#they’re almost in order (just the ‘is my tie straight?’ drawing is out of place — it’s one of the older ones)

[phantasymistart]

tracking my improvement by drawing kaz across the span of 3 years has been pretty fun and cool i would say

[a-supernatural-writer]

hcs for poly! tlb with a fem! s/o who’s style is dark academia and is really blunt/logical and smart. she basically gives off a ‘mysterious, quiet, dark, critical’ vibe (she also doesn’t really know how to handle people who are extremely emotional and she doesn’t know how to soothe someone. she’s just really oblivious/clueless when it comes to others feelings). i’m so sorry if what i requested doesn’t make sense or if it was too much. i am seriously incapable of writing anything without making it look like an essay lmao. love your work btw 💕✨

Dark Academia Fem! S/O 

Poly Lost Boys x Fem reader

I had so much fun writing this! I love the dark academia aesthetic! And it made perfect sense and it wasn’t too much! Having a lot actually helps me expand and write more so thank you. And I’m the same, once I have an idea, I write a lot, so you’re all good! And awww!!! Thank you!!! 💗💗✨✨ I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so you are very different compared to the large number of characters on the boardwalk. Your style consisted of button shirts, sweaters or turtle necks, dress pants or a plaid pleated skirts, cardigans or waistcoats, oxford shoes or even wire framed glasses if you wore them for seeing or just for the look. 

To say that you caught the boys attention would be an understatement. You seemed to stand out amongst the crowd and they became curious. You were a mystery to them and they love the challenge. 

Somehow, someway, after days or weeks later, you became good friends which soon lead to you dating four trouble making punks. It was tough on both parts, but it happened, and hey, you weren’t complaining. 

You were very blunt when you first met them, not really interested in them and more or less interested in the book in your hands. It took a lot of “accidental” run ins to even get you to hang out with them. 

You slowly opened up when they offered to take you out for dinner at a local diner. They’re constant joking soon had you letting out small, almost whisper-like giggles and tiny smiles that sent them into a frenzy. 

When you would start talking about yourself, your ideas of fun were different from theirs. You liked museums, opera houses, bookstores and going to theaters to see plays. The games you played were chess and cards, and the music you listened to was old. You were pretty sure they thought you were boring but you actually peaked their interest. 

After a while of being friends with them, they asked you out. You liked them and the only logical step was to see if you liked them the same way they liked you was to date them, so you said yes. 

In general, them having a girlfriend with a 1940s/1950s dark prep look was fun. David and Dwayne like it the most. Paul next, then Marko. 

David actually really likes picking out your clothing on most days. You have an extensive collection of clothing with material from cashmere to linen, all the colors consisting of browns, black, cream and even a little dark green. 

His favorite thing to put you in is trench coats. Doesn’t matter what color it is, he just likes seeing you in them. Also, there are a handful of times that he has MADE you wear his trench coat. Yeah it almost swimmed on you, but he thought it made you look cute and it fit in perfectly with your look. 

Dark academia isn’t only your style, but it’s your way of life. David is the one that plays chess with you. You had to reteach it to him and pretty soon, the two of you had your own little set up in the cave that was always ready for a game of chess. 

David is sort of like you… in a way when it comes to others feelings. But deep down he knows that he really likes you and tries to show it the best he can. He took you to a theater to see a play that you were constantly talking about and so he took you on a date. You being you, didn’t realize that’s what it was until he told it straight to your face. Let’s just say you were speechless for the next hour. 

Also, when it’s just the two of you, deep inside the cave where your nest is, classical music is playing from your record player. It could be Beethoven, Tchaikovsky or Mozart. Whoever it is, David is the one that will listen to it with you the most. I think he really enjoys classical music and he enjoys it even more if the two of you are cuddling in your bed. 

Occasionally Dwayne would join the two of you. You would be sitting in between David’s legs as Dwayne sat in between yours, his head leaning back against your chest. It was like a cuddle pile… cuddle train?? Whatever you wanted to call it, it was cuddling while the three of you relaxed listening to classical music. And it was darn cute. 

Dwayne loves listening to you go on and on about any books you were reading at the moment. Whether or not it was nonfiction or even about any type of history. He was down. He lived through a lot and he knew about half of the stuff you gushed on about, but for some odd reason, it never bored him when you talked about it. 

He would be the one to get you new books, leaving you sweet little notes tied to them. Of course you thought it was just him being nice and thanked him for it without thinking there was any romantic meaning behind it. Yeah he was one of your boyfriends but it never really crossed your mind that way. He would just shake his head at your obliviousness and give you a small peck on the lips. 

Don’t ask him why, but his favorite look on you is a light cream colored blouse with a plaid skirt and Mary Jane shoes. Dwayne is a leg man so… he’s very happy when decide to show off some skin if you decide not to wear knee-socks or stockings with it. Even if you did wear them, he would still be attached to your side the entire night. 

Like David, Dwayne would bring you out to a lot of places that were opened late at night. If there was an art exhibition in town or even a museum that was open late, just say the word and he will happily drive you on his bike. Heck, David might even tag along. 

Also, late night bookstore dates… oh my heart, it’s too sweet it hurts. There are times that he does have to throw you over his shoulder when the bookstore is closing and you're pretty much refusing to leave. When he does that, you just stay frozen over his shoulder, not knowing if you should be blushing or cursing at him for carrying you like a sack of potatoes. 

If anything, you and Dwayne connect very well. You’re naturally very quiet and so is he. Not much is said between you two but there's a mutual understanding that can’t be explained. While the others are out causing trouble, you and him are on the sidelines watching hand in hand or your reading and he's just staring at you as you do so. 

Paul and Marko kind of give you whiplash. They’re loud and rowdy and definitely 100% opposite from you. But they interested you. They had a very chaotic outlook on life which made you ask many questions. 

Paul found your look sexy. He’s horny and you give off preppy school vibes, he’s living for it 24/7. Constant teasing of you giving him ‘private lessons’ which results with you whacking a book against the back of his head. But it doesn’t stop the reddening of your ears which doesn’t make him stop.  

This man is also your designated jewelry expert. You only wear some accessories and they're very simple. So you are very surprised when Paul finds you jewelry that is your style and collects it for you. You like leather watches, guess what, he’s got it for you. You want some fancy victorian looking brooches, he’s got that too. Simple rings with a single jewel in the middle, expect constant ‘will you marry me’ jokes, but he gets you the best.

Also, he’s not overly big into your music selection. He does try to get you into his type of music, which you only like very few and far between. But when you do get him to listen to your type of music, it’s only if you agree to listen to his music the next night. You guys come up with a system and decide to switch every few nights. 

Each of the boys have their favorite look on you and Paul's is when you wear a button-up of any color with a simple black tie, a pencil skirt and a pair of Dr.Marten boots. He especially likes the tie… for reasons. God damn it, you know the reasons, get out of here. 

He’s a very affectionate boy and he finds your looks over confusion some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen. Probably the first one to tell you that he loves you and you honestly like glitched out. Did you feel the same way? Yes, but poor little thing you doesn’t say it right away, but Paul knows that you aren’t really used to saying things like that without warming up to it. Which is okay. He knows even if you don’t say it. 

He definitely steals one of your blazers to put pins on it. Marko helps, putting a few patches on it that they both know you would like. It’s the one item that stands out in all of your clothing and you will wear it if they ask you to. 

Marko definitely thinks the look is cute and it suits you very well, but why no color?! You wear dark colors but nothing bright like the colors that are on his jacket. He tries to slip in some colorful clothing into your everyday look, it never goes as planned but you give him an A for effort. 

He loves how dark you can be at times though. You want to go to a local graveyard just because? Sure! Let’s go! He’s your designated graveyard buddy. You have many date nights there, looking at all the different gravestones and finding it interesting when you jot down some names in one of your notebooks. 

Speaking of notebooks, you have many of them. They were filled with notes from books you’ve read, real life observations or even just some random poetry and short stories that you wrote. Marko would go through them a lot and even sometimes draw little doodles or rough sketches that were thought up from your writings. 

When you spend nights down at the Boardwalk, your go to drink isn’t a slushie or a milkshake or even a soda. It’s coffee or tea. Yeah, and only Marko knows your drink orders by heart. None of the others seem to remember them correctly which you thank them for trying but Marko has got them all beat. 

Marko likes seeing you in sweaters and in your trousers or linen shorts with chelsea boots. If anything, when the two of you are alone, just wearing a knit sweater and shorts were perfect for him. He likes how cozy and warm you look. He’s very happy when he cuddles you and you are warm. 

Now when they tell you that they’re vampires, you think that they’re joking. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a work of fiction. Yes there was a real man named Dracula, but there was no way that they were actual vampires. 

Then they showed you hard proof and then there was no denying it at that point. Instead of running away, you were fascinated. You wanted to understand your boyfriends vampire ways that lead to you conducting extensive research and a notebook dedicated to them. 

They showed you everything about them, how they feed, to which you didn’t bat an eyelash of watching them feed one night. You were one morbid chick but they saw that as a plus that you didn’t react. You had graveyard dates for crying out loud, nothing really surprised them at that point.

Flying came next and they had a lot of fun showing you just how high they could go with you in their arms. You never screamed at the height, you were too caught up in seeing the overhead view of the town. You could get used to seeing a view like that every night.  

Then came the other things; how they slept before you came along, what actually hurt them and what didn’t. There was one time that you stared at their vampire faces for hours because you were taking notes on how their facial features changed. 

Soon you had to stock up on more turtlenecks because of the many bite marks they would leave behind from feeding on you if the weather was bad one night. It wasn’t tough adapting to their occasional feeding. A lot of your clothing already covered up your skin so it was easy to hide from people on your nights out. 

Not too long after, they popped the question. Would you want to be a vampire? Live forever, never grow up? Be with them for all eternity? You didn’t really need to think about it for too long, you knew what your answer was and so did they even if you didn’t say it out loud. You loved your boys and not much would change.

When you did change, it was entertaining for them to watch. You soon started taking down notes about your progress, comparing and contrasting your experience to their own. 

To the eyes of many, you became even more dark and mysterious. You had an aura around you that drew people in, it’s what got you your four vampire boyfriends, only now, it brought in your meal for the night.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Lies

You guys ready for almost twenty straight minutes of Angstdrien Depreste? Neither am I.

Let's get into the third (chronologically the second) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Lies (Oh, I get what they did there).

We open with Marinette struggling to decipher the grimoire she inherited from Fu, before two of the Kwamis screw around and play a video about Adrien.

Jesus Christ... it hasn't even been an episode since she broke up with Luka, and the writers are already back to making her simp over Adrien again. And this part of the episode takes place during “Truth”, where she's still dating Luka. This is supposedly meant to show her conflicting feelings regarding both Adrien and Luka, but it just comes across as yet another joke about Marinette simping over Adrien because the writers have forgotten she has other interests outside of her hero life.

And here we go. The writers are going to go out of their way to make the audience feel bad for Adrien in this episode by showing how tough his life is. What do we see him do that is allegedly so exhausting? He models for another statue, goes to a photoshoot, and then goes to some drama class where he repeats some phrase (I think it's supposed to be a warmup, but it's never explained why he's there in the first place). That's it. This is his definition of an “endless day”? Oh yeah, his life must be soooooooo hard.

Adrien is a rich white boy who is the son of one of the biggest names in fashion across the world, has legions of fans, an honest education, and is also one of the most beloved superheroes in the city while not having to struggle with the same responsibility his partner has. But no, Adrien's life is much harder than anyone else who has suffered this past year. It's yet another trick the writers are pulling to make people feel bad for Adrien instead of criticizing his behavior. I'm sorry, but I find it a little hard to relate to someone whose biggest problems amount his diamond shoes being too tight.

Good lord, I'm not even a minute in...

So Adrien transforms into Cat Noir and heads off to patrol. Keep in mind that the first part of this episode takes place during the events of “Truth”, so we see how he reacts to Ladybug not showing up for patrol. He waits for a while before he starts, but not before leaving a message for his partner.

Now, this moment honestly could have worked. What doesn't make it work is the air quotes Cat Noir starts off with. If he had said something like that honestly and kept his feelings a secret, it could have shown he understands the burden Ladybug has to bear now that she's the Guardian, but doesn't want to worry her. The problem is that the way he phrased the first sentence coupled with the air quotes make it seem like he doesn't care about what Ladybug has to deal with now, and only wants her to spend time with him.

You think I'm being overdramatic or I'm just jumping to conclusions? In the very next scene, Cat Noir actually tries to see if Mr. Ramier is emotional enough to get akumatized into Mr. Pigeon again just so he can see Ladybug.

This is just... why? Why would any of the writers expect the audience to feel bad for Cat Noir here? It's one thing for him to miss Ladybug's company, which is natural considering how much time they spend together, but wanting to start a life-threatening situation just to see Ladybug just isn't cool. What makes this any different from Chloe causing a subway to go out of control so she can save it herself, or Lila intentionally akumatizing herself and working with Hawkmoth just because she hates Ladybug? If you can find a reason other than “because the plot says so”, I'll want to hear an explanation.

So Cat Noir goes to Le Grand Paris to drown his sorrows in alcohol with his favorite drink, a White Russian without the vodka and coffee liqueur. Also, instead of cream, it's skim milk. And speaking of Chloe, we see her get into a brief squabble with Sabrina over missing a bag she has underneath her shoulder, and Cat Noir gets excited again at the prospect of getting to fight an Akuma, but thankfully, the situation is resolved fairly quickly.

Ignoring how unheroic this makes this supposed “superhero” look, I have a quick question. SHOULDN'T CHLOE BE IN PRISON RIGHT NOW? She essentially committed treason against her country by willingly conspiring with a terrorist. I get that everyone in Paris was paralyzed at the time, but did Ladybug not tell anyone what happened? How is she not in trouble? Did her father pardon her or something? Is she not even going to do any community service? You would think given how much Astruc hates her, Chloe would be forced to face more consequences for her actions other than losing her Miraculous permanently. Hopefully, “Queen Banana” will shed some light on Chloe's situation, but I'm not exactly holding my breath on that.

But yeah, Cat Noir actually gets excited at the prospect at fighting an akumatized Sabrina, while ignoring how cruel Chloe's being to her, because I guess it's a day that ends with a “Y”. Remember when Adrien actually called out  Lila and compromised with her in order to get Marinette back into school? Good times.

Cat Noir keeps calling and leaving messages for Ladybug, but changes his mind as soon as he sees Kagami, because he has the attention span of a puppy looking for someone to play with. Adrien stares at his phone's wallpaper of Ladybug, implying he still has feelings for her, and is then informed by Nathalie that his fencing class with Kagami was moved back by an hour. In reality, it was a trick by Kagami to get the two to spend some quality time together.

They choose to hang out in the art room because, get this, Kagami has always had a passion for drawing. Of course! That explains why it's never been mentioned in any earlier episodes, not even the one where she attended the premiere of an animated movie, which is a similar form of art. It's almost like the writers wanted to have Kagami do something that doesn't involve swinging a sword around. It's a good reason, mind you, but maybe if it was foreshadowed more, I would be more open to it.

Kagami says that she loves drawing because “art never lies”. Because it's not like someone can draw something completely inaccurate to what's actually being depicted, much like a certain character who likes to make up stories of people she knows to get others to like her, right? Kagami also says that her mother doesn't let her draw because she doesn't think her art isn't good, even though she's blind. Because when it comes to parents in Miraculous Ladybug, they're either amazing people who love their children, or they're emotionally abusive pieces of garbage who make you wonder why they even had kids in the first place. There is literally no middle ground. Maybe some of the writers have daddy issues?

So Kagami decides to draw a picture of Adrien, but wants him to give her a more “natural” pose instead of the standard model poses he usually gives.

Okay, this scene is raising so many red flags, the dialogue might as well be in semaphore. Where the hell did this side of Kagami come from? Why is she so controlling and forceful all of a sudden? In fact, why is she so obsessed with Adrien being “perfect”? The two made jokes before in the past (Desperada), and even spent half of the Season 3 finale playing around with Marinette? Why is she now Little Miss Serious?

Also, Kagami is really overstepping boundaries with Adrien here. Like, to a seriously uncomfortable degree. I get she isn't good with social cues, but how can she not see how anxious Adrien looks while she forces him into a pose, all while saying how wrong he is for doing what he sees as “natural”? This is not what a healthy relationship looks like, and spoiler alert, this isn't exactly why they even break up at the end of the episode.

Before the two can kiss while they're actually at fencing practice, Adrien is forced to leave Kagami to help Ladybug fight Mr. Pigeon (which means the narrative basically gave him what he wanted for no reason), leading to the same scene where Ladybug almost kills him, while he jokes about how he likes how angry she gets, and she apologizes for something that wasn't her fault. Just remember, he flirts with Ladybug right after he left his girlfriend to join her for an Akuma battle. The same montage from “Truth” happens, only it's Adrien missing opportunities to be close with Kagami, culminating with the little Kitty Section concert that happened right before Luka got akumatized.

While the two wait for their rides, Adrien accidentally drops the charm Marinette gave him all the way back in “Gamer”, which Kagami picks up. When he sees an Akuma flying, Adrien soon heads off to fight him, saving Ladybug from blowing her cover. After the events of “Truth”, Adrien apparently heads to Prince Ali's birthday party (yet Rose isn't there for some reason), meaning the second half of this episode takes place immediately after the previous one, even though it's been established that Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth needs time to recharge.

After Cat Noir flirts a little with Ladybug again, he heads off to the party to meet up with Kagami. When he had to leave to fight Truth, Adrien claimed that he left something on the Liberty, which Adrien later claims was the charm Marinette gave him. Kagami soon realizes he's lying about something, and doesn't take it well.

There's a good performance from Kagami's voice actress here, and it's a nice parallel to Luka, who also feels a sense of betrayal when Marinette can't be honest with him. But this scene does tie into the problem with Adrien and Kagami in this episode, and I'll get into it towards the end.

Kagami storms off, and is immediately akumatized by Shadowmoth, turning her into Lies.

Like Truth, the design here is really forgettable. The design is all white and gives Kagami a haircut that looks like it belongs in The Jetsons, but that's it. The one thing I like about her is the way her powers work. Instead of going from victim to victim, Lies creates an energy dome that slowly grows and paralyzes anyone has lied before in the past, which is basically everyone who comes into contact with it. It's a pretty interesting idea, and it means that Ladybug and Cat Noir have to rely more on strategy while avoiding any contact with the dome.

Adrien transforms into Cat Noir and charges into action, with Jagged Stone offering to help out.

I don't think you can say the same for your family, can you, Jagged?

Cat Noir tells Jagged to get to a safe place, but much like his one night stand with Anarka, he refuses to pull out, so he gets paralyzed by the dome, along with everyone in the building.

Ladybug meets up with Cat Noir and immediately summons her Lucky Charm, a remote control drone. Since it hasn't lied, it can go into the dome and be used as surveillance while Cat Noir distracts Lies. While it seems like nobody inside the dome can touch Lies, Ladybug realizes that Fang, Jagged Stone's pet crocodile, hasn't lied either, so she uses the drone to lure him out of the building.

Cat Noir thinks of a way to distract Lies by doing what he always does to increase the tension.

You know, I thought of a little game we could play. Why don't we count how many times Cat Noir sacrifices himself this season? So far, the Cat Noir Self-Kill Counter is at 1, but I'm guessing it will be higher the longer this season goes on.

So while Lies is distracted by Cat Noir's unconscious body, Fang runs over and breaks her corrupted object, Marinette's charm. So after using Miraculous Ladybug, Ladybug runs over and, for good reason, I may add, scolds Cat Noir for recklessly sacrificing himself yet again.

You know if this plan failed, not only would Shadowmoth get your Miraculous, but Ladybug would be all alone, you idiot! And we're supposed to find this reckless endangerment funny!? Seriously, Ladybug smiles at Cat Noir's stupid little quip as he still flirts with her right after he got into a fight with his girlfriend.

The next day, Adrien apologizes to Kagami, but she says she can't trust him, not as a boyfriend, and not as a friend either. And here is the problem with the Adrigami breakup. Like with the Lukanette breakup, it chooses to focus on one detail instead of the other, and glaringly obvious detail. The episode is trying to say that the whole reason Kagami and Adrien can't work as a couple is because of Adrien keeping his life as Cat Noir a secret. In reality, both of them have problems that they need to work on before they consider dating. Kagami has shown herself to be a massive control freak in this episode because of her own vision of what Adrien is like, showing she doesn't respect his boundaries or beliefs.

And Adrien? Where do I begin?

Adrien clearly shows several signs that he hasn't moved on from Ladybug with how much he flirts with her, even before he and Kagami got together, and there's the fact that unlike Marinette who realizes how she can't have a love life, it doesn't feel like Adrien actually learned that lesson.

We are supposed to see Adrien focusing on his secret life as Cat Noir as the responsible thing to do, and that like Ladybug, he needs to prioritize being Cat Noir over dating. The thing is that this episode has only showed how he doesn't take any of the hero stuff seriously. Throughout the episode, he treats being Cat Noir as a fun pasttime, when it comes to craving Ladybug's attention to the point where he's just short of causing an Akuma attack out of desperation until he sees someone else to spend time with, constantly flirts with Ladybug despite how annoyed she can come across, doesn't understand any of the stuff she has to deal with now that she's Guardian, and will sacrifice himself all so Ladybug can do all the work for him. He doesn't care about anything unless he gains something in return. It doesn't matter if lives are in danger, he thinks his personal feelings are more important because his civilian life is sO hAaArRd.

At one point when we were all kids, we all wanted to be superheroes because we all thought the idea of having superpowers and the freedom to do whatever we wanted sounded awesome. But that's not what being a hero is. We never thought about the responsibility that comes with being a superhero. One of the main themes of superhero media that we all watched growing up was that they would help us to learn right from wrong, and that sometimes, personal sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and our feelings just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things. Whether we learned this lesson from Superman, Spider-Man, Sailor Moon, the Power Rangers, or even the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, what matters is that by the time we reached the age of these heroes, we would have a similar moral compass so we would understand why these heroes would make some of the choices they did, and we would be able to make similar choices if we encountered situations like the ones they went through.

Part of growing up is realizing that being a superhero isn't all fun and games. Sometimes, you need to put your own personal desires aside to make sure nobody gets hurt because of something you did or didn't do. We are currently in the fourth season of this show, and after 82 episodes, Cat Noir has still failed to learn that lesson. He doesn't understand that even if his “true self” is clowning around, that's not how a hero acts. You don't see Batman or Captain America acting this way, and you don't see real life soldiers or emergency workers acting this way either.

And that's not even getting into the fact that this is the same problem the Lukanette breakup had. Even though Marinette had a valid reason to break things off with Luka because she realized being Guardian was more important, the narrative framed it like she was still into Adrien, no matter if she was making an effort to get over him. Likewise, even though both Adrien and Kagami have issues the narrative refuses to actually acknowledge, they frame it as Adrien's hero life was ruining their relationship, when in reality, the reasons for both the Adrigami breakup and the Lukanette breakup should have been flipped. “Truth” should have been about Marinette coming to terms with her new responsibilities as the Guardian, and “Lies” should have been about Adrien realizing he needs to work on his own personal issues before he considers his feelings for Kagami or Ladybug.

So the episode just ends with Ladybug and Cat Noir saying that even if they have to keep secrets about their identities, they can still trust each other. Also, before Kagami dumped him, Adrien reaffirmed his feelings for Ladybug (the only time they were actually referenced outside of flirting and his phone's wallpaper), which implies that Adrien is going to continue to pursue Ladybug, having learned nothing from this whole episode.

You know, after watching both this episode and “Truth”,  and seeing how it undid two of the major changes from the Season 3 finale, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all? Does it almost feel like you've been here before? How am I gonna be a optimist about this? Hell if I know, this episode's honestly worse than “Truth” was.

Put aside your feelings on the Adrigami breakup, the pacing here was awful. Because the writers thought it would be interesting to have some continuity for once by having it take place right after “Truth”, the timeline is incredibly confusing. Can Shadowmoth just create more Akumas at once without having to recharge? And shouldn't Ladybug and Cat Noir be exhausted from having to fight two Akumas and a Sentimonster in one day?

Even then, about half of the episode was spent following Adrien as he whined about how hard he supposedly has it, proving despite what Astruc continues to state, he is far from perfect, and like what he loves to say about Chloe, refuses to change. Wow, that's so interesting. And we're supposed to feel bad for Cat Noir and be mad at Ladybug for missing their patrol, forgetting everything she's been going through in the last week, considering how Gabriel just fixed the Peacock Miraculous, suggesting that the events of “Truth” and “Lies” happened not too long after “Miracle Queen”. Even the Akuma fight wasn't that interesting because it was crammed into about five minutes thanks to everything else going on in this episode.

In an attempt to make the audience sympathize with him, this episode only made me loathe the way Adrien is portrayed even more. Seriously, he reaches “Frozer” levels of unlikability in this episode. Maybe he'll get some much needed character development, but given how much Astruc will put him on a pedestal and ignore his flaws, I don't think it's going to happen anytime soon.

But I still don't see the point of spending so much time building up this relationship for two seasons just to end it as soon as they hook up. At the end of the day, all Lukanette and Adrigami amounted to was filler. It was a way to get in some romantic scenes for the fans while the writers continue to drag out the Love Square drama like a taffy puller. And now that Luka and Kagami have served their purpose, watch as Astruc and the other writers start to slowly remove them from the narrative until they appear about as often as Nino does now.

After all, why care about anything in this show that isn’t related to the Love Square? It’s clear none of the writers do.

[leejeongz]

nsfw a-z YOSHI (treasure)

🔅 for @ateezwhorez i hope you enjoy this honey 🥺❤️ dw the others should be written soon tooooo 🔅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

he just feels cuddly and swoony. he’s in love with you, even more so than before even though he didn’t think that was possible. he loves to cuddle with you, just until you catch your breath again at least. he’s still still high from the whole experience, it’s the perfect time to be open and show your vulnerability even more. it’s less about the physical things he does for you, more about how you two deepen your relationship even further. he uses this time to have deep chats that slowly fade into more light hearted conversations before drifting off to sleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his eyes are his favourite thing about him i think. he likes how you can understand what he wants just from looking into them. they’re intense and needy, oppressive even. they’re infatuating. they’re his secret weapon to make you obey him without even realising what you’re doing.

on you, he likes your lips. he likes how they feel on his own lips, on his neck, around his dick, anywhere and everywhere. he also just thinks they look pretty and are the perfect colour naturally, actually something he noticed about you first which he found really attractive.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

doesn’t like to make a mess at first… might even cum in a tissue the first few times because he thinks it’s more respectful.

but when he’s comfortable and such, he’d love to cum all over your hands after you finished him off with a handjob, he thinks it looks really hot and it’s enough to get him horny again hehe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he often imagines how you'd look tied up in front of him. at his disposal. his fantasies are actually super kinky but he very rarely tells you them. he’d probably never tie you up to the extent that he dreams of doing because he doesn’t want to hurt you and he thinks of you as quite fragile 🥺

i wanna do another because my wild card was kinda short this time but he would l o v e to do a life drawing of you. like this isn’t even sexual but i don’t wanna get attacked if i write this on something that is fluff lol. it would be something that he’d treasure and something that he would be so proud of. to make it dirty since it’s a dirty secret 👀 he had a few intrusive thoughts while he drew you and found it super hard to stay hyperfocused on the drawing. if you tried to flirt with him while modelling, he’d just tell you to save it for later and that’s when he’d unleash the beast lol.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

1 sexual partner with whom he was in a relationship with. he doesn’t think about it much and when he’s with you, he’s very much focused on you. one look at you and he’s forgotten about them already.

he knows what he’s doing for the most part, but sometimes he just wants to learn new things with you, together.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he likes facing you: missionary and cowgirl, depending on what feels natural at the time. he likes bringing his face close to yours and hovering his lips over yours, occasionally touching with every thrust. enough to feel the other’s breath, but not enough to actually kiss.

once the pace has slowed a little, he’ll give you the kiss he’s been teasing you with for what feels like hours just so that you’ll appreciate it and enjoy it all the more.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s quite serious in the moment. he wants to make sure that you’re enjoying yourself and that he’s doing the absolute most to exceed any expectations each and every time.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he naturally doesn’t have much hair down there. he trims what he has and keeps it tidy since he feels it’s more intimate.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

most of the time, he’s extremely romantic during sex. he’s very into slow and sensual sex that allows you two to bond physically and emotionally. it’s important to him that he understands your wants and needs as his partner and vice versa, making the whole experience super romantic.

but that’s not all the time. sometimes he just wants to rip off your clothes and have his way with you and that’s ✨totally fine✨

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i feel like he’s a typical laptop on desk, tissues besides him type of guy. he doesn’t do it too often, but when he does he has to fully commit because there is absolutely no way he’s stopping for anything/anyone that isn’t you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he’s not that kinky, he’s a vanilla man. i’ll just list some sexual things that he likes hehe

whispering- he likes when you whisper close to his ear and he likes doing it to you. the tingling down his neck is intoxicating, he can’t help but want to feel it again and again. what you say is important too. he likes receiving praise. saying things like “you make me so wet” or “you turn me on so much” makes him so happy, it’s a great way to drive him crazy.

ropes- not to an extreme level, just one rope to tie your hands together behind you or in front of you.

eye contact- he likes that his eyes intimidate you of course, but you pushing past that and maintaining eye contact makes him feel a rush to MAKE you feel intimidated. he wants you to feel like he’s in charge (even if he’s not) and if he can’t do that with his eyes, then it’s pretty much over for him, but he likes that fact that you stood up to him and it turns him tf on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

he likes sex in bed or on the floor. anywhere that he or you can lie comfortably. he likes fucking you in hotel beds. although it’s not really that dirty, it is for you two.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

gentle strokes- he likes when you trace his jawline or collarbones with your fingers, especially when you have long nails. he almost always returns the favour. he likes gently dragging his finger up and down your thigh before and between rubbing your pussy.

directness- tell him you’re turned on. tell him why you’re turned on. tell him how he turned you on. tell him how you feel and why you think he should feel the same way to. by the end of your talk, he’s gurenteed to feel the same way.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

angry sex/sex during an argument.

he wants to settle things properly first. sex isn’t a solution nor is it forgiveness. the only way he can truly be intimate with you is when you’re both happy and when you’re both on the same page. “angry” sex like that is meaningless to him, the argument mustn’t have been important if you can just forget about it so why can’t you just talk it through?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s naturally a giver and oral (sex in general) is no exception. he wants you to be able to allow yourself to receive instead of forcing it upon you if you’re not used to it. he introduces his tongue slowly and always asks if what he’s doing is okay. even if you are used to it, he’s always gonna build up to it. he likes when you take the lead even when he’s eating you out, he likes when you’re giving him directions or your hands are in his hair, controlling him, because then he knows that what he’s doing is right.

not too fussed about receiving head. of course he would never say no, but he’s not one to ask for one just to finish without pleasuring you. he’s eyes are closed during the whole thing and and he lets out small, quiet cusses which he knows turn you on. also says nice stuff to you (when he can get the words out) while you’re sucking his dick because 🥺 he is nice.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

as i mentioned before, he’s slow and sensual. he keeps the experience extremely romantic and memorable. it leaves you wanting more and he knows.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not his style. at all. he likes to draw out the details, take his time with you, ensure you've both been treated and pleasured sufficiently.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’d only experiment with things that you’d tried before or things you’ve researched. he doesn’t wanna try anything new to the pair of you especially early on because he doesn’t wanna hurt you or leave a bad impression or anything like that. he’d never spring anything on you that you hadn’t discusssed either.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

2-3 rounds, but it totally depends on you. how much you want, how much you turn him on after, how tired you are etc.

he usually lasts for around 20 mins but needs like a 10 second breather sometimes

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i don’t see him owning any toys but i don’t think he’d be opposed to using them. if you wanted to use them, great fantastic he’d get straight to it. he would definitely like to try them for himself at least once too.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he doesn’t tease you much, because he’d rather just do it? but i guess if you’d consider extended foreplay to the point where you have to beg him to fuck you as teasing then he’s the master lol. oH and also doesn’t just kiss you during sex, he definitely teases with those.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

tries to hold his moans and cusses back but fails lol. they’re quiet and soft but you can still hear them. he gets kind of shy about them after sex too and he doesn’t really like it when you bring it up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“take it off” he orders, looking directly at your chest. you remove your tshirt on command and throw it to the ground. he walks towards you, backing you into the wall behind you. it was a harsh and sudden coldness on your back, but there was something even colder in front of you. his eyes glared at you, which subconsciously made you remove your bra.

“so fucking beautiful” he growled while taking one of your breasts in his hand. it wasn’t long before he started with his tongue. he circled your nipple with his tongue while he played with the other one in his hand. your head automatically fell back, luckily resting on the wall. he slowly began to flick your nipple with his tongue before gently kissing it and moving to the other one.

your hand found its way to his hair, grabbing it and pulling it a little. you occasionally let out small gasps, which almost always made him look up at you and smile.

after a few minutes, he stood up once again, head buried in your neck as he whispered what he wanted you to do for him next.

“please, make me cum. you've turned me on so much tonight.”

that’s when it all started making sense. you’d been bowling that night with friends. this involved a lot of bending over, a lot of casual skin touches when neither of you were bowling and a LOT of whispering closely in his ear since the music was so loud. you knew he liked it when you whispered, but you didn’t know even in that context that it would send shivers down your spine. you stored that info, maybe you’d use that against him one day after he’d been teasing you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

i think average, with just a little under average thickness. i’m not sure if you can ever call a dick pretty but i feel with yoshi it would be justified, especially when it’s hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i’m pretty sure it varies depending on your type of relationship. if you are a romantic partner, 3-4 times a week. if it’s just a fling, once maybe twice a week at most. he has a naturally high sex drive, but he’s less likely to take his time with someone he has no feelings for meaning he doesn’t really crave sex as often as he would with someone he’s romantically involved with.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

as i mentioned above, yoshi wants to talk to you and connect with you even further after sex. he falls asleep when he’s ready to fall asleep, which is after he’s learnt something about you that makes his heart flutter, that he can tease you about later on.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 2 (Rivalry)

Summary: Growing up with your best friend is the greatest joy, the greatest nuisance, the greatest heartache. (The one where they kiss after their fight in Radiant Garden). || Word Count: 6,705

Read on AO3

A/N: My submission for the second day of @terraquaweek !! Title is from a quote from Eraqus from BBS. It’s pretty much the only line in the game that sums up Terra and Aqua, and it’s partly the reason why they’re so amazing. This whole rivals to lovers thing is so much like enemies to lovers and I WANT TO EAT IT ALL. I’m especially proud of this one - I had so much writing it!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

for when equal powers clash, their nature is revealed

CHILDHOOD

 It was a strange dream but she doesn’t remember it when she wakes up, just that it left her with a coppery taste in her mouth and a fog blanketing her thoughts. Something is coming, and she can’t prepare for it. 

Aqua decides to tell her best friend about it. 

Terra is waiting for her in the woods. They like to hike to the lake, to listen to the birds in the summer. They like to spar away from the training grounds of the castle sometimes, away from the Master’s eyes so they could practice without any scrutiny. She’s grateful to have Terra—he’s just as crazy as her when it comes to their studies. Books past midnight? Sign me up. Spar for five hours? Your ass is grass. Forgo an entire night of sleep to talk about outside worlds, about their worries, their pride, finally being a Master? We won’t be efficient for training tomorrow, but here’s what I’m thinking. 

She finds him at the mouth of the forest, a trail down from the waterfall. Terra is lobbing balls of fire, an excited grin on his face, itching to get moving. Too much energy for a fourteen-year-old in the morning. 

“What does that mean?” Terra asks her when she describes the dream.

Well, she can’t really describe it. Nothing happened. Darkness. Questions spoken in her head, worries that there was a darker darkness moving around in the shadows stalking her. A nagging suspicion that inside its mouth was something she should have pulled out. 

“Nothing’s going to get you here. You’re safe,” Terra says, though she doesn’t need reassurance. “Should we go back?” 

“No, please.” Aqua keeps her nose high. “The lake is a good place to rest.”

But they wouldn’t rest. They both love the thrill: training their magic, the thought of an upcoming exam two weeks from now, essays. They can’t help themselves. 

Terra punches the air, an energy blast shooting out from his arm. Another fire spell, his favorite. When he gets too involved though, too much, he becomes obsessive—obsessed with winning, obsessed with tripping her up, obsessed with outlasting her. The fury in how he builds his attacks is what makes Terra a dangerous opponent.

He’s perfect.

Aqua dodges and summons an ice spell to repel him, sweeping her kick so it spreads out. That’s the best strategy—tire him out, make him run after her, evade and exhaust, evade and exhaust, strike him when he’s almost done. 

Pull. She hears. Pull from it.

One of his attacks breaks her barrier, and she grins, twirling while she heals herself. Every moment she stumbles is another opportunity to learn how to beat him. They’ll talk about their duel after they finish. They’ll gloss over technique and how to improve. Every time they spar, their bond is reforged, connected, strengthened, unbreakable. 

Terra throws another blow. 

Pull.

This one catches her off guard. 

Aqua gasps and shields herself with her arm without a spell to protect her. Terra chokes on her name, too late to warn her.

A light explodes in her face, a flash of flower petals, a spell so instinctual she can’t articulate where it comes from. Her hand wraps around metal, as though an invisible hand has shoved it to her, strong but as light as her feet, a thrum deep underneath, a heartbeat. Its arrival blocks the attack with a barrier.

“A-Aqua?”

She holds her Keyblade in her hand. 

“Huh.” Terra grimaces, stepping back. 

The Keyblade is curved, striking at the tips, like a slice of movement. Blue and silver, a cool brush of a touch as chilling as snow on her fingertips but warm all the same, the feeling of a beloved embracing her. Aqua jumps in excitement, squealing. She had drawn images in her journal for what it would look like. This is better, much more beautiful.

“I don’t have a name for it, yet,” she says, laughing.

Terra doesn’t laugh with her. “Congrats,” he says, his enthusiasm on a chokehold, his hand rubbing his hip because it can’t find his pocket. 

Oh. He’s two years older than her, the first child to come to the Land of Departure, and he can’t conjure his Keyblade yet.

“Terra?”

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“Wait.” She follows him into the thicket. He’s speedwalking, trying to get away from her. “Don’t be sad. Yours will come soon.” He doesn’t slow down. “Maybe I can help.”

Terra scoffs, scorched. At least he stops. “Or maybe not.”

Aqua fiddles with the tip of her wonderful Keyblade, rolling it onto her palm. “I was thinking how happy I was sparring with you. We’re best friends and I was thinking that…” Heat pools into her cheeks. “I was thinking we’d be best friends forever. Then she came to me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “That’s nice.”

“I summoned mine in the middle of danger,” she offers. “Maybe you need the same.”

He arches a brow. But he softens, blinking back tears. “You think that would work?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could tie you down. I can cover you in ice.”

Terra’s face contorts, as if stopping a snort. “That’s the best you can offer?”

“Should I hang you by your toes and put leeches in your shirt?”

Terra cracks a smirk and she sighs, relieved. 

Once he’s able to summon his own Keyblade, they could go home and declare the semester over. The Master will be so impressed. 

Aqua calls for an ice spell to stay near. With the Keyblade, it’s much more natural, as if the chasm she normally has to pray through is now a step away. “I won’t hold back,” she warns.

Terra brings his fists together, heat simmering off his skin as a fire spell starts to build. “Good.”

He is the first to strike. Aqua dodges as the flames lick under her shoes, swinging her Keyblade forward. Ice sparks out from its tip and shoots forward in a straight line. It’s so much easier to aim now. Terra sways his hands into a cupping motion, as if picking up dirt into a bowl. Flames burst out of the ground, creating a wall that melts the ice before it hits him.

But Terra has a huge disadvantage: because she’s faster at summoning spells with the Keyblade, she can race around him, dodging everything he comes up with. He’s stuck in one spot, forced to place all his focus on bringing his magic to him in order to pull from it, the worst kind of exposure in a battlefield imaginable.

He wants this, doesn’t he? To be pushed into summoning it?

“Don’t hold back,” he says when she hesitates. He throws a burst of thunder at her. 

“Terra, I don’t like this.”

“You promised,” Terra says, closing a fist. He takes several moments to meditate on a spell, and Aqua stops. He’s trying to summon ice, a weaker command for him. But Terra is smart and Terra is capable. He pushes what he’s conjured with a force strong enough to crush her into a tree. 

She clicks her tongue when he follows that immediately with a fire spell. It nearly singes her hair, and she retaliates in kind—ten fold. Her fire hits him directly on the shoulder, sputtering onto the bush behind him, spreading like wings on the greenery, blackening the tree nearby and jumping to others. 

“Aqua!” Terra grips his shoulder and gapes at the collateral, which is moving too fast to seem real.

“Terra, we have to—”

“Come on!”

Ignoring his injury, he scrambles towards the lake, Aqua following close behind. The forest fire beats heavy behind them, a nasty gray suffocating the sky. The heat molts onto them, the smoke thick and invasive, visibility covered by a layer of graininess. Terra throws himself into the lake and draws a circle on the surface with his good hand. The smoke is now black.

“You need to heal first,” Aqua says, coming up behind him and placing her hand on his shoulder, whispering a spell. Green petals kiss his charred shirt, and he can move his arm better, gathering the water into an invisible bowl to carry back. 

Aqua does the same. She tries sealing the fire with her Keyblade so it stops spreading so far. So much work that seems like it’s doing nothing. So much earth that Terra is throwing onto the fire when the water sizzles away. Aqua almost collapses from the adrenaline keeping her standing, from the sweat and soot filling her eyes, from coughing but no matter how much, she can’t clear her throat. 

The Master finally arrives and points his Keyblade into the sky. A storm cloud gathers, a wave of water to hush everything. Aqua doesn’t know what comes next, only that Terra is picking her up in his arms.

It isn’t until after she wakes up in the infirmary that she realizes what a shithole they’ve dug themselves into.

It’s raining, trickling down the small window that sits above the bed, behind the pillow. Wooden shelves line the walls, filled with potions that she can pronounce and ones that she can’t. Some are so expired the Master has never opened them. Flasks, beakers, needles, syringes, scalpels, gloves spread across the table. Medical books about the nervous system and the heart are plenty here. There should be two about herbal remedies, but they’re gone.

She hears the Master and Terra bickering on the other side of the door.

“Am I to believe,” the Master says, icy and sharp, “the day she summons her Keyblade for the first time and a sudden, devastating forest fire is to be simply spooned together as a coincidence?”

Terra is quiet at first. “No, Master.”

“Of course not,” he bites.

“I was angry, sir.” This shocks Aqua. “I couldn’t control my magic for a moment.”

That’s not true. He needs to say it was her fault. She didn’t know her own strength and she tried too hard—

The Master scoffs. “I am so disappointed,” he says, his voice shaking in a way she’s never heard before. “I do not have the words. I can’t bear to look at you.”

Her heart sinks. She can’t imagine. She can’t imagine how awful Terra must feel. 

The door opens, and Terra slips inside with a gathering of fresh herbs in his hand. His face is ashen and pale. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice brittle. He’s about to sob.

Aqua moves and flinches. Her arm. “Ugh.”

“Don’t move.” He rips the leaves off and stuffs them into a mortar. “Your arm is badly burnt. The Master already healed you, but you need longer term care.” Somehow, he doesn’t cry.

Aqua pulls the sheet over her down. Red splotches trail from the shoulder down to the elbow. The Master took care of the severe scarring, but it hurts like she’s still in a pyre. “The fire?”

Terra sniffs and mixes the herbs with the pestle. “The Master took care of it. He hasn’t given me my punishment yet.” Briskly, he approaches her, spreading the concoction over her skin. “This should work better than a potion.”

“Our herb master,” she says, hoping it would make him smile. It doesn’t. Terra has dedicated himself to potion making and teas, considering that healing spells are hardest for him. When he finishes balming her in the mix, he reaches for bandages, holding her by the wrist so he can wrap the entire arm. “You shouldn’t move this for a while.”

“Terra?”

He doesn’t look at her, pinning the bandages in place. 

“Thank you,” she says.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Terra climbs into the bed with her. It’s a narrow cot, the mattress thin and overused, the sheets washed too many times that its threads fray. Terra holds her good hand, bringing it up between their faces. Tears roll down his cheeks and pool on the pillow. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, “right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. The mix soothes the superficial burns but it takes its time relieving the stabbing pain that comes with such an intense injury. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

Terra frowns, staring at the folds of the pillow under his face. “I didn’t want him yelling at you.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow—”

“Nah.” He wills a smirk and it looks fake. “We should… celebrate your accomplishment, you know?”

For some reason, it makes her guilty. “Are you really that mad at me?”

“What? No.” He bites his lip. “No, I just… I’m stupid.”

Aqua stares at him. “You’re not.” 

He scoffs. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t fail at the most basic part of being a wielder.”

“Your Keyblade?”

He shakes his head. It’s not fair.

“Why didn’t it come?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs.

Aqua gives his hand a light squeeze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“Pssh. Maybe?” He grins.

She would hit him on the shoulder, but she hurts too much. “Maybe my approach isn’t your approach.”

“Meaning what?”

“Maybe your Light needs something different.”

His smile falls, like that of a lost and abandoned child. “But I don’t know what it wants from me.”

“Hmmm.” Aqua thinks hard, staring at the way his eyebrows furrow as he thinks with her. “You like to protect.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe your Keyblade isn’t about connecting with others or making friends like mine is. Maybe you’re happiest protecting and taking care of them.”

Terra purses his lips, blushing. “I guess.”

“Look.” She lifts her bandaged elbow, wincing. “You took care of me.”

“I took care of a sap.”

“Who was the one crying over me?”

“My secret evil twin. He wants to make me look bad.”

“What kind of a joke is that?” She sticks her tongue out. “Sometimes, I hate your face.”

Terra laughs for real this time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

BEFORE THE EXAM

 The books she needs are not where they’re supposed to be on the shelf.

“Terra!” she calls. 

“Shhh,” she hears from the other side. Terra is sitting on one of the numerous tables in the library, a long, five-story ballroom with windows for walls, the ceiling a skylight. It allows for the sun to beam on them from all directions, on ornate gold-plated shelves with ladders on wheels for the books out of reach. Of all the desks he could have chosen, figures he’d be right here where she’s frantically searching, just to spite her. “We’re in a library,” he says, voice low.

Aqua refuses to whisper. “We’re the only ones here.”

“How rude.”

“To who?”

Terra gestures to the open book splayed under his hand. “I’m reading.”

He has seven other books stacked next to his parchment and pen. Preliminaries start tomorrow—the preliminaries that would determine their eligibility for the Mark of Mastery next year—and essays are due. 

On top of the stack is Darkness and the War for Light, right above The Stars As Your Guides and the ever-necessary Affairs of the Heart.

“I need those,” she says.

“You know the rules—”

“They’re arbitrary.”

“—first dibs, first reads.”

“You can’t read them all at once.”

“Watch me, I’m impressive.” Terra bites his lip to restrain a snort, those deep eyes waiting for her reaction, his strong cheekbones suspended in a smirk. She wants to punch him in the face. 

Aqua exhales. Without saying a word, she snatches the book at the top of the stack before he could stop her, bolting for the other side of the table. Terra scrambles out of his chair, tackling her from her behind so he could yank it out of her arms. She’s laughing under the weight of his chest, heat rising to her cheeks.

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” she warns. 

Terra snorts, his breath brushing her shoulder. “Really?” He grips the book and pulls. He’s stronger than her and they both know it.

The trick to defeating an opponent so much larger than you is to hit them at their most exposed. Aqua elbows him in the gut, and leaves Terra clutching his side so she could take a seat at the table, where her own unfinished essay awaits. 

“I guess that’s fair,” he groans.

“You sought a challenge, so accept your defeat.”

Aqua flips pages of Darkness—this year, it was especially important that they recognize signs of Darkness lurking near. Rage, scheming, impure intentions, greed, selfishness, fear. They’re present in subtle ways. Sometimes people act without realizing. Sometimes people are fully aware. Both are dangerous.

She grunts when she’s shoved over. 

Terra brings his parchment with him when he fills her seat, his hips so wide that she’s left with the corner. 

“It could be more comfortable,” he complains. His body is warm.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing my essay, but you took my book.”

The one he wasn’t using. Aqua inhales. “Terra—”

“I had first dibs. You broke the honor code, so you left me with no choice.” He smirks. His face is nose to nose with hers, and she imagines closing the gap. “We can share.”

“Fine,” she musters, averting her gaze. It’s awkward staring at him when his eyes look like they’re about to swallow hers.

They work. The book sits between their respective essays, the scratch of pen on paper the only noise filling the room, especially when he strikes long lines across words he no longer wants. He leans over her shoulder to read, his breath heavy on her cheek. If they were in different places, if he had her in an embrace, she could probably feel for his heartbeat. 

Though this isn’t something she should be thinking about right now, not when she’s trying to read the three tenants in combating the Darkness. Vow Number One: Do not give yourself to Temptation. 

“You’re very distracting,” he says, his voice so close to her ear that it sounds like yelling. 

She jumps. He took the words right out of her mouth. “Speak for yourself. You’re too big for this chair.”

“There’s one right next to you.” She could hear how much he loves this.

“I sat here first.”

He leans back and wraps his arm around the backrest. “I have to defend my space.”

“Then you can squirm.”

He huffs, and it suspiciously sounds like he’s pleased with that. Aqua reads a sentence, scans the current page, and flips to the next one.

Terra swats her hand and turns it back. “I wasn’t finished with that one.”

Aqua would scream if she already didn’t enjoy this. She’ll never admit that out loud. “So you’re just,” she starts slowly, “going to police how fast I read this book?”

“Depends on where I am.” 

“You’re slowing me down.”

“You’re not being considerate.”

“I can do the same thing.” She flips the page back to her spot. 

“Aqua,” he warns.

“Oh, you didn’t like that?” Aqua smirks at him. 

He eyes her and smiles. “You make me want to scream.”

Like a mind reader. “Don’t forget—we’re in a library.”

“Okay.” He pulls the book closer to him.

“Okay.” She pulls it back. 

Terra strengthens his grip on the book, leaning forward and wrapping his other arm around her waist. To use her as a counter-weight, to push off of her so he can claim the prize, Aqua knows this, but her heart jumps at the touch. He drives her crazy in the most delicious way. He’s addictive.

“Nice to see my students finding some time for leisure,” the Master’s voice says, approaching them from the entrance. “A healthy activity during such a time of stress, if I do say so myself. I commend the both of you.”

Aqua doesn’t know about healthy when she’s thinking about all manners of touching. Terra slips away from her. Is the Master being facetious? Should they move to different chairs? Or would that make them look more guilty?

“Terra is deliberately sabotaging my essay,” Aqua says, voice shaky, her sleeve coming up to cover her blush. Terra has his elbows on the table, both of his fists hiding the lower half of his face.

Eraqus tucks a binder under his arm, glancing over their work. Aqua isn’t sure if she’s seeing things, but she swears that’s a smirk underneath his moustache.

“Well,” he says. “These will be the last essays you will write, if everything runs smoothly tomorrow. Quite a reward for all these years of hard work, yes?”

Terra and Aqua nod. 

Eraqus nods along with them, as awkward as the collapse of clothes leaving you naked. “Don’t work too hard,” he advises, and Aqua wants to melt under the table. “Tomorrow will come regardless. Enjoy the time when it is good.”

The Master leaves the library with a different atmosphere. 

“Last essay ever,” Terra repeats, mumbling to himself. He’s frowning. They don’t make a move to a different chair, as if doing so would have admitted some secret neither of them even know but nevertheless, they don’t want anyone else to find out. “Then there’s next year.”

Next year.

Some of Terra’s pages have whole paragraphs crossed out. Maybe that’s why he’s better than her at essay-writing. He goes beyond. He’ll scrub out parts he’s already written when he realizes they no longer serve him, drenched in ink blots when he notices small errors. Even with a complete essay, Terra will rewrite it from scratch, to prepare clean pages with no mistakes. Aqua doesn’t consider herself lazy with essays. She just never had a difficult time writing something the Master will want to read.

But all the effort Terra puts into his work means that he considers angles she’s never thought of before. On the subject of Darkness and Temptation, Terra writes: The Master of Masters writes of Temptation: “To tempt a snake for its loyalty reaps safety in the future,” (Affairs of the Heart, pg. 236). Giving in to Temptation when a Light is about to expire harbors selfishness, and that beacons the Darkness to cloud our minds. If we are doubtful, we too welcome the Darkness. However, if we deny the very thing our Hearts want, when we should be following Them as our closest allies, then we are unable to persevere. I question whether Temptation can only have negative connotations. Our duty is to make sure the Light is in balance, and perseverance is key. How are we supposed to keep the Light bright if ours are too dim? Should we not enjoy our own lives as we see fit, follow our Hearts to bring us fulfillment? Should we not make love, or enjoy the dessert we bake? These trivialities are the very thing people hold dear and protect. It is not our calling to enjoy them, but if we are, then our Hearts are at peace. If happiness is shared, then it is Light worth protecting, even our own. It feeds our strength.

Aqua can’t write like that.

Tomorrow, they’ll spar under the Master’s scrutiny. If they pass, they’ll do it again next year and finish their studies once and for all. Ever since Terra conjured his Keyblade, he’s treated his fights like he’s a bulldozer. Tricky to outmaneuver, keeping her on her toes. 

He’s still the best sparring partner she could ask for, the best teacher when it comes to outlasting opponents. Her only equal.

“I’m nowhere near finished,” Aqua says. 

“Looks like we’re both pulling all-nighters tonight.”

Aqua sighs, and this prompts Terra to hold her hand under the table, interlacing their fingers together. She wants to curl into him, feel what it’s like to really hold him close. 

“We’re going to do fine.” Terra says, his voice soft, but he’s so close he fills her mind and every sensation in her body. He rubs her thumb with his. 

“All-nighters aren’t pleasant,” she says, thinking ahead to a yard of headaches and yawns. “We’ll need energy.” This is the first opportunity to stand up. “I can make coffee and tea for us.”

“And lots of food.” Terra stands with her. “Protein. Nuts are good for energy boosts. I can make us enough meals to sustain us for the rest of the night.”

They’re speaking with the intention to leave something behind that they don’t want to address, packaging their words away from the obvious. Aqua fiddles with her fingers.

Terra moves his essay over. “Maybe we should work on opposite ends of the table,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice is shy. 

“So we can focus.”

“Yeah.” He sounds desperate to agree but also…disappointed? “You can take the book. For now. Consider it my peace offering.” 

“It wasn’t an honorable battle to begin with.” She moves hers over too, measuring in her mind how big of a feast they’d fill the table with. They’ll need more, enough for Ven to pig out every once in a while.

“Says the cheater.”

“You were the one stealing my book!”

“You broke the rules.”

“It wasn’t a fair setup.”

“Aqua, I’m shocked.” Terra feigns displeasure, holding his hand over his heart. “I thought I knew you better.” 

She groans. She hates his beautiful, impeccable face sometimes. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THEN...

 The conversation is a combustion she can’t prevent from happening. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

“And what is this dangerous task, Terra?” she asks, refusing to believe he’d test the teachings they both held so dear. After all these years. That he’d squander his chances at convincing Eraqus to give him the Mark of Mastery. “It doesn’t sound like what the Master told you to do.”

“It might be a different route, but I’m fighting the Darkness.”

“I’m not so sure. I’ve been to the same worlds as you and I’ve seen what you’ve done. You shouldn’t put yourself so close to the Darkness.”

Ven interjects. “Listen to yourself, Aqua. Terra would never—”

“You mean you’ve been spying on me?” Terra says, his eyes narrowing. To see his beautiful face this hurt—stars, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She should shut up. “Is that what he said to do? The Master’s orders?”

What is she to do? What else does he expect? “He was only…”

Quietly, he says, “I get it,” like the silence in a coffin. 

“Terra—”

“Just stay put! I’m on my own now, all right?”

“Terra, please! Listen! The Master has no reason to distrust you, really! He was just worried.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. Terra is not like this, he’s never like this, turning his back, walking away, leaving her to stand and watch him go. 

“Why?” Ven asks her. “Why would you do this? You’re letting this whole Master thing get to your head.”

Terra has never said that about her, even when pushed. They’ve been pushed and pushed, how is she supposed to mend the tear now? 

“I’ll be right back.”

“He’s really pissed.”

“Stay here.”

“I won’t.” 

Aqua stops. A lot is changing and she can’t keep up. “But Ven—”

Ven purses his lips. “I’ll give you guys some time alone. Then I’m going after him.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. She is the odd one out, the one that shouldn’t follow Terra, the one that broke some sort of code by choosing to side with the Master. They should be on the same side. 

“Be safe, please?”

Ven nods, but he isn’t happy about it.

Aqua crosses the alleyway, opening an ornate gate that leads into the town square. Radiant Garden is pretty; they arrived just in time for spring, where the dandelions are yellow and the town is painted in herbal colors. But Aqua can’t get herself to enjoy the view. She can’t appreciate the architecture, the castle, the clock tower, the townsfolk selling their wares, the gentle sunset, not when her heart is collapsing into a growing, weighted pit. Nothing else and no one else exists in the seconds she dashes down the streets.

“Terra!” 

He’s heading towards the city gates, where she assumes he’ll summon his glider and fly away. 

Aqua speeds up as fast as she can, feeling she’s still too slow. He’s about to disappear if she can’t break her bones and fly. She grabs him by the shoulder. “Terra, please. I don’t want the conversation to end the way it did.” 

“Aqua,” he grunts, stepping out of her touch and crossing his arms. “Not now, okay?”

He’s about to turn on her. Don’t let this be the last image she sees.

She hugs him by his waist and buries her face into his shoulder. “Please don’t leave.”

He tenses.

“Please?” 

She doesn’t know what to say. Apologize? For doing what’s expected of her? Shouldn’t he know this?

Shouldn’t she understand on some level, after all these years, that sometimes Terra is way more important than her duties? That she should stand up for him when it’s called for?

When Terra finally wraps his arms around her, she squeezes him tighter, hoping the loss of words would translate. How many minutes does she have left before she has to let go?

Terra splayes his hand on her back, as if to prompt her to loosen up. “I need to go.”

“There’s so much we need to talk about.” Why is her heart pounding this hard?

“I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“I feel so awful for what I’ve said.”

Terra doesn’t reply.

Aqua doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, why she can’t trust in anything, let alone the faith that their bond is unbreakable when she is witnessing how it’s cracking under the pressure. She grabs his face and kisses him, the taste of his mouth unique, warm, sweet, more than she hoped for. 

Terra seizes her when he kisses back. He wants another. And another. He grunts. 

They part for breath, too exposed and in public. Terra takes her aside, into a shadowed alley between a house and the city wall, pushing her against the brick to kiss her harder. She locks his neck in her arms and pulls him in. He’s so enveloped in her lips and he’s so angry, his teeth sliding and nipping barely on her skin like he’s fighting to win, his pelvis on hers, his chest pressing her, squeezing her breath away. She doesn’t want him to let her go. 

He pulls away, his touch slacked. Heavy in breath, lips swollen, eyes watery, he trembles as if he’s done something awful. Aqua has her hand on his chest right over his heart, where it thrums quick and strong. He’s strong, he’s always been. She has to believe that.

“I don’t compare to you,” he croaks. 

Fear churns in Aqua’s stomach, and she reaches for his wrist. “You do. You—” She doesn’t know what to say. “You shouldn’t think that way.”

Terra pulls from her, snapping their connection, leaving it cold where he was warm. It hurts. “I have to do this alone.”

“Terra—”

“Master Aqua,” he says, and her heart drops. “Please, respect my wishes. This is something I need to do if I’m ever going to—” He doesn’t finish. Instead, he turns over his shoulder, the crown of his dark hair glistening in the light of the sun where he disappears past the city gates. He doesn’t come back.

Aqua wraps her arms around herself, caressing the warmth he left behind for as long as possible before it inevitably leaves her too. She wonders if there is meaning in what just happened, wonders what he’s telling himself that would set him down this path. She’s scared of what will happen if she follows him.

She has to follow him. She has to make sure he’s alright. She prays he makes the right decisions, that they won’t have to fight. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

NOW

At night, the library is surrounded by stars. Twelve years in the Realm of Darkness and Aqua has forgotten that the library is all windows, bookshelves suspended in a birdcage on the side of the castle. It’s drizzling, droplets appearing at random, with none of the weight to drip down the glass. The lights are off, a glow polluting in from the hallway.

Terra is here, lying on a gold and white couch, the stand ornate and the cushions embroidered. 

“Welcome to the insomnia party,” he says. 

Aqua sits by his ankles. Terra rests his head on his arms, and lets go of the stars above the storm clouds to watch her. He leans up on one elbow and offers her a smile, but it’s a mimic of one. Who knows the reason why he can’t sleep. She won’t ask.

“Can we,” she starts, bringing her knees to her chin. “Talk?”

“We are.”

On the spot, Aqua blanks. “I don’t know where to start.”

He scoffs and unhooks his elbow, plopping back on the cushion. “Pick a place. We’ll get lost together and have to backtrack anyway.” He sighs, rolling his head towards the floor. “I can’t look at any of these books the same way again.” 

Five stories of them, and not a single explanation for what happened. 

“When it got tough and I needed to rely on my knowledge,” Aqua says, counting words on her essays over the years: 20,000. “I found that none of it could help us.”

“I’ve had questions ever since I started my apprenticeship,” Terra says, staring at the glass ceiling. “Many of them are still unanswered. What was the point?”

“None of it was relevant in the Realm of Darkness.”

Terra rolls over into a fetal position, burrowing his face into his arms. “So what did help?”

“Thinking of you and Ven.” The thought right now makes her smile, a little thing, a blink in the darkness. 

“I thought of you every day,” he says, morosely, shyly, with a speck of hope and a mix of self-awareness. After twelve years, Aqua still knows him so well and she’s grateful he’s (almost) the same Terra she came home to.

The thought of that chokes her. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” she says. “Any of it.”

“None of us did.”

“I meant…” She pauses, watching closely. The outline of his shoulders, the shape of his brow. They’re furrowed. “Our dream was to become Masters together.”

His shoulders tick. “I should have congratulated you.”

“What?”

“When you were titled Master. I didn’t congratulate you. I’m sorry for being self-centered.”

After twelve years, that’s the last thing in her mind. “I was thinking of withdrawing the title.”

Terra shoots up, face to face with her. “Why?”

“Like I said,” Aqua whispers, now that he’s so close. “Our dream was to be Masters together.” 

“No way.”

“You’re quite passionate about this.” Aqua rubs her knee. A nervous habit, something for her body to do. It used to be natural to hold his hand. 

Terra slaps his forehead. “I can’t let you do that. Not after all the work you’ve done.”

“You’ve worked hard, too.”

“And everything you’ve survived.”

“What you did was not survival?”

Terra gapes. “I don’t know, but I need to own my mistakes. I should have accepted my setbacks and my weaknesses…I wasn’t a good friend to you.”

Aqua sighs. “Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it.” 

“I don’t want to think about what I deserve. I only know that you deserve better.”

Deserving and not deserving sound like arbitrary definitions, markers of work ethic and integrity when everyone deserves peace of mind. “Then it sounds like you need to work really hard in the next couple of weeks.”

He blinks at her sudden change of tone. “Doing what?”

“Passing the Mark of Mastery.” She looks at her knee. “If you want me to keep my title, you have to pass.”

“You’re keeping your title regardless.”

“Pass and become Master with me.” 

“Aqua,” he warns. 

“That is the only condition.”

Terra leans his elbow on the backrest, and laughs into his hand. Laughs. It’s a weak and unpracticed song. She forgot what it sounded like. “You drive me crazy,” he says, “but it makes me so happy.”

She swallows. “I’ll contact Yen Sid to schedule the date.”

“Don’t get cheeky. You haven’t won this conversation.”

“Yes, I have.”

When the chuckles shared between them fade out, Terra studies her face, starting at the tip of her forehead, running his eyes down her nose and lips. The quiet is unwelcome.

“Do I look different?” Aqua asks.

“Not really.” He blinks, and it’s too dark to tell if he’s staring into her eyes. “You don’t smile like you used to. It’s like you’ve dimmed the lantern.”

“I can say the same about you,” she says. He’s tired, leaning on the couch like he can’t sit up on his own. He needs effort to speak. When he smiles, they’re delayed, as though he’s lost and needs to be reminded that he lives in reality now. He’s still beautiful. Terra doesn’t ask her to elaborate, but she supposes he understands exactly what she means. She supposes it’s the same for her.

Terra takes her hand and pulls it closer to him. “I do feel better with you around.”

Aqua grips the fabric of her stocking. “The last real conversation we had shouldn’t have been a fight.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh.” She holds her breath. “Wait, I shouldn’t be sorry for the fight or…” The kiss? She can’t bring herself to ask.

Terra smiles into his knuckles, and a spark of flame ignites his eyes. That’s what it is. Their hearts are tired. No book in the library can teach them how to bring them back to life. How to give it an ounce of oxygen to fan the warmth. Or how to provide a touch of oil, a passionate something to make it burst and remind them what it’s like to really want to hold a Keyblade. Aqua wonders if Terra’s essay on the subject is somewhere in the Master’s old office. 

“You know what, I’m sorry,” Terra says, stroking his thumb on the back of her hand. “For that stupid fight. For being stupid enough to have issues with you being Master and for leaving. For being incredibly stupid for not staying in Radiant Garden with you and Ven.” He giggles again.

“Why is that funny?”

“I should have stayed and kissed you longer.” He blinks back tears, inhaling sharply in shock of what he just said. “I guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

Aqua snorts and brings a hand to her cheek. “Yeah, you should have stayed and kissed me longer.”

They say nothing else. Terra takes her face into his large hands and brings her to him, lips to lips, warmth on warmth, chest to chest, heart to heart. He breathes into her, pulling her waist in so she could lie next to him, his heartbeat loud and clear, eager and anxious. A fire grows inside her stomach—she’s forgotten she’s ever felt like this before, years ago when they’ve touched and never went further. It’s invigorating, it’s relaxing. Not a blaze born out of excitement but a gentle hearth, something more than a flicker of the flame in a lantern. Alive.

He mumbles into her ear. “By the way, I have every intention of being the better kisser.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just so you know.”

“We’re really going to be doing this with the kissing?”

“Doing what?”

“What we’ve always done.”

“There’s no contest here.”

“But you want to be the best kisser.”

“I will be the best kisser.” He smiles, digging his nose into her hair. “I must be good enough for you to enjoy it. Therefore, naturally, I have to aspire to be really damn good. That’s all.” 

Aqua giggles into his chin, soft and careful and excited when his arm curls around her waist, squeezing her into him. She loves that he laughs with her. She loves his beautiful, cocky face.

They exchange small words in between, a gasp of surprises, whispers about old memories, requests for what she wants, for what he wants. Two wicks to a single candle, held gently between their hands.

[league-of-thots]

The Bee’s Knees

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/N: pretty happy with how this turned out! pretty nasty though so please read the warnings carefully. thanks @lady-bakuhoe for checking it over!

(sorry for double post it got fucked up on mobile :/)

Warnings: Smut, gun play, violence, dub-con, oral

taglist: @ikinabi, @redbeanteax, @marilla-eldriana, @kittykatkrissa

You’d always had a bit of a boring life. While your friends had been out at speakeasies and dancing with men and woman through the night, you’d had to take care of your little sewing shop. Repairing and making fine clothing you couldn’t afford wasn’t what you’d choose to do if you could, but it was what you had to do to keep yourself fed and safe.

You lived in a decent part of town, although that didn’t stop you from hearing gunshots every few nights between the law and the mafia. But then again, nowhere was completely safe from the mafia, especially with the bosses at the helm now. All of them were young, violent and eager to expand their territory and prove their worth, and the state of the city and surrounding areas were proof of that. But, nothing bad ever really happened to you, so you often ignored it and did what you wanted on your own time.

However, one day your entire life changed just from simply meeting Katsuki Bakugou, one of the new mafia bosses who’d come to power recently.

It had been a normal Tuesday night, except for the fact that you’d ran out of bread. Something so simple and you- albeit annoyed- went to the store despite it already being night. Getting there and getting your bread had been simple, it was getting home that had changed your life.

On a shortcut to get back to your little shop and home as quick as possible, you passed into an alleyway. Where you happened to run into three people, a blonde with his suit all messed up, someone with bright red hair and a lanky black haired man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Oh my god- they were all standing around a bloody and beaten body. You drop your purse in surprise and they all turn around sharply to face you. Not caring that you’d be leaving behind money and belongings, you run as fast as you can the opposite way, trying to get to a main street.

You hear them yelling behind you, telling you to stop but all you can think of is that they’re criminals, worst case they’re mafia, and you need to get away.

But they’re bigger, faster and stronger than you are. The red haired one catches up to you first, and he grabs your arm before you can get more than a block away. You try to scream, but as soon as your mouth opens up, his large hand prevents you from screaming and breathing too. You can hear them muttering about what they should do with you as your air supply is completely depleted and you start to black out.

You return to consciousness in perhaps the worst way possible, your headache from being choked out being exaggerated by the really loud yelling coming from a new man in front of the three you’d seen in the alleyway. You shake your head a little as you get your bearings and realize there's duct tape covering your mouth, and ropes tying your limbs to the chair you’re sat on. You begin screaming but the sound is muffled as because of the restraint covering your lips.

Two of the three glance back in your direction which seems to anger the leader who snaps in their faces and starts to yell at them.

“So you accidentally killed the mark instead of subduing them, and on top of that brought back some fucking worthless extra that now I have to find out what to do with. YOU’RE ALL MORONS. GET OUT!”

The three scurry out of the office and he kicks over a stray chair, cursing loudly and sitting behind his desk. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him. Despite your fear and the obvious lack of self restraint and loud anger he exhibits, you notice he’s gorgeous and has a way of speaking that seems to draw people and energy towards him.

“What are you looking at extra? Hah?” He snaps at you. You just look at him wide eyed and shake your head, showing that you don’t mean anything by it. He snorts and rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.

You feel incredulous and can’t believe that, after all the fuss he just pulled he straight up ignores the fact that he has a live human captive in his office. You shook your head. How the hell were you supposed to get out of here? Your fear was starting to disappear and in its place annoyance was quickly surging up. You were tired, needed to sleep and had to wake up early tomorrow to get your shop in order. Yet you couldn’t even speak to the man because of the tape across your mouth. So you decide to grab his attention, and the first step of that was making as much noise as you could through the gag. Which unfortunately, wasn’t much. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

So you decided to make a larger uproar, and start shaking on your chair - which was great for making noise, however for staying upright, not so much. You clatter to the floor with a loud crash and let out a grunt of pain as your head hits the floor, your vision a bit blurry.

“What the fuck are you doing? Seriously?” The man in charge yells and starts stomping towards you and you wince in fear as he approaches. He pulls you and the chair upright by a firm grip on your hair, close to your scalp. At this point you’re crying from pain and a little bit of fear and embarrassment. “What do you want?” he asks, even though you can’t answer. You just look up to him with watery eyes, fucking helpless in the current situation..

He curses a bit looking at you, “You know I should just get this over and done with and kill you.” he says, almost conversationally. “You saw something you shouldn’t have and I need to tie up the loose ends of my business. Can’t be on top if we’ve gotten ratted out by a little lady y’know.” His grin is sharp, it reminds you of a wolf. Despite the situation and how close you are to death, you can’t help but be aroused by both his determined attitude and gorgeous features.

Suddenly he rips off the tape gagging you, and you let out a sob in response to the quick pain that burns around your mouth. “If you’re going to kill me, why are you playing around with me so much?” you ask, a little confused.

He just lets out a laugh. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even been around an upstanding lady such as yourself? Your reactions to things are so refreshing, everything's new and terrifying for you.”

You can hear your heart hammering in your throat as he pulls a pistol out of his pocket and holds it up to your forehead. Your eyes cross as you desperately try to keep the muzzle in sight, even if you know that it won’t make a difference.

“I promise I won’t say anything to anyone! I just don’t want to die, I have friends, I have a job, please, please don’t kill me!” You start pleading with him and straining against the restraints on your arms and wrists, crying because these could be the last few moments of your life.

He cocks his head to the side, emotionless, staring down at you from above - the light from a lamp hits his face as it turns, lighting up his blood-red eyes. When he smiles you feel as if you’ve already signed off on your death sentence, until he starts laughing so hard he has to bend over. It’s an ugly cackle but you’re too shocked at the rapid switch in behaviour to do or say anything about it.

“Oh my god- this is actually a great opportunity, I didn’t even think about it really, but - yeah alright. I’ll give you a choice, what’s your name?” he doesn’t wait for a response. “You let me use you how I please right now or die.”

What kind of choice did you have really? This was your only chance to see another sunrise, to see another normal day.

“Alright.” you get out, the word sounding sad and broken as it leaves your lips. At your agreeance, he backs off to his desk, placing the pistol down and opening a few drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. Out he pulls a wooden case. Inside another pistol, but this one is clean, more delicate looking and has a longer muzzle. He pulls some bullets from the case that it was in and loads the gun, one at a time, making eye contact with you.

What could he be doing with that? You think as he slowly walks towards the chair where you’re tied up, eyes stuck on his. He shoves the muzzle into your face.

“Open up sweetheart, this will go easy or fucking hard depending on your actions.” he smirks poking your lips with the barrel. You feel your teeth cutting against your lips as you resolutely close them. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of making this easy for him.

At least that’s what you think until you feel a blooming pain on the side of your cheekbone, the bastard had pistol whipped you and your mouth fell open in a scream. You feel something cold and metal shoved deep into your throat and you gagged harshly.

“I said, fucking OPEN bitch.” he seethes, shoving the gun deeper and you feel your air supply drastically restricted. “Now be a good girl and suck the gun off, my trigger finger is a bit itchy today.”

Sobbing in embarrassment, you begin to bob your head up and down the gun, shaking in fear. You close your eyes rather than have to look at the sick fascination on the man’s face as he sees you work the gun. You know he’s getting hard because of this and as much as you hate the situation you can feel your arousal growing knowing that he’s likely going to fuck you well.

A few minutes pass, the only sounds being wet noises as you blow the gun, the metallic taste of steel taking over your mouth and combined with your fear, making you want to vomit.

“Enough.” he says suddenly, and you drop your mouth open and take deep breaths trying to steady yourself as he takes it out. You open your eyes and feel your heartbeat race as he pulls out a knife in his left hand. You flinch as he brings it to your lower half, but instead of cutting into you, he instead uses it to rip through all your clothing and tears it off. He smirks as he looks at your cunt quivering as the cool air hits it.

“What’s this? Have you been hiding your enjoyment through your tears?” he leans down putting his face near yours and the gun beside up to your head as his fingers ghost across your lower lips. You bite your lip, you’re not allowing yourself to feel pleasured by this. He sees the determination in your eyes and smiles, always excited for any challenge that crosses his path.

He knows he always wins of course.

You feel him enter a calloused finger into your pussy, the slight stretch making you take a sharp breath as he moves it in and out, occasionally curling the digit. Against your will, your body responds to him, hips moving as much as they can while you’re restrained. When he deems you ready, he adds a second in, scissoring them to open you up. His thumb plays with your clit and you let out small whimpers as you feel your core heat up and start to tighten.

“You like me playing with your pretty pussy, don’t you? No matter how much you try to deny it, I can feel you tightening around my fingers, and I can see your eyes start to dilate.” as much as you want to shout that he’s wrong, you know he’s write. You’re not sure if you hate him or yourself more in that moment.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out and looks at you as you whine needily. “Wanna be full again? I have the perfect idea.” he puts the gun on a hook as he takes out the knife again and cuts the restraints on your arms. Immediately you reach to claw at any bit of him you can reach, but he grabs your hands and lets out a tsk in disappointment.

“I thought you were smarter than that. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” he manages to hold your wrists together in one hand as he gives you a strong backhand across your face with the other, dazing you. Blearily, you realize he’s tied your two wrists together and cut off your leg restraints. He puts your tied arms behind his head and lifts you with one arm, as he picks up the gun once again and brings you to sit on his lap in his large leather desk chair.

He leans back with a self satisfied sigh as he moves his legs to spread yours further apart, watching as some of your juices drip out of your cunt.

“I want you to listen very carefully,” he says lowly, his voice a growl in your ear that makes you shiver. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to put this pretty loaded gun up your pussy, and you’re going to get yourself off. If you can’t do that within a couple minutes, I might get impatient and pull the trigger. Got it, sweetheart?”

What else can you do but nod? You have no idea if you can even get yourself off only on penetration with the fear holding you stiff, but if you want to live you’re going to have to do it somehow. You clench in surprise as the cool metal is ruthlessly shoved into you without warning, letting out a moan.

His eyes are on you as you gradually start moving your hips into the gun, feeling it reach deep. His wrist moves in time with your movements, helping you out a bit. You try and force out the entire situation and the fear from your mind, focusing on the sensations. The cool metal providing you some sharp pleasure as you pump yourself up and down the muzzle.

You whimper as you start grinding down faster feeling one of the ridges on the weapon hit your clit every time you bring yourself down on it. You lose track of everything as you shut your eyes and lean your head into the man’s neck. He smells almost as good as he looks and you just let yourself go, losing track of time. You enjoy the sensations and soon enough you bring yourself to the edge.

You can hear yourself whimpering and cum with a shout, your juices flowing down the metal and onto his hand. You open your eyes after feeling spent, as he takes the gun out and sends it clattering onto the table. Making eye contact with you, he lewdly slurps the juices from his hand into his mouth.

“Sweeter than I thought. What a good girl you are for doing it right.” He says stroking your face rather condescending. “Now it’s my turn.”

He unbuckles his belt and shimmies them down as he stands up holding you in his arms. He then drops you onto his cock without warning, as you scream from pain and pleasure as he fills your needy cunt. 

He chuckles, the sound much deeper than before. “That’s right I want to fucking hear you scream, better yet I’ll give you a name to scream out. Katsuki Bakugou.”

He lifts you almost off his cock and slams you down again, thrusting as you come down making you see stars. Soon you’re only crying his name out as you card your fingers through his hair and tug as you lose sense of everything else but the feeling of his cock in you. 

“You take my cock so fucking well sweetheart, I haven’t even found a whore this good.” He practically cackles, speeding up his pace as he chases his own release. He slams your back onto the desk and you howl as your back arches, the pleasure he’s giving you covering up the pain of your body being banged up.

You cum shouting out his name, clamping down on his cock as he releases his load deep into you and takes heaving breaths.

He pulls out and lifts your arms over his head as he gets his clothing back on and straightens out his shirt. You want to move, run, get away, but you can’t bring yourself to even move. The most you can do is blink the tears out of your eyes and blearily look up to him. 

“So now I can go right?” You ask, your voice shaking. “You said I could live if you fucked me.”

He just laughs. “I said you could live, I didn’t say your were leaving sweetheart.”

You wail as your heart drops and you realize just how utterly fucked you are.

[camsthisky]

Bruce crouches on the ledge, hidden by shadows, just out of Commissioner Jim Gordon’s sight. It’s easier with the bat signal lit up, and usually Bruce would play up the dramatics, try to see how long his partner could keep a straight face.

Tonight is not a usual night, though.

For one, his partner is missing. They’d split up to investigate a warehouse, but ten minutes in, Bruce had gotten a panicked, “B, they’re—”

After that, nothing but static on his comm. Bruce had searched the warehouse top to bottom three times.

No Robin.

And now this. The bat signal lit up. Bruce had no clues as to where Robin could be, and he can only hope that this interruption is connected.

He slips from the shadows just as Gordon turns to light another cigarette.

“Holy—”

Gordon startles at the abrupt sight of him, clutching at his chest. Bruce’s heart aches at the lack of Robin trying to muffle his snickers that usually accompanied the reaction.

His grief doesn’t show on his face.

“Would ya quit scaring me like that? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Bruce says nothing. Gordon sighs, fishing something from inside his coat and holding it out for Bruce to see.

“A kid from Gotham University showed up at our front door about twenty minutes ago, absolutely scared out of his mind. He gave this to us,” Gordon lightly shakes the object—a communicator, Bruce realizes. Sleek. Small. Too well-made for any of the usual Gotham suspects. “Kid said it’s for you.”

“And the student?” Bruce asks, taking the communicator from Gordon.

Gordon stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. “Conference room downstairs. I asked one of the ladies at the front desk to watch over him and take his statement since I’m pretty short-handed tonight. She should be finishing up soon.”

“Hn.”

“You’re real talkative tonight.”

Bruce doesn’t bother to respond to that. He growls, “What else.”

“Nothing we can’t handle ourselves,” Gordon sighs. “Nothing urgent, at least.”

He sounds exasperated, and Bruce knows from talking to Gordon during the day that the GCPD is slammed with cases that the city council won’t sign off on asking for Batman’s help. Not to mention all of their internal affairs issues.

Downstairs is probably a real clusterfuck.

Still, Bruce has other priorities.

“Any leads on the sender?” Bruce asks.

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. Migraine, probably. “No. Apparently, the kid was drugged and kidnapped. He woke up a few blocks from here with a note.”

“The note?”

“Being processed as evidence,” Gordon tells him. He hands over a photograph. “Here. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

The note. Bruce doesn’t recognize the handwriting. There’s no signature, either. Just a few words: Go to GCPD. Device must go to Batman.

Vague. Bruce should get back to the Cave and analyze it right now. It may be connected to Robin. He has what he needs from the Commissioner, and usually by now, he’d have vanished off into the shadows.

But tonight’s not usual. For some reason, Bruce hesitates.

The communicator crackles to life.

“I assume that my lovely device has reached the fabled Batman’s hands,” a voice says. “That’s good. I was getting tired of babysitting.”

Bruce stiffens. Definitely connected, then. Gordon blinks at the device, his brain starting to connect dots. Unfortunately, he’s missing some of the key dots. He’ll only be working with half a picture.

Bruce doesn’t draw it for him. He stays silent.

“I’m assuming you’re listening,” the voice says, and this time, Bruce can hear a commotion in the background. “Bring the brat over.”

Gordon’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Fuck you, you bald jerk!” Bruce’s pre-teen ward yells out, and if he didn’t have the cowl on, Bruce is pretty sure he’d be heaving out a sigh, because of course Dick is antagonizing them. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m talking about. The color scheme is atrocious. No flair, or anything. What are you, second-rate kidnappers? Where’s your pizazz?!”

“Will you shut up?!” another voice cries, probably whoever was ordered to bring Dick over to the first voice.

“It’s literally illegal for me to stop running my mouth. If I’m quiet for more than thirty seconds, the world’ll explode. Now let me go so I can kick your mustached, jumpsuit wearing asses ten ways to Sunday!” Dick yells.

“Not happening,” the first voice says.

“Ow!” Bruce’s heart seizes at Dick’s short cry of pain. “Hey, Mister, I think you missed your calling as a meat tenderizer!”

“Batman’s on the line,” the first voice tells Dick, and this time, Dick does go quiet. “You wanna speak to him, then you behave.”

There’s one, two, three, four, five seconds of silence. And then—

“B?” Dick call out, sounding tentative in a way that puts Bruce’s nerves on fire. There’s static in his brain, and he’s barely able to push past the fuzziness to hear Dick ask, “Are you there?”

Somehow, Bruce manages to sound like his normal, gruff, Batman self when he says, “Robin.”

Dick exhales loudly. And this time Bruce can’t help the fond eyeroll when Dick starts chattering again.

“Good golly gosh, Batman,” Dick says, sounding ten times brighter than before, like he hadn’t just been using language that would have made Alfred wash his mouth out with soap. “You wouldn’t believe how dull this place is. I mean, you’d probably like it with how dark and dreary it is. Perfect for bat brooding.”

There’s more commotion, some angered and exasperated shouts from the background of the communicator, but Dick keeps talking.

“And holy Batman, B, when they surprise adopted me I did not think that I was gonna have to deal with more black. What’s with old guys and monotone colors? D’ya think it makes you look manly?”

“That’s enough, kid,” the first voice says. Then, to Bruce, “If you want the chatterbox traffic light back, you’re going to meet me on 32nd by the old batting cages. Oh, and you’re going to bring me a file from the GCPD.”

“File?” Gordon finally steps in.

“Ah, so the Commish was listening in. Oh well. Yeah. Jaquelyn Briggins. Her file, or you don’t see the kid again.”

“Fine,” says Bruce, before Gordon can put his foot in his mouth. “Fifteen minutes. The batting cages on 32nd.”

The line goes dead. Bruce makes sure it’s temporarily disabled for sure with an attachable EMP.

“Get the file,” Bruce demands.

Gordon sighs, exasperatedly, but walks towards the roof’s door. “I’ll get it. Meet me in my office.”

Bruce goes from roof to window in seconds, slipping into Gordon’s office before the commissioner gets there. Once he brings the file, they pour through it.

Thirteen minutes.

“What’s this guy want with Jaquelyn Briggins?” Gordon asks. “There’s barely anything in here.”

Which is better for them, Bruce thinks as he scans the two sheets of information a third time. More information would take time to sort through things that don’t matter. In this case, all the info Bruce needs is right in front of him.

Eleven minutes.

Bruce takes a picture with his cowl lenses. “I’m borrowing the file.”

Gordon doesn’t look happy. “That’s illegal, you know.”

“So are vigilantes.”

“Bring it back,” Gordon sighs.

Bruce grunts an affirmative, and then he’s off.

The journey to the meet up place is practically a blur. He’s at three minutes when he reaches 32nd street. He reaches the batting cages at two.

He perches from a nearby roof ledge, scanning the area.

Dick’s information is as accurate as always. Four men stand outside the batting cages. There are two men holding Dick, one grabbing each arm. Dick’s staring down a third man, and the last is looking around the practically abandoned street.

One is bald. Two have mustaches. All of them are wearing black jumpsuits. The one standing in front of Dick is wearing rings, which match the scratches on Dick’s cheek.

Nothing else is out of the ordinary. He double checks, sends a discreet message to Alfred to prep the first aid kit and start researching Briggins, and makes sure Superman’s frequency is on hand if things get dicey.

Then, Batman gets to work.

Dick knows he’s there. The way he squints his eyes and grits his teeth as he chatters—yells, really—at the ring-wearer is enough for Bruce to know that much. The kid is yelling louder, now, raving about the goons’ lack of fashion.

It’s agitating them enough for Bruce to slip from the rooftop, landing almost soundlessly in the shadows. He tenses, waits for one of the goons to start yelling at Dick, and then rolls out smoke pellets. They work almost immediately, and Bruce makes his move.

It’s only been a few years since he and Dick have started working together, and even less since they’ve worked together well enough to seamlessly fight half-blind. But, Bruce is careful, and soon, he has the lookout and one of Dick’s captors knocked out with well-placed blows, and as Dick takes out his other captor, Bruce catches the throat of the ring-wearer and slams him up against a chain-link face.

“Who is Jaquelyn Briggs?” Bruce growls out. He pays no attention to the fight behind him. Dick takes the last man out in less than ten seconds. The ring-wearer’s eyes are wide. Bruce slams him against the fence again. “Tell. Me. Now.”

“My—She’s my cousin, man!” the guy croaks, hands scrabbling at the glove crushing his windpipe. “The police—hrk—covered up her death! I know it!”

Bruce lets the ring-wearer fall to the ground. He starts to tie him up after he alerts Gordon to the situation.

Dick crouches down by the restrained ring-wearer, head tilted. “I don’t get why you had to surprise adopt me to find out whether or not the police covered up your cousin’s death. You could’ve just asked Commissioner Gordon and he would have helped you!”

Bruce sighs. “Robin.”

Dick looks up at him. “What? It’s true.”

“Stop using the words ‘surprise adopt’. It’s not funny.”

Dick smirks. “Au contraire, Mister Batman, sir. I think it’s hilarious.”

Bruce rolls his eyes under the cowl. He’s going to be hearing this one for a while. But, he thinks that he can probably live with it, now that his kid is back where he’s supposed to be—right next to him.

“We’re leaving, Robin.”

“’Kay! Bye, surprise adopted father who is no longer my surprise adopted father!”

“Robin.”

“Just say I’m funny and I’ll move on.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re probably right.”

Bruce rolls his eyes again, fonder and even more exasperated than the first time. He ushers Robin forward, and then they disappear into the night, the only trace that they were there the four men they’d tied up and left for the police.

Dick chatters the whole way home. Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ri-ahhh]

Ooooh but like what if it's gray getting jealous and a teeny but insecure too when MJ mentions some of her work mates and other close guy friends w whom she hangs out and drinks and parties yk?And when he finally meets them he might not be able to get some inside jokes or be pissy on how touchy one of her guy bffs is?!And just goes like"baby am I too young for you?"🥺maybe some cute fluff and hot makeup sex?? ;p Sorry if this too much or straight up lame It's cool if you don't wanna concept this

Ok, first of all, I love this. Second, this is my first MJ concept and I’m soft af🥺

If there’s one personality trait Grayson Dolan wouldn't normally attribute to himself, it’s that of being easily jealous. Why would he be? His life, despite it’s occasional heavy downs, is relatively picturesque in the grand scheme of things. He’s got a loving family, an amazing career, a beautiful girlfriend, and he’s narcissistic enough to proudly say he’s a good-looking dude.

But the little green monster first starts to stir in chest when said beautiful girlfriend lays back on his chest one morning, scrolling through Instagram while the two of them laze in bed. MJ is looking through the pictures she had been tagged in at a company dinner the night before, double-tapping her phone screen occasionally and diverting his attention away from his own phone when she does.

“Who’s that?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible as he eyes a certain picture with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Hm?” MJ had already scrolled down to the next photo, but she goes back to the one in question. Grayson points to the guy standing next to her. “Oh. That’s Jesse. He’s one of my teammates.”

Grayson doesn't respond right away, his gaze focused on the way the attractive young man has his arm wrapped tightly around MJ’s waist in the group photo. MJ is leaning away from him, but it still gives him a bad vibe — not from her, but from him.

“He looks friendly.”

MJ glances up at him and slaps the other side of his bare chest with the back of her hand jokingly. “Relax, we all had to squeeze in to get the picture. He’s just a colleague.”

“Yeah, to you,” Grayson mumbles. He tosses down his phone and turns on his side so he can throw his arm over her middle, nuzzling into her hair.

MJ smiles and scratches her nails up and down his sculpted arm, his warm breath tickling her ear. He’s not really the possessive type, too confident in himself and trustworthy in her for this to have ever been an issue in their relationship, but her work world is one entirely separate from him. She doesn’t think it’s too irrational for him to be suspicious, especially since she can admit feeling a little iffy about the way Jesse had so easily sidled up to her for that photo.

She shifts her head on the pillow so she’s facing him, kissing his lips softly but soundly. It’s an unspoken reassurance between them, and they both let the topic go.

A few days later, they’re in the kitchen together, a pass only she is allowed while Grayson cooks. MJ sits on the island, her feet dangling over the cabinets as Grayson stirs the vegetables he’s sautéing on the stove, when her phone buzzes on the marble countertop beside her. She picks it up and chuckles, her manicured fingers typing away.

“What’s so funny?” Grayson asks nosily.

MJ hits ‘send’ in the text response she wrote. “Jesse sent a stupid meme that reminded him of this super difficult exec we have to deal with for one of our clients.” She holds up her phone so Grayson can see it, but without the further context he doesn’t really see the humor in it. It causes a weird sensation to bubble in his stomach, one he can’t quite place, but it definitely makes him give the veggies an extra vigorous stir that has some of them flying out of the pan on accident.

He draws the line on this guy in his head when MJ sends him a text the next afternoon while he’s in a Wakeheart meeting downtown, just a few blocks from her office.

ugh baby i’m so sorry i have to cancel our lunch date :/ jesse wants to keep working on this report we have due this afternoon and i’ll look like a dick if i leave.

Grayson huffs and feels the back of his neck flush with anger. Why is Jesse controlling whether or not she can take her lunch break? She has a habit of skipping it to begin with, which Grayson can’t stand and actively tries to make sure she doesn’t do, so his irritation with this dude is through the roof now. His mind can’t help but wander to the possibility that maybe Jesse is doing it on purpose; he knows for a fact all of her coworkers know about him, so who’s to say he’s not trying to keep her to himself today? Before he can type out a heated response, however, MJ double-texts.

i promise I’ll make it up to you tonight. whatever you want, on me. literally and figuratively ;)

She knows him too well, can probably sense his frustration a few streets away. Grayson sighs, but his mouth lifts in a little smile, because he loves her and he’s low-key looking forward to that promise now.

Alright. I’ll be thinking about that to get me through this meeting. Pls eat tho baby, it makes me worry when you don’t.

me too lol. and gonna order some kreation now, don’t worry. ily

She punctuates her message with a few heart emojis, and Grayson returns the sentiment before pocketing his phone once more. His mind is far from the financial projections he’s supposed to be paying attention to, but luckily this is much more Ethan’s territory in the business than his, anyways.

Friday, he and MJ are cuddling on the couch watching a movie when out of nowhere she gasps a little and sits up from where she’s leaning on him. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. You and E doing anything tomorrow?”

Grayson chuckles and shakes his head, amused by the suddenness of her question. He pushes a lock of her hair, damp from their shared shower, behind her ear. “Not that I know of, other than we might go to the skatepark.”

MJ grins. “Well, my boss is making us do our monthly team-building workshop at a climbing gym, if you want to tag along. I don’t think you’ll be able to join us during the middle of it, obviously, but afterwards it would give you the chance to meet some of the people I work with, if you want.”

He considers it. He hasn’t been climbing in a while, and he’s actually been itching to get back into it. Not to mention, it’ll give him a chance to keep an eye on Jesse while he’s around MJ in the skin-tight lycra she wears to work out in.

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll ask E if he wants to come, too.”

The next day, the three of them roll up to the gym in Ethan’s Tesla. Grayson wastes no time in taking MJ’s hand in his as they walk through the parking lot, just in case a certain set of eyes are watching. MJ squeezes his fingers reassuringly; she’s not dumb, not impervious to the fact that when he kisses her goodbye once they step inside and before they go their separate ways that he had caught a glimpse of the man from the picture that put his guard up to begin with.

When he pulls back but makes no move to join Ethan on the other side of the gym, MJ shakes her head with a grin and cups his cheek softly.

“No need to stake your claim, Neanderthal,” she says.

He looks down at her with a pout that makes her heart and her panties melt. His wide hands plant themselves on her hips and tug her a little closer to him, anyways. “Am I being obvious?” he asks.

“Only to me,” she winks, rising on her toes to give him one more chaste kiss. “Now go with E, before Chanel gets here and I have to reverse the roles.”

Grayson laughs but does as he’s told, giving her waist a gentle squeeze before they part ways. MJ’s company had rented half of the gym, which was roped off for them. He chooses the open wall closest to the one they're using, eager to keep his girlfriend as nearby as possible for the couple of hours they would be separated.

As he sits on a bench and slips on his climbing shoes, Grayson can’t help but search out where Jesse is. He’s easy to spot, that’s for sure. Not only is he already next to MJ, chatting animatedly while she smiles and nods politely in return, but he stands out with his curly mop of hair, caramel-colored skin, and pale blue eyes. Maybe his attractiveness is part of the reason Grayson is somewhat intimidated by his obvious interest in MJ, but he’s also part of her everyday life, one he knows nothing about other than what she shares with him.

It’s never been something that bothers him, because it’s healthy to have a life outside of a relationship, but he’s always dated — hooked up, whatever you want to call it — in his industry. There was always a mutual understanding of what work and life in general entailed with those flings, and it’s taken Jesse for him to suddenly realize he doesn’t have the experience or the knowledge of how to handle his feelings with that not being the case with MJ. It makes him feel out of control, not good enough somehow.

Grayson Dolan does not like to be out of control and he most certainly does not like being below his own standards.

“Who’s that?”

Grayson is brought out of his daze by his brother’s voice and the hand he had clapped to his shoulder. If he were able to laugh at himself in this moment, he might have found Ethan’s question funny, since it was exactly what he’d said when he first saw Jesse, too. Ethan’s gaze is fixed on MJ and the man in question, who had placed his hand on her elbow as he talked only for MJ to duck down to ‘tie her shoe.’

“Jesse,” is all he says, standing up to buckle his chalk belt around his waist.

“Oh,” Ethan replies, nodding his head a little. “Do we like him?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Ethan becomes another set of eyes for Grayson while they climb, giving him nudges or a little whistle every time he catches Jesse standing a little too close to MJ, or finding a reason to touch her, or to ‘help’ her as she climbs up the wall. Grayson glowers over every time, trying his best but probably failing to not to come off as the jealous boyfriend. Every once in a while MJ will catch his eyes, giving him a quick wave or a thumbs-up with a pretty smile just for him. It makes his heart settle some, only for his chest to tighten again when Jesse starts cheering for her a little too loud.

The two hours pass by a little faster as he settles into the rhythm of climbing, trying to put her touchy coworker in the back of his mind. He trusts MJ with everything in him, but he knows how men can be — ignorant either by choice or by idiocy to a woman’s obvious signals of disinterest.

“Gray!”

He’s just reached the top of the wall when his girlfriend’s voice cuts clear through the loud chatter around them. He looks down and sees her on the mat, hair pulled back in a cute high ponytail, freckled cheeks flushed from the exertion of the day, as she waves him down with that same bright smile.

He grins, excited to have her to himself once again. “One sec!”

Once he’s made it back down the wall, he greets her with a kiss. She’s tied her jacket around her waist, leaving her top half covered only by a pretty green sports bra that happens to be both his favorite color and one that makes her eyes pop beautifully.

“I like this,” he says suggestively, hooking his finger in one of the straps and tugging gently.

MJ rolls her eyes and reaches up to adjust the center of the Wakeheart cap he’s got backwards over his hair. “Come on. You can meet the idiots I have to put up with every day.”

She leads him to the group, who are all standing around chatting, gulping down water, gathering keys and such as they prepare to leave. He gets introduced to them a couple at a time. Some of them he recognizes by name, such as Valentina and Jude (both of whom MJ actually likes and considers friends), MJ’s intern Alessia, and Chanel, of course, who bats her eyes so obnoxiously it’s almost comical.

And then there’s Jesse, who’s immediately sizing Grayson up with those striking eyes as soon as they approach him standing in the corner on his phone. Grayson doesn’t back down in the slightest, a smirk fixing itself on his lips when MJ leans into him and wraps her arm around his back. He drapes his own over her shoulders, pulling her that much closer to him.

“Hey Jess. This is the famous boyfriend I’ve told you all about,” she introduces, patting a hand on his hard stomach and smiling up at him for a moment.

Grayson lets go of MJ long enough to extend his hand. “Grayson.”

Jesse accepts and shakes his hand politely. “Jesse. MJ and I are teammates.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says, keeping a tight smile on his face as Jesse continues to square up to him, like Grayson has posed some kind of challenge.

Jesse nods, a grin of his own popping up as he gets the idea that MJ has maybe talked about him before. Grayson wants to roll his eyes, but he stays trying to be the bigger person here.

“So what do you do, Grayson?” Jesse asks.

Another hot flash overcomes him. He’s heard the question often enough to know there are two ways people ask it: innocently and genuinely; or knowingly and almost maliciously, like Jesse is now, waiting for him to say the ‘i’ word and berate him for it passive-aggressively.

MJ tightens her arm around him some, and it calms him down enough to answer with an even tone. “I do social media.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, though,” MJ steps in for him with a grin. “He and his brother have a whole production team under them. And they're CEO’s and part-owners of a fragrance company, Wakeheart. I think I’ve told you, whenever you compliment my perfume, that it’s Grayson’s, right?”

She’s incredible, really. Grayson smiles and shows off the diamonds in his teeth, which glint in the harsh artificial light. “Well, Jesse, if you like MJ’s perfume so much, I’d be glad to send you our whole collection. Maybe you’ll find one that’s right for you.”

He can see Jesse’s resolve start to waver, especially when MJ stands on her toes to kiss Grayson’s stubbled cheek. “Very generous, huh Jesse?”

Jesse clears his throat and digs his keys out of his pocket tellingly. “Ah, yeah. Thanks, man, good to meet you. See you Monday, MJ.”

He brushes past the couple without another glance, and he at least has the decency to blush a little from embarrassment. MJ turns and wraps her arms around Grayson’s middle, staring up at him with big green eyes that sparkle with amusement.

“Do you think he got the picture that I’m completely, totally, head over heels in love with you?” she asks, swaying slightly as he wraps his arms around her as well. “And that he has no chance in this universe whatsoever?”

“I don’t know, I feel like you could’ve laid it on a little thicker. Hyped me up a bit more,” Grayson jokes, dipping down to brush her lips with his. A blonde statue glares at the pair of them when he pulls back and glances over MJ’s head. “Chanel is staring daggers at us. Should we make out right here so she can see how I feel the same about you?”

MJ giggles and shakes her head. “Unfortunately, nothing will faze that bitch.” She nuzzles his nose with hers affectionately, the chaste display a perfect disguise for the dirty whispers that comes out of her mouth next. “Mm, my CEO boyfriend can take me home, though, and fuck me nice and hard in the shower.”

Grayson’s eyes turn a shade darker, and he bites his plump lower lip. He wants to slip his hands down to her ass, but he’s also very aware of how public they are right now. “If we even make it to the shower,” he murmurs.

MJ scrunches her nose and raises her brow in a look of mild disgust. “Gray, if you think I’m sucking your dick after it’s been in a cup for nearly three hours, without you taking a shower, you better think again. I don’t think even Chanel is down for that.”

Grayson lets out a belly laugh and releases her, taking her by the hand instead to go find Ethan. “Noted, baby. Noted.”

[b0n-chann]

YOU GUYS. I’m so sorry I let this one sit for so long. BUT WE’RE HERE MY DUDES. Special thank you to @tiffdawg for the motivation I needed to finish this and I’m so glad I did. My mind would wonder to this story from time to time, trying to decide how I wanted to finish this series and I’m glad I finally found the time to do it. So please enjoy and sorry again for such a long hiatus!

To Love and Protect ( Part 4) 

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: none really, just typical violence and some good old fluff 😘

The lava river was your only way out and it never seemed to end. Flames lick the side of the ferry from time to time as it travels through the molten rock and you look on in amazement. You never knew that such things existed. Granted, you didn’t know many wonders in the galaxy existed before you met the Mandalorian. You hold the child a little tighter to you and he looks up, flashing you a toothy grin.

“That’s right, sweet thing,” you coo, comforting the small bundle in your arms. “We’re almost out of here.” Din places an arm around your shoulder, admiring his small clan before him.

“That’s it,” Karga points to the end. “We’re free!”

“No. No we’re not,” Din says steadily, the thermal imaging in his helmet detecting several life forms. “Storm troopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon. They must’ve known we were coming.”

The child seems to register the tone in Din’s voice as his ears droop immediately, worry filling his inky black eyes. The child clings on to you tightly and you hold him closer to you, a comfort for both you and him. You are exhausted, mentally and physically, but you know you can’t back down now. There’s too much at stake.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders the ferry droid. “I said stop the boat!” Frustrated, she stalks over to the droid who continues to push the group forward. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” In a moment of frustration she pulls out her blaster and shoots the droid, its head flying from its body. The ferry, however, does not slow down, creeping forward towards your group’s demise.

“We’re still moving,” Karga says, looking around for another way out. But there is none. The lava river surrounds you from all sides and it continues to flow to the end of the tunnel, slowly bringing you closer what you thought is your escape, but now the uncertainty looms over all of you. 

“Looks like we fight,” Cara says, preparing herself for the stormtroopers. 

“There are too many.” Din tries to reason, however he, too, realizes that they are running out of options. He brings you closer to him on instinct, placing himself between you and the end of the tunnel.

“Then what do you suggest? Cause I can’t surrender.” Cara snaps. She holds a blaster out to you and you readily accept.  The power in her voice is enough to steel your resolve once again. 

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child,” you hear IG-11’s voice from beside you. You close your eyes in realization. But you couldn’t; you couldn’t give the child up. “This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

“You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

“That is not my objective.”

“We’re getting close. Saddle up.” Cara scrambles around the ferry, gathering every gun she could get her hands on, preparing herself for the worst.

“I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self destruct.” Your blood runs cold when you hear IG make this statement. It dawns on you then, that the droid means to sacrifice himself.

“What are you talking about?” Din demands. However, you know he must realize what IG is planning to do.

“I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

“IG...” you start but realize quickly you have no idea what to say. 

“It is alright, miss.” The droid gives you a quick glance before bringing his attention back to the Mandalorian. “I can no longer carry this for you,” he hands over the jetpack the Armorer had bestowed to Din earlier. “Nor can I watch over the child.”

“Wait, you can’t just self destruct,” you argue, panic setting in. Yes, IG was a droid but you had grown to care for him in your time together. “Your base command is to watch the child.”

“That supersedes you’re manufacturer’s protocol, right?” Din asks. He also seems unsettled by the plan the droid has laid out before you.

“This is correct.”

“Good. Now, grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

“Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved, in which I survive.”

“Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you, let’s just come up with a...” Din starts, trying to reason with the droid which catches you by surprise. For as long as you’ve known the bounty hunter, he has never shown any compassion for droids.

“Please tell me the child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

“But you’ll be destroyed.”

“And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.” Your heart aches when you hear IG say this. Even though you know droids do not have feelings, it almost seems as if IG cares for all of you.

“No.” Din refuses. “We need you.”

“There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.” The droid’s intention had been set and you know there’s no way to change it. Tears threaten to escape your eyes.

“I’m not sad.” Din lies, the pain evident in his voice, even through the modulator.

“Yes, you are. I am a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.” You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at their interaction. IG turns towards you and the child and affectionately touches one of the child’s ears. “Miss, please continue to protect the child. A mother is the fiercest warrior to behold and you were a vicious companion to have.  The Mandalorian will do well to remember that if he so chooses to hurt you again. I hope I served you well.” You bark out a sad laugh at his words. The short amount of time you spent with the droid was enough to endear him to you and your heart breaks knowing what will happen next. 

“Thank you, IG.” You say softly and he places a hand on your shoulder which provides you a small comfort. He turns and walks into the lava, and you watch as he struggles to make his way out. Din draws you and the child closer to him as you watch the droid leave the tunnel. He doesn’t say anything but you imagine a sad frown marring his features. You whimper and press your face into the crook of his neck as you watch the droid self destruct, effectively taking out the platoon and securing a way out for your group.

“IG did this for us,” Din soothes. “He did this for the child. We’re almost out of here.” His words are reassuring but you still feel slightly uneasy, the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.  Somehow, now, this all seemed too easy.  

The light is blinding as you exit the tunnel and you have to squint to take a look around. Stormtroopers litter the ground looking like broken toys, obviously having lost against IG-11′s destruction.  An engine roaring overhead captures everyone’s attention, and a tie fighter comes into view.  “Moff Gideon!” Cara yells. The engine’s roar is so deafening, it almost brings you to your knees. Everyone takes aim at the ship, unleashing hell as he flies overhead before disappearing once again behind the mountain line.  “He missed!” Karga exclaims. 

“He won’t next time. Our blasters are useless against him.”  Din replies, knowing that he has to think up of something quickly to get out of this safely. He’s already put you and the child in too much danger already.

“How about your girl and the baby? Make them do the magic thing again?” Karga waves his hand in front of the child and it takes your entire being to keep yourself from rolling your eyes.  “Do the magic hand thing!” The child laughs as he waves back at the man happily, not understanding the severity of the situation.  Karga looks at you in exasperation.  “Well, I’m out of ideas.” 

“I’m not.” Din says, pulling the jetpack from beside him.  He attaches the heavy equipment to his back, the pack seeming to magnetize onto his armor easily. Before you can even stop him, he takes off, launching straight into the air as the Moff’s tie fighter dives over your group again.  It’s almost impossible to see Din from the ground, but you realize he’s harpooned himself to the ship.  You can barely watch as he whips around like a kite behind the ship before they disappear behind the mountains again. 

“Cara!” you exclaim, and the shock trooper looks over to you.  She sits you down immediately, noticing the color drained from your face. 

“Hey, hey” she appeases, attempting to calm you down. “He’s gonna be fine.  He’s got...he’s got too much to lose now.” She looks over you and the child. Her words do little to calm you down, and you feel your power simmering just under the surface, ready to burst out of control.  Cara seems to understand and tries to reason with you again.  “Look, you can’t do that right now. If Moff Gideon finds out you’ve got weirdo powers too, they’ll chase you until the end of time.” She places both of her hands on your shoulders and gives you a slight shake. “Please,” she tries one more time. “For the kid and for Mando.”  

Her statement grounds you and brings you back. You nod your head slowly. “I’m okay.” Cara looks at you in relief for a moment, before you both jump at the explosion overhead and watch as the Moff’s tie fighter crashes in the distance.  More importantly, you watch as the Mandalorian makes a less than graceful descent back to the ground. You take off in a sprint towards him.  

“Don’t ever do that again!” You yell at him, hitting your fists pathetically against his battered cuirass.  Din allows you the moment before enveloping you into his arms.  “I’m sorry,” he offers weakly. “But I had to protect you both.” 

“Maybe some notice would have been nice!” You stamp your foot down in frustration and Din can only laugh. You’re about as ferocious as a baby ewok. Cara and Karga make their way behind you, the realization that everything is over finally creeping in.  Karga promises the pick of the quarries to Din upon his return back to the guild while Cara states that she intends to stay on Nevarro for the time being to help with any stragglers. 

“Take care of them, will you?” Cara says to Din as she shakes his hand, and wraps you in a tight embrace before rubbing the child’s ear affectionately. 

“Or maybe, they’ll take care of you.” Karga offers.  Din looks down to you and the child once more before nodding to the both of them.  You offer a small wave to Karga and Cara before Din lightly pulls on your hand. 

“Ready?” He asks.  

“For what?” You look up at him, confusion in your eyes.  Din bends over swiftly, cradling you behind the knees as he picks you back up.  “Wait, are we...” You don’t even get to finish your sentence as he takes off into the air.  You shut your eyes tightly, completely taken off guard.  You feel a low rumbling in Din’s chest as your bury your face into his shoulder even more. “No fair!” you snap at him.  But he continues to laugh, a full bodied laugh that wraps around you like the finest fabric, warming you from head to toe.

“Open your eyes, Beautiful.” Din’s voice is full of happiness.  “Trust me.” 

You open one eye, and then the other, and the view below you is magnificent.  The desert plains seems to stretch on for miles, the sand glittering below you.  You never considered the oppressive desert terrain to be your favorite but the view is undeniably beautiful.  You hold the child closer to you as he also looks on in wonder, chittering away happily in your arms. 

As quickly as you are in the air, you begin to feel Din descend as the Crest comes into view.  He brings you back to the ground smoothly, the roar of his jetpack slowly diminishing to a dull rumble. Carefully, he places you back down on your feet and looks you over, assessing you for any injuries.

“I’m fine,” you promise him but you know he won’t be satisfied until he’s completely checked you over so you wait patiently. Happy with his assessment, he pulls you tightly to him, the child settling in between you.

“I’m sorry. I never should have put you through any of this. I never should have left you on Arvala-7. I shouldn’t have lied to you,” he explains. As much as you want to tell him he is forgiven, you allow him to apologize; to start new for the both of you. His hands come up to your face, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones tenderly. “I am so, so, sorry. I hope I can earn your forgiveness.”

You place your own hand on the side of his helmet. “You are already forgiven.” Din, once again, gathers you and the child to him, as if holding the most precious treasures in the world. And to him, you both are.

Although exhausted, you and Din give Kuiil a proper burial. After placing one final rock on his grave, Din places the ugnaught’s old leather helmet on top, marking his grave. You both stand there for a few quiet moments, fingers intertwined, as you send off your final thoughts to Kuill. You thank him one last time for protecting the child with his life and hope that he can rest peacefully.

You both make your way back to the Razor Crest and head into the cockpit where the child is waiting in his pod, going between playing with his silver ball and chewing on Din’s mythosaur pendant. “Hello, little thing.” You greet the child as you take a seat next to him. He instantly holds up both arms, making grabbing motions with his hands in a demand to be picked up. You let out a light laugh and indulge the child, cradling him to your chest. A feeling of relief washes over you, something you haven’t felt since before Karga sent his message to Din.

Din takes in the scene before him and has never felt more greater joy than in this moment. However, he knows that he can be even happier, if he could just gain the courage to do so.

“A Mandalorian is able to show his face to his clan,” Din hesitates, his eyes trained on your face and watches you break your gaze away from the child in your arms as you look to him. He sees a beautiful smile grace your lips and his breath is taken away.

“Din, that’s wonderful.” You take one of his hands in yours and give him a squeeze before handing the child off to him. “I’m sure the child will be so excited to know what his father looks like beneath the helm.” You move to get up, hoping to give Din and the child some time to themselves. However, as you try to take a step away, Din holds you firmly in your place and you look back to him, slightly confused.

“I’ll just be...” you attempt to explain but he cuts you off.

“You misunderstand me, Beautiful,” he starts again nervously. “A Mandalorian’s clan includes his children, foundlings,” Din takes a big breath before leaving his pilot’s chair and kneeling before you, “and also his wife.” He takes his hand away for just a moment to remove something from his side. You peer over through watery eyes but he returns to face towards you again before you can see what he was searching for. He presents to you a simple chain with a mudhorn to match the one on his pauldron. Din Djarin’s clan signet.

“You are everything to me. Never, not even in my dreams, did I think I’d ever find someone like you. I had resigned myself to traveling the galaxy alone, getting by from planet to planet. I only existed before you. But you have shown me how to live, Beautiful. And if you will have me, it is my greatest wish to live each day with you, side by side, for all the days that we have. I have loved you for longer than you know, and I will love you even after my last breath.”

Happy tears flow freely from your eyes and you wrap your arms around him and the child. You nod your head yes and the Mandalorian lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He clasps the necklace around your neck and he lays his hand over it where it rests on your chest.

“How does one marry a Mandalorian?” You muse.

“Just a few spoken words, a promise between the two of us to bind us together as one,” Din murmurs against you, still dazed at the fact that you said yes.

“Here then, right now,” you urge but you can sense hesitation from the man before you. “Unless...that’s not okay? I know I must look awful...” you trail off but are quickly cut off.

“No! No. You are always a vision of beauty and I can never deny you. I just want to give you everything you deserve.”

“I can’t think of a better place. This is the place where I realized I loved you,” you confess, extending your arm out into the cockpit. Din’s eyebrows shoot up from behind his helmet and you continue as if you can sense his surprise. “The late nights talking in here and learning more about you, realizing the kind of man you are...I can’t tell you exactly when I did fall in love with you but I can tell you I realized it here.” You lower Din’s helm to your forehead.

“Here then,” he affirms. The child looks in wonder at the both of you and you can’t help but feel that he understands what he is witnessing. Soft whispers of promises pass your lips and you listen as Din makes his own promises in Mando’a and the tone of his voice is so filled with love it washes over you. He doesn’t speak it often and even if you don’t know the words, you still somehow can understand. He will give you the stars if you asked. He will protect you with his life. And he will be with you until the end of time.

Din slowly brings your hands to his head, and together, you lift his helmet off. Your breath catches as he finally reveals himself to you. His skin is tan and smooth, smudged here and there with dirt and sweat, reminding you what you all just endured. You smile at the scruff along his defined jaw and upper lip. His nose is straight with a strong bridge. When your eyes finally lock as his helmet is removed, the wave of emotion is almost too much. Beautiful, brown eyes filled with adoration look down at you and it takes everything for you to remember to keep breathing.

“I’m sorry if I’m...” Din begins but you are quick to silence him with a finger to his lips. He presses a quick kiss to it as a boyish grin forms.

“You are a beautiful man, Din Djarin.” You concede. Your smile widens and matches his own as your explore his face with your eyes and your hands. “I know this face,” you tell him. He holds your hand against the side of his face and you feel him melt into you.  Gently, he tips your chin up with his hand and you share a soft, sweet kiss.  You’ve had more passionate and heated kisses with each other to be sure, but this one is different.  This one is so saturated with love and promise it almost makes you weak in the knees. 

Small chirping breaks your moment and you both laugh at the child, demanding to be lifted higher. You take him from Din and hold him in front of you, eye level to Din.

“Hey, womp rat,” Din greets him as he smooths the wrinkles on the child’s forehead. The child brings his hand to Din’s face, taking a moment to consider the new face but instantly recognizing his father.  Din feels a wave of emotion course through him, not only because it is the first time you and the child are seeing his face, but it is also the first time he can truly see you both as well.  No helmet, no blindfolds, just you, Din and the child wrapped up in each other’s arms. As it should be. 

“Ratiin,” he murmurs to himself more than anything, but notes the question in your eyes.

“Always.” 

@momc95 @electricprincess888 @maia-hocane @lamnothome @highonsoundwaves @tedpicklez @renreypoe @mabelleen @cryptkeepersoul @holamor @mando-vibes @lustriix @katialvi @spookyold-saintjm @sarcasm-n-insomnia @awesomefandomsunited @sentimental-ghost @mrsparknuts @oloreaa

[itsclydebitches]

Enola Holmes: A Not So Elementary Adaptation

It's cliché and a bit unfair to say that the book was better than the film, but I'm afraid that's precisely where I need to start. Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes: The Case of the Missing Marquess is leagues better than Netflix's adaptation of it. They did her work dirty and to say that I'm shocked at the accolades other reviewers are heaping on the film is an understatement. Before I dive into any critiques though, it's worth acknowledging that not every minute of the two hour film was painful to get through. So what worked in Enola Holmes?

The film is carried by the talent of its cast, Millie Bobby Brown being the obvious heavy-hitter. She helps breathe life into a pretty terrible script and it's only a shame her talent is wasted on such a subpar character.

The idea to have Enola continually break the fourth wall, though edging into the realm of Dora the Explorer at times—"Do you have any ideas?"— was nevertheless a fun way to keep the audience looped into her thought process. Young viewers in particular might enjoy it as a way to make them feel like a part of the action and older viewers will note the Fleabag influence. 

The cinematography is, perhaps, where most of my praise lies. The rapid cuts between past and present, rewinding as Enola thinks back to some pertinent detail, visualizing the cyphers with close ups on the letter tiles—all of it gave the film an upbeat, entertaining flair that almost made up for how bloated and meandering the plot was.

We got an equally upbeat soundtrack that helped to sell the action. 

The overall experience was... fine. In the way a cobbled together, candy-coated, meant to be seen on a Friday night but we watched it Wednesday and then promptly forgot about it film is fine. I doubt Enola Holmes will be winning any awards, but it was a decently entertaining romp and really, does a Netflix film need to be anything more? If Enola was her own thing made entirely by Netflix's hands I wouldn't be writing this review. As it stands though, Enola is both an adaptation and the latest addition to one of the world’s most popular franchises. That's where the film fails: not as a fun diversion to take your mind off Covid-19, but as an adaptation of Springer's work and as a Sherlock Holmes story.

In short, Enola Holmes, though pretty to look at and entertaining in a predictable manner, still fails in five crucial areas: 

1. Mycroft is Now a Mustache-Twirling Villain and Sherlock is No Longer Sherlock Holmes

This aspect is the least egregious because admittedly the film didn't pull this version of Mycroft out of thin air. As the head of the household he is indeed Enola's primary antagonist (outside of some kidnappers) and though he insists that he's doing all this for Enola's own good, he does get downright cruel at times:

He rolled his eyes. “Just like her mother,” he declared to the ceiling, and then he fixed upon me a stare so martyred, so condescending, that I froze rigid. In tones of sweetest reason he told me, “Enola, legally I hold complete charge over both your mother and you. I can, if I wish, lock you in your room until you become sensible, or take whatever other measures are necessary in order to achieve that desired result... You will do as I say" (Springer 69).

Mycroft's part is clear. He's the white, rich, powerful, able-bodied man who benefits from society's structure and thus would never think to change it. He does legally have charge over both Enola and Eudoria. He can do whatever he pleases to make them "sensible"... and that right there is the horror of it. Mycroft is a law-abiding man whose antagonism stems from doing precisely what he's allowed to do in a broken world. There are certainly elements of this in the Netflix adaptation, but that antagonism becomes so exaggerated that it's nearly laughable. Enola's governess (appointed by Mycroft) slaps her across the face the moment she speaks up. Mycroft screams at her in a carriage until she's cowering against the window. He takes her and throws her into a boarding school where everything is bleak and all the women dutifully follow instructions like hypnotized dolls. Enola Holmes ensures that we've lost all of Springer's nuance, notably the criticism of otherwise decent people who fall into the trap of doing the "right" (read: expected) thing. Despite her desire for freedom, in the novel Enola quickly realizes that she is not immune to society's standards:

"I thought he was younger.” Much younger, in his curled tresses and storybook suit. Twelve! Why, the boy should be wearing a sturdy woollen jacket and knickers, an Eton collar with a tie, and a decent manly haircut—

Thoughts, I realised, all too similar to those of my brother Sherlock upon meeting me (113-14).

She is precisely like her brothers, judging a boy for not looking and acting enough like a man just as they judged her for not looking and acting enough like a lady. The difference is that Enola has chaffed enough against those expectations to realize when she's falling prey to them, but the sympathetic link to her brothers remains. In the film, however, the conflict is no longer driven by fallible people doing what they think is best. Rather, it's made clear (in no uncertain terms) that these are just objectively bad people. Only villains hit someone like that. Only villains will scream at the top of their lungs until a young girl cries. Only villains roll their eyes at women's rights (a subplot that never existed in the novel). Springer writes Mycroft as a person, Netflix writes him as a cartoon, and the result is the loss of a nuanced message about what it means to enact change in a complicated world.  

Which leaves us with Sherlock. Note that in the above passage he is the one who casts harsh judgement on Enola's outfit. Originally Mycroft took an interest in making Enola "sensible" and Sherlock— in true Holmes fashion—straddles a fine line between comfort and insult:

"Mycroft,” Sherlock intervened, “the girl's head, you'll observe, is rather small in proportion to her remarkably tall body. Let her alone. There is no use confusing and upsetting her when you'll find out for yourself soon enough'" (38).

***

"Could mean that she left impulsively and in haste, or it could reflect the innate untidiness of a woman's mind,” interrupted Sherlock. “Of what use is reason when it comes to the dealings of a woman, and very likely one in her dotage?" (43).

A large part of Enola's drive stems from proving to Sherlock, the world, and even herself that a small head does not mean lack of intelligence. His insults, couched in a misguided attempt to sooth, is what makes Sherlock a complex character and his broader sexism is what makes him a flawed character, not Superman in a tweed suit. Yet in the film Mycroft becomes the villain and Sherlock is his good brother foil. Rather than needing to acknowledge that Enola has a knack for deduction by reading the excellent questions she's asked about the case—because why give your characters any development?—he already adores and has complete faith in her, laughing that he too likes to draw caricatures to think. By the tree Sherlock remanences fondly about Enola's childhood where she demonstrated appropriately quirky preferences for a genius, things like not wearing trousers and keeping a pinecone for a pet. They have a clear connection that Mycroft could never understand, one based both in deduction and, it seems, being a halfway decent human being. We are told that Enola has Sherlock's wits, but poor Mycroft lucked out, despite the fact that up until this point the film has done nothing to demonstrate this supposed intelligence. (To say nothing of how canonically Mycroft's intellect rivals his brother's.) Enola falls to her knees and begs for Sherlock's help, saying that "For [Mycroft] I'm a nuisance, to you—" implying that they have a deep bond despite not having seen one another since Enola was a toddler. Indeed, at one point Enola challenges Lestrade to a Sherlock quiz filled with information presumably not found in the newspaper clippings she's saved of him, which begs the question of how she knows her brother so well when she hasn't seen him in a decade and he, in turn, walked right by her with no recognition. Truthfully, Lestrade should know Sherlock better. Through all this the sibling bond is used as a heavy-handed insistence that Enola is Sherlock's protégé, him leaving her with the advice that "Those kinds of mysteries are always the best to unpick” and straight up asking at one point if she’s solved the case. The plot has Enola gearing up to outwit her genius brother, which did not happen in the novel and is precisely why I loved it. Enola isn't out to be a master of deduction in her teens, she's a finder of lost people who uses a similar, but ultimately unique set of skills. She does things Sherlock can't because she is isn't Sherlock. They're not in competition, they're peers, yet the film fails to understand that, using Sherlock's good brother bonding to emphasize Enola's place as his protégé turned superior. He exists, peppered throughout the film, so that she can surpass him in the end. 

You know what happens in the novel? Sherlock walks away from her, dismissive, and that's that.

That's also Sherlock Holmes. I won't bore you with complaints about Cavill being too handsome and Claflin being too thin for their respective parts, but I will draw the line at complete character assassination. Part of Sherlock's charm is that he's far more compassionate than he first appears, but that doesn't mean he would, at the drop of a telegram, become a doting older brother to a sister of all things. Despite the absurdity of the Doyle Estate's lawsuit against Netflix for making Sherlock an emotional man who respects women... they're right that this isn't their character. Oh, Sherlock is emotive, but it's in the form of excited exclamations over clues, or the occasional warm word towards Watson—someone he has known and lived with for many years. Sherlock respects women, though it's through those societal expectations. He'll offer them a seat, an ear, a handkerchief if they need one, and always the promise of help, but he then dismisses them with, "The fairer sex is your department, Watson." Springer successfully wrote Sherlock Holmes with a little sister, a man who will bark out a laugh at her caricature but still leave her to Mycroft's whims because he has his own life to tend to. This is a man who insists that the mind of a woman is inscrutable and thus must grapple with his shock at Enola's ability to cover the "salient points" of the case (58). Cavill's Sherlock is no Sherlock at all and though there's nothing wrong with updating a character for a modern audience (see: Elementary), I do question why Netflix strayed so far from Springer's work. The novel is, after all, their blueprint. She already managed the difficult task of writing an in-character Sherlock Holmes who remains approachable to both a modern audience and Enola herself, yet for some reason Netflix tossed that work aside.  

2. Enola is "Special,” Not At All Like Other Girls 

Allow me to paint you a picture. Enola Holmes is an empathetic, fourteen-year-old girl who, while bright, does not possess an intelligence worthy of note. No one is gasping as she deduces seemingly impossible things from the age of four, or admiring her knowledge of some obscure, appropriately impressive topic. Rather, Enola is a fairly normal girl with an abnormal upbringing, characterized by her patience and willingness to work. Deciphering the many hiding places where her mother stashed cash takes her weeks, requiring that Enola work through the night in secrecy while maintaining appearances during the day. She manages to hatch a plan of escape that demonstrates the thought she's put into it without testing the reader's suspension of disbelief. More than that, she uses the feminine tools at her disposal to give herself an edge: hiding her face behind a widow's veil and storing luggage in the bustle of her dress. Upon achieving freedom, her understanding of another lonely boy leads her to try and help him, resulting in a dangerous kidnapping wherein Enola acts as most fourteen-year-olds would, scared out of her mind with a few moments of bravery born of pure survival instinct. She and Tewksbury escape together, as friends, before Enola sets out on becoming the first scientific perditorian, a finder of lost people.

Sadly, this new Enola shares little resemblance with her novel counterpart. What Netflix seemingly fails to understand is that giving a character flaws makes them relatable and that someone who looks more like us is someone we can connect with. This Enola, simply put, is extraordinary. She's read all the books in the library, knows science, tennis, painting, archery, and a deadly form of Jujitsu (more on that below). In the novel Enola bemoans that she was never particularly good at cyphers and now must improve if she has any hope of reading what her mother left her. In the film she simply knows the answers, near instantaneously. Enola masters her travels, her disguises, and her deductions, all with barely a hitch. Though Enola doesn't have impressive detective skills yet, her memory is apparently photographic, allowing her to look back on a single glance into a room, years ago, and untangle precisely what her mother was planning. It's a BBC Sherlock-esque form of 'deduction' wherein there's no real thought involved, just an innate ability to recall a newspaper across the room with perfect clarity. The one thing Enola can't do well is ride a bike which, considering that in the novel she quite enjoys the activity, feels like a tacked on "flaw" that the film never has to have her grapple with.

More than simply expanding upon her skillset—because let’s be real, it’s not like Sherlock himself doesn’t have an impressive list of accomplishments. Even if Enola’s feelings of inadequacy are part of the point Springer was working to make—the film changes the core of her personality. I cannot stress enough that Enola is a sheltered fourteen-year-old who is devastated by the disappearance of her mother and terrified by the new world she's entered. That fear, uncertainty, and the numerous mistakes that come out of it is what allowed me to connect with Enola and go, "Yeah. I can see myself in her." Meanwhile, this new Enola is overwhelmingly confident, to the point where I felt like I was watching a child's fantasy of a strong woman rather than one who actually demonstrates strength by overcoming challenges. For example, contrast her meeting with Sherlock and Mycroft on the train platform with what we got in the film:

"And to my annoyance, I found myself trembling as I hopped off my bicycle. A strip of lace from my pantalets, confounded flimsy things, caught on the chain, tore loose, and dangled over my left boot.

Trying to tuck it up, I dropped my shawl.

This would not do. Taking a deep breath, leaving my shawl on my bicycle and my bicycle leaning against the station wall, I straightened and approached the two Londoners, not quite succeeding in holding my head high" (31-32).

***

"Well, if they did not desire the pleasure of my conversation, it was a good thing, as I stood mute and stupid... 'I don't know where she's gone,' I said, and to my own surprise—for I had not wept until that moment—I burst into tears" (34).

I'd ask where this frightened, fumbling Enola has gone, but it's clear that she never existed in the script to begin with. The film is chock-full of her being, to be frank, a badass. She gleefully beats up the bad guys in perfect form, no, "I froze, cowering, like a rabbit in a thicket" (164). This Enola always gets the last word in and never falters in her confident demeanor, no, "I wish I could say I swept with cold dignity out of the room, but the truth is, I tripped over my skirt and stumbled up the stairs" (70). Enola is the one, special girl in an entire school who can see how rigid and horrible these social expectations are, straining against them while all her lesser peers roll their eyes. That's how she's characterized: as "special," right from the get-go, and that eliminates any growth she might have experienced over the course of the film. More than that, it feels like a slap in the face to Springer's otherwise likeable, well-rounded character.

3. A Focus on Hollywood Action and Those Strong Female Characters

It never fails to amaze me how often Sherlock Holmes adaptations fail to remember that he is, at his core, an intellectual. Sure, there's the occasional story where Sherlock puts his boxing or singlestick skills to good use, and he did survive his encounter with Moriarty thanks to his own martial arts, but these moments are rarities across the canon. Pick up any Sherlock Holmes story, open to a random page, and you will find him sitting fireside to mule over a case, donning a disguise to observe the suspects, or combing through his many papers to find that one, necessary scrap of information. Sherlock Holmes is about deduction, a series of observations and conclusions based on logic. He's not an action hero. Nor is Enola, yet Netflix seems to be under the impression that no audience can survive a two hour film without something exploding.

I'd like to present a concise list of things that happened in the film that were, in my opinion, unnecessary:

Enola and Tewksbury throw themselves out of a moving train to miraculously land unharmed on the grass below.

Enola uses the science knowledge her mother gave her to ignite a whole room of gunpowder and explosives, resulting in a spectacle that somehow doesn't kill her pursuer.

Enola engages in a long shootout with her attacker, Tewksbury takes a shot straight to the chest, but survives because of a breastplate he only had a few seconds to put on and hide beneath his shirt. Then Enola succeeds in killing Burn Gorman's slimy character.

Enola beats up her attackers many, many times.

This right here is the worst change to her character. Enola is, plainly put, a "strong woman." Literally. She was trained from a young age to kick ass and now that's precisely what she'll do. Gone is the unprepared but brave girl who heads out onto the dangerous London streets in the hope of helping her mother and a young boy. What does this Enola have to fear? There's only one martial arts move she hasn't mastered yet and, don't worry, she gets it by the end of the film. Enola suffers from the Hollywood belief that strong women are defined solely as physically capable women and though there's nothing wrong with that on the surface, the archetype has become so prevalent that any deviation is seen as too weak—too princess-y—to be considered feminist. If you're not kicking ass and taking names then you can only be passive, right? Stuck in a tower somewhere and awaiting your prince. But what about me? I have no ability to flip someone over my shoulder and throw them into a wall. What about pacifists? What about the disabled? By continually claiming that this is what a "strong" woman looks like you eliminate a huge number of women from this pool. The women we are meant to uphold in this film—Enola, her Mother, and her Mother's friend from the teahouse—are all fighters of the physical variety, whereas the bad women like Mrs. Harris and her pupils are too cultured for self-defense. They're too feminine to be feminist. But feminism isn't about your ability to throw a punch.  Enola's success now derives from being the most talented and the most violent in the room, rather than the most determined, smart, and empathetic. She threatens people and lunges at them, reminding others that she's perfectly capable of tying up a guy is she so chooses because "I know Jujitsu." Enola possesses a power that is just as fantastical as kissing a frog into a prince. In sixteen short years she has achieved what no real life woman ever will: the ability to go wherever she pleases and do whatever she wants without the threat of violence. Because Enola is the violence. While her attacker is attempting to drown her with somewhat horrific realism, Enola takes the time to wink at the audience before rearing back and bloodying his nose. After all, why would you think she was in any danger? Masters of Jujitsu with an uncanny ability to dodge bullets don't have anything to fear... unlike every woman watching this film.

It's certainly some kind of wish fulfillment, a fantasy to indulge in, but I personally preferred the original Enola who never had any Hollywood skills at her disposal yet still managed to come out on top. That's a character I can see myself in and want to see myself in given that the concept of non-violent strength is continually pushed to the wayside. Not to mention... that's a Sherlock Holmes story. Coming out on top through intellect and bravery alone is the entire point of the genre, so why Netflix felt the need to turn Enola into an action hero is beyond me.  

4. Aging Up the Protagonists (and Giving Them an Eye-Rolling Romance)

The choice to age up our heroes is, arguably, the worst decision here. In the original novel Enola has just turned fourteen and Tewksbury is a child, twelve-years-old, though he looks even younger. It's a story for a younger audience staring appropriately young heroes, with the protagonists' status as children crucial to one of the overarching themes of the story: what does it really mean to strike out on your own and when are you ready for it? Adding two years to Enola's age is something I'm perfectly fine with. After all, the difference between fourteen and sixteen isn't that great and Brown herself is sixteen until February of 2021, so why not aim for realism and make her character the same? That's all reasonable and this is, indeed, an adaptation. No need to adhere to every detail of the text. What puzzles me though is why in the world they would take a terrified, sassy, compassionate twelve-year-old and turn him into a bumbling seventeen-year-old instead?

Ah yes. The romance.

In the same way that I fail to understand the assumption that a film needs over-the-top action to be entertaining, I likewise fail to understand the assumption that it needs a romance—and a heterosexual one to boot. There's something incredibly discomforting in watching a film that so loudly proclaim itself as feminist, yet it takes the strong friendship between two children and turns it into an incredibly awkward, hetero True Love story. Remember when Enola loudly proclaims that she doesn't want a husband? The film didn't, because an hour later she's stroking her hand over Tewksbury's while twirling her hair. Which isn't to say that women can't fall in love, or change their minds, just that it's disheartening to see a supposedly feminist film so completely fall into one of the biggest expectations for women, even today. Forget Enola running up to men and paying them for their clothes as an expression of freedom, is anyone going to acknowledge that narratively she’s still stuck living the life the men around her want? Find yourself a husband, Enola. The heavy implication is she did, just with Jujitsu rather than embroidery. Different method, same message, and that’s incredibly frustrating when this didn’t exist in the original story. “It's about freedom!” the film insists. So why didn't you give Enola the freedom to have a platonic adventure? 

It's not even a good romance. Rather painful, really. When Tewksbury, after meeting her just once before, passionately says "I don't want to leave you, Enola" because her company is apparently more important than him staying alive, I literally laughed out loud. It's ridiculous and it's ridiculously precisely because it was shoe-horned into a story that didn't need it. More than simply saddling Enola with a bland love interest though, this leads to a number of unfortunate changes in the story's plot, both unnecessary additions and disappointing exclusions. Enola no longer meets Tewksbury after they've both been kidnapped (him for ransom and her for snooping into his case), but rather watches him cut himself out of a carpetbag on the train. I hope I don't have to explain which of these scenarios is more likely and, thus, more satisfying. Meeting Tewksbury on the train means that Enola gets to have a nighttime chat with him about precisely why he ran away. Thus, when she goes to his estate she no longer needs to deduce his hiding spot based on her own desires to have a place of her own, she just needs to recall that a very big branch nearly fell on him and behold, there that branch is. (The fact that the branch is a would-be murder weapon makes its convenient placement all the more eye-rolling.) Rather than involving herself in the case out of empathy for the family, Enola loudly proclaims that she wants nothing to do with Tewksbury and only reluctantly gets involved when it's clear his life is on the line. And that right there is another issue. In the novel there is no murderous plot in an attempt to keep reform bills from passing. Tewksbury is a child who, like Enola, ran away and quickly discovers that life with an overbearing mother isn't so bad when you've experienced London's dangerous streets. That's the emotional blow: Enola has no mother to go home to anymore and must press out onto those streets whether she's ready for it or not.

Perhaps the only redeeming change is giving Tewksbury an interest in flowers instead of ships. Regardless of how overly simplistic the feminist message is, it is a nice touch to give the guy a traditionally feminine hobby while Enola sharpens her knife. The fact that Enola learned that from her mother and Tewksbury learned botany from his father feels like a nudge at a far better film than Enola Holmes managed to be. For every shining moment of insight—the constraints of gendered hobbies, a black working class woman informing Sherlock that he can never understand what it means to lack power—the film gives us twenty minutes worth of frustrating stupidity. Such as how Enola doesn't seem to conceive of escaping from boarding school until Tewksbury appears to rescue her. She then proceeds to get carried around in a basket for a few minutes before going out the window... which she could have done on her own at any point, locked doors or no. But it seems that narrative consistency isn't worth more than Enola (somehow) leaving a caricature of Mrs. Harris and Mycroft behind. The film is clearly trying to promote a "Rah, rah, go, women, go!" message, but fails to understand that having Enola find a way out of the school herself would be more emotionally fulfilling than having her send a generic 'You're mean' message after the two men in her life—Sherlock and Tewksbury—remind her that she can, in fact, take action.

Which brings me to my biggest criticism and what I would argue is the film's greatest flaw. Reviewers and fans alike are hailing Enola Holmes as a feminist masterpiece and yes, to a certain extent it is. Feminist, that is, not a masterpiece. (5) But it's a hollow feminism. A fantasy feminism. A simple, exaggerated feminism that came out of a Feminism 101 PowerPoint. To quote Sherlock, let's review the salient points:

A woman cannot be the star of her own film without having a male love interest, even if this goes against everything the original novel stood for.

A feminist woman cannot also be selfish. Instead she must have a selfless drive to change the world with bombs. 

The best kind of women are those who reject femininity as much as they can. They will wear boy's clothes whenever possible and snub their nose at something as useless as embroidery. Any woman who enjoys such skills or desires to become lady-like just hasn't realized the sort of prison she's in yet.

The best women also embody other masculine traits, like being able to take down men twice their size. Passive women will titter behind their hands. Active women will kick you in the balls. If you really want to be a strong woman, learn how to throw a decent punch.

Women are, above all, superior to men.

Yes, yes, I joke about it just as much as the next woman, but seeing it played fairly straight was a bit of an uncomfortable experience, even more-so during a gender revolution where stories like this leave trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer viewers out of the ideological loop. Enola goes on and on about what a "useless boy" Tewksbury is (though of course she must still be attracted to him) and her mother's teachings are filled with lessons about not listening to men. As established, Mycroft—and Lestrade—are the simplistically evil men Enola must circumvent, whereas Sherlock exists for her to gain victory over: "How did your sister get there first?" Enola supposedly has a strength that Tewksbury lacks— he's just "foolish"—and she shouts out such cringe-worthy lines as, "You're a man when I tell you you're a man!"

I get the message, I really do. As a teenager I probably would have loved it, but now I have to ask: aren't we past the image of men-hating feminists? Granted, the film never goes quite that far, but it gets close. We’ve got one woman who is ready to start blowing things up to achieve equality and another who revels in looking down on the men in her life. That’s been the framing for years, that feminists are cruel, dangerous people and Tewksbury making heart-eyes at Enola doesn’t instantly fix the echoes of that. There's a certain amount of justification for both characterizations—we have reached points in history where peaceful protests are no longer enough and Tewksbury is indeed a fool at times—but that nuance is entirely lost among the film's overall message of "Women rule, men drool." It feels like there’s a smart film hidden somewhere between the grandmother murdering to keep the status quo and Enola’s mother bombing for change, that balance existing in Enola herself who does the most for women by protecting Tewkesbury... but Enola Holmes is too busy juggling all the different films it wants to be to really hit on that message. It certainly doesn’t have time to say anything worthwhile about the fight it’s using as a backdrop. Enola gasps that "Mycroft is right. You are dangerous" when she finds her mother's bombs, but does she ever grapple with whether she supports violence on a large scale in the name of creating a better world? Does she work through this sudden revelation that she agrees with Mycroft about something crucial? Of course not. Enola just hugs her mom, asks Sherlock not to go after her, and the film leaves it at that. 

The takeaway is less one of empowerment and more, ironically, of restriction. You can fight, but only via bombs and punches. It's okay to be a woman, provided you don't like too many feminine things. You can save the day, so long as there's a man at your side poised to marry you in the future. I felt like I was watching a pre-2000s script where "equality" means embracing the idea that you're "not like other girls" so that men will finally take you seriously. Because then you don't really feel like a woman to them anymore, do you? You're a martial arts loving, trouser-wearing, loud and brilliant individual who just happens to have long hair. You’re unique and, therefore, worthy of attention, unlike all those other girls.

That's some women's experiences, but far from all, and crucially I don't think this is the woman that Springer wrote in her novel. 

The Case of the Missing Marquess is a feminist book. It gives us a flawed, brave, intelligent woman who sets out to help people and achieves just that, mostly through her own strength, but also with some help from the young boy she befriends. Her brothers are privileged, misguided men who she nevertheless cares for deeply and her mother finally puts herself first, leaving Enola to go and live with the Romani people. Everyone in Springer's book feels human, the women especially. Enola gets to tremble her way through scary decisions while still remaining brave. Her mother gets to be selfish while still remaining loving. They're far more than just women blessed with extraordinary talents who will take what they want by force. Springer's women? They don't have that Hollywood glamour. They're pretty ordinary, actually, despite the surface quirks. They’re like us and thus they must make use of what tools they have in order to change their own situations as well as the world. The fact that they still succeed feels very feminist to me, far more-so than granting your character the ability to flip a man into the ground and calling it a day.  

Know that I watched Enola Holmes with a friend over Netflix Party and the repeated comment from us both was, "I'd rather be watching The Great Mouse Detective." Enola Holmes is by no means a horrible film. It has beauty, comedy, and a whole lot of heart, but it could have been leagues better given its source material and the talent of its cast. It’s a film that tries to do too much without having a firm grasp of its own message and, as a result, becomes a film mostly about missed potential. Which leads me right back to where I began: The book is better. Go read the book.

Images

Enola Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Enola and her Mother Doing Archery

Enola and her Mother Fighting

Tewkesbury and Enola

[occult-castiel]

Takes place s15, night before they try and take Chuck down

It's quiet in the bunker, the night before it's all going to end.

Jack's waiting with Billy, and Sam decided to try and get some sleep sometime after dinner. Dean's been in pajamas just as long, but hasn't fallen asleep by the time Cas slips into his room.

Cas has a bottle of whiskey in hand, fifty-five years old and smoother than anything. It only takes ten minutes for Dean to get him to take his damn shoes off for once, and another thirty seconds to discard both his jackets and tie.

Then he pats the foot of the mattress, and they take turns doing pulls straight from the bottle while they talk.

Dean's propped against his headboard, mostly empty bottle of booze in hand, when it happens.

Dean wets his lips, and his eyes dart from the bottle to Cas and repeats. They settle on the whiskey when he speaks. "So. Got any regrets? Y'know. If we all die."

Cas lifts an eyebrow. "This isn’t the first time we've been at the end of the barrel, so to speak."

Dean's lips quirk up for a moment, somehow still happy at idioms and pop culture references when they come from Cas. It falls as fast as it's there.

Dean clears his throat, sits up straighter. "Yeah, but not like this man."

"That's true." He plucks the bottle up, takes one last swig.

The liquid burns. It shouldn't, like the room shouldn't feel cool, and his shoulder shouldn't ache. But the slow slip of his powers is one more thing going wrong. You have to draw the line in the sand somewhere. So he's already decided he doesn't care, as long as there's something for tomorrow.

"Never thought fratricide would be on my list of sins," he says as he caps the top, passes it back.

Dean's eyes search him, a sharp clarity cuts through any buzz, and he takes the time to examine.

"Yeah, but you lived a long time. Doubt that takes the cake."

He scrunches his nose. For an angel, killing God should top the list.

"It doesn't."

"So," he shifts closer, "what's the big one?"

It's obvious, and he isn't stupid. There's only one reason to ask this now. To press the issue.

His answer is short, to the point. "You."

Dean flinches, his head jerks away. Cas lifts his hand to grab his shoulder, but stalls. Leaves it stuck in the air between them from a moment.

"Dean, look at me."

He doesn't. 

Carefully, Cas moves his fingers to Dean's cheek, directs Dean's gaze towards him with a barely-there press.

"You haven’t misread anything. I merely wish... circumstances were different."

Cas drops his hand, let's them both lay in his lap. 

When Dean speaks. His voice is quiet. "Different how?"

He gives a humorless laugh. "I wish we didn’t meet in Hell, for starters."

Slowly, Cas looks back up. Dean sits the bottle of alcohol on the floor with a clank. Smooths his tshirt out. 

When he talks, he tries to smile. It doesn't touch his face. "What, think we would've met in Heaven after I kicked the bucket?"

And then Cas laughs once, more genuine, but still too close to bitter. "Not at all. But I think you know that's not what I meant."

It's meant to be an offer, one last chance to back out.

Dean's younger darts out, west his mouth. "Then tell me."

It figures this would happen just in time for Cas to not be able to give it. Not fully. He twists the cuffs of his shirt between his fingers as he talks.

"I wish we met..." he sighs. "Somewhere normal. A place where you weren't forced to hunt, and I wasn't like this," he gives a vague motion to his body. The one he wasn't born in, the one he only has because Heaven and Hell wanted to ruin everything. 

Dean looks him in the eye, listening. The bed makes no noise when Cas leans a little closer, propped on the ball of his hand next to Dean's knee.

"And then I'd wish we'd talk long enough to want to again. Have this… courtship process in the right order, without all the mistakes and lost time."

"Yeah?" Dean's voice is weak.

He nods. "I regret that we can't be normal, and have a proper first date. It isn't your usual method, but you care about what's expected when you think something is important. We'd have that, in another time."

And it's what he deserves. An average life in all it's forged beauty. Not a string of disasters.

It's almost funny, to imagine. Maybe in a far off reality, they'd get married, and Jack would be a normal kid they adopted. And Sam would've made an excellent lawyer.

Dean’s hand slips forward, gripes his wrist. The hold is loose but firm, and everywhere his skin touches burns. He's shifted enough so they're inches apart, breathing the same air.

"Y'know I— I would. I'd do it proper now, Cas. Still can, just one more fight. We can have it, if you want."

The words sting. He doesn't know.

"I just want everyone safe. But—"

Cas glances at their hands, maneuvers them just enough to tangle their fingers.

"But, to clarify, you take the cake. Not having you. I wish I spent the last handful of years living here, at the least."

"You say that like it's too late."

Because it is. It is too late, and the vocalization of it chokes his throat closed. He flicks his eyes to the wall, tries not to see Dean in his peripheral either. 

There's a warrant above his head, just waiting for the right moment, and Dean doesn't know. He'll be confused, lost. More lost than Cas ever thought when he made the deal, and he's left their son the job of explaining it. Because it won't be eons. Every day is numbered.

He doesn't realize his hands are shaking until Dean grabs them.

"Cas?"

It takes a moment to work past the knot in his throat. "It feels that way."

"Hey," Dean lifts a hand and cups his face, firm. "It isn’t too late. Look at me Cas."

He doesn't, but he also doesn't fight it when Dean guides his gaze back. 

There’s a pleading quality to his face. Intense, sharp. The one he gets when he thinks he can convince someone of anything as long as it's right. 

It's the kind of look that can convince an angel to fall, in his experience.

So he looks at Dean's mouth instead, watches the way his lips wrap around the words when he speaks.

"It isn't, Cas." 

Then Dean kisses him. Tentative, soft. Like Cas might break.

Every muscle Cas has freezes. It shouldn't be a surprise, but once you've thought about something enough times, the reality is always shocking.

And Cas can't move.

Dean's lips are plump, and the two of them slot perfectly together. But this isn't something they can do, not now, not with the Empty, not when they’ll need him in the fight tomorrow—

And then Dean tilts his head just so, and any thoughts of tomorrow, any reservation he should have, leaves.

That one movement is the freshest breath of air he's had in months. Longer, even.

Dean's hand moves to his waist, and he surges forward, haphazard and messy. Dean takes it with a grunt and a fleeting smile Cas can only feel.

It's Heavenly.

Their teeth clank, and the taste of whiskey in their saliva is the sweetest thing on the planet. The smell of Dean's cinnamon-scented shampoo is like a familiar blanket, and he's drowning in all of it. 

Kissing Dean isn't like anyone else. It's like slipping headfirst into an endlessly deep bath. He'd only had one once, but it was soothing and warm, a nice simulation of the best embrace he could think of at the time. And this is so much better.

He barely notices it when Dean's hand guides him back into place, then slides it around his neck.

Decidedly, Cas flicks his tongue over Dean's lips. A soft, nearly broken noise catches itself in the back of Dean's throat. Cas pushed in further, weasels a hand to Dean's chest, makes him lay down properly. He climbs on Dean's lap without breaking them apart.

He buries his nose into Dean's cheek, presses their faces together. When Cas drags his teeth over Dean's bottom lip, he moans.

He shivers when Dean tugs his shirt up, the cool air a shock to his heated skin. Dean's hand travels under, paints up his back in a smooth, slow drag. Cas breaks the kiss just so he can breathe.

Their foreheads meld together, and their breaths run ragged. His heart thumps in his eardrums with each inhale. His skin is probably as red as Dean's, flushed deep, mouth puffed red and kiss stained.

After a moment, Cas falls limp, nested into Dean's side. 

Dean accommodates him effortlessly. His hand is still a comforting weight on Cas' back, even if the rumbled dress shirt digs into his skin.

When the subtle shake of his hands doesn't fade in the less intense position, he buries it in Dean's shirt.

As subtle as possible, he breathes deep. Once. Twice. Three times.

How he's still alive is a mystery.

Maybe the Empty would think it'd be funnier if it waited until after the battle, or at least in it's best interest. Maybe it's okay, for the night.

His eyes drift up, and Dean's smiling at him, a soft, private thing.

"See?" He says, "Not too late."

Cas twists himself up, brushes their lips. It has an addictive quality to it, the act. Especially when Dean leans in, and slides his fingers through Cas' hair.

And he’s still alive.

When they part, Dean schools his face into neutrality, his body tenses. He runs his hand through his hair once more, trailing down until he holds Cas' face firm.

He opens his mouth. Screws it shut. Opens it again.

"I'm in love with you."

His heart misses a beat, but the rest of him relaxes a fraction more. Tense in a way he wasn’t aware.

There’s a vehemence in the words, a truth that's a half step away from an accusation. He's had to have thought about it, combed the words over on his head until it was second nature.

Cas has known long enough it shouldn't be a surprise, but it still sends a little shock of thrill through him.

Cas takes in a shaky breath. Blinks a few times. 

Dean's sea-glass green eyes are beautiful.

And he's surviving this conversation.

"I know."

Dean’s eyebrows pop before he grins, full-faced and toothy. "Are you seriously referencing Star Wars at me?"

Cas' lips curl up. "It’s possible."

Dean doesn’t say anything, just leans in, kisses the side of Cas’ hair, right above his ear.

Cas runs his fingers along Dean's torso. After a few strokes, Dean catches his hand. Slots their fingers together.

Cas speaks, "I—"

He closes his eyes as goosebumps creep along his back.

You are alive, he reminds himself. He's survived the rest of this without being whisked away. He licks his lips and starts again.

"I've loved you so fully in the time we've known each other, that whatever I was before may as well not exist."

And it's the truth. An existence of obedience, where any insolence was erased, wasn't much of an existence at all. 

And yes, he loves Sam. And Jack is his son, their son, and he'd die for him. Die for any of them.

But in all his time, nothing has ever been like Dean.

Dean's laugh breezes through his hair. "Geez Cas, tell me how you really feel."

"Tired." He shakes his head, deflates a bit. "Or terrified. Hard to tell."

And then Dean pulls him in, hugs him for all his worth.

"Me too, but we're going to win this. And we're all gonna get out. You're going to, cause I—" his voice breaks off. He takes a deep breath, crushes Cas against him, slotted hard under his chin. "I won’t lose you again. I can't. So just trust me on that, okay?"

When Dean puts it like that, it sounds so simple. Of course they'll be fine. Everyone lives. Things work out, and they'll be tangled together on the couch watching Netflix next week. Of course.

It's simple, the image of contentedness. Dangerous. Clinging onto now is stupid enough.

But Cas doesn't miss a beat when he answers, the word quiet against his chest. "Always."

Dean's finger turns his face up, and his small smile splits into a sloppy grin. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and the beauty of him catches the air in his throat.

There's only so much time to appreciate it.

The hand on Cas' back moves up, and fingers thread through his hair with a gentle reverence. When he guides their mouth together, Cas sinks in easily. 

He'd be a fool to feel settled, or safe, and he doesn't. Not truly.

But he can have this. And some part of him does think it could be okay.

He's never been in the business of underestimating the Winchesters, realized that mistake in the first apocalypse. So maybe it'd be a bit foolish to start now.

And if not, at least there's tonight.

[obxlife]

In Need of Help (Pope x Reader)

A/N: Okay, so I had this idea for Pope and I knew I had to write it! I just feel like it’s very sweet and soft and idk. Plus, it has an enemy to lovers trope, which I personally love. Also, the valedictorian and salutatorian at my school are also dating and I just got that idea from them lol.

Word Count: 3,513

Request: -

Summary: Pope finds himself with some trouble regarding his scholarship work, and he knows he can’t turn to his friends for this. Instead, he sucks up his pride and turns to you, the runner up for the Lucas T Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. Oh, and his enemy regarding academics. 

Warnings: Mild swearing.

IN NEED OF HELP

Pope was in trouble. Not serious trouble like JJ regarding his dad or John B in relation to the DCS and basically being homeless. No, Pope was in trouble in a way that may almost seem absurd. 

He was struggling with his goddamn scholarship essay. And the worst part of it all was that he had technically already won the scholarship. 

See, this was just a follow-up essay he had to do to ensure he was not going to be ripped apart from the opportunity of actually getting the scholarship. And it had been the hardest essay he had to write. Mainly because it asked for more of a story instead of focusing on a scientific topic, and Pope had always struggled with that. 

The paper he was writing his draft on was filled with eraser marks and little doodles around the edges. Most of the doodles were of things he could see. His eraser, his pinky finger, his cup of water on his desk. There was only one he wasn’t really sure why he had drawn. It was the one object that was not in the room with him at that instant, and the worst part of it all was that he truly hated it. What had he drawn? You. 

For some reason, Pope had drawn you onto the edge of his paper. He didn’t really understand why he had because, as mentioned before, he hated you with a passion that ran so deep in his veins it was a part of who he was. Pope could not be himself if he didn’t hate you, and it was just the same for you. You couldn’t be yourself if you didn’t hate Pope.

Pope began to rub his pencil over the small drawing of your face, wanting nothing more than to get you out of his head. He hated that he had drawn you of al people, and he hated how stuck he was on this stupid essay.

Pope hadn’t realized how much force he was using to press his pencil into the paper until he ripped it. Throwing his pencil down, Pope sighed and pressed his hands to his head, stretching in his seat. 

“That’s it,” he said to himself before grabbing the papers from his desk, his pencil, his eraser, and his pencil sharpener into his backpack. He then grabbed the folder that had arrived through the mail and gently took it into his hands. Pope turned outside of his room and headed towards the shop in front of his house.

His father was behind the counter, checking an old lady out.

“Dad,” Pope called out to him from the door. “I’m heading out.”

The older man froze. He thought he had told his son to work on his scholarship. “I thought I told you to work on your scholarship. Now you know I don’t want you slacking around -”

“I know, I know,” Pope told him. “I just need to clear my head. I’m going over to John B to see if my friends can help.”

“Look here, boy,” Heyward called out to his son while pointing his finger out. Pope stood at the door, on hand already pushing it open. “What are your friends going to help with? They’re all a bunch of good-for-nothings.”

Pope sighed, only shaking his head and turning towards the outside, throwing a “Later, Pops” over his shoulder. The hot afternoon air made Pope’s body break into a sweat, but Pope didn’t mind as he headed deeper into the Cut towards John B’s fishing shack. 

The Chateau stood mighty and tall before the marsh and surrounding it were Pope’s friends. JJ was laying across the hammock sipping on a beer and a joint in his hand while Kie lay opposite of him, playing the ukelele. John B was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably inside.

“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired boy called out to the pair. He smiled as he saluted them with their usual handshake before taking a seat in one of the broken-down chairs. Pope set his backpack on the ground, careful not to fold the papers in his hands.

“What you got there, Pope?” JJ asked curiously. Pope knew what he held in his hands would not interest JJ, so he told the boy straight out what it was.

“Scholarship stuff.”

Indeed, JJ shrugged and turned around, bringing the joint back to his lips to take another drag of it. Kie, instead, showed interest in the papers held between Pope’s fingers.

“What do you have to do this time? Another essay about something science-y?” she wondered. 

Pope nodded but then shook his head. “Sort of. It’s an essay but they want a story. But I don’t know what to write about. Like, most of the stuff we do is illegal.”

Kie laughed at this before saying, “Then lie. Just take the illegal parts out.”

“Hard to do when they’re essential to the story,” Pope replied. 

Now JJ laughed, smiling at Pope and diving into one of the many illegal memories they had made together.

While this helped Pope clear his head, it was not guiding him as to what to write for his essay. After about an hour or two hanging out, Pope sighed, knowing he would now have to work on the essay.

“Okay guys, I need y’all to be serious right now. I really need to get this essay done. Any ideas?”

Kie and JJ stared at him blankly, not really knowing how to help. Pope groaned at their reaction, but then groaned even louder when Kie said:

“Why don’t you ask Y/N Y/L/N? Wasn’t she second place for the scholarship?”

“Kie, I literally hate her. We’ve been competing over the top spot in our grade for our whole lives.”

Kie shrugged. “Yeah, but now the scholarship is yours anyway. And besides, didn’t you say the only thing she was better at than you is story writing?”

“I said that when I was drunk,” Pope deadpanned.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true,” JJ said quickly before taking another sip of beer. 

Pope really didn’t want to go see you. He had way too much pride to do so. But his options were wearing thin and he had to send this essay in a week, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do so himself. 

“Well, even if I went to Y/N, I doubt she would be willing to help.”

Kie gave him a hard look. “You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you, Kie,” Pope sighed. “Look, I’ll go to her but she probably hates my guts. I did take the scholarship from her.”

“Hey!” JJ scolded. “Don’t say that, man. We know you won it fair and square. You deserve it.”

“I know I did. But that doesn’t mean she won’t hate me for it. We all know she needs that scholarship just as much as I do to get into college.”

It was true. You had lived your life down in the Cut, working just as much as Pope did with his father. Your mother was the owner of a small boat repair shop which she had received after your father’s death. Because she couldn’t and didn’t know how to work on boats and because your father had taught you everything you know, you were the head repair woman there. Everyone on the island knew how much time you dedicated to the shop, almost as much time as you dedicated to school. 

“Look, man. Let’s be real. Everyone born on the Cut knows they’re probably going to be stuck here forever. You and Y/N were just lucky to have the opportunity to might have not been stuck here, but in the end, you got it. I’m sure she won’t be bitter towards you because she probably still expected her life to be spent on the Cut either way.”

Pope sighed. He knew what JJ was saying was probably true but he hated to think of that. 

“Just go to her, Pope,” Kie told him. 

With that, Pope collected his belongings and headed out towards your shop. It wasn’t far from the Chateau, maybe a five-minute walk, but Pope managed to get there in thirty minutes. He was trying to push back the inevitable. 

Once he arrived he stood outside for another good ten minutes, building up his courage to go in. Breathing in deeply, he told himself that he was going to be fine and that your hate for him had probably dissipated a bit since the end of the school year. He opened the door to the shop and found it was empty except for two men looking down at the bottom of a boat. 

They didn’t turn around when Pope had entered, too concentrated on the person Pope just now saw that was under the boat. 

“What you thinkin’?” one of the men asked as you pushed yourself from out under the boat. The skateboard you were laying upon was uncomfortable and your muscles sighed in relief as you stood up next to them. 

“We’re gonna need two orders of plugs from Guffy and then we can start working on this bad boy,” you told them before wiping your forehead. “Well, I’m off, boys.”

And just as you spun around your eyes fell upon the boy at the door.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Pope could only smile innocently, hoping you would spare him some time of day. 

“What do you want, Heyward?” you asked rudely while heading towards the back of the shop. Pope began to follow you around, sparing a glance at the two men you stared at him dirtily. 

Pope was sure you hated him now.

“Look, I-I need your help, Y/N. And I know you hate me but I really need it.”

Anger and pain were laced in your eyes as you spun around to face the dark-skinned boy. “Yes, I do hate you. And I don’t want to help you. You took the scholarship from me, Pope.”

“Well, technically I didn’t. I won it. But,” he raised his hands in defense when you gave him another murderous look, “I seriously need your help. They gave me a task I know you’re better at than me and I don’t know what to do.” 

You began to tie your hair into a ponytail as you felt your skin grow hot with anger. “So what? You thought you would just strut in here and I’d be willing to help?”

“N-no, but I thought -”

“You thought what? That out of the kindness of my heart I would actually help you? Need I remind you that you took the scholarship from me?”

“I didn’t take the scholarship from you! I won it, fair and square and you know that!”

Your eyes fell to the ground, defeated. You knew what Pope was saying was true, but the denial had helped you cope with the fact that you weren’t enough for the scholarship. You weren’t enough to get out of the Cut.

“Look, Y/N,” Pope began awkwardly. He was scratching the back of his neck, not sure if he was going to be able to get you to help him. “I know you wanted the scholarship - hell, you probably wanted it more than me. And I’m sorry you didn’t get it because you truly deserve it, but I’m not sorry that I got it. And I know that’s selfish, but let’s be real here. We both want to get off the Cut, and we always knew that only one of us was going to make it. So please, please, please help me get out of this place.”

You thought about it. Really hard. And Pope stood before you fidgeting with his fingers and doubting if what he said was the best thing he could have said. He opened his mouth, a rant about to burst through his lips.

“Fine,” you stated. You were going against your instinct, but at least you would get him to shut up. “I’ll help you. But I get free groceries for a month.”

Pope stuttered before answering. “What - you - I - you know I can’t do that! My dad would kill me!”

“Well then, you’ll have to pay with your own money.”

“Okay, fine! But only because I’m really desperate.”

****************************************************************

And so you and Pope began to work together every day for the following week. It only took two hours for you to drop your grudge against him and laugh at his stories and jokes. He would smile at your reactions and feel his previous hate for you to slip into something more similar to love. He began to notice how pretty your eyes were when they seemed to sparkle in the afternoon light and how your skin reminded him of warm summer days. You began to notice how your stupid hatred for him began to transform into a crush. His chocolate brown eyes reminding you of coffees on chilly, winter mornings and his soft smile reminding you of innocence.

Between your hours spent working together, you would talk about other things. You told him about your mother and her disease (which didn’t let her work at the shop with you) and how your friends at school were all out of town because of a road trip they had planned which you couldn’t go on. He told you about the Pogues and the pressure he felt sometimes from his dad. You both told each other a lot more than you had ever expected to share, but the feeling of comfort and understanding that followed these confessions was enough to maintain the both of you stuck together.

Exactly a week after Pope had approached you at your boat shop, you both headed together to the post office that was near the police station. Together you sealed the envelope containing the finished essay and placed the post stamps onto it. You watched Pope pay for the dispatch of the letter and then you walked out together. 

You felt dread in your stomach, not wanting to have to turn your back on your new friendship. You didn’t know if Pope felt the same way as you did, but you felt like you had come to the end of your short relationship. You felt as if, years from now, you would look back and remember Pope as the boy you only helped write an essay and nothing more, which made you afraid to no end. You didn’t want Pope to be only that.

Unbeknownst to you, Pope felt the same way. He was expecting you to turn towards him and say goodbye, followed by a snarky remark. He expected you to go back to hating him and not thinking about him. All he wanted was you to prove him wrong.

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” you both asked at the same time. Then, your eyes widened at the same time, both of you shocked that you wanted to carry on with your friendship.

“Wait, you still want to hang out?” you asked him. Pope nodded vigorously.

“Yeah. Did you really think I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore?” he asked, a little hurt.

“Shut up, you thought that about me as well!”

With smiles on both of your faces, you turned around towards the Wreck, where you knew Kie would give Pope a discount.

**********************************************

The Pogues hadn’t seen their smart friend for a month. Ever since JJ and Kie had convinced him of reaching out to you for help, he had disappeared.

“Pope pulling a Houdini,” JJ remarked as he arrived at the Chateau to find that, once again, Pope was not there.

“Have you guys even heard from him?” John B asked. 

JJ shrugged but Kie bit her lip. “I see him at the Wreck every once in a while. He’s been hanging around with Y/N.”

“Y/N?” John B said almost laughing. “Okay, we both know they hate each other and that’s a lie.”

“I’m not lying, JB,” Kie rolled her eyes. “I literally saw them there yesterday.”

“No way! Pope has to be dating her!” JJ exclaimed. “It only makes sense! Future valedictorian and salutatorian.”

“That would make a cute couple,” John B muttered while thinking about it.

Kie coughed, trying to bring the boys’ attention back to the main issue they had. “Look, guys, we need to get Pope to hang out with us again. He’s been blowing us off and I do not have enough patience to keep you two from doing dumb shit.”

“Mama’s mad,” JJ whispered. This earned him a smack on the head of the girl.

“Let’s just head over to her shop and see if they’re there.”

*********************************************

“Wait, so JJ stole some boat plugs?”

Pope nodded, perched upon the edge of the boat you were working on. He was leaning back, a book in his lap, as he told you one of his many crazy stories about his friends.

“I don’t know why you asked for my help for the essay when you have so many stories to tell.”

Pope sighed. “As I’ve said before, most of them are illegal.”

You nod your head at what he was saying, agreeing with him. You continued to work on the boat as you felt his eyes upon you.

Pope was looking at your eyes at first. He was counting how many flecks of color they held. Then, he moved onto your skin, noticing how smooth it looked. He wondered if it would feel smooth against his fingers, or if your mouth would feel smoother. He then noticed how plump your lips looked, and Pope could feel himself leaning closer to you.

“Y/N?” he called out so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You spun your head to look at him, suddenly noticing how small the distance between the both of you had become. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wondered if he felt them too. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could only wait until his lips were pressed to yours.

Feeling nervous, Pope began to speak. “I d-don’t want this to be awkward but I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while.”

You nodded your head, inching even closer to him. His lips looked a little chapped, but you were sure that it wouldn’t matter once you kissed him. 

“And I don’t know if you feel the same or if you -”

“Shut up, Pope,” you giggled before plunging forwards. You pressed your lips to his own, moving them and giving him a few seconds to respond. When he did you smiled a little before continuing what you were doing. Your arms reached up to hold his face while his arms brought you closer to him and positioned you between his legs. Pope’s thumb was drawing circles right at your waist, and you finally broke apart from him when the door of the shop opened.

You didn’t break eye contact with Pope, but a sudden loud whoop made you stumble away from each other. Spinning around you found JJ, John B, and a girl you recognized as a Kook standing before you. You were frozen in place as Pope headed over to them to cover up JJ’s lips. 

“Pope boy finally getting some action!” John B hollered while you felt your cheeks go red. The girl rolled her eyes at his friend before sending you an apologetic look.

It only took Pope three seconds to round them up and take them outside. You got back to working on the boat, trying to distract yourself from what had happened. You felt embarrassment rise up inside of you at being caught kissing the boy you liked.

Soon enough, Pope returned inside and stood next to you. You didn’t turn to look at him in shame and fear at what he might say.

“They wanted to see me since, you know, I haven’t been hanging around them recently.”

“Oh.” This was the moment Pope was going to tell you he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore and that he had now noticed how you were all too time-consuming. However, the boy surprised you.

“They invited us to hang out tomorrow. They said they want to meet you.”

You smiled and turned to look at him. “Really?”

“U-um, yeah. They kind of think you’re my girlfriend so…”

You blushed at that thought. Being Pope’s girlfriend was something that made your insides swell and feel light and soft and good. 

“Okay.”

“Okay as in ‘yes, I want to hang out with them’ or as in ‘yes, I want to be your girlfriend’?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Pope awkwardly nodded before looking at you. The smile on your face seemed to be glued on and Pope copied your facial expression. You leaned in again, kissing him softly.

“Take your guess, Pope,” you teased him while smiling. 

“I really hope it’s the second one.”

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 20: Home

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19

Word count: 1827

El heard the front door unlock from the kitchen, and happily oblivious to the precarious status of her wellbeing, she waited quietly for Jonathan to come in and greet her. She had to make sure that the water didn't boil over anyway.

She only got an inkling that something might be wrong when the door slammed shut, and Jonathan rushed into view, looking slightly disheveled. He hadn't even put down his briefcase at the door.

Before she could inquire as to what was wrong, the briefcase was carelessly tossed onto the dining table, and Jonathan had locked her in a tight embrace, pressing a firm kiss into her hair.

"Woah, hi," she squeaked, hugging him back. "What happened? Is everything okay?" She felt the deep sigh as his body relaxed, and he stepped away again, smoothing down his tie as he regained his composure. Registering a few seconds later that she had asked a question, he nodded and raked his fingers through his hair to push it off of his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine." His heart was only just slowing to a regular rate.

She's safe.

Yeah, I told you. I can't believe how whipped you are, Jonny.

"Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling you for hours."

"Oh, I forgot to plug it in last night, so it died at work." She replied casually, still entirely unaware of the panic she had caused. "I had to go grocery shopping before I came home, and it's been charging in the bedroom since I got back; I must not have heard it." She turned back to the stove to give the boiling pasta a quick stir and check on the sauce on the other burner. "Are you sure everything is alright?"

Jonathan moved to stand against the counter next to her, needing to be near her still. "I had to see Falcone today."

"Oh? How was that?"

"Not good. He tried to threaten me into letting him into the operation, and when that didn't work, he...talked about you. I thought maybe he had already given orders, and I had to oversee the shipment as soon as possible to get it finished in time."

"Ah," El frowned, suddenly understanding the trouble. "So when I didn't answer the phone..." Jonathan nodded. Pasta still undercooked, El replaced the pot lid before turning back to the man next to her. "Well, I'm sorry for making you worry, love, but I'm okay." She smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Besides, nobody is taking me away from you without a fight. Speaking of which," she plucked a stray burlap thread off of his shoulder, "what happened here?"

Jonathan kicked himself mentally. How had his run-in with the Batman already slipped his mind?

"Scarecrow and I have had an eventful day." He said, suddenly exhausted, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you go change out of your work clothes while this is finishing up, and you can tell me about it while we eat." He nodded but hesitated to walk away, which made her chuckle. "Nothing is going to happen to me if you leave the room for a few minutes. Go on." She pushed on his arm gently, which finally coaxed his weight off the counter.

He was still hesitant to leave the room, but he knew that she was right and obeyed, ignoring Scarecrow's continued snickering. He redressed as quickly as he could, hell-bent on returning to the kitchen fast. Of course, she was still there at the stove when he came back, switching off the burner.

Unfamiliar with normal relationships, Jonathan didn't fully understand his impulses, but he was so exhausted from the events of the day that he didn't have the energy to fight them. Before El could pick up the pot to drain the water from the pasta, he locked his arms around her from behind and dropped his forehead to rest on her shoulder.

"Jonathan..." her voice was laced with soft concern, and she raised her hand to rest on the back of his head. "You were really worried about me, weren't you, love?" Her tone was actually serious now, upset that Jonathan was upset. He didn't answer, just staying where he was. "I'll leave my ringer on from now on; I remember what this feels like." He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "Come on, sweet, let me finish this up, and we can go sit on the couch while we eat. Up, come on," she coaxed gently, and Jonathan finally straightened up, allowing El to drain the pasta and serve them each a plate.

"So you and Scarecrow had an eventful day," she recalled as they settled onto the couch. "Tell me about that."

Dinner was soon forgotten as Jonathan began to recount their run-in with Batman.

"You set him on fire?" She asked incredulously. When Jonathan looked at her, he expected to see shock, maybe horror, but no. What he saw instead was a genuine, thrilled amusement that he had tried to burn a man alive. "That's hilarious. You set Batman on fire."

See, she thinks I'm funny.

"Scarecrow thinks so too."

"Mm, that's probably a bad sign for me," she said casually, returning her attention to her food. It seemed she had finally given up on feigning morality. Took her long enough.

"Yeah, probably, but you've made it this far." She hummed in response.

"So," she started slowly, wanting to address the initial problem, "Falcone?" Jonathan frowned, disliking the reminder that he now had something that could be leveraged over him. Not that he would give it up for the world, but if people were going to use Elianna to threaten him, then something would have to be done about that. Perhaps Falcone could serve as a warning.

Then again, maybe that had been the wrong decision. The old man's sudden mental break could draw suspicion. While it was true that they had been dumping the toxin into the water mains for weeks, the job would be cleaner if they didn't draw too much attention to themselves. And in one moment of anger and weakness, Jonathan had thrown away that advantage.

"I may have overreacted to that. We'll have to be careful about the project until it's ready to go. It should only be another few days."

"Overreacted?" El asked quizzically. "What did you do, gas him?" She was answered with silence and knew that she had guessed correctly.

She was sure that she was supposed to be upset, maybe a little annoyed with him for endangering such a delicate operation, but she couldn't help but feel a little flattered instead. He had done all of that for her?

Done eating, she placed her empty bowl on the coffee table and scooted closer. "He must have said something pretty bad about me to set you off like that." Jonathan's brow furrowed, remembering what Falcone had implied.

"It was...gross." For lack of a better word. He looked at her to find her smiling at him. "And no, I'm not going to tell you, so don't ask."

"I wasn't going to. I just think it's sweet that you did that for me," she said matter-of-,factly and kissed Jonathan's cheek. "Mostly, I'm just curious, would that have been your normal reaction, or was that just because the nature of our relationship changed?" She grinned as he blushed lightly.

"Probably the second one." He closed his eyes in embarrassment and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Either way, it was an overreaction. It's going to draw attention."

"Oh, who cares. There are only a few days left. Hey, that reminds me, I wanted to make a mask."

"We can just get you one from a hardware store; that should be easy-"

"No, I mean like," she sighed as she gathered her thoughts. "Like, you and Scarecrow have yours, and it's like a character almost. When people see it, they'll know who it is. It's your brand. I want something like that."

It was a fair point, Jonathan decided. And why shouldn't she get to have one like that? "Alright, what are you thinking?"

"Why, thank you for asking, love." She sat up straight as she began to present her idea. "When I was thinking about it, I asked myself, 'what are the most memorable silhouettes of all time?' There are so many to choose-"

"El, please, I've had such a long day." Jonathan almost felt bad interrupting. He knew how much she loved doing dramatic speeches, but he wasn't sure he had the patience for it this time.

"Alright, love, sorry." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Anyway, I was thinking something like a plague doctor. I feel like it would match the scarecrow in energy; it's sort of mysterious and technically meant for good, but it's become a sort of a classic horror icon." Jonathan nodded, agreeing with her line of thinking.

"Yeah. It might be a little tricky to pull off in such a short amount of time, but I think that's a good idea." Her face lit up. "We'll need a gas mask to rig into it, a pattern, and a stiff enough material to keep the shape."

"No problem. You know me, I started making my own Halloween costumes at like, ten, I can take care of it. In fact, I kinda already got all of the materials." Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "I made a pit stop between work and the grocery store. I just need a sewing machine. I was going to ask Harley if-"

"No need, I have one." They sat in silence for a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, Scarecrow does. He insisted on making the mask himself. Apparently, I was making it too neat, so he commandeered it."

"Wow, that actually makes a lot of sense," El nodded. "I don't know where I thought the mask came from, but yeah, that sounds right."

"Why don't I go get it out of storage so you can start?" El nodded excitedly, and in just a few short minutes, they had her set up at the kitchen table to get to work. Jonathan's night quickly went from a prolonged panic attack to something warm and comforting. Watching El work and helping her take measurements, and teasing her theatrics slowly helped him feel normal.

Seeing her power ahead with her ideas and devotion to their future life, unimpeded by the threat against her, brought a sense of security in a way that he had never quite felt before. While she worked, he came up with and solidified a plan to provide them with protection for the next few days at least, but it would have to wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, he contented himself with wiling away the time in the kitchen with his paramour, letting the rest of the world fall away.

[hopeswriting]

FANDOM: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

EVENT: Flufftober 2020 

PROMPT: Slow Dancing

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting​

RATING: G

PAIRING: Adult!Colonnello/Adult!Lal Mirch

SUMMARY:

Tsuna throws a party to celebrate the end of the Arcobaleno Curse.

WORDS: 1011 (BONUS: 975)

*

Lal slumps down in her chair, holds back her sigh.

It is nice of Sawada to have organized this party in honor of the Arcobaleno Curse being lifted, after all. It’s a successful party too.

The Vongola and the Simon kids can’t drink yet, but no one else held back.

The room’s a mess—largely thanks to the fights started by the Varia—except for Lal’s corner of the seating area she fiercely defends.

The dance floor is in full swing, dominated by Skull, Colonnello, and surprisingly—and more importantly hilariously—a drunk out of his mind Verde.

Reborn and Fon drink together at the bar, and Uni left her overprotecting famiglia in the dust to hang out with the girls.

Colonnello and Skull enter into yet another dance battle contest, cheered on by the others surrounding them. They stagger and almost fall every two steps, probably drunk out of their mind too, shoving and pulling each other in blatant displays of cheating.

A smile tugs at Lal’s lips, and she lets her foot tap on the floor at the rhythm of the music.

She closes her eyes, retreating inside herself for just a moment.

How strange it is to feel Rain flames run through her again after all these years. How incredibly relieving it was to realize they feel just as familiar as before, as undoubtedly hers as before.

If she felt braver she would have already checked on the state of their Harmony—if there was still a Harmony to check on to begin with—, but apparently all of them have yet to gather enough courage for that.

“Hey.” Colonnello leans on her chair’s armrest, his face all she can see. “What’s going on in this pretty head of yours? This is a party you know, loosen up.”

Lal adjusts his headband, combs his hair with her fingers. His blue eyes look more focused than she would have thought, a healthy red dusting his cheeks. A light smile spreads his lips, a bead of sweat running along his jawline.

Is she looking at him too much? Too hard?

God, she’s being stupid. She must have distracted him all night too, even if he was understating enough to let her.

“Hey. Did you win?”

“You bet.”

Lal scoffs, pretty much sure Skull holds the same speech as they’re talking. The first notes of the next music draw her attention instantly, and she pushes Colonnello away.

It’s their song.

“You didn’t.”

Colonnello grins. “Yes I did.” He bows, offers his hand to her. “Won’t you give me this dance, mia signora?”

Lal crosses her arms on her chest, turns her head away. The dance floor empties quickly in the face of the upcoming slow, except for those brave or drunk enough to find themselves a partner.

Colonnello nudges her foot. Lal bites her bottom lip.

She isn’t drunk, but she’s no coward either, is she? And she actually wants this dance, doesn’t she?

Her shoulders slump, and she stands stiffly, feeling hot on the cheeks to her own annoyance.

She’s at eye level with him thanks to the heels she’s wearing, and her mood lifts.

Lal loves their sizes difference, the way she fits in his arms perfectly, the way he can rest his chin on the top of her head.

But there’s a special joy she likes to indulge herself in from time to time, in knowing she just has to tilt her head the slightest bit to kiss him, she can actually surprise him with her kisses.

“Yes?”

Lal puts her hand in his. Colonnello immediately leads the way, tugs her close to his side, delight written all over his face.

Lal scrutinizes the ruffled state of his suit, his open jacket and loose tie, tugs on his rumpled button-up.

“And who’s the lucky one who got their hands all over you?”

“I wish you would.”

“Maybe later.”

Colonnello glances at her, smirking much the same way as she is.

They make it to the dance floor and fall in place, hand in hand, his other hand on her waist, and hers on his shoulder.

Lal closes the rest of the distance between them, presses her body against his. She wraps her arm around his neck properly, and he wraps his around her waist.

Lal intertwines their fingers together, marvels at the familiarity of it all, so, so relieved at how natural it still feels.

God, she missed him.

She missed him.

“You changed perfume?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Lal tucks her head in the crook of his neck, breathes in his scent. “I do.”

They rock back and forth slowly at Colonnello’s pace, who occasionally twirls her around or drops her low like she’s some fancy lady, making her laugh every time without fail.

Colonnello snickers quietly when she stumbles a bit on her steps again.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Just don’t walk on my feet with those on, alright?”

“Shut up. It happened one time.”

“Yeah, one glorious time.”

Lal purses her lips, in what she’d like to be annoyance but is actually amusement. She tugs lightly at his hair.

“I was drunk, alright?”

“I noticed.” Colonnello laughs. “And then you walked all over my feet during the whole dance. And then you fell irremediably in love with me.” He sighs. “What a night that was.”

Lal bursts out laughing, genuine and delighted, because if she’s honest with herself it’s exactly what happened that night.

She gets twirled again, pulled back in his arms. She runs her hands through his pretty blond locks of his, rests them at the back of his neck, her fingers intertwined.

Oh, she missed him so much.

She’ll be damned if she ever lets anyone or anything make it so she has to ever miss him again.

“Hey,” she says softly. Colonnello leans his forehead against hers, tilts his head. “Marry me.”

Colonnello’s face grows incredibly soft, his gaze turns impossibly loving, and he smiles. He hugs her tight, nuzzles her hair.

“I will.”

“Is it ‘later’ yet you think?”

Colonnello laughs, bites her neck. “Hell yeah.”

*

BONUS:

Lal has new recruits to train, and within the end of the first day this Colonnello guy is looking at her like she’s the most amazing person that ever graced his presence.

She’s baffled, to say the least. It’s certainly a first in her military carrier.

She thinks it’s just a meaningless crush he’ll grow out of quickly. He doesn’t.

(And she can tell by the way he looks at her it isn’t a simple crush at all for him.)

She thinks he’ll know better once he gets a taste of her overbearing-like and unyielding-like personality. He doesn’t.

(And she can see by the way he acts with her, the more he gets to know her, the more he actually, genuinely grows fonder of her.)

She thinks he won’t have the gall to make a move on her considering their respective position. He has.

(And he’s so unashamed of it, Lal wants to hide in a hole forever and pretends she doesn’t feel flattered and warm every time.)

(She thinks it’d be better to assert explicit, disheartening boundaries for the both of them, because there’s no chance a relationship of theirs would go anywhere.)

(She never goes through with it.)

------

They’re at the base, enjoying some down time, a spontaneous party going on.

Lal gets drunk, so she is less of the Ace of COMSUBIN and their best instructor, and more just Lal Mirch.

And apparently Drunk Lal Mirch likes to not take off her eyes of Colonnello, goofing off with his friends and occasionally hitting the dance floor.

One of her friend dares her “to make a goddamn move already” on him, and apparently Drunk Lal Mirch is so fucking dumb she takes on the challenge without a second thought.

She looks him straight in the eye and just says “dance with me”, and she’s internally mortified because it sounds like an order but it really isn’t.

She’s relieved Colonnello doesn’t fall into soldier mode, because it really wasn’t an order. And her, too, wants to enjoy some quality time with just Colonnello, and not the soldier, or the recruit, or—she realizes that very second—the guy trying to woo her.

Lal is a terrible dancer in general, let alone when she’s drunk. But thank the god Drunk Lal Mirch apparently doesn’t give a fuck.

She’s all over him, half to steady herself, half because it feels nice, walks all over his feet, and is fucking giggling like some teenage girl experiencing a crush for the first time.

Also this is supposed to be a slow, but if she doesn’t keep moving all over the place she’s going to chicken out and ruin everything.

Namely, the happiness on Colonnello’s face, and the way he looks at her like it’s one of the most precious moment of his life, and he wants to remember every little details of it forever, and not just Lal being drunk out of her mind, and making a fool of herself, and he isn’t just collateral damage.

When she wakes up the next morning, the first thing she remembers is the dance. And then her first thought is how the hell she is going to face Colonnello now she knows for certain she’s in love with him.

------

And then the Curse happens.

And goddamnit he shouldn’t even have been there, and she sure as hell never asked him to sacrifice himself for her—Lal can take care of herself, she’s a big girl, she can look in the eye the consequences of her mistakes and holds her ground, why didn’t he let her?—, but here they are anyway.

Colonnello’s last words to her before a too long time is to try not to be such a tomboy, and how dares he? How dares he?

(He knows Lal won’t ask him to stay, won’t ask to go with him.)

Lal wants to hit him, to scream until she loses her voice. Lal wants to cry. Lal wants to apologize, to say how so, so sorry she is something like that happened to him because of her weakness.

Lal doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything.

She just watches him go, tears rolling down her face, and it’s the worst thing that happens that day.

------

I headcanon thirtish years happen before the Curse is lifted, and thirty years is more than enough time for people who mean everything for each other to not mean anything anymore, even without a hopeless Curse in the way.

But they don’t do that to each other.

And it takes time, and it’s hard, and it hurts, and it looks at times there’s just no point, but they won’t do that to each other. They just won’t.

They find their way to each other again, little by little, so slowly but surely, talk it all out in scattered pieces of heartfelt conversations along the years.

They find each other again because they can’t bear to lose any more than they already did, least of all each other.

------

And then the Curse is lifted, and they get their flames back, and their body back, but nothing will ever be the same, of course not.

It’s okay though, because the only thing they want now is moving forward anyway.

And Lal proposes to him within days of the Curse being lifted, because she’ll never make the mistake of taking him for granted ever again.

And Colonnello says yes, because he’ll never make the mistake to think he has the luxury of not making every second together counts ever again.

And then they fight, and the marriage is canceled, because that’s just how they are, but they never worry for a second.

And then they get married for good, and maybe it’s setting themselves up to fail to wish for a happily ever after, but they’ll fight for it with their everything anyway.

*

I don’t even ship these two. But whenever I have to write them I simply go “these two are soulmates, and they love each other so much they’d take on a powerful Curse for each other, and they deserve a happy ending”, and then go from there.

Every time without fail, and I don’t know why that is lol.

Thank you for reading! Any and all review are appreciated ^^.

[iamalivenow]

[can’t tag it but its horny]

It's rare that they sleep together.

Rarer still that both of them spend the entire night together.

Almost entirely unheard of is Peter doing all of that in sequential order in Elias' apartment. The man has always been private, somehow even more so than Peter, and Peter's long since learned to not ask. They subsist on a mutual respect of privacy. And Peter's fine with it, for the most part. Elias spends most of his time in the office and Peter spends most of his time on a boat. There's still a lot of things he's not seen.

He stares, still in Elias' bed in the morning, at the framed plans of the prison where they hang on the wall, the originals that Smirke made just for him all those years ago, and listens to the shower run. He wonders when Smirke knew- really knew what Elias was asking for. If he had finishes and signed those plans before or after.

The plans, along with the letters he hides, and a spare trinket here or there are all Elias has from- from Jonah Magnus.

How a man could be alive for centuries and stay in one place astounds him every day.

The shower shuts off and then after a moment the man walks into the bedroom, naked sparing the towel thrown over his shoulders. He opens his closet, a walk in Peter also never saw the purpose off considering there wasn't an astonishing variety in his clothing. After a moment he heads back into the bathroom, bundle of fabric in hand, yawning.

Huh.

Has he ever seen him yawn before? It's oddly humanizing. Prim and proper Elias yawning- it's oddly cute too. His husband is cute sometimes, and Peter has to savor every instance of it. Peter sits up, rubbing his face some. His clothes are on the floor, a line from the front door to the bed.

“When are you setting off?” Elias' voice is muffled through the thin door of the bathroom.

“Soon.” He looks at a clock over the door. “Two hours.”

“Hm.” And nothing more than that. They're done for the day, for a while maybe, and that's fine. Peter gets up slowly, swaying just a bit on his feet before picking up yesterday's boxers and sliding them on. His pants are by the door, and when he stands back up the bathroom door is open again. “Peter?”

He has no idea where his belt is.

“Do you know where my belt is?”

“No.” Liar. Of course he does. “Could you do me a favor before you sail off into the great blue wonder?”

“Is that what we're calling it these days?” A glance out in the hallway and now, it's not there either, but he does see the corner of his undershirt half way off of the kitchen counter. “What favor?”

“Come over here.” He does, begrudgingly.

“What is-”

The mirror is still fogged up from the shower. Elias has a stool pulled up to the counter, where he sits, pale shoulders, prim and proper. He's leaning forward to look at another smaller mirror, plucking away at his brows.

And then there's the-

The-

He doesn't even need to look to know his husband is smirking.

“Could you lace me up?”

Bastard.

The corset is a delicate pale blue (and with his shoulders still red from his shower-), long and all the way down to his hips (he's not wearing anything else either). It looks ancient, though well maintained. His skin is still warm, Peter can tell even at the distance and all of sudden he's consumed with wanting to run his hands under the thing.

“Never done that before.” He says because what else is there to day, of course he's going-

“It's simple enough.” Peter catches his reflection in the smaller mirror now, definitely smirking. “Start at the top.” The laces look the newest, probably replaced after literal centuries of use. Peter lets his hands linger as he draws the laces straight, running his rough hands over the skin at the very edge.

Elias shivers, pleased.

“How old is it?” He asks, running a thumb along down Elias' spine just to watch him shiver again.

“I bought it when I was seventeen. On a lark.” And then Peter sees a young faced Jonah, cheeks red, pushing money over a counter and but the image is replaced almost immediately with Jonah in a bedroom with a tape measure. “Same measurements,” He says and leans forward again. “What are the odds.”

Probably extremely high, knowing Elias.

Peter pulls on the laces, and Elias shifts in his seat.

“Too tight?”

“Not yet.”

He's being watched now, he can tell. Part of him wants to disappear, get to his ship early. Another part, that sits somewhere in between his legs incidentally, is perfectly content to stay.

“Do you wear this- a lot?”

Have you worn it when you were with me before, he means.

“When the nostalgia overcomes me.” And Peter tugs harder when Elias laughs. “Occasionally.”

“So you could do it up yourself?”

“Of course I could. But where's the fun in that.” Where's the fun in teasing you, he means. So Peter tugs at the strings again and Elias gasps, still smiling. The sound is- the sound is nice. “There.” He smiles again. “Now it's tight.”

His waist isn't heavily cinched, but his form has always been slight, and now Peter desperately tries to think back on when or if Elias has ever worn it before. And of course, every thought has is almost immediately replaced with Elias in only the corset, otherwise naked and on his knees, big eyes staring back up at him with the same grin he's wearing right now.

He runs the laces along, tugging every now and again when Elias gives him a particularly salacious image to salivate over.

“Aren't you lovely.” Peter says after Elias gives him the image of Elias on top of Peter, hands shoved down the front of the thing.

“Aren't I?” Elias sets his tweezers down on the counter and pumps some lotion onto his hand. Right, he moisturizes. No wonder his skin is so soft.

Peter bends over and kisses a spot on his neck, and Elias murmurs his appreciation, a hand reaching up to run through Peter's hair.

“What do I do when I'm done?” He asks and kisses him again, a little higher.

“Tie a bow.”

“Like you're a gift?”

“You know I am.” Peter snorts, takes a step back and looks it over. His bow is a little lopsided but, he's gorgeous, Elias is gorgeous, prim and proper and-

Between what mental tableau did he get hard? The one of Elias splayed out on his bed, panting in just his corset, come dripping out of him? Or maybe the one where Elias was bent over the railing of his ship, staring directly at him and smiling? Or maybe the one where Peter had him up against the door of his noticeably unlocked office?

“Elias.” It's not a question but Elias nods all the same, standing up for a moment before setting his knees down on the stool he was sitting on.

“Going to unwrap me?” His face is red, all the way up to his ears, so at least it's nice to know its mutual.

“And throw away all my hard work?” Peter shoves his pants down, thank god he never found that belt, and rubs his cock lightly.

“Think of me and my fragile constitution.” Peter reaches over and Elias nudges the lotion in his direction. He coats his fingers in it and presses inside. Elias gives him another lovely gasp for the his trouble.

“Elias.” Peter says, and adds another finger, collects another sigh. “We both know what you want.”

“Yes.” Peter looks down and sees his toes curl, his hands grip the counter harder. “Yes we do.”  

Getting into him is easy, Elias likes it rougher and Peter can preform for him if he really wants to. He knows he's going to have the image of Elias bent over his counter in his pretty blue corset seared into his eyes for months at least, so really, it's the least he could do.

Peter pushes a hand down on Elias' bare back, pressing him the rest of the way down on the counter and fucking into him in a smooth roll of the hips. Elias gasps again, he must have figured out that Peter likes the sound, mouth hanging open.

He feels good, somehow even better than last night, and his cock bounces as Peter fucks him, dripping onto the floor. Peter wonders if he'll get off just like this, without even touching himself. Peter fucks him, skin slapping on skin while Elias gasps under him. He's warm, still warm or maybe warm all over and the heat feels good.

Like it's swallowing him whole.

He loops a hand on his strings and Elias catches him in a feedback loop of 'touch me, you want to touch me' and 'fuck me harder' and 'don't you dare' and 'ruin me' and Peter almost has to disappear into the Lonely but Elias' hands shoot back and clutch onto his arms.

“Don't you dare-” He snarls, hips thrusting back to get Peter as deep as he possibly can. “Don't you dare leave-”

The desperation is new-

New and mildly exciting.

Peter grips Elias' hips, hard enough to leave bruises that will last for weeks while he's gone, and fucks him harder, hammering into him.

“In or out-” He pants and Elias snarls again, still angry, even if he's stopped sending him pleas and demands.

“If you stain- if you stain it-” Elias' nails dig into Peter's arms hard enough to scar too. “I'll never let you leave-”

“Ha-” Peter barks a laugh, and Elias digs in harder, until he's bleeding onto the floor, spots of red on the mess already left there. The heat in the pit of his stomach makes him feel like he's going to implode and Elias, biting his lip, sends Peter more images of Elias full to bursting-

He comes inside of him with a shout- and Elias thrusts back onto him until he gets what he wants and Elias spills too, collapsing onto the counter fully.

“So you like the corset?” He's still breathless but Peter knows better than anyone that expecting him to  be quiet is a fools errand. “I'm not surprised.

“Where's my belt Elias?” Elias lifts up- barely- and points a hand further along the counter. “Has anyone ever told you you're insufferable?”

“My employees do. Every day.” Peter pulls out adding to the mess on the floor and both of them sigh. “Take a shower.”

Stay, he hears even though the room is silent.

Always Stay.

Peter doesn't say anything, but he takes the shower. When he comes out his clothes are neatly folded on the counter and Elias is in the kitchen pouring them both a cup of coffee. Elias sides him his mug, some novelty he picked up from America as a gift and Elias, as far as Peter is aware, doesn't drink from. It's as close to moving in as either of them would ever get to. A mug in an apartment he's barely in.

He isn't complaining.

He can see the outline of the corset under Elias' crisp white dress shirt. He is a little curvier, and Peter feeling bold, settles a hand on Elias' hip.

“You look good.”

Elias hums and drinks his coffee, tries and fails to hide his pleased smile.

“Don't get used to it.”

“You know me.” He leans down and kisses Elias' neck one last time. “I never do.”

[artificialqueens]

wild flower, chapter two (shalaska) 2/10 - freyja

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support chapter one got! Thank you so, so much to frey (aka Thorpe) for betaing!! This wouldn’t be where it is without her. I also thought I would share the playlist I made to listen to for inspiration!

Anyway, chapter two: in which Alaska realizes she is a little more than stuck with Sharon.

🌸

“I have acted fearless and independent and I never will regret my course. I would rather be politically buried than be hypocritically immortalized.”

— Davy Crockett

🌸

They ride for what could be minutes or hours in silence, Alaska never taking her eyes off of the horizon even long after the orange blaze surrounding her uncle’s mansion is gone. She barely registers the blessedly cool wind against her face, or how hard she’s gripping the horse’s saddle, deep in thought and very confused.

She’s not scared.

She knows she will be, once she has the time to really comprehend what happened, but for now all she can feel is guilt. Guilt, because her reaction to her uncle’s house burning, after the initial horror, was relief. How could she? Her uncle’s livelihood is gone, her uncle is gone and likely in danger, she’s been kidnapped - likely in order to be tortured for information - and all she can fucking think about is that she doesn’t have to find a husband anymore.

Sharon flicks the reins, and her horse suddenly jerks into a higher speed, forcing Alaska to grab onto Sharon’s waist in fear of falling off and breaking her neck. Sharon cackles at her, and Alaska flushes, embarrassed and suddenly feeling heated. It makes her angry.

Anger feels a hell of a lot better than guilt, and she gives into it without hesitation.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, right into Sharon’s ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Sharon shouts, voice nearly whipped away by the wind. “‘Thank you?’”

It is entirely plausible, maybe even likely, that Sharon hadn’t heard her. But the presumption - the fucking nerve–

You can’t hear me? Alaska thinks viciously, glaring at the sharp angles of Sharon’s cheekbones. How about now?

She sucks in a deep breath, and she screams straight into Sharon’s ear.

It’s childish, but Alaska has never been afraid of being childish, especially when it gives her such great results.

Sharon jumps, cringing away violently, jerking the reigns and making her horse jerk along with them. For a second, Alaska allows herself to hope that they would slow enough for her to safely jump off of the horse, but Sharon corrects him too quickly for her to even have a second of the time she’d need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sharon snaps, her tone a startling contrast to the gentle way she pats the horse’s neck. “What the fuck?”

“Can you hear me now?” Alaska asks, sneering. She relishes in the anger on Sharon’s face, gratified by her ability to take the other woman down a peg, but it fades away too quickly for her liking. Instead, Sharon’s pressed lips turn into a smirk, and she doesn’t even grant Alaska a glance when she says,

“Surprised you didn’t do that back at the house - the lawmen might have heard you in time to help.”

Alaska looks at Sharon incredulously. “Town is three miles from – oh, fuck you!” she grits out, the realization dawning with Sharon’s laughter.

“Don’t you mean thank you?” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska desperately wants to hit her, rage nearly overwhelming her.

“Why - how would I ever thank you?” she snarls. The apathy in Sharon’s expression only makes her blood boil more. She tears her eyes away from the other woman, instead staring stubbornly out at the Rockies. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she curses them. She needs to be strong for this. “You - you kidnapped me, you burned my home, you killed-”

“Your home?” Sharon says sharply.

“Does it matter?” Alaska spits.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly. “That wasn’t your fucking home. Don’t accuse me of that. That was the last place you wanted to be - I could see it in your eyes. You were at the stable for a reason.”

Alaska flushes at the reminder of their first meeting, suddenly aware of the way their bodies are pressed together - the way Sharon’s waist feels firm under her arms. She almost pulls away, but her sense of balance forces her to remain attached.

As if reading her mind, Sharon places a hand on Alaska’s wrist, which rests against her ribcage. “Got a good grip?” she says lowly, and Alaska jerks her wrist away, cheeks burning. Sharon laughs, letting go easily, and Alaska replaces her arm with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“I loved it there,” Alaska says petulantly. Sharon ignores her point, hand returning to the reins.

“I saw something else in your eyes as well,” Sharon continues softly, and her tone sparks an uncomfortable squirming in Alaska’s belly, the places she’s touching Sharon too warm. “You want something more.”

“Don’t presume to know what I want,” Alaska says, voice shakier than she would like it to be. She feels seen - exposed.

“You want more than a man, but a man is all a woman’s good for in society,” Sharon says, and a new bitterness colors her normally gleeful laugh. Alaska frowns at it.

“A man is what I need,” Alaska tells her, trying to work her anger back up and failing. She’s falling into Sharon’s intrigue again, fascinated by the mystery of her.

“Not out here,” Sharon says, and her voice is softer than Alaska’s ever heard it. It startles her; frightens her, even.

“I’m not like you,” she says quickly. She resents how close they are.

“Oh,” Sharon says idly. Alaska can just see the edge of her brow quirked up from the angle she’s at. “You’re wrong. I’d say stop lying to me, but I think you’d have to stop lying to yourself first.”

Alaska lapses into silence, unsure of how to respond. She feels raw and vulnerable in a way she didn’t expect to feel in the presence of a bandit.

Sharon doesn’t scare her the way Alaska thinks she should, and she hates her for it.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

🌼

Alaska uses the silence to plan her escape, and by the time they start slowing down, sliding off of Sharon’s horse - “Cerrone”, she’d heard Sharon call him - and running immediately upon arrival is out of the question.

They’re over four hours away from Coady, at least half an hour more from the house, and she has no idea where she is. They hadn’t passed any signs, or at least Alaska hadn’t seen them in the dark, and they’ve been weaving through thick pine trees for longer than Alaska could keep track.

She suspects Sharon had avoided roads, or at least stuck to those less traveled, and the fact that she has no real way of knowing is terrifying.

She’d end up lost in the woods if she took off on foot, and probably dead because of it.

The only other option would be escaping on horseback, and that takes a little more forethought than leaping off of Cerrone and running as fast as she can. She needs the time to figure it out, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Stories of the tortures people go through when kidnapped by bandits crowd her thoughts, the tales concerning women even worse, and she’s just beginning to work herself up back into a panic when Sharon speaks suddenly, snapping Alaska out of her spiral.

“Welcome,” she says, voice warmer than Alaska expects it to be, “to Silverbar Overlook.”

They round a curve in the dirt path to reveal a small camp of about six tents and wagons, a decent fire lit up in the center of it. Women fill the space with talk and hoots of loud laughter, and Alaska can’t help but stare at them as Sharon pulls Cerrone to a stop by some crooked posts. Where are the men?

Sharon swings down with ease, taking Cerrone’s reins and tying him to one of the posts. She smirks at Alaska as she does so, making no attempt to prevent her from running right then and there. Alaska hates that she doesn’t need to.

“Like it?” Sharon says, dusting off her hands. Alaska sneers at her, fear and fury a fire in her stomach.

“No,” she says shortly.

Sharon seems unaffected. “Time makes the heart grow fonder,” she says, holding out a hand for Alaska to take, “and you’ll certainly be spending a lot of it right here.”

Alaska resists the urge to slap the hand away, remembering just in time that Sharon has a gun and the quickest draw she’s ever seen. Instead, she ignores it in favor of sliding down herself, relieved when she lands solidly on both feet.

Sharon grabs her arm none too gently as soon as she’s on the ground, even her arrogance not so hubristic to leave Alaska with both arms free. Even so, she gives Alaska an appreciative glance.

Alaska flushes under her gaze, keeping her eyes stubbornly ahead.

“Went to the stables often?” Sharon questions, and Alaska presses her lips together at the insinuation.

“Fuck off,” she says sharply, and Sharon laughs.

“Jinkx Monsoon!” she calls, not bothering to respond to Alaska. An old affection colors her tone, and a red-headed woman by the fire stands up, grinning.

“Fresh meat?” she asks, approaching them. She’s pale, with sad eyes and a crooked smile. Her hair is down, tangled like Alaska’s gets if she leaves it down for more than two seconds, and she sports loose pants that bunch up where they meet her boots.

“Not quite,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska a little to emphasize her point. “More of a hostage.”

Jinkx frowns, clearly taken aback. “Hostage?” she asks, examining Alaska closely, squinting in the dim light cast over them from the fire. Alaska glares back, meeting her gaze as defiantly as she can muster. Jinkx raises an eyebrow in response. “She’s in with Solomon? She’s in a brand new dress.”

“I am not with him,” Alaska snaps, disturbed at the very idea. “I hate him.”

“Enough to give us the information you have?” Sharon leads, and Alaska presses her lips together.

As much as she hates Solomon, she hates Sharon that much more.

Both of Jinkx’s eyebrows are up, now. “Want me to tie her to the post?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach drops somewhere around her ankles. Jinkx jerks her head back to a post at the edge of the clearing, where a pile of ropes and a poker in a bucket of water sit. Alaska freezes up at the sight.

“No,” Sharon says, but her eyes don’t leave the post for another moment longer.

“So she is a new recruit,” Jinkx says, and the suggestion sparks the fear in Alaska’s chest into anger.

“I’d rather be tied to the post than a new recruit,” she spits out, and Sharon’s grip tightens around her bicep. She stills, heart pounding.

“No,” Sharon clarifies, ignoring Alaska. Her silent warning is frightening enough, and Alaska has no desire to see how it might escalate. “I don’t tie civilians to the post.”

“She needs to sleep somewhere,” Jinkx says. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want her unguarded.”

There’s a brief pause. “She’ll have to sleep in a tent,” Sharon says, and Alaska just barely keeps a protest from escaping her lips. Jinkx voices one, anyway.

“In a tent?” Jinkx asks incredulously. “Where people sleep? Where they’re most vulnerable?”

Sharon snaps her fingers, seemingly ignoring Jinkx. “Detox and Roxxxy,” she says.

Jinkx gives her a skeptical look.

“Alaska isn’t a threat,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the sound of her name. She hates the false intimacy that the use creates, and she never wants to hear it said again. Her skin crawls at the idea of Sharon knowing enough about her to use her Christian name. “Detox could break her in half if she wanted to.”

Alaska very much does not want to sleep in Detox and Roxxxy’s tent.

“Why not the post?” Jinkx asks again. She looks worried, and it’s clearly getting on Sharon’s nerves.

“Because I created this camp, and I said so,” she says, an edge creeping in on her tone.

Jinkx is unmoved.

“Jinkxie,” Sharon says, and Alaska glances at her for an expression, unable to read her tone. She seems urgent, pleading, maybe, but it’s hard to decipher.

No matter the expression, however, a silent exchange clearly occurs between the two, and Jinkx’s expression softens. She looks at Alaska, who sneers.

“I’ll take her to their tent,” Jinkx says after a moment. She looks back at Sharon. “Willam wants to see you. Something about a letter?”

“Shit,” Sharon swears, and she lets go of Alaska’s arm. Alaska nearly takes off immediately, but she stops herself, eyes catching on the gun slung at Jinkx’s hip and thoughts returning to Sharon’s own. She’d have to be patient, even though she’s never been good at it.

“I completely forgot about that,” Sharon continues, although it sounds like it’s more to herself than the other two. She looks somewhere to their right, and Alaska follows her gaze, spotting a young blonde woman in a low cut dress giving Sharon the finger, leaning against the post of one of the tents. Sharon looks back at Alaska, lips pressed together, and Alaska quirks an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise. She pointedly glances at Alaska’s arm, where she had been holding her.

“I do,” she says, and Alaska flushes. She grits her teeth, frustrated with the way Sharon can render her speechless. Sharon’s smug smirk isn’t helping matters.

“Alright, take her to Detox and Roxxxy. Make sure they know what’s going on,” a thoughtful look at Alaska, “and make sure they know they need to be on watch.”

Alaska tries and fails not to be flattered that she warrants a watch, even though it makes her plans for escape that much more difficult.

“Got it,” Jinkx says, and with a nod - Sharon leaves, heading towards who must be Willam with a sheepish grin on her face. The expression would be endearing, if she hadn’t just kidnapped Alaska after destroying her uncle’s life.

“So,” Jinkx says, smiling startlingly sweetly at Alaska. Alaska doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden change of pace. “What do you think of the camp?”

Alaska gives her a deadpan stare. “It’s dirty,” she drawls, feeling more confident with Sharon’s absence. She feels above this woman, with her short stature and sweet smile, and it’s easy to let that leak into her tone. “Small.”

Jinkx’s smile shrinks, fading into something that screams ‘unimpressed’. “You’d think a wealthy woman would have better manners,” she says, and Alaska blushes a little.

“Ladies don’t initiate,” she says, willing the blush to go down. “They reciprocate.”

Jinkx is quiet for a moment, expression sympathetic. “Jesus. I’m glad I’m away from that.”

Alaska falls silent, something like shame turning over in her gut. She’s thought the same thing before, but only in her fantasies, and not for a long time. The reminder of her own lack of freedom, compared to these women’s abundance of it, is startling - it’s something that she hasn’t thought about in years. The disparity is embarrassing, and for a moment, Alaska wonders what right she has to feel superior to these women. What is money when compared to freedom?

She tries to scrape the idea away from her mind, reminding herself that the law is powerful, that it isn’t freedom when you’re being chased, but the thought sticks like glue.

“Come on,” Jinkx says after a few moments, frowning at Alaska. “It’s just over here.”

Alaska follows her quietly, still a little shaken, and Jinkx looks back at her with a strange expression on her face. “Alright,” she says. “Maybe Sharon has a reason for treating you special.”

“You mean she doesn’t do this often?” Alaska asks. Jinkx laughs, a soft sound that fits strangely on someone deemed a criminal. They come to a stop in front of a tent, but Alaska hardly notices, she’s so wrapped up in the conversation.

“Let’s just say, she must like you. Sharon’s had no trouble tying people to that post, even in the middle of winter.”

“No,” Alaska says, rejecting the idea with a vehemence that surprises even her. “She’s trying to entice the information out of me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“The day Sharon Needles chooses enticement over violence is the day pigs fly,” a new voice says, and Alaska immediately tenses up, phantom aches blossoming along her arms where they’d been held back.

Detox emerges from her tent, an amused quirk to her mouth, and the blonde woman who’d slid in through the window during the ambush comes out after her. This must be Roxxxy, but Alaska is far more concerned with Detox.

“Guess you’d better get your binoculars ready,” Jinkx says dryly. “Because they’ll be taking to the skies any second now.”

Detox looks at her, confused. “What?”

Jinkx lets out an exasperated breath, placing a hand on Alaska’s back in a reassuring manner. It doesn’t work, and Alaska shrugs it off as quickly as she can. “She’s sleeping in your tent tonight. Please don’t ask me why.”

Detox looks even more bewildered, but she doesn’t protest, which Alaska supposes is a good thing. Or maybe not - maybe she could have ended up in someone else’s tent if Detox had thrown a fit, someone with warmer eyes. That, or someone much worse.

Most things, Alaska is realizing, are going to be a game of roulette. She’s just going to have to roll with the punches, because gambling has never been her strong suit, and now is certainly not the time to be practicing.

“Alright,” Detox says slowly, and Jinkx relaxes into a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes darting to Roxxxy, “for not being difficult.”

The expression on Roxxxy’s face suggests she spoke too soon.

“Why not the post?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can hear the suppressed frustration and exhaustion in her voice. “Sharon doesn’t like to share, and despite popular belief, I can’t actually read her mind.”

“Try,” Roxxxy shoots back. “You know her better than anyone else here.” She makes no attempt to hide the bitterness underlying the words. Detox shoots her a look, but Roxxxy appears not to notice.

Alaska finds herself wanting Jinkx to come back just as quickly, to put up a fight, but the slump of Jinkx’s shoulders tells her that she’d rather avoid it. “Maybe she wants to try enticement and see if it works better.”

“Sharon’s never needed to cajole anything out of anyone.”

“Jesus,” Alaska blurts out, frustrated and defensive. “Maybe she just isn’t up for beating the shit out of anyone today. It must be exhausting work.”

All three women stare at her, and she shrinks down, suddenly afraid. Years in society have taught her to only speak when spoken to, and while she’s always chafed under that rule, the potential consequence for breaking it has never been quite so high. She shouldn’t be snapping at bandits like this - especially in the company of three, all with loaded pistols.

Detox’s delayed scream of a laugh makes her jump three feet into the air.

“Jesus Christ!” she says, and the other two women crack smiles as well. “She’s got nerve for a hostage!”

“A hostage sleeping like she’s one of us,” Roxxxy corrects, a tinge of the argument still there, despite the smile on her face.

“She’s sleeping here,” Jinkx says. She’s looking at Alaska thoughtfully, something twinkling in her eyes, and Alaska relaxes despite it. She’s still in the clear, somehow. “But just so you know, Ms. Needles usually waits a few days before really going in on ‘em.”

“She’s patient,” Detox agrees. It’s lighthearted, but Alaska still spares a glance at the post, eyes lingering on the poker stick. Clearly, Sharon’s patience runs out. She doesn’t know if the fact that she’s patient at all is really that comforting.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Jinkx says. “Sharon wants you two to take turns watching her.” Detox nods. Jinkx turns to leave, giving Alaska a reassuring smile. “Have fun,” she says, ominous, and she starts off towards Sharon and Willam, who can be seen just inside of the tent Willam had been waiting in.

Alaska is sorry to watch her leave, not quite understanding the comfort she’d provided until she was gone.

“I think you should lie between us,” Detox says, glancing at Roxxxy, who only looks slightly less sullen from her argument with Jinkx. “Makes watching you easier.”

Alaska nods, heart sinking at the idea. She feels like all of her confidence left with Jinkx, and her plan to escape feels impossible to execute. With each of them taking watch, and having to sneak out from between them, it seems improbable that she can leave the tent without detection. And if she was caught - she knows how strong Detox is, and Roxxxy certainly hasn’t proved herself to be friendly.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Roxxxy says, ducking into the tent. Detox motions for Alaska to follow, and she does, after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not tired yet.”

As Alaska lays down, she steels herself. She has to make an attempt, all of the risks be damned. She owes it to her uncle.

She owes it to herself.

🌸

Roxxxy falls asleep two hours after they all lie down, and it’s like the universe is telling Alaska to get the hell out of there.

It’s been a struggle not to do the same herself - it has to be around three in the morning by now, give or take a few, and she is exhausted.

She takes a moment to just stare at the roof of the tent, feeling all of the aches and pains of the night throb. Her first meeting with Sharon feels like it was weeks ago, not hours, and Cassidy’s visit to her uncle even further away. She almost doesn’t want to get up, heart and head heavy with exhaustion.

But she has to.

She understands fully well that this is, truly, her only shot at getting out of this unscathed. By some miracle, Sharon had been foolish enough to leave her loose, taking her lack of physical strength as a sign of weakness, as a sign that she wouldn’t run. But Alaska has always been wily, and she can snake her way out of most things.

Most things were usually balls and formal dinners with suitors, but she’s pretty sure she can get out of being the hostage of bandits just as easily.

Again: she has to.

Detox is snoring, so Alaska’s watching Roxxxy’s face for any signs of wakefulness as she slowly gets into a crouch, listening for a change in Detox’s breathing. She’s careful not to knock aside Detox’s pistol, which lies in her loosened grip.

She has no doubts that Detox would be glad to shoot her the moment an excuse was given, and the thought only pumps more adrenaline into her veins. She’s shaky with nerves, and she takes a moment to breathe in and out, eyes on the tent flap not three feet away. She can do this.

Alaska steps daintily over Roxxxy, holding her breath. She freezes once she’s over her, cringing at the light sound her boot makes when it lands.

She waits.

She lets out a long breath after ten seconds pass with no movement, and she takes the last step forward, carefully curling her fingers around the canvas of the tent flap. She lifts it painfully slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and the moment there’s enough room, she shoots out of the tent, exhaling harshly as soon as she’s out.

For a moment, she feels a sort of giddy relief. She made it. She snuck past the guards. For a moment, she fancies herself able to escape from federal prison, but one thought of being in a chain gang brings her back down to Earth.

It’s not like she’ll ever be in a position to escape from federal prison, anyway.

She looks around, looking for the horses and at every single tent, watching for activity. The fire is now just a few glowing embers, so she relies on the Moon to tell her. She doesn’t see anyone, and she allows herself a moment to admonish herself for jumping out of the tent without looking, before she starts towards the horses, which are hitched near the mouth of the path into the camp.

Maybe she’ll even ride away on Cerrone, and take something from Sharon in her escape. Convinced of this plan, her heart starts beating with anticipation, and she’s about halfway to the first of the horses when a voice makes her heart stop in her chest, and the rest of her freezes along with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Alaska says, and without thinking, she starts to run towards the horses, all thoughts of Cerrone flying off the table and the first horse she can grab her only destination.

She barely makes it two steps before Sharon jerks her back by the bustle of her dress, and Alaska realizes just how strong the other woman is. It would be frightening, except she’s more used to Sharon than she has any right to be in this amount of time, and she has just heard a ripping sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alaska hisses, jerking away from Sharon and turning to face her. She backs up a few steps, drinking in Sharon’s surprise. “This dress is pink satin. Do you understand what that means?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I had to stop you somehow,” she says. “The information you have is a little more valuable to me than pink satin.”

“Well, now that you’ve ripped it, sure,” Alaska sniffs, fingering the fabric. “It was my favorite, too.”

“It’s a dress,” Sharon says, exasperated, and something in Alaska snaps.

“It’s the only thing I have left!” she cries out, clenching her hands in her skirt, arms stiff at her sides. She feels a strange sense of loss over the dress, even though the skirt is still functional and, in all likelihood - easily mendable. It feels like Sharon’s just ruined the last thing tying her to her home, her life, and it’s maddening.

“Fine,” Sharon says, voice now quiet. “Fine. But the information is still more important.”

“Two more of these dresses and I guarantee they’d be worth more than Solomon’s entire operation,” Alaska shoots back. “You could have had more if you hadn’t burned the rest.”

“It’s more personal than money,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns.

“What’s the point of ‘personal’ if there’s no money in it?”

Sharon laughs again. “You are so goddamn suited for this!” she says, and Alaska feels her chest warm at the praise before she shuts it down, confused at the feeling.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “I’m meant for a life worth living.”

“What?” Sharon says dryly. “Like marrying a man you feel nothing for and spending the rest of your life kept somewhere you don’t want to be? You want to die having accomplished nothing other than a couple of kids?”

It’s like she’s been stripped naked, all of her thoughts and feelings seen by someone she doesn’t trust, and it makes anger well up inside her like a balloon. “Don’t act like you know what my life is like,” Alaska snarls. “Don’t act like–”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska deflates.

“Of course I don’t want that,” she admits, and it’s simultaneously a relief and an effort. Baring herself to a criminal is hard, but letting her feelings out into the open is so incredibly freeing. It’s addictive, and she finds herself sharing more, nearly tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I’ve never wanted that. But it’s necessary. My father - he needs me. His newspaper is struggling. We need money.”

“And marriage is the only way to get it,” Sharon finishes, and Alaska stares at her, fighting back the lump of tears that has lodged itself in her throat.

“He needs me to do this,” Alaska says, Sharon’s sympathy giving her hope of release, but Sharon’s expression hardens.

“He can get himself out of his own mess.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Being a daughter has nothing to do with it,” Sharon sneers, and Alaska stiffens defensively.

“Being a daughter has plenty to do with it,” she snaps. “I have duties I need to uphold. I don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t you see?” Sharon says, eyes earnest. It’s attractive, and despite herself, Alaska finds herself listening rapturously to the passion in her voice. “You don’t need to do anything. This is a choice.” She spreads her arms at the camp, at herself. “Be here, with us. We don’t - society hates us. Society favors white men, and the rest of us are just there to make life better for them. We can be who we want out here. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t want to. You don’t have to be with a man at all.”

Alaska hesitates, allowing herself a second to imagine a world without responsibilities, without rules or eyes that watch her every move. It’s a dream.

It doesn’t exist.

Sharon is lying. To make it seem like an easy option isn’t fair - to be ‘free’ comes with a cost, and Alaska isn’t willing to pay it. Not when it involves taking money, taking lives.

“Fuck you,” Alaska says venomously, and she spits on the ground. “You’re full of shit, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Clearly, this is the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says coldly, expression suddenly closed off. The reaction knocks Alaska off balance - she had expected another smart comment, somewhere on the edge of playfulness, but Sharon had clearly taken Alaska’s words to heart. Alaska knows she should be glad that her words have finally had an effect, but all she can feel is guilt. It’s not something she wants to be feeling, but her emotions have never bothered to listen to her.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says again, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s still shorter than Alaska by a good few inches, but she still manages to look intimidating, with her long black coat and mean expression. “But I think you should take a turn first.”

“What?” Alaska asks, and then suddenly Sharon has both of her arms twisted behind her back in an iron grip, frog marching her clear to the other side of camp. Alaska stumbles with the forcefulness of it, startled into silence up until she catches sight of the post, a coil of rope waiting innocuously beside it.

“Fuck,” she says, trying and failing to struggle out of Sharon’s grip as they reach their destination. Sharon slams her against the pole, pulling her arms to the other side of it, but Alaska can’t help but notice that it’s not nearly as violent as she’s sure Sharon is capable of. “Sharon–”

“You want to be the unwilling hostage?” Sharon asks, tone heated. “Here you go. Now you can tell everyone how evil we were, and you won’t even have to lie about it.” She finishes tying Alaska’s hands with the rope, tightening it aggressively. She rounds the post to look Alaska in the face, lips pressed tightly together. Alaska glares back.

“Thanks,” she drawls, giving her wrists an experimental tug. “I won’t even have to fake the rope burns.”

Sharon’s expression falters, looking vaguely concerned, before the wall goes up again. Alaska wants to poke at it, intrigued, but Sharon suddenly leans forward, resting her hand against the post just above Alaska’s shoulder. It puts their faces far too close together, and Alaska’s heart starts beating a little faster.

Sharon doesn’t hesitate to look Alaska straight in the eyes, and Alaska glares back, refusing to back down.

“Give me the information, and I’ll let you go,” Sharon says, and Alaska keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, staring definitely into Sharon’s eyes. She does not think about how blue they look in the moonlight.

Sharon presses her lips together in annoyance. “Have a nice night,” she says coolly, turning to walk away and disappearing into the tent nearest the post.

Alaska sinks down into a sitting position, all of the tension in her body leaving along with Sharon. She gives the ropes one more tug before sighing, defeated. At least it’s a pleasant night, she thinks, staring up at the stars.

She feels her face crumple, exhaustion and fear catching up to her all at once, and she lets out a sob before stopping herself from crying any more, concerned that Sharon might hear her. She has to toughen up if she wants to get through this. Crying isn’t going to help her.

She needs a plan. She can’t outsmart Sharon, and that means she can’t escape. She’s going to have to give them the information she has at some point, before things escalate more than they have. Sharon has proven herself to be somewhat volatile, and capable of treating Alaska as less than a civilian, despite her previous reluctance. Alaska doesn’t want to push her into treating her as an enemy.

The thing is, if she gives away her information, she gives away her only protection. She doesn’t trust the welcoming hand Sharon had extended her before - she doesn’t even know if it’s still extended. The situation feels hopeless.

She’s going to have to think of something, though.

The thought is an exhausting one, and she decides that she’ll think of it in the morning, after a few hours of rest. She doubts anything she comes up with in this state will be viable, anyway.

She wills herself into an uneasy, much needed sleep, the pole hard against her back, and the mud soaking into her skirts. She tries not to mind - the dress is already ruined. It’s better than sleeping next to Detox and Roxxxy, at any rate.

She never thought she’d long for her uncle’s mansion, but there’s a first time for everything.