#that was the cowards way out stephen

[softly-and-suddenly]

I am constantly talking about how I don’t appreciate when film adaptations file down the complexities of classic literature and sanitize parts that aren’t marketable and melodramatize scenes for no reason. I hate so many adaptations for exactly those reasons.

But for some reason I cannot find it in myself to even slightly dislike the 2006 adaptation of Jane Eyre, even though it is rife with all of those things. I always think that I’m not going to get absolutely humbled by watching it and I always fucking do

[powerin]

this tweet fundamentally changed my brain chemistry

[xhunnybeeex]

Kinktober post 4 

Muffled 

(TW//:: NSFW content, Sub! Stephen glass, bondage,overstimulation, pegging, spit, safeword/safe symbol  mentioned, degradation, mommy kink)

You were not in the mood to hear Stephens whining right now. As you sit at your desk with your hands rubbing your temples, your eyes tightly shut as your boyfriend continuously complains. You gave up actually listening after fifteen minutes. You work from home on wednesdays, which was helpful for you to get more work done before your interview for a promotion, but the only problem with being home is Stephen's whines and groans while you're trying to get things done. 

“Stephen, I have the interview tomorrow, I really have to get this done.” You say patiently. “Yeah I know but-” He continues rambling about who knows what and you sigh in frustration. “Stephen you're not understanding, I need you to give me some space for a moment.” You mutter, a bit more harshly than you would intend. Stephen's eyebrows raise and his face begins to pout. “I’m sorry, ill just leave you alone i guess.” He sourfully walks out of your home office and you let out a deep breath. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you manage to finish your work for the day, feeling somewhat ready for your interview. You walk out of your office and into the kitchen. You see Stephen sitting on the couch in his pjs, watching some documentary. You rinse your hands in the sink before starting to make another pot of coffee. As the drink spills into the pot, you look over at your boyfriend sulking at the tv. 

“I talked to dianna today, I have my interview at 12:40 tomorrow.” You start talking to him, your voice delicate as you pour coffee into your mug. You look over at stephen who was staring at the tv, not replying to you. “Steve?” You call out loud enough for him to hear you. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” He says bitterly, still looking at the tv. 

You set your mug down and stand in front of your boyfriend. “Don't be a brat.” You mutter, pulling his hair to make him face you. A scowl is on his face and his gaze move back to the tv. You scoff and let go of his hair forcefully, causing his head to fall back onto the couch. “Bed, now.” 

Stephen's body twitches and he slowly gets up and makes his way into your shared bedroom. He sits on the bed, quivering and knowing what he was getting himself into. You stand in front of him again and hold his hair up like moments before. But this time, he's looking right at you, like he's terrified, or even excited. “Why are you being a brat?” you ask, your voice fakely sweet. 

“You were- you were so busy and and all i wanted to do was talk to you an-” He starts rambling like his life depends on it. “So you ignore me and act like a child all to get my attention?” His voice becomes shaky and begins to tremble. “I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me.” You chuckle and shake your head at him. “You’re fucking pathetic.” He cowards under you, head tilted up and his eyes glossy. 

He starts to stutter, his mouth hanging open as he tries to form words. You let go of his hair and hold his cheekbones firmly, spitting into his now forcefully opened mouth. You let go gently and he chokes down your fluid. He’s hard in his sweatpants, hips moving forward to attempt at hiding his ache. 

“I'm really sorry mommy,” He whimpers as you fumble through your nightstand drawer. “I really didn't mean to-” He tries but the rubber you force into his mouth cuts him off. “I'm really done hearing you talk.” You clasp the leather around his mouth and his muffled pleads leaving slobber dripping  down his chin. 

You move Stephen's hips, pushing his back to the headboard. You pull off his shirt and as he’s blinded from the cloth being pulled over his face, your hands are already tying a blindfold over his eyes. More blurred sounds desperately try to escape. “Oh please, don't even try to act like you arent aching in your sweats right now. If you really wanted me to stop you’d use your safe word. Oh, you can’t” you darky chuckle in his covered up face. It was true in a way, he couldn't use his safeword with his gag in his mouth, but for occasions like this, the two of you made up a hand sign, having the same purpose as a safe word. You weren't a monster. 

You grab three last things from your bedside and lay them on the bed. You turn Stephen around and pull his hands behind his back and squeeze the handcuffs shut. Holding the chain of the handcuffs, you turn him over, putting him on his knees, arching in your mercy. when tugging down his sweatpants, he immediately begins to whine and strain at the cuffs. 

Your brows arch at his struggling. You slowly remove the clothing, his plug you did not give him permission to use on display. “Ohhhh, so you got busy while I was working.” You taunt. Your hands caress his hip and incoherent pleads leave drool on his cheek. You leave a firm smack on his ass and a yelp escapes his lips. 

The strapon is pulled up your thighs and pushed between your folds, a small amount of lube stoked on the silicone for him. You pull out his plug and he whines helplessly before it is quickly turned into moans as you plunge into his hole. “You already stretched yourself, i'm not bothering you with something you don't deserve.” you mutter. Your thrusts are quick and hard. You're not making love to him. Your fucking some respect into him. 

Stephen’s moans are loud and desperate. His legs quivering tirelessly underneath him.  Your nails are digging into his hips as you ram into him, leaving dark red marks pooling over his pale skin. Stephens' moans turn into pleads once again and you notice his leaking tip. You leave a firm smack to him again and continue to thrust. “Ill tell you when you can come. Don't even think about going before I tell you.” He nods in understanding  and whines in overstimulation. Your hand snakes to his front and wraps around his cock, your thumb slowly rubbing over his tip. His hips move to the pace of your hand and thrusts and you grunt against his back. 

Your orgasm approaches you and you bite down on the skin of his back. Your fluid spills on the strapon as you continue to sloppily thrust. “You can cum you fucking brat.” Your voice goes straight to his cock and he moans loud thank yous against the rubber. His cum spurts out onto your hand and his stomach as you work him through his orgasm. 

You wipe off your hand on the bed and go to the claps of his ball gag. “Are you going to behave?” You ask sternly and he nods. You unclasp the leather and he swallows the spit around his mouth. “Thank you mommy. I'm sorry I was being a brat.” He apologizes. You smile as you untie his blindfold and undo his cuffs. “It’s okay angel, why don't I run you a nice bath and you can have my attention for the rest of the day.” You offer. He smiles widely and nods. “Yes please mommy.” 

AN/// : OMG THIS IS SO FUCKING LATE IM SO SORRY!!! Ive been slammed with quarterlies and have been on my period and ive been so busy. I promise the next kinktober post will be on time and i will be more active. Thank you all for understanding and please leave a like or repost if you enjoyed. Thank you all and have a good night. -beee<3

Tag list : @thesassypadawan @kirbie44danielle 

@niconico33333777  @heelvr78 @goldie-00 @anakinstwinklebunny @enchant5d @bxbyysstuff @quandoquires @starwalkertales @rxaddix2 @necromancerrrs @s1aywalker @stephennglass @s1ck-skv1l @jyinnc @pxscalsofia

[vladajwrites]

CHARLIE POV KILLING READER’S BOYFRIEND AND THEM COMFORTING HER

My Keeper

omg. yes please. :,)

cw; abusive relationships, violence

notes; I had no intentions of making this so long, I truly couldn’t help myself :,) I adore protective Charlie <33

Charlie had truly become consumed with the thought of you. You were friends during childhood but drifted apart as you grew older. You couldn’t help but admit you still had a soft spot for him in some way. You always tried to say hello and acknowledge him when you passed him by. He was truly too nervous to even reply most of the time, the words got stuck in his throat as he watched you. As he grew increasingly nervous, you couldn’t help but feel as though you truly were drifting apart. It was incredibly difficult to read him.

During the summer before your senior year, you began to attract more and more male attention. In some ways you loathed it. You had always been rather shy and cautious around new people. One man specifically never let up from his pursuit of you. In just a few months you found yourself in a relationship with him. Stephen Walters was captain of the football team, got good grades, was well known to everyone, a classic type of handsome. On paper he seemed perfect, but once you became his, his cool demeanor faded rapidly. He became increasingly temperamental, controlling behind closed doors.

During this time, you began to catch the attention of a familiar pair of eyes. Charlie seemed to watch you like a hawk. You couldn’t explain why, but you began to find comfort in his steady attention. Your heart would sink into your chest as you watched Charlie’s face contort in disgust when you passed him by, your boyfriends arm draped around you. His touch began to feel bruising, sickening. You wished more than anything you could find the strength to leave him.

October rolled in, the leaves began to change around you. It was your favorite time of the year, but something was making it nearly impossible to enjoy it.

Stephen began to grow paranoid. Taking every moment to stalk you. Overthinking every interaction you had with others. His calm and collected mask finally slipped completely when you were alone with him.

You were sitting in Stephens car, parked right outside of your house. It was quiet for a few moments, you could feel something about to implode beside you.

“How many men have you spoken to this week?” Stephen spat, just barely above a whisper.

You tensed immediately, unsure how to answer. You knew that any answer you gave would result in another meltdown from him. There was more venom in his voice than usual. You could smell the liquor on his tongue even from where you sat, he must have been drinking nearly all day before picking you up.

“Not many, only when necessary in class. I promise.” You could barely get the words out of you.

You watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. You shrunk back in your seat, moving closer to the car door. You felt like such a coward, he had threatened you before, told you what he would do to you if you decided to leave him. How could he keep his mask so steady in front of others? How could you have fallen for it? How could you have let things get this bad?

You wished someone would pass by, see the expression on your face, step in to help you. You were able to hide your emotions so well though, a necessary skill you developed in childhood. Your parents would never become involved, you had little to no friends that would willingly step in the middle of all this. You were thoroughly trapped.

Your mind was racing, you could’ve never expected Stephen’s next course of action.

He turned towards you quickly, before you could process the look on his face, you felt a blinding pressure around your throat.

Your eyes grew wide as his grip tightened. He shook you, willing your eyes to meet his own.

“If I catch you speaking to another man, even in class. I’ll fucking kill you, and I’ll kill him too.” He seethed in front of you. The veins on his forehead popped in a dreadful way. He looked so unfamiliar, so terrifying. The liquor only heightened his paranoia and rage.

You tried your best to breath, the air got stuck in the back of your throat, just above his tightening grip.

“Do you understand?” He became increasingly closer, pushing you against the car door. The handle dug into your back. You couldn’t bring yourself to process his question. You just needed to breath.

“Are you fucking listening to me?” His previously hushed tone grew to an alarming shout. This effectively pulled you from your trance.

You nodded your head, attempting to choke out the word yes. It was pathetic. You hated yourself in that moment more than you’d ever had.

He surprisingly seemed appeased by your response. He let go, sinking back into his own seat.

You sucked in a heavy breath, it was painful going down your throbbing throat. You clawed at your skin, attempting to rid yourself of the growing pain.

“You know I love you.” His voice switched back to a sickeningly sweet tone.

You needed out, you needed to get away from him before you completely fell apart, knowing that this would only upset him all over again. He had never put his hands on you in this way. Would his violence only increase overtime? You knew you didn’t have the bodily strength to pull away from him if he put his hands on you again.

In a sudden moment of strength you pulled at the door handle, dropping to your knees on the paved sidewalk below. The cool air was a sudden comfort. You choked out rasped breaths.

You turned over your shoulder, praying he wouldn’t get out as well and drag you back into the car.

“I love you too.” You muttered. The words felt like knives down your neck.

He watched you for a moment, his expression seemed to be tinted with pity. It made your stomach feel sick.

You stood on trembling feet. Willing yourself to shut the car door behind you. You mustered every ounce of strength you had, making unsteady steps to your front door. You heard his car peel away as you twisted the door handle.

You felt a wave of relief as you entered and bolted the door behind you. Once up in your bedroom, you fell to your knees. It was impossible to hold back the sobs that racked through you. You were exhausted, scared, you wished it would all just end.

You awoke the next morning on the floor just beside your bed. You had to get ready for school, debated on just taking the day to yourself. You decided it was best not spend the day stuck with your own thoughts, all alone.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror after stepping out of the shower. You looked horrible, truly. Your eyes were sunken in, hugged by darkening circles. You hadn’t realized how much weight you had lost while you were with Stephen, you looked as sickly as you felt inside. The most glaring issue was the deepening purple and blue bruises that clung to your throat. They were a perfect picture of Stephens fingers. You carefully grazed over the welts, wincing at the sharp pain.

You had to leave him, even if it killed you in the process. You couldn’t live like this, his abuse would absolutely escalate as time passed by.

You knew attempting to cover everything with makeup would be useless. You settled on a form fitting, black turtle neck. The only issue was that the collar only came about halfway up your neck, exposing half the bruise. You sighed pulling your hair forward in an attempt to better conceal yourself.

Whatever, you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. It wasn’t likely that anyone would take notice anyways. You had effectively distanced yourself from almost everyone since your relationship began.

The first half of the school day passed by tortuously slow. You did your very best to keep your head down, avoided the paths you knew Stephen usually took.

You had nearly left the building as your lunch period began when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

Fuck. You were certain Stephen had found you, was about to rip into you for cutting the previous night short.

You couldn’t hide your shocked expression when Charlie was the one who now stood in front of you.

You felt yourself tense. Unsure what he would say. You almost felt ashamed to stand in front of him in the current state you were in.

But his touch was reassuring, impossibly soft. You nearly melted into the relieving warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

His eyes darted across your frame, taking in the full sight of you. You wished you could drop through the floor. A nearly trembling hand reached up to brush your hair behind your shoulder. You knew he could see the full weight of your markings as he hooked a careful finger around your collar pulling it down to get a clearer look.

You shuddered as his thumb grazed over the most tender part of your neck.

You looked up to meet his eyes again as he cautiously pulled away.

He was so close, you took in the familiar sent of the cologne he always wore. It had been so long since he had been this close.

You were in disbelief that he had noticed, your heart beat off kilter as you took in the realization that someone had actually noticed.

His expression grew dark, with an unfamiliar tinge of violence. It didn’t scare you though, not in the same way Stephens did.

“Did he do this to you?” Charlie asked, you barely caught his quiet question.

Your eyes immediately welled with tears, you couldn’t stop them if you had truly tried.

Charlie took in the weight of your saddening expression. He didn’t look at you with pity, or disgust. His gaze morphed into a far off rage. You had never seen him like this before. Your shoulders dropped a bit more as you understood the anger wasn’t directed towards you.

You couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s expression contorted again, into an impossible stillness. “Sorry?” He questioned empathetically. He took a step closer. So, so close.

He bent down, his mouth just besides your ear. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Your face grew hot at his words. You knew he wouldn’t, would absolutely never expect him too. The thought of Stephen dead though, brought a sick feeling of comfort in your heart. You were just so incredibly thankful for the sentiment, for the words Charlie spoke.

Before you could think any further, you threw your arms around Charlie. His uncertain and unsteady hands slowly found themselves around your back as well.

You couldn’t explain why, but you would like more than anything to just stay like this for a moment longer.

“Thank you.” You whispered, feeling him relax a bit further into you. A single tear rolled down your face, surely falling against Charlie’s shoulder.

Before either of you could speak another word, you felt a tight grip on your shoulders, ripping you from Charlie’s arms.

Your heart pounded in your throat as Stephen spoke behind you, his grip grew domineering around your chest.

“Don’t fucking touch her, Walker.” Stephen spat, quickly pulling you down the hall and out of the building. You shot a careful glance behind your shoulder.

Charlie was just visible behind you, his fist were held tightly at his side. His face twisted with a pained grimace.

You felt horrible, absolutely sick to your stomach.

Over the course of the next couple days, you put on your bravest front. You ran through all the possible ways you could leave Stephen and come out with your life and body relatively unscathed. The options were increasingly limited. Maybe you could leave him during school, surrounded by a sea of students in the hallway, only to face his rage after the last bell rang. Maybe you could end it over the phone, but then he’d surely end up at your home, tearing down the door to get to you.

It seemed your only real option was to fight your way out of it. Although the thought was incredibly morbid, if he truly were able to kill you, you’d at least be free and rid of him.

You dug through your kitchen drawers that Wednesday after school. You sighed in relief as you found your fathers old and rusted switch blade in a mess of overdue bills and forgotten trinkets in one of the messy drawers.

You carried it with you always, in your backpack or back pocket. It was at least some sense of security. If it truly came down to it, could you really hurt him? Kill him if you had to? You weren’t entirely sure.

Charlie kept close for the rest of the week. Making his following and watchful gaze ever apparent. You felt a steady confidence build inside of you. Someone was watching, Charlie of all people. If something went wrong he would know. You found yourself searching for him, in the hallways, in class. Your thoughts were thoroughly consumed by him. You slowly began to see him in a new light. Maybe your newfound obsession was just a comforting distraction from your painful reality. But it was a welcomed distraction.

You watched his hands flex and move as he held his pen. Watched the way his shoulders would roll as he passed you by in the hallways. Found yourself wondering what it’d feel like to run you fingers through his mess of hair-

But you kept a safe distance, he kept his as well. It was as if there was an unspoken understanding that any further communication would put you in real and horrible danger.

The rest of the week flew by, you found yourself pacing your bedroom floor that Sunday night.

This was it, it had to be. You’d call Stephen over, to end things. Fight if you had too. You refused to let yourself suffer any longer.

Just as you went to make the call, your phone rang. Your eyes widened as you scanned over the Caller ID. It was Charlie, you quickly answered the call with trembling fingers.

“Hey.” You answered. You were truly surprised you still had his contact information after all this time.

“Are you safe? Is he there with you?” Charlie spoke in a hushed tone.

You breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m alone for now.” You paused for a moment, you weren’t sure why you were speaking in a whisper, the house was empty as it usually was.

“I’m going to call him over, though. I have to put an end to all of this.” You finished your statement. It was relieving to know that someone would be aware of what was happening. If things turned for the worst, at least he would know.

You couldn’t help your next words, “I’m so scared Charlie.” Your voice broke as you confided in him.

The line was silent for a moment. You nervously picked at the skin on your lips.

“You’ll be safe. It will be alright, I promise.” Charlie spoke just above a whisper now as well. You knew he couldn’t actually secure this, but it meant the most to you, nonetheless.

“I-I just want you to know. No matter what happens-“ Charlie could barely utter the words. You kept quiet, silently urging him on.

“Please know, I’ve always loved you.”

Your heart nearly stopped, the sudden pounding in your ears let you know it was still working.

Love? He truly loved you? You had been friends for ages, even if you had grown apart in recent times, you still considered him to be close. People can love their friends. Just love in a friendly way? Maybe you truly loved him in that way too. Could it be more than that though? How could it be? A thousand thoughts passed through your mind in an instant. You were surly overthinking this all. Maybe you’d truly like to love him in more than just in a friendly way, though. If you made it through the night, you think you could, in the future, after you gave yourself the time you needed to heal and process all of this.

Before you could let yourself overthink it any further, you replied breathlessly. “I love you too, Charlie.”

And with that, he hastily ended the call. You paced for a few more moments, reminding yourself of the peace that would come after all this ended. You had to be brave. It must have been no more than fifteen minutes before a new found certainty pushed you to dial Stephen’s number.

You chewed at your lip, running your fingers over the green and yellow healing bruises on your neck.

It felt like the phone just rang on forever. You were met by Stephen’s voicemail. Your heart sunk as you dialed his number again. He always answered your calls; always.

You were met with his voicemail over and over and over again. You eventually gave up your pursuit, setting your phone down beside you on the bed, turning your ringer all the way up just incase he decided to call you back.

You woke the next morning, sitting straight up in bed. You hadn’t remembered falling asleep, dread built inside you as you reached for your phone, expecting a dozen missed calls from Stephen.

Only there weren’t any, not a single one.

Odd. Your dread dissipated, only to quickly return as a thought hit you. Was he mad at you, ready to blow? What had you done to upset him? Were you in real danger now?

You got hastily ready for school. Throwing on a pair of too lose jeans and a sweater that hung just off your shoulder. Your hair was a mess around your shoulders.

An unfamiliar sight played in front of you as pulled into your schools parking lot. Dozens of students stood in front of the building. About six or seven news vans were parked nearly up onto the curb. What could this be for? What was happening?

You threw your bag onto your shoulder, making your way towards the schools entrance. It wasn’t until you got closer that you could see that many of the student held a sullen expression, a few were crying, held in comforting arms.

A pit grew in your stomach. Had someone been hurt?

You pulled a girl you were only acquainted with in passing to the side, stepping out of the view of one of the newscasters, you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Kirby, what happened? What’s going on?” You asked the girl.

Your anxiety only worsened as her face twisted with pity and terror.

“I- I’m so sorry.” You could see the tears well up in her eyes.

Sorry? What could she possibly be apologizing for? She scanned over your panicked expression before dropping her gaze to the ground.

“It’s Stephen, they’re all saying he was found murdered this morning.”

Your head rung like a bell. You seemed to sink impossibly lower into the ground. Murdered? Stephen? He was really gone? But how-?

Your thoughts were quickly halted as Kirby wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a suffocating embrace.

“I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now. I’m so, so sorry. I know you loved him.” Kirby’s voice cracked on her words, you could feel the tears roll down her face.

Love? Your love for him faded long ago.

Pain? You weren’t in any pain at all. The buzz in your ears dissipated as you took in the full weight of the news. You were free. Free, truly.

In some horrible and sick way, you were relieved it was finally over. You were okay, safe. It was going to be okay.

You tried your best to conceal the smile that was spreading across your lips as Kirby pulled away.

You put on your saddest expression, you were about to put on the best performance of your life.

Your lip quivered, the tears that welled in your eyes were truly tears of joy, but Kirby didn’t need to know that. You forced a pained grimace in your expression.

“How? How was he killed?” You asked, making your voice crack on your last words.

Kirby cringed, shuddering at the thought.

“No- no, I can’t say.” Kirby pleaded.

“Please, I need to know.” You urged her on, grasping around her upper arm.

Her eyes fell to the ground again before meeting your own.

“They’re saying he was stabbed, gutted. There’s no suspects so far.” The tears were now falling fervently down her face. You wished that you could tell her it was okay, explain that it was well deserved. But you couldn’t, couldn’t ever say that to anyone.

Your head pounded again as you pictured him dying on the floor, coughing and choking on his own blood.

You felt sick as you reveled in the image. You were terrified of your own disgusting joy at this all.

Kirby took in your far off expression.

“I’m so sorry. I have to- I have to go. If you need anything at all, I’ll be here for you.” Kirby said.

You sucked in your cheeks, biting down hard. You nodded, watching Kirby turn and disappear into the crowd.

You stood for a moment. Utterly stuck. You gazed mindlessly through the sea of students and teachers before a familiar frame caught your eye.

Charlie stood on the top steps that led into the school. He was standing right beside his best friend Robbie. His disposition was entirely different and unfamiliar today. He held his shoulders a bit higher, hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

It only took a moment for him to meet your gaze. He nodded. A half smile spread across his lips as he took in the sight of you. He seemed entirely unfazed about the entire situation that was unfolding around you.

A sudden realization seemed to wash over you as looked him over. His knuckles were bruised and purple. A deep scratch slid up just above his shirt collar.

Could he have? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

His words from the previous Monday played over starkly in your mind.

You felt yourself stumble forward a bit. An invisible rope pulled you mindlessly closer to him.

It was him. It had to be.

You felt yourself grow sick as you held him in your line of sight.

So incredibly brutal. You would’ve never believed him capable. But he had, he had done this.

And it was done entirely for you. You quickly understood that the sick feeling growing inside of you wasn’t caused by any sort of terror towards him. You were sick with yourself for feeling so incredibly thankful.

He had done this to save you. He had done this because he loved you.

You didn’t feel deserving. He was the only person you’d ever truly be able to find comfort in over this entire nightmare.

You knew in that moment, you’d do anything to protect him from all of this. He’d never take the fall for this under your care.

You found yourself just inches in front of him now. His gaze seemed to swallow you alive.

So- so brutal.

You threw yourself into him. Melting into him as his hands grabbed up your back and through your hair.

Your tears began to fall again as he held you. Tears of pure relief.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his ear, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He relaxed a bit, knowing that you knew, and that you were so incredibly grateful.

“Anything for you.” He replied in the same tone.

Anything for him.

[cinnamontails-ff]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @roguishcat ❤ I love getting to chat about these things.

When did you start writing?

I know this sounds cheesy, but the answer is probably as soon as I could hold a pen. My grandma still has stacks of little stories I wrote (and illustrated ...) when I was a kid. Very cute, but I'm glad I gave up on drawing in the meantime.

I've been writing on and off ever since, but it wasn't until I was in my mid twenties that I decided I'd actively pursue a career in writing. I wrote a few original novels, none of which were ever successful in the world of traditional publishing, then got into fanfiction as a way of rekindling my joy. Once I'm done with my current fic, I'm ready to try with traditional publishing again. Maybe it'll work this time, maybe not, but I guess the bottom line is that I'll always write in some capacity.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really like stories that are a little unsettling. Not horror, per se (I'm a coward), but those underlying creepy vibes, especially when they come wrapped up in beautiful language and actually end up culminating in something cool toward the end of the story. "Uprooted" by Naomi Novik comes to mind, "The Devil and the Dark Water" by Stuart Turton, and "Portrait of the Pale Elf" by @larvasmoon.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett is the person who first sold me on the English language. Prior to his books, I'd never seen anyone use English in such a fun, cheeky yet poignant way, and it's definitely something I find myself emulating (all while hopefully putting my own spin on it). I have been compared to him a few times and it's always made my day.

Oh, and I guess Stephen Sommers because people compare my fic to "The Mummy" a lot. Which honestly, is just as flattering.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At my desk, with a mechanical keyboard. Not because I'm a hipster but because I have absolutely destroyed my laptop's keyboard and then the shop where I'd buy the replacement keys stopped selling my model and I refuse to replace the whole laptop.

I need a sense of quiet when I write. Usually, I write early in the morning before I go to work, and it's honestly my favorite time of the day. It's dark and quiet, I'm all alone, and the day still feels so fresh and full of possibility. I cannot write in public; I find it too distracting. Occasionally, when I'm very in the zone, I'll edit at work but it's never quite as productive.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go and hunt that bitch down. I know many people love romanticizing their craft and if it helps them to light scented candles or play aesthetic playlists - go for it! For me, the most powerful tool is routine. Knowing that every morning I will sit down and I will write, whether I feel like it or not. Sometimes I drag my feet the whole time, sometimes things click into place and suddenly, I'm having the best time ever. But I will always put words on the page and for me, there's no better feeling than having written (past tense).

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

You probably know this, but I really, really love stories where a regular guy/gal saves the day. It makes me so happy to see the evil vampire lord taken out by the mousy accountant, the fountain pen striking harder than the sword. I think it's because I like to read about real people. People that you could have met in real life, that seem simple on the outside, but have all this strength locked up inside. It's why I dislike stories with picture perfect beauty goddesses that always have the perfect quip, always take out their opponents with 1 blow because they're just that special.

Normal people are special, too. You just need to look a little harder to see.

What is your reason for writing?

I believe it was Brandon Sanderson who said "Stories are like real life but with the boring parts removed". That has really resonated with me. I think the beautiful thing about stories is that they can portray very real issues and conflicts in a way that is infinitely more satisfying because it's all been arranged just so. It can give you closure, it can make you see something in an entirely new light without feeling confrontational. It's like a really, really good conversation with the author and I hope that's what my writing feels like as well.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Two things. I love when readers point out specific lines they enjoyed and I love it when they tell me they reread my work. The term "comfort read" makes me particularly happy because that's exactly how I reread my favorite stories as well.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I think the most important part to me is that my stories feel real. I dislike pretentious, over-the-top writing where you can tell the author is trying super hard to sound clever or sexy or just drowns you in heaps of cheap, undeserved drama that never leads anywhere. With my stories, I want things to feel earned. Natural. Maybe you wouldn't have made those choices, but it makes sense that these characters would have and now we're looking at the very real consequences of their actions.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character voice, specifically in 3rd person limited. My favorite type of narration because I love getting into a character's head and making you see things through their eyes.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think every writer struggles with their confidence here and there. I've gone through so many cycles in the past 1.5 years, it's kind of crazy. Going from constant failure in the world of publishing to writing your very first fanfiction just for fun and then having it blow up out of nowhere, all these people showering you in praise, only for the vast majority of them to disappear immediately afterward is a lot to process. We write for ourselves, yes, but as a writer, you can't help but take reader responses to heart. Fortunately, I've never let it influence what I write or how I write; it really only affects my mental state. I know what I like to read and those are the stories I am going to tell, whether they're successful or not.

Aww, this was fun! Tagging @larvasmoon @davenswitcher @pickel182 @karinamay @pouroverpaloma ❤ ❤ ❤

[lyledebeast]

Dirty Fighting and Slanted Storytelling

I would venture to say that one of the most aggravating things about The Patriot for Jason Isaacs fans is the narrative's refusal to acknowledge what we can all see: Tavington is objectively the best fighter in the story. He just is. He defeats every foe who crosses his path in the river scene, including the one who shoots him. He beats Benjamin Martin to his knees after being wounded by him numerous times. Martin only wins because he's the hero (and because he is nearly pelted with helpful props!)

It's especially grating when the heroes are held up as martial paragons in spite of their conduct. It seems the audience is meant to judge their combat tactics by their morality even when those tactics are dirty. During the fight in the woods after the British take Gabriel, Martin knocks a British soldier down and tomahawks him in the face while he's trying to get up. After he stabs Tavington's horse out from under him, he fires a shot at him while he's disoriented and empty-handed. But when Tavington sucker-punches him during hand to hand combat, the camera moves in on Martin's pained expression, inviting the audience to sympathize with him. Poor man. Who could've guessed that choosing violence would put him on the receiving end of it?

A particularly good example of this reading is the river scene in Stephen Molstad's novelization, which is as much an interpretation of the film as this meta. He describes Tavington as being so rattled that the priest is reloading his weapon as fast as he is that he spills his powder and later fleeing on his horse in terror after he stabs Gabriel, looking over his shoulder in expectation of being pursued. And yet between the moments so described we have Tavington, wounded in the side, lying perfectly still with his back to his assailant waiting for him to approach so he can flip over--from the ground, mind!--and stab him, like this is something a jumpy coward could manage. Tavington has balls of steel to match the buns the camera so lovingly frames in these shots.

Of course, Molstad does not write this scene from Tavington's perspective. He describes this part in third person as follows:

Tavington suddenly flipped himself over and drove the point of a sword into Gabriel’s gut, stabbing upward toward the heart. It happened so suddenly, the young man never had a chance to defend himself.

This sentence immediately follows a paragraph from Gabriel's perspective where he contemplates whether he should butcher Tavington alive the way his father did the Cherokees and French at Fort Wilderness. He briefly considers that he may be "too good a man" for this, but when he considers what his wife must have felt perishing in a burning church with her family and community, he decides he's justified. This scene not only frames Gabriel's choice as Tavington's fault but suggests that blame for Martin's gruesome actions also lay with his victims. That Tavington is framed as the aggressor for defending himself from such a fate is the cherry on top of the reality-averse sundae.

Gabriel and Tavington's deaths are often connected by people who see the second as making a right out of the wrong the first represents, but what we see on screen indicates that Tavington wins both of these fights by being stronger and more resilient than his opponents. But that does not matter because he's a bad man. That Martin regularly brutalizes men who cannot defend themselves, and Gabriel attempts to follow in his footsteps, is treated as equally irrelevant to their status as good men.

What this reading fails to account for is how satisfying it is to see Martin's dirty tactics fail. When we compare his first fight to his last one, Martin looks less like the noble hero and father and more like a high school bully who has been beating up seventh graders to take their lunch money and now has to fight the captain of the boxing team. It is euphoric!

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Various, online chatter; that’s enough internet for today

For the prompt: How hot is Jared? Twitter's best explainers

Forgive me any formatting sins -- I aimed for clarity over authenticity, but who knows if tumblr will oblige on that front.

“How’s the internet doing?” Dave asks.

“Well,” Andreas says. “It’s — technically good news, but in a way you probably don’t want to hear the details of?”

“That sounds ominous,” Dave says.

“Do you know what shipping means?” Andreas asks. “Not the—“

“You know, you’re right,” Dave says, literally backing into his office. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t think so,” Andreas says, saluting Dave with his coffee, then goes to check out what’s happening on twitter. He thinks he’s had more than enough of AO3 for the foreseeable future.

~

On Twitter:

I’ve decided to block everyone who says something shitty about Bryce Marcus or Jared Matheson in the next while and I think my hockey twitter experience is going to greatly improve as a result

This is absolute genius I’m doing it

WAIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON?

HOLY SHIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON

OH MY GOD THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Damn now we know he’s going to stay beautiful.

So does Bryce clearly. Lock that upppp.

HOW COME THERE ISN’T A WHOLE JARED MATHESON FANDOM.

Nevermind fam just found out there is in fact a fandom and they are losing their dang MINDS right now.

~

A selection of tweets liked by Bryce Marcus’ lurking account:

Look if I landed Jared Matheson I too would tattoo his signature on my chest.

I would tattoo his PICTURE.

How is it that Bryce Marcus is a multi-millionaire who routinely is in the top twenty in scoring and clearly takes care of his appearance and dresses better than 95% of hockey players, and yet I’m still like ‘nice work landing that husband, bro’.

You know that if Marcus and Matheson could reproduce they would have the most beautiful children 

Sweet mitts too

Every single picture or video I’ve managed to find of Bryce Marcus and Jared Matheson in the same place Jared is like 😐 and Bryce is like 😍  how did we just figure this out now

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE IN VANCOUVER 😭

~

“Babe,” Jared says. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bryce says. “I’m not doing anything. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jared groans, slinging an arm over Bryce’s hip as he buries his face in Bryce’s good shoulder. Bryce’s hand comes up to absently pet his hair, and Jared falls back asleep that way, Bryce’s fingers carding through his hair as he scrolls through god knows what with his other hand.

~

On AO3:

Tags: Bryce Marcus Matheson/Jared Marcus Matheson/Julius Halla, I was really tempted to put Julius Halla Matheson but I think that’s enough chaos for right now, this is how I’m coping as a Hallason shipper, with OT3s, and threesomes, au just in that erin matheson doesn’t exist, sry erin it’s not personal

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, no plot just vibes, soft shit, I literally just got here but, Bryce Marcus is a bottom you cowards,

Archive Warnings: Underage

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, Rafael Sanchez, Just like the regular level of underage jared was when he met bryce nothing sketchy, or sketchier than reality lol, meet cute, my hc of how they met,

~

“If this is about Jared I’m hanging up on you,” Stephen says as he picks up his phone.

“You knew, didn’t you!” Beth says.

Stephen hangs up the phone, and puts it back on the table, face down.

It, of course, immediately vibrates. Gabe looks at it, then at Stephen.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen says.

Gabe continues to blink mildly as it goes to voicemail, then starts to vibrate again.

“You talk to her then,” Stephen says.

“Hi Beth,” Gabe says. “How are you? Yes, I did know who my linemate was married to. No, I didn’t think to tell you. Well, because I’m not sure how it’s relevant to you, Elisabeth.”

Stephen smirks at Gabe as his face grows continually wearier. His fault for not just hanging up — it may be mercenary, but it means Stephen doesn’t have to listen to whatever Beth’s telling Gabe.

“Let me give you Stephen,” Gabe says.

Sometimes Stephen forgets that Gabe has spent a little too much time around him for his own good.

‘Fuck you’, Stephen mouths, but Gabe just smiles and continues to hold his phone out.

~

On tumblr:

The Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson tag has doubled in the last 36 hours. You guys okay?

Can’t sleep gotta write fic.

I think I speak for all of us when I say, from the bottom of my heart: no.

But like in a good way!

Where my Julius/Jared shippers at? How y’all doing?

Well we found out Jared Matheson is actually gay and married to a man literally from the lips of Julius Halla…in the context of telling us he’s married to a completely different dude and also now I’m legitimately worried about their friendship since he just outed his bestie so idk you tell me.

This.

Do we change it to ‘Jared Marcus Matheson/Bryce Marcus Matheson’ or Jared Matheson/Bryce Marcus’ or is it chaos or —

The AO3 tag wranglers have been by and they’ll all redirect to ‘Jared Matheson’ and ‘Bryce Marcus’ so don’t worry.

But why isn’t it redirecting to ‘Marcus Matheson’?

Show us the papers and we’ll do it. Legal name change documentation please.

You have all been shoving these definition of Average Dude hockey players in my face all ‘look at this beautiful man’ and none of you showed me Jared Matheson, Actually Beautiful Man? What is the MATTER with you people.

You have been in the wrong corner of hockey fandom trust me. his beauty was Known

east coast bias even in hockey rpf smh

Want some fic recs?      OBVIOUSLY.

Hey remember a few years back when we all made fun of Bryce Marcus for not knowing his own initials judging by that JBM necklace? Wikipedia says Jared’s middle name is Bradley

JARED’S MIDDLE NAME IS BRADLEY!!!!!!!

I would like to submit a formal apology to Bryce Marcus who a) can spell b) is the most romantic man alive and c) has clearly been TRYING to get caught this whole time.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Emma DelRosso

* * * *

Opposing the president-elect's nominations

December 2, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

Dec 02, 2024

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, Trump nominated conspiracy theorist Kash Patel as FBI Director and convicted tax fraudster Charles Kushner (Jared’s father) as Ambassador to France. Trump also nominated his daughter Tiffany’s father-in-law, Massad Boulos, as a senior adviser covering Arab and Middle Eastern affairs.

Last week I wrote that “Few imagined how bad Trump's nominees would be.” That statement was made before the nominations of Patel and Kushner, nominations that ratcheted up the sickening stream of dangerous, unqualified, and insulting choices that are collectively and individually the worst nominations in our nation’s history.

It is important to understand how disastrous these nominations will be for the US. However, it is not enough to bemoan and condemn Trump's nominations. This newsletter isn’t intended to be a pity party. It is a call to action.

We must flood our representatives in Congress with feedback from constituents demanding that they place the interests of the United States above the revenge agenda of the Republican leader. In the short term, that is what we can do—so we must do it. In the mid range, we can set about defeating Trump's enablers at the ballot box. There must be a political price to pay for supporting party above country and for being cowards when our nation needed courageous leaders.

Before turning to individual nominees, let’s examine the stakes. For once, Trump has been consistent in his actions and has stayed “on message”—in a bad way. His nominations can be grouped into three broad categories:

He seeks to weaken, if not destroy, the US intelligence community and federal law enforcement agencies—in retribution for their temerity in seeking to hold him to account for his crimes. Matt Gaetz (DOJ), Pam Bondi (DOJ), Tulsi Gabbard (NDI), Kash Patel (FBI), Stephen Miller (Depty. Chief of Staff), Kristi Noem (Homeland Security), Sebastian Gorka (Depty. Ass’t to President), John Ratcliffe (CIA), Pete Hegseth (DOD), and Matthew Whittaker (NATO).

He seeks to weaken, if not destroy, the federal government’s healthcare and science expertise—in retribution for their temerity in challenging his lunatic ideas about COVID. Robert Kennedy (HHS), Dr. Oz (Medicare), Jay Bhattacharya (NIH), Dave Weldon (CDC), and Martin A. Makary (FDA commissioner).

Finally, he seeks to destroy the administrative state—a “quid pro quo” to the business community for supporting a candidacy that was designed solely to evade his criminal liabilities. Elon Musk (Government Efficiency), Vivek Ramaswamy (Government Efficiency), Linda McMahon (Education), Russell T. Vought (OMB), Chris Wright (Energy), Brendan Carr (F.C.C. Chair).

Let’s take a look at Trump's most recent nominations

Kash Patel is the sworn enemy of the FBI—so Trump intends to nominate him as FBI Director

Kash Patel is in a love-hate relationship with the FBI. Patel wants to destroy the FBI while converting it into a weapon of political vengeance.

Patel has promised to “shut down” the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. on his first day as director of the FBI and re-open the FBI Headquarters the next day as a “museum to the deep state.” He said,

I'd shut down the FBI Hoover Building on day one and reopen the next day as a museum of the deep state. And I'd take the 7,000 employees that work in that building and send them across America to chase down criminals.

But he has also threatened to use the FBI to harass journalists and politicians who sought to hold Trump accountable for his crimes. Patel said,

[W]e’re going to come after the people in the media who lied about American citizens, who helped Joe Biden rig presidential elections — we’re going to come after you. Whether it’s criminally or civilly, we’ll figure that out.

Note that the man who is supposed to “pursue justice” has said that retribution comes first—and “we’ll figure out” why the FBI is harassing US citizens later.

Patel’s twin aims for the FBI should be immediately disqualifying. But prominent Republicans flocked to the TV talk shows on Sunday to defend Kash Patel as a “reformer” who will “root out” the partisanship in an FBI that is dominated by right-wing MAGA leadership as it is.

Bill Barr famously said that that Kash Patel would be appointed Deputy Director of the FBI “over my dead body.” See Joyce Vance, Civil Discourse on Substack, The New Matt Gaetz.

Likewise, former acting director of the FBI, Andrew McCabe, said on CNN,

The fact that Kash Patel is profoundly unqualified for this job is not even like a matter for debate. . . . The installation . . . of Kash Patel as FBI director, can only possibly be a plan to disrupt, to dismantle, to distract the FBI and to possibly use it as a tool for the president’s political agenda.

McCabe was virulently anti-Hillary Clinton, leaking damaging information to the WSJ during the 2016 campaign. (McCabe lied to then Director James Comey about the leak and was later fired for his conduct). The fact that a rogue ex-FBI Director is alarmed by Kash Patel speaks volumes.

The nomination of Kash Patel should be viewed as an assault on the US intelligence community. Although people frequently think of the FBI as chasing bank robbers and kidnappers, it plays a critical role in counterterrorism and intelligence gathering.

The FBI is a member of the US Intelligence Community and has a dual report to the Director of National Intelligence (Tulsi Gabbard). It is charged with US counterterrorism investigations and maintains 60 offices overseas (primarily to coordinate with foreign intelligence agencies).

Indeed, Kash Patel has said that he wants to extricate the FBI from intelligence activities—a move that will make all Americans less safe in a dangerous world. See AP, Trump says he'll nominate Kash Patel as FBI director to remake the agency. Here's what happens next. Per AP,

Patel has also talked about disentangling the FBI’s intelligence-gathering activities — now a core function of the bureau’s mandate — from the rest of its law enforcement operations. It’s unclear whether he intends to carry through on that pledge or how it would be greeted at a time when the U.S. is facing what officials say is a heightened threat of terrorism.

As background for the upcoming fight over Kash Patel, I recommend several sources.

First, Joyce Vance’s excellent analysis in Civil Discourse, The New Matt Gaetz.

Next, The Guardian takes a deep dive into Kash Patel’s conspiracy theory past: Conspiracy theorist Kash Patel, Trump’s pick to lead FBI, faces Senate blowback | FBI | The Guardian

Finally, see the NYTimes, Kash Patel Would Bring Bravado and Baggage to F.B.I. Role. (Accessible to all.) The Times article is long on detail but short on self-awareness or political insight. For example, whatever Kash Patel's nomination means, it is not about “bravado” or “baggage.”

Patel’s threat to pursue journalists appears more than two dozen paragraphs into the Times’ story. In a democracy that is still hoping and pleading with legacy media to raise the alarm about Trump's intentions, twenty-four paragraphs into a story is not the right emphasis for an article about an FBI enforcement policy that would convert the FBI into a partisan police force directed at the media.

The Senate should reject Patel’s nomination. But Trump may attempt to place Patel in an “acting Director” role by manipulating the Federal Vacancy Reform Act. See Congressional Research Service, The Vacancies Act: A Legal Overview.

Trump's nomination of Charles Kushner as Ambassador to France is insulting to France and the US

Jared Kushner’s father—Charles Kushner—is a convicted tax fraudster who engaged in witness tampering while he was under investigation. Donald Trump pardoned Charles Kushner during Trump's first term. Trump has now nominated Charles Kushner as Ambassador to France.

It is difficult to imagine a less fitting Ambassador to France the Charles Kushner.

While Kushner was under investigation for tax fraud, his brother-in-law was a cooperating witness. Kushner hired a prostitute to seduce his brother-in-law and filmed the sexual encounter in a hotel room between his brother-in-law and the prostitute.

Kushner then sent the video of the sexual encounter to his sister to induce her to dissuade her husband from testifying against Kushner. See ABC News, Trump wants pardoned real estate developer Charles Kushner to become US ambassador to France.

The nomination of Charles Kushner as US Ambassador to France is the diplomatic equivalent of flipping the middle finger to a foreign nation. France would be well within its rights to refuse to receive Kushner as the Ambassador and tell the US to recall Kushner to the states.

In the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, a nation has the unilateral authority to expel an ambassador:

The receiving state may at any time and without having to explain its decision, notify the sending state that the head of the mission or any member of the diplomatic staff of the mission is persona non grata or that any other member of the staff of the mission is not acceptable. In any such case, the sending state shall, as appropriate, either recall the person concerned or terminate his functions with the mission.

See Foreign Policy, So, How Do You Expel an Ambassador, Anyway? – Foreign Policy

Concluding Thoughts

President Biden pardoned his son Hunter Biden on Sunday. Against the orgy of Trump pardons of family, friends, and advisers, Biden’s pardon of his son on minor charges pursued for political purposes seems quaint and unremarkable. Biden’s reasons for pardoning his son are understandable—and probably meritorious. But Biden’s decision will become precedent for future pardons—by presidents with flimsy or corrupt reasons for pardoning family members. What is done can’t be undone, but the decision to grant a pardon to Hunter Biden was unwise and will further undermine the presidential pardon power.

And yes, I do understand the differences between Biden’s decision and the pardons issued by Trump. But examining the Hunter Biden pardon through the lens of the interests of the American people, it was unwise.

After I wrote last week that the nomination process has been more difficult than expected, I received several comments from readers (and my Managing Editor), saying, “Thanks for acknowledging that the nomination process has been worse than expected.”

It feels like we are living in a world turned upside down. Sexual abusers and convicted criminals are being nominated to positions of trust and honor. Demagogues who want to destroy the federal government are being granted leading roles in agencies they will seek to destroy. Unqualified, ignorant conspiracy mongers are being entrusted with the health and safety of our children and elderly. Disgruntled and aggrieved “ne’er do-wells” are being placed in charge of the US counterterrorism agencies.

If you feel like the subject in Edvard Munsch’s painting, The Scream, there is nothing wrong with your radar. You should feel that way—and more. I add the “and more” modifier because much of the press is still reporting on the nominations as if they are the player line-up being announced at Yankee Stadium on a Sunday afternoon.

The nominees represent a threat to the safety and stability to our society as a whole. Discussing the nominees’ “bravado” and “baggage” and “lack of experience” is misleading. The “lack of experience” is a feature, not a bug. What better way to destroy a federal agency than nominating someone who has no idea what the agency does? See, e.g., The Independent, Trump taps GOP megadonor with no military experience to head up US Navy.

We must attempt to derail as many of these nominations as possible—but especially Kash Patel, Pete Hegseth, Tulsi Gabbard, and Robert Kennedy. Call or write your Senators and make your voice heard: U.S. Senate: Contacting The Senate. Even unsuccessful efforts to stop some nominations will lay the groundwork for opposition to future actions. No effort is wasted, even if the fruits of that effort are not immediately visible.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[late-to-the-party-81]

Sunshine and Gunsmoke

Chapter 2 - Rain, rain, go away

AN: Thank you and welcome back to those of you who are still here. I hope you enjoyed chapter one and the world building. Just warn that this chapter is darker and more intense. I will put more detailed trigger warnings at the end, but there will be stalking, physical assault and attempted sexual assault. Once again, a bit hug and round of applause to my cheer-reader @kahey2804 who put up with me rambling in DMs at her, and to my lovely beta @zenaidamacrouras1 who fell for me batting my eyelids at them until they said yes.

Catch up on Chapter 1 here

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Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Summary: Bucky knows he should say no to Steve for his own sake, but he can’t seem to let the feisty Omega go. Eventually his secret will come out, so he wants to savour every moment he can get.

Steve is content. He’s in a better place financially, he has a good friend (?) in Bucky and is basking in his freedom. But why does he have the feeling he is being followed and watched. Could it just be because he works for a mob fronted business, or is there something more sinister happening?

Relationships: Platonic Alpha Bucky & Beta Clint, past Omega Steve x Alpha Stephen, FWB Omega Steve x Alpha Bucky

Chapter WC: 8k (eeek!)

Chapter CW: Omegaverse, Shrinkyclinks, Strip club AU, references to past abusive relationship, references to misogyny, inferred Mafia elements, Alternating POV, flirty Bucky, flirty Steve, Clint Barton is so done with this, non-graphic descriptions of sex, references to rut, Friends to FWB, pining, angst, identity porn, Stalking, anxiety, breaking and entering, vomiting (once), Dark Stephen Strange, deluded behaviour, misogyny, gaslighting, degradation, physical assault, medical assault (drugging), kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, identity reveal.

Bucky’s head hit the pillow as he gulped in deep breaths. Steve was splayed across his chest, breathing just as hard and, for the moment at least, connected to him. He’d been weak, falling sway to Steve’s sweet words and enticing touches and had ended up in his bed. Again. And still, he couldn’t find it within himself to tell Steve the truth as to who he was.

He knew it wasn’t healthy to one, have a relationship based on what was effectively a lie, and two, to have one where one half thought it was a casual ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement and the other knew they were in a lot deeper. Because he couldn’t deny it any longer. Bucky was deeply in love with Steve. He’d suspected it for a while, but three weeks ago, against his better judgement, he’d taken Steve up on his offer to help him through his rut. 

Being a coward, he hadn’t invited Steve to his actual home - there was no way he could have kept up the facade of the humble barkeep in his swanky uptown apartment, so instead he’d given Steve the address of one of his family’s safehouses - a slightly dingy apartment across town from Steve’s. And although most of the three days they’d spent holed up together was a blur to Bucky, he did remember how hard he’d had to fight his inner self so he didn’t end up non-consensually claiming Steve during it. At least they’d had time beforehand to properly workout their boundaries and ensure that they had enough supplies in to keep the two of them going.

“Buck?” Steve’s lilting voice brought him back to the present and realising that his knot had gone down, he eased himself from the clutch of Steve’s body. He didn’t move Steve though. He wanted to revel in the feeling of the Omega’s weight on top of him for as long as he could.

“Yeah, Stevie?”

Steve lifted his head, a soft smile on his face, and started to trace invisible patterns across Bucky’s chest with his finger. “Why are you called ‘Bucky’. I can’t work it out.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s short for Buchanan.”

Steve pulled a face. “What sort of person names their child that?”

“It’s not my first name, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, his brow furrowing. “What is it then? No…hang-on. Please don’t tell me…”

WIth a roll of his eyes, Bucky nodded the affirmative. “It is…” He was glad they were no longer attached, because not only did Steve start to cackle, he rolled off of Bucky and onto the bed beside him.

“James. Buchanan. Oh god. Did your parents hate you?”

Bucky turned his head to look into Steve’s smiling, happy face. “Now you know why I go by Bucky. Go on, laugh it up.”

“Never have I been happier to be plain, old Steven Grant Rogers.” Steve flipped onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows. “And now, James Buchanan, I’ve got a question for you. Would you do me the honour of assisting me for my next heat? It’s due in about a month by my calculation, and I really don’t think either of us want a repeat of last time.”

“Hey!” Bucky cried with mock outrage, “I remember the bits I was involved in not being so bad.”

“Yeah, yeah. Big, goddamn hero that saved the day. You know what I mean. Being prepared in advance will be better, though. And hopefully I won’t feel as awful this time around.” 

Any mention of heat suppressants was obviously being left unspoken, but it was clear what Steve meant. 

Bucky knew he should say no, the way he should have said no the last half dozen or so times Steve had taken him to bed, but he just couldn’t deny himself this. If this was all he got of Steve then he would hoard it like a miser hoarding pennies. Also, he told himself in mitigation, this would be different. This was Steve’s heat and his Sunshine needed him to help. He’d be a bad friend if he said no, wouldn’t he?

“No problem, Steve,” he heard himself say. “Send me a text with your estimated dates and I’ll make sure I’ve got bar cover available in advance.”

Steve flashed him another smile and then leant over to give him a brief kiss. “You’re the best, Buck. Now, I’m gonna have a shower before I head to my diner shift. I’ll see you later?”

There it was. The casual dismissal. Bucky schooled his features, not letting his smile slip an inch. It was the way Steve wanted it, so it was the way it was gonna stay. “Absolutely, pal. I’ll have a White Russian waiting with your name on it.” 

Steve grinned as he pushed himself up and walked out of the bedroom and into his small bathroom. Bucky counted to twenty under his breath before getting up himself. He rooted around for his clothes and hastily pulled them on, checking for his phone, wallet and keys. Then, with a wistful glance back at the bed, he left the room and then the apartment. As he made his way down the stairs and out of the door, he kept thinking about how he could change the situation without losing his friendship with Steve, which is probably why he didn’t notice the person watching from across the street.

Steve walked home from his diner shift with an air of contentment about him. He couldn’t believe how far he’d come in just a few months. From being virtually penniless, he was now making enough that he could manage to save a bit. It wasn’t a lot, and it wasn’t every month, but something was better than nothing. Speaking of which, he knew that the biggest reason for his positive outlook was down to his friendship - or whatever it was - with Bucky.

It was true to say that Steve was really enjoying their stress-free ‘situationship’. Bucky was funny, and kind and affectionate, but Bucky wanted to keep it casual then Steve could live with it. At least it meant that Bucky wasn’t trying to control him, which Steve didn’t actually think he’d do, but it did mean he could breathe easier. Even if it would be nice to have Buc someone to come home to.

As he went through the main doors of the apartment he raised his hand in greeting to the elderly lady who lived on the first floor, before jogging up the stairs. He stepped through the door and threw his keys in the dish on the sideboard and as he made his way through to the living room, he tipped his head from side to side to work out a kink in his neck. He really ought to invest in better shoes for his diner shifts. 

It was cooler than anticipated in the main room of his apartment, and Steve frowned as he noticed the window leading on the fire escape was slightly open. He was sure that he’d closed that before he left for work. He was normally very security conscious. However, he had been in a bit of a daydream after his shower, sniffing at the lingering scent of smoke and oil in the air and imagining what it would be like to wake up every day with that scent surrounding him. Maybe he’d just intended to close it, but then forgotten? Well, he consoled himself, there was no damage done.

He crossed the room and shoved the window down firmly, making sure the latch was securely in place, before heading to his bedroom. He wanted to double check that he had everything packed and ready for his dance this evening. He’d been working on something that he hoped would work well for the patrons, but also give Bucky a bit of a laugh too. He started to hum to himself and the window was soon forgotten.

It was another packed house. Steve peeked out from behind the backstage curtain, seeing for himself that it was a rowdy crowd tonight, just as some of the others had said. However, as the saying goes, the higher the risk, the higher the reward - these Alphas may be a bit more ‘handsy,’ but they’d also be freer with their dollar bills. It was a trade off Steve was willing to make, especially with the number of bouncers around and Bucky behind the bar. It hadn’t escaped him how Bucky always stopped serving to watch him dance, however he stopped his brain from thinking too much about that, lest he tie himself up in knots imagining something there that wasn’t.

With a signal from Clint in the sound booth, the intro to his song started.

Uh, dirrty (dirrty) Filthy (filthy...) Nasty Christina, you nasty (yeah) Too dirrty to clean my act up If you ain't dirrty You ain't here to party (woo!)

Steve couldn’t hold back his grin as stepped out in a pinstripe, mobster-esque outfit, complete with heels and fedora. His pole skills had improved over his time working here, so once his tear-away pants had come away, he was able to show off his physique to its best advantage. Under the vest that had matched the pants, he wore a pair of black, sequin nipple tassels, which matched the sequins on the front part of his thong. The crowd was going wild for his dance, and he’d even had a chance to throw a cheeky wink over their heads when he’d noticed Bucky staring across with his mouth open.

However, as the song got towards the end, and he was strutting his stuff from the left hand catwalk back toward the centre, something unexpected happened. The club was always ‘highly scented’. He and the other Omega’s wore scent enhancers, and randy Alpha’s always created a stink, so it was often very difficult to distinguish one person’s scent from another’s unless you were up close. Therefore, when the smell of lemon, antiseptic and rosemary got caught in his nose, he staggered, almost face planting onto the scratched wooden stage as he tottered in his heels. He just managed to save himself and went into his signature side split just as Christina announced ‘What?’ at the end of the track, but his head was reeling.

The smell had disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, but a feeling of apprehension had already taken hold of him. Stephen couldn’t possibly know where he was working? Where he’d moved to after he’d left? It wasn’t as though he’d left a forwarding address for his mail, or told anyone where he was going. He must have been mistaken. Maybe he was just tired? That had to be it.

He exited the stage on auto-pilot, gathering up his tips and giving rehearsed flirty looks to the Alphas right at the front. Backstage, he quickly cleaned up, changed his lingerie and slipped on his silk robe before heading out onto the main floor. He needed his post-dance drink and wanted to drum up some private dances. He had high-hopes for the latter, given the type of crowd that was in. He just needed to get his head back in the game.

Plastering his smile back in place, he headed towards ‘his’ stool at the bar where Bucky had done as promised and had his drink ready and waiting.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky started, with a grin. “You pulled out the stops that time. But I know that ‘mob’ stunt was aimed at me. You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Steve didn’t need to fake his smile now. Seeing Bucky so giddy was like a balm to his soul. “I knew you’d get it. I thought it would be funny and a bit meta, even if only you and I understood.”

“Oh, I think Clint and the girls got it too. I could see Clint trying to hide his giggles in the sound booth and a couple of the girls were hollering and rooting for you as well.”

Steve took a sip of his drink, enjoying the tingle of the alcohol. “You think the Barnes’ would see the funny side?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky assured him. “Some of them have a good sense of humour. Or so I hear.”

Bucky scrubbed at the back of neck as he spoke, looking a bit bashful, but all Steve could think was how cute the Alpha looked when he did that. Like a school-boy with an inappropriate crush - if only, Steve thought, it was a crush on him. Friends with benefits was good, but…

Cutting off that thought by finishing off his drink, Steve placed the glass back on the bar and hopped down from his stool. “Well, that’s good to know. Now, I’m gonna head off and shake this money maker. Baby needs more to eat than Ramen noodles this week.” He wiggled his satin clad hips in Bucky’s direction with a chuckle and headed off into the crowd, his earlier apprehension had dissipated almost as quickly as the offending scent had, and speaking with Bucky had put him back in full spirits. 

Three hours later, he was sleepily letting himself back into his apartment, still humming ‘Dirrty’ under his breath and working out what he was going to spend his tips and private dance payments on, when he stopped dead. 

Something was off.

Carefully he opened the hall closet and pulled out his mop. It wouldn’t be an effective weapon if there was an intruder in here, but it would be better than nothing. He knew he should just leave and call the police, but the part of him that railed against being seen as weak wanted to find whoever was here and rip their throat out. He crept through to the living room and flipped the light switch.

There was no-one there.

Steve didn’t allow himself to relax. If there was an intruder in either his bathroom or bedroom, they’d be alerted to his presence now, so he needed to be extra careful. He picked up the TV remote, selected a random channel - turning the volume up to mask any of his movements - and crept along to his bathroom. That was empty as well, which only left his bedroom. 

Taking a deep breath, he jumped through the door, switching on the light and brandishing his mop.

There was no intruder there to greet him. However it was clear to him that someone had definitely been here. His bed, and its nest of blankets and pillows that had been left in disarray this morning after his overnight visit from Bucky, was now meticulously neat. The bedding had been changed and the coverlet smoothed out with the pillows lined up along the headboard. Using the end of the broom, just in case the intruder was very small and very sneaky, Steve lifted up the lid of his laundry basket. Heaped on top were the blankets and bedding that had been on his bed this morning, and floating in the air was the smell of lemons.

Steve snatched a couple of the blankets out of the hamper and backed out of the room, feeling his hackles rise. He dumped them on the sofa, before going back to the front door and double checking it was fully locked. He did the same with each of the windows. Twice. When he was as satisfied as he was going to get that he was alone and secure, Steve retreated to the sofa, not even bothering to undress as he wrapped himself up in the fabric that smelt of him and Bucky combined. With the lights still on and the TV still blaring, he fell into a fitful sleep, the mop handle still gripped in his hands.

It was with a strong feeling of anxiety that Steve left his apartment the next evening to go to work, and on his return in the early hours, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. However, this time there was nothing amiss. His bed looked the same as it had this morning when he’d stripped off all the new bedding and left it sitting in a ball on his floor. He felt as if he was going mad. Sunday was the same, and by the time he left for the diner on Monday morning, he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing.

However, when he got home from his shift, his window was open again, the thin, gauzy curtains blowing around in the breeze. A few times, when out and about, he thought he caught the smell of lemon or antiseptic in unexpected places, or had the feeling that someone was following him, but whenever he turned around, there was no-one there.

His sleep was fractured, and he knew he was getting tetchy with people, something he couldn’t afford to do at either of his jobs when he relied on tips, which in turn relied on him having a congenial manner.

Two weeks after the first hint of lemon creeped back into his life, a new incident almost tipped him over the edge. He arrived home, full of trepidation, but the window was closed and there was no strange smell. Steve let out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding and went through to his bedroom.

There, sitting on the bed was a teddy bear. A teddy bear wearing a doctor’s outfit - a white coat and toy stethoscope. A stuffed toy he definitely didn’t own. He ran into his bathroom, falling to his knees, and emptied his stomach into the toilet. 

A few minutes later, feeling rung out and sweaty, Steve returned to his room. He picked up the stuffed toy between finger and thumb and walked through to his kitchen. He placed the poor thing in his trash can, added a load of paper, took the can out onto the fire escape and dumped in a load of matches. Numbly he watched it burn.

He dumped the ashen remains down the apartment garbage shoot, then picked up his phone. It rang once. Then twice, and was picked up. In his sultriest voice said “Hey, Bucky. I’m feeling some kinda way if you are?”

He should have just told the truth, instead of using the pretext of sex to get some company, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want to tell Bucky what had happened. He just wanted him here for the comfort his presence would bring and he wasn’t brave enough to ask for it outright. And as for all of these weird goings on, maybe if he didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t be real?

This all had to be Stephen. There wasn’t really any other reasonable explanation - the scent, the toy, the precision bed making. He supposed that it could be the Barnes family, letting him know that they always had eyes on their employees, no matter how far down the food chain, but that didn’t seem likely. No, it had to be Stephen trying to get in his head and trying to have power over him again. Well Steve wasn’t going to let him. No matter how hard Stephen pushed, he was going to stand his ground.

There was a knock on the door, and Steve tried to banish his thoughts, determined to lose himself in the joy of being with Bucky. He plastered a smile to his face and went to welcome his friend inside.

[Image description: A moodboard. The background is a grey cityscape and there are two rows of pictures, all with made to look as though they are torn paper. On the first row there is a hand reaching towards a window, a text box which states "But the terror in his eyes? That gets me high." and a streetlight overlooking a building in the dark of the night. On the second row there is a text box which says "You belong to me!", the image of a teddy bear in a doctor's uniform, the image of a pristenly made bed and a text box that states "I will find you!".]

Clint was sitting at the bar, reading down the papers attached to his clipboard when he realised that Bucky was talking to him.

“What? Sorry, man. I was in the zone.”

Bucky huffed, blowing up the hair curling over his brow. “I said, have you noticed anything strange about Steve? He’d been acting kinda… off… and at first I thought it might be because of his heat, but that’s not due for about another two weeks.”

Clint cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know why you know when Steve’s heat is due?”  A flush ran up Bucky’s neck and Clint sniggered. “You’ve got it bad, my man.”

“Shut up,” the Alpha grumbled.

“Bucky and Steve, sitting in a tree,” Clint started to sing-song, but stopped when a wet, beer soaked rag smacked him in the face. “Eww.” He wrinkled his nose before lobbing the cloth into the sink next to Bucky. “It’s not a bad thing. I think you could be good for each other. You’ve been a lot happier these last months.”

Bucky turned away to empty the glass wash machine. Clint knew it was so Bucky wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “Steve’s only looking for something casual. And, you know, so am I. No strings. No pressure.”

“Sure…” Clint drawled. “You keep telling yourself that in order to save that Alpha ego of yours. I tell you, it’s much easier being a Beta. None of this extra hormone shit to deal with.”

At that moment the door flew open, banging back on its hinges and Steve scurried in. Clint got up to head to his sound booth, knowing that Steve and Bucky liked to ‘shoot the breeze’ - or whatever they were calling it to kid themselves into thinking that they weren’t actually in a relationship - when he realised that Steve was calling his name and following him across the floor.

Clint turned, confused, as Steve followed him into the sound booth. He looked down at the petite Omega and saw that, maybe, Bucky had a point. Steve was not looking himself. He seemed both tired and wired at the same time. “What is it, Steve? Something bite your ass?”

Steve twisted his hands together in the cuffs of his oversized sweater - a sweater that Clint was certain he’d seen Bucky wearing a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t about to point that out. 

“I just wanna check - cos I know what kinda business the owners of this place are in… But there’s no way they would have anyone following me, would they? You know, just to make sure their employees aren’t going to rat them out to the cops or anything?”

Clint’s brow furrowed further. “You sure you shouldn’t be talking to Bucky about this, you know with him being-”

“I don’t want him involved,” Steve interrupted with a hiss. “And you’re my boss, not Bucky. So I’m asking you.”

“Okay…” Clint was still baffled, but as he didn’t really understand what was going on between the Alpha and Omega anyway - besides the obvious - he decided he’d just go with it. “I’ll double check, but I wouldn’t think so. It’s not their style. If they’ve got a problem with you they tell you straight. I am 99% certain that the Barnes’ don’t have any problem with you. I mean you’d know before me, surely?”

He’d expected Steve to look a bit more relieved at that, but for some reason he wasn’t. If anything he looked even more keyed up.

“O-Okay. Thanks, Clint. That’s what I thought. I’d best go get ready, so I’ll see you in a bit. Umm, say hello to Bucky from me, okay?”

Steve hurried out of the booth with the same energy he’d arrived with. Clint shook his head to himself. He’d never fully understand Alphas and Omegas.

“What was that about?”

Clint jumped and whirled around, realising that Bucky had come up beside him on silent feet.

“Oh. Umm, Steve was just worried that someone’s been watching him. He wondered if it was a member of the family, but I told him it probably wasn’t. Cos like the pair of you would know if it was, yeah?”

Bucky opened his mouth, as though he was about to ask Clint a follow up curtain, but at that moment, one of the dancers, a sweet, but dim girl who called herself Kandy - but who’s parents had called her Maureen - appeared in a flurry of satin and shrieks.

“What the fuck now,” Clint let out under his breath, then louder, “Kandy, angel-face! How can I help?” He pushed his way past a pensive looking Bucky and got back to the task at hand - wrangling a flock of diva Omegas.

For the rest of the evening Bucky watched Steve like a hawk. Not that he didn’t normally, but this time it was even more so. He told himself he was just being a good friend and truthfully, his concern was genuine. 

When Clint had told him what Steve was worried about, it had taken all of Bucky’s control not to rush backstage and force Steve to tell him everything himself. However, it was just another sign that Steve didn’t see their relationship as serious as Bucky would like it to be, and therefore It was none of Bucky’s business.

It was difficult though, to see Steve so drawn and on edge. All Bucky could do was provide Steve with the opportunity to open up. With that in mind, he lined up two White Russians for when Steve came over after his dance.

Steve clambered up onto his stool with a wan smile. He looked so tired.

“You alright, pal?” Bucky hoped his inquiry came off nonchalant enough.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip and stirred his first cocktail with the little paper umbrella that Bucky had popped in it. “Just something niggling me, Buck. Nothing for you to worry over, though. I’ll get it sorted.”

Bucky wanted to call bullshit, but instead went for levity. “Want me to come over tonight? Work out some of your frustration again?”

Steve’s lips twitched up and Bucky felt a spark of triumph. “Why, are you trying to get into my thong, James?”

“Ppht,” Bucky snorted. “Like it’s hard?”

“Yes you are,” retorted Steve, “but what am I?”

They burst into laughter and for a moment Bucky thought his Sunshine was back. However, when their fit of the giggles faded, Steve just looked balefully up at him, the bags under his eyes showing clearly through his stage make-up.

“It’s okay, Buck. I think I just need a quiet night tonight and a long sleep. But first I ought to go earn those tips. If I don’t see you before I go, I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

He slid down from his perch and made his way through the throng. His second White Russian sat gathering condensation on the bar, untouched.

Bucky picked it up, knocked it back and then pulled out his phone. Time to call in a favour and see if his father knew what was going on.

Steve hated the way that he was jumping at every shadow on his way home. He hadn’t slept properly in days and was scared to leave his apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to leave it in order to keep it, he would probably have become a hermit. A hermit armed with a mop handle and a new, shiny baseball bat.

As he approached his building, he fished his keys from his pocket, wanting to be ready to open the main door. He hated the moments where he was just standing there, turning the lock. He just felt so exposed.

Above him, the streetlight flickered. Steve hitched his bag higher up onto his shoulder and then lifted his keys. He hadn’t even placed the correct one in the lock when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A shadow detached from the wall and with every step closer it got more recognisable. Steve tried to push his fear down - his personal demon thrived on it.

“Stephen. How unpleasant to see you.” Steve felt adrenaline surge through him, but he’d been expecting this moment.

Stephen stopped in front of him, invading his personal space and sighed dramatically. “If you’ve quite finished having your tedious Omega tantrum, Steve, I’ve come to take you home.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “How about you go to hell instead. I’m sure they have a reservation for you - although I hear it’s not as exclusive as you would like. Shame.” He’d been taught to stay calm and non-confrontational in situations like this, but he wouldn’t be Steven Grant Rogers if he held his tongue.

Another sigh left Stephen’s lips. “You haven’t been taking your medication and it’s made you completely hormonal. You must have had a heat by now.” The tall Alpha leaned down and Steve tried not to flinch as Stephen took a good sniff of his neck. “And if I’m not mistaken you’re due one soon. Which is good, because then we can sort this all out. You’ll be better when you quit that embarrassing job as well. Being surrounded by the stink of so many other Alphas must be doing a number on your system. I’m surprised that you haven’t taken more than one of them into your nest.”

Steve ground his teeth together. “It’s none of your business, Stephen. You and I aren’t together any more and Bucky is just a friend.”

A sharp bark of laughter split the night air. “A friend? Oh you naive Omega. He’s not your friend. He’s a horny Alpha and you are just an easy little slut who’s weak nature means you’ll invite anyone into your nest if they offer you affection. And Bucky? Ha! What sort of a name is that anyway? Are you sure he’s not a Beta taking fake pheromones?”

Stephen’s words stung, and it was a struggle not to wince, but there was no way he was letting them go by without comment. “Not if the size of his knot is anything to go by. Never had one so big. Or satisfying.”

Stephen growled at Steve’s taunt, his arm snapping out and he grabbed Steve’s wrist in a painful grip. “You whore,” he spat. “I should have claimed you during that first disgusting heat of yours. Then you wouldn’t have had this silly mental aberration. You’d have known exactly where, and to whom, you belonged.”

Twisting and pulling his arm, Steve broke the hold the angry Alpha had on him, and shoved him hard in the chest. Stephen fell down the step between the sidewalk and the street, landing on his back with a curse, and Steve took the opportunity to unlock the front door and race inside. He continued to run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until he reached his apartment door. Once inside he engaged the safety chain, grabbed one of his rickety dining chairs from his living room, and wedged the back of it under his door handle.

His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt sick. He should really call someone. His heart was telling him that someone was Bucky, but his head, twisted in knots by Stephen’s words, couldn’t shake the thought that there was some truth to the notion that Bucky was just sleeping with him because he was easy.

He picked up his baseball bat from where it currently rested against his coffee table and perched, full of nerves, on the edge of the couch, facing the door. Waiting.

He waited.

And waited.

The hours ticked by, and the sun started to come up outside. Saturday morning. Which meant no diner shift. He could stay in and rest. He’d speak to Clint later tonight. See if there was any ‘protection’ he could invoke. There had to be an upside to working for a mob controlled business?

He’d just rest his eyes first, though. Just for a moment. That couldn’t hurt, could it?

He blinked slowly…………….

……… and in the next moment, his eyes snapped open. Disorientated, he looked around. How was he in his bedroom? Hadn’t he just been on the sofa? Why did his arm hurt? Why was-

“Stephen! What the fuck?” He pushed himself upright, also realising he was naked. “Get out, you lunatic!”

Stephen grinned sickly at him. 

“Come now. No need to be so dramatic.”

“How did you even get in here?” Steve bit out.

Stephen’s grin got even wider. “You know me, Steve. Magic hands and all that.” 

He shook them, drawing Steve’s attention. In one he held a used alcohol wipe and in the other was a syringe. Steve scowled. “What the fuck have you just done to me?”

“Just speeding things up, sweetheart. I decided we shouldn’t wait any longer to be bonded and we all know that it’s likely to take better if you’re having your heat. He wrinkled his nose up as he spoke the last word. “Modern medicine is such a marvel,” he said, looking at the syringe in his hand. “One little prick can change so many things.”

“Evidently,” said Steve dryly, watching as his ex threw the syringe and the used wipe into the trash can.

“Acid-tongued as always, Steve. Don’t worry. That will disappear soon enough. When we’re bonded you’ll finally understand your place and appreciate everything I do for you.”

Steve looked at him, incredulous. “You’re totally deluded, you know that? Now you’ve added physical assault to the list. Let me make this clear. I. Don’t. Love. You. If I ever did, you destroyed that feeling quickly and effectively when you showed your true colours. I am not your possession and I want you to get out of my home!”

As his anger rose, Steve started to feel tell-tale prickles make their way down his spine. Stephen just grinned at his outburst, apparently amused by Steve’s resistance. 

Eyes flicking around the room, Steve decided it was time for a different tack. He launched himself from the bed, aiming for his bedroom door that was still ajar and offered a chance of freedom. Unfortunately, he only made it a few steps before a wave of dizziness washed over him and he crashed to the floor. With a dark chuckle, Stephen picked him up and re-deposited him on the bed. He was so unconcerned by Steve’s escape effort that he even turned his back and opened Steve’s closet, carelessly rummaging through his neatly organised belongings to find some of the heat blankets.

He dumped an armful on the bed, a look of scorn in his eyes. “Here. I suppose you’ll want to make your silly little nest. Whatever soothes your hormone-addled brain.”

Steve growled at him, bearing his teeth. “I wouldn’t waste the effort on you.”

Apparently nonplussed, Stephen looked down at his watch. “Your fire should make things interesting. Maybe I’ll even change my mind about how disgusting heats are if the bonding doesn’t rid you of it. I’ll come and check-in on you in a bit, see how you’re getting along. You’d best rest, sweetheart. It’s going to get a bit rough I think.”

The sick grin returned as Stephen exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Steve scrambled up and pulled on the knob, but it was clear that Stephen had worked out a way to jam it. He ran to the window, but here in his bedroom there was no fire escape outside. Just a drop three stories down. Then, even though he guessed it would be in vain, he searched around for his phone. Given that the clothes he’d had on when he fell asleep weren’t here, he guessed his only form of communication was still in the living room along with them. 

Returning to the bed, he glared at the clock. One pm. He must have fallen asleep at some time around six this morning. Bucky and Clint would expect him at work sometime between eight and nine, ready for opening at ten. They’d know something was wrong when he failed to turn up. He just had to hold out until then. He could do that, surely?

The hours passed slowly. Cramps began to wrack Steve’s body, and the prickly sensation intensified. He went through periods of intense fever, followed by chills. In his lucid moments he realised that this was worse than the after-effects of the heat suppressants. True to his word, Stephen came and looked in a few times, even going so far as to place a plastic tumbler of water and a few granola bars on the floor, just inside the door, supplies that Steve took greedily.

Eventually though, the drugs that Stephen had administered did their work. Steve’s body started to produce slick and his sexual urges started to peak. As much as he willed it all away, his chemically enhanced hormones were now running the show. The next time Stephen looked in, it was to find Steve whimpering and humping at one of his pillows, a pathetic attempt at a nest surrounding him.

With a dark smile, Stephen stepped forward.

Bucky looked down at his watch. Nine pm. One hour until opening, and Steve hadn’t yet arrived. Even if he’d overslept after last night, he’d still have been up early enough to get here on time.

“Hey, Clint!” He called out as the beleaguered manager walked past, muttering to himself as he started down at his bent and battered clipboard. “You’ve not heard from Stevie, have you? He’s not here yet.”

Clint gave him a look. “Like Steve would contact me before you,” he said, before continuing on his way.

Bucky picked up another glass, cleaning at an invisible mark. Anything to sooth his nerves. Since that first day, Steve had been nothing but punctual - always here at least ninety minutes before the doors opened so he could negotiate his dance slot and make sure what he had planned didn’t clash with any of the others. And it couldn’t be his heat either. He hadn’t smelt of pre-heat last night and Steve had already confirmed to him that it wasn’t going to appear for another week. They’d both cleared their calendars in preparation.

Throwing down his cleaning cloth in frustration, Bucky dug his phone out from his back pocket, and dialled Steve’s number. It rang and rang, before going to voicemail, Steve’s voice telling him to leave a message if he was a boomer. With a sigh, he shoved his phone away and started to do his opening checks. An hour later and the doors opened, inviting in the Saturday night flood of Alphas. There was still no Steve.

For the next thirty minutes, Bucky checked his phone between each drink service. He sent texts. He tried to phone again. Nothing. A sense of foreboding started to form in the pit of his stomach. His call to his father yesterday had confirmed that there was no Barnes sanctioned surveillance on Steve, and nothing to suggest it was one of their competitors. His father hadn’t known who Steve was, so it was unlikely that the Maximoffs or Starks did.

But Steve had been worried about someone following him. He’d said as much to Clint, and his behaviour over the last few weeks suggested that it was either true or Steve was totally losing the plot.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “Kate!” The new Beta bartender paused mid-cocktail to look at him. “I’m sorry, I gotta go. Let Clint know, okay?” She nodded and then returned to what she was doing. 

Bucky ducked out from behind the bar and made his way to the back office. Opening the safe that was in there, he retrieved his gun, plus an extra clip just in case, and made his way out the back exit towards his car. As his feet crunched over the gravel of the parking lot he called his father again. Twice in two days - it was some kind of record.

Twenty minutes and several traffic violations later, Bucky pulled up outside Steve’s apartment, carelessly abandoning his car at the curb. At the same time a blacked out SUV came to a stop - one of his father’s fleet. Two burley enforcers alighted and gave Bucky a curt nod each.

Bucky walked up to the apartment door and pressed the buzzer for Steve’s apartment. There was no answer, but a quick check around the side of the building showed that his living room lights were on. Returning to the door, Bucky ran his hands down all the buzzers, counting on someone being pissed off enough at this time of night, to just press the door release. He was right, and with ear-screeching noise, the front door unlocked. Bucky yanked it open and then turned to his father’s men. He pointed at the first. “You, go up the fire escape. Third floor. Threadbare red couch. Wait for the two of us to come through the front door, unless you see a small blonde Omega in distress.”

Another curt nod, and then Bucky was racing through the door, the other one of the enforcers following him up the stairs. When he reached Steve’s door he hammered on it loudly and shouted. “Stevie!” Pressing his ear to the wood composite he couldn’t hear anything. If Steve was there, he must be in the back half of the apartment. 

Closing his eyes, he took a deep inhale. Sand and sun met his nose. Steve was definitely in there, but something wasn’t right. Steve’s scent was sickly sweet like in his heat, but at the same time not, and that wasn’t all. There was another scent mingled in, an Alpha one that Bucky didn’t recognise. His own Alpha bristled, but he was torn. He and Steve weren’t a couple. Steve was allowed to be with someone else. What if, for some reason his heat had just come early and he’d found another Alpha friend to help him through it?

However, on the flip side of that, Steve had been worried. Anxious even. And he couldn’t believe that Steve wouldn’t at least let Clint know if he wasn’t coming in.

That thought sealed it for Bucky, and raising his foot, he kicked at the door. The lock sprung open under the assault, but the door was then halted by the security chain and then something blocking it. Bucky swore under his breath, preparing to kick again, but then the door swung open. The man he’d sent up the fire escape stood there.

“Looked like you needed a hand, boss. And seems like the window has been tampered with.”

Before Bucky could say anything in reply a cry broke the air, accompanied by a spike of distressed Omega scent.

“Shit!” Bucky ran off toward the bedroom, safe in the knowledge that his backup would follow him. He skidded to a halt outside the open door and took in the scene before him.

Steve was face down, on all fours on his bed, a mess of blankets around him. He was naked, flushed and obviously heavily aroused, at least in body. Behind him, a tall, dark and skeevy looking, half dressed Alpha was holding him down by the back of his neck.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice, partially muffled, wobbled as he called out. 

At the same time the other Alpha opened his own mouth. “Who the fuck are you? Fuck off out of here.” 

Trying to remain calm, Bucky addressed his friend, not even looking at the man behind him. “Are you okay here, Stevie? Do you want me to go?”

“Of course he wants you to go!” the other Alpha shouted. “You’re the ones invading an intimate and private moment here. My boyfriend and I were just sorting out a little relationship hiccup.”

“Steve?” Bucky wanted to be certain. If this was Stephen, there was no way in hell Steve wanted to be back with him. Ocean blue eyes full of tears and despair looked up at him.

“Alpha,” he sighed. “Help. Alpha.”

Bucky straightened his spine and directed his attention to Stephen.

“I think,” he growled out, “that it’s you who needs to leave. I know who you are, Stephen. I know what you did to Steve, and it’s taking all my resolve not to beat you into a pulp.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Bucky? It is Bucky, isn’t it? Steve isn’t your mate. You might have been getting your knot wet in him, but he’s mine and he’ll agree with me soon enough.” Stephen’s arrogant whine was getting on Bucky’s nerves.

“You’re right,” he said, and for a moment, there was a flash of victory in Stephen’s eyes. “Steve’s not mine. But he’s not yours either. He’s not anyone’s. He’s his own person, free to make his own choices about who to fuck, who to love, who to trust. I know I tick two of those boxes and you tick none of them.” He took a careful step forward, wanting to get within arms reach of either of them. “And it is Bucky, but only to Steve. Not to you. You can call me James. Buchanan. Barnes.”

He pulled his gun out from behind his back and shot the external wall an inch to the side of Stephen’s head. Then, in less than a heartbeat he adjusted his aim to point directly between Stephen’s eyes, a curl of gunsmoke escaping the barrel. “And I never miss.”

Stephen’s eyes went wide and he immediately released his hold on Steve to raise his hands. Bucky motioned with the gun, and Stephen clambered off the bed. Bucky’s enforcers grabbed hold of him roughly.

“M-Mr Barnes,” Stephen stammered. “I didn’t know, I-”

Bucky backhanded Stephen across the face, splitting his lip. “I don’t give a shit about what you have to say.” He said with a snarl and then turned to his men. “Take him to the shop,” he ordered. “You don’t have to be gentle, but I want him conscious and able to talk and listen when I get there. And call the doc - have her come over straight away. I need her to take a look at Stevie.”

As soon as the room was cleared, Bucky placed his gun on top of Steve’s set of drawers and inched back toward the bed, crouching down so he was at eye level with Steve. Gently, he reached out and swept back some of his sweat-soaked hair.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he crooned. “It’s alright. It’s safe now. He’s gone.”

“Bucky,” came the croaked, plaintive reply.

“Ssh-ssh. I’m here. Do you want me to come into your nest?”

Steve sobbed and nodded into the blankets, his hips twitching as he sought out friction. Bucky toe-d off his shoes and settled himself in the middle of the bed. Almost immediately he was wrapped up in Steve, who settled on his lap, arms and legs around his waist and his nose pressed right into Bucky’s neck. Bucky returned the embrace, carefully. Steve felt so small in his arms - like he’d break if Bucky wasn’t gentle enough.

“Alpha. Please.” Steve’s hips bucked and slick started to soak through Bucky’s jeans. Bucky tried to concentrate on putting out a soothing and calming scent and hoped the doc would be here soon. “He drugged me,” Steve continued. “I didn’t want this. But it hurts. Please!”

Bucky was thankful that his men had taken Stephen away. He’d rip the bastards knot off for this. The guy was sick. Steve was humping away in his lap, and it would have been so easy to help ease his discomfort, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong. Hopefully the doc could reverse this or something. Steve wasn’t in any position to give informed consent, so unless there was no other way, his dick was staying firmly inside his pants.

He started to rock side to side, letting out soothing noises as Steve whimpered.

“I know, Sunshine. I know.”

Chapter 3

Tag list:@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

Bingo and Challenge fills:

For the whole fic: @buckybarnesevents Into an alternate Juneiverse - Strip Club | April Babb - Pet names

For the Chapter:  @Stuckybingo -Stalking | @steverogersbingo  - Dark Stephen Strange | @Stuckygeekevents  - Careful hug | Alpha Bucky April - Beta Character

[likeadevils]

What are your thoughts about Peter? At the beginning I thought it was a very Matty coded song, but on further reflection I think it got the mbobhft treatment, starting about one muse and then including also the other. I’m not saying that because I’m denial of it being Matty coded, I arrived to that conclusion because if she wanted to be more direct like she was in other songs throughout the album she would’ve done that, instead Peter has references that I believe could be applied to both Joe and Matty.

One last thing: I know that people use the argument of her telling him that she was waiting for him to comeback because he was only 25 when they met, but if we bring Chloe et al into the equation, a song that I consider very Matty coded, then the 2 songs would sorta tell a different and contradictory story imho (if tu want I can explain myself in a longer ask about this topic)

so i think peter is pretty simple— the first verse is about matty, the second is about joe

as for the 25 detail, they were both 25 when she met them! which is just crazy. i also don’t think the bridge is saying she wanted him back, i think it’s more expressing a desire for him to be okay. “i hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, cause loves never lost when perspective is earned” speaks to me more as her wanting/wanted him to be safe and healthy, and not be consumed by their various struggles. i also don’t think it’s out of the question for matty, in response to her breaking up with him, to respond by saying something along the lines of ‘im going to clean up and win you back’, or when they reconnected for him to have promised her that he had cleaned himself up and was going to win her back, only to love bomb her and sink in stoned oblivion once again

but anyways onto a dissection of verse one and verse two being about two separate scenarios

verse one:

my lost fearless leader

“the coward claimed he was a lion”— loml

“you said i need a brave man, then proceeded to play him until i believed it too”— the black dog

and just as a funny aside, mattys favorite song of hers is hey stephen, a song on fearless

preserved from when we were just kids

“he was my best friend down at the sandlot”— my boy only breaks his favorite toys

“at the park where we used to sit on children’s swings”— fresh out the slammer

“we embroidered the memories of when i was away, stitching ‘we were just kids’”— loml

is it something i did?

there is way to many lyrics questioning of why matty left her on ttpd than i can reference here, but the biggies are on the smallest man and the black dog

i didn’t wanna come down

it’s a textual parallel to pretty much the entirety of down bad

also saying that she didn’t want the relationship to end

i thought it was just goodbye for now

i think this is a pretty direct reference to him ghosting her

verse two:

are you still a mind reader, a natural scene stealer?

“you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong”— gorgeous

“and i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”— lover

“i was playing around with the idea of quiet confidence. there’s something so sick about […] somebody who, they’re not arrogant, they’re not cocky […] but there are certain people who just walk in and they don’t need to be arrogant because there’s something beaming from within them. and when you meet a person like this, you’re like, ‘why do i want to walk over there and talk to this person?’”— taylor talking about i think he knows for iheartradio

joe is an actor harhar

when crossing your jet stream

“my baby’s fly like a jet stream”— call it what you want

we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon, in different galaxies

“nights are so starry, blood moon lit”— glitch

“we learned the right steps to different dances”— how did it end

“resentment rotting away/ galaxies we created/ stars places and glued/ meticulously by hand/ next to the ceiling fan/ tried wishing on comets./ tried dimming the shine./ tried to orbit his planet./ some stars never align.”— ttpd epilogue, 'in conclusion'

i didn’t want to hang around

“i didn’t opt in to be your odd man out”— so long london

“my white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment”— so long london

“every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there”— so long london

implies she was willing to leave

we said it was just goodbye for now

there is somewhat of a timeline anomaly in articles about joever— some point to a breakup in february, and some in late march. there are more articles that mention them having gone on breaks before, and how their friends were expecting them to get back together before the big breakup was announced. looking at the articles (with a grain of salt because idk the accuracy of any one article), i think taylor and joe went on a break in february, and then taylor made it permanent in late march, and this line would be consistent with that

[munson-blurbs]

For your 2k celebration: Eddie/Lover's Lake/book 🌼

Big, gigantic thanks to @trashmouth-richie for helping me with this one!

Warnings: attempted drug deal, mention of drug use

WC: 899

--

Mud squelches under your trainers as you make your way towards the lake. It’s a familiar destination; your favorite place to write. But today, you have other plans.

Eddie’s already there, waiting for you. He’s sitting on a stone wall, idly tapping his ringed fingers against his tin box. Your stomach flip-flops at the thought of what’s inside. 

Come on. Don’t be such a coward. 

“Um, h-hi,” you stutter, mentally kicking yourself for letting your anxiety seep into your voice. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Yeah, no sweat,” Eddie says, patting the empty spot beside him and popping open the box lid. You oblige, bringing your backpack onto your lap. “All right, I can do $15 for half an ounce.” He takes out a crinkled plastic baggie, frowning as you inspect it critically. “I really can’t go any lower; you’re already robbing me blind here.”

“No, no,” you shake your head, “‘s not that. Um, I was wondering if you had any, like, magic mushrooms?” Your face burns as you say it. 

Eddie’s eyes widen. “Never took you for a psychedelics kinda girl,” he laughs incredulously, “but, yeah, I should have some.” He digs through his stash, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“Huh?”

“The shrooms. You going to a party, or…”

“Oh.” You wipe your palms on your jeans. “I, um, I’ve been having bad writer’s block, and I heard that drugs can help…unblock things? I smoked weed with my friend, but it didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asks, not breaking his focus. “What are you trying to write? Essays and school shit?”

You shake your head. “I’m working on a novel, actually,” you admit. It sounds silly when you say it aloud. “It’s like a horror-mystery hybrid? I don’t know,” you finish lamely, hoping he finds the shrooms soon.

But you’ve captured his attention, and his chocolate brown eyes light up as they meet yours. “No way!” he exclaims. “I love scary stories. I swear, I’ve read everything Stephen King’s written.” He crosses his heart for emphasis. “Can I get a sneak peek of your book?” He pouts adorably, melting your heart and easing your nerves.

“It’s just some chapter outlines so far,” you explain, tugging your notebook out of your backpack. It’s an assuming marble composition notebook, but it holds all of your hard work. “And I haven’t written anything in weeks, hence the…” you gesture to his lunchbox of drugs in lieu of completing the sentence.

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he scans your writing. “This is…really fucking good,” he muses, flipping the page and continuing to read. “How do you come up with this stuff? Puts my Hellfire campaigns to shame.”

You laugh bashfully. “Sometimes, inspiration just strikes, y’know?” Your smile falters when he skips to the rough sketches you have for your characters. You’re not an artist, not by a long shot, but you know he’ll be able to recognize who you’ve modeled a protagonist after. “Okay, give it back,” you blurt out, attempting to grab it from his hands, but his grip is too tight.

“What, you got some naughty drawings in here?” He waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle despite your embarrassment. “Don’t worry; I won’t judge.” Before you can protest further, he finds the one picture you were hoping he’d somehow skip over. It’s a tall, lanky guy with curly brown hair that touches his shoulders. He’s wearing a concert t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, displaying his tattoos, and ripped black jeans. “Whoa,” Eddie breathes, and you’re praying to be swallowed up by a black hole. “This dude is totally metal.”

“Wh-What?” Did he really not know who it was supposed to be?

“The guy,” he says, pointing to the drawing, “he looks so badass.” He closes the notebook but doesn’t hand it back. “Could I hang onto this? I wanna read more, but I gotta get going. Promised my uncle I’d make dinner tonight, and he’ll kill me if I say that and then order pizza one more time. Actually,” he pauses, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “do you wanna help me cook? And stay for dinner, obviously. You could maybe tell me more about your story. Might help get those creative juices flowing or something.” He shrugs like he didn’t just use all of his courage to ask you.

“Sure,” you smile, hopping down from the wall and brushing off your pants. “And you can tell me about your…campaigns?” You furrow your brows, unsure if you used the correct terminology.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I don’t know…how can I trust that you’re not working as an enemy spy?”

You gasp, startling him. “Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “but that just gave me a great idea. Maybe Kal–that’s the totally metal dude–used to be allegiant to the enemy, but is trying to redeem himself!” You pluck the notebook from him, flip to where a pen serves as a bookmark, and jot down your thought before you forget it.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Eddie teases, taking the book back and tucking it under his arm for safekeeping. “You’d better mention me in the acknowledgments. Better yet–dedicate the whole book to me.”

“I can see it now: ‘For Eddie Munson: thanks for the idea and for not selling me shrooms,’” you joke back, walking in tandem with him.

“Perfect.”

--

[strrvnge]

Reflections || Prologue

Pairing : Stephen Strange x Reader

Summery : after the blip Stephen has to face one more enemy; his feelings for you

Warnings : idiots in love, Stephen being in denial about his feelings, blip trauma, fluff that will potentially turn into angst (you know me)

So this is the prologue of this idea based on this ask that instead of a one-shot I decided to make into a series. This part is written from Stephen's point of view.

Stephen Strange had been many things in his life. An excellent example of a student according to his professors, one of the most well acclaimed neurosurgeons the world has ever known,a cocky asshole according to his coworkers, a womanizer according to all of his ex (heartless dick was the term used more often)But what he did not expect to be was a hero.

Stephen Strange was a universal hero, saving not only half of earth's but the universe's population. Now little children drew pictures of him, dressed up like him for halloween, people asked for photos and autographs they even made pages dedicated to him on social media. He was known, loved, admired, recognised by millions and if you excluded the blip his life was a dream. For a man like him who sought perfection in each ascept, in every little detail of his life, it all was a dream, his world was some short of utopia.

And then you came into the picture. You, you, lovely you who just had to turn his world upside down.

Don't get him wrong, he didn't hate you. How could he (that didn't mean he hadn't tried in the past). But how you made him feel was just enough to destroy everything. Well who is he kidding?

The truth was that he hated it. Everything that revolved or had anything to do with you he simply hated it. How his stomach twisted every time he smelled your perfume, that painful feeling of anticipation when he was to see you, how his palms get sweaty when you were around,how he smiled with the mere thought of you, how his heart beated uncontrollable when he talked with you at the point of paining him so much he just wanted to rip it out of his chest.

No, he hated it with all his heart. Utterly and completely. Perfection was about control and the way those feelings struck him was everything against it. There was no control in falling in love, how the heart suddenly got a mind of its own, how it defied logic, how it made him act like a seven year old stuttering and tripping over his words

(but it made you laugh. Humiliating but perhaps worth it)

To his eyes Stephen was nothing great but escpecially when it came to the matters of his heart he was also a coward.

"Good morning" he snapped himself out of his thoughts entering the kitchen where you had already woken up early and made tea.

"Oh hi" you beamed him a smile and he violently bit down his tongue to hold himself from smiling back. "Want some tea?" Stephen hummed, unable to talk, eyeing you quietly up and down however your every careful and precise move as you made him his tea (as always choosing his favorite cup, adding the perfect amount of honey just like he liked it).

You had known him many years (not so many without the blip but still), living with him in the Sanctum his apprentice he liked to call you thought you were practicing the mystic arts a long time before he did. You weren't friends, he wouldn't use that word. You were patient and understanding with him at the first period of his studies but after becoming Sorcerer Supreme for some reasons you still kept your distance.

Only for everything to chance with the blip. After coming back everything was different alongside you too, no matter how much you both tried to cling onto who you used to be. Things had changed because of the desperate need to connect with something somewhat stable he could perhaps call you now a friend.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked

"Yeah, you?"

He knew you were lying. There was a very specific type of uncomfortness clouded over the futures of your face each time you lied, an easy to spot uneasiness he had come to easily recognise after times of observing your beautiful face. He couldn't really blame you though. After five years being blipped he too avoided closing his eyes, afraid he'd be dragged back into that cold darkness.

"Yes" he said, his hands reaching for the cup you held to him, your hands accidentally brushing against each other for a mere moment enough however to memorize that softness of your touch.

"Thank you Y/N" finally he said and only now you met his gaze.

He could say your name a million times, repeat it for an eternity and never get bored of its godly sound.

Every morning it was the same dream, the same nightmare. You in the kitchen making his tea so beautiful, so lovely,warm, so oblivious of the caos you caused inside of him, so close to him you were almost his. Until he said your name and brought himself back to reality. And just like that you felt cold, distant , putting him so far from you in the most cruel way keeping him away. You stood so close to him yet you weren't his, perhaps you'd never be.

His heart once again beated faster than he could catch on while his thoughts tripped over one another, all the things he wanted to tell you, all the things he couldn't say becoming a mess as he starred into your eyes. Before finally saying in a surprisingly calm and steady voice "You know you can wake me up and you can't sleep right?"

"Am I interrupting something?" Suddenly Wong walked in, uncomfortably standing in the middle of the kitchen looking at you two as with his entress you immediately broke eye contact, one of you staring at the floor while the other at the ceiling.

"No. I was just gonna check those books you asked me to" you quickly said, leaving your cup on the counter before hastily walking away from them.

Wong observed as Stephen's eyes drafted on your back followed your figure till you completely got out of the room, like a sad puppy staring at its owner leaving them at home and leaving. He fakely coughed trying to get his friends attention back to him.

"What?"

"You're such an idiot"

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Little Longfellow War

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: By the shores of Gitche Gumee Longfellow: By the shining Big-Sea-Water Longfellow: stood the mighty Hiawatha Longfellow: in a coat he made from otter

King: wow, just wow Barker: incredible stuff! Koontz: gosh! so cool! Lovecraft: really gets you right here, don't it? Poe: Poe: [muttering] he's not that good

Poe: ugh, longfellow's poems are maudlin tripe Poe: you guys actually LIKE this stuff? King: it just makes you feel nice inside, edgar Poe: King: ya know all warm and squishy Poe: King: like you just ate a big pile of water balloons Poe: yes stephen i am familiar with the sensation

Poe: i'm gonna call this charlatan out King: oh edgar, don't King: dean really likes his poems Poe: dean is hardly the barometer of good taste, steve King: oh no edgar King: you don't mean that Poe: i'm sorry i just Poe: they're not good poems!

King: they're very popular poems, edgar Poe: popularity does not mean quality, steve!!! Poe: longfellow writes pap for the lowest common denominator! Poe: oooo i HATE that longfellow!! Poe: i hate him and his trust fund!!

Poe: [typing] call out post for henry wadsworth longfellow Poe: [typing] his poetry is maudlin tripe, fit only for children Poe: [typing] his work is complete squeecore Barker: damn, edgar, i never thought I'd say this Barker: but you got the soul of a true poster! Barker: honestly i figured howard was the only true poster among us Lovecraft: [typing on phone] DEBATE ME, FRED JACKSON YOU COWARD!!!

King: did longfellow reply to your callout, edgar? Poe: no!! he hasn't said anything! Poe: he's just ignoring it! Poe: he's ignoring the discourse! Barker: damn wow Barker: what a power move!

Poe: what the Poe: ooo! that longfellow! always two steps ahead! King: just let it go edgar Barker: haha don't tell him what to let go steve King: King: oh i guess i need to say it this time King: clive

Poe: i've got one last trick up my sleeve Poe: something that no writer can resist replying to! King: no edgar you can't mean Poe: yes! Poe: i'm going to write a one star goodreads review

Longfellow: [singing and playing electronic keyboard] To stop that discourse, one-two-three Longfellow: Here's a fresh new way that's trouble-free Longfellow: It's got henry longfellow's guarantee ... [winks] Longfellow: Just don't look! Just don't look!

[nonexistent-introvert]

There for you (pt 2)

Pairing: Stephen Strange x F!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content: unrequited feelings, angst, Stephen pining over christine

A/N: I honestly would have left the first part as it is but an idea hit so here it is. Anyways, as I said, either Stephen suffers or you do.

Part one

    Your steps were heavy, it had been an exhausting and hectic shift and yet, you still found yourself making your way to the rooftop. At this point, it’s more to disappoint yourself in hopes that you move on from Stephen. Opening the door to the rooftop, you walked in, smiling at the familiar breeze and cityscape you have come to know and appreciate. That was when your eyes fell onto his figure sitting on the bench, your eyes widening in surprise. Stephen’s shift had ended hours ago. You sucked in a breath, taking a few steps towards him. 

    “I was hoping to catch you here.” Stephen looked up to you with a smile, handing you a can of coke before taking a sip out of his coffee. You took the can of coke from him, it all felt so surreal, you were half expecting yourself to wake up and find out that you had fallen asleep on your work desk or something. Stephen raised his eyebrows at your frozen state, “I was feeling nice today.” He joked, thinking that your appalled expression was from the fact that he had prepared a drink for you, in hopes of finding you here. You sat down beside him, opening the can of coke with a hiss. “It’s been long since we talked, I missed it,” Stephen admitted, staring into the distance, feeling uncomfortable at your lack of words. “Shouldn’t you be home now? Your shift ended a few hours ago.” You asked, he pursed his lips. “You keeping track of me?” You shook your head, “Christine and I are working overtime for the research study.” He answered.

   Of course, Christine.

  “Don’t overwork yourself.” You reminded him. He smiled, “That’s why I’m here, decided to take a break. Christine suggested it too.” You grimaced at his mention of her. Stephen glanced at his watch, “Hey Valentine’s coming. You found anyone yet?” Stephen started, you snorted childishly at him. “I’m single Stephen.” Stephen rubbed his facial hair with his palm, trying to wipe the smile off his face at your tone. “There must be someone you’re into.” He emphasised on the ‘someone’. You looked at him, “What are you planning Stephen. Leave me alone.” You sighed, he stifled a laugh of his. “I just hope you find someone soon. You are awfully single.” He shrugged. “You’re one to talk Stephen, aren’t you single too?” You regretted the question the moment the words left your lips. “At least I had my fair share of relationships and romance, you on the other hand…you don’t even seem to be remotely attracted to anyone.” You smiled, at least that meant you were doing a fantastic job of concealing your feelings. Stephen leaned in closer to you, an action that made you gasp and your heart flutter. “So, is there someone?” He pursued. You looked at him, your face flushing a little. His eyes twinkled in delight, “I knew it! Do I know him?” 

   You could stare at his features, a soft smile on your face. “Well, he’s cocky and an annoying overachiever but he’s got the biggest heart, he pretends that matters don’t bother him when it does, he pushes himself and strives for excellence in everything he does. But you know something? He’s a coward who refuses to do anything that he isn’t sure he could be the best at and that applies to romance too, he makes me laugh despite having a reputation for being stoic and I’m comfortable around him.” 

Stephen raised his eyebrows, giving you a judgemental look before looking away. “What?” You asked. “He sounds like a walking red flag but you do you.” You slapped him lightly on the shoulder, “You talk like you ain’t one.” He shot you an offended look, “Or maybe this guy is great and all. I forgot you tend to give compliments in the form of insults.” he said, laughing a little at the look on your face. 

   “So what’s his name?” Stephen questioned, he wanted to know who it was that you seemed to be head over heels for, judging from the lovesick look you had on your face when you described the guy. You looked into the distance, frowning slightly. “Shit, it’s raining. I gotta go before it gets worse.” You cursed, you didn’t have an umbrella with you. “It was nice talking to you again Stephen.” you smiled at him before running off. Stephen stood up too, his mind preoccupied with the man that you described as he strode back into his office where he was working on the research study with Christine. 

   Christine was already at her usual seat, pouring over some files and documents. Christine turned back to greet him. Stephen’s eyes fell onto the window that was being pelted with raindrops, the rain was getting heavier. His eyes then spotted the extra umbrella he had kept in his office. 

  “I’ll be back soon, just gonna go lend my umbrella to someone.” he said, leaving the office again with two umbrellas in hand while running through the halls of the hospital. 

  The sound of your name being called out in the rain almost missed you, you unplugged the earphones from your ears before turning around to find Stephen running up to you with an umbrella. “You’re drenched!” He pointed out. “I can see that Stephen.” You told him, he thrusted the extra umbrella into your hand. “What for? I’m already drenched Stephen.” He leaned further into you, trying his best to shelter the both of you from the rain. “Stop being stubborn and use it already.” He scolded. You sighed, glancing down before stepping away from him. You had to do it now, it was no use waiting for him everyday, you had to make the decision of what to do with your feelings towards him. He let out an annoyed huff as he tried to shelter you again, you took another step back, giving him back his umbrella. 

   “I don’t need it Stephen. Take it back.” He opened his mouth to argue, but you already stopped listening. The signs were clear, you were just a friend to him. Christine is the woman he goes to, listens to and smiles the most with. Whatever you felt towards him was how he felt towards Christine, it was like looking at a reflection whenever he interacted with Christine, it was like how you interacted with him. You bit on your lip, looking away as you felt the tears start to well up, if not for the rain, Stephen would have caught sight of your tears already. You looked at him again, a worried look on his face. You swallowed, you have made your decision. 

   “Thank you but I’ll deal with it. I’m already drenched, the umbrella is of no use.” You said again, smiling sadly at him. Stephen watched helplessly as you turned the corner while walking under the heavy rain, worried for you. 

   You wanted to be there for him so you’ll do it. 

   You’ll do it as a friend and for that to happen, these feelings for him had to be concealed until the end of time and its ok. 

  It’s ok as long as you’re still by his side

tag: @jokatsuya

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Bella had Tom Riddle’s powers like in The Funny Thing That Happened On The Way To London?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London by me and @therealvinelle. The TL;DR is that Tom essentially still has magic, however without a wand and the institution of Hogwarts/instruction in the magic system he's been figuring out things wandlessly.

As for Bella, let's dive in.

Pre-Canon

Nothing changes except this is Bella's deep dark secret she must tell no one about. See, Bella's a little past your usual freak in that weird things sometimes happen to her with no explanation and she knows deep down it's somehow her fault. The washing machine explodes, she somehow finds herself teleported home from school, that sort of nonsense.

This doesn't happen to normal people and Bella's well aware of that.

The fact that Bella's a Jedi who is manipulating reality doesn't occur to Bella, nor does the possibility that she could harness these supernatural occurrences or it could in fact be a good thing.

She just knows it's fucking weird and she can't let anyone ever know.

Which means that Bella likely makes the same decision to move to Forks for the same reasons and the added bonus that she won't ruin her mother's marriage to Phil if she's not around for Phil to find out Bella's an alien.

AH HA HA HA HA HA.

Bella Arrives in Forks

Again, mostly the same deal, Bella's just a little extra nervous as all this popularity means people will notice when she fucks up (because she always does) and Bella spends the entire first day praying nothing weird happens.

Then Biology happens.

Bella blames herself.

Or rather, she thinks Edward must somehow know. She must have somehow tipped her hand (did she turn him and his family into marble statue people??? does she do that now???) and now he's looking at her like he's going to kill her.

Bella's life is over: she's pissed off the hottest boy in school who is going to tell everyone she's a total freak and Bella will be the daughter of the police chief's runaway bride and be a psychic nutcase escaped from a Stephen King novel.

Bella cries herself to sleep that night, certain her life is over.

The next morning... Edward's gone. Nobody seems to think Bella's a freak of nature and they all think Edward's sick with mono or something. Bella... is not entirely sure she hasn't accidentally murdered Edward Cullen. She hopes not, everyone seems to think he's just sick, and if he was dead or disappeared his family would have said something. Right? Right?!

Bella spends the next few days telling herself that Edward must be fine and that it's a good thing because everything's all normal now and maybe it's best that Edward's sick with the flu because then he can forget about Bella.

Then he comes back.

He comes back and starts talking to her.

He looks as much like a crystal hot demon as ever.

Bella is convinced she's responsible for his unnatural skin condition. And the way he's focused in on her and is asking all sorts of questions like why she moved to Forks: he must know.

Bella's sweating bullets and sprints out of class (tripping of course int he process).

She spends all night wondering whether she should fess up or not so she can apologize. Coward that she is, she chooses to stay silent, hoping that this will make Edward forget his uh skin condition.

Unfortunately for Bella, she nearly gets hit by a van.

Bella Nearly Gets Hit by a Van

Bella, nearly getting hit by a van, is saved by Edward. However, there's no way Edward could have crossed the parking lot in so little time or crushed that truck like it was made of tin foil. Bella must be responsible for this.

And now she's being carted off to the hospital: she's about ready to die of mortificaiton.

Edward then presses Bella for information, trying to gauge what she saw, but Bella's actually keeping her thoughts to herself and easily agrees when Edward says he was right next to her (because Bella's not going to admit she fucked up his life even more, nosiree, no bending the laws of physics here).

Edward finds himself a little annoyed with this, it works out well for him, but he'd hoped she'd notice or at least wouldn't be clearly lying about all of it.

Regardless, canon proceeds as the family has their vote and Edward discovers he's in love.

The difference, however, is that Bella firmly believes everything appealing/mysterious about Edward is actually caused by her nonsense voodoo magic bullshit powers she can't control. As a result, rather than be fascinated, Bella becomes increasingly anxious and concerned the more hints Edward drops that he's not normal.

Edward tries to gaslight Bella into thinking he's human (sort of) but finds himself increasingly annoyed as Bella seems to be trying to gaslight him into thinking that she thinks he's human.

Eventually, Edward breaks, and shows her irrefutable proof he is in fact a horrible inhuman demon at which point Bella (crying inside) somehow finds herself dating him and agreeing he sure is a vampire. Wow, such a vampire he is, this isn't Bella's strange powers at all.

Bella then has to gaslight his family into believing she's so normal about everything all the time every and nothing weird has ever happened around her wow.

This change in dynamic is the only difference in the story.

[macbethheadband]

Toby stephens jumpscare on the way out of the noel coward theatre