queen,” He said as he finished scratching his nib across the parchment. “I’ve been awaiting you.”

“My apologies, I did find myself prolonged by Lady Marion,” You lied. “How was your day, husband?”

“Fine enough,” He sat up and set his pen down. “And you, wife?”

“Fine, as well,” You neared the other side of his desk. “Though I do tire.”

“I should hope you aren’t very tired,” He stood and you fought not to wince as he rounded the desk. “I had it in mind that we might play a game.”

“A game?” You repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Cards? Do you know ‘Horses’, or prehaps ‘Lances’?” He asked and you blinked in surprise.

“Uh, yes, of course,” You smiled and for a moment he was silent. He looked down at you as he touched your cheek.

“Then you choose and we shall play,” He bent and pecked your lips. “First I should like a change of clothes.”

“I suppose I would too,” You said. “I like a challenge so I think Horses should do.” 

You followed him to the bed chamber. There was a flutter in your chest. True excitement alongside a sense of relief. You always played cards with your sister; you weren’t very competitive but you enjoyed the past time.

“Horses it is,” He agreed.

He loosened your laces for you and his hands did not wander. You were further surprised. You let the silk fall down your arms and undressed with a sigh. You pulled a robe over your shift and looked up at Steven. He pushed his hair back and stretched; his own robe hung open over a pair of shorts.

“I have set the cards out already,” He said. “You may deal as I pour the wine.”

“You know I do not drink very much wine,” You replied. “Is there water? Milk?”

“The wine is part of the game.” He led you to the table and waited for you to sit before he did. “For each round, the loser will drink.”

“Oh,” You took the deck of cards as he pulled the pair of goblets towards him and filled each with the dark wine. “Hm, well then I suppose I should want to win even more.”

“I wish you luck,” He slid a cup towards you. “So, let us begin.” You dealt six cards to each of you and set the deck in the middle. “Shall I draw first or you?”

“I should allow you the pleasure,” You sorted your cards by suit and waited for him to start.

It was promising at first. You each flicked your cards down one at a time and while you were not winning, you were not losing either. An even match until the last was laid down. The king cried out Horses and you shook your head. A sneaky move but not illegal.

“Drink,” He urged.

You exhaled and took your cup. “To your victory,” You raised it and drank. 

As you set it back down, he tutted. “You must finish.”

You lifted your brow but he did not waver. You lifted your goblet again and gulped deeply. You nearly choked as you emptied it and as you replaced it on the table, your vision swam just a little. He poured you another glass and shuffled the deck. He slid them to you and let you deal again.

And you lost. Again. You huffed and looked into your cup. It was quite a bit of wine. He laughed and gathered up the cards. “My dear, it is only your second cup.”

“I told you, wine does not agree with me.” You pleaded.

“You might still catch up,” He gloated. “Shall I deal this time?”

“As you wish,” You grumbled as you took your cup again. 

The wine was sweeter and easier to swallow but it had a more potent effect. He filled your cup again and you held in a belch. He doled out the cards and you swept up your hand and almost fumbled them. He let you draw first this time and you groaned. Not a good start. He flicked his first card down and you yours. You tossed each onto the pile in quick succession and you were ready to celebrate until that last card. The same trick.

“Lord!” You exclaimed as you threw up your hands. “You must cheat, my king.”

“I did change so that you would not suspect cards up my sleeves,” He held out his arms as his robe hung loosely from them. “And I haven’t anywhere else to conceal them.” He reached to nudge your goblet closer to you. “Do not be a sore loser.”

“I am not… sore.” You argued and grabbed the cup. “Next game.”

You drained the cup, a little dribbled down your chin, and slammed the cup back down. You felt bubbly and wobbly. You leaned on the table to steady yourself. The king dealt the cards and you took them clumsily. You had to win this time.

“How about this. For each card, I will ask you a question for each card and you may ask me one?”

“Ask you what?” You said through thick lips.

“Anything you wish. Shall I draw?”

“Go ahead.” You waved your fingers at him.

He drew and flopped the card down. “First question; I know you to be innocent before we wed, but did you ever kiss another before me?”

“What?” You scoffed. “N-no. Who would I kiss?”

“Is that your question?” He asked.

“No,” You laid down your card. “Why… did you choose cards for tonight?”

“Because they are simple and everything else is so complicated.” He answered. “And… I don’t know. You make me feel… young again.”

“You’re not old,” You chided. “Wait… are you?”

“Not your turn,” He warned and slapped his card down. “Did you ever fancy anyone before me?”

“Fancy? I… my king, why do you ask these things?”

“It is only a game,” He intoned. “I am curious. So answer me.”

“Not truly, I think,” You played with the corner of a card. “I suppose I did know which men were… handsome.”

“Oh, naughty,” He smirked. “Go on.”

You played your card. You licked your lips and thought of another question. “Do you cheat at Horses?”

“No, but I did not warn you of my skill,” He grinned and his card was added to the stack. “And did you list Lord Barnes among these handsome men?”

Your face was hot. Not just from the wine but from his question. Your mouth was acrid as you opened it. Your voice caught in your throat. You swallowed and found it at last. “My king…”

“Your honesty will not rile me,” He leaned an arm on the table, “But your dishonesty should.”

You stared at him. The edges of your vision were fuzzy and your eyelids were heavy. “He is not unattractive.” You answered.

You didn’t look at your cards as you placed the next. Your voice quavered. “Why the wine?”

“To soften you.” He admitted. “To weaken you.”

“And these questions?” You prodded.

“Not your turn.” He set down his card. The king. “When I did make you cum before him, did you imagine it was him touching you?”

You frowned. You reached to your goblet. He hadn’t refilled it yet. “I do not want to play this anymore.”

“It is too late to forfeit. Now, I did play my card.” He stared at you; his blue eyes unwavering. “I told you, your honesty cannot offend me.”

You pressed your lips together and touched your cheek. You nodded. “Only…” Your voice was brittle. “Only for a moment.”

He sat back and waited. You took your turn. You stared at the table in shame. “I have no question. You may ask yours…” You looked up slowly. “For I know this was a trick indeed.”

“I do not ask to entrap you, my queen,” He slipped a card onto the table. “Because I do trust you. I ask because I am curious. I ask because I know your character. And I know his.”

“And you distrust him?” You set your cards down and touched your temples as the wine seeped into your brain.

“I… don’t know,” He said flatly. “You are drunk, wife.”

“I am,” You grumbled as you slumped and held your head.

“Then let us finish our game,” He pointed to your cards upon the table. “And I will see you to bed.”

[anaboo-thewriter]

Reckless (Part 8)

Summary: The Fast and the Furious AU. You’re an undercover cop with a mission to infiltrate a team of street racers responsible for the theft of millions of dollars worth in electronics. However, you didn’t think you would fall for the leader of the team and your target, Bucky Barnes. Now you must make the decision, will you turn Bucky and his team in order to become an FBI agent you’ve always wanted to be, or throw caution to the wind and continue to fall for a criminal?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Angst, slight tension

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I have a lot of people tagged, but I’m not getting a lot of feedback. My tag list is still open, but if you’d like to be tagged, then you have to reblog, Likes don’t count as feedback, they are a bookmark for you and nobody sees that. Those who are tagged and just like will be removed from the tag list.

Reckless Masterlist

Finding out what was under Rumlow’s hood was a small victory, but you still had to make the adjustments in order to win. Thinking about how to turn your car into the fastest vehicle to participate in Race Wars was becoming difficult with what Natasha said about you running through your mind. If she discovered your secret she would be sure to tell Bucky and you would blow your chances of being in the FBI. If you wanted to get back on track you had to know if Bucky truly believed Natasha.

Bucky’s eyes were trained on the road, one hand on the steering wheel the other on the gear shift, as if he were ready to make a move. His facial features were more relaxed than you had expected given tonight’s events. If you were going to pick his brain about Natasha, this was your only chance.

“You okay?” Bucky asked as if he knew you were dealing with your internal crisis, “you look a little distressed,”

“Just thinking about something earlier tonight, nothing important” you chuckled in an effort to brush it off.

“Come on,” he removed his hand from the gearshift to give you a gentle, playful shove to egg you on. “You’ve helped me escape the cops, fix up a car, and we just snuck into Rumlow’s garage. I think we’re at the point where you can tell me anything,”

His smirk was inviting and safe, a boyish grin you could reveal everything to and you knew he wouldn’t tell a soul. As cars past by, the headlights illuminated his insistent blue eyes, a feature you never fail to fall for.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” you managed a giggle at Bucky’s antics. The time the two of you spent together has brought you closer together, making it almost effortless to tell him what’s on your mind. “I overheard what you and Natasha said before we left earlier tonight,”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He shifted in his seat and his jaw clenched together. His grip tightened around the steering wheel, before releasing it with a sigh. You’ve never seen Bucky like this, so frustrated and conflicted. His hand slowly slid down his face and let out a groan. “I’m really sorry about Nat, she’s just really protective of me since my dad died. She’s skeptical of people she’s not familiar with, especially women,”

You were flattered by Natasha’s intimidating and, maybe, envious behavior causing a warm sensation to flow through your cheeks. However, you couldn’t let flattery cloud your judgment of what you were supposed to be investigating, the job she wanted Bucky to do.

“I don’t mean to pry,” you tried to play innocent to dampen your reservations, “but what was this job she was talking about?”

“It’s nothing really, just something to earn extra money,” Bucky tried to brush it off, but you weren’t going to let it go.

“Whatever it is, I want in,” you insisted.

Concern read across Bucky’s features as his eyebrows knitted together and released a sigh. “Y/N, I really don’t think you should do this, it’s dangerous,”

“Bucky, I need the money just as much as you do. Let me be apart of this,” you weren’t backing down and Bucky knew it by the shake of his head.

“Fine, you’re in, after Race Wars,” he sighed, but a sly smile slowly crept on his face as he gave you a wink.

The wide smirk on your face masked the feeling of butterflies in your stomach going haywire; however, the satisfying sensation was replaced with dread. You were going to get the information you needed to close the case and the promotion of a lifetime, but you were one step closer to turning in your love interest. You had a major decision to make, and somebody was going to be disappointed with you.

The once deserted area was turned into an oasis for street racers. Big time car fanatics from across the country gathered to show off their cars and to race without the fear of cops to interrupt their fun. People came together in recreational vehicles, ready to spend their weekend doing something they loved. Women pranced around in their skimpy outfits in an effort to win some of the men’s attention away from the cars, while the men were trying to look under the hoods of the cars. Various types of music were playing from different vehicles, creating a chaotic sound as the music came together. You’ve dreamt of coming to Race Wars since you were a teenager, and it was more spectacular than you could have imagined.

Bucky and you were the first to arrive in the group, driving in the freshly tuned Supra. Steve, Sam, and Natasha came later with the RV to spend the night in. You had registered your car to race for the day and was marked by the number 86 on the side window. In less than 15 minutes, you would be in your first Race Wars race and you were feeling nervous. Your palms were sweating and you couldn’t stop pacing back and forth, nearly creating a trench from your path.

“Wow, Y/N,” Steve said as he walked out of the RV, “I’ve never seen you this worried,”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in following behind Steve closely, “What are you worried about, you’re the best racer out here,”

The compliments made you stop in your tracks. “I’m nervous because what if I lose?” you questioned, “what if I lose money or the car? I can’t afford to start from scratch again,”

You didn’t notice Bucky come out of the RV until he was heading toward you. When he was standing in front of you, he placed his hands on your shoulder, immediately calming your anxiety. With a simple glance and a nod to the direction of the race, Bucky turned you around and draped his arm over your shoulder and guided you to your upcoming race. Bucky’s presence has had a calming effect on you lately, especially when he’s physically touching you. All the apprehension you were feeling left your body, but the thought of losing was still there.

“I know you’re worried,” Bucky said once the two of you were out of earshot of the crew, “but there is nothing to be worried about. The guy you’re racing is a hothead and a showoff. I’m sure he’s going to hit the nitrous first, so after he does it, I want you to press that button and win that race,”

The instruction Bucky was giving you was as if they were from experience, but you took him at his word. “Thanks, Bucky,” you smiled as you felt more at ease.

Bucky’s boyish grin caused his blue eyes to sparkle brighter than before. He pulled you in and wrapped his arms around your waist for a tight hug. It was longer than usual. Neither of you wanted it to end, until the last person you expected to see so soon called for the two of you.

“Hey, Barnes,” a familiar husky voice shouted, Rumlow, “I just wanted to tell you I’m dusting your girlfriend’s ass in this race, so if she wants to pay me now I’m fine with that,” he threw his head back in laughter before heading to his car.

The joy the two of you shared was replaced with distaste. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and a scowl covered his features while your eyebrows knitted together and clenched your fists, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. “Y/N” he growled, “kick his ass,”

“With pleasure,” you smirked.  

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