#tchaikovsky i am begging you why WHY

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing!

So... today happens to be my birthday. Could I pretty please get something fluffy as a present?

Five days.

The villain had stayed five days at the hero’s apartment, recovering slowly with the help of their nemesis. It turned out that the hero wasn’t a terrible roommate, they were the exact opposite: doing the dishes seemed more like a hobby than a chore, cleaning the room and decorating the whole place neatly was one of their favourite activities.

Nearly motionless, the villain had watched them rearrange a bouquet of flowers, humming to themselves a content tune that would haunt the villain’s thoughts for the rest of the day. The hero was diligent and careful, making sure the colours in their home could coexist in harmony with every new element they found.

The villain tried to stay as quiet as possible most of the time, hoping the hero would forget about them eventually. Hoping they could turn invisible and be less of a burden. With all the mess they were causing, they didn’t fit into this picturesque world the hero tried to create.

But the hero didn’t forget. Due to their injuries, the villain slept a lot, being out by eight, getting pleasant twelve hours of rest. They were stationed on the comically huge couch, even though the hero had offered them their bed. However, healthy sleeping patterns were unknown to the hero who suffered from a little less than four hours a night. It explained the many naps the hero took on the couch, right next to the villain.

But no matter how many hours the hero slept, they always made sure to eat together with the villain. Every meal, regardless of their grogginess, they sat down next to their enemy and talked about their newest idea to help the city.

“Dunno why I’m telling you,” they said one day while having lunch, spaghetti filling their mouth, “but I really like this new project. Growing more plants in the city?! Love it.”

“Until there’s a villain who can control plants.” The hero’s tired eyes widened as they practically inhaled their lunch. Focus settled on the villain who was trying to eat as gracefully as possible. Once again, they were like a mirror that showed the exact opposite.

“Nonsense. No one can control plants,” they said, bolting the rest of their noodles and meatballs.

“Have seen one,” the villain answered calmly. Damn, the food wasn’t even bad.

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not.” The villain stared at the hero and their poor overworked soul. For days, they’d been rambling about projects and work and on top of that they managed to do the chores and nurse the villain. No wonder they were sleeping every second they allowed themselves to.

“I’ve seen one,” the villain said hastily, getting their thoughts back on track. “South America, somewhere. She’s very old though, so don’t expect her to take over the world.”

The hero’s plate was empty already.

“I didn’t know I could be jealous of some old lady. You travel lots?”

“When I’m not getting shot at, sure.” Something in the hero’s gaze softened, blurring the line between relaxed and hurt. Their eyes dropped to the ground, their shoulders tensed. Fuck. “I like getting shot when it’s you, though.”

What. Oh god, the villain wished they could sink into the ground. I like getting shot when it’s you, what a stupid thing to say. They felt the horrible blush creep up their neck, so they grabbed their tea and gulped it down.

Christ, why were conversations so hard to have?

The hero giggled nervously.

“Well, uh…”

“You need more sleep.” The villain’s face was burning, so they tried to deflect. “You always look tired and sleep throughout the day. What do you do at night?”

Getting the hero’s attention was easy, getting them to talk about important stuff wasn’t. Their nice projects were fun to listen to but when it came to the hero’s desires, to their morals and their longings, the villain didn’t get anything.

“It’s a long story, really,” the hero said. “Did you put that blanket on me yesterday?”

“Yeah, you almost rolled off the couch, too. Gave me nearly a heart attack,” the villain mumbled and it was true. It had made their heart skip for more than one beat. “You don’t have to leave that much space between us.”

“You sure?”

“I’d rather cuddle with you than have you fall off the couch.”

Now it was the hero’s turn to blush.

[studentbyday]

catharsis: nearing the end

counting down the weeks to freedom (🏫🙅🏻‍♀️) and in need of stress relief (💆🏻‍♀️🕊️🧘🏻‍♀️)...

1. october (tchaikovsky): maybe one day i will record this song bc it's one of my favorites. also really befitting my underlying mood in this latter half of the semester. under all the stress and frustration, i am just tired. i want to see the world. i want to feel the joy of living again. making my life revolve around the confines of school does not feel like living.

2. apparition de giselle (adolphe adam): the music at the part where she's spinning in circles in the "initiation" scene. that's what today feels like. a flurry of movement, a little desperate, and despite the energy, unfulfilled. even soulless. i'm tired, that's all. stupid insomnia - you know that feeling where you're physically tired and when you lie down on the bed it feels like such a relief, yet you can't fall asleep? i don't know why that happens. am i worried about something? possibly? maybe? but during the day, i don't think i feel super worried.

3. mazurka op. 68 no. 3 (chopin): the first piece by chopin i ever played. the way i heard it in my head and the way i played it didn't have as stately a character as this interpretation, but this was the recording i drew most of my inspiration from. i really miss playing piano and the youthful glow i had felt in that era. it feels like ages ago. and with every passing year, it seems i have more pressing priorities like learning how to be an adult, the desire to forge new relationships and tend to them, and establishing my career, so piano consistently falls to the wayside. i don't regret my career choice tho... gladly, after a long-drawn existential crisis in high school, trying to come to a career path that had the best chance of balancing my needs and wants with the world's, i'm still satisfied with my decision. i want to learn how to use my potential to be of service to others, including those beyond my inner circle. i also want to practice piano after my dreaded winter exams. i will make time for both. 4. rainy day coffee shop ambience with piano music and distant thunder: that satisfaction at having stumbled upon the truth, the solidness of it finding a home in my chest. ☺️ i finally figured out what's wrong mentally and now i have something to work with rather than just floundering, feeling "some type of way", unable to get out of it because i don't even know what "it" is. i'm 99% sure that's what's causing my insomnia. i feel so much more hopeful and peaceful now with my feelings validated and all. 🥺 (update: i had the best sleep i've had in ages ☺️)

5. i dreamed a dream (claude-michel schönberg): i seem to always cycle through the same songs like i'm constantly circling the same drain. do i really always cycle through the same set of feelings every couple of weeks? 🤷🏻‍♀️ i have dreams i don't know i can reach. some of them feel more like fantasies than dreams... in my mind, dreams are super ambitious goals i don't know if i can reach but that are in theory possible to reach (more variables are in my control and have a good chance of affecting the future in the way i want), while fantasies are dreams that are closer to impossible to achieve (fewer variables are in my control and may not have a good chance of affecting the future in the way i want). i don't know, maybe they just feel like fantasies for now, and really, it's not impossible. idk, i don't have a crystal ball...

6. the sound of silence: i literally mean the sound of silence tho, not the song 😂 so underrated when the mind has been a noisy mess. ... and then in random mindless moments, like in the shower or when clearing away the dishes, all the music comes rushing back, begging to be heard and felt and loved.

7. arabesque no. 1 (debussy): learned about CBT in psych so i'm trying out using the situation -> thoughts -> feelings -> behavior template in my journal so hopefully i can figure out why i do or don't do the things i do 😅 and then maybe branch into some small "behavioral experiments"...not really sure yet but hopefully it brings me some clarity!

[apenapaperandadoofus]

Hi!! I absolutely love your headcanons and the way you write them. It's so fun reading them! If it is not much of a bother, may I request something? How about a headcanon of the RFA+V being submissive to MC during sex. If you do not feel comfortable writing this, feel free to delete this! I also just wanted to tell how much of a FAN I am of your blog. Stay safe and I love you~💜

Ohohoho~ Nonny you’ve got a big storm comin (and really good taste for hcs damn)

I’ve already done one of these, but let me update en a lil bit y’know? Maybe add more ✨spice✨ or smth lmao

ALSO I LOVE YOU TOOOO

RFA+V being submissive to MC during the sideways tango (nsfw-ish)

Also really random comment but just know that everytime I write something like this, I’m listening to classical music like Beethoven and Tchaikovsky PFT

Zen:

So we all know that Zen is actually pretty dominant, he’s definetly a top

One time though, you suddenly decided to change the roles a bit~

You were feeling confident and pushed Zen back against the bed, straddling him.

He was pretty surprised at first but he actually found it pretty hot

Zen will lean back and let you take the control, he won’t do the heavy things but he doesn’t mind sometimes being tied up (like his wrists against the bed post)

There are times where you will hold him down and make him reach his peak two, three or even four times. Those are the moments where Zen is the most vulnerable

You will stare up at him, an evil smirk on your lips while Zen pants, his face flushed

“Y-Y/N, p-please I-I can’t anymore I-I’ve already came enough and I don’t think that I can handle one mo-nghhh!!!!”

But eventually he will turn it on you and make you suffer as well~

Yoosung:

Yoosung didn’t actually know he enjoyed being submissive until a while in your relationship

He was never really dominant, but the two of you were always pretty vanilla.

That was until one day you decided to put a collar on him and made him kneel in front of you

YA BOI WAS SPEECHLESS

He did NOT know he would actually enjoy this sort of stuff, LIKE NANI?!

He loves being ordered around by you, especially when you make him go between your legs and tell him to suck, griping his hair tightly and once you reach your climax making him lick your legs clean

And he likes being praised too, it’s something he’s really into pft

Also: HE. LIKES. PEGGING. I WILL BOT ELABORATE BUT HE DEFINETLY DOES DONT @ ME

Yoosung is completely comfortable with you taking the lead, and he enjoys it! Of course there will be times where he will take the reins too~

Jaehee:

So this woman is pretty vanilla, she isn’t really into the whole over the top things

One time you asked her about handcuffs, and while she was pretty embarrassed she decided to try it out

Jaehee never knew you could be so dominant, and she found it hypnotizing

Jaehee also wouldn’t mind some light bondage, and maybe even a bit of begging *wink wonk*

You’ll suddenly stop rubbing against her, and she’ll let out a moan, tears almost falling from her eyes.

“P-please Y/N.”

“Please what?~ Jaehee I won’t know what you want until you tell me~”

“....p-please le-let me....let me come....please...i-it’s too much and I can’t anymore so please...!”

“Good girl~”

Jumin:

Oop it took a while for this man to be convinced, since he mostly likes to be in control of things

But every once in a while, you will suddenly surprise him by pushing him against the desk, taking off his tie and wrapping it around his wrists.

“Don’t take them off or I will actually break up with you” (tbh that’s the only way to make him DO something lol, but if you ever break up with him I will find you and destroy you don’t do my boy like that.”

Jumin is so surprised by your sudden boldness...but he doesn’t mind it

You will take off his pants and lick his tip, making him let out a moan, wanting to take that damn tie off and grip your hair, make you take him in fully

But you’re taking your slow, sweet time, while looking up at him with a little smile on your face, fluttering your eyelashes

As he’s about to come, you immediatly stop and he lets out an annoyed gump.

“Now now Jumin~ Why the rush? Let’s take our sweet time~”

You’ll keep egging him on, grinding against him and brushing your lips against his without actually kissing him

Jumin is a though cookie, and ya bet your ass he’s not one to submit, much less beg but at this point he’s not thinking straight and he’s been driven to the edge far too many times to form a coherent thought

“My love, please, don’t just-nnngh, don’t grind on me like that and then stop...love, I’m already on the edge and I c-can’t hold it back anymore.”

“Well Jumin, if you want to come you’re going to have to beg~”

“L-love, just please, please let me come, I want to, I really want to, please I’ll do anything you ask of my, just let me come my love, please.”

Afterwards, Jumin will take off his tie and push you against the bed ,a hungry look in his eyes

“Now it’s my turn to make you beg. I won’t hold back this time.”

Saeyoung:

Every once in a while the two of you will switch

He doesn’t really mind being tied up, or being put in a gall bag

There are times where he’ll be tied up against the bed by his wrists, and ropes all around him, tightening up and caressing delicate spots for him

Of course, he won’t be able to do much as whimper since you have his mouth covered too

You’ll eventually rub your entrance against him and look up at him

His eyes will be watery and his head messy, his glasses almost falling off.

“Do you want me to put it in?” You asked, and Saeyoung will furiously nod, whimpers and muffled moans coming out of his mouth

The two of you will then let out a satisfied sigh, and eventually will reach your peak, Saeyoung unable to hold it in anymore

V:

Everything but blindfolds please he’s had enough of that PFTTT

Even though he will be embarassed to admit it, V is a power bottom aight?

He doesn’t mind light bondage

And he is absolutely into getting praised

Whenever you straddle him and whisper into his ear how good of a boy he is, he will let out a moan and beg for you to let him be inside you, to please let him become one with you

He always lets out little gasps whenever you touch him anywhere, and he’ll always try (but fail) at muffling his moans.

By the time you’re done bringing him to his peak, his eyes will be half lidded and the corners will be filled with tears, his hair messy and his face flushed, panting and trying to reach for you while his hands are tied up behind him

“Y-Y/N, I- I n-need y-You right no-ow, anngh- I re-really do- p-please r-ride m-me, I really w-want you to r-ride mmmee-mnngh!”

Also definetly peg the boy we’ve talked about this thousand of times he is peggable so do not miss the opportunity to break ya boi heyooo

[lovelyirony]

could you write something brucexsam?

Bruce had heard that they were getting a new member on staff at his university, but he didn’t really think that he’d meet him. After all, Bruce usually stuck to the science departments or his own apartment. 

But Tony drags Sam in because “he’s the only good history professor I’ve ever met.” 

“Don’t you also know Barnes and Rogers?” Dr. Cho asks. 

“Not voluntarily,” Tony remarks. “But look! This is Sam Wilson, he’s teaching US and European History.” 

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Sam says, and Bruce momentarily forgets to shut his mouth because this man is gorgeous. He wears well-fitting shirts, his pants are nice, and are those...teal shoes? 

(Yeah, Bruce has a type. Said type is sharp and cute academia.) 

“This is Dr. Bruce Banner,” Tony says. “We’re pretty sure that the university owes him more than money because he keeps doing research for the place. Like, it’s bad.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Bruce murmurs, extending his hand. “Call me Bruce. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Call me Sam, and likewise,” he says, smiling. 

(Oh god that smile.) 

Sam talks with them all for a while and Bruce finds out he loves music from the sixties and seventies, enjoys the varied activities they have in the town, and likes going for morning runs. 

“I found a park off of Main that looks pretty nice,” Sam says. 

Bruce absolutely Does Not Turn His Face because that’s where his apartment overlooks. 

Sam then has to go to set up his office and email some students about classwork expectations, but he says goodbye. 

“Hope to see you around,” he says, smiling. “Nice meeting you all.” 

Helen and Tony turn to Bruce. 

“You like him,” Helen says matter-of-factly. 

“No I do not,” Bruce says. “I do not like him. I just met him.” 

“You’re not using contractions, you like him,” Tony cries, fist-pumping. “This semester is about to get so much better.” 

Bruce has forgotten about the fact that Sam is running at the park because it is Saturday and that means it is Book at Cafe day, where he sits outside a cafe and reads his newest murder-mystery book. 

This cafe happens to be right across from the park trails. 

So Bruce sees Sam running and of course running shirts are tight but whoa those arms, and Bruce suddenly accidentally drooled coffee out of his mouth a bit. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, getting himself napkins. “I hope he didn’t see that...” 

Sam did not see that, but he does jog over to see Bruce. 

“Hey stranger,” he says, grinning. “This the best coffee place in town?” 

“For lazy mornings, yes,” Bruce says, smiling. “How was your run?” 

“Really nice. No loud traffic or anything, got to pet a couple dogs. You a dog person?” 

“Sure,” Bruce says. “I don’t really have any animosity for any animal. Besides cockroaches.”

“A good animal to spite,” Sam counters. “I’ll catch you later, I have to get dressed for the day and get some hydration goin’ on. You going to the staff get-together tonight at Barnes?” 

“I’m not sure,” Bruce says, fiddling with his glasses. “I might have some revisions on a paper.” 

“Well I hope to see you there,” Sam says. “Catch you later!” 

“See you!” Bruce calls as the man jogs away. Bruce then self-reflects into his mug. He’s wondering if he was awkward or if it was okay. 

(He’s hoping it was okay.) 

-

Meanwhile Thor is staring at the text that Bruce sent him. 

“He’s actually thinking about going?” Jane asks from the kitchen, eyebrow raised. “Wonder why.” 

“He almost never comes,” Thor says. “And I’ve begged him for years.” 

“Yeah but the last times that he’s come you keep trying to set him up with various friends,” Jane says. 

“But I thought he’d like them!” Thor pouts. “We’re friends! And I know he’s lonely!” 

“He’ll be just fine with what he does,” Jane affirms. “Now please go to the store and pick up a couple blocks of cream cheese for me, would you?” 

- 

Sam has gotten along famously with most of the history and art department, easily joking with Steve and Sharon, the World War One professor, about various things that they were excited about and what types of students there generally were. 

“So...do any of you talk to Dr. Banner?” Sam asks. 

“You’re not subtle at all,” Barnes snorts. “But yeah, we do occasionally. He’s more of a homebody than most of us, but he’ll come to the occasional party. Why you wanna know? Friends or something more?” 

“He’s just cute, that’s it,” Sam says, acquiescing to the fact that at some point they’ll have to know about it. “Saw him today at the coffee shop by the park, said he might stop by the staff party tonight.” 

“If he does that’ll be a miracle,” Sharon says, smiling. “He usually never comes. You have an influence, Wilson.” 

“Aw shucks, little old me?” Sam responds jokingly. 

“Don’t push it,” Barnes warns teasingly. “But good job on getting him to come. Now all you have to do is ask him out on a date.” 

- 

Bruce isn’t sure why he’s nervous. He’s an adult, an adult who is tenured at his university and has had multiple papers and research projects been nationally lauded for their relevance to the scientific as well as public communities. 

He has changed his shirt eight times, is still questioning his socks even though they’re a plain white, and is wondering if he should wear a tie. 

Right on cue, Jane texts him. 

don’t worry about the tie dumbass. just show up in your purple shirt and get tipsy. or don’t. but please come 

i will be 

Bruce shows up twenty minutes early with a bottle of wine clutched in hand and a slight nervous look. 

“Don’t worry,” Thor says, scooping his friend into a hug. “Things will be alright. Helen’s even bringing pigs-in-a-blanket! So you can stress eat six in two minutes!” 

“Do not remind me of the 2012 incident,” Bruce says. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.” 

“We’re not supposed to talk about a lot of things, but I’ve still told my students how to pirate my textbooks for class,” Tony says casually. “And what I want to talk about is that I will be unbuttoning this button so that you actually look hot. And I’m messing up your hair.” 

“Why?” Bruce asks, stepping back. 

“Because you’ll look cute,” Helen says. “You are quite the catch, Banner.” 

“Okay...?” Bruce asks. “I’m still asking why?” 

“You want to impress Wilson, don’t you?” Tony asks. “And I think he will be impressed because I am impressed and seriously debating my commitment to Barnes.” 

“You sayin’ something babe?” Bucky asks, arms wrapping themselves around his husband’s frame. 

“Just my disdain of you,” Tony says, grinning. He kisses him on the cheek. “Hey gorgeous. Did you bring the spoons and cups?” 

“Even got extras,” Bucky says, holding up the cloth bags. 

“My hero.” 

Sam arrives about ten minutes later holding a bouquet of flowers and some sort of salad. 

“Hey guys,” Sam says. “Sorry I’m late, I had some difficulty finding the dried cranberries.” 

“Those are Bruce’s favorite, I’m glad you found them,” Helen says coyly, a smile attached. 

“Then I’m glad too,” Sam says. “Because cranberries in a salad is the best part.” 

“Agreed,” Bruce affirms. “I’ll take the flowers and get a vase for them if you’d like to set the salad down.” 

“Thanks gorgeous,” Sam responds. 

Bruce turns red. 

Sam then thinks he’s adorable and Steve makes a dopey face at him. 

“You’re so whipped already, Sam.” 

“Hey Steve. Shut up or I’m redirecting my students to your email.” 

Steve snickers. 

-

The music is nice, and Bruce watches as Thor and Jane dance to the side, giggling to each other. 

“The man can’t dance,” Sam remarks. “But it’s entertaining.” 

“Sure is,” Bruce says, sipping on his cocktail. “Wait until we get Sharon tipsy enough. She’ll dance to Tchaikovsky and make it look passable.” 

“Now that I have to see.” 

Sam and Bruce move over to the couch, talking about any manner of things. Bruce likes the funny eighties comedies, and Sam talks about music and how exciting history can be. Bruce laughs and nods and gives Sam advice about how the school generally runs. 

“What are your office hours usually like?” Sam asks casually. 

“Usually they’re pretty open and given the students that I generally draw, I keep my hours late for explanations.” 

“Could you potentially push them earlier if someone wanted to take you to dinner?” Sam asks. 

“Potentially,” Bruce teases right back. “Depends on where dinner is. I think I might have to show a new guy around my favorite spots.” 

“I think I might know this new guy. Goes by Sam?” 

“The new history teacher. He’s caught my eye, wouldn’t you know?” 

“Maybe,” Sam says, laughing. “I’m Sam.” 

“Well I never!” Bruce exclaims, a look of faux-shock in his features. “Then consider my office hours moved next Friday for dinner. Swing by the park and I’ll meet you there?” 

“Sounds great. Mind if I get your number? In case I have any questions about school, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

-

The History and Science departments were on good terms before all of this. 

But because Sam likes to make impromptu visits with his classes to teach his unit about the Scientific Revolution with classic experiments by one Dr. Banner and his students, it’s gotten even better. 

(And sure if Sam went viral on Twitter for being the most-loving-boyfriend-ever, then that was nice too.) 

[thatbangtanbloom]

my everything | myg

my everything | min yoongi

characters: yoongi x reader

au(s): Socialite!AU, Pianist!Yoongi

categories: (just a little, like almost none) angst, fluff

word count: 2,393 (a bit long for a blurb, huh?)

The average piano has a total of eighty-eight keys; fifty-two white and thirty-six black. The key to your heart had a total of one and Min Yoongi managed to play all eighty-nine keys more swiftly than Tchaikovsky could have ever imagined.

The first moment you met Min Yoongi, you did not expect him to become the love of your life. He was nothing more but a piano prodigy that your father wanted to invest in. He was not even that much taller than you when you were only sixteen. He did not smile back then, unless it was in the presence of the piano.

You had admired him many times from the confines of your balcony. You were an awkward teenager back then, much preferring to admire the piano player from afar as he played under the supervision of your father. 

“The crescendo should begin with b-flat if you want it to begin effectively. Juxtaposition, Yoongi-ah.” Your father instructed Yoongi while hovering over his shoulder. 

Back then, you never understood how your father could criticize Yoongi when you thought that every key he stroke was the first melody to heaven’s symphony. It became a game as time went on, once your father realized that perhaps you were interested in the prodigy.

I know that it is not much, but I thought that you may like this. I made this rice cake with my mother yesterday and she told me to give it to someone special. I hope you eat this deliciously - YN.

You did not know it, but that was the first day that Yoongi began to look forward to the long practices for something other than the tone of the piano keys. He began to look forward to your messages, even arriving earlier just to retrieve them before your father saw them. 

A little birdie told me that you like meat... So I tried to make a lunchbox for you.. I have never tried to grill meat before this, so I know it is still lacking, but please accept this as sustenance as you eat. I am rooting for you, Yoongi! - YN

The days that passed when you once left small rice cakes wrapped meticulously for Yoongi to find when he practiced late became less. The times that Yoongi caught you glancing at him as a teenager were numbered. Your chances of finally speaking to the pianist went from astronomical to insignificant when you finally studied abroad for university. 

Years had passed, graduations occurred, and letters never sent were sealed when you finally saw Yoongi again in your nineteenth spring.  It was beyond you how years could have passed when the strings of your heart tugged at the sight of him and butterflies began to sprout into your stomach. 

“You must be Min Yoongi,” You said softly as you stood up after smoothing out your dress shirt and smiled politely in the way that your mother had always instructed you to do so. “My name is L/N Y/N. It is a pleasure to be of your acquaintance.”

Yoongi looked at you as though he were looking at you. It was almost as if he was trying to picture you sitting on the stairs, watching him play as the grueling hours went by. He was no man of formalities and neither was he in awe when it came to the presence of wealth. It was back then that Yoongi had made assumptions that he looks back on now and laughs about. “I am Min Yoongi. Enchanté.”

There was something about his eyes that drew you into him almost immediately. The dark tint of his irises made you want to know what he held behind them, what secrets he told, what his last thought of was. A part of you even considered thinking that you were getting ahead of yourself for falling for the five-foot-eight piano player without knowing his birthday, let alone him as a person.

“I hope to hear you play often in my father’s hall. He raves about you… I might even say that he adores you.” You added, hoping to break the ice as your father fraternizes with one of the shareholders about the importance of investing in the entertainment industry; the importance of investing in Min Yoongi.

Yoongi found himself almost chuckling at your words. His eyes immediately skimmed over your features, your mannerisms that screamed ‘high society’ in ways that his new money could only dream of. “And you?”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked. To put it simply, you were beyond surprised at what he had just said. 

“I asked, what do you think of me? Do you adore me as your father does? Or do I have the mere pleasure of being graced with your presence for only a fleeting moment to thrive off of for the rest of my life? I find myself asking such questions when the last time I saw you, you were leaving me sweets during practice in our more.. Youthful years.” Yoongi asked as he takes a sip of champagne before placing it on the high table. “Was I too forward?” He asked, only after noticing your gaze. “I think that is my charming point. I am a bit too forward at times.”

You shake your head with a sweet smile. It was so sweet that Yoongi contemplates if this was what Eve experienced with the temptation of the apple. “It is refreshing.” You say softly with a small smile.

“Y/N, darling! There is someone else for you to meet. He is the prosecutor’s son. Kim Namjoon-” Your mother exclaims before whisking you away before you could hear the last thing that Yoongi was going to say. “Darling, where have you been? Don’t you know that you are a debutante now? You do not have time to speak to all the guests. You must control the room! Permeate it-”

You do not catch the rest of what your mother says, focusing on the black-haired male with a grin on his face when he notices you looking back at him. His eyes never leave your figure; first beginning with the eye contact that nearly renders you speechless to the nervous smile that fixates on your lips to his eyes lingering over the curve of your hips. 

He only sent you a friendly smile, but every part of you wondered if he was a human or some celestial being that the heavens has bestowed upon you. Despite not seeing him for years, you knew that the smile that he had given you; with honey dripping from his eyes and the pink of his gums on displays to show his pearly white teeth, it was something real. Something special. Something significant.

That was the first time you had spoken to him. Albeit short, a deeper part of you knew that you wanted to speak Yoongi for the rest of your life.

The next time you spoke to Yoongi, it was during your biweekly walk through the nearby botanical gardens of your family’s estate. You did not know this, but Yoongi was actively searching to see you. It had caused him trouble too, figuring out how to approach your friends when you seemed as untouchable as a butterfly on a cool spring day. 

“Yoongi?” You found yourself asking the male when you catch sight of the male walking what looked like a cinnamon brown poodle. It was surprising, especially since you were apt to believe in coincidences. 

Yoongi smirked to himself inwardly, thankful that one of your friends, Park Jimin, had a terrible habit of talking too much. “Y/N-ah, too much time has passed between us.” His voice is smooth, much like the piano keys that he plays. 

You wonder if you would become his next opus.  It was what he was hoping for, anyway. 

“I can say the same.” You reply with a bite of your lip before turning your attention way from him to hide your blushing cheeks to the white roses in the garden. You do not know what it is more beautiful, the flowers or him. 

Yoongi guides the small dog, Holly, to sit down before he clears his throat to catch more of your attention. “I wanted to formally ask if you were interested in having dinner with me. I feel that it is necessary when we have had so many correspondences in the form of both food and letter writing.” He states cheekily.

“Yes.” You say without hesitation. And little did you know, it would be the most changing experience of your life. 

You can still remember the first time that Yoongi asked to hold your hand after the two of you had returned from his recital. You knew in the breath of it all, a part of you knew that the two of you would not last. You could not last.

“Do you ever get tired of having to wait for me all the time?” He asks you one night, his tie loose around his neck and his fingers entwined with yours. His voice is indicative of melancholy and you want to kiss away his sadness in an instant.

“Why would I be tired of having to wait for you when you are what matters to me?” You ask softly as you take off your sunglasses to take in his features. He looks exhausted, likely from playing one of the most difficult piano pieces ever created, Etudes Op. 25 No. 11  Winter Wind by Chopin. 

Yoongi bites his lip as he pauses to take your hands in his, “Because at times, I wonder if I can ever be enough for you when I spent more time with the piano then with you.” His concerns burden you greatly and your heart aches at how he was feeling. You knew how demanding his craft was of him, how often that he had to wear braces for his wrist, or the practices for hours without breaks.

You can practically taste him on your lips, a mixture of too many drinks of champagne and macarons. It is safe to say that you do not know the last time you found yourself in the expanse of his arms, the last time that you found yourself by his side as his nimble fingers caressed piano keys, the last time you found yourself telling him that you love him.

Yoongi is taken by surprise when you make the first move; closing the gap between the two of you to connect your lips with his. Soft like petals but rhythmic like waves, you find yourself melting into the crevices of him that made you fall for him in the first place.

“Min Yoongi, I do not think that you understand my love as much as I would like you to.” You say in a soft tone as you caress his porcelain cheek in your palm with a gentle smile. “When I look at you, I know that you are what the truth is. Nothing can substitute for you nor can it be fabricated. 

Sparkles in Yoongi’s eyes welcome you, but the slightest hint of his frown is evident on his lips. “I do not think that there is anything that makes me happier than you do. I love piano. I always have and always will, it was my first love, but you are my first everything. Y/N-ah… I-I never had a muse until I found you.” He whispers softly as his thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I can still remember the first time we crossed paths and I knew that I was intrigued by you in an instance. I felt..” He pauses as he bites his lip. “It was as though I was meeting my soulmate from another life; as though we were lovers in all of our lives before this and we crossed paths in this one to cement our lives together… to write our own melody for the rest of our lives.” 

“I know at times that I am not the most expressive when it comes to my appreciation for you, but I know that I am grateful to have been blessed with you.” He adds as he turns your head to take in his features. Soft and almost dollike as he pours his heart out to you. “There are so many days when I consider taking a break from it all, forever, to just want to be more than Min Yoongi, the pianist, to exist as far more than just someone who plays at recitals or travels, but then I stand up from the piano and turn to face a sleeping you.” His heart strings pulls as he notices the way that your features soften. 

“There were so many times in the past that I thought that the music was all that I had, that all I had were those eighty-eight keys and a stage to make me feel like I was enough.” His voice nearly shakes and you find yourself holding back a breath as he continues to speak. Yoongi was not the type to speak unless it was something worth saying and your heart beat in triple time as he speaks to you. “I used to think that my soulmate was that first piano and that every one after that was a reincarnation of my first love. I felt that, I understood that, I lived by that thinking that was all I had until you came into my life and showed me that there is more to life than work and love, but being able to understand myself and loving me in a way that only you could do authentically.”

“I love you in all ways that love exists. You have my heart, my soul, my being and I do not think that I am the only truth, because you exist. You are beyond the truth. You are evidence. You are existence. You are the epitome of my beginning and end and I have no intent to ever let you.” Yoongi almost speaks as though he is out of breath.  “So L/N Y/N, will you do me the honor of being the co-compose for the melody of the rest of our lives? Will you marry me?”

And it was safe to say that you didn’t need a composer to answer Yoongi’s question.

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

This is the first writing for the song blurbs! I am so excited to write for the hyung line after a long time. Please let me know what you think! Let me know if there is anything you liked or enjoyed. Don’t be a silent reader! 

xx, 

thatbangtanbloom

[imaginetonyandbucky]

In Search of Something

Prompt: imagine tony and bucky in steampunk au

A/N: Dear readers, I am conducting an experiment, so to speak, and I beg you will indulge me. After having this prompt in my queue for quite a while and not being able to come up with a story, I found myself, this weekend, unraveling the knot and coming up with what will probably end up being a 60 – 90,000 word piece of Steampunk/Noir style WinterIron fiction. That being said, I don’t know that there’s a lot of demand for a Steampunk Noir story. 

Consider this first chapter to be the pilot episode of a television show, so to speak. If there’s enough demand, I’ll write more. – tisfan

Chapter One:  For Want of Aether 

“That might well be the ugliest velocipede I’ve ever seen,” someone said. 

Tony Stark, genius, inventor, rake, philanthropist, nearly spat out a mouthful of coffee. He hadn’t heard anyone come into the shop, although that wasn’t surprising. He was often lost in his own headspace when working, and he’d completed the amplification process for his Amberola a few weeks ago, which made the musical cylinders in his workshop particularly loud. He’d been replaying the Tchaikovsky recording several times, testing with a diaphragm sensor to measure the volume of cannon fire, to see if it was actually replicable at anything remotely resembling the normal level of sound.

“Probably good it’s on commission then,” Tony said. He wiped his hands off on a rag and came around the side of the workbench to look at the interloper. “What brings you to my humble ‘shop?”

There wasn’t anything humble about Tony’s shop and he damn well knew it, but at the same time, he was expected to keep up the generic merchant pater. Too many customers walked away and people might start wondering if he was actually running a shop, and if he wasn’t, what was he, instead, doing?

Tony couldn’t afford some snotty government official poking into his business, so… playing the humble inventor.

“Lookin’ for the son of Maria Carbonell?”

Yeah, fantastic. Tony reached under the bench and pulled out one of his gauntlets, being as casual as possible in attaching the connections to the tubes in his sleeve rig.

He leaned against the side of his work bench, crossing his legs at the ankle and presenting an utterly relaxed front to the newcomer.

Dark, ragged hair tucked under a fisherman’s cap, the man dressed like he was carrying his entire wardrobe on his back; undershirt, two button downs over it, a vest, a jacket and an overcoat. Despite the layers, he wasn’t sweating as far as Tony could tell. The evenings were starting to get cool, it was early October after all, but the afternoons were still fine. Perhaps the so-called customer hadn’t heard of suitcases.

Tony smirked. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time,” he said, thoughtfully. “Who’s been name-dropping?” The arc-reactor finished charging the gauntlet repulsor with a dull whump. It was an old password, compromised almost a year ago when SHIELD was disbanded. Tony had managed to stay out of the crossfire, had hidden and protected a number of SHIELD’s agents, but it had been a mess.

The man jerked, as if he’d heard the repulsor whine, but the sound was nearly impossible to detect under the music and banging that went on in Tony’s shop. Or should have been. But even if he had, so very few people knew what the repulsor’s signature sounded like, and those who did weren’t usually in a shape to report it.

“Word gets around,” the man said. He raised his chin enough to look at Tony through ragged cut hair. He had eyes as gray as storm clouds and the sort of luminescent beauty that belonged in a painting by the old masters. Tony was somewhat of an expert on beauty in both the male and female forms.

How had that man wandered the streets and not drawn abundant attention? Just the sort that Hydra would send after Tony, if they were going to send someone. Knowing what they did of Tony’s eye and appetites. Knowing what everyone knew about Tony’s rake-hell lifestyle.

“Does it.” That wasn’t even a question.

The man could be hiding any number of weapons under that coat. Blades or guns or even some of the smaller, delicate explosives. He licked his lips nervously, eyes flicking in Tony’s direction and then away. “I can pay you.”

“I’m sure you can,” Tony said. “The question remains -- who sent you, and what do you want?”

“No one sent me,” the man said. “I’m here because you might b’ the only person in the world who can help me who ain’t gonna stick me back in a cage.”

“Fascinating as undoubtedly your story is, and pitiful as your plight,” Tony said, raising a hand and letting the repulsor show, “I think you should leave. I… don’t usually have the patience to ask more than once.”

“Wait, wait! Please,” the man said, and raised his left hand hastily, as if he was going to a sleeve-clutch weapon or to defend himself. The motion was accompanied by the distinct sound of gears and plates clicking together. Tony blinked; the man didn’t look like one of Vanko or Doom’s automatons, but the sound, that sound…

Bugger it. Shoot first, ask questions later.

The repulsor screamed defiance and the shock wave pulsed across the shop, sending loose papers flying like dirigibles, throwing small parts to the floor. And knocking Tony’s unwelcomed guest to the floor.

“Well, fuck.” Tony stood over the unconscious man, staring down at him. “Now I gotta carry you somewhere.”

He sighed. “Dummy, get over here!” Tony went to the shop door, hung out his By Appointment Only sign and locked the gate.

(more below the cut)

Panic surged and Bucky almost puked when he roused and realized he was locked down. He was locked down and seated.

“No, no, no!” He jerked at the restraints, struggling, although he knew it never did him any good to struggle. Once he was in the lab, once he was in the chair…

Except he heard a distinct sound of creaking wood and he was… sitting upright, not pushed over on his back, staring up into the too-bright ceiling gaslamps. And he was screaming, shouting, his mouth was free, not locked with a bite-strap or muzzle and…

He managed to focus, tamp down the panic long enough to look around.

What he saw was nothing like those industrial gray walls, the bank of nixie tubes and punch cards, the white-coated scientists with their shining steel tools.

Instead what he saw was a brick-lined room, a dozen wall sconces giving the room light. Bits of unidentifiable machinery littered almost every surface and the quicky, sarcastic little inventor was sitting on one of the tables, just looking at him. At some point, the man had stripped down from his merchant’s coat and was wearing a thin, white undershirt, plain dungarees, and a pair of suspenders, one on and one off his muscular shoulders. A round, blue light shone underneath the shirt and tubes with glittering strands of the same light were held to his arms with leather bands. He had a set of welder’s goggles perched on top of his messy black hair and there were grease and soot smudges on his face.

He was, absolutely, the man Bucky was looking for. Anthony Stark. Bucky hadn’t been sure before; the few daguerreotypes that Bucky had seen of the man were blurred -- Tony Stark was not a man to stay still long enough to get a good tintype made. But there was no doubt, now. The few files Bucky had liberated spoke of the artificial heart, what it looked like. What it could do.

He opened his mouth to say so, but found himself giving voice to a more pressing question. “Why am I naked?”

Tony scoffed. “What did you expect? I was checking you for weapons and you’re carrying a god damn arsenal. Didn’t know what to do about that--” He jerked his chin at Bucky, or more specifically, at Bucky’s arm, a mess of copper plates and brass wiring. “But it doesn’t seem to be functioning right now anyway.”

Bucky nodded. “Out of aether,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s both impractical and primitive. What little I could figure out on a quick inspection showed me that the refueling pod is in the back, too. Difficult to reload yourself.”

“I ain’t s’posed to be working without a handler,” Bucky said.

“Which is why you came to me,” Tony said. As if that made perfect sense. Which it did, because it was true, god damnit.

“Which is why I came to you,” Bucky said. “You’re th’ only one who runs independent that might even be able to produce such a thing.”

“You know running an aether mill without a license is illegal,” Tony pointed out. “Not to mention such a radical body modification should only be attempted by biomechanical professionals.”

“Let’s just say there’s more’n a few laws I’m on th’ wrong side of,” Bucky said. “What’d you shoot me for?” He was fair certain what he’d been shot with. Raza wasn’t a member of the Hydra camps, but Ten Rings had a tentative alliance, and after the brass-and-balls mess that had been Gulmira was over and done with, some remaining members of Ten Rings had taken shelter in Hydra safehouses. Zola had gotten a full report, and, still assured of compliance, had left the file somewhere that Bucky had been able to read it.

“You’re not the first pretty person that’s been sent after me,” Tony said, easily. “If people can’t tell the difference between SHIELD and Hydra anymore, that may say more about SHIELD than anything.”

Bucky managed a croaking laugh. It was almost too easy to flirt with the man while he was naked. Tony expected vulnerability, fear, or anger. Teasing and tension might disarm him, figuratively speaking, a little bit. “You think I’m pretty?’

“Actually, I think you’re Hydra,” Tony said.

I am. I was. I will be, if you don’t help me. But that was putting too many cards on the table, too soon. “But still pretty.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tony spluttered. “What are you, a virgin planning your coming out ball?”

“Yeah, actually, you did say pretty,” Bucky said. He licked his lower lip, giving Tony his best bedroom eyes. It was scarcely a chore. Tony Stark was a good looking man, muscular, compact. Smart as a whip, from everything Bucky had heard. Rumor hadn’t mentioned how sarcastic and quick he was, but those were traits Bucky had found attractive. Once. When he was enough in his own mind to find someone attractive. “I heard you. No takebacks.”

“Yeah, well, poison comes in pretty bottles, pal.”

“Infiltration’s not my speciality,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah, what is?”

“I’m a sharpshooter,” Bucky said, bleak. “Aether long rifle. Mostly. But knives, if I have to.”

“As well as a whole variety of other little nasties I found in your coat. You’re well prepared.”

“Not really,” Bucky said. “Most of it runs on aether, and I been cannibalizing it so I can keep movin’ my arm for almost a year now.”

“No handler to call on?”

“Got away from my handlers durin’ the battle of the Potomack. Been on th’ run ever since.”

“So you are Hydra.”

“I was, yeah,” Bucky said, sliding his eyes left, not able to meet Tony’s gaze. “Not by choice.”

“You’re a serum-swiller?”

“Not by choice,” Bucky repeated. “Prisoner of war. Captured. Altered.”

“Who were you before you became Hydra?”

“James Barnes, 107th Infantry,” Bucky said. “Look, if you ain’t gonna shoot me, or fuck me, can I get a blanket or somethin’? It’s cold down here.” Which wasn’t quite true, but he was practically starving. It’d been days since he’d eaten and while his body could run for a long time without human needs -- food or sleep or comfort -- he got cold, ice cold, if he went too long without. Eventually, those needs would kill him, the same as any man, but he’d freeze to death, and if Hydra could find him, they’d bring him back from the dead. Again.

Tony climbed down off the table and uncovered a tattered blanket from a long sofa. “Dummy, wrap him up.”

The automaton wasn’t human-shaped, but Bucky recognized the type; wind-up probably. It seemed old, creaky. Clicked and hummed as it crossed the room, a single mechanical arm with a three-prong gripper on a wheeled platform. Dummy, which seemed to be the wind-up’s name, apparently had a babbage engine of some sort, able to follow simple directions.

“Amazing,” Bucky said, as the claw-arm draped the blanket over him, and tucked the ends around gently, as if it was used to doing such a thing. Bucky had an instant’s picture in his head of the wind-up covering its maker, if Tony fell asleep in his workshop. “You make him?”

Tony nodded, once. “Comes in handy,” he said. “He’s a helper clockwork. My first.” Dummy retreated to Tony’s side, and he ran a hand down the arm, as if petting it for a job well done.

“So… you ain’t gonna shoot me,” Bucky said, not bothering to mention the other thing. “What’s your plan?”

“I’ve only got about twelve percent of a plan,” Tony told him. “It’s a work in progress. All things considered, I think I’m doing pretty well.”

“Well, while you got twelve percent, do you think maybe I could trouble you for somethin’ to eat? I ain’t seen a meal in three days, I’m ‘bout to perish of thirst, and someplace I can fall on my face t’ sleep wouldn’t go amiss, neither.”

“You’re pushy, for a self-invited house guest.”

“Call me a prisoner if it makes you happy,” Bucky suggested. “But ‘less you wanna compare unfavorably to Hydra, y’ might want to feed me. Look, I ain’t gonna hurt you, that’s self-defeating. This damn thing don’t work right now and a child could knock me over. I jus’... I jus’ need some aether. I have money, I have--”

“I can’t make aether. I don’t have the facilities for it,” Tony told him. “So if that’s what you want, I’ll share dinner and you can move along. But you said you’re Hydra, and that doesn’t give you much trust to put a leash on someone who’s as obviously dangerous as you are. Weakened state or otherwise.”

Bucky sighed. Tony Stark was his last hope. Without him, without the arm… Bucky was going to get caught, he was going to end up back in Hydra hands. “Then I need you to kill me,” Bucky said. “I can’t fall back into their clutches. I can’t go back t’ killin’ on Zola’s word. And they will. They can make me, an’ there’s nothin’ I can do about it. I’d rather be dead. Consider it a mercy.”

“Zola, huh?” Tony scratched his chin. “You say that name like you have a lot of hatred for him.”

“Buddy, you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Well, I can’t make aether, but if we can come to some arrangements, I might be able to help you,” Tony said. “If you can be trusted. And we’ll have to see about that, I suppose.”

“How?”

Tony made a face, then pulled up the thin shirt, showing off a muscular chest and--

“It’s called an arc-reactor. It makes power. Power enough to run my heart, enough to run your arm. Enough to run… well, quite a number of things. That being said, it’s killing me. And Zola… well, your old friend Zola has the one thing I need. To make a new core, so that the thing that’s keeping me alive will stop killing me. If you want to help… well, I can think of a few ways we can help each other.” 

[panticwritten]

Breaking Furnace - Solitary: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Anger Management is Not My Strong Suit

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

Everyone’s kind of having a bad time today. That’s okay, though, because at least someone’s halfway happy about their current lot in life.

(I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr because I am a fiend when it comes to using different fonts and tools and junk in my writing. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so HERE.)

Remember that this is a daydream taking place in the Escape From Furnace universe, so keep that in mind if you haven’t read EFF.

Word count: 2067

Content warnings for this chapter:

Auditory hallucinations

Feel free to message me if I’m missing any.

Chapter Three will be up on August 10th at 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

~-S-~

“Why hasn’t the siren shut off yet?” I demand before I’m even though the door.

“Ah, finally.” Cross drops Furnace’s phone on its cradle and rises from his desk. “What took you so long?”

I scowl and gesture back at the door.

“It’s a mess out there.”

He only answers with an ambiguous smile. I follow him into the attached security room, and the problem is readily apparent on the monitors.

A number of screens meant to show the chipping rooms sit with dark screens—no signal—the rest of them shrouded in dust and debris. Soldiers mill in what little is visible, but I can’t make out what they’re doing.

Destruction reigns through the rest of the prison, snapshot evidence of what I must have missed in my insistence to remain in the lab. Tools strewn through general population, lifeless bodies of inmates and a handful of our soldiers pulled into a pile in the center of the yard.

The rest of the prisoners remain locked in their cells where they belong.

“What started this?” I raise a hand to brush one of the dust-choked screens as if that would clear it away. “A cave-in?”

“No.”

I turn back to find him taking a stack of files from a soldier. I hadn’t noticed him enter, and I hardly notice him leave when Cross hands over a number of the manila folders.

The temptation to flip through immediately is strong, but the sharp whine of static cuts through my skull before I can even try. Its shape oscillates like words, but it’s too garbled to understand.

I smack at the radio on my shirt collar, and the sound disappears.

“Is everything alright?” Cross asks, words lighter than their meaning.

When I actually turn my eyes on him rather than the cream of the folders, he watches me with such scrutiny I can’t even pretend to think his concern isn’t about my memories. At every distraction, every moment of introspection, he starts an interrogation.

I’m not in the mood to humor him today.

I shrug and start for the divide back into his main office. “Com’s acting up, nothing to worry about. What happened, then?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I pretend not to notice the tendrils of nectar twisting through my mind while he decides whether or not I’m lying. He leaves it alone when the sensation stops, so I assume he’s satisfied.

“A group of inmates escaped,” he says instead when we’ve settled on either side of his desk. “You will be responsible for—”

Hang on.

“What?” I mentally kick myself for interrupting him, but there’s no taking it back now. “They actually got out?”

He spreads his hands—what can you do—and taps his stack of his files.

“Ten of them. You’ll oversee five. Tell me where you want them before we round them up.”   

He stands, taking his own files with him, and leaves me to it.

I finally drop my gaze down to the folders he gave me and spread them out. They’re already numbered as specimen. At first sight, two of them are thin, likely nothing but the legal documentation they came in with. The other three, well worn and thick with additional paperwork.

I start with the thin ones, separating them from the others.

Alex Sawyer, a kid we chose for conversion before he even came to the prison. He’s small, scrawny, and smarter than he looks if her was able to get away with theft for so long. He’s only been here a couple months, so I doubt he’d take to the nectar very well so soon.

The other, Zee Hatcher, came in the same day. Stole enough cars that no one thought twice about his guilt when our soldiers framed him in a hit and run.

We’ll see how long they last in solitary before they beg for forgiveness. Then, we’ll turn them over to the wheezers. I lift a pen from the other side of Cross’s desk to scrawl a note in the corner of each folder.

The first of the older files, Kevin Arnold. We’ve watched him on the monitors, ruling over one of the larger factions in the prison. He’s stayed out of trouble since I’ve returned, but if half of the anger I think he has is real I doubt he’ll fight against the nectar very hard.

Then, Dominic Tchaikovsky. All of these infractions have stemmed from protecting others, if these reports are right. There’s no mention in the file on why he’s here, what crime he committed, but it won’t matter to any of us before long. He’ll go directly to the nectar as well.

The final folder isn’t labelled, though it’s just as full as Tchaikovsky’s.

I flinch at another blast of static from my com. It doesn’t stop when I hit the radio itself, so I rip the feed from my ear. With the sound gone, I flip the folder open and freeze.

The file doesn’t have a mugshot, just a list of prisoner information on top of a stack of disciplinary forms. I go to read the first, but something shorts out before I can register more than the name.

The nectar doesn’t give me any warning before exploding into action in my blood, a reaction to the roaring anger in my skull. I can’t think through it, not through the searing hate freezing me in place or the nectar shrieking at me to act.

I only vaguely hear the chair hit the floor when I jerk to my feet. I need to get this energy out, do anything to keep from melting down. I don’t know who Connor Sawyer is, but I’d like to see him die in the dark of solitary confinement while his friends become the very things he’s running from.

“Perry.”

The word, almost indecipherable in the static, echoes over itself. I reach up to answer the com, but it’s.

Not in my ear.

The voice didn’t come from my radio.

I clench my jaw and shake my head, continuing forward. I need to go fight something. Run through a testing chamber maybe, especially if I’m hearing things. It’s not unheard of, I’m probably not settled with the nectar yet. Just ignore it.

It’ll go away.

The static comes, and I pinpoint it to the open space over my left shoulder. The air is empty, but that doesn’t make the disembodied voice any less concerning.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

♥️♥️♥️C♥️♥️♥️

I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the river like this. Our group, now down to eight, whispers furiously behind me. I hope they’re trying to decide whether they should leave without me. I’d catch up. I’d be fine.

I just need a few more minutes.

Everything will be fine in just a minute.

I close my eyes, not willing to let the damn tears come back. Logically, I know he’s fine. He’s probably waking up in the Cube right now. Maybe getting a cup of coffee in the Lounge. Visiting Jay.

But I remember what it’s like to die. The cold, the empty feeling. The lingering thought that everything’s wrong. The empty space between the actual loss of life and waking back up wherever the Cube decides to leave you.

I shake my head against the bile rising in my throat.

“I ain’t waiting no more.”

I force my eyes to open, my limbs to move. If I let Gary start a fight now that we’re safe at the entrance to the tunnels, I doubt even half of us will make it to the compound.

“Chill out, Owens,” I mutter, turning back to the group.

The three I actually trust block Gary from moving on on his own. Kevin, Monty, and Jimmy hang back, the former on his own while the other two huddle fairly close together. I wanted to believe Sawyer when they said that Jimmy and Monty were really ours this time, but I can’t anymore. They haven’t spoken a word since the escape began, and their eyes have that empty gaze that most of the other inmates have taken on.

What a group.

Gary snaps round to face me, and I’m not surprised to find him so furious. It’d be a real shock if he wasn’t.

Why can’t he be just as Xanax’d as the rest of the inmates?

“Gonna die down here, chief. Hope you’re proud, wiping us out single-handed,” he snarls.

There’s an instant.

A single instant.

I think about knocking him back into the river. With the emptiness dulling my fear, I know I could draw on the power of the Cube and the In-Between to help me. I’m sure we could find another way out of here.

Hell, with this quality of focus I could probably get the rest of us to the surface now.

But the moment passes, and I brush past him to join Alex, Zee, and Donovan at the start of our path. We have to do this right. We have to go get Sawyer, get the power we need to actually be a match for any of the monsters Furnace can throw at us.

“We’ll never get out with that attitude,” I answer. I aim the barest of smiles at my friends rather than at Gary, and we pick our way ahead. I remain between the three of them and Gary, if only to keep anyone else from ending up on the receiving end of his anger.

He grumbles, but doesn’t argue it further.

The ledge, the wall, everything shines in the light of our headlamps. At first, I think it’s just water from below, but touching the surface of the wall to find balance tells me otherwise. The clear slime turns my stomach, and I resolve to avoid touching it as much as I can.

We’ve been inching forward for a while, though likely not as long as I think, when Zee’s light shifts and he looks over his shoulder at me.

“You probably don’t want to talk about it, but.” He pauses, turning facing forward again, light on the ground in front of his feet. “What was Dominic thinking? There’s no way he could have helped with that leg.”

Helped?

I shake my head, very aware of how cynical my laugh sounds.

“He wasn’t trying to save Gamzee.”

He stops dead at that, and more than one voice behind me groans when I follow suit. He only stays in place for a few seconds, but it’s long enough for Gary to shove me from behind before I can get myself moving again.

“I see.”

No one says anything after that.

~-S-~

I stare at the ceiling of the testing chamber. Water laps at my suit, but I don’t care. The aftermath of such a violent response from the nectar requires at least a small amount of rest. I think nearly drowning myself calls for a couple minutes to just.

Sit here.

The rigid stone beneath my head does nothing for the out-of-place pounding behind my eyes. Even in the dark of the chamber, it twinges with every move. Of course, it might have something to do with—

“You’re too stiff.”

That.

I cover my face with my hands and hope the voice will go away soon. I have a history with fighting the nectar. I know that if I bring this up to Cross, he’ll have me in a screening room for hours.

I have too much work to do to waste that much time over a voice that’s probably going to disappear on its own. I hope.

“If you say so.”

I flinch. The static prods the spiking ache in my head.

I’d better get back before Cross comes looking for me.

I roll onto my hands and knees, suddenly too aware of how the water streaming from the tunnels below me seeps into my clothes. The nectar threatens to rush back to fuel my irritation, so I heave myself to my feet and shake my hands out.

With each outward flick of my hands, a portion of the water vanishes from my person. By the time I settle my arms at my sides and start for the single door out of the testing chambers, my suit is dry once more.

The perks to existing in a world of make-believe.

[operascenes2021]

SCENE TWO (The drawing room of Prince Gremin's house in St. Petersburg. Tatyana, in elegant morning dress, enters holding a letter.) TATYANA O, how distressed I am! Once more Onegin has crossed my path like a relentless apparition! His burning glance has troubled my heart and reawakened my dormant passion so that I feel like a young girl again and as if nothing had ever parted us! (She weeps. Onegin appears at the door. He stands for a moment gazing passionately at the weeping Tatyana, then runs to her and falls to his knees at her feet. She looks at him, evincing neither anger nor surprise, then motions him to rise.) TATYANA Enough, get up, I must talk to you frankly. Onegin, do you remember that time when, in the avenue in our garden, fate brought us together and I listened so meekly to your lecture? ONEGIN O spare me, have pity! I was so mistaken; I have been cruelly punished! TATYANA Onegin, I was younger then, and a better person, I think! And I loved you, but what, then, what response did I find in your heart? Only severity! Am I not right in thinking, that A simple young girl's love was no novelty to you? Even now ... dear God, my blood runs cold whenever I recall that cold look, that sermon! But I do not blame you ... In that dreadful moment you behaved honourably, you acted correctly towards me. At that time, I suppose, in the back of beyond, far from the frivolity of social gossip, you didn't find me attractive. Why, then, do you pursue me now? Why am I the object of such attentions? Could it be because I now frequent the highest circles, because I am rich and of the nobility, because my husband, wounded in battle, enjoys, on that account, the favour of the court? Could it not be that my disgrace would now be generally remarked and would confer upon you the reputation of a seducer? ONEGIN Oh! My God! Is it possible that in my humble pleading your cold look sees nothing but the wiles of a despicable cunning? Your reproach torments me! If you only knew how terrible it is to suffer love's torments, to endure and to constantly check the fever in the blood by reason, to long to clasp your knees and, weeping at your feet, pour out prayers, avowals, reproaches, all, all that words can express! TATYANA I am weeping! ONEGIN Weep on, those tears are dearer than all the treasures in the world! TATYANA Ah! Happiness was within our reach, so close! So close! ONEGIN Alas! TATYANA, ONEGIN Happiness was within our reach, so close! So close! So close! TATYANA But my fate has already been decided, and irrevocably! I am married; you must, I beg you, leave me! ONEGIN Leave you? Leave you! What! ... Leave you? No! No! To see you hourly, to dog your footsteps, to follow your every smile, movement and glance with loving eyes, to listen to you for hours, to understand in my heart all your perfection, (falling to his knees, he seizes Tatyana’s hand and covers it with kisses) to swoon before you in passionate torment turn pale and pass away: this is bliss, this is my only dream, my only happiness! TATYANA (somewhat frightened, she withdraws her hand) Onegin, your heart knows both pride and true honour! ONEGIN I cannot leave you! TATYANA Eugene! You must. I beg you to leave me. ONEGIN Oh, have pity! TATYANA Why hide it, why pretend? Ah! I love you! (Overwhelmed by her confession, she sinks on Onegin's breast. He embraces her, but she recovers her composure quickly and frees herself.) ONEGIN What do I hear? What was that word you spoke? O joy! Oh, my life! You are again the Tatyana of former days! TATYANA No! No! You cannot bring back the past! I am another's now, my fate is already decided, I shall always be true to him. (She tries to leave, but sinks down, overcome. Onegin kneels before her.) ONEGIN Oh, do not drive me away; you love me! And I will not leave you! You will ruin your life for nothing! This is the will of Heaven: you are mine! All your life has been a pledge of our union! And be assured, I was sent to you by God, I am your protector to the grave! You cannot refuse me. For me you must forsake this hateful house, the clamour of society - You have no choice! TATYANA (rising lo her feet) Onegin, I shall remain firm; ... ONEGIN No, you cannot ... ... refuse me ... TATYANA ... to another by fate ... ... have I been given, with him will I live and never leave him; ... ONEGIN ... For me ... ... you must forsake all, all - hateful house and social clamour! You have no choice! Oh, do not drive me from you, I implore! You love me; you will ruin your life for nothing! You are mine, mine for ever! TATYANA ... No, I must remember my vows! Deep in my heart his desperate appeal strikes an answering chord, but having stifled the sinful flame, honour’s severe and sacred duty will triumph over the passion! I leave you! ONEGIN No! No! No! No! TATYANA Enough! ONEGIN Oh, I implore you: do not go! TATYANA No, I am resolved! ONEGIN I love you! I love you! TATYANA Leave me! ONEGIN I love you! TATYANA Farewell for ever! (She leaves the room.) ONEGIN (He stands stupefied for a moment, plunged in despair.) Ignominy! ... Anguish! ... Oh, my pitiable fate! (He rushes out.)

[wendyalice-archive]

Classicaloid Theory: Musik! The Hotest Hits of 2017!

Hello, hello! We just finished Episode 13 of the new season and here, at a little more than the midway point of the season, it’s finally time!

For the new season, we have a new Musik Theory!

To anyone who hasn’t seen my first and second theories, I’ll summarize: As I began watching the show I noted that it seemed like everyone’s Musik had an element to it that was uniquely theirs, which I interpreted as their specific talent in the larger field of Magical Music. Granted, there is a lot shared Musik abilities, which I promise to go over, but if you allow me to, I’m mostly using this post to talk about what I think each Classicaloid specializes in!

 So Let’s start the show!

Oh! But first! A moment of sad silence for those Classicaloids who haven’t had any new Musik this season yet!

 Opening act: Claskey Klasky! Saltkey!

Our Dynamic Duo has unfortunately been very quiet on not just the new Musik side, but all Musik in general (A fact Episode 13 literally calls out that I just cannot BELIEVE). I’m not sure why, except I hope that perhaps the show is trying to see if they can work on another Baradewska song? Some of them are floating around online!!

Although I am impatiently waiting for Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty Waltz, I’ll try to keep my tears to minimum.

But now, on with the show!

A One

Two

A one, two, three…!

 First Composer of the Night: Dvorak!

Specialty: Transportation Magic

He’s new, he started the new Musik train rolling, and, to be honest, I have a soft spot for trains.

Dvorak’s train was already special from even the first episode. It looked different than anything we saw previously from the Classicaloids and it expanded our knowledge of what Musik was capable of. Fitting for a Train, the magic it wields transports people to and from places: for example, Japan to Africa.

But seems to have its own time limit, as they were only there for “sightseeing” purposes and were promptly brought back. The train hasn’t been used for any other trips, however, so I can’t quite tell if it could permanently leave someone there, or would they automatically just be swept back in the ride home against their wishes? That seemed to be the case for Schubert, but it’s not like he ran from the group transporting back so I can’t tell.

We saw Dvorak and Wagner traveling the world in Season 2, episode 12, but they apparently never used the train to get to any of those places, which begs the question of why? There’s also my own thoughts on the reasons for the time limit of the trip as well, perhaps Dvroak’s Musik is also incomplete or just underutilized because of his status as a “botched” Classicaloid.

Moving on, before I really start down that rabbit hole, we did get to see the train used for a new purpose, the usual Musik Battles the Classicaloids partake.

Again, I can’t tell if the train itself is weak in general, it has a big burst-attack but ultimately becomes a Glass Canon when faced with a counter attack? Or perhaps Bach is, of course, too Uber to handle.

Hopefully more of the season shows us what Dvorak can do because the train is sort of the centerpiece in the opening, which makes me think there’s more to its significance to the overall story. 

An old favorite: Beethoven!

New Specialty of the season: Illusion Magic

Before I continue, yes I do still think of Beethoven’s Musik typing of Techonomancy leaning still qualifies. He’s still able to do it even at the start of the series.

However, like the character, that doesn’t mean he can’t juggle other fun typings/obsessions to keep things interesting.

And thankfully, his new Musik has been stuck on one thing: Illusion Galore.

The first sign of this is in S2, EP 2, and at the TIME I wasn’t really sure what to consider this. It reminded me of a bit of Mozart’s Musik from episode 2 of the first season, but, disregarding Wagner’s emotional moment, the Musik isn’t made to make anyone’s mood change. It’s simply there to be a spectacle, something flashy and fun to enjoy.

Same thing with S2, EP 9, his new piece is merely fun and something that just pleases the cast because it’s a sight to behold.

Funnily enough, much of Beethoven’s Musik this season seems to show off the Showman in him. While the first season has his Technomancy typing and shows off the mad inventor he’s portrayed as (which I’m sure is some kind of joke connecting to his hair), this season decides to focus on his talents as an Entertainer. 

Ah, but that thought might have to turn into another theory later! We need to focus only on the Musik!

Which means we move on to everyone’s favorite pink haired weirdo.

 Coming back with an encore: Mozart!

Specialty: Mood Magic

Yeah, while Beethoven switched it up, Mozart really didn’t, but he did some fascinating things all the same!

His new Musik of course, keeping up with the typing, was all about having people swayed by the feeling of love.

Not quite unlike Tchaikovsky’s Musik in S1, EP 19, but this was made more for everyone to share in pure joy and heart racing delight of love.

In that way it actually veers off into Liszt’s type of Musik, but they’ve been juggling a lot of similar Musik effects since the beginning of Season 1. She even seems to approve of his Musik this time around.

And the only other thing to note with Mozart was that, in kind of moment of show brilliance, he was able to re-purpose his Musik.

Mozart’s Musik in this scene, Serenade No. 13, “A Little Serenade,” 1st move Serenade No. 13, “A Little Serenade,” 1st movement (Thank you, @blackhayate02 for your music posts) was his first Musik of the show, all the way from S1, EP2. I was surprised because the imagery is different, which went against all other instances where once a Musik had a narrative and visual theme, it kept it.

But this essentially did the same thing as its first deput, but it’s now paired with more personal imagery connected to Mozart himself.

Also, it still had it’s original theme of “The feeling of Dreams becoming reality” but instead of Kanae, the darling girl from episode 8 was the lucky one who got her Wish Come True.

I’m not exactly sure what this could mean for Mozart or any of the other Classicaloids as far as having “updated visuals” on season 1 Musik, but I’m actually kind of hopeful for more of this kind of updating as well!

Ah but I’m digressing. Next Up!

 Featuring all new Hit Singles: Chopin!

Specialty: Environment Magic (Bonus show of Transformation Magic!)

Well someone loves Chopin don’t they? The boy has had nothing but new hits this season! I don’t think we’ve even heard any of his season 1 delights!

Now before I continue, I’m actually going to mention that I’m really only talking about one of the new Musiks here, but the one from S2, EP 4 will be talked in a later section down below. It has to be fitted into a different part of the “essay” to keep some of this cohesive. XD

S2, EP 9 was already a very special episode with not one but two new Musik scenes! It was very, very exciting!! And seeing Chopin show off his Environment Magic by not only taking on a weather sub typing

But also he had enough control over it to focus his Musik on only one person!

Plus he also affected someone’s perception of the environment, which is also incredibly impressive. Again, it’s the same sort of Illusion magic they’re all able to perform, but this is the first time it’s only affected one person and so specifically!

And again, I promise to get to the Musik in S2, EP4 but more on that later

 The Next Global Sensation: Schubert!

Specialty: Transformation (with a tiny bit more brainwashing)

Ah good old reliable Schubert, still keeping up your forte without my fear of having to categorize you.

Only one new Musik and everyone, say it with me, YA MAN!

This was something I did want to make a small theory post on but @mth21 said it better and more efficiently than I could so go check it out, but as a refresher for anyone out there just tuning in: Schubert showed the same capabilities Bach did in EP 24 of S1 with the brainwashing, but had the possibility of making his Musik even more powerful by absorbing it and becoming A GIANT.

Also, something I had wanted to mention when I was thinking about writing said theory (I have it on the outline of the post even), was that Schubert was able to accomplish something without the need of the Octava or “back-up Mitsuruloids” as it were. It’s very possible the show accidentally, or purposefully, wrote Schubert as the contender for the strongest Classicaloid but, again, I need more evidence to support this claim but it’s kind of all there, my dudes.

Most Highly Requested Song: Liszt!

Specialty: Enchantment

Yes, her specialty didn’t change.

But, if you don’t know, Liszt’s new Musik had me on my knees.

Her Musik has always been about bringing out more positive energy from people, hence why I named it “Enchantment” but this time, there’s a force behind her Musik. Or a punch, if you will.

Something else I’ve noted with Liszt’s music is the use of symbolism representing the essential theme of the Musik and its effect. In her first Musik Deput with Love Dream No. 3 (Shoutout again to BlackHayate, I thank you for the exact music titles) had vines and plant growth, where the effect of the music had love “grow” between those affected by it. There’s the symbolism of Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 that has people growing butterfly wings and “breaking free” to tell the truth and thus riding them of the torture of holding their feelings back and letting the relief “lift them into the air.”

Finally we have bells, with their sounds “ringing clear and true” with the passion of Liszt’s feelings and with “the truth” of a life lived on the fleeting nature of beauty alone.

What was the nicest thing about this musik, aside from Liszt getting so buff that she punches a bell so hard and her opponent goes bald, was this was purely for Liszt. The effect of the Musik was lovely and was for the eventual betterment of everyone involved, but it was mostly there to prove to Liszt herself of the Composer she was and the Classicaloid she is now.

(Again, Watch Episode 10, the best episode of Classicaloid probably by far. If I am wrong and the upcoming twelve are better, than I may not survive the season. On my knees, folks. On. My. Knees.)

Same, dude, same.

Remixed firecracker: Bach!

Specialty: Negation Magic through Light Manipulation (With Gravity Displacer???)

Yikes what a mouthful.

So Bach did…..one instance of Musik and it was…..different???

That counts as a good thing! But it’s also a “I don’t know what to do with this” thing.

He uses the old Toccata and Fugue, but this time it looks like it can change it’s ability. It at least seems to “beat” or negate Dvorak’s Musik, proving that even after being beaten in S1, EP 24, Bach still shines as top tier Classicaloid, but that’s not all he does.

He pulls this fun little ability on Wagner.

From what I can make of the scene (this is about to explain to you how I’m definitely not a science major in the slightest) he manipulates the light waves around Wagner to then affect the gravitons around him, causing Bach to change the gravitation around Wagner to become “heavier”, thus pinning him in place.

I’m not even sure if that’s they right way to say that, but I gave it my best try.

No, I don’t have any kind of science know-how to tell you if this is something that could even be possible (I even asked a dear friend who is my closest science specialist on the validity of this sentence and she told me “this makes me want to cry”), but there’s a Hippo that was biologically engineered to be the reincarnated figure of Antonin Dvorak who can perform some sort magical music that causes a giant, hippo faced train to appear. Did this show honestly ever care about what could theoretically occur, or was it more interested in throwing you head first into madness?

It seems to connect with his usual Musik theme of supreme domination over his opponent, so, at least for this theorist, it checks out.

The Most Highly Anticipated Song of the Season: Wagner!

Specialty: Talent Theft

There was a lot of hype and struggles to be patient for Wagner’s Musik but S2, EP 12 did not disappoint in the slightest.

There’s a lot of things to call what Wagner does to Bach’s Musik but I’m going to quote the Superpower wiki as to why I chose Talent Theft.

“The user can steal the physical and mental skills, talents and specialties of another person. In some cases, the user gains that skill or talents for themselves while in other cases they simply remove the talent from someone else”

Remove the talent? That sounds oddly familiar.

This is a game changer, an honest-to-God game changer. Schubert was already terrifying by merely absorbing other Musik and having it make him stronger, but Wagner can steal the Musik from the other Classicaloids.

He also shows that he can use their wands and take on their abilities as he does it!

This has been our only instance of this power (and again I’m not forgetting the Valkeries, but they’ll be down below) so it looks like his Musik so far is limited, but severely powerful and terrifying.

Also if his stupid new outfit, that they hinted at by the end of S2 Ep12, doesn’t invoke Vampires what is even the point of anything.

 Similar Sounds: Musiks beginning to mimic other Musiks

Finally, I can stop saying “Wait Later” and finally continue on.

S2, EP 4 showed us that Chopin can apparently turn everyone into dogs, and himself into a dog trainer

Again, doesn’t that sound very familiar?

I have some thoughts about perhaps why Chopin can all of a sudden transform everyone, but the best explanation I can give at this time is that the show itself seems to connect these Schubert and Chopin a lot. For reasons I don’t really understand, not just for shipping purposes either, they just happen to get connected, with Schubert even being a supporter of Chopin sometimes.

This may actually be some foreshadowing that they’ll become a powerful duet themselves, like a familiar point I made in my other theory post about Mozart and Beethoven. At this point though, there doesn’t seem to be more to it than some overlapping abilities.

Plus, even from season 1 the show was throwing these two together

We also have Mozart and Liszt having similar “Love Magic” let’s say, but for me, their Musik has always been fantastical like that, so maybe it’s just reiterating that point.

Still, it was worth mentioning.

Finally, the last bit of it was the typical use of Stands, that every Classicaloid seems to be able to do easily enough, with Dvorak and Wagner throwing their hats in with the train and Valkyries respectively.

(Sorry about the blurry picture on the Valkyries, they never really get a good focus on them, which I assume is because the animation on them is more CGI and thus a bit wonky.)

And that seems to about wrap it up for the halfway mark!

All in all, the Musik has been fun and the show itself seems to change it up here and there with what they want to do with them. Also, with how EP13 was a clipshow, I’m hoping these episodes without Musik are all building up to throwing all of the budget at new, explosive Musiks. Please. I’m begging you.

I know by the time I’ll be posting this, it will already be 2018 for some of you guys! But for now, it’s 1 and half hours a way for me and I’m ready for this to be my last post of 2017! Looking forward to the New Year and the rest of Season 2! Thank you for reading this far!! I hope you enjoyed this and I hope you’re having a lovely day~! <3

[thereveriepantheon-blog]

2-The First Prophecy

[intro music: Nutcracker]

Fate:  I am Fate, the goddess of the predetermined and prewritten.  The goddess of the stories written in the fabric of the world.  The goddess of narrative, and I have done nothing wrong.  

The others may argue, may judge and condemn my actions, but they gave me those children to do with what I would and I made them beautiful.  I elevated them. Raised them out of the dull humdrum of everyday life, out of the cruel designs of random chance, and turned them into a prophecy, into a story.  And really, what more could you ask? There is nothing better than a good story, and theirs was very good indeed. It goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a boy.  He was short and blond, rather unremarkable to look at really, but there was a glint of heroism in his eyes, and the heavy weight of destiny to his gait.  He had a purpose. A mission. The boy’s name was Hero, and he was going to save the world.  

Now, Hero was never the most combative of children.  He preferred quiet contemplation, listening to birdsong, and watching the water of the river run fast and wild.  But he understood his place, his destiny. He knew that he would one day need to fight. He knew that in order to protect his peace, to protect his birds and his rivers he would need to be fierce.  Hero knew that somewhere out there there was a threat, a monster, an enemy who would seek to tear everything away from him. He knew this because I told him so. And Hero was such a good boy, he always trusted me so much.  Why wouldn’t he? After all, I was his mother.  

So when I told him to fight, he fought, and when I told him to train, he trained.  That boy prepared day after day, for the inevitable confrontation. It was his life.  It was his destiny.  And one day, it arrived.

He was about, oh, 18 years old at this point?  Still short, but well muscled, the glint of heroism had grown into a world-shaking determination. With a sword slung across his back, and his eyes on the horizon, he looked the very picture of a chosen one.  He was the perfect protagonist and the story was ready to begin.  

[Music: Dvořák Symphony no. 9 in E minor]

Of course, every good story needs a bad guy, and this prophecy was no different.  Her name was Villain, and she was a sorceress, a master of dark magics and a blight upon the land.  I told Hero of her threat. I warned him that she would come for him. That he was destined to defeat her, that he was the only one who could.  I warned him that she knew, and that she would hunt him for it. That she would hurt him for it. That she would kill him for it.  

He needed to stop her first.  

And so, he set off.  Through forest and thicket, over mountain and glen, he marched. Sword in hand and goal in mind, he did not stop, he did not falter.  His path was often treacherous, plagued by beasts and curses, beset by mercenaries, but he had trained his whole life for this. His sword stayed sharp and his arrows struck true and he conquered all enemies in his path, staying his course until he came at last upon the home of the enchantress, a crude tower, roughly carved out of the side of a cliff, but daunting in its size, rising far above his head, it’s peak lost in a hazy cloud of dark magic. Hero remained unfazed. This is what he was born for.  

He entered the tower, sword held high, courage singing in his veins, and he was met with… nothing. 

[Music: Peer Gynt]

No monster, no guardian, nothing. Just darkened halls and scuffed up floors, and a spiral staircase in the middle of it all.  

He ascended.  Floor by floor, room by room, Hero bravely searched the tower for Villian.  Every time he turned a corner he expected an ambush, and every time he opened a  door he expected an atrocity. And yet, there was nothing.  

It is a funny thing about humans that those who can keep their nerve in the face of adversity, and face battle without fear, often falter in the face of uncertainty.  Suspense can be far more deadly than any poison or blade. This was the case for Hero. With each step he climbed, the dread in his heart grew stronger, every time a new corridor failed to contain a monster, every second that he was not menaced by curses his terror grew.  Until, finally, sword unsheathed and unnerved to the point of paranoia, he reached the top floor.  

Unlike most of the lower levels, this floor was not separated into rooms and corridors.  Instead, it stood open, one large circular chamber taking up the entire top floor of the tower.  And, unlike the lower levels, this room was not empty.  

No, far from it, for there, in the middle of the chamber, stood Villain the Enchantress.  That vile enemy who threatened his homeland, who threatened the whole world. The wicked wretch whose name would come to be synonymous with evil.  Hero’s fated enemy.  

[Music cuts out]

And really, she looked the part!  She was the opposite of him in every way.  Tall where he was short, pale where he was tanned, her dark hair held back in a tight bun, and a black cloak draped around her shoulders.  

Hero’s courage returned to him.  This was what he had been preparing for his whole life.  This was the prophesized battle. Everything was going according to the script.  Everything was as it should be.  

He charged.

[Music: Swan Lake]

Sword drawn, head held high, prepared for whatever she could throw at him.  He knew that this battle could very well spell his doom, that just because he was fated to vanquish the evil, did not mean that he was fated to live through it.  He did not care. He would take any dark spells or twisted curses that she could fling, he would power through the pain and suffer the consequences. For the betterment of the world.  For the greater good.  

No such spells came.  

Hero’s sword sunk into Villain’s chest with a sickening noise, meeting no resistance but that which comes from passing a blade through flesh.  The battle was over before it had even begun. 

And, as the witch bled out on his sword, Hero noticed an odd look in the eyes of his vanquished foe.  Not the anger that he might have expected, nor even guilt, repentance for herr dark deeds. No, the final expression to grace the features of Villain the Merciless was...resignation. She had known this was coming.  She had expected it. And she had done nothing to stop it.  Nothing to stop him. For whatever reason, after all the monsters and the curses, in the end, she had refused to even raise a hand against him.  

And so this young man, this young boy, looked down on the defenseless foe he had just slain, he looked down on his enemy, on the proof of a prophecy fulfilled, and he wept.  

He wept and he called to me, praying to the heavens for some sign that what he had done was right, that it was just.  He begged for me to tell him that he was a saviour and not a murderer. He begged for comfort, for compassion.  

But the prophecy was already fulfilled.  My goal had been accomplished, my story had reached its final chapter.  

And so I gave no answer to his prayers, no acknowledgement to his desperate pleas, unbefitting of a conquering hero unbefitting of my chosen one.  He had fulfilled his part, and had slipped out of his role and I had no more need of him.  

And so, broken, desperate, and abandoned, Hero looked away from the heavens, turning his eyes instead to the body at his feet, and noticing, for the first time a note clutched in her hand.  He retrieved it from the body, and began to read. And what was written on that paper broke him. Shattered him beyond even his victory and my silence.  

[Music: Inspirational Piano Arpeggios]

Villain (echoing and ghostly):  Dear Brother, if you are reading this, than I am dead, for had I lived, I surely would have confided in you in person.  I have discovered a great secret hidden from us by the gods. I have discovered the truth behind the mysticism, and the lies behind the prophecy.  There is no great battle to come. There is no immeasurable force drawing lines in the sand, dividing us into good and evil. There is no Fate. There is simply a liar, and cruel woman with a crueller vision, who would turn us against each other in the name of some greater meaning.  There is only the woman who would have us call her mother, who would have us call her goddess, all while plotting our deaths.  I will not stand for it. I have done as I was told my whole life.  I have studied the magic bestowed upon me by our patron, and sent spells at her behest.  I have attacked people and created monsters all on the orders of a being I thought to be all knowing, on the orders of one who I trusted to be benevolent.  Well, no more! I will not stand idly by and let some outside force dictate my life. You were raised by the same madwoman and moulded by the same prophecy.   If we are not siblings in blood, we are siblings of tragedy. And so I ask you, brother, stand by me. Throw off the chains of Fate! We are her pawns no longer!  We are free!

[Music fades out]

_______________________

Written by Maddie Dwyer

The Goddess Fate was voiced by Astrid Code 

Villain was voiced by Madelyn Dwyer

Art by Haley Anglemeyer

Transcript edited from original script by Mai Elise Code

The music included in this episode is Swan Lake Op. 20 by Tchaikovsky, The Nutcracker (suite) op. 71 a by Tchaikovsky, Peer Gynt Suite no1, Op. 46 by Edvard Grieg, Dvořák Symphony no. 9 in E minor, 'From the New World' Op. 95 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/legalcode), Courtesy of Musopen.org (https://musopen.org/), and Inspirational Piano Arpeggios courtesy of hooksounds.com (www.hooksounds.com)

Thank you for listening!

[bellringermal]

I have a low key headcanon that gherman used to craft things like dolls in his spare time before the hunters workshop perhaps as a means to make extra money, albeit smaller ones for children, which explains why he made such a lifelike doll so easily and maybe even why he's good at making clothes and weapons for hunters

Daisy and I have a pretty similar headcanon :)

Gehrman was always fascinated by small, pretty things since childhood. He used to cut figurines from newspapers and make little toys out of straw and scraps of clothing that he then had to keep hidden in a box under the floorboards because his father would’ve considered them girly and infantile.

[Pic from “Andersen. Zhizn bezlyubvi” because obscure period dramas are my jam. And if you read some of my posts before, you probably know that my fan fiction, from which 90% of my lore theories stemmed from, is a massive mixture of period dramas/gothic novels/historical figures’ biographies and even fucking Tchaikovsky ballets that I like very very VERY much.)

He hadn’t the worst childhood ever, but it was tough for a scrawny, quiet boy like him to be forced into combat training at such a young age. When he got hired at Byrgenwerth (and escaped his father’s clutches, so to speak) he could finally do whatever the heck he wanted in his free time and Dores and Edmund, being respectively a scholar and a handyman, encouraged his love for books and for tinkering with anything within range.

In our story, Master Willem selects his students and assistants because of their special talents and is (to an almost unbelievable level :P) able to ‘see greatness’ in them even before said greatness manifests. Willem is, to put it simply, a talent scout :P That is why he often recruits extremely young people like Caryll (9) and Micolash (14) only to then groom them into loyal students while enhancing their innate abilities.

With Gehrman, it was no different. And when many of his ‘hobbies’ became an integral part of his job, he began to take them really seriously and actually devoted entire years of work and research to the development of the spring mechanisms that made trick weapons possible and basic hunting gear, reason why all future hunter uniforms are based on that first model that he made out his own everyday clothes. When asked about his profession, he doesn’t see himself as a ‘weaponsmith’ but as ‘something more akin to a clockmaker’.

He obviously has his own (quite creepy) collection of little dolls and carillons but he keeps it in his room reason why not many of his students are aware of it, just like they don’t know about his secret stash of cheap romance novels :P. The rough instruments of death that he crafts at the workshop with Archibald’s assistance are in stark contrast with the delicate clockwork toys that are found on his desk next to the tiny tools and watchmaker magnifying glasses.

[Pics from “Nutcracker the motion picture” 1986]

Lil extract from my fanfic below the cut because I think I’m getting decent at translating this crap XD

[Picture from ‘Crimson Peak’. Thomas Sharpe lil workshop in the attic. It’s a trope and I love it.]

As she looked around, Maria could see that that wasn’t the workplace of an amateur. Screwdrivers, pincers and labeled boxes brimming with bolts and stain springs of any size filled the dustless shelves of cedar wood as two big oil lamps lit the quiet, humble room of the First Hunter uniformly projecting their glow on the desk. The floral wallpaper was almost completely hidden by three huge cork boards covered in blueprints and heavy metal chains ran down from the ceiling just like they did in the actual Workshop. But instead of dangling siderite blades, what floated over the noblewoman’s head were cogs as big as those she has seen on the pedestal of the Lunarium’s telescope.

It was then that she remembered that Gehrman was also asked to keep the elevator at the edge of the woods in working order so that students could get from Yharnam’s outskirts straight to the college without venturing too far into the forest.

How many tasks was that man assigned to, again? Hunter Chief, groundskeeper, weaponsmith, handyman… Master Willem better be paying him generously, she thought as she wondered if her teacher’s room was always that organized and clean or if he had tidied it up for the occasion.

No matter the answer, it felt like something WAS out of place. Actually, it felt like something was missing. As she scanned the shelves, one in particular caught her eye. Like the others, it was perfectly clean but instead of harboring meticulously organized tools and parts it was empty except for one small, bizarre shiny thing that Maria mistook for a golden egg at first glance. She took the weird object in her hands only to discover a small key inserted in its round side. A wind-up toy? She herself owned a few of those when she was little, one had the shape of a carousel and its curtains lifted once the key was turned, revealing a row of tiny running horses. What was hidden inside that golden egg? A mechanical goose, perhaps? She knew the fairytale by heart.

Won by her own curiosity and without even asking herself why stern old Gehrman would even possess such a thing, she turned the key three times, balancing the egg on the palm of her gloved hand. When the mechanism clicked, she realized that something was not working as intended since the petals in which the golden-finished surface was split into could barely move. Perhaps it was broken, or some parts were missing. Still, the tiny clockwork prisoner trapped inside the shell kept bouncing and clicking inside the egg, almost begging to be freed. She gently pressed upon the tip, parting the petals with her thumbs as a twinkling sound filled the silent room with a familiar tune. It was the central portion of a folk song often sang during weddings and Spring celebrations. Finally free from its golden shell, a graceful female figure now danced on the huntress palm. The little automata was unpainted and naked, clearly unfinished, with only a ribbon tied around her metal torso, probably marking her waist point before a dress could be made for her. Her hair was cast in copper, each lock finely chiseled.

Gehrman snatched the toy from her fingers before she could even realize he had entered the room. How did she remain oblivious to his presence for so long, she didn’t know, but the entrancing dance of the little figure was most likely to be blamed.

“I-it’s not finished! Don’t look at it!”

“Have you made it?” She asked with a smile, seeing how he cradled the little thing in the cup of his large, bony hands. “It’s lovely. I am no expert, but it looks really well made.”

He nervously brushed the back of his head “Well… thanks.”

“I didn’t know you were into such cute little things. It… suits you. Somehow.” The ballerina was still spinning on her pointy feet when the First Hunter placed the carillon on the shelf and turned to the desk.

“Have you brought your gun, Maria? Let me see what’s wrong with it.”

She blinked. She had almost forgotten why she came to the hunter’s room in the first place. “Oh, yes I believe the flintlock is broken. Or at least parts of it.“

“Let me see it.” She handed the Evelyn to her teacher, but her attention was still on the little doll. “Have you made more of these?” She asked as the mechanism came to a stop and the ballerina froze in place, her body tilted in a slightly unnatural position.

“Of what?”

Maria raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Wind-up toys, Gehrman.”

The silver screwdriver he was using to remove the flintlock from the beautiful wooden frame of the Cainhurst gun shook between his fingers, but a warm smile appeared on his lips. “It’s a guilty pleasure of mine.”

Maria rested her back against one of the shelves “Why ‘guilty’? I know people that would pay a fortune for stuff like this.”

“I guess I could devote myself to it once I retire. If I don’t get killed first.” “Gehrman’s toyshop, mh? Doesn’t sound bad. You could make tiny stain hunters and beasts that open their jaws and roar. I used to steal my cousin’s stain soldiers and wooden swords. Why do boys always get the better toys?“

“Not fond of your dolls, I presume.”

“I had so many, but truly cherished only one of them, Janice, a brunette. She was engaged to one of Ghislain’s stain officers even if she was almost three times his size. Perhaps he went to war because he was afraid of her.”

Gehrman chuckled, as his capable hands carefully replaced the gun’s splinter “I’m not sure about that, as our dear Konrad proves, some men really like their women tall.”

Maria sat down on the desk next to him to watch him work, oblivious to the sudden blushing of his cheeks now that her well-toned thighs were so close to his elbow.

“Janice really looked a bit like Gratia now that I think about it. Now… why don’t you tell me where you hid all your other creations? That empty shelf is really suspicious, you know?” She teased him, crossing her legs.

It was in moments like that that Gehrman questioned his own judgemental skills. Was she truly flirting with him or was it all just wishful thinking?

He snapped out of confusion bringing back his attention to the Evelyn “You have a good eye.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I stored them all in the drawer right under the shelf. Not so imaginative. Nor that far from their original placement.”

She didn’t move, her eyes wandering on the First Hunter’s angular face. “Why have you hid them?”

“At times I just feel more comfortable around machines than people.” he admitted, letting out a long sigh. “At times I even prefer beasts to people.”

Maria threw her head back, dangling her legs like a child on a swing. “Don’t we all?”

He moved the gun closer to the oil lamp “…it should work now. But let’s wait till it’s morning to try it. We don’t want to scare everyone to death by firing a few shots so late at night.”

“Definitely not. Thank you so much, Gehrman.” She took the short musket from the man’s hand and placed it back in her holster. “So, about that drawer…” “FINE! I’ll show you.” He blurted and Maria returned his slightly annoyed glance with a smile.

Gehrman rose from his chair, suddenly reminding the young woman of his impressive height. Considering his quiet and reserved behavior, it was easy to imagine him as one of those small fellows who always get trampled upon in boisterous crowds, but his appearance didn’t fit such a mental image at all.

He crossed the room and pull out a key from the pocket of his sage green vest to open the mysterious drawer. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”

Maria tilted her head “I can’t promise such a thing. Your expression is already pretty hilarious to look at.”

He sighed again, slowly opening the drawer.  It was well worth the risk. After all, Maria looked even prettier when she smiled.

[iuvencula]

I am the Sun’s favorite bride, That is what he, my lover, tells me, This morning, he came to visit me, He made me rise early, He licked the honey under my neck, His playful tickle, woke me up, Then he said to me. “Wake up, wake up, my ashen haired beauty, Your lover has come to visit you.” Still unsure, if he was really there, Or was it just a dream that was too vivid, I feared opening my eyes. I could hear, Tchaikovsky’s Adagio, I thought my imagination, Was once again, Playing with me. Then I opened my lids, and I felt His touch again, Again, I heard his voice, he was really here! Wash yourself, my rosy flower, Cleanse and purify, Your body and soul, Ablute, As if you just left the Paradise you came from. Go, go, don’t wait.” That’s how he talked to me. The joys of my heart made birds sing. I am always rejoicing, When my lover visits, He doesn’t come to me very often, He says he is very busy; Sometimes, I complain to him: Why don’t you come more often? Why do you forget about me?” He is never angry when I ask, He knows that it is my love And need of him that make me so. When he sees me like that, He kisses my hair, And tells me smoothly: “Spring is coming, my restless girl, I have so much to do in spring, But I have never forgotten about you, Not even for a blink of an eye. Don’t you see that I came to visit you again?” That is what he says, and I trust him, His flowery words, And his deep and soothing voice. But I know he has other lovers, I know I am not the only one he plays with, I know he hides under the skirts and summer dresses of so many, But I forgive him, Every time, Every time, Always, Even when jealousy consumes me, I still believe his words the very moment he touches me. His hands always know how to move, His lips always know how hard to press, He has more of them than I can think of, I even fear to think of it, How many giggle for him,, But I forgive him, Because I love him. He also knows that I have other lovers, He knows that I lose myself between the palms of foreign lovers, When his presence is lacking, That is how I distract my yearning, But I never tell him, no, no, never! I lie to him, And he lies to me, He knows my lies, just like I know his. But we take care of each other, Because we love each other! I still know that I am his favorite, He doesn’t lie, When he says so! He’s also my favorite, And I don’t lie, When I say so! Once, I forgot that I had to lie, And I asked him, fearing his reaction, I know my lover would never be harsh to me, I didn’t fear his anger, my lover is above such, I feared hurting his beautiful heart, I feared being the one to stain it. I asked him, that time: “Do you know, what’s the difference, between you And other lovers? Difference between your hands, and those of others?” He was serious, but I could see a smile starting to appear, He knew what I was about to say, would make him happy, I said to him: “Difference, my shining lover, Is that all other lovers, Wait for me, They beg and plead at my door, For a glimpse of my flesh. I laugh at them, and mock them, I am selfish and cruel. But you don’t know me as such! You are the only that I wait for! All others wait for me. I don’t wait for anybody else but you. You are the only who doesn’t have to beg. Others, I have, Others, I own, But you are the only one, Who has me, Who owns me. A beggar and a lover aren’t equals.” My lover only smiled, Playing with my ashen locks, Because he knew, He was happy, He always knows me better than myself He is always one step ahead, one ladder above! And how much I love him! Only him!

Iuvencula

[not-a-man-but-a-fool]

// Drabble ❦ - … My muse’s child

send me a symbol and i will write a drabble about my muse from the point of view of…

FAMILY

❦ - … My muse’s child

ˢᵃᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵃᵍᵉ ⁹

  He smelt of fresh paint and warm honey. It was easy to tell when he entered a room. Everything black and grey would melt away- he reminded me of the north star. How bright it would shine every night. 

  This man was my father.

 When I am long since gone at school, when the teacher says it is craft time. I’d pull the cap off of a cup of paint and would feel home sick. Mother would discipline me for creating anything like my father. 

   But I wanted to be just like him. 

  Here she doesn’t know. Often times I still won’t pick up a brush unless I am in the mood. Mommy makes me not want to.

  Papa would cry, I hear him at night after mommy’s fit. 

           I am sure it has to be about me... 

  He won’t paint. I promise to behave, sit still for long hours. Like he did before.Still he wouldn’t. I noticed more of his painting disappearing. Like the time he sold them last year for my last birthday gift.

------------------------- 

“ Papa! It’s beautiful, look at it! I want it.... I can play.”

   Beaming with a wide smile as I gazed up at my tired father. Soon my excitement faded when he frowned. Why was he? I tried to beg. 

“ I’ve been practicing, my teacher says I have very talented fingers. You agree right?”

“Sander...”

 He interrupted me, his voice was disheveled. It hurt, I didn’t want to hear him like that. Papa never sounded so, so sad. This wasn’t my papa...Why was he so tired? 

“ We can’t afford that piano, If I could I would, but we can’t..”

  Tears swelled, I never wanted something so bad. I loved playing the piano, but we never had one at home. I wanted to be a composer like Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky. The whole walk home was silent. I couldn’t look up at him or look him in the face. My father cried a lot, but he smiled anyways. 

He’d pat my head, tell me he loves me.

“ I am sorry, son.”

April 16th, my birthday last year. I stayed in my room longer that morning, I wanted it so much that I was left sad. Soon my father called me down and I obeyed. I was shocked to see the surprise. There it was, the great piano. Next to it was my father, who has not been home for what felt like weeks. Wishing me the best with that smile, though he looked more tired that usual. His hair was a mess...More of his stuff vanished, my favorite swan painting was gone. 

“ I love it! But what happened to your art?”

He paused, getting on his knees, hands on my shoulders. His eyes looked directly into mine as I waited for a response. 

“ I sold them.”

“Why? You loved them didn’t you?”

“ I did.”

 He sighed.

“ But seeing you happy is all that matters, I could always try to paint again or maybe one day buy them back. Though if selling them meant I could get my son something he wanted so much, then it was worth every penny.”

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

As I could remember he worked so much at his office and mother had more break downs. She was mad at him for being gone all of the time. I missed him so much. He said it was important in order for us to live in Manhattan. We missed a lot of musical and plays. We used to go to shows once a week. I looked forward to seeing the Nutcracker again, but we never did. 

Where is my papa? 

                                      Why is he never home? 

Mommy told me it was my fault..

    If I didn’t want the piano he would have been home. 

   Remembering hurt. My papa used to be happy. He is not anymore. I can tell.

   Looking down at the paper, I began to finger paint a swan. I wanted to paint that swan for him. I could never forget it. Droplets of tears stained the paper, causing it to become damp. Gritting my teeth as a finger ran down the neck of the swan with white paint. The paper teared slightly. My hands cupped my face smudging paint against my skin. 

        I can’t stop crying. 

                                      Why am I crying?

 My chest hurts, I can’t breath, I want to scream. 

                            I want it to stop. I am cursed! 

   I did finish it and carefully put it inside my book. I had to keep it safe for him. Walking down the hall of my school I pushed open the front door. Usually I walked home, mother was busy with what ever she was doing.

     But there he was. Standing there waving, waiting for me. I hopped down the stairs and ran to jump into his arms. 

“ Papa!” 

    With a laugh he picked me up, kissing my forehead, like normal. Of course he asked me how my day was and what I did, how I felt. So eagerly I withdrew the painting and handed it to him.

“ I tried to paint the swan, the picture you did of grandma Margret.  Remember you told me- she reminded you of a swan because she missed grandpa Walter so much.You loved that one and I thought you might be still sad that you sold it for me. I can’t buy it back, but I could paint it.”

 He put me down and took the picture, his face was gentle- He was happy. Looking towards me he then hugged me tightly. Pressing another kiss to my forehead.  

“ It’s beautiful, It looks much better than mine. I’ll frame it and put it in my office. I can proudly say my talented son did this. Oh Sander, thank you. I love it and I love you.”

“ I love you too, papa.”

[caffiend-queen]

Tumblr Masterlist

Tom Hiddleston - Loki - Night Manager - Jaguar Villains - High Rise

“Everyone has a Vice, Pine. What is Yours?” Night Manager fandom

Chapter One: I Expect To Be In Charge

Chapter Two: You Will Call Me Daddy

Chapter Three: Bad Girls Do Not Get To Come

Chapter Four: So Much Time, So Little To Control

Chapter Five: An Uncomfortable Lunch

Chapter Six: The Moon Is Full

Chapter Seven: Why Do You All Have Kitty Names?

Chapter Eight: Your Name Is Sirène

Chapter Nine: Author’s Note

Chapter Ten: “You’re Not Important Enough To Hate”

Chapter Eleven: Run Like the Devil is After You

Chapter Twelve: Twelve Days

Chapter Thirteen: Lunch with the Freak Show

Chapter Fourteen: Straight, Like A Soldier

Chapter Fifteen: The Demonstration

Chapter Sixteen: Yes, Daddy. Yours

Chapter Seventeen: An Uncomfortable Shopping Spree

Chapter Eighteen: You Came For Me

Chapter Nineteen: Erasing the Bruises

Chapter Twenty:  Sirène, Secret Agent

Chapter Twenty-One: Hope was not a Thing for a Man Like Him

Chapter Twenty-Two: “Oh, HELL No!”

She is my Only Vice: the sequel to Everyone has a Vice, Pine…

The Night Manager fandom

Chapter One:  “Are you ready for me, Agent Rogers? We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Two: “It’s Just an Act.”

Chapter Three: I do not Share My Pets.

Chapter Four: Right Back Where We Started

Chapter Five: Pets Don’t Eat at the Table

Chapter Six: “Green, Daddy.”

Chapter Seven: Overboard

Chapter Eight: The Plane. The Agent. The Explosives.

Chapter Nine: Two Cases of EPX-1 and Tchaikovsky Overture 1812

Chapter Ten: When Everything Turns to Complete Crap

Chapter Eleven: Singed Lingerie & Stolen Firetrucks

The Reluctant Bride: Jaguar Villains - Night Manager fandom

Chapter One: It’s Time You Took A Wife, My Boy

Chapter Two: The Job Interview

Chapter Three: Crying Doesn’t Solve Anything

Chapter Four: I Am All That You Have Right Now

Chapter Five: No Diggety

Chapter Six: The Wedding Night

Chapter Seven: The Morning After

Chapter Eight: A Carnal Symphony

Chapter Nine: Safe Words and Too Many Cocktails

Chapter Ten: Until I Take It Off Of You

Chapter Eleven: Everything But Her Freedom, Of Course

Chapter Twelve: “Are You Planning My Death, Darling?”

Chapter Thirteen: A Mexican Standoff In Suburban London

Chapter Fourteen:  “Is my terrifying bride brave, as well?”

Chapter Fifteen:  A Sultry Afternoon

Chapter Sixteen:  The Team Building Exercise

Chapter Seventeen:  “Of if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou has not loved.”

Chapter Eighteen:  There’s So Much More At Stake Than Just You, Dear

Chapter Nineteen:  The Ladies Who Lunch

Chapter Twenty:  Dinner And A Show

Chapter Twenty-One:  I Promise You, You Will Beg For More

Chapter Twenty-Two:  Yes, Sir

Chapter Twenty-Three:  A Gift Of Jewelry From An Indulgent Husband

Chapter Twenty-Four:  Food and Conversation

Chapter Twenty-Five:  If I Am All You Have, You Will Love Me

Chapter Twenty-Six: Accepting The Unacceptable

Chapter Twenty-Seven:  It Seems I Must Remind You Who You Belong To

Chapter Twenty-Eight:  You Are Whatever I Tell You To Be

Chapter Twenty-Nine:  How I Feel Safe

Chapter Thirty:  An American Thanksgiving And A British Dessert

Chapter Thirty-One:  Dancing In The Garden

Chapter Thirty-Two: “I Wish We Could Be Different People.”

Chapter Thirty-Three:  What A Conscience Can Bear

Chapter Thirty-Four:  I Fell In Love With The Wrong Guy

Chapter Thirty-Five:  This Merits Correction

Chapter Thirty-Six:  Saint Margaret and the Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Seven:  “I Won’t Forget”

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Mine

Chapter Thirty-Nine:  In The Belly Of The Beast

Chapter Forty: New Friends And Old Enemies

Chapter Forty-One:  For Better Or For Worse

Chapter Forty-Two:  ‘Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter Forty-Three:  It Was All So Simple When They Planned It

Chapter Forty-Four:  About 50% of St. Petersburg Seems to Want Us Dead

Chapter Forty-Five:  I Know The Oddest People

Chapter Forty-Six: “I am not a good man. But I am in love with you.”

Chapter Forty-Seven: Taming The Dragon

Chapter Forty-Eight:  Twelve Hours

Chapter Forty-Nine: “If you try to pull out that IV, I will sit on your handsome, muscled midsection.“

Chapter Fifty:  “I shall wait, darling. But I fully intend to ravish you.”

Haust Blot: A Loki Halloween tale

1. Where Are Mom’s Ashes?

2. She’s No Snow White

3. The Long Night

4. The Light of Day

(artwork by Rayofdawnworld)

One, or the Other: A Crimson Peak - Only Lovers Left Alive

Halloween Special

1. It’s Much Too Late To Say No

2. You Belong to Me, Now

3. You’ve Started Without Me

4. Daddy is so Pleased with You

5. The Wolf and the Dragon

6. Sixty Minute Man

7. One, or the Other, My Darling

The Christmas Party - Loki, Avengers, “Holidays from Hel” series

Chapter One: A Date? A Prince of Asgard does not Ask for a Date

Chapter Two: I’m Mr. Heat Miser

I’ll Break Your Heart Before You Break Mine - A Loki - Avengers Valentine’s Day tale “Holidays from Hel” series

The Dragon Bride - A “Springtime with Loki” one-shot

“I’m right here, honey…” A Tom on Broadway ask

Avengers - Dark!Steve Dark!Bucky - Snowpiercer

Don’t Make A Sound - Treehouse story for Ugliest Wombat’s Challenge

Dark!Steve and Dark!Bucky MCU Dark Universe

Chapter One: The Growls. The Screaming. The Laughter.

Chapter Two: Call Me Captain

Chapter Three: Good Girls do as They’re Told

Chapter Four: Incendiary

Epilogue: Welcome to the Jungle

“There’s no saying goodbye to me.”

A Dark!Steve, Dark!Bucky Avengers tale for @sherrybaby14​‘s prompt challenge.

Chapter One: “There’s no saying goodbye to me.”

Chapter Two: “I came back for YOU.”

Chapter Three: Where You Belong

Chapter Four: The White Room

Chapter Five: The Waterfall

That Which Is Lost: Loki and Dark!Steve Avengers: Endgame

Chapter One:  “There’s no need for that kind of talk.”

Chapter Two: That Star-Spangled Son of a Bitch!

Chapter Three: The “V” Card

Chapter Four: “As Soon As You Say Please, Sir”

Chapter Five:  Good Girl

The Front End Isn’t Running the Show Anymore. It’s Time You Learned That.” Snowpiercer: Chris Evans fandom

Chapter One:  “The front end isn’t running the show anymore. It’s time you learned that.”

Chapter Two: Navigating the After

Sing, Banshee -  Avengers, Loki

Chapter One: You Have Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me

Chapter Two: Muzzled

Chapter Three: I Promise to Try

Chapter Four: Getting to Know You…

Chapter Five: The Correction

Chapter Six: Dancing on Broken Glass

Chapter Seven: Lab Rats, Bank Accounts and Glorious Penetration

It’ll Be Good For You - A Dark!Steve, Dark!Bucky tale

Chapter One: What the Hell was That?

Chapter Two: A Visit to the Ha-Ha Hotel

Chapter Three: Make Me

Chapter Four: Nothing Darker

Chapter Five: I Revoke My Invitation

Chapter Six: Just A Taste

In Flight…

A Bucky a/b/o story.

Chapter One: In Flight

Chapter Two: You’re Safe With Me, Omega

Chapter Three: Up on the Roof

If you can’t find what you’re looking for here, please remember all my work is on Archive of Our Own.