#wanted to play around with the blur tools and having something be in focus

[0vergrowngraveyard]

hes a little spooked :(

[tr34sure]

Redroom || Han Jisung

Summery: Your stalker finally having the courage to kidnap you and he’s most definitely going to have some fun after doing it.

Warnings: Consented sex, the use of the name (my love,) maybe a little knife play, sex toys, blood licking!! MINORS DNI!! ⛔️

A/n: This was something in works and song recommendations: 7th sense nct, and Thinkin bout you by Frank Ocean. I didn’t proof read this at all I just wrote 🤷🏽‍♀️

You are in a red-themed room with a large king-sized bed, dim lighting, various knives and BDSM tools scattered around. The walls are adorned with leather straps and whips, and there's a big mirror on one side of the room. The only source of light comes from a chandelier in the middle of the room, casting eerie shadows everywhere. The scent of leather and sex fills the air.

“Where-where am I?” I stutter as I stare at the black shadow in front of me from what looks like a man. “You are in my red room.” He answered slowly walking towards me giving me a good glimpse of his face.

To your surprise, he didn't look as bad as you thought he would. You had expected him to be a creepy old man, but he turned out to be completely different.

His long face shape is complemented by his somewhat messy hair, and his doe-like dark brown eyes are gentle, suggesting that he has a gentle, innocent nature added to him, which is now far from the truth about him.

“Do you want to know why you're here, my love?” He picks up a knife, with a sinister smile on his face. I quickly shook my head as pure terror crossed my face.

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he approached me and reached out for my cheeks, cupping his hands around them. I try to pull away but he only pulls me back in again to face him. “Look at me Y/n” his sadistic tone echoes through your head. I then glare at him, giving him what he wants. “You’re here because I love you.” He bends down in front of you tilting his head towards you as he stares at you intensely, his eyes filled with admiration and desire.

His lips curl into a devious smile, as he starts pointing the blade at your leg, cutting through the fabric and touching your skin. You felt panic rise in you trying your best to calm down. I mean he said he loves you so that means he wouldn’t want to hurt you right? News flash you were so wrong about the statement.

He pushes the point of the knife into your skin, drawing blood you grasped at the sharp pain as the blood flows from the cut. You feel a mix of pain and pleasure as his tongue traces along the cut on your skin. Your vision blurs, and all you can focus on is the sensation of his warm breath against your wound. You gasp softly, trying to process the intense feelings coursing through your body.

As you watch him lean in closer, you feel a rush of heat spread through your core. His lips brush against the cut, and you let out a soft moan. The sensation of his tongue against your skin sends shivers down your spine. You try to pull away from him , but your body refuses to cooperate. The pleasure he's giving you is too intense, and you find yourself helplessly caught in his grasp. You let out a soft whimper, unable to deny the overwhelming desire that's taking over your body.

The sudden stop catches you off guard, and you feel a bit of relief and disappointment all at once.

Maybe it was good that he stopped because you shouldn’t have enjoyed it the way you did, but you just couldn’t help it no matter how hard you tried not to.

“Do you give me your consent?” He said looking up at you, at that moment your mind was blurred, you couldn’t even think straight but you ended up saying your answer “Yes.” You blurted out to him at which he smirked at.

Jisungs hands moved down to your hips, gripping your skin tightly. With a sudden tug, your pants and underwear are pulled down your ankles leaving your bottom half completely exposed, a sense of humiliation and vulnerability washed over you.

You watched as Jisung grabs the pink vibrator from his large collection of BDSM toys, “I imagined you using this vibrator so many times and now it’s finally happening.” He said, staring at your exposed cunt.

He presses the vibrator against your folds, you gasped at the sudden contact, but it feels so good he starts to thrust the toy in and out of you you throw your head back, moaning loudly as the sensations inside you build up.

Jisungs eyes lights up at your loud moans, seeming to take pleasure in knowing that he’s the one causing you so much pleasure, as you grasp and cry out he increases the vibrations thrusting deeper and faster inside of you.

As you approach your climax, your body starts to tense up, and you feel a warm rush between your legs milking the vibator for all it’s worth, you let out a long, low moan, and your hips buck against Jisungs hands. With a loud cry, As you’re finally about to cum Jisungs suddenly removes the vibratior from your pussy.

You cry out in surprise and disappointment. Jisung leans in close to your face whispering “You were so close baby but you're not gonna cum with that.” He chuckled darkly.

[runningmiller]

Why Now?

Summary:

Death is temporary, though you try. It's not like how Flowey or Frisk described their pasts, time moves on when you die, waking up a few hours later in an unscathed body. Why? what is keeping you alive? Why has your choice been revoked in this?

TW for self harm and suicidal ideataion

These days, it all blurs. You remember the good times. Laughing with friends, playing games, watching movies, taking walks together.

And the dying.

You gasp, waking up for what must be the third time in a row underwater. Your lungs and sinuses burn with the salty ocean water but in the moment before instincts override thought, you admire the beauty of the grave you choose. Light filtering through the waves, fish darting by with jellyfish just going where the waves push them. Like you.

The thrashing begins without your permission, and you struggle to reach the surface of the water even though you know from experience you’ll never make it. It doesn’t matter. The pain as you die again is in someway cathartic but mostly it just hurts.

The process repeats itself until you find yourself coughing up water on a bank, waves lapping at your body as your hands slip on seaweed as you push yourself to sit up. Must be low tide. It must have been a day and a half you spent drowning and reviving.

Walking up the beach you find a sun warmed rock and lay down, letting yourself dry off.

You wake up to yellow and blue blurs that slowly come into focus.

“It’s you! It’s been a while, you uh, mind if we sit with you?”

“Yeah! You and Alphys can time my swimming record!”

You ask what kind of record Undyne is trying to break.

“Uh…. ALL OF THEM!!”

The same old feeling. Its not an emotion but a compulsion. You’re not depressed or hurting, but there’s something wrong in your chest, something in there that’s not supposed to be and it needs to come out, you need to get it out, out, out, rip and tear until it’s gone. It reminds you of those stories of people who’s cells rejected their own limbs, driving them to mutilate themselves, impromptu self surgery to remove an arm or leg.

Sometimes you wish you could ask a monster to check your soul, to find out something’s wrong, something leeching off of you. But you know there’s nothing to find. You know they’d see nothing unusual, and you’d be left knowing for sure that it’s just you. And why would you want to know that? It’s like wishing things were worse so you’d have a justification for it.

It’s not real, not real, not real, but you can feel it, in there, wedged inside, wrong WRONG IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE.

.

No one’s home.

.

You grab the tools you need.

.

Lay down a few towels near the tub just in case. No need to make a mess.

.

You’ll wake up in a few hours without a trace of harm anyways.

.

It hurts, the knife in your chest. The initial slice the twist as you turn it clumsily. It's almost interesting where you feel pain and where you don’t, where the nerve endings are and aren’t as flesh stretches around your hand that you bury into the opening you’ve made, fingers burying into layers of fat and tearing. It all hurts. But so did drowning. Your chest and throat are bloody fountains as you plunge and tear over and over. Once you’ve diced up the outer layers enough you drop the tool and dig in with both hands, gripping fists around organs and pulling. Anything you can get your hands on. You know it’s still in there. Adrenaline pumps blood in your ears and through the open cavities you’ve made. You plunge, tear, dig, rip, faster and messier. Where is it??? Even as you rip out something that might be and artery vein or chunk of lung, the blood splattered on the linoleum dissipates and you can feel your chest take on the weight you’d already emptied it of.

You don’t know when you started screaming, but now as you seem to heal faster than when you’d started, you’re begging for it to just WORK.

You collapse in the tub, sobbing, wishing that if it won’t let you die to at least take away the urge. It doesn’t.

When they return home you’re curled in on yourself in the tub, not a drop of red in sight. You’re relived there’s nothing left for them to see aside from a torn up shirt. You wish they had. You know you won’t tell them. You hope there’s scars and you pray there isn’t. you want proof but don’t want anyone to know.

n̮̗̲͍͖̺̅ͨͫͦ̄̃o̹̣̳̱̲̪̽̾ͯͤͭ̉,̥͍͕͙̣̭̍͑̍̀ͪ̋ ̠͖͎̞̞͎̽̓̊̂͋̓ḭ̦̝̭̫̝̎̓̓̐͊ͬ'̤̠̲̞͈̟̃ͬ́̆͛̋m͚̤̜͎̳ͮ͋̀̓̅ͨͅ ͇̝̦͔̺̠̋̃̈́́ͬs̜̖͖͙̗̥̋̇̓͑̓ͧö̖̙̤̰̜̮̊̐̔̔͗r͉͍͍̭͚͔̔̈ͥ̑ͩ̂r̪̯̠͈̮̪ͦ̈́͊̒̒ͫy̪͚̮̬̰̝ͣ̏̉̎ͥ̑.̹̥̬̝̤͊̃̇͂̏͑ͅ ̖̺͕̞̝͓̀͂͐̄̂͋t̰̰̫̤͓͕ͦ̓͑͊ͮ̔h͓̻̥̳͙͙̄ͥͥ̊̍̍e̠͍̞̘͔̤ͨ̈̔̆̈́ͥỳ̻̤͇̹̤̼̎̓̓͆̚ ̺͉̱͈͇̼̃ͭ̀̈ͧͬh͔̗̣̳̦̤͛̌́ͮͥͭa̘̥̙͍̱͔̐͐̍̅ͤ̊ṽ̖͙͓̺̮̺̃ͭ̊ͭ̊e̪̝̮̥͖̰̐͊̉ͮ̌͂ ͕̠̙̥̤̠͌̑ͧ͗̌̏t͉̖͙͍͍͐͗̐̐̈́͑ͅo̳͔̭͖͓̭͂̊̑͌ͥ̍ ͚̱͈͔̘̳̄̈̄͛̒ͦf̬͓̼͉͓̲ͯͩ̇̔̅ͭi̪͈̪̹̝̿ͧ̄̆ͣ̋ͅn͍͖̥̮̯̤̑̈̃͂̀̇d̘̦͉͚̫̙̅̏̂ͪ̐̚ ̠͓̥̭̻̲ͤͥͤ̌̋̊y̘̻̹̺̥͙ͬ̑̈͒ͫ̋o̬̘̳͈̞͕ͭ̏͌ͧ͌̓u͕̪̤̳̤̟ͬͭ̽̔ͯ̈.͔̲̪̦͖̱ͮ͛̈́ͯ̌͋

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[chiliger]

For the procreate dream animatic you did, how did you do the blurry quick pan over? I love it so much. What are the issues you are facing with the program, is it worth the money?

Gonna have the explanation down below~ Along with my thoughts on the app.

So for the pan over, I used these two frames. They’re basically the same image except I moved them to different ends of the screen. I added a kinda motion effect to the second image by drawing “tails” cuz the app only has guassian blur. The speed they move depends entirely on how many frames on the timeline you give them. I was working at 12fps (frames per second) and set these at one frame each.

As for the “focus” camera blur on Boil and Numa. There are key frames I used to achieve that effect. First the “camera movement” which was done with moving the animation track layer. Procreate Dreams has a feature called “performance mode” (it’s the circle next to the play button, I forgot to circle that oops) where you move a layer in real time. It took me a few tries to get the movement I was looking for. (The same movement feature was used for Numa falling.)

Second was the filter effects feature where I made the track blur then un-blur like when a camera is trying to focus.

And yeah, I hope this helps answer your question.

As for my thoughts on the app and whether is worth the money. I would say that is will eventually be worth it. Procreate the company is planning on implementing more updates to the app soon to fix bugs and streamline features. But there are a lot of basic UI stuff that I feel should have been included with the release.

This app is by no means beginner friendly. There is a learning curve to it just like any animation or art program, but the fact that I had to watch tutorials to figure out things like where to find the onion skin, which is an essential tool for animating, it kinda had me a bit frustrated.

There is no selection tool, so you can’t move individual parts of a layer instead of the whole thing (I had to redraw a few things cuz I accidentally made them too big or positioned them too far off). At the moment there is no pen stabilization, which is important for a lot of people. And, something I have found important for my own workflow, is that I can’t expand frames. I do initial storyboards one after the other then figure out the timing after. But with Procreate Dreams, you either need to know off the bat how long you want your frames to be, or move frames on the track one by one to make space.

Overall, the Procreate Dreams app is great, and it will improve with time just like Procreate. I do wish the company had already included basic functions from the get-go, like camera movement, but I’m sure that will be added in the near future along with a lot of other things people are asking for.

✨If you want my recommendation on a really good animation app that feels more polished and has more basic features, then look at ToonSquid. It’s half the price of Procreate Dreams, and though there still is a learning curve, you can figure it out just by clicking around. Though I will say that the creator’s youtube tutorial is an important watch to really get your flow going.

My only gripe with ToonSquid is that it doesn’t have a blur feature, and the vector brushes could be better. But that’s kinda superficial at best and the creator has it on the list for a future update.

So yeah, if you’re getting into animation, I’d say skip Procreate Dreams for now and use ToonSquid.

[bronze-bell]

Even as Frederick watched over Victor and Aesop from a distance, he couldn't help but smile, knowing they were comfortable, knowing they were warm and safe and that they had somewhere they could go if they needed to.

Both of the others were quite visibly asleep, and the sky was growing dark, anyway. Maybe it would be best to have them over for the night. Maybe they'll stay until morning, maybe they won't, but he was happy they chose him to lean on anyway.

Untying long, white hair and letting it fall, he stared into the bathroom mirror as he contemplated just what he'd learned, what he'd entrusted to Victor and Aesop, what he hoped the two wouldn't have to learn. Before he finally retired to bed, he placed his hands ever so gently on the heads of the two men who were currently asleep within his room, another peace offering, another wish for them to be happy, for him to be enough for them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In another room entirely, meanwhile, a man is standing in front of a blank canvas balanced on an easel, hand and brush frozen. Frustration mounts as he examines the paints on his palette, glaring as he mixes selections despite not being sure if any are going to work, until a breaking point strikes, and he slides the palette knife along the canvas, marbled, partially mixed oils creating a ground for whatever may come next.

...Oh god, that actually sort of looks good. Oh, he can use this.

Painting tools clatter to the ground beneath him as he remembers something he told himself he was going to do. After all, this paint needs a long time to dry. Pen in hand, hurried script, breaths heaving and eyes much too wide, he set to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(The paper appears to be notably expensive, a deep crimson border ornamenting the words, as does the envelope. The wax seal is red, bearing only the initials "E.V." on its stamp. As for the writing on the letter, the handwriting is frantic, shaky, stressed.)

Good day.

I could not tell you when I'm writing this letter, with the hours blurring together, only that it's by lanternlight. I could not tell you why I'm sending it to you of all people. Only that I believe you will not tell others of what's inside. Do not prove me wrong.

I was told by the composer—Frederick, I believe—that it didn't matter who I played to. That they didn't care for me anyway and I should paint for myself. I don't know what that means anymore. How should I know what "I" want? I know people don't want me. I know they won't listen, or bother with anything that isn't packaged as the right misconception of art. But if I don't pander, I can't survive. Even if I know what art and its meaning should be, why can't I create something that lives up to that? How haven't I been able to since... god, I don't know when? If I don't have to get things right, then what does any of my work mean?

I started a new painting today. I froze in front of the canvas for so long, I tried something undeniably stupid. And it worked. I can see all too many things in just what I've put on the canvas, I can see all sorts of ways I can show things that live outside of a single moment in time, things that feel like they move and glow and flicker and burn. The world is too large to show everything, but I can select my subjects and what I focus on within them to make a point. Beauty, pain, fear, time moving forward, meaning lives around us.

The paintings have gotten louder since then. I used to be able to hide from their screeching and hissing in my room. What happened?

I don't care if you respond. It's probably better if you don't even read this, frankly. After all, these are my words you're reading. If you chose to do so anyway, I will tell you one thing. If anyone asks, I'm fine.

Edgar Valden

They stayed in that sanctuary until morning, Victor waking up to warmth and safety and love for the first time since he was a child. Unfortunately for Victor and his loneliness, not doing his job for a few days was starting to get to him, and so he eventually decided it'd be best to leave and continue his duties somewhere.

If there were a few tears shed upon leaving, and if he held Aesop's hand until he heard the sounds of people and knew he had to let go, well... Nobody had to know that.

As part of Victor's work routine, he'll check his room for letters in case any had been posted directly to him. There usually weren't, as there was no reason to send him much, but with the last few days in mind it was less of a hopeful dream and more of a very real possibility.

Rounding the corner, bell around his neck ringing out to signal he was here and prepped for delivery, he is startled by a door swinging open behind him as he walked, causing him to stumble back in a flustered panic as it nearly knocks him over with the force.

There's a letter thrown hastily in his direction before the door swings shut again, almost like whoever's inside is in a rush, or a frenzy of some kind. Victor sighs, inspecting the letter to make sure nothing is majorly damaged.

If the wax seal or paint stained corners weren't enough, the plaque on the door that nearly toppled him over like a bowling pin was unmistakeable proof of the sender. He really did worry about that painter sometimes, even if he rarely got close...

He turns the letter over to find where it's supposed to go, but is met with a blank side. That's fine, he's more than used to this conundrum. Slipping into his room and locking the door behind him to ensure safety, he works on prying the wax seal off with a practiced ease to reveal the contents.

It comes as quite the surprise when it's addressed directly to him.

-----

The letter that is poked gingerly through the mailbox has watercolor at the edges, pretty red creating a border on both the envelope and the paper inside. The ink, too, is red, along with the wax seal bearing an envelope. Clearly Victor was going for a theme.

The handwriting is crisp and neat, just like the tone of the letter itself, in stark contrast to what it's replying to.

[Dear Mr. Valden,

Good day to you too! As of writing and sending, it is about 10 am. I am sorry for not being available earlier, I was pulled away from my duties temporarily.] Honestly, he hoped he would be pulled away tonight as well. Maybe he should wait by the mailbox in the middle of the manor and see if either Frederick or Aesop show up... That's for after this conversation, though.

[I promise I will not tell anyone of what I have read. I have locked your letter away as well, in case anyone else should try to read it somehow. It is safe with me.

I wish I could help you, although all I can be is a listening ear, as I have not experienced anything like that myself.] A complete lie, but he doesn't want to tell Edgar that. He shouldn't get close to someone like Edgar, because Edgar doesn't seem like the type to get close to people. It'll just end in him being thrown away, surely.

[I'm sure saying I cared for you would be hollow and worthless, since we've barely interacted and you do not enjoy my presence, but I will say here that I do, at least, worry about you, especially after reading the things in your letter. Please try to take care of yourself if you can, okay?

I do not know the first thing about art, as you've definitely gathered, but from what I can tell of your words you seem to be... Happier? If that is truly the case, and I am not mistaken, I am glad you seem to be enjoying it.] Victor shudders as he deciphers the words scratched through. It's not at all safe to say he's read them, so he decides to pretend he hasn't, and just end the letter here.

[Have a good time with your painting! I am glad you are fine.

Regards,

Postman.]

Frederick is behind this? Surely something must have happened between them, but for lack of a better word, Edgar takes things... pessimistically. He should ask Frederick in some capacity, although keeping the key information out as to not break the promise.

Victor can only hope his oblivious act will bring more answers than questions.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

idk about you but i would literally sell my firstborn for a future/more-recovered-aiden-chapter 👀

~ 🍯

Once upon a time, the scene of Aiden waking up in the back of Leo's van full of painting tools, thinking for a second he was seeing in monochrome would not leave me alone. Three years ago today, I posted the first part of Unintentional to start telling that story <3

As a postiversary present to everyone from the beginning (seriously, this ask is from 2022), here's a timeline jump. (Don't tell Leo, he's a real stickler for order.) Thanks for sticking with me and the boys <3

More Than This

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Snap. 

Aiden huffs, twisting and grinding the broken pencil tip through the last stroke even as it threatens to tear the paper under his force. 

He should be able to do this. It’s all he ever does now. Practice speaking, practice reading, practice writing. Follow the plans for eating, for exercising, for sleeping. He shouldn’t complain, he finally knows what to be. There was a time he’d let this routine support him like his spine. He was given a role to play but all he does is just that: pretend. He hasn’t made progress in weeks. The only thing he knows is how precisely he is failing. 

Across the room, Leo stops typing. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it for a while.” 

He doesn’t need to look to know that Leo will have that concerned crease between his brows, mouth turned down at the corners as he tries to assess what the problem is this time. Aiden is nothing but problems. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters but of course Leo is coming over. Would have no matter what he said. 

Leo fills a glass at the sink and turns to lean against the counter across the island as he sips it. Aiden doesn’t want to see whatever look Leo is giving him that will just crumble his resolve. The triangles and circles on the page blur in and out of focus as he blinks back tears. Tears from the strain of making his damaged, useless brain process not-even-fucking-letters for the last few hours. Nothing else.

When Leo finishes his water, he fills a glass for Aiden, slides it in front of him. “I’ll do some work with you then.” 

“No.” He definitely can’t look at Leo now. 

Leo takes a measured pause.

The apology is on the tip of Aiden’s tongue but he keeps his jaw locked. Harder to stave off are the physical reactions. His body wants to shrink away, to flinch and hide and beg and be hurt and held. He tightens his fist around the pencil, pulling it into his lap to hide his shaking. 

“I know you want to make progress but it’s okay to take breaks.” Leo makes his voice gentle, tiptoeing through the minefield between them. "It’s not going to set you back, you’ve been working hard.”

“Nnnno. I…mmm—” He shakes his head as if he could shake off the rising frustration coming up to tighten around his temples, his throat, his chest. He’s been trying to avoid the stuttered conjunction between every word, always made worse by times like this. Harrison guaranteed he would never get out of a painful situation too quickly. 

Leo steps up to the other side of the island, leaning onto his elbows to lower himself into Aiden’s line of sight. “C’mon…”

He shakes his head, can’t trust himself to speak coherently. He’s being stubborn and stupid. Harrison would have threatened him by now if he hadn’t already backhanded him. He never dreamed of pulling something like this back with Archer or the Songs.

 “Alright, hon.” Leo gives him one last long-suffering smile and turns back to the sink. 

Aiden swallows a sob, furiously blinking away the hot tears prickling his eyes. Leo was never going to push him more than a little. Lead him to whatever line he’d drawn or found, offer to help him step over it, but be the first to abandon the idea if it was too much. 

“Why?”

Leo shut off the tap. “Pardon?” He dries his hands on the bright salmon-pink tea towel threaded through the pull for the dishwasher. Delia says I shouldn’t be so allergic to real colors, he explained when Aiden pulled it out from the perfectly folded stack of muted earth-toned cotton in the cabinet.  

“Why?” Aiden repeats, voice strained by the tightening in his chest. “I…don’t…mmm—” He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes past the stupid mumbling. “Why?”

“Why what, hon?” Frustratingly calm and earnest, so eager to help in whatever way he can. 

Aiden wants to scream. It’s not fair, this isn’t Leo’s fault, but whatever has been sparked rages inside him beyond his control. “Why…do…mmm…mmm—” He mashes his lips together, forcing his lungs to fill with air. He will not start crying. 

Leo tilts his head to the side. “Why do I…help?” Aiden shakes his head, huffing out a breath that is perilously close to a sob. “Why do I…care?” 

It puts a rock right in the middle of his throat. He lifts his chin a fraction. 

Defiant despite having literally no ground to stand on, Harrison used to taunt when Aiden was strung up on his table. 

“Because I do. I do care about you…” 

Aiden’s heart skitters in his chest. He looks away, all the wind gone from his sails because he’s as easily swayed as a feather. No. He won’t be weak, pathetic, and needy. He’s angry right now. Frustrated and bitter. 

“There’s no one reason—”

“I…don’t—mmm—mmm—” He clenches his teeth together until they creak in the back of his jaw, blinking away more of the hot tears that refuse to fucking stop pooling in his eyes. 

Leo stands there calmly, crease between his brows confirming that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He’s worried. Always so worried and concerned and caring. 

Because he cares. 

Aiden stands, pushing away from the island and Leo. “I-I-I-I—” God, he wants to break something when it's like this. A wall he is just banging his head against, all the while becoming less coherent.

“Breathe,” Leo says, slowly rounding the end of the island toward him. “It will come. Just—”

“No. I…mmm…don’t…w-w-mmm—Fuck!” He slams his fist down on the counter. 

Leo doesn’t even flinch. 

Why should he? Of course he wouldn’t flinch. 

Aiden moves away from him, starts pacing back and forth. He wishes he could run, pound his feet into pavement until it dulls whatever is going on inside his head. 

“Aiden—“

“Not…mmm’my name.”

Leo’s expression falters. 

It’s a low blow. Aiden knows it, they both know it. All it does is deepen the disparity between them. Making him all the more desperate as Leo regains his composure. 

“If you want a different name—if you want me to stop calling you that, all you have to do is tell me.”

How can Leo be even calmer than before?

A sob escapes Aiden’s throat before he can swallow it. He turns away, circling the island to put it between them again. He doesn’t want Leo trying to comfort him. He doesn’t want it and he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I don’t want you to keep the name just because at the time you thought it was my place to give it. That’s not how I saw it then and that’s certainly not how I see things now.” 

Shame is oil on the fire, it only burns hotter. “Doesn’t…mmm’matter…”

“It does to me. I’ve never seen you as a Companion or treated you like one. I don’t expect anything, you know that.” 

“Fuck…you.” He surprises himself but pushes on anyway. Even steps forward so they’re closer, eye-to-eye, bold with the slab of stone between them. “That…doesn’t—doesn’t mmm’make a…difference. Doesn’t mmm’make..mmm’me…different—”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying—” 

“You—”

“I didn’t mean—”

He raises his voice to speak over Leo. “I’m’mmm…that’s…what-what…I am…” 

Leo waits to make sure he’s finished this time. The stretching silence makes his shouting seem ridiculous and Aiden burns under the unearned patience, the undeserved consideration. 

“I know,” Leo finally says.

“If you…don’t…mmm’w-w-want…this…why?”

Leo’s face falls and Aiden almost goes with it. He backs away from the gaping hole in his resolve. One misstep and he’ll be at the bottom of it, down on his knees. Putting a chink in Leo’s composure is no kind of feat. It only makes him feel that much closer to coming apart entirely. 

“Please,” Leo moves around the island, trying to get onto the same side as Aiden again. “It’s not that black and white—”

“Mmm…yes…it-is.” 

“But—”

“You-you…mmm…hate…it—” He points at Leo. Anyone else would have broken his accusatory finger. “You…hate…this…mmm’what…I am’mmm—” He backs away shaking his head. 

“Wait, no. Aiden, that’s not what I meant. You misunderstood—”

“No!” He wants to hit the ceiling. Better yet, put his whole body through a wall and get the fuck away from here. From these feelings. Leo wouldn’t follow if he went up to his room. Not even if he slammed the door and started breaking things. But he can’t. He’s only acting brave enough to set this fire, he could never leave the blaze unattended. Just like he’s only acting like he’s recovering into a real person.

It’s all just acting. None of it is real. 

Why?

He’s trapped and boiling, glaring at the charcoal-grey cabinets. He once put his fist through another one. A honeyed pine varnish with dark grain, an arched frame around the flimsy middle panel of each one. Hardly took any force to slam through it but he put his whole weight behind his fist anyway. 

Of course, Leo’s damn cabinets are solid wood. 

He cries out, turning away from Leo to slide down the cabinet he hasn’t so much as dented, cradling his hand against his chest. No point holding anything back now. He’s sobbing by the time he hits the floor, curling up tightly. 

When Leo comes over, Aiden’s reaction slips out before he can catch it. He shrinks back, sobs turning to whimpers. “Please…mmm’sorry, mmm’sorry…mmm’good—” He can almost see himself from above, staring up at Leo with those distrustful, unblinking eyes. Lips still moving through the shapes of pleas he’s crying too hard to vocalize. 

He hates that less-than-person. How little it controls and how much power it still holds. His shameless meltdown only puts him back exactly where he belongs. He’ll never be anything different. 

“I know, I know. You are good.” Leo kneels carefully, holding his hand out, palm up, between them.  “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good.” 

Aiden shakes his head, gulping in air between sobs, knuckles throbbing. “I didn’t—didn’t mmm’mean…” He doesn’t know if the apology is for trying to ruin Leo’s kitchen or for exploding or for falling back on old habits. 

“I know, it’s okay. We’re good. Come on, let me give you a hand?” 

He swallows and tries to take a deep breath. Tries to compose himself, tries to get his mind to stop spinning through replaying and catastrophizing. He just wants—He needs—

“I—I used…t’be mmm’more than…this,” he blurts. 

Leo stops waiting for Aiden to take his hand and slides in next to him against the cabinets instead. They sit in silence long enough that Aiden starts to wonder if Leo even heard him but Leo finally says, “I know.”

Aiden bites his lip, afraid to look at Leo but he can’t look too closely at his hand or he’ll draw unwarranted concern. 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Leo says after another long pause. “I care about you. I’m here for all of it and I’m not going anywhere. I think maybe you know that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“It's okay, hon. We're figuring things out as we go."  

Leo always means what he says so when Aiden looks up, it’s for a different kind of reassurance. Leo gives him his half-smile, reaching out to squeeze the back of his neck. Goosebumps run down Aiden’s spine and he drops his head onto his knees, hiding his face. Leo wraps an arm around his back. 

By the time Leo speaks, Aiden has long since stopped preparing for Leo to pull away before he’s ready. “So, how about that break?” 

He lifts his head from Leo’s shoulder, trying to gauge what he means.

Leo pulls him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.” 

And his heart falls.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney (og asker?)

[gadgetrevive]

Birds Chirpin - Hard NO!? | iPhone 15 Pro Cracked Screen Repair TimelapseIt was a sunny afternoon in the bustling city, the kind of day where the sun warmed your skin just right, and the sounds of the city played a harmonious symphony. Birds were chirping as Tim made his way down the city street, moving to the beat of his own thoughts. Today, he had a new challenge—an iPhone 15 Pro with a cracked screen. But this wasn’t just any repair; he decided to try something different. Instead of his usual silent timelapse videos, he would walk his viewers through the process, sharing insights and stories along the way.“Hey, dudes,” Tim greeted his viewers with a relaxed smile, “going to be trying something new here with this video. I’m going to stay with you guys throughout the timelapse, see if I can throw in any tidbits of information that might be useful or entertaining.”He set up his workspace in a small repair shop filled with all sorts of gadgets and tools. The iPhone 15 Pro lay on the table, a small but noticeable crack starting from the top. “Not too much damage,” Tim commented, “just a little crack from a top drop.”He began by removing the two security screws at the bottom of the phone. “Always start by taking out these screws,” he explained. He then applied some sticky adhesive around the edges of the glass screen. “This is to prevent any shards from flying out during the opening process. Safety first, folks!”Tim slipped on his protective eyeglasses, a necessary precaution especially during backplate repairs. With careful precision, he used a suction cup and a plastic prying tool to lift the screen from the body of the phone. “Quick screw work, just taking off the plate and disconnecting the two Flex cables here,” he narrated.As he worked, Tim’s mind wandered back to an earlier customer interaction. He chuckled softly, “That last customer's house we were at… Man, he was a hard no. Didn’t want Marble walking around his yard at all.”Marble was Tim’s trusty dog, often accompanying him on his repair calls. “I couldn’t even walk outside of his yard to the main street. He said if I got Marble out of the car, his dogs would see him, jump out immediately, and start barking like crazy. Said he couldn’t have his dogs going nuts seeing my dog outside having fun.”Tim shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Had to find a different place for Marble to go potty. That was at the next customer’s home.”Returning his focus to the task at hand, Tim reconnected the Flex cables to the new screen. “These new screens from Apple come with a new Face ID chip. We have to calibrate these new screens with the Apple server after every replacement. Takes about five minutes.”As he worked through the calibration process, Tim decided against showing it on camera. “There’s a lot of sensitive information that gets displayed. I could blur it out, but it’s just easier to skip that part. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”With the new screen calibrated and in place, Tim screwed the plate back on and gave the phone a final once-over. “And we’re about done here. Let me know what you guys think.”He paused the recording, leaning back in his chair with a sense of satisfaction. Another successful repair, another happy customer. As he packed up his tools, his phone buzzed with a notification. It was from Gadget Kings PRS, a trusted partner and supplier of all his repair tools and parts.Tim smiled, thinking back to when he first discovered Gadget Kings PRS. Their website, [gadgetkingsprs.com.au](https://gadgetkingsprs.com.au/), had been a lifesaver. From DC power supplies and boot cables to soldering equipment and protective gear, they had everything he needed to keep his repair business running smoothly. Their fast shipping and excellent customer service had earned his loyalty over the years.He decided to give them a shoutout in his video. “By the way, if you guys need any repair tools or parts, check out Gadget Kings PRS. They’ve got a fantastic range of products, everything I use here in the shop.

You can find them at gadgetkingsprs.com.au. Highly recommend them!”Tim glanced over at Marble, who was dozing peacefully in the corner of the shop. “Well, buddy, another job well done. Ready for the next adventure?”As he locked up the shop and headed out, Tim felt a sense of gratitude. He loved what he did—fixing things, helping people, and sharing his knowledge. And with partners like Gadget Kings PRS and the support of his loyal viewers, he knew he was just getting started.The city buzzed around him, alive with possibilities. Birds chirped overhead, and Tim couldn’t help but smile. Life was good, and he was ready for whatever came next.

[elitecameras1904]

Are Dslr Cameras Better Than Phones

As an amateur photographer, I've been wondering: are DSLR cameras really better than phones when it comes to taking pictures? With the rise of smartphone photography, we can now take pretty good photos simply by using our phones. But does that mean that investing in a DSLR camera is no longer worth it? In this article, I'll be exploring both sides of the debate and seeing if there's a definitive answer when it comes to which one is best. To get started, let's look at what makes each type of camera unique. Smartphones have advanced sensors and come with plenty of helpful apps for editing your shots after you've taken them. On the other hand, DSLRs boast larger sensors and provide more manual control over settings like aperture and shutter speed – giving photographers more flexibility when trying to capture their desired image. So which type of camera should you go for if you're looking to take great quality photos? Let's find out!

Understanding The Basics Of Photography

I'm sure you've heard the debate before - are dslr cameras better than phones for taking photos? Before I can answer that question, let's first take a look at what it takes to learn the basics of photography. It's not just about having an expensive camera; understanding how light and composition work together is essential when photographing anything. There are different types of cameras available on the market today. DSLR (Digital Single Lens Reflex) cams are typically used by professional photographers due to their flexibility in manual settings, while point-and-shoot cameras or smartphones may be easier to use for casual shooters. Learning which type of camera works best for your needs can help make your experience more enjoyable and successful. The key to great photos lies in knowing how to use all those fun features like shutter speed, aperture, ISO and white balance correctly – no matter what kind of equipment you prefer! With practice comes confidence and then creativity starts flowing. So go out there and find something interesting to photograph!

Comparing The Features Of Dslr Cameras And Phones

As a photographer, I understand the appeal of DSLR cameras. With their superior optics and cutting-edge technology, they offer unparalleled capabilities for capturing stunning images – much more than an ordinary smartphone can provide. But how does the cost comparison between these two different types of cameras stack up? And what are the differences in terms of lighting techniques? Let's take a look. DSLR cameras give you more creative control over your photography than phones do. They have larger sensors, allowing them to capture higher quality photos with better colors and contrast. The lenses on DSLRs also allow you to play around with depth of field, enabling you to blur out backgrounds while keeping subjects sharp in focus – something that most smartphones can't achieve easily. Furthermore, DSLRs come with advanced features such as shutter speed adjustment which allows you to freeze movement or create motion blur effects when needed; whereas phones lack this functionality altogether. In terms of price tag, DSLRs tend to be quite expensive compared to mobile phones, but if you're serious about photography then it could be worth investing in one since the image quality is so much better than what a phone camera offers. In addition, many DSLR models also boast unique lighting techniques like bracketing and HDR mode that no phone has yet been able to replicate accurately. So if you want maximum control over your shots and access to professional-level tools without breaking the bank, it might just make sense to go for a good-quality DSLR instead of relying solely on your phone's camera capabilities!

Examining Image Quality

Moving on from the features of DSLR cameras and phones, I'd like to examine image quality. For starters, a DSLR camera will produce sharper images with more accurate colors as compared to a phone camera due to its larger sensor size. In addition, since they have dedicated lenses, they offer greater flexibility when it comes to experimenting with different types of photography such as wildlife or street photography. When it comes to editing photos taken by either device, you'll be able to achieve similar results if you use photoshop editing techniques. However, in order for your photos to truly stand out, you should consider using lighting techniques while taking pictures with your DSLR camera which will add depth and richness to your shots. Overall both devices allow us take great photographs but if you want professional-grade visuals then opt for a DSLR camera. They are built for the purpose of capturing stunning imagery that can make any photograph look breathtakingly beautiful!

Pros And Cons Of Each Camera Type

It can be hard to decide between a DSLR camera and a phone when it comes to capturing quality images. Both have their pros and cons, so let's take a look at what each one offers in terms of cost comparison, lens selection, and other features. When it comes to cost comparison, DSLRs usually tend to be more expensive than phones. If you're looking for something that won't break the bank but still allows you to take some great photos, then your best bet is likely going to be your smartphone. However, if you're willing to invest in better equipment in order to get higher-quality shots with greater flexibility and control over settings like aperture or shutter speed, then DSLRs are definitely worth considering. In terms of lens selection, DSLRs offer much more variety than smartphones do – from wide angle lenses for landscape photography to telephoto zooms for long distance shooting – giving photographers significantly more creative freedom when taking pictures. On the other hand, many modern smartphones now come equipped with multiple lenses which allow users to switch between different focal lengths depending on their needs. This gives them access to some standard zoom capabilities without having to purchase any additional hardware. So whether you choose a DSLR or a phone really depends on how much investment you want make into getting higher-end photos as well as the types of shots you'll be taking most often. Decide what works best for your budget and goals before making your final decision!

My Recommendation For Amateur Photographers

I'm a huge fan of DSLR cameras. They offer more manual settings than phones and they allow you to make better gear selections, which can help when it comes to capturing the perfect shot. That said, I think that for amateur photographers who are just starting out, phone cameras may actually be better in some ways. Though phones don't have as many manual settings as DSLRs do, this isn't always a bad thing for newbies because it prevents them from becoming overwhelmed by all the options available on high-end camera models. Furthermore, phone cameras tend to come preloaded with software that makes taking photos easier and faster - something that's ideal for those who aren't quite comfortable navigating complex menus yet. For budding photographers looking for an easy way to take good pictures without breaking the bank or getting too technical, my recommendation is simple: Start off with your phone camera! You'll still get great results plus you won't be saddled with steep learning curves or hefty price tags right away.

Frequently Asked Questions

How Much Do Dslr Cameras Typically Cost? When it comes to purchasing a DSLR camera, the cost can vary greatly depending on features and brand. Generally speaking, entry-level models with basic functions start around $400-$500 while high-end professional cameras may go up to $2000 or more. These higher priced cameras will have better shutter speeds and image quality than budget options. So if you’re looking for superior performance, be prepared to pay a bit extra. How Difficult Is It To Learn How To Use A Dslr Camera? Learning to use a DSLR camera can be intimidating, but it doesn't have to be. It's important to understand the basics, like manual settings and how to adjust them in low light situations. Once you get the hang of that, there are plenty of tutorials online or classes offered at your local photography store that can help hone your skills. Plus, practicing with your own camera is always the best way to learn! Is A Dslr Camera Worth The Investment Compared To A Phone Camera? I'm always asked if a DSLR camera is worth the investment compared to a phone camera, and my answer is yes! The image quality of a DSLR will blow your mind. You'll be able to capture so much detail that you just can't get with a phone camera-especially in low light settings. Plus, there are plenty of options when it comes to lenses and accessories, so you can customize your setup to fit whatever style of photography you prefer. What Are The Benefits Of Having A Physical Lens On A Dslr Camera Compared To A Phone? When it comes to photography, having a physical lens on your dslr camera can be incredibly beneficial. With image stabilization and the ability to get better depth of field, you can take sharper photos than with just a phone camera. A physical lens also allows for varied levels of aperture which further increases the quality of your images. Being able to adjust each aspect of your shot gives you more control over how it turns out, giving you higher-quality results than if you were using just a phone. Are There Any Other Types Of Camera That Are Better Than Dslr And Phone Cameras? When it comes to cameras, there are many types of options out there. Beyond DSLR and phone cameras, you may also want to consider mirrorless cameras or point-and-shoots. Mirrorless cameras offer faster shutter speeds than DSLRs, while still maintaining good image quality - making them a great option for action shots. Point-and-shoot cameras are typically more affordable and smaller in size, offering convenience when travelling or going on hikes. Ultimately, the camera that is best for you depends on your needs and budget!

Conclusion

In conclusion, DSLR cameras are a great investment for those looking to take their photography skills to the next level. While they can be expensive and require some learning time in order to master, the extra features like physical lenses make them worth it in the long run. For me personally, I find that my photos turn out much better with my DSLR than when I use my phone camera. However, if you're on a tighter budget there are other types of cameras available which may suit your needs even better such as mirrorless or point-and-shoot models. Ultimately, the choice is up to you and what kind of results you want to achieve from your photography. Read the full article

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Red Room

Summary: Meeting Yelena in the red room is the best and worse thing that’s ever happened to you. Warning: romantic Yelena x Fem!reader pairing and depictions of violence.

Those first weeks in the red room pass in a blur. You have one room. Just you. Meals are delivered like clockwork; no one speaks to you. Your only company being the television set that plays the same clips; morning, noon and night.

Until one day the lights flip on brightly above you and a woman enters. You squint up at her, “hello?”

“Hello.” She replies, “are you ready to get out of here?”

“Where will I go?” You wonder.

“Wherever I tell you.”

That is your first encounter with Madame B. When you were younger you thought her something of a savior. You know better now. Still when she calls for you, there’s no choice but to go.

You make your way down the long hall, florescent lights humming above you. Finally reaching the room you’ve been assigned; you grasp the door knob. Feeling the weight of the cool metal against your palm, with a steadying breath you turn it.

Inside is only Madame B and a girl. One you’ve only seen in passing, one of Dreykov’s favorites.

“Y/N, meet Yelena. She will be your partner from now on.” Madame B leads the introduction.

“Did something happened to Oksana?” Your brows pull together, voice small. Afraid to cross an unspoken boundary. She’s always been your partner.

“Oksana is no longer your concern.” The woman bites out. “Shake hands and prepare for your lesson.”

You nod, biting your tongue.

Lesson…

Sparring.

Dancing.

Captive simulations.

What will it be this time?

“Oksana is ok.” Yelena tells you, once the trainer is out of earshot.

“Good,” you whisper, holding your hand out to shake without another word.

“Is that why they kept you locked up so long? You don’t play well with others?” The blonde takes your hand, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I don’t play at all.” You inform her. Pleasing these people is your ticket out of here, and you will get out.

“Everybody plays, whether you want to or not.” Yelena tells you, letting your fingers slip from hers. “Just don’t get in my way.”

——————————————————————-

You don’t get in each other’s way. Somehow having Yelena as a combat partner is a lot less annoying than you anticipated.

Oksana is a better friend, but you aren’t here to make friends. You’re here to kill. Topple regimes from the inside out, Yelena helps you do that.

Your training with Yelena is different. Chipping away parts of you until you fit together seamlessly. From trust falls to synchronized attack plans, you name it you do it. Sometimes until you bleed.

One of your trainers, Ivan, has taken a liking to blind folded direction. Outside of captive simulations it is your least favorite team building activity.

You remind yourself to focus and breathe. In some ways guiding is worse than being guided. “Veer slightly to your right.”

Yelena lifts one bare foot, holding it airborne, allowing you to assess the placement of her next step. “Here?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, as she clears the bit of shattered glass. “That’s perfect.”

———————————————————————

Your first real assignment comes on Monday, June second.

“Come in, Miss American Pie. I have eyes on the target.” Yelena informs you through the ear piece.

“That’s still not my name, over. Stay high, I’m going down.” You reply, deploying your rope and riding it to the ground.

“Five ticks northwest and the package is yours.”

“Copy.” You follow her instruction, ducking away as a bullet shatters the window beside you. “Easy.” You chastise, in a hushed whisper.

“Sorry,” she apologizes half heartedly. The kill was necessary and she had a clean shot.

You spot your target, ready to turn onto the main street from the alleyway. You wrestle him to the ground, he puts up a good fight. Not good enough.

You wipe the blood from your hands before removing the usb drive from his breast coat pocket. “Just admit it,” you taunt, turning to the building Yelena is scoping from, “you’re proud of me.”

“Y/N!” Her tone is not playful at all.

What’s wrong? Before you get a chance to ask the man you’d assumed dead has his knife buried in your thigh.

You crumple to the ground as he prepares to strike again. In the time it takes to unholster your weapon a silent bullet reaches his temple from the sky.

You squint up at Yelena, watching her ride her teether down to the ground beside you. “Thanks.” You pant, inspecting the damage.

“That was sloppy,” she frowns, searching her pack for the midkit, then tearing open a package of gauze. “You always check the body, confirm the kill.”

“I know, I was stupid.” You gasp, feeling Yelena apply an obscene amount of pressure to your wound.

“We need to move to the extraction point, they can deal with you in medical.” Yelena rises, tossing your arm over her shoulder for support.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise, leaning heavily against her side.

“You’re right, it won’t. I have no idea what happens to me if you die.” She grumbles, somewhat bitterly.

———————————————————————

Interactions with Yelena are sparse after that. She doesn’t trust you. Only showing up for your lessons and leaving the moment they’re finished. You understand why she’s angry, you would be too.

According to your weekly rotation, today should be live target practice, however you are directed to a different room.

Once inside your eyes find the chair. You hate that chair. You hate this room. Nothing good ever happens here.

Slowly you move toward Yelena at the far wall.

“A little birdie told me that you’ve been holding back in combat lessons.” Ivan says, tapping a finger to his chin. “Why is that?”

You bite anxiously at the inside of your cheek.

“I said why is that?!”

You notice Yelena flinch from the corner of your eye. “It’s my fault,” you hold up a hand. “I took a hit on our last mission and my partner was being mindful of my injuries.”

“Oh I see.” He smirks, condescendingly. “You don’t want to hurt each other.”

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.” Yelena points out. The red room drilled that into you.

“That is true.” His eyes dart between you. “But we can’t have you afraid of sparring together. Now can we?”

Your jaw ticks, awaiting the consequence.

“When’s the last time you girls ran a captive simulation?”

“Two weeks ago.” Yelena presents her left index finger to him for inspection. The nail just beginning to grow back.

Ivan hums, “When’s the last time you ran a captive simulation on each other?”

Your heart drops, all the blood running out of your face. Not for months.

“Hmm,” he wets his lips. “Who gets to play the captor first?”

Neither one of you volunteer.

“Belova,” he purrs. “Come choose your tools while Y/L/N straps herself into the chair.”

You don’t hesitate, it’ll be worse if you do. Tuning out his incessant chatter you find your seat. The metal chair sends a chill up your spine. Bending at the waist, you strap each ankle into a leather restraint, then your non dominant hand. Free hand waiting, curled around the arm rest.

Yelena kneels before you, her selections resting at your feet as she closes the final strap around your wrist. Your breath quickens.

“Fifteen minutes on the clock then you’ll switch.” Your spectator announces. “Make them count or we’ll start over.”

On autopilot Yelena reaches for the scalpel.

You don’t mean to scream…but eventually you do. You always do.

———————————————————————

Yelena knows your weaknesses and regularly exploits them to leave you face up on the floor during hand to hand combat sessions.

You used to resent her for it, but it made you strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been or hoped to be. The day you finally best her the room is filled with hushed whispers. Now you are ready.

You learn to move in harmony. The trainers ease up a bit and the other girls line up to watch you like an exhibit. You are two halves of a more perfect whole.

“Madame B, can I ask you something?” You say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course.” The older woman replies. “What is it?”

“Why was my training so different with Oksana?”

She leans in. “You were not brought here to be a partner to Oksana. She was standing in until we could be sure you were ready for a partner. Nothing more.”

“Was I brought here to be Yelena’s partner?” The question burns at the back of your throat.

“I understand the desire to seek meaning in these things. You hope to find your place in the world.”

You nod.

“But you have no place in the world,” the words cut like a knife. “What you do have is an opportunity to prove that you are not a waste of space, time, or resources. Come, let’s sit for debriefing.”

You wait in silence for Yelena to arrive, finally she does. Taking the seat beside you in the meeting room.

“In two days you will undergo the graduation ceremony, after which you are granted up to three days recovery time before you will be deployed to Moscow.” Madame B reviews the information, handing you each a folder of details.

“Enclosed you will find your identification cards and aliases. I suggest you take this time to familiarize yourselves. Tomorrow we will begin shooting photographs for the past two years of your lives. Report with several changes of clothing. Congratulations on this assignmet. It is a great honor.” Madame B dismisses you.

You open the file. ‘Katherine and Irena Reiner.’

“We’re sisters?” Yelena guesses.

Worse. “We’re married.”

“Even better.” She says under her breath, rising from the chair.

———————————————————————

Life in Moscow is different. Good. The neighbors are easy enough to convince. You play your parts to perfection.

The company you work for being the main focus. They have access to some sort of programming that Dreykov is desperate to get his hands on. You know better than to ask why.

Most mornings you get ready together, discussing the events of the previous day to prepare for the next.

“How come you only speak English?” Yelena wonders, turning off the steady spray of water from her shower and reaching out to grab a towel.

“I have a theory,” you reply, spitting excess toothpaste into the sink. “I think keeping me dependent on translation had more pros than cons.”

“They taught me.” She says, stepping onto the bath mat. “But I guess that’s different.”

You were brought in much older a majority of the other girls.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, seeing each other as if for the first time.

“I could teach you.” She offers, breaking the connection as she turns away.

“Yeah?” You pass the brush through your hair.

Yelena shrugs, “I have nothing better to do.”

“Just don’t teach me the wrong words to make me look stupid.” You arch a brow.

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

Hours turn into days. Days into weeks and suddenly you stand on a blurred line. How much is she pretending? How much are you?

The two of you rest on opposite ends of the couch. Enjoying another round of prime time television.

“Yesterday I was talking to that girl in accounting.” Yelena pulls your attention from the picture.

“The blonde one?” You ask, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

She attempts to catch it in her mouth. Having had more than a few drinks her coordination is lacking.

You smirk, when it falls into her lap.

“No Maggie.” She corrects you, finding the wayward piece and biting into it.

“Mmm.” You hum.

“Mmm? What do you mean, ‘mmm?’” Yelena’s brows pull together.

“Nothing,” you insist. “I was just acknowledging what you said.”

“You didn’t sound very happy about it. Did she do something to you?” Yelena demands, straightening her posture.

“No, she didn’t do anything. Anyway tell me what happened.”

“She’s worked there for a long time. I think she knows more than she says she does.”

“So are you gonna talk to her again? See if she’ll open up?” Yelena has that effect on people.

“I am married.” She rolls her eyes, flipping her left ring finger in place of the middle.

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

“I’m crazy about you, know you. Ever since we met in high school. You didn’t like me at first but you came around.” Yelena elaborates.

“I don’t remember seeing all that in our cover story.” You cock your head to the side.

“That was a shit story, I’m rewriting it.” She waves a hand.

“Tell me more.” Tell me everything.

———————————————————————

“Did you get milk?” You shout, peeking into the nearest paper bag.

“Was it on the list?” Yelena hollers back, from the front door, kicking it shut. Her arms full of groceries.

“I don’t remember,” you say, unpacking the head of lettuce and eggs.

“You made the list.” She scoffs, setting the rest of the haul on the floor.

A knock pulls your attention away from the food.

“Who is it?” You wonder.

“It’s me, George. From next door.” Your neighbor answers.

Yelena rolls her eyes, waving you out of the kitchen. It’s your turn to make small talk.

You step carefully around the produce to the main entrance. “Hey George.” You smile, swinging open the door, “what’s up?”

“Katherine!” He greets you. “Could I borrow Irena for a minute?”

“Is that lawnmower giving you trouble again?” You guess, leaning against the door frame.

“It’s running great actually. There’s something else I’m curious about though.”

“I can send her over after dinner.” You attempt to dismiss him.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” George moves his foot to prevent the door from closing, producing a pistol from his waistband.

“George!” Yelena waves, clearly oblivious.

“Irena,” he looks down at the gun, pointed at your chest, “we have much to discuss.”

“Clearly.” Yelena agrees, coming to join you on the threshold. “Are you going to tell me why you have my wife at gunpoint?”

“We should take this inside.”

“I’m good here.”

He presses the barrel against your skin through the fabric of your shirt. “You sure about that?”

“On second thought, I could go for a drink. Do you like scotch?” Yelena takes a step back, leaving room for him to enter the house.

“Who sent you?” George demands, guiding you into the kitchen.

“We also have brandy.” She says, expression unreadable.

“Who are you working for?” He asks a second time, adjusting his grip on the gun. “First one goes in her leg.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yelena drawls. “But I’m going to warn you, if you hurt her, you die.”

“You have three seconds to give me a better answer,” the nuzzle of the gun sits flush against you upper thigh. “One, two-“

Yelena lunges, the gun firing into the floor when he’s knocked off balance.

George tosses her off as if she weighs nothing. You rush him, knocking the fire arm to the other side of the room. Your arms locked around his neck, flush to his back. He rams you back first into the china cabinet.

You fall away with a grunt.

“Now,” the man rights himself. Wiping away the blood from his split bottom lip with the back of his hand. “We’re going to have fun.”

Taking a fist full of your hair he begins pulling you toward the center of the room. You grab for a large shard of glass, slicing it over the back of this knee. He releases you, doubling over.

“I warned you.” Yelena snarls, stabbing her knife into his belly, making a straight line up to his sternum. “You thought you could use her to break me? They used to make me torture her! They used to make me-“ she breaks off, withdrawing her knife. Only to ram it in again and again.

George, if that was his real name, is long dead. A crimson puddle blooming on the floor. It doesn’t stop Yelena, hot, angry tears rolling past her cheeks.

“Yelena.” You say softly.

“They used to make me do it.” She repeats, the weight of the words crushing down on her.

Your arms envelope her from behind.

“No.” She sobs when she feels you there, holding exactly where it hurts.

“It’s ok.” You whisper against her ear.

The blood stained blade clatters to the ground. Her breathing ragged as both her hands find yours, squeezing tightly. Don’t let go.

“It’s ok.”

“No it’s not.” She cries, frantically shaking her head.

“I did it too.” As if she needs reminding. “They made me do it too.”

She allows you to stay curled around her, desperately trying to absorb some of that pain.

———————————————————————

Yelena’s drug of choice is alcohol, the spirits burn their way into her blood stream. Erasing all that she’s done.

“You want a glass?” She offers, setting the bottle of clear liquor down on the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You shake your head, hair still damp from the shower.

“Don’t be a hero,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a seat. The water had washed away any trace of George.

“Fine,” you take a long swig from the bottle in question.

“You’ll thank me later.” She tosses back a shot, sliding the strap of your pajama top down to assess the damage to your left shoulder. “It’s deep, going to need stitches. This is why we don’t go through china cabinets.” Yelena chastises, moving for the first aid kit.

“Yeah, not my finest moment.” You peek at her. “But it worked.”

“Mmm,” she hums, returning to her spot. Flipping open the white box and removing what she needs to stitch you up.

First she hits you with the antiseptic “сука!” Bitch.

“See,” you can hear the smile in her voice, “you are learning.”

You let out a pained laugh, “I guess I am. We need to call someone to clean this up.”

“Here,” she hands you her phone, blowing gently over you wound. “You take care of that, I take care of you.”

Your heart clenches at her words. But Yelena is your partner. That is all.

“Belova, do you have a status update?” A familiar voice answers after the first ring.

“Yeah, we need a cleanup.” You say matter of factly.

“Agent Y/L/N.” He greets you. “How many?”

“One.”

“For now,” The man remarks.

“You didn’t tell us we weren’t alone in this pursuit.” You purse your lips.

“There’s a reason we sent the best. I’ll put in for a clean up crew in the morning.”

“Let them know the body is in the bathtub.”

The goes dead.

The conversation distracts you well enough from the dull ache of the needle poking and pulling at your shoulder.

Carefully Yelena bandages the abused skin. Her finger tips running along the back of your arm.

“Thank you.” You whisper, relaxing into her touch.

Her lips ghost over your skin. “You’re welcome.”

Oh.

Slowly you turn, as if not to startle her. Yelena’s eyes find yours.

You move closer, tracing the line of her jaw. “Thank you,” you repeat.

She nods, still unsure.

“Of all the people I could’ve been stuck here with…I’m glad it was you.”

“You don’t have to say that.” She pulls your hand away gently.

“You’re right. I don’t have to say anything.“ You murmur, “But I want to… and it would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

“We can’t.” She knows it. You know it. “It will get in the way. They’ll kill us.”

“No.” You chuckle bitterly. “They’ll make us kill each other.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Yelena insists.

“You won’t have a choice.” You point out. “Didn’t you hear about that stuff they started pumping into people?”

“Mind control.” Yelena replies in Russian.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe we get out.”

“Maybe,” you smile sadly, “maybe we find each other.” In another life.

———————————————————————

Three days later Yelena comes home late. During your day off you were tasked with the more mundane tasks of running a household, but you suppose there are worse things. She finds you in the laundry room, drink already in hand. Her mouth set in a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You drop the piece of clothing back into the basket.

“I have it.” Yelena confesses.

You press your lips together, you knew this was coming. That information is the only reason you are here. “Did you contact them?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“You say that like I have a choice.” She stares down at her drink.

“I just meant-“

“I know what you meant.” Yelena knows you, better than anyone. The red room saw to that. “Do you want to stay one more night?”

“Do you?” You wonder.

“When I was a little girl…I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

“In the morning,” you offer. Any longer and the risk will be too great. “We’ll go in the morning.”

She nods, taking in the room around her. “I wanted it to be real.”

“It was.” You choke down the lump in your throat.

———————————————————————

Your return to the red room is swift. No pat on the back or celebration to be had. Just two pawns, returning to their places on the board.

You’re separated from Yelena. Because your loyalties are to each other and that poses a threat. But what did they expect? They made you this way.

You are alone. Perhaps the most alone you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’d just forgotten that you could feel things. You remember now and wish you didn’t.

Like it or not she changed you. Knowing her had changed you, for better or for worse. After Yelena you were never the same.

Word of Oksana’s escape only fuels the need to chemically alter the minds of all agents. Beginning in order of importance.

Finding Yelena seated on the bench outside the physician’s office steals the breath from your lungs. To see her now is blatantly cruel and calculated.

Still you sit in the empty space beside her.

“Do you know where your orders are?” She asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Budapest. You?”

“Back to Moscow.” Yelena informs you.

You swallow hard, your pinkies skating past each other.

“Agent Y/L/N,” the doctor opens his door. You watch as another widow exits, she doesn’t look any different. Maybe the mind control drugs aren’t affective.

You steal one last glance at Yelena. Her eyes are desperate, ‘don’t go.’ Both of you knowing you can’t stay.

“Enjoy Moscow.” You whisper, moving reluctantly to your feet.

She tears her gaze away, unable to watch you leave. “I hear Budapest is beautiful.”

You hope so.

Wanna know what happens next? Check out chapter one of Miss American Pie! 💜

Yelena Belova Taglist: @captainwonderwidow

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Twelve

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU 

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize. 

Warnings:  Fluff, Angst, injuries, Violence, Fluff

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Voila! Sorry for not updating this in like six months but here you go! She’s a little intense so enjoy 

~*~

“I gave you one job.”

The man swallows hard, face bloody and bruised and nearly unrecognizable.

“I almost had her. But the prince-” “You said you could do it! I paid you to get rid of the girl! Not send her back to her family on a silver platter!” She grabs the collar of his shirt, pointed edge of a blade at his throat.

“I-I’ll do it! I’ll get rid of her and I’ll get rid of anyone who gets in my way! I underestimated them once, but I won’t make the same mistake again! I swear to it!” The old woman glares at him, her eyes full of hatred.

“You have one more chance. If you fail I will make you wish you were in the hands of the King, for I will not be nearly as merciful as he.” Rumlow nods, stumbling back as soon as she releases him.

“Now go. I expect to hear news of their death before their wedding. If you fail you will regret it.”

~*~

“You look gorgeous, my daughter.” You turn around, smiling from ear to ear in your white gown.

“Thank you, mother.” She tilts your head up, her eyes on the fading scar on your cheek.

“A mark to show those who test you how strong you are,” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the mark.

Butterflies swarm in your belly as you hear the music playing from the throne room.

"Your Majesty, we are ready to begin,” Pepper says, smiling gently at your mother. She nods, tears in her eyes as she cups your cheeks.

“I always knew the day I gave my daughter away would come. I never thought I would have so little time between having you and losing you.” You nod, leaning your cheek into her hands.

“My daughter and my wife on my daughter’s wedding day. A day I had not thought I would get to see.” The two of you look to the voice, smiling when your father walks in.

“They are waiting for you, my dear. And then I am to walk my daughter down the aisle so soon after getting her back. How I wish we could have more time together.” You nod, a sad smile on your face as your mother hurries out of the room and to her spot in the throne room.

“I have no plans on leaving the kingdom soon. We will have time to reacquaint. But until then, we mustn’t leave them waiting.” He nods, offering you his arm. You take it gratefully, still uneasy wearing heels.

“There has not been a gathering this large in your lifetime. People from Kingdoms across the continent have come to see the union of the two kingdoms and the return of the Princess.” Your heart jumps at that information.

“Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better.” He chuckles, helping you down the stairs slowly.

Your dress is beyond extravagant. It’s an off-white colour with a thick layered skirt and a train that drags dangerously long behind you. The entire gown is covered in pearls and jewels, advertising the wealth of the kingdom. Atop your head rests a beautiful white tiara with large crystals decorating it.

You look exactly how royalty should.

With a bouquet of white roses held tightly in your grasp, you focus on your footsteps, trying your hardest to stay steady as the doors to the throne room get pushed open.

There’s a simultaneous gasp across the room, but you keep your eyes focused on the flowers in your grasp, grateful for the veil covering your face from view.

When your father stops walking, you finally look up, eyes finding the piercing blues of Prince James through the thin material of your veil.

He looks absolutely stunning in his royal colours, the lightness of his suit contrasting beautifully with the darkness of his royal sash. At his side hangs his sword, and on his head is a beautiful gold crown with different coloured jewels.

You curtsey low, your father bowing beside you, and James bows from in front of you before extending his hand. You take it without hesitation, handing your flowers to your father before stepping up in front of the thrones with James.

“Take care of my daughter, James. I have only just gotten her back.” The prince nods, a smile on his face as he gazes at you with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

With practiced grace, James flips your veil over your hair, his eyes alight with happiness.

“Together we are gathered here to witness the union of his Royal Highness Prince James Buchanan Barnes of Acadia, and Her Royal Highness Princess (Y/n) (Y/m/n) (Y/l/n) of Corona. In front of the Gods, each other, and your Kingdoms, you will be united as husband and wife, and King and Queen. Your Kingdoms will be together as one, as you will be.”

The priest smiles warmly at the two of you.

“We have waited many years to witness this union, and now, we listen as you speak your vows.” James clears his throat, turning for a moment to grab the two goblets and handing the empty one to you.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” He lifts his hand, using his free hand to lift yours.

“Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.” He pours a tad of wine into your goblet. The two of you each take a sip then set the goblets down. Next, you each pick up a candle, having practiced this enough to know it forward and back.

“With this candle,” he lights his candle then touches the flame to the wick of yours. “I will light your way in darkness.”

You set the candles down, heart racing as he’s handed a gorgeous diamond ring.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” He leans forward, taking your hand gently in his.

“I am yours.” A smile breaks across his face, and right as he’s sliding the ring onto your finger a fiery pain erupts in your shoulder, the force of it sending you tumbling to the ground.

There’s a collective gasp and then screams erupt.

“(Y/n)!” “Your Highness!” You peel your eyes open in time to see guards surrounding you and James, the brunet crouched in front of you with his eyes focused on your chest. You follow his gaze and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

There’s an arrow stuck in your left shoulder. You look frantically at James and he shushes you, grabbing it by the end and snapping it in half, making it much shorter. You cry out in pain, thrashing against him, but he only murmurs apologies.

“Your Highnesses, we must leave.” You’re ushered to your feet and you suppress a cry of pain, grabbing onto your husband’s hand as the two of you are quickly brought out of the room.

“Someone call for a healer immediately. We have no idea if this has pierced something vital,” James barks as you all hurry through the halls.

“Men, take your posts and allow no one through,” Rhodey says, waiting until the guards have dispersed before pulling on a candelabra mounted on the wall.

The wall creaks open and you look at him in shock.

“Go all the way through. Only few know of this passage. There’s a safe room at the end that will have all the required medical tools you will need, as well as food and water. Answer no one and trust even fewer. When it is safe, myself or a trusted member of the king’s guard will come to fetch you.” You nod, looking at James. He nods as well and helps you through the small opening in the wall.

His hand is on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight anyone if need be.

You’ve got one hand pressed against the spot where the arrow remains, partly sticking out of you, half-broken off. Your vision starts to blur as blood seeps out of the wound.

“We’re almost there. Just hang on tight,” he murmurs, stopping in his tracks when he reaches the large wooden door.

He shoves it open and is quick to help you into the room and sit you on the bed. While he lights the candles, you press hard against your wound, taking deep breaths to try and steady yourself.

Warm hands are suddenly pulling yours away and you gasp, opening your eyes and looking at the culprit.

He smiles apologetically then lifts his hand. There’s the sound of tearing and then your gown is sliding down your chest, leaving you in only your satin slip.

“I must admit, this is not how I envisioned our wedding night,” you murmur, voice quivering slightly with fear and pain. He chuckles once, shaking his head.

“This may sting a bit, but I must do it.” You nod, closing your eyes tightly. He takes hold of the arrow and gives you only a moment to prepare before he's tearing it out of you.

You shout out in pain, tears stinging your eyes a the intense fire in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing something hot against the wound. If you thought the ripping of the arrow was bad, this is ten times worse.

A scream tears its way out of your throat and you struggle to get away as he cauterizes the wound to the best of his abilities with you writhing in his grasp.

You’re tiptoeing on the edge of consciousness when he finally pulls it away, your shoulder aching and throbbing.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” You clench your jaw and nod, taking a few deep breaths to try and regain your composure.

“Someone means to kill me,” you whisper, the words tasting foul on your tongue.

James nods, holding your hands in between both of his.

“This union is being targeted yet again. It is no accident that so much has happened to attempt to prevent us from marrying.” His words ring with truths that you hadn’t considered, and he must see the shock on your face.

“I will discuss it with our fathers when it is safe to do so. Until then, you need your rest.” He helps you to lie down in the bed, being careful of your injured shoulder.

“You must swear to wake me as soon as there’s any news,” you demand, grabbing his hand tightly. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course. I swear I will.” You nod, satisfied with his answer, then allow yourself to relax into the pillows, your mind racing itself to sleep.

[harryspet]

Hey I'm can you write like where dark Peter parker kidnaps reader. And she is very innocent. And he just uses a vibrator and overstimulated her. It's just really awkward for me because I have never send an ask before but. You don't have to write it of course. Love your writing!

his toy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, innocent reader, non con, kidnapping, vibrator, overstimulation, light bondage, little editing

A/N: This is pretty much what you asked for but I added some plot stuff. Hope you enjoy it!

In which you witness something Peter doesn’t want you to see.

word count: 1.9k

Your hand clamped over your mouth after the abrupt scream left your lips. The man toppled off off the edge of the building and he screamed bloody murder as he fell to his death. You were just coming up to get fresh air like you always did. You listened to the city as you wrote in your journal but, tonight was different. More than different.

The man who had pushed him was standing right there and he pulled off his black masks as he heard you scream. Your heart raced and tears stung your eyes as you recognized him. You knew him as Spiderman but, judging by his all-black appearance, he wasn’t in the mood for protecting the neighborhood.

Peter looked you over from where you were standing by the roof door and his jaw clenched, “I-I’m s-sorry,” You turned around to grab the door handle but, before you could even reach for it, web spread around the handle. You were trapped.

You thought your heart might explode out of your chest as you heard him speak, “You must have some very very bad luck,” Peter watched your shaky figure try not to panic. You looked so … breakable, “You know that guy?”

You instantly shook your head, “N-No, s-sir,” That made Peter a little tense? Sir? He smiled evilly. You didn’t seem that far from his own age, “I-I’m sure h-he was a … bad man.”

Peter took a few steps closer to you, only about five feet away from you now, “Smart girl,” Peter complimented you, “Telling me what I’d like to hear. What if I told you he wasn’t the bad guy? Would that scare you?”

“But y-you’re spiderman-”

Peter clenched his fist, “There’s only so much work can do without violence,” He took a few more steps and you moved away from the door, knowing you were getting out that way, “Fear usually works but some people just end up being useless to you. Like that guy.”

Peter spoke casually as he stalked towards you and you stumbled away from him, “Some people become liabilities like you,” You had seen him murder an innocent man, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go. As you stepped back and you felt the brick wall that lined the edge of the roof, you knew he was going to do the same thing to you.

“I-I’m not!” You rushed, “I won’t tell anyone, sir. I-I promise! Please, I-I have a family!”

Peter cocked his head to the side, shaking his head, “Don’t we all?” You felt dizzy like you might pass out as he closed the distance between you. His hand wrapped around your throat and as you useless used your own hands to pull his away, Peter became amused. As he got close enough to really look into your eyes, something in him shifted.

“Please-” Peter’s hands tightened around your throat and soon you found yourself gasping for air. You clawed at the fabric of his suit as your eyes grew even wide. You thought this was it and that the last eyes you’d be looking into were his.

“Relax, the nightmare begins later,” He told you though, your vision blurring as you slipped away to the darkness. As you went limp, Peter knew he was taking a risk by not killing you but there was a light in your eyes, one that was foreign to him now. He wanted to see how long you’d last with him before it went out.

+

The first thing you felt was coldness everywhere. As your eyes blinked open, light flooded your vision. It was harsh and flickering as it illuminated your body. As you started to realize the coldness was due to being naked, Peter walked the rest of the way down the steps, moving towards the bed you were laying on.

You were in some dingy basement, the only light in the room seemed to focus on the metal bed which made the surrounding room seem like a dark abyss.

You sat up, panicked as he made his way closer. Your throat was killing you and your voice was hoarse as you tried to scream, “Don’t do that,” As you scrambled away, you tumbled off of the bed, your bottom touching the cold cement.

You climbed to your feet and began to back away more but something around your neck yanked you back. Your fingers found the cold metal of a chain there. He was keeping you leashed like a dog and naked like a … “Your neck is already bruised, Y/N, I wouldn’t do that,” You guess that he had gone through your things to find that out. You looked at him with a look of shock and fear before you grabbed at the chain. You pulled, finding it attached to the bed frame.

You care little about the stinging around your neck and more about the superhero that was keeping you in his basement, “W-What are you doing?” You spoke hoarsely, tears already trailing down your cheeks. Peter stalked around the bed, coming towards you and as he did, you climbed back onto the bed to get away from him.

He flashed you an amused look. You acted as if he couldn’t snatch you up and have you for dinner if he wanted. He stood before you, dressed only in a pair of jeans, his muscular chest on full display. You watched as he casually slid something out of his back pocket, a small book that you quickly realized was your journal.

“I’ve been doing some light reading,” He teased you, flipping open to one of the pages, “I see Trevor all the time now because he comes into my favorite coffee shop. I wonder if he knows how much I stare at him-”

“Stop it, p-please.”

Was his plan to embarrass you to death? “I wonder if he knows how much I want to be with him. I imagine he’s a good kisser. I’ve never kissed anyone but, if he was my first, I would probably thank the heavens-”

“Stop it! You have to let me go. I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Peter didn’t expect you to shout. Maybe you had a little more fire in you then he previously assumed, “I know you won’t,” Peter tossed the book to the side and it smack that made you flinch. He used that moment to quickly move forward, grabbing your leg so hard and fast that your head collided hard with the mattress. You struggled, kicking your limbs but each hit you made felt like your skin was colliding with metal. You were only hurting yourself in the process and Peter was waiting for you to tire yourself.

He grabbed both your arms, pinning your wrist behind your own back as he pushed your front into his. The chain around your neck clanged as you tried to shake him away. Before you knew it, your faces were inches apart and you were trying your hardest to look away from him. Your breathing was heavy from all the fighting but Peter was calm. Eerily calm.

One hand pinned your wrist while the other trailed up to your face. He brushed a strand of hair back and you tried not to flinch, to not show any more weakness, “Be a good girl for me and you can go back to fantasizing about your little Trevor,” Peter’s thumb held your face, and he traced his thumb along your cheek.

“Y-You’ll let me go?”

“Say you’ll be a good girl for me,” he demanded and you bit down on the bottom of your lip. As he noticed you hesitate, he reached back to grab a section of your hair roughly. It strained the sensitive area around your neck again.

You yelped, “O-Okay, I’ll be good. I’ll be good!”

“Say my name. Say you’ll be good for Peter.”

He could kill you. He could kill you so easily and would anyone you love even know where to find you?

“I-I’ll be good for you, Peter,” You stuttered over the words as they left your mouth and Peter grinned wickedly. His name on your lips was heaven to him but hell to you.

He let go of his tight grip around your hair before he reached into the rickety nightstand beside the bed. Peter pulled you into his lap as you tried to get a good look at the device he was holding. Your legs were on either side of his body, your arms still pulled behind your back, and the chain tight around your neck.

It was a white wand and you thought it looked like a body massager, “What is that?” Peter didn’t answer as it suddenly shifted on, the mushroom top shaking as it vibrated. He pressed the tip against your exposed breasts and a whimper left your lips. He only pulled you tighter to him as you tried to move away.

Peter watched as your nipple grew harder and wondered what other parts of your body were that sensitive. The wand trailed over your breasts, then down your stomach before it danced over your private areas. Peter knew you had never been touched like this and he reveled in the idea that this was your first time.

The vibrator dipped between the folds of your sensitive mound and you jerked, not because of Peter, but because of the foreign sensation. As you tried to move away from it, he only pushed it further into you causing a shocked gasp to leave your lips. Then, Peter knew it had been a good idea to not gag you.

He was going to enjoy those beautiful sounds you made like you were an instrument that he was playing.

“Such a good girl, Y/N,” Peter praised you though it was getting hard to focus on him. The feeling overwhelmed your senses and sent a warm wave of pleasure through your body. Biting down on your lip couldn’t stop your moaning, “What a sensitive little toy.”

It only took a good two minutes before your body began convulsing as the first orgasm whipped through you, “Oh God!” You cried, “Oh-” He interrupted you by smashing his lips against yours, his arm still keeping the vibrating tool against your sensitive bulb.

He had stolen your first kiss and all you could think about was how good it felt. You hated how your body betrayed you.

It was becoming too much but, as you opened your lips to protest, Peter swallowed your cries with his own mouth. He kissed you roughly, his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting the desperation. You were desperate to get away from the overstimulation. His grip only got tighter and you were forced to ride that wave once again.

“C’mon, give me another,” Peter grunted as he bit down on your neck. As you cried out, you felt another huge release, this time you felt wetness pooling around your thighs. You thought you might have peed on yourself, not understanding that you had just ejaculated, but that didn’t stop Peter from keeping the toy pressed there.

“No more, n-no more, Peter!” You begged and Peter pulled away from the hickey he was making on your neck.

He held your face as he looked into your eyes, “Don’t quit now. I know you can give me more, toy.”

And your head tilted back as your mind went blank for a moment and you were on another high.

+

hope you enjoyed! like, reblog and let me know what you think!

[texanredrose]

Showing Off

Inspired by prompts submitted to @unsteadyshade on tumblr (here), that I reblogged earlier, or AO3 (here). Also, yes, I'm very much American but I decided to use the non-American lingo in regards to soccer here. Don't look at me expecting logic, my friends, I just do what the winds of whimsy tell me.

---

Blake pulled the hotel door shut behind her, following after her teammate and best friend who was further down the hall and carrying their tote bags. While she didn’t hold the same superstitious beliefs, Yang swore up and down they’d lose unless they brought along their ‘lucky’ practice ball; after going back to retrieve it, the woman seemed satisfied and started walking towards the elevator while Blake caught up. “This is ridiculous, you know that right?”

“Hey, don’t sass me; we’ve never lost a road game when we’ve had the ball,” Yang said, already wearing her keeper jersey, the material stretched a bit thin over her muscled frame. It had seen better days but, much like the ball, the woman refused to replace it, especially during their run up to the championship. “A little extra luck can’t hurt anyone. Except the other team, I guess.”

“It can make us late, though,” she said, one of her ears flicking back as one of the doors they passed opened and closed- had to be other patrons of the hotel, seeing as the rest of their team was already downstairs by the bus. “Which would mean we forfeit.”

“We’re not running that late,” Yang replied, throwing a grin her way. Then, lilac eyes were drawn behind them and lingered a moment before her lips pulled into a very specific smirk. Blake knew that smirk- it was the ‘oh, I’ve got an idea, you might not like it but you’re gonna do it’ expression, because aside from being one of the best keepers in the region, Yang Xiao Long was also ridiculously persuasive. Dangerously so, in fact. “Hey. Toss me the ball.”

“Your hands are full.”

“Wasn’t going to use my hands.”

Blake narrowed her eyes, vividly remembering the last time someone tried doing agility drills down a hotel hallway, and picked up on the subtle look behind them. After a few more steps, she turned to say something about the game to Yang as an excuse to glance behind them. And then, it all made sense.

A bit further down the hallway were two women, both of whom were dressed in sharp business attire, and the moment Blake returned her attention to Yang, she pointed at herself and mouthed the word ‘tall’ with a wink.

“C’mon, toss me the ball,” Yang said, coming to a stop.

Blake glanced at her watch and, although a touch reluctant, decided they had enough time for a little demonstration. Tossing the ball towards Yang, she stepped back to lean against the wall while the woman started juggling while still carrying both totes. With her best friend as a distraction, Blake could take a longer look at the women Yang was trying to impress, and realized a few things, chiefly: they weren’t just any business women following behind them.

They were the Schnee sisters.

Atlesian elites, borderline nobility, some of the richest and most powerful people in the world; the Schnee sisters were in the news for one reason or another practically every day. Blake was more familiar with the attitude and mentality of the younger sister, Weiss Schnee, because it was her actions that Blake, as a faunus, found most… interesting. All the way up until she assumed control of her family’s company, the woman didn’t seem much at odds with the stuffy, bigoted, narrow minded people found in her social circle. After, though, she not only did an unapologetic one-eighty in the other direction, she became so aggressively progressive that it created a wide schism in the highest echelons of Atlesian society. More than once, she’d deployed the surprisingly well equipped private SDC security forces to protect protestors from Atlesian police and military personnel, and paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep those protestors out of jail, either by paying off bonds or hiring attorneys. In a relatively short amount of time, she’d become a juggernaut for social changes, and the careful monopoly her scheming father had built became the ultimate tool for exacting those changes.

Blake could admire the woman’s sense of justice as well as her commitment to it.

The elder, though, she only knew by name. Winter Schnee stood on her sister’s side when it came to social issues and did something tangentially related to the SDC but, beyond that, the details were a blur. She’d never heard Yang mention either sister in anything more than a passing comment while they pursued the news together waiting for flights, certainly nothing she could recall that would explain why the woman wanted Winter’s attention specifically. However, it also wasn’t out of the ordinary for Yang to show off a bit for pretty ladies when presented the opportunity.

By the time Blake had made a decision herself, Yang had run through every trick she knew and had popped the ball up to balance on her chest. She motioned for the woman to pass the ball, which earned her a raised brow at first before lilac eyes twinkled and she popped her shoulders back to set the ball in motion.

Blake caught it before it hit the ground with her foot, stalling the ball’s momentum entirely for a moment before she began juggling herself. For her, it was less a skill she’d developed for showing off as one of honing control of her body and the ball, but she knew a few tricks, moving slightly away from the wall so she could juggle the ball in a circle around her while still facing Yang. It meant juggling with her heel behind her back briefly but she managed it without losing control and that prompted a low murmur from their audience. Impressively, she couldn’t make out the words, which made her think the speaker specifically didn’t want her to hear.

After transitioning between using her feet and knees, the faunus popped the ball up high enough for her head to get under it, her feline ears laying flat against her skull to prove she wasn’t using them to help her balance the ball in place, which earned a brief chuckle from Yang. Then, she began bouncing it atop her head while moving her head just so to get the ball rotating before allowing it to roll off her head so she could catch it with her foot.

With a glance to confirm Yang was prepared, Blake passed her the ball, and the two of them traded it for a while, trying to catch the other off guard to make the eventual save and pass even more impressive. It was a show of control and dexterity and, had they planned it, would’ve had a better end to the display. Unfortunately, a short pass from Yang resulted in both of them trying to save it, which sent the ball bouncing harmlessly down the hall until it came to a stop at Winter’s feet.

Then again, given the glint in Yang’s eye, perhaps that was her intention. “Oh, sorry about that. We’re just… warming up.”

With a jerk of her head, the faunus realized her friend was requesting some back-up. “Yes, we, uh… are on our way to a game. The semi-finals, actually.”

“We can probably get ya seats, if you want.” A nonchalant shrug. “You should come watch us play.”

The sisters exchanged a look then. The elder, questioning, and the younger… Blake couldn’t put a word to that look. It was equal parts goading and secretive, and perhaps something else dancing in blue eyes. She would need a lot more time to decipher that look.

And she found herself wanting it.

Then, without a word, Winter put her foot on top of the ball and rolled it back, popped it up, and… began juggling with just as much precision as they’d displayed. Except, unlike them- bedecked in jerseys, loose shorts, and tennis shoes- she was doing it in a form fitting pants suit and dress shoes, hampering her mobility somewhat though it hardly impacted her performance, executing all the tricks Yang had done. Then, she passed it to her sister, who, in high heels and a skirt, proceeded to do the same, keeping many of the tricks low so her skirt wouldn’t ride up. Which, of course, meant she had less room to manipulate the ball, had to move faster to get into position to execute each trick, and when she did a version of Blake’s around the world one, the faunus felt her mouth pop open in astonishment.

Once satisfied, Weiss passed the ball back to her sister, who caught it one handed.

“We appreciate the invitation. However...” Winter tossed the ball, hard enough that it hit Yang’s chest before the keeper thought to catch it. “We unfortunately have a prior engagement that requires our attention.”

The sisters began walking past the gobsmacked footballers and Blake didn’t miss the look Weiss directed her way as she spoke. “After you’ve won your game, perhaps you’ll join us in the hotel’s hot tub?”

Blake didn’t notice how close they were to their floor’s elevator until Winter reached over and pushed the button to call a car. ���Unless, of course, you have your own post victory traditions that take precedence.”

Yang just shook her head while Blake managed to find her voice. “No. We don’t. Have traditions, I mean.”

“Excellent,” Weiss said, stepping into the car the moment the doors twanged open and hitting a button inside, smiling in a way that… well… Blake would call it seductive in another setting and found herself hard pressed not to call it that now. “We’ll see you there. Don’t be late.”

When the doors closed, both Blake and Yang were left standing in the hallway, both just… recovering from how mentally unprepared they were for their tricks to be used against them to great effect. After another moment, Yang turned to look at her, holding up the ball.

“Lucky. Ball.”

Blake resolved to not argue that point and instead focus on winning the game, ushering her teammate towards the stairs rather than waiting for the next car.

---

Weiss leaned back against the wall of the elevator. While they’d chosen to book this particular hotel for their business trip specifically because their favorite football team would be staying there, and they’d opted to not use the penthouse suite because they wanted a chance to catch glimpses of the team while going to and from meetings, neither expected to meet their personal favorite players in the hallway like that. Weiss had followed Blake’s career since college and, while responsibilities had prevented her from attending as many games as she would’ve liked, she always recorded them and watched them later. Up until the encounter in the hallway, that was how she and Winter had planned to spend their evening.

Now, though…

“Would it be inappropriate for me to bring her jersey to the hot tub in the hopes she’ll sign it?”

Winter made a considering noise. “Bring the jersey, leave a suitable pen in the room.”

“How would that accomplish her signing it?”

“Invite her back to the room.” Her elder sister smiled, and a twinkle in her eyes spoke to the crude humor of a former soldier. “I’ll be… elsewhere tonight.”

“Spare me the details,” she replied as they reached the ground floor. “... but thank you for the idea.”

As a general rule, Weiss was never overly fond of business meetings, but she found herself looking forward to the end of this one more than usual, if only to see where the night led.

---

Blake pushed out a nervous breath as she and Yang made their way towards the hotel’s pool area. The game itself ended in a shootout and while Blake had made the final goal that secured them a berth to the finals, she couldn’t relax quite yet. Post game celebrations usually involved Blake joining the rest of the team for a glass of champagne or a toast of some sort before the others prepared for a night on the town to celebrate the win. Most of the time, Yang went with them, leaving the faunus plenty of time to wind down with a book of her choice and a peacefully quiet hotel room. Even on the odd occurrence when Yang didn’t join the others, the blonde still found other ways of occupying herself that preserved Blake’s quiet.

So, rushing back to the hotel room to change into their swimwear before the hotel shut down their pool was a major break from their normal routine, and knowing they’d be going to meet two very beautiful and apparently incredibly talented women… well, she was just a touch nervous.

Unfortunately, her best friend didn’t share that anxiety.

“One piece or bikini?”

“What?”

“Which do you think they’re wearing?” The blonde shrugged, the tips of her hair brushing the back of her neck. Normally, Yang wore her hair down or in a thick braid for games, but seeing as she didn’t have the energy to deal with drying her hair again after the quick post game shower they’d rushed through. “I’m hoping Winter’s wearing a bikini or a two piece. She’s gotta have some abs, right?”

“You have an eight pack; what does it matter to you if she has abs?”

“It’s about the commitment.” With a smirk, she gestured towards her own abs, prominently on display thanks to her yellow bikini top. Along with a darkening bruise around her left eye, there were bruises along her ribs from a few sliding tackles that had almost sidelined the keeper entirely, but Yang was a bit tougher than their opponents expected. “It takes work to get these and keep ‘em.”

“And what’s the point of wearing a bikini top if you’re just going to wear swim trunks for bottoms?” She arched a brow, more comfortable poking holes in her best friend’s thought process than confronting reality as they neared their destination. While she, too, opted for bikini style swimwear, Blake had chosen a black top with matching bottoms and a light purple sarong around her hips. She might claim to be somewhat modest in comparison, but she was showing a bit more skin- which, rationally, she could justify because they were getting in a hot tub, not attending a gala, showing a bit of skin should be expected-

Blake shook her head, trying to calm her anxiety again.

“Gotta make her work for the goods,” Yang replied, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring her nerves. Then again, perhaps she had a few of her own that she was hiding, considering the way she reached up to fiddle with her hair. “Besides, my bottoms always ride up. Trunks are more comfortable. Not all of us have an ass that won’t quit.”

“Not judging, I just think it’s… silly. To focus on what they’ll be wearing.”

“What else is there to think about?”

“How hard we’re going to flirt.” She pointed out, tilting her head thoughtfully. “What to say, how to say it… what result we’re hoping for.”

“Don’t overthink it, Blakey.” A laugh. “Let’s just have some fun.”

They came to a set of glass double doors that granted entry to the pool area of the hotel… at which point they realized the pool officially closed half an hour ago. Yang cursed under her breath as Blake’s shoulders slumped. They’d missed their chance, it seemed.

“Oh, Miss Belladonna? Miss Xiao Long?”

“That’s us,” Yang replied as a hotel employee approached them, already grabbing a key card attached to his lanyard and holding it up to a sensor beside the doors.

“Here. Both Miss Schnees are waiting for you.”

The footballers exchanged a look, surprised by the special treatment. True, they were quasi celebrities themselves, but this hotel handled all teams from the league, which meant they weren’t any more famous than the average patron. Then again, the Schnee sisters had quite a bit more clout than they did and could probably swing something like being given unfettered access to the pool area.

With a shrug and a smirk, Yang opened one door and they entered, spotting the sisters sitting in chairs beside the hot tub. Both were reading magazines, with fresh drinks on a table between them, and were… well… Blake found she couldn’t immediately discern their taste in swimwear because both sisters were wearing football jerseys. And not just any jerseys.

“I see you took us up on our offer,” Weiss said, getting to her feet and motioning towards the hot tub before reaching for the hem of the jersey to pull it off. At a glance, Blake could tell it was the special limited edition run from a few years ago, and her number no less. And while she would be sorely tempted to assume the woman had found one last minute, the careful way Weiss placed the jersey on the chair- not dropped or thrown carelessly- made her think otherwise. Only then did she notice the woman had opted for a light blue one piece with a single strap, leaving her upper back mostly exposed. “Splendid.”

“Congratulations on your win.” Winter also set aside her magazine and stood up, revealing she was wearing Yang’s limited edition jersey, and she took the same amount of care in removing it and setting it aside. Much to her friend’s delight, the elder of the sisters did wear a bikini of a darker blue and also sported some abs, though they lacked the definition of Yang’s. “A hard fought victory like that certainly deserves a celebration.”

As the sisters entered the hot tub, Blake looked over to Yang, who seemed equal parts excited and… intimidated- and that second one was hard. But what intimidated her ultimately evolved into a challenge and Yang never backed down from a challenge. For her part, the faunus just found herself wondering if, perhaps, they had a different idea of who needed to impress who than the sisters did.

Removing her sarong, Blake tossed it onto the chair Weiss had used and went to the hot tub, noting how the sisters had chosen to sit across from each other. She hesitated in entering, if only because she didn’t want to be too forward. Yang, of course, took the seating as a goading taunt of sorts, and settled herself in the tub hardly an arm’s length away from Winter. Probably closer than would be considered polite but neither seemed uncomfortable or surprised by the decision, so Blake opted to test the waters herself, sitting approximately the same distance away from Weiss but also across from Yang.

Almost instantly, she let out a sigh of relief; while focusing on getting to the hot tub, she’d done her best to ignore the lingering aches and pains from the game. Now, though, she could feel herself relaxing as the warmth began sinking into her muscles. Usually, she just focused on stretches before bed and had a tub of balm if that failed.

“Should probably do this more often,” Yang said, obviously relaxing herself. “Forgot how good hot tubs feel after a rough game.”

“Speaking of that, did you get checked out?” Winter gestured towards her eye. “You took a few nasty hits. I’m surprised seventeen didn’t get thrown out of the game.”

“The Vipers always play hard.” The blonde tried to shrug off the concern. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You took a few shots, too.” Weiss pointed out. “How’s your knee?”

“I’ve taken worse falls.” She gave a wry smile. “But I’m beginning to suspect you know that.”

“I’ll admit I’ve been a fan of yours since your college days.” The woman shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance- and Blake only suspected it was a show because blue eyes didn’t meet hers as she spoke. “I hardly think that is remarkable. You’re one of the best strikers the league has ever seen.”

“Did you ever consider playing?” At the curious look she received, Blake inclined her head. “It took me years to develop those tricks, and you did them better. That speaks to a remarkable amount of skill.”

“Well, I’ll admit I entertained the idea a time or two. Ultimately, I chose my path, and it didn’t leave enough room to become a superstar footballer.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret it but, I suppose, part of the reason I practice those little tricks to keep the dream alive.”

Her ears perked up, catching something between the lines. “Part of the reason? What’s the other part?”

“Why, to catch your eye, of course.”

“My eye?” She couldn’t help the surprised chuckle that bubbled up from her chest. “You’re Weiss Schnee; you don’t really need to try to catch anyone’s attention.”

The woman’s expression faltered then. “Yes, well… unfortunately, the sort of attention I garner on my own is markedly less… impressive, by some standards.”

“I’d think those people have poor standards, then,” she said, opting to tip her hand as well. “You’ve managed to galvanize social changes that have taken some kingdoms entire decades in a matter of years. Comparatively, bouncing a ball’s hardly anything. Don’t you think?”

At that Weiss laughed, a bright, high, unrestrained sound that Blake rather liked hearing. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t be trying so hard to impress you, now would I? And you shouldn’t discount your own efforts outside the pitch.”

The faunus felt her lips quirk up in amusement. They’d been watching each other from afar all this time; the only thing she didn’t account for was the magnetic attraction that being in the woman’s presence seemed to engender. And, as she made an excuse of stretching to cover her moving slightly closer to Weiss, it seemed she wasn’t the only one feeling it. The woman, mysteriously, decided to move and dip her shoulders beneath the water’s surface long enough to bring out a lovely light pink blush to her skin, and when she sat back against the tub’s wall, she was a bit closer to Blake.

Surreptitiously, she snuck a glance towards Yang, if only to gauge how much teasing she would be in for on the flight back home the following day. She quickly realized her best friend wouldn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to teasing; somehow, Winter had coaxed Yang into her lap and was apparently giving the footballer a message. For her part, Yang seemed to be in a luxurious sort of heaven, eyes half lidded and with a silly sort of smile on her lips.

“Forgive my sister,” Weiss said, a sardonic smile on her lips. “I’m impressed she’s shown this much restraint.”

“I can hear you,” the woman replied, blue eyes flashing towards her younger sister. “But that can be remedied. Yang?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think this would work better if you were lying down.”

Lilac eyes widened as the woman tilted her head, glancing over towards Blake. With a small nod, the faunus made the silent agreement to avoid their hotel room for a few hours. Frankly, Yang had slept in a few lobbies over the years, when she’d returned too drunk to be quiet and not wanting to risk waking the faunus. She could spend a night elsewhere to return the favor.

“Yeah… I think you’re right.”

As the two got out of the hot tub and retrieved towels, Blake returned her attention to the woman beside her. “You don’t have to try, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“Impressing me. You don’t have to try.” Blake tilted her head, leaning back to brace her arms against the rim of the hot tub. “I think that’s the part I don’t like about being with the league. The mandatory press conferences and the rules- sometimes, I just want to get straight on the bus after a game and go back to reading my book, not sit and play twenty questions for an hour. It’s like… wearing an ill fitting mask.”

“You handle them remarkably well.” Weiss smirked. “But I suppose I say that because I speak my mind a bit too bluntly during press conferences. I admire your restraint.”

“I admire your candor,” she replied, very carefully laying one arm along the tub’s rim behind the woman. “I really liked the interview you did with the Atlas Economist. It looked like you were going to give that guy an aneurysm.”

“That would’ve been impossible.” A light chuckle as she moved closer, lowering her voice ever so slightly to coax Blake into leaning closer. “He would need a brain first.”

They both laughed, using their amusement to hide their shifting movements until Weiss was pressed into her side ever so slightly. They continued talking and laughing quietly until sitting in the hot tub started becoming uncomfortable. However, the faunus did her best to ignore it simply because she didn’t want to part ways quite yet. Weiss was… a lot of things- emphatic, sharp tongued, witty- but above all good company that Blake wasn’t keen on losing quite yet. However, she couldn’t ignore that the heat of the tub was taking a toll on them both.

“Your skin’s turning red,” she said, running a thumb over the ball of Weiss’ shoulder. “We should probably get out.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They both stood and exited the hot tub, grabbing towels to start drying themselves off. While doing that, she wracked her brain for some excuse to continue their conversation but found herself coming up woefully empty. Every suggestion she could come up with either sounded ridiculous or… risque. It wasn’t like she could simply invite the woman back to her hotel room for some tea.

“Thank you for the invite, by the way,” she said, trying to buy herself some time. “A good soak after a tough game feels… fantastic. I don’t often indulge.”

Blue eyes lit up as the woman wrapped a towel around her hips. “I’m more than glad you accepted. However, if you wish to… pay me back… I’ve been meaning to ask for your autograph.”

Blake raised a brow. The request seemed… deceptively innocent, especially with the way Weiss was looking at her. “I can do that. You want me to sign your jersey?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The barest moment of silence, and then she tilted her head. “Unfortunately, the only pen I have is in my room.”

Blake took a step closer, pleased to see she actually stood a few inches taller than the woman when she wasn’t wearing heels, and lowered her voice. “Well… I suppose we’ll have to go to your room, then.” A pause. “And, maybe, we’ll think of something else I can sign along the way.”

Weiss smiled and donned the jersey, setting her hand in the crook of the faunus’ elbow. “Perhaps. Do you have any ideas?”

“I do.” As they started walking, she chuckled. “But I wouldn’t want to use a pen to sign something so… delicate.”

The woman hummed, pointedly looking at her mouth. “I believe I know of something else you can use.”

While outwardly Blake merely smiled a bit wider, internally she asked herself a question: just how far was she willing to go?

Before they reached the elevator, she’d decided that if she wasn’t officially dating Weiss Schnee by the time she boarded the plane tomorrow, she’d be disappointed in herself.

---

Weiss stretched luxuriously in her bed as the morning rays streamed in through the window. She was sore in places she’d forgotten existed- but the pleasant type of sore, the kind that eventually turned into an itch for more, and it took conscious effort not to reach for her scroll just then. It would probably do her well to show some restraint.

That mentality lasted all of thirty seconds before her scroll was in hand and she was admiring her new background picture, taken just before Blake put on her swimwear from the night before and left to return to her room. Nothing terribly suggestive or revealing, of course, just the faunus resting her chin on Weiss shoulder. An ordinary selfie. With her new girlfriend.

She couldn’t help the smile curling her lips.

The door opened and she looked over her shoulder, watching her sister strut into the room wearing her bikini with her usual air of complete and total confidence. Her jersey was held in one hand. Probably because she wanted to… show off. “You walked down the hallway like that?”

“Of course,” Winter replied, not even batting an eye at the words ‘Property of Yang Xiao Long’ written in marker across her chest and abdomen. “I’m pleased with the outcome.”

Then, a smirk.

“Please, don’t elaborate.”

“I won’t but I do hope you were as successful as I was.”

She glanced at her scroll as a message came through from Blake, a smile coming to her lips. “Indeed I was.”

Who knew giving in to her impulse to show off would have such wonderful results.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Homecoming

Chapter 3

Summery: Slow burn. You are forced to move back to your home town due to the pandemic. When your high school tormentors return to remind you why you never wanted to come back. This gets darker as it goes. I’m not a good writer folks sorry.

Warning: assault, Kissing,  flash back warning: under age drink, mentions of sexual assault. tried to be very vague and not graphic.

Dark Steve x Black Reader, Dark Bucky x Black Reader Cop AU

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The drive back home was mostly silent and you were thankful for it. The off duty officer blew through lights and stops signs with ease. Laughing at you whenever you gasped at the yellow light as he mashed the gas to beat the red. With Steve behind the wheel time seemed to drag, with Bucky you were more concerned with making it home in one piece. When you saw your uncle's house finally approach in the distance you started to breathe easier.

Bucky slowed to a crawl, parking in-front while you unbuckled and turn to face the door for a quick escape.

*Click

The locks on the door snapped down the instant you touched the handle.

"Hold up."

Your back stayed facing him as you waited for whatever was to come.

"I'm not going to touch you" his words did not calm you. "You know I haven't seen him this happy in a long time."

It felt like every hair stood up one by one along your arms. This tone was too calm, if you didn't know him maybe you would've thought nothing of it.

"Why did you run?"

You swallowed thickly as you try and think of ways as to not raise his ire.

"He was so crushed when you left"

Of course. He didn't care what they did to you or how you felt. As if he hadn't been there, been apart of it all. As if what he put you through was OK.

"Does it matter anymore?" You felt so drained and you wondered if he could see the defeat in your eyes when you turned to look at him.

And really did it matter? You already felt trapped. With no money there was no hope.

His eyes were wet, but nothing fell from them, it looked like he was holding back a hurt that laid just below the surface. When his hand lifted to cradle your face you stiffened, but didn't pull away. Bucky's callus hand gently felt along your cheek then settled on the back of your neck.

The scenery blurred when he brought your head crashing down on to the dashboard. Throbbing and ringing marinated with this new pain that radiated through your head.

"We had to pickup the pieces of his heart when you skipped town. You broke him Roast. Took him along time to deal with how you left." he growled as he ground your face into the dashboard.

"Bucky! Bucky! Please I'm sorry!" The taste of copper filled your mouth as you screamed. Your lip was busted open and the bridge of your nose felt bruised, you worried it was broken the way it hurt. Every effort to push of the dash was met with heavy resistance by Bucky.

"I'd hate to see him get hurt again Roast." He paused before raising you.

"I'm home... I.. I-I won't run again. Please" You trembled and shook in his grasp while tears streamed down your cheek.

Before you could focus he crashed into yours. The sting from the impact had you hissing on his mouth. With the opening his tongue invaded, swirling around the blood from your lip. Your hands froze in the air, stopping yourself from trying to push him away.

Bucky's other hand began roaming the front of your sweater. You felt your body grow hotter as he touched you. Squeezing and palming your breast through your clothes, if someone were to pass by they would've thought you two were nothing more than an over eager couple.

When he bit your lip you hissed at the pain as more blood trickled down your chin. He trailed bloody kisses down to your neck, his lips sending teasing jolts of electricity throughout your body. You felt his lips start to suck hard on the nape of your neck, the suction from which drew out a soft moan as he moved down further.

"Bucky please...He won't like this" your words stopping him from marking you with a love bite.

Steve loved Bucky like a brother, but he was not fond of his pal playing with his toys without him. Maybe it was due to the fact that Bucky had a tendency to play a little too rough from your experience. Pulling back you notice your blood smeared against his lips. Keeping his hold on you he assess the damage that he's done.

"Shit..." Tilting your head around as he examines you. "Put some ice on"

When he released you shook your head in reply. Unlocking the doors Bucky finally allowed you to leave.

When you walked up to the front door you thought of how to hide your very bruised face. Taking out your key you open the door and then rush to put your hand on your forehead. Looking down you greet your uncle then high tail it to your room.

You here him call out, but you ignore him. Once inside you crumbled against the closed wooden door.

Past: Month before the incident

"Hey" Peggy calls out to you as she catches up in the hall.

"Hey stranger" you jab at your bestie. You were surprised to not see her hanging off Steve's arm.

"I know I've been super flaky lately."

"Might start calling you Kellogg...." You paused for comic relief. "Because of the cereal...like Kellogg Frosted Flakes.. they’re Great!"

"Bad joke" she deadpanned "...anyways. You, me, Steve, James movies tonight!" She was almost giddy at the idea.

"For one I don't even know James. I'm assuming its that guy that's always around Steve? And isn't he dating Wanda, that cheerleader?"

"They broke up like a while a go.... So he is single and super nice. Second it was Steve's idea, so how could he hate you if that was the case? Huh?"

"Why cant 'we' hang out together? Steve is so annoying. He is always fucking with me. I swear he hates me."

You didn't have a problem with Steve, but he seemed to have a problem with you. Anytime you made plans to hang with Peggy she came up with an excuse the last minute. At first you thought that he wanted you out of the picture so that he could have Peggy all to himself, so you bowed out. But it felt like the more space you gave the more annoying he got. So being around Steve willingly didn't seem appetizing.

🍿

You don't know how she convinced you to do this. No wait of course you do. You missed Peggy so much, but you half expected her to cancel and flake on you like she normally did.

When you two arrived the guys were waiting outside the building. As you both walk up the side walk to greet them Peggy formally introduces you.

His square jaw rivaled Steve's, when he smiled your heart fluttered a bit. You had to admit he was a handsome guy.

"Hi, I'm James, but everyone calls me Bucky. Nice to meet you." He introduced as you shyly smile back at him.

After the slightly awkward introductions everyone coupled up and headed into the theater. Finding seats the small group linking up boy, girl, boy, girl. You wanted to sit next to Peggy, but Steve pushed her down to the next seat over.

Through the upcoming trailers you noticed the odd kernel fly in your direction. That's when you knew Steve was up to his usual pranks. His massive arm taking up your arm rest, reaching in your eye-line to pass snacks between him and his buddy, ignoring you.

While Bucky was the perfect gentlemen, offering snacks, letting you take his arm rest. When you started to shiver from the cold he pulled you in, wrapping an arm around and stroking you. Even though you had a crush on someone else he was a welcome distraction.

🍿🍿

At the end of the movie Steve drove everyone home. You sat in the back with James while Peggy sat up front. James's arm outstretched on the back of the seat  as he chatted with you. If you didn't know any better, which you didn't, you would swear he was flirting with you.

You felt a weird sensation throughout the car ride. Looking up you saw Steve lock eyes with you on more than one occasion through the rear view. Shaking it off each time you try to focus on James, but he made it hard to concentrate. Dropping you home first you tell James to call you then wave bye to everyone as you walk up to your house.

🍿🍿🍿

The next day at school James sported a black eye and a bruised cheek. You tried to ask him what happened when you saw him in the hall, but he walked past ignoring you.

In class you asked Peggy if something happened when you left, but she too had no clue. Just explaining it away as some rough housing that must've happened after she got dropped home.

You noticed him a few more times throughout the day, but you stop completely when you saw him wrapped around Wanda. The beautiful cheerleader coddled his face examining the wounds. You weren't looking to start anything with James, but he made you want think otherwise. it was so odd that he would even go out with you if he was still with her and then completely ignore you. You also had the misfortune to see Steve watch you realize that fact. The smile on his face let you know this was all some sick prank he must've cooked up. Turning down the wrong hallway you rush away fuming and holding in tears of embarrassment.

Present

Early the next day you sat in front of the Pawnshop until the 'Open' sign turned on . Thinking now that maybe you should've taken the bus here instead of your Uncle's truck. But then the other half of you didn't want to be spotted at the outside waiting a the bus stop. As the light came on you hurried out of the truck and over to the shop door. When you entered Moscow's Pawn the bell chimed alerting the redhead to your presence.

The shop was filled with pawned goods like bikes, lawn mowers and a glass case full of guns behind the register. You were the first one in the shop, but you weren't sure for how long.

Before you left home you went into the garage and stole your uncles old tool box. The weight of the box wasn't heavier than the guilt you held from your thievery.

"Hello, I'm Nat! Welcome how can I help you today?" She greeted you as you approached.

"Um.. what can I get for these?" you lift the box, plopping it down on the counter.

"Are these yours or stolen?"

"They're mine. I mean they are my Uncles. But he gave me permission." You stuttered a bit at the accusation.

She cocked a brow at you, but didn't press. Taking the box from you and examining the contents, lifting each up one by one. Letting out a big sigh before she spoke. When she started looking too hard at your face you looked down at the floor. The bruises Bucky left you with were covered a bit with concealer and your mask so you were confident enough to push through with your plan. "I can give you a hundred for it all." She said while closing the box.

"I'll take it" you could tell she was low-balling you, but you didn't care. Those tools were worth more than that, but you didn't have time to haggle. This would be more than enough for a bus ticket out. Your uncle would be pissed for sure, but you would pay him back when you got back on your feet.

"OK well I need your ID to process it."

You started to panic and you could tell she knew something was off.

"Look its policy. I know you said it's your uncle's, but just encase its not... my ass is covered if he files a police report for stolen goods." The word 'police' had you more nervous than before.

"OK, OK." You dug in your purse and got out your ID. The redhead took it from you and entered in your information. You worried for a bit, but you knew your uncle would be the last person to call the cops for missing tools.

When she handed it back she also passed you the money. You bid her adieu and headed toward the door.

When your hand hit the handle your heart stopped. Through the bard glass door you saw a patrol car pass the shop. Holding your breath you watched it as it disappeared down the street.

Past: Week before the incident

"He is such a prude or super religious. You know we haven't even done it yet." Peggy said frustrated as she sat across from you at the small coffee shop. Steve was at an away game and without a car she found time to finally hang out with you.

"That's surprising seeing as how much you two go at it whenever I see you" you remarked while drinking your iced tea. Anytime you were stuck with the love birds they were nauseatingly affectionate.

"I know right. Gawd he gets me so riled up and then nothing. So frustrating... Any who I want to have a party at my house this weekend for my birthday."

You cocked a suspicious brow at her. Peggy had never been into school dances let alone parties, before Steve she was a book worm that enjoyed small simple quite nights in.

"Isn't your birthday next month?"

"Yes, but my folks are going out of town soooo..." She looked at you so innocently. Your heart always fluttered a bit when she did that.

"I want to, but ever since that movie thing Bucky acts weird whenever I try and speak to him while Steve has just gotten worse." It was true it was one thing to annoy you at school, but he was bringing your Uncle into the mix. Police were called to the house on several occasions. Telling your uncle there was a report of women's screams coming from the house, it took half an hour to convince them otherwise without incident. Then the prank calls started. The calls were at the same time every night and wouldn't stop until you turned off the phones. Not to mention you were getting tired of having to clean the shattered eggs and toilet paper that decorated the lawn.

"I spoke to Steve when you told me about what's been happening and he promised me that it wasn't him. He is such a sweetheart once you get to know him...Come on please...for me?" Peggy pleaded. You wanted to believe her, but your gut knew better.

"Since its your birthday I will make this one exception" She squealed at your answer. "But if he start anything I'm gone."

🎂

The house was already a disaster. You weren't sure who, how or when kegs were brought in, but red cups could be seen within every corner of the room. Everyone was very drunk and rowdy except for you.

You kept stuck around Peg as she clung to Steve. "Oh oh oh theres James" Peggy shouted over the music. She caught the handsome boys attention, screaming his name repeatedly from across the room, he made his way over and you felt instantly awkward.

Not knowing were to look as he approached you turn away only to find Peggy locking lips with Steve again.

"Sickening isn't it" James voice brushed your ear. Giving him your full attention you were surprised he was even talking to you.

"You have no idea. The only time I see her now a days is when she is attached to him." You joke, you hear him chuckle and you wonder if maybe he had a twin. This guy's vibe was way different than the Bucky that walked the halls of your school.

"Can I get you a drink? Believe me it makes the sight of it a lot easier" James did have a point, you were only young once. It was getting boring just watching the show.

Breaking from Peggy Steve interrupts "Where's Wanda?"

Welp that confirmed he was indeed the same guy that ignores your existence at school. Looking up at the sly dog you wait for him to confirm. Bucky shouted something to Steve over the music, but you couldn't tell what.

"You know what? A drink sounds like a good idea." You break from the small group and find a keg yourself.

The silver barrel was a strange contraption to you. With the red cup in your hand you try and figure out how to use it. Steve snatched your cup and placed it on your head like a party hat. " Really Steve!"

"Here let me" James takes the cup from your head and pours beer into the cup. Handing it back to you, you take it and take a big gulp. That was a mistake as the taste was horrid, coughing uncontrollable as they laugh at you.

🎂🎂

The buzz hit almost instantly. You were dancing to your own beat despite the music. Peggy even grabbed your hands and danced with you. She looked so beautiful tonight, your heart wanted to explode in your chest when she hugged you tightly, whispering and giggling in your ear. It took a bit of self control not to kiss her in the moment.  

Who knew alcohol could be so much fun.

The room started to swirl at some point.

Hands held on to you, steadying you against them as the room spun on.

"Bucky take care of her for me" a voice broke through your cloud. The music of the party had died down, things weren't as loud as before and you wondered what the time was. When you tried to look it was as if everything was underwater, blurry and fuzzy, moving giving you motion sickness.

You couldn't hear his reply, but you were sure Steve walked off with Peggy so they could have some fun. With an arm around your waist you were led away too. Bucky whispered something in your ear, but it felt off, his voice didn't sound right.

When you blinked you were on your back. The fabric of a comforter rubbed against your palms.

Blinking again you felt something heavy on you, but it was a struggle to focus still. The lights were on in the room, but you couldn't register the features of the person on top of you. Your head was so clouded, your limps too heavy to lift as you try and create a distance between you too.

"Buoockkky.."You felt as if your mouth was filled with cement, your words were a jumble as you try and talk. A figure lowered down and kissed you. Turning your head to the side was the only movement you could manage. The unwanted kissing didn't stop, moving your head back their tongue deepened within your mouth as you try to cry out in protest.

Blinking this time you weren't sure how long it took to get your eyes open. The air was much colder than you remembered sending a shiver throughout your body. Something licked on your chest and you yelp pathetically at the sensation.

"Mmm" you moaned as it sucked and kissed so tenderly at parts of you. It felt so good, your body just wanted to give into it all. Looking down you were sure you were seeing things as Bucky's hair looked just as wrong as his voice. "No..." You managed to get out, but when you repeated it it didn't sound the same.

The next blink welcomed you to an unfamiliar pain between your thighs. It shot up through your core and you wanted desperately to escape it. You tried to lift your legs and arms but it felt like you forgot how to move them.

"Thats.. it .." His voice panted through your subconscious. You felt like you were a rag doll when someone moved your legs around, spreading them open as you blacked out again.

"Oww.." You hissed out waking up to shooting pains. "Hurt.." Words still failing to be put together. Every syllable taking more and more energy from you.

"Shh.. shhh" the voice hushed you as the pain permeated through you.

There was something stretching you so much so that you whimpered at the fullness.

You heard a familiar voice pant your name, praising you, but it was so floaty you weren't sure if it were real. Your eyes fell shut again before you could register it all.

The world around you felt so warm and fuzzy. You tried opening your eyes again, but they were just too heavy. It didn't matter now as the gentle rocking of the room lulled you to sleep.    

🎂🎂🎂

The light coming from the window seemed to amplify the pounding in your head. You weren't sure when you got in bed with Peggy, but you were sure that if this was what it felt like to drink you would never do it again. The last thing you remember was dancing with her then everything went black.

When you moved your legs there was a shooting pain and soreness between your thighs and it felt as if you peed yourself. Patting the mattress you felt the reminisce of wetness, lifting your hand to your face you saw blood. Your period must've started in the middle of the night. Peggy would never let you live down bleeding on her bed that was for sure.

Present

When you leave this time you were going to stay gone, no matter what. Finding an apartment that didn't care about what name you put on the lease or sleep in a shelter if you had to. Just like before you would get a job that paid under the table maybe another waitress job somewhere along the way. It might take a while to get over the paranoia of him finding you and dragging you back. But eventually you could move on. Move to a better neighborhood find a better job and live free again.

The drive back from the Pawn shop had you a bit on edge by now you were sure that your uncle would be up and wondering about his truck. You had half a mind to go to the bus station now and just mail him his truck keys, but you didn't want to burn that bridge.

At every light, corner or stop sign you had an eye out for their patrol car as well. Pulling into your Uncle's driveway you park. It took a moment before you could move.  You didn’t want to find out if your uncle found his truck and tools gone just yet.

*Buzz Buzz

Grabbing your bag from the passenger seat you dig out your cell. Your fingers itched as you began unlocking your phone. Praying in your head that Steve had not been in the cop car you saw at the pawn shop. Praying that he wasn't going to punish you.

MSG Steve: Morning! MSG Steve:(...typing)

Chapter 4>>>>

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt.7)

Well, Natsume's really in it now! Today we'll be talking about what lengths Natsume will go to in order to protect the people he loves. He's not a normal boy with a normal first crush, after all. He has no intention of wooing her or flirting. In fact, his instinct is to distance himself, and going forward we'll see that instinct is motivated by more than just a low self-esteem.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Natsume has some major character flaws. He’s kinda a jerk in general and is rude and abrasive. He’s chronically selfless and seems to be drawn to situations where he can sacrifice himself for others, which is a very unhealthy way to be. He’s also terrible at keeping his word.

Natsume only made this decision on his own, but he’s pretty bad at carrying through with it. He’s the one who told her to stay away, but Natsume will have more and more trouble staying true to such an agreement.

At first, he makes an effort: Mikan is being bullied for her stupidity and sees Natsume. He glares at her, another discouragement from coming any closer. He doesn’t argue with her or join in on the bullying.

But in no time at all, the whole class is riled up in study mode because of Mikan’s example, and for many kids in Class B, the best person to turn to for tutoring help is Natsume, who is actually quite smart when he actually does the work--though he’d prefer not to. And he does help, though not with any kind or supportive words. He’ll leave that to Mikan. Maybe to him it feels a bit like a cheat, like he can afford to give in a little bit. He later walks alongside her after an exam, like he’s part of her circle, and although he’s not really engaging with her like the rest of the kids are, it’s enough that he’s near her.

And it’s enough for the ESP and Persona to notice.

We can see the ESP looking down on them from his headquarters room, still covered in shadows to maintain his mystery, but his figure is familiar enough for a reread. Natsume has been caught and he will have to face the consequences.

Persona subs in for Makihara-sensei (and we must wonder if Makihara was really unable to proctor his exam or if he was ordered to stay away so that a point could be made to Natsume), and despite his disguise, Natsume can tell it’s him instantly. After all, he was supposed to recognize him. Natsume looks horrified.

So far, Natsume has had to more or less balance two very different parts of his life: a more light-hearted life in Class B and his life as a spy and black ops agent. They’ve been difficult to juggle because of how different they are, but they’ve been pretty separated. Here, the lines are blurring. Was there really any divide at all or was that just an illusion? Persona can invade on his happiness any time he wants, on a whim, and nobody else will notice that anything is amiss. Only Natsume will be bothered, and that’s enough.

Natsume later catches up to Persona, asking him what the hell all that was about.

Permy and his fans aren’t the only ones to notice that Natsume has been softer lately--he and the ESP have noticed as well, and he’s been ordered to put a stop to it. He mentions a “kitten of a different color” who has been of interest to the ESP too, and Natsume plays dumb, his last-ditch attempt to protect Mikan from being drawn into this.

Persona comments on the strangeness of seeing the infamous Black Cat that he trained himself, who he’s supposedly only ever seen in action, sitting and taking a test like a normal kid. He reminds him that he’s not a normal kid. There’s no point in trying so hard. He won’t make it to ever see his family again, so why even bother?

And then Persona makes a point to discourage Natsume from getting close to that “kitten of a different color”. Natsume argues that they’re the ones who made them partners in the first place! And he might as well be giving himself away. Again, Natsume seems convinced that the partners thing was a decision from pretty high up, but I don’t think it was. Here, it seems like Persona is trying to clean up the mess Narumi made before it gets too out of hand. Natsume is a perfect tool and anything messing with that is inconvenient. They can’t unmake them partners (yet) so the most they can do is threaten Natsume.

And now we can see what kind of alice Persona has. It's a real threat, killing that plant. It's a reminder to Natsume what he's capable of, that his friends and loved ones could end up just like that plant.

And so Persona does.

Natsume is anguished here, because he’s been trying his very best to avoid this situation, but he should have known that Mikan was already in the academy spotlight and his feelings would be quickly caught. It was too late from the start and he was doomed all along to add Mikan to the list of people he will do anything to protect.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next chapter opens with Mikan being confused and hurt by Natsume’s sudden new coldness. She has no idea what’s brought this all on, but we do. Natsume has no choice now but to completely try and cut her off. It’s for her own good, after all. If he’s not careful, she could get hurt. Protecting her is worth it, even if it means he has to be even more of a villain than usual.

We don’t see a lot of Natsume in this chapter, actually, because he’s trying really hard to stick by his word this time. We see him trip up a little, staring at her in class. When she catches him, he turns away coldly, but from this we can see that Natsume really doesn’t want to be leaving her alone like this. If he had it his way, in an ideal world, he’d be much nicer to her. Unfortunately, Natsume doesn’t waste his time thinking about his ideals, so he keeps at it, pushing her away.

The next time we see Natsume, it’s after we’ve been thoroughly introduced to the concept of the life-shortening alice. This is one hint of many that he has such an alice, several chapters before we get a real confirmation.

The scene where Natsume struggles on a bed full of pills is perhaps more dramatic in the anime, but it’s no less potent here. It’s like a sucker punch. You don’t want it to be true. He’s ten years old, for heaven’s sake! TEN YEARS OLD! And he’s suffering, hunched over, face red, gasping for air, clutching his chest, next to the biggest bag of medicine I’ve ever seen. It’s the biggest hint we’ve gotten so far, especially in the context of Kaname’s illness.

It's heart-breaking to imagine that most of the time, Natsume is simply pretending like he's not in absolute physical agony.

Kaname stays at the hospital for long stretches of time, staying for weeks and sometimes months at a time. He’s hospitalized more than he’s able to walk around free. There’s a lot to consider when that treatment is compared to Natsume’s. Natsume is the DA favorite and is sent on many missions. His trips to the hospital are never for weeks or months at a time, not because he doesn’t need the rest, but because the school can’t stand to go so long without their prize fighter. Natsume might be in even worse condition than Kaname, but there’d be no real way to tell unless we got it from him, because he has no choice but to put up with it and pretend like he’s not living in constant agony. And on top of being terribly and terminally ill, he gets physically beaten somewhat regularly… this school beats sick children and then threatens them when they find any inkling of happiness.

There is a bittersweet tone about Kaname’s story. He’s already sick anyway but he will probably die if he keeps using his alice, but he wants to, because he wants to bring people the same happiness that making Bear brought him. It’s tragic and heart-breaking, but it’s touching too. That sweetness is missing from Natsume’s appearance. His situation feels miserable and helpless in comparison, because not only does he have no way out, but nobody even knows the extent of his struggles.

He only lets himself feel this level of pain when he’s all alone in his bedroom. He’s been having a horrible past few days, having to ignore Mikan when she’s all that’s made him happy in recent memory. All that together, and we know that this night was a rough one for him.

The next day, we see everyone saying good-bye to Kaname. Once again, Natsume is completely separated from the rest of them, all alone in the classroom, sitting and looking as miserable as one can expect. It’s strange seeing him now after we’ve seen what his nights look like and just how painful they can get.

I just want him to be okay. Why is that too much to ask?

There’s some text on his panel: “I want the future I spend with the ones I love to last just a little longer.” Yet another hint that maybe his illness is more than just that. He has very little time left, and very little time to spend with his loved ones, but even worse: he can’t even spend time with Mikan because doing so would put her in danger. Even with Youichi and Ruka the amount of time he can spend with them is limited. They have their own lives and he doesn’t want to hold them back or hint in the slightest that there’s something up with him. He doesn’t want to worry or burden them. And so he sits alone in the classroom, looking despondent and lonely.

And now we know more than ever that this was never his choice: he has to be like this.

No, he’s not the asshole he makes himself out to be, somebody who doesn’t care about others and cuts others off because he thinks himself above them. All he wants is to protect people from getting too entrenched in his dark life. Natsume being this level of a jerk is a method to protect people, a method an adult would have to take.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’m quite relieved to have finally passed the point where the anime adapts the manga. From now on, I can focus entirely on the manga. I passed 22k words on this essay too! This whole thing will be sooooo long. I hope it’s an enjoyable read so far. It’s quite fun for me to write.

This chapter is the beginning of a long and dramatic arc. There’s been incidents of people losing their alices. The academy is withholding information about the gravity of the situation, lying that the students have not been affected so far.

But even with the little information the kids have, Class B is full of concern. Everyone is discussing these incidents, debating whether losing one’s alice would even be a bad thing. After all, they’d be able to go back home and see their families. Nonoko brings up a great point, that her alice is a part of her identity, something she loves about herself. It’s not something she’d ever willingly part with. Furthermore, she doesn’t want to leave all her friends at the academy either. Ultimately, the kids all agree that they wouldn’t want to lose their alices.

At this, Natsume stands up and leaves the room. He’s heard enough.

Natsume doesn’t just have complicated feelings about his alice--he feels hatred for it. After all, if it weren’t for his alice, he could live to a ripe old age. He could still be with his family. He could be happy, not used as a weapon by the academy to fight until he dies. He can’t relate much to the conversations about fondness for an alice. From what we can see, he’d be over the moon to be rid of it for good. This is a concept brought up now, because it will be incredibly important later on.

Not to spill about my personal life or anything, but I’m an English major (in an anglophone country so my focus is literary analysis and writing). Writing literature papers in school was a love of mine that I translated to my other interests. I’m writing what I can here about general themes and even visual parallels. I want to write as thorough an analysis as I can. Unfortunately, I can’t effectively pick apart word choices and phrases when they’re translated from another language and when so many conflicting translations may exist.

I’m saying all this as a disclaimer because I want to analyze word choice now and I am aware that this might not carry to the original Japanese or even to other versions of the English translation. (For reference, I’m using the TokyoPop versions for my analysis for the first 15 volumes and then I’ll be using whatever I get my hands on for the rest. The pics I use are from scans, but the main source I use for now is TokyoPop.)

"Nowhere!".... hmm let me read way too much into this.

Natsume leaves the room and Ruka chases after him, asking where he’s headed. Natsume responds, “Nowhere.” This might be a nothing point to make, but it stands out to me whenever I read this part. It’s a reassurance to Ruka, sure, but there seems to be more to it. On the surface, we can tell that Natsume doesn’t have a destination in mind; he just doesn’t want to be in the classroom anymore, listening to all that upsetting talk. Deeper than that, he really is heading nowhere. He’s stuck there, at the academy, unlike the rest of them who will eventually leave to go back home once they’ve graduated. Natsume will probably die at the school, trapped within its gates. He will probably never see his family again. He is, in that sense as well, going nowhere.

The rest of their conversation is just as packed with meaning. Ruka can tell something is up and he wants Natsume to talk to him, to let him in, but Natsume knows that Ruka has made a pact not to smile if he’s not smiling. So even though Ruka is asking and wants to know what’s wrong, Natsume won’t give anything away. Being miserable is one thing, but letting Ruka know that something is worse than usual would only make Ruka miserable too, and he can’t have that. The bottom of one page has him frowning, maybe steeling himself, and then at the top of the next page, he turns around with a grin to tousle Ruka’s hair.

Don't mind me. I am simply crying.

“It’s nothing,” he says with his smile, looking so gentle, and Ruka still looks concerned, but he can’t argue anymore.

In reality there’s a lot going on with Natsume. Later, when we are introduced to Tono, he mentions being concerned about Natsume’s health, having heard that he was making frequent visits to the hospital. We already know he’s sick and going on ceaseless missions, and on top of all that he has to ignore and be cruel to the girl he likes. It’s a terrible situation. But Natsume can’t tell Ruka any of this without worrying him, so instead he will keep it to himself. After all, it’s nothing that can be helped or changed. It’s something he feels he has to cope with on his own. To him, spilling his secrets would be selfish and only cause suffering.

Chapter Thirty

Iinchou has finally returned from his visit to his hometown. He’s brought gifts and anecdotes and everyone is quite happy to see him, until Iinchou attempts to use his alice and finds himself unable to.

It’s a shock to the whole class that a kid at their school has lost his alice. They had been so relieved that at least it wouldn’t affect kids like them, but now one of them is a victim too. It makes the fear much more real. If it could happen to Iinchou, it could happen to any of them.

Things get tense when Iinchou returns to class and says that this might have been the fault of a woman he encountered outside of the school, someone who was probably affiliated with Z. Everyone who was involved with saving Natsume when he was kidnapped is shocked to hear about Z again, but none more than Natsume himself. He gets up and leaves, just like he did last chapter.

He’s thinking about the proposal Reo gave, that Natsume should join Z and fight against the academy he despises. But he’s not alone with his thoughts, because Ruka followed him again, and so did Mikan this time.

She tries to ask him about Z, see if he has any more idea about what’s going on. She’s confused and he knows more than anyone what happened during that incident, but he’s refusing to acknowledge her presence, let alone answer any of her questions. He’s keeping up his charade of cruelty to keep her safe, but it’s driving Mikan crazy. She finally breaks, screaming at him that he should pay attention when people are talking to him, and further that if he has any issues with her he should just say it to her face.

Just like last chapter, we see a panel of Natsume steeling himself, ready to do the selfless thing to protect the other person. Only this time the next panel has him glaring at her, saying he doesn’t like anything about her. He hates everything about her.

Natsume has no choice but to lie all the time about how he's feeling, because everyone else must always come first.

It feels different, but in reality this is the same thing he did to Ruka last chapter. He can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s feeling upset, and he can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s actually starting to fall for a girl. He always has to hide his true feelings, repress and bury them, lie about them in order to protect everyone around him. It’s hard for him to do, but he thinks it hurts him more than it could hurt her, so he manages it.

What adds even more layers to this is that Ruka is observing the whole thing. He sees Natsume’s actions as selfless but misfires on the motive a little--but only a little.

He recalls eating strawberries with Natsume and Aoi, with Aoi cheerfully discussing her newfound love for the fruits. And so Natsume gives his to her. Aoi is surprised, because strawberries are his favorites. He responds easily, “I hate them now.”

"For you," Natsume says.

Ruka knows what kind of person Natsume is, that Natsume would reject something he loves so that his loved ones can be happy. They’re both aware that they like the same girl, and Ruka can’t help but put the math together and assume that perhaps Natsume is doing this for him, hurting himself and bringing himself pain so that Ruka can be happy and pursue a girl he has a crush on guilt-free.

He’s even more convinced of the theory with the tiny panel that reminds us of when Natsume shoved Ruka into Mikan so they could dance. Natsume loves Mikan too, but he wants Ruka to be happy, so he will give up and even ruin his own chances to help out his best friend over himself.

When I say it’s a misfire, I mean that Natsume has a lot of other things going on, including Persona and his imminent death. It’s not that he definitely isn’t doing this for Ruka, it’s just that it’s not as major a factor as other things. He’s mainly doing it because of the threats from Persona. If Ruka is involved in his thought process, it’s mainly a bonus. Ruka’s theory is definitely not unfounded; just not completely accurate.

In any case, it does add extra substance to the dynamic between the three of them, where they all walk away from the moment with completely different kinds of misery.

Before any of them can sit with their sadness, though, they receive word that an intruder from Z is at the school.

Conclusion

In this section, we explored how Natsume has no choice but to distance himself from everybody, and even how the methods he uses to distance himself look different depending on the person. Ultimately, despite the fact that he isn't the sweetest kid you'll ever meet, Natsume being cruel to this extent isn't a quirk of his personality: it's what he has to do. If he didn't have so many things being held against him, he might be much kinder to Mikan, or more honest with Ruka, but he has no choice in the matter.

In the next edition, we're getting more involved in the Z Arc and going into how come Natsume goes from telling Mikan he hates her to backing her cause and going on a dangerous mission with her.

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.